#Burning Shores was too short | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 months

Text

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 8: She's The Salt Of The Earth And She's Dangerous]

A/N: Be sure to vote in the poll pinned to the top of my blog AFTER you finish reading!!! 🥰

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, RIP Jace (again).

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “She's A Rebel” by Green Day.

Word count: 7.4k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

“I’m sorry if I was a creep when we first met,” Aegon says. He’s been oddly philosophical since he was burned. “I hadn’t seen a hot single chick in a while, and I wanted to fuck you.”

Cregan siphoned just enough gas from a decrepit Chrysler Sebring in Merna to take the Tahoe two and a half hours west to Little Thunder Bay Campground on the shores of Lake McConaughy, a manmade reservoir and New Deal project from the 1930s. You glance over at Aegon dubiously, amused. “Do I count as hot?”

“Yeah, Chippendales, you’re hot. In like a…you live in a cabin and knit sweaters by a crackling fireplace kind of way.”

You smile. “So you got over that.”

“Oh no, I still want to fuck you. Now I just know you better, so I wouldn’t want to offend you by being obnoxious about it.”

“That’s sweet, I guess. I appreciate your discretion.”

“No problem. If you ever decide you want to take a ride on a less distinguished Targaryen brother, let me know.”

The two of you are fishing from a boat launch, dry splintering planks of wood, opaque rippling water, soft wind and bright sunshine from an aquamarine, cloudless sky. Cregan found the fishing poles in the abandoned RV you’ve moved into, a Winnebago Spirit with one of those stick figure family decals on the back window, Mom, Dad, four lovely children and a dog too, all of whom are perhaps alive but more likely dead and in any case nowhere to be found here in this tranquil corner of western Nebraska, 150 miles from the Wyoming border. Helaena digs worms from the earth, then Rhaena slices them into wriggling segments with a hunting knife and brings them to you and Aegon to be impaled on barbed hooks. Aemond, Rio, Daeron, Luke, and Cregan are swimming about twenty yards down the beach, soaked boxer shorts and nothing else, splashing each other and scrubbing the grime off their skin from a morning spent gathering wood for the firepit and the grill; Ice is paddling joyfully alongside them. Baela floats on her back and peers vacantly up into the vast blue nothingness. Aegon is not permitted in the water, as his leg is an open wound beneath his bandages. You ask him as you recast your fishing line: “Why are you like this?”

“Like what?”

You shrug, smirking guiltily. You thought it was obvious.

Aegon throws back his head and cackles, slow and lazy. “Oh, I get it. A loser.”

“I didn’t say loser.”

“You thought loser.”

“I implied loser.”

“It’s alright. I’ve been called worse things by people I admire much less.” He contemplates his answer as he gazes down into the water, sluggish stoned reverie. Aemond must be almost out of morphine by now. At last Aegon says: “I think the first thing I ever learned was that no matter how hard I tried, no one was ever going to love me. Not in a normal kind of way, Disney movie love, Christmas rom-com love. So I stopped trying. Mother wanted me to play piano, so I bombed the recital. Father wanted me to be a doctor or a lawyer, so I skipped class, went golfing and yachting, didn’t even bother to pay someone to write halfway decent essays for me. If they couldn’t love me unconditionally, I wasn’t interested in meeting their conditions.” Then he chuckles, the breeze combing through his hair, ninety degrees and only getting hotter. “I refused to work. All you’ve ever done is work. You must hate me.”

“No, I get it.” You reel in your line; a fish has stolen the worm from your hook, tiny clandestine nibbles. You impale a slimy new victim and recast. “No one wants to be used.”

“Yeah. Exactly. I wasn’t going to spend my life doing shit I didn’t want to do so my parents could brag about me to their insufferable friends and absolve themselves of their mistakes. Mother married a man who didn’t give a fuck about her, Father ignored us all. Me being a success story would have given them the impression they did something right. I couldn’t have that.”

So Aemond had to be the success story instead. You glance down the beach at where he is bursting through the water and slicking back his dripping hair from his face, showing Luke a bone he found in the muddy silt of Lake McConaughy, hopefully not human.

Aegon follows your eyeline. “Aemond went the other way, I guess. Always so pathetically desperate for their approval. Scrabbling for crumbs of it like a rat. That’s what the thing with Alys was all about, it’s the only explanation I have. Older woman, surrogate mother, comforting but chilly, fawning but forbidden, always keeping him at an arm’s length and rewarding his tricks with treats.” He smirks flirtatiously, then sees that he’s hurt you. “Oh, um, I mean…look, it wasn’t…it wasn’t a good thing, you know? He wasn’t happy. It was a seven-year-long psychotic episode, not a relationship.”

“You mentioned that Criston likes Aemond,” you say, pivoting. “The…what is he? A family friend, an assistant?”

“My mother’s personal security guard. And yeah, he cares about Aemond. He’s proud of him, he trust him, he thinks he’s more capable than any of the rest of us, and that’s probably true. It’s definitely true compared to me. But that doesn’t mean Criston always knows how to express it.”

You look out over the water, trying not to imagine Aemond touching Alys, this woman you hate without knowing her face. You wonder if he ever wishes you were more like her: older, clever, entrancing, masterful. “It must have been a strange way to grow up.”

“Cold,” Aegon says. “Hollow. Holidays, birthdays, vacations, everything. You go through the motions but something’s always missing. When you’re little, you think it’s your fault, and then eventually you realize that they’re going to be miserable whether you’re there or not. But you can get out if you’re willing to run far enough.” He scratches at his forearm, and your eyes catch fleetingly on the black ink of his tattoo: It’s not over ‘til you’re underground. You had told Rio something similar when you were stranded on that transmission tower in Catawissa, Pennsylvania. “This is fucked up, and I don’t mean that I don’t feel bad about what happened to Jace, and I get that millions of people have died agonizing deaths, and that all sucks, believe me, I know, but this…” He gestures vaguely, to the zombies and the desolation and the collapse of everything you’ve ever known. “It was kind of my Get Out Of Jail Free card. And in a weird way…sometimes I feel like I’ve been happier since the world ended than I ever was before.”

You smile. You know what he means. “Even if your leg gets infected and we have to saw it off without anesthesia like you’re a Civil War soldier?”

Aegon laughs and shakes his head, his hair flopping around. It’s almost long enough for him to have a man bun like Cregan’s if he wanted one “No, probably not. Also, what’s the Civil War?”

“Forget it.”

“No, now I want to know.”

“It’s kind of a long story.”

“Aemond said something interesting this morning while you were picking blackberries with our favorite Trump supporter,” Aegon tells you, salacious and sly, offering a tantalizing morsel he knows you’re powerless to refuse. He pauses and waits for you to admit it to yourself.

“Fine. Okay. What?”

“He said that when you and Cregan are standing next to each other, you look like you belong together.”

You groan, quite loudly. “I have zero interest in Cregan romantically. Literally zero. I don’t think he sees me that way either.”

Aegon shrugs. “The dating pool is awfully small nowadays, Banana Chip. Anyone who’s not a corpse or an immediate blood relative starts to look tasty.”

“So that’s why you like me.”

Aegon grins, teeth he shows often and easily, so unlike Aemond in every way. “No. I think I’d like you anywhere.” He tugs languidly on his fishing pole. “I want a new golf club.” He forgot his at the house in Broken Bow where Jace died.

“We’ll see.”

“I want new shoes too.” One of his Sperry Bahama sneakers was burned beyond repair and filled with shreds of his own singed flesh, scraps like soft bacon fused with the padding and insole. “And some polos.”

“I’m not a Big Lots.”

“Who the fuck shops at Big Lots?” Aegon’s fishing line jerks, and he yanks hard on the pole before reeling in his catch. Suspended at the end is a long green creature, yellowish spots and a villainous angular face. “That is one ugly bitch.”

“It’s a pike,” you say, and then when you grab it you observe that the misfortunate fish has the barb of the hook piercing not through its lip but one of its bulging, glassy eyes. “Oh my God!”

Aegon squeals, horrified. He offers no meaningful assistance. “That’s so gross, that’s so gross, what are we going to do?!”

“We have to, like, I don’t know, grab the back of the hook from inside its mouth and pull it out of the eyeball, I guess…?!”

“Yeah, awesome. Good luck with that.”

You reach tentatively into the pike’s gaping mouth. Its jaws snap shut, needlelike teeth stinging your wrist. “Ow!”

“Cregan!” Aegon bellows. “Cregan, help!”

Now the others are running to the boat launch to see what’s going on, Helaena and Rhaena from the shore, everyone else from the lake, Luke helping Baela wring the water from her sundress and Ice galloping alongside Cregan. He gets a look at the pike and guffaws, loud and rumbling.

“Poor little guy. That’s some bad luck he’s got.”

“Can you get the hook out?” you ask, eager to surrender the fish, which is still thrashing franticly and gnashing its teeth, mindless cold-blooded death throes.

“Of course I can.” Cregan plucks the pike from your grasp, shoves his massive hand into its mouth, and rips the hook out with one effortless maneuver. The pike is freed, but its eyeball remains speared on the hook. Then Cregan spies blood on your wrist. “You okay there, Miss Chips?”

“Oh yeah. I’m fine.”

“Freaking disgusting, man,” Aegon mutters; he and Rio are ogling the disembodied eyeball, complete with a frayed optic nerve like a tail, with identical, stunned revulsion.

