#Closer to pack feels or pre than anything but

[tiralja]

Shinji has regrets

Shinji has regrets.

Ichigo hadn't known it, hadn't been there when he'd said it, but when the visored stepped up for the battle against Aizen he'd made sure to tell the soutaicho that they where not there for them.

"We are enemies of Aizen, and allies of Ichigo."

Allies of Ichigo. He had belived that. Truly had thought that.

But then Aizen had been beaten and Ichigo had lost his powers and they had been pardoned and finally allowed back home.

Why had he ever though it would be a good idea?

Why had any of them?

Every single visored had taken the hook and stepped right back into Seireitei to become parts of the machine that they all knew had already thrown them out once.

Maybe they thought Ichigo would fare better with his family? Away from all the powerful nonsense spirits dragged him into? Maybe they they really thought it wasn't a big deal? After all Ichigo already had many friends in soul society so it shouldn't really matter if they moved there and had their places back.

Maybe they were just so tired of having to hide away from the place and people they had spent centuries calling home? Blinded by the hope of getting it all back even in some small way.

The soutaitcho had asked him if they were now their allies and he had answered a resounding "No" and as soon as they were allowed back in not a sinle one of them stayed out of Soul Society. Stayed with Ichigo.

Allied with Ichigo his ass.

Once exiled twice shy was something they couldn't avoid noticing.

While every single one of them had returned to Soul Society to take their places as captains and liutenants not one of them could slot back into place as easy as they had hoped.

Gotei 13 is an eclectic bunch full of strong personalities and even stronger hierarchies and rules and after a hundred years spent away they grate on his every nerve.

While they had been in exile they had been banned from soul society, true, but they had also been kept away from the strict regulations and adherence to rules that gotei members seem to obey almost religiously, even if they had seemed to loosen up a little after Ichigo's first influential break into their fortress.

Ichigo had made many influential friends during his rampage and he and his friends had become a literal proof that not every rule has to be always followed to the letter.

But the rules were still there and after a hundred years without they feel like slowly tightening chains around them.

There is also so much to catch up on, so much they had missed, that time just seems to fly away as there is always something else to work on, something else to improve, some new shinigami to whip into shape (and they are all so new and so young in their few hundreds and so so weak and he remembres training a young brat just 15 years old who would have wiped the floor with every single one of them and he grates) places to fix and before he knows it it's been almost a year and he realizes he hasn't heard from Ichigo yet.

The realization is not a pleasant one.

Hirako Shinji is very old and as such his grip on time can be tenuous sometimes, especially when surrounded by other similiarly static people, but he did spend a century around humans so he knows that after a break this long he should have heard something!

True they were instructed to give Ichigo his space for a while, space to heal from his de-powering but it's been almost a year and that has to have been long enough, surely?

Ichigo is not like them. He might have been powerful but at his core his was still human, and one apparently used to rapid progress in things if the stories of him achieving a bankai in mere days were true (and knowing Urahara Kisuke, they most likely were).

In the end it is Mashiro of all people who pushes him to make a move.

"Aww~ I haven't had a break in months! This is so booring~ Wonder how berry-tan is doing right now? He must be so bored too, playing human!"

"Huh!?" Scowls Kensei. His returned captain position with its stressfull resposibilities hadn't been great on his hollow reduced temper. "He's not playing at being human, he is a human, and a damn young one at that. The kid is propably just enjoying his break being normal". Something about the notion doesn't sit well in Shinji and he can see it on the clenced fist that Kensei doesn't fully believe what he's saying either.

"Hee~ but berry-tan was always so fighty! And he got so strong too! No way could normal human life seem anything but boring after that", she sniffs and he knows, they all know she's right, at least partly. By the end there, Ichigo had become overwhelmingly powerful, more than any human or even shinigami could hope to be. That had been the point. The plan. To stick an overpowered godlike fifteen year old against another basically a god, have them fight till the end and get rid of Aizen.

If it also happened to destroy the other superpowered being in the process then, well, wasn't that just convenient.

He grates.

Ichigo was designed by his father, Urahara Kisuke and ironically Aizen Sousuke himself to become just strong enough to face him and win and if he burnt out in the process?

Well even if he's powerless at least he's still alive.

Assumedly. They haven't heard anything from him in months.

[misspygmypie]

The VIP Girl

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader Words: 861 Request: maybe something whree reader is with lando for a race weekend and a VIP girl is obviously flirting with Lando and he dose nothing about it making reader mad and sort of ignores all his plays of affection and it isn't till there in the hotel he confronts reader about it :) Masterlist

Lando Norris had always been a whirlwind of energy and charisma. The grandstands were packed, the pit lane was buzzing with excitement and among the crowd of fans and VIPs one particular girl had made it clear she was interested. Her flirty glances and lingering touches were hard to miss and though Lando remained polite and professional it was clear she had her sights set on him.

Y/N was accustomed to the occasional flirtation directed at her husband. She had always managed to brush them off with grace, knowing Lando’s loyalty was with her. But this time was different. The VIP girl’s blatant attempts were hard to ignore and Lando’s seemingly indifferent response stung more than she cared to admit.

The day of the race was a blur of adrenaline. Lando was focused on his performance, giving it his all on the track. Y/N, as usual, cheered him on with pride from the garage but her heart was heavy. The way the VIP girl leaned in close during the pre-race interviews and whispered things into Lando’s ear made her insides churn.

After the race, which Lando had won with a spectacular finish, the celebrations were in full swing. The atmosphere was electric and filled with laughter and cheers. Lando’s face was lit up with triumph but Y/N found it difficult to match his emotions. She felt overshadowed by the constant presence of the VIP girl and her blatant flirtation. When Lando glanced over and gave her a smile that should have melted her heart, she merely nodded, her expression guarded.

When they made their way through the post-race festivities Lando’s attention was divided. He tried to engage with Y/N, wrapping an arm around her waist and whispering sweet nothings into her ear but she was distant, her responses brief and clipped. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate his affection, she was just consumed by a simmering frustration that she couldn’t seem to shake off.

The evening came to an end and they headed back to their hotel. The luxurious suite that had been their sanctuary now felt cold and unwelcoming. Y/N felt the weight of her frustrations pressing down on her and her silence seemed to amplify the tension between them.

Once they were inside their room Lando tried to break the silence. He took off his clothes and after a quick shower joined Y/N on the plush sofa. She sat with her back to him, staring out the window at the city lights. The sight was beautiful but it did nothing to lift her mood.

“Hey, I’ve been trying to get a feeling of what’s going on with you,” Lando said gently, his voice breaking through the quiet. “You’ve been so distant today. Is it something I did, or…?”

Y/N turned slowly to face him, her eyes reflecting the hurt she felt. “It’s not just one thing, it’s the way you let that VIP girl get so close. I felt like you didn’t even notice how uncomfortable it made me and when you didn’t do anything to push her away, it felt like you didn’t care.”

Lando’s expression shifted, it all started to make sense. He moved closer, his eyes searching hers. “I didn’t realize it was affecting you that much. I’ve been trying to be polite and professional but I see now that it came off the wrong way. I never intended to make you feel neglected.”

“It wasn’t just that,” Y/N’s voice trembled slightly. “It felt like you were enjoying the attention, like you were more interested in what she was offering than in me.”

Lando’s heart sank. He reached out and gently touched her cheek, his fingers brushing away a stray tear. “I’m so sorry if I gave you that impression. You’re the most important person in my life, Y/N. I should have been more aware of how this was affecting you.”

Y/N let out a shaky breath, her defenses crumbling. “Sometimes it’s hard to see you being so open with others when I’m standing right there. I just needed to know that you see me, that you still value me.”

Lando took her hands in his. “You are my priority,” his gaze was earnest and full of love. “I’m here because of you, because of us. I should have been more considerate. It was never about anyone else but you.”

She slowly let go off his hands but quickly shuffled closer so she could embrace him, the tension in her shoulders easing. “I just needed to feel like I mattered. I know I’m not a part of the public spectacle all that much but I want to be a part of your world, not just in the background.”

“You matter more than anyone else. I want you to be at the forefront of my mind, not in the shadows. I’ll do better and make sure you feel loved and valued, always.”

They kept talking, Y/N opening up about the struggles she faced dealing with the constand spotlight and Lando made a promise - not just to her but to himself as well - to be more mindful.

________

AN: Anon, I hope you like it and if not let me know and I can rewrite 😊🫶

[vrystalius]

Learning to accept love with every bite.

You packed lunch for Obanai and Kaburamaru. He planned on skipping breakfast and maybe even lunch altogether, but your packed meal changed his mind.

Pairing: Obanai x gn!reader

(TW: Obanai’s troubled relationship with food, spoilers on why Obanai wears a mask)

Usually, Obanai’s mornings usually are the same; waking up being held by you, getting out of bed to feed Kaburamaru a small treat, heading of to the bathroom to freshen up, eat a small meal before wrapping the bandages over his scars and then heading out for training or a meeting. He noticed the lack of your warmth pressing against his back, wich he usually wakes up to in the mornings, and rolled over on the bed, noticing that your side of the bed was already neatly tucked in. Seems like you headed out early today without telling him. Where do you even have to go out this early? Errands can wait, why not spend some time with him? Tch. After groaning and stretched his limbs out, savouring the warmth of the bed a little longer, he finally forced himself out of the warm bed.

Obanai stepped closer to Kaburamaru’s enclose, giving his companion a couple head-scratches before slipping him pre-made snack cubes into the enclosure. The rest of the morning continued as usual, just a little more lonely. Normally, he’ll eat breakfast for your sake. You remind him to take in his meals regularly with proper portions he feels comfortable eating. Without you, Obanai’d probably fall back into his old habit— skipping meals in favour of training. Or at least that’s what he tells himself.

You knew that your boyfriend has a troubled relationship with food. You didn’t know everything about his childhood or past and you never pushed him to reveal things about himself he didn’t want to share, he might need time to proper process his own troubles before sharing it with you, but on the other side you’re also totally fine if he’ll never share those things with you. You’re patient with Obanai and love him for the way he is, so why force him into opening up? Forcing him to talk about his troubles will do more damage than good, so you leave those worries be and focus on better things. That’s what he appreciates being with you so much. He almost feels insecure about you being so good with him, while he barely gives anything back in return…

He stared at his bandages for a good minute. If he wears them now, he won’t eat breakfast. It’s too much of a hassle to slip food between his bandages without staining them, so he’d rather not try. If he eats breakfast now and slips the bandages on then, Obanai will loose valuable time he could be using to train and spar with other hashira. He promised Sanemi to show up early to his manor for training sessions, so why make him pissed by being late? He knew you’d probably disapprove, but Obanai began wrapping the bandages over his jaw and mouth, deciding to skip breakfast for today. He tries to talk into himself that he’ll just eat more lunch but failed, resulting to silently curse at himself.

After letting Kaburamaru join him by making himself comfortable around his neck, he finally made his way downstairs to equip his katana and head out. That’s where he spotted a small bento box prepared on the counter, alongside a sealed paper bag with holes right next to it. His brows furrowed together in slight confusion as he inspected the bento, lifting the lid. He was met with a small letter placed right above two compartments placed inside the box. Scanning the letter, Obanai recognised your terrible handwriting.

Made this for before I headed out, Tengen called me over for an emergency of sorts. There’s some Gyoza so you can eat with your mask on by slipping it through the bandages, it should’t crumble too much, plus they are small enough. I also some vinegar soaked kelp (I know it’s your fav~) if you want to eat without it or alone, so you can choose what you want to eat! Love you lots ♡

PS: I spend most of my morning catching lunch for Kaburamaru, it’s in the bag, hope he likes it!

Obanai felt his cheeks heat up beneath his bandages as a smile started spreading. He folded the letter and tucked it back into the bento box to read again later, inspecting the meals you prepared. There were three Gyoza dumplings tucked into one compartment, the portion he usually eats, and some vinegar soaked kelp in the other, again, the amount the one he likes to eat. He slipped bandages down and grabbed some strands of seaweed with his fingers, stuffing them into his mouth. His smile grew even more as the familiar taste spread in his mouth, but for some reason it tasted even better than usual. After slipping his bandages back over his mouth and putting the lid onto his bento box, he unwrapped the top of the brown paper back and glanced inside. Kaburamaru curiously leaned down as well after noticing the smell of food— there was a poor mice trapped in the bag. You seriously caught this? For Kaburamaru? You do really pay attention to both Obanai and his little companion.

He obviously released the poor mouse since he already has enough snake-friendly food stored in the pantry. He appreciated the effort, but storing a mice in a paper bag for a whole day was a little inhumane, even for Obanai.

After packing the bento box and equipping himself with his katana, he headed off to Sanemi’s, already looking forward to eating the home cooked meal with his friend, being able to show off the lovely bento you prepared for him and only him, while Sanemi is stuck with a random thrown together meal.

🎃

Whumptober prompt: Recovery

I was seriously nervous about posting this. As I mentioned in a post before, I really am insecure about writing for Obanai XD last time I wrote for him was two months ago in my second ever post (Love Languages of the Hashira pt.2)— So I hoped you enjoyed this!! Let me know what to change or add about Obanai! Also, I know pet snakes eat mice and life small preys and stuff but I didn’t want to write about that part so I simplifies it to “snack cubes” or whatever I called them XD Hope that’s okay!

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!

Take care of yourselves <3 I appreciate every single comment, repost and like. Thank you for supporting me for so long!

Here’s my event Masterlist 🎃

[rahuratna]

Nanami Kento: Relationship Headcanons, Part 2

Contents: pre-relationship headcanons, slow burn, pining, introvert reader, falling in love

ღ You've laid down ground rules for yourself, rules not meant to be broken, and yet you find yourself twisting them, testing their pliability, skimming along the edge of what is acceptable. Your chance meetings with Nanami at work continue, much the same as always. Sometimes you two may sit in comfortable silence. Sometimes you may speak about mundane things, or his latest mission. There seems to be an unspoken agreement that you will not ask about each other's personal lives, that you will keep the interaction impersonal and detached.

ღ Until you don't. Or rather, he is the one who asks and your hand falters over the lid of your packed lunch. He wants to know what type of sandwiches you prefer. Such a simple, innocuous question. A little strange too, since he has never asked anything directly about you before. You glance across at him and for a second, you think he looks embarrassed at having asked. You brush away the thought. Nanami never does things without a purpose. You tell him that you like the kind with smoked salmon, cheese and herbs, the one the cafeteria sells on Thursdays. He nods, as if satisfied and resumes his meal.

ღ Such a simple question, but you think it over when you reach home. Why would he ask something like that? Was it simple curiosity? You laugh out loud in the emptiness of your apartment, soft jazz music emanating from the TV speakers. You go to do the dishes and your step feels inexplicably light.

ღ You decide to ask him a question the next day. Oh, no need to be concerned, you tell yourself. You've broken none of your rules. You ignore the little doubt that tugs at your mind. You eventually ask him, rather abruptly you think, whether he likes crosswords. He considers you over the rim of his glasses before nodding slightly. He mentions that he likes the cryptic, and the particular newspaper he buys which makes the puzzle as challenging as he prefers. He goes back to working on his report, and you can't be certain (because Nanami is so difficult to read), but you think that he seems pleased.

ღ Questioning becomes routine between the two of you. You both keep the questions light at first, as if testing one another out for ... what it could be, you couldn't say. And then, he starts to ask about different things. He asks for your opinion on what a student sorcerer said to him, for your beliefs on the manner in which some of the clans operate, for your thoughts on the best way to deal with certain mission scenarios.

ღ Sometimes, you don't even get to ask your questions. He comes into the break room, carrying the weight of a full workday on his shoulders, and then he sees you and his brow clears, the corners of his mouth straightening out of their dour expression. He approaches you immediately, offering greetings, before dropping into the seat beside you with a sigh, unbuttoning his jacket and loosening his tie. He lays out for you, in his brisk, clinical manner, what occurred during the mission that day and what issues he encountered. His arm may brush against yours, he may lean closer to you, those earnest eyes of his capturing yours, as if he will not accept anything less than your complete attention. On days like these, you can't ask your questions, but you don't mind at all. You save them up, hoarded like precious gems in some long-buried den, for later.

ღ The more you question each other, the more you get to know about him. Not because of the questions themselves, no. More the manner in which he responds to them. Beneath his cut glass exterior, you realise that Nanami is a man who feels very deeply, and with conviction. He is sensitive, as you learn when you find out that he kept small mementoes of transfigured humans who never made it. He is considerate, having memorized the favourite drinks and snacks of everyone who seems to be closer to him. He is perceptive, as you learn when he offers you an extra copy he bought of his paper, having noted how curious you were about his crossword. He is gentle, as you see in his interactions with Yuuji. Your knowledge of him is a soft unfolding, perilous at the centre.

ღ You tell yourself that this is enough. That it will never go beyond this. As far as he is concerned, you may just be a trusted colleague who forms part of his daily routine, nothing more. You cast your rules in steel and then tear them out of the mould each time, turning them over in your hands, wishing you could break them apart. You have never felt weaker.

ღ And one day, he may enter the break room, pausing in the doorway, a first for him. He is always so decisive in every word and action. You may be puzzled by his hesitancy and give him your usual welcoming smile, your world already made a little brighter by his presence. You may shift your chair a little to the left, as you always do, to show him that there is always room for him at your table.

ღ Nanami takes off his glasses. There is something more open there, something warm, something that threatens all the safeguards you have set around yourself. He finally makes his way over and sinks into the chair beside you, his demeanour strangely helpless, in your eyes. He produces his phone from a pocket, looking down at it for a while before placing it carefully on the table between the both of you. Nanami tells you that he prefers to have the contact details of anyone from Jujutsu Tech who may be of importance to his work in the future. He hopes that it isn't too presumptuous, but he would greatly appreciate your contact too. The phone lies on the table, a small metal island separating two continents on the verge of collision. You take it in your hand. It is still warm from his touch.

ღ You tell yourself, as if repeating it a hundred times will make it true, that this is enough. It is enough. Enough. Enough. You whisper his name, reverently, to the ceiling of your bedroom. Kento.

ღ It is not enough. It never will be.

@tsukimefuku @actuallysaiyan @kentocalls @g-kleran

[seventhcallisto]

Chapter IV — "mirrors."

Deep down.

Toc/cw; suggestive undertones, dialog, and themes. Pre-heat haze, san getting angry, ooc yunho and san. More world building, possessiveness. I'm bad with cw. COMMENTS PUSH MY MOTIVATIOOON Thank you♡

It's four days before your heat. Hongjoong, and you are trying your best not to be obvious about your affections, but it's getting harder the closer you get to your heat. Maybe it's the consistency of your schedule. Waking up at the earliest of dawn, writing down new lyrics as soon as you reach for your phone and then immediately getting up and beginning your day that had changed, which ended up with you feeling strange. However, today is not your typical schedule day.

You thought you'd have more time, really. Seriously. Now you're a heaving, writhing mess under your blankets. Not knowing what's going on because it's the first time you've felt this after your diagnosis. Too hot. Too cold. Never enough. Tossing and turning. Burning to be touched. It only lingers for an hour like a warning sign. The sense of being on the verge of heat. You don't know exactly what to do or what to say. Google is fairly helpful. You especially don't want to leave your room when all of your members are alphas. Even if they're taking scent suppressants, your smell is still extremely sensitive to them.

He hardly remembers you tucking him in a while ago now. Suddenly, your words echo.

"If you remember in the morning, then I give you full permission." To what? He doesn't know. All day- all week. As san gets ready, sits with wooyoung, does some more practicing, eats out with some friends. He still doesn't know what you meant, and he's grown frustrated about it. He's completely lost from the amount of drinking he did with wooyoung.

Maybe the over drinking thing is getting to san. Woo has got to stop daring him to drink more. He can't believe he still allows him to get away with it. As san arrives home around mid day from filming, he realizes it's time to settle in for the rest of the day.

Your scent lingers in the apartment, and it's a good thing that jongsik has told them to begin taking scent suppressants to prevent any of them from practically jumping you. It provides the self-control they need, but it doesn't prevent the thoughts that course through everyone's minds when they get the tiniest scent of you.

It may be thanks to the scent suppressants they have complete control over what they're feeling and doing currently. But it doesn't mean none of them want to knot you. Surely, san is speaking on behalf of his members that it would be heaven to do so. If they didn't have the scent suppressants.. well, san doesn't want to pop a boner thinking about it.

So, for now, they're just coping with your pre-heat scent all over the apartment. No one is allowed in other than the guys. Your pack. San definitely prefers it that way. He peels his jacket off when he steps through the threshold of the doorway, quickly closing it behind him to lock your scent inside.

Seonghwa prepares another meal for you, considering you're still cooped up in your room. And san wonders if hongjoong has been in and out of there, based purely on the smell of him lingering in the hallway. There's been talk about you and hongjoong. Gossip amongst the guys. The papers san found a while ago proves so.

He slaps the paper down in front of wooyoung. Taping his pointer finger against the signed line. "Look! She let him sign it!" san whines, grabbing at his hair. "This is driving me crazy," he huffs as he paces. On wooyoungs bed, yeosang and wooyoung scan the piece of paper. Jaws slack in shock.

There's no way they can dismiss this. Somehow, san got his sticky fingers on your heat paperwork. They don't say anything about that, but the signed line for your heat helpers is only signed by hongjoong. The pack alpha, yes they could ask him. But that would be extremely disrespectful, questioning the pack alpha.

Woo runs a hand through his hair, sighing heavily. "Well, what if we ask- what if she gets uncomfortable? What if she doesn't want us to sign it and she feels pressured to say yes?"

Jongho enters their shared bedroom, questionable looks between his other members. The paper in question catches his eyes. "Why do you have that?" He asks, shutting the door behind him.

Does everyone know about the paper?

San struggles to come up with an explanation for the youngest member. "I- wo-" he looks to wooyoung, wooyoung lays the paper on the blanket, putting his hands up, he claims not to know anything about it. San has no other option except for explaining himself to jongho and what he's gathered the past few days.

Once san is finished explaining in the most rushed manner. Yeosang speaks up, looking to him. "I'm not asking her." Yeosang says, laying down his foot. "If she doesn't want us on it, it's not our place to ask her," yeosang looks back down to the paper in wooyoungs hand. "Put it back where you found it." jongho says, uncrossing his arms from his chest and leaving the room.

San looks back at the paper, propped up at the corner of the kitchen. It's not usual for paperwork to be left around here and there. But the fact you left it out in plain sight when San had to go and physically see it in your room to get it is very suspicious. He can even see the obvious bold letters spelling 'Heat Assessment'.

He not so subtly runs past seonghwa, slamming his keys down on the counter next to the paper. Seonghwa looks up from the dish he's preparing for you, looking at san, who hovers over the counter.

"Hey," seonghwa calls san. San shakes from his thoughts, turning toward the older member. Paper in hand. He reads seonghwas signature, cursive and strategically placed next to hongjoongs. "What are you doing with that?" Seonghwa doesn't flinch. he doesn't even ask about the content of the paper. Truly. Everyone knows, and now seonghwas signature is on it.

"How do you know what I have?" San asks, walking across the kitchen to seonghwa who spreads out some slices of apples on your plate. Seonghwa doesn't look up, "we all know what that is." It's a lie. Many of them dont know. San knows it, too. seonghwa pops a slice into his mouth, biting down on it. The souring scent of san fills the kitchen. "Why has -" he slams the hand holding the paper down next to the plate. Suddenly Agitated. "Why has no one asked about it?"

Seonghwa looks to san, finishing cutting the cheese with the knife in hand. "Asked? It's none of your business." Maybe seonghwa is a little harsh about it. He knows that, for fact. The door down the hallway pops open. San doesn't take a second to tell seonghwa off. Instead, he's marching down the hallway.

Hongjoong is just about to enter your room when he feels san pull him back by his arm. A deep set frown over his eyebrows. "Why didn't you tell us about this!?" He places the paper against hongjoongs chest. Hongjoong looks between the paper and san. Pulling it off.

San is picking for a fight. Seonghwa and hongjoong know. Whatever your scent has done has triggered san to be more possessive of you and more aggressive. Your heat is just around the corner, so the tension is rising in the apartment, and it's higher than ever. The boiling point has been reached since this morning.

"Why is your name on this!" San belts, looking between hongjoong and seonghwa.

Yunho steps out of his shared room with yeosang. The shorter peeps over his shoulder to look for where the yelling is coming from. The door creaks open across from them. Wooyoung and jongho peak out. Confusion written on their faces. Lastly. Mingi is the one to step out from the last bedroom on the left, right across from your room where they're currently at.

