#allusions to love triangles

[slothinginorbit]

While i liked most of the changes they did to the shadow and bone trilogy one thing I didn't like was nikolai and where we left his story. (You know. With her.)

The actor did a good job, don't get me wrong. But I feel like a lot of nikolais charm was missing.

[andvys]

I knew you’d linger like a tattoo kiss

Warnings: major angst, breakups, heartbreak, allusions to cheating, self doubt, mean!Steve, King!Steve, hurt/comfort, love triangle, mentions of an ED, past trauma. Eddie x reader ending.

Parings: Steve Harrington x fem!cheerleader!reader | Eddie Munson x fem!reader | Steve Harrington x Nancy Wheeler

Summary: Steve was slipping through your fingers and you desperately held onto him not realizing that his heart wasn’t yours anymore. Dealing with the aftermath of your breakup turns out to be harder than you thought. Steve’s presence still lingers and while he keeps a hold of your heart, someone else sneaks their way into it too.

prologue | part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven | part twelve | part thirteen | part fourteen | part fifteen | part sixteen | part seventeen | part eighteen | part nineteen | part twenty | part twenty one | part twenty two | part twenty three | part twenty four | part twenty five | part twenty six | part twenty seven | part twenty eight | part twenty nine | part thirty | epilogue

-

random headcanons about Steve

random headcanons about Eddie

headcanons about Cheer (reader)

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

ring ring

kinktober, day nineteen

a/n: this idea wasn’t originally for these two, but damn if it doesn’t fit super well 

summary: “you know, Sam is gonna notice if I’m gone for too long…”

warnings: bf!dean winchester x reader x sam winchester, smut, dubcon, established relationship, love triangle, phone sex, mutual masturbation, toys, dirty talk, having a huge crush on your boyfriend's brother, cheating, kissing, pussyjob, allusion to sex, slight orgasm denial, slight edging

word count: 2483

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist | kinktober 2023

“Dean,” you raised your phone up to your ear and peeled your eyes away from the heavy tome cracked open on the table before you, “hi!”

“Hey beautiful,” his deep timbre rumbled warmly, “how’s it going over there?”

“Oh, you know,” you peeked over at Sam who glanced from his similarly hefty book, “slow,” you watched his eyes flicker back down to the page as he got the gist of the casual call, “it’s a lot of research to get through…” shooting your chair back, you stood up, absentmindedly pushing it back into place as you asked, “how about you? Are you still on the road?”

“Nope, I just got here a few hours ago,” your vision lingered on Sam’s long fingers as they ghosted their way down the page he was reading, “I was just about to go over and check the place out,” your teeth tensely seized your bottom lip as you slowly whirled around and took a few paces away. Picking up on your silence, Dean gently poked, “what?”

Hand apprehensively tapping against your thigh, you lowered your voice to admit, “I just don’t like the idea of you being all the way up there on your own…”

“I’m barely a day’s drive away,” you heard him let out a soft sigh. 

“But what if something happens?” your feet carried you out into the hallway, the younger Winchester still visible to your wandering eye.  

“Babe, I can take care of myself,” he pointed out with a small chuckle. 

“I know that…”

“I’ve checked out hundreds of things by myself, this time is no different, it’s just a little ghost, I’ll be fine,” he reassured you. Spine melting against one of the cool walls, you watched as Sam’s hazel glare locked on you as it so often did, effectively causing goosebumps to erupt, ones that didn’t fade in the slightest as Dean then cheekily enquired, “is it because I can’t take care of you from all the way up here?”

Breathy chuckle rolling off your lips, you averted your gaze and humoured him, “well you said it, not me.”

“Who says that I can’t?” you could practically hear the smug smirk through the phone. 

“Dean,” your head shook lightly from side to side.

Letting out a groan that made your cunt clench, “love it when you say my name…”

“I am supposed to be doing research,” a laugh bubbled out through your groan. 

“So, take a break.”

Casting one last glance back at the tall man sitting at the long table, you couldn’t help but give in with a playful, “I hate you.”

“Sure, you do,” he chuckled sarcastically as you scurried into your room just on the right, “was that the sound of a door closing?”

“It was,” you then purposefully flopped down on the mattress loud enough for the frame to creak, “and that was the sound of me laying down on my bed.”

“Atta girl,” he practically purred, “what are you wearing?”

“You are so cliché,” you giggled, staring up at the ceiling. 

“Oh, come on, you love it.”

Exhaling slowly, you counted, “t-shirt and a pair of jeans.”

Humming contently, you then heard him suggest, “why don’t you take those pants off for me?”

“You know, Sam is gonna notice if I’m gone for too long…”

“So? He doesn’t need you to babysit him. Just stop thinking about the research for a bit, just be here with me, relax, you clearly need it.” 

Exhaling slowly, you unbuttoned your trousers and wiggled them down your legs, “alright,” you kicked them to the floor at the foot of the bed, “they’re off.” 

“Are you touching yourself?” his deep voice tickled your ear and shot straight down to your core. 

“Not yet,” your thighs instinctively squeezed together, hips rolling gently as your free hand began to drift south. 

“Good, don’t. Not until I tell you to, okay?” 

Halting your hand in its tracks, it clenched into a fist as you chuckled, “you’re such an ass.” 

“I know, but I’m an ass who can make you cum straight into next week,” he bragged as you reached up to readjust the pillows, mushing them perfectly under your head, “Y/n, relax, shut that beautiful brain of yours off a second and just do as I say, promise it’ll be worth it,” 

“Fine, I promise I won’t,” you exhaled with a light eye-roll, “are you touching yourself?” 

“Do you know how hard it is not to when listening to your voice?” you suddenly noticed how ragged his tone was, “I just have to think about you and I’m fucking throbbing, baby,” you heard him spit in his free palm before sloppy strokes began to echo through the receiver, a melody alone that made you note just how torturously the ache between your thighs was, “shit,” he groaned shamelessly, “I wish it was you touching me… you fucking playing with me, teasing the shit out of me like you do when you’re sitting on my face… leaking down on my tongue… creaming from just a little kiss…” 

Bottom lip trapped between your teeth, you breathed, “Dean…”

“You know what I was thinking about just before I called you?”

“What?” your airy answer rushed out quicker than you’d like. He certainly had you hooked now… 

“That time in the car…”

“Which one?” you let out a light laugh. 

“That first time in the car. You remember how impatient you were? Couldn’t even wait till we got back to the motel.”

“I wasn’t impatient,” you defended, “you were just a tease.” 

“I was a tease? You were the one who climbed into my seat.” 

“Well, you were the one who invited me into your seat.” 

“Yeah, I was,” you didn’t have to see his face to know the huge smirk that had bloomed, “but it worked, didn’t it? Your legs didn’t stop shaking till the next day…”

Eyes lightly rolling in your skull, you tried not to give him the satisfaction of knowing the immense power he had over you, “you will never let me down for that, will you?” 

“I still remember what it was like hearing you moan for the first time… shit,” he brazenly let you hear every last lavish jerk he let himself relish in, “it was so hard not to burst right then and there… I had never heard anything as hot as that before…”

“Dean…” you whined, hips gently rolling though not giving any relief whatsoever, “can I-… can I please touch myself?”

“Why?” he teased, not slowing his own pleasure down one bit, “is this turning you on? Are you getting wet for me?”

“Dean,” you sounded downright pathetic at this point. Yet another thing for the memory banks that he could mock you endlessly about. 

“You didn’t answer my question, sweetheart,” he croaked, “reach down and feel for me, but don’t play with yourself, just feel…”

“You are so mean…” you grumbled light-heartedly as you finally slipped your free fingers below the waist of your panties. 

“Is that a yes?” he challenged. 

“Yes, yes, I’m really fucking wet,” you admitted begrudgingly, nearly whimpering as you retracted your hand, a sinful sheen now glazing the skin. 

“Good,” he crooned conceitedly, “now lift up your shirt and play with those tits,” though it wasn’t the place you longed to caress, you still rushed to fulfil his request, “what I wouldn’t give to touch them right now…” your breathing grew more ragged as your hand switched from one to the other in a lewd little massage, “they’re so fucking perfect… so soft, so pretty,” you gave the pebbly nipple right above your heart a harsh pinch, just like how Dean’s greedy fingers liked to do it, “and when you’re lying on your back and I thrust up into you just right, the way that makes them jiggle?” your cunt clenched at the image, “fuck… hypnotize me, why don’t you? Call me your slave because I’ll follow you anywhere…” dizzying breathes flowing from your lips, your boyfriend was only silent a second, enjoying what little you gave him before he finally said, “hey, baby?” a fuzzy hum immediately rushing out of you, “be a good girl and play with that pretty little pussy for me, yeah? Make it feel real good…”

You might as well have been set aflame with turned on you were. It almost felt like you electrocuted yourself when you finally rubbed your aching clit. 

“Fuck, Dean!” your form thrashed atop the bed. 

“Lower the phone, sweetheart. Let me hear how wet that pussy is,” to which you briefly brought it down to catch more of the lewd soppy sounds echoing throughout the room with every needy caress, “christ, I wish I was there with you…”

Yanking your panties off completely, kicking them to the floor, you swiftly slid two fingers into your quivering hole, “I wish you were here too,” but the petiteness of your fingers caused you to let out a desperate whine, “fuck, Dean, I-…”

“What?” by the sound of his condescending tone it was obvious that he already knew the problem, “what’s wrong, baby?” 

“I feel so empty…” you nearly cried as your fingers pumped and pumped but just couldn’t get deep enough to scratch that itch. 

“Oh, are your pretty fingers not long enough? Not big enough to stretch that pussy out the way that she deserves, huh?”

“N-no.” 

Completely entranced by the melody his own efforts emitted, he promptly muttered, “do something for me then, yeah?”

“Huh?”

“Stop touching yourself.”

“What?” your movements slowed, but didn’t halt completely, “no, no!”

“Stop touching yourself and go get the toy in the bedside table,” painstakingly snatching your glistening digits back, you scurried over the mattress to the table on the right side. Ripping the drawer open, you couldn’t get your hands on the realistic-looking silicone fast enough, “you got it?”

“Yeah,” you crawled back to your previous spot and laid back down. 

“Good. Now give it a little kiss before letting your cunt feel it,” you brought the tip of the dildo up to your lips, giving it a gentle little lick before filling up your mouth more, “be nice, treat it like you’d treat me.” 

After releasing it from your peck with a pop, slobber clung to it as you lowered it down between your trembling thighs, “oh my god,” your eyes fluttered as you slid it inside, “Dean!” 

“That what you needed, babe?” you heard him chuckle. 

“Yes, fuck, it feels so good!” squeezing your eyes shut, you pumped it lavishly, “I don’t know how much longer I’m gonna last with this.”

“Hold on, just a little bit longer, can you do that for me?” 

“Dean,” your plea came out as a moan. 

“Fuck, you sound so hot,” he panted, “don’t cum yet, baby, not yet,” obviously being painfully close himself, “shit, I wish I could see you right now, laying there, in your bed, fucking yourself for me, dripping all over those sheets,” your nails dug into the flared base of the toy, “I can’t wait to get home, baby. Feel that pussy clench around my cock again, maybe even keep that dildo close by to plug up your other holes… fucking hell, you wanna cum with me?”

“Yes!” you cried out. 

“Then go ahead, be a good girl and cum all over that toy,” removing your grip on the silicone, you briefly drifted your fingers up to give your clit the attention it was screaming for. 

But just before you were about to dance your digits back down to give the toy one last pump, it began to move on its own. Snapping your eyes open, you saw none other than Sam, grip firm on the base as he ploughed the dildo in and out of you, giving you exactly what you needed, “oh my god,” your eyes grew wide as they locked with his, though your fingers couldn’t seem to quit their needy circles over your puffy pearl, “oh my god,” holding his piercing gaze, you tumbled over the edge, “fuck!” 

Hearing your boyfriend swiftly follow suit, you just kept blinking back at his brother as he slowly pulled the toy out of your clenching cunt, “fuck, that was so good, baby, shit, I came so much over here.”

“Mhm…” you distantly hummed, chest heaving as you watched Sam swipe a finger over the toy, collecting some of your juices before swiftly letting his tongue have a taste.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to get back home to you.”

“Y-yeah,” Sam’s eyes stayed locked with yours as he popped his finger back out, “me neither…”

“Just a day or so more and I’m all yours,” your hazy gaze fluttered down to spot Sam’s girth, freed and throbbing. 

“See you then,” you distantly spoke before hanging up and letting your phone drop to the mattress. 

Like a crack of thunder, before you even had time to register what it was that you were doing, the two of you clawed the other closer and locked your lips in a fevered kiss. Nails nearly digging through his clothes, it didn’t take long before your fingers enveloped Sam’s cock, the weight making your knees wobbly. 

 But just as quickly as you had collided like magnets, that’s how fast you pulled back again, “Sam-, shit…” palms planted on his chest, you shook your head in an effort to clear it, “this is bad, we can’t do this…”

“Don’t say that,” he plucked up your chin, “don’t fucking deny what’s going on between us, what’s been there since the very beginning.”

“But, what about-”

“I don’t give a shit about that,” both his hands came up to cup your face, “do you want me? Do you want me as much as I want you?” 

Blinking back at him, all you could do was wistfully tilt your head instead of uttering the truth, “Sam…”

“Because if you don’t, if you really don’t, then tell me to walk away and I will,” he slowly inched closer, a hand drifting down to grasp his cock to tease you with the tip that was already so desperately nudging against your core and getting soaked in your want, “tell me that you don’t want this, that you don’t want me…” he parted your petals with his dick, “tell me and I’ll go away…”

Breathlessly, blinking back into his dark gaze, instead of finding the words, you simply pulled him back in and gave him a kiss as confirmation.

A string of saliva still connecting your lips, his nose ghosted against yours as his teasing grew more confident, “you want it, huh? Tell me that you want me.”

“I want you,” you finally uttered after ages of suppressing the fevered desire. 

“Tell me again,” he nearly growled, catching your weeping hole at every electric flick through your folds. 

“I want you, please fuck me.”

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[mrsnancywheeler]

the river (1) // finnick odair x f.reader

summary: the Capitol has taken you away from Finnick, the life you've been trying to build together and now he has to fight to get every part of you back

the end of a trilogy

the lakes previous chapter

next chapter

masterlist

7.2k words

warnings: angst, fluff, mental illness, suicidal ideations, self hate, young finnick and reader dynamics, a love triangle that was never a love triangle, smug finnick, it's so cheesey, pining, this is not a slow burn, implied soulmates, unedited, no use of y/n, allusions to trafficking, mentions of torture

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Finnick’s been staring blankly at the hovercrafts’ walls for longer than he can imagine, since it had stopped waiting and left you for dead in the dilapidated arena. He knew if he reacted the way he wanted too they would sedate him and currently he needed to live with his guilt. He should've refused to let you go with Katniss, or have torn out your tracker himself. Most importantly he should never have told you about the rebel plan, of course he only revealed the basics on how you were to get Katniss out of the arena and go to District 13, but that could seriously jeopardize any semblance of sympathy the Capitol would have for you. 

He imagined you on the beach, devoting your life and love to him, and how before Snow broke or killed you, maybe even both, he'd never given you a proper wedding. All the traditions from back home, in a proper ceremony, with a dress would never happen. A large part of him didn't even feel like fighting the rebellion for you, since there was a probability that if the rebels one, you wouldn't be there on the other side to greet him. What was the point of a life if your future, the happiness, the children you could have had if all of this was behind you, if you were gone forever.

Plutarch begins to say something, but Finnick raises his hand as if to indicate he can't listen or speak right now. He's trying not to snap, not to take control of the ship so he can immediately perform his own rescue mission. Of course people were going to get hurt, even die, in the cause of the rebellion, but it was never supposed to be you. Why was he cursed to love someone who refused to patiently wait for him, who needed to be a part of the action? That's what had always been so magnetic about you though, the way you refused to fall into any constraints about how your life should be lived. Maybe, if you hadn't been left consumed by guilt after your first Games, you would've heard his plea and helped the rebellion from home, or he would've never told you about it at all to keep you safe. But that was wistful thinking, instead compassionate, worried, steadfast, beautiful you was in the grasp of the Capitol.

He decided he couldn't stay quiet any longer, he doesn't care if it's futile, what type of husband would leave his wife behind? For years you'd been fragile, like a bomb waiting to detonate, and he'd done whatever he could for you, he couldn't just give up on that now. You would have done it for him, you would have thrown yourself out of the hovercraft to save him, and knowing that hurt him and made him love you more. Finnick had spent years trying to prove to you that life was worth living even if you refused to admit that you felt that way, which in truth, caused him to grieve for the version of you from before the Games. The you that longed for a life that wasn't expected, to be lead by her heart and the wind, to be excited, until suddenly it was the you who didn't think she was worth being trusted, the you who stayed up wishing for death, and the you who wanted him, but felt guilty for it. Snow had taken that away from him, away from you, and now would take more from you. Finnick couldn't help but wonder how much was left to take, you had your compassion, your humor, your love, and if that was gone you'd be a husk of paranoia that he would desperately work to restore. Maybe death would have been kinder.

“Communications are down in seven, ten, and twelve. But eleven has control of transportation now, so there's hope of getting some food out." Plutarch says to Haymitch and Finnick can no longer be quiet.

"We have to go back.” His voice is hoarse, cracking with each syllable.

"I'm sorry, you know we can't do that. Her tracker was still in, they've definitely got her by now.” Plutarch tries to sound somewhat sympathetic, but it doesn't work.

“She's smart, she'll think of some way to pretend she knows less about the rebellion. If she can convince them of that, then she'll be used as bait.” Haymitch sounds so sure of himself, but Finnick isn't. You hadn't known too much, but not only were you willing to do anything if someone threatened him, you were like a glass sitting on the edge of the table, with one nudge you'd shatter.

Finnick starts shaking his head, “No, we have to-" Whatever plea he's started to make is interrupted as Katniss bangs through the door. 

“Done knocking yourself out, sweetheart?" Haymitch focuses on Katniss, “So it's you and your syringe against the Capitol? See, this is why no one lets you make the plans." He's chuckling slightly, but only Plutarch would also want to laugh right now. “Drop it." He's forced Katniss to get rid of the syringe and sits down by Finnick, who's been infested with thoughts about how if he hadn't let Haymitch convince him of putting Katniss and Peeta first, he could've focused on you. 

They're rambling an explanation of the rebellion to Katniss and Finnick is left once again wondering if he could hijack the ship. Snow probably wants him to, expects him too. You probably don't blame him, but Finnick knows your self-destructive ways. First, you'll try to find ways to end it all, and do nothing but mourn him, then you'll start to convince yourself maybe he left you on purpose, that you weren't stable or trustworthy enough to help with the rebellion, but you still wouldn't blame him, you'd tell yourself it's what you deserved. Finnick needed to be there to intercept the doubt before you ate yourself alive. Additionally, he didn't know how long he could last without you as an anchor, his sweet girl, refusing to acknowledge her own problems while trying to keep him afloat.

“I still don't understand why Peeta and I weren't let in on the plan." Katniss is saying, her voice just as broken as Finnick's had been.

“Because when the force field blew you'd be the first ones they'd try to capture, and, the less you knew, the better.” Haymitch explains.

"The first ones? Why?”

"For the same reason the rest of us agreed to die to keep you alive.” Finnick finally chimes in although he resents the words he's saying. He should've instead let you work your magic, try to convince someone to volunteer for him ahead of time, and stayed at home with you. If he stayed there was a higher chance you would too, yet maybe you would've gone over his head and decided you still couldn't live with yourself if you didn't volunteer.

"No, Johanna tried to kill me.” Katniss argues.

"Johanna knocked you out to take out the tracker from your arm and lead Brutus and Enobaria away from you.” Haymitch is seemingly getting exhausted and annoyed from all the explanations he owes her.

“What? I don't know what you're-"

Plutarch interrupts her, “We have to save you because you're the Mockingjay, Katniss. While you live, the revolution lives."

More words are mumbled and Finnick's head buzzes, it wasn't worth fighting the revolution if he couldn't do it with you. There was no way he could stomach it without your help, there's no way you would admit to it, but you kept him from drowning.

The way Katniss hisses at Haymitch helps Finnick zone back in, “Where is Peeta?" She's finally caught on, that her survival is without the person she loves safety.

“He was picked up by the Capitol along with Johanna, Enobaria, and-" Finnick hits the table interrupting Haymitch's train of thought. No one can be outraged at him for long though because Katniss has launched herself at Haymitch, screaming, and scratching, he's screaming back and Finnick is forced to leap into action. Katniss is only doing what he so desperately has been holding back on, how dare these people not understand that you had to be saved too. Yet he's dragging her off, back to her bed, to be tied down, sedated.

“Katniss. Katniss, I'm sorry. I wanted to save all of them, but I couldn't move." Finnick whispers, he doesn't know when he started crying, but he has. When the lighting hit the tree and Katniss' arrow had flown, the burst of electricity had left him helpless, frozen on the ground when he could hear you in the distance, screaming for him. “It's better for him, they'll figure out he doesn't know anything pretty fast. And they won't kill him if they can use him against you.

“Does she know too much or will she be used as bait, Finnick?" Katniss' voice is hazy in the mess of the sedation, but it's clear she's not very empathetic with her statement.

Finnick lets the tears take over him, weeping for you, how he couldn't save you. “I wish she were dead." He quietly admits, probably echoing something you'd agree with. "I wish they were all dead and we were too. It would be best.” Katniss is far gone, but Finnick can't stand his own thoughts any longer. He's basically begging to be sedated until they let him, he wants for it to stop the thoughts, leave him in a world where he's still with you. Even if you haunt his dreams. 

             𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

He knew of you, from school, from the similar social scenes, and you were well liked enough, but although he'd never admit it, Finnick Odair had never been confident enough to talk to you. Maybe it's because so many people spoke highly of you, but you'd never approached him. Shamefully he was a passive admirer, watching as you laughed at parties, nursed drunk friends, charmed customers at the markets. Maybe though he was scared that the person who everyone considered genuine would reject him as a person worth being around, see him the way he saw himself.

One sunny day in the market though he decided he had to take the step, see if were really the way people described you as, and possibly put to rest the infatuation he'd had for you. One that had really sparked when one of fair-weather friends, Beckett, had mentioned how you'd basically saved his life when he was drunk by a dock after another party. Kind, but brazen especially when Beckett tried to pay back the favor the next day by walking you home. Eventually the same night he told Finnick about you, he'd left to find you at the party and your magnetic company. You just seemed to draw people to you, a charm that Finnick couldn't resist much longer.

So there you were, flashing your tooth bearing smile to every potential customer. He'd talked to plenty of pretty girls before, but usually they introduced themselves to him, and the fact he barely existed to you certainly made you more intriguing. The moment the customer you were with was gone he forced himself up to your booth, one that was full of crates with huge crabs. 

“Most of what the Capitol serves is from here anyways, so it's certainly not a downgrade." Your sweet, peachy voice spoke first and Finnick was somewhat taken aback, unintentionally sending you a quizzical look. “The crabs." You smiled, probably wondering why he didn't pick that up the first time.

“Oh, yes, of course, the crabs." He feigned interest in one, picking it up.

“You know, if you're not here for the crabs you better say something before I start listing off facts." Finnick decided he wouldn't mind that, your voice soothed his ears, but more importantly he'd been given a piece of who you were.

“Who says I'm not here to talk about crabs?" His natural playfulness shined through any persona he was scared he would have to put on if you weren't like he'd been told about, observed. For less then a second there was a flash of what must have been embarrassment in your eyes that quickly subsided with a shrug of your shoulders.

“They're caught in the-" Finnick couldn't stop himself from laughing when you diligently started on your promised list.

“No, please, you'll bore me to death. Guilty as charged, I'm not here to talk about crabs." He put down the crab he'd been holding, hands in the air.

You leaned on the counter, hands propping up your face, “Okay then, what are you here to talk about, Mr. Odair?"

“Finnick." He said almost too quickly for his liking, “Just wanted to talk to you." It was cocky the way he said it, but he couldn't help himself when you seemed so ready to bite back.

“Flattered, Finnick." You paused, like you were waiting for him to say something, “I'm working."

“And I'm a customer."

“Are you planning on buying anything?" Your hands moved from your face to the counter top.

“Maybe." He shrugged, his usual smug smile making its appearance. 

You sighed like you were defeated, but your body language said otherwise. Maybe you'd wanted to talk to him just as much, but he'd been the one holding out on you. He'd like to think that even if it was presumptuous. “So, what does the Finnick Odair want to talk to me about?”

He didn't really know what he wanted to talk about, just that he wanted to talk to you. "The party, tomorrow night, are you coming?” It was a stupid question, you were at all of them, but much to his amusement you shrugged.

"Depends.”

"Depends on what?”

“Do you want me there?" You were bold and your aura exuded that even though if he stared deep enough into your eyes he could sense it hid other feelings.

“Are you flirting with me?" He clicked his tongue, head shaking as if it wasn't what he wanted.

“No."

“I don't believe you."

“Well it's your party, your house, I'm just asking permission." Your eyes widened, feigning innocence, and he decided you were nothing in short of perfect. Maybe he was just clouded because someone finally wasn't oooo’ing or ahhhh’ing at him. Or because he'd admired you from afar for so long that anything you said would be enough to draw him in. He also didn't really care because he'd made up his mind about liking your presence, more than that off any of his fickle friends.

“You've never asked permission before." The look on your face told him he'd caught you, that was your brain racking for a response before your face could slip back into its soft smile.

“You've never talked to me before." Maybe your words were even, but the way you fiddled with your necklace spoke measures to him.

“So you just show up at the houses of men you've never talked too?" Finnick teased, but he knew you'd always had plenty of invites from other people unlike the crazy fans who'd try to push their way into his home. Regardless, the parties were a way for him to keep up Capitol appearances and drown out his sorrows, so extra guests with actual connections to his social group hardly bothered him.