You turn to smile up at Aemond, but he doesn’t notice you. He is staring at Cregan, his sole blue eye narrow and fixed and flat like still water.

~~~~~~~~~~

“The closest town is Ogallala,” Aegon says as he lays his map across the wooden picnic table. The rest of you are seated around him and picking flaky white meat from between the thin, fragile bones of the pike, which Cregan has gutted and cooked on the large metal grill that careless camping families once roasted marshmallows and hotdogs over. Helaena is at the edge of the table and writing in her spider notebook, elegant loops of cursive. Ice is lying on her belly and gnawing on a rabbit she killed for herself, its doomed black eyes gazing up at you.

“That has to be what, ten miles south?” Rio says apprehensively.

Aegon licks grease from his fingers. “Yup. A little more, probably.”

“What about Lemoyne?” Daeron says, pointing. “Or Keystone, or even Belmar? They’re all closer.”

“See how small the names are written?” Aegon tells him. “That means they’re not actual communities. They’re like a few stop signs and maybe a Dollar General and that’s it.”

“I love Dollar General,” Cregan says, nostalgic. “Man, do y’all remember Chicken in a Biskit? I used to park myself in front of the tv and eat boxes and boxes—”

“It has to be Ogallala,” Aemond insists. “We need pharmacies and grocery stores and cars to siphon gas from, we need a real town.”

Rhaena chews her lower lip anxiously. “The Tahoe is empty. We have maybe half a gallon left and that’s it. Just enough to get down to Ogallala if we’re lucky, but not back.”

“So we’ll drive until it dies and then we’ll walk. Cregan has a gas can in the back, if we find fuel we can bring some back to the Tahoe and continue from there.”

“Walk, huh?” Aegon says, looking down at his bandaged left leg, which he can’t put any weight on. He gets around by hopping, leaning against other people (oftentimes against their will), and being carried by Rio.

“Well, you’re not going,” Aemond tells him. “And Baela isn’t either.”

Baela, gazing blankly down at the map, says nothing. A brown striped snake darts through the grass only a few feet from the picnic table, moving swiftly towards the lake, and there are alarmed gasps and yelps.

“Northern water snake,” Helaena says, glancing up from her notebook. “Not venomous.”

“Good,” Rhaena replies with a shudder.

Luke says fearfully as he reads the map: “Aemond, last time we went into a town that big was Broken Bow, and…Jace…the farmhouse…”

Aemond slams his fists down on the table. “We have to, okay? We need food and water. We need bullets. I need more pain meds and bandages for Aegon, I need antiseptic and Neosporin, and Vaseline for when he’s healing, and supplies for when Baela goes into labor too, since I’ve had to use everything I had saved.”

“We need pads and tampons too,” Helaena says as she examines the black-ink inventory in her notebook. “And Advil, lip balm, bars of soap, hair ties, and socks and underwear. And that green jelly aloe vera stuff for Aegon’s sunburn.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Aemond agrees. “We need a lot of things. And we have to refuel so we can keep moving west.”

“We could stay here,” Baela says, so softly that at first you aren’t sure if you heard her right.

“What, Baela?” Rhaena asks gently.

“I want to stay here.” Baela is more resolute now. “I want to have the baby here.”

Nobody knows how to respond. Rio gives you a troubled glance. You nod in agreement, so subtly you doubt anyone else notices. Not an option.

Aemond is calm but unwavering. “Baela, I’m sorry, but that’s not possible.”

She pleads her case. “I like the Winnebago. I like the lake. I’m comfortable here, and we’re out in the middle of nowhere, and I…I think we could make this our home for a while, now that we’ve found someplace like this. Someplace quiet and safe.”

“We’re not safe here, Baela,” Aemond says. “It feels like we’re safe, but we’re not. We aren’t a big enough group to reliably be able to defend ourselves. We don’t have adequate supplies. We have a lake to our backs, sure, but the rest of the shoreline is open for anybody to walk right into, and our visibility is blocked by trees. No one has stumbled across us yet, but that doesn’t mean they won’t. And if they do we’re extremely vulnerable. But when we get to the west coast, we’ll be home.”

“I’m tired of running. I’m tired of being afraid.”

“I understand. I am too.”

“It’s different,” Baela says, abruptly fierce. “You don’t know what this feels like. None of you do. I’ve never given up and I’ve never asked to be taken care of, I’ve always been the strong one, but I’m so goddamn tired, and I want to have my baby here, and I…I…” Her large dark eyes are glistening, haunted. “Every time we’re driving I feel like I see him sitting next to me, or standing out in the middle of the road, and then I have to remember what happened all over again, and…I just…I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Rhaena takes Baela’s hands in her own, skims her thumbs across Baela’s knuckles; Luke rubs her back reassuringly. The rest of you can only offer silent, pitying looks. There are no easy answers, no fortuitous gold strikes, no shortcuts. The only way out is through.

“Whatever you guys decide, I’m leaving either way,” Rio says. “Sophie’s waiting for me in Oregon. I can’t just hang out in Nebraska forever. I’ll walk if I have to.”

“It’s over a thousand miles,” Aegon tells him.

“Doesn’t matter, man. I gotta do it.”

You add: “Obviously, I’d have to go with Rio.”

Both Aemond and Aegon appear startled. “We’ll be on the road again soon,” Aemond promises. “Tomorrow, if we can find gas in Ogallala.”

“I’m not going,” Baela whispers.

“We have to, Baela,” Rhaena implores. “It’ll be alright. We’ll take care of you, and the baby too when the time comes.”

Baela stands, strides to the Winnebago, disappears inside and slams the door behind her.

“She’ll be okay,” Rhaena tells the rest of you. “She’s…you know, she’s shaken up. She’s not thinking clearly. But she’ll realize this was the right decision. The only decision, really.”

“It’s best if we can get set up somewhere permanent before she goes into labor,” Aemond says, as if he’s defending himself. “Traveling with a baby…Baela recovering…it would be very dangerous for all of us.”

“Luke and I are thinking the same things, Aemond. We agree with you.”

He gives Rhaena an appreciative smile, very small but sincere. Then he turns to Daeron. “Baela and Aegon will have to wait here when I go south to Ogallala, since they can’t walk in the event the Tahoe runs out of gas. You’re going to stay behind to protect them.”

“Got it,” Daeron says soberly. All the bullets are gone; his compound bow, fed with arrows fashioned from sticks, is the best weapon you have left. Cregan has his axe, Rio still prefers to bash skulls with the butt of his Remington shotgun, everyone else must make do with hunting knives from that cellar back in Pennsylvania and kayak paddles found here at Lake McConaughy.

Aemond looks around the table. “I’ll need Rio, Cregan, and Luke.”

“And our beloved furball Blue Raspberry Icee,” Aegon says, smirking. “To sniff out any zombies.”

“Yes. Ice too.”

“What about me?” you say, staring incredulously at Aemond.

“Not you. You’re staying here in the RV.”

“If you and Rio are going, I’m going.”

“No, you’re not,” Aemond says. “You’re the best shot, and we all agree about that, but we’re fresh out of bullets. You therefore have no advantage tactically.”

“What’s Luke’s advantage?”

There are awkward chuckles. Aemond leaves the picnic table and gestures for you to follow him. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Why?”

Aemond doesn’t answer; he keeps walking until he’s hidden amongst a small grove of Kentucky coffeetrees, oval emerald leaves and umber seed pods that hang from branches, reminding you of skate egg cases—what some people call mermaid’s purses—you once found washed up on the beach outside Djibouti City. Rio teases you: “Ohhh, you’re in troubleee…”

You swat him on the back of the head; his hair is getting long too, dark curls that flutter in the breeze that comes in off the lake, hot and humid, the infinite wildness of July. “If I’m not going, you have to swear that you’ll—”

“I got it, I got it,” Rio says, blasé and jolly. “I’ll look underneath things, I’ll look on top of things, I’ll look everywhere. Okay?”

Aegon kicks him with his good foot. “Get me a golf club.”

“I’m not a Dick’s!”

“Dicks?! Who brought up dicks, you sicko…?!”

You go after Aemond and meet him in the shade, an island of twilight in the omnipotent golden morning. He pushes you against one of the Kentucky coffeetrees—rough bark to your back, prodding you through your t-shirt—and nuzzles your throat as he presses his hips to yours, blissful clandestine surrender as your knees weaken and you gaze dizzily up into the canopy of leaves.

You sigh: “This is not an explanation. This is a distraction. A very enjoyable one, but a distraction nonetheless.”

“Daeron is good with a bow, but he’s young,” Aemond murmurs. “I need you to help him protect the others.”

“You’ve managed to make this sound like a promotion.”

“And,” Aemond continues. “When things get risky and chaotic, and I’m trying to make sure everyone is safe…I find you being around to be…distracting.”

“Rio doesn’t think I’m a distraction.”

He chuckles, avoidant. “That’s not an equivalent situation.”

“I get that Luke has binoculars, but I am also perfectly capable of using binoculars, and I could borrow his and he could stay here. I really don’t think he’d mind being benched, he’d probably prefer it—”

“I always ask you to stay near Rio, and you never do, and then I have to worry about you getting lost or bitten or imperiled in any one of a million other ways.”

“Because it’s not that simple! Rio gets it, I have to be able to improvise—”

Suddenly, Aemond pulls away and asks: “Do you trust me?”

You are bewildered. “What?”

“Because I could understand if you don’t.”

You search his scarred face; he has that look like he’s trying not to reveal too much of himself, to show that he’s nervous or vulnerable or afraid. You touch your palm to his ravaged cheek, your voice soft. “I trust you, Aemond.”

He seems relived. “Good. Then please stay here.”

“You’ll watch out for Rio?” you say threateningly.

“Of course.”

“And yourself too.”

He grins, those small secretive teeth he loves to hide. “That’s the plan.”

“And you’ll check under things and on top of things, and you’ll remember what I said about the racks? When you go into stores and you’re rummaging through—?”

Aemond kisses you, warm and slow and kind, the curve of his lips pleased and mischievous. “It’s flattering that you’re so concerned.”

“And don’t forget the pads and tampons.”

His scarred eyebrow rises half an inch. “Oh?”

“I’m already having pre-period cramps. I’ll need supplies in a few days.”

“You’ll have them. Don’t fear.” Then he studies you, concerned, his brow furrowing and his palm testing your cheek and forehead. “You feeling okay? You’re sure that’s all it is?”

“Oh yeah, totally. It’s very routine at this point, I’ve had a decade to get accustomed.”

“Alright. If there’s anything else you think of before we head out, I’ll add it to the list.” He takes your hand and examines the shallow scratches left on your wrist by the needlelike teeth of the pike. “Let me clean and wrap that up for you. I think I have just enough bandages left.”

“Your worst nightmare came true,” you joke. “I was bitten after all.”

Aemond doesn’t laugh, doesn’t even smile.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s long after nightfall and you and Aegon are keeping watch just outside the Winnebago Spirit, slumped in folding camping chairs people once told their legends from: scary stories, workplace grievances, familial mythology. In the firepit, logs split and pop, and embers glow a bloody red. You’re waiting for the Tahoe to return and trying not to think about the possibility it might not.

“These suck,” Aegon says, garbled by a mouthful of Cheddar Whales, grimacing at the bright blue box. “Why do you and Rio eat these? They’re like…dodgy Goldfish.”

“Are you kidding?! They’re way better than Goldfish! Goldfish don’t taste like anything.”

“And Cheddar Whales taste like salty cardboard. The American Dream.” Aegon passes the box back to you. “They better come back with some SpaghettiOs or Rice-A-Roni or something. I can’t survive on Cregan’s overcooked fish.” He lights a Marlboro Gold cigarette by sticking it into the fire and takes a deep drag, looking up at the stars. Aemond gave him the last of the morphine before he left, and Aegon is floating on a feathery, narcotic cloud.

You say after at last working up the nerve: “So you’re a slut, right?”

He snickers, firelight dancing on his sunburned face. “Slut, loser, you’ve got me all figured out.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah, I guess I’m a slut. Why?”

“Have you ever had trouble…” Your hands flail around aimlessly; it’s so awkward to say out loud. “You know…getting it in?”

“No, not really. But I’m hung like a hamster.” He looks over at you, curious shimmering stoned blue eyes. “Technical difficulties, Chip And Dip? Not enough dipping going on?”

“Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“You’re probably just nervous. Aemond’s a doctor, he’d be able to tell if you had something wonky down there, like those chicks who are born without a vagina. Or with two vaginas. Jesus Christ, can you imagine the possibilities? Why can’t I meet someone like that?”

You stare into the fire, discouraged. “I’m going to ruin everything.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. Aemond will assume it’s his fault. He thinks everything is his fault.”

Through the darkness, you spot headlights bobbing as the Tahoe approaches on bumpy dirt roads. “Oh, thank God. They’re back.”

“About time. If Rio didn’t find me a new golf club, I’m going to drown him in the lake.”

“He could break you in half.”

“But he wouldn’t.”

“No.”

“Because he likes me too much.”

“Right.”

“Maybe you like me too,” Aegon says as he exhales smoke, his glazed eyes listing to you, his grin crooked and drowsy. “Just a little bit.”

You smile reluctantly. “I might.”

“Cool.” He beams up at the stars, and then says again: “Cool.”

As the massive SUV rolls to a halt, the headlights cascading over you and so bright they’re nearly blinding, you notice the red letters on the grill: GMC. “That’s not the Tahoe,” you say, panicked.

“What? Then who is it?”

“I don’t know.” You stand up, instinctively reaching for one of your M9s; but they’re both empty. All the guns are. Your hand drops to your side.

Aegon, unable to rise on his own, remains in his chair and grips the armrests tightly. He whispers: “Should we go inside…?!”

“They’ve already seen us. But they don’t know who’s in the RV.” Rhaena, Baela, Helaena. With a shiver like a bolt of cold lightning, you recall what Aemond said at the bowling alley back in Shenandoah, Ohio: I don’t want them to know we have women with us.

The GMC Yukon is still running when two men step out, the headlights disorientingly bright. They are both armed, you see immediately, pistols that you’d guess are Colts. Aegon’s hand juts out and closes around your forearm as the strangers approach. They are both young, maybe twenty, and wearing jeans, camo jackets, and baseball hats like they’re going hunting. They stand in the yellow-white glow of the headlights as they watch you.

“Hi,” you say congenially, forcing a smile.

The men glance at each other, then one greets you with a nod. “Howdy.”

“We’re set up here,” you say. “But it’s a big campground. You’re welcome to any of the other spots.”

The man who spoke earlier chuckles and scratches at his short beard. You steal a glimpse back at Aegon: his eyes are huge and horrified.

“It’s real quiet on the lake,” you continue. “We haven’t had any problems, and we’ve been here a few days. It’s a good place. We’re happy to share it. We don’t…” You deliberate what words to use. “We aren’t interested in making trouble. We just want to be left alone.”

The man replies: “I camped here every single summer growing up, learned to fish here, swam in the water with my cousins, brought my girlfriends here to fuck. And now you’re inviting me to stay? You’re not from here. I can tell by your accent. This is my backyard. You’re the one who should be asking for permission.”

Aegon is making a low, whimpering sound; his fingernails are digging into the defenseless, downy underside of your forearm. “We don’t have anything of value,” you say, your voice trembling.

“Uh huh.” The stranger’s gaze flicks to the Winnebago.

“We found it. There’s no gas, no keys. Two of the tires are flat. It’s just shelter.”

“Who else is in the RV?”

“No one.”

The second man is squinting at Aegon. “Is he a cripple?”

“He was burned. That’s why we’re resting here for a while, so he can heal.”

The first man points to the bandage on your wrist. “Did you try to kill yourself? My neighbor did that when her kid got eaten. Slit her veins open out in the middle of the street. Bad scene.”

“I got mauled by a fish,” you reply numbly.

He laughs, a slow, rolling, mocking sort of sound, not taking his eyes off you. Then they drop to the Beretta M9s you have holstered at your waist. “Are those loaded?”

“Yes.”

He signals to the nearest Kentucky coffeetree. “Prove it. Shoot that tree.” You stare at its trunk, stark in the headlights of the strangers’ SUV. Long seconds tick by, the only sound the idling of the engine and the crackling of the firepit. “You can’t,” the man says, grinning. “Because you’re out of bullets. But I’m not.”

He raises his pistol and fires, a thunderclap, a mechanical roar. A small circular wound appears in the tree. Aegon shrieks and tries to stand; he tumbles to the earth when the raw, weeping flesh beneath his bandages betrays him. The RV door flies open and Daeron is the first one out, clutching his compound bow but still blinking his way out of the dreams he was jolted from. He won’t be able to nock one of his makeshift arrows before they shoot him.

“What the hell’s going on—?!”

“Drop it!” the stranger shouts, and both he and his companion aim their pistols at Daeron. He freezes. Baela, Rhaena, and Helaena exit the RV and begin screaming, clinging to each other.

“Do what they ask,” you tell Daeron, trying to remain calm. With great hesitancy, he sets his bow on the earth and puts his empty palms in the air. There are hunting knives inside the RV, you think. Where did we store them? In a drawer, in a cabinet?

The men are now herding you all into the RV, jabbing the barrels of their pistols against your backs and bellies. “Let’s go, everybody in,” the first one says. The second man hooks an arm forcefully under one of Aegon’s and drags him through the threshold, Aegon yowling as his burned leg smacks against the doorframe. The second man forces Aegon and Daeron to kneel on the floor at the front of the RV near the driver’s seat; the other one arranges the women at gunpoint, instructing you to squeeze together to sit in a row on the floral couch. Helaena—farthest from you and closest to the kitchenette booth—is sobbing and covering her ears. Rhaena appears to be hyperventilating. Baela’s head is held high, her face furious and defiant.

Aemond, Rio, Cregan, please come back…

“Now this is interesting,” the first man is saying to his friend. He uses his pistol to indicate to each of you. “We’ve got G.I. Jane, this delicate little sweetheart, a pregnant lady, and Cinderella. Where should we begin…?”

You glance at Rhaena, catch her wide frenzied eyes, then look meaningfully at the drawers across the aisle near the kitchenette stove and sink. Knife? you mouth.

It takes her a moment to realize what you mean, then she inclines her head, an elusive nod. She remembers where they are, where they were stored once she cleaned them this afternoon in the lake water. That’s good; but in order for Rhaena to grab a large serrated hunting knife, the men will need to be distracted.

“There’s a bed in the back,” the second man is saying. “I can see it from here, down the hallway…”

Your gaze is darting around the Winnebago. Aegon is yelling something; the second man pistol-whips him, fortunately not hard enough to fracture his skull.

“Don’t worry,” the first man tells Aegon, background noise you try to ignore as you search for an opportunity. “You’ll get to watch…”

Helaena is trying to get your attention, staring at you with her wide, gleaming blue eyes. You furrow your brow at her, not understanding…and then you see the burlap strap she’s looped around her wrist. Her messenger bag must be in the kitchenette booth beside her. And as you watch, and only for a second, she arranges her fingers in the shape of a gun.

The Ruger, you realize, amazed, that tiny revolver she was always so repelled by. Helaena never used it, but she still has it. And it’s loaded.

Baela is arguing with the men, words you tune out. Helaena points to you, but you shake your head. There’s no way for her to get the Ruger to you without them seeing. You mouth to Helaena, your face severe: You have to do it. Then you look to the first man, presently waving his pistol in Baela’s face.

“I’d like to go first,” you say casually, and all the noise stops.

“No, no, no, I’ll do it,” Aegon tells the men. “You want a blowjob? You want to fuck me in the ass? I’m down. I’m not scared of no dick. I experimented in college.”

Both strangers burst into hysterical laughter. “That’s a mighty generous offer,” the second one says, swiping a tear from his eye. “But that’s not the team we’re on, is it, Wesley?”

The first man, Wesley, is smiling down at you. His gaze sweeps over your body, from your bare feet to your eyes, calm and level. “Why do you want to go first, darling?”

Shoot him, Helaena. Shoot him right now. “I’ve never done it before. I figure I should give it a try before it’s too late.”

Helaena whips the Ruger out of her burlap messenger bag and opens fire. She winces each time it goes off, and her aim is terrible; bullets pierce the ceiling and the walls, striking nowhere near Wesley or his accomplice, but their panicked ducking buys valuable seconds. Daeron and Aegon tackle the man closest to them and wrestle the pistol from his hands. Aegon presses the barrel to his skull, pulls the trigger, kills him instantly. Rhaena flies to one of the drawers and yanks out a hunting knife ten inches long. She buries it in Wesley’s throat, the blade disappearing until the hilt rests on his collarbone. When she rips it free, scarlet blood jets from his severed carotid artery, spraying you, soaking you. Blood is in your eyes and nostrils, hot coppery carnage; when you scream, you can taste it in your mouth.