"San" hongjoong tenses, watching the way san challenges him. The sudden twisting smell of sans scent burning in his nose. "Tell me," san says through clenched teeth. Seonghwa tries to pull at his shoulder to lead him away from the leader but san shrugs his hand off roughly, cursing through his teeth. Sans tough hands shoot out, pushing hongjoong into mingi. The leader catches himself quickly with the help of mingi. Staring wide-eyed at san.

San, who just opened your door and went into your room. Locking the door behind him. He can hear the pounding on the other side. Drowning out his members, San steps forward into your dim bedroom. The only light comes from the window directly across from your door. It shines the dark room only slightly.

San calls you name and hears a shuffle of things in your closet. The walkover is draining. He can feel himself being pulled in by your sweet scent, invading his lungs. He knocks on it gently.

In the gap, your fingers slide the sliver of the door open. Eyes still blinking back sleepiness. San has to take a sharp breath at the invasion of his senses. You're curled up on the makeshift bed in your closet. A nest you made.

Plenty of clothes san has noticed were missing are strewn in a pile under you. Clad in hardly any clothing to combat the heat of your body. San bends down to your level. You still seem you. The smell isn't in full bloom. San can tell, somehow.

" 'Mega?" San calls to you ever so gently, watching you rub your eyes. "Sannie?" you respond, voice filled with recognition. The sound of your voice makes the tension in sans shoulders dissipate. You stumble up and out of the closet, anxiety begging to settle into your bones. He backs up to give you space. Did he even plan anything he was gonna say?

"What are you doing in my room?" You ask, rubbing your arm because of the cold breeze, and definitely not because you're nervous. "Doesn't my preheat scent affect you or whatever? It's not safe.." You mumble the last bit. San struggles to answer. "The scent suppressants.." he trails off. Watching you rub at the sweat on your forehead. He watches you twitch every so often. You don't meet his eyes. Grimacing slightly. "San.. what did you need?" You know he's not here to talk about something so simple. And the settling pain of your incoming heat is twisting your guts to make room for a big knot at the sudden interest of an alpha in your presence.

San sighs, all frustration draining from him in your presence. Wrapped around your smell. "The heat assessment paper." He says, you take a sharp breath. "What about it?" You turn to look away. San stands across from you.

"Do you really want me to sign it?" He asks in a single breath. You blink up at him, swaying in the cold room. "I said yes last night, did I not?" You huff.

You're kinda mean when you're in pre-heat. San thinks. He goes quiet. That's when you reach out, cupping his arm. Warm eyes meeting his in the dark. "San, I want all of you to sign it"

And you're being extremely bold. "All of us?" San mumbles out, shocked. It's not true, right? San, woo, and yeosang, can all be there for your heat? He won't have to feel terrible about signing it. His members (who are equally infatuated with you) can, too?

"You want all of us to sign it?" San phrases better, grabbing your palm in his, off his arm. "Yes, sign it," you sigh, growing impatient. This is why hongjoong and seonghwas name is on your paperwork.

San feels the hope bubble in his throat. Really, he can have it all. And especially when all he wants is to be with you at this moment. He doesn't care, you want him, and he wants you. Sans tough and somewhat calloused hands wrap around your jaw on each side, his fingers glancing over your primary scent gland, which makes you shudder into him. Your name falls off his lips as he searches yours. You can't help but stare at the lines in his perfectly round lips. As soon as his eyes fall over your own. He's pulling you into him.

You can feel the passion in sans touch, and you can feel the desperation of his kiss as it becomes more heavy. His left hand slipped down to your waist to pull you even closer. His fingertips teasing the hem of your shirt. Lips move in tandem, San wants to completely be overwhelmed by you, to be molded by your words and do whatever you want him to. And you want to completely drown into San.

Sans feet shift under him as you guide him, your hands slither into his hair. When you tug gently, san sighs into your mouth, never does he part. Nor does he want to. You know if you keep going, you'll succumb into the inner war of letting San have you here and now. San is oblivious to this. He's slowly letting himself slip into the other mindset he's pushed off for so long, the one where he gets to have you and take care of you like an alpha should.

You shake him out of it. Pushing his shoulder back against the door. You dislodged yourself from his lips. A soft tug, and you're gone from San. He lets out a strangled sound at the lack of your touch. You can't be entangled like this when you're so close to your heat. You can't let this get to you. Breathing each other in, you softly speak. "You have to go," you tell him. San can feel the door rattle against his back.

"As soon as you're done signing, it needs to be turned into the heat sanctuary I'm going to be at. If you don't, the signatures will mean nothing."

So that's why you've been cooped up in your room instead of going to your heat sanctuary. You've been waiting for them to sign it. As soon as san feels the door tug from his back, and you quickly shoving him out. Yunho is pulling the rest of him. Scowling. A screwdriver in hand as they tried to pry open your door. "Why did you do that! That was dangerous! For both of you!"

San heard and felt your words.

Everyone has been withholding their urges all week. Perhaps the scent suppressants are working compared to how your first heat hit. When they didn't know that scent you were producing and why suddenly they wanted to cover you in their own scents. It's a lot less easy knowing that you're only a room away in an apartment full of alphas who are willing to give you anything. But you don't know that. Hongjoong does. He takes a shuddered breath when he stands at your door ealy that morning. He can smell your preheat scent seeping out of the cracks.

Hongjoong knocks a few times. Listening for any movement on the other side. The door swings open. He's smacked with a wall of your smell. "Hongjoongie," you sigh happily. Pulling him in. "Hey pretty girl" he answers, pushing the hair behind your ears and out of your face when you don't stop to turn around and keep pulling him to your closet.

"Look," you slide the door open, dropping the edges of his shirt to crawl inside. "Come," you beckon him down towards the floor, pulling at his hand. He grins, crawling in. He's much too big for your tiny closet, but you fit in it perfectly. Hongjoong can see the amount of clothes on the floor, it's like a mountain, and in the center of it, it's big enough for you and someone else to sit in.

You're so very eager to get hongjoong in that circle, just to see if it's big enough. "Once I get to the heat place, I can make a bigger one for all of us." You push at hongjoongs shoulders, and his back hits the clothing softly. He doesn't know exactly what you're doing until you're sitting atop him, trying to nestle your face into his neck. He places two hands on your hips.

You're scenting him now, hongjoong knows this but decides to ask anyway. Shoving your face as close as you can get to him, your lips breeze passes his glands. Your forehead falls there instead, rubbing back and forth to transfer your scent. Encouraging a shuddered breath out of him. "What are you doing, huh?" He pulls your head out of his neck, his right hand holding your nape softly. You huff, hongjoong scans your features in the dark.

"You don't smell like me," you pout, hongjoong laughs lightly. Maybe in a teasing way but more so in a 'that was really cute' kind of way. The grin on his face tells you what exactly he's thinking. "Don't laugh at me" you pull away, sitting up on his chest. You drain the breath out of him in the best way.

Hongjoong slips to sit up, holding you close to him and not any lower. He only has so much control for now, and he doesn't want to risk giving a certain area the stimulus. "I'm not," he bites his grin. "You are," you mumble, shaking your head from the fog. You plop it on his shoulder, holding him against you.

"I'm not even in my heat yet, and I'm exhausted," you say into his shoulder. Hongjoong sighs for you. "I know, I'm working on it," he kisses your head. "I'll get you a knot as soon as possible, okay?" The sentence sounds so innocent when it really isn't. His finger rubs the side of your neck, where your scent glands are.

The thought of seeing hongjoong above you, giving you his knot, being in you for the first time, flashes through your mind. Your voice gets stuck in your throat. You stop the pulse between your thighs the best you can. "You can't say that." You whimper, pulling off of him. It takes everything in you to do so. The omega in you cries to be closer. Hongjoong pats your hip as you land softly on the clothes next to him. This plan is driving you mad, and yet you still have a week of a long heat ahead of you. "Has san said anything yet?" You look to hongjoong.

Hongjoong shakes his head, watching you lean your head on his knee. Prettily poking your lips at him in the most frustrating of pouts. "What if he didn't hear me?.. What if he doesn't like me like that?" You mumble, closing your eyes and squishing your legs into your chest.

"He heard you. He does." hongjoong sighs, rubbing your cheek softly. You don't know if he's saying it to reassure you. But you really hope san did hear you. And you hope you're not getting your hopes up.

Hongjoong tells seonghwa first. He trusts seonghwa a lot. You trust seonghwa just as much. The idea of going to him first was completely a mutual idea.

Later in the morning, Hongjoong knocks on his door, the one he shares with mingi and san. Sans out today. Wherever he is, he decides not to learn the details. Lately, san has been giving him the cold shoulder. And hongjoong has some idea why.

On the other hand, joong isn't ready to tell mingi about you wanting them. Hongjoong knows that as soon as he tells mingi, mingi will lose himself and steal you away for the week. You might end up inducing Mingis rut in the process. It's just not a great idea to tell mingi before everyone else, no matter if he gets upset about knowing later.

So with that, as soon as hongjoong learned seonghwa was alone in his bedroom, hongjoong took the opportunity. Three knocks, and he's entering. Seonghwa rests on his bed, looking at his phone. Hongjoong takes the bed across from him. Seonghwa knows whatever conversation they're about to have. It's gonna be serious. He sits up, taking whatever hongjoong has got to say heads on.

Seriously, if hongjoong says that you two are dating exclusively, seonghwas heart might actually explode into tiny shards.

It begins the same as a nightmare seonghwa has been having for a couple of days. "You know she and i are together," hongjoong starts off with, not knowing how else to phrase it. Seonghwas mouth falls open. "I.. what?"

Hongjoong really doesn't know how to say this. But for your sake, he's trying. "We're dating. I think we are - anyway. I was the first one who asked her, " hongjoong kinda bluffs, he didn't ask. It was kinda set in stone as soon as your lips touched his. Seonghwa wants to urgently shake hongjoong to spill everything. "She wants us to be a more intimate pack if you get what I'm saying, more than what the media suggests." Seonghwa sucks a harsh breath in, eyebrows furrowed.

"She feels most comfortable with us, not only that but.." hongjoong tries to gather his words. "She likes all of us, more than friends, more than members. She wants us on her heat assessment." Hongjoong explains, he can't exactly tell seonghwa you like-love him, it's not his place too. If seonghwa wanted an answer, he could ask you himself.

"She wants all of us?" Seonghwa can't believe it, to be with you and not make it awkward amongst them, is this true? Seonghwa can share. He can play nice. He might even enjoy the idea of sharing with the entirety of the pack. It's something he doesn't really understand, but he's completely fine with anyway.

Hongjoong nods, signifying that seonghwa is correct. Seonghwa let's out a breath.

"I'll sign it." He let's his words freely flow.

And when seonghwa brings your breakfast for the day, you're surprised to see him. And he's very surprised to see you making a nest in your closet instead of relaxing in your bed. "Hwa?" You question, taking the plate gently, your round eyes look up to him, assessing his presence. It reminds him of that moment in the kitchen, and seonghwa grips his fingers into the clothes under him to prevent the blood flowing somewhere else. "Hi," he greets back with a hum. You place the plate down next to the closet door.

"Hungry?" He asks, watching your behavior. You shake your head. "Not really... My heat last time took a lot, and I still tried to eat as much as i could," you sigh. Seonghwa knows a heat will take everything out of you, and you still won't be hungry until after. Too driven by the urge to.. well, breed, really. He hums as he listens to you talk.

You look like the most beautiful person in his eyes. Even when seonghwa met you for the first time. Even before debut, when you were just a tiny beta that begged to be picked on just to bite back. Even during every bad hair day you claimed. He reaches out to smooth his hand over your hair. Your roots are beginning to show. As soon as your heat is over, you'll be long overdue for a touch-up. And seonghwa feels like tagging along for it. Just to watch your pretty face in the mirrors.

You lean into seonghwas hand as it trails down your face. Sighing softly into his palm. "I signed the papers." He gulps, pulling his hand back. You miss his warmth. Even if you are burning up. Your eyes fall.

"I don't want you to be there for my heat -" you sigh out. Seonghwas heart leaps into his throat. "I want you to take care of me, and I want you to be there after," You try to find the right words. Confessions are hard. "I like you, more than my member, more than friends," you mumble.

"You know how long I have waited to hear that?" Seonghwa laughs into his words. You blink once, twice. He pulls you into his chest. Hugging you tightly. His head falls over yours. Seonghwa isn't the most muscular member, but he still has arms to prove how he can hold you comfortably in his arms and steal you away at any moment.

"I like you too, so much." he mumbles into your hair. You pull back and look up at him, begging for a kiss with your smile. If you did, you'd both end up getting lost in each other. You cut the silence. "Could you bring me some dirty laundry?" You laugh, embarrassed. He snickers. "Sure" he knows exactly why.

Sharing a room with yeosang isn't the best, yunhos member doesn't say much about this odd situation. Lying face down on his blankets, yeosangs phone is propped up by his hand. Yunho, on the other hand, is watching a show on his laptop, propped up on his chest.

It started off with yeosang tossing and turning all night, ultimately it woke yunho up. And before yunho could get a clue of what's going on, yeosangs breathy sighs and whimpers had him shooting right up and out of bed. No way was he gonna stick around to listen to yeo have a wet dream.

The early morning dew completely encased the windows after a heavy night of rain. The flashing clock on the microwave told him it was around 2 am. He took his spot on the couch and watched a movie in silence. When from the corner of his eyes, wooyoung tiredly stepped out of the hallway.

Wooyoung stood rubbing his hand over his eye. There's no obvious sign to yunho that he knew what was going on with yeosang, but he had his suspicion. He doesn't greet woo when he lands softly on the other side of the couch. Both watching the movie in silence.

Yunho can't take silence much longer. Wooyoung obviously can't, either. "Have you seen the heat assessment paper?" He uses this conversation for topic? When obviously, yunho knows about it. "Yea, why?" He asks, turning his chin towards the dark-haired guy.

Wooyoung shakes his head like he's swaying his thoughts away. "Did hongjoong tell you his name was on it?" That gets yunho. No. Hongjoong did not tell him. Because yunho didn't know the leaders name was on the paper.

Besides the feeling of longing building in his stomach, yunho wanted to know what wooyoung getting at. "No, he didn't.. why are you asking?" It's a short answer but an even quicker question. Wooyoung doesn't dare spare a glance at yunho. Opting to just stay quiet. It's completely unlike him.

"Whatever reason she has him on the paper, it isn't our business -" yunhos words stop when wooyoung shoots up frustrated, whisper yelling towards yunho. "Yes! I know it shouldn't be any of my business it's hers- but- dammit! She's one of my best friends! I have a right to know!" Wooyoung seems to be drowned in his own outburst for yunho to get a word in.

Pieces fall and collide in yunhos mind. Watching his other member pace back and forth. "There's more to this, isn't there?" Yunhos words stop wooyoung in his track. The dark-haired guy turns to look at his taller friend. hum.

Yunho knows that look, the all familiar sign of hopelessness when you love someone so deeply, and yet you don't know what to do. He's had the same look consistently when you would split from their group to take photos with other idols. Other idols who yunho knows want you. Everyone wants you. The all familiar ace of K-pop.

When he'd sit back as you did video challenges, dancing and laughing with someone else whilst he watched in silence. He wished everyone knew you were his when, in reality, you didn't even know how he felt. Yunho knows that sinking feeling of possibly breaking something that can't be unbroken. Yunho knows these moments of laughter and bickering, but he wishes he could have those moments with you in a different way. A way that you both understand. Mated as a pair. Together in a more intimate way.

Wooyoung is as still as a mouse, caught in the cookie jar, smacking his lips. His eyes squint down, his hand coming up to the bridge of his nose. Wooyoung is estranged. He is tired of lying to himself.

"We all love her, don't we?" He says into his palm, the world doesn't seem to crash like he thinks it does. Yunho stands up, taking wooyoungs hand away from his face. Wooyoung sighs, facing yunhos eyes with diminishing confidence.

"It's her choice.." wooyoung says just as yunhos mouth falls open to speak. Pulling his wrist from the taller members grasp.

It truly is your choice to call on them if you want to. And when wooyoung turns away, he doesn't see the way yunho loses all confidence. Compared to his members, yunho has a lot to beat. If he had to fight for you, could he?

The hallway flur pass yunho. In an instance, he's pulling san out of your doorway, fuming. San has your scent all over him. Yunho does not ignore the pink tinting in his members' cheek or the way his lips are red. His lips pull back into a snarl as he barks at san about what he did wrong. What could have happened.

Sans lovesick eyes and dazed expression only pisses yunho off more. Even when he lets go, he's still towering over the dark-haired guy. A sudden urge of violence panging in his fists. Yunho isn't violent, no. He doesn't know what happened, but the way san reeks of you is making him feel as if he could commit a felony then and there really digs deep.

His members attempting to calm the situation only make things drown him. He's got to step back. He's got to get out of this cramped apartment where you linger around every corner. He turns on his heels, wanting to make a beeline for the door.

"She wants us to sign her heat assessment."

Sans voice speaks up, and yunho knows exactly who it's directed at. He can feel the stinging of sans dark eyes against his back. Still, as wooyoung looks to his friend, he can tell he got more info than he leads on. But the main shocker is what he said.

"What?" Wooyoung asks for confirmation. Heart leaping into his throat. It's got to be a hoax. Seonghwa and hongjoong linger in the back, silently observing. Mingi is the second to step forward, bending his neck to ask what he means. Jongho definitely gets onto what he's saying immediately. But he's almost tempted to barge into your room and ask you himself.

"All-" jongho gets cut off. "All of us." Sans smile is bitten back. He looks to wooyoung, then to yeosang, shock etched into their faces.

"That's what she said?" Yeosang gulps. San has never lied about anything you've said. No matter what. San respects you too much and this situation is too serious for lying. Yet, yeosang looks to the leader and eldest member to know anyways. Their names are on the paper, something you allowed.

Hongjoongs eyes hold curiosity as he watches all his members, he was right. He's smug that he was right. You are so consuming, it wouldn't be anything other than a surprise for any one of them to not be madly in love with you. You are the prettiest shining pearl in the sea that is the world. Hongjoong shakes out of his thoughts. Seeking out the begging and hopeful eyes of his members. Even yunho, who is a few feet away. Turned to listen in on the conversation.

"It's true." hongjoong says.

Seonghwa took the honor of putting his name on your heat contact. So, in case of anything. Seonghwa will get that call. And he'll assess the situation when you can't. Regarding who goes in and out of your heat space, any official business regarding idol work, etcetera. Seonghwa took it on cause if hongjoong had- the eldest knew that the captain would be overwhelmed with all of it.

Seonghwa is your primary caretaker for the entire heat cycle whilst you're out. To confirm, they had all sat around your door whilst you were on the other side. Just a door away. You used your phone to call them so they could hear you clearly.

You are still coherent despite what san did earlier. The door is the closest way you can feel close to them. Joong had slipped a piece of paper under your door along with a pen.

'Rules' it reads. Rules for the guys. Anything you don't want them to do, they'll be coherent, partly, while you're in your omega mindset. They can't do anything you dont want, especially if you're allowing them to be heat helpers, which is why you need rules.

You quickly write down the list whilst they talk. Discussing what they need to do beforehand quietly on the other side.

You write down a list of things you're not okay with and precautions. Birth control for men is the most important thing on the list. You know omega-you will not take them, begging not too actually, and knowing your boys, they might actually give in or get distracted. So they'll have to do the protection protocol.

And that's all you had. You are fairly comfortable with everything else. You're sure your omega mind will enjoy it as well.

There's this obvious what-will-happen lingering in your mind. Will this make or break your group? You know this is only a temporary solution. You know they think you're only doing this because you trust them to take care of you. You can't tell exactly why they're agreeing. Do they possibly feel the same? You know hongjoong and seonghwa do- and even san.

What about the rest of them?

Later in the midst of the night, as you're curled up in your closet. Your phone vibrates, awakening you from a sticky and hot sleep, one where you hardly actually sleep a wink, and you're completely uncomfortable the entire time. The bright light shines and blinds you temporarily. It's 2 am.

At some point after dinner, you must have fallen asleep. The ache in between your legs spikes up your hips, causing you to curl into yourself more. Whining quietly into the blanket yeosang had gifted you for your birthday. A pale yellow.

Your fingers reach for anything. Your phone ends up in your tight embrace. A contact on display, how'd that get there? The all familiar picture of you and the tallest of your friends posing in front of a snowman, his bright smile and bowlcut styled hair. Yunho.

"Hello?" Yunhos happy deep voice rings from the other side of the screen. You shudder at the familiarity. Was his voice always this deep? Your thighs clench. "Hello..?" He repeats. Music can be heard, some type of indie song, you recognize a few of his friends talking. Laughing whilst he takes a call.

You can hear the shuffle of yunho on the other side. A door shuts behind him, silencing the music. He calls your name softly. You're still so quiet. You haven't said anything. He must have checked the caller ID. "Yunho," your small voice speaks up, and you bite your lip. Curling into your side. You continue on with a whimper, "Where are you?"

Yunho takes a sharp breath. "I'm out, getting food with some friends, you okay?" he tells you honestly, his feet pacing in the bathroom echos. Your head begins to fog worse than it has in the entirety of the week. "Yun" you whine his name into the air. "How far away?" You fall into a whisper.

"Not far, I'm leaving now." The fact yunho is willing to ditch his group of friends and come home just because you called has you leaking. You bite on the arm holding your phone up to stop a needy gasp.

"Talk to me omega, tell me what's going on." The shuffle of yunho pulling his jacket on distracts you. His friends call his name as he walks, and the doorbell jingles behind him. You can't take the ache anymore. The fog behind your thoughts is consuming. You feel yourself losing control.

"I need you, please. Yunho, Please." You whine, dropping the phone next to you. Yunhos' words fall short. You can hear the door to his car open and slam shut.

"I'll take care of you, omega, okay? Just keep talking to me, I'm almost there"

A/n; I'm terrible. Ik. leaving it off on another cliffhanger bc I didn't know how to finish this chapterrrrr iM SORRY. THANK YOU FOR THE SUPPORT!! it's gonna start getting really spicy here on-

taglist: @lelaleleb @bratty-tingz @0325tiny @smilefordongil @atinytinaa @yunholuvrsblog @ja3hwa @stopeatread @sousydive @voicesinmyhead-rc @giiouis @c4tboyxiao @eastleighsblog @doggopepper @uhhheather @hyukssunflower @hhoneylix @tunaasan @satsuri3su @acescavern @edusweah @silentcry329 @silentreadersthings @ldysmfrst @idfkeddieishot @zdgx1

[mphoenix-7]

Bitter Allies [Soap x Reader]

Chapter 4: The Cabin: Day 1 (pt.1)

Summary: You and Soap leave for your week alone together. Your first day together goes about as well as you’d expect.

Word Count: 5,960

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, swearing, angst, slightly suggestive language, Scottish language usage, lots of arguing, strong language

A/N: See the end of the chapter for the inspo pics of the cabin!

Masterlist | <- Previous | Next ->

Bitter Allies • Part 4

The next morning when your alarm went off at 0330. You wished more than anything you could go back to sleep, but Price said the plane was leaving at 0400, and you didn't want to be late. You feared your tarty arrival would make him add another week on to your sentence. Dealing with Soap for one week was going to be challenging enough, you weren't looking to add on more time.

Luckily you were used to waking up at odd hours and getting up super early. The military work you did didn't allow for any semblance of a good sleep schedule. If anything, by now, you'd become accustomed to being able to sleep and wake whenever.

Despite that, you were still super tired as you pull yourself out of bed and turn off your alarm. You didn't have too much time despite being up thirty minutes before departure. All you could really do was clean your face, get dressed, and do your hair before you needed to go. You planned on eating on the plane.

Once you were dressed and had freshened up, you had about fifteen minutes left, which was plenty of time. You pull out your pre-packed duffle bag, sleeping roll/pillow, and backpack. It might have seemed excessive, but you didn't know what you needed. Price didn't give you any indication of what would be provided and what you needed to bring. It was fairly safe to assume nothing though.

So your duffle bag had all of your clothes for the week, a towel, hygiene products, and some things to shower with. Your backpack held the more basic survival items. Flashlight, water purifier, MREs, cooking supplies, a knife, a fire starter, first aid kit, and then some books to help you pass the time. You wanted to bring a pistol as well, but you had a feeling Price wasn't going to let you take a gun with you.

Looking down at your packed things, you sigh to yourself. Maybe Price would change his mind when you got there. Maybe it was punishment enough to think he was going to make you do this, and then you'd have to spend all day unpacking and then doing the real punishment he had for you.

You could hope.

Collecting your things, you head out for the hell that awaits you.

***

Ghost was walking through the hallways back to his room. He hadn't been able to sleep last night, which was sadly a bit normal for him at this point. He woke up around 0200 and couldn't get back to sleep. So he decided to go to his office to get some paperwork done. He worked two solid hours before he ran out of work to do and opted to go back to his room.