“If you wanted to talk to tell me it feels like I'm intruding, then you can just come out and say it. I get it and I won't go." You maintained a somewhat playful sound, but were so genuine it shocked him. So willing to give up your entire social scene if it made him slightly uncomfortable.

“No, I do want you there." He felt like he said it much too quickly, but he didn't regret it when your smile widened.

“Okay." You bit your bottom lip when another presence was ducking into the booth beside you. The local healer who whispered something to you. “You know you can have as many as you want for it, we can't thank you enough." You said earnestly. He handed you a couple of bottles of some type of medicine that you shoved into a netted bag before grabbing him a smaller box.

“Four or five?" The man said quietly and you filled the box with crabs before handing it to him. “Thank you, now you tell your mom I wished her the best and let me know how she's doing."

“Will do." You smiled as the man scurried off. “Sorry about that." Your attention was back on Finnick.

“Is your mom not well?" It was an obvious question but he wanted to show he cared, you just waved your hand in dismissal.

“She's okay, don't worry about it." So he respected the fact you didn't feel like opening up about it and moved onto playful banter again. “If you want me there and already knew I'd be there, why are you talking to me now?" You led the conversation back and it was obvious to him that it was a sore subject, perhaps you were one of those people who didn't like to trouble others with their problems. 

“I can't talk to a pretty girl?” 

"You talk to pretty girls all the time, Finnick Odair, and you've never talked to me before.” Your hands settled back up to support your face. 

He leaned in closer, “Don't tell anyone, but maybe I needed to hype myself up before I talked to the prettiest one." Your laugh was addictive and he wished he could've seen more of how your face scrunched up when you buried it in your hands. 

“God, you're treacherous." One of your hands decided to nervously play with an earring and the other went back to the necklace. “I bet that's what you tell all the pretty girls." Finnick's ears were blessed with another nervous laugh.

“Just you." He winked, grateful that he'd found an easy rhythm in talking to you. You were teasable, but would bite back, for the first time in a while he was glad he trusted his observations.

“You know flirting with the girl at the market to get free food only works for people not famous all across Panem."

“Good thing that's not why I'm flirting with the girl at the market then." 

Your face was once again buried in your hands with a giggle, "You're dreadful. Is this how you usually entrap a girl, don't speak to her, and then it's all sweet talk?” 

Finnick wished he could say it's because seeing you around gave him unexplainable butterflies deep within his stomach, but that wasn't a very suave explanation. “I had to make sure you didn't have a boyfriend first.” His voice was low and he could tell it was giving you goosebumps, or maybe you were just cold in your sundress.

"Oh, you're bold." You guffawed, “Besides you already have a hole in your story, there isn't a single person anyone would think I'm dating.”

"That's a bold-faced lie, sweet girl, most people think you do since he's always trailing around like a lost puppy.” If he was lucky you would melt at the pet name and you somewhat did before you scoffed.

"Who?" You didn't seem like the oblivious type, but so earnestly confused.

Finnick's eyes dragged over to a nearby booth where the subject stood, sulking and your eyes followed, “Looks like he might attack."

“Conway?" You shook your head so earnestly it made Finnick feel like he could blush from how ardently you wanted him to know you weren't taken. “No, no, no, no! God, no, he's just my friend. We're friends.”

"Have you told him that?” He smirked.

You were so cute, when you were biting back, when you were nervous, when you were embarrassed, he didn't know how a person could manage to be so adorable all the time. “Yes, he knows that, he's just, well he's just Conway. It's just a phase, he'll grow out of it." You rubbed your neck as a much more forced laugh escaped those perfect lips.

“Hopefully, looks like he's coming over to rip my throat out. Please come to my funeral, front row, no roses on the coffin, lilies preferably." Finnick pulled a faux terrified face as he clasped his hands together with his plea, successfully turning your laugh into a much more genuine one.

“Hi, Princess." Conway approached the booth and Finnick wondered how you could ever think he was getting over you. Behind the brunette's back he shot you a look, teasing you for as much which you seemed to instantly understand as you bit your lip with a shrug.

"Hey, Conway. You guys finished up?" You asked, that dazzling smile on your face.

“Yeah, mom was wondering if you wanted to come over for dinner tonight? Nixie and Delta had something they were excited to show you.” 

“Yes of course! Tell them I have something for them too, and I'll meet you guys after I've dropped everything off at home."

“I'll walk you."

“I'm gonna walk her home." Finnick seized the opportunity, even if you said you were just friends he couldn't let himself lose the build up he was working for. Conway looked at him like he'd forgotten he was there and was angered to have remembered. “If you want me to, do you want me to?" Finnick looked back at you and you genuinely had a look of complete confusion.

"I always walk you home.” Conway said softly and Finnick wished he felt worse for interfering with another person's love, but he couldn't help that he felt a spark just by looking at you and fireworks in your presence.

"You wanna walk me home?” Your eyes were glued on Finnick, like you thought he'd just been bored and was going to leave after finding his enjoyment in flirting with you. He wanted to get inside your head, see why you were so vulnerable, prove to you that you deserved to feel better about yourself.

"Of course I do, sweet girl.” His voice was less focused on being charming and so earnest it rewarded him with the happiest, biggest smile he'd gotten out of you.

“I'll walk you home after dinner though, that way you're not walking home alone in the dark." Conway inserted himself once again and after a pause you shook yourself out of whatever haze you were in to turn to him.

“Thank you so much, you're so kind, Conway. Either way I still have to wait until everything closes or I sell out, so it could be a while."

“Oh, mom sent me over to buy the last half crate for dinner tomorrow,we've got some extra wiggle room, and we're all tired of trout and crawfish all the time. So a little something special until I'm sure we'll all get tired of the leftovers. Do you want to come tomorrow too?" He pulled out the money from his pocket to slip into your hand.

“Lucky you, I hope you all enjoy it!" You took the money to put into the small metal box where you must have been storing the cash. “I've got plans tomorrow or else I definitely would." You picked up a box to move the crabs into.

“Is there a party? You should've told me, mom won't want me to miss tomorrow and you'll have no one with you."

“Conway, as much as I appreciate the sentiment, I don't need to be watched over. I'm perfectly capable of myself." You handed him the crate, “Besides you hate going to them and I don't want to drag you to one just for you to mope in the corner."

“And I'll be there anyways." Finnick raised his hand as if to remind everyone he was still there and you did seem to soften when you looked at him.

“Yeah, Finnick, will be there. I'll be fine!" 

Conway took a step closer to you as he filled his box, trying to whisper, but it wasn't hard for Finnick to eavesdrop. "You barely know him.” 

You glared back at Conway and mouthed a ‘Stop it!" The much taller man seemed to reluctantly relent as he stepped away. “I just have to close everything up then, and I'll be ready to go." You look back at Finnick who nods and smiles.

“Let me help you."

“Oh no, you don't have to do that!" You quickly assure.

"Angel, I want to.” You seem to respond well to that pet name as well whereas Conway is instantly glaring into Finnick's head. He doesn't mean to be cocky, but Finnick can't resist a cocky shrug to the other man the moment you're going to retrieve your bag and the little metal container of money to shove into it. Finnick’s nimble fingers are quickly undoing the ropes holding the top up.

You exit the structure and walk up to him, “How'd you do that so fast, the knots always take me forever to undo."

Finnick can't hide his amusement with your awe,"Always been good with knots, I could show you sometime.” 

You're nodding in agreement when suddenly your mouth is agape and you're playfully shoving him, “Finnick Odair, I hardly know you!"

“That's not what I meant, honestly!" He defends, laughing, and he's being truthful. It hadn't crossed his mind when he said it, he would love to show you how to tie a rope, he'd always found it calming. “Says a lot that your mind jumped to that though." He tilts his head and the way your eyes widen makes him wish he could feel how hot your face must be by now. 

“You do barely know him." Conway mutters and Finnick wishes he would disappear.

You seem to regain your composure and point to the left, “I'm about 30 minutes that way, so you really don't have to walk me home if you don't want to, it's long."

“Stop worrying about me, I'm certain I want to walk you home."

You're nodding softly and biting your bottom lip, "Okay.” Swiftly you're leading the way, both men trailing behind and Finnick is annoyed that Conway is still sticking around, before he realizes his family's booth is in that direction. Suddenly you're stopping before basically leaping towards a booth, a fruit booth Finnick recognizes. “Douglas, you have peaches! Why didn't you say anything?"

The older man chuckles and gives you a knowing look, “Because you can't afford them and will barter me for them."

You gasp in mock offense, “So rude and after all this time too, Mrs. Damaris would be astounded by your behavior.” 

"You know if you sneak me a couple of crabs tomorrow I'd give you a whole bag.” 

"Your father would be angry-” Conway begins some sort of lecture when you're snapping at him like you'd also like to be rid of his presence.

"I know, Conway.” The look you shoot at him could kill, and Finnick feels a weird sense of elation knowing you're more peeved that Conway won't let you be alone with Finnick. 

“Then I'm sorry, sweetheart, nothing's going to work on me this time. I've prepared myself."

Finnick is already pulling out his money, “It's okay, I've got it."

“No." Your resistance shocks him, he's used to people begging to be around his wealth and to charm you he's more than willing to she'll it out. “You're not buying things for me, Finnick. I'm serious." He says nothing, but doesn't return his money back to his pocket. 

“Come on, princess, you'll live without one." Conway manages to still sound so kind and you purse your lips, refusing to satisfy the man you feel pestered by with a response. Finnick is busy trying to silently communicate with the vendor that whatever you try to barter he'll give him the money right after.

“My ring?" You hold up your hand, waving the finger around and the older man shakes his head.

“I can't accept every piece of jewelry you find on the beach."

You sigh dramatically and Finnick thinks he's finally been able to indicate to the vendor. “Mrs. Damaris would love this necklace, look it's got an actual ruby in it and I didn't find it. Someone gave it to me, it's worth a lot more than a peach and I only want one.” The man reluctantly exhales, glasses at the end of his nose, “Please Douglas, we barely ever get them here.” Your pout has to make you even more adorable and Finnick wonders how you can be so perfect.

“Fine!" The man grumbles with a sly smile and Finnick can tell the man would've taken the necklace even without the money he was about to give.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!" You gush as your fingers rush, struggling as you unclasp the necklace. Putting the necklace on the counter as the man hums. You take your time picking out the perfect peach before grabbing one, “I love you so much, Douglas, Mrs. Damaris is a lucky woman!" You began to walk off.

Douglas nods, “Sure she is, take care of yourself and bring some actual money next time." The moment your back is turned Finnick is putting the money on the table, with a little extra.

“Thank you." He mouths with a smile, grabbing the necklace.

“No, thank you. I've got no use for the necklace, or anything else she's given." The old man is shaking his head with a smile, grabbing the money. “You take care."

Finnick nods, catching up to you where he can hear another tense conversation between you and Conway. “God Conway, it doesn't matter. Tallulah gets me a gift every time I take care of her during a hangover because she feels bad, it doesn't matter. Yes it was pretty and I really liked it, but I'll tell her it fell off in the ocean and she'll buy me a new one.”

"You're just so careless sometimes, it's a fruit.” Conway shakes his head in disbelief.

"And it's just a necklace, what's your problem? It's not even from you, and it's not a big deal. I liked it, I'll probably miss it, but I might not have a peach for another year and Tallulah will have given me another gift by the end of the week for the hangover she'll definitely have from tomorrow night.”

"She's not a bank for you, and that trade was so uneven.”

"Why are you trying to make me feel guilty? That's not how I see her, I've been her friend for years and it's just how we work! You're being so weird about this and it's none of your business. I don't take her money, or ask for it, or let her pay for things, she just gives me them when I help her out!” Finnick finds himself being enraged at Conway for the way your voice shakes as you defend yourself, for the way he's making you seem selfish when you adamantly refused to let Finnick buy you something as small as a piece of fruit.

Finnick is suddenly standing beside you holding up the little heart necklace, it swinging in front of your face. You stop dead in your tracks, “Finnick." Your voice is so soft it makes him want to melt, "You don't even know me, Finnick. I don't need you to buy things for me, you don't have to do that. I traded it for a reason, go give it back.”

"He's much happier with the money, anyways, sweet girl. I have enough money to drown in, you're hardly breaking the bank with a peach. And I know you enough to want to do that for you. Can't a man buy things for a pretty girl?” You look like you might cry, but you don't allow yourself too and Finnick comes to the conclusion that you're not used to being helped, to have someone willing to just do things for you without some sort of transaction involved, and he's intent on changing that. "Red looks good on you, angel, let me put it back on you.” You're playing with your earrings as you finally slowly turn to let him clasp the necklace on. He adored the way you shiver when his fingers brush against your neck as he puts it on and the way you seem to miss his touch the moment it's gone. It's like fate designed the two of you to meet each other, to be perfect for one another and he's only just forced himself to talk to you.

He also gets a sick pleasure from how vexed it makes the other man vying for your affections. Within a few more steps you've arrived at the Delmare family booth and they're ecstatic to see you before they've calmed down. “I'll see you tonight?" Conway asks.

“Yes, of course." You offer a smile even though Finnick can tell you're still seething underneath and Conway nods somewhat sadly. You turn you back to him as keep walking, “So are you-"

“Yes, I'm sure I want to walk you home!" Finnick interrupts with a laugh and you accept the answer and finally begin to eat your peach.  “Let me take your bag." He offers, hand reaching for it.

"It's okay I've got it.” You must have decided you're able to slip back into your normal playful tone, and he curses Conway in his mind for making you anxious enough to ever stop in the first place, “I know you must be used to women throwing themselves at your feet, but we are in fact strong enough to carry our own bags."

“You have an indent in your shoulder from it." He remarks, with what he's sure must be an infuriatingly smug smirk. You don't look at him as you seem to reason in your head that it is quite heavy and slowly pry it off your shoulder. He's grabbing it from your hand before you're even reaching out and although it's nothing for him, he's surprised by the weight. “Good thing I want to carry your bag even if you're a woman throwing yourself at my feet." He clicks his tongue as the two of you stroll down the cobblestone street.

You elbow him softly, “I'd say you're throwing yourself at mine." 

“I'd agree and say I'm glad I am." 

“Finnick." Your voice is suddenly much more serious.

“Yes, angel?"

“Seriously, why are you talking to me?" He assumes you must be trying to protect yourself and it hurts him to think you'd ever imagine that his intentions were anything less than true. 

“Because I like you."

You laugh so delicately it could be carried into the breeze, “No you don't! We've never talked before, I mean you don't really know me at all."

“So you don't like me?" He teases, a glimmer in his eyes.

“No, I do, I mean, I just, that's different." You stutter through it, hands moving as you speak.

“How's it different?"

“Because you're you, you're Finnick Odair, everyone likes you and if they don't they're stupid. And I'm just, I mean I'm just some girl, who you've been trying to fluster."

“People talk about you too, I see you around, listen to you, what you say, what people say about you, and I've decided that I like you. And I think that if you didn't want to be flustered, you'd tell me. That's it, that's the explanation, and I'm talking to you so I can really know you.”

There's a silence where you must be deciding if you're satisfied with his answer, "What do you want to know about me?” The walk to your house seems to go by too fast with the stories and banter, the way you sass him back and then get ruffled when he makes flirty remarks before you make them back, and the way you savor each bite of that peach like you'll never have one again, which he'll make sure you will. He's already mourning your company when you're walking up to the door, “This is me, I know, it's not much to look at." It's a dilapidated little house, cracked, white brick and he can tell it used to be nice. You're slowly walking up to the door and he hopes you feel the same way he does.

"Go out with me tomorrow.” Finnick says abruptly.

"What?” You turn to him, trying to not act as giddy as he can tell you are.

"Tomorrow, just you and me, an actual date. It's a Sunday, so the market will be closed. We can picnic by the water, there's a lovely, private piece of beach in Victor's Village and we'll swim, we can do whatever else you want too.” He tries to sound nonchalant as he runs his hands through his hair.

"Okay.” You nodded, fingers running up and down the chain on your necklace. "Yes, I'd like that.”

"Okay, good, that's good.” He doesn't mean to seem desperate for your time, but he is. “I can be here at noon? I'll walk you." 

“Yeah." You muttered, by now you're both standing at your front door. Staring at him and he prays you'll never go inside and just stand here with him. “My bag."

“Sorry, yes, your bag!" He pulls it off his shoulder and feels more embarrassed than he ought to be, “Sorry!" But you just laugh it off as he hands it to you. 

"It's okay.” You're back is to the door, slowly pushing the handle. He wants to kiss you, but he's already moving so fast with everything else, he figures that he better let you have something to wait for even if it's disappointing to you know, it disappoints him too.

"I'll see you tomorrow, at 12.” He reiterates, feeling like a magnet being pushed away from his other half as he steps away, ready to fly back forward.

You do look somewhat let down as he moves away, but he has to be resilient,"Thank you, Finnick! Have a good night.”

"Have a good night, sweet girl!” He flashes his Panem adored smile and forces himself to turn his back towards you. Finnick decides he's glad he listened to the caverns of his soul when they called him to you. He can't help himself from being so forward with you when he's already so sure, like he's been with no one before, that you must be meant to be and he's running back to the marketplace praying that Douglas hadn't yet closed down shop.

             𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Doctors occasionally hover above him and the ceiling is white, which is all he knows when he's in his sedated state. Sometimes they let him be without, but he can't process their questions, not when he's thinking of you which sometimes leads him back to being sedated when he starts lashing out at the nurses and doctors. Screaming, insisting you need to be saved. He's not sure when he asked, but at some point they give him a piece of rope which he diligently ties knots in to calm himself. It always seemed to work until he thought about how hard he tried to help you master different knots, but your hands would fumble. At some point he'd become sure that you did it on purpose so that his fingers would be by yours and his back pressed up against you, but he didn't care, it was heartwarming. Then he would fly into a fit again.

The same thing had happened when they'd brought him some type of dry oatmeal usually with a mix of berries that made it barely tolerable, once he could've sworn he caught a whiff of peaches in it that had him desperately trying to inhale the scent. Sobbing over the bowl until his nose was so stuffed he could no longer smell it, smell you and the sobbing became too uncontrollable. The doctors couldn't calm him down and he was once again sedated.

For weeks that's all his life was. Haunted by you, what could be happening to you, all the things he missed about you and trying to stay calm enough that he wasn't being restrained or returned to a cloudy state. Although the sedation sometimes brought back good memories he could dissociate into, other times all he could picture were all the things the Capitol, that Snow could be doing to you.

What if you were still being sold off like some kind of doll on top of what you were having to endure. And you'd have no one to comfort you at the end of the day which would drive you to insanity. Or he could picture you hypothermic on the floor. Or being taunted with jabberjays screaming in his voice. Or it could be a violent torture. He could picture thousands of unpleasant things that made him wish the rope was long enough to be a noose.

Sometimes he'd picture the last time he saw you, begging with him to not be upset when you parted ways with Katniss' insistence. Each time he thought about it he'd come to a different conclusion. Most of the time he blamed himself for letting you go, for not fighting harder to stay together or not tearing out your tracker right before you left even if it alerted someone of the plan. Sometimes he'd blame Katniss for forcing your hand in the first place, why couldn't she have just followed the plan that had been so carefully structured out. And on a rare occasion he blamed you for trying to follow the objective of keeping Katniss safe and leaving him, for not remembering to take out the tracker, for not keeping your promise. Which would then make him sick with himself for thinking anything slightly negative about your actions when you were probably enduring unbearable lengths of pain for him, for the rebellion. 

On the lucky occasion where he wasn't heavily sedated he'd been anxiously tying small knots into the rope when the television began playing some mandated report from the Capitol and there was Peeta. Proclaiming how he and Katniss knew nothing about the rebel plan, that Katniss had coincidentally shot her arrow into the dome when the lighting struck, and how there needed to be a ceasefire. Finnick wished he hadn't told you about the rebel plan, that you would just be bait, not someone trying to hide that they had some semblance of information regarding the rebel plan to get out of the arena. He'd signed your death warrant and delivered it straight into the Capitol's cold hands.

Finnick got swept up in his thoughts of what he could've done differently, how much he despised himself for not doing so when suddenly it was your voice on that television screen.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

so exited to start the river with you guys and to explore reader and finnick's past more. thank you all so much for the endless support and for continuing to read my little series, ily all. as always reblogs, comments, and likes are super appreciated, and my ask box plus request are open even if they take a hot second more me to get through. again endless thanks to you all and love you 💋

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[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 3,881 Pairing: Negan x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria, after the war, Negan is imprisoned Warnings: language (duh), allusions to past violence and flashbacks Summary: Y/N decides Negan has earned just a little bit more freedom. A/N: This is part 2 of a miniseries... lol or maybe not so mini? I'm not sure yet! Slow burn takes time to do well... anyway, first part is linked below! HAPPY WICKED WEDNESDAY! Bad Medicine - Part 1

You came in late that evening. Negan looked up from his book. Something he thought was maybe relief washed over him to see you again, though he wasn’t quite sure why. Maybe he just didn’t want another tense exchange with Daryl… Maybe he was just glad not to be alone.

You slid his tray through the slot and watched curiously as he carefully tucked a torn scrap of paper into the pages of his book to mark his place. “What’re you reading?” you asked.

“Some book Gabriel left me,” he said. “I think I’ve read it five times.”

“What is it?” you asked again.

“Some nautical whaling adventure bullshit,” Negan said, bending to pick up his tray.

“Is it any good?” you asked.

“It was the first time. Maybe a bit the second. But not anymore,” he said with a dry laugh, sinking back down on his cot to settle into his dinner.

“I can bring you some other things to read. What do you like?” you offered.

His hazel eyes shot up to you, his expression unreadable for a moment. “Now, why would do that, doll?”

You ignored his use of the pet name and simply shrugged. “Because I’d hate to have to read the same thing over and over and over with no choice.”

“Isn’t that what me bein’ in here is all about? No choice?”

You paused reflectively. “Maybe at first, as a punishment for everything you did. But now—I don’t think so.”

“Well, I’m not gonna fuckin’ turn down some new reading material if you’re offerin’.” A mischievous glint grew in his eyes. “Don’t suppose you’ve got any naughty stuff layin’ around, do you?” he laughed.

You rolled your eyes. “Negan…”

“Honestly, homemade pictures would be even better if you have the means—”

“I’m leaving,” you growled, turning to go.

He laughed heartily and you were surprised that your steps faltered at the sound. “Come on! I’m only kidding! Ish…”

You turned back around and shot him a look.

“Here’s a question: what’s the deal with you and Daryl?” he asked, taking an exploratory bite out of his sandwich.

Your eyebrows lifted. “Seriously? That’s what you want to talk about?”

He shrugged. “Well, this whole Gabe-Siddiq-Rosita love triangle has me on the edge of my seat. Can you blame me for hoping to scrounge up another such juicy morsel? You know I love a bit of drama. It’s a real-life telenovela.”

You rolled your eyes but paced back toward his cell and took a seat in the wooden chair outside it. “Daryl is… I consider him my brother,” you said. “And I’d die for him. He’s family.”

“You sure he knows about this bein’ ‘brotherly’ love?” Negan laughed. “He gave me quite a talking to about you earlier…”

“Considering your past, can you blame him?”

“No,” Negan admitted. “No, I can’t… So, no hanky-panky there, huh?” Negan asked, leaning forward to study your face as if trying to confirm what you’d just told him, still smiling. “Too bad for him… Guy could probably use some, right? Help chill him the fuck out,” he laughed.

You shot him a disapproving stare and he tried to look apologetic with only some success. “Are you through?” you asked, your tone bored.

“Yeah, I guess so. Thanks for the meal,” he said. You climbed to your feet, nodding.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? We’ll do the same thing. There’s more to do over there.”

“You got it, boss,” Negan acknowledged. “Hey—Y/N—I know I can be an asshole, but I really meant what I said earlier. Thank you.”

You only nodded and gave him a tight smile.

And that was how you and Negan continued, for quite some time. It took you over a week to get the area completely cleared and the rescued medicinal plants transplanted. After that, you ended up having Negan build the new raised beds and help you install them. He could be surprisingly handy when he wasn’t busy cracking jokes and he seemed genuinely grateful for something to do to pass the time. It was surprising how easily the two of you got into an almost comfortable routine. You often were reminding yourself that all you were doing was building rapport so you could help Negan make progress, whatever that meant… It still seemed to be some vague, shapeless idea in your mind, but the thought of Carl and Rick and your loyalty and sense of duty to help Michonne kept you going.

Finally, with that project done, you decided it was time to start venturing outside the walls. Considering how well things had been going, Daryl couldn’t disagree with you anymore, though he did continually feel the need to remind you not to let your guard down. He also requested that you stay close to Alexandria when you ventured out, something you agreed to as sensible, at least to start.

Afterall, if Negan really was to someday assimilate back into this weird version of “society,” this step-by-step, gradual building of trust and rapport seemed like the way to do it.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You lightly tossed a canvas pack at him after swinging the cell door open and he caught it against his chest, giving you a curious look.

“Think you can handle going outside the walls today?” you asked him.

Negan looked surprised. “With careful supervision, I’m assuming?”

“Obviously,” you said.

He nodded, still looking a little stunned. “You trust me enough to take me outside the walls?”

“Enough,” you agreed, cocking one eyebrow.

Negan let out a low laugh. “Alright… What’s the plan then for today, warden?”

You rolled your eyes. He’d taken to calling you that since you’d given him a few stern looks in response to his usual pet names. “Foraging,” you said simply. “We running low on a few things.”

