#lore catch up: year six | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

akumakosuke · 4 months

Text

Yay, I finally finished the first chapter of my new fic...

†Our cursed love†

This is my first time writing an actual fic so it might not be that good, constructive criticism is welcome and encouraged! I would really like to know your opinions on what I'm doing right and wrong, things I should change and so forth.

A little PS this is not going to be absolutely canon, there will be some changes to the lore and techniques so be warned. I am also fully up to date on the manga so there will be manga spoilers.

Please enjoy the first chapter of ‡Our cursed love‡.

No warnings

~_Our cursed love._~

Chapter 1- Our pedestal.

~No one POV:~

The day is like any other day to most people. The sun blazing high in the bright blue sky, perfect white fluffy clouds dot the sky, moving along swiftly with the breeze. The sound of streets full of vehicles and streets full of people fills the air.

The day was like any other to non-sorcerers.

They all go about their lives, completely oblivious to the two Gods currently walking among them, blissfully unaware of the evil seeking to destroy these two Gods.

The day was like any other to the two Gods. Aware they’re being hunted but unaware of each other.

It’s true what they say, ‘ignorance is bliss’ and our two Gods will have to learn that lesson the hard way.

~3rd Person POV~

A young boy, around the age of 9 walks with an unusually cold face for a child wearing a blue hoodie with beige shorts and black sneakers. His expression isn’t the only eye catching thing about him, his eyes are quite simply breathtaking. Strikingly brilliant sky blue orbs. His short, fluffy white hair gently swaying in the breeze.

To passers by he seems like a relatively normal child with oddly spectacular looks but normal is not a word fit to describe this God.

Satoru Gojo decided to take a trip to Shibuya for no other reason than boredom. He knows it’s ‘dangerous’ because of the many, many bounties on his head but does he care? No, of course not.

Why would he care? He’s a ‘God’ right? All these fools are beneath him, besides its clear that none of them would even be a problem, he might be 9 but he knows his place in this world, he knows the ‘blessing’ he’s been born with and he knows how to use it -albeit not well- one glare is enough to dissuade anyone crazy enough to target him.

He can sense them all around him, thinking they’re hiding their cursed energy well but nothing can get past his six eyes, nothing.

~10 minutes earlier~

A young boy with long grey hair tied into a neat pony wearing a (f/c) shirt and (2/f/c) pants that are clearly too big for him and a pair of (f/c) boots steps out of a fancy black car in the middle of Shibuya. The 9 year old closes the door and the car drives off, left unattended which would be odd if he were just a boy, although his expression is somewhat normal for a boy his age, relatively bored, his eyes hidden by a pair of blacked out glasses with a circular frame.

He confidently makes his way through the busy streets, despite his small size he easily navigates a path through the much taller adults, some only sparing him a brief glance but none question why there’s a clear gap between him and everyone, a physically space none of them an seem to cross, naturally and absentmindedly moving around the boy to avoid it.

M/n Goto is aware of this gap as it’s intentional. He’s practicing although the few hungry pairs of eyes on him are distracting. M/n knows venturing out alone is ‘risky’ because of how valuable he is but hes a God isn’t he? Those fools are beneath him.

They’re clearly trying very hard to hide their cursed energy but alas it’s in vain, M/n sensed them following him since he left his estate. It’s not like any of them would be a problem for him, he knows his place in the world, he knows the ‘blessing’ he was born with and he knows how to use it -thanks to his loving father training him since he could walk-, one glare is enough to dissuade any idiotic enough to try and mess with a God, besides nothing can touch him without his permission, nothing.

~present time~

Destiny is a funny thing, many argue its existence.

If destiny exists then freedom cannot.

If freedom exists then destiny cannot.

Many argue its existence, many chose to deny its existence, they chose freedom.

The freedom of choice.

M/n Goto and Satoru Gojo do not believe in destiny.

M/n Goto and Satoru Gojo both chose to come to Shibuya today because they wanted to, they were bored and chose to do the riskiest thing by leaving unsupervised.

They both chose to walk this random street, they both decided they were tired of being followed and chose to turn around. A completely, random choice.

Completely random.

“Huh-?!”

“What-?!”

Time suddenly stops for two young, lonely, untouchable Gods.

M/n Goto and Satoru Gojo do not believe in destiny, so what is this feeling? Not the physical feeling of their shoulders colliding.

This sudden tug, this oddly familiar feeling like meeting a different version of yourself.

Luminous, sparkling sky blue orbs meet now uncovered blazing, blood red orbs and for the first time both are in absolutely awe of another’s appearance.

~M/n POV~

‘He- he bumped into me… his eyes… they’re… how did he-? This feeling… who is he, i feel like I should know… wait… he’s…’

~Satoru POV~

‘I didn’t sense him-? He touched me… i was sure i had it on… those eyes, they’re breathtaking… who is he? Why do i feel like I should know him? Wait… he’s…’

~3rd person POV~

“Cursed.” They both mumble at the same time causing both their eyes to widen, both taking a step back from the other.

The warm, carbon filled air suddenly feels a whole lot more suffocating, the feeling tugging at both of them gets stronger and they both know the other feels it.

It’s an odd sight, two unsupervised 9 year old standing in the middle of a busy Shibuya street just silently staring at each other in what can only be described as bewilderment.

For the longest time they’ve both believed them to have no equal. From the moment they opened their eyes they were forced to live in a word beneath them filled with people beneath them. They were put on pedestals so high no one else could ever hope to climb it and yet…

Their lonely pedestal is apparently bigger than they thought, all they had to do was turn around and be confronted with the other.

A shared pedestal is something everyone told them was impossible, they were born Gods among mortals, they were special, miracles, forever alone.

“Goto M/n…” M/n, finally regaining his brain, blurts out, feeling something he’s never felt before, nervous.

“Gojo Satoru…” Satoru eventually replies, having taken a few more seconds to recover and identify the unknown feeling in his chest, anxiety.

“We should probably lose them first before we talk…” M/n suggests, hesitantly turning his gaze away from Satoru and toward one of the groups of curse users currently hiding out in a tall building across the street with horror on their faces because the sheer amount of power coming from the two Gods is mind breaking.

Satoru turns his gaze towards another group hiding on a rooftop few building’s down with the same expression and hums in agreement. He slowly reaches out to grab M/n’s hand, he doesn’t know why but he just does.

The moment their skin makes contact they both jump, the feeling of physically touching another is so foreign, so intrusive yet so natural.

They quickly easy into the feeling, Satoru pulling M/n along and M/n following without complaint.

This action feels so normal it’s almost easy to forget the innocent looking 9 year old boys are running away from assassins hunting Gods not boys.

They both in this moment, forget they are Gods, they forget they are cursed, they both, even if only for a fleeting moment just feel like two normal boys, running freely through the streets of Shibuya, unsure of when they actually started running but unwilling to spend any time thinking about it.

They just run, the destination isn’t a concern to either of them and after running for what felt like both a lifetime and barely a second they stop in a dark, dirty alleyway, joyful laughter still bubbling from their chests as they catch their breath.

“Phew, I’m pretty sure we lost them.” Satoru comments as he leans against the wall, relaxing a bit more because he can’t sense anyone else.

“Hmm, it would be foolish of them to follow.” M/n adds, leaning on the opposite wall, also relaxing.

A short, comfortable silence envelopes the two Gods as their gazes lock, again being completely caught off guard by the other’s eyes. Millions of questions run through both of their minds, having finally found another like them is something they didn’t think possible , they were told it’s impossible.

“How… how did you touch me? Get past my barrier which I’m positive was active?” M/n asks incredulously, he should be absolutely horrified someone can bypass his technique but he isn’t.

Satoru looks at M/n in slight shock, now being made aware the other also had a barrier active at the time of contact.

“I… I don’t know, i also had a barrier active so maybe they cancelled out?” Satoru would have never thought he’d say that with such a casual tone, someone being able to bypass the one thing that makes him untouchable, he should see M/n as a threat but he doesn’t.

“So we both have a kind of barrier technique and they cancel out somehow… that should be horrifying right? Our one impenetrable defence rendered useless…” M/n’s voice drops to a low whisper but there’s no hint of defensiveness, simply taking in the fact he can be touched, he’s not unbeatable.

“It should but honestly it just makes me excited ya know?” Satoru chuckles, his eyes sparkling even more as his usual cold expression replaced a small grin, his heart is still pounding in his chest, the tugging feeling getting stronger the longer the talks to M/n.

M/n mirrors Satoru’s expression, feeling the same pounding in his chest, the tugging feeling moving his feet forward as he takes a seat on the floor next to Satoru, his barrier preventing his clothes from getting dirty. Satoru quickly joins him, activating his own barrier to stay clean.

Although both of them are just 9 years old, being born basically ‘God’s’ they naturally possessed some basic control of their techniques, both already having trained to use their techniques for a few hours none stop before they get tired.

“It is isn’t, my entire life I’ve been told no one would be able to challenge me and I thought how boring that sounds, they said I stand on a pedestal made for Gods and that I alone stand atop it, atop everyone else and then I thought how… lonely that sounded…” M/n says, pulling his legs to his chest as he rests his head on his knees, looking at his new found friend.

Satoru adopts the same pose, his mind and soul filled with pure joy as M/n speaks because he understands, he understands so well and he never thought someone else would understand.

“Mhm, they called me blessed my entire life, a miracle. Showering me in praises and gifts alike, telling me how special I am, how I’m better than everyone else. They also call me a God, put me on a pedestal too tall for a kid… They don’t see the view from the top, they don’t see how big and empty that pedestal is…”

M/n listens to Satoru, there’s something freeing in listening to him speak, like a weight lifted off his shoulders, the weight of being called the strongest and the loneliness that comes with it, a weight no 9 year old should even have to know about.

“Well it was big and empty but perhaps we can share it?” M/n asks with a hopeful tone, somehow already knowing he doesn’t really need to ask.

“I… I would like that. Our pedestal?” Satoru has never felt this type of excitement, the idea of sharing, being equal to someone else, of not being alone is enough to make him feel like a normal kid.

“Our pedestal.” M/n repeats, the word ‘our’ rolling off his tongue so naturally.

“So what do you normally do for fun? When you’re actually allowed to do what you want ?” Satoru asks, clearly excited to do whatever friends do when they hang out, he’s excited because he doesn’t really known what others do because he’s never bothered to pay attention to anyone else, they were beneath him so there was no point in getting to know them but now, now he’s never been more interested in another.

M/n grins, suddenly standing up and looking down at Satoru with a sparkles in his already spectacular eyes. Satoru still can’t believe he likes someone else’s eyes more than his own, his attention immediately glued on M/n. They both feel that tug again as M/n extends his hand towards Satoru, the idea of physical contact regardless of their barriers still seems so absurd but so enticing.

“Wanna find out?”

Satoru takes M/n’s hand, the unfamiliar warmth of another comforting their souls , penetrating their minds. M/n pulls Satoru up and their hands stay linked as they exit the alleyway, M/n leading the way, unknowingly staring the first chapter in a very long and dangerous book.

--------------------------------------------------

Tag list-

@itsgivingitalian

#malereader #dom male reader #seme male reader #top male reader #male reader #akumakosuketoughts #jjk x male reader #jujutsu kaisen #suguru geto x male reader #satoru gojo x male reader #gojo satoru #geto suguru

300 notes · View notes

maxwellatoms · 5 months

Note

What kind of video games do you like to play Mr. Atoms?

So many! Assuming there's time. These days there's generally not, so I've been bingeing Vampire Survivors in half-hour doses.

Above is a gif from Noita, my top game of the pandemic. It's an old-school "Metroidvania", but every pixel is simulated and you're a witch who can manipulate her spells (and thereby the world) in a seemingly infinite number of ways. Here, I've built magical "buzzsaws" around myself, which blinded me to the shadow amoeba. In Noita, almost every death is due to hubris, and I think I love that pendulum swing. If you're lucky and skilled, you can become a walking whirlwind of destruction, but you're always your own worst enemy. Bonus: You can turn your vomit into rats.

I'm currently on a break in the midst of my Baldur's Gate 3 run, with a party consisting of my BG2 character's daughter, Karlatch, Lazelle, and Shadowheart. Ladies' Night!

I'm also playing a bit of Shadows of Doubt. I'm not sure it'll hold up long-term, but it's got a lot of potential.

I don't really limit myself by genre or platform, but I'd say that I primarily play indie PC games. The games in my Steam library that I keep going back to again and again?

Cities: Skylines: A chill City Building Simulator. Lots of fun mods.

Darkest Dungeon: This thing is a classic strategy game IMO.

Death Road to Canada: A light, fast Project Zomboid. Dogs with guns!

Dwarf Fortress: For me, it's the ultimate fantasy sim. I love it so much. Looking forward to Adventure Mode finally appearing on Steam.

Project Zomboid: The ultimate lonely 2D zombie apocalypse survival game. Or non-survival game, I suppose.

Total War: Warhammer: For when I'm in a strategy-y mood. Like a lot of people, I'm a bit soured on the modern DLC scene, so I'm still waiting on #3 even though I'm a Chaos stan.

Not on Steam? I do play some Star Citizen from time to time. I backed it a decade ago. I used to joke that it was the game I was going to retire into, but more and more that's looking less and less like a joke. Still, it's made some good progress in the last couple of years and I'm hopeful that repair and engineering turn out to be fun.

The game I'm looking forward to most would be the next Elder Scrolls. I know it's still a ways off. Ever since my Nereverine landed in Morrowind with the intention of becoming a just and righteous cleric and instead found herself an unwitting villain and colonizer, I fell in love with the Elder Scrolls and it's deep, gray lore. It is (for me) a great way to really get into a character's head. Roleplaying... go figure.

Since Morrowind (and a backtrack into Daggerfall), I only allow myself one canon playthrough. My rule is to "let it ride", so that aside from death, if I screw up or if something unexpected happens I don't save-scum. All of my characters are related, either by quest or bloodline. I already know that my next character will be Aventus Aretino (the kid you catch summoning the Dark Brotherhood). My Skyrim character (above) had adopted him and then left him in the hands of a vampire, so I should be covered even if there's a big time jump. Now I just have to wait six more years for the game. And then maybe two for mods. God I'm so old.

I need to spend more time with Dave the Diver.

Anything current I'm missing out on?

#maxwell atoms #video games #all over the map

200 notes · View notes

fastlikealambo · 6 months

Text

Connubium.|| Coriolanus Snow x Black Fem Reader Chapter Eight

table of contents.

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

Summary: Stealing from The Capitol is a deadly offense, yet you’ve done it more times than you can count but when you do something you should not have done, Volumnia Gaul decides a fate for you that might just be worse than death.

Notes: This takes place post The Ballad of Songbirds And Snakes and Coryo is in his last year at The University, studying under Dr. Gaul. This will not follow canon, I’m not an expert on all the lore so I apologize if I get things wrong.

Disclaimer: You know Coriolanus is a POS, I know Coriolanus is a POS, please don’t yell at me because this is just a fun little story, something for thee hotties, and if you feel that strongly against President Snow, please let me know if you’d like me to sign you up for tessarae.

18+ only

Thanks for the love and messages on chapter seven! If you want to see chapter nine, comment or reblog, feedback makes me want to continue!

“You heard it here, if you want to find the love of your life, just throw yourself into traffic! If you’re just tuning in at home, I’m Lucky Flickerman and we’re wrapping up here with Coriolanus Snow, our very own candidate for President and his lovely fiancée! Before we go, is there anything you lovebirds want to say to the people watching at home?”

The lights were too hot, your dress felt plastered to your skin, but you gave Panem a big toothy smile and looked right into the camera.

“I just want to thank everyone for their kindness and hard work throughout the campaign so far.” You said, grasping Coryo’s hand, the light catching your engagement ring.

“A brighter future is just beyond the horizon and as long as we come together, we can build a better Panem.” Coryo said, giving your hand a squeeze.

“And we’re clear! I can’t wait for your wedding, I’ll be the one with the mic, have you gotten my dietary restriction brochure?”

The wedding was less than two days away and the election month after and it was all just so much.

How could you be getting married without ma or pa there?

How could you be getting married when your entire courtship was based on one lie after another?

By putting one foot in front of the other because you were not going to turn back.

Too many thoughts dancing around in your head caused you to miss a step on the way off the stage but with a steady hand, Coryo helped you down the remaining step.

“It’s a bit warm here, let’s go outside.” You said with a tired smile, leaning heavily on your fiance as you two made your way out of the studio and back to the waiting car.

“After the wedding we’ll have time to slow things down before the election, I promise.” Coriolanus said, kissing your hand. You put your head on his shoulder, leaning into his touch, wanting nothing more than to fall asleep but you were whisked away into a final fitting of your wedding dress with Tigris, Coriolanus off to a meeting with Strabo.

“ It’s magnificent, Tigris, truly. Thank you for doing this, I’m sure you have more important work to be doing.” You said softly to the blonde who was currently under the gown’s massive skirt, embroidering tiny little roses along the hem. With a happy sigh, she stood up, looking in the mirror at you.

“ I’m happy to help! Are you nervous for tomorrow? They’re calling it the wedding of the century, Fabricia said it’s going to be played throughout Panem.” Tigris said, taking a few pins out of the dress and slowly circling you to make sure everything fit like it should.

“I’m nervous but I’m excited for it to be over. I just wish my mother and father were here.” You said honestly, looking down at the ground. Tigris put her arm around your shoulder and the gentle gesture made you cry harder than you thought you would, shoulders shaking as Tigris placed a pale pink handkerchief into your hand.

“I’ve always wanted a sister, for so long it’s just been Coryo and Grandma’am but now that you’re here I finally get my wish. There was a time when I looked at Coriolanus and all I saw was his father looking back, but from the moment he brought you home, I’ve only ever seen a man in love. You deserve to be happy.”

Tigris Snow must be the best person the Capitol ever produced.

After copious amounts of tea and a few more tears, you bid Tigris goodbye, heading back to your own home, head and heart still heavy.

You had no idea it would have gone like this, hell you thought you wouldn’t last a week in The Capitol but look at you now, the almost wife of a presidential candidate.

You made it.

But at what cost?

“A deal is a deal, little thief. Your precious ma and pa are responding well to the antidote to my poison, I suspect they’ll be breathing fully on their own in a few weeks. Would you like me to wheel them to your reception?” Dr. Gaul said, sipping tea at your counter.

You ignored her, settling into a chair of your own, waiting for the car to pick you up to have dinner with Coriolanus. This gilded cage would be gone after tomorrow and to some extent so would Dr. Gaul’s influence too and that made you want to sprint down the aisle more than anything else.