His room was right next to Johnny's. He could have had an officer's bedroom, one with its own shower, but he sort of liked being closer to his team. Everyone was here aside from States, who stayed in the female barracks. The barracks they had currently weren't too bad either. They were cleaner, more modern. Much nicer than some of the others. He couldn't really complain.

As he got to his door, moving to unlock it, he hear what he believed to be snoring coming from Johnny's room. He paused for a long moment, listening carefully. He was supposed to be up already and heading off with States for their week in paradise, not sleeping.

Moving to his door, he knocked, figuring it wasn't going to hurt to check either way. If Soap wasn't there, none would be the wiser, if he was, then Ghost was doing him a huge favor.

"Johnny? You in there?" He calls out, but gets no reply. The snoring seems to continue though. Ghost tests the handle, finding it does turn. Of course Soap didn't lock his doors. He peaks insides, finding a lump still under the covers. Soap hadn't gotten up yet, and it was well past 0400 now.

"Johnny!" He shouts, pushing the door open more and finally making the other man startle awake. "What the fuck are you doing? You're supposed to be boarding like five minutes ago!"

Soap sits up fast, staring at Ghost with startled and sleep filled eyes. It takes the Scot about three seconds to fully process what Ghost had said before he looked over to his tiny alarm clock, blinking the time at him in red: 0407.

"Aye, for fuck's sake! Whit the fuck! Ma bloody alarm didnae go aff!" He shouts, his Scottish tongue thick as he throws his covers off and bolts around the room. He was only in his boxers, yanking his dresser open to grab some pants and a shirt. "Did they send you to come get me?" He asks hurriedly as he throws his shirt over his head and struggles to get his socks on.

Ghost watches him, eyes tracking his every movement. "No, I just happened to hear your loud ass snoring."

"Oh, thank God." Soap seems to relax a little bit at that, though he still keeps his quick pace as he gets ready. At least they hadn't sent anyone looking for him. He was sure they would soon though. Hopefully Price wasn't going to be too mad either. The last thing he wanted was to have to suffer another week with States all because his alarm didn't go off. He’d never hear the end of it from her if that happened.

"Fucking hell. You think Price is going to kill me?" He asks Ghosts as he gets his duffle bag and sleeping roll and throws them by the door. He gets to work on yanking his boots onto his feet and hurriedly doing the laces up.

"States will probably kill you first." Ghost answers truthfully, moving out of the way as Soap throws his stuff.

"Steaming Jesus, don't even bring her up. I don't want to even think about that lass right now." He groans, pulling his laces tight and doing up the remaining laces in a bow knot.

"You asked." Ghost shrugs as Soap springs to his feet.

"I asked what Price would do, you stoter." He grumbles, grabbing his bags from the ground and giving Ghost a pat on the chest as he passes. "Thanks for waking me up, I owe you one!"

***

You'd been waiting roughly fifteen minutes now by the plane, bags at your feet, and watching Price pace angrily. He hadn't been happy the second it hit 0400 with the Scot still nowhere in sight. You worried what he was going to do. You desperately didn't want him to extend your stay. You were here, why should you be punished when you were on time? Then again, if bootcamp taught you one thing, it was that if one member of your squad messed up, you all messed up.

"Aye! I'm here!" You hear in the distance. When you look, you can see Soap sprinting across the asphalt, duffle bag in one hand, sleeping roll under his armpit, and his free hand waving. "I'm so sorry I'm late. My bloody alarm didn't go off."

Price is glaring at him. Despite being one of the nicer military captains you've ever met in your life, Price was still a leader and didn't put up with people not listening to him. "You are fifteen minutes late, Soap. You've made me waste fifteen minutes of my time waiting on your ass." His tone was deep and rough.

"Sorry, Captain." He apologizes, but it doesn't seem to be enough for Price. You watch as he turns and walks to the plane, pulling out a large suitcase and throwing it onto the ground in front of you. You and Soap both stare at it for a long moment before looking up to Price.

"Listen up. Both of you. You are going to start working as a team. One of you messes up, you both do. And you don't blame each other, you'll blame your lack of teamwork and work to make it better. I want you both to repack your things into this suit case. What doesn't fit doesn't get to go. Your sleeping rolls don't count. You've got ten minutes to work it out."

“Captain, you can’t seriously-” Soap starts before Price cuts him off.

“I’d shut your mouth, Soap! You’re already on thin ice.” He growls. “Now, start packing.”

"Price," you quickly start, getting an annoyed look from him. He lets you continue regardless. Probably because you’d been on time.

“What?” He asks.

"Can you tell us what's already going to be there at the cabin? Like is there food already there?"

"I left some supplies for you on the plane. Figure it out." He says, looking to his watch. "And go."

You and Soap share a look before immediately ripping into your own duffle bags open. Clothes made sense to by the first thing to go in. Anything else could just be thrown on top. Quickly though, you are realizing just how much space they'd take up.

"Steaming Jesus, States! Take some of your clothes out!" Soap is already grabbing at your things and tossing them out. You grab his wrist to stop him.

"Don't throw my clothes on the ground! Throw some of your shit out!"

"I packed four sets of clothes! You have fucking seven!"

"Cause I packed enough for a week. I am not going to wear dirty clothes."

"Well you're gonna have to cause there's not enough room!" He yells, pushing your hand away. He tries to pull more out, but you stop him again.

"Fine! Fine, just let me do it! I'm taking seven pairs of underwear though." You start to take some of your clothes, stuffing them back into your duffle bag and trying to count out four pairs of pants and shirts. When you get to putting your underwear into the suitcase, you try to do so quickly so Soap doesn't see. However, you must not have been fast enough, because Soap seems to stutter in his movements.

"You have fucking red lacy panties?" He asks, making you blush furiously. To be fair, they were all different colors and designs. He'd only managed to catch a glimpse of the red ones.

"Shut up!" You growl, getting a grin from him. He thought this was funny.

"Who the hell you trying to dress up for?" He teases, but it's anything but playful. He's just being a dick.

"I said shut up! It's none of your damn business! These were in my bag, you shouldn't have ever seen them."

"Seven minutes!" Price calls out, reminding you to hurry. You still needed to finish packing your basics and needed to check the supplies you had on the plane to see what you might be missing. Time seemed to be going down way too fast.

Soap quickly moves on, throwing in his towel and a few others things while you try to put in your shampoo, conditioner, and a bar of soap in. Soap quickly tries to take them out though.

"Oh no," He starts, picking them up and handing them back to you. "We are using my stuff. We are already short on space, we don't need these taking up room."

"I am not using that horrible shit you use." You counter. Before you can argue it, Price is stepping in yet again.

"Come on, guys! You're down to six minutes! Work it out faster."

"You can pack that," you motion to his body wash. "But I get my shampoo. I will forget the conditioner, but I get real shampoo."

Feeling the time pressure, Soap all but growls. "Fine! Just move your ass!" He takes the shampoo from your hands and packs it away roughly before shoveling other hygiene things in. You're glad to see he's bringing deodorant among those things.

One of the last items you throw in are some tampons, which had Soap making a face.

"Oh, gross." He groans. "Don't tell me you're gonna menstruate."

You glare at him. "I might. I want them just in case. What, would you rather me bleed all over the place?"

"That's so fucking gross."

"What the hell you mean gross? You are around blood at the time!"

"That's different." He claims, making you stare at him in utter shock.

"How is it- you know what, forget it. Never, ever, get a girlfriend, MacTavish." He rolls his eyes but offers no argument back. Or maybe he would have, but Price cuts in.

"Five minutes, move! Lets go!" Price yells at you, making you grab your backpack.

"Go check the plan, see what we have, I'll throw in whatever we don't." You tell Soap as you start to put things in just in case Price calls time and you don't have them packed.

"No, cause you're going to mess with my stuff." He accuses, getting a glare from you.

"Can you just fucking trust me!? I'm not going to do that! I need to survive too!" You shout back, which gets him, reluctantly, moving. He runs over and hops inside the plan, pulling out the crates that had your supplies.

"We've got food! And a few MRE's. Probably enough for a week." He informs you. You still add a few of the MRE's you had just in case. "Looks like we also have a pot and utensils, water tablets, ..." He went silent a moment as he continued his digging.

“Come on! What else?!” You yell to him, growing frustrated that he seems to just be taking his sweet time.

"I’m working on it! Don’t get your red panties in a knot.” He yells back, making you huff. “Uhh.. a med-kit, flares, toilet paper, and a flashlight. I think that's it."

With that knowledge, you pack a few fire starters and then your pocket knife. The suit case was bulging at this point, but you hoped it would zip shut. Soap comes back out of the plane and looks over the things you've added.

"You two have one minute. Close it and get it in the plane." Price tells you. You try to shut it, but Soap quickly stops you.

"Wait, I've got one more thing." He quickly starts to dig through his bag and pulled out two, somewhat thick, black journals and some pencils. He throws them on top, and you shake your head.

"Really? Do you really need that?" The suitcase was already bulging. You were worried it wasn't going to close without the two books on top.

"Yes. I need those." He growls defensively, trying to move them to a different spot so they'd fit.

“So I can’t have conditioner, but you can have two fucking thick books?”

Soap glares at you. “I saw you pack a book. I get these.” He flips the top of the suitcase down. "Just sit your ass on it, I'll zip."

You would have fought him more about the books, but you are very aware you are running out of time. You didn't put it past Price to not let you have the suit case if you couldn't get it to the plane in time.

So you do what Soap says, putting all your weight on the bag while he tries to force the zipper alone the track. At first, you are worried it's going to break at any second the way he’s pulling on it, but he manages to get it shut.

"Thirty seconds!" Price calls.

Once Price calls out that time, you are scrambling to get off it while Soap is lifting it up. He grunts as he does, and you have to pause and watch him a moment. The muscles in his arms are flexing beautifully as he lifts the suitcase up. It's-

Oh God. You could vomit. Did you really just describe any part of Soap as beautiful? To be fair, he was a very good looking man. A very in shape one at that. But he could be pretty to look at while also being a train wreck on the inside. Still, you made a vow to never think about him in that way ever again.

"States, get your ass over here!" Soap shouts at you from inside the plane. He's already lifted the case inside while you're still on the ground by your stuff. Price is counting from ten seconds, and you scramble to your feet, running to board before Price says zero. Lord knows if he was going to punish you more if you aren't on the plane in time.

You make it up with about four seconds to spare. You and Soap are both out of breath a little bit, and Price is giving you a slow clap as he walks over.

"Didn't think you'd be able to pull it off if I'm being honest." He admits. "Since you exceeded my expectations, I'll let you go grab your sleeping rolls." He says, nodding behind him to the identical rolls still laying by your things. You and Soap both let out a groan, and Soap instantly lays into you.

"You kidding me, States? I do all that work lifting this overpacked luggage bag, and you can't even grab our sleeping gear?"

You're embarrassed to admit that the likely reason you didn't grab them was because you'd been distracted by Soap's muscles and then the horror of realizing you'd been staring. Of course you aren’t going to tell him that though.

"Well you could've reminded me to grab them." You try to cover, choosing to just respond to him the way you always did "That's what a team would do after all."

"Oh don't get all high and mighty, kiss ass."

"Soap go grab them," Price orders sternly. "Before I change my mind and tell the pilot to take off without them."

Soap peels himself from his seat with that order, grumbling as he goes. You stay where you are, watching him pluck both off the ground. Price stops him a moment while he's on his way back. They talk for a moment, and you think Soap takes something from him, but you aren't sure. You don't see anything though as Soap boards again and tosses your roll at you. You hadn't been expecting it, and it hits you in the face a bit. You managed to get your arms up just in time to block most of the impact.

"Hey!" You grumble as it hits you. You send Soap a glare and then grab your roll, moving it under the bench next to a backpack. "Don't throw my stuff around."

"Need to work on those reflexes." Soap mutters to you as he places his own roll on the other side of the backpack. You roll your eyes.

"Alright," Price says. "One week. You kids have fun. Don't fucking kill each other, got it? I don’t want to have to do all that paper work."

"Aye sir." Soap agrees, while you answer with a "yes sir."

***

The plane ride over was filled with a long silence. You didn't look at Soap, and he didn't look at you. It went on like this for hours. Price hadn't exactly told you where you were going, and at this rate, you didn't even know if you were going north or south. The only thing you really did know was that there was miles of trees below you.

Finally the pilot spoke to you over your headsets. "Touching down in five. Need to touch down in a clearing, so it's going to be about a two mile hike."

"Of course it is." Soap gripes over the headset. It's the first thing he's said since you took off. You sigh deeply, already preparing yourself for all the whining he's going to do while you make your way to the cabin.

The plane lands in the clearing, and you get up to gather your supplies. For only two people, there was a lot you needed to move. The container your food came in was a wooden box, so it was heavy. The suitcase was also super heavy, and on top of that, you also had your sleeping rolls and the backpack of supplies.

"How in the hell are we suppose to carry all this?" You mutter to yourself as you look down at all the stuff. The pilot had left the cockpit and was in the cabin with you, glancing over all your things.

"There's a wagon you can take. Might be a pain to get up hills or over rocks, but it might help to lighten the load a bit." He offers. "I'll go get it for you." He gives you a pat on the shoulder, and you offer him a smile.

"Really? That'd be great. Thanks." You hum, watching him leave. He must not have gotten the memo you and Soap were being punished. Still, you weren't going to say no to a wagon.

"Sure thing." He nods. "Anything for a pretty girl like you."

You are blushing furiously now, not expecting the pilot to say something like that to you. The compliment was appreciated, of course, though with Soap being around to hear it, you're more embarrassed than anything.

Soap was rolling his eyes and huffing as he watched the scene unfold. His arms were crossed tightly across his chest. Once the pilot is gone, you are glaring at him. "What?" You ask sternly. What could he possibly be all huffy about?

"You always flirt your way into getting the easiest route possible?" He grumbles, a venom to his tone. You stare at him in disbelief, mouth hanging open just slightly.

"I.. are you joking? I was not flirting with him. He's the one who offered to help. All I said was thanks." You don't know why you feel the need to defend yourself. Soap was just being an ass.

Soap rolls his eyes like he doesn't believe you. "If you show him your red lacy panties maybe we can get him to help us carry some this shite." He adds further, rather loudly, making your cheeks turn just about as red as your underwear. You throw an MRE at him, hitting him in the arm and making him jump slightly.

"Shut up!" You growl. "I do not need the whole world knowing something like that."

"Oh just me then, aye?"

You throw another MRE at him, but he's more prepared for it this time. He tries to catch, but misses. It just hits his hand and falls to the ground alongside the first one you threw.

"Stop throwing those! That's our food!" He growls, and you prepare to throw another one, but then the pilot comes returns.

"Here we go! Think this will work?" He asks, unfolding a decently sized wagon. It was going to work really well and definitely save you some strain. You look over to Soap, who's raising a brow at you, giving you a suggestive look. God, he was a child.

"Yep. That's great. Thanks." You say hurriedly, your tone coming off a lot less grateful than that poor pilot deserved. You take the handle from him and rush to pack up your stuff. "Soap get your ass over here and help me pack."

"You got it, lass." He says way too cheekily. He's just trying to get on your nerves. The faster you pack up and get to the cabin, the sooner you could get away from him.

He comes up right behind you, his breath on your ear. "What would you like me to do, boss." You flinch away from him, rubbing your ear of your shoulder. He's like a mosquito you can't get to leave you alone.

"Can you back up!? I don't want your stank breath on me. Just-just go make sure you have all your shit and make sure the backpack has everything we need." You snap, making Soap defensively raise his hands in surrender and back off. But you had a feeling he was perfectly fine with getting out of helping pack the wagon.

"Fine. Anything you want, princess."

You hated it when he called you that, but you just ignored him. It was too early in the day to be this mad at him. 

Luckily with him gone, it made it much easier to pack. You were still feeling stressed though. The suitcase is the first thing you put in, followed by just one of the crates of food. Already the wagon was pretty much full. You ended up dumping the other crate, just piling in food wherever it will fit. Hopefully the wagon would be just a little lighter without the extra crate.

The rest of the supplies was, hopefully, in the backpack. Given the fact Soap needed those things to survive too, you had high hopes he actually did a good job packing. When you regrouped, you forced Soap to pull the wagon, so he gave you the backpack to carry. You didn't argue that seeing as it was only fair.

The backpack was heavier than you thought it'd be, but not awful. As you walked down the ramp, you couldn't help but feel like you were forgetting something. With how rushed Price had you this morning, you hoped it wasn't something you left in your luggage back on base.

***

The hike to the cabin was worse than you thought it'd be. There was no cleared path that led to the cabin. It was all just woods. While the wagon seemed like a good idea, it got stuck on every rock, branch, and plant you passed by. You had to help Soap push it up the hills and get it unstuck so many times. It more than doubled the time it'd normally take for you to walk two miles. Every muscle ached by the time you reach the cabin, and tensions between you and Soap were running high.

When the cabin finally came into view, you were so excited. It looked so nice from the outside. It sat in the middle of a clearing, a big lake behind it, and sun beaming down on it. You swore it had a halo as angelic as it was.

That was until you stepped inside. The cabin you were staying in was tiny. It only had two rooms. Upon immediately walking in, you found yourself in the kitchen. It had an old wood fire stove for cooking in one corner, one cabinet for food, a few shelves, and a tiny table in the other corner. There was also a door which led outside to a small deck, and the lake was a good 15-20 meters away. There was also an old fire pit that sat between the deck and the water.

Off to the right was the bedroom. A wall with a door separated the bedroom from the kitchen. Inside was two cots, a dresser, and another wood stove between the cots. It was a really small room. The two cots took up a majority of the space.

"Where's the bathroom?" You frown, watching Soap from the kitchen as he stood in the middle of the bedroom. You hoped you'd just missed it somehow or it was hidden away.

"There isn't one." Soap grumbles, still cranky from the hike over. You were both pretty tired and hungry. It was around lunchtime.

"What do you mean? There has to be one. Where are we supposed to shower and-"

"Your eyesight's as sharp as a rubber knife, you know that?"

You were losing it. You'd just spend the last hour and a half walking two miles. You were sweaty, tired, and hungry. "Can you just stop being a dick and tell me?"

"There's an outhouse a few meters away from the cabin outside. You can shit in there. As for showering, you probably have to bathe in the lake." He answers finally.

You could die. Price was really pissed with you this time.

"Bathing outside. Just great." You mumble, looking out of the window to the lake. The water was probably freezing. Plus the thought of Soap seeing you naked made your skin crawl more than the thought of bathing with a fish.

While you'd been lost in thought looking out of the window, Soap came out of the bedroom to grab the backpack and the suitcase from the wagon. He wordlessly moves it into the bedroom, probably to start unpacking his things. Not wishing to be in the same room as him, you get to work on putting food away. You lift the crate of food from the wagon and set it on the ground then start to sort through the remaining food in the wagon.

A second later you hear a loud squeak. It sounded like the springs of the cot. Curiously, you looked into the bedroom to find Soap had sat on one. He shook his head and got up, moving to the other one.

"Hell no. Not dealing with that all night." He grumbles, sitting on the other cot, which was silent in comparison. You glare at him.

"Are you fucking serious? You're going to stick me with the bed that squeaks?" You stay in the doorway, watching as he unzips the backpack and pulls his sleeping roll from it.

"Yep. Snooze you lose." He says, unrolling his sleeping roll and laying it on the bed with his pillow.

You scowl are him from the doorway and storm over to grab the backpack from him to retrieve your own roll. Of course he was going to do this to you. "I fucking hate you, MacTavish. You're such an absolute child." You seethe, digging through the bag and not finding your sleeping roll in there. "Where's my sleeping roll?"

"Hell if I know." Soap answers, sitting on his cot and lying back while he watches you dig.

"What the fuck did you do with my sleeping roll, MacTavish?!" You shout this time, rage filling you. You needed that otherwise you were going to freeze every night.

"Christ's sake! I didn't touch your stuff! I don't know what the fuck you did with it!" He shouts back, matching your volume.

"You didn't pack my sleeping roll when you packed yours?!"

"Hell no! Why would I? I thought you'd have packed it in the wagon!"

"Why would I-?!" You take a deep breath, pinching the bridge of your nose. "So you're telling me my sleeping roll was right next to yours on the plane, but you packed yours, and left mine?"

"That is exactly what I am telling you."

"Why would you do that!" You growl at him as he sits up.

"Well for one there wasn't enough room in that bag for both with all the other shite that is in there. And I figured you'd grab your own bloody shite!" He growls right back, gripping the metal railing of the cot until his knuckles turned white.

"I was packing something else. I was distracted. You could have, I don't know, brought it over to me!"

"I thought you would have grabbed it yourself! You told me to worry about my own stuff, so I did!"

You groan aloud, running your fingers through your hair and pacing slightly. "Can you contact Price somehow and tell him to bring me my sleeping roll?"

"No." Soap answers, making you glare at him. "Don't you fucking glare at me! I don't have anyway of contacting him! Maybe you should have brought a radio if you were going to lose your stuff!"

"I didn't lose my stuff! My fucking teammate fucked me over and left it! You probably did it on purpose too!"

"Don't you dare fucking blame this on me, States!" Soap stands up suddenly, and he's right in your face. You find yourself taking a step back, but he just follows you. "I didn't do anything on purpose, so don't even go there! You did this to yourself! Fucking hell lass! Learn to take responsibility for your own actions, just like you should have at the debrief!" He shouts. "If you'd done that, then maybe we wouldn't be here! And you wouldn't be sleeping without your roll!"

You were shocked for a moment at his outburst, but quickly turn your gaze into a glare. The irony wasn't lost on you. He was demanding you take responsibility for your actions, but he wouldn't do that himself. Instead he just blamed everything on you.

"I should take responsibility? I should take responsibility!? You are always against me! Half the stuff I do is because I'm also being forced to work against you!"

"You're not being forced to do anything! You make your own damn choices and then blame me when it doesn't go the way you want it to!"

"You blame stuff on me all the time!!"

"Cause it always your fault! I tell you to do something and then you ignore me and treat me like I'm the enemy!"

"Maybe if you acted more like my teammate, I'd be less willing to treat you like the enemy!"

Soap's jaw clenched at your words. You stare at each other in silence. There's an intensity as you look at each other. You feel like at any moment, with a snap of your fingers, the tension is going to break. When it breaks, you're not sure what's going to happen. Before it can though, Soap finally breaks eyes contact with you.

"Fuck this and fuck you!" He snaps, stepping around you to leave the bedroom. His shoulder slams against yours as he does, and a few seconds later, you hear the cabin door slam shut.

Once he was gone, you feel your lip trembling. Already, one day in, and things were going terribly. You had to do this for six more days, and you weren't even halfway through the current one. You didn't know if you could do this.

Moving to your cot, you sink down and sob into your hands, the cot making a horrible creaking sound as you sit. The stress was getting to you and finally boiling over. This morning not being able to bring all your things, having no bathroom or shower, the long walk over, the hunger, the fighting with Soap... it was all too much. 

After sitting for a while, and Soap not coming back inside, you wipe your eyes and get to work on unpacking. You unpack your stuff, hoping to find your sleeping roll hidden somewhere among all the clothes. You didn't find it.

You then moved on to placing the cooking supplies and food onto the shelves and into the cabinet. Price had left you with some good food. A whole box eggs, bread (which was crushed a bit), cans of soup, beans, and corn, a bunch of MREs, and salt. You also had a small pan, two bowls, two plates, and two sets of silverware.

Once everything was packed away, all that was left to do was to sit around and wait for Soap to inevitably come back. You'd take a nap, but that was unappealing without your sleeping roll. You wanted to eat, but you didn't need Soap blowing up again cause you were wasting the rations or excluding him.

He didn't come back though. Hours passed. You got hungry eventually and went outside to start collecting wood to cook with. You looked for him as you did, but you didn't find any trace of him. You made one of the cans of soup, ate it slowly, and watched the door, thinking he’d come through any second.

As the sun began to set, and it started to get dark, you were really, really beginning to worry.

***

[buryustogether]

-> THE SHADOWS OF STARS

johnny silverhand x reader (not v)

word count: 8.5k

summary: despite being the newest groupie for samurai, you work hard to pull more than your weight and ensure gigs run smoothly. after a run in with a crazed fan goes awry, johnny silverhand offers you a bit of comfort.

warnings/tags: pre-relic johnny, reader is not v, violence, blood, age gap romance, non-penetrative sex, first kiss, first time, virgin!reader, mention of arranged marriage and running away, smut, swearing, alcohol consumption

author’s note: he may be a bit ooc but he’s my dreamboat so

If you’d have known how the night would have ended, you would have done things differently. You would have said more, said less, perhaps. Stepped further left, taken two more paces back. Anything and everything, you would have done differently.