Negan stepped out of his cell with the bag slung over his shoulder, his canteen now stored inside alongside the smaller bags you’d tossed in for keeping gathered ingredients separated. “And I’m serving mostly as the pack mule?” he asked, watching you brush past him closely to swing his cell shut behind him. Was he imagining it or had your hand brushed his arm? Probably imagining it…

“Pack mule?” you repeated. You held up your own pack to show him. “No. I’m gonna collect mine into my bag, and you’re gonna store whatever you find in your own. I’ve been teaching you plants for a couple weeks now. I thought we’d see what you’ve learned,” you explained. “Unless, you’d rather stay here and—”

“No,” Negan interrupted you, almost a little too eagerly. He laughed a little nervously and the sound was deep and had a slightly gruff edge to it. “No,” he repeated, less eager. He ran a hand back through his hair and shrugged. “I’d rather not sit in my cell doing fuck-all, thanks.”

You smiled at him a little and he tried to ignore the way his heart jumped in his chest. Uh oh. What was that? Surely that was just because you were the only woman who’d smiled at him in maybe… six years?

“That’s what I thought,” you said. “Come on.”

Negan followed you through town toward the gate and you both tried your hardest to ignore the not-so-subtle stares. You should have been used to it by now, but whenever you stepped out with Negan beside you, you felt as if you were on display. The man may as well have been wearing a sign advertising his past crimes. There would never be any complete escape from his reputation and past. All you could hope for was a tiny seed of redemption… and some days even that seemed hard.

As you approached the gate, Negan cleared his throat and glanced over at you.

“Hmm?” you hummed, absently waving to Rosita who was on the guard platform.

“So, Daryl was okay with this?” Negan asked and you shot him a weird look.

“What does Daryl have to do with anything? What is your obsession with him?” you asked.

“Uhh—he fuckin’ hates me and threatened to kill me if I tried to hurt you or—do anything he perceives as being out of line,” Negan admitted. “You can see why that’s of slight concern to me,” he finished.

“Makes sense,” you said, not at all surprised. “But Daryl trusts my judgement, so when I told him I thought you were ready for slightly more freedom he was fine with it and so was Michonne. And if we aren’t back by dark, they’ll come looking. They know exactly where we’ll be,” you explained, stepping out past the gate with Negan just behind you. The metallic rattle continued until you heard the familiar slam and clunk of the latch, indicating you were firmly outside the walls. You looked over at Negan and he had a queer expression on his face, his eyes flitting over the scenery ahead. “It’s been a minute, hmm, since you’ve seen outside,” you commented.

He nodded, his hazel eyes finally landing back on you. “Yeah,” he said. He pulled in a deep breath, filling his lungs to the brim and then let it out slowly.

You thought he almost seemed emotional and you again marked the vulnerability you were seeing in him. This Negan seemed far different from the one who had brandished the baseball bat… “Come on,” you said, nodding your head toward the tree line.

Negan hesitated. “Hey, uhh… What if—” he stopped, breaking off abruptly and you gave him a curious look. “Just—I can’t exactly defend myself if shit goes sideways out here, can I? You’re certainly not gonna hand me a knife,” he laughed dryly.

You smiled vaguely. “I’ll protect you, Negan,” you said. For some reason, this made him laugh and your eyes shot over to him. “What? You don’t think I can?”

“No, it’s not that. Not at all. It’s just—bit of a role reversal from my Savior days, isn’t it?”

Your face grew sad, the smile fading, and the look in your eyes grew more distant. “You weren’t a savior, Negan. The only person you were really saving was yourself,” you said decisively.

“I kept a lot of people alive in the Sanctuary before your group showed up,” he retorted.

“Alive?” you repeated, rounding on him. “Alive in the same way we’ve been keeping you alive in that cell. Maybe alive, but not living. How often did you even think about what the lowest of the workers were going through? Scraping for points, wondering if they’d have enough to feed their kids, let alone themselves. I bet you didn’t think of them even once a day. You were too busy indulging in whatever the fuck you wanted.”

Negan’s brow dropped low over his hazel eyes and he looked reflective, as if truly considering the weight of your words. When you started walking again, he followed behind you in silence and you could feel a tension between the two of you for several long minutes. But by the time you started pointing out plants to him, it had diminished.

Negan was a fast learner and it wasn’t long before you both had a few of the small foraging bags full of herbs and mushrooms. You’d only had to correct him a couple times on his identification. (“Not those unless you want to go back to being in your cell all the time, Negan,” you’d said. You scraped your nail down the stem and it suddenly bruised bright yellow before your eyes. He’d flinched and dropped the poisonous mushroom, an easy to make mistake for a new learner. “Fuck me! No, I sure as shit do not,” he’d said, casting an apologetic look at you. You’d given him an encouraging smile and told him it was alright.)

He found himself laughing and shaking his head suddenly, tucking another small bag into the canvas pack.

“What?” you prompted him.

“Just—look at me? I’m out here following you around in the woods picking mushrooms and leaves like a fucking Disney princess. Life is wild,” he said. His hazel eyes were crinkled in a smile and you took in the sparking nature of the light in them and the genuine ease of him just existing in that moment. The salt and pepper in his beard was more noticeable now that he’d been keeping it neat and trimmed again and it wasn’t lost on you that the somewhat slumped posture of his shoulders seemed to have lessened lately.

You sighed and nodded your agreement. “It sure it,” you agreed. “If you’d told me a year ago that I’d be out here with you, I’d have taken it as a threat.” You turned back to the plant in front of you and plucked a few more leaves before glancing over at him again. You were surprised to see that his eyes were still on you. “Do you miss it?” you asked him suddenly. You were still down on one knee on the leaf litter and he was standing above you, his tall, lean frame stretching upwards. An involuntary flash of the line-up suddenly burst in your mind, hot and red, and you nearly fell over, all your breath leaving in a rush. You put a hand down to steady yourself and Negan watched your head drop and your eyes squeeze closed. Your other hand drifted to the handle of your gun, as if you were reassuring yourself it was still there.

“Hey—” Negan said, concern thick in his voice. “You okay, doll?”

You gathered yourself, gulping at the sudden tightness in your throat, and then stood up quickly, nodding. “Yeah. I’m fine. And don’t call me that… I think—I think we’re about done for today,” you said hurriedly, tucking the supplies back into your own pack.

He nodded, his brow still heavily furrowed. “Okay,” he said, his voice unsure. But he fell into step beside you again. The tension in the air had returned. Negan let it stretch for a minute before he broke the silence, genuinely feeling his concern like a tightness across his chest. “You aren’t gonna tell me what that was about back there?”

You didn’t turn to look at him, but you could feel his eyes on you. You focused straight ahead instead, and navigated stepping over some fallen wood while you answered. “No,” you said simply.

“Okay.” Negan forced himself to pull his eyes away from you, nodding, and fell silent again. Neither of you spoke on the short walk back to the gate nor all the way back to the cell. You finally looked up and met his eyes again as he handed you the pack he’d had slung over his shoulder, now full of foraged tidbits that would make life just a little bit better or a little bit more enjoyable for many residents.

Negan studied your expression, and he thought you looked sad. There was really no other word for it. His hands slipped into his pockets and he stepped back into his cell just far enough to allow you to close the door, not taking his eyes off you. The bolt locking him in echoed in the space.

“Thanks for your help today,” you said, meeting his eyes one more time.

His brow furrowed even more heavily over his eyes. “Sure,” he said, nodding. “Not sure you should be thankin’ me, though. Probably should go the other way around.”

You didn’t really acknowledge his response, just added his canvas bag to your shoulder and licked your lips nervously. “I’ll make sure you get lunch soon,” you said.

Negan watched you turn and leave, puzzled and frankly a little worried. His fingers curled around the cold iron bars of his cell as the outside door slammed behind you.

Once you were back in the sunshine, you made your way toward the pantry with the bags, with a detour to find Daryl at Aaron’s house. He was just where you expected he’d be, working in the garage.

He turned at the sound of your footsteps and straightened up hurriedly when he realized it was you and perhaps because he sensed something or read it on your face. “Hey,” he drawled, wiping his hands absently on the bandana from his back pocket. “How’d it go out there?” he asked eagerly.

You nodded thoughtfully, chewing on your bottom lip for a moment. “Good,” you said. “Pretty good…”

His eyes narrowed. “Ya sure?” he prodded you. “Somethin’ happen?” He was already bristling, ready to go punch Negan across the jaw if he needed to.

“Not exactly,” you said hesitantly, fiddling with the strap of your bag.

Daryl frowned. “What’s that mean?”

“I mean—he didn’t do anything. I just—I had a flashback,” you said, your eyes growing a bit distant. “To back then. At the line-up,” you murmured, ducking your head and blinking fast to clear away the tears in your eyes. “I was kneeling down, picking tea leaves off this plant and I looked up and he was sort of standing over me and it just—it triggered something,” you admitted.

Daryl looked deeply concerned, the line between his eyebrows deepening. “Was it somethin’ in yer gut? Did ya feel… unsafe?”

“No,” you said, almost urgently, looking up at him and catching his blue eyes again. There was a touch of faint disbelief in your own voice. “That’s the thing. I don’t feel unsafe around him now. It was just something about the angle. I looked up and he was standing there and—” You broke off and sighed again. “I don’t know…”

Daryl leaned forward on his hands on the workbench between you. “Well, it ain’t like all that past shit just goes away,” he said. “I couldn’t do what yer doin’,” Daryl admitted. You gave him a curious look and he nodded. “If I walked him out into the woods, he wouldn’t be comin’ back.”

You let out a dry laugh. “Yeah… Anyway, I just—I hate to ask you…” you hesitated again.

“Ask me,” he said. “It’s alrigh’.”

“Would you mind just getting lunch together and taking it to him? I think I just need a break for a little bit. Or I can ask Michonne,” you added.

“S’alrigh’. I’ve got it. Michonne is busy with the kids. Soon as I finish up in here, I’ll pull somethin’ together.”

You look relieved. “Thank you,” you sighed.

“S’nothin’,” he said. He chewed on his bottom lip for a moment and you could tell he was on the edge of saying something. “Ya dun have to do this, ya know. If it’s too much—he can rot in that cell for everythin’ he did. Fuck him,” Daryl said pointedly, throwing in a small smirk as he said the last two words.

You had to laugh a little at that. “Yeah, I know. It’s okay. I don’t give up that easily. I’ll be good by the time he needs his evening meal. Thanks, Daryl.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

Negan looked up, hesitant, as he heard the outside door open. He was expecting to see Daryl coming in again. He couldn’t stop turning what had happened outside the walls in the morning over and over in his head. He scrutinized his own behavior and yours. He thought through all the conversations… but he’d come up empty as far as any reason as to why you’d abruptly ended the field trip or why Daryl had brought him lunch instead of you. He was annoyed by the tight pit in his stomach. His lunch sat untouched still, right where Daryl had pushed it through the slot into his cell.

But it wasn’t Daryl coming in with his dinner. It was you.

Negan had nearly jumped to his feet before he could stop himself. “Hey,” he said, the same novel dangling at his side. You stopped at the bars of his cell.

“Hi,” you greeted him. You looked down at the still full tray just inside the slot and then back up to meet his hazel eyes. “Not hungry today?” you asked, cocking one eyebrow at him.

He shrugged and took a few steps toward you. “Honestly? I was a little worried I wasn’t gonna see you again,” Negan admitted. His tone wasn’t jesting or sarcastic. “After this morning, you know… outside the walls.”

“Mmm,” you hummed, nodding. “I see.”

He laughed a little and shook his head. “There’s that therapist response again.”

“Well, do you want this? Or should I save it for tomorrow,” you asked him, looking down at his still full tray on the floor.

“You can save it. I’ll eat my lunch. Less work for you tomorrow,” he said.

You nodded and set the tray aside on the chair outside his cell for a moment. “I have something else for you,” you said, digging into the bag hanging from your shoulder. Negan watched curiously as you withdrew several books. “I raided the library. I tried to pick some things I thought you’d like but—I realized I have no idea what you’d actually like… So. I guessed,” you said.

You gave him an expectant look and he came to the cell door. You passed each book through the bars to him one by one. Negan was highly aware of your fingers being only inches from his. He could have brushed your hand with his if he’d wanted to.

“Thanks,” he said, new books in hand. “You didn’t have to do that.”

You nodded. “I know.” Your response drew another gruff laugh from him.

“I’ll go put this aside,” you said, collecting the tray again. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Negan.”

He hesitated just a moment, gulping at the lump in his throat. “You don’t need to tell me what happened out there… Of course you don’t. You don’t owe me anything. But right before, you were asking me if I missed it,” Negan said. You’d turned back to look at him again, curious. “Do I miss being the fucking King of the Castle?” He paused and his tongue swept out over his bottom lip. “Yeah. I do,” he admitted. “I miss the freedom. I miss people paying attention to me, listening when I fucking talk, getting me whatever the hell I want… But I don’t miss all the bullshit that came with it and what I had to do to maintain that power.”

There was a strange expression on your face and then you sighed. “I guess that’s something,” you said softly. “See you tomorrow, Negan.”

[rallentando1011]

Valentine’s Day With Donnie

(rise Donnie x gn reader)

Saint Valentine’s Day: a fickle holiday that celebrates even more fickle emotions, a day that forces the formation of many a precarious bond that statistically would not last

At least, that’s how Donnie saw it for the entirety of his life

Until you came along

Now, don’t get him wrong, he still thinks it’s stupid, but maybe something could be stupid and enjoyable

He means, he enjoys his brothers’ company, right? (/j… maybe /hj)

Either way, for you, he doesn’t mind giving Valentine’s Day a genuine go

So, when you come over on the holiday, Donnie’s ready

“As you know, I think Valentine’s Day is an example of rampant consumerism devouring the meaning behind holidays and people’s wallets, but there is something special about a day in which one can express their admiration for each other.”

“Wait… you got me something?”

“Correction: I made you something.”

The man proceeds to hand you a new phone, the insignia on it implying it was made, or at least modified, by his hand

You’d been complaining mentioning that you needed one that actually works

You smile and thank him eagerly

“It’s fine if you don’t have anything, I wasn’t really expecting-”

“Au contraire, Don, I made you something too!”

He looks baffled for about 20 seconds as you hand him a small gift bag containing red velvet macarons, lavender tea bags, a small, smooth rose quartz, a miniature turtle plushie

“Well, me and Mikey made the macarons together. Gotta give credit where credit is due.”

He barely registers your comment, too absolutely enamored by your consideration of him

Donnie doesn’t know where his mind is at, but it definitely isn’t in this solar system, perhaps not even the surrounding stellar systems

Bottom line, bro’s ecstatic

The huge grin on his face and brightness in his eyes effectively gets his point across

Not only did he give a heartfelt gift, he received one?

Okay, maybe this Valentine��s Day had something to it

Watching rom-coms solely to trash on them is a mandatory tradition

Every other Valentine’s Day he’s spent by his lonesome has mostly consisted of hours of mercilessly ragging on romantic comedies

Yep, definitely just to criticize them

No sadness and/or yearning involved

But now, with your company?

He’s still criticizing the ever-loving heck out of those movies

If you genuinely enjoy rom-coms, be prepared for this little pessimist to rain on your parade, grumbling questions of the logic and flow of the film

However, if you, too, find them stupid, you’ve found yourself the perfect, cynical viewing buddy

“You can tell just from the cinematography of that one guy catching her that he’s the secondary love interest.”

“I swear on Galileo’s heliocentric model itself- how many love interests can one main character have?”

“I think that’s the challenge that was going on in the writer’s room - to see how many variations of a love triangle they could make.”

“The challenge in the writer’s room was that they had too many people slamming on keyboards, yet none of them wrote Shakespeare.”

“Was that an infinite monkey theorem allusion?”

“And a simultaneous dig on the foul writing - zing!”

Following the festivities of movie-binging and gift-giving, he turns to you with a rather uncharacteristic diffidence in his demeanor

Glance askance, slight perspiration on his forehead, fidgeting hands, stammering words

As you start to ask what’s wrong, Donnie quickly, almost unintelligibly so, asks if you want to dance

If you feel so inclined, you nod, take his hand, and offer a dance

If Sinatra is playing (Nancy or Frank or both), you know some slow dancing is going down

Bill Withers or Kitty Kallen, maybe even Dean Martin, something classic, whispering in the background, a hand or two on your hips, yours on his shoulders, chins tucked cozily on the crook of each other’s neck or crown of the head, just the two of you gently swaying together to the rhythm sounds perfect

Normally when he dances, it’s fast-paced boogie or groove (he didn’t get the name Bootyshaker9000 for nothing), but for today, for you, he’ll keep the dancing slow, smooth, sweet

Keeping you close and spending time with you has certainly made this his favorite Valentine’s Day thus far

The macarons you gave him also significantly improved his verdict

(Happy Valentine’s Day gang ‼️ HERE are some accompanying sketches with this!)

[munsonomenon]

⛧☾༺’Casual’༻☽⛧

Chapter 1v: All this time

⛧ pairing: steve harrington x alt! fem reader, rockstar! eddie x alt! fem reader

⛧ contains: angst, love triangle, fluff, comfort, fwb, alcohol, smoking, pining, implied friends to lovers, pet names, slow burn, asshole! eddie

⛧ word count: 2.9k+

⛧ previous chapter: here

⛧ warnings: allusion to smut ! mdni !

The contrast of the chilled breeze embracing your skin as you pull yourself through the door is a stubborn reminder of the cardigan you left resting on the couch back in the dressing room, but there was no way in hell you could bring yourself back into that room. You can’t stop hearing the unknowing roars of approval ringing in your ear. Feeling all of the nights spent with your fingernails digging in his back, wishing for once you could have more than just his skin as he strung you along.

Tasting the drop of blood pooling through your lip snaps you back, your jaw clenched tight enough to break the skin. Frustration boils over the edge causing a single wet drop to stream down your frigid skin. You’ve never felt quite this pitiful but it was nearly impossible not to with him making his intentions painfully obvious.

The rushed patter of footsteps on the pavement fills your ears and brings your attention behind you as you place a cigarette between your lips. Steve runs his fingers through his waves of hair scanning the parking lot, panting with his chest breathing heavily. His eyes wander finding yours and his expression of relief quickly droops to concern as he sees the wet black streak down your skin. He moves towards you cautiously, holding his hands out to cup your face as he studies your demeanor. His small gesture causes the floodgates you had put to a halt to come rushing back open, your cigarette falling to the ground with the twitching of your lips.

“Hey, hey- Slow down, you’re okay. What’s going on?” he whispers softly while he wipes your tears away. You’ve never explained the ends and outs of you and Eddie to anyone outside of Robin. The part of you afraid to admit to being his secret can’t bear to spill your embarrassment to him. Especially with the stubborn reminders of his voice reverberating through the walls.

“Did somebody do this to you?” his voice twists, eyes squint over the few people grouped in the surrounding area protectively, his hands on your cheeks keeping their tender hold. “No, it’s nothing I- mean, it wasn’t them.” you mumble wishing you could just tell him the truth. I think I- I just got too drunk.” You sniffle through your words slightly shivering.

“Well, clearly somethings up. Here-.” he cuts off his words by removing his signature gray members-only jacket, resting it around your shoulders. “You’re freezing!” he exclaims. “Steve, no-“ you protest forcing his coat away. “You’re gonna be cold now.” you whimper.

“Shh, I’m fine. We can go sit in my car, I’ll turn the heat on.” he moves to fully throw his jacket over you, completely engulfing you in the fabric. as he walks you to the passenger side of his car you can’t tell if the pink flush you see from the corner of your eye is brought on by the cold air or if his arm pressed against you to hold his jacket closer to your body.

Awkward silence flows through the air of Steve’s car as your head pounds from your racing thoughts in your drunken state. You felt guilty for feeling comfort in his presence, the strings of you still tied to Eddie telling you this was wrong. Steve’s infectious smile as he makes his way to the seat opposite of you takes away some of that doubt.

“We don’t have to talk about what happened earlier if you don’t want to.” he whispers starting up his car to crank the heat on. You shoot him a shy smile “I can tell you about this freaky ass movie Robin made me sit through the other night.” he chuckles and you can feel your heart swell. “I’d like that.” you say with your voice low. He scoots up in his seat and starts motioning with his hands as he explains the film’s plot.

“So, there’s these oddly large fucked up looking clowns with these guns that shoot out popcorn and shit like that.” he turns to you emphasizing how important this is to him when he sees your lost but curious smile. “Which might seem like a good time and all, except they’re like insane, evil, killer clowns that turn their victims into giant mounds of cotton candy or these fucking pies they have made out of acid they use to melt cops!.” he exclaims dramatically.

“Are you sure this is a movie you’ve seen and not some elaborate night terror you had after smoking too much before bed?” you shake your head skeptically. “I’m serious!” his eyes grow wide with his giggles. His elbow rests on the center console so he can have a better view of you.“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Harrington.” you reach in to playfully pinch the skin of his cheek making his head fall towards the floor, covering his flushed grin you wished he wouldn’t hide.

Lost in the scattered conversations neither of you realizes the time until you see the masses of fans piling through the small doors. “Shit uh- guess we should get going too then.” Steve says slowly like he’s disappointed in tonight ending here. You’re glad to know you aren’t alone in that. You’re drawn in like a moth to a flame in the warm glow that he has lit up around you. You’ve never spent much time alone with him before, in this moment you can’t comprehend all you’ve deprived yourself of. Checking the rearview mirror you toss your head back “Fuck, I am still way too drunk to go home right now.” you admit as you’re brought back down to the harsh reality that put you here to begin with. His face twists thinking hard about his words before he speaks them.

“Why don’t you just come back to my place?” his chest swells with hope, “I mean you’d be coming over with Robin tomorrow to help set up anyway?”. It was hard to ignore the rush of pounding in your chest. “My house is the complete other direction from yours. I can just order a taxi or something.” you say trying not to inconvenience him. “Not happening, it’s way too cold for me just to ditch you here.” he grabs your face, pulling you to look in his direction. “Just come home with me, please?” begging softly, warmth radiating off his skin just inches from yours. “Fine, but just for tonight. ” you tease him, thinking back on how Robin had this whole thing right all along. The gleam in his puppy eyes blew his cover. “take a picture it’ll last longer!” you mock his prolonged glance, pushing his shoulder gently breaking your closeness. His expression remains the same. “Don’t worry, this is plenty.” he nearly drools.

“Can I ask you something? It’s really stupid?” you mutter through your hands covering your face as you rub your eyes. “Of course.” he mutters faintly. “Anything.” he pushes. You let out a deep breath mixed with a small laugh. “Could you uhm- maybe, grab my cig I dropped out in the parking lot earlier?” feeling slightly embarrassed by your desperation. “It’s the last in my pack and I really need it right now.” the passing cars lit up his face just enough for you to see his smirk. “I’m on it.” he says turning to open his door. “I’ll be right back, then we can get the hell out of here.” he states playfully as he leans down into the car once more before shutting his door.

You peer at his reflection in the mirrors as you watch him hunched over with his arm out searching the black pavement like a metal detector before he reaches down to find his treasure. He turns back to the car holding the found cigarette up like a trophy pumping his fists before performing a goofy victory dance in the empty street. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t admire his cockiness knowing your eyes would follow his every move. You laugh at him quietly from afar before seeing him turn around to the door opening ahead of him.

You tilt the mirror back to get a clear view of the figure. Eddie is standing in front of the last person he wants to see right now and it’s obvious from the sour expression on his face. You see his lips move, unable to hear his words as he motions in your direction. You grasp the door handle to pull it open, stepping into the chilling air. Your hand is perched on the car door as you prop yourself up to watch the scene unfolding before you.

“Is she seriously leaving? You can’t just let her leave like that- I mean she’s had way too fucking much to drink!” Eddie spits loudly at Steve, his voice laced with rage. You keep your distance, you are nowhere near the right headspace to talk to Eddie right now. “Not that it’s any of your concern, but I got it, man. I’m taking her home.” Steve replies calmly but is clearly bothered by the encounter keeping him from returning to you.

Eddie scoffs, crossing his arms unable to believe you’d blow him off tonight for someone like him. “And how sure are you of that?” Eddie questions him bitterly. “I mean, they were her words. Not mine.” Steve motions back to you standing a few spaces back. “Didn’t take much convincing.” his tongue rolls off his teeth with a vindictive smirk. “What the fuck ever dude. Here, she left it in my dressing room.” He hurls a thick ball of fabric at Steve’s chest that you can only assume is your cardigan from earlier. Eddie stops in his place searching for your eyes from across the parking lot, sending you a frail shrug of disappointment before turning on his heel to walk back into the bar, carelessly slamming the door behind him.

Water pools in your eyes as you tilt your head to the sky, exhaling deeply. An unwanted wave of guilt washes over you once more. It’s not like you’d be any better off if you ran back to his familiar comfort now anyway. You always told yourself that you could ‘stop’. Stop the tugging you felt in your chest that pulled you to him with every glance. You wished more than anything that you were someone else at that moment until you feel two arms hover over you before resting on your shoulders, pulling you into an embrace you’ve never yet felt. “Don’t you worry about any of that, alright? he says muffled into your hair. “Let’s get you out of here.” you smile into his neck in agreement. His large hands caress the side of your neck, squeezing you tighter.

He holds your door open as you slide back down to your seat, closing the door softly with both hands. Rubbing his hands together fighting off the cold weather as he maneuvers his way to the driver’s side. You’re hooked on his every manerism watching his arms flex as he jiggles his key in the ignition. His eyes quickly flick up to you. “Ah, almost forgot! The fruits of my labor.” he flicks the cigarette out of the pocket of his vintage shirt pocket presenting it to you. Your heart flutters reaching out to grab it. “Robin’s right. Dingus suits you.” giggles escape your mouth. “Great now you’re in on it too.” he rolls his eyes. “At least it sounds cute coming from your mouth.” he whispers, leaving you unsure of if you were even meant to hear him. His hand wraps around your knee in a swift motion as he turns his body to check behind him before reversing out of the lot.