“Will they be safe now that I’ve given you what you want?”

Dr. Gaul clapped her hands and nodded, stepping down from her stool and heading for the door.

“ You should know by now that no one is truly safe in this world but once they are healthy enough, they can do as they wish, my games with you are coming to an end and I’ll surely miss these little chats. You’re not what I expected, little thief, I told you to steal a boy’s heart and you stole all of Panem. What a marvel you’ve turned out to be.”

A marvel.

You felt like anything but.

You were surprised when Coriolanus asked you to dinner, having thought he would want to spend the night before his wedding going over a new campaign speech in his solitude or doing whatever Capitol bachelors did, but he just wanted to sip wine and hold your hand under candlelight.

It was a quiet affair but it calmed your mind enough to realize that Coryo had brought you the one thing you had craved for quite some time.

Silence.

“Let’s go for a walk, darling.”

The streets of The Capitol were empty this time of night and you couldn’t help but smile when you realized where Coryo was leading you. The street where you first met looked no different at night but you couldn’t help but feel a sense of wonder in it.

“This is very romantic but it might be a little late to change the wedding venue. Is getting married in the middle of the street a Capitol wedding tradition I’m unfamiliar with?” You asked playfully, looking up at the stars.

Just one more month.

If Coryo could win the election, there would be nothing Ravinstill could do, Gaul couldn’t change her mind and keep your parents as lab rats.

You would be safe.

“And what are weddings like in District 6?”

You did not move.

This moment had been a long time coming, perhaps too long for someone with his intellect, but here you were. Your turn in his direction was excruciatingly short, head unbowed and eyes clear. You would not beg or weep for forgiveness.

Before you could utter a word, Coriolanus Snow got on his knees before you.

“I know every secret you have kept from me, every lie you have said to my face yet if you asked to burn down The Capitol, I'd fetch a match. What you need to understand is that I will never not want you and only you, by my side.”

He knew.

You met his gaze and stepped forward, placing a hand on his cheek.

“I’m not sorry. I’m not sorry for stealing from the capitol or pretending to get hit by a car so that Dr. Gaul wouldn’t murder my parents. Most of all, I’m not sorry for meeting you, Coriolanus, and I wouldn’t change that for the world.”

“Do you love me? No lies, just a question. Do you love me?”

“It was easy to lie to you but it was even easier to love you. I have been moving for so long that I’m afraid of what happens if I stop. I love you but what happens now?”

Coriolanus stood up, put his forehead to yours and wrapped his arms around you tight.

“ Don’t move then, all you have to do is stand still. Stand still beside me and I swear to you, no one will harm you again.” He whispered in your ear.

You didn’t have to wait a month.

In the arms of Coriolanus Snow, you were safe.

Morning came quickly and between Tigris and attendants, you looked less like yourself and more like a bride in your extravagant gown, curls on top of your head. From behind the curtain you could see the venue start to fill up with the Capitol’s finest.

“You look so beautiful, oh I can’t believe Grandma’am isn’t here to see this!” Tigris said, fluffing out the back of your gown and you reached over and squeezed her hand. She had been downright giddy when you asked her to walk you down the aisle and you were relieved when she accepted as your only other choice was Dr. Gaul.

“Ma Plinth has your something borrowed, I just have run back to The Corso and then we can get started. The first truly good day in such a long time.” Tigris said softly and pulled you in for a quick embrace before running off.

An attendant brought you a glass of chilled posca and you sipped while you waited, the nerves starting to make you sweat just a little.

The sound of footsteps filled you with relief and you turned from the vanity with a smile.

“Tigris? Are we ready to start?”

The question went unanswered as the person who entered your area was not Tigris but President Ravinstill.

“Well, don't you look stunning, young lady. If I didn’t know better I’d think you were Capitol born and bred but we both know that’s not exactly true.” He said with a dark chuckle.

“Mr. President, the wedding is about to start. I’m sure we can have someone show you to your seat.” You said in a chilled tone but he paid you no mind.

“You were supposed to tame him, dear. You were supposed to curb his political ambition till I got a hold of him so I could mold him in my image. Instead, you had him embarrass me in front of the press with this adorable campaign of his that you both intended to see it through to the bitter end. That just won’t do. Tonight, district whore, you will kill Coriolanus Snow.”

No.

No more.

“No.”

“I don’t think I heard you, young lady.”

You stood to your feet and stood directly in front of the president, calm and collected.

“ I said no, Mr. President. The Capitol no longer gets to make a monster out of me after today so enjoy the wedding and we will see you on election night.” You said simply.

He could kill your parents.

He could destroy District 6.

You both knew that but only you knew that you had simply had enough and there were worse games to play.

“Oh my dear, if only your answer was different.”

The sound of racing footsteps echoed as Coriolanus came racing into the room, concern and confusion on his face.

“The guards said you wanted to talk to me, what’s wrong, what’s going on?” He asked, taking your hand but froze when he saw President Ravinstill.

“Right on time, my boy! I called you in here because I wanted you to see what happens when you attempt to humiliate me, to disgrace Panem. I want you to see that even on your happiest day, you cannot stop snow from falling.” President Ravinstill said.

You were sweating heavily now.

When did it get so hot?

“Coryo? Coriolanus, something’s wrong.”

Coriolanus turned back to you, his features shifting to a picture of horror at the sight of blood gently trickling down your nose. He caught you before you could hit the floor, gasping for breath, your blood coating his fingers.

“ Coryo, what’s happening?” You asked weakly, looking all around but Coriolanus gently placed your head on his lap.

“You’re okay, you’re okay, just look at me, look at me darling.” He said softly, trying to keep the panic from his voice.

This couldn’t be happening.

You risked it all, for what?

“Do you love me?” Coriolanus asked, pressing flat bloody fingers against your pulse, the erratic beat beneath his fingers made him want to sob but he had to stay in control. It would all be over soon.

“I do.” You choked out, tears starting to fall down your cheeks. Everything around you was starting to blur but Coriolanus gently rocked you in his arms.

“Then eyes on me, Mrs. Snow.” Coriolanus said with watery eyes. Through the sleeve of your wedding dress something you could feel something prick your arm but you were too far gone to truly realize what was happening.

“Tell my ma, tell her I’m sorry.” You whispered, eyes slowly closing despite Coriolanus’s cries.

“Don’t worry dear boy, I’ll make the announcement that you’ll be dropping out of the race. Someone should not have drank the posca.” President Ravinstill said, a throaty chuckle that ended with a hacking cough, one that the guard closest to him mimicked.

Enjoy the show.

Outside the bridal area, he could hear others coughing too but with his wife still on his lap, he turned his attention to the president. A wave of calm engulfed him and despite himself, Coriolanus Snow began to laugh.

“And you should not have drank the champagne, Mr. President.”

Coriolanus enjoyed watching Ravinstill crumble to the floor besides his bodyguards, flecks of foam and spittle falling from the former president's now violet lips.

Wedding guests screamed and the sounds of falling bodies echoed throughout the venue but Coriolanus ignored them in favor of breathing for you.

After all, these things happen in war.

That’s chapter 8! Thank you so much for reading, I’m so sorry for the delay! I just wanted to try this ending instead, I really, really hope you don’t hate it. As always, if you want to see the finale, please comment and reblog! Love you all!!!

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x black!reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow x black reader #sorry for the wait

148 notes · View notes

undead-supernova · 4 months

Text

I'll Pay the Price, You Won't.

Miss Heartbreak

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3

Masterlist

This chapter is based off of Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince by Taylor Swift and I'm starting to realize just how in deep I am in the lore and storytelling of her music. See if you can find my easter eggs, hm?

plot: no cameras catch my muffled cries...you are the only one who seems to care...this is a fight that some day we're gonna win

Pairings: modernrockstar!Eddie x fem!popstar!Reader (curvy!reader, bisexual!reader)

Warnings: slut shaming, body image insecurities, public shaming, crying

easter egg count: 43

wc: 5.3k

When you first realized you were in love with him, it was a Saturday night. You weren’t even with him. In fact, you were at a house party with some of your best friends. They weren’t famous—these three girls were in college, just the way you should’ve been. You’d met them at a dive bar in Pittsburg while touring.

There was a distinct memory of watching these girls walk in, talking about their English courses and the ten-page research papers on the feminist lens of the works of Octavia Butler, rape culture in a novel called Waiting for the Barbarians, and how the third girl was doing some deep dive into the coded lesbianism in Gertrude Stein’s Tender Buttons. You approached them, desperate to know more about their class. Their studies. Their college experiences.

Desperate to know more about the life you gave away when your career blew up three days before moving into your dorm room.

They knew who you were, but they didn’t care to squeal or ask for pictures. Instead, they motioned for you to join them and started to complain about their shared Rhetorical Analysis class. And after a few Fireball shots, some poor attempts at karaoke, and loud debates about Jane Austen and Emily Brontë that nearly got you kicked out, you were solidified.

But there you were, at a college house party after flying out just to see them. You were in drastically different makeup than you were used to. In short, you were basically in Eddie Munson cosplay. Your friends had dressed you up, giggling and adding more charcoal eye shadow than you desired. Becky, Mary, and Este swore it would make you feel better. That you’d dance the night away without a care in the world.

But the couch was where you stayed the whole night, a mimosa (filled with more prosecco than orange juice) in your hands as you watched life exist around you. You were pretending to be a normal twenty-two year old girl. You were pretending that you could have love affairs with anyone you wanted to and if your heart got broken every single time, it wouldn’t be such a big deal to anyone outside of your friends that loved you.

And he would be there, too.

With your head to rest on his shoulder, listening to him talk about his Dungeons and Dragons game he hosted with the rest of the band when they were tucked away in hotel rooms. They were too big to go out without everyone and their mother following them, so they found a way to escape.

(People thought they did drugs and partied. And, at the start of the band, they did. Eddie had told you about having a coke problem in the beginning and Gareth, Jeff, and Grant trashing hotel rooms. Ronnie getting the cops called on her house regularly for the outrageous parties she hosted. But it died out after about a year when they realized how tiring it was to just be on all the time. They went to parties sometimes, but now they really looked forward to smoking a few joints and playing a fantasy game.)

In this fictional scenario, they’d congregate in the communal rooms at their dorm. They’d buy a few pizzas and beer, remembering to get the garlic twists of course, and play for six hours.

And you would lean over to his ear, brushing your lips against his ear and say, “I’m in love with you.”

As soon as it fell into your imagination, you were startled to the point of springing up and running to the bathroom, hyperventilating in the mirror. The rest of your night had been spent with your friends cuddling you in their shared apartment until you could calm down.

“It’s too soon for this!” you exclaimed. “It’s too soon for me to fall in love.”

They said that it was fine. That you were allowed to love him. That the chance at love was worth the bullshit. You could survive this, even if he didn’t feel the same. Maybe you would be able to connect better if you just told him how you felt.

But this was only a month after you started seeing each other.

Only a week before you two were caught in public together.

Only a week before the whole world had an opinion.

“I can’t believe we’re out at a restaurant in Manhattan of all places.”

“On a date,” he noted.

“On a date.”

“Oh, and happy four-month anniversary,” he said while holding up his piece of bread, leaning over to tap yours with it.

“Ah, yes. How could I forget?” you teased before stuffing the slice in your mouth, closing your eyes as you became overwhelmingly calmed by the taste of butter melting on your tongue.

It was super late on a Saturday, one of the only times you could get away with having a private dinner without the threat of paparazzi and lingering glances. You felt fancy, with a sparkly silver dress on, all short with thin straps and a small slit at the thigh. Tall, sparkly silver heels that made you nearly the same height as him. A fluffy pink faux fur coat sitting on the back of the chair (that Eddie had spent the whole drive here running his hands through). Pink nails to match, already chipped from your nervous picking.

Eddie was dressed beautifully, wearing a silk white button down. Simple black blazer and slacks. His signature boots. Those rings. That necklace. Hair up in a bun with bangs and stray hairs framing his face. The only real nontraditional part of his ensemble was a thin layer of black eyeliner adorning his eyelids and waterline, with mascara to match.

Oh, and a coat of lipgloss, lipgloss that he borrowed from you, that was now lining the rim of his wine glass.

“Do you like it?” he asked. “The wine, I mean.”

You looked down at the burgundy liquid you were absentmindedly swirling. You had no clue what that did for the drink or if it was just to look fancy, but it was something you saw your parents do growing up. You decided to take a crack at being an adult tonight, just to see how it felt.

“Yeah, it’s nice. Thank you.”

He nodded, but you could tell that he was still nervous about the whole thing. You couldn’t blame him. Being out for an official date together in the heart of a city with nearly nine million people who could ruin it at any second was quite a heavy burden. There was a part of you that feared that you had become a burden in the last four months.

Enough of that, you tried to tell yourself.

“However,” you added. “I do have to confess that I have absolutely no clue what the difference is between this and the stuff I get at the grocery store.”

Eddie let out a sigh and a breathy laugh. You wondered how long he’d been holding it in. “Well, that’s a relief because I was literally sitting here thinking the exact same thing.”

You couldn’t help but giggle. “Are you serious?”

He kept laughing. “Yes! I thought I was the only one!”

“No, this is literally exactly how I feel whenever I have dinner with some of the label execs,” you exclaimed. “They order all this like crazy expensive wine, and I have to just sit there and be like,” you raised the pitch of your voice, “Oh, wow. This is sooo cool. So good. What year is it? That must cost a fortune.”

Eddie nodded. “Me, too! And it’s like: Dude, seriously? I could get shit I like better than this at, like, Trader Joe’s or Target. Fuck, even Walmart.”

You giggled as you continued to nod with him. “Yes, yes, yes! I genuinely don’t get it. Everyone is so pretentious, I swear.”

“I wholeheartedly agree.” Eddie raised his glass. “Fuck ‘em.”

You grinned. “Fuck ‘em!” you agreed, clinking your glass with his before you took a hearty sip. Finally took a second glance around the room.

“I really thought there’d be more people here,” you observed. “Isn’t this, like, a popular restaurant? I hear celebs love this place.”

“I maaaay have bought out the empty tables,” Eddie admitted, looking sheepish. “I didn’t want our first official date to be bombarded with people we know or even ones we don’t. I wanted to make sure I could focus.”

A grin met your lips. “You’re a sweetheart, you know that?”

“That’s you, baby. That’s all you.”

The playful dinner conversation continued with a whole three course meal plus dessert. You came alive in public for once, talking in silly voices and laughing as loud as you wanted. Like you were best friends. Like you were lovers. Holding Eddie’s hand at the table without having to worry about cell phones. No one here was able to take away what was yours.

Despite feeling full, you couldn’t help but nibble on some more of the bread. Your personal trainer, Mary, forbid you from eating any while you were gearing up for another album release and tour. But you were starting to care a little bit less. And she wasn’t here. Eddie was, pushing the basket towards you.

But then the strangest thing happened as the waiter took your dinner plate.

As he turned to leave, you looked past him and saw that the other five occupied tables in the restaurant were…staring. And…so were their waiters? Had everyone finally started staring or were you only now noticing? But you would’ve noticed before…

They were all looking from their phones to you and then back again. The hushed whispers were getting a bit louder, even catching Eddie’s ears. He turned his head to look but was distracted when his phone started ringing.

Gareth.

“Take it,” you encouraged. Eddie raised an eyebrow. “It’s probably important.”

He nodded. “Hey,” he said as he answered. “No, I’m on an incredibly important date, remember?”

As you spread butter over the last slice, you couldn’t help but giggle when Eddie looked up at you with a quick wink and a smile meant only for you.

But then his eyebrows narrowed.

“What’re you doing watching cable?”

And a part of you wished you could hear the other side of the conversation when you watched Eddie’s neutral expression falling into anger.

“They what?”

“It’s fucking SNL. They haven’t had a good run in years. I don’t think anyone even watches—”

You noticed him get cut off before shaking his head.

“What? Why the fuck do people care?”

“Fuck…yeah, okay… Sure, whatever…” He sighed, pinching his nose in frustration. “No, I’m not mad at you. Promise… I’m sorry for being a dick. I just hate people, I swear…” A quick nod. “Thanks for understanding and letting me know. Love you, dude. Okay, talk later.”

“What’s wrong?” you asked as he immediately started searching for something on his phone. “Is everything okay?”

Eddie paused, looking away from his phone to bring his attention back to you.

His expression held something resembling an apology.

“The guys are watching TV back at the hotel and, uh, they were watching SNL…”

“Okay?”

“Apparently they did a skit about you.”

Your stomach dropped as you let his words sink in.

It was one thing to have random people on the internet give you shit. It was another thing entirely for a long-running, highly known television show to have grown adults portray you and spend four to six minutes making fun of you. Especially when you’d performed there merely two months ago.

“Is it…” you trailed, almost unable to speak.

“Yeah,” Eddie said. “Yeah, it’s bad.”

“It’s on YouTube already?” He nodded. “Let me see.”

“Are you sure you want to watch it?”

You nodded. “I should know what’s going on. Everyone’s already staring at us,” you stated, gesturing behind him.

When Eddie looked back at every nameless face watching you, every single person looked away. Like he commanded the room with his presence. Like he had the power to change the world with just one stare.

He had changed your world with just one glance.

Sighing, Eddie clicked on the video, holding it between you two on the table.

“I decided to go on The Bachelorette to prove that I haven't dated everyone,” a woman said with a huge grin, mimicking the way you smiled. "And to get new inspiration because I need to sell my next album. I'm sure this will be fun."

Some new addition to the cast tried to imitate your posture. Your voice. Your everything. She was acting like you were some ditsy girl. Did people really think of you like this? Is this how the cast and crew saw you when you were there?

A fake announcer's voice said, “Here are the men and women chosen for tonight.”

The woman impersonating you smiled even wider in a comedic fashion, making fun of the way you, what, didn't ever give a negative reaction? The camera turned to watch everyone file in.

The different men and women of the SNL cast rotated, pretending to be people you’d allegedly been with. But most of them were wrong. When you were rumored to be dating these people, friend or not, they left, either from wanting that clout or being unable to handle the noise. All you had wanted were real friendships, real relationships. But being burnt at the stake came with the possibility of flammable embers.

One after the other, impression after impression, they were reminding you of everyone you’d lost.

And was that Jacob Elordi pretending to be…Christopher Briney?

(You met Christopher once at the Emmy’s, having taken one fucking photo together before he was whisked away by his team. At the time, you had only wished he would notice you before he got a girlfriend…)

“We're missing one guy...where is he?” the announcer said.