Anything and everything would have been for nought - because the end of the night transported you to the stars invisible above your head, and beyond the crescent moon hanging from a weathered thread. You hadn’t known you could go that high - and you owed the jump to none other than Johnny fucking Silverhand.

It started with a woman - of course, that’s what all the old-world love stories say. But this woman wasn’t a princess waiting for a king to come down from his tower and save her and make her his; she was a plastered drunk with ugly-as-all-hell bangs on her forehead and a tank top so thin and skimpy her tits would have hung out even if she tried to keep them covered.

You had been watching her from the corner of your eye the entire show from your little perch beside the stage, headphones clasped over your ears and a tablet with the set list in hand. From the shadows, because that’s all you were, really in comparison to them, you had tracked her as she downed drink after drink and got closer and closer to the edge of the stage. Of course she was decked out in their merch - hell, everyone here was, but there were hearts inked onto the Samurai logo across her chest. Just what this gig needed - a crazy-ass fan hammered out of her mind.

It was when she’d disappeared to get herself another shot when you’d allowed yourself a glance up to the stage on your right. Christ above, they were so fucking cool. You didn’t care if that made you sound like an awestruck teenager; they were the only words you could conjure up at the moment. You’d never been one for poetics.

A band of rough and rowdy outcasts, torn at the edges in all the right places and ragged at the ends, they stuck out in a city like this. Especially the guitarist; god, you’d had a massive schoolgirl crush on Johnny Silverhand since you were sixteen and had first discovered their music. He was everything you found enticing; attractive, but without the superficial glamour Night City was held under; charismatic, charming, confident; maybe a bit full of himself, which you had discovered after being pulled into their crew as the newest groupie, but it didn’t phase you as much as you thought it would.

Your younger self would have fainted if she knew you were a groupie for Samurai these days. You were new - the youngest by far they’d ever taken on, but god above knew you pulled more weight than the older assistants who’d gotten used to the feeling of trailing in the shadows of stars. You stayed late into the night and early into the morning to clean up and pack after gigs, set up arrangements for desirable venues, arrived early to prepare so they only had to get up there and sing. Hell, you even cleaned their instruments when you had the time; you’d restrung Silverhand’s prized guitar enough times to have the same calluses on your fingers as his.

Of course, it had taken a snapped string, a sweat-inducing dash to the nearest music store, and an approaching meeting with a business partner for him to give it up to be repaired by someone else than him. Eurodyne had certainly had a hand in convincing him to part with the damned thing; he’d given you an appreciative nod and a charming wink when Silverhand had left his case at your little station.

Back in the present, you found your gaze pulled from your set list to watch as Silverhand kicked up a foot on a speaker to twist out a solo that left goosebumps trailing along your skin. Below him, fans hollered and screamed their approval; his lips quirked up in that Cheshire grin of his, the crinkle of his eyes hidden behind his aviators. You swallowed thick. Despite working for Samurai for nearly a month now, you’d never spoken to Silverhand once. He’d never even glanced in your direction, too caught up in his own business or too distracted by fans to pay you much mind.

You wondered what his voice would have sounded like feet from you, soft and gentle, instead of strained with his cries as he appeased his crowds.

Your spine straightening, your eyes at once flicked back to the woman you’d been watching as she reappeared at the front of the crowd. She was barely able to keep herself on her platform heels, eyelids drooped and movements sluggish. Your lips twisted themselves into a frown; some hangover she was going to have in the morning. You glanced back down at your tablet for a moment, then back to the chick. At once, your chest thundered.

She was leaning against the wall of the stage, hand outstretched in an attempt to touch Silverhand’s pant leg. He kept his cool - surprisingly - and continued the song as he took a step back so that he stood just out of her reach.

You cast a quick glance around the dim venue. Where the hell was security? The bodyguards you’d hired to keep a perimeter at the stage? You found them; they were both slumped at the bar. Perfect; this night was throwing in all kinds of elements that made for a perfect bomb. The question was - when was it all going to blow?

The rest of the gig, you kept your eye on the rowdy fan, never letting her stray too far from your vision. She paced back and forth about the stage, trying to touch even the boot or pants hem of one of the players. It raised the hair on your neck at end as a hot, lava-like sensation filled your stomach.

Were you… jealous?

God, no, you told yourself as the last song of the set came to a close. You didn’t get jealous of blackout drunks practically sobbing over a couple of rockstars who probably didn’t even know your name. And yet… every time she cried out Silverhand’s name, every time she blew him a kiss, that sensation worsened. It coiled like a serpent in your belly, forcing your jaw to clench and your blood to boil.

Shit. You needed to get a serious grip.

Slowly, as the bar began to clear out and final tabs were paid at the bar, you found yourself in conversation with the owner of the place. You sat at a table and watched as she did the math for the band’s share of the profits of the night, cradling an iced concoction you’d been dying for since you got here. Up on the stage, Silverhand and Eurodyne were speaking in hushed tones, motioning back and forth.

“You know,” said the owner as she tallied up her data, “you seem pretty young to be a manager for those fellas.”

You forced yourself to smile and chuckle softly. “Oh,” you said, “I’m not their manager. I’m actually a groupie. I just, you know, move their things back and forth and hook up their systems for them.”

“You seem to do a lot more than that.” With a flick of her hand, she deposited the eddies into your account; a moment later, they showed up on your vision screen. When you got the chance later tonight, you would divide up the earnings between the band, the hired muscle, and yourself. You didn’t think those meatheads had done anything to earn the scrap, but you were terrified to be the one to tell them so.

“I guess someone has to,” you murmured quietly.

“I mean it,” she said. She gave you a gentle, motherly smile, one that made your heart and ache and pang for home. “You’re playing practically every role in this little game of theirs. Movement, tech, cash flow. And I’d bet they don’t even know your name, do they?”

You felt yourself blanch a little. Casting a glance over toward the rockers, your stomach flipped slightly as Silverhand threw his head back and barked out an echoed laugh. “They do,” you lied.

“Sure, kid.” The woman patted your arm before hopping off her stool and taking your empty glass. “If you’re going to survive a life like that, at least make sure to claim the respect you deserve. You’re not a doormat, girl. Don’t act like one.”

With that she left you to your own clouded thoughts, mind a hell scape of troubles and conflicting wants and needs and desires. You pursed your lips and stared down at your lap. Maybe she was right; maybe you should talk to them. Ask for better pay. Throw in a couple set ideas you’d been saving for the past weeks. Yet as much as you wanted to, the queasy feeling in your belly kept you from advancing too far.

You’d always been an anxious kid; too scared to voice your opinions. Your parents said you were well-behaved. You thought ball of nerves was a better way to phrase it.

You had just begun to kick off your stool and begin the tedious task of packing up the equipment when a flash of movement caught your eye. That woman - the one who had tried to touch the band on the stage - was jittering across the floor toward Silverhand and Eurodyne as they made their way to the backstage entrance. Her tits swayed as she bounced in their direction, feet dragging in her drunken state.

Fuck - some people just didn’t know when to quit, did they?

Feeling that simmering boil arise in your chest again, you quickly stride across the floor to intercept her aim toward the men. She was just behind them when you reached her, her arm outstretched and palm open to grab a handful of Silverhand’s ass. The serpent in your belly flared.

“Hey.” You grabbed the woman’s wrist in an iron-fisted grip, stopping her fingers just inches from their prize. Her head drunkenly lolled over to glare daggers at you. “No touching, you got it?”

“Get the fuck off me, you fucking kid.” She ripped her hand from your grip, and the numerous rings slid along her fingers scratched along your skin. You refused to flinch at the pain, instead pulling yourself to your full height and clenching your fists. “What the hell’s your problem?”

Your eyes flickered to the door backstage. The men had disappeared, and you felt a short little something burst inside of you. Disappointment? Surely you weren’t thinking they would come to your aid? That Silverhand would tell this bitch to scram and then say, ‘Damn, kid, thanks a lot. Want to come backstage and sign to become our mascot?’ God, you were a fucking idiot.

“Go home before someone knocks you on your ass,” you said, trying to mimic some of things you’d heard street kids say in back alleys. “I’d hate for your lipgloss to smear any further.”

“And who the fuck do you think you are?” Now she was angry. Getting up in your face. And you were alone - the venue owner had vanished, and the band was backstage. You suddenly wished you knew how to mind your own business. “You know where you are? This is fucking Heywood. Lose an eye for saying something like that.” She sniffed and looked you up and down. God, those bangs were ugly as all hell. “What are you, sixteen? You better run home to mommy before you get smacked.”

To your dismay, and fury, and horrified embarrassment, you felt tears beginning to pool in your eyes. You could count on your fingers the number of times someone had yelled at you like this, and each and every one still made your heart thunder like a drum. You weren’t cut out for this kind of shit; you should have taken her advice and run home, begged your parents’ forgiveness.

But suddenly the owner’s words were resurfacing in your mind.

You’re not a doormat, girl. Don’t act like one.

Gathering what little courage hadn’t dwindled away, you squared your jaw and said, “Get out and don’t come back, or I’ll call the pol-“

You weren’t able to get anything else out before suddenly a fierce, solid fist connected with the side of your face. You went sprawling, sending a table a a stool clattering into their sides, your hands clutching at your nose. Hot, tangy copper flooded down from your nostril, dripping onto your shirt and staining your palms. Holy fuck - she’d just punched you. You’d never been struck before - is this what it actually felt like? Your nose throbbing, your eye aching in its socket, your lips open as you gasped for breath?

Vaguely, through the blood pumping in your ears, you felt the woman kick your foot and scoff before the door swung shut behind her. You were left in silence, still in place where you lay propped on your elbow on the floor, with nothing but the scarlet falling from your nose and a painful watering eye.

With a coarse gasp, you sat up. Your head pounded like someone had delivered a bullet to your temple and it had come out through your jaw. Now that they weren’t being held back, tears cascaded down your cheeks freely and fell from your chin. You touched your nose, the skin around your eye, and let out a small sob as the pain flared through your skull.

Your attention was pulled from your attack to the backstage door, where a peel of laughter reached your ears. The band - you could ask them for help. Explain what happened. They could clean you up, take you to a ripper doc to make sure everything was still intact.

“Fuck, no,” you whispered to yourself. You’d eat lead before you let them see you like this; before they realized that, shit, you may have had your nineteenth birthday a few months ago, but goddamit, you still were just a snotty-nosed kid who needed her hand held when things got rough on the playground. They couldn’t know that. No one could.

You felt yourself rising, using the bottom of your shirt to gingerly wipe off the excess blood on your face. You needed to pack up. Load the equipment into the truck. Call the venue for tomorrow’s gig and make sure the show was still on.

Then you would wander, see if any rippers were still open. And if there wasn’t, well… you’d just have to deal with it.

Your mother’s words rang in your ears, still as sharp as a razor as they were when you left home. “No one’s going to take care of you out there,” she had said. “No one will help you. No one will care about you. No one will love you. You’re going to be all by yourself.”

Fuck it - you didn’t need any help. You didn’t need anyone to take care of you, to love you. You’d do it all yourself.

The pain was too much to acknowledge that was a lie.

It wasn’t but a half hour later that you were winding up speaker cords and wrapping them in their protective cases, gritting your teeth against the panging ache blossoming from your face. You were nearly done with the front half of the stage, a small tower of equipment stacked behind you and waiting to be dragged to the truck out back. You were already sweating your ass off, not to mention that the scab in your nose kept breaking and bleeding. You were sure you weren’t looking like much of a model.

You exhaled a long, exhausted breath and took a seat on the edge of the stage. Your toes barely touched the ground. Head bowed, you fisted the material of your blood-stained shirt and bit your lip to keep a fresh wave of tears at bay. You failed; they escaped, trailing down your cheeks like twin rivers.

What the hell were you doing? You were miles from home, miles from anything you knew. You’d had a life, a future planned out for you. Money. Comfort. Everything you didn’t have now. And you’d run away from it all.

“Hey, kid,” said a voice from further down the stage. “You seen my pick around here? Dropped the fucker after the show.”

Oh, holy fuck. Johnny Silverhand was speaking to you - and you were sitting here crying about being smacked around once or twice.

You cleared your throat once, twice, that the same time turning away quickly and pawing away the tears clinging to your cheeks. “Uhm, yeah.” Keeping your face turned from him, because frankly, you couldn’t take one more thing going wrong tonight, you fished out the obsidian-colored guitar pick you’d found on the stage while packing up. You had planned on leaving it beside his case when he and the others went out for a drink like they always did; it had been burning a hole in your pocket since you’d stuck it there, knowing it was the very pick he often stuck between his teeth after songs.

You held it out in his direction, refusing to let him see your tear-streaked face. He took it from your outstretched palm with his cybernetic hand, the metal fingers clicking together as he accepted it. You began to pull your hand back before suddenly those metal fingers were wrapped around your wrist, keeping your palm turned upward.

“You cut yourself or something?” he asked. He was looking at the blood you’d wiped off with your hand; fuck. Couldn’t you do anything?

Sniffling again, you pulled your hand away a little more forcefully than you meant to and cradled it in your stomach. “Yeah,” you murmured quietly, but you knew he heard you. Your voice echoed here in the empty building. “I’m fine. Sorry for worrying you, Mister Silverhand.”

To your surprise, he released a mumble from the back of his throat as he came closer and settled himself on the edge of the stage beside you. You immediately stiffened, your wide eyes trained like a magnet to an empty spot in the corner. “Christ, kid, I’m not that old. Johnny’s fine, as long as my hair’s not grey and I can still piss on my own.”

You listened as he lit up a cigarette, the lip of his lighter clasping shut before he tucked it back into his pocket. Was this actually happening? Was Johnny fucking Silverhand actually sitting down with you? Maybe that chick had knocked you clean out after all.

“You’re the new one, aren’t you?” Johnny asked as he took a drag of his smoke. He said your name, and your heart sprang like a bird screaming to be free of its cage. He did know your name. “What do you think of this shitshow? Not exactly what you expected, right?”

You reached up to wipe your nose - and quickly hid your hand when you brushed off a fresh swatch of blood. “I don’t think it’s a shitshow,” you admitted in a shy voice. You sniffed. “I think it’s great. I think you all are.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw him tilt his wrist - he was offering you a drag of his smoke. You stared at it for a moment before gingerly taking it and holding it like a joint; you felt his gaze on you, you could see the edge of his faint smirk. Obviously you weren’t holding it right. Nevertheless, you hesitantly brought it to your lips. How bad could one drag be?

As soon as the smoke tumbled down your throat and into your lungs, you pitched forward and hacked out a number of dry coughs. It felt like ash was steamrolling down your spine, tasted like a bad dream you couldn’t wake from. You felt like you were going to be sick.

Beside you, his feet crossed at the ankles, Johnny gave that deep, drawling laugh you’d heard time and time again - and had practically fallen for - and took back his cigarette. “First smoke, kid?” You heard the smile in his voice as he placed it back between his lips. “When you throw up, just don’t do it here.”

You raised your hand to cover your mouth, your bleeding nose, but you were too late. You bent your head and coughed into your lap - with enough force to send a spattering few droplets across the tops of your thighs. Your hands scrabbled to wipe them away, but the man beside you was quicker.

“Jesus,” he said, all traces of amusement wiped like a slate from his voice. “Didn’t think it’d kill you.”

“Sorry,” you gasped.

There came a short, yet stifling moment of stillness, of silence. It felt as if the world had gone still, had come to a stop on its axel or the spinner or whatever the hell it rotated on. If it even did anymore.

But then it all came back full force, like a slap to the face, like a bullet to the chest. Johnny reached his hand out and grabbed your chin - gently, but commanding; forcefully, but gingerly - and forced you to turn your head and look at him. It was the first time you’d met his eyes since he’d walked into the stage - his aviators were pushed up on his head, his smoke dangling from his lips, his oak-colored eyes hard and steely and rough to disguise the shock lying beneath them.

“Fuck me.” He tilted your head slightly, his gaze traveling over your face. “Someone do this to you, kid?”

You felt as though you couldn’t speak. Even if you wanted to, you just couldn’t. His artificial fingers were cool against your flushed skin, his grip harsh but forgiving all at once. Fireworks were exploding across your face where he touched you, rendering you speechless. Did he… actually care? Give a shit you’d taken a clock to the skull?

When you didn’t answer, his fingers tightened slightly on your jaw. Your eyes found his again, lips parted and heart skipping beats. “Hey,” he said more firmly, then pulled his cigarette from his lips with his free hand. “Who did this shit to you, huh?”

Ignoring the thrumming and singing and screaming of your heart, you swallowed thick and averted your gaze. “No one,” you replied. When his grip didn’t let up, you finally caved. “Just… just a fan, a little bit ago. She was, uh…” You hesitated. “She was trying to catch a grope of you, so I stopped her. Guess I caught it instead.”

Your small, forceful chuckle wasn’t met with the kind of response you were hoping for; maybe a laugh, or at least a tug at the corner of the lips. But it did not happen. Instead, you were met with a stony glare. A hard gaze. A deeply-set frown that bordered on a scowl.

You became suddenly and deeply intimated of Johnny Silverhand, aware now of the tight grip he had on your jaw and how close he was to your face. You bowed your head to the side, and he at last let you go. “Sorry to ruin the after party,” you murmured, then swallowed thick and hopped off the stage. “I’m fine, really. I just need to finish packing up and I’ll get out of here.”

Attempting to hide the flush in your cheeks and the hammering of your heart in your chest, you bent over to gather up a speaker in your arms. When you stood straight again, you found Johnny standing just feet before you, his aviators clutched tight in his grip at his side.

“I’m not fuckin’ with you here, kid,” he said, bringing his face close again. You felt your knuckles paling around the speaker, clutching it tight to your chest. His hair framed his face in a darkened curtain, the stubble on his cheek pronounced in the dim lightning. “Nobody fucks with my band without feeling it later. You know what this bitch looks like?”

“There really isn’t a need for more violence.” Eyes down, head bowed, you shifted the speaker’s weight in your arms. You tried not to dwell on the sensation that arose in the pit of your belly over being included in his band. “I just want it to be over with.”

Johnny watched as you set down your load, reaching up to wipe at your bloody nostril. As he crossed his arms, his foot began to tap gently - a sign of agitation you’d come to recognize. “Fuck all, kid,” he rumbled, then pulled the bandanna from his back pocket and tossed it to you. Raising the cloth to you nose, you tried not to inhale deeply as his scent overpowered you. “If you’re not going down that road, you at least got liquor at your place to soften the blow that shiner’s going to give you tomorrow?”

You clenched your jaw, wrapped your free tightly over your chest. The blood from your nose was stained into the fabric of the bandana; your grip tightened around it. You murmured a soft reply.

Johnny cocked his head, hands planted on his hips. “Speak up, kid. Use that voice of yours like it’s meant to be used.”

“I live in my car,” you said again, louder, then immediately cleared your throat and began to drag a box toward the door. “Listen, uhm… Johnny, I appreciate it, but I really need to finish packing -“

“Fuck packing.” Johnny crossed the small distance you’d put between the pair of you, stopping so close you felt his breath fanning across your face. “Let those other dickwipes pull their weight for once.”

Your gaze tried to avert itself again, but something within the hallows of your chest forced your eyes to stay trained on his. Were those flecks of hazel in the brown of his irises? You blinked a few times; you’d never been this close to him before. Hell - you’d never been this close to a man before at all.

“I…” You hesitated, gripping the bandana so tightly you were sure you were about to tear it in two. “I didn’t think you cared so much.”

“I told you, kid,” he said, then reached up to grab your shoulder. Explosions; fireworks; detonations where he touched you. “I take care of my band.”

And that was how you found yourself holding an ice pack to your face in Johnny Silverhand’s apartment in Pacifica, with the night sky and the stars taking up the space between peering in on you from the windows across the room.

You brought a small glass of liquor to your lips as you took in the living space; it was quaint, but not a shitty little hole in the wall either. You knew he didn’t care for aesthetics or shows; he was a man of practicality. Whatever served him well - pretty or not - he kept around.

Maybe that was why you’d lasted this long so far tailing the band as their little runt groupie.

You shifted slightly in your seat on the couch, pulling the pack slowly from your face. A television was set against the far wall, where the news station spewed some commercial for the latest body mod people were just ‘dying for!’ Clothes lay discarded around the bed set in the alcove in the corner, and a trio of electric guitars stood by dutifully in the corner amongst a mountain of expensive speakers and stereoes. Mounted on the wall were half a dozen framed magazine covers that featured Samurai - and a few were only his face occupied the page. Photoshoots, interviews, covers… he had it all done and displayed.

The star himself stood at the miniature bar pouring himself a few fingers of vodka, hair tied up in a half knot at the crown of his head. He set the bottle down and crossed the room to take a seat on the opposite side of the couch, then kicked up his feet on the coffee table and crossed them at the ankle.

“So tell me,” said Johnny and sipped at his liquor. He extended an arm across the back of the couch, his fingers just a few inches from your head. “How’s a kid like you end up in this shit city? You certainly aren’t built to be a street kid, so you didn’t grow up here.”

Consciously, you reached up to touch the area around your eye. You’d used the bathroom when you first arrived here to clean the blood off your face, but the black eye steadily blossoming across your skin wasn’t going to wash away as easily. As if you didn’t already feel bad enough; you were sitting on fucking Johnny Silverhand’s couch in a bloodstained shirt and the confession off your lips that you lived in your damn car.

When he tilted his head to look at you expectantly, you felt your throat run dry. You knew how he - hell, how most of the street kids in Night City - felt about where you came from. Surely you didn’t have to tell him the entire truth. Besides - even if you lied, you were expecting him to come to his senses any time now and tell you, his month-new groupie, to get out of his house and scram.

“Well,” you said and gingerly placed the ice pack on the side table, “I guess you’re sort of right. My family was pretty… well-to-do. I grew up on the top floors of the snottiest buildings -“

“You used to be a corpo kid.”

Your blood ran cold in your veins. Fuck; this was it. Your run with Samurai was over. With any band, really. Surely word would spread you were a corpo brat trying to slum it as a street kid.

Johnny shrugged a shoulder and brought up his glass to take another sip. “You don’t hide it well, kid,” he told you bluntly. “The way you talk, walk, hold yourself. You reek of that high-brow lifestyle, no offense.” The corner of his lips quirked slightly. “But surely mom and dad didn’t drop their precious little darling on the street, now, did they?”

You couldn’t stop the zipping, electric sensation that pinged off the walls of your chest. “Not exactly.” You finished off your drink and set it aside, eyes focused on the corner of the television. You had no idea what the anchor was talking about; you didn’t really want to know. “My parents are oil investors. Old money types - they both came from countryside mansions and absent fathers - heh.” You smiled slightly to yourself. “They always told me I was a, as they called it, ‘soft soul.’ In their native tongue, that means weak. Not able to make those cutthroat decisions, you know? I don’t think they ever planned on including the stocks and the oil fields in their inheritance, so they went off and found the son of another tycoon who they could give it to.”

“Holy fuck,” said Johnny and lifted a stunned brow. “You’re telling me they arranged a marriage for you and this asshole?”

“They tried, I guess.” You hesitated, hand fidgeting with a stray loose end on your shirt. “I told them I’d rather splatter my brains on the wall - and they told me I could either do it their way, or leave and not come back at all.” You turned your head and gave him a wry, tight-lipped smile. “So I haven’t gone back.”

Johnny hissed out a breath through his teeth and tossed back the rest of his vodka. “You’ve got balls, kid, I’ll give you that,” he said and set aside his glass. “NC’s sure one hell of a place to hit the ground running.”

“Mm.” Maybe it was the liquor in your systems talking; or maybe it was the fact that slowly, as the evening went on, you were becoming more and more comfortable around him. “When I was younger, I heard your music for the first time and I just couldn’t get enough of it. My parents fucking hated it - tried to take away my vinyls, block the streaming websites, but I always found a way to keep listening. I guess… it was the only way I felt I could rebel.

“I got dragged to parties to be seen and not heard; I was given piano lessons at five, and when those didn’t stick, they put me in sports. They always wanted me to be some, I don’t know, incredible prodigy. Like I needed to be amazing to call myself their daughter. And I guess when they realized I wasn’t anything to be proud of, they just gave up.”

As soon as you shut your mouth, you regretted what you had said. When you’d left home, you had vowed to leave your past in the past. What the hell were you doing?

But then Johnny was barking out one of those laughs of his as he rolled his head back against the couch cushion. “Oh, come on,” he said and eyed you incredulously. “Nothing? You can handle your way around eddie negotiations - you sure they didn’t try to shape you into a corpo biz manager?”