People are reaching for you and telling you to calm down, that they’ll help you, but you can’t wait. You use your t-shirt to mop as much of the blood as you can from your face and bolt through the door of the RV, running towards the lake. You drop to your knees on the sand and splash yourself, cool moonlit rivulets that wash the blood away. You’re trembling, you’re crying, and when somebody grabs you by the arm you scream and strike out at them, clawing like an animal.

“It’s me,” Aemond says, and only then do you get a good look at him, blood and lake water beading on your eyelashes. He’s wiping blood off your face with his palms, he’s inspecting you for fresh wounds. “Don’t fight, it’s me, it’s me, whose blood is this, what happened—?!”

“You were right,” Baela says to Aemond from where she stands on the sand, a hand resting on her belly. Drifting from the RV are the voices of the others who have just returned: Rio, Cregan, Luke. “We’re not safe here.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The next night, rain falls as you lie entangled with Aemond in the attic bedroom of a ranch house in Red Desert, Wyoming, flashing lightning and flickering candles illuminating bare skin. You are kissing feverishly, your hands all over each other, and Aemond is pushing himself into you; or, rather, he is trying to. There is pain, and you can feel your body turning treasonous, rejecting him, shrinking away from him, fearing that you’ll never be able to satisfy him.

No, no no no…

His voice is hushed and gentle as his lips brush your ear. “Hey, you’re shaking, why are you shaking?”

“I’m okay, I’m fine, keep going.” And then, when he stops: “No, Aemond, don’t—”

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You have to. I’ll be okay, I promise.”

Instead, he lies down beside you and turns your face to his, fingerprints on the slope of your jaw. He asks again, more firmly: “Why are you shaking?”

All the walls and arches of you collapse, stones tumbling to crack against the earth. You are suddenly fighting tears. Your words come out in a whisper. “I want this to be real.”

He studies your face, distressed. “What are you talking about?”

“I don’t want to ruin it. I don’t want to lose you. I never thought I’d have something like this and now I’m so afraid of fucking it up.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s what Jace thought.”

Aemond pulls you against his chest and holds you as you sink through him into dark, cold, watery dreams, and doesn’t make any more promises he can’t keep.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What time is it on the East Coast right now?” you ask Rio. It’s May and almost a hundred degrees every day in Djibouti City—arid, rainless, sun glare and dust that sting your eyes—so the Navy has you building at night when they won’t have to deal with quite so many Seabees dropping over from heatstroke. Outside the day is turning to a soft lavender dusk and your shift will begin soon. You are dressed—sand-colored t-shirt, camo pants, work boots—and toweling off your hair, still wet from the shower.

Rio is sprawled across the floor of your room, taking up almost all of it; housing at Camp Lemonnier consists of converted shipping containers, each outfitted with its own perpetually whirring air conditioning unit. He is reading Fifty Shades Of Grey. “Like seven hours behind here, so early afternoon, I guess.” Then he looks up at you, suspicious. “Why?”

“I should probably call.”

“Should you really?”

“I want to. I’ll feel guilty if I don’t.”

Rio shakes his head and returns his attention to his reading material. “I’m not going to tell you what to do.”

“You love telling me what to do.”

“I wish you loved listening.” He flips a page, puzzled. “Why the fuck does Sophie like this book so much…?”

You open Facebook Messenger on your phone and make a call. The wifi isn’t good for videos, but old-fashioned audio calls usually work okay. There is an answer on the fourth ring.

“Yeah?” she says, and you can hear the entire house when she turns on speakerphone: the squeaking of the recliner, the droning of a talk show, indistinct speech and chuckling from other people, glass—cups, bottles, baking dishes, ashtrays—clinking sharply.

“Hi, Mama! Happy Mother’s Day!”

“Aw, ain’t you sweet to call.” And you are testing her voice like water from a tap, icy cold, hot enough to scald. At the moment, Mama sounds perfectly lukewarm. “I didn’t count on hearing from you. I know how busy you are.”

That’s a landmine that you step gingerly around. “We definitely have a lot going on here, and there’s the time difference and everything…but I wanted to make sure to say hi, even if I can’t talk for long. What are you up to today?”

“Oh, nothing much.” You hear her smoking: breathe in, breathe out, a cunning sort of pause as she decides how to proceed. Of course there were no extravagant festivities planned. Nothing ever felt like a real holiday at home: Mama getting sloshed and burning the turkey on Thanksgiving, Christmas presents that had to be returned for grocery and gas money, fistfights and doors ripped off hinges on New Year’s Eve. You had decided years ago that Hallmark channel magic was pure fiction…but sometimes you get glimpses of it now. Thanksgiving dinner in some unceremonious chow hall with Rio and your other friends feels more like a holiday than anything else you’ve ever known. “You still in Africa?”

“It’s Djibouti, Mama, I told you. It’s on the Horn. Across the sea is Yemen and Saudi Arabia.”

“Why can’t they put y’all to work in your own goddamn country?”

“Well, we do that too sometimes.” You stall, listening to her smoking. Rio glances up at you from where he’s still reading on the floor. “They have some incredible beaches here. Yesterday morning we went down to the water and there were all these cute kids playing, and they only spoke French but Rio showed them how to play tic-tac-toe by drawing a board in the sand—”

“I like the beach,” she says, and you know you’ve made a mistake. “You remember that?”

Deflated now: “Yeah, Mama. I remember. Are the boys going to take you to Virginia Beach this summer?”

She scoffs. “We’ll see, but I doubt it. It’s expensive, girl.”

You sigh deeply. Rio was right. I shouldn’t have called. “We talked about this. I need to be saving up to get my own house one day, and my own car, and all those things I’ll need to have a life when I get out of the Navy—”

“And what about my house?!” Mama cries, damn near wails. “I’m gonna lose it! I can’t make the payments!”

You reply calmly: “Mama, that’s your house. That’s your business. And you’ve got more than one kid still living at home long after they’ve turned eighteen, so they need to be the people you’re asking to help, not me.”

“You’re gonna let your Mama be homeless? Is that what you called to tell me on Mother’s Day? What the hell kind of daughter are you?”

“I got out!” you shout into the phone, and Rio is scrambling off the floor to rush to you. “I’m learning things and I’m making money and I’m building schools and hospitals on the other side of the fucking planet, and you can’t be proud of me because you think it means you’ve failed, but the truth is that you could have gotten out too! All of you could have! But you didn’t, it was me, it was just me, and now you hate me for it!”

“You need to come home now,” Mama says. “You gotta take care of me, take care of your Mama. You only got one and she needs you, so you gotta heed me. That’s what’s right.”

“I am not going to spend the rest of my life watching you get wasted in that filthy house, and I’d work where, at the Dollar General? At Arby’s? And get knocked up by the first guy who shows any interest?”

“You’re giving me heart palpitations. I’m gonna have to go to the emergency room and it’s all your fault.”

Rio is whispering into your other ear, one of his massive palms resting on the back of your neck: “Just hang up. It’s not worth it. You can hang up, just hang up…”

“I want things to be normal,” you tell Mama, you plead, tears stinging in your eyes. “I’ve tried so hard to get along with everyone, and help you as much as I can, but no matter what I do it’s not enough, and you’re always mad at me, and you’re always fighting with me—”

“You’re damn right I’m fighting with you, because you’re a spiteful, selfish child.”

“Hang up,” Rio is murmuring. “Hang up, hang up, hang up…”

“Mama,” you say, your voice strangled. “I’m sorry. I have to go now.”

“When I’m homeless, you know you got no one but yourself to blame—”

You hit the red button to end the call, throw your phone down onto the bed, stare at the wall and swallow noisily, choking back sobs. You won’t let yourself cry. You’ve cried enough for them already. You have to keep moving forward. The only way out is through. “You were right,” you say to Rio at last, quiet and raspy. Your hands are trembling. “I shouldn’t have called.”

“Hey.” He grabs your face roughly, forces you to look at him with your miserable shimmering eyes, grins hugely. “I’m your mom now, bitch.”

You laugh as tears spill down your cheeks, let him bury you in one of his smothering bear hugs, cling to him like a life raft in a storm.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond fanfiction

192 notes · View notes

darth-mortem · 2 months

Text

Here is a sad snippet that @amikoroyaiart masterpiece inspired me to do. 636 words.

“Talk to me, Ghost".

Riley didn’t answer. It seemed as if he hadn't heard the words spoken to him at all over the noise of the downpour and the waves rolling over the large stones at the shore. They stood on the pier, and the sharp, cold wind blew in relentless gusts, penetrating their equipment, clothing, and skin, making their bodies freeze to the bone.

Soap didn't call out to Ghost again. He knew that on days like this, when the terrible shadows of the past surround Simon and bind his soul with icy chains, he needed time to return to reality. MacTavish just reached out, lightly touching Riley's shoulder, and then lit a cigarette, covering it from the rain. A minute passed, then another, and then Ghost moved and slowly turned his head toward Soap.

“What about?” He asked vaguely, as if the question had been asked of him only a second ago.

“I dinnae know.” Johnny shrugged and smiled. “Let's talk about cinema! Do you like action movies?”

“No.” Simon shook his head and lit up a cigarette too. “I have enough ‘action movies’ in my life.”

“Then what?” Soap tilted his head in interest.

Ghost was silent, looking off into the distance, where the cold, foggy sea merged with the equally cold, leaden sky. MacTavish touched his shoulder again and squeezed it lightly, letting him know that he could speak frankly and not be afraid of ridicule or condemnation.

“I like movies about animals.” Simon finally answered. “Only those with a good ending.”

Johnny smiled gently, realizing once again that despite all the suffering, there was a kind heart underneath the frightening image of Ghost.

“Ye know, I like them too.” Soap said. “Dinnae tell anyone, but when I watched ‘Lassie’, I cried like a baby, and I was fifteen years old.”

Ghost looked at him warily at first, but then, realizing that Johnny wasn't mocking him, he took off his rain-dripping sunglasses and smiled weakly under his balaclava. Soap realized this when he saw Riley’s sad blue eyes squint.

“I heard there was a movie about whales recently.” Simon said that and was silent for a few seconds, remembering the title. “It's called ‘The Big Miracle’. Maybe we can watch it together when we have a leave.”

“I'd love to!” Soap smiled again and put his arm around Ghost's shoulders. “Now, can we go inside? Ye know there's no need to stand guard ‘ere. And I think thir's some Bourbon left in the kitchen.”

Simon nodded, and they walked down the pier to the small cabin that 141 used as his safehouse.

***

“Talk to me, Ghost.”

Riley didn’t answer. He would never answer again: his life taken by a traitorous bullet, his body burned in hellish flames, and his scarred and maimed soul... MacTavish didn’t know what had happened to it. He had once believed in God as a child, but then he saw so much evil that he could no longer. However, he hoped that if there is a heaven, Simon is there now, next to his mother, brother, and little nephew Joseph; that his scars are gone, his old wounds no longer hurt; and that he doesn’t need his skull balaclava. Also, Johnny secretly hoped that when his life was cut short by a bullet, a knife, or maybe a grenade, he too would be in that wonderful place, next to Simon, whom he loved with all his heart and continued to love no matter what.

A heavy hand rested on MacTavish's shoulder, and he flinched in surprise, though he knew it could only be Captain Price.

“Time to go, son.” He said, staying a little behind Johnny. “Aye.” Soap nodded, quickly ran his sleeve over his face, wiping away his tears, and they walked together to the helicopter.

196 notes · View notes

diamond-champagne · 2 months

Text

9. It'll Always Be You

Paige Beuckers x Azzi Fudd

Warnings: none :)

Summary: In which promises are made...and kept

a/n: The end is so close ya'll. Please let me know what yous want next. Also she's short but I love her.

It would be easier if they hated each other. It wouldn’t be this hard. The burning feeling ignited my anger so deep in them would be a welcomed relief of whatever this is. This a constant state of discontentment that has seemed to worm its way into their lives and settle down in their minds.

It’s like being in a rocking chair and knowing you won’t fall but still feeling the panic that arises anyway.

It’s like knowing you’re above the surface in the ocean and yet you feel like your lungs are filling with water

It’s like knowing everything is going to be okay but not knowing how.

Paige moves through the next couple of days the way the tide rolls in down the shore. She comes and she goes, day in and day out.

To be fair, this is new to her. The blonde is used to fighting and then making up, or even fighting some more. However, this weird limbo of which they each hold a key to a lock they don’t have is scaringly unfamiliar. They used to be perfectly intertwined and now they’re chaotically tangled. Both pulling on random threads, having no clue if they want to be closer together or further apart.

Paige is plagued with the will they, won’t they. Azzi and her are trapped playing this game of cat and mouse and she’s not sure who is who. The worst part is that she isn’t sure why they’re doing this because every time, since that conversation with Azzi, she feels like her forever is right in front of her.

“I trust you with my life, just not my heart.”

“What does this mean for us?” Azzi whispers. Her body suddenly lags with defeat and upset clouds her eyes.

“It means,” Paige starts before letting out a sigh. “It means that maybe we need to figure out why we’re scared before we can face them.” She can see the protest rise in Azzi so the blonde is quick to keep speaking. “You said that sometimes my feelings were too much so maybe you need to figure out why that scares you. While you do that, I will figure out why I’m scared to trust you to love me.

“And once we do that?”

“Once we get to the root of our fears, maybe we’ll be in a place where we can be more than friends.”

“Maybe?” Azzi sasses. The word might be the most offensive thing she’s ever heard.

“Maybe,” Paige confirms. “Because I don’t want to hurt you and I don’t want to be hurt. We can’t give each other the love we feel like the other deserves while being scared of said love.”

Azzi shakes her head in understanding. “And what if you decide this isn’t what you want anymore?” The question makes the brown-haired girl’s heart drum against her ribcage.

It’ll always be you” Paige states. Despite the tears in both of their eyes, Azzi can see sincerity in her favorite pair of eyes. So, she smiles and counters with her own whispered promise. “It’ll always be us.”

So the two stand, facing each other, in this in-between space of friends and lovers. They bask in knowing there’s something yet mourn not having everything. It’s the definition of bittersweet.

The memory is engraved into the blonde’s head the same those words are engraved into her heart. The spoken vowels play on repeat through her mind all day like her favorite song or the newest tik tok sound. She won’t forget these words though. They’ll always be hers to keep; always hers to love.

Until their day comes, Paige will savor the inbetween the best that she can. She’ll revel in the feeling of having Azzi’s eyes on her when they’re out with the team. She memorizes the feeling of their bodies pressed against each other when the pair sit next to each other. The blonde will make it a point to have their fingers touch in passing.

It’s the little things that make this worth it. It’s the little things that make Paige think that maybe they can rush this after all. But then, there’s a specific smile that Azzi has just for the blonde. And when Paige sees it, she knows that this is worth the wait.

But then she’s back to being restless and a little impatient. This much she tells Azzi in the bar bathroom at Ted’s when the girls are a little more free with their alcohol than usual. Tale as old as time and true as can be; Azzi and Paige will only want each other when a drop of liquor is involved.

“I don’t remember why we’re doing this.” Paige mumbles. Azzi has got her trapped between her body and the sink. The curly-haired girl’s hands are tracing patterns on the blonde’s hip.

“You should. It was your idea.” Azzi answers smugly. The smirk on her face isn’t a result of their conversation but rather how the blonde is reacting to the mere feather touch by Azzi. Her blue eyes are low and hooded. Her body immediately pushes closer to Azzi’s upon contact. The voice that usually drips in confidence is breathy and broken.

It’s a high that Azzi will never be free from. It’s her favorite version of Paige. The one she can ruin completely if you give her the opportunity. The brown-hair girl knows she should stop. They’re supposed to be taking things slow. But Paige is so perfect infront of her and neither one is sober at the moment so it’s easy to justify when their lips crash together. The kiss starts fast and desperate but ends being slow and passionate. It pulls small moans and whimpers from both girls as they indulge in each other.

When they finally pull apart, there is considerable distance between them. It’s like they both know that this is a bad idea. It’s like they both know they don’t care. But they stay separated at the whispered promise of “You” that Azzi lets out.

“It’ll always be you.”

PREVIOUS | NEXT

#azzi fudd #paige bueckers #paige x azzi #pazzi #paige bueckers x azzi fudd #uconn wbb #you

173 notes · View notes

ibetonlosinghuskies · 2 months

Text

patience and pleasure pt 7

summary: paige drives to azzi's house, overwhelmed with emotion after finding her letter.

disclaimer: as always, everything i write is fictional!!

cw: fluff, angst, sexual content (not smut)

word count: 5.2k +

author's note: i know this was LONG awaited, i'm very proud of this, i hope you enjoy! (the yearning never ends.)

paige's pov:

the rain pelts against my windshield, a rough pattering mimicking the beating of my heart. my hands grip the steering wheel, knuckles white with determination. the road blurs in front of me, but i ignore it.

each second feels like an eternity without her. the engine roars in protest, but i can't slow down—won't slow down. my breath comes in short, sharp gasps, fogging up the windows. the world around me blurs, all i can focus on is getting to her.

streetlights fluttering through my windows, each frame a blink between her eyelashes. the momentum of each flicker, a flashing reminder of her polarizing stare. the way she illuminates my world for fleeting moments before plunging me back into darkness.

i miss her every time she closes her eyes.

the soft air from the a/c hits my cheek, fogging up the windshield. i take a long blink, remembering azzi's soft exhale. the stillness in her breath, like lake water settling on a shore. i need her exhales to become my inhales.

i need to breathe her in.

as i approach her neighborhood, a warm yellow glow bathes the streets. the rainwater picking up a golden hue from the streetlights, water droplets on my windshield becoming tiny suns.

it's the exact shade as azzi's eyes in the sunlight. my honey glow—sweet and warm. her eyes, a lighthouse on a distant shore, casting its glow across the waves, even when i was too far to feel its warmth.

i've lived a thousand lifetimes between her pupil and her iris, swimming in the whites of her eyes, afraid to go deeper.

i'll let her see me this time, really.

no more half truths, i'll bare my soul to her. i'll either drown in the depths of her gaze or finally learn how to breathe underwater.

everything around me feels like it's pushing me towards her. the rain, the lights, the very air i breathe—it's all azzi.

it's always been azzi.

as i pull into her driveway, the world seems to pause. the rain softens to a gentle hum as if nature itself awaits my next move. my hands shake as i pull the key out of the ignition.

i take my first unsteady step outside the car, my knees buckling underneath me. i feel like i'm standing on stilts, hoisted by the unraveling of her confession.

azzi's letter burns a hole in my clothing, heating my jacket pocket. i slip my hands into my pockets, the letter folded into the center of my fist, my lifeline.

the paper crinkles softly as i tighten my grip, and i swear i can feel her pulse between the lines.

my fingers tremble under the weight of what i'm about to do. i feel my entire body quiver, i can't tell if i'm shivering because of the rain or if my skin shakes at the thought of her being mine.

her words in my fist, i knock at her door.

azzi's pov:

the soft knock on the front door jerks me from my thoughts. i rush to the window, peeking through the blinds. my heart jumps when i see paige's car.