The moment Steve’s tires hit the pavement you feel a vibration through the floorboards peeking down to see a vibrant glow from your bag. You ruffle through flipping the screen over exposing the depiction of Eddies ring-scattered fingers squeezing your ass cheek that he had sneakily set as his contact image in your phone earlier. Your eyes forcibly squint closed praying Steve didn’t happen to lower his eyes to the display. Nervously you tap the screen declining his call. “Everything okay over there?” Steve chuckles at your frantic movements. “Yeah, just uhm- looking for my lighter” which wasn’t completely a lie.

The sparkling flickers from your lighter catch his eyes as an orange haze fills the enclosed space. His fingers immediately flick over the button to his side lightly cracking your window. “What a gentleman.” you say through pursed lips as you blow out your first drag. “Let me get a hit.” tilting his head out toward you before facing the road again. You can’t help but laugh at his confidence gasping dramatically. “Going out to a metal show and now smoking? These things aren’t good for you, you know?”. you act appalled. “Yeah, and neither is me watching how pretty you look smoking them.” he says matter-of-factly. “and with the amount of effort I went through to retrieve that fucking thing, I think I’ve earned it.”.

Your eyes almost roll into the back of your head with his words, You’ve never heard him speak like this before and his boldness leaves you reeling for more. Your fingers reach to push his loose strands of hair behind his ear as he keeps his eyes ahead. “Fine, but if you vomit at least turn the other way.” holding the lit cigarette up to his plush lips with your index and pointer fingers. His head makes a quick maneuver before wrapping his lips around the end, lightly kissing the skin on your knuckles before a harsh cough rings through the air. His face wrinkled in disgust as he waves his hand back and forth over his face to clear the smoke.

“Jesus Christ!” he loudly exclaims still halfway choking in the fog. “I can’t believe you sent me off all alone, into the cold night for that shit.” forcing out a laugh as he wipes tears out of his eyes, causing you to erupt in laughter at the sight making him smile like an idiot. Ashing your cigarette through the cracked window you tell him you’re surprised he handled it as well as he did, which he credits to the lone cigarette he stole from his mom’s purse in the eighth grade preparing him for this very moment.

You know, I feel pretty stupid about it now but uh-“ Steve breaks the silence with a chuckle full of nerves. “I never really tried to talk to you much because I figured Robin had filled your head up with ideas about me.” feeling the sincerity in his words fueling the rapid thumping in your chest. “Quite the opposite actually, she spent years trying to convince me to put up with you.” you admit. “Fuck off.” he scoffs at your response like you’re playing some cruel joke on him. It’s not a wild assumption to make. Robin would spend hours talking your ear off about every single detail of what’s happening around her since the last time she’s seen you so he knew a few rough stories had to have slipped through the cracks.

“I mean it! You used to be a real shithead, you know. I guess I just never fully adjusted to the fact that you had changed until now…” you say sheepishly. The last two words played over in his head on repeat, fueling his ego. “Until now? So you’re like totally into me, right?” he mocks in his best trying-to-be serious voice. “In your dreams, Harrington.” you reply slyly but to him, he feels like he’s already in one. He can’t fathom the idea of someone not wanting to attach themselves to you.

His hair bouncing off of the side of his neck to the beat of the tune he’s tapping out on the steering wheel has you stuck in a trance, his perfectly carved jaw bone mixed with your buzz filling your brain with filthy ideas. Your thoughts are cut short by the rhythmic ticking signaling you are turning down his street. Steve lives in a remarkably nice house for his age. He landed some cushy work-from-home position at some local finance startup that just so happened to take off, earning him a decently sized salary which you only know about because of Robin’s gossip.

The end of Steve’s driveway brings you a sense of restlessness anticipating his next move as the space grows dark after the rays from the headlights die down. His veiny hands reach for the door handle swinging it open before his slender legs branch out. He quickens his pace in a light jog making his way to you before you get the chance to let yourself out. “Slow down there sweetheart, what kind of gentleman would I be if I left you to open your own door?” he coos, as if you are the most fragile thing on earth before extending his hand out for you to grab onto.

His arm immediately moves to rest over the dip in your back once you’re standing, sending shocks over your skin and you are utterly content with just staying like this the rest of the night. He motions out widely with both of his arms with his waist still pressed snuggly against yours, displaying the surroundings to you. “Welcome home.” he grins sliding his key in the door.

༺ the end.

chapter v: ‘like nothing matters’

coming: soon!

[the-orange-tabby-cat]

GIF by @pedgito

Wings Of The Dawn | Chapter 7

Joel miller x fem!reader

Summary: You are Jackson's librarian, a doll with a good heart, that has your life changed when a handsome man decides to take his kid and start again in your small town after completing their cross country journey. Having a hard time ignoring Joel's dark brown eyes, you find yourself wishing to have him close as you both navigate through love triangles, teenage drama, city gossip, and ghosts from both of your pasts. This is a comfort fic filled with slow burn and small town dynamics. Chapter summary: Joel mumbles Tess name and makes you insane.

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Rating: 18+ (allusions to smut in this chapter)

Warnings/Tags: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Friends to Lovers, Age Difference, Small Town Dynamics, No use of y/n

Chapter Word count: 6,2k

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CHAPTER 7

Long fingers slowly caressed his scalp, curling the hair at the end between the fingertips. A song hummed near Joel’s ear in the early hours, waking him up gently. He always let her get what she wanted in those bitterly sweet moments, to savor whatever he couldn’t put into words when fully conscious.

Tess showed her affection by touching him in private. Her hand always found a way: brushing his fingers with hers when they were cleaning up the ammo, staying longer in his face when checking up bruises, resting above his stomach when cuddling. One touch per time in a small reminder that she was there another day, still alive for him, perhaps because of him.

She never demanded Joel to put into words whatever they were, she knew that he would do anything for her and it was enough. That morning, while her fingers petted his hair so sweetly, Joel felt like floating on cloud 9, somewhere where he wasn’t a hurt man.

Turning in her embrace, he lazily opened his eyes and saw her smile up close. Different from the tough woman he would follow anywhere, she was herself in their bed. Her eyes were looking everywhere on his face, paying attention to all the details as she hummed her song.

The sun entered their room, illuminating her blonde hair and shining on her green eyes. Something burst in his stomach, a feeling he would constantly avoid, one he knew could demise him if said out loud.

Opting out, he kissed her wrist as she kept caressing his curls. He felt safe in her arms like they were constantly open for him to crawl and find peace there, on her body. Her eyes twinkled with an impulse, as he leaned on her touch.

“I love you,” she said enouncing all the words softly. A second pass and he couldn’t get himself to say it back.

Her touch became errant, his body got cold even if the sunlight was all around their bed.

His only response was to kiss her wrist once more before resting his head between her neck and shoulder, holding her body tight to his and finding console on sleep again.

“Tess,” a sleepy Joel murmured on your neck, making you shiver.

It was the first time you slept in his house, and by accident. Yes, things were getting serious, but the relationship (could you call it that?) was so brand new that you kept self-conscious of every little milestone while doing your best to be the chill girl. Guys like the chill girl, right?

You couldn’t fully remember the details of the so said being the chill girl since the outbreak happened before you were old enough to watch whatever you wanted, but you grew up listening to Jason's comments on the girls at school and how he always kept them an arm's length of distance.

The chill girl doesn’t get clingy, this you were sure, but how could you not when Joel made sure to see you whenever he got time? It made you melt that he wasn’t happy not getting around so much after he started to patrol and your schedule didn’t match anymore, so he created space for you.

If he wasn’t on patrol or helping Tommy with the renovations around town, he would grab lunch for two and eat at the back house of the library just like when you first connected. Often he would sit and eat together at the mess hall, hand in hand above the table so everyone could see that you were his. He went as far as to get himself a DVD machine so you could watch movies cuddling.

One movie led to another, some making out on his sofa (thank God Ellie was always hanging around at Cat’s), the night went by and it became a little too late for you to walk home by yourself. In his sleeping clothes, you went to rest with him all around you just to wake up with him naming another woman.

Who was Tess? You hadn’t heard that name around town. He was softly snoring on you, at peace as you couldn’t get back to sleep. Your mind created new theories as you stared at the dark ceiling.

What if Tess was a sister? One who couldn’t find a way to Jackson, letting him and Tommy alone? Joel hadn’t given you that many details on his life before coming to town.

Could Tess be his mom, maybe? Or a high school sweetheart? Was he dreaming of a memory? You knew glimpses of what Joel was before the outbreak, no more than that.

Esther sounds awfully like Tess.

Nath could spot from a mile away that you were angrier than usual on your little walk of shame. Your eyes were glued to the pavement, round shoulders pointed down, not the darling who walks around looking straight ahead and greeting everyone.

“Good morning, Dolly,” Seth said a little unsure and you nodded at what seemed to be his direction instead of saying back. Damn, Nath would need a fuckton of wine to solve whatever Joel did.

Getting closer to the counter, Nath and Seth exchanged stares as you sat in silence. Noticing, you opened your mouth.

“What?” Furrowing your brows, you tried to maintain your posture, but it was too late.

“You know that I have a gun somewhere on behind this counter. Do I need to take it out and bounty hunt a cowboy?” The blonde was giving you a death stare, Seth whistled in the back as he found something to do.

“It’s fine. He didn’t do anything.” You were biting your lip, not focusing on her. At the weight of the death stare, you finally surrendered. “Can we just cut out the cowboy references and relax a little?”

Nath liked to believe that she was optimistic. Quick to anger, the type of girl who will punch someone just because they crossed the line with someone she loves. And yet, so good hearted when in private as she would be the one to kiss every bruise of their loved ones until cured. Not much in this world made her go insane, except for Maria.

“I’m not trying to get you madder at them, just quit it. Let it be.” You sighed as her eyes never left yours.

Oh Maria, that fucker. Of course, she would have something to do with your despair. Why wouldn’t she?

“C’mon, rip it,” she urged and you scratched the nape of your neck in preparation. It was a silent accord in your friendship: don’t hold to yourself, no matter how bad, just rip it like a band-aid.

“Have you ever heard someone using Tess to call Esther?”

Esther hadn’t shown up to Jackson that much before you, a year top. Getting surprised with the sudden question, Nath roamed her memories trying to think of any instance where it might have happened… No, she couldn’t remember.

“Nope, but why are you asking? Don’t get me wrong, an odd question to make after leaving Joel’s house.” She scanned you up and down, who inhaled a lot of air before replying.

“He mumbled Tess while sleeping. And I’m not going to even try to understand how you knew that I slept at Joel’s.” That made Nath giggle a little.

She knew because she spent a large time of the last days monitoring Esther up close. Nath was a strategist and knew that observing her enemy was the first step to winning at whatever you would name her beef with Maria.

As she left Ellie at the alley scared for whatever was to come, Nath spent the rest of the day in a perpetual state of anger. How haven’t she noticed that something was happening right under her nose? Mad at how she left her guard down for the damn girl, she went home that night practicing how she would scowl Ellie for her scheme.

Turns out she is soft. Because the moment the girl sat in her backyard with big doe eyes and gulping in shame, she swallowed her fury to be shown later.

“From the start. And don’t trick me, I know everything already.” She bluffed, Nath only knew what you had told her and to be fair, it was just a little. The rest she got from pressuring one of her usual clients who hadn’t been a regular in a while.

“Huh, okay,” Ellie started while toying with the drawstring, trying to gain some time, “Jesse got one of your wines a while back. Don’t ask me how, I think he robbed someone. He traced the origin back to you, being the bar owner and so.”

Nath knew exactly who had it slip into Jesse's hands, she connected the dots to when Edwin asked for another bottle without making a new deal. And fuck no, she wouldn’t give her alcohol like that. Getting annoyed, she made a motion for Ellie to continue.

“He’s friends with Cat, well, more like they knew each other already. We became friends, he tracked me down one day doing a delivery and I told him because he had seen everything. I know, I know, I was stupid! But I thought he was harmless…?”

“Yeah, and your harmless friend got a scheme out of my scheme.” Nath frowned making Ellie shiver.

“Look, he offered to help me make deliveries so I wouldn’t get in trouble with Maria. It was a good offer! Two can do faster than one, you know?” She tried and Nath huffed, impatiently. “Fine, whatever. I was stupid, I get it! But you do stupid shit too. I’m fifteen and you’re ancient, who’s the real trouble here, huh?”

Nath knew that deep down, Ellie was right. She was the one who blackmailed the girl into her scheme and covered her shit. If anyone got to be a part of it, she was the one who would have a hard time explaining to the town folks about it.

“What was his function in this little deal of yours? I don’t care about the boy meets girl story.” Ellie took a deep breath and got up, walking side to side.

“We started to use your place to make our beverage. Not from the start, of course, we would steal part of your batch whenever you and Seth weren’t around.”

That made more sense, Nath argued with Seth accusing him of making less of their usual batch. How dumb as she, huh? Her first impulse was to believe that the man was getting senile, not that teenagers were sneaking around.

“Jesse would find us the clientele, mostly the rookie patrols. They gave us shit they found when patrolling, we gave them the beverage they’re too young to drink. We have a waitlist, that’s why you found the pink paper.”

“You have a wait list of eleven people? In a town of three hundred? How?” Either Ellie was bad at math or they had a hell of selling speech.

The teen smiled proudly stopping in her tracks.

“Jesse is good. Like, real good. He convinced me!” She said in a smuggling way, making Nath look up and give some credit to the girl: she had a hard time convincing Ellie to accept the blackmail.

“Fine, take me to him.” Getting up and putting her beaten suede jacket on, Nath was ready to leave the backyard, but Ellie was confused. “I didn’t invite you to just hang out, let’s go. You’re on my blacklist right now, it’s the bare minimum to introduce me to your partner in crime.”

An hour later Nath was inspecting the kid: Asian, not tall nor short, athletic body and good-looking face. He looked like the goofy guy of a chick flick that was there to be funny and contra point the jock, but you ended up thinking he was too cute to be unpopular. Jess could hold the hell of her death stare in his direction. Ellie was still smiling, she saw from a mile away that Nath had liked the boy.

“So, you want to share our goods?” Jesse asked in a dull tone, not blinking once. His dark hair was reaching his shoulders, like a petulant teenager before the outbreak.

“You mean my goods? The beverage is mine, jackass.” Nath pouted, ready to start a fight with the kid. Ellie kept staring at them as if she was waiting for a truce.

Jesse grinned and looked at the girl, sharing some secret between stares that Nath couldn’t decipher. She used to be the cool kid before they showed up and now she was a 30-something lost soul, cool, that was nice to know.

“It might be yours but our scheme it’s better. Plus my associates give me the same amount of info as their parents for less the price.”

That made her think, Jesse could be right. Kids are more impressionable, what if she…

“No, that ends here. I won’t be dealing my shit with kids. And to be clear, you both depend on me to have access to the merchandising. You rely on me for your scheme, not the other way around.” Her chest was puffed, she wouldn’t forgive herself if some poor kid made bad choices because they were too intoxicated.

Vice was the family business, that’s true, but her Pawpaw taught her better than being greedy.

Jesse's face fell a little and Nath smirked, she was back on track. Ellie shoot her eyebrows up not expecting the woman’s reaction.

“Oh, you both thought I would just accept as it is? Nah. The girl already works for me, my word is what it goes.” She added looking at Ellie, who audibly swallowed. “Now, Seth indeed needs some help around the kitchen, get it? Don’t test me. Say no and I’ll tell your parents everything. I’m on the council, remember?”

“Seth is kinda cool,” Ellie said trying to lighten up the mood. Jesse was chewing his cheek, trying to look tough, but at the end of the day, he was just a kid to Nath. He nodded angrily in response.

“Cool. You’ll start tomorrow after school, tell your mom that you’re volunteering to help the patrols, I don’t care. Now you,” she turned her body to Ellie who gave big eyes in return, “I have something different for you. No more deliveries for a while, I need your attention somewhere more urgent.”

Ellie worked in the garden with Chad who, in all fairness, was sweet and tried his best to make her time there valuable. Gardening was growing on her, it was nice being around plants a few hours a week and ignoring the weight of the world around them. Who else was spending a few hours a week inside the communal garden with her sheep? Esther.

Nath knew her routine inside the city walls and how close the woman was to Chad, she needed someone to keep an eye on her. For good or bad, Ellie was inside the Miller realm and could eavesdrop on anything that could be said there, after all, Esther was living under Maria’s roof for as long as she would be in the council. She needed trained eyes and a trustworthy person to watch Esther closely.

And this is what Ellie did over the last days, instead of making deliveries and plotting world domination with Jess, she kept her eyes and ears open. Nath had a daily register of what was happening in Maria’s street via Ellie, who stopped by and said that you had slept at Joel’s. Esther saw when you went inside the house and looked to the ground before entering Maria’s.

“I know everything that happens around this town, Dolly. Even more at the Miller’s street.” Nath said before motioning to Jesse to get closer. “Check with Seth if the sandwiches are ready, the patrols will be here soon.”

What else Nath knew?

You had no time to absorb how ominous that phrase was because the boy smiled politely at you, who tried to smile back, but it came out as a grimace. Damn your bad mood. You were ready to leave the bar when a big warm hand sneaked into your lower back, turning around to check it you saw Joel giving your cheek a little kiss.

“Ma’am, hope I’m not interrupting your chat,” he said in all southern politeness to a Nath who greeted him with a nod.

“Not really, the lady is all yours, but if you came for the sandwiches SOMEONE is a little slower in that,” Nath sighed and went to the kitchen screaming at Seth and Jesse.

Joel chuckled, at least he was happy. His hand on you was enough to get your head spinning, whenever he was close it was easy to forget why you were mad. This morning he seemed oblivious to what had happened late at night, like it was something you imagined.

He looked at you winking and you nestled yourself on his chest a little, searching for comfort. God, why were you like this?

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” He asked petting your hair as you leaned on him. You nodded quickly and he chuckled again. “I’ll be back soon, promise.”

“I know. I’m just a little tired, that’s all.” Smiling, you leaned back on your stool as Joel pinched tenderly your cheek before getting his sandwich from the counter.

“Hope my snoring didn’t keep you awake. See ya later, ‘k?” He said walking towards the door, leaving you alone once more.

Your mind was still wondering about who was the mysterious woman in his mind. No matter what you did at the library, how you made yourself feel useful around the place, the name kept coming back. Tess. He was nice in public and in private, so considerate, even if he didn’t show passion.

Since the night in your house, many days ago, he has been going slowly with you. A little too slow for your taste. Not even your heavy make out on his couch was enough to make him take you on his bed, even if you felt him going hard. It was like you were made of porcelain. “Old men have penises problems”, Nath had told you but you desperately wanted him to take you.

To use you, to break you, to take you as he wanted. His big hand on your neck, his fingers on your mouth as you clenched around him. Whispers of sweet nothings late at night, maybe telling in your ear the dirtiest things as he held your jaw aggressively. You didn’t know what you wanted first, to go slow and deep or to have it hard and rough?

You crave it. He was giving you all the signals he wanted you with the same intensity, but no more than sweet touches on your body. Maybe you should make a big move and take all of your clothes in front of him, would that help? Would he stop everything and mark your body everywhere he wanted to?

Cat came to the library as you daydreamed of amazing sex, making you get out of your head for instance. Instantly you noticed that something was off with her.

“Bad day too, huh?” She asked casting down her hazel eyes, her voice was low. Damn, even the bummed-out girl could see that you were off.

“Something like that. And you?”

She just sighed in return, not bothering to roam around the shelves. Going behind the counter, she got closer to you hesitantly. Looking up, she searched for words almost as if she was getting ready to tell you a secret.

“How do you move on from someone?” Her hands were fidgeting in her lap, her eyes avoiding yours. At that moment you remembered that Cat didn’t have a mother to ask these questions, another woman to guide her through puberty.

Even if Susan wasn’t mother of the year material, she did her best once the outbreak happened. Her belief system, her identity, everything disappeared in one faithful night and she became a new woman as time went by. Towards the end, you could see on her face that she didn’t love Albert anymore, it was obvious.

Strange as it was, the more she grew apart from him, the closer she would get to you. Not to Jason or your siblings, but to you who made a bigger effort to understand why she was still following a madman that once she called her husband. Not that you understood, but you imagined that love could make a person act recklessly.

Perhaps you and Cat were on a similar path. The idea of being alone and not understanding human relations so easily wasn’t lost on you. Sometimes it seemed that no matter what, your skin was constantly on fire from your feelings.

“I don’t know. Do you really want to move on?” You asked in a low voice, giving a thought about it.

“I need to.” She replied watching the ground, deep in her head.

The library bell rang, Ellie came inside for the first time since Joel banned her. A big grin was adorning her face as she recognized Cat, who scoffed instantly. Oh. Oh.

“I was looking for you! You left school in a hurry and we couldn’t talk,” Ellie spoke fast, as if she couldn’t sense that Cat was avoiding her, the same Cat who was not looking into her eyes.

Getting amused, you watched them like a romcom on a Saturday night. What was happening in your library?

“Yeah, because I don’t want to talk with you.” Cat spat out bitterly cutting the rest of Ellie’s phrase, just to gain a pained expression from her. You were still, hoping they would forget that you existed at that moment.

“Wait, what?” Ellie’s puppy eyes got into action, you narrowed your eyes remembering how Joel made the same trick when she fought with him at the library. Have you been played by him?

“You only remember me when he isn’t near, just go!” Cat growled as she walked to the back house, leaving you and Ellie alone.

You sucked your cheek and looked apprehensive at Ellie, who was stuck in the middle of the library still in shock. Gaining her conscience back, her eyes found yours and you could read a big “I fucked up, haven’t I?” there.

Of course, she fucked up. It wasn’t clear to her as how, but she tried to force her memory to when it was the last time she got alone with Cat and oh god, it seemed so long ago… Even at school, she wouldn’t get too close.

You were still looking at her confused, she gasped and quickly said goodbye. She needed to head back to the garden, at least there she could think properly about what just happened.

Shit, why was she so bad at this? Awkward as fuck, of course, Cat would get mad with her because she couldn’t properly behave. Her steps were shy on the pavement like she was a baby learning how to walk, in this case learning how to deal with a pretty girl.

She couldn’t blame herself so much, though. At least she was better than Joel at it.

For someone with a stoic way, Joel could make a big fool of himself at the smallest things. A day before getting cornered in an alley by a psychotic blonde, Ellie was having “family” dinner with Millers and Maria’s girl toy (Joel said she shouldn’t call Esther that, but fuck him).

Preparing herself for a boring evening, she helped the invasor to prepare the table as Tommy and Maria spoke in the kitchen. Joel was nowhere to be seen and she desperately needed a familiar face to survive the night.

“So, are you happy to be in Jackson?” Esther tried to break the ice, forcing Ellie to remember she was still in debt with Maria and couldn’t just ignore the woman. At least she had pretty blue eyes.

“Yeah, it isn’t that bad.” She mumbled looking nervously at the door, where the fuck was Joel?

“When I got here the first time my feet were almost pure blood after walking so many days. It felt like breathing for the first time being able to rest, you know. That and getting hot food, I was starving!” She smiled fondly as she sat at the table.

Ellie forcedly smiled back trying not to engage further. Like magic, Joel appeared by the door and she breathed in relief, at least someone she didn’t have beef with.

Except he was weird, she smelled something strong on him when he scrunched next to greet her with a ruffle on the head. He was a little more playful than usual, whatever he had done it was acting on him. Nobody seemed to notice, Tommy and Maria didn’t even glare at him when everybody sat down at the table.

Maria was looking between Esther and Joel, smiling to herself as she served dinner to everyone like a goddamn housewife. Ellie wanted to roll her eyes but was afraid that they wouldn’t return to the place if she did. Old people were boring as fuck.

“It looks delicious! You’re a lucky man, Tommy!” The invasor joked and Joel smirked in a good mood. Joel didn’t smile at most things, why was he smiling at that?

As Ellie ate (it was indeed fucking delicious), she noticed the conversation around her. Tonight she and Tommy were a little misplaced at the table, observing the others as they were chit-chatting. She noticed how Joel wasn’t frowning deeply, but relaxed, even if Maria was studying his expressions from her seat. He was interacting without the classic asshole voice he used around everyone. Well, not everyone, whenever you were around he was soft.

Yeah, fucking Dolly, man. She saw how you held hands walking down the street, how Joel got stressed on Sundays when you weren’t around. If you came around their table at the mess hall, Joel would stop everything and look at you with twinkling eyes. He was down bad for you, it was a little cute see him so lovey-dovey – not that she would ever say that to him.

And yet, here was she watching him with blushed cheeks laughing Esther jokes.

Joel made a mistake, taking liquid courage in alcohol wasn’t the best move before dinner with Tommy and Maria, but he needed a fix before facing everyone at the table. Thank God he wasn’t making a fool of himself, people were reacting okay at his sudden eloquence.

Joel found Esther easy to talk to. She seemed at peace next to him, more than her natural way of being. They were having some parallels through dinner, getting looks from Ellie mostly. Tommy had stared too, but a little unbothered by it.

"You should visit me sometime at the sheep farm, I would love to hear more about your travel with Ellie," Esther softly spoke to him. Her blue eyes shone with a big smile. Something about her made him believe she wanted more than his friendship.

"It would be my pleasure, ma'am," Joel answered not knowing why he did in the first place.

Ellie kept staring at them, he knew what she meant: "What about Dolly? Does she know how fond you are with Esther?"

He had no interest in the woman, of course. She was pretty, but that’s it, she lacked something he found in you. In the haze of the recent happenings, the night at your house was replaying in his head. He wanted so badly to take you in that blue dress, but something was holding him back.

The moment you looked at him with tender eyes confessing that you wanted to touch his hair his stupid mind went back to Tess in his bed. He had no clue why, you were two different people, but something about how you acted so lovingly toward him was flooding with memories of a life not so long ago.

As he left the library, he searched for his cabinet for something strong so he could bury this thought and never come back to it. He might have exaggerated a little since he was being talkative at a dinner when he was the “yeah, hum” guy.