“Believe me,” you said, finding yourself snickering along with him. “They tried everything. Nothing I ever did was good enough for them.” A loosened giggle escaped your lips as you gestured vaguely around the apartment. “Hell, I think they’d keel over and kick it if they knew I was at Johnny Silverhand’s place - the most infamous rockstar in Night City.”

He smirked coyly. “What?” he said and scratched at his throat. His eyes stayed trained on yours as you watched his tattoos move with his ministrations. “Your old man doesn’t like bad boys and tech fuckers?”

“Especially.”

There was another one of those still, silent moments between the pair of you, like the string attached to your fingers had pulled taunt. The television played quietly across the room. Car horns blared and wailed outside. Your gazes were locked together, unable to pull apart even if you wanted to.

Then he was moving. Pulling his feet off the table, standing to his full height. Stepping closer - resting a silver hand on the couch arm beside you and the other on the back near your head. Your breath hitched in your throat as he leaned over you, enveloping you against him and his ow shadow.

“Listen, kid,” he said, and you realized his voice had dropped a baritone. In the pit of your belly there came a fluttering, one that traveled further, lower, straight to your core. “I might be getting some off vibes here, but I’m not going to be a pussy and say I wouldn’t be disappointed if I was.” You felt your breath slam from your lungs as he leaned closer, closer, and dragged his tongue along the short expanse of your cheekbone; you swore your heart stopped. “Tell me if I’m wrong, but I think there’s a thanks in order for saving my ass earlier.”

Ice - your blood had frozen and turned to ice beneath your skin. Did he know you were holding your breath? Did he know you’d never been this close to anyone like this? Did he know you’d never kissed before, never fucked or gotten fucked or known what real, true devotion felt like?

After what seemed an eternity - a forever of him staring at you from inches away, awaiting your green light to advance - you at last found your voice. “I didn’t do it in exchange for this.”

“Yeah,” he said, “but let me spoil you, sweetheart.”

Then his lips were melded to yours, and your mind, your senses, your body - they all burst red and green and purple and every color across the spectrum you didn’t even know existed. His knees came to rest on either side of your legs and he bent down, so that he hovered over you and you stretched up in order to keep your mouths connected. His kiss was rough and demanding, the reins held tight in his hands, and he took up every last gasp of breath you had left in your lungs.

He pulled back for a quick inhale, leaving you shell shocked, but only for a moment before he was pushing his lips back against yours. “Fuck, honey,” he slurred between deep, passionate kisses, “you taste even fucking better than I thought.”

When his mouth moved down to the column of your throat, his touch anchoring your hips down beneath him, you realized this wasn’t supposed to be a one-man show. Your movements felt foreign, unknown, as you brought one hand to thread through his hair and the other to cradle the back of his neck. His tresses slipped through your fingers like feathers or silk or some other poetic shit - you didn’t care enough to think of the right metaphor.

Johnny found a spot on your skin where your neck met your shoulder, his hand moving your shirt collar out of the way, and attached his mouth to that area. He sucked and pulled at your vulnerable throat, using his sharp teeth to gently bite at the skin. You gasped aloud, your grip in his hair tightening, as he licked at the place he’d bitten, almost like apologizing or making up for the pleasurable pain.

And fuck, was it pleasurable. With every moment that ticked by with his mouth lavishing your neck, with his touch roaming across the planes of your body, you felt yourself growing wetter. Your belly was flip-flopping with nerves and excitement, your core suddenly aching from the attention you were receiving. And, if you shifted your hips just right, you felt the growing erection in his pants pressing against your thigh. You gave a hesitant, experimental buck of your hips against his - and your heart leaped when he pulled off your throat to groan low and gravelly into your collarbone.

“Oh, fuck, sweetheart,” Johnny growled as he sat up. He peered down at you with blown pupils and an almost animalistic gaze, his hands working the clasps and buckles of his bulletproof vest. “Keep playing games like that and you might get your prize sooner than you expect it.” At last, he lifted the vest over his head - and you didn’t stop yourself from staring. His stomach was a flat plane of muscle, riddled near the hip and the pec with a few puckered scars. His dog tags clinked against his chest, hanging like ornaments over the line of hair that began at his belly button and became thicker as it disappeared beneath his waistband.

“Impressed?” he crooned, drawing your eyes back up to his.

You felt yourself smiling, albeit a bit nervously, and slowly reaching out to touch his abdomen. “Maybe,” you murmured. Your fingers trailed over his chest, his nipples, his belly. His muscles flexed under your touch, and every few moments he let his head fall back and released a low-throated moans. They sent shivers up your spine and an ache down to your core, clenching around nothing.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Johnny said, coming to his senses and hooking his fingers beneath the hem of your shirt. “I can’t exactly do this the right way if I’m the only one playing skins.”

Your nerves jumped wildly as he began to pull up your shirt; you partially lifted yourself to aid him, but as the fabric began to clear your breasts, you felt your blood spiking. “Wait!” You grabbed his wrist, halting him in place. “Wait, Johnny, wait.”

Obediently, he paused where he was. He peered down at you questioningly, searching for a sign of whatever he’d done wrong. “Don’t get cold feet on me now, kid,” he drawled gently.

“No,” you said quickly, and you panicked because he looked like he was going to pull away, so you surged forward and kissed him hungrily. He gave a muffled grunt of surprise, but returned it nonetheless. When you finally leaned back again, you knew your face was flushed; how attractive you must have looked, with a violent blush and a black eye coming in. “I want to, Johnny, I really do. More than…” You shook your head slightly. “More than I think I’ve ever wanted anything?”

“More than you want to tell those fucking parents of yours where to shove it?”

A nervous, wobbly smile wound over your lips. “Yeah,” you replied. “More than that. But…” You swallowed thick and averted your gaze, letting your eyes fixate instead on his dog tags. “I, uhm… I haven’t exactly… done this before. At all.”

“Hmm.” It was all he said for a long, quiet moment. You could tell he was staring at you, but you didn’t want to know if his gaze was full of reproach or unease - or the wild, suddenly feral look some men got around virgins. He shifted his weight atop you slightly. He spoke again. “You’ve at least cum before, haven’t you? Used one of those toys you women like so much?”

For a fraction of a second, you realized the gravity of it all - you were lying beneath Johnny Silverhand, talking about your previous use of sex toys. But before you could begin to register the situation, you said, “I mean, I’ve used vibrators before. I didn’t ever… didn’t ever orgasm on those. It just wasn’t enough. And my mom always said I didn’t want to lose my virginity to a piece of silicone. So…” You gently tightened the grip you had on his wrist. “No. I haven’t. I didn’t… I hadn’t even kissed anyone before this.”

“Fuck me, kid.”

You waited for him to roll off you, to tell you that you were a nice kid, but he suddenly wasn’t feeling well. It seemed forever. Then, that feeling - that sensation that was growing familiar - of his metal fingers on your chin drew your attention back up to his face. He was gazing down at you with a look so understanding, yet so teasing and coy it seemed as though the painter who had sculpted his features changed his mind half way through.

“If I’d known that was your first,” he rumbled to you, “I’d have made sure to bite.”

With that he dipped down to recapture your lips, his artificial hand coming up to cradle your cheek affectionately. A tidal wave of relief flooded through your systems as you reached up to tangle your hands in his hair again, your body beginning to act on its own accord. Your leg twisted around his to pull his hips closer to yours, and you felt his erection bump against the apex of your thighs. You both groaned into one another’s mouths, sharing breaths and panting into throats.

“Hang on,” he ordered you, and once you had locked your legs around his waist, he braced you against him and hauled you up into his arms as if you weighed nothing. He continued to bite at your lips and shove his tongue into your mouth as he carried you toward the bed.

When your back hit the mattress, he pulled you further up toward the pillows and crawled over your form. “I’ve got an idea,” he drawled, nipping at your throat. When you made a noise of acknowledgement, he slowly began to undo the button of your trousers. “We’ll save the fucking for the next time. Tonight we’ll stick with basics - swear it’ll feel just as fucking good.”

You felt your heart rate pick up like a methodical tick. Your grip on his shoulders tightened, nails digging into his bare skin. “The next time?” you murmured, dammit, hopefully. You knew Johnny Silverhand was a womanizer, that a different girl fell into his arms every other night. A part of you felt stupid for hoping this would be different; now you weren’t feeling quite as foolish.

Johnny smirked down at you, his hair curtaining you both. “What?” he said. “Thinking this was going to be a one-time thing?”

“Well…”

“Let me tell you something, sweetheart.” He pressed his forehead to yours, his human hand trailing down to the space between your thighs. A small squeak escaped your lips, one that melted into a moan, when he pressed his thumb down on your trousers right above your clit. “I’d be fucking stupid to find a little thing like you and let you go.”

You hitched out a gasp. “Let me go?”

“Oh, yeah, baby.” He inched down until he was level with your exposed belly, then licked a stripe up to where your shirt was bunched just below your breasts. “You’re all mine now.”

Your world was flipped on its head, like you were watching the scene play out from above instead of from your own eyes. Johnny helped you pull off your shirt, and then your bra, and you finally let yourself moan unabashedly when he pulled the peaks of each breast into his mouth. Then he removed your pants, and your panties, and then he had practically picked you up and pulled you into a position that had your core aching like never before.

Johnny sat his back to the headboard with you seated between his legs so that your shoulder blades laid flat against his bare chest. He’d hooked his ankles around yours when your legs spread, keeping them apart and open for his touch that was slowly, torturously making its way down your body.

“Johnny,” you moaned as his metal hand cupped your breast, alternating between kneading and pinching the nipple. His warm, human hand was dragging his fingers over the tops of your naked thighs, occasionally dipping between them, but never where you needed him the most. “Johnny, please…”

“Ooh, my poor thing sounds so good when she cries for me,” he chuckled in your ear from behind. His voice was low and came from deep in his chest, sending goosebumps over your flesh. “I bet she’d sound even prettier singing.”

Without warning, his hand dipped toward your center and dragged a finger through your wet folds. In reply, as if obeying his command, you released a garbled cry and leaned your head back against his shoulder. Fuck, this was so goddamn good. You’d never known letting someone else touch you like this could feel so fucking amazing.

“That’s right,” growled Johnny, then found your clit and began to rub circles around it. “Cry for me, sweetheart.”

You squeezed your eyes shut in pleasure as he played with the bundle of nerves, your hands gripping onto his thighs for support. Your legs instinctively tried to snap closed, alleviate the heightened need for friction, but his ankles locked around yours kept you from doing so. Feeling your pull against his legs, he quickened the speed of his circles, increased the pressure ever so slightly.

“Oh, fuck!” you whimpered. Your pussy was clenching around nothing, your slick smearing across your thighs. “Oh, shit, Johnny. Oh, my god, please don’t stop.” Quickly becoming overwhelmed by the amount of pleasure and sensation, your body began to react on its own. You squirmed in his grasp, hips attempting to buck and feet kicking. There was a sort of coiling feeling building in your abdomen, like a pressure from within, and your body was chasing after it like it was the sun it had never seen.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” With every buck of your hips, his own chased yours, practically humping up into you from behind.

You couldn’t reply, only whimpered and whined and buried your face into the musky-smelling crook of his neck.

Johnny applied just the smallest bit of more pressure, his free arm wrapped securely around your middle to keep you anchored to him. “Come on, kid,” he whispered against the shell of your ear. “Give it to me. Give me this first one.”

Whatever kind of effect his words had on your systems, it was immediate. That coil in your belly snapped, wound too tight, and your vision tore white as you threw your head back against him. “Oh, god, Johnny! Johnny, fuck!” Your words melted into hoarse cries and moans and gasps. You felt a warmth pooling from your entrance and his fingers gingerly gathering it up; if you had been able to open your eyes, you would have seen him suck your release off his own fingers and smirk to himself in satisfaction.

For a long, quiet few minutes, you simply sat there between his legs, feeling your chest rise and cave as you tried to regain your breath. Behind you, Johnny craned his neck to press open-mouthed kisses to the back of your neck, your shoulders, the jut of your spine. He unhooked his legs from yours, allowing you to draw them together and to your chest as you gripped his thigh with a grip that refused to let go.

“You with me still, kid?” Johnny shifted his weight a bit, then wrangled you until you were sat sideways in his lap and he cradled you against his front.

Your head rested against his bare pec, fingers unconsciously gripping onto the dog tags around his neck. “Mm,” you hummed, because you felt as though you couldn’t form words anymore even if you wanted to. A sudden and powerful tide of exhaustion had washed over you, leaving you feeling hollow and full all at the same time.

“Use that pretty voice of yours,” he insisted and flicked a piece of stray hair from your sweaty forehead. “Tell me you’re alight. That I didn’t go too hard.”

So - because you would do anything for him, after he just did everything for you - you scraped together what was left of your vocal cords and said, “I’m alright.” You skimmed your fingers along his chest, and again, his muscles flexed beneath your touch. “Johnny.”

“Yeah, kid.”

“You won’t…” The next words caught in your throat. You thought of your parents, who had tried to sell you off because they believed you were nothing. You thought of that woman who had clicked you like it was a second nature to her. You thought of your own doubts and fears that taunted you like bad dreams that wouldn’t go away even after you woke up. “You won’t leave me… will you?”

Johnny’s grip around you tightened, and he pet your hair soothingly. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he said, and there was something about his tone that made you believe this wasn’t just a promise to you, but to himself, as well. As if he’d loved and lost before; as if he refused to let this crash and burn, even if it killed him in the end. “I’m never letting you go.”

[tearsucry]

Tara Carpenter bottom smut?

— °˖ ⊹ ꒰ ☘️ ꒱ summer-like love ; tara carpenter (scream)

#. (set between scream v and scream vi)

content warning. MDNI, nsfw content, fem/gn reader, outdoor sex, fingering (tara receiving), pre-established relationship, making out, some dirty talk, semi clothed sex

a/n. first request in the box !!! hope you guys enjoy :)

time was flying and it felt like you haven’t even gotten started with packing up for moving to new york. it felt a little surreal after what happened with tara but what mattered was moving on and they were moving, quite fast actually. “careful,” tara laughs when you nip at her bottom lip, giving it tiny licks to taste her flavored chapstick. “i know, not too visible marks.” you continue for her, pushing her further down on the blanket before reattaching your lips to hers in a heated kiss, tongue and teeth clashing for dominance.

out in the open, enjoying the warm weather in the middle of summer is one thing but being close enough on the blanket that you can feel each other's body heat without moving is another. you've never wanted something so badly as you want to be close with your girlfriend right now, your hands roaming everywhere it can reach. she moans into the kiss as you push your leg between hers, pushing yourself closer until she lets out an almost inaudible whimper. you stop kissing her long enough to suck on her lower lip lightly, once again biting softly to elicit a reaction from her.

"you're such a tease," she complains breathlessly, grabbing a handful of your loose shirt and pulling you back towards her in another searing kiss. "getting there…" you mutter, crawling over on top of her and straddling her to keep her in place by pinning her wrists above her head. she lets out a small groan when you begin sucking on the area underneath her left ear.

god, you love hearing her let such noises out, trying to stop herself from moaning too loud after such small lingering touches. "stop teasing me," tara says breathlessly, trying to pull away to look you in the eye. her gaze is heavy and dark and you're tempted to kiss her harder, deeper but can't keep your hands to yourself anymore.

"you look beautiful," you murmur against her skin, running your fingers through her messy hair, brushing it behind her shoulder before planting kisses along the side of her neck. she whimpers quietly as you trail butterfly kisses along her collarbone, pressing light kisses against the sensitive skin. in contrast, your fingers grazed the exposed skin of her lower stomach.

"wanna hear you say please," you murmur, your fingers climbing under the waistline of her shorts before crawling back out, continuing with the tickling circles. "please, just do it, please." tara sighs, her arms looping around your back and pressing your body closer to hers, trying to get rid of every little gap that here was between the two of you.

you licked, and nipped at her pulse point, not too harsh so no marks formed, but hard enough to send small jolts down tara's body, to heighten her senses, to raise goosebumps along her body. she bites her bottom lip hard and you could tell that she was fighting against the desire to let out any more sounds or move, to do anything to make this moment last longer than it already is."please… please…" she whispers, gripping your shirt once again.

"anything for you." as fast as you can, you undo the button of her shorts and slip your hand under her panties, feeling the slight wetness already pooling on her lower lips. you hum eagerly, slipping a single finger down her slit, spreading her open. she gasps loudly, arching her back as you rub the pad of your finger over her tight entrance, teasingly.

tara groans, her face flushed red and eyes shut tightly closed. you look down at her expectantly and she swallows thickly, eyes still closed. she opens them slowly once you give her time to adjust to the pressure that you're making on her. you smile, loving how eager she looks and knowing that if she weren't already on the verge of coming she would be soon. she shifts under you and you can feel the vibrations in her chest as she huffs heavily. she reaches her hand upwards to your chest, grabbing fist fulls of your shirt and tugging you downwards. you oblige, meeting her halfway, your mouth crushing against hers.

she moans as you deepen the kiss, thrusting into her a little rough as she clutches onto your shoulders with both hands. she shudders against you, her hips beginning to rise in rhythm with your movements, wanting more of you inside her. it makes you think about your own growing wetness but you push those thoughts aside; she is more important than anything. you don't even have to think about anything else when you see her so completely undone under you, gasping for air, looking absolutely gorgeous and completely helpless at the same time. she's never looked prettier.

so you don't waste time on too much teasing now, picking your pace up a bit to speed things up, to give her what she wants. you feel her squirm beneath you but you just grind against her harder. she whines out a quiet moan and you can't help but grin in triumph at finally getting what she wants. it takes all of her self-control to stop from crying out because holy shit you are fucking amazing. you are taking her apart with just your touch and she doesn't want it to end yet, even though she knows it will. she tries to turn her head away from you, but you hold her in place with your hands on her cheeks, forcing her to look at you.

tara gives up, looking at you pleadingly and you smirk. she loves it when you play dirty, even if she doesn't like it. you lean down to kiss her sweetly, whispering "come for me", and god does she need this so bad. she grips at your sides, nails digging into your flesh slightly as she throws her head back and screams. your name falls from her mouth with a low rumble that sends a thrill down your spine and you feel so good.

"feels good, right?" you mumble as you start to work slower inside her, helping her down from the vision-whitening high she was choking on. tara nods, trying to compose herself but there are hardly any coherent words falling from her mouth. she groans, twists and turns a little under you before her body finally falls limp, huffing.

"good, s'good…" she slurs, her eyes closing, breath slowly becoming normal even with you gradually pulling out of her. falling next to her with a slight smile on your face, reaching for the free corner of the blanket and pulling it over her. "gotta keep it a secret."

you laugh as tara nods at your words, mumbling something about this summer heat and how much she needed you to help her with releasing all that stress and worry. it was truly magical, what the two of you had and you never wanted it to end. it was hot, scorching even in the coldest moments and you loved her like no one before.

[teamchasezwrites]

Second Chance (2/3)

Word Count: 7,931

Characters: Damian Priest

Genre: Romance

Summary: some people are worth a second chance. (A Wrestlemania XL Night Two fic)

Part I here

Author’s Note: This is the night told from Damian’s POV. I did watch the BTS video from Gorilla, so any errors are my own.

A heavy case of nerves flowed through Damian’s system as the start of Wrestlemania XL grew closer. The vibe of the crowd already in their seats made its way into Gorilla where plenty of backstage talent and crew members were gathered.

Seth Rollins was there exchanging pre match whispers with his wife, Becky Lynch. The former already dressed in his over-the-top mummer-inspired outfit. It was outlandish but it fit the wrestler to a T.

His opponent, Drew McIntyre was there as well. Their match kicked off night two. Seth’s World Heavyweight Championship title up for grabs.

The purple Money In The Bank briefcase felt like it weighed a hundred pounds in his grasp. Aside from that World Heavyweight Title, the briefcase – securing him an opportunity at a title shot – was the most important object in the room.

He just needed the opportunity to cash in his title shot. Last night during Night One, an opportunity never arose. Roman Reigns never gave him an opening during his tag team match. Plus, he had The Rock next to him. He didn’t want to take the risk of anything going wrong.

Everything had to be perfect.

The venue – Lincoln Financial Field in Philadelphia – was perfect. The city was nearly next door to the city where he got his start in wrestling. A jump across the Walt Whitman Bridge and a quick ride down 42 and he’d be in Atlantic City.

When he arrived at the stadium earlier in the day, he took a moment to walk out on the ramp and stare. Very few other people moved around save for a few crew members double checking wires and camera views. A handful of stadium workers walking through the seats double checking. The feeling of being alone in such a vast space was nearly overwhelming. He felt incredibly small in the grand structure.

Closing his eyes Damian imagined the stadium packed from the field to the very last row at the top of the stadium. The noise of the crowd could almost vibrate the ground beneath his feet. He’d been in that stadium once before with it rocking enough to feel the earth move.

When he’d opened his eyes it wasn’t the ring in the middle of the field he saw but the unblemished green grass with the Eagles logo on the 50 yard line. Unable to stop, his eyes centered himself in the stadium, gathering his bearings and navigated to the section of seats to his right and up to the top where once upon he was there in section 244 seat 26.

Even now, nine years later he could feel those cold temps of the late Sunday night in December. He could hear the cheers of the crowd and the slamming of shoulder pads together. See the white smoke from fireworks popping off from the wing-like canopies at the top of the stadium covering his seat after yet another Philadelphia touchdown. Could feel the soft lips against his in a celebratory kiss. There had been plenty of those that night.

“Yo. Priest you okay?”

Damian shook away the sparkling blue eyes chanting out the spelling of Eagles pumping an arm in the air with each letter to see his teammate and best friend, Rhea Ripley in front of him.

“Nerves man,” Damian stated in a half truth. It was better than explaining how his thoughts got away from him on the absolute most important day of his wrestling career.

“You got this,” Rhea told him firmly, slapping her hands on his shoulders.

“I really can’t believe this is happening….” Inside he was vibrating and it took everything he had to appear calm on the outside.

“You deserve this.”

He pulled her into a hug by a hand on the back of her head. She became his person from nearly the moment they met in NXT. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for her. They were the best of friends.

The show kicked off with Stephanie McMahon and then Drew McIntyre’s music played over the stadium’s system. As Seth made his way to the ring, he pulled the black hoodie he wore over his ring gear over his head. There were plenty of monitors in Gorilla to watch the match, but he couldn’t bring himself to look.

His friends – The Judgement Day faction made up of Rhea, Finn Balor, Dominic Mysterio, and JD McDonagh – were there with him in support. His friends allowed him the opportunity to talk if he needed. They also allowed him to sit in silence. He also had his brothers and father. Even with all the back up, it did little to settle the nerves. He stretched. He meditated bent over at the waist with his hands in his knees and eyes staring at the briefcase on the floor between his legs.

So many changes occurred in the months and days leading up to Wrestlemania, he wasn’t sure another change wasn’t coming. He didn’t know the proper word that would describe the devastation if Creative pulled an audible. This was his moment.

The perfect time.

Sometime later he was standing in the middle of Gorilla with his arms spread out while a crew member worked baby oil over his arms and shoulders. The oil served a couple of purposes. It made it harder for opponents to grip. It also allowed some moves to go off better with the extra fluidity the oil provided. Mainly, it was an aesthetic for visual appearance allowing muscles to pop and appear more defined under the lights.

Then it was time. The crowd roared as Drew’s music hit declaring him the winner and Seth was ducking through the curtain.

Damian turned his head to met Seth coming back at the same time the wrestler was slapping his chest. He reached out with one armed and hugged the worn out wrestler.

“I told you it was all gonna be worth it, baby,” Seth breathed heavily. His body worn out and tingling with pain mostly centered on his knee. He knew there was another surgery in his future but his night wasn’t over yet. “The biggest moment of your life,” he told Damian, slapping his hands on his upper arms. “I am so happy for you,” he gripped Damian’s chin with a hand giving it a small shake. “Enjoy.”

Damian nodded at him as the small smattering of people clapped for the veteran wrestler. He may be older than Seth, but Seth had years in the business on him. Years of being a big name, the top draw. He had mad respect for him.

He blew out a breath and danced on his feet. The briefcase in his right hand. Hands poised in either side of the curtain. A ref – his friend, Eddie – hovering behind him, ready to make that run to the ring with him.

Then it was time.

His music hit and everything else fell away. He was in the zone.

He sprinted down the ramp with the briefcase in hand. The crowd a complete blur. They could be screaming their heads off or sitting in the seats quiet like they were in church. He didn’t know. He circled the ring and lifted the briefcase, ramming it into Drew’s head, knocking the new champion off his feet. The briefcase flew from his hands on impact nearly flying into the stands.