i yank the door open, and there she is. paige, standing in the pouring rain, clothes clinging to her body, soft blonde curls forming out of humidity. she looks...lost. vulnerable. beautiful.

she's out of breath like she'd just ran here, chest rising and falling rapidly, broken up only by the slight tremble of her tears. her soft blue eyes staring right at me—right through me. she sniffles and i feel my heart ache at her pain.

oh my god, did something happen? is she alright?

my mind races to the worst-case scenarios, anything to make sense of this. did she get into an accident? did someone hurt her? is her family okay?

i'm protective immediately, the urge to soothe her is intense. it pierces through my body, cutting deep into my mind.

"paige?" i call out, my voice muffled by the rain's delicate song. "are you okay?"

she doesn't respond. she just stands there, her chest heaving. eyes wide and filled with an emotion i don't recognize. it terrifies me, seeing her like this, like she'd crumble at the slightest gust of wind.

i take a careful step towards her, stepping out into the rain now. the urge to comfort her is visceral. like a flower bending towards the water, i find myself drawn to her sorrow, ready to absorb it all—drink it in through my skin.

i want to pull her into my arms.

my fingertips twitch, bones aching to hold her close, to shield her from whatever's causing her pain. i want to wrap my arms around her like vines growing on trees. i'd be her living shelter if she'd let me.

i want to brush back her wet hair.

my hands burn at the thought of stroking her wet blonde curls, tucking them behind her ear. they tremble with anticipation, like petals quivering in the breeze, eager to soothe.

i want to catch every tear falling from her eyes.

sometimes i think my palms were made to hold her face, to hold her sadness between my fingers. i look down at the lines of my palms, splintering like the stems of a leaf, tiny breathing pores, soaking in the oxygen of her tears.

"paige, please," i plead, my voice softening. "you're scaring me. what happened?”

the silence between us grows cold. she takes a shaky inhale, her lip quivering slightly. then, without warning, she lunges toward me, arms wide. she wraps around my waist, her head resting on my shoulder.

the shock of her touch jolts through me like lightning striking a tree. her rain-chilled skin sends shivers down my spine, but i can't help but pull her closer. the dampness from her clothes seeps into mine, a physical manifestation of her love. paige loved in a messy, all-consuming way, like floodwater—it soaks into everything it touches, leaving nothing untouched.

what could have happened to break her like this? i feel protective, like i want to hide her vulnerability from the world. keep her in my arms, where i know she's safe.

whatever this is about, it's serious.

i feel her heart beat against my own. i can't put a name to it, but i know her pain like it's mine. an ache that's lived between my ribs since the first time we met. i feel a yearning pulse through me, a sap rising from where we're connected, flowing through my capillaries.

there's something familiar about this pain, this vulnerability. it's an amalgamation of every time i wanted to tell her how i felt but couldn't find the words.

the very same ache that haunts her eyes now has lived inside me for years, a familiar shadow nestled in my chest. if the ventricles of my heart were like the branches of a tree, paige would be the root. she's the source from which my love grows, the sustenance maintaining everything that's ever flourished through me.

in this moment, with her in my arms, i'm aware of how our pain and love intertwine, delicate yet resilient. standing against the test of time, of fear itself.

"i remember everything," she whispers into my ear, voice breaking between words.

everything?

every word, every touch, every lingering stare.

the weight of her confession settles over me. my mind races, replaying every moment i thought i was lost to her.

i think of that night. the way she begged me to believe her, her eyes soft and desperate. how badly i wanted to trust her words, to put my entire weight on the syllables between her lips. the truth of her words felt so far away then, but now as i stand here, i realize, i'm holding them in my arms.

her tears hit my shoulder as she cries. each one a gentle plea, begging for forgiveness, for renewal.

i feel her release her full weight, as if finally unburdening herself. the sudden heaviness is both physical and emotional, she's passing me the weight of everything we haven't said yet. her vulnerability, her complete surrender, it seeps into my bones like rainwater into soil.

she melts in my arms.

we've always done this dance, a push and pull, passing this weight like a secret too precious to voice, but too heavy to hold alone.

"that night i said i loved you," she whispers, barely audible over the rain. "i remember everything, i meant everything."

god, i should've kissed her that night.

my world stops turning at the stillness of her breath. her words hang in the air, heavy with implication. my throat tightens, and i feel a rush of emotions flood through me—relief, joy, fear, and overwhelming love, all tangled together in the roots of my heart.

i try to speak, but the words escape me. my vision blurs as tears well up. mingling with the raindrops on my cheeks, warm rivers cutting through the cold, kissing her shoulders as i cry.

instead of responding, i bury my face in her wet curls, breathing in her scent. i'm grasping at any faint contextualization of her like i'm drowning. it doesn't feel real.

i'm pleading with myself, please stay here. in this moment.

the warmth of her breath against my neck, the way her words slide down my collarbones.

please let me hold on to this.

the pressure of her body on mine, the point where our hips meet, the perfect way her chin fits into the crux of my neck.

i've wanted this for so long.

the subtle tremor in her breath. something i'm only able to feel when i'm holding her this close.

i try to ground myself in this moment that feels both surreal and the most real thing i've ever experienced. my heart is pounding so hard i wonder if she can feel it, a rhythm that beats out a single word to her chest:

finally. finally. finally.

paige pulls back slightly, just enough to meet my eyes. her cheeks flushed, raindrops clinging to her eyelashes like pearls on a string. something in her eyes changed, a new openness. she's letting me see her, for everything that she is.

"i was so scared azzi," her voice soft. "for so long, i'm so sorry."

she shouldn't be the one apologizing.

“i was scared too,” i breathe, the words hanging between us like mist.

she has no idea how the thought of losing her has petrified me. since we were younger, she's had a grip on my life, a grip that if loosened, i'd fall into the depths of my mind.

her hand moves between us, and i watch as she pulls out a folded piece of paper from her pocket.

my letter. in her hands.

it's both fragile and monumental. the folded paper in paige's hands—a ghost of who we were haunting who we may become. a piece of my past self suddenly tangible in her hands, my feelings becoming real under her touch.

time seems to slow as i stare at it, memories flooding back. the weight of the pen in my hand, the trembling of my fingers. the fear, the hope, the undeniable love—all feelings meant for her, finally brushing against her skin.

i don't know if i ever truly believed she'd find it—find me.

my heart pounds in my chest, a faraway echo of what i felt that night when i wrote it. part of me wants to snatch it away, to protect that young, vulnerable version of myself. but the other part—the part of me that's been waiting, hoping, dreaming, for this very moment—feels nothing but joy.

in her eyes, i see whispers of an upheaval. with just the bat of her eyelashes, paige threatens to uproot us both, to expose what we've kept buried for so long.

my letter, a shovel scraping at the soil of our silence. each word a strike against the earth we've tended so carefully. her eyelids flutter, and i feel the foundation of our friendship quake.

she’s gutting me, with the ink of my own pen.

but maybe, this is what we need. to be torn open, raw and honest. maybe this was bound to happen, a love as gentle as ours, only uncovered by the scarring pain of vulnerability.

i look at her, scanning her every movement. her hands shake as she unfolds the paper. she looks wrecked, her hair wet and clinging to her face. but still, beautiful. i don't think paige will ever not look beautiful.

she's still so pretty, even when she's tearing me open.

our relationship, until now, has been a delicate garden—beautiful, tender, gentle. watered by the undercurrent of everything unspoken. but this revelation, burns under our pulses, hot blood coursing through our veins.

at first, it feels destructive. our patience has kindled a fire within us both. a steady warmth i've always felt when i looked at her, now becoming a searing heat. our complacency has become invasive, encroaching on the blossoming of new life in our little garden.

i realize now—this isn't destruction. it's renewal.

the flames lick the edges of our composure, melting at my resolve. and finally, i see her for who she's always been.

my girl.

this fire between us is a controlled burn, prescribed almost. it's clearing away the underbrush of every unsaid word and hidden feeling, making room for something to grow—something beautiful, something necessary.

the rain slows to a soft drizzle, even nature bends to the will of our love.

paige's pov:

i take a deep breath, holding the letter between my fingers, stroking the veins on her wrist. i watch her pulse beneath her skin quicken under my touch.

please tell me you want this too.

"do you still feel this way about me?" i ask, sounding much more insecure than i intended.

azzi's eyes flutter closed for a moment, and i see her swallow hard. "yes," she exhales. "more than ever."

my heart leaps at her words, but i need more. i need to be sure.

"tell me," i urge gently. "i need to hear you say it."

something flickers in her eye, a look i've only seen a few times before. in this moment, i feel the power she holds over me. it's palpable, electric. her eyes, usually soft and warm, now a sudden, intense flare of heat and light.

i'm caught in her gaze, captive to the desire i see there. i feel my knees weaken, joints softening at her warmth. i find myself pleading again, my words spill out like water from a broken dam, desperate and uncontrolled. anything to soothe the ache she burns in me.

my thumb strokes her forearm, "you want me to be your friend?" i touch her to comfort her. it would kill me, but i'd just be her friend if she asked me to. the thought sends a pang through my chest.

but i'd do it. for her.

azzi tries to speak, but i continue, moving my hands to her waist. this time, i'm touching her selfishly. my hands move hungrily, needed to be fed by the curves of her body. she needs to feel it.

she needs to know what she does to me.

"you want me to be your girlfriend?" my voice drops lower, with confidence i don't know where i found.

the way i say ‘girlfriend’ is long and drawn out, i let myself taste the word.

"paige—" azzi starts, but i'm lost in the moment.

i won't stop until i know she feels it too.

my hands tighten on her waist, pulling her closer. i resist the urge to dig my nails into her side, to sink into her.

"say it, azzi," i plead softly. "tell me what you need me to be."

azzi's eyes lock with mine, filled with emotion. there's a seed planted deep in her iris, shining under the moonlight, begging to be watered.

"you," she whispers. "just you."

i'd give her the world, the moon, the stars. but it's just me that she wants?

"and i'll be it," i promise, my voice leaks from my lips, watering her passion.

"paige," she breathes my name like a prayer. "i need you, i always have." she moves her hand to cup my face, "it's always been you."

it feels like she'd stole the words from my lips. has it always been us?

i tilt my head to the side slightly, leaning closer to her. something pulls me towards her, an invisible string tied from her lips to mine, a vine reaching for its trellis.

our lips finally meet, and it's sudden like the first drops of rain. the kiss starts soft, patient—smooth droplets hitting the surface of our parched earth.

her lips are delicate against mine, slightly parted, inviting me in. my hands slide up her back, feeling the warmth of her skin through her clothes.

god, the things i'd do just to touch her skin

but quickly, it deepens, burrowing into the soil of my skin. it's urgent and desperate. i take her all in, absorbing the pressure that's been built from years of silence.

her fingers thread through my hair, gentle yet persistent, pulling me closer. she's pulling at the roots between us, the foundation of our friendship. with each tug, years of platonic growth give way to something wilder. she's begging for unity in her grasp—for us to become one.

something blossoms between our lips, her tongue—like roots seeking water. the taste of her breath, something i've known for years but never consumed, now fills my lungs. an implicit craving, like the earth after rain. it's intoxicating, addicting.

she's breathless already, and i've barely started.

i finally breathe her in, like a sapling breaching the surface of the soil. i feel air for the first time, i feel truly alive. i pull her closer, our bodies flush against each other, feeling the rise and fall of her chest against mine.

"you need me, huh?" i pull back slightly, smiling into her kiss. all of my daydreams manifested in my hands, blossoming under her touch. moving to her neck, i kiss her gently. like raindrops down her collarbones, my tongue slides down her neck. "do you know how badly i've wanted this?"

i feel her gasp at my touch, a sound i've been dying to hear. when i pull back her cheeks are reddened and sweet like fruit.

look at her, all flushed and desperate. i did that.

every touch, every shared breath is a promise, nurturing this thing growing between us.

this feels like home.

i pull back slightly, my forehead resting against hers. our breaths mingle in the small space between us. i can't help but smile at the simplicity of this moment.

"i'm so in love with you," i whisper, the words tumbling out before i can stop them.

azzi's eyes sparkle, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "yeah, me too, unfortunately."

"hey!" i pout, giving her a playful shove. i can't hide the laughter building in my chest. it was so simple, so easy, so us.

she giggles, pulling me closer. her hands run up and down my arms, and suddenly i'm aware of how chilled i've become standing out here.

she seems to notice too. "as much as i'm enjoying this," she says, her voice soft, "maybe we should go inside before we catch a cold."

i nod, my body still humming from her touch but now chilling from the dampness of the earlier rain. "yeah, you're right."

i take her hand, fingers interlocking like we've done this a thousand times. it's so natural, it almost makes me cry.

just then, an idea sparks in my head, and i release her hand. without warning, i scoop azzi into my arms. she lets out a surprised laugh, her arms instinctively wrapping around my neck.

she wraps her thighs around my waist, trusting my arms to cradle her. i'm reminded it was her willingness to let go, to trust, that brought us here.

she's featherlight in my arms, like she's always belonged there.

i carry her to the doorframe, smiling like a little kid. i step over the threshold, and i can't help but feel like a newly wed couple. we may not have the rings or the witnesses, but this feels just as special. we're crossing a line we can't uncross, stepping into the new versions of ourselves.

she'd make the perfect bride.

her house is warm, welcoming. the air speaks to me in whispers against my damp skin, "welcome home."

i set her down gently in the entryway, taking a step back to admire her. she glows in the soft light of the living room, it's surreal, like seeing an angel in the glow of a television screen.

i want to memorize her like this—hair tussled from the rain and our kisses, cheeks flushed with warmth that has nothing to do with the temperature. she looks like a painting come to life, all soft edges and warm hues.

she's always been beautiful, but now she's my beautiful girl.

i take a long moment to drink her in. the realization of everything finally hitting me. it's enough to tear me to the ground.

i get to love her.

azzi's pov:

she looks at me like i'm the most precious thing in the world. like i'm fragile, like she can shield me from any pain this world has to offer.

"i should probably shower and change," i say carefully, not wanting to break her gaze.

paige's face falls slightly, reminiscent of a lost puppy. she nods, moving to sit on the couch. my heart aches at the thought of leaving her, even for a moment.

an idea strikes me, bold and thrilling. i reach out, catching her hand. "do you...want to join me?"

her eyes widen, a mix of surprise and desire flickering in her stare. a small smirk forms on her lips. without a word, she nods, allowing me to lead her upstairs.

she's such a good listener.

i feel her eyes trace my body as i climb the steps, careful not to creak the staircase. she doesn't release my hand, her grip firm and longing.

i shut the bathroom door carefully and quietly, then reach to turn on the faucet. steam begins to fill the air, clouding the space between us. i face paige, my hands nervous yet bold—a new confidence born out of the heat of our confession.

i reach for the wet hem of her shirt, fingers tracing against her stomach. she stays perfectly still, her breath catching when she feels my touch.

i undress her slowly, anxiously. her damp clothes cling to her body, reluctant to release her to me. i pull her shirt over her head, her hair catching on the hem, falling into place perfectly.

i tuck a strand that's not out of place behind her ear, any excuse to touch her.

paige's eyes never leave mine, full of trust and hunger. i've seen her vulnerable before, but never like this. in a quick moment, we just stand there bare in front of each other. it's tender and overwhelming.

i help her into the shower, holding her hand and she steps into the water. i'm struck by the intimacy of this moment. it's not just about physical closeness, but about truly seeing her.

she's seeing all of me right now. maybe she always has.

despite, being completely naked in front of her, her eyes never leave mine. she stands with her back to the shower head, her wet eyelashes fluttering. water cascades over her shoulders, washing away the last remnants of distance between us.

i didn't have to see her like this to know that she's beautiful. i knew before i even saw her. the first time i heard the sound of her voice, a sweet cadence like sand slipping through my fingers.

she's beautiful at her core.

"what are you thinking about?" i ask softly, prying for more of her. the most precious parts—her dreams, her thoughts, her mind.

paige takes a deep breath, and i can see years of thoughts race through her mind. her voice trembles slightly as she begins to speak.

"i've always loved the way your eyes look in the sun," she reaches for my waist. "the way they catch the light."

i feel like poetry underneath her tongue. her words, soft and melodic, spilling out of her like ink bleeding from a pen.

she continues, "the way my thumb fits into your dimple." she pulls me closer, water coursing over her shoulders, dripping onto my chest.

she molds me like clay with her hands, i become real for the first time. if i'm her muse, then she's the artist. both the admirer and the creator.

she's made me who i am.

unlike most modern artist, she's doesn't see me as unfinished, a work in progress. her gaze doesn't search for potential or seek to change me.

she sees me as i am.

thumbs pressed into my sides, sculpting my form with loving hands. she doesn't touch to change, she touches to admire, to consume.

"i love how you see beauty in everything," she pauses, moving a hand up to my cheek, "in me."

"you make it easy," i smile, leaning into the palm of her hand.

she pulls me in for another kiss. this time it's slowed, gentle. she strokes my face softly, like brushing paint on a canvas.

this is so much better than i could've ever imagined.

i thank myself for writing that letter years ago, for tracing her beauty with ink on paper, so that one day i may trace it with my tongue on her skin.

when she pulls back, i feel my body ache. i don't know how i'm going to live with the taste of her on my lips, a hunger that's never satisfied.

"turn around," her voice low and husky. "let me wash your hair."

paige's pov:

i feel so lucky.

for all of the things i get to notice about her now. there's so much more to love.

a beauty mark underneath her left breast. the subtle dip at the base of her spine. the way her curls stretch under the weight of the water. the soft curve where her waist meets her hips.

i've spent years memorizing her with my eyes. now i get to learn her all over again with my hands, my lips, my tongue.

she turns, her back facing me. i hold the nape of her neck in my hand, as she leans into my palm. the way she releases herself to me, it burns something deep inside me.

god, how long have i dreamed of this?

i run product through her hair, watching as her curls soak it in. they lengthen at the added weight, giving it a new texture i know i'm going to grow to love.

i strain my neck closer to her ear, my breath heavy on her skin. i catch sight of her neck, a delicate line like a brushstroke on a canvas. her eyes closed shut, i take a moment to admire her.

azzi is living, breathing art. something baroque—tragically beautiful in its intensity.

i wash her hair with careful fingers, i'm slow to learn her body. i want to get it right, to be perfect for her.

when i close my eyes, she's all i see. the lines of her body burned into my mind from this simple moment. i imagine her neck bending in this way with my face between her thighs. her soft breaths turning into rampant gasps, a song meant only for my ears.