Esther didn’t mind, mending one topic on another. He wanted to stop, but he was hazy and couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Ellie got something on him because she was looking at him angrier and angrier…

As the night ended, Esther took them to the door and tried to hug him, but thank God Ellie was quicker and pulled his arm down the street. Smart kid, he raised her well. Well, he didn’t raise her exactly, maybe that’s why she was so smart.

He was in the dark, in the middle of the kitchen ready to take a big gulp of water in the hope of a normal morning and not a hangover that would last for days when he noticed Ellie staring at him.

“I’ll say this once: get your shit together, Joel. She doesn’t deserve that.” Ellie said holding the back door open, ready to leave for her room.

He knew what she meant, how could he not?

In the days after the dinner, in a sober state, he did his best to ensure that he was present in your life. Holding tight to you, he hoped that it would be enough to get him out of whatever was happening inside his head. He wouldn’t lose you to his bullshit. He couldn’t.

From his window, Tommy watched you leave Joel’s house in the morning. This was a first, that he could remember at least. Joel was giving you a bear hug, laughing to your ear with a big smile on his face. That was also new.

He hadn’t seen his brother so happy in such a long time, it felt like another life. You, however, he had seen happier.

The moment Joel closed the door, the smile disappeared from your face, like magic. Tommy wasn’t close to you but he knew that something was off by the way you chewed your lip as you strolled down the street.

Maria called the shots around the house and the city, Joel was too busy trying to find sense in a new life and he was there, in the middle of both. His wife made clear over and over how worried she was that Joel was getting too close to you, that Ellie behaved like a wild kid always getting in trouble, walking with the wrong company.

Tommy always preferred to confront, to scream instead of silence. After leaving the Fireflies he became a calmer man, more focused on his surroundings than acting on impulse. He was at peace with not being the hero for someone. It was a stupid vanity, if Maria wanted to be the boss he wouldn’t argue with her.

He just really wished that Joel had proved her wrong like the man he used to be 21 years ago. Life wasn’t as simple, the domestic love bubble he had with his wife was about to burst with Joel getting a drinking problem, his surrogate niece, and worst of all, his crippling fear of becoming a horrible father.

He just want peace for a while, before the baby was born, he wanted to trust Joel to solve his shit so he could make Maria happy for a fucking second. They were constantly in a weird mood, ready to fight, but not putting into words whatever was happening between them. He felt weak, she called the shots and he just followed along. Could his big brother take a hint and stay in his lane?

Finishing his tea, Tommy took another look in the mirror taking courage for what he was about to do. Meeting Joel on his sidewalk, they started walking to the stables.

“So… Dolly, huh?” He started, checking the response.

“Yeah,” Joel limited to say avoiding his eyes. Up for a bad start.

“That’s all you have to say about it?” He tried again, this time Joel sighed.

“No, why don’t you ask me the right question then?” Joel frowned getting impatient, he knew what was coming.

Tommy pondered a little about it, how to ask “Hey stupid, you are losing it and I need you to take your shit together a second before causing drama in my marriage, what about that?” without sounding so harsh. Not that Joel couldn’t take a hit, tough guy, but taking one from your baby brother who used to give you hell?

“What’s going on? ‘Cause I saw how you were close to Esther the other night and now I see Jackson’s doll leaving your house.” It was more direct than he wanted, Joel sighed again chewing on mouth corners.

His brother’s eyes were looking ahead, like something was pulling him under. Joel had no words like he was ashamed of whatever was inside his head.

“When you closed your door, her smile fell the same second. What’s going on, Joel?” Tommy insisted and gained a panicked stare from Joel.

“What do you mean her smile fell?”

“I mean that she started walking looking as if she saw someone die. She is a fucking ray of sunshine, man. Whatever you have done…” They stopped by the stable entrance, far from the gossip eye.

Joel has both hands on his hip, a knee popped as his tongue peaked on his lower lip. For a few seconds, he was anywhere else but Jackson. Tommy patiently waited for his response.

“I dreamt of Tess today.” Joel’s eyes were glossy, his frown got deeper. “I’ve been thinking of her for a while now. I swear I haven’t acted on Dolly, I’m just so goddamn inside my head. Whenever she gets close, real close, I’m stuck on memory, and my body shuts. We only slept tonight, no funny business ‘cause I can’t start it. Something is holding me back.”

“And Esther?” Tommy asked trying to process everything Joel had just said.

It made sense, his brother's anxiety, how he needed things to be black and white and not gray to feel at peace. He was delicate with you, on touches, on how he talked about you when you weren’t around. Tommy saw the spark when Joel first laid eyes on you that day at the Bison, but he never imagined that Joel would pursue you.

“Ellie already had that talk with me. The liquor is so far in the cabinet that I have no idea of where I put it. I swear, okay? It was just that, I would never hurt Dolly doing that.”

Joel's stare was harsh like he could read inside Tommy’s mind and see all the judgment. They were men of little words, whenever feelings were on the way they had a heart to heart but no more than that. Tommy knew that his brother could see everything on the weight of his stare back at him.

“Well, why don’t you do something good for your doll and go to the Bison to get our lunch? She must be there thinking about whatever happened this morning.”

Joel didn’t need to hear twice before strolling down the street.

At dusk, your house was quiet. You were still wrapping around who Tess could be. A whole day distracted by a woman you never saw or met, even worse if she was Esther. Why were you like this? Why hadn’t you asked Joel in the morning when he was so sweet?

Putting your head on your hands, you groaned in anger but got distracted by someone tapping on your front door. Thinking it could be Nath coming to check on you or with the big answer to your question, you opened in the blink of an eye just to see Joel tapping his feet on the doormat.

His hands were on the pockets of his jeans, biting nervously on his lip. You frowned at how agitated he appeared to be. His pupils were somewhat dilated, he looked like your Joel, but so different still.

“Hi. I saw the other night on your CD stash that you have Halican Drops. Huh, came by to check if I can borrow it.” He rushed the words, looking all over the place.

“Yeah, of course. Are you sure you want to listen by yourself? Why don’t we play it together? I can make you some tea.” You offered pulling him inside the house, touching his skin to make sure he was there. As he got closer, you could smell the liquor on him.

With silent motions, he nodded and sat on your sofa. Awkwardly, you came back to the living room with two cups. He accepted mumbling his “thank you” under his breath, as you put the album to play.

Sitting next to him, when the opening song started your heart dropped seeing the tears at the corners of Joel’s eyes. Confused with everything, you offered your lap for him to rest. He accepted without resistance, with both arms around your torso. You held him tightly, caressing slowly his hair as a wet patch formed on your outfit with every tear from his crying eyes.

prev | next

[jolenes-doppelganger]

Hi, I really enjoyed the way you write about Rose, so I was wondering if you could write a one shot about Rose The Hat/fem!reader where the reader is a member of the True Knot and can predict the future. As per the story of the book, part of the True Knot left Rose because they were afraid of Abra and the reader went away with them, however she saw a vision of Rose's death and came back just in time to save her :) sorry if my request is not clear, because I write with the help of a translator :)

[Hello lovelies! Super cute ideas! :) I definitely had fun with this one. I hope you don’t mind that I combined both of your asks to write this, I figured they were similar enough to do so.]

Doomsday

Rose the Hat x Fem! True Knot Reader

Summary: The tension between Rose the Hat and Reader leading up to the accident of the Overlook is both productive, and almost damning. Between the love triangle provoked by Rose’s dual pursuit of both Crow Daddy and R, Reader’s visions that produce a future Rose is too stubborn to acknowledge, and the fracturing of the True Knot following the failed capture of Abra, the world comes crashing down both metaphorically and literally as Rose is pulled back from the brink of death by Reader.

Warnings: Alludes to violence, description of gunshot wounds, dying via car crash, implied murder, more death. A metaphysical slap?Hurt/Comfort, hella angsty. Allusions to sex, but you don't get any. (Womp womp).

A/N: This is a re-imagining of the events of Doctor Sleep, what I would consider a healthy split between the book and the movie. It may be tempting to romanticize Rose as the victim here, (she’s evil and really, really, really deserves it), just don’t. The adapted 'Lodsam Hanti, Sabbatha Hanti' chant was translated with the help of this Reddit thread.

Word Count: 5.6k

Waking up in Snakebite Andi’s and Silent Sarey’s trailer felt… Wrong. Mostly because you’d been sleeping in Rose’s trailer for six months. Rose had been on the hunt for ‘the whale’ ever since she felt Abra looking in on her at the supermarket. She’d enlisted you to help. Sure, you could predict when it would rain, accidents, hell you’d predicted the 2017 Eagle Creek fire. The steam from that accident had been weak. Very few deaths. Not a proper ‘Big One’, as Rose called it, but there was something odd Rose had noticed. After taking a particularly good meal, as you’d had once or twice given how new you were to the Knot, you’d get these visions. Real proper visions. Rose had hunches, mostly. They were pretty accurate for hunches, but you, you got images. One trip into a casino, and the True Knot had walked out four hundred thousand richer, not like they needed the money. No, the Knot never needed anything, except steam.

“You gonna go back to the watchtower with Rose?” Andi yawned, in a bra and underwear.

As welcoming as Andi and Sarey were, they weren’t quiet hosts. Noise canceling headphones made little difference. You’d spent your night in interrupted sleep cycles, covering your head with a pillow as Sarey and Andi fucked like rabbits. 

“I don’t think Rose wants me there today.” you answered.

“How come?” Andi asked.

Silent Sarey came up behind Andi, pressing her face into her lover’s neck. The two of them were adorable, the token queer couple in the troop of mostly straight men and women that made up the Knot. The twins were the next closest thing to queer. They didn’t really have gender identities, and they weren’t their own people. They kind of existed as facets of each other. Neither one had a gender or identity separate from the other, you supposed that might’ve made them nonbinary. The twins didn’t do labels aside from being ‘the twins’.  That was their thing. 

“Well…” you stammered, shaking your head to rid yourself of the extensive internal monologue, “She just doesn’t need me. You guys are going up to Frasier to get Abra today, and there’s nothing for me to do except stay with Rose. 

Sarey gave a nod. She struggled to communicate with most people in the Knot, except Andi. She’d whisper away in the lisped speech pattern she had, snuggling closer to her younger lover. But the nod was nice. It was her way of saying, ‘I’m listening’.

“Alright, well, I should be getting ready, we’re heading out early.” Andi smiled.

You nodded, pulling on your shoes and exiting your trailer. You didn’t need to be a witness to the farewell sex the couple would inevitably have. Besides, the morning was too fresh to spend in a stuffy trailer.

“Hiya Dreamie.” Barry the Chunk hooted.

Dreamie. That was your name. It’s what everyone called you, and you didn’t mind it. Better than ‘loonie’ or ‘make-believer’. There were worse words, but it was early. No sense in ruminating on the bad.

“Hi Barry.” you smiled back.

The camp was waking up. And you needed some time away from the masses. There was a tingling in the back of your head, an incessant itch. It was the telltale sign of a vision, and a big one. You debated going up to the watchtower. Rose would get the cue, but you and Rose weren’t exactly on good terms right now. Crow wasn’t on good terms with you.

“Dreamie. Rose wants you.” Crow said, scruffy voice jarring you from your thoughts.

“Speak of the devil.” you mumbled to yourself. “Got it, thanks Crow.”

“It’s Crow Daddy to you, Dreamie.” he gave a smile, too white teeth throwing off the otherwise cleverly hidden sneer.

“Got it.” you gave a curt nod.

Then it was back into the lion’s den. You gave a knock on her trailer door before you came in. A noncommittal hum was the permission granted. One step into the trailer and it was clear Rose and Crow had been fucking. The trailer reeked. 

“It’s nice outside, you should open a window.” 

Rose stretched her arms, in a set of mens pajama pants and a sheer bra. Always with the bras, was she allergic to shirts or something?

“Got any dreams, Dreamie?” Rose smirked, not unkindly.

Like it or not, Rose was always in a good mood after a night of fucking. Always. 

“I have an aura, actually.” you sighed.

“Of course you do.” Rose smirked. “I can feel it, the second you walked in. You get this smell to you.”

She stretched again, rotating and twisting her back until her entire spine cracked. It was a bit eerie, watching how far she could bend.

“Someone’s thoughts are loud this morning.” Rose teased.

You shrugged. She was unusually receptive this morning. Or just allergic to minding her own business. You said that one in your head a bit louder.

“Childish, really.” Rose rolled her eyes, stepping out of her bed and coming forward.

You shrugged, giving her an innocent look. Rose raised an eyebrow, and then she pounced. All six feet of her moved with the agility of a cat, snatching you for a deep hug.

“Hmm… You really do have that aura coming on… You always smell like sandalwood. It’s really strong.” Rose hummed.

“And you stink of sex.”

Rose gave a sharp laugh, pressing you tighter against her.

“You don’t like it? It’s my signature perfume.” Rose joked.

The thought was gag worthy. Mostly because the stench of sex was ninety percent Crow’s BO. God that man stunk sometimes.

“I’ll take a shower if you make me some coffee, hmm?” Rose smirked. 

“Deal.”

Rose smiled, turning and walking towards the shower cubicle in her trailer. She was connected to a water pump currently, she could enjoy a long, extensive shower at the cost of virtually nothing. This campsite was Knot property, after all. With her behind the closed door, you had an opportunity to fumigate the room with fresh air. Every single window in the trailer was open. You stripped her bed, mostly because a night with Crow out meant a night with you in. And sleeping in sheets someone had fucked in? Not ideal, to say the least.

“Honeybunch, I forgot a towel, do you mind?” Rose called.

You paused what you were doing, going to grab her a towel. You made it about halfway to the door before the aura in your head got deafeningly loud. It was always awful, getting a particularly intense vision. First your ears would ring, really fucking loud. And then you’d get nauseous. All the saliva would dry up on your tongue, your hands would shake, and the world would go fuzzy. If you could compare it to something, you’d compare it to how a diabetic felt when their blood sugar dropped. This wasn’t a crisis of the body, though the body exhibited symptoms, it was a crisis of the psyche.

“Honeybunch? Hey, Dreamie, hello?”

You couldn’t focus on Rose. You were hunched in her kitchen, head in between your knees, breathing in and out really slow.

“Dreamie? Helloooo?”

The water turned off. Rose opened the bathroom door sticking her head out. She looked up, at where your eye level would be, and then right back down. Rose swore softly, grabbing a robe hanging outside of the bathroom door, pulling it on.

“It’s a bad one, huh?”

You nodded, it was all the response you could give.

“Well let me know when the symptoms…”

Her voice dulled. High pitched ringing, deafening. Your vision swam and all you could do was focus on your breath before images slammed into your skull.

Gunshots. That was what you heard. A forest clearing with railroad tracks. Teeny town? Yes. Teeny Town. Your hands were shaking, a gun in them. A gunshot through your head took you out. Immediately your perspective shifted, slamming into another person only to be killed milliseconds later. In between the pain of shifting perspectives and violently intense sensations of being shot over and over, there were shapes. People contorting, half-translucent, bodies disappearing into clouds of smoke. All of this was awful, but what was worse was the scene change.

Darkness, a calm drive on a quiet road, music playing over the quiet buzz of radio static.

 The switch was so quick it gave you metaphysical whiplash, almost like your brain was rattling in its skull. A child’s voice with a man’s tamber. That’s what you would describe it as. Looking into the rearview, you made out the shape of a small girl with dark curls and deeply old-looking eyes. Too old for a child, like they were borrowed from a man’s broken stare. Your eyes were dark. A bearded face. Crow. It shook you to see through his eyes. The perspective of the world matched, almost like you were Crow. You couldn’t make out what the girl was saying, but you could make out the threat in them. That was before the car swerved, steering wheel slipping in your hands. This death, was drawn out. You could feel every bone in your neck and upper spine shatter as your head went right through the windshield. The realization that you were going to die, the horrible sense of anguish. And then you cycled. Once, twice, dust. 

“.... okay….. How long… Seizures.. Gone…”

So many voices spoke. Your head ached, so did your body. It felt like someone had shoved you into a dryer on the highest tumble setting, you were so sore.

“...There she is! Dreamie, wake up.”

Colors blurred together, someone shoved something into your lips. A straw. You sipped, juice hitting your tongue, bleeding into the metallic taste there. It stung; somewhere on your tongue there was a cut.

“Jesus, Dreamie, you scared the living shit out of us.” Barry said.

Your body lurched. An image flashed, what you thought would be another lurch from a shotgun was entirely different. Barry burning up with fever. Red welts all over him, like that childhood illness your Mom had vaccinated you for. Pox?

“Hey, hey, easy.” someone whispered.

Rose looked down at you, her face contorted into an expression that would surely accelerate the aging of her smile lines.

“She’s never had one this bad… She was seizing for five minutes before she stopped. Then the last one you saw for yourself.” Rose told Walnut, the doctor of the Knot.

He nodded, taking off the blood pressure cuff and stethoscope he’d been using.

“Well, she’s stable now, it should be okay for the group to leave, we’re already delayed by-”

“NO!”

Rose jolted, gaze snapping downwards. She gave you a confused, angry look.

“What do you mean no? Jesus, send them off already. I can handle little Ms. Visions here.”

Your mouth was so dry, tongue bleeding and swollen. Grabbing for her wrist, you tried to get Rose to understand, to listen, at the very least.

“Shh, tell me in a minute.” Rose replied.

You squeezed more insistently. Rose pursed her lips, looking down at you with a warning look. You stayed silent. Even if the Knot left without you being able to warn Rose, she could always call them back. You stayed with Apron Annie while Rose dressed, slapping her topper on her head before slipping out of her trailer door.

“You sure gave her a scare, you know?” Annie smiled sweetly. 

“I… I saw something bad.”

“I figured. You tell Rose first though. I wouldn’t know what to do with your visions.” Annie shook her head.

You curled into the older woman’s grasp. She’d been a runaway slave before the Knot. Crafty, quick, an avid reader. Nobody read more than Annie, simply because no one refused to be fooled like Annie. 

“And your hair is a rat’s nest, lord have mercy.” Annie sighed.

She got up, getting some of your hair tools before setting down to the task of combing out and braiding your hair. It was comforting, the massaging of rosemary oil into your scalp relieved some of the ache in your head.

“Walnut said to keep drinking that juice. Your blood sugar dropped during the seizure. You’d best listen.”

You nodded weakly, sipping the juice without complaint. Annie’s accent was creeping back in, it always did when she was being stern with somebody. 

“You jus’ rest here awhile.”

←→

It was safe to say Rose didn’t believe you. You’d sat down with her and explained the vision front to back, the men who’d done the shooting and Crow’s death via car crash.

“Rose, I know what I saw-”

“I. Don’t. Care.” Rose snapped. “We need this Abra girl, and the bitch child isn’t going to kill the team.”

Denial. Always with the fucking denial.

“Rose, please.” you tried to coax her.

“No, don’t ‘Rose’ me. Your blood sugar dropped, you had a seizure, and…”

Even Rose was having a hard time believing her own lie. She didn’t want to be wrong. Abra could fix all of the True Knot’s problems. Steam on demand? God, what a novelty. After Grandpa Flick had died, Rose had gone frantic. They’d lost three True in twenty years. Three. That was like losing three family members in two weeks and Crow was getting old. Last night had been an anomaly for them. A whole night of love making three weeks after they’d taken steam? God, that never happened. Rose was still aching from it, still sore from the intensity of it. How often could that be if they were taking steam every three months? Could Abra withstand every two? Every two months for ten, twenty years? They’d consistently age backwards. A secluded ranch, a house? Somewhere permanent? Rose needed that more than she cared to admit.

“Please call them back.” you pleaded.

Rose shook her head immediately. 

“No. No, no, NO!” Rose snarled. ‘They’ll snatch the girl in Frazier, kill the family if necessary. It’ll take three hours tops. I can’t lose this chance just because you had a bad dream.” she snapped.

She watched your mouth bob. There was real fear in your eyes, real anger. It reminded her of a child fighting a tantrum. God, you really were young. Seven years in the Knot, snatched at seventeen, eighteen? A baby. You were a total baby to her, and so fragile. You were young enough and new enough to your gifts that Rose could take a chance on your dreams being wrong. It was plausible that your gifts had far more variability than just visions of the future. She wasn’t going to waste the best catch of her life because someone had anxiety.

“When they all die, it’s your fault.” you mumbled, getting off the floor of her trailer and practically running out of the door.

“Come off your soap box, Dreamie!” Rose growled.

You were gone. But someone else was waiting at her doorstep.

“Rose, Walnut called. The sickness that took Flick? Barry has it.” Annie anxiously whispered.

Rose’s breath caught in her chest. The sickness? Flick had died of old age, exasperated by heart conditions, not a sickness. But that was a lie too. For a week now, members of the Knot had been waking up with red spots on their bodies. Walnut had brushed it off as a skin condition from the bad showers, but privately he had told Rose a different story. The Knot was sick, they needed steam. Steam from a young, healthy, vaccinated child like Abra. Chicken pox was his diagnosis. And the True Knot weren’t healthy enough to withstand it.

←→

A night later, Walnut called. Barry was getting worse. He was starting to cycle. The group was scared and facing the possible passing of one of their own. There’d be no time to delay, they needed to work fast, leading Crow to split up and take a more direct approach to the girl’s residence. For the first time since the invention of the interstate, Rose told her people to speed.

“Rose, Dreamie is asking for you.” Annie interrupted her thoughts.

Rose turned, smiling up at her longtime friend. The smile fell off of her face, landing on the floor like a glass dish. Her stomach lurched. Annie had a spot on her neck, a big one too. Giving a tighter, less genuine smile, Rose slipped out of her trailer. Dreamie was curled up in a camp chair. She looked cozy, in blankets. Rose’s mind was elsewhere, she had every reason to prepare for a fight.

“If you’re here to tell me-”

“I’m not.” you cut her off, looking up at her gently.

Rose let out a breath and then nodded. She motioned you up, sat in the chair and opened her arms. You were a comforting weight in her grasp, and you smelled faintly of sandalwood. You’d have another vision soon, not that Rose cared. What was more pressing was the weight of your body on hers leaving her feeling soft, a bit vulnerable.

“Spend the night with me.” Rose whispered. “No strings attached.”

Rose needed it. She needed the intimacy of a night with someone young, inexperienced.

“What about Crow?” you whispered back, face twisted into an anxious look.

Rose sniffed, letting out an annoyed breath. She’d had enough of your anxiety for three decades. But they were so close to getting it all, and Rose wanted it all. 

“Crow isn’t going to find out. One night, one.” she whispered, eyes glimmering with an unfamiliar softness.

God, what you wouldn’t give for one night. The teasing, the pet names, the sleep overs… And it wouldn’t be rough, judging from the look in her eyes.

“Okay.” you breathed out.

Rose smiled, kissing your temple. You both stood, her hand in yours, bare feet padding across the dirt of the campground. Her trailer smelled of incense which meant she’d been meditating extensively, probably astral projecting to ensure the troop headed to Abra was okay. There were a few candles lit, adding to the ambience.

“Come here.” Rose whispered, shutting her camper door. 

Her arms found your waist, her mouth on your neck. She was so damn tall, and soft. Soft everywhere now that she was aging. You liked her soft, it was comforting.

“Lay down on the bed for me.” Rose whispered.

You complied, walking backwards, meeting her blue eyes. Your thighs hit the bed, and you scooted, backward, laying flat over her comforter. Her mouth was on yours, lips soft, tempting, and tongue flicking out to taste you throughout the kiss. After every kiss she’d give a soft hum, her fingers lazily slipping under your shirt to caress the skin underneath. Her fingers were soft, and she gave a sly grin, shifting her hips to straddle you further. Your arms tangled in her hair, enough to tempt her into removing the topper. She did, leaning further into the kiss. You would’ve thought someone like Rose wouldn’t like soft, wouldn’t find the moments of drawn out foreplay and intimacy worthwhile. You were wrong, so so wrong. Her mouth on your neck, her hands grasping you tight, bodies tangled like pretzels. This was right, this was the moment.

←→

An early morning call awoke Rose. It was from Walnut. She was on the phone for thirty seconds, and then her hands were wrapped around your waist. “Wake up, wake up!” Rose said, distressed. “Wha..”

Her hands were everywhere, lifting you up, throwing open the curtains to illuminate your body. She ran her hands over every inch, skimming every mark, every mole, every soft stretch mark. Rose didn’t relax until she was sure you didn’t have a single mark. 

“Oh, thank god.” Rose almost wept with relief, clutching you tight.

“Rose, what’s happened?” you asked, now wide awake and worried.

“The Knot has chickenpox. It killed Barry.”

Your body tensed. You’d never told Rose about the vision you’d had of Barry. “Chickenpox? Chickenpox can’t kill-”

“It doesn’t kill rubes. We aren’t rubes, Dreamie.” Rose growled out. “And if we don’t find a cure it’ll kill all of us.”

All of us? 

“Rose, I was vaccinated as a kid.”

Her expression tensed, and then relaxed. But then she frowned, a furious expression on her face.

“That’s because you’re young. Spoiled by modern medicine.” she spit.

You reached up, cupping her face. Rose was lashing out because she was scared, and upset. One of the Knot had died. Her family had died. You leaned forward, kissing her forehead. Rose didn’t cry, but she reached forward, cradling you tight.

“Thank god you’re vaccinated.” she whimpered.

←→

The Knot didn’t take Barry’s death well. There was a bit of hysteria, hysteria Rose struggled to calm. She leaned on you more and more, spending her nights tangled up with you in her sheets, an escape from her stress, from the hunger that was starting to claw at everyone’s throats. She had gray hairs again. Her crow’s feet were pronounced, skin starting to go scaly from sun damage. You didn’t love her any less, taking time to appreciate every bit of her changing body in between the bursts of passion. You aged too, turning from 17 to 21, almost 22. It wasn’t much of a difference, you were already quite young for a Knot member. But the hunger was awful.

“My joints ache, I’m going to take a shower.” Rose sighed, rolling out of bed.

She leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your sleepy face. You smiled, watching her pull on sweats and a shirt before grabbing some things. She meant the camp showers. They had a bit more space than her RV stall, you couldn’t blame her. The heat was more consistent too. You went back into a blissful sleep. It was broken fifteen minutes later when you heard a scream.

Half dressed in a pair of panties and an oversized shirt, you were running out of Rose’s trailer, bolting through the campsite in the direction of the scream. It was Rose, crumpled in Annie’s arms in front of the shower, sobbing in confusion and anger. Her towel was sagging.

“Rose, Rose.” you whispered, kneeling down and helping to cover her.

Her hands landed on your shoulders. An image burning forward. Gunshots, cycling, a smoke filled campsite.

“They’re dead. Everyone is fucking dead.” she sobbed.

You’d made it to the steps of her trailer before she collapsed against the steps, wailing like the dying.

“Crow!”

An image flashed through your mind, fear and pain as the vertebrae of your neck compressed, body flying through the windshield. Everyone had died, just as you’d predicted. Rose hadn’t listened.

←→

“That the last of it?” Annie asked, out of breath.

“Yeah, just two boxes.”

You were busy packing your things into Annie’s and Diesel Doug’s truck. In the days following the death of eight of the most prominent True Knot members, chaos had erupted. People packing their bags, convinced death was on their doorstep. The chickenpox was taking someone every other day now. Everyone was running, everyone was fleeing. You were leaving for a different reason, more personal. Rose had lashed out at you, blaming the entire loss of the crew on you. Rose insisted that if she had known that the visions were serious she would’ve called back the team. Your visions were serious, she just hadn’t listened. More fighting, more name calling, more discord. 

“I’m sorry Rose treated you that way.” Doug sighed, shifting the car in gear. “We’re all grieving, but treating you that way was a shitty thing to do.”

You nodded once, sneaking a glance in the rearview. Rose stood in front of her trailer, arms crossed, top hat balanced on her head. You could feel her thousand yard stare from here.

“You’re gonna die out there, Dreamie.” you heard a voice crawl through your ear, invasive and almost wet feeling.

“Well at least I won’t die alone.”

A phantom sensation cracked through the bones of your face, like you’d been slapped. You let out a choked cough, catching Annie’s attention. 

“I’m fine, choked on my own spit.” you mumbled.

“Bitch.”

You didn’t get a response. You figured she was saving the last laugh for later.

The drive into the Montana mountains was rough. Snow was starting to fall.

“You had to take the Denver route?” Annie groaned. 

“Who the fuck goes through the rockies at this time of year? It would take days!” Doug growled.

They were both irritable, both covered in red spots. You were in denial this time. If they died you really would be alone. Maybe that was Rose’s last laugh. The three of you settled into the hotel, Doug and Annie in a king bed, you in a twin pullout. Everything was quiet. Too quiet. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen, and you sure as hell couldn’t sleep. An overcoat on, boots crunching through the gravel, you set out to explore the area around the hotel. 

You felt a bit dizzy, probably from the altitude. Sitting on a boulder for a bit didn’t help, deep breaths of cool mountain air just made you feel sicker. Your ears began to ring, and that’s when it all added up. You were ready to brace yourself when-

“My, my. What a temper you have.”

You were speaking through Rose, a man’s flushed, pained face underneath her as Rose batted away his arms like he was nothing but an overgrown toddler.

“So much fire. Such a waste.”

You could feel Rose’s anger, her hatred for this man. You recognized him, he’d shot a few of the True Knot at the Teeny Town campsite. And his stare was so familiar.

“Or maybe not.”

It was horrific, this vision. You could feel everything Rose was doing, her sighs of delight as she ate the man’s steam, her thumb in his thigh. Rose was cruel, but this cruelty made your stomach churn in knots. 

“Oh, you’re not alone in there.” Rose breathlessly gasped. “What are you hiding? What’s in those?! Something special, huh?!”

That disgusting, inescapable feeling of dread clawed through you. It was impossible to speak in visions, but you wanted to. You wanted to scream. You could see the boxes as she saw them, alive and vibrating. They were full of darkness, and in Rose’s haste she wasn’t inspecting the aura, she was ravenous for food, for blood.

“They’re not special. They’re starving.”

The vision was a blur from there. Horror, fear, pain as Rose was eaten alive. You awoke on the ground of the hotel reception room, gasping for air and shaking.

“She has these seizures, poor dear.” Annie was tiredly explaining to the frightened hotel receptionist.

You didn’t let them give you juice. You didn’t let them feed you. There wasn’t time.

“I need the car.” you gasped to Diesel Doug. “Stay here.”

←→

The drive up into the mountains of Colorado was awful. You’d been taught to drive in the snow three years earlier by Jimmy Numbers, but this was something else. You’d loaded up Diesel’s trusty all wheel drive truck up with gas at the final station, filling up both tanks with diesel. You were driving up the mountains at night, hands glued to the wheel. Rose would be proud of you, pinpointing the location of the vision through memory alone. But this wasn’t about being proud.

The lights of the Overlook were on. You didn’t have time. Rose’s trailer was parked outside, you didn’t have time! You turned off the car, leaving the keys in the ignition, doors unlocked. It was so cold up here, one of the doors was frozen shut. You didn’t have time to break through the door, so you made the next best decision, breaking through a window with an axe. It was boarded up but the wood had rotted, giving you enough bend to punch through the wood with the butt of the axe. There were voices, not from people. The same darkness of the man’s boxes lingered here, and the whispers added more adrenaline to your movements. The hallways were mazes. It felt like this stupid hotel was trying to confuse you, to trap you here. It wanted blood, it knew you were hindering its meal.

“... I seem to have nicked your femoral artery. Gonna bleed to death, huh?”

You knew that voice. Well. A kid darted by you. Jet black hair, dark skin. Abra.

“You’re…” she stammered, backing away.

“I’m not here for you. Go.” you snapped at the little girl.

You turned, following the direction she’d come from. A large hall came into view, stairs descending downwards. Rose was crouched over the man, voice echoing. You attempted to step down the stairs, but there was some kind of force keeping you there, confusing you. Why did you even want to go down there in the first place? No, you were here for the little girl, weren’t you? Because you’re hungry. The woman at the bottom of the stairs is hungry too. You can’t let her catch the girl before you do, you’ll go hungry.

There was something you were forgetting. You looked down at the woman below you, confused. She was gasping in pleasure, feasting. You were so hungry too. You saw where the little girl had gone too. You knew where she was. No. No, the woman was important. You could feel it, an unmistakable, annoying little scratch in your brain. You were close to remembering something, almost like you were trying to remember a dream.

Dream! No. No. Dreaming? Day dreaming? Dream… Dreammmmmm……. 

Dreamie. Rose, the vision, the hotel. The tricks of the hallways, the bad aura. It all connected in your brain.

“.... Not special. They’re starvi-”

“NO!”

In your haste to get to Rose, you have walked, half slid down the stairs. There were about ten figures between you and Rose. All reaching all starving, all grabbing, all-

“The girl is in the maze.” you gasped. “She has more steam than all of us combined.”

The figures jerked, each turning to look at you with a peculiar, inhuman hunger. If the Knot were vampires, these were phantoms. Demons of the night, more deadly, more encompassing. The kind of dead that don’t stay dead.

“The maze. A girl named Abra.” I gasped.

They pushed forward at once, nearly stampeding you in their haste to eat. The man was heaving, reaching for the ax. You kicked him in the ribs, hard. Rose lay on the ground, crumpling in on herself, red dots crawling up her arms in accelerated fashion. The dead had taken much of her steam.

“Rose, Rosie.” you gasped, reaching for her.

She looked skeletal. It was the kind of skeletal that a True Knot took on before they started cycling.

“Steam.” she  weakly pointed to the man.

And you both were starving.

←→

Rose sat in a camp chair outside, feet propped up. She was soft looking, back to the usual look she got in between feedings.

“Mmm…” she hummed, twitching slightly.

“Crook in your neck?” you asked.

“More like an itch.”

She looked up, holding her arms out. 

“Let me see my beautiful girl, hmm?”

You smiled, curling in her lap. Tilting her head back, she exposed her jaw. You took the bait, nibbling softly as she sighed in contentment.

“I’m itching to open a canister.” Rose smirked. “Get nice and full, spend the night in the sand…”

She was getting old again. And the spots were coming back.

“Rose, can we try the siphoning method?”

She rolled her eyes.

“The pox spots only show up when I haven’t eaten. They go away once I’m full.”

You leaned in, nuzzling your nose against hers.

“It can’t hurt to try.”

Rose sighed, and then nodded. You both arose, walking into her trailer. She took out one of the canisters. You’d filled it with the spirit of the Overlook twins after they’d fed from Abra. It was easy enough, coaxing out the spirits. They’d gorged themselves on the little girl, ripped her to shreds, practically. Open up a canister that had a tiny bit of steam, and they’d pounce, only to be sucked inside with the vapors of steam. That’s all these spirits were, after all. Steam with a bit of bite. They tasted good, too.

“Alright, do you want to do the ritual?” Rose asked.

“You’re Irish is better than mine.” you smiled softly.

She nodded, holding your hands in hers.

“Meabhair, suaite, gortú” We are the chosen ones.

“Wounder rúnda, gortú” We are the fortunate ones

“I ngach slí gortaithe” We are the True Knot and we endure. What is tied can never be untied.

You took deep breaths of the steam in, filling your lungs with the haunted essence of the twin girls. Once the entire can was bubbling in your body, you reached forward, breathing the steam that had now become your essence into Rose’s awaiting mouth. In theory, you were breathing your own essence down her throat. Your vaccinated essence.

Her lips found yours once you were done, her hands tangled in your hair as she kissed you hard. She tasted like the blackberry mojitos you’d made an hour ago, tongue rolling over yours.

“I love being alive with you.” Rose moaned, half pulling, half dragging you out of the trailer. She was young again, twenty seven, shimmering and panting with desire.

“Rose!” you giggled.

Her hands ran under your skirt, grabbing your thighs mischievously.

“It is broad daylight.” you snickered.

“And I don’t see anyone around, do you?”

She took an inhale of your hair, catching a whiff of an aura hanging over your head.

“Dreamie, no seizures.” Rose playfully warned.

“Shh. It could be a Big One.” you winked.

It was a new year’s celebration, anyway. A new year, a new decade. Twenty-twenty. Something about those numbers screamed food, or more so, misery. But for the True Knot, misery was food, death and destruction was food.

Tag List: @bjoerkumlaut, @lovelyy-moonlight, @coffee-is-my-oxygen, @appparadox407, @ilovehotactresses, @marvelwomenrule

[talesofadragon]

𝐒𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬

Synopsis: Centuries spent at the House of Odin have transformed the eclectic balls into familial gatherings and council meetings into morning tea rituals. The gilded walls of the castle have become home, and its royals, family. Yet, when your wisdom crosses paths with folly, affection is born unexpectedly, senselessly—a trait you’ve never been known to entertain, but one that Thor Odinson wears proudly.

Pairing: Thor Odinson x Asgardian!Reader

Warnings: Allusions to sex. Jealousy. Unrequited Love. Love Triangles. LOKI. (we love him, though.)

Genre: Hurt/Comfort | Fluff | Mild Angst

Word Count: 6K (I have no regrets)

Based on this Request from my writing celebration.

All Masterlists | Sab's Wring Fest

𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐍’𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐊 into the queen’s revered gardens, let alone assault her precious snowdrops. But rationale had long been buried deeper than Yggdrasil’s roots, allowing impulsivity to reign over you.

The white petals screeched from the force of your tug, a harsh touch you’d never known yourself capable of administering. But your assault proved relentless, flower after flower limply falling to your side. Ironically, their innocent petals congregated on the fabric of your dress, painting a tinge of beauty over your despondency.

Even in their misery, they refused to be anything but enduring. Pitiful.

“Oh, how delightfully entertaining will it be to gauge Mother’s love for you once she sees what calamity has befallen her garden by your hands.”

“Go away,” you commanded bitterly, back turned to the unwanted presence.

The god behind you neglected to comment on your tone. You heard him shuffle, his feet carefully avoiding stepping on another virtuous plant. He plopped down next to you, elegantly brushing his hands atop the neglected flower stems by your side, reviving them.

“It would be a shame to forgo free entertainment,” Loki smirked, twirling the rejuvenated snowdrop in his fingers.

You craned your head to the right, eyes burning with fire even his Jotun genes couldn’t withstand. “Pity, so many courtesans have slipped from your fingers you now have to settle for my misery for pleasure.”

Loki laughed, his shoulders shaking. His gaze retained his familiar mirth as he answered, “Would your misery be associated with a certain courtesan and an Asgardian prince... fonduing, perhaps?”

“Fonduing?” Your face twisted in disgust. “What in the Nine does that word mean?”

“I heard the spangled American Captain utter it once," Loki recalled. "It’s a euphemism for two people partaking in the biological act of reproduction.”

“What?” you scoffed in disbelief. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Loki’s wry smirk reappeared. “Mortals rarely do,” he confessed.

Your face fell at the reminder of the race you were persistently attempting to forget. Focused on your previous discourse, you had ignored the snowdrops delicately sitting in the palm of your hands. Without a second thought, you resumed your previous ministrations, gracelessly tearing apart petals from the stem.

“You do not happen, by any chance, to be superseding this flower for Thor’s meek mortal friend. Do you?” Loki asked.

“No,” you were quick to reply. “She may be as delicate as a flower, but she’s as beautiful as a Ratatoskr. What do brown eyes remind one of besides tree trunks and repugnant mud?”

“The warmth of an autumn day as the sun embraces the woodlands and shelters its inhabitants from the seasonal tumult to come,” Loki poetically recited, hands drawing figures in the air and a gleam of mischief glowing in his irises.

“Sounds tedious,” you lamented.

It earned you a scoff from Loki, though not for a lack of frivolity. “Midgardians possess this abhorrent concoction called coffee,” he informed, gaining your attention. “It’s a muddy brew that staggeringly increases one’s anxiety threshold.”

“Why would someone create such a senseless horror?”

“Perhaps to use it as a metaphor for a mortal’s brown eyes.”

You scrunched up your nose at the image of the mortal in question. “Fitting. She has such a petite stature. As feeble and brittle as her thirty-year lifespan.”

“I regret to inform you that mortals can live up to a century.”

“Irrelevant. That is still a trifle of our lifespan. And do not get me started on her vexatious disposition. Has this mortal woman been raised in a cave of trolls?”

“Well, this would certainly explain her infatuation with Thor.”

“You are not helping!”

You gathered what remained of the flowers, pelting Loki with the stem and petals. He didn’t deflect your assault, accepting your sour behavior. What you hadn’t accounted for was his retaliation. He pushed your shoulder, slightly rougher than usual, forcing you to land on a bed of flowers.

You groaned, feeling the flora entangling in your hair and their pollen dusting your dress. Loki’s dulcet amusement echoed above your head. A sharp gasp escaped him when you tugged at his emerald green robes and shoved him down. Hard.

“I did not inflict a grain of harm on you,” Loki groaned, swatting the fallen petals, which landed in his hair. “This hurts, Y/N.”

“Your pride or your head? The latter could benefit from some sense knocking into it,” you rebuked.

Loki gazed at you unimpressed. “Now is not an agreeable time to spread your wisdom, Little Goddess. You’ve clearly demonstrated your dwindling abilities when you groaned and moaned about the earthling.”

“I did no such thing! I, astutely might I add, pointed out her subpar qualities that do not mirror what Asgard is looking for in a queen—”

“Thor clearly disagrees.”

“Do not interrupt me, you venomous snake! Thor has always been a dunderhead, overthinking with his brawn and underthinking with his brains.”

“And yet, you were stupid enough to fall in love with him, Goddess of Wisdom.”

“Watch your mouth!” you spat, eyes roving the expanse of the garden to ensure no meddling ears were meandering around. “I care for your brother. But do not confuse care with admiration.”

“Devotion, Y/N. Has the human’s visit caused even your accrued lexicon to recede,” Loki taunted. Had it not been for your skirts in the way and your position on the ground, you would’ve kicked him so hard in certain nether regions that he would’ve sung to Valhalla.

“I stand by what I said.”

“Apologies, Little Goddess. Allow me, as the God of Lies, to refute your statement. Both metaphorically and in the literal sense.”

That filthy little python. You scoffed, perhaps a little more at yourself than him. He elicited the responses he desired, painting a mockery out of you and your feelings. You knew you couldn’t debate the matter with him more than you already had. As the God of Lies and your, unfortunately, best friend, he’d always have the upper hand in this matter.

So, you stood up and dusted your skirts. If you weren't winning, then participating in this debate was of no use. 

“Where are you going?” Loki inquired, an underlying tone of merriment hiding beneath his words.

Your eyes squinted, regarding him with indignation. “You have effectively sullied my mood even further. Your mother’s beautiful flowers do not deserve more ill will at my hands. Therefore, I’m taking my leave.”

If Loki had said anything after your response, your mind had elected to ignore it. Huffing aloud, you marched toward the castle, uncaring for the traces of mud and the wealth of fallen petals that trailed behind. On a regular day, you would’ve been more mindful, casting a simple cleaning spell to polish your appearance and ensure the poor attendants of the Odin Household would not have to partake in more work than necessary. But your anger and heartbreak had been immeasurable enough to deny you any act besides sulking over the mortal woman Thor had ignorantly brought along to Asgard.

The Norns, much like Loki, must’ve been taking pleasure in your predicament. You had rounded the corner, one gilded hallway separating you from the castle’s entrance, when the silhouette of the Crown Prince appeared. 

Unlike the ladies of the court, your admiration for Thor did not stem from his ethereal beauty. It bloomed like Freyja’s primroses, a sturdy seedling that, with time, opened its foliage to a world of wonder and ardor. He was a cosmic presence—a child of the sun, with light and fire dancing around his immaculate frame in wisps of enchantment, leaving every woman breathless. Including you.

“Lady Y/N!” Thor’s voice reverberated in the long hallway, laced with excitement. "I hadn't anticipated your presence today. No wonder the day exudes such radiance."

His comment made heat rise to your cheeks. It was almost as if he had shared his warmth with you, sending it trekking along his words to your heart. You smiled at him, demure and saccharine. But your lips downturned once another presence, one less noticeable or agreeable, appeared behind him.

You cleared your throat, attempting to restrain your unease as you greeted, “Thor, Mistress Foster.”

Norns burn you if you call her by the same title you bear. The earthling, as Loki so eloquently worded it, could not match you.

Without a greeting nor a poised lexicon, the Midgardian inquired, “Why are your clothes dirty?” 

Her question intrigued Thor enough for his eyes to rove your body. The warmth that had settled in your veins morphed into the embers of Helheim. You felt small and brittle under the scrutiny of his penetrating gaze.

“I beg your pardon?” you fired back promptly, indignation concealing the shame you felt at your soiled image.

Your words caused the mortal to pale, head swiveling to Thor’s side in anxiousness and trepidation. “I apologize, my lady,” she rectified her earlier statement. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

Well, you certainly were, you internally chastised.

Thor took another look at your attire, meticulously examining the fabric. You endeavored to compose yourself, resisting the urge to shift your weight from one foot to another. His hand reached for your arm, his thumb sweeping across your elbow. “Are you well, Lady Y/N? You look… disheveled.”

You immediately retracted your arm, fearing his senses might pick up on your galloping heart. “I am quite alright. I was with Loki in the gardens,” you supplied.

“Loki?” The mortal regarded you with an air of cynicism. Your blood boiled at her brashness. “What were you and Loki doing in the gardens?”

“Have you no tact, you imprudent minger? Although your kind lacks sensibility and decorum, you ought to address those of elevated stature with respect while in their dominion! Neither Prince Loki nor I are your comrades to tolerate such crass mannerisms.”

“I’m… my sincerest apologies, I didn’t think—”

“Thinking is not as sparse on Asgard as it is on Earth. If you find yourself incapable of harnessing a modicum of wisdom when addressing me, then you are in the presence of the wrong Goddess.”

"Y/N," Thor interjected, his omission of your title not slipping past your notice. Nor did you miss the hand that reached out for the mortal girl.

His actions only served to fan the flames of your jealousy and hurt. Almost a millennium of knowing that male, and he had chosen a measly mortal's side over yours.

“Do not patronize me!” you ordered, jamming a finger in his broad, muscular chest. “I am not the right audience for your feigned, princely performance.”

Thor squeezed the mortal’s hand in reassurance, tugging her further to his side—as if to shield her from you. He craned his face lower to meet your gaze. Endearing as you'd always found it, it made you uneasy at this moment.

"You seem overly emotional today,” he inquired, voice low and delicate, juxtaposing his chosen words. “Has Loki said something to upset you?"

You cracked. How dare he?

“Loki may perhaps be the only male in all of Asgard who possesses an ounce of empathy and understanding when it comes to my feelings and disposition,” you snapped back, ignoring how your words seemed to slap Thor in the face. “He has been my best friend for close to a millennium and is one of the princes of this realm. So if I, as a lady of the court, find that your little mortal is besmirching his name, the least I could do is call her out on it!”

Your outburst held more weight than you had anticipated, managing to leave Thor speechless. He regarded you with an air of perplexion, his mouth open—seemingly unsure of what response was fair in this situation. 

You didn’t want to waste any further time in his or the mortal’s company. You grunted, walking away. The sound of your footfall ringing louder than deemed honorable for a lady.

“Y/N, wait!” Thor called out after you, his hand shooting up to grab your arm. Though he was massively built, with the strength and mass of Asgard lying on his shoulders, his shy grasp fluttered against your skin. Featherlike, it tickled your nerves, sending a chorus of tenderness through your pulse.

You turned around, a mask of stoicism hiding your feelings. “Yes?”

“I appreciate your inclination to defend my brother, but, I, and Jane, were merely concerned over your well-being—”

“Accusing Loki of maltreatment!” you reminded Thor, swiftly retracting your arm from his grasp.

He sighed, placing both hands on his hips. You loathed how small he made you feel before the mortal. “You are exaggerating.”

“And you are heedless! Whatever Loki and I were doing in the gardens is none of your or the mortal’s concern! What’s it to you both? Maybe we decided to fondue. We do not get in your business, so do not meddle in ours!”

No sooner had the words left your mouth than your legs commanded you to retreat to another room. You didn’t understand why you had said that. Your wisdom melted into a puddle whenever Thor and his little pet were involved. 

When had you become so insensitive?

Mistress Foster left. Her visit didn’t amass more than a fortnight's worth of frustrations before King Odin had deemed her visit long. If an immortal God such as Odin Allfather perceived these days as anything but transient, then Jane Foster was truly a nuisance in her own right. 

The knowledge of her absence, particularly on this day, overjoyed you. The Vernal Equinox served as a portent of hope for Asgard—embracing prominent figures from neighboring realms in celebration of Asgard’s princes and in anticipation of the future. 

In loose terms, it presented the Asgardian royalty with a wealth of eligible females to choose from as the next princess and queen of the realm. In broader terms, it was another opportunity to observe Loki and Thor merrily charm the ladies to appease Odin and Frigga—while satiating particular desires on the side.

You dismissed your ladies in waiting, taking a deep breath as you pulled open the door. Your feigned smile fell, and the familiar trepidation rose when you saw who stood by the door. 

“Fondue?” Loki snickered, mischief practically waltzing in his bejeweled eyes. “Darling Y/N, had I known you were inclined to roll in my sheets, I would’ve bedded you centuries sooner.”

You grabbed him by the fabric of his tailored robes, pulling him harshly toward your rooms. “I panicked!” you grumbled. It was barely heard over the deafening sound of his amusement. 

“Well, you certainly rectified your error by pulling me into your chambers.”

“Shut up!”

“Ah, my Little Goddess. How exquisitely appetizing do you look,” he joked, purposely raising his voice.

You jumped on him, a screech tearing through your vocal cords. Loki laughed louder, trying to grasp your hands as you assaulted him with your fists. You hadn’t expected him to bite your finger. 

“You bastard!” you seethed, cradling your hand. 

“What was that, Y/N? You want it faster?”

“Loki!!”

“Ah, tell me how good it feels,” he mused.

You were not impressed. “You are an idiot,” you retorted.

Your argument, if you could call it that, receded rather swiftly. You refused to look at Loki, rolling your eyes and settling them on your vanity. You weren’t frustrated, per se. Loki always had a knack for playing with your feelings like they were puppets on a string. Not in a malevolent way. The matter was, if your gaze caught him, you knew the little impish snake would expose the laughter he had succeeded in digging out of you.

Loki’s voice caught you before your thoughts meandered further. “You’re wearing the wrong colors.”

You looked down at yourself, your silver shoes peeking from the fabric of your long blue dress. It was light azure. Quaint and placid. An exterior representation of the feelings you were chasing. The fabric was tulle, whimsical and, airy like Spring’s birds merrily dancing across cloudless Asgardian sky. Its off-shoulder design, adorned with gleaming silver gems and bishop sleeves, accentuated your elegance and grace. A Goddess. A member of the House of Odin, even if you didn’t have a crown. 

“If you’re insinuating I ought to have worn your brother’s colors, then I regret to inform you, that you were mistaken.”

Loki shook his head as a mischievous shadow passed over his face. “You’d appear desperate. And you, Y/N, are anything but.”

“Then what colors were you referencing?” you asked, brows creasing in thought. “Surely not your own.”

“Mine, no. But the witless oaf doesn’t have to know that.”

You didn’t comprehend whatever it was he was insinuating. Wordlessly, Loki twirled his fingers, a thread of emerald green seidr tantalizing your sight. He flicked his wrist. The magical trail shot from his fingertips to your dress, deftly pirouetting along the light azure tulle. 

The colors changed from blue to green and silver to gold. The boldness of your outfit contrasted with the muted portrait you tried to paint earlier. You studied your dress, eyes roving the fabric before examining Loki’s attire. You almost scolded him for putting you in his colors when you did not intend for your farce to go further than it did. But then you noticed these colors, chosen by Loki, were darker than his. 