Mikey Day popped in with a smoke machine behind him and some copyright free rock music playing, wearing a curly wig and pretending to be Eddie. The audience lost their minds, erupting in applause and laughter at the sheer mention of him. He was immediately stereotyped as a punk stoner who only pretended to listen to you talk while playing his guitar.

“Hey, babe,” he said, trying to mimic Eddie’s voice. “What’s up?”

You looked over at the real Eddie who looked less than impressed. Less than affected by someone trying to make fun of him. You wished you could say the same for yourself.

“I CHOOSE HIM FOR MY NEXT ALBUM!” the woman shouted before ripping up the roses and walking over. However, she turned and pointed at the others. "Save them for me in case I get bored.”

As she grabbed onto "Eddie's" arm and professed her love, it was clear that he wasn't paying attention. "Are you even listening to me?" she shouted.

“Nah, baaabe,” he said and then realized his “mistake”. Cue laughter. “I’m totes paying attention.” Laughter. “Just practicing this sick riff for the band.” He raised his guitar before turning it the other way. “Does it look cool this way, babe?” Laughter ensued as he pretended to play his guitar right-handed. “Do I look metal as hell?”

“Totally, babe,” the woman said, giggling. “You’re so hot.”

“Ah, babe, thanks. I know it’s been three minutes but this is forever, babe.”

When the skit ended, Eddie turned it off and shoved his phone in his pocket.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry—”

“It’s okay,” you said, trying to tell yourself more than him. “It’s okay. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Did anyone see what was happening? That this was starting to get out of hand? It was like nobody gave a shit, nobody cared that you were human. Yes, you were privileged and had money, you knew that. You grew up fucking poor, hit even worse with the 2008 recession, hardly ever recovering.

You always acknowledged your privilege, always made it a point to give it away to people who needed it more than you. Provided for your family so your parents didn’t have to go back to working at the sawmill and being fucking tour guides for next to nothing at Graceland. (The fucking irony.) Donated constantly to animal shelters, women’s shelters, LGBTQIA+ youth organizations, etc. etc.

But no one would know any of that because you kept that secret. Kept it hidden to be the face of your label, with a shiny pageant smile. You were now the punching bag, the reflection of society that every YouTuber did deep dives on and now SNL was taking a shot at.

When would it end?

“Are you?” Eddie asked, causing you to come out of the fog. “‘Cause your hands are shaking.”

You looked down, realizing he was right. “I—”

Before you could say anything, your own phone buzzed. Looking down, you noticed a text from Becky. It was a link to a video on Twitter or X or whatever the fuck it was called now. Her text read,

Look how delusional the internet is. I don’t care about this crap but I wanted to make sure you knew what was going on before you got bamboozled or something. Also, fuck that SNL skit. Love you.

“There’s more,” you murmured, looking up at Eddie’s concerned expression.

“Fuck.”

He stood up immediately and pulled over the chair next to you. He sat and leaned in, just as deep into this as you were. You didn’t hesitate to click on the link. It was just another band-aid to rip off anyways.

The caption said:

are gareth ronnie and grant next? lmao eddie shouldn’t have gone anywhere near her. the vibes are soooo off

You heard Eddie scoff as he read it.

The video attached was of you and Jeff walking around New York City that very morning, laughing together. You nudged his arm, animatedly talking.

You knew what had happened, distinctly remembering that the conversation was about Eddie. Jeff had been teasing you, telling you that he knew you were disgustingly in love with him and that you needed to just say it before you lost your minds. You thought it was funny, so you jokingly nudged his arm and pretended to threaten violence. That was it. Nothing else happened.

“No!” you exclaimed, wild-eyed as you turned to Eddie. “No, Jeff and I went to get this chocolate mousse at this little bistro we both like. We told you before we left, remember? I swear it was the truth. We were literally talking about you. Eddie, I—”

“It’s all good, sweetheart,” Eddie interrupted, kissing your temple four times. “Don’t worry about it, okay? It’s okay. I believe you. I know you’d never do anything like that.” You felt yourself breathe again. “Besides, Jeff has a crush on our tech manager anyways.”

That made you chuckle for a second, but you felt yourself deflate, putting a hand on your forehead as tears trickled down your cheeks. “I’m scared. I don’t like this, Eddie.”

“Me neither.”

Before you could say anything else, your waiter was approaching the table.

“Is there anything else I can get for you?” the waiter asked, hands politely clasped in front of him. You avoided his gaze, embarrassment flooding your system. There was something irrational telling you that he would tell the internet about your breakdown, expose you for your reaction.

But when you glanced at him, he actually looked…concerned.

“Yeah, could we get the check, please?” Eddie asked in a hushed voice, running his fingers down your back. “We’re gonna need a minute, but I just wanna get that out of the way.”

“Of course, Mr. Munson.” he responded before turning to you. “I can take that plate for you if you’d like?”

“Oh, yes, sorry,” you said, sniffling.

Without thinking, you moved your hand to grab your bread plate, accidentally knocking your glass on the table. You watched as the wine seeped into the white cloth, staining the fabric.

Eddie was quick to grab the glass before it shattered on the floor.

“Oh, shit,” you muttered, taking your napkin and trying to blot the stain. You kept glancing up at the waiter through your tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. That’s so rude of me. I’m so sorry.”

The waiter shook his head. “It’s okay, ma’am. We have a hundred more in the back. This happens all the time.”

“Here,” you said, shaking your head as you rummaged through your purse. When you found your wad of cash, you handed him a one-hundred-dollar bill. “Take this. For you, not the restaurant. I’m so sorry.”

He gaped at you, looking down at the bill before looking back up. “Um, thank you,” he said, breaking his customer service voice before taking the cash from you. “I’ll get everything sorted for you right away.”

“Sweetheart.”

“I want to leave,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Can we leave?”

You looked over at Eddie who was already standing and grabbing your coat.

“Yeah, baby,” he said softly. “I’ll pay up front. Come on, let’s go.”

But it wasn’t really going to be that simple, was it?

As soon as you reached the front doors, James and Scott, your personal bodyguard, were stopping you.

“Guys, uh, we got a situation,” Scott said, mainly looking at you.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

“There’s a fuck ton of paparazzi out there.”

“And that’s the only way we can get to the car,” James added.

You wanted to look at Eddie, but you didn’t want him knowing just how scared you were. He was so stoic and strong, always being able to shrug everything off. It was like he was born for this.

Maybe you weren’t.

“Okay,” Eddie said, putting his shoulders back before grabbing your hand. His grasp was firm with a gentle squeeze that left your heart soaring despite the fear. He nudged your arm, causing you to look up. “Ready, sweetheart?”

You nodded, looking back at James and Scott, tear stains still adorning your cheeks. “I’m ready. Let’s do this.”

A gasp left your mouth as the doors opened and a swarm of people with cameras crowded around you. Flashes and red recording lights and cell phones. Screams, gasps. Some fans tried to catch your attention the best they could, but their voices were drowned out by the incessant vultures. James and Scott were on either side of you, pushing people out of the way.

But it did nothing. It only sprung more tears.

Paparazzi shouted your name. Shouted Eddie’s.

“What did you think of the SNL skit?”

“Any comment on the cheating allegations?”

“Is this thing between you serious?”

They were all variations of the same thing.

Except for one voice that stood out from the rest.

“Hey, why are you crying?”

You turned, seeing a teenage girl who looked barely fourteen, maybe fifteen, with rainbow braces and friendship bracelets in her hand. She stood next to who you presumed to be her mother, over by the curb. Set apart from the hive.

Despite your better judgment, you nudged Scott and walked over to her quickly.

“I want to talk to her,” you told him loudly, disconnecting your hand from Eddie’s.

Scott nodded. “You got maybe a minute and a half before things get buckwild.”

“She’s got this,” Eddie said. You looked at him and smiled.

Thank you, you mouthed before rushing over to the girl.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Just got a lot going on, hun,” you said softly, trying to smile but your tears clouded your vision. Your only hope was that the sight wouldn’t scar her for the rest of her life. “What’s your name?”

“Caroline,” she said before handing you the bracelets. “I made these for you.”

Her mom placed a hand on your shoulder, causing you to look up. “She’s been keeping them with her just in case she ever saw you in the city. She’s a big, big fan.”

You could only try to smile again, studying the colors Caroline chose to represent your last few albums. Light blue to represent your self-titled album. A soft sage for your second, “Tetris”. Sparkling gold for your last album, “Acacia My Dear”. There were even one or two that had references to inside jokes shared between you and the fans.

“These are beautiful,” you told her, immediately rolling them onto your wrist. “Thank you so much, Caroline.”

“Could I get a picture of you two?” her mom asked.

“Hey,” Scott interrupted. “Sorry, we gotta cut this short. They’re pressin’ in on us.”

You nodded, looking back at Caroline. “Thank you so much, Caroline. This means everything to me,” you said honestly. Without thought, you gave her a tight hug. “You just made everything better,” you whispered in her ear.

When you pulled back, her mom grabbed your hand. “You’re doing great things,” she said, softly squeezing your hand. “Don’t let those bastards win.”

Before you could even process her words or thank her, Scott was pulling you back to Eddie. Scott seemed a little softer, blonde hair still peppering with gray. He was from Tennessee, like you, his accent just noticeable enough to give him away. James seemed to contrast him, with thick muscles, frown lines across his forehead, and a bald head. Oh, and did you mention that he was a hardass from Ireland?

Your grasp on Eddie’s hand tightened with every passing second before you were finally enclosed in the confines of the black van.

The walk to the car was only, what, two minutes? Three?

But it felt like forever.

The waterworks continued, wracking your body with sobs you didn’t realize were just brewing behind the façade you were able to put up on any given occasion.

Scott took the driver’s seat while James took shotgun. You could just barely make out what they were whispering.

“Fucking vampires, the lot of ‘em,” James said, shaking his head.

“Them two deserve better,” Scott replied. “They’re just fucking kids.”

Eddie pulled you into his side, making sure you were hidden from any and all intrusion even if the windows were severely tinted.

You had an urge, however miniscule it felt, to go on your Instagram story and be bitter about it. Tell SNL to fuck off and remind them how sexist and gross it was to put you in a sketch just to make fun of your dating history when there were men around you who ran through women like sport and talked about them like each one was a momentary fad.

But you knew what would happen. You would be considered overreacting. You’d be a woman scorned and laughed at for caring so much despite the rest of the fucking internet seeming to care more.

So, you did nothing. Said nothing.

You merely curled yourself further into Eddie and fought the urge to have a mental breakdown.

“We’re getting out of the city,” he whispered. “Back to your place.”

“It’s a long drive,” you mumbled.

“I don’t mind. Really. We made the drive out here, remember?” Eddie shook his head. “Speaking of, I’m sorry. I should’ve chosen somewhere more secluded.”

“You shouldn’t have to. We shouldn’t have to.”

He leaned back, tilting your chin up to make eye contact with you. “I want you to feel safe.”

“But I want us to be normal people going to a normal restaurant and have a normal date.”

“We’ll win this fight, okay?” he said, tracing his thumb along your cheeks as the tears came and went. “They have to get bored soon enough, yeah? TikTok will move on to its next viral bullshit anytime now. We just have to wait it out.”

“It’ll just go away?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.” Both you and Eddie let out a sigh. “Listen, okay? Just listen to me. We’ll figure this out. I’ll tell the world to fuck off. Just give me the word and I’ll do it.”

“That’ll just egg them on.”

He kissed your wet cheek. Pulling back, you could see the color return to his face as he smiled. “I could always pull an Ozzy.”

That got a giggle out of you, a few snot bubbles awkwardly falling down your lips. Eddie didn’t mind, simply grabbing a tissue to help wipe it away.

“Absolutely do not do that,” you said with a sigh, grabbing another one.

“Then I won’t. But I’m here in front of you. I want you. I need you.”

You nodded, your eyes glassy and wild as you tried to stop crying.

“Alright, babe?” he exaggerated, imitating Mikey Day. “I’m metal as hell, babe.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. It was ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. You looked up at him, watching a playful grin meet his lips.

“Oh, yeah, babe,” you played along, still wiping your tears. “You’re sooooo hot, babe.”

Eddie nearly suffocated you with another hug, rapidly kissing the top of your head. You couldn’t help but giggle again, feeling some weight lifting off of you. For the first time, you had someone in your life who was blocking out the noise.

“You know, the jokes aren’t even funny,” he said. “I don’t know why they’re making fun of a right-handed guitar. Jimi Hendrix had one and that guy’s a legend.”

“I think the point was to make you look dumb by playing it upside down.”

“Mmmm, I don’t think so, babe,” he teased. “I’m, like, sooooo smart.”

“You’re soooo right, babe.” “Okay, I’m cutting us off. I just know we won’t stop talking like this.”

The laughter died out, silence ensuing. Eddie was fiddling with your bracelets, his touch settling the storm in your stomach.

“Why did you walk over to that girl?”

You thought about her, Caroline, and how she was the only one outside to ask if you were okay. All she wanted was to give you bracelets. Had been keeping them with her just in case she ever saw you. Fuck, if that wasn’t one of the most shocking things you’d ever heard from a fan. It was kind. And when she did see you, she cared more about how you were feeling.

“She asked me why I was crying,” you said. “She actually cared. It meant something to me.”

“You really love the fans, don’t you?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

The night seemed to settle into comfortable silliness, ending with pints of Ben & Jerry’s and the start of another TV show for you two to binge. You settled into his side with fuzzy socks and old pajamas from before all of the bullshit ensued. They were probably ten years old, from the thrift store down the street from your childhood home. The hand-me-downs that never seemed to get holes, the ones that always seemed to save you from the brink of madness.

Eddie was donning a similar outfit, just with a few holes here and there. Baseball tee with a logo for his old D&D group, Hellfire Club, back in high school. Some of the lines were starting to crack, the red fading into something nearly blood orange.

It was comforting to know that Eddie was able to shrug it all off. That he was able to guide you through this fear and loathing. But some part of you wondered how long that could last. All the heat and dismissal and scrutiny and humiliation. All the assumptions and poking.

Because if he wanted to do this, if he was in it for the long haul, this was going to be how it was for the rest of your careers, for the rest of your lives. He wasn’t going to be able to shrug everything off. What happens when he’s poked at? When he’s the one in your shoes?

And as you laid there at 2am with Eddie fast asleep next to you, you were starting to wonder about yourself. Because if you wanted to do this, if you wanted to follow wherever he led, you were going to have to endure. Watching him sleeping soundly, you couldn’t help but wonder how long you could last.

#Eddie munson #Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst #modern!eddie munson #modern!eddie x reader #Eddie Munson x female reader #boyfriend!eddie munson

70 notes · View notes

starphasedd · 2 years

Text

Egon

(Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader)

Rating: 18 + for violence and explicit smut.

Synopsis: A small confession leads to something completely unexpected.

Notes: As promised!! I'm super proud of this guys! I think I captured Simon quite nicely. I am new to the fandom, and still reading lore. Feel free to correct me on anything you see wrong. Egon is actually the codename for my OC Ema 'Egon' Swann. This fic started with her, but as to not be selfish, I made it more inclusive by changing it to the reader perspective! I hope you enjoy!!

Word count: 8k+

AO3

Egon.

German, by nature. Meaning "strong with the wind"

That was the nickname the men of task force 141 gave you.

They had many reasons for this name. You were fast–agile on your feet. Small and clean. It was hard for any enemy to catch you, or even see you coming. You were strong too, for a woman of your size. You could easily take down a man twice your size with the techniques you studied and used over the years. But their main reason for giving you this nickname was for your sharpshooter skills. No matter the conditions, you always made your shot. Rain, thunder, wind. You never missed. No outlying factor kept you from doing your job.

That's what gained you the respect of task force 141.

You've known these men for a while, having been asked to join the team just over two years ago. In that time, you got to learn the boys well. All of them respected you and treated you as their equal–something you worked so hard for. Being a woman in this field of work is challenging, even for some of the strongest ladies you know. That didn't stop you from doing your job–which impressed Price when he worked with you on a mission before he asked you to join the team.

It was a mission in New York City, where you were a part of the NYPD task force. The lead was mafia related and Price's team was called in to assist. Your captain at the time knew it was a risky job, and he needed devoted and dangerous men to help him take their leader down. You along with a couple of your own comrades fought side-by-side task force 141 and pushed through a successful mission.

Everything after that is history. You left with Price and his team, never looking back.

These men are your family now, and you love every single one of them in your own way. Price and Gaz keep to themselves most of the time– Soap is the one you'd definitely call 'brother'. You and him have the best dynamic. He's goofy and chill, and you adore that about him. Inherently with him comes his Lieutenant, Ghost. A man you haven't really been able to get a read on since you met him those couple years ago. Yes, of course, it's mainly to do with the fact that he wears that damn mask twenty-four-seven. But he also isn't the most personable guy. He speaks when he needs to, and fights when he has to--but he hasn't really gone out of his way to get to know you–even though you and Soap are practically attached at the hip.

Being close to Soap means he typically picks you to go along with him and Ghost on missions. Which you don't mind. When the three of you get split up, the commlink keeps you all close, figuratively.

One of the things you and Soap bonded over was your mutual adoration of music. You didn't have the best childhood, and music was your escape. It appeared Soap used music to his comfort as well. So, when you're on missions but split apart, Soap keeps in your ear either spatting off random lyrics of songs, or requesting you sing to him. Much to Ghost's dismay–who has to listen to you two banter about why you don't like country music, or why Soap can remember so many random lyrics. Ghost keeps quiet, and you wonder if you get on his nerves. He's the type of guy to speak his mind and the fact that he hasn't said anything yet suggests he may…be okay with it? Who knows with that man.

Ghost keeps close, but far away at the same time. He treated you like an equal, and always made sure he had your six. The same thing goes for you. Granted, the giant, pure muscle of a man never really needed your help. You were always there for him. Over time, he seemed to soften on you. He would use your real name on occasion. He got worried sometimes when you didn't answer his comms right away and would scold you once you were all back together.

'Fuck woman, answer the bloody comms when your superior asks for your status.' He would gruff in that deep British baritone.

You would never admit it, but something about that man set your body on fire. His size, his voice, his attitude. Fuck, his attitude alone. He exudes confidence and experience without being cocky. There's nothing quite like a confident man–a man who knows what he wants and can take it whenever he wants….but doesn’t. He was always looming over your shoulder, watching you intently through the holes in his mask. Soap would comment on it every now and then, making fun of the Lieutenant for not being able to keep his eyes off you for a moment. You didn't think it was that serious–you convinced yourself he was just watching you for your own safety. As any good teammate would.