i finish washing her hair, running the water through her smooth curls. guiding her by her waist, i turn her to face me. my hands betray my mind, lingering on her hips, pressing deeply, trying to stifle my lust.

i tell myself: slow your hands, steady your thoughts. we have the time now.

she gives me a look that tells me she can feel my desire burn through my fingertips. eyes wide and filled with an emotion i'm learning to recognize. a look specifically reserved for me.

she cannot look at me like that.

she knows what it does to me, she sees it in my face. but she just smiles sweetly, kissing my cheek before stepping out of the shower.

i'm left there for a moment, dazed. it doesn't take long before i find myself chasing after her, trailing like a shadow. she tosses me a towel, before wrapping herself in one.

she leads me by the hand to her bedroom, her skin still warm from the shower. she searches through her closet, pulling out an old, worn t-shirt—one i recognize from years ago.

"here," she says, offering it to me with a smile that tugs my heart. her brown eyes soften.

i'm jealous of the eyelids that get to hold her gaze.

i slip it over my head, letting the fragrance of her presence engulf my lungs. i feel like a kid again, in her clothes. the fabric, a hug from that young girl who was so scared to tell her best friend she was in love with her. the stitches holding together years of sleepovers, laughter, and shared secrets.

it still fits perfectly, enveloping my entire body. i change into a pair of shorts, completing the outfit.

"sit," she gestures to the bed, brush in hand. azzi sits behind me reaching forward to scoop up my hair.

her hands work gently, sectioning my hair, before running the brush down my back. azzi's fingers occassionally brush against my neck, sending chills down my spine. she hums softly, a habit of hers i've noticed since we were kids.

has she always been this tender? or is this new?

with each pass of the brush, she's smoothing away years of misunderstanding. she soothes the regret built up inside me for not telling her sooner.

how did i ever live without this? without her?

as she finishes, her fingers run through my hair, shaking out my curls delicately. i close my eyes, silently begging for a few more seconds of her touch.

i turn to face her, our eyes meeting. in this moment, wearing her clothes, her fingers in my hair—i've never felt more myself.

she reaches into her pocket, pulling out a small shiny object.

her lipgloss.

she applies it to her lips, slowly and thoughtfully, not breaking eye contact with me. the light catches the soft shine of her lips and i'm mesmerized.

she leans in, closing the distance between us. her hand on my cheek, gentle yet sure. when our lips meet this time, it's softer than i ever imagined.

it's the closeness i've been begging to feel from the start.

i taste the sweetness of the gloss, feel the warmth of her breath, and suddenly i'm home. this is everything i've ever wanted—to be seen, to be known, to be loved by her.

"i love you," i whisper into her lips.

she smiles, pulling back slightly. "i love you too." i feel her words resonate with my entire being. she means it.

i'm left with her on my lips, in my heart, intertwined into the deepest parts of me.

#i bet on losing huskies #pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi fic #pazzi fics

179 notes · View notes

n0rtist · 3 months

Text

Here’s the latest Stemae, featured in the video below.

Rhodopto (Forta/Chroma): Rhodoptoes are pretty fierce even when they are really young as they try to jab at others with their claws. While Rhodoptoes are more active in the night, they are attracted to light so they are often seen near the shore.

Chromato Long-Wave Form (Forta/Chroma): Before engaging in a fight, these Chromatoes can warm their claws up through vibrations to burn their target. Long-Wave Chromatoes have an incredible reach which gives them command over a large territory.

Chromato Medium-Wave Form (Forta/Chroma): Medium-Wave Chromatoes are the rarest form of Chromato to naturally occur in the wild. The claws of Medium-Wave Chromatoes are versatile as they can be used to spear their opponent or smash them.

Chromato Short-Wave Form (Forta/Chroma): Chromatoes are generally more active during the day time, but wild Chromatoes are often too aggressive to persuade. A Short-Wave Chromato's blow can break the armor of any creature in their habitat, making them a dangerous encounter.

youtube

#education #health #biology #art #oc #science #logic & passion #stem #steam #Youtube #rods and cones #photoreceptor #eyes #mantis shrimp

160 notes · View notes

onsunnyside · 1 year

Text

.♡ ⃗ 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫 (𝟏/𝟓)

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 | best friend!JJ Maybank x reader (College AU)

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | fluff, friends-to-lovers, college au, non-canon ages, ‘lessons in love & pleasure’ trope, kook!reader, size difference, shy!reader, inexperienced & virgin!reader, clumsy!reader, cute first kisses.

♫ ·ﾟ𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝗪/𝗖 | 3.97K

𝗔/𝗡 | and here we go !! this is my first obx series, so pls wish me luck, also note that this is a college au, meaning all characters are 21+. this will be angst-free, just a fluffy fic about two friends falling in love, starring a charming blond surfer. i'd love to hear your thoughts about this so far. as always, all mistakes are my own. ☼ 𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐊𝐨-𝐟𝐢 ☼

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 & 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲: @𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

˗ˏˋ 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭ˎˊ˗ ⋰˚ 𝐎𝐁𝐗 (& 𝐀𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬) 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The rays of the sun beam down, burning your heated face as you exit the building. Hurriedly stuffing your uniform in your bag, you rush down the stairs and toward the main campus. You weave between students, nearly tripping while anxiously checking the time on your phone.

A few minutes late wasn’t that bad. You didn’t expect your professor to take the entire period given that it was the last day before spring break. It would’ve been more bearable if you had any friends in that class, but none of them showed. Perhaps you should’ve done the same and got a headstart on break too, or at least a full eight hours of sleep for the first time in months.

Approaching the common area, the familiar sound of the fountain meets your ears amongst the chatter and laughter from your peers.

Your eyes fall on a familiar blond, a toothpick between his teeth as he mindlessly scrolls through his cell phone. He stands out amongst the sea of plaid skirts, ties and blazers, wearing a backwards cap, cargo shorts and a tank top, his toned arms as sunkissed as ever. You call his name and break into a skip.

“If it isn’t the smartest gal I know…” You melt in his hold, that signature coastal citrusy scent washing over you like waves on a shore. After one final squeeze, he pulls away, his blue eyes flickering down to your feet. “And she still doesn’t remember to tie her damn shoes.”

“I was already running late, I couldn’t stop!”

He rolls his eyes and drops to one knee, bringing your foot to the other, “yeah, and what would’ve happened if you tripped? Or got stuck in an escalator? Or tangled in some wild vines?” He asks, quickly tying both your laces.

“Too late for one of those…” You pull up the hem of your dress, exposing the mismatched bandaids on both your knees.

“Did you try to walk and chew gum at the same time?”

You huff, “actually, I got it while golfing. The tall grass is really misleading.”

Your mother had scolded you for the grass stains on your new shoes, yet another pair just victim to your clumsiness, much like everything else you own.

As expected, JJ’s mood sours at the mention of Figure 8. Years after that kegger incident, JJ was still very bitter towards anything Kook-related. He didn’t want to hear about Rafe and his crew and almost turned red at the mere mention of their names. He tolerated you, Sarah and Kie talking about Midsummers, and was absolutely zero help when you were discussing dresses and crowns.

“Who was there?”

“Just my dad, Sarah and Mr. Cameron.”

JJ hums, peering up at you through his lashes. “Anyone else?”

You cross your arms, “Rafe never comes if that’s what you’re asking. He’s too busy working for his dad, and is probably halfway across the world, sipping on Dom Pérignon by the beach.”

“Yeah, I guess it’s not like he asked you to join him… again.”

A loud sigh falls from your lips, “That was one time! And he didn’t even ask, Mr. Cameron wanted me to check on him and make sure he wasn’t blowing profits on new bikes or drugs.”

JJ drops it after that, he could say anything he wanted but that wouldn’t impact your relationship with the Camerons. Since your parents owned and operated the Island Club, and rich people liked other rich people.

Your entire childhood was spent on Figure 8 alongside Sarah and the rest of the Kooks. You were grateful to live so comfortably, never having to worry about bills or losing electricity for days on end, but you’ve always envied the Pogues. Their freedom and exciting adventures were so different from the lonely box you were born in.

With years of friendship between you and the rest of the Pogues, your mother still referred to them as ‘those kids from The Cut.’

Your father, on the other hand, had a soft spot for them—especially JJ because of their shared love for cars and motorbikes. There have been a few times that you’ve caught them messing around in the garage after JJ left for more snacks and drinks, practically abandoning you all by the pool for some grease and engines.

Although he liked the blond boy, you know your father would disapprove of the many nights he’s sneaked through your window for a little sleepover. You were used to it now, sharing a bed with your best friend was a regular occurrence. It was platonic, even when you’d wake up in each other’s arms, tucked close.

JJ’s morning voice never failed to make you all fuzzy inside.

“Hello? Are you gonna get on or does the princess need help?”

Ignoring his remark, you quickly straddle his bike and wince at the dull pain in your thigh, “I also got a nasty bruise that day—note to self, never try to retrieve golf balls from deceitful tall grass again.”

He chuckles and twists around, “poor baby, want me to kiss it better?”

As if the sun had solely focused on you, your whole body heats up, a warmth fluttering in your belly as your mind searches for a response.

“I-I, uhm…oh, I—”

JJ laughs loud with a dimpled grin, “Why don’t you think about it and tell me later? We’re already running late and you know how Pope is with that.”

The Wreck is busy this time of day, every seat filled with college students and Tourons as waiters zoom from table to table. The delicious smell of seafood clouds the air and loud conversations drown out the radio. Sunshine pours from the windows, bathing the nautical decorations in an orange glow. Fishnets, brass ship wheels, and various hand-painted signs hang on the walls, strung up alongside fairy lights and ceiling fans.

You and JJ beeline for your designated spot, the booth all the way in the corner of the restaurant. As suspected, everyone is already there apart from Kie, you side in next to Pope and exchange gleeful greetings.

“And she lives! After that tumble at the golf course, I’m surprised you don’t have a cast or something.” Sarah snorts, the memory of you literally disappearing in the grass replaying in her head. “How’d your mom take it?”

You pout, “She was more concerned with my dirty clothes than my injuries,” and your bruised ego, “can you believe it?”

You’re met with mumbles of ‘yes’ and ‘of course,’ everyone awfully aware of your mother’s obsession with the picture-perfect image. If she had it her way, she would dress you every day to show off that Kook status, she’d put you in pastel prints, ironed polos, and hand-shined shoes. A part of you knows that the only thing stopping her from dressing you like a doll was your clumsiness, a saving grace disguised as aches and bandaids.

Her overbearing nature was also to blame for your timid heart, sometimes you were too scared to do any wrong that you wouldn’t do anything at all. Looming fear kept you in that box of solitude, unfulfilled expectations and thrills made you shrink away. As a child, you never had the confidence to speak up and often went with whatever your mother said, but that was until you met the Pogues. They helped you get out of your shell and introduced you to new experiences, they were the most patient and caring people you’ve met, and you wouldn’t trade their friendship for the world.

Out of the corner of your eye, Sarah and John B exchange a few chaste kisses. You immediately turn away, jumping into a conversation about Kie’s whereabouts with Pope.

“Her dad needed a hand, hopefully, she’ll be back with our food soon.” He answers and slides a glass in front of you, “she got this for you.”

It was your favourite smoothie flavour. You don’t waste any time and take a long sip, the sweet berries melting on your tongue, a momentary distraction from feeling so different from your friends.

Under your mother’s watchful eye, you never dared to step out of line and that has led you to being terribly inexperienced in everything dating-related. While your friends were partying and earning their stripes, you were watching from the sidelines and fumbling every opportunity that came your way. You tried to forget all those people who have pursued you, their texts unanswered and calls ignored.

You shake away those thoughts, “Did any of you have class today?”

Sarah flips her blond hair over her shoulder, “All my uniforms were in the wash, so it really wasn’t my fault. If private universities didn’t have mandatory uniforms… I still probably wouldn’t have gone.”

You and Sarah went to the same campus, but your schedules were far different. You could barely remember your own, let alone keep track of hers too.

Your gaze slowly shifts from each of their faces, “even you, Pope?”

“In my defence, I’m way ahead in all my courses, I could afford to miss a day.”

“Hmm… And does your dad know?” You tut, tilting your head.

He stares back at you, “Does your dad know you let Sarah and John B spend their anniversary in the country club after hours?”

Across the table, Sarah’s jaw drops. “You said you wouldn’t tell anyone!”

“I didn’t! Only you and he know.” You point to her boyfriend who was blinking owlishly.

John B raises his hands, going rigid under his girlfriend’s glare. “I only told JJ.”

All eyes land on the blond, a paper crane napkin in his hands. “Hm? Oh yeah, I told Pope and Kie.”

“No secrets between Pogues.” They both high-five over your head.

You deflate, covering your face. “Don’t tell anyone else, okay? I don’t want to accidentally start some under-the-table business renting the club… My mom would kill me.”

JJ coos, rubbing up and down your back. “Hey, it’s no different than Sarah lending Ward’s yacht to Pope when he wanted to impress that Touron…” He shrieks when a hand slaps the back of his head, knocking his hat to the ground.

“Idiot! No one knew about that!”

“I think we can all agree that JJ is just terrible at keeping secrets. Can’t trust him with anything.”

You giggle and sip on your smoothie, half-listening to John B’s rant about some customers at the surf shop. JJ sticks a straw in your cup and drinks too, cheekily bumping your foreheads together, his pretty blue eyes locked onto yours.

You find it hard to turn away, your gaze drifting over his face. From his strong nose to his cheekbones carrying a slight sunburn to his defined jaw. He flashes a grin, those stupid dimples making you a little flustered.

JJ was a natural flirt, he could make anyone swoon, he showered his friends in platonic love and affection—hugs, cuddles, kisses, you name it and he’s done it to each of you. He’s dated around the island but those relationships never lasted long enough to get serious, and they’ve never been introduced to your group either.

You’ve always wondered what he was like as a boyfriend, if he was as sweet with his partners as he was with all of you, if that tenderness bled into all his actions. He wore his heart on his sleeve in the most admirable of ways, although he was hotheaded and troubled, you’ve always felt safe with him.

You pull away, squeezing your eyes shut, “agh! Brain freeze!”

He snorts, bringing you forward for a sloppy kiss on your forehead, his cold lips against your warm skin. “Maybe you shouldn’t drink so quickly, ya dummy.”

Kie finally joins the rest of you a while later, bringing trays of fresh food and more drinks before sitting beside John B. Her long brown hair is up in a bun, loose strands frame her face, “Just letting you all know, I expect a mighty fine tip today and everyone is helping me clean up after closing.”

“Might as well take my kidney while you’re at it.” JJ speaks through a mouthful of fries, “we’re supposed to relax today.”

“And I don’t feel like getting elbow-deep in dirty dishes if I’m not being paid for it,” John B adds.

“These free meals say different. C’mon, my dad promised he’d try not to disturb me this week if we get this place spotless for spring break.” She looks at you, brown eyes pleading, “I’ll get you a smoothie to go.”

“I mean… it’s a small price to pay for a week of freedom, right?”

“Not guaranteed freedom.”

JJ leans towards you, “don’t say yes.”

“There’s six of us, we could get it done in one hour or even less if we work fast!”

“I guess that’s true.” You agree, despite JJ’s protests.

“Sunshine, no—if you stay, I’m gonna have to stay too.”

Kie calls your name, reaching over to physically turn you towards her. “Don’t look at him. If you stay, he’ll stay, same goes for Sarah and John B, and well… Pope will stay regardless because he doesn’t have a choice.”

Pope pulls a face, “excuse me?”

Truthfully, you were going to stay anyway, but it does make you a little bashful knowing that JJ wouldn’t leave without you.

“Okay, I’ll stay.”

“Same here.” Sarah decides, earning a huff from her boyfriend, “And just for your attitudes, the guys have to clean the deep fryers.”

“Including Pope.”

“I didn’t even say anything!”

After thoroughly cleaning The Wreck, the night concludes with a movie marathon at the Chateau. Pope keeps his streak of picking the best movies and chooses a trilogy you haven’t seen before. Bowls of snacks and beer cans litter the floor, and a half-finished pizza sits on the coffee table. Sarah and John B share one couch, and Kie and Pope are sprawled on the floor atop cushions and blankets, while you and JJ are tucked into the smallest couch, your legs over his lap.

As the opening credits roll on the screen, everyone takes the opportunity to do more catching up. Kie talks about cleaning up some beaches with other volunteers and her most recent trip off the island, a small project with a group of marine wildlife rescuers. She even shows a bunch of pictures of her with baby turtles.

John B and JJ talk about their co-owned surf shop, “We caved and hired extra help.”

“Finally!” Kie exclaims, “If you and JJ were running that shop alone any longer, it would go bankrupt, you’re both so fucking lazy.”

“Hey, I’m a great employee. I just got employee of the month actually.” JJ defends.

“You shouldn’t be proud of that if it’s only you two. You literally just vote for each other every month,” Sarah states knowingly.

You, Sarah and Pope don’t have much to say about your college careers, except for the lack of sleep and dependence on caffeine. It’s not very exciting, but Pope’s story about his professor who only attends class in socks makes you a little thankful for your overly strict school.

The marathon goes on, and the conversation dies down by the end of the second movie. Someone’s soft snoring flows over the steamy soundtrack and for the umpteenth time tonight, you look away as the two leads share a passionate kiss. At least it wasn’t another sex scene.

As your best friend, JJ could read you like a book. He knew you from the inside out, he could tell what you were thinking before you even said it, and he knew all of those humiliating secrets that kept you up at night. One of them being your lack of experience. When you confessed that, he told you it wasn’t something to be ashamed of, everyone moves at different paces and lives different lives—but kissing?

“You’ve never been kissed?”

You cover your face, embarrassment flooding in. “You don’t have to say it like that!”

“I’m not—I’m not teasing.” His smile says differently. He easily pulls your hands down, holding them in his lap, “it’s just not what I was expecting.”

He generally knew you weren’t the most experienced in intimacy and relationships, and that’s partly why he was so protective of you. Even at crowded parties and in his drunken state, he’d keep an eye on you, watching out for any creeps. Unbeknownst to you, it was an unspoken rule between the Pogues to treat you a little softer, a little sweeter because they all know how sensitive you were.

But he figured you’ve kissed someone before. Maybe some lucky kid from Figure 8 or a dude from your private school.

“I know, I know. You probably find it so funny.” You huff and roll your eyes, “laugh all you want, jerk.”

And to your chagrin, he does but quickly apologizes. “Sorry, sorry. Okay, maybe it’s a little funny. But not in a bad way! It’s actually cute.”

Cute?

“It’s adorable.” He cups your face, “itty bitty baby hasn’t had her first kiss… not even with that poster in your bedroom?”

Your chest warms as he pinches and pulls both of your cheeks, puckering your lips when you try to speak, “...posh-ers don’t ha’ tongues.”

“Oh, so you wanna French kiss for your first time? Didn’t think you were that type of girl, sunshine.”

You push him back and try to scoot away, making do with whatever sliver of space you can manage between the two of you, but he doesn’t let you get far. Keeping you in place with his hands on your hips.

“You’re telling me, aside from no one taking you on a date before, no one has asked to kiss you either?”

“JJ, you know my parents. My mom is so hard to please, I can’t imagine bringing someone home for her approval. And I had opportunities but… I kept getting too nervous.”