It was a subtle contrast, discerned when in closer proximity to the God of Mischief. The royal family could immediately catch the difference. The ladies, though, wouldn’t be able to. Neither would Thor.

“Is this a wise choice?” you asked, playing with the sleeves of your dress. 

Loki took your hand in his, kissing the back of it. “The answer lies with you, Little Goddess.”

Wise, maybe not. Fun? It certainly would be. You couldn’t remember the last time you went to these festivities without constantly having to clutch your heart at the thought of Thor.

“It’s a mutual agreement,” you answered diligently. “This keeps the ladies and Thor away.”

Loki tutted. “This keeps the witless oaf’s mind working. He has stashed his wits so far beneath the surface, the cobwebs have devoured them whole.”

“And you think this alliance between wisdom and mischief will decontaminate his head from thoughts of the impertinent mortal?”

“I believe my brother is a hopeless case. If it works, then by all means, enjoy the fruits of our labor. If it doesn’t, then enjoy the privilege of my company.”

“Your company?” you chortled, wrapping your arm around his elbow. “Lokes, I’ll be gracing you with mine.”

He mimicked your chortle, beginning to lead you out of the room. "I must admit, your presence has staggeringly illuminated my days in Asgard. Father is covertly hoping that I ask for your hand in marriage."

"And Frigga?" you asked, aware of Loki's deep affection for his mother and her opinion.

He covered your hand, which rested on his arm, with his free one, leaning closer to your ear. "She much prefers you with Thor." You blushed, a crimson hue spreading across your cheeks. Loki took delight in your sheepishness. "You could spare me the hassle of sifting through noble ladies by accepting a marriage proposal, Y/N. I immensely enjoy roleplay in the bedroom. And though I do not wish to lay eyes on certain biological regions of my brother, I can indulge you if that is what you fancy."

"I fancy your silence, you brute!" you chastised, stomping on his foot.

Loki barely flinched, but he placed some distance between you both. He opened the door, and before you could venture beyond your bedroom, he positioned himself in your line of sight. "You forgot something, darling." The nickname felt foreign, especially when unaccompanied by your first name. Before you could inquire about it, you felt a shimmer of magic raking through your hair.

"What did you do?"

Loki smiled fondly, passing his fingers through your loose hair. "Turned you from a goddess to a princess."

Your gaze locked with his as you lifted your fingers to your head. There was a weight there, not something unbearable but undeniably foreign. Your fingers traced the contours of what you assumed was a diadem.

"What was that for?"

Loki stepped closer to you, his taller frame engulfing yours, cocooning you with his body heat. His lips settled on your forehead, his fingers intertwining with yours. You blinked, mind racing to figure out the parameters of his new trick. “You’re precious, Y/N,” he confessed breathlessly, his voice almost vulnerable. “More valuable than the troves of Asgard and the magic of Yggdrasil. And by the Norns, whoever forsakes your treasured company deserves to be bereft of your radiance, ensnared by the unforgiving grasp of Helheim for their sacrilege, Little Queen.”

For the first time in your 800 years of life, you found yourself at a loss for words in response to Loki's. His words were carefully chosen, poignant, and endearing, befitting his poetic prowess. Yet, something about the declaration felt amiss; a subtle discordance that unsettled you. It was then, out of the corner of your eye, that you caught sight of Thor.

His cerulean eyes, usually bright with warmth, were now veiled in darkness, glinting with a silver sheen you had never seen before. Thor's demeanor betrayed a mix of emotions, his features clouded with anger and a hint of betrayal. Before you could utter a word, he turned and left, his bloody red ceremonial attire fading from view.

Loki's intentions became clearer then. He sought to deceive Thor. But why would such words incite his brother's ire? And why had Loki chosen to describe you as such?

This Vernal Equinox proved to be different. You couldn’t categorize it as either good or bad as you had yet to comprehend your perplexing emotions about the celebration. The familiar joviality and folly were missing given that Loki and Thor seemed to have reversed their roles. 

Content with you on his arm, Loki’s charade persisted well into the late hours of the evening. He kept you to his side, not that you minded, twirling, discoursing, and occasionally, joking about the whole ordeal. The nobles, courtiers, and ladies had all presumed you debuting, your green dress a declaration of your choice in contenders. If not for that, then the golden diadem on your head 

Frigga and Odin seemed to know better. The Allfather offered you and his youngest no more than a feeble smile, pleased to see you and Loki together, even though he knew this was all but a farce. The Allmother, while graceful as ever, did not attempt to mask her errant gaze, her bright eyes dimming as she looked at Thor. 

The older son, heir to the throne of Asgard, had forgone merriment in favor of appeasing the ladies. Given that Loki had monopolized your time, all of the wayward bachelorettes traveled toward Thor. No lady was cast aside, each receiving a handful of minutes with the prince. And though that should’ve hurt you, the ache in your heart could only be attributed to the misery Thor wore. 

You and Loki drifted toward Sif and the Warriors Three since Thor had abandoned his usual idle chatter and reckless drinking. Hours later, Fandral was on the verge of passing out, Hogun was inebriated yet still standing, while Volstagg recounted one of the ancient battles on Alfheim to Loki and Sif.

When it was an hour past midnight, you excused yourself from the festivities, claiming you were too tired to continue. 

In truth, sleep evaded you. Your mind inundated with thoughts. But you didn’t allow yourself to entertain one more question or idea, letting your feet guide you wherever they preferred. 

You reached one of the castle’s balconies, a small one on the right side of the ballroom. You could still hear the music from the festivities, although it was a gentle hum. Euphonious and dulcet, serving as the perfect ballad in the backdrop. The sky lit up, gleaming stars strewn across the darkness. You wondered if they were the Norns’ portents. If you could wish upon them and the world would hum in answer. 

The sound of retreating footsteps pulled your attention away from the sky. You knew that silhouette anywhere. 

“Thor?” the word tumbled from your lips before you could fully register what the night had brought. 

Thor’s shoulders tensed. He didn’t respond, almost as if contemplating whether to provide you with an answer or ignore your presence. He sighed, broad shoulders deflating, before he turned around. 

“I apologize, Lady Y/N. I was not aware the area was preoccupied.”

“You need not to apologize, Thor,” you stated, unsure where his usual boldness had gone. “The area is large enough to accommodate both of us.”

It almost looked as though Thor would decline your offer. His blue eyes wandered, from you to the horizon then back. He regarded you in an unfamiliar way, taking in your appearance. You didn’t want him to catch sight of your fluster, so you turned your back to him, getting lost in the sight of Asgard at night. 

When you thought Thor would leave, you heard him make his way to your side. 

“I wish to apologize to you, Y/N,” he whispered, uncertainly. Not because he did not mean it, no. You knew Thor well enough to tell when he was lying about something. Your friendship with Loki illuminating his brother’s traits further. Thor leaned on his side, the banister supporting his weight. His demeanor was brittle, a far cry from what you had known. Your breath was lost in your throat, unsure whether you should gasp or sob. A step forward and there would be no distance between the both of you. You never wanted to hug him more. “Had I known you and my brother were…” He paused, taking in a shaky breath. “...Courting. Had I known, neither I nor Jane would have adopted such an insensitive tone before.”

You shook your head, fingers tingling to reach out for him. “We’re…Loki and I we’re…” But you couldn’t complete your sentence. A part of you imploring to deny Thor’s claim. Another fearing Thor’s distance if you admitted the truth. 

“An odd combination,” Thor smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Mischief and Counsel. Wisdom and Lies.”

“They’re opposite sides of the same coin. Perhaps, that’s why they work better than expected,” you defended, unsure why. 

Thor nodded, the same meek smile unerased. He looked down at his feet, strands of his blond hair covering his face. It had grown taller from the last time he had cut it on Midgard. Now resting upon his shoulders. As if he needed more weight to bear. 

“I must admit that he might be the luckiest one between us both. And he does not even know it?”

Your hand shot up involuntarily, clutching at the golden jewels across the bodice of your dress. “How so?” you asked, your thumb circling the fabric in a futile attempt at soothing your heartache at Thor’s tone. 

One of Thor’s hands glided across the banister, landing where yours had laid. While his gaze held your face, your eyes couldn’t help but land on his larger hand. “Loki presumes I cannot tell his ire at the court ladies galivanting to my side. He has always been too forlorn to understand that numbers have mattered not to me.” His hand dared to reach for yours then, a featherlike caress that made your heart gallop faster than Sleipnir. “Those who choose me over Loki desire nothing more than the throne. I have nothing else to offer. No wit, no literary aptitude, or poetic charm. I am nothing but brutish and capricious. It takes a no great amount of ardor to love my brother. It takes a kingdom to love someone like me.”

You retracted your hand, the action so unexpected and harsh, Thor jumped back in surprise. He opened his mouth, perhaps to apologize, but he closed it when he saw the expression you wore. Silver misted your irises, decayed and morose, mirroring the disheartenment that haunted you. 

“How can you say that?” you questioned—shrieked, even. Tears cascaded down your cheeks, your hands clawing at your dress because of the pain you felt. “Who…who made you feel as such?”

“Y/N—”

“No, Thor! You cannot utter such insidious words in my presence! You are kind, tender, and caring. A summer’s breath, warm and ecstatic. In your fierceness, you wield passion, and in your tempest resides the strength to protect. You are worthy of many things, Thor Odinson. And love is atop that wealth. I would forgo the world’s realms and riches to bask in the light of your affection.”

The words that traversed the distance between were not measured nor were they second-guessed. You had not the time to question your affections, wondering if it was worth bringing them to light or not. But you needed Thor to understand that what he felt, the dejectedness and loneliness, were unwarranted. 

You need to touch him, embrace him—assure his heart that he was worthy, and if you couldn’t do it physically, then your words had to suffice. 

Thor stood there, his expression a mix of shock, confusion, and something akin to hope. He reached out tentatively, brushing away the tears from your cheek with his thumb. “Y/N…”

You allowed his thumb to trace the skin beneath your eyes before wrapping your arms around him in a tight embrace, burying your face in his chest. Once, you thought to yourself. Even if this was a lie, I’ll gladly entertain it, just this once.

“Those ladies who crave your affections for the crown are not worthy of you. Even if you were the second son, even if the Norns had created you a mortal, you would still be worthy, Thor. You would still be loved.”

Thor’s hands traveled from your back. One moved up to cradle your head while the other rested on your lower back, cradling you closer to his chest. You could hear his heartbeats frantically drumming against his rib cage. Almost as if they were loud enough to create their own melody.  

You felt Thor plant a kiss atop of your head, close to where the diadem lay. He swayed with you in his arms, hold on you tightening and unwilling to let go. “You’re precious, Y/N,” he recited the words with complete reverence. Their familiarity registered, but you didn’t have time to question him before he continued, “More valuable than the troves of Asgard and the magic of Yggdrasil. And by the Norns, whoever forsakes your treasured company deserves to be bereft of your radiance, ensnared by the unforgiving grasp of Helheim for their sacrilege, Little Queen.”

A sharp gasp escaped your lips. “What did you just say?” you questioned, still nestled in his protective embrace.

“Loki did not compose this prose,” Thor confessed, his eyes dark with hesitation. “I wrote it. Two hundred years ago. For you.”

“What?” you breathed, the word splintering with emotion.

“I…I have always felt a connection to you. A sense of calm. Your wisdom and grace, but above all, your charm and wit captured my heart before I even knew it.”

“You never said anything,” you reminded, blinking harshly against the realization.

“How could I?” Thor’s thumb brushed the side of your mouth, drawing a choked whimper from you. “You are elegant while I am rough. A prince by title, but not by manner—”

“Do not belittle yourself in my presence.”

Thor chuckled softly, his gaze just as gentle.

“You are the Goddess of Wisdom, Little Queen.” That nickname—the Norns damn it—stirred emotions in you that you had never felt before. “What wisdom would there be in associating with the God of Thunder?”

“Is that why you distanced yourself?” The question was thick with unspoken feelings. “Is that why…why you chose Jane?” Over me. Your thought was left unspoken.

Thor’s expression darkened with remorse, his features shadowed by regret. “Have you never noticed the similarities between you two?”

“What similarities?”

“She is a smart woman. Accomplished, fastidious, attentive, and resilient despite her delicate appearance. Just as you are.”

“She is a mortal,” you countered. 

Thor nodded solemnly. “She cannot be made a queen. Not in the eyes of the Asgardians.”

“Then why—”

“It would be easier to gauge her choice.” Thor shifted his weight from one foot to the other. You realized too late that he was pulling away, keeping you at arm’s length. “As I said.” His gaze traveled the expanse of your body, regret permeating the air suddenly. “Those who choose me do it for Asgard’s throne. Those who choose my brother do it for love,” he reiterated, brokenly. He added in a more fractured tone, “You look stupendous in emerald green, my lady.”

“Viridian,” you corrected, evoking his bafflement. “It’s viridian green, a darker shade than emerald. Truthfully, I had opted for my own colors. But Loki approached my chambers before I could leave, and he all but decided to trick the court to his own advantage.”

“You’re not… you’re not courting Loki?”

You shook your head. “No. He and I have long been friends.”

“Friends,” Thor repeated, but there was a shift in the air when he said the word—as if Valhalla’s gates had opened and the angels descended to Asgard, humming their dulcet ballads.

“Tell me that’s not what we were,” you ventured, figuring that courage ought to accompany wisdom. “Tell me after all that was said and done that we weren’t just friends.”

You expected Thor to flounder, to grapple with an answer to your demand. “It wouldn’t make sense,” he attested. “It wouldn’t make sense if that were all we were, Little Queen.”

The angels of Valhalla must have roared, not sung, because as soon as Thor had breathed those words, tentative and full of fealty, his lips captured your own. You understood then, the complexity that arose from his role as God of Thunder. Your lips were in a fray, lapping at each other, wet and thunderous as you were conquered by his veneration. His large hands grabbed at your bottom, hoisting you up in the air. Your dress didn’t allow you the pleasure of wrapping your legs around his waist, but that didn’t stop you from clutching at his clothes, his hair, his soul.

Thor’s lips caressed your own. There was no set direction to their motion, almost as if he couldn’t decide whether to take it slow or devour you whole. The noises you made, the noises he made, small and mellow, reverberated in the empty space, adding to the symphony of your love and desire.

You didn’t want to pull away. Latching to the thunder and lightning invading your senses, getting lost in the storm.

A shiver ran down your entire body, accentuated by Thor’s teeth nipping at your lower lip. “Y/N,” he whispered breathlessly.

Your eyes opened, your image framed by his irises—protectively and vehemently.

He settled you on the ground, lips widening at your sight. “My colors suit you best.”

You didn’t understand what he had meant until you looked down. Your clothes had changed color. Again. The accent of your attire shifted to a bold red and silver.

“You best not attempt to produce an heir tonight, brother,” Loki sounded from behind Thor. He wore a smug smirk, leaning against one of the balcony pillars. Of course that bastard followed you. “Our chambers are nearby, and I do not need to hear my brother and best friend fondue.”

You blushed, cheeks turning crimson. Thor didn’t even spare Loki a glance, focusing his attention on you. “Little Queen, you look magnificent in my colors strewn across every inch of your body.”

And before you could help yourself, you boldly claimed, “I would look even more magnificent with your love marks strewn across every inch of my body.”

Thor’s eyes darkened, a primal yearning painting his irises with desire. He tugged at your hands then, pulling you to his chest. “Let me mark you with centuries worth of love, Little Queen. Allow me to show you what lesser beings cannot do.”

“Show me, my God.”

You drowned in his ardent storm, uncaring for the waves, noise, or the chaos. It was senseless. Everything you never were. Everything Thor was. Everything you, deep down, longed to feel with him.

Thank you @crazyunsexycool for this request! It was so fun to write for Thor, you can tell since this turned out to be 6K words🥹 I couldn't stop! Seriously, this might've been my favorite fic ever! Thank you for participating in my celebration. ♥️

I might extend my writing celebration if more requests come in. For all those interested, please feel free to follow the link!

I hope you like this one, witchlings. Okay, byeeee.

[travelbasscase]

house md twilight headcanons because i had an idea™

Foreman: Has not read any Twilight book, relentlessly mocks anyone who has.

Cuddy: Has read the first book, decided it wasn't for her.

Cameron: Has read all of them, is unwilling to admit that she has for fear of being mocked by House (understandable). She didn't love them, but neither did she hate it.

Wilson: Read the first book and enjoyed it. Decided to continue on to the rest of the series. However, he somehow missed the middle books and jumped right into Breaking Dawn, and never noticed his mistake.

Chase: Read every single book multiple times. Deeply invested. Openly admits it. HUGE fan of Edward and Bella. Has made multiple Quotev "which Twilight character are you" quizzes. Has posters on his wall of characters from the series. Was incensed by the movies because he felt that they weren't faithful enough to the books.

Stacy: Never heard of them.

Taub: Absolutely adores it. Started a book club with Chase.

Kutner: Didn't read the books, but loved the movies. Sometimes shows up to Chase and Taub's book club.

Thirteen: Thinks that the love triangle is stupid. Hates Bella with passion. Probably wants Edward and Jacob to run off into the sunset together. Sometimes shows up to Chase and Taub's book club just to pick fights with Chase.

House: Has read every book and watched every movie, but everyone just kind of assumed that he wouldn't and never asked if he did. He does not get involved in any conversation surrounding the books so that he can maintain his facade of not having consumed any of the media, but occasionally makes references to it purely to confuse all of his employees, because there's no way that their boss would have read those, so his allusions must be coincidence, right?

He has also read the much worse, much trashier (somehow) Night World series by LJ Smith, and is very upset that it's never been finished. He is invested in the plot and spends his free time sending letters to the author begging her to finish the series.

[secret-smut-sideblog]

Warm Water

Gale x F! Tav

PG-13 complicated feelings, touch starved/touch driven, allusions to intimacy, jealousy, love triangle (sort of), crossed signals, nuclear amounts of yearning

With one of Tav's love languages being physical affection, Gale tries to keep his touch hungry skin from her. The sirens call of her arms could overwhelm him, but he's far from the only one heeding her soft song...

Masterlist

-

"Do you want a hug?" Tav held her arms open in offer.

Gods did he ever.

Tav was a very physical person he soon came to realize. When she had pulled him from the stone she had reached forward to innocuously pat him free of dirt from his harsh landing.

"Oh! Thank you!" He had chuckled, trying to will the blood from his ears.

"No problem." She had remarked good naturedly, clearly thinking nothing of it.

Outside of their resident vampire, who's boundaries she respected by keeping distance, it seemed everyone enjoyed her physicality. Grappling with Lae'zel, braiding Shadowheart's hair, practicing dance with Wyll. Karlach was fully indisposed when she regained touch, watching from the sidelines no more. Carrying Tav on her back, holding hands, wrapped in a bear hug basically the whole day.

Gods Tav shared literal bear hugs with Halsin.

But Gale... he nearly avoided her. He had been touch starved for so long that what she offered felt borderline gluttonous. Overwhelming his senses, reducing him to a giddy puddle.

He knew she meant nothing by it. She was affectionate with everyone, and yet it made his heart flutter.

He was having a hard night, grappling with emotional assailants from all sides. Between his personal woes, their daunting task at Moonrise, the constant oppressive atmosphere of the Shadowlands, and the needling pain in his chest... it was difficult to stay in high spirits.

Tav had finished her plate, setting it down to be washed. Turning to him with warm eyes to ask.

He stared at her outstretched arms, the solace and weight he knew lied within them.

With a shuddering breath of defeat, he mumbled an agreement and fell into her embrace.

Immediately, he melted into her, strong arms wrapped securely around his back. One hand rubbing reassuring circles between his shoulder blades. His head fell into the curve of her neck, nearly whimpering.

Gods, she was so warm. In all ways, truly, but her body was the morning sun. Radiating intoxicating heat, he pulled her closer greedily.

He knew it was Astarion that was sun starved, but Gods. He needed to touch her, to be touched by her, like he needed water.

He feared he was pushing it, but she only rested her head against his chest. Her eyelashes tickling his neck, sighing. Arms crossing around his waist.

It could have only been a minute at most, but it felt simultaneously like an age and a blip. So much and not nearly enough.

When she made to pull away, he had to coaxe his arms to release. Immediately feeling her absence like bath water fallen cold.

"You're a good hugger." She smiled, wiping a tear he hadn't felt escape with the side of her thumb. Hand naturally cupping his face in the process.

His eyes closed, leaning into her like a cat pushing it's head into her hand, before he caught himself. Straightening up and giving her a casual smile.

"Well, I'm glad we could both enjoy that experience. Not spending tender moments making a fool of myself is one of my goals, truly."

She laughed, and it lit up his heart like it always did. Her laugh was a bright point in their otherwise suffocating surroundings. The way it tumbled out of her uncontrolled, seeming to catch her off guard which often made her laugh harder. The way she would turn her head to the side before bursting out into giggles. He even got her to snort one time, her hand shooting up to cover her mouth, even more gasping laughter muffled there.

He was trying to deny that he was smitten with her, but it was a losing battle. Everything about her was so warm. Mortal. A tenderness and tenacity that you can only achieve walking the earth. A polar inverse of his previous lover.

Her voice broke him out of his lovesick reverie.

"Do you want help washing up?" She offered as if to prove his point, already twisting her hair up into a secure pile on her head.

The chivalrous part of him wanted to wave her away, let her get on with her night. But he had always been a greedy man, and more time spent with her was a call he was loathe to refuse.

"Sure, I could use an extra pair of hands." He smiled.

He could use them elsewhere, too.

He cleared his throat into a quiet cough, keeping his eyes firmly on the dishes he was stacking. Gods, get ahold of yourself.

He conjured a mage hand to carry one of the heavier stacks, leaving her to the lesser of the piles.

She hummed softly as they headed towards the water, a few strands falling out of her tied back hair. The setting sun kissing her form with hues of pink and gold.

As if her warmth wasn't enough to entice him, Tav was devastatingly beautiful. Wide slightly upturned eyes, the graceful slope of high cheekbones and an aquiline nose, heart-shaped lips perfectly encapsulated by two dimples.

Naturally, several sets of eyes watched her in longing as they left the camp.

He wasn't fooling himself that he could stand up to the competition. Halsin especially, outside of their strife in unraveling the cause of the shadow curse, that man looked at her like she rose the sun. Practically forming hearts in his eyes when she would come over to chat.

Once she had trouble reaching some fruit in a tree, and he, unprompted, lifted her in one motion onto his shoulders. She had squealed out a delighted laugh, then refused to get down. Kicking her feet, palms sitting on top of his head. They had walked around camp like this was the most normal thing, only Halsin's big smile betraying his usual calm demeanor.

Even Karlach had started to develop a shy flirty rapport with her, her tail swaying and curling when they stood together. Absent-mindedly leading her by her lower back. Staring after her when they would end conversations with a quiet sigh.

And though their resident vampire insisted that she got on his nerves, Gale knew better. One night he had gotten up to get water, naturally passing Astarion's open tent. They were both kneeled inside, their nightly feeding session.

Astarion was completely slumped into her, drinking languidly. One of her hands running gently through his curls, other secure around his waist. Head leaned into his.

She had caught eyes with Gale over Astarion's shoulder as he passed, smiling sweetly, lifting her fingers in greeting.

The whole scene was so intimate, but she treated it as if it were natural. And, truly, was it not? She had the mesmerizing presence of comfort and calm that people gravitated toward. It honestly shocked him more that only a handful of their companions were chomping at the bit.

They set up next to the water, him washing and her drying. A dish rag slung over her shoulder. They worked together like a dance, the moment feeling like a microcosm of imitated domestic bliss. He could so easily imagine her doing this with him in his tower. Sitting on the counter, receiving dishes as he handed them off. Teasing each other, her foot bothering his side. Eventually giving up on the dishes altogether and bending her over the cou-

"Careful! We almost lost a goblet!" She teased, catching the glass as it slipped downstream from him. "I don't think Wyll could recover." She laughed, drying it in a practiced twist of her towel.

"Ah, apologies. I'm a little lost in thought tonight." He offered sheepishly.

"Any you care to share?"

Not if she wasn't about to get very comfortable with an array of unvetted topics very quickly.

She saw his hesitation and smiled knowingly, returning to her task. "You know, I'm surprised you agreed to let me help with this, I kind of got the impression you don't like me."

He stared at her, flabbergasted. Pausing his hands entirely.

Only starting back up when her hands emptied, offering up a flat palm for the next cutlery.

"That"s... not the impression I was trying to impart. I ensure you."

She sighed, the slightest air of relief. "I'm glad. I'm expecting so many more hugs in the future. To make up for lost time, of course. Just a criminal amount."

He smiled at her, scrunching up his nose playfully. "Oh? You're involving me in grand scale crime rings now?"

"Yeah. Ring these arms around your neck, boy."

He laughed loudly, fully dropping a cup into the river.

"Oh, goodbye..." She laughed, mock wistful watching it go.

"I think you've been a great help, but perhaps it's best I finish this undistracted." He teased, embarrassed heat in his ears.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm very cute, I know." She winked, lifting the dried dishes and slapping the towel down on his shoulder.

She leaned down and gave him a quick kiss on his forehead, heading back toward camp casually. "See you later, wizard."

It took a second to break out of the short circuit his brain struck him with.

He watched her go, Halsin taking up beside her when she returned. Taking the dish pile from her easily with one hand.

Gods damnit. This is why he had been holding back from her. There was no shot in all of the hells, and he didn't know if his heart could take it.

The Last Light Inn was lit up with happy drunken chatter, and Gale was searching tops of heads to find her stark black hair.

The day had proven grueling but surprisingly successful. Art woken and Thaniel returned, even the prisoners in the Moonrise basement freed. They were leaps and bounds closer to lifting the shadow curse and the mood was jovial. Tav had decided they should celebrate, and all present company agreed. They needed a little revelry with all that had passed and what was to come.