Grabbing it quickly, he shoved the briefcase into Eddie’s hands. “I’m cashing in!” He yelled. “Right now!” He gave a little shove as he let go of the briefcase, barely waiting for Eddie to make his way to the timekeeper’s box before turning his attention back to Drew. Drew still laid on the ground. In the corner of his eye, he saw CM Punk standing on the announce table, a smirk on his face watching the events take place.

He could hear the announcer Michael Cole’s “Priest is cashing right now!” from the announce table.

Picking up Drew from ringside, he tossed him into the ring before climbing in after. He rolled in after the man as Eddie called for the bell.

The bell rang and he wrapped his fingers around Drew’s neck in a choke hold. He placed his other hand on Drew’s lower back and lifted the man high in the air, slamming him down into the mat. Drew bounced in the mat and Damian quickly fell over the man. He wrapped an arm under his leg and rolled his body back. He was laying on Drew’s shoulders, adding his entire weight on the man.

One.

Two.

Three.

Eddie’s hand slapped the mat in quick succession. It could have been hours. Or minutes. That final slap happened and Damian’s ears popped and cleared. The stadium went crazy. He popped off Drew on his knees and threw his arms back in a roar of victory.

His music started playing and he jumped up pumping his arms together before he flexed his arms out to either side, tossing them back as he released another roar. As he lifted his head back up, the dreads slapped him in the face.

“And here is your winner…”

He stalked the ring in a half circle before Eddie was there to present him the title – his title. Damian nearly snatched it out of his hands.

“And NEEEEEEW world heavyweight champion…”

He raised his hands high above his head in victory. The title clutched tightly in the grip of his right hand. Eddie’s hard grip on his wrist holding it up.

“Daamienn Preeeist!"

He released another guttural roar as the fans went wild all around him. Once again he could feel the vibrations beneath his feet as the crowd gave him the loudest reaction of his career.

He climbed through the ropes and jumped down to the ground. His eyes followed the ramp up to the top where he saw Rhea, Finn, Dom, and JD gathered waiting for him. He couldn’t wait to celebrate with them.

Emotions started to swirl in him as he stalked up the ramp toward his friends. After all the years he spent fighting and trying to make it in this business. The sacrifices he made. The people he lost along the way…

“Damian I love you!”

It’s a scream he’s heard a thousand times. Damian wasn’t sure what made him look to his right. He planned on smiling at the woman, maybe sending her a wink and keep moving up the ramp. That all fell away when his eyes met the woman. Shock took over elation and his steps faltered.

She smiled at him and he was taken back to that night in 2013 high above the field when she jumped into his arms jostling the people in the row in front of them who were too excited (and maybe too drunk) to care.

Damian knew he needed to make his way up the ramp and into the Gorilla so the show could go on, but he moved in her direction without thought. The pull was too much. It’s been too long.

He stood in front of her, breathing heavily from everything that’s happened in the last five minutes.

Was it even five minutes from the time he tore through the curtain and now? He didn’t know.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her. People all around her vied for his attention. He felt their touches on his arms and the tickling touches on his sides from people just close enough to make contact. The noise of the crowd faded around him. It felt like he was underwater with the muted noise. People blurred as he stared into her eyes.

“Luis…”

Damian’s breath caught at the whisper of his real name. How he heard it over the crowd, he didn’t know. It just proved he was locked in on her. His feet moved on their own accord and before he knew it she was wrapped up tight in his arms. A feeling of home washed over him. He damned the coat she wore as he pressed his hands into her back. He was probably hurting her as the championship belt was digging into her back, but he couldn’t let the belt go or her. Her hands pressed against his back. His skin on fire where she touched and he wished the contact was skin on skin. He damned the barricade between them that kept them separated from the waist down.

Her body shuddered in his arms and leaned into him. He happily accepted her weight. “Fuck…” he uttered, tightening his hold. Time was of the essence and the window for him to keep standing in her arms rapidly closing.

“I gotta go…” he whispered directly into her ear after ducking his head down and adjusting his arms in an attempt to hide his face from prying eyes and cell phone cameras and online lip readers. His words caused her arms to tighten and her hands to press harder into him.

He wanted to keep her with him forever. He wanted to lift her in his arms and carry her with him to the back. “Please stay,” he pleaded, not sure what he meant. What could he do going forward? “I’ll…” He’ll what? What could he do? He was about to enter pure chaos when he reached Gorilla. There were interviews, photoshoots, press conferences… he dad was back there. His brothers… “Just don’t go.” He settled with, hoping she’ll agree to stay for the rest of the show to give him time to think about his next move. He wasn’t letting her go.

When she nodded her head, he squeezed her in his arms one last time. He slowly pulled away and their eyes met again. Emotions swirled in hers. Sure they did in his too.

The noise of the crowd threatened the bubble they were in. He cupped her face with his hands. The title still clutched in his right hand, he had to settle for his knuckles touching the soft skin of her cheek. Without thought to who was watching, what cell phone was on him, or even what WWE camera had him in view, he ducked his head and pressed his lips to hers. It was quick – much quicker than he would have liked – but stole his breath nonetheless. As he lifted his head, he ran his thumb over her cheek in a soft caress before he forced himself to leave her.

Luis was pushed to the side and Damian appeared once he caught sight of his friends still gathered at the top of the ramp. Reaching the top, he held his arms wide motioning them to come to him. Finn reached him first wrapping his arms around him from the right. Dom from the left. JD met him from the front jumping into the pile before Rhea joined at last.

They jumped up and down in excitement. Hands slapped backs and arms squeezed necks.

“Raise the title up, mate!”

Damian took Finn’s advice and turned around on top of the stage. With his music still playing, he gripped the title in both hands and held it high in the air. He’s friends gathered on either side of him with their arms raised. A cameraman stood in front of him capturing the moment that would live forever.

In Gorilla he was met with applause. Adam Pearce was the first to meet him with a slap to his back. Damian stood there with a huge grin on his face, taking it all on. Arms wrapped around him from behind from JD. He tapped his chest, his heart working double time. Rhea was right there and he drew her to him with his free arm wrapped over her shoulders. Her arms wrapped around his neck in a squeezing hug.

“You’re the fucking champion,” she declared in his ear, her voice wavering as she fought to hold her tears back.

Damian laughed. “Couldn’t have done it without you, Rips.”

“Bullshit,” Rhea spat as they rocked back and forth. “And don’t think I won’t be asking what you were doing with that fan…”

He released her with another laugh and felt his face heat. “You saw that?”

“We all saw that,” Finn was next to draw him into a hug. “Love you man.”

Finn knew every emotion he was feeling and going through having won the Universal Title for Raw back in 2016 when Damian was still taking his licks in the independent circuit. Finn had to relinquish the title the next day because of injury and has been trying to claw his way back to the top title scene ever since. Even though Damian currently held the top title on Raw, he hoped his friend got there.

Damian was then met with Triple H. “Thank you,” he told the man, his voice thick with emotion. It was Paul who gave him this opportunity. Without Paul, he would still be an unknown name stuck down in NXT or even worse.

“You earned this.” Paul said into his ear with accompanying back slaps. “You have worked hard and deserve every moment of this. Just let me know if you plan on making out with a fan every time.”

Damian gave a surprised bark of laughter as the hug broke. “Not a fan.”

His eyes must have given something away, for Paul smiled at him before slapping his shoulder one more time. “Congratulations.”

“Now you don’t gotta carry that stupid briefcase around anymore.”

Damian turned and met CM Punk coming to him. “Hey man,” he laughed. He didn’t say it, but he was probably going to miss that thing. It had been a staple at his side since he won it back in July. Then again, the thing was an embarrassing accessory at times especially when he was going through the airport.

There were so many people congratulating and hugging him. He took it all in. He spent the the longest time in the arms of his father, who hugged him tight as he told him how proud he was. His own eyes welled with tears hearing his father’s voice waver with emotion.

Before he knew it an hour passed by and he was starting to take photos. By himself with the championship title. With Triple H. With Rhea.

“Why do you keep fucking with your leg?”

Damian removed his hand from the inside of his thigh in a quick manner like he’d been caught red handed. “Man, I put on my gear earlier and it ripped right in the seam.” He cocked his knee and reached down showing her where the seam came apart in the middle of his thigh. “I have black tights on under to hide it.”

“You dumbass.” Rhea laughed. “Why didn’t you just go back to wardrobe and have them sew it?” She wrapped her arm around his back while he did the same. They each held their belts up with their free hand.

“I just wanted to be left alone. Everyone I passed in the halls kept asking if I was gonna cash in. I couldn’t get away from it.”

Rhea understood. They all tried to give Damian his space in the hours leading up to the start of Wrestlemania. They didn’t bombard him with questions. They let him have his peace. They talked if he wanted to. Most importantly they were just there for him.

“You gonna tell me what that little scene was after you won?”

Damian knew the questions were coming, especially from Rhea. He wasn’t someone who got embarrassed easily but he felt his face heat. He looked down at the ground, shuffling his feet.

“Come on,” Rhea needled him. “I didn’t know you were seeing someone? You don’t have to keep that from me.” Lord knows it would be nice to be on the advice giving side of relationships after she pestered Damian so much during the early stages of her own relationship with Matt.

“I’m not. Come on. I would tell you.”

“You just randomly pick a fan out of the stands and kiss her?”

Damian shook his head. “Remember when you weren’t sure if you wanted to take a chance on Matt?”

Rhea nodded. She was a mess back then probably still is in some cases. Trying to torpedo her own fledging relationship before it could even start due to her own anxiety and insecurities. “Yeah, you told me a story about…” she broke off and her eyes widened. “That’s her?”

Damian shook his head in affirmation. “Yeah.”

“No shit,” Rhea said in disbelief. During a late night where she once again brought up her fledging relationship with Matt, seeking Damian’s advice. Their relationship was more of a sexual nature, not for lack of trying on Matt’s part. It was Rhea who kept herself at a distance because there were so many issues that could crop up dating a fellow wrestler. A messy break up with a co-worker. Locker room talk. One of them being let go… there were so many reasons that entered her mine. Some sound, most relied on planets aligning, some made up in her head.

‘Why are you taking all this on your shoulders? Matt has a say in all this too.’ Then Damian opened up about an old relationship where the issues were different, the result was the same. He carried it all on his shoulders and didn’t allow the woman to have a say. He made the decision on his own to walk away.

‘It’s one of the biggest regrets that I have.’

“Did you know she was gonna be here?”

Damian shook his head again. “No idea.”

“So what are you gonna do?”

“What can I do?” Damian looked at his friend. “I’m stuck here for who knows how long. I asked her to stay, but again… when can I actually get to her?”

“You once gave me great advice on my own relationship when I wouldn’t get out of my own way.” Rhea moved closer and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “She’s here for a reason, Dame...”

“To watch Wrestlemania…”

Rhea rolled her eyes. “It’s an absolute shock you were able to give me advice with Matt when you truly are an absolute idiot…”

“Hey…” Damian was offended.

“That woman is not here to watch Wrestlemania you idiot. She’s here to see you!”

“I mean…maybe?”

Rhea growled in frustration. She spun away from her friend, walking toward a table where a couple of backstage crew members were gathered. “Anyone have a piece of paper and a pen?”

“Yeah, here.” One of the women reached inside a brown leather bound portfolio. She tore off a piece of paper along the perforated edge.

It was a smaller than the legal pad Rhea saw inside the binder but it would serve its purpose. She grabbed a pen from the scattering of BIC pens on the table. Walking back to Damian, she handed him the objects.

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Write her a note. Give her your phone number.” Rhea found it hard to believe Damian could be this dense. She found it harder to believe she acted this way when Damian was trying to steer her toward the path she wanted to take but was too scared. “If she calls you or messages, then you know she wasn’t just here to watch.”

Damian saw the merit in Rhea’s idea. He couldn’t get away from his backstage obligations. There was no way to truly estimate a time he would be free. She couldn’t wait in the stands forever. A note could be given to her explaining.

He moved away to get some privacy. He held the paper to the wall with one hand before writing just a short line and his phone number. Why he didn’t think of doing this before, he had no idea. His brain was firing on too many circuits with not only winning the championship but seeing her again after all this time.

Without hesitating, he ended the note with an L.

‘Luis…’

He could still hear his whispered name from her lips.

Maybe Rhea was right and she was here to see him.

“Hey,” Rhea pulled a young crew member over to them. “Did you see the woman in the crowd with Damian?”

The crew member chuckled. “We all did.”

“You remember where she was sitting and what she looks like?” Damian folded the note in half, creasing it with his fingers. When the crew member nodded he handed off the paper. “Please give this to her?”

The crew member was gone with a nod.

Later, while he was sitting behind the microphone for his time-slot at the Wrestlemania press conference, changed from his ring gear into a custom suit, his phone vibrated against his thigh. With an ear listening to the question about his title being the ‘workhorse title’, a phrase coined by Seth Rollins, he slipped his phone from his pocket.

‘I’ll be there.’

Those words made him want to throw his hands out to his sides with his fists clenched, throw his head back and roar to the sky like he did in the ring after winning the championship. He settled for a wide grin and turned his attention back to the reporters.

[pascaloverx]

Moonlight

Summary: You and Edward Cullen used to have a romantic relationship. But fate seemed not to believe in the possibility of a vampire and a potential she-wolf being together. Years after your separation, you return to Forks. Edward is committed to Bella Swan, and Jacob Black has his own pack. What happens when, upon your return, you begin to transform into a she-wolf and both Edward and Jacob seem eager to revisit the past with you?

Author's Note: The characters in this fanfic do not belong to me but to Stephenie Meyer and the Twilight universe. The story blends events that happened in the Twilight saga movies with invented ones. If you're enjoying the fanfic, please interact. This story will contain inappropriate language, a possible love triangle, scenes of violence, and romance. This is the possible ending. If there are no further interactions or if no more chapters are desired, consider this the conclusion. I hope you enjoy it.

ELEVEN

TWELVE (FINAL)

Surprisingly, your pack agreed to attend your wedding with Edward. Most of them seem intent on going to ensure your safety in case anything goes wrong, but nearly all are curious to witness your union with a vampire. You pace nervously through Jacob's house, waiting for him and Mr. Black to get ready. Leah left with Bella to find an outfit for her, as going all the way to her house would take too long.

"Jacob, you're taking longer than I normally do to get ready. Are you trying to outshine the groom?" you call out from the living room, your tone laced with mock exasperation.

"Don’t make me laugh, Y/N. I’m already better than your groom without even trying," Jacob responds, stepping into view as he finishes adjusting his shirt.

You can't help but laugh at how clumsy he looks, fumbling with his tie and jacket. "Come here, you idiot. Let me help," you say, moving closer to fix his tie and smooth out the creases in his suit. Jacob stands still, watching you with a smirk as you fuss over his appearance. "What would I do without you?" he teases, his tone light but warm.

"Probably die without me. Fortunately for you, I'll be around for a very long time," you say with a smirk, though you suddenly feel a wave of dizziness wash over you. Jacob quickly steadies you, his hands firm yet gentle as his expression shifts to one of concern. "Are you sure you're feeling alright?" he asks, brushing a thumb against your cheek in a rare display of tenderness.

"I'm fine," you reply, forcing a smile. "I think it's just nerves. Marrying a vampire isn't exactly low-stress, you know," you add, trying to steer the conversation away from your discomfort. The truth, however, gnaws at you. Something feels off. Not just nerves—something deeper, something unfamiliar. But for now, you push it aside, unwilling to alarm Jacob or admit even to yourself that it might be more than pre-wedding jitters.

"There’s no need to worry. Everything will work out, and if it doesn’t, I’ll take you far away from Forks myself. Your safety is my priority," Jacob says, pulling you into a warm embrace. His unwavering support tugs at your emotions, and for a fleeting moment, you feel tears welling up.

"You’re my family, Black," you whisper, your voice thick with sentiment. "And you’re mine," he replies, tightening his hold on you.

Clearing your throat, you step back and try to lighten the mood. "We need to leave soon. I still need to get ready, and Alice has already sent me about ten thousand texts. Apparently, she’s got the perfect dress for me, and even Rosalie is helping." Jacob rolls his eyes dramatically. "Just so we’re clear, you’re the only family I’ve got. The Cullens aren’t included in that deal."

You laugh, playfully smacking his arm. "Fine, fine, but you’ll have to behave at the wedding." Your laughter is interrupted as Bella walks in, wearing one of Leah’s dresses. Her hair is done, her makeup simple but elegant, and the transformation is enough to render Jacob momentarily speechless.

"Wow, Bella. You look... amazing," he says, his voice softer than usual. Bella blushes slightly under his gaze, giving a shy smile. You can’t help but feel a little amused watching the dynamic unfold, but time is pressing. "Alright, let’s go before Alice starts threatening to come here herself," you say, ushering everyone toward the door.

"Leah asked me to let you know she'll be a bit late because Seth disappeared to find something blue for you to wear. She had to go after him," Bella says, her gaze lingering on you and Jacob with a thoughtful expression.

"I think we should get going; Seth and Leah can catch up," Jacob says, and you agree. You need to head to the Cullens' house to get ready for the ceremony.

"I feel like you're forgetting someone, Black. Your father isn’t even finished getting ready yet," you say, raising your voice just enough for Mr. Black to hear. Moments later, he appears in the living room, seated in his wheelchair, dressed in formal attire.

"Tell him, Y/N, that he should remember his father instead of trying to rush out," Billy Black says, gently tapping the wheel of his chair against Jacob's leg. Jacob quickly apologizes for overlooking his father.

"Dear, I’m certain that if your parents were here, they’d be proud of how far you’ve come," Billy says, holding your hand, and you feel a lump rise in your throat, almost bringing you to tears.

"Well, Dad, I’m not so sure they’d be all that proud, considering she’s about to marry a vampire," Jacob says, shattering the emotional moment. Bella smacks him on the back of the head and snaps, "Shut up, Jake."

"I think we should head out already; Alice has sent me another thousand messages asking when I’ll arrive," you say, holding your phone. Shortly after, most of your pack begins making their way to the wedding near the Cullen house. Leah texts to let you know she still hasn’t found Seth but will make it to the ceremony soon.

You arrive quickly, and before you know it, Alice and Jasper whisk you away to a room in the Cullen house where you’ll be getting ready for the wedding. In no time, you’ve showered and are dressed in a stunning wedding gown while Alice applies your makeup and Rosalie works on your hair.

"I don’t see the need for all this fuss, but I do appreciate your help," you say, trying to stay still as Alice finishes your makeup.

"I’m only doing this because my family asked me to. Honestly, I think you should just back out," Rosalie says as she ties up the final touches of your hairstyle.

"Rosalie, give it a rest!" Alice snaps, shooting her a slightly irritated look. "The rest of our family is eager to welcome you as part of this wonderfully dysfunctional family," Alice says, pulling you into a side hug, careful not to ruin your makeup.

"It's all right, Alice; Rosalie’s comments only make me feel like we’re truly family. After all, no family always agrees with everything you do," you say, noticing that you’re finally ready to get married. Honestly, you look like a princess.

"Edward is a lucky man," Rosalie says abruptly before leaving the room.

"I think she’ll warm up to you eventually," Alice remarks as the two of you watch Rosalie step out.

"I hope so," you reply, standing up from the chair as Alice picks up the veil to place over you.

"Let’s go. Edward must be anxious," Alice says as she carefully sets the veil and accompanies you to where the ceremony will take place.

Everyone is there, seated on wooden benches, the aesthetic simple yet beautiful. Everything feels improvised yet sophisticated. Jacob offers you his arm to walk you to Edward, as if he is officially giving his blessing for your union. Edward’s face lights up with a radiant smile as you walk toward him, passing by the wedding guests seated along the aisle.

"You look beautiful," he says as soon as you reach him, placing a soft kiss on your cheek. You feel the urge to cry from sheer emotion as everyone settles in, preparing for the start of the ceremony.

"We are all gathered here to celebrate the union of two beings destined for hatred, who, amidst rancor and discord, found love. Not merely love that was rushed or fleeting, but a love that Edward and Y/N chose to nurture and allow to mature, waiting until they knew it would only enrich their lives," Carlisle says, his voice calm and steady. You and Edward can't take your eyes off each other.

"Edward Cullen, do you take Y/N to be your wife?" Carlisle asks. "I do," Edward replies, his smile unwavering as he finds your hands and holds them gently.

"Y/N, do you take Edward to be your husband?" Carlisle asks, his tone as warm as ever. "I do," you respond, leaning in to kiss Edward as a wave of pure joy washes over you.

But just as your lips meet, Leah bursts onto the scene. Her dress is torn and bloodied, her face a mask of rage. "You damned Cullen, what did you do to Seth?" she screams, her voice echoing through the space. Before you can react, Leah throws Edward with immense force, sending him flying across the clearing. Chaos erupts as gasps and shouts fill the air.

"Leah, calm yourself," you say, moving toward her with some difficulty due to the weight of your wedding dress. "Do you want to start a war here?" you murmur, gripping her tightly to stop her from advancing toward any other Cullen.

The Cullens are visibly on edge. Jasper has already disappeared to check on Edward, who was thrown far across the clearing. Rosalie stands defensively, her expression a mix of anger and wariness.

"They—those damned vampires—started this war, Y/N!" Leah growls, struggling against your hold, her gaze locked on Rosalie.

"What are you talking about?" Jacob interjects, stepping in to help you restrain Leah as she begins to calm, though her breathing remains ragged with fury.

"Seth was attacked. By a vampire," Leah snaps, her voice laced with rage. "Sam took him to the hospital, but the worst part? He muttered 'Cullen' before he lost consciousness." The accusation hangs in the air like a dark cloud. A stunned silence falls over the crowd, broken only by the sound of Rosalie’s sharp inhale and Esme’s quiet gasp.

"I understand that you want to avenge your brother, but think for a moment. If you attack any of them, you'll start a war, you don't know if you can win. Please remember that your brother needs you," you say, locking eyes with Leah. The tension around you is palpable, as if everyone is on the verge of striking.

"Are you taking their side, Y/N?" Leah growls, nearly baring her teeth as she steps toward you. "Leah, she's just trying to keep you alive," Jacob interjects, positioning himself protectively between the two of you. The three of you stand together, almost like a united front.

"I will stand by you, Leah; we are a pack," you say firmly, your voice unwavering. "But think this through. I don’t want anyone getting hurt. There's a human here."

Leah narrows her eyes, her rage simmering but tempered by your words. "Fine. I’ll leave, but this is far from over. And you—" she points at you with conviction, "I hope you truly stand by me, Y/N." With that, she turns and stalks away.

"Jacob, take the pack out of here. I’ll follow you shortly," you say to Black, the weariness in your tone unmistakable. Jacob hesitates for a moment but, realizing this isn’t the time for arguments, nods and begins ushering the others away.

When you turn back, the Cullens are all standing still, watching you in silence—everyone except Emmett, who is nowhere to be seen. Bella is speaking quietly to Edward, whose expression is a mixture of worry and frustration.

"Tell me you don’t believe I hurt Seth," Edward finally says, his golden eyes fixed on you as he steps forward, the world around you seemingly forgotten in his determined stride.

"What I believe is irrelevant," you reply, your tone steady yet firm. "A wolf was attacked by a vampire, and your family’s name is involved. Until Seth can clarify what happened, we can’t take any risks." You barely finish your sentence before Edward’s hands gently cradle your face, as though he’s searching your expression for any trace of doubt or mistrust.

Edward moves toward you and presses a kiss to your lips, soft and sudden; yet, for some inexplicable reason, you push him away, almost as though defending yourself from a threat that does not exist.

“Sorry, I…” you begin, searching for the right words, but he raises a hand, signaling that no justification is needed.

“You’ll choose them over me, as you did before,” Edward murmurs. It’s not a question, but a statement—one laced with disappointment.

“That’s not the point here,” you protest, adjusting yourself and reaching for him, but he steps back, putting space between you.

“I want you to leave,” Edward says firmly, his decision clear. You don’t fully understand him, but you don’t think anything you say now could undo the damage done.

"There's no need to say it twice," you respond to Edward, a certain anger lacing your voice. It feels like the end of your relationship, but it is far more significant than that. The end of love.

"Edward, Y/N, I believe you are both acting in the heat of the moment. Surely, by tomorrow..." Carlisle attempts to mediate, but you can only glare at Edward, fury burning in your eyes. He was the one who sent you away, after all.

"There will be no tomorrow, Carlisle. Thank your family for their hospitality, but from this moment on, we are all enemies," you declare as you turn to leave. What had become an almost definitive goodbye—or so you thought.