He’s quiet for a moment, his gaze tracing over your face. You hadn’t realized how close he was until now, you could count his every eyelash and his every freckle.

“I could help you out.”

A lump appears in your throat, it would silence your words if you could think of any but you can’t. Too caught up in his deep voice as it repeats in your head, again and again like a broken record.

“You trust me, right? You know me, I’m not—I’m not some guy you just met. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. If you wanted to, uh, kiss someone you just met, go ahead.” He reassures, “but I don’t think you want to do that.”

JJ was so awfully sentimental when it came to his friendships. His several shoe boxes of polaroids, tickets and trinkets under his bed said enough about his love for nostalgia. He was always one to take a chance, to live in a moment for as long as he could, and to find the positives in any situation, even the worst ones.

Years down the line, he never leaves the house without the silver zippo that you got him on a trip with your parents. It was easy to find something for each of your friends from your weeks-long stay in Europe: jewelry for Sarah and Kie, a first edition copy of a novel for Pope, and a vintage compass for John B, but you were stumped when it came to JJ.

You saved his gift for last, long after everyone else had fallen asleep, the mess of your celebratory return littering the backyard in empty beer bottles and confetti. He bugged you all night, eager for his special little something.

“Don’t open your eyes.”

“...Mhm, I’m having trouble keeping ‘em open.”

You placed the zippo in his hand and stepped back, “Okay, just feel it.”

He passed it between his hands, dragging his fingers over the cold metal until he popped it open, “a lighter?”

You nearly turned away when your nerves started bubbling and you’re thankful you didn’t, or else you would’ve missed his reaction. To this day, you’ve never seen him smile so wide or his eyes light up that bright at the sight of his initials and P4L ingrained in the silver.

He’s just JJ, one of your best friends in the entire world.

Deciding to take this opportunity before it slips away, you nod and his lips meet yours. He starts with little pecks, soft and sweet like cotton candy, and they slowly drag into short kisses. Putting a bit of intensity behind it, his tongue swipes along your bottom lip, but you don’t get the hint until he gently thumbs at your chin, just barely pulling your lips apart. He tastes like beer and a bit of weed, and his lips are softer than they look.

He’s slow and steady, letting you get used to the feel of him. You exhale in his mouth and shyly follow his lead, hoping he can’t hear your heart hammering in your chest. You don’t know if it’s the sweet rush of his lips against yours, or if this is how it feels to kiss someone for the first time, but you feel like you’ll float away.

Before you know it, he pulls away and presses his forehead against yours.

“You can breathe while we kiss.” He chuckles, nudging your nose with his, “don’t want you passing out on me, sunshine.”

You realize how lightheaded you feel and gasp for air, subconsciously licking your lips to taste him again. In a daze, you breathe in and out, briefly wondering if it felt like this to kiss just anyone.

One of his hands slips behind your neck and the other falls to your thigh, warm and gentle. “Do you want to stop?”

You glance at your friends, still passed out on the floor and other couches, the movie playing dully in the background. “No?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“No.” You repeat, firmer this time. “I don’t want to stop. Pl-Please don’t stop.”

How could JJ deny you? Especially when you ask so dreamily with that glazed look in your eyes. He fights the urge to pull you into his lap and touch you all over and be the first person to make you into a pretty mess, to feel you in a way no one else has before. He connects your lips again, taking the lead and slipping his tongue into your mouth.

The unmistakable wet noises cause tingles to course all over your body, from your toes to the tips of your fingers clasped in your lap. They only get stronger when he tilts your head to kiss you deeper.

“You can touch me too,” he murmurs, bringing your hand to the back of his neck. Your digits automatically curl in his blond hair, drawing a low groan from his throat.

That’s when you go completely dumb and totally thoughtless. All concerns fly out of your mind and join the bluebirds above your head. They’re playing a little song to the beat of your heart, hitting every note and putting you at ease like a lovesick lullaby. You almost assume that’s why you feel lightheaded again.

JJ leans back, his voice raspy, “you keep forgetting to breathe, baby.”

“I’m sorry,” you exhale heavily, the butterflies in your tummy going wild as he caresses your face. “I’m not good at this yet.”

His rough fingers drag down your cheekbones and trace your jaw, the pad of his thumb gently presses on your bottom lip, almost slipping inside your mouth. His eyes seem darker, the clear blue shaded in something you can’t name.

His lips trail to your jaw, the movie long forgotten, “It’s okay, we have lots of time to practice. I’m gonna teach you everything I know, sunshine.”

𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: ahhh I've always wanted to write a sweet fic like this, i'm so excited to dive into a new fandom 🥰🥰 i'm still a lil nervous, but i'm hoping for the best !! feel free to stop by my inbox and let me know what you think of this so far, or request blurbs/drabbles for this au !!

𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞! this fic doesn't have an update schedule, but i'll add dates on the masterlist (linked here) if i have a date in mind. also, here's the 𝐏𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐁𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝 for this fic !!

As always, I hope you all enjoyed this and I’d love to hear your thoughts/feedback !! <3 — ☼ 𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐊𝐨-𝐟𝐢 ☼

I don’t do taglists anymore. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 & 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲: @𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

1K notes · View notes

murdocksdaughter · 3 days

Text

the long run

jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader

summary: jacaerys is sinking under the pressure of the war

word count: 627

warnings: hurt/comfort

a/n: this short fic based off this post

Jacaerys knew this was all so useless. In the back of his mind he knew what his mother wanted to achieve was not plausible. To win back the throne with little violence, minimal blood shed. That was like pushing a cart uphill with rock chained to your foot. He spent many nights starting out his window sinking deeper in this endless void of dread. The slip of his belief of his mother tightened the pit in his stomach so tight he would throw up.

You knew this dread if left unchecked would consume Jacaerys whole. He was one to fall head first and drown in his thoughts. You had to drag him from those shores many times. Too many times. Wrought with worry was his burden to bear and your’s was to tame it. You had become a lighthouse for him. But the clouds surrounding him became thick.

The two of you sat, nearly back to back but your hands were in a tight grasp. Jacaerys was again in throws concern by his mother’s decision. His eyes burned with tears and his chest ached. He squeezed your hand as he took deep long breaths. You look to Jacaerys squeezing his hand back. Then pressed your forehead on his shoulder. It was a small gesture to tell him you’re here. He smiles at the feeling, it was small and reflected more of a grimace but it was a smile.

You could feel the clouds surrounding him thin out. You pressed a kiss on his shoulder, “Would you like me to get you some food? You need to eat something.” You whisper against his clothes. Jacaerys shrugs the sense of disinterest radiating off of him. You frown at him.

“A little bread? Some tea?” You urge.

You were met with a wall of silence. As frustrating as he was acting, you couldn’t force him. You continued to rest against his shoulder. Your fingers running along his palm, a reflection of a language only spoken between you two. “Will any of this matter?” Jacaerys mutters out.

“What?” You sat up leaning forward to see his face.

“This fight. If my mother wins back her throne will this matter?” He stands up with a deep breath. “If Westeros tears itself apart by the seams by this blood feud, will it matter if she sits the throne? And with the…the dragonseeds…” You furrow your brows at his question but follow his actions.

You put your hand on his bicep, you understood him now. This anxiety was not just of the safety of his mother and the security of his mother’s claim. It was his standing, his claim that has him tied in knots. You move in front of him to grab his face. Tears now glassing over his eyes.

“What am I after this?” he whispers. You shake your head and pull his face down to meet yours, forehead pressing against each other. “Another war will break out with me on the throne, I know it.”

“You’re wrong. You are her heir. The Heir. They will accept you because they have to, my love.” Your words brush his cheeks. Jacaerys’ head falls to your shoulder. “But if they don’t, what does my mother get twenty…thirty years of peace?”

You just hold him in your embrace. You didn’t have all the answers for him. You stood there for a few minutes. Jacaerys drew small circles on your side, a smile drew on your lips. Your light was finally shining through.

“Do you think there are any lemon cakes left?” He whispers. You let out a giggle, pulling away.

“I’ll go check and I’ll have tea brought up as well.” You kiss his cheek. “It will all be okay in the long run.”

#house of the dragon #hotd #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon imagines

82 notes · View notes

stardust-kenobi · 6 months

Text

Nerves

Crosshair x F!Reader

Warnings: SMUT, angst, fluff, friends to lovers, soft and slightly ooc Crosshair (not much though, I think he really is a softy)

Word count: 2.7k

Summary: You'd been helping Crosshair work on his aim after his traumatic experience being held captive by the Empire. After not much progress, you get into a heated discussion when he tries to give up, which turns even more heated after he admits his feelings for you.

Read on AO3

“Try it again” You paced behind his stoic stance, doing your best to encourage him without showing any sign of your very present empathy. The slow-setting Pabu sun would still provide you both with another hour of visibility. The amber glow warmed your skin, which was a welcomed change of environment from being cramped on the ship for days on end.

“Why?” Crosshair growled, fueled by the burning rage built up by his defeat. The tremble in his fingertips broke your heart, but you could see that he’d made progress from the exercises. It was slow, sure, but there were definitely improvements. T

“Because I said so. You won’t make any progress if you don’t keep trying” You emphasized, doing your best not to express your impatience with his pessimism.

“It’s useless, Y/N” He lowered his blaster from his shaking hand and let it fall from his grasp before lowering himself to sit on the rock beneath him. You sighed, but this time your breath didn’t hold any frustration, only disappointment in his self-defeat. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what he’d been through, and you still didn’t know the extent of the torture he’d endured. Months had passed since he and Omega escaped. Omega had worked with him a few times, mostly with meditation, but you were better skilled with blasters and aim.

Crosshair held his head low, focusing his vision on the sand beneath his sore feet. You joined him without another word, sitting next to him on the rocks that scattered the shore. There were no words to comfort him in this moment, so you opted out of a conversation this time. The breeze from the ocean enveloped your frame, almost as if pushing you closer to Crosshair.

The seconds passed. Then minutes. All the while you soaked in each other’s company, for good or for bad. He was growing annoyed with you lately, despite being one of his closest friends, all because you were insistent upon helping to heal his trauma from his captivity with the Empire.

As the moments passed, Crosshair never tried to leave his spot next to you. He didn’t push you away this time. This, you decided, was an achievement.

The half-hidden sun drifted slowly below the horizon, replaced then by a casting a blue-toned light from the rising moon. It was peaceful, sitting together, communicating without saying a word.

“I’ll probably head back soon. We’ll try again tomorrow” You spoke gently when breaking the silence.

“I’m done” Crosshair spoke softly, his tone was firm and assured.

“Cross-” You sighed.

“I said I’m done” He reiterated, interrupting your plea.

“You’re just going to give up?” You scoffed.

“Seems so” He shrugged.

You crossed your arms to your chest and stood in front of him now, staring at him in disappointment.

“You can stand there all night if you’d like. I’m not changing my mind” He muttered, finally looking up to meet your gaze.

You pondered your next breath, but ultimately fell short on your words. With a subtle nod in his direction, you began walking away from your peaceful corner on the beach.

“I’m sorry for what they did to you, Crosshair. But you can’t punish yourself forever” You spoke calmly as the distance between you grew.

“What did you say?” He sneered, turning his body toward you, still sitting on the rock.

You froze in your tracks. You’d struck a nerve. Good.

“You heard me”

He slowly stood up and turned to you, “You think it’s my fault that I’m not improving?”

“You are improving, Crosshair. But, you’re giving up too easily”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about”

“I care about you, Crosshair. Believe it or not, I do. I know you’re not used to that but…you’re going to have to get used to it because I’m not going anywhere. And I’m not giving up on you”

His eyes grew subtly sorrowful as he stared into you, absorbing your words slowly. His head drifted from your gaze over to the open water that was now glistening in the moonlight.

“It's..my nerves” He said shamefully.

“Okay…” You tried to understand what he meant. Maybe you’d been pushing him too hard “Would it help if we took a break for a few d-”

“You. You make me…nervous” He admitted with a loud sigh trailing the end of his words like he had to force himself to say it.

As you pondered what he’d just said, your heart fluttered with unexpected excitement.

“What? How do I make you nervous?” You breathed out with what was almost a chuckle.

“Forget it” he scoffed, picking up his blaster and turning back toward the island, passing you in the process. You grab his arm to stop him. He doesn’t resist even though your gentle touch should not have stopped him in his tracks, but it did tonight.

“No. Tell me what you mean.” You demanded.

Crosshair contemplated it for a second before yanking his arm from your grasp, “You really want to know? Fine”.

He looked toward the island as if to check and make sure you were alone.

“I can’t…I can’t think around you. I can’t focus” He lowered his head,”I’ve tried to ignore how I feel around you, but it’s been just as useless as you training me”

For the first time in a long time, you were speechless. Crosshair was not a man of many words, nor was he one to express his feelings.

“Crosshair-” You tried to answer but he was uninterested in your counter argument. What he didn’t know was that there was no counter argument to be had.

“Don’t. Just don’t” He groaned.

“I love you” You hurriedly responded spitting it out like it was stuck on your tongue. You laid it all out plainly and simply. You loved him. You had for months.

Crosshair’s expression held a look of pure disbelief that quickly transformed to warmth and content.

Your longing gaze pierced through his tough exterior. Something ignited within you as a tension pulled you into him, leaving hardly any room between the two of you

“I…” You whispered softly, but lost yourself in his eyes.

Without another breath, Crosshair curled his finger beneath your chin, pulling your lips up to meet his.

Nothing this electrifying had ever grazed your skin before. His lips pressed passionately against yours as if he’d waited years to do this. You leaned into him, resting your hands on his shoulders as your mouths became intertwined so rhythmically.

Every fantasy you’d ever had of a moment like this that had always been shoved to the back of your mind came flooding back. Never did you think he’d feel the same way, but everything about his lips on yours just felt right. His finger beneath your chin trembled, and you were unsure how much it was from the overwhelming nerves of kissing you or the already present shake in his hands. You wrapped your hand around his, intertwining your fingers to calm him. The kiss was deep and raw, devouring each other as the motions intensified. A warmth spread through your body while your heart nearly lept from your chest.

Slowly and hesitantly, you pulled away from the kiss to look up into his uncertain gaze.

“You have no idea how long I have wanted to do that” He whispered, and a smile crept upon his face. Something rare and welcome that you never saw too often with him.

“Me too” You smiled back, holding his hands in yours.

You wasted no more time before pulling him for another kiss. It was heavy and breathless. Your hands wandered from his to the firm muscles on his chest. Crosshair let his hands wander, too, until they hovered gently above your breasts.

“Touch me” You breathed in between the motions of your lips.

Your permission was all he needed. His hands explored your body like he was lost in the dark. Like he was starving for you. The boulders on this corner area of the beach kept you hidden in your own oasis, with very little concern of being discovered. Your fingertips found the hem of his black shirt, and tugged at it gently.

“Here?” He pondered.

“Why not?” You smirked. He nodded and helped you remove his shirt, revealing his battle scars and perfectly carved muscle. You admired it, trailing your hands down his abdomen.

Conveniently, you had a blanket in your satchel that you brought with you. Crosshair rushed over to lay it out. He then took your hand in his and guided you to it.

“Lay down,” He instructed. As you did so, he hovered above you, his lips exploring your exposed neck and chest just above the neckline of your dress. You whimpered softly, unable to contain yourself even with the slightest of his touch.

His nervous touch was endearing as he traced up your thigh, searching for your most sensitive area. You shuffled your hips a bit, encouraging him to keep going

“Are you sure?” He asked, his brows furrowed. It was a look of longing, concern, and desperation all in one. Crosshair needed you, but wouldn’t dare touch you like this without assurance.

“Yes,” You breathed.

He pulled your panties down, and you lifted your hips to help him remove them completely.

He returned his fingers to your aching heat and discovered your arousal for him, which earned a small whimper from his lips. Crosshair knew exactly what he wanted to do to you. He’d surely thought about it enough in his head while he sat alone in his quarters, pumping himself to the fantasy of having you in his grasp like this. But, he was letting his nerves get the better of him now, and felt weary about how he’d perform for you.

“Cross, please” You begged with a tone of reassurance. His hand rested on your thigh, just beneath where you craved his touch.

You felt his hand tremble subtly against your skin.

“Hey,” You started, pulling his attention to you, “it's just me and you”

He nodded and kissed you hard, letting himself dive into you again, and found his fingers sliding through the wetness between your legs. He rubbed your clit in delicate circles and you bucked your hips up into his touch. He found a perfect rhythm and responded to your body’s signals as he felt them.

“Maker…You’re so wet for me” He muttered in total awe of the effect he’d had on you. Looking down to your exposed cunt as the bottom of your dress now rested against your abdomen. Suddenly his middle finger found its way to your entrance and slid inside, pumping slowly and pushing you to the edge while his thumb kept working at your clit.

Crosshair was propped on his side next to you, and instinctively ground his hips against your body, overcome with his desire to feel friction. He added another finger inside and fucked you as you rolled your hips into his hand. Each thrust of his curled digits grazed your most sensitive spot against your walls. A tingling sensation bundled and tightened in your lower belly, pushing you closer to your climax.

“Don’t stop” You begged, and he listened.

“Come for me, darling” He instructed, which sent chills down your body. Hearing him say something so arousing was unfamiliar but absolutely intoxicating.

With his lips at your neck and his fingers working eagerly inside of you, your release was so close now. Your senses were deliciously overwhelmed.

“Crosshair” You cried his name before rolling your eyes into the back of your head, seeing stars, overwhelmed with the pleasure that flowed through your body as your orgasm overcame you. Your hips rolled up into his body still hovered above you and your back arched in response to the sensational feeling radiating through you. Your fingers dug into his arm but he never slowed his pace. Crosshair was absolutely infatuated with watching you fall apart for him. You came down from your euphoric high slowly, catching your breath in the process.

“Are you alright?” He whispered. This was a side of him you never expected. You knew he could be caring and kind when he wanted to be, but seeing that translated to handling your body was a pleasant surprise. Your cunt hopelessly clenched around the emptiness as he removed his fingers.

“Never better. Now, please fuck me” You demanded, chuckling softly.