But then the subtle touches started. You would feel his large hand splaying over your lower back as he walked beside you up the copter ramp, almost as if he was guiding you. Of course it never happened if someone was around to see it—he made sure of it. But it would happen more frequently. They were genuine, and gentle touches. And completely innocent. Being a woman, you had an intuition for men's intentions–since you dealt with them your entire life. Ghost never set any alarms off. You always felt safe with him.

You trusted him with your life, and you hoped he felt the same about you.

He was cold and calculating—mysterious and quiet. Though he showed those small, intimate minstations to you and you alone, you tried not to think too much into it. Ridding yourself of the disappointment before it reared its ugly head. You often thought about what he looked like under that mask. You've seen his eyes countless times. They were brown like freshly ground coffee. He had blonde eyelashes that stuck out amongst the black paint he smeared right there. He had a strong, chiseled jawline. Sometimes you can see a few prominent veins through his mask when he tightens it. His neck is strong and thick, no doubt riddled with scars from his many years slaughtering men.

You imagined what his body looked like too. He's a big man, standing almost an entire foot taller than you. He had thick, broad shoulders and a puffy, muscular chest. Even when he wore one hundred pounds of gear, you could still see how fit he was. His waist was thin and strong, he had a certain swagger when he walked that always caught your eye. His forearms almost looked fat, they were so fucking thick with muscle. He was covered in huge protruding veins on both arms–they were even visible on the arm that was covered in tattoos. And his hands always made you blush. They were twice the size of yours, and you spent many occasions watching his big fingers work the trigger on his guns like a thread. He was nimble, and agile there.

You wondered what they would feel like–if they would grip your throat with delicacy or fierceness. If they would roam down your neck and swallow your breasts in a warm squeeze. If they would trail your curves all the way down to your ass and nead the soft, pillowy flesh there. If they would tease you–circling around that sensitive bundle of nerves until you were weeping for him. If they would pump you, fill and stretch you out until you were ready for his cock. Or would he even give you that decency and instead, take you unprepared in a hot, lustful frenzy?

It's all human nature, you suppose. It's natural for a woman to be sexually attracted to a protector like Ghost. It goes back thousands of years–it's all instinct. That's what you tell yourself after you cum on your hand thinking about your Lieutenant. When that wave of unfiltered shame and guilt rushes over you following your high.

_______

"Egon, how copy?" Comes that familiar gruffy voice.

You jump slightly, shuddering out of your thoughts as you neel against the abandoned brick building. Your rifle in your left hand, fingers tight on the trigger.

"Jesus, Lieutenant–awaiting target. No eyes yet." You grunt out, face heating up in embarrassment. He always knew when to catch you off guard.

"Eyes on the prize, sergeant. Stay focused."

You scoff, eyes rolling as you adjust your stance slightly. It's dark, the only light you have to use coming from old, orange colored lamps hanging from the buildings. To top that off, it's been raining all day so it's doubly hard to see far in the distance. Even with a scope.

"Easy for you to say, Lieutenant. I'm out here freezing my ass off and you're inside a nice warm building." You mumble into the mic.

"Punishment for not listening to your superior."

"Bite me." You retort.

No response. You grin. Any opportunity you get to fight back at the Lieutenant scolding you, you'll take.

A few minutes in silence go by as you wait patiently for your target to come into view. You have a black mask covering the bottom half of your face, leaving only your eyes and forehead exposed. A heavy leather hood covers your hair. Soft pelts of rain dropping keep you focused in the moment. Your tactical boots are worn and wet, holes from misuse letting water in to soak your socks. The harness tied around your waist and thighs is digging into your pants, which are rubbing and chafing your skin. Your back hurts from being on your feet all day, and your head is pounding. You usually get headaches when it rains. You are so fucking ready for this day to be over.

You stay steadfast nonetheless. Eyes focused on the door the target will be coming out of.

A few more minutes go by in silence when you hear the comm start to buzz, indicating someone was about to speak.

"Why can't orphans play baseball?"

You can't help the cheeky grin that creeps its way upon your face.

"Why?" You ask.

"They don't know where home is."

"Ghost," You say with a huff, attempting to hide the laugh trying to claw its way out of your throat. "Shut the fuck up."

"It's inappropriate to speak to your superior that way."

"Sorry, let me rephrase. Shut the fuck up, sir."

"Better."

You grin, holding the butt of your rifle up to your cheek in anticipation. Your finger reaches up and you adjust the scope. You close your left eye and squint your right as you look through the glass. You hadn't realized you never turned off your mic when Ghost crimes in again.

"Control your breathing, Sergeant. It'll help you focus better."

Your breath catches in your throat the moment is deep voice comes through the ear piece. Was the bastard really listening to you breath this whole time? Your tongue slides over your bottom lip, moistening the smooth skin there. You let a long breath come out before slowly breathing back in, reducing your heart rate. With your breath now cool and even, you sink back into the task at hand.

"Atta girl." Ghost whispers in that english accent, his voice sending a wave of chills down your spine.

Your chest pulls tight at his encouraging words, and if you hadn't been so focused on the door in front of you, you may have retorted something flirty back. But just as you were about the touch the communicator, the door in your sights swings open. You pause and hunch down impossibly lower as a tall man, accompanied by three other men stumble out of the building. You're so low now your chest could practically touch your boots. Your back is arched and steady, fingers itching to pull the trigger as you search for the man you have a description of.

The rain is starting to pick up now, thunder rocketing through the air as lightning snaps to the ground in the distance. Your breathing is steady and firm, flowing visible streams in front of your face as the chill in the air makes you shiver.

You're so focused on identifying the target in front of you that you don't hear the footsteps approach you from behind. They're quiet, trained and quick. You lock eyes on the target. A tall, skinny man. He has long, curly blonde hair that flows just past his shoulders. The identifying marker is a scar on the left side of his face. It's long–stretching from the bottom of his jaw all the way up and over his eye. It stops just above his eyebrow.

Rain is starting to smear over the scope lense, making it increasingly difficult to see the taget. After a moment, you lick your lips away, your pointer finger hones down on the trigger and starts to stretch it down. The man across the way reaches down for the door handle on the SVU next to him. You take one final breath in and hold, steady and true. Your finger pulls down, emitting a loud pop in your ear. It's quick, and the target immediately falls to the ground. Not a word, not a sound. Silence as his body hits the cold, wet concrete. The men around him start to panic and pull their guns out, rapidly stomping around in circles to try and spot where the bullet came from.

One turns in your direction. He doesn't see you, but starts running in your direction. You cock back and lift on your feet. You stand to almost your full height, knees slightly bent. You pull the trigger again. The second victim drops to the ground with a loud and painful grunt. At this point, you've given yourself away. Blood rushes through your ears as the two other men start sprinting in your direction. You slowly start to back up, cocking back yet again to let another bullet fly. Bullseye–a direct hit to another man's head. Your focus now remains on the last man standing who has gone into a hiding stance. You stand up fully and start to turn. When you do, you hear the sound of another rifle going off. Blood splatters across your face as a man–whom you had no idea was directly behind you–falls against the brick wall and his lifeless body slides down.

You gasp softly at the sight–having had absolutely no clue the man was behind you getting ready to attack. You look around quickly, trying to locate where the shot came from when Ghost's voice comes through the headset.

"Thought you knew better, sergeant."

Your breathing is heavy as you look up at the building across the street. On the fourth floor, Ghost moves forward to reveal himself through the window. The bone part of his mask almost lights up as he positions his rifle and shoots the last of the men on the street. He looks down at you as he lowers his rifle. His massive body towering in the window. His eyes lock with yours as your chest heaves up and down. The hood on your jacket has fallen now, and rain is starting to soak your hair. It sticks to your cheeks and neck. The water soaks your face.

"Were you watching me?" You ask, slight irritation in your tone.

"Had I not been, you'd be dead."

You scoff, clenching your jaw and rolling your tongue in your mouth as you keep eye contact with him.

"Get down here. Let's go."

Embarrassment was evident in your tone, but you couldn't hide that from Ghost. You couldn't hide anything from a man with his experience. So you gave in and let it out.

Ghost was down in your area within a minute or so, and he approached you slowly.

It was still raining as you and Ghost started walking towards the safe house. It was a small cottage on the outskirts of this shitty little town. Price said there was a shower, and that's all you could ask for. You walk silently next to your superior, who hasn't looked at or spoken to you since he came down from the building. You keep your eyes forward and alert as your heavy boots slush through the wet streets.

"Have you heard from Soap?" You ask softly.

"Affirmative. He's on the other side of the city with Price and Gaz. They're at the other safehouse." He responded in that deep tone.

He's safe. A gentle sigh of relief left your lips as you continued your walk to the safehouse.

The walk there stays silent. With Ghost keeping close to your rear, he almost hovers over you but he's slow. Which is unusual for him. On occasion, you could have sworn you could hear his breathing. It was loud and sounded labored. You raised your voice a little at one point to ask if he was alright and grunted back at you. Something seemed off.

After a couple hours carefully trekking through the nearly flooded city, you made it to the safe house. It was pitch black, away from any city lights to give you away. It was a small, one room cottage. When you opened the door, you cleared the room with your rifle. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough to house the two of you until the morning. There was a small, two person bed, a run-down kitchen and a small, detached bathroom with holes in the door. It was filthy, but you were thankful to be out of the rain. You noticed a small fireplace that seemed clean enough to use.

You turn to Ghost, who is towering behind you. "I'll start a fire. You should try and get a hold of Price and let him know we're okay."

The large man grunted, and turned slowly in the direction on the bed. You watched his feet almost drag the floor. And when he sat down on the edge of the bed, you noticed him trying to conceal the hand that was holding his side.

You watch him for a few moments before turning your attention to the fire. It was starting to get cold. Worry about Ghost later so the both of you don't freeze to death here. Gathering what little kindling and firewood you could find, you begin to light the fire. First you pile in some pieces of wood you found here and there, and then you line the tower with what kindling you could find. Reaching into your soaked chest pocket, you pulled out the lighter you hoped wasn't flooded. And by some miracle, it wasn't. You easily ignited a small fire in the run-down fireplace.

Turning around, you glance over to see Ghost still sitting with his hand on his side. His hulking figure dips the mattress by a good bit.

"Fucking awful communicators." He grunts out before he rips the mic off his head.

"Not able to get a hold of Price, huh?" You say with a soft smile.

He shakes his head slowly. A grunt being his only response, again.

You stand from where you sit, starting to pull your weapons and gear off. Your weapons come first. You gently set the rifle up against the wall, and place your handguns beside them. Knives get stuck in a pile next to the handguns. You reach around to unstrap your vest, pulling it off your shoulders. It drops to the floor with a thud, which grabs Ghost's attention. Once your vest is off, you move to take your harness off. Ghost watches you through half lidded eyes. You prop one leg up on a grate for better access to the straps that trail from your waist, all the way down to your feet. Starting with the foot strap, you unclip the buckle. Your hands slide up your calves to your thighs, where the second set of straps dig into the skin there.

You quickly make way with those buckles and pull them down your legs. The last strap around your waist is easy. You stand and unclip the last buckle and let that strap fall to your feet. A relieved sigh leaves your lips as you turn to walk towards Ghost. He was still watching you, his hand holding his side. He hasn't moved–still sitting there uncomfortably, no doubt, in his full gear. You approach him slowly, hands hugging your hips as you test these waters.

"Let me see." You say gently as you stop directly in front of him. He's so big that he's still eye height with you, even sitting down.

"I'm fine." He grunts.

"Sir–"

"I said I'm fine. Tend to your own." He says.

"I just want to help, sir. "

He glances up at you through his mask. You're standing close–so close he can feel the heat radiating off your body. His eyes meet your face, his hand still hovering over the wound on his side.

"Do you trust me?" You ask gently.

He seems hesitant, no doubt unsure what he wants to do. But after a few moments of watching you, he lets the hand on his side slowly drop to his thigh. He breathes out slowly.

"Yes."

You take this moment to be bold for the first time with him. You suck a breath in and hold, slowly reaching forward and gliding your hands over his shoulders. They fall down his back to unstrap the back of his weapons vest. Your eyes bounce back and forth between his as your chest presses softly to the pack on the front of his body. You pull the straps up over his shoulders and let the best slide down his front, pulling it off and gently setting it down on the floor by his feet. Next, your nimble fingers work at the zipper on his jacket–pulling down until it unclips at the bottom. You run your hands over his shoulders again to pull the rain jacket off–setting it on the mattress next to him.

He looks bigger this way, which should be impossible. You just took eighty pounds of gear off his body but even now, in just his black pull-over hoodie and rain jacket, he looks bigger. His muscles are more defined. You can see the bulge of his strong pecs, the roundness of his arms.

You stand up to look at him once again.

"May I?" You ask softly.

He doesn't speak, but nods slowly.

You mind his permission and slowly grab the bottom of his hoodie, pulling it up and over his chest. What reveals is a nasty stab wound–about three inches long. Blood trails all the way down to his jeans. Most of it is dry, but some warm blood indicates it's still bleeding.

"Jesus wept. You were going to leave this unattended?" You ask, glancing up to meet his gaze.

He brings his hand up to hold his hoodie for you. You remove your hand and reach into the first aid kit attached to his utility belt. Pulling it open and starting to look through the supplies.

"I've had worse." He retorts with a snort.

You can't help but smile gently, looking at him through the corner of your eye as you rummage through his bandage pack.

"You're an idiot."

"I'll be sure to remember that when I'm doing your performance review."

"In that case, be sure to remember this. I want a raise." You say with a small laugh as you set some bandages down on his thigh.

"A raise? You can barely do what you're told now. Only good employees get raises." He retorts, you swear you can hear the grin on his mouth.

"I've never been one to respect authority." You say, a cheeky grin meeting his gaze as your hand brings a sanitary wipe to his wound.

"Fuckin' Americans."

You laugh out loud this time, hand gently gliding over his wound–cleaning it with the sanitary wipe. You take notice of his build. He's strong, thick and muscular. He has some chest hair, and some hairs that trail under his jeans. He's incredibly built as well–of course he is. You knew that. He was a huge man, and incredibly strong. There was no doubt in your mind he was sculpted to the heavens. His skin is littered with scars. Some range from as small as your fingernails, to the size of your fist. You wish you could touch them all, to ask their stories. How did he get this one? That one?

The little shack is quiet for a few more minutes as you finish cleaning and treating his wound. You take it slow so as to not cause him any discomfort. Something tells you he really doesn't care, but you do. His eyes watch you through the hole in the skull of his mask. The black eye paint makes his blue hues glow in the moonlight. Rain patters softly against the metal roof. Your hand glides smoothly over the patch you're placing over the stab wound. You flatten your palm to smooth it out as much as possible. His breathing is steady as it fans against your cheek. Your proximity to him right now may have been alarming if you didn't know him well.

He stays still, watching you as he holds the hoodie up over his chest. His gaze brings goosebumps to the back of your neck, making your hairs stand up. You feel the need to break this awkward silence.

"This scar looks like it was painful." You say ever so softly, your free hand coming down to the four inch scar on his abdomen. Your palm flattens and your thumb grazes it gently.

"They were all painful." He says, a hint of tease in his tone. His voice has softened considerably.

"Yeah? I wouldn't have guessed, sir." You say, eyes flashing up to meet his as your mouth pulls into a sweet smile again.

"Simon. No need to be formal when we're alone." He says, followed by your name. It rolled off his tongue with ease–like it was the most natural thing for him to say.

"Right. Simon–" you say softly. You're not pulling apart the last part of the bandage to stick it on top. "--how did you get this one?" You ask, pointing to another scar on one of his pecs.

"In the Military. My first deployment. This was one of the first." He says.

"I remember those days. I was eighteen when I joined the Marine Corp. Got a few scars myself. Though, they're more mental than anything." You say, bringing a hand up to tap the side of your head and smile. "Yours have more meaning behind them, I think."

"Rightfully ugly things." He says, his eyes now following your hands as they work to cover the rest of his wound.

"Not at all–" you say as you stop your movements. Your eyes meet his when he takes notice and lifts his head to see you. "--I find them endearing."

His eyes narrow slightly as he watches you–indicating he's unsure of the meaning behind your statement.

"I mean, they show your growth…as a man. You had to overcome each one of these–" you say as you move to continue wrapping his wound. "--they're all testaments to how strong you are. Mentally and physically. I don't find them ugly in the slightest."

Your hand stops moving as you've finally finished patching his wound. Standing up straight, you bring your eyes back to his. He slowly releases his hoodie to let it drop back down, but his eyes never once leave yours. He almost seems dumbfounded–at a loss for words. He just stares at you for a few moments before speaking.

"I don't understand." He says, almost a whisper.

"What's not to understand?" You ask.

His hands are laying on his thighs, but his fists are clenching and unclenching. He doesn't speak, so you take this chance to elaborate.

"Simon, I don't know much of your past. Well, anything about your past, really–" you say gently, your hands slowly glide up and test the waters, laying on top of his strong shoulders. "--I don't need to. I know the man you are now. Neither of us are perfect. But I do know that you're a good man, who will always have my back. That's all that matters."

His eyes never leave yours as your hands slowly glide over from his shoulders, and up his neck to rest holding his strong jaw.

"And I will always have yours. That's what being a team is all about."

You're holding his jaw gently; you can feel it clenching as he watches you through the skull mask. You're close to him now, closer than you have been. Your hips are slotted between his legs. His fingers reach out and softly graze the outside hem on your jeans–silently asking for permission. You glance down to his hands, before back up to his face and slowly nod.

His large hands come out to flatten against the outside of your thighs, softly squeezing the flesh there as they glide up and over your hips. They rest there, just above your ass. His warmth sends chills down your spine as he pulls you closer, your chest almost touching his. His palms spread against your curves and his thumbs dig into your belly.

"What's on your mind, sergeant?" Ghost asks, his voice barely above a whisper as your face inches closer to his.

You continue holding his jaw, keeping him attentive to you and you alone. Your breath fans over his covered lips. Your thumbs start to rub small circles over the sharp bones under them.

"I often think…" you trail off as your right thumb moves towards the center of his face--finding his bottom lip under the mask and pressing down. "...think about what your smile looks like. I reckon you're quite handsome."

"Is that right?" His voice is low, now laced with something akin to longing.

His hands give your hips a good squeeze, shuffling your lower half closer to his. His thighs trap you in their strength.

"Mhm." You hum softly.

You find yourself being bold again, thumbs leaving his lips to trail down his neck again. You locate the bottom of his mask and slip both thumbs under the hem. You stop momentarily, giving him ample time to stop you. Only, he doesn't. You can feel the moment his muscles tense and you hear his breath hitch. But his eyes never leave you, and neither do his hands. They squeeze you and pull you harder.