Edward's disappointed gaze lingered with you throughout the year you spent away from Forks. You had to flee what had started to feel like home for a reason far greater than Seth being attacked. During that year of absence, you maintained no contact with any of the Cullens, while both the wolves and vampires found themselves in their most chaotic period. Until Seth could awaken, the Quileutes and Cullens struck a fragile agreement to avoid each other. From what you heard, Leah despised the arrangement. But as far as you know, it worked. Once you left, you heard nothing more of Edward or his family.

"Look who’s awake, " Jacob says, rocking Jace in his arms as the baby sucks on his tiny fingers. Your son, Jace, only a few months old—a hybrid of vampire and wolf—is the very reason you had to flee Forks and never returned to see his father.

"Your uncle disturbed your sleep, my son. Such a mean uncle," you say, swatting Jacob's arm lightly before taking Jace from him and holding your baby close. Jace smiles, amused by the interaction. You glance at Jacob, noticing his expression has turned serious, as though he’s hiding something."Spit it out!" you demand, cradling your son.

"I got a message from Sam. Apparently, Seth woke up, and he wants to talk to you," Jacob says, his voice tinged with nervousness, knowing the weight of what it would mean to show up in Forks now—especially with Jace. You had moved to a small house in Brazil, all in an effort to stay far away from anyone.

"This will put Jace's safety at risk, but if Seth needs me to go there to put an end to all this animosity, then that’s what we’ll do," you say to Jacob as the two of you watch baby Jace babble nonsensical sounds.

"To the rest of the world, Jace will be our son, and we’ll leave Forks just as quickly as we arrive. Agreed?" you confirm with Jacob. He gently takes Jace’s tiny hand in his own and replies, "Agreed."

END OR NO...?

[divinehedons]

in darkness and in secrecy

pairing: raider!joel miller x f!reader

word count: ~2.1k

summary: following your escape from the corrupt system of the qz, you run into the worst person possible in the guise of a lone raider.

warnings: this is a dark fic, minors DO NOT interact! non-consensual oral (f receiving) and vaginal fingering, knife play, bondage, reader gets a little cut up from the knife.

note: thank you for 300! please let me know what you think, comments and reblogs are much appreciated!

“Good, you’re awake.” It’s the voice you hear when you feel yourself emerge from the murky depths of sweet, silent sleep. Just then, you knew that your sought-after escape was over, and you were back in the terrifying consciousness of your post-apocalyptic reality. You blink once, twice, attempt to stretch your arms, only to be stopped mid-air by the bindings wrapped around your torso, your arms, tethering you to the chair as you gasp.

You remember the late evening, panicking as you ran through the context of your pack before you slipped out of the QZ. Water, dried fruit, sleeping bag, flashlights, batteries. You look over your tiny room once more, examining for anything that would betray your escape when, inevitably, someone comes looking.

Everything was too chaotic, too dangerous. Even the people that were meant to maintain some sense of order made you more terrified than those who creep along the Earth, the lovechild of life and death producing an unspeakable hell. So you ran, creeping along sewers and diving out of sight at the first sign of trouble. Dawn finds you among decimated cities, feeling the wind pass through for the first time in years. In this silence, you could almost imagine the bustle of pre-apocalyptic life, so unaware, so annoying, and now in nothingness, so treasured.

You remember, too, the sound of the same voice that woke you now. “Well, well, well… who do we have here?”

You tried to run. Truly, you did. If you were meeting your maker now, you’d have the gall to say you fought to the very bitter end. Whatever bitter end was waiting for you. You repeat the same sentiment when your vision clears and you’re finally met with the bearded face of the smirking man holding your head up by the hair. He visibly smirks at the glint of fear in your eyes.

“I don’t know anything, sir, I just want to get away-”

“Sir? You’re just a sweet, well-mannered little thing, aren’t ya, doll?” He leans closer, and you feel him inhale your scent from the very crook of your neck, leaving you frozen and limp in his hold.

–

Normalcy now seemed such a strange word to Joel. Days of waking up to the noise of his fan on hot Texan days, Sarah and her shenanigans, laughter, so much laughter that made his jaw hurt. Those were the days of walking memory, ghosts shaken from the grave. Perhaps that was why he was so taken by you when he saw you that morning. You looked… lived in, domestic. At least, as domestic as was possible in your new modern age.

Funny, he thinks, they used to talk of the future with the hope of flying cars, time travel, endless space– and here you both were, survivors of an apocalyptic event where survival may as well mean a death sentence. Funny, too, that he takes one look at you and he's immediately reminded of those distant drunken nights with the alluring warmth of someone, nights with legs over his shoulders, squeals in his ear.

He initially thought it was the determination in your bones. It is only when he looks at you again now, in the low light of their rendezvous point with your arms bound and your lip trembling, that he realizes just what it was about you. It was your eyes. Superficially meek with the spark of danger beneath the layers. Angelic fuck eyes that would lure God to the very gates of damnation. Maybe he was imagining it. Maybe the sight of a woman after so much depravity was enough of a threshold.

Why should one deny the sins of the flesh at the end of the world?

He tries not to repeat that sentiment as he moves closer to you, letting his tongue traverse your neck, your jaw, the back of your ear. He breathes you in again and he recognizes the soft, familiar scent of femininity that emanates from your very skin. He tries to chase it, almost taste it, chuckling as you tense beneath his hold.

There is the scent of milk– like baby’s skin, rare and treasured. It speaks of warmth, of your body being alive and struggling to live. 

To survive, no matter how many skies have fallen.

He grasps for a pretense, a reason, something to assure himself that he was doing this for something— some benefit that was beyond his own. It comes to him when he remembers the ration cards tucked in your backpack.

"You're from one of those Quarantine Zones, weren't ya?"

—

"Come on, little birdie, tell me your secrets…"

He peers over you like a predator toying with his prey. You feel your knees quake as you struggle against your bindings. You shake your head profusely, begging for him to see reason, for his humanity to prevail. But when you look, you know no answer will satisfy him. 

"No? Not even to tell me where they keep the goods?" You yelp, biting your lip gently. "Or… at least tell me how you escaped?" His hands grapple with the nearest blade, levelling it to your eyesight to show it to you; sharp and stained with someone else’s blood. It was a blade that has already claimed one life; streaked in dried rivulets, metallic smell unmistakeable.

The words escape you before you can stop it. Despite all things, despite the lies you have told yourself, despite the resolutions of blowing your brains out when morning comes. Even despite all that, something inside you still begs to stay alive.

“Are you going to kill me too?”

He laughs again, tilting his head to the side as he regards you in sweet, sweet silence. Like he enjoys the trepidation and sharp fear in your voice. “I was thinking about it, but now you’re making me think about somethin’ else, doll.” He lowers the blade, so carefully against your trembling skin. Slowly, he traces the razor sharp blade against your clavicle, your heart jumping into your throat as you tried to hold your breath. He drifts it slower, making you shiver, making you quake. “Pretty, pretty girl… you’re makin’ this so hard on yourself.” He slips his blade under the front of your jeans, shearing your pants wide open as you squeal from the burning sensation nicking your lower stomach. “That hurt, huh? Let me make it better, sugar…”

He tears your shorn pants off of your legs, taking more rope to tie each leg to the legs of the chairs. He kneels before you, prone like pagan worshippers in the face of their deity. He moves closer, and you clench your entire body with a shaky breath. Then he opens his mouth, tongue tracing along the cut and cleaning the bleed until all that is left is the stark red line of where he touched you. “Naughty, naughty girl…” He sinks lower keen eyes peering between your legs, his breath confirming your worst fear.

Perhaps it was the adrenaline. Perhaps it was the expectation of the violence rearing its monstrous head in our direction. Whatever it was… you have somehow gotten wet.

“Well, well, well… now you really can’t lie to me, sugar.”

For a moment, a brief, rare moment, silence falls throughout your body. It is solitude, it is rare. You wonder if it is acceptance. Your cries, even if your mouth uttered them, were sounds you could not hear. The older man’s chuckling and needling finally fade away, even for just a moment. You take a deep breath. You shut your eyes in an effort to forget those predatory eyes and beastly smirk. They say it goes quiet in the eye of the hurricane. You sometimes wonder if this was it– the moment of no return, where you, and just you, stood at the threshold of something you dared not to comprehend. Just then, the moment was over.

You are taken back to your wild cries, your begging, asking him to stop as his warm tongue traces the slit of your cunt through the worn-out cotton panties you had slipped on the night before. It is wet, sticky, naughty in nature. He devours your cunt through the cloth with a knowing chuckle when you oscillate between wanting to move away and seeking pleasure you never had a chance to understand.

“What is it, peach? Has no one ever tasted you like this?” He hums, moans obscenely, leaning up just enough to tear down your panties with a chuckle at the terror on your face. You shake your head, only to scream as he fucks his dry fingers directly into your unprepared cunt, coating himself in your fluids before taking you by your chin, making you suck your very own fluids while he laughs. “See? Look how much you’re soaking, absolutely creamin’ f’me.”

Did you really want this? Did you really ask for this?

“Good fuckin’ girl, didn’t even dare bite my fingers.” He pulls his hands away, drifting them down to your chest to grope you, one hand pinching and pulling until you screamed. “You ready to talk for me, princess?”

Little birdie starts singing.

"Someone cut through the fence before— I'm not the first one to leave!" You try and say more, only to cry out when those same rough fingers fucked up into your aching cunt. Despite your cries, all you can hear is the rolling of his tongue over his laughter, his face coming so close that his tongue was close enough to lick your cheek. “Please, I gave you everything you asked for!”

You feel him pause against your cheek, looking at you with a small smirk.

“Oh no. Not everything, sweet girl. I still want to see you cum.”

It’s funny how you spent so much time wondering when was the point of no return. You always thought you had a hand in deciding. Of course you were wrong. Perhaps the point of no return is called as such because you became mere purveyor, mere observer to what happens to your own body. Depersonalization made sense when you watch the older man lean down, tearing off what was left of your underwear, revelling in the distant sounds of your sobbing and begging, falling to his own knees to devour you so completely, so desperately that it brings you right back, dragging you to the forefront of your very own consciousness without the option to fade away and disappear. He takes, and he takes you with him in the sudden gush of pleasure from his lips wrapped around your clit and his fingers fucking your walls wide open without waiting for you to adjust to him.

It happens too fast. He fucks you and still he remains insatiable. He cares not if his beard hurts you. Cares not if you scream and cry for every infected to hear around. He damns himself, his own life, his own safety, just to taste the orgasm of a woman, whether she wanted it or not. He literally sucks your pleasure from you, letting you bleed ichor as you moan and cry and scream and beg, taken through waves upon waves of unbelievable, incomprehensible pleasure. You swore your vision turned to white right then and there, battered and broken upon your skin as you whine.

You felt almost guilty, rejecting such pleasure as if it was so readily available for the rest of the world. As if everyone felt such pleasure so easily. As if there was little to no suffering in the world.

He watches you orgasm, struggling against your bindings, falling limp against the chair as he grins up at you, beard soaked and cheeks red from how breathless he had gotten. You try not to look at him as your eyes well with tears of shame. “Should just keep you here, doll. You enjoyed that too much, no?” You try to disagree, squirming as he pulls you by your hair and presses your mouth over his clothed hardness, a stark reminder that he wasn’t at all finished with you.

Strange, you think, that when you think of when everything changed, you would always think of this. Just this. In darkness and in secrecy, Joel returns to you from the strange workings he does. 

Strange, you think. Because you left one prison just to be taken right into another.

[chrysalind]

numeracy

pairing: hanamaki takahiro x reader x matsukawa issei wc: 2.7k tags: pre-relationship, fluff, light angst, angst w/ happy ending, polyam, jealousy, implied iwaoi

“Truth or dare?”

You grind the heel of your sandal into the already packed sand below your feet. The air in front of you, warmed by the bonfire, must be at least ten degrees hotter than the dark void of brisk summer night at your back.

Hanamaki knocks his knee against yours, as if to egg you on, and the heat in your cheeks only intensifies. You make a small note of correction: the difference in temperature must be closer to fifteen.

“Truth,” you reply, not even considering the alternative. A chorus of groans sound from the other students and you count eight pairs of eyes on you, sixteen in total. Most are half-lidded from drink, but Matsukawa’s, you note, as they lazily meet yours, are just always like that. The smirk he wears is foreboding.

“Have you ever—” he leans forward and you swallow. Others look on in bated breath.

“—been with more than one person at a time?”

You blink, confused by the openness of the question. “Like…sex?”

He shrugs and shadows move jauntily across his torso as he waves his hand. “Sex, relationships, whatever.”

He says it casually, like he’s asking you whether you prefer coffee or tea. Like the discussion of polyamory, is as simple and commonplace as saying you like both drinks, depending on your mood.

But maybe his demeanour is so startling to you because you’re so sorely lacking in experience. After all, it was just last year that you’d finally grown comfortable being that close with one person, much less two. Yes, two is a good number for you; even, divisible, and simple enough.

“No,” you shake your head, grateful for an easy answer. “I’ve never even… I’ve never even dated more than one person at once.” You punctuate your answer with a laugh—a short giggle that you force out of nervousness more than anything. Thankfully, others—and Hanamaki, to your right—react in kind.

The game moves on when you call upon Oikawa, who theatrically accepts the dare of taking a moonlit dip in the ocean. As he runs off toward the nearby shore, Iwaizumi, who makes a big show of groaning and standing up, stalks off into the dark after him, mumbling something about making sure he doesn’t drown himself.

Their departure pauses the game and drunken chatter breaks out among the group almost immediately.

“You cold?” Hanamaki asks, long lashes casting shadows atop his cheeks. In the light of the fire, you can see two of the three freckles that sit on his left cheekbone, forming the base of what you’d previously observed to be an almost perfect equilateral triangle.

“A little,” you admit, feeling the cider slosh in its can as you make a show of rubbing your bare upper arm.

He shrugs off his zip-up sweater and drapes it over your shoulders, blanketing you in its warmth. You revel in the feeling—in this display of kindness, of affection—that had only grown more frequent between the two of you in the past few weeks. He leans back, as if to appraise you in this state, and a soft maritime breeze ruffles his bangs. One, you think, is more than enough for you. Especially if the one happens to be Hanamaki.

Oikawa returns in the next minute, dripping wet and glorious, wearing a teeth-chattering grin that doesn’t relent until he’s parked squarely in front of the fire. He had evidently neglected to take off his clothes before running into the surf and was now wearing a soaked pair of board shorts and Iwaizumi’s hoodie.

The other boy isn’t far behind him, a long-suffering scowl on his features as he takes his previous place. No one mentions that his clothes are also noticeably damp in many places, but a few giggle.

“Now,” Oikawa says, sweeping his gaze across the circle of their peers. He pushes back a lock of sopping wet hair, the action far more charming than could be replicated by anyone else. He zeroes in on a girl near the periphery of their group; a doe-eyed track athlete who you’d never seen out of athleisure.

“Sumire,” he singsongs, drawing out all three syllables of her name, and she leans back, playfully rolling her eyes. From the way she sways, you can tell that she’s had a good amount to drink, not unlike everyone else.

“Dare,” she puts forward with a grin and a wave of oooh’s ripple throughout your small group.

Oikawa makes a thoughtful noise, the fire in front of him dialing the mischievous light in his eyes up to a ten. “I dare you to kiss either Haruka or…” He scans the group once more, never pausing until—

“…Makki.”

Your mouth goes dry as you watch the two men share a smirk. Beside Sumire, Haruka tosses her hair and laughs before jokingly dodging a kiss from the taller girl.

“I guess Haruka won’t kiss me,” Sumire sighs dramatically before standing up. She strides across the circle, the drink making her swaying look more alluring than clumsy. Jealousy roils in you stomach, bitter and acerbic and it takes all your willpower to keep your hands unclenched.

It takes her all of four steps to reach the two of you, her flip-flops stopping just short of the edge of your shared towel. She crouches down in front of Hanamaki, who holds her stare with his own amused gaze. In your peripheral vision, you can see the others watching eagerly, their cheeks high with colour. Even Iwaizumi can’t feign disinterest. Matsukawa’s eyes meet yours and he dips his chin, the evening shadows masking his expression.

“You okay with this?” you hear Hanamaki say, just a fraction louder than a whisper. You turn to him, hope ballooning in your chest, but he isn’t looking at you.

He isn’t looking at you at all.

So it’s a mystery why you remain rooted in place, his sweater around your shoulders, and a desperate, ugly feeling in your chest that only digs its claws in deeper as she leans in.

He tilts his head to receive her and you watch—you all watch—as the kiss unfolds. It’s quick at first, just a brief peck on her lips that causes a laugh to bubble from her lips. She closes the distance again and the kiss morphs in nature; deepening into something less chaste. You freeze as she stumbles forward, her high ponytail fanning over to brush his cheek as he guides her into a straddle.

Nervous laughter sounds across the group and someone even whistles.

The jealousy within you is untenable now, bolstered by the white-hot humiliation that floods your system. You know that you hadn’t imagined the growing closeness between you—the late night texts, the flirty jokes, the invitation to come to this bonfire. So why are you being made to feel so stupid? Why did you have to be here at all?

The thought finally jars something within you, undoing the petrification that had previously taken hold of your limbs. You count three breaths, one inhale and one exhale each, before you uncross your legs to stand. Mumbling something about needing to use the bathroom, you stumble beyond the warm reach of the fire and into the cool night beyond.

Without the heat of the day, the grits of sand that find their way under your feet are damp and uncomfortably cold. You don’t let it deter you, however, as you make a beeline towards the lapping sounds of the shore. Salty air fills your lungs and you sniffle, trying to ignore the burn of moisture in your eyes as you make your way further towards the surf. Thankfully, there are few other groups tonight, scattered so far across the beach that it doesn’t take long for the din of drunken voices to be drowned out by the ocean.

You only stop once you reach a lifeguard tower, steadying your weight against the paint-chipped railing as you try to ground yourself. Your phone lets you know it’s almost midnight and you have half a mind to hike back to the parking lot and call a ride. After all, there’s nothing for you here.

“Hey.”

You whip your head around to face the sudden intrusion.

“It’s just—jeez, that’s fucking bright.” Matsukawa shields his eyes as you turn your phone’s flashlight on him.

“Matsukawa,” you say, putting your phone away.

“You can just call me Issei.” His tall figure, now shrouded in darkness, comes to sit next to you on the steps of the tower.

“I mean, we’ve known each other for…a year now?”

“Seven months,” you correct softly, pulling Hanamaki’s sweater tighter across your arms. “But o-okay…Issei.”

The silence between you stretches and settles, feeling almost comfortable as you sit together and look out at the dark horizon.

“You know it probably didn’t mean anything,” he says, as you slide onto the step above him.

You brush a damp layer of sand from your lower calf and consider feigning ignorance. In the end, you’re unable to shake it off.

“It didn’t look like that,” you say bitterly. “It seemed like he was having a lot of fun, actually.”

“Oh come on,” he says, his curls ruffling softly in the breeze, “you know what Makki’s like. He’s just down for anything.”

You sigh. You know this to be true, you just thought that maybe, just maybe, that something would change because something between you had changed. At least you thought it did.

“Trust me,” Matsukawa says, shoulder brushing against your hip as he leans back. “He likes you.”

“Really?” you breathe, catching the dark shine of his eyes when he turns to look at you.

“Yeah, I mean,” the wooden step creaks as he places his weight on it, “isn’t it obvious?” His gaze flickers down to your Cupid’s bow.

You swallow, suddenly wondering if he can see the stray smudge of tinted gloss on your upper chin.

“Issei,” you begin, your own voice sounding far away. “Do you think he thinks that I’m…”

He tilts his head. “That you’re…?”

“Pretty,” you utter, just above a whisper. You clear your throat. “Do you think he thinks I’m pretty?”

Matsukawa softens. “Of course he does,” he murmurs, shifting to sit on the step beside you.

“I know I do.”

“Really?” you blurt out, cheeks warm.

“Yes.” He gives you a sidelong glance. “I think you’re beautiful.”

Your next action, fuelled by the lingering buzz of liquor, is far clumsier than you’d like. You lean towards him and clumsily crush your lips against his—or at least where you think his lips are—only to miss and bump against his jaw. Thankfully, he only readjusts and smiles into your next kiss, his hand settling on your waist as he moves in closer.

His fingers ghost across your cheek and you draw in a stuttering breath, your mind spinning as he cages you against the worn steps. He plants a knee between your legs, nudging apart your thighs and if you were any less drunk, you think you’d feel a little bit of shame for being so pliant. However, even the thought of it is extinguished when he dips into the crook of your neck and drags his tongue across the hollow of your throat.

“I-Issei.” you squirm, your chest fluttering as he slips his hand up the hem of your shirt. He moves back up to kiss you, open-mouthed and languid as you continue to moan into his mouth.

It’s only a few seconds later when a cough sounds somewhere to your right and you yelp, scrambling backward as Issei looks up.

“Hey man,” he says to Hanamaki, still caging you beneath him.

“Oh my god,” is the only thing you’re able to utter. Your eyes dart between the two men, your chest tightening as the shock causes your limbs to lock in place.

“What’s up?” Hanamaki asks, sounding entirely calm. Amused, even.

Matsukawa’s eyes land on your shocked expression and it takes three whole seconds for him to back off of you.

“You know,” he replies, winking at you before turning away, “just hanging out.”

“Can I—?” Hanamaki asks, motioning towards you and Matsukawa stands up.

“Yeah, for sure.”

You watch as Matsukawa jaunts off the last step of the tower, steps softened by the sand as he walks away. Swallowing, you stare down at the ground, your pulse thundering in your ears as Hanamaki approaches you.

“Hey,” he says softly, wood creaking with his weight as he takes a seat beside you. “Can we talk?”

An agonizing mix of embarrassment and anger causes your throat to stick.

“Sorry about before, I just…” He reclines, planting an elbow between you. “It was just a stupid dare.”

“Didn’t look that way to me,” you snark before cringing at your own hypocritical nature.

“I know,” he mumbles. “But I promise that I don’t like Sumire like that. And I know that it was fucked up for me to kiss her like that in front of you, especially when—”

You glance up at him.

“—especially when I know how you feel about me.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks and you snap your gaze away again. You hear the water recede across the shore.

“Do you like Mattsun?” he asks as you watch a small wave lap across the sand.

“What?” Because that wasn’t the question you were expecting.

“Mattsun,” he reiterates, a half-smile playing at his lips. “Do you like him?”

“I—” you knit your brow, brain scrambling to piece together an appropriate response. You try not to think of your neck, still sensitive from the light drag of his teeth across your pulse point. “N-not in the way that I… I mean, I don’t really know him as well as—”

“It’s okay,” Hanamaki continues, entirely unperturbed. “I know he likes you.”

“Oh.” You twist your fingers into the sleeve of his sweater.

“I like you too,” he adds and you blink. “I like you a lot.”

“I-is that so?” you reply, stunned. You’ve thought about this moment in a dozen different ways, cycling through different settings, details, and ways he could finally, finally say something, but never in a million years could you have predicted this.

“I think we should spend more time together,” he suggests with an easy smile. Not so far in the distance, you spot Matsukawa near the shore. “All three of us, I mean.”

He takes your hand in his, rubbing his thumb into the soft flesh of your palm.

“Would you like that?”

The gears turn slowly in your head, the situation still feeling hard to grasp as all the point are laid out in front of you.

You bite the inside of your cheek. “Can I think about it?”

“Of course,” he says breezily, before pulling you to your feet. “Take all the time you need.”

As if sensing the timing of the conclusion of your conversation, Matsukawa makes his way back toward you.

“We should really get back though.” Hanamaki says, as he leads you down the tower. “Before Iwaizumi thinks we all ran drunk into the sea and calls the coast guard.”

He keeps his hand in yours as you make your way back up the beach and Matsukawa falls in step beside you. You look up when his knuckles brush against the side of your arm and he gives you a knowing smirk.

Two is a good number for you, you think as you tentatively return his smile.

But three?

Three might be even better.

[amberskywrites]

Brewing Storms

Fic Masterpost | Ao3 Link

Fandom / Genre: Stardew Valley / Kinda fluff?

Pairing: (Pre)Sebastian/Elliott, Sebastian & Elliott

Prompt: Requested by @cooltuna69 :

My idea is that Sebastian goes to beach on a rainy day but slips and falls in the ocean, and Willy isn't home and his house is way too far away so he has no choice but to ask Elliott for help.

Warnings: Very mild injury, storms, lmk if I need to add anything else!

Summary: Sebastian is on the beach during a rainy day, as he often does, but this storm turns out to be worse than normal. He's forced to take refuge in Elliott's cabin, but really, is that such a bad thing?

Today had already been a pretty shitty day, even though it was raining.