“Only because you asked so nicely,” He wasted not another moment before helping you lean up to remove your dress completely. Your breasts fell from the restraint of the fabric and caught his eye immediately. He took them into his hands massaging them gently before bringing his lips to your mounds and kissing them.

He pulled his pants down just enough to release his length that begged to be touched. You stared in awe of his size. You opened your legs slightly, allowing room for him to adjust himself in between your legs.

As he lined himself up with your entrance, he looked into your eyes and devoured you with a loving gaze. He kissed you softly before slowly sinking his cock into your wetness.

Crosshair choked on his next breath, your warmth encasing him perfectly as you took his length with ease. Once he bottomed out within you, he whimpered softly and buried his face into your neck. He was slow at first, allowing you to adjust to his size, which you probably needed as he was bigger than you expected.

“Fuck, Y/N” He cursed, overwhelmed by it all. To be able to take you like this, having you begging for his cock, you writhing beneath him…it was all wonderfully too much, and he loved it.

“Maker, it feels so good, Cross” You encouraged him. His cock stretched you open with each thrust as he picked up the pace. He fit inside you like you were made for each other, and you felt a closeness and intimacy you’d never experienced before. It was indescribable.

You held his face in your hands as he thrust into you faster and harder, holding his gaze while you both let profanities and cries of pleasure fly from your lips. If there was anyone nearby, they would have heard you, but it was a remote area, and you could feel safe. Each curl of his hips snapping into you sent your mind and body into a frenzy of pleasure.

“You take me so well, sweetheart” He praised, turning his attention to looking down where he disappeared inside of you. Crosshair was no virgin, but he’d never experienced such intimacy and passion for someone like he did for you in this moment. He wanted this for so long, same as you. The months of lingering glances at one another, your heart racing each time your skin grazed his on the ship, the way you’d cared for him since he’d escaped Tantiss. It was all leading up to this moment of pure desire for one another, and you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

“I won’t last much longer” He

You nodded to assure him it was okay. It was then that you felt another orgasm quickly creeping up on you. He could feel you tightening and knew you were close.

“Come on my cock, that’s it” He spoke softly, his words sending you over the edge.

It burst open, washing over your entire body, more captivating and intense than the first release. You dug your nails into the rigid muscles of his back, pulling him into you as he kept his pace. You cried out, feeling overtaken by the pleasure that electrified your entire body. His thrust began to falter and his body shook beneath your fingertips.

Crosshair’s moans were low and rough as he reached his climax, spilling his release deep inside you, his brows furrowed and face twisted in pleasure.

You both took time to catch your breath, soaking in the highs you were riding and taking in this feeling of closeness with one another. He was careful to remove himself from you, knowing you were both sensitive.

He lay beside you, wrapping his arms around your body and pulling you into him.

“I love you too” He said suddenly, confusing you for a moment, before realizing that he was finally responding to your declaration of love to him earlier.

You smiled up at him and laid your head onto his chest. As you listened to a combination of the gentle waves and the beating of his heart, you felt warm and loved for the first time in a long time.

#Crosshair #crosshair x reader #crosshair smut #fluff #angst #the bad batch #tbb #crosshair x f!reader #crosshair x you #reader insert #tbb fanfiction #bad batch #pabu #my work #stardust-kenobi

233 notes · View notes

bettyfrommars · 8 months

Text

Dirty Metal Summer

a Dirty Dancing au

Part 3: Crimson and Clover

Eddie x fem!Reader & Steve x older!OC

masterlist playlist

18+MDNI, not too many warnings for this part just mention of losing a parent, hint to an abusive relationship, alcohol consumption, tons of awkward flirting, eventual smut, but very much a slow burn. Steve is in his mid-late 20's, aunt Kim is mid 30's to early 40's, or whatever age you are, dear reader.

wc: 4.5k

Summary: Hello! We're getting to know a bit more about the character dynamics, listening to some of Eddie's thoughts, and catching a glimpse at a third possible romance on the horizon. Preparing us for the wild ride that starts in the next chapter.

Songs for this chapter: Under the Milky Way/The Church Edge of a Broken Heart/Vixen Seek and Destroy/Metallica

The shores of the resort were thick the next day with people who worshiped the sun, playfully kicking at the water in their bathing suits, stretched out in their lounge chairs, glistening in layers of Hawaiian Tropic tanning oil.

You, on the other hand, were still fully clothed, covered in SPF, under one of the big umbrella’s the resort offered with your headphones on to drown out the sound of the screaming children. Your dad was in the shade next to you, absorbed in a book, while aunt Kim caught some rays on her backside in a black one-piece that was high at the hip, flipping through an issue of People magazine. It was the Summer of Love issue celebrating the 1960’s with the Beatles on the front and the quote: “It’s 20 years later, do you know where your love beads are?”

“Don’t you want to get in the water, Bird?” Your aunt cooed politely, adjusting her big sunglasses on her face.

You shook your head, pulling your headphones down. “I think I’ve developed a phobia of public watering holes.”

“Suit yourself,” she sat up and brushed herself off. “I think I’ll take a quick dip.”

“Watch out for sharks,” you quipped, earning the weight of a magazine being thrown at your hip.

“This has been enough excitement for me,” your dad cleared his throat, placing a bookmark to save his spot, standing from his chair, knees popping. “I think I’ll head in, get some writing done before dinner.”

“Later dad,” you mumbled, wishing you had an excuse to hide in a room by yourself all day.

Once he was gone, Kim took a drink out of her water bottle and heaved a sigh. “I wish the two of you would give this place a chance. Look at that lake!” She stretched her arm out, pointing. “It’s breathtaking.”

You gazed out at the expanse of the cheery, vacation scene, bursting with melancholy. “Mom would’ve loved this place,” you choked on the last word, not sure where that fresh pang of emotion had come from.

Kim chewed the inside of her cheek, equally adrift in reverie, when a body stepped up to block the sun, putting her in its shadow. “I was hoping I’d run into you again.”

The body belonged to Steve, and he was shirtless, in a pair of navy-blue Staff swim trunks, short and slightly snug against his hairy thighs, and flip flops. His lips were glossy, and even though he wore sunglasses, he had to shield his face with his hand, squinting against the sun so hard that his top lip curled.

Kim tried to speak so fast she coughed, wondering if she looked too frumpy in the suit she had on. What was she thinking? He had to be a good 10 years younger than her, no way he was interested in—

“Kim, right?” He aimed a finger gun at her, but then he struggled a bit with your name, snapping his fingers to ignite recollection.

“And you’re Steve,” Kim's eyes couldn’t help but land on the silver chain nestled in his ample chest hair. “Did you, um, are you working on your tan?”

It took him a second to catch what she was referring to, and then he smirked, pulling a crumpled polo from his back pocket. “I jumped in to cover lifeguard duty for a buddy of mine,” and then he shifted his sunglasses to the top of his head and so did she. “If you ever need a swimming lesson, I’m your guy.”

“You’re a swim instructor too?” Kim asked, impressed. Steve put his hands on his hips, accentuating broad shoulder muscles.

“Nah,” he shrugged, tucking his chin. “But I’d do my best.”

You dropped your gaze to the sketchbook you’d been doodling in, trying to pretend like you weren’t listening. From the headphones around your neck, the song Under the Milky Way by The Church played and a handful of kids ran by you giggling, dusting sand onto your blanket.

Steve wished you a good afternoon just before he excused himself, seemingly headed back to the pool area. You thought he’d been on his way somewhere else, but you were mistaken.

“I think he likes you,” you swirled a few doodles, raising an eyebrow.

“Noooo,” Kim gave a long protest, adjusting the straps of her bathing suit. “He works here, it’s his job to be friendly.

“Yeah? Is it his job to keep checking over his shoulder at you as he walks away?”

Kim peeked just as the man in question tripped over his own feet. Regaining his balance, he waved and said, “I’m okay,” and then proceeded to put his shirt back on as he approached the lifeguard station.

It was your turn to stiffen and feel tingly all over when you spotted Eddie strolling down the sidewalk from the main house, wearing a tool belt loose at his hips to accompany his denim and staff shirt attire.

From the way he knocked that Lance guy out with one punch the other night, you wondered if his hand hurt. Adjusting yourself, you wet your lips, as if he’d spot you or something, which was impossible from that distance. He cut in front of the fenced pool area, heading for the outdoor bar that had a thatched roof like you’d see at a tropical beach. For the first time that day, you noticed that Chrissy was working the area, carting fancy drinks around to the guests at the pool. Her blonde ponytail bobbed as she turned from what she was doing to talk to him.

She dipped her chin a few times in answer to whatever questions he was asking, and then he squeezed her arm affectionately before taking off again.

“Do you want anything from the bar?” You got to your feet, dropping your Walkman to the towel.

Kim cocked her head, considering the question. “Is it too early for alcohol?”

Eddie was back on the path, his back to you as he got further away, but your attention was on Chrissy mixing cocktails in a metal shaker.

“I can see if they have mimosas?” You weren’t thirsty, really, but you were curious.

Kim decided on a bloody mary and asked you to put it on her tab, slipping you a few bucks for a tip.

The smile Chrissy gave you as you approached was polite, but it did not reach her eyes. “What can I get for ya?”

You told her, fumbling over your words a bit, and then waited on one of the five stools for her to make your drinks. She scooped ice into a Styrofoam cup and tossed in a jigger of alcohol. You noticed a gold, heart shaped locket around her neck with something engraved on the front.

“Is it true you used to play with Vixen?” You asked, in awe.

Chrissy’s face fell and she paused to stare at you. “Who told you that?”

“Oh, um, Joyce, she, well—sounded like she was proud of you.”

Chrissy went back to work. “That was a long time ago, back when life was good.”

“It’s not good now?” You were intruding, and you knew it, but still, you couldn’t help yourself.

Chrissy scoffed. “You could say that. Lemon in your tea?”

You nodded, wondering if there was anything you could say or do to cheer her up.

“How long have you and Eddie been together?”

She frowned down at what she was doing. “Eddie’s not my boyfriend,” she corrected. “He’s like a brother to me. Known him since I was a kid.”

“Oh I see,” you pressed your lips together, trying not to appear relieved at that news.

There was a lull of silence as she finished up and you felt compelled to fill it. “I saw you play with the house band last night. I think you’re really talented.”

You could hear the click of her molars gnashing together when she placed both drinks in front of you. “Playing lame cover songs for a no-name house band is the best I can do with my life right now. Music is the only thing I’ve ever cared about.”

You used some of your own cash to give her an even bigger tip and scooped up your drinks.

“Hey, wait,” Chrissy called after you. She rubbed her forehead and tried to smile. “Listen, I’m sorry that I’m, that I’m being such a bitch,” she shrugged. “It’s been a shit couple days.”

You shook your head, cold drinks sweating in your hands, about to tell her that you understood, but the two of you were interrupted.

“Bird, there you are,” you froze at the sound of Troy’s voice. “Glad to see you’re enjoying the amenities.”

Troy had a green and white tennis outfit on with a racket in his hand, and you caught the way Chrissy tensed and quickly turned away at his entrance. She folded the tip you’d left and put it in the front pocket of her apron. He came up close to you—too close, invading your bubble—and so you shuffled back, bumping into one of the stools.

“The staff is treating you well, I hope?” He leaned against the tiki bar, and it was not lost on you that Chrissy pretended to be so busy she didn’t notice him.

“Just about to bring this to my aunt,” you lifted the red drink with the celery stick sticking out of it. You glanced at Chrissy, but she went to the other side of the bar to help someone else. “The service here is impeccable,” you said, loud enough for her to hear.

You headed out and he kept up, sticking by your side. “I’ll walk with you,” he winked.

“Great,” your smile was a tight, thin line.

—-------

Eddie bent at the waist to sip from the stone drinking fountain near one of the utility sheds and splashed water on his face a few times, combing wet fingers through his hair so that his bangs were off his forehead. He worked the cool water around the back of his neck, wondering if he had a sunburn. He loved Indiana for the fall colors and the long winters, but the summer? The summer heat could go fuck itself.

Water was still dripping from his chin and nose when Steve walked up, sunlight through the leaves making patterns on his face.

“Did Robin mention we need to borrow your van tomorrow night?” Steve bent down to take a sip from the fountain after he asked it.

Eddie pulled the bottom of his shirt up to wipe his face, exposing his stomach and trail of hair from his belly button to his waistband. “As long as you don’t bring it back on empty. What’s wrong with your car?”

“We need to pick up a bunch of Robin’s stuff from her ex’s house,” Steve raised his brows high, locking them in place. “Girl is a bit of a psycho, I don’t want Robbie to go alone.

Over Steve’s shoulder, he caught sight of you making your way back to the umbrella with Troy by your side and he hoped that you were smart enough to know that guy was a piece of shit.

“I work late tomorrow, but I’ll help you unload when you get back,” the tip of Eddie’s tongue rested at the corner of his mouth, eyes darting to you again. You weren’t some goddess from the cover of a hotrod magazine, or one of the metal babes who always tried to go down on him when he used to play shows with his old band, but yet, without knowing anything about you, the sight of you made his heart jump into his throat.

“Nah, we got it,” Steve talked as the two started walking. “It’s just a mattress and a chair and some clothes I think. I told her just to let them go, but it's the principle I suppose.”

“I get it man, believe me,” Eddie once drove three states just to get a rare Scorpions concert tee back from an ex who stomped his heart.

“Hey,” Eddie caught Steve before he headed off in the other direction. “Jam at the Hideout tonight?”

They bumped fists. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

—-------

The movie Casablanca was the offering at the outdoor theater that night, and respective families cuddled on the lawn on their various blankets and camp chairs under cover of generous tree branches. Halfway through, you excused yourself from your aunt’s company to find the restroom, and that was when you spotted Chrissy and Troy having what appeared to be a heated conversion at the curve of the sidewalk near the rose garden. You ducked behind a tree just as Humphrey Bogart said one of his infamous lines on the screen.

Since everyone’s attention was occupied elsewhere, no one but you saw the way Chrissy pointed in Troy’s face, only for him to snatch her wrist in a way that made you gasp. She yanked her arm away and turned on her heel, but then he caught up and lunged in front of her. Whatever he said to her then calmed things down for a moment, she stopped trying to break free, and then he cupped her face as if he were about to kiss her, but she shoved away again. That time, he let her go. Hands balled into fists in his pockets, head down, he stormed off in the opposite direction, toward you.

You stood very still, hoping to be mistaken for the thick trunk of the tree, and thankfully, it worked. You came around to glare at his backside, but then trotted after Chrissy. She was long gone, walking as fast as her feet could carry her along the treeline, and you didn’t think she’d appreciate you screaming her name at the top of your lungs in front of the other guests.

It was pure luck that made you take notice of something shiny on the ground, a pile of glistening gold on the sidewalk.

It was a necklace, a heart locket to be exact, much like the one you’d noticed around Chrissy’s neck earlier that day. You ran your thumb over the engraving on the front and let the delicate chain drag along the back of your hand.

You were sure that it belonged to Chrissy, the clasp must’ve broken during the struggle with Troy. You had to get it back to her somehow.

—-------

“Where are you going?” Your dad asked as you sailed through the living room on your way to the door later that evening. He looked at his wristwatch. “It’s almost 11.”

You’d planned on him being in bed already. “I, well, I ahh—” you scrambled for an excuse, something that wasn’t “I’m going off the property to where people fight and get drunk and listen to metal”. You were 21 and technically, by the law of the land, could do anything you wanted, but anyone who has ever traveled with family is familiar with the tendency to be treated like a child infinitely. He loved you, he worried about you, and you didn’t want him to stay up all night pacing, so, you lied.

“There’s a meteor shower tonight, and a bunch of the guests are watching from the boat docks,” god, you hoped he wouldn’t fact check you on that.

He shuffled some saltines absently out of a tin. “You’re still coming on the boat with us tomorrow morning?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you beamed, clenching the front of your jean jacket closed to hide the revealing shirt you wore underneath.

You raced down the porch steps once you were able, dashing into the night with Chrissy’s necklace safe in your pocket.

—-----

A guy in a Black Sabbath shirt and a drastic mullet with hair down his shoulders moved out of the way for you as you crossed the bridge, and then you had to stand there and take a breath. Robin wasn’t with you and you hadn’t been invited to the Hideout this time, maybe they wouldn’t want you? Surely you could find Chrissy at work the next day and give her the necklace then? Fuck it, you were almost there.

You could hear the shrill feedback from a guitar and then someone speaking into a microphone. Was that Eddie’s voice? Your heart raced. People cheered at whatever was said, and then the drum beat kicked in a few times, followed by guitar riffs, and a woman’s voice singing the Vixen intro to Edge of a Broken Heart.

“I can't believe I could have been so blind

But love is strange

I thought about it for a long long time

But the truth remains”

You could feel the music in your chest. Was that Chrissy? Perhaps it was the “band practice” Robin told you about, but the music didn’t sound at all like what you’d expect to hear from the conservative house band. The sliding door was open once you were in view, with people mingling outside, and you dodged around them, sucking in a plume of secondhand smoke from a passerby.

Slithering through a few more bodies, you stepped right over the spot where Lance had gone down the night before, and then you had the perfect view of Chrissy exercising her impressive pipes on the microphone under a few ropes of tiny, pale string lights.

Steve was on bass, hair flopping in his face, his mouth holding an “O” shape as he played. He had on a thin white tee that was soaked through with sweat on the front atop belted blue jeans. Eddie arched back, exposing his throat, his fingers deftly working the strings on his smoke black Warlock guitar. He had a Bark at the Moon shirt on with wide, ripped out arm holes exposing the tattoo work on his ribs. His hair hung in his face when he bent over to play, a frown of concentration knitting his brows together.

Chrissy jabbed her fist in the air for the chorus and the crowd screamed it:

“I've been living on the edge of a broken heart

I don't wanna fall, I don't wanna crawl

I've been living on the edge of a broken heart

Don't you wonder why I gotta say goodbye”

She commanded the stage, playing guitar as she sang. You were too absorbed to realize that you had made your way forward and were right there front and center when Eddie glanced up.

He wasn’t expecting to see you, so he did a dramatic double take, nostrils flaring the moment your eyes connected. Why couldn’t you just stay away?

A smile teased at the corners of your mouth, but faded to an unsure lip bite when he averted his gaze, scowl deepening. He ignored you for the rest of the song.

When it was over, there were cheers and whistles all around. The drummer with the mop of tawny hair twirled one of their drumsticks in the air with a flourish and caught it, clapping the high hat. Voices murmured around you as people fell back into conversation while they had a break from the volume of the amps, and you shuffled to the side, following Chrissy as she took her guitar off and held it by the fretboard. She had on a cropped shirt with her shorts, golden hair loose and wild around her shoulders, her short fingernails painted black. There were a few old, wooden apple box crates stacked on top of each other to act as a makeshift table, and she grabbed the neck of the beer that was waiting there to take a sip.

Eddie continued to play, wailing on the guitar with precision, while Steve and the drummer followed his lead to the tune of Seek and Destroy by Metallica.