As to not betray his trust, your eyes slowly flutter closed. Your thumbs slip under his mask completely and gingerly begin pulling up. You pull it up and over his lips. Along the way, you can feel the defined muscles of his neck–the large veins. His chin and jaw are prickly, most likely from a recent shave. You pull it up to sit just in the tip of his nose. Eager fingers return to his chin, thumb coming back to slide over his lower lip. It's full, and warm. Feels slightly damp, like he had just licked it. His breath is warm on your hand as you continue to feel him here.

Your other fingers stretch to try and feel the back of his head, wanting to know if he has thick or coarse hair. Is it curly or straight? Blonde like his eyelashes or brown?

His hands become impatient and begin sliding up your sides. In the process, he pulls the skin-tight undershirt out from under your pants. Cold air rushes through and touches the little part of your belly exposed. As his digits continue sliding up, they eventually curve out and up both of your arms until they meet at the base of your neck. His fingers dig into the skin there and start to gently pull you forward.

In the shuffle, your hands slide down his chest and come to a rest on top of his biceps. The muscles flex under his hoodie as he pulls you forward. Your eyes stay closed as you feel his breath getting closer and closer to your face.

"Tell me to stop." He whispers. It was hoarse, and deep. Laced with lust.

You breathe out slowly, shaky and anxious.

And when you don't, he kisses you.

To say he just kisses you is a gross understatement to what the both of you start to share. Your entire body lights up, chills shooting down your spine like fireworks as he twists his head to the side and slowly licks your bottom lip. His lips are soft and giving. They flatten when they meet yours to cover as much ground as they can. You open your mouth, giving him full access to that wet cavern. Your mouth meets his again, more heated this time. His tongue slides inside your mouth with ease, shooting to fight and tackle yours in a fight for dominance.

Your fingers start to dig into his biceps, and that elicits a grunt moan from the man kissing you. He continues kissing you, tongue exploring your mouth as his large hands start to slide down your body again. His right hand slides behind you to trace your back, and his left opts to take the front. He stops at your breast–giving it a firm squeeze when he gets it in his grasp. Your nipple hardens under his firm touch, a small whimper getting lost in his mouth as he explores your body. The hand on your back pulls you impossibly closer, pressing your much smaller body tight to his.

He continues his assault on your breast for another minute or so, all while continuing to kiss you with a certain ferocity. His tongue leaves your mouth to lap up the saliva surrounding your lips and you erupt in shivers when the hand squeezing your breast starts to trail lower. He traces your curves until he reaches the metal of your belt buckle. His digits slowly begin to work at the buckle, setting the button on your jeans free once he's worked it open. He kisses you as he pulls the button open, his fingers grabbing hold of the zipper and slowly pulling it down. It feels like it takes him an eternity to work your jeans open, but your body buzzes with excitement when you hear the zipper coming down.

He stops for a moment, continuing to kiss you as his hand rests there on the buckle of your jeans. You slide your hand back up to his shoulders and softly rub the muscles there, pulling a quiet whimper from his lips. Yes, a whimper. From Ghost.

Fuck. If that doesn't get you wet, nothing will. But it does. In that moment, you feel the arousal start to ooze out of your cunt. You may have thought you started your period if you weren't sure it was because of him. You can't help but rub your thighs together when the pressure starts to become uncomfortable. Ghost takes notice of this and pulls away from you. His fingers begin to dance with the hem of your underwear.

"Tell me to stop." He repeats against your lips, still barely above a whisper. You can feel his eyes burning into you, but yours are still closed.

The cool leather of his glove meets with your sensitive skin when you don't answer him. Slowly, achingly slowly, his fingers sink under your underwear to find what he wants so desperately right now.

You whine when the leather touches your sensitive skin there, his fingers sink down through your folds to truly feel where you're warmest. His fingers glide easily through your arousal; the texture of his clove adds a bit more feeling to it.

"Fuck." he curses against your lips as he continues to rub around your needy hole.

He uses his fingers to collect your wetness and drags it up to that swollen bundle of nerves. He uses your own arousal to prepare you. His thumb begins to rub firm circles over your clit, causing you shudder and whimper in his arms. Your eyes squeeze shut harder, face heating up and turning red. Something you never thought he'd see—the freckles on your cheeks being revealed by the change in color on your face. Your fingers dig hard into his shoulders, holding on for what feels like dear life.

It's been a decade since you've been with a man. It's not something you were particularly proud of, because nothing could quite scratch that itch like the touch of a man. But your job kept you busy, and you felt just fine pleasuring yourself. You were always an independent woman. But fuck. Fuck. His touch felt like fire. Like pure bliss. The way he continued to draw tight circles over your clit while his palm flattened on your cunt and two large fingers sunk into your wet heat. They were so big, so strong while they pumped you full. It wasn't long before he found that spot too–the spongy piece of heaven deep inside your core.

Your head tumbles back on your shoulders, mouth falling open silently as his fingers work magic inside you. He leans forward, bringing his lips to your chest where it's open from the u-neck undershirt– peppering kisses on the warm skin there. Your hand involuntarily comes up to caress the back of his head. Such a sweet sentiment he does, while absolutely ruining your brief innocence with his fingers. You whimper and cry for him as he pumps and pumps and pumps.

You let out one harsh breath, followed by a quiet but sweet whimper– and out tumbles his name.

Simon.

That's all it takes to break him. He huffs a hard breath against your chest and kisses the skin one more time before pulling back, taking the hand out of your pants with him.

You gasp at the lack of contact. You almost open your eyes in the shuffle but as if he knew what was going to happen, his hand comes up to cover your eyes.

"Lay down. Now." He orders.

He guides you back a few steps, hand still over your eyes. You feel him stand, and he brings a hand to your shoulder to guide you back towards the mattress. Your legs hit the edge and cause you to fall to your back. His hand leaves your face, but you obediently keep them closed for him. He shuffles a bit before his hands are on you again, slipping your combat boots off one at a time. Then his hands are on your waist, pulling your jeans and underwear down in one swoop. Involuntarily, your hands shoot down to cover your core and you hear him grunt.

"Don't hide from me, sergeant." He says in the deep english tone.

His hands meet yours and wrap around them, slowly pulling them off your weeping cunt. A breath leaves his mouth harshly when you're revealed to him. He kneels instantly, large hands flattening against the inside of your thighs, at the apex of your legs and waist. On each side of where he just had his fingers deep. His hot breath fans against your sex.

"Fucking perfect." He says as he fits himself between your legs. His hands slide from the top, all the way to your calves to pull them up and over his shoulders.

You shudder in anticipation, back arching slightly in presentation. Ghost takes notice.

"Dirty girl." He praises

That's the last thing he says before he dives in. His mouth closes over your swollen clit, tongue circling you in a delicious dance. Your back immediately arches even more, muscles tensing down below. His tongue is smooth as it glides so elegantly over that center of pleasure. He moans into you, drinking the taste of you in. The top half of his face is still covered, only letting the bottom half of his face free so he can eat you out like this.

Your hands desperately search for purchase. They start by clenching the bedsheets, before twitching hard and moving to lay on your tummy. His hands find yours quickly and he presses down, anchoring your much smaller hands under his to your tummy. His fingers thread through yours and give a reassuring squeeze. It's odd. You'd never think of him as the gentle type. But he always seemed to surprise you.

Your hands start to close on his head, holding him still right where you want him. Anxious fingers gripping the mask and holding him down. He moans again, the vile wet sounds of his dirty act echoing through the room as he pulls you closer to an orgasm. His hands hold you steady as he pushes his face in deeper, completely enveloping his face in you. His cock grows achingly hard in his jeans, throbbing to be set free. One of his hands leaves yours to come down and insert two large fingers in yet again.

Something white and hot starts to stir in your lower belly. Like a thread being pulled tight on each end, ready to snap at any given moment. Your cunt starts to clench impossibly tight around Ghost's fingers and he moans into you yet again.

"Atta girl. I can feel it. Give me a good one." He encourages through licks.

Fuck, his voice. The tone and the accent–they do something to you. His voice repeats in the back of your mind as your muscles tense all at once. A hoarse whimper leaves your lips as he nibbles down on your little clit, cunt pulling tight and hot as the thread finally snaps and he gets what he asked for. You cum all over his face, body convulsing from the over stimulation as he continues to suck on you through the pulses. Your fingers lock dead in his mask–you think you can feel his hair. It's thick.

He groans into you, his voice vibrating your lower body as he slows his pace and inevitably decides to take pity on you and stop.

You feel his mouth leave your cunt as you struggle to catch your breath. His hands leave you too. Slightly concerned, you start to sit up. Your eyes are still closed. His hands stop you from standing up.

"Bloody delicious you are, sweet girl."

His hand caresses your jaw, and you hear him fumbling with his belt buckle, followed by the sound of his zipper coming down.

"Open."

Your eyes flutter open and you glance up at him standing tall over you. His mask is pulled back down to conceal his mouth. You lock eyes with him and stare him down as he begins to pull his cock out of his jeans. You keep your eyes on him until he breaks contact for a moment. He glances down towards his cock and then back at you. You take the hint and slowly lower your gaze until you meet his cock in all its glory. He's big–covered in veins. His tip is red and smeared with pre-cum. Gods, you got him this wound up?

"You want this?" He asks.

You don't have to answer him. The lustful look in your eyes as you glance back up at him is enough to make his cock jump. He growls low in his throat.

"Turn around. Bend over."

Not having to be told twice, you do as you're told. You stand and turn so your back is facing him. You bend down, revealing your cunt from behind as you find your place bent over the bed for him. His massive form stalks behind you–like you're his prey. Just waiting to be captured. His macho, mean, attitude has always sent chills down your spine. This situation was no different.

His hand finds your waist, gripping on your side as his other holds his heavy cock up to position it at your entrance. While he rubs the head of his cock through your slick to prepare it, the hand holding your waist moves to the center of your lower back and his palm flattens. He pushes down, forcing you to arch in presentation for him. He curses under his breath. Fucking perfect. Beautiful little cunt.

His heavy boots shuffle closer as the head of his cock begins to breach your tight hole. Your breath catches at the sudden intrusion. The hand on your lower back holds you steady as he starts pushing forward until he's fully sheathed inside you. You let a moan slip when the hand on your back starts to rub up and down you slowly, almost in a comforting manner.

"Fuck." He groans out when he bottoms out.

He starts with deep thrusts, getting your cervix used to the invasion. Your knees begin to buckle. No need to worry though. His hands both move to either side of your waist to hold you up as he begins to thrust a little faster–pulling out farther and re-sheathing himself. His back straightens and his head falls back in pleasure as soft groans come from under the mask. Your moans join him as the wet sounds of your combined arousal fills the room.

You moan sweetly–which teases him. A strong, capable woman like yourself reduced to a whimpering mess under her Lieutenant. It spurs him on and makes him needy.

He starts thrusting at a more harsh pace now. His hips collide with yours as the bed rattles on its old, dilapidated frame. The metal digging into the wooden floor. His hands squeeze your hips tight and he pulls you back onto him in time with his own thrusts.

"Insatiable woman. Drive me mad with this body." He grunts as his hips slam into yours.

"Simon–" you whimper out, cut off by a particularly sharp thrust.

"You--you know what you do to me, woman?" He starts between harsh breaths as he pounds into you. "Can't keep my eyes off you. You're a goddamn distraction–" he continues to moan loudly, not caring if anyone may hear. "--walk around in those tight ass jeans….n'that low cut shirt. You do it on purpose, don't you?"

"M's-sorry sir–" you manage to whimper as he continues to pound into you.

"The fuck you are." He says before another hard thrust. His grunts, leaning forward to grab a fistful of your hair and pull your head back.

The same sensation from earlier starts to boil over again. The thread is pulled tight once more, ready to snap at any given moment as he continues to hammer into the sensitive spot inside you. His breathing is heavy, grunting loudly in your ear as pounds down into you. You start to tighten around him once more and once again, he takes notice right away.

"Already, sweet girl? Can you give me another good one?"

You whimper his name.

"Words."

"Yes." You moan.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Simon."

"Good fucking girl."

He relases your hair and stands up straight, anchoring down on your hips and letting absolutely fucking loose. He starts pounding into you ruthlessly. His hips jackhammering into yours and rendering you speechless. His harsh thrusts steal the air from your lungs. All you can do is lay there, drool like a dog and take his cock the way he needs to give it to you.

Your orgasm snaps through you and burns like wildfire. Your body rocks violently back against his and he groans when you start to clench around him.

This was unlike any experience you've ever had. It was hard for any of your past partners to get you off, period. Ghost just made you cum twice. And violently.

"Fuck. Where do you want it?" He asks.

It takes you a few hard thrusts to try and speak–trying to gain your composure and suck some air back in your lungs to speak.

"In-inside–please–" you manage to moan.

For the first time this evening, his movements falter. He seems unsure as he tries to regain his rhythm.

"That's–no, no I can't….you'll…" he grunts as he continues to rut into you.

"Safe. I-I promise." You whimper out. "Wanna feel you."

"Fuuuuck." He groans out, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chases his release. His hands come up to grab your shoulders, anchoring down as he continues fucking your raw.

"Don't move. Don't fucking move, sweet girl. Gonna--gonna fill you up, make you mine."

"Simon--" you whimper out.

That last whimper is what seems to take him over edge. He groans your name one last time before his hips bottom out again and come to a screeching hault. You feel his cock start to throb before the warmth of his cum begins filling you. He shoots what feel like endless streams of his while juices inside until it starts overflowing and running down your thighs. You lay there on your stomach trying to catch your breath. Not long after, you hear the heaving mess of a man who just rearranged you collapse to his knees behind you. You hear him turn to sit on hid ass, shifting to lean up against the bed.

You lay there exhausted, listening to the sounds of his labored breathing. You're too worn out to move, so you opt to stay where you are. Not even caring what a mess you look like.

After a few minutes you feel yourself beginning to drift off to sleep. The exhaustion is taking over. It gets quiet after a few more minutes and you feel completely relaxed. You're so out of it, you don't notice Ghost getting up from his spot on the floor.

You don't feel him softly cleaning you with one of his extra shirts.

You don't feel him start to re-dress you.

And you don't feel him lay you down on the bed, when he climbs in behind you and wraps his arms around you.

And in the morning, it suprises you when he asks you about your time in the United States Marine Corps.

#simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #call of duty #smut #Egon

741 notes · View notes

theloveandthedead · 4 months

Text

Miss Sunshine

A belated Valentines gift for @smoke-and-silver

I may have gotten off topic since this is more about Bernadette's past but I still hope you like!

And forgive me if I got anything wrong about the lore! I'm still new to this fandom

Enjoy! <3

“Don’t do that,” Bernadette’s mother chided, grabbing her six year old daughter’s hand to correct the crayon’s placement. “You have to color inside the lines, sweetheart, otherwise the drawing will be ruined.

Although bewildered, young Bernadette nodded and proceeded to follow her mother’s directions, vigilant to not let a single stray line escape its border.

As she grew up, Bernadette realized how her surroundings were like that coloring book: everything in its place and any deviation from the norm would be met with firm correction.

It was expected that she would grow up to be a good, decent woman who would marry a good, decent man, and they would live in a respectable neighborhood where they would have children who would grow into good, decent individuals.

Rinse. Recycle. Repeat.

The picturesque suburbia was the epitome of orderly and mundane.

The same rows of little white houses.

The same style of neatly ironed shirts, always neatly tucked into ironed pants and skirts.

The same type of casseroles always passed around, sprinkled with neighbor gossip about the ‘hoodlums’ and ‘immoral’ outsiders of their utopia.

And no one seemed to find fault with it.

But Berndette, as she grew into her neatly destined place in suburbia, still felt that crayon in her hand.

Was coloring out of the lines so horrible?

Did everything really have to be “good” and “decent”? (By her late teens, Bernadette had developed an aversion to those words.)

So, inching her crayon out, she etched little flecks of color outside the border visible to no one but her.

The ladies at church wore white socks–Berandette sewed ladybugs on hers.

The children would play catch in the schoolyard–Bernadette would catch frogs in the creek.

Everyone listened to country and sermons–Bernadette had a hidden shoebox with blues cassettes.

The diner served their eggs bare–Bernadette would sprinkle some chili powder when no one was watching.

They were little things, but they gave Bernadette a thrill she never knew before.

Were these the ‘immoral’ activities her parents and neighbors sneered at?

But why?

Why would these little pleasures be sinful?

Bernadette tried to share her joy with her husband–a man who fit the suburbia ideal to a T–but was met with apathy and as time went on, judgment.

He judged her for a lot of things–her interests, her ‘babbling’, how much she ate, even the way she folded towels.

But he always framed it as ‘just being logical’ and that as his wife, she should just listen to him.

Just like all the men did to their wives.

Just like her father did to her mother.

And they listened because that is what a good, decent wife did.

But Bernadette felt bitter and unsatisfied.

All her youth, she had gotten her fix with faint flicks of color.

Must she, in her adulthood, continue to be content with just a toe hovering above the edge?

Couldn’t she finally break through the borders and color wherever the hell she may please?

And, as her lifelong partner, couldn’t her husband join her?

Would it kill him to step out of his box for once?!

If anything,he and everyone else were the strange ones!

But Bernadette swallowed her rage and slowly she withdrew her crayon and retreated back within the lines.

Then, during a trip to the grocery store, Bernadette noticed a flier buried underneath the MLM pamphlets.

A flier for a concert, to be exact.

“Ghost,” Bernadette read aloud, in utter awe at the masked figures and gothic artwork staring back at her.

Almost in a trance, Bernadette rushed out to her car–abandoning her grocery cart–and hastily dialed the ticket office number as her heart pounded in her ears.

Once again she stood at the border, but this time, she had buckets of paint and a pair of scissors strapped to her back.

Bernadette was on the verge of something, and she knew this concert held the missing piece.

There was no rhyme or reason to her feeling, but Bernadette knew if she didn’t go to this concert, she would be stuck inside the lines forever.

On the night of the concert, Bernadette told her husband she was off to visit her mother–the lie tasting like honey on her tongue–and he simply nodded while never looking up from his newspaper.

No “Drive safe, my love”, no kiss goodbye.

Like everyone else, their ‘romance’ was confined to chaste kisses and obligated intimacy that only ended when her husband was satisfied.

Teetering on the edge, Bernadette couldn’t help giggling as she ‘accidentally’ slammed the door behind her, and she practically flew to her car.

And as her car escaped the gates of suburbia, Bernadette felt like she could breathe for the first time.

The parking lot was already packed by the time she pulled in, but luckily she was able to find a spot without too much effort.

As she followed the crowd through the gates to the concert area, Bernadette marveled at those surrounding her.