His mom had barged into his room early in the morning no less than seven times, Demetrius had made yet another comment about Sebastian potentially moving out, and Maru had gotten a raise from Harvey which just led to being compared to her even more by both his mom and Demetrius.

This really felt like the last straw, and Sebastian isn’t even entirely sure how it happened.

One moment, he was standing on the docks, smoking a new pack of cigarettes, his umbrella clenched in his other hand doing little to shield him from the onslaught of rain, providing just enough cover to keep his cigarette and face dry. The next moment, he was in the water, being dragged under and was narrowly slammed into the pillars of wood supporting the old docks.

Sebastian grappled until he felt something and yanked himself up, sputtering and coughing when he was able to push his head over the water’s surface, and he just barely managed to secure his hold before another wave tried to push him away again.

He shuddered against the wood he was clinging to, looking around frantically. He was under the docks, kinda. From the looks of it, he had been swept from the pier closest to the Lonely Stone to the pier closer to Willy’s shop.

Bracing himself, Sebastian grit his teeth and pushed himself further above the water’s surface, and just as his head brushed the wood above, he propelled himself back enough to grab at the edge of the dock with both hands.

One slipped and he cursed, feeling the burn as salt water hit the broken skin, but he reached for the wood again, getting a better grip before another wave could push him back under the water or docks again. He pulled himself out and up, using the surging water to at least save some of his energy.

By the time he flopped onto the wet wood, he was panting heavily and his hoodie was seemingly trying to glue him to the docks. He groaned into the paneling below, forcing himself onto hands and knees, and then shakily onto his feet. The wind and rain seemed to get worse—at least it felt worse, maybe because his umbrella had been lost to who knows where—and he hugged himself despite how his clothes were already growing colder and clinging to his skin.

He treaded as quickly as he could to Willy’s shop, slumping against the wall under the overhang. Knocking as hard as he could on the door, he shuddered as the overhang only slightly saved him from the biting wind.

Nothing. Sebastian couldn’t hear much over the wind and crashing waves anyway, but he’s pretty sure he couldn’t hear anyone inside.

Frowning, he knocked again, hopefully louder.

It wasn’t until the third knock did he finally notice the note in the window and groaned.

Closed until Saturday - On fishing trip.

“Just great,” Sebastian muttered, glaring at the little paper before huffing and looking out at the restless water.

Home was too far—at least in this weather without better rain gear. And it was definitely getting worse—the water was sloshing through the wood of the docks occasionally, and Sebastian figured it was only a matter of time before it became a constant submersion. With how soaked he was, he also wasn’t gonna be getting anywhere quickly, that was for sure. Already his clothes were growing heavy, almost like they were trying just as hard as the wind to drag him back into the water.

He’d still have to trek farther than he probably could at the moment to get to the Saloon—and Gus might not even be open at the moment. He usually closed earlier when the weather was this bad.

He thunked his head on the shop wall with a loud huff, glaring up at the water dripping off the roof.

Well. There was one place he could probably manage dragging himself to.

Ten minutes later and no less than three stumbles and two actual near-faceplants into the wet sand and Sebastian found himself in front of Elliott’s cabin. The windows were fogged and blurry from the rain and cold, but he could see a faint light emitting from inside, and so with one hand steadying himself against the wall, Sebastian knocked hard on the wooden door.

Sebastian once again didn’t hear anything and was about to knock again or curse his fate when the door swung open, and Sebastian was suddenly face to face with a frazzled-looking Elliott.

Elliott blinked down at him, his brows furrowing for a moment as though he couldn’t quite comprehend what he was seeing, but before Sebastian could even open his mouth to say, well, anything really, it seemed the older man got a hold of himself, jolting and reaching for Sebastian.

“What in the name of Yoba are you doing?!” Elliott demanded as he hauled Sebastian inside, the door practically slamming closed behind him. “Are you mad? Weather like this could be considered a death sentence!” Sebastian had to put his hands out to stop himself from barreling into Elliott’s chest, blinking in momentary shock as his brain reoriented itself.

Suddenly he felt even colder than just a few minutes ago, while also feeling like he was burning, it was so warm in the cabin. Sebastian shuddered harshly at the dual temperatures, and the next thing he knew, Elliott was helping him out of his hoodie.

“Sebastian, truly, what happened? I know you are not so foolish as to brave this weather without some protection against the elements.”

With the hoodie alone gone, Sebastian feels hotter but melts into the heat, welcoming it for a change. His shirt, pants, and shoes are still soaked too, but at least he doesn’t feel quite as constricted anymore. He watches Elliott hang his hoodie over a chair to dry and is beckoned to enter the cabin further.

He shucks off his shoes as he answers, wrapping his arms around himself even more. “I was enjoying the rain, having a cigarette, and I guess I didn’t notice the water getting so high, and I think a wave knocked me in?” He doesn’t mean it to sound like a question, but he really isn’t completely sure how he fell into the water. It’s his best guess, though.

Elliott looks him over more critically after that, and the concern in his eyes is almost palpable. “You aren’t hurt, are you?” he asks, though Sebastian doesn’t miss how his eyes linger on his hands, tucked beneath his arms and out of sight.

Sebastian cringes and holds out the injured hand, getting a look at it himself for the first time. Elliott approaches and takes it into his own, and Sebastian is surprised by how large Elliott’s hands are, even more so by the callouses that scratch lightly against his skin as Elliott tilts his hand around, examining it closely.

It’s not a bad wound, but the skin broke deep enough that it was clearly bleeding at some point, and when Elliott traces a finger over it gently Sebastian hisses.

Elliott looks him head to toe and back up, tilting his head down at Sebastian before looking around his cabin.

“You’re still quite cold,” he observes. “If you’re comfortable, I may have some spare clothes that would fit you, if you wish to get into something dry. I can look for my first aid kit in the meantime.”

“Dry clothes sound great now, actually,” Sebastian nodded, and Elliott smiled slightly at him before walking to his dresser to pull whatever he had in mind out.

The next few minutes passed in relative quiet, and when Sebastian was done changing and Elliott nudged him towards his bed to sit, the silence between them was more comfortable than Sebastian thought it would be. Elliott worked diligently to disinfect Sebastian’s scrape, and Sebastian watched him work.

It gave him time to think.

He was quite comfortable, actually, despite the burn of the alcohol on his palm. Elliott had handed him a maroon knitted sweater and some sweats that, while pretty large on Sebastian, were easily adjustable—Sebastian was just stunned that Elliott, who he had never seen in anything besides a suit or nice dress shirts, even owned. The cabin itself was small, and the storm was still raging outside, but it was quite cozy, lanterns and candles creating a yellow and orange haze.

It wasn’t terrible either, Sebastian mused, that he’d been getting to know Elliott a bit more before this.

Really, it had been Sam’s fault. Sam had wanted to get to know the farmer more, and the farmer hung around Leah and Elliott most of the time at the saloon, though Leah hadn’t been coming lately according to Elliott. Sam didn’t want to just approach alone though, and with Abigail grounded at home, it fell on Sebastian to be there for him. It was the first time in a long while that Sebastian had seen his best friend so nervous to get to know someone, which he’d refuse to admit aided in Sebastian being less grudging to hang out with the farmer and Elliott for the night. He had bit back his teasing of Sam, if only because Sam seemed genuinely really invested.

Sebastian was not expecting to actually really enjoy spending time with the farmer and Elliott—or rather, mostly just Elliott since Sam hoarded much of the farmer’s time.

They’d gotten to talking about their careers, and Sebastian had been surprised by just how much their jobs made them alike. How much they liked doing what they did.

Elliott had been fascinated to learn that Sebastian was a programmer, and asked dozens of questions, and Sebastian… Sebastian had never had more fun talking with someone.

Don’t get him wrong, he loved hanging out with his friends, but there were some things they just didn’t quite get. Really, Sebastian hadn’t really found anyone who understood what he did for work, or why he did it.

He was surprised by just how much of it Elliott understood.

Sebastian was even more surprised by how much he liked hearing Elliott talk.

He enjoyed hearing about the progress of his novel, the way he spoke about the structure of plots or character arcs or world building reminded him much of how he had to program things sometimes. And the creativity itself… Sebastian really enjoyed when Elliott would bounce ideas off him, because each scenario was often more unique than the last.

And then it happened again and again. Either he, Sam, and Abigail would join Elliott, the farmer, and sometimes Leah at their table, or they’d wander over to the saloon’s side room and join them on the arcade games or in a round of pool. And it wasn’t until once he was in bed that Sebastian realized he spent so much of the time talking to Elliott, and just Elliott.

“Something on your mind?” Sebastian was brought out of his thoughts by Elliott’s voice, and blinked down at his bandaged hand.

“Nothing important, really,” he lied easily—he would not admit he was coming to some conclusions about some new feelings for the man sitting right beside him, not right now. “This just got me thinking, what were you doing before I crashed in here?”

Elliott tilted his head, studying Sebastian’s face. Sebastian could feel his ears heating up under the scrutiny this close, and hoped his damp hair was enough to hide the blush. Whatever Elliott was looking for, Sebastian wasn’t sure if he found, but the writer shrugged and turned away, settling more comfortably onto his bed beside Sebastian.

“I was working on my novel,” he said with a sigh.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. That was a decidedly not a happy sigh. “Something wrong?”

“I’ve been stuck for the past week!” Elliott exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air and slumping back to the cabin wall. “I don’t know, the words are just not coming. Every time I try and reorient the story, it’s like the characters are demanding to go into a different direction, into a different story.”

If it weren’t such an undignified term for such an expression, Sebastian would have said Elliott was pouting. It was almost surreal, to see him this disheveled and frustrated.

He shook his head, thinking back. Elliott was trying to write a romance, last Sebastian was told—and it had been going quite well, according to last week’s little talk. At least that’s what Sebastian had assumed, after seeing how enthusiastic Elliott had been to talk about it. He’d finished plotting everything out, finally figured out an ending, and seemed quite happy with what he had come up with.

What could have changed?

“What kind of direction are the characters trying to take it?” Sebastian asked, settling more into Elliott’s bed as well, pulling his feet up and leaning against the wall. “Like. Was there a tone change somewhere?”

Sebastian dealt with that a lot, when playing Solarian Chronicles with Sam and Abigail. The game would shift in tone depending on the day or what they were focusing on, and Sebastian would have to adapt the story to fit the tone. And it was infinitely easier to go along with the change rather than trying to force things to remain as planned.

“Well, I don’t know, I keep writing the characters speaking cryptically, or observing things that seem at first glance fine but when I reread, it seems ominous or strange because I’m dragging attention to it. But I want those details included as well.” He sighed, heavier this time than before. “Maybe it’s the books I’ve been reading…”

He said it in a murmur, but Sebastian still caught it, and it was his turn to tilt his head at Elliott, brows furrowing slightly.

“What kind of books have you been reading?”

Sebastian was treated to the pretty picture Elliott made when he blushed—and he would shove those thoughts away later, when he was safely tucked into his own bed and not thinking about today, thank you, but for now, he just enjoyed the flush that crossed over Elliott’s tan skin. The man seemed embarrassed over the genre at first, and Sebastian couldn’t imagine why, unless he was reading erotica or something, but Sebastian highly doubted that would lead to him writing cryptic dialog and ominous details.

Well, Sebastian thought, briefly remembering the few times he’d explored that genre himself and ended up being thoroughly creeped out, those aren’t the intended implications.

Elliott cleared his throat. “Um, actually, after you mentioned last week enjoying the mystery and thriller genres, I decided to pick up a few of your recommendations. Since then, I suppose I couldn’t get it out of my head about trying my hand in the genre myself.”

It took a second for Sebastian to realize what Elliott had said at first—the fact that he remembered what Sebastian liked reading, the fact that he found and read those books as well, sent a happy flush through Sebastian’s entire being, as cheesy as it may seem. And then the last part of his statement hit, he wanted to try writing a mystery or thriller because of him—indirectly most likely, but still.

Again, not the time to evaluate how that made him feel.

“How far are you in the book?” Sebastian asked.

“Not as far as I’d like, I’m afraid,” Elliott practically grumped.

“Well, why not turn it into a mystery or thriller?” When Elliott just raised a questioning brow at him, Sebastian smiled slightly, turning more towards Elliott. “We got into it last week, right, debating which genre was better? Romance and horror edge a fine line, just shift the tone a little, and a romance can be turned into a horror story or a horror turned into a rom-com.”

Elliott blinked at him, and for a moment, the wind roaring outside was the only thing that filled the air.

Then Elliott was leaping to his feet, Sebastian barely moving out of the way in time as Elliott spun around and grabbed his shoulders, shaking him ever so slightly.

“My dear Sebastian, you are a genius!”

Sebastian watched the man dart to his writing desk, scooping up his phone, the notebook, and pens scattered across it. Elliott dashed back to the bed, and wordlessly the two got comfortable leaning against the wall, a respectable distance between them. Elliott passed him the phone and spread the notebook out on his lap, flipping to a blank page.

After texting his mom with Elliott’s phone — letting her know where he was, and that he’d likely only be able to get home in the morning — Sebastian shifted just a little closer to Elliott, enough where he could feel Elliott beside him even if he closed his eyes, and settled in to watch Elliott work through his writing process.

[strawheart-pirate]

Sabotage

Trafalgar Law x gn!Reader

December 17th 2023 Words: 1281 CW: SFW / fluff / no/pre relationship / some swearing / an annoyed captain

You were anchored on an island where some sort of winter festival was taking place, and you were eager to skate around the ice rink. Unfortunately, your captain wasn't in the mood for any fun... was he?

You walked back to the Polar Tang, which was anchored in the harbor, your arms full of groceries. Your captain walked beside you, also packed, and you noticed that he relaxed more and more as you got closer to the Tang. He had been in a bad mood since you entered the city because it was so crowded. There was a winter festival on the island and the city was teeming with people. The crew and you were excited and you talked to Shachi, Ikkaku and Hakkugan about maybe staying a day and joining the festivities. You had seen that there was even an ice rink, and you would die just to strap on some skates and take a few laps. But your dreams and wishes came to a quick end, because yes... unfortunately, you knew your captain better. The moment you asked him to stay for the night to enjoy the party, his mood took a turn for the worse and the death stare he gave you said it all. He ordered the crew to replenish their supplies as quickly as possible so they could all leave. So, with a heavy heart and a wistful look, you bid farewell to the festivities and the ice rink with every step you took toward the Tang.

Just as you're putting everything away in the pantry, you hear a loud crash and Shachi yelled from the deck. "What the fuck, Penguin! You ran in the direction of the shouting and saw a stuck Penguin. A plank of the deck had broken when he stepped on it, and now he was half stuck in the submarine. You giggled at the sight, but stopped immediately when your captain approached the mess, a scowl on his face as usual.

"You're going to fix this..." he growled through clenched teeth at Penguin. "And you help him, no one else." He pointed at Shachi.

Shachi was tempted to disagree, but he didn't dare say anything back. Instead, he glared at Penguin, ‘grateful’ for the extra work.

"We probably won't leave the harbor tonight, but...if I catch anyone ashore, I'll make them help fix this mess." Law ordered in a deep, stern voice and then went to his quarters.

The crew dispersed with mixed feelings, and you helped Shachi get Penguin out of the hole. The damage was much worse than a broken plank. You could even see inside the ship through the hole, and metal, wood, and even pipes needed repairing. You looked at the boys with pity before you said goodbye. Better follow captain’s orders and not upset him any more...

Later that night, you lay on your bed and looked out your window. The constant hammering of Shachi and Penguin echoed through the Tang as you gazed longingly at the island. The lights of the Winter Festival still looked enchanting, and you still carried a heavy heart for missing the opportunity to skate on the ice. Suddenly, you saw fireworks in the distance and pressed your nose to the window. It was a beautiful sight, and a small smile crept across your face. Even if you couldn't enjoy the activities, you could still enjoy the fireworks. You were about to change your clothes and go to bed when the blue light of your Captain's Devil Fruit powers filled the room.

What's he up to now? You asked yourself, and a second later you were standing in a side street in the middle of the city, your captain beside you. You looked at him, confused.

"Here, put this on," Law said, handing you a jacket. His gaze was hard and neutral, giving nothing away as to what he was up to.

"Um... thanks." you said and put the jacket on before you started to shiver. It was freezing cold and dark, not a soul to be seen on the streets as the festival was over for the day. "Why are we here?"

"I want to show you something, let's go." Law said in a neutral voice, showing no emotion, and started walking.

You followed him closely, curious what he was up to. "I thought no one was allowed to go ashore?"

"No one but us."

It sounded like there was a slight playfulness in his voice, but you weren't sure, so you decided not to pay any further attention. It's better not to annoy the captain again. It was always like dancing on a razor's edge with him. Especially when you couldn't read his eyes because he walked ahead of you.

You followed him through dark, narrow corridors, wondering where he was going. With his powers, he could easily get you anywhere on the island, and yet here you were, walking for at least half an hour. You knew that his powers always took their toll on his stamina, but this walk was no better...

Just as you were about to ask again, Law stopped and you almost bumped into him.

"Close your eyes," he ordered, and you obeyed. You were nervous, your heart beating a little faster when he put his hand on your shoulder. "Room. Shambles." You felt the sudden change in atmosphere and the slight dizziness that occurred every time he teleported you. Thanks to his grip, you didn't lose your balance.

"Now open your eyes." He said softly, his cold and stern voice gone.

You frowned at the change in his voice and blinked, opening your eyes to see the ice rink. It was dimly lit and there was no one in sight. "Did we just break into the rink?"

Law just grinned and handed you a pair of skates.

Although it was rare for you to see your captain smile, your attention was immediately focused on the skates. A beaming smile spread across your face and you quickly put on your skates. Your heart did a backflip because you were so happy to be able to skate a few laps. You didn't know how your captain knew or why he was doing this, but you were overjoyed and didn't question it. You wanted to enjoy this opportunity to the fullest. After putting on your skates, you stepped onto the ice and a familiar feeling shot through your veins as you glided smoothly across the ice. You turned and watched as Law stepped onto the ice. Law took careful steps, his hands gripping the boards with a firm grip, and you had to stifle a laugh.

"Have you ever skated before?" you ask Law, who is watching you from the edge of the rink, still gripping the board tightly.

"No." He replied with a growl, and you glide over to him with gentle tugs.

"Give me your hand, Captain. I can help you." You smiled at him and held out your hand.

"I can do it myself." He growled and pushed himself away from the board. He made it a short distance until his feet drifted apart and he twisted his arms to keep his balance and not fall over.

Just before his feet slipped away, you caught him under the arms and lifted him up before he could fall. "Gotcha. Still don't need any help?"

He turned away, hiding his flushed cheeks in the high collar of his coat. Instead of an answer, he grabbed your hand, so you slowly slid forward, a smile on your face as he copied your movement. By the time the two of you had completed a full lap, Law was much more confident on his skates.

"Thank you." He said quietly, almost in a whisper.

"Sure thing, Captain." You said, smiling. Just as you were about to withdraw your hand, his grip tightened.

"Call me Law."

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[broomsick]

Hey norse pagans! *Leans close and whispers*

Reconstructing historical festivals and holidays is especially tough for us, isn’t it? Because there’s just so little evidence of anything, and even though Håkon the Good gave us a pretty good idea of some historical practices, it’s far from enough to have a clear idea of the actual celebrations, right? Plus, I bet your schedule’s tightly packed and that at least twice a year, you find yourself going: “Is it already [insert holiday]???”, and “crap, I forgot to prepare this or that for [insert holiday]”. Well my friend, let me tell you two important tips I’ve learned from years of trying to keep up with the proverbial wheel of the year. The first: holidays aren’t mandatory, especially not if you practice paganism alone, and especially since we know so little of holiday celebrations within germanic tribes, and during the Scandinavian Iron Age. Second *leans closer*: there’s nothing keeping you from making up your own festivals! If history hasn’t left us a lot of evidence on how your main deity/deities was worshipped, who’s to keep you from picking a spot on the calendar and going: “this day is all about [insert deity]”. You’ll have the possibility of listing out pre-determined rites and offerings. Are you going to sing songs? Recite poems? Decorate? Is there a symbol that’s prominent on that day? There are many ways to honor deities, and it’s fun to give oneself a chosen structure to follow when it comes to deity worship. Plus, it’s all the more rewarding to celebrate the seasons according the weather in one’s own area! I’m usually not in the mood to celebrate the coming of spring when it’s still -30 Celsius outside. In that regard, I give myself the leeway to diverge from historical practice and to celebrate the coming of spring when its does actually start to feel like spring! The crops are reaped a bit earlier than the 31st of October, in my area. For this reason, my Álfablót usually happens halfway through that month, and is spread out onto three days (the first for the ancestors, second for the álfar, and third for Freyr). So don’t hesitate to think up your own little holidays, and play around with the freedom it gives you! Just to give you guys a few ideas of where to start with this, I’ll add a little “holiday starter pack” right below!

Step one: choose the date! Is there a day of the week that’s associated with your chosen deity/deities? A season, or type of weather in particular? Maybe a time of day?

Step two: figure out the general “mood” of the holiday. Do you want it to be a time to party? To be grateful? To connect with loved ones? To be at peace? Or a time of self-reflection and silent introspection? (Every year, I dedicate a full day of silence to Víðarr.) What’s the goal of the holiday? What are you celebrating?

Step three: think of some ritual offerings! It’s no big deal if, for whatever reason, you can’t actually offer them up: the idea of these offerings will suffice to help you define this holiday better. Will you be offering a specific food, or drink? Or a particular craft, or a depiction of an animal?

Step four: will you be decorating? If so, what’ll serve as the theme for decorations? Are you going to buy them or make them yourself?

Step five: is there an activity, or activities that you would want to engage in to honor the deity/deities on this day? If so, what’ll it be? I love to cook to honor Freyr, for example (this year, I made a seasonal pumpkin soup in His honor)! You could also go swimming for Rán and Ægir, or take a walk in the woods for Jörð. What do you think would please the deity/deities this day is dedicated to?

Step six: will you be inviting someone, or people over? It doesn’t matter if they’re pagan or not: if you want to celebrate with friends or family, any excuse is good to invite people over! Still, even if you celebrate alone, you’re certain to have lots of fun! So don’t worry about this last step if you feel uncomfortable with it.

[sims4thegrave]

Sims 4 WishList

Life and Death is amazing. 9/10. Probably my favorite out of all the packs. Worth $40? None of them are, but alas, this one gets closer to it than its predecessors. I always wait for them to go on sale, but this one became the exception and I pre-ordered it. My biggest thing in packs is their cross-pack compatibility, and this seemed rich with it. Expect me to be behind on commenting on future packs ;_;

THAT BEING SAID. I still have a lot of things I want from the Sims, so I decided to make a Sims wishlist, in hopes that EA (or very talented modders) might be in search of some grab-bag ideas. Feel free to contribute your own wishes in the comments!

Sims 4 WishList

BARE START IN CAS: I want the option to start in CAS with no makeup, no hair, no accessories, in their undies, no tattoos, no scars, etc, etc. I and MANY others start in CAS by stripping everything off the sim. An option to generate or start with a bare sim would be life changing.

SIXAM/ALIEN PACK: I want this more than anything in the universe. They didn't really fit with Get to Work's theme, anyway, so making a pack themed around them can give players the option to make their game more fantasy/fiction based or to skip the pack and keep their game as realistic as possible. An ACTUAL WORLD for the aliens would be amazing, too, since Sixam doesn't have anything to explore and Batuu is a joke. I want to live on Sixam and make cool alien houses that can't be made elsewhere.

PARANORMAL DRAMA: Vampires, aliens, ghosts, spellcasters, mermaids, and werewolves can add so much to social interactions. Sims should be able to reveal their occult type to non-occult sims in different ways to generate different reactions, or they can be discovered my non-occult (or different occult) sims, which may have a worse result than simply telling them. Some non-occult sims could be more understanding in this situation than others.

MORE HOUSE PLANTS MORE HOUSE PLANTS MORE HOUSE PLANTSPLANTSMOREPLLANTSMOREPLANTSMOREPLANTS

MEDEIVEL PACK: I want a time travel pack. Not a vacation world with historical themes, but an actual world that sims can live in if they want a break from the hustle and bustle of modern times. Cross pack options could present some amazing new options for spellcasters and other occult types with this type of pack, too. This would also be a great time to introduce

FAIRIES: WHY WON'T EA GIVE US FAIRIES BACK? Actually, you know what? Give me a fae/folklore themed pack, while you're at it. I want straight up celtic shit in here. Could also add a new class-type for spellcasters.

MEDIUM OVERHAUL: Simple. We've gotten upgraded ghosts, I want mediums to have more engaging options with ghosts depending on the medium's level. Maybe mediums can call on the new powers of ghosts, even.