You tapped Chrissy on the shoulder, and she jumped. “Oh shit, you scared me,” she said, spinning around. She checked around as if she were expecting to see someone else there. “Where’s Robin? Is she with you?”

“No, I, just a sec—” you dug around in the front pocket of your jacket, panicking for a moment that you forgot to bring the locket with you. “I found this on the sidewalk, and I thought maybe you dropped it?”

Chrissy gasped at the sight of it and her eyes began to water. “How did you–?” A sob caught in her throat, and she reached out to gently take it from you. She shook her head in disbelief. “I looked everywhere, I thought it was gone forever, I—”

“I thought that was you!” It was Robin, bobbing on the balls of her feet as she came up to nudge your shoulder. But then, her attention turned to Chrissy and her face tensed with concern. “What happened, why are you crying?”

“No, no,” Chrissy sniffed and opened her fist to show Robin the piece of jewelry. “It’s my grandmother’s locket I told you about. Bird found it.”

Robin bent to get a closer look and the two women knocked their heads together, sharing a laugh. “The clasp is broken though,” Chrissy mused. “It must’ve come off when—” she swallowed, deciding not to finish that sentence. “I’ll take it into town to get it fixed this weekend.”

“Give it here, I’ll fix it for you,” Robin volunteered. “Not only can I unclog a toilet, but I’m also pretty crafty.”

“Y-you’d do that for me?” She asked as she was passing it over.

“Of course,” Robin chuckled. “I’d do anything for y—I mean, what are friends for right?”

Chrissy turned her attention back to thank you properly when Steve pushed in between the other two girls and slung his arms around their shoulders. “What's going on?”

Robin cringed. “Gross, Dingus, you’re all sweaty,” to which he shook his head and droplets from his hair flew everywhere, making the girls scream and push him off.

The three of them got into conversation about something and you sank back against the corrugated metal wall to observe. You hadn’t noticed the music stopped but the drummer was in the crowd having a beer and just as you were on your toes trying to find Eddie, a warm body sank in next to you.

“Hey,” Eddie said.

You looked just in time to catch his gaze traveling down your body, but then he was quick to lift his beer to his mouth and pretended to be watching the crowd.

“Hey,” you returned, suddenly full sentences and conversation felt so foreign. You were acutely aware that there was plenty of space along the wall, but he was pressed close, bare arm touching yours.

“They let you stay out this late on a school night?” He grinned against the aluminum rim, amusing himself. He had a second beer in his other hand, and he passed it to you.

“Ha. Ha.”

He had one knee bent with his foot on the wall while the other leg stretched long to show the heavily scuffed toe of his black boot.

You shuddered despite the heat. “So, how long have you and Chrissy been playing music together?”

He hummed, shifting so that his bicep rubbed against you, squinting one eye shut in thought, tilting his head back. “Been something like a decade now, I think? Feels longer. Feels like I’m 60 years old some days.”

“How old are you though?” You swallowed so hard your throat clicked. “45? 50?”

He leaned into you, hard enough to push you over if your feet weren’t planted, his hair skimming your shoulder. “Close enough,” he paused to say something else, but then puffed out his cheeks and exhaled.

He wanted to ask how long you’d been playing the cello, but how would he even know you did without admitting he’d watched you that night from the street like a stalker? “Do you think you’re gonna stick around, watch us play some more?”

“I could,” you were about to add something super cheesy like, “if you want me to,” but opted for nonchalant. “I love watching Chrissy play.”

He nodded a few times, and pushed off the wall, handing you his beer. “Hold this for me?” His silky brown eyes locked onto yours, the tip of his tongue resting between parted lips. “Please?”

There you were, holding Eddie Munson’s beer. He got behind the mic and took his shirt all the way off to wipe his face with it before strapping his guitar on. The next song they did was an original, something that Eddie and Chrissy wrote, and Chrissy came in on backup vocals, while Eddie growled out the lyrics, banging his head every so often. He swiped his bangs from his forehead, wet with perspiration, and his fingers worked like magic along the strings. At one point, he and Chrissy shared the same mic, belting out the words.

He made eye contact with you three times, not that you were counting. Each time longer than the last. When it was over, he came out and took his beer from you, fingers touching as he did so.

“Eddie, I think I—” you were about to let him know you should probably get going, but he’d already turned, chugging the rest of the beer as he went, and then they were right into the next song.

Eddie wasn’t sure why you made him so curious, but the voices in his head were screaming at him to shake it off. Somehow, he’d gone four years without getting involved with a summer person, he’d never even been tempted really. Nothing good could come of it, especially since he’d probably end up being nothing but a vacation fuck for you to brag to your friends about.

He glanced around but couldn’t find you during the song. When he went to check for you at the wall, you were gone.

---

thank you again for the love on this and for reading!

---

taglist: @micheledawn1975@kurdtbean@katethetank@elvendria@spookysqaush86@somethingvicked@stylesxmunson@laurenlokirby@sapphire4082 @kellsck @motherfckerrr @emxxblog @justdamnpeachy @dashingdeb16 @corrodedcoffincumslut @bexreadstoomuch @ohmeg@marrowfrog00

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson series #Eddie Munson fic #Dirty Metal Summer #dms updates #Steve Harrington #Eddie munson x fem!reader #dirty dancing au

186 notes · View notes

sluttywonwoo · 8 months

Text

instead of you [part thirty-eight] || l.mh

pairing: [best friend’s brother] lee minho x college!reader ft. han jisung

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either.

warnings: swearing, mentions of sex (18+ ; mdni)

word count: 2.8k

a/n: revamped my tom holland series from my main blog ( @wazzupmrstark ) to try and motivate myself to finish it!!

“You put sunscreen on, right?”

“Yes, dad.”

Jisung rolled his eyes. “I’m just trying to make sure you don’t burn.”

“Worry about yourself, lobster.”

“You need to come up with a new sunburn joke. That one is getting old.”

“I’ll go back to the drawing board, spitball a little bit,” you muttered.

Your best friend laughed. “Let me know when you land on something.”

“Aye, aye, captain.”

“Can you get my back, though?” Jisung asked.

“Sure, babe.”

You took the tube of sunblock from his hands and squeezed some into your palm. He yanked off his shirt and shoved it in his bag, turning away from you so that you could apply the sunscreen. He bent his knees a little to make it easier for you, even though he wasn’t that much taller than you.

You rubbed it in dutifully, making sure that it was all absorbed so that it wouldn’t stain his clothes when or if he put his shirt back on. When you were done, you handed the tube back to him.

“Will you do me?”

“Any day of the week,” Jisung replied, winking. “You know you don’t even have to ask, babe.”

“You two are disgusting.” You didn’t have to turn around to know who was complaining.

“We’re actually having a private conversation, Felix.”

“Well, you’re having it in the middle of a public area.”

Jisung rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything else, thankfully. It was too early in the morning to deal with their bickering.

You had woken up at dawn to make the drive over to Turtle Beach. According to the internet, the best time of day to see the sea turtles was in the morning, so that’s when you were going. No one was in a particularly good mood in the car on the way to the North Shore. It was silent. Dom tried turning the radio on at one point but Nikki immediately turned it off.

“We’ll be getting coffee after this,” Dom assured everyone, which seemed to lift the spirits at least a little bit.

It was already crowded when Dom found a parking spot on the side of the road. He was able to snag it as another car was pulling out.

People were clustered in groups around the rocks that lined the shore, holding their phones out to take pictures of what you assumed to be the turtles.

Minho had found a parking spot a little further away so he and Felix joined the rest of you a few minutes later.

That’s when the sunscreen was applied and promises of caffeine were made. You waited for your sunscreen to dry before putting your coverup back on and walking down to the beach with the Hans. You weren’t swimming at this beach, not many people did because they didn’t want to disrupt the turtles, but Nikki had made everyone put on sunblock anyway because you’d still be standing in direct sunlight.

The dropoff from the road to the sand was a bit steep and you stumbled trying to step down from the asphalt and tie the back of your coverup at the same time.

“Baby, let me,” Jisung said, pushing past his brothers to get to you. He chuckled. “That could’ve been bad. You should have just asked me to help you, or waited until we got down there.”

“I would’ve been fine,” you said, brushing it off. “Probably.”

“Knowing you, you probably would’ve hit your head on a rock or something.”

You ignored that comment because he was right and you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

The beach was kind of short even at low tide. Some mangrove trees offered a little bit of shade but that was already being monopolized by other tourists.

“I guess everyone read the same article we read,” Felix muttered.

“Seems like it,” Dom agreed.

“Should we go over there?” Minho asked, pointing to a moderately small crowd at the edge of the bay.

“I don’t see why not,” his dad said. “We can also split up if we want to. We don’t have to stay together.”

You looked at Jisung who just shrugged. “We can do whatever you want.”

“I don’t care,” you argued. “They’re your family.”

“Good point. Let’s go the other direction.”

You rolled your eyes and followed Jisung left while the other four went right. He wove in between the crowds, looking for turtles that the masses might not have spotted yet. You did the same, even though you were doubtful the two of you would find anything that the other tourists hadn’t.

You were shocked at how clear the water was. After the other beaches you’d already seen on this trip, you didn’t think it was possible for clearer water to exist. The visibility was insane. You could see every tiny detail, every bump and groove of the rocks, every grain of sand. The only thing diluting the view of everything was the white foam that washed ashore with the waves when they broke.

You took your phone out of your back pocket to snap a few pictures of the water and Jisung gave you a funny look.

“There aren’t any turtles here,” he said.

“I want a picture of the view,” you explained.

“Oh, that makes sense. Yeah, it’s beautiful.”

He watched you snap a few pictures and then offered to take some of you but you declined out of embarrassment.

“A bunch of people are doing it! Why would you be embarrassed?”

“I’m not good at posing for pictures! I always feel so awkward, especially when it’s just me.”

“Do you want us to take a picture together, then?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Jisung pulled his own phone from his pocket and ushered you over to his side. You get close to him and rest your head on his shoulder, smiling softly. He waits for a good wave to appear in the background and then takes a couple selfies.

He taps on the gallery icon in the bottom left corner of the screen to check the pictures and shows you.

“Oh, these are cute. Can you airdrop them to me later?”

“‘Course.”

Then, Jisung squinted a little harder at his screen, zooming in on something.

“What is that?” he asked you, shoving the phone into your face.

“I don’t know, it’s so pixely- and your hands are shaking.”

Jisung took the phone back. “Is that...”

He didn’t even finish the question before he was whipping around and marching toward the water without explaining, leaving you to stay standing where you were like an idiot or follow him aimlessly. You chose the latter.

“We found one!” he exclaims when you catch up with him, pointing at a dark mass in the water that had also been in the back of your pictures. You replicated his position to be able to see whatever it was more clearly and gasped when you realized it was a sea turtle.

It was a little further out than the ones that everyone was already ogling over which was probably why no one else had spotted it yet. Their dark shells also tended to blend in with the rocks, adding another layer of difficulty to the search.

“Should we call your family over?” you asked.

“Only if you’re cool with a bunch of other people swarming us.”

“You’re right, that might not be great. Especially if people start recognizing Minho.”

Jizung nodded. “Then we’d never get out of here. I’ll go run and get them. You stay here with the turtle.”

He didn’t give you a chance to respond before he was off. Seemed to be a pattern today.

“She still here?” Jisung asked when he came back, the rest of his family members in tow.

You were confused before you understood that he was referring to the turtle. Apparently, he had decided its pronouns in the time he was gone.

“Yeah, she’s a little closer too,” you answered.

You pointed at the shadow in the water and all of the Hans craned their necks to see it.

“Holy shit, it's huge,” Felix commented.

“It must be really old,” Jisung added. “That’s a thing, right? The bigger a sea turtle is, the older it is?”

His brothers shrugged. “No idea.”

“Crush from Finding Nemo was like one hundred and five and he wasn’t that big,” Minho pointed out.

“You’re going off of Finding Nemo for your marine biology information?” Jisung deadpanned.

“You’re just making stuff up off the top of your head!”

“No, I heard it somewhere!”

“Does anyone have service? We could Google it,” Felix suggested.

“No, there’s none over here,” you muttered.

“Look, here she comes!” Nikki exclaimed.

You weren’t sure whether the turtle was actually coming closer or if she just wanted her sons to stop bickering, but they did and turned their attention toward the ocean.

Eventually, the sea turtle did come a little closer, close enough to be able to take pictures where people would be able to tell what they were looking at.

The six of you all standing at the edge of the water looking at the same thing was bound to draw attention eventually so you took pictures and videos until you were satisfied and then headed back to the cars.

“Minho, follow the directions I sent you to Waimea Falls,” Dom instructed. “We’re going to stop for coffee on the way over there so you should tail me but you should also have the address in case you lose us.”

Minho nodded. “Same cars?”

“We can switch it up, if you want. I’m sure Felix would love to be alone with his folks for forty-five minutes straight.”

“Wait, you said the drive was only twenty minutes,” Felix piped up.

“It is, but your mother and I could make it forty-five just for you.”

“We can all fit in my car,” Minho added, ignoring his dad.

“Wow, so I’m not good enough for you?” Felix scoffed.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I meant by that.”

“I’m good to ride with mum and dad but y/n, you should go with Felix and Minho to save them from each other.”

“You don’t want to come?” you asked, already knowing the answer.

“Nah. I mean, Minho’s right, we would all fit but it wouldn’t be that comfortable, especially for a long ride. Besides, it would be rude to leave Mom and Dad by themselves.”

“What are you talking about?” Felix muttered. “They love to be by themselves. Why do you think they keep ditching us at every possible opportunity?”

“It’ll be nice to have some time with Jisung,” Nikki counters, taking Jisung by his shoulders. “He’s been gone at uni for so long, we haven’t gotten to see him since Christmas.”

“You’ve been seeing me for over a month straight,” Jisung mumbled, sounding a lot like Felix just had.

“You know what I mean,” his mom said, exasperated.

You hadn’t really thought of that. You had been so focused on being the loving, devoted girlfriend that you always made sure to be around so that everyone could bear witness to your relationship. You hadn’t considered the fact that Jisung’s parents might have wanted to spend time with their son one-on-one, or two-on-one. You had unintentionally been hogging their son this whole time.

“Oh, that’s a great idea,” you agreed, just to let them know that you weren’t upset. “I’m sorry, I’ve been keeping him all to myself.”

“Nonsense, love,” Nikki assured you, “I didn’t mean it like that at all.”

“I know, I know, I just still feel bad.”

“Don’t feel bad. You’re his partner, you’re part of this family now too.”

You smiled appreciatively but couldn’t bring yourself to respond. Would you still be considered part of the family if you suddenly became Minho’s girlfriend? Broke one son’s heart and moved on to the next- it wouldn’t be a good look, that’s for sure.

“It’s settled then,” Jisung said, clapping his hands together in finality. “We’ll see you guys there.”

Minho’s rental car was still parked on the side of the road, but it was down the hill a bit. It was pretty steep, and the pavement was uneven. You could feel two pairs of eyes watching you as you made your way along the path. You wanted to tell Minho and Felix that they didn’t have to be so vigilant, that you weren’t that clumsy. But to be fair, you had almost just ate shit like twenty minutes ago walking in the sand. Okay, maybe they were right for that.

You made it to the car without incident and climbed into the back seat. Minho plugged the address into his phone’s GPS, which synced to the car’s ApplePlay, and reversed out of the spot. He drove up a ways and then stopped behind Dom’s car so that he could reverse without dealing with the traffic. It was a smart move on Minho’s part. He was ensuring he wouldn’t get cut off by someone else, that way he could follow his dad without having to guess which lane he was in or which car he was in front of, etc.

As the passenger, Felix was in charge of the music (as long as Minho approved of it, since the driver did have veto power). He turned it to a local island reggae station and all three of you seemed to enjoy that.

While Minho drove, Felix showed you pictures he’d taken on his camera at Turtle Beach.

“I’ve been taking them the whole trip, but I only have so much storage on an SD card, you know? I’ve uploaded the rest to my computer. We can look at them later, if you want.”

“I’d love to! Have you looked at them yet?”

“I’ve just skimmed them,” he answered. “But if they turn out anything like these I think I’ll have a pretty solid portfolio after this trip.”

“Yeah, these are incredible! You’ll have to show Minho when we stop.” Felix made a noncommittal noise. “What? They’re great!”

“I’m glad you think so. Unfortunately, when it comes to my photography and videography, the wow factor has mostly worn off for my brothers. Even Minho, who’s supposed to be an performer, can’t pretend to be impressed anymore.”

“Harsh.”

“You’re telling me.”

“I guess they picked Dunkin,” Minho said, entirely ignoring the conversation you and Felix were having about him as he turned into the shopping center’s parking lot.

“Fine with me,” you said.

“It was probably the quickest choice,” Felix mused. “I would like to try some local coffee shops, though. Hawai’i is known for their coffee.”

“Maybe tomorrow we can look for one,” you offered.

He grinned. “I’m down.”

The drive-thru line wasn’t that long, thankfully. Minho ordered for the three of you all on the same ticket to speed things along too. He pretended not to hear you when you offered to pay for yourself.

Dom waited for your car in a parking spot by the exit to the main road. Minho did what he’d done before and waited for his dad to pull out before following him.

“Make sure to drink all of that before we get to the park,” Minho said as he passed out the cups. “I don’t think we’re allowed to bring outside food or drink inside. Yo, I didn’t mean you had to chug it right now,” he clarified.

You pulled your iced coffee away from your lips guiltily. “Sorry.”

“The drive is like twenty minutes, remember? You have time to finish it.”

“I remember.”

“So then why-”

“I don’t know, it felt like the right thing to do.”

“You’ve been in uni for too long,” he decided, shaking his head.

“Maybe she just needs the caffeine to hit faster,” Felix suggested defensively.

“Exactly, thank you, Lix.”

He gave you a smile of acknowledgment in the rearview mirror and a thumbs up. You sipped your coffee slowly as Minho drove through the winding mountains of Oahu, resting your forehead against the window. You knew there’d be sunscreen residue to clean off of it later but the cool glass felt nice against your skin.

You tuned Minho and Felix out until you heard your name. That’s when you sat up again and rejoined the conversation.

“Hm?”

“Min just asked what I think Jisung is talking about with our parents right now and I said they’re probably giving him a lecture about not losing you,” Felix explained.

You made a face. “What?”

“You know, like telling him he better treat you well or whatever parents say to their kids when they want a son or daughter-in-law.”

Your eyes shifted to Minho before you could stop them. His grip on the steering wheel tightened just enough to make his knuckles turn white but he kept his expression calm.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” you mumbled.

“I bet they’ll at least bring it up,” Felix countered. “They love you!”

You forced a smile and sunk down in your seat. Not for long.

lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!

#instead of you stray kids #instead of you skz #iou stray kids #iou skz #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids series #lee know x reader #lee know x female reader #lee know x bi!reader #lee know series #lee minho x reader #minho x reader

174 notes · View notes