Concert goers both young and old with their unique fashions and tastes.

Yet, they all shared one common trait–genuine happiness.

They laughed boisterously and showered their companions with affection without the restraints of ‘good and decent’.

Wild and free were the words that came to her mind.

Such foreign words to a dissatisfied member of suburbia.

But how wonderful they were.

Wild and free, yes what a lovely pairing.

Soon a hush fell over the audience as the faint strum of a guitar could be heard before the stage lit up and the band began to play.

All her life, Bernadette had attended that suburbia chapel with its beige walls and hard wooden pews that caused her younger self to shift uncomfortably, only to be stopped by her mother’s firm grip. She was expected to look straight ahead and listen to the pastor’s monotone voice, so she stared at the lone statue of Mary near the altar.

She was the Blessed Mother, the woman chosen to carry the Son of God.

So why was her face somber and her colors dull?

The statues of Jesus, the apostles, and even the angels were vibrant and resplendent, yet Mary–the most important woman in the Bible–faded into the background.

Yet this spectacle before her with the cathedral stage set and the band wearing demon masks as they played that ‘unholy music’, Bernadette knew this was true religion.

As the music washed over her, she ceased to ponder and think and instead just soaked in each ‘sermon’ with clasped hands.

Bernadette knew none of the words, yet she somehow found herself singing along with the crowd like the psalms of her childhood.

The hours flew by and as the mass drew to a close, Bernadette felt suburbia’s claws curling around her heels, and her nails dug into her palms as she clasped her hand tighter.

‘Please don’t let this end. I don’t want to leave. I want to stay!’

Then, as the final song of the night began, Bernadette felt this warmth caressing her cheek and she turned her head to find the lead guitarist staring in her direction.

No.

Not in her direction.

But at her.

And he was beautiful.

A light blush dusted her cheeks as she took in the way his shirt hugged his thin waist–was that toe curling sight humanly possible for a man?--and how he strummed his guitar like a devotee giving tribute to the divine.

But when her eyes met his, that blush became a cherry red because he fell to his knees right on stage, much to the delight of the audience.

One could chalk it up to being part of the show, guitarists often fell to their knees when getting into the music.

But this…..this felt like he was kneeling to her.

Like he was worshiping her.

Call out in the middle of the night

For when else would I hear you?

Fall out in the cold starlight

I can save you if you do

Everything faded away and all that remained was Bernadette and the guitarist.

You will never walk alone

You can always reach me

You will never ever walk alone

To others–the lyrics.

To Bernadette–a promise, a vow.

Call me Little Sunshine

Call me, call me Mephistopheles

Call me when you feel all alone

Just call me Little Sunshine

“Tell me your name.” Bernadette whispered aloud, one hand reaching out towards him. “I have to know your name.”

(“It is believed that knowing a demon’s name is a powerful weapon against evil,” The monotone pastor preached to the congregation. “By knowing a demon’s name, you have power over them.”)

The guitarist did not answer her, his gaze never wavering as the song reached its conclusion.

“Tell me your name!” Bernadette shouted over the cheers.

And, as the final notes echoed across the concert hall, the guitarist flung something in her direction and Bernadette hopped up to catch it with a gasp.

Upon opening her palms, she found his guitar pick and she gazed up to find him standing tall, his hand still outstretched to her.

Then, she heard it.

Like a lover’s kiss against her ear.

“Ifrit.” Bernadette uttered and immediately the guitarist–Ifrit–placed a hand over his heart and bowed his head.

And Bernadette’s heart fluttered as the crowd erupted into glorious applause.

------------------------------------

The entire drive home Bernadette was in a daze, one hand on the wheel and the other pressed to her chest with the pick warm against her palm.

When she pulled into the driveway, she sat there for a moment with a blank expression before eventually making her way inside.

The house was pitch dark–of course her husband didn’t wait up for her–so she flicked on the kitchen light and found dirty dishes left beside the sink for her to clean.

Her husband had steak, the bone licked clean on the plate beside the cutlery.

Bernadette paused for a moment, simply staring at the plate, before picking up the steak knife and making her way to the bedroom.

Her husband laid flat on his back, his jaw slack and his arm tossed onto her side.

Bernadette took a moment to just watch him, the way his chest rose and the light snores escaping his throat before raising the steak knife.

And bringing it down.

Again.

Beautiful, vibrant colors surrounded her.

With a jubilant cry, Bernadette flinged the paint across every surface until all was a kaleidoscope of color around her.

The border had been cut through.

She was free.

“I’m hungry.” Bernadette hummed, her hands soaked in blood as she dropped the knife and waltzed back towards the kitchen, the pick pulsating against her palm. “I think I’ll make myself some soup.”

#bernadette #the band ghost #smoke-and-silver #gift for the friend and love #i hope you liked it #thank you for everything!

27 notes · View notes

seahydra · 3 months

Text

🐍 cybergoth summary post 🦇

I'm not kidding when I say this is long. This is all just early relationship backstory for the most part. Sorry for any cringe. I love you.

LAZARUS, strange thing that she is, is abruptly sent to Hell one morning. Not dead yet; it was because she had apparently "applied" to be part of an "exchange program" at an academy full of demons. She does not recall ever applying to this in the first place, and certainly doesn't want to go back to school again, but she figures it's best not to object for now.

He has the details explained to him a bit less in-detail than he would like and is sent to the house where he'll be living in for the rest of the year until the program is over. He has. Six roommates. He's so fucking mad.

While the demon assigned to be her "guardian" (Mammon) is in the middle of talking about something she's not really paying attention to, they're both interrupted by another person entering the room, clearly already pissed off. This is Leviathan. Seeing Lazarus seems to give him an idea 💡 (bad) - and he promptly drags her off to his room.

Now, in her room... Lazarus is absolutely fascinated by it. It's aquatic. There's a bathtub full of blankets in there- her bed? She has a computer with 4 monitors. There is so much anime merch and some of it is of series that he recognizes and loves dearly.

Levi's room makes her feel a little bit hopeful. She'd been worried about not being able to adjust to a new place, about being friendless and needing to hide her interests, as usual... but there was a fellow nerd right here! Perhaps she could at least connect with one person?

So he thinks, anyway. But when he mentions also being into the same things Levi is, she immediately shuts that down.

"Yeah, right. Don't try and relate to me, you liar. I know how you normies work- you want to try and act like you're best friends with the weird outcast so you can use everything I tell you against me later!"

And, well, it's not like Lazarus doesn't understand that fear. That's literally happened to her. But the sting of rejection and the anger at an implication that she's some kind of poser causes her to storm out of his room without another word. Levi never gets to tell her what his plan for her was.*

The relationship between those two was strained for weeks afterwards. Whenever one would enter a room, the other would get up and leave. Only interacting with each other if they were somehow required to. Clearly, they don't care for each other very much.

...Even so, Lazarus feels a strange pull whenever he thinks about Levi. Despite his disdain for her and her gatekeeping, he still feels some desire to try and at least understand her a little more. He's not sure why. Maybe it's just because he stubbornly doesn't want to give up on his initial hope of being friends with her... but regardless.

She remembers a bunch of books on Levi's shelf that'd caught her eye the first (and last) time she'd been in his room. Some 138-volume fantasy series: The Tale of the Seven Lords (further referred to as TSL because I'm Not Typing All That). Being no stranger to long fantasy stories with convoluted lore, she decides to get into it.

It's a good series. He likes it a lot. Like, a lot. Seriously. She finishes reading the entire series (+ watches the movies, the animated series, even the god-awful theatrical version) in near record time. It's when he's rereading one of the novels in the living room that Levi catches him and is, well, kind of mad about it.

"Is that-? No way, you CAN'T be... you have to be trying to suck up to me or something, right? Or maybe you're doing this to spite me.. yeah, that sounds more like you. You're probably not even actually READING it-"

"This is my second read through the series."

"Liar."

Lazarus is irritated that he still refuses to believe her, but this interaction was also the most he's spoken to her since their first meeting, so she'll take it. Actually, she wants to take it a bit further: since it seems like he takes anyone liking the same things he does as a personal threat, she figures she'll give him a real one.

So, she challenges him to a trivia contest.

It's a terribly irresponsible idea and he knows it. But, Lazarus hopes there's even the slightest chance that this could all result in loser girl recognizing him as a kindred spirit and them becoming something like friends. NOT like he cares about that anymore, though. It's just no good being on such tense terms with someone you live with. That's all!

Day of the trivia contest. I will be honest. As much as she loved TSL, Lazarus knows she doesn't even come CLOSE to having the same level of investment in it that Levi does. So, she had to pull... a few strings, by asking one of her fellow students for help. That is to say- the match is rigged it's fucking rigged she pulls out a super rare one-of-a-kind piece of merch that Levi doesn't have.

And he's PISSED about it.

"The idea that someone like YOU could be a bigger TSL fan than me, it's- No... no, I WILL NOT STAND FOR THIIIIS!"

The room dissolves into chaos. Several hours later, in the guest bedroom- his bedroom- Lazarus reflects back on everything. Leviathan had just tried to kill him. Shifted into her demon form and everything. It was terrifying.

But she was so... So cuuuuuuuute!

She KNOWS she shouldn't feel that way, but! Once she'd had time to recover from the initial shock of it all, she realizes that perhaps Levi was a lot more interesting than she'd originally thought. The passion! His super cool horns that kind of looked like antlers- no, coral maybe? Anyway, she's kind of left in awe. And then she gets a text message.

Leviathan asks him to meet her in the planetarium. Quickly hiding any evidence of the fact that he was just kicking his feet giggling, he makes his way over. Levi gives him a (very half-hearted, but at least she tried) apology for the incident, and Lazarus speaks without thinking.

"I was impressed by you. Back there, I mean. I'd like to get to know you a little better- why not be my friend?"

"What?! Did you say friends? You and me...?! A-A-Are you... Are you out of your mind?! You know I just tried to attack you, right?"

He knows.

"And if Lucifer hadn't intervened, you'd be dead right now. You realize that, right? I mean, that literally JUST happened."

Yeah, he knows.

"Also... be my friend? Seriously? What are we, on the playground or something? Are you 5?! Who actually walks up to someone and asks them that? Could you BE any lamer?!"

Come on man you had to critique the word choice too?? But Levi's very obviously flustered, which means maybe he doesn't hate the idea THAT much?

"So, is that a no?"

"Whaaaaa-?! Are you even listening to me? Of course it's a no! I... Hey, wait, don't just leave!!!"

Hesitantly, groaning and complaining about it every other sentence in an attempt to seem like the mere idea of making a friend physically pains her, Levi agrees to put their past gripes with each other aside.

"BUT! This doesn't mean we're, like, comrades, though! So don't go getting the wrong idea. It's not like I'm gonna start hanging out with you every day or anything."

So they actually do end up hanging out every day lol. Lmao even.

It takes a minute for Levi to warm up to her, as he's never really had a true friend before. Plus, well... His self-loathing makes it a difficult to believe that anyone could really like him.

But Lazarus is persistent. He's annoyingly persistent. Yet, it makes her so happy... she can't explain these weird feelings she starts to get about him, this desire to somehow be even closer to the one she already calls her best friend- without actually dating him, because that's not what she wants.

It's only when Lazarus off-handedly compares the two of them to a pair of characters in TSL one day that Levi finally starts to understand his actual feelings.

"Hey. Don't you think we're kind of a lot like Henry and the Lord of Shadow?"

"Huuuh?! I mean, I see the individual similarities, but do you mean... relationship-wise?"

"Mhm. You yourself are always going off about their intimate and unbreakable bond. That's kind of what we have, isn't it?"

"I guess so? Their relationship is sorta weird... Like, I wouldn't say they're in love exactly, but they're still kind of... ugh, I dunno. Their scenes just feel different. Something beyond."

"I get it. Henry is friends with all the other lords, too... but his friendships with them aren't anywhere close to the thing he has going on with the Lord of Shadow."

"Right! You get it! We're totally on the same page!"

Lazarus smiles a little.

"That we are. I'm happy to be friends with you, Levi."

* - It's because of this that Lazarus doesn't get to form a pact with Mammon. Actually she doesn't have pacts with anyone except for Levi (which she doesn't get immediately after the competition either. That comes some time later. When they trust each other more)

I have another OC (who's a relative of his. My special boy) that takes care of the pact-making. But Lazarus is still the one that gets into the attic yes.

Anyway it takes a bit of further soul searching, googling, and finding exactly one astonishingly well written QPR Henry/Lord of Shadow fanfic for Levi to learn the specific term for what she's experiencing but. There's that! I don't think they ever ask each other to be partners it just kind of naturally happens.

Also I have playlists.

🎵 [General ship playlist] + [Levi's POV] + [Laz's POV]

#❥ the prince and the little mermaid #first divider cr to cafekitsune :]#Its weird writing a fic thats like not really a fic. Or something. So I feel like this is a bit awkwardly written but ITS OK its ok 👍#you can reblog only if you promise to be really niceys.#cg lore

24 notes · View notes

lorecatchup · 10 months

Text

This looks like some kind of wild body horror gay sex

Cody just ate another raw moonsault oof

There's a bit that starts at like 17:07 where the crawl up eachother to get off their feet and then just punch each other for awhile that feels very homoerotic

Cody "I like to get hit in the face, it's a weird thing" Rhodes is having a great time

This other man just inserted himself into the match as things were getting spicy

And now Dusty's music just started 👀👀

Oh Dusty made it a triple threat match

His leg's really up there huh

Cody cross rhodesed this other man after throwing Seth out of the ring and Seth came back in and threw Cody out and got the pin

Cody's just quietly walking off with Seth's belt please

Wait, he's coming back into the ring?

#lore catch up: year six #important #seth: year one #rhollins

6 notes · View notes

ficnoire2 · 9 months

Text

A Little Legendborn/Bloodmarked Symbolism (Spoilers ahead)

Mrs. Deonn has done such a bomb ass job in this series with all the delicious Easter eggs she has planted throughout. From things being in threes, the callbacks to LB from BM, the foreshadowing. The list goes on and on. I like to play with some of these delicious elements (you can find my post of LB/BM color theory here) and have put forth my latest contribution.

The Mighty Oak/Tree Symbolism

“Vera stands before me, bathed in blood and flame, hair stretching wide and loose like a live oak.”

The oak represents longevity, strength, stability, endurance, fertility, power, justice, and honesty. As we know the oldest mother held Arthur back AND pulled Excalibur through Bree. What I also found curious was the bit of Celtic history regarding oak trees. Dara, which means oak tree, is a form of Celtic Knot formed by an endless series of interlocked lines with no beginning or end symbolizing eternity, strength, and unity. Trees can represent the connection between the spirit world, ancestors, and can serve as entry points to other worlds. In Legendborn when Sel tries to kill Bree in the graveyard and they have to run, he says “Datgelaf, dadrithiaf” (I reveal, I disillusion) to open a door over the roots of an oak tree in order to hide from the hounds. The roots of the tree providing protection and cover concealing the gate to the campus’ underground tunnel system.

“But I’ve lived long enough to learn to live as the willow, not the oak.” Valec says this in Bloodmarked before handing Sel his ass in his office. This was a hella interesting statement coming from Valechaz. The willow tree represents flexibility and adaptability. Its branches bend and flex to withstand its environment. It is seen as a symbol of humans’ capability to withstand hardship, loss, and difficult emotions. The willow tree is also seen as a survivor and a symbol of rebirth. Baby if that isn’t Valec, I don’t know what is! He goes with the flow, is resilient, and can and has withstood the storm. He has survived chattel slavery and chooses his wit and street smarts if you will, as opposed to his strength and power. However, don’t get it twisted, Valec will wear that ass out if needed.

Cedar

“When he catches up, his fresh-laundry-and-cedar scent comes with him. Of course he smells good.”

When Bree meets Nick for the first time, I remember the cedar note of his scent standing out to me the most. I have a hundred year old cedar chest that belonged to my great grandparents which reminded me why that note stood out. Cedar symbolizes greatness, nobility, strength and incorruptibility. Cedar never rots and according to Celtic astrology, the cedar symbolizes trust. Well then Nick Davis, enter the chat. In my reading I also discovered that cedar represents the duality of nature. Fierce and resolute, however, elegant and tender. These trees are massive and the use of cedar in ancient times to forge vessels, homes, and the sarcophagi to carry the ancestors home is a testament to its strength and durability. If you peel away the winding fibrous bark of a cedar tree you’ll find a fragrant and sensual heartwood with medicinal and spiritual uses dating back to ancient times.

Bottle Trees

“The boundary is marked by bottle trees here and there. She points to a tree about six feet tall a little ways behind us, on the other side of the gold root barrier. Colorful glass bottles cover the end of each branch. The light of the barrier plays off the blues and greens, illuminates the yellows and reds. ‘When the barrier goes invisible and you’re walking around, you gotta look left and right, keep two bottle trees in sight. If you see two, you can draw a line between them and know where Volition’s protection ends’.”

Mariah explains this as the crew enters the Volition grounds. Bottle trees have roots in African lore and culture as well as in the Gullah people in North and South Carolina. The practice of having bottle trees on the land originated in the Kingdom of Kongo in West Africa. This practice was continued by the Africans who were stolen and brought to the Americas. According to folklore, bottles are placed on the branches of dead trees. The bright, traditionally cobalt colored bottles were said to be a lure for evil spirits which became trapped after entering the bottles at night. The spirits trapped inside the bottles would be destroyed by the rising sun. It was said that if a bottle hums in the wind, that was a sure fire way to know you have trapped a spirit. Traditionally the bottles used are cobalt, which is said to have healing powers but can also range in color from bright reds to yellows. The practice of placing bottle trees along your property has spread to the Caribbean as well as other areas of the south. Being a Midwest girl, I thought this was a cool detail as we finally make it to Volition which is a place of protection, honor, and healing. This was such a fitting detail to include knowing what is at stake for our crew.

Leather

A symbol of power, protection, rebellion, freedom, and elegance (Valec has a hint of this in his signature as well) leather is strong and durable. It has been used in everything from armor to boots and served as protection for the wearer.

“A long line of Merlins in my family. Ma da makes leather armor and things, pieces we can wear under our clothes if we go hunting in public…The old ways get forgotten, I guess.”

Lark says this to Bree in Bloodmarked when gifting her the gauntlets his da handcrafted. By the way, that was so damn sweet it gave me “the sugar” as the old folks used to say. We know Lark has a nobility and respect for “The old ways” as we see him risk it all to get Sel out of the institute and on the plane. Lark was showing Bree the ropes at the funeral. Despite her warranted rage, he was there making sure she was safe in Selwyn’s absence, while giving her a bit of game to further protect her in the presence of the regents. The scene in the beast where he is being snatched out of the car and he makes eye contact with Bree,

“He roars, teeth bared. Punches his fingers deep into the leather cushions on either side of my hips, down to the metal bars that bolt the seats to the floor. Holds tight, stopping himself. He growls with the effort, eyes pinned to mine, body nearly vertical, feet to the sky.”

I kid that this was the worst first day of work ever, but the devotion to his duty, the willingness and readiness to protect Bree is so painfully beautiful it hurts. Especially since we know Lark is the real deal, authentic as hell and wants to do what is right. And of course, he was there at Volition carrying Sel back towards the main house because he truly holds honor in high regard. The fact that he uses ancient materials and seems to have a general groundedness to his personality makes the leather accompaniment so appropriate. Lark is protection. Lark is rebellion. Lark is freedom.

Taking a deeper look into some of Tracy’s choices shows the painstaking detail she put into crafting these beautiful characters. The symbolism of trees and their strength and endurance, their ability to withstand is so apt in this series. The elements of nature that call back to ancient times, the roots, the growth. The way Lark’s family reaches back to simpler times when leather was used to make clothing, act as armor, and is handcrafted really speaks to the authenticity he possesses. The time it took his da to create something so beautiful for something so brutal and merciless such as battle shows a level of care and respect that is clearly reflected in his being.

Let me know your wonderful thoughts and feedback. Think I may do a little scent theory next.

#legendborn #bloodmarked #tracey deonn #legendborn cycle

66 notes · View notes

neonscandal · 4 months

Note

I read this from twitter, can I ask your thoughts, Neon? Somehow I felt like there is something wrong in here (this post) :

"Even if Geto was never able to learn RCT or Domain Expansion, at the end of Shibuya we saw how Kenjaku had a better understanding of Curse Manipulation than Geto ever did even after 20+ years of using his technique which indicates that Geto stopped trying to hone his technique.

We're constantly shown through the actions of current players how in retrospect other characters made the wrong decisions when they chose the easier path instead of facing their hardships head on and trying to become stronger themselves.

Geto chose to be the strongest among the weakest instead of trying to keep up the strongest which is another betrayal to Gojo. Gojo says this to Megumi because from his POV, he doesn't feel like he abandoned Geto but Geto abandoned him by not striving to get stronger as well."

Dusting off the haters ✨

Baby girl keeps catching so many strays.

This read is kind of interesting in calling Geto the strongest among the weakest which.. I actually kind of like but that's another point.

I don't know what OP is specifying as far as what Gojo says to Megumi to say Geto betrayed him, I don't recall anything that would make sense to have extrapolated that but we'll put that on the backburner for a minute.

We'll go point by point. In universe, not everyone has the ability to learn RCT or Domain Expansion so let's start there. Mind you, a Black Flash, which is a lot more attainable, is still not a feat that everyone is able to accomplish offhandedly. Nanami, a Grade 1 sorcerer, knew his 4 in one go was a feat. In fact, when Gojo took Yuji under his tutelage, he basically explained that, jujutsu power graduation system be damned, you're born as strong as you're going to be with the exception of the bit of power that is refined/honed. So, for most sorcerers entering into Jujutsu High, they're already at like 90% of their potential. Shoko's cursed technique is her ability to manipulate RCT just like Nitta's brother. It's not like you see either of them offensively applying any cursed energy. The offensive fighters you see who have mastered RCT as a cute, little add on bonus are those who are special grade and with an infinite or godly amount of cursed energy (Gojo, Yuki, Sukuna, Yuta who can copy techniques, etc.). Geto's CT involves eating curses to subjugate them. Subsequently, I'm not sure how much of that translates into actual cursed energy he can manipulate.

The humor of this understanding is the fact that Gojo says this knowing that he unlocked like... a great deal of his own potential and shattered the glass ceiling of his power. This is echoed in Yuji's power ups throughout the story which is also considered anomalous.

Cursed techniques are passed from generation to generation. Of course Kenjaku had a better understanding of Curse Manipulation than some yokel who was born to non-sorcerers?? Kenjaku has lived for hundreds of years. If you've been in jujutsu society for a bit, you have more of a flair for deciphering other peoples' techniques.

Good Will Event - Kyoto sorcerers try to keep their techniques somewhat of a secret. Even those who don't have an inherited technique have something to lose when someone gets wind of what exactly they're dealing with

Toji vs Gojo - There was so much lore about Six Eyes and Limitless that Toji was able to craft a trap around what he knew to wear Gojo down. Over time, word tends to get out about the limits of famed familial techniques. Gojo says, during his second fight with Toji, that there's somewhat of a manual when you inherit a technique but even Purple Hollow hadn't been something that a lot of people knew about.

Megumi in Shibuya - As a reader, we actually watch as Megumi works to determine what cursed technique or the conditions of a person's CT are as he's fighting them to figure out how to best them.

The advantage of simply knowing is shown repeatedly. But if we couple it with the assumption that you're already as strong as you're going to get... why would Geto question it? He's the genius of hard work but even he knew he and Gojo weren't on the same scale of strength just because they were The Strongest.

Now we get to the strongest of the weakest comment which I love because... isn't it just so? Geto, born of non-sorcerers carries the burden of protecting the defenseless to give meaning to his suffering. Kinda makes him seem a little more egocentric than we'd have previously given him credit for, right? When we consider this idea of being the "strongest of the weakest", it puts me in the mind of a few things:

The level of Geto's strength suited his purposes just fine. Geto simply wished to protect. In being able to do so, why would he strive for more? He had no grand design for the power bestowed upon him. Gojo was actually driven to be the strongest, excited by any opportunity to go all out when it arises. Gojo is strong for his own satisfaction. As such, I see where there would be a divergence in motivation and, subsequently, dedication. Geto was just happy being at Gojo's side as The Strongest duo.

A lot of people assume Gojo has a god complex (tbh this link also supports why Gojo is the way he is in general as to my first point). But this spin makes it seem like Geto is more god complex leaning (not completely, relax). After the humbling against Toji, Geto develops a full blown martyr complex before his brain chemistry and ideals radically change. But it's only possible because he views his power as a burden because of its unpleasantness in its practice but also the responsibility for others it subsequently damns him to (search "herd" to get to the point).

There are countless references to Buddhism in JJK, obviously. I'm not a practicing Christian but this idea very much puts me in the mind of Jesus, born of man, scorned by and sacrificed for man. Just another interesting perspective as to how doomed Geto was by the cage of his own morals.

Following Riko's death, Geto does stagnate. In his grief, his survivor's guilt, his PTSD. We see Gojo soaring to new heights with his cursed technique because he can. I'm not sure Geto ever had the capacity given my first few points. Just because he's a special grade does not actually make him on par with the likes of Gojo or Yuta. Obviously, he mastered Maximum Uzumaki, his finishing technique, he used it against Yuta.

The big difference between Kenjaku's competence and Geto's competence with Geto's technique is that Kenjaku was able to subjugate Mahito and co-opt Mahito's technique which I'm not sure Geto had done previously (re: utilize the cursed technique of a curse he'd imbibed). But that begs the question over whether that ability was something Geto could do with his technique or whether that was actually a benefit of Kenjaku's ability to body hop and take over other sorcerers' techniques. Even the Domain Expansion that we see Kenjaku perform later, avoiding spoilers, is not Geto's just because it was performed in Geto's body. It was Kenjaku's own Domain Expansion.

Gojo was very obviously hurt by Geto's defection. Namely because of what he lost, what he could not understand, and Geto's parting words. But I don't think, at any point, he ever felt betrayed by Geto. Least of all by his inability to keep up with him, per se. Why else would he call him, in present tense, his "best friend, his one and only" ten years after his defection? After considering OP's comment further, I assume they are referencing the deal that was made when Gojo goes to collect Megumi.

.... Is that a look of betrayal or a look of regret? Seems more like the latter, to me. In his heart of hearts, I don't think Gojo could bring himself to blame Geto. As far as Gojo was concerned, Geto was in the right more often than he was in the wrong. He was his moral compass, someone whose opinion he valued, someone he could confidently rely on. I think Gojo was more inclined to believe that he failed Geto, if anything. Geto left him questioning himself, as we see in the exchange with Yaga, but it also led him to the fact that it is not enough to simply be strong.

#neon asks #anon asks #manga with me #manga with me jjk #we are the strongest #jjk #stsg #satosugu #character analysis #jujutsu kaisen #geto suguru #suguru geto #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #jjk character analysis #jjk meta #jjk analysis #satosugu brainrot #jjk brainrot

38 notes · View notes

felysline · 2 months

Text

CAMMY_CORNER.TXT 🧖🏻‍♀️💐

SOOOO. i just saw this enormous list of oc asks (thanks to da best @youredreamingofroo for the post shout-out slash reblog!) that are soooo interesting. i can't help but to think of putting camilla for it. so despite the fact that every question is supposedly answered through the ask-box, i'm gonna independently answer them one by one 💆🏻‍♀️

disclaimer: this is just me being a li'l too bored as a senior year foreign language student and a full-time shai g. a. simp, ‘kay 🦭

PEOPLE.

what colour are her eyes and is there anything special from her eyes?

her eyes are dark grey, but can be seen as light grey when exposed to lights! she has a pair of deer-y eyes that mostly makes her look like she's sleepy or not attentive when not smiling.

is she a good liar?

ABSOLUTE-FREAKING-LY. she's born to an actress mom, so acting like this and that never happened or this and that happened is one of her fortes. but, she only lies when necessary.

does she believe in ghosts?

she's never seen or beefed with one, but she believes and spares an interest in urban legends, especially since indonesia is cramped with them. like whenever there's a horror thread on twitter, you can catch her reading all that until it's adapted into a horror movie. doesn't mean she actually watches horror movies, though, aha

what emotion she has trouble dealing with?

inadequacy. asian families are pretty known for their strict generational standards. so, as a daughter from highly-educated parents, she struggles with the standards that they put on her. which is why now she studies abroad and tries to juggle every bit of her interests.

what makes her cry? does she cry easily?

again, inadequacy. she only cries once every six months, but that ‘once’ is mostly due to her built up inferior and inadequate feelings for herself, her parents, her family, and the people who care for her.

is she quick to violence?

not at all. but she boils her anger, omh.

what are some of her habits that will take some getting used to?

passive-aggressiveness! she's known as this happy-go-lucky sweetheart who can get along very well. but, she tends to hold grudges over icks that leads to her being passive-aggressive. it's not once or twice that she has dumped her exes by gaslighting them they're at fault for bla-bla-bla when she's actually in the wrong too, especially for keeping her anger without communicating the problems.

what is her family like?

the whitfield family is a four-souled family with a strict yet harmonious dynamic! lore-wise, cammy's father is a president director of an insurance company in indonesia, while her mother is a business-graduate actress in indonesia. so, strictness comes like a meteor shower day by day, hitting cammy until she's able to sculpt herself into the standards of her parents: independent, successful, and honorable. her mother is the strictest of all and she's actually more of a daddy's daughter. but, she's gained the luck to be constantly supported by her parents wherever she goes. “just remember, stick to the standards,” her mom always says.

when scared, does she "flight" or "fight"?

scared of something human? fight. scared of something that possibly brings her to a near-death experience? FLIGHT, MATE.

does she fall asleep easily? what helps her sleep?

will continue the asks later when i'm bored and not watching my man clutching 40 points in one game :3

sadly, no.. she's a night owl who can only sleep at two in the morning. she's only taken one nap for the past four months. but what helps her sleep, realistically, is adonis. aha.

FOOD & DRINKS. [SOON]

what is her go-to breakfast?

what is her favorite sweet treat?

does she prefer ordering or cooking food?

does she prefer hot or cold drinks and what is her favorite?

does she eat her fruits and veggies? what are her favorites?

what is her favorite cake flavor?

#lys_whitfield #itscamilla #fel.txt

15 notes · View notes

drarryglobesficrecs · 11 months

Text

Accident Bonding/Bonding - drarry fic recs

Lift Your Open Hand by firethesound(18k)

With Draco Malfoy as his assigned partner for the next six weeks of Auror training, Harry had been prepared for things to go poorly. But getting themselves accidentally bonded to each other in the first twenty minutes of their very first assignment seemed going above and beyond, even for them.

In Evidence of Magical Theory by bixgirl1(43k)

When a hex meant for Draco accidentally catches Harry as well, they're forced to learn to understand each other in ways they previously might have thought impossible.

In which Harry and Draco can't fight, so they fall in love instead.

Beacon by Amelior8or, Andithiel, gameofdrarrymod, Kristinabird(7k)

Every year around Valentine's day Professor Potter is flooded with questions from love struck young girls about soulmates and soulmate bond lore, and every year, he gets through it as quickly as he can so he can return to his lessons. This year, however, his life is turned upside down when he encounters a mysterious object that lands him in St. Mungos, under the care of Draco Malfoy.

Celestial Bodies by shiftylinguini(20k)

“An astrological anomaly induced bond,” Harry repeats, deadpan, as the Head Healer of the Magical Malfunctions ward finishes announcing his prognosis.

“Space magic,” says Draco, tapping long fingers irritably against the arm of his chair. “You’re saying we’ve been zapped by space magic.”

The Healer huffs. “That’s rather simplifying things, gentlemen.”

If It Takes All Night by tackytiger(10k)

It's not the first time Harry's been the victim of a botched curse (that's one of the reasons he doesn't like crowds), but he feels bad that Malfoy had to get caught up in it too.

So they're bonded. That's ok, they just have to make sure to be touching at all time. No problem. Because Malfoy smells so nice, and has such lovely shiny hair, and his skin is so very warm.

But this isn't going to be a problem for their friendship at all.

Is it, Harry?

Drop Everything Now by parkkate(21k)

After accidentally bonding himself to Malfoy, Harry finds himself in an utterly precarious situation...

Chain Me Up or Set Me Free by alpha_exodus(12k)

This horrid bonding thing is all Potter’s fault, obviously. As for what comes after that? Draco’s not quite sure.

Harmonised Consciousness by Talizora(12k)

This time it's a spell gone wrong in Charms that will bring our two favourite boys together. Expect Mind-Magic Classic HD Clichés & Soul Mates

---

"Potter's spell is still active, but I can shield my thoughts from him. I've been stirring him up all afternoon! It's hysterical!"

Blaise gasped, "It's still active! But it's… Dinner time!"

"Yes, so?"

"S-so? That spell is supposed to cancel itself after an hour! It's been, almost four hours!"

Draco shrugged, "I'm not worried. It's probably due to Potters magic. I'm sure it'll time-out eventually."

Blaise frowned, "Draco I don't think this is a good idea. Maybe you should end the spell?"

"No way! Blaise! I can hear everything! Before, in Runes, Potter was ranting about how he wanted to kill Weasel and Trelawney! He's all over the place! I had no idea he had such homicidal tendencies!" Draco giggled.

One of Blaise's eyebrows rose, "…Draco? Did you just giggle?"

"No I didn't."

"Yes you did."

Twice as Much as an Earthquake by firethesound(12k)

Accidental bonding. Breaking and entering. Conspiring, however unwillingly, in the strange one-man war Malfoy's waging against detention. This isn't the normal school year Harry anticipated having, but at least it's not boring.

Tug-O-Want by dysonrules(16k)

Harry is back at Hogwarts minding his own business when he finds himself magically drawn to Draco Malfoy. Over and over again.

Hungry by birdsofshore(24k)

The first thing Harry knew about it was when he woke up lying on a bed in the hospital wing, with his arm firmly stuck to the scrawny, milk-white arm of Draco bloody Malfoy.

The Sleeping Beauty Curse by who_la_hoop(152k)

When Draco Malfoy falls into a cursed sleep and can only be woken – at least, according to the Daily Prophet, that impeccable source of truth – by ‘true love’s kiss’, Harry Potter knows there’s no way on earth he’s the answer to this particular riddle. Is he . . .?

Grounds for Divorce by Tepre(122k)

Malfoy finds a coin. Harry finds a letter.

A story about histories, a story about families. A story about a lemon tree somewhere in Upper Egypt.

The Destiny You Sold by tryslora(58k)

In which Draco knits, Harry makes wands, and things get very tangled up between them.

Mental by sara_holmes(186k)

Harry has had quite enough of sharing his mind with someone else, thankyouverymuch. A miscast Legilimecy spell says otherwise.

58 notes · View notes

noisyquokka · 8 months

Text

Banshees In The Night

PAIRING - Felix x Jisung x GN!Reader

SYNOPSIS - Haunted houses can be quite the hoot... if you know what you're getting yourself into...

WORDCOUNT - 4.2k

WARNINGS - Established friend-group, a bit of rural exploration, Mild Language, Humor, Mentions of insects/untidy surroundings, Mentions of murder (for the lore of the "haunted" location), no one comes prepared || Let me know if I've missed any warnings!

A/N - Spooky season is upon us and I'm so excited to write some horror and October-themed fics! This one was a first attempt at more descriptive writing and for my first time, I'm pretty proud. And the edit was a little last minute thing I did. Dunno why I did it, but it was fun!! Let me know what you think, constructive criticism is always appreciated!

"Nope! No fucking way!"

"Oh, c'mon." Felix rolls his eyes, pointing at the laptop screen. "Look, it says here the property is fenced in and secure. No big deal!"

You crane your neck so far that you look like a heron fishing on the bay. Jisung snickers beside you, taking a swig of his energy drink. No big deal, he says...

It was just a few days ago when the three of you were talking about exploring a supposed haunted house on Halloween night. You had agreed to this as a joke, but knowing these two, you should've seen this coming. It wasn't a surprise to you when Felix had called earlier, asking if you and Jisung were home and brought himself over. Turns out he'd been doing some research on the haunted locales around town and, much to your dismay, was now trying to persuade you into a night of absolutely no rest at one of the "most haunted houses in the area". You aren't having it.

"You do realize that Halloween is the worst time to do this?" You say, pacing around the living room. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the boys share a glance. They know where this is going. Jisung takes a breath and leans forward, snatching your laptop off the coffee table.

"I seriously see nothing wrong with this..." Felix mutters, resting his forearms on the back of the couch as Jisung moves the cursor across the screen, tapping on the album of photos that's attached to the article with curious eyes. "It's just an old, abandoned house. No one lives there."

The first photo pops up, an older one taken circa 1934. Back then, the farmhouse stood in the midst of the prairie fields, newly erected, the original owners standing before it with pride. It had belonged to a family of six; husband and wife standing at the top of the wrap-around porch while their four children stand on the descending steps. Oldest to youngest, it seemed, their clothes wrinkled from probable horsing about prior to this photo being taken. The farmhouse itself was classic and elegant in design, with its whitewashed clapboard of the time framing the tall, single-sashed windows. The pine bannister lines the edge of the porch until it wrapped out of sight.

"You can't be serious." You mutter, shaking your head as you watch Jisung flip through the album. The house erodes away with every single picture, the hairs on your arms standing at attention. You catch the quirk of Jisung's lips as you turn away.

"What if we spent the entire night?"

He's joking, you can tell just by the tone of his voice, and soon after, he's chuckling. But Felix's eyes widen with a rare excitement. He claps his hands together, reeling back from the sofa and pointing an index finger at his friend.

"That is a great idea!"

"NO, FELIX!"

You're glaring before he's even looking at you. There's a crazy glint in those eyes, something like adrenaline that rushes his veins at the thought of a whole night at such a location. These boys would be the death of you...

"Halloween is the time of year when the v-"

"The veil between worlds is at its thinnest," Felix interrupts in a mocking tone, rolling his eyes, "I think you're watching way too many supernatural movies. None of it's real!"

You turn your head to him, shooting him a look that you're sure could cut if it physically manifested. Maybe it wasn't real. Maybe it was. You sure as hell didn't feel like being the one to find out. In fact, you would much rather spend your Halloween night right here at home, curled up with a blanket and a horror movie marathon.

You lick your lips, setting your gaze back on the computer screen. Felix paced around leisurely, listening as Jisung reads aloud the info on the house's history. Your ears pick up Jisung's voice, vowels that evolve into syllables until they craft into a whole story, but nothing computes.

"English decent...hard-working values... two of four children homeschooled.... ongoing Infedelity... wife took the hatchet from the barn.... murdered her husband... three of the kids... eldest daughter survived by escaping through the second story window... wife was never seen again..."

You stand there with a jittering foot, Jisung's voice fading in and out in a garbled buzz. The words slowly sink in, the air charged with tension. Your eyes drift back to the album. The youngest daughter's expression is unmistakable as she stares straight at the camera, her gaze cold and piercing as a dagger's point.

"Are you serious?" Felix stares at the photo with wide eyes, his lips parted in astonishment before he bursts out laughing. "Oh my god, this house would be amazing to explore on Halloween, are you kidding!?"

You're still in shock. A lump in your throat. Your eyes locked on those pixels that stare back. Dead eyes. Your mind races.

Was it just a rumor? A ghost story spun by bored residents at the time?

Something tells you otherwise.

"Says here it's been vacant since 1998. The last family to live there did some renovations but reportedly left shortly after."

"You're joking, now." You shift your attention to your roommate sitting on the couch, tilting your head with a pointed look. Jisung's gaze finds your pinned pupils for a split second, only to go back to his scrolling without another word. "Tell me you're joking."

Felix's laugh actually triggers you, your fists clenching until your fingernails are leaving indents on your palms. He rounds the sofa to sit beside Jisung, eyes darting across the laptop screen.

"Come on, it'll be fun! Imagine what cool trinkets might be in that house."

"That fucking house has been vacant for TWENTY-FIVE YEARS! Murder is bad enough, but to top it off, the last people renovated only to leave without selling it?" You turn to Jisung again, "Is that on the record? The last owners didn't sell it after reno?"

Jisung searches the paragraph again, double checking what he'd read.

"Yep, they bought it in 1991, made some renovations, but never sold it. They just left."

Felix groans in response, rolling his eyes as he leans into the elder boy's side to get a closer look. Jisung continues his scrolling through the website, searching for any other news stories on the property. Another Google search only returns regurgitated legends of the original family, all with different endings. More dead ends eventually lead to Jisung closing the tab and leaning back into the couch cushions.

You shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest. "I don't feel good about it, Lix. I'm out!"

"Are you serious? It's a fucking house and some old ghost stories."

"And I'm not about to fuck around at a murder sight on Halloween with you two imbeciles! I'll go literally anywhere else on Halloween night, a fucking party if you so insist."

"A party?" Felix scoffs, "That's boring and you know it. Don't you wanna have an adventurous Halloween?"

"I don't want to get haunted or arrested. You will not persuade me into following you along like a lost puppy to some haunted farmhouse!"

—

"I can't believe you talked me into this shit..."

You're stuffing your hands into the pockets of your hoodie, glancing around the dying overgrowth of the wooded area you three currently travel through. Despite everything you'd said two weeks ago, here you stand.

"It'll be fine. They say no one has been seen in or around the house for years! And besides, all those reports of paranormal activity were probably made up for the sake of scaring kids." Jisung says. The flashlight in his hand dips, the LEDs trailing off between tree trunks and the darkness of the woods, dancing from one spot to another as he follows behind Felix. The moon beams an eerie glow from high in the sky, most of the trees barren so late in October, casting shadows that twist and distort against the rustling leaves. It's full tonight, unfortunate for your anxious little mind. Your eyes are already playing tricks on you in the dark of night, shadows peeking their heads out from behind the earthen bark.

"Oh ho hoo, you didn't say that last week, bro!" Felix's voice echoes, looking down at his mobile device to keep the group on track. "That's even more perfect. We'll be the first to explore it in over two decades!" He's practically shaking with excitement, though you're completely numb at this point. And not from the October chill.

Your fingers twitch in their confines, your breath forming in puffs of ghostly clouds in the night. The trees loom over your head like guardians, gangly limbs reaching out to scrape and pull at your hair and hoodie. Others lean against their brethren, uprooted by the anger of storms, their battering of wind and rain. Still, some of them fight for survival, their strong roots piercing deeper into the Earth's soil. You press on through the foliage, the silence of the forest only broken by the muffled sound of your best friends' conversation fading.

"When all this is said and done, you're doing the dishes for two weeks." You say, glaring at Jisung's back.

"I feel like all that hostility in your voice is so uncalled for. I haven't done anything."

You chuckle bitterly, staggering over tree roots that breached the surface of the soil.

"You're right! You haven't made one objection to this stupid idea since Felix brought it up. And to top it off, all that research you did on my laptop? Yeah, I'm now the victim of true crime news stories from the early 1900s."

"Don't you clear your search history every night?" He asks.

"Don't you have your own laptop?" You counter, watching him slow his pace and huff. Part of you feels a little guilty for being so harsh. You know the boys love doing stupid shit; Halloween or otherwise. But after all was said and done, you just didn't feel good about this little trip. Felix turns back to you two, the light of his phone illuminating his face.

"Oh lighten up, Spitfire! For all we know the stories are a load of crap. We're already this far, right? No point in backtracking now. It'd be a shame not to check it out."

"The real shame is the classic horror movies I rented for us that are just sitting on the damn coffee table back home." You grumble, your eyes darting over your shoulder. Jisung snickers ahead, cooing at you.

"Awww, are you disappointed we aren't sitting on the couch, lights off, snuggled under a blanket together?" He teases, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Felix chuckles and keeps walking, looking down every few moments to the GPS on his phone. As you trek further, your spine tingles with electricity. The air in this heavily wooded area seems dead, the feeling of being watched growing like mold spores beneath the leaf litter. It's as if something is lurking just out of sight, just beyond the shadows.

"We've spent almost half an hour in these woods," Felix's words ring out in the darkness, and you realize in your moment of weakness, you'd stopped walking. "If you wanna give up and run home, that's your business. I wanna see this through."

Your feet move again, quickly catching up to your friends with heavy breaths. This place gives you the creeps and you haven't even gotten to the house yet.

"Besides, it's just a few minutes ahead. Look, there." Felix smiles as he points up ahead, the old farmhouse rising out of the dark ocean of those tall prairie grasses. Your eyes are drawn upwards to the thinning canopy of the trees above, mind racing with the possibilities of what you may encounter. And still, you follow behind the boys.

"Have you considered the idea that we might not be the only ones out here?" Your question is accompanied by a hollowness in your throat as you all wade through the overgrown field; invasive Johnson grass swaying with the wind.

"Jason Voorhees isn't gonna pop out and welcome us to the house, if that's what you're asking."

"Funny... I'm talking about real threats, Felix."

"Technically, Jason doesn't live in the woods..." Jisung says. Felix stops walking, turning his attention fully onto his friend.

"Yes, he does."

"No, he doesn't." Jisung replies, and now you've all stopped walking.

"Yes, he does."

"The guy spends half his slasher life slashing around a lake house!"

"At a summer camp in the woods!"

"Near a lake! Boom! Mic drop. I'll humbly take this win, thank you."

"You haven't won shit, it's in the wo-"

"Will the two of you please shut up!" You hiss, eyes darting around the open field. Your feet are shuffling beneath you, unable to shake the feeling of being watched. You look off to that creepy looking house, shaking your head. "It's too fucking quiet to be raising your voices out here, and frankly, I'm already pissing myself without the help of you two talking about some slasher in the woods!"

"Slasher in the woods, see." Felix gestures to you, shooting Jisung a grin. That's what he picked up from your little anxiety-ridden rant? He turns on his heels, the gravel drive just a little bit further. It snakes through the field like a serpent, winding its way up to the old farmhouse. Jisung starts walking ahead, but you don't miss the sound of him mocking Felix's snide remark. You sigh heavily, shaking your head and following close behind.

The gravel crunches under three sets of shoes, the pebbles shifting with every hurried step. You can see the entrance from here with the help of Jisung's light; the dark shadow of a door. You swear there's nothing keeping nature out. The windows are boarded up, the sheets of plywood slowly eaten away by termites and other wood borers over some time. It's bare bones, the exterior of the building left to rot and be reclaimed by the surrounding nature. Somewhere nearby, an owl claims the woodlands with its haunting song.

"That's it?" Felix's tone is drenched in disappointment. His eyes dart back and forth with the crappy light of his cell phone over the Tim Burton-esque husk.

"Why the fuck do you sound disappointed? This house is terrifying!" Your eyes scan the surrounding property, and something dawns on you. "There's also no signs of a secure fence anywhere, like it was stated in the article."

Felix shrugs, his phone's light scanning over your form. "Must've been an older article, then. But it doesn't look that bad."

It looks far larger than it did in the photos online, although you admit it's seen better days. You have yet to notice anything that looks different to the original photos, even if it is crumbling and peeling. Perhaps it was an interior renovation? Jisung's light washes over the building from the porch to the second-story windows, the rickety bannister casting shadows along the disintegrating clapboard. Your blood prickles at the realization that the door was indeed gone, phantom arms reaching out from the depths. It lays on the floor of the main hall, a victim of someone's full-bodied force. The air shifts, it seems. An oppressive static energy that stabs you in the lungs. You swallow, eyes drifting to Felix's shadow a few feet ahead.

"This feels like a terrible idea, Lix. Can we just please go back to mine and Jisung's place?" You're pleading now.

"Come on, it's just a house. There's nothing to be freaked out about," Felix calls from over his shoulder. He's already pressing onward, taking careful steps up the steep and rotting wood stairs of the porch like a sacrifice to the dark maw of this structure. "This is gonna be fun! Can't believe you're backing out after all the build-up."

You try to ignore the anxiety festering in your chest, your stomach. The smell of moisture from the tall grass surrounding you creeps up your nostrils. The place is making your skin crawl. You glance to Jisung, whose expression is a tad cautious now. His eyes dart to you, and in the light of the moon, you swear you can see some concern etching his face. He doesn't speak, just shakes his head and starts toward the entrance. You follow; two more sacrifices to appease whatever horrors lay dormant inside.

The porch groans with every step you and Jisung take, like the wooden boards were protesting you being here. He takes the lead and you aren't about to argue that one, pulling your phone out and turning the flash on with a twitching finger.

"Can't believe we're dumb enough to be walking into the live-action Monster House." You grumble, careful with your foot placement. You step over the door with Jisung's help, covering your nose with your hoodie sleeve.

"Hey, it's not that bad." Jisung says, scanning around for Felix. "We can't leave him here alone."

You scoff.

"One sign of a serial killer or a cult, and I'm sacrificing his Sunshine ass!"

Your fingers flex around your cell phone as you shine it down the main hall. The place looks like it's been ransacked, abandoned furniture turned on its side and litter piled up in corners, scattered across the floor with the help of the winds that seep through the old boards. To the right is the kitchen, simple and small. The cupboards are new, though considerably outdated in present day; old hickory covered in a thick layer of dust and peeled paint. You shine the light up to the weakened ceiling. The plaster has warped, bubbled, and sagged, brown blotches taking over a once pristine eggshell white. You don't like the black growth in the farthest corner where part of the ceiling has fallen, and you're telling Jisung to cover his face before he goes any further.

"Felix! Cover your mouth and hurry up, there's black mold in here!" You raise your voice slightly, but you don't get a response back. Jisung turns to you with a roll of his eyes.

"He's probably hiding somewhere to scare us." He says, heading down the hall. His light shines down the main hall, illuminating dust particles that have been roused with the help of the Aussie that's already exploring around somewhere.

There's a large web that sprawls over the eaten doorframe of the living room to the left, a large orb weaver sitting pretty in the middle of her silken cemetery. You blink at the many insect carcasses she'd captured, no need for further convincing that that room is off limits. You move forward, scanning the other rooms with little interest, but just enough to notice that a few of the house's back windows haven't been boarded up. Or perhaps the plywood has weathered away. The moon light shines through those windows, and you jump at the sight of a field mouse scuttering across the floor, squeaking at your intrusion.

You jump again at the thump of two feet on the landing of the stairs. A flash of cellular light and black boots.

"There's nothing here," Felix says, glancing back through the rickety bannister to the shanty rooms. His light blinds you momentarily.

"You are an idiot!" You release the breath you're holding, glaring at the cracks in the wooden staircase. "Those stairs look about ready to give out under you, get down here!"

Felix rolls his eyes at your scolding, but does as he's told, skipping down the last few steps. He stops on the third one down, a chuckle leaving him.

"I'm telling you, whatever's in this house is just fake stories made up by bored locals. Now-"

Felix's words are interrupted by a loud crash that rattles your bones. Spikes your pulse. You both jump at the sudden noise, Felix almost drops his phone as he turns to look for the source of the sound. It echoes from the kitchen, something like the lid of a stainless steel pot ringing, reverberating over the wood as it dances on its rim. Your throat swallows itself, strangled by an all-encompassing fear. A phantom hand grips your left shoulder. You startle, reeling your elbow up and back.

"Easy, easy!" A familiar voice says, shadow ducking out of the way to save him an elbow to the throat, "It's just me!" Jisung. His voice hushed as his wide eyes glance toward the exit. Toward the noise. You sigh in the slightest relief, because while all three of you have been accounted for, you now know that the noise is someone or something else entirely. The rim stops its dancing on a dime before anyone can speak, like a spinning coin that someone stops with the smack of a hand. All is quiet, only the sound of wind through rotting window frames and the shallowest breaths from three spooked youngins.

"What the hell was that?" Felix is the one to ask, and you're almost surprised to hear his voice shake in the back of his throat. Jisung shakes his head behind you, a small frown creasing his brows. Brown eyes stick to the doorway, waiting for... fuck, you don't know what you're all waiting for.

"We need to lea-"

BANG!!

Something metallic flashes in your peripherals and you can't stop the shriek you let out, bringing a hand up to your mouth. The weapon of choice lays in the middle of the door; a pan lid that rolls around on its handle, a dull rattling on hollowed wood. You all stand still, each of you paralyzed with fear. The loud bang against the wall gives you enough of a jolt to break the silence.

"Now! We need to leave now!" You hiss. "And I'm not taking one step towards that door, so what is our game plan?"

"Finding another way out?" Jisung suggests, his eyes burning a hole through the kitchen's doorframe. Felix shakes his head.

"There's no other exit. All the windows are boarded up upstairs." He whispers.

"Are you serious?" You can't stop the shakiness in your tone, your nerves getting the better of you in this moment of weakness. Whatever the fuck is in that kitchen isn't happy to have guests, and your only way out is past that doorway? You may as well have dug your own graves.

Another flash of movement, something tiny thrown into the adjacent living room. The object vibrates the silk strings of the spider's web and its inhabitant jolts, unsure whether or not to stay in the relative safety of her space or to take shelter elsewhere.

The loud thumping noise returns, this time from upstairs... scratching, clawing, pounding. The floorboards creaking loudly as something large scrapes back and forth across the surface. They keep getting louder, whatever is in here is only getting angrier. Another sharp bang against the wooden walls.

"Fuck!"

"Run!" Felix yells, and he's already clambering down the last few stairs, bolting for the door. "Just run!"

Jisung grabs your hand before you can protest, and the both of you dash through the open maw of the house with pounding hearts and trembling fingers. You take the moisture-laden air into your lungs, squeezing your roommate's hand to ground yourself. Everything is fine. Jisung is doing the same, hunched over with his free hand on his knee.

"What the fuck was that?" Felix asks, shining his phone back towards the house. He's panting too, his confidence completely snuffed out by the weird shit he's just witnessed.

"I don't know, I didn't see anything." Jisung pants as he struggles to catch his breath. He turns to face you as the sound of something falling to the floor is heard from the living room.

"Do we go back in there?" Felix asks, wide eyes on the entrance to the house. The light from Jisung's flashlight cuts through the darkness in patches, moving with every swing of his arm.

"Are you seriously asking if we should go back in there?" Jisung asks. For the first time tonight, you're both on the same wavelength. How Felix could want to go back inside after all of that, you don't understand. Perhaps it's the shock? Or he's got a death wish.

You don't have the chance to consider the choices because your ears perk at the sound of what you could only describe as killer clown laughter, just inside the doorway. A grunt. Growling. More laughter. It leaves your spine ram-rod straight, the hairs on your body all standing on end.

Oh, fuck this!

Now that you're outside, you see no reason to stand here and twiddle your thumbs. You're gripping Jisung's hand like he's your lifeline and bolting for the trees. Back the way you all came. It seems Felix has finally come to his senses as well, breaking into a full sprint down the driveway as he screams for you two not to leave him behind. The house recedes quickly into the distance with no one even bothering to look back to see if you're being followed. All you know is that running for your life is better than death by hatchet or crazy killer clown cults. The three of you don't stop until you're back to the main road and in your car.

Beady eyes peak around the door frame as all three book it, a mask over those eyes to hide their identity. Another head pops out, and a third. All masked up and chittering away as they amble onto the porch, munching on junk food that had been left behind by other explorers.

Raccoons.

The furbearers climb down the steps one-by-one, almost cackling on their way as the trio of two-leggeds scream into the night.

Psst!! If you made it this far, thank you for taking the time to read my work 💕 I appreciate you!

49 notes · View notes