Gale was standing on the balcony, more than happy to keep back from the crowd. Chatting idly with passerby's but mostly just people watching. A pleasant buzz going from the good liquor they had found in a crate.

Of course his eyes led back to her. Sitting next to Shadowheart, Tav's ankle resting against hers. Tapping her foot against Shadowheart's playfully as they talked.

Silver hair weaved through the crowd, falling in a dramatic huff next to her. Handing them their drinks, Tav and Shadowheart's faces lighting with inebriated glee.

If Tav was affectionate sober, she was a puppy with a little wine in her.

Taking her drink, she turned to Astarion, cupping his face and gently kissing his cheek. Pulling back to say something, her face relaxed. So sweetly smiling at him.

He saw Astarion gently lead her hand away from him but left their fingers touching. The tips of his ears pink in his own inebriation.

The massive form of Halsin left Jaheira's side, patting her shoulder in familiarity. The next to head towards her.

He crouched down to her to say something. She cocked her head slightly, smiling up at him, nodding.

Halsin bent his shoulder down and pulled her by the waist onto him. Hooked by the hips on his wide shoulder. Her legs curled up, face open in a laugh. Waving goodbye to the collective from his back as she was carried outside.

Before his feet had spoken to his mind, he was following them out, leaving his glass on the banister.

He lost them for a moment, then caught that blue shone black hair at the animal pen. Tav gently petting a calf's nose as Halsin spoke softly.

Something stopped him then, the jealousy fueled stride of his feet slowing. They were so soft in this moment, and he no longer had the incense to intervene. Maybe it was the wine wearing off, but it suddenly felt childish to barge in.

Tav's eyes caught him regardless, waving him over excitedly.

He smiled, going to her much more kindly.

"Gale! Look! Bab-ey cows..." She hummed happily.

"Indeed. Fascinating creature, that." He teased.

"Big brown eyes~" She sing-songed. "Like you!"

The herculean strength it was taking not to kiss her, the wine rendering her adorable.

Halsin was looking at her in what his face must be echoing. Soft and smitten.

"Ah, I would cherish more time together, but I must tend to Thaniel." Halsin rumbled, adoration creasing his face when her eyes met his. "In the meantime, I will procur some fresh lavender for you."

"Thank you, and no rush!" She chirped up at him.

He smiled, palming the top of her head.

"Goodnight, sweetheart." He looked to Gale. "Make sure she returns safe."

"I can handle myself..." She huffed.

Gale nodded solemnly to Halsin regardless. The druid seemed satisfied by the conviction in his face, patting her head twice before departing.

Tav waved to the little calf and without further discussion took Gale's hand and started walking.

His fingers instinctually wove into hers before he could process what was happening. Pulled to walk easily.

They had arrived at the dock, the moon ribboned water lapping gently.

She pulled her boots off with a little grunt, letting her feet dangle in the tide. Falling back onto the sea fragrant wood with a satisfied sigh.

He followed her lead, the cool water surprisingly pleasant, swelling softly along his ankles. Back flat, staring up at the tapestry of stars. Insect call rising and falling like breath.

"So... lavender?" He tried, shockingly short on words.

"Oh! It's for hair oils. Surprisingly, maintaining hair this long is kind of difficult in the wilderness." She kicked her legs slowly as she spoke.

"You know, my mother taught me how to braid..." He offered.

"A rare skill set." She remarked solemnly, the edge of a cheeky smile on her lips.

"I'm trying to offer you some help, you ingrate." He admonished.

"Mm-hmm," Her lips pressed together hard, trying to contain the wide smile he could see her fighting. "And I'm sure I've got a gold star around here somewhere. Hold on let me check..."

She rose, making to run off, already giggling.

He caught her around the waist, and before his mind could speak to his body, pulled her into him.

Their mouths slid together so easily. He moaned softly, her lips falling plush and velvet against his. Lighting a molten in his core and a high call in his heart.

She kissed him back for an exquisite and terribly short moment, then pulled back. Lips leaving him to drop slightly open in wide-eyed shock.

Oh. Oh Gods, he had not meant to do that.

"I'm sorry, I uh," He stumbled, already rising to feet. "It seems I've had too much wine..."

He cleared his throat, picking up his boots, eyes determined on the shore. "I'll just, I'll head back to camp. Pardon me."

Quick feet took him up the boardwalk, white knuckle gripping boot leather.

Spotting that shock of white hair rounding the corner, he steeled his face.

"Astarion, Tav is on the dock. Make sure she gets back to camp safe." He commanded.

Astarion seemed confused and offended to be given a order, until he saw the state of him. His keen eyes picking up on his red fluster with a wide malicious smile.

"Of course, Gale dearest." He purred, clearly relishing in his obvious blunder. "She's in practiced hands for the night."

He breathed the next words in a breathy hum. "Enjoy the remainder of yours, darling."

Gale watched him go, clenching his jaw so hard it initiated a headache. Or was that the wine? Did it matter?

Astarion walked on heels, hands clasped behind his back. Exuding the satisfaction of a cat with a saucer of milk. Step brightening even more when she caught sight of him approaching.

In the time he had left her side, she had disrobed down to her underclothes. Gesturing toward Astarion then the water in an upturned hand, saying something to him, eyebrows raised mischievously.

Gale halted entirely, suddenly very certain he had made a mistake walking away from her.

He heard the bark of Astarion's laugh at her offer, pulling his shirt over his shoulders.

His yearning kept his eyes on her long enough to watch her lower into the water. But he couldn't take any more, chest aching. Shame propelling his feet further from her.

Truly, no one could get in his own way quite like himself. Circling angrily around the brick corner, eyes scanning determinedly until he found who he was seeking.

"Jaheira, where can you find lavender in this Gods forsaken wasteland?"

~

Part 2

[belovedmusings]

More than I dare to think about.

Choso Kamo x You x Suguru Geto

Explicit Smut 18+ 🚫Minors DNI🚫

Part two of the ‘Two + One’ story. Click for story masterlist.

Guitarist! Choso Kamo is your boyfriend, and you’ve been together for a year. He recently left his previous band and has been looking to join a new one, so when he has an audition with a local up and coming one, you accompany him to give him support. That’s where you meet the band’s Bassist, Suguru Geto. The mutual attraction is immediate—but you love your boyfriend, and you resolve to keep your desires for Suguru suppressed, even as Choso is accepted into the bad. The question is, can Suguru stay away from you?

Relevant tags: sexual tension, love triangle, slow burn, thoughts of infidelity, guilt, unprotected sex, mild choking, masturbation, shy and nervous Choso, Choso is a sweetheart as always, Suguru is a quiet and confident flirt, both men are charming as hell, you are addressed without the usage of “y/n”, AFAB reader with minimal usage of gendered language, reader has no defining characteristics for realism & inclusivity

Recommended songs to listen to while reading: Can’t Get You out of My Head (Kylie Minogue), …baby one more time (The Marias), In Your Eyes (The Weeknd)

A/N: part two is out!! I hope you enjoy more angsty mutual pining and deepened sexual tension.

Read below cut:

For two weeks after the temporary lapse in judgment that caused you to have a voyeuristic quickie in your car, things have returned to normal. Well, on the surface, anyway. Choso is with the band five days a week, rehearsing and also writing and recording new music. You haven’t been back to Suguru’s house, but despite that, you can’t seem to get him out of your head.

You hadn’t known Suguru was the frontman of Curse Manipulator. You’d never even seen any of the band members prior to meeting them—they were just word-of-mouth stars on the local level. Friends told friends about them, shared their music, and that’s how you and Choso had found a few of their songs that you both like.

With Choso busy with the band, you’re left to your own devices a lot. Curiosity gets the better of you quickly and you deep-dive Curse Manipulator’s discography. Their music is a perfect blend of alternative rock and a plethora of other styles on top—it’s unique and genuinely really good. The lyrics are great, too. Deep and meaningful, loaded with allusions to other works of literature and art that speaks to a writer who is intelligent and well-read.

Once again, curiosity gets the best of you, and you end up searching more about the band on the internet. You find out that Suguru is the genius behind the lyrics as well, having written most of the songs himself.

So, you torture yourself by listening to his beautiful, thick, and warm voice singing pure poetry into your ears. It makes you think of him, of his face, his piercings, his eyes, his hair, his tattoos, his hands, his body—

He’s possessed your mind completely.

It seems like you’re horny all of the time now, which never used to be the case. You and Choso had a very healthy and normal sex life before all of this, but now, you’re on him every single night. You spend the entire day fantasizing about Suguru. You dream about him taking you on every surface in your place. You imagine his head buried between your thighs, and then you envision yourself on your knees in front of him, mouth stuffed full of his cock. You know he’d have all of the control, and you would love it. Your pleasure would be his to manipulate.

You’re so hot and bothered by the time Choso comes home that you often try to initiate right when he walks in. He greets you happily, but insists he wants to shower and eat first before sex to wind down.

You let him, but secretly you don’t want him to wind down. You want him wound up tight, so tight that he takes all of the day’s stress out on you.

Choso has never been rough with you in bed. He doesn’t even often take control, though power dynamics as a whole generally stay out of the bedroom. He likes whatever you like, and enjoys whatever you give him.

When you’re fucking him, you can’t help but wish sometimes that he’d go harder. You want him to hold you down, to pound you into the mattress, to put his hands around your neck and hold them there until you tap on his arm for air. You want him to manhandle you into whatever position he wants, to fuck your face, to just take from you. But he doesn’t. He can’t. He loves you too much to even think of treating you that way.

You know that Suguru could do all of those things to you. He would use the strength of his big arms to keep you pinned beneath him while he ruins you from the inside. He’d keep going even if you begged for mercy, pushing you past your limits, controlling your body like it’s nothing but a marionette. He’d pull all of the right strings.

You know he would look and sound beautiful while doing it. You want to see him with no clothes on, with all of his tattoos on display, his hair down from its tie so that it spills over his broad shoulders. He’d groan, pant in exertion, praise or degrade you—it wouldn’t matter. You’d have him.

Today, Choso is at Suguru’s house working with the band, so you’re alone at home again. You could have gone to watch but Suguru would be there and you don’t think that after what happened last time you’d be able to maintain your sanity around him.

As you sit on the couch in the living room, your thoughts drift to Suguru. You think of his flawless face, of the piercings framing his bottom lip, and of the stud in the center of his tongue.

Just the mere memory of his damned tongue piercing is enough to have a wave of heat crash into you. You lay your head in your hand—Suguru is truly making you lose your mind.

You can’t stop your mind from continuing to follow the thoughts of him. You’re reminded of the look in his eyes when he watched you ride your boyfriend. Not at all flustered or embarrassed that he was caught staring. Just watching with a smirk like he has the biggest dick in the world. Fuck. You mean, just look at him, the way he carries himself, the way he talks, of course he’s big.

You’ve never acted like this before. Size never really mattered to you. Choso is well-endowed and he satisfies you well enough.

Well enough?

You hadn’t thought about it. He’s great in bed, always eager to please—but maybe that’s just it. You usually lead. Sometimes he’s a little bit more on the initiative side but he never ever just takes from you. You long to just give someone all of the control for once, to lay there and take whatever he feels like giving you, to be pushed to your limits.

Choso is too much of a sweetheart to do that to you. You know he respects and thinks too highly of you to treat you like that.

Suguru, on the other hand…

Fuck.

He would just make you take it. He’d hold you down with all of his strength, manhandle you into whatever position he feels like, do whatever he wants to you.

That sinful tongue comes back to mind.

He could just throw you onto the nearest surface and push your legs apart. He could even rip your underwear to shreds and you wouldn’t even care—he can do anything he wants to you.

You feel yourself getting wet, shifting on the couch. You know you shouldn’t feed into these desires, but now that the thoughts have started you can’t turn them off. Maybe if you got off to the thoughts of him, you’d have a clearer head.

You might just be making excuses so that you can have this, but regardless of your reasoning, your hand is already dipping below both of your waistbands, finding the slick warmth beneath quickly.

What if Suguru was with you right now? What if somehow the two of you were alone together? What would Suguru do?

Maybe he would grab you by the legs, push them open, and get on his knees. You’re wearing loose shorts today. What if he just moved the fabric aside and started giving you head, right there in the living room?

You bite your lip as your touches simulate the imagined movement of his mouth, envisioning his beautiful face between your thighs, lazily confident eyes boring into yours with something dark and wild, pink tongue flicking up and down your neediest spot. He wouldn’t look away. He’d want you to watch him. He’d want to put on a show for you, to give you pleasure not only by sensation but by sight as well.

You moan in your throat as the thought gets you even wetter, speeding up your touches.

He’d rub his silver stud right against that swollen pearl, and maybe he’d smirk when he sees what that does to you. He has to know what it does to you, god does it fuck you up?

You want him to fuck you up. You so do, you need him like you’ve never needed anyone before. Maybe it’s because you can’t have him, but the desperation you feel for Suguru is so severe it’s like the sky will come crashing down if you don’t get him.

Maybe he’d even start to finger you as he eats you out. He’d make you take two at once, two of those thick, long fingers, calloused and rough from his playing, covered in his rings. You’d feel the contours of the metal inside of you—

“Fuck,” you hiss, already nearing your peak. It’s been a while since you orgasmed this quickly. The only other time was when you’d jumped your boyfriend outside of Suguru’s house, when you were looking right at him and he was looking at you while you rode Choso, eyes dark against the dim streetlight.

It wasn’t completely just your boyfriend that had made you cum that night. It was Suguru, too. His presence, his gaze on you, the feeling of his lust even from far away. You know he wants you. He couldn’t look away, either. He’s interested.

You want him to do as he pleases with you. To eat you out until you cry, maybe even to devour you whole. You don’t care, you’d even give your very fucking soul to him.

You grip a pillow beside you with your free hand as you imagine him fucking his fingers in and out of you at a rough pace, not caring if it’s too much too fast, his pretty mouth covered in your essence, working over your mound like it’s his last meal. He’d have your legs spread wide, wanting as much space as he can get, entire head moving along with his mouth in effort to get you to cum. You’d pull his hair out of its tie and let it spill over his face, gripping it in your hands, unable to look away.

He’d press wet kisses to your swollen bud, tell you how good it tastes, curl his fingers up just right as he flattens his tongue and licks with force—

“Oh fuck, Suguru!” You gasp as it hits you, climax causing you to cease up. Your eyes shut as you imagine him continuing through it, overstimulating you until you can’t take it anymore. Maybe he’d keep going. He’d force another out of you. And another after that. Maybe he’d even make you cry from it.

Your mind is reeling with even more lewd possibilities and you sigh heavily as you try to calm down.

Suguru is a very very bad idea. But you can’t get him out of your head.

At the very least, you force yourself not to fantasize about him while you’re having sex with Choso. Your love for him doesn’t waver in the slightest. Though you wish he’d be rougher, you never resent him for it. He treats you like you’re precious, to be given only the utmost care, and you wouldn’t trade him for the world. The thoughts of Suguru are for when you’re alone, and only when you’re alone.

You ask him one night to choke you during sex, and the request has him completely flustered. He agrees after some convincing, so he wraps his hand around your neck and applies pressure.

You moan out immediately, tightening around him. “Yes, baby, just like that.”

“It’s not too hard?” He asks you worriedly, pace on his hips slowing. You nod.

“It’s fine, baby,” you confirm, trying to get him to go harder, to test rather than ask what your limits are. He watches your face for any sign of discomfort, his pace slowing down even more.

“Harder,” you encourage, “Keep fucking me, Chos’.”

He swallows thickly and puts more power back into his thrusts, keeping his hand around your neck. You nod, eyes fluttering shut.

“Yes, yes…more…”

His hand squeezes a little harder and it gets difficult to breathe. Your eyes flutter shut, pleasure overwhelming you as you’re forced to feel only that—

“I can’t—I don’t want to hurt you,” he draws his hand back, air suddenly filling your lungs again, and he frowns at you. “I’m sorry, I just…I don’t think I like that.”

He’s still now, and you realize you pushed him too far. He has a guilty look written all over his face and it crushes you.

“No,” you shake your head, reaching up and cupping his face, pulling him down so you can kiss his cheek. “No, you did nothing wrong. I got carried away. I’m sorry.”

“I want to make you feel good.”

“You do,” you tell him, feeling shitty for making him feel like he’s not doing enough. “I just wanted to try something, baby. We won’t do it again.”

He sighs heavily, turning his face to kiss your lips. “Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you murmur, pecking his mouth again. Slowly, the two of you get back into a rhythm with some coaxing.

The two of you finish a few minutes later and after you’ve cleaned up and gotten back in bed, Choso kisses your forehead as he pulls you to lay on his chest.

As he hugs you tightly, you can’t shake the dull pang in your chest that cemented itself after you went too far with him. You can’t sleep like this.

“I should’ve talked to you about it beforehand,” you begin, searching for the words. “I know you like when I squeeze your neck a little but I shouldn’t have assumed you’d like doing it to me.”

He sighs above you, hand rubbing up and down your arm. “I’m just aware of how much stronger than you I am. I don’t want to lose control and hurt you by accident. I'd rather you be the one with my life in your hands than the other way around.”

The poetry of that statement warms your heart. He’s the sweetest man you’ve ever known. It brings a smile to your face as you balance yourself up on your elbow to look into his eyes.

“You’re always so caring,” you say, taking in his gorgeous face, glimmering with a thin sheen of sweat. “What did I do to deserve you?”

He smiles softly, huffing with a laugh. “You’re just you. I had a crush on you for the longest time, and even now the fact that you still want me—you just make me so happy.”

You shake your head with a grin, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he chuckles, wrapping you back up in his arms as you settle on his chest. There is a period of silence before he speaks again. “You know, there’s that new horror movie that’s out in theaters. Do you want to see it together tomorrow?”

It has been a while since you went on a proper date with him. He’s been so busy with the band—but isn’t he busy tomorrow as well?

“That sounds fun. But I thought you have band rehearsal. And we can’t go before ‘cause I’m seeing my friend tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I do, but we can just go after,” he replies, “How about I drive myself to practice, and you have your friend drop you off at Suguru’s place? It’s closer to downtown anyway—that would work, right?”

An involuntary sharp breath that you have to cover up with a simple shift to get more comfortable overtakes you. You haven’t been to Suguru’s house since you met him, and the thought of seeing him again makes you both nervous and thrilled. You don’t think being around him is a good idea but Choso’s plan makes too much sense for you to dispel it. Besides, maybe you can just go in, greet him quickly, and then leave. It should be fine.

“Yeah,” you finally agree. “That works.”

“Then it��s a date,” there’s a smile in his smooth voice and you press a kiss to his sternum in response, letting his heartbeat lull you to sleep as you try not to think about who you’re going to be seeing tomorrow.

It takes a while, but eventually, you fall asleep.

—

You’re on the doorstep of Suguru’s house after having just parted ways with your friend for the day. Seeing as you had a day out and are about to go on a date, you made yourself look a little bit more done-up than you would on a usual day, and you keep trying to stifle the little voice in your head that says I hope Suguru notices.

Taking a deep breath, you text your boyfriend to let him know you’re there. A minute later, the door is opening to reveal Miguel.

“Hey,” he greets with a casual grin. “Choso said you’d be coming. Come on in, make yourself at home. We’ll be done in a bit.”

“Thanks,” you smile, entering the house and taking off your shoes. “Do you mind if I just wait in the living room?”

“Not at all, Suguru told me to tell you his house was your house,” Miguel shrugs. “Hell, make some tea if you want. He’s chill with anything.”

You laugh breathily. “Okay, cool.”

“We’re in the middle of recording Choso’s backing vocals so he’ll be out in a little.”

“Okay, it’s no problem,” you say, and with that, Miguel walks up the hallway to where the recording studio is.

Just like that, you’re left alone in Suguru’s house. It looks just as stylish and serene as it did the last time, and you have to admit he has really good taste. You sigh, considering your options. You could just sit on the couch and wait, but that might give you a free-pass to start ruminating on all the ways Suguru could make you his on the surfaces of his furniture.

You blink. Nope, not a good option. You feel like making tea is overstepping, but maybe getting a glass of water would do you some good. It’ll give you something to do, anyway. You figure you’ll try it.

You pad to the left where the kitchen is, realizing you don’t know where anything is. You debate giving up and just going to sit, but curiosity gets the better of you. This is Suguru’s kitchen—you want to snoop a little bit, just innocently, to see if there’s any quirks hidden in the items he has.

You make your way to the counter and open the first drawer, finding silverware. Basic silver spoons and forks, sleek black chopsticks, and pretty porcelain chirenge spoons. You smile to yourself at the white and black design—even the small things have a touch of his aesthetic to them.

You close the drawer and decide that the glasses are probably in a cabinet above the counter, so you take a look at them. That’s when you notice that the black wooden doors reach all the way up to the high ceiling. You hum, deciding to open the first one. The first shelf has bowls and plates, and the second one has mugs. No glasses.

You move on to the next one and open it, seeing bigger bowls on the first shelf and glasses on the second. But that's just it—there is a large space between the first and the second shelves.

The cabinets in this place are ridiculous. Why are all of the cups placed so high? You can’t even hope to reach them. You’d take any glass, the one on the very edge seems easiest to get, but even that seems impossible.

You extend your arm up futilely, rolling your eyes at your own bright idea. You look around, searching for any kind of stool to use. Your eyes only find the counter and internally, you sigh. The counter is what it’s going to have to be.

You raise your leg to start climbing up when a familiar deep voice stops you in your tracks.

“Need some help?” Suguru.

Your heart jumps into your throat and you turn your head to look at him. Your mouth goes dry.

Today, he has his hair completely down, layers falling around his chin and over his shoulders effortlessly. There’s a bar in his right ear that you hadn’t seen when you met him, hair tucked behind his ear, and the rest of his piercings lay on his face like constellations. He smiles at you warmly, showing off perfect, straight teeth, and the flutter it gives your heart is almost violent.

“Uh, yeah,” you force yourself to talk like a normal person, “I-I wanted to get some water—Miguel told me I could. Can’t reach the cups.”

“These cabinets are ridiculous, huh?” He asks with a grin, leaning against the counter beside you.

“Yeah,” you agree, still trying to school your body’s reaction so he doesn’t see how weak in the knees he’s making you feel.

“I’ll get one for you. Which one caught your eye?”

You look up and point to the one closest to the edge of the shelf. He makes a move and before you can step out of the way, he’s reaching over you.

By doing so, the entire expanse of his body presses into you from behind, sandwiching you between him and the counter as he stretches for the glass. His body is firm and warm. Like this, you can smell his cologne, a smoky jasmine, and you swear your mind turns into mush then and there. You suck in a breath, leaning your hands on the cool marble for support and maybe for mental purchase too.

He grabs the cup, and as he’s bringing it down, he backs up to where he’d been standing beside you before. You feel like you might faint. You just felt his entire frame pressing against you. You even felt the print of his dick through his black sweatpants against your hip—fuck, your mind is going haywire. Your knees are going to give out at any moment. Holy shit.

“You’re a little dressed up today, aren’t you?” He asks, still holding the glass in his hand. He hasn’t offered it to you yet, like he’s making you wait for it. God.

“Oh, yeah,” you manage, doing your best to retain normalcy. “Yeah, uh, Choso and I are going to see a movie after this.”

“Oh, really? What movie?”

“It’s that new horror one—we like scary movies.”

Suguru nods, humming. “How long have you been together?”

You shift just to give yourself something to do. “Uh, coming up on a year now.”

“Really?” He asks, an appraising face on his features. “You seem happy with him.”

Your lips part. What sort of reply is he looking for here? And why do you feel…guilty agreeing with that statement?

“Yeah,” you say, “He’s great. We’re happy.”

“Choso is a lucky man. You’re beautiful.”

If you felt near-faint then, now you feel near-death.

Suguru just called you beautiful. He didn’t say ‘you look beautiful’, he said ‘you are beautiful’. Oh god, you’re going to run wild with that when you’re alone with your thoughts again. Right now you aren’t.

You’re alone with Suguru.

“Oh,” you exhale, a small smile stretching over your lips. You avert your eyes to the side, to where his hand still holds the glass. Like this, it’s like he’s holding you captive for a conversation. You like it. “Thanks.”

“Was that too bold? You’ll have to forgive me,” he tells you, and when you look at him again, he’s smiling sheepishly. God, he’s so gorgeous. The white t-shirt he’s wearing today hugs his muscles perfectly and shows a bit of his tattoos through the fabric—wait, are those piercings in the centers of his pecs? Fuck. Where else is pierced?

Shit, he can see you checking him out. Focus.

“No, it’s…don’t worry about it,” you say, and he sobers up, suddenly turning more serious.

“You know…I wanted to say that I’m sorry for that night. I know you saw me,” his voice is low, and you realize with a shock that he’s talking about you and Choso in the car. “It was wrong to watch. I intruded. I…I’m not usually like that at all.”

You swallow thickly. Words. Find words. “I…well…I mean, it was my bad…we were outside of your house. It was wrong of me to want to then and there. He’s not at fault.”

“You started it?”

Your eyes lock with his. “I did.”

“Do you do that a lot?”

This conversation is treading into dangerous territory and it’s absolutely thrilling you.

“That was the first time.”

“Why?”

You inhale slowly. It was because of you. I want you and I know I shouldn’t, so I took it out on him. You can’t tell him the truth, but you feel like he can see it in your eyes. You can’t lie, either. Fuck.

“I could’ve stopped once I saw you watching,” you choose to say, an indirect answer, and his dark eyes flicker with something you’re instantly drawn to.

“You kept going.”

“I did.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Are you…usually like that?”

Voyeuristic? Horny? Impatient? Risky? Slutty?

“No,” you answer, “Something came over me.”

His lips pull into a smirk, and he steps closer to you. The glass slides along the countertop with his movement. “Something? What did?”

He’s so close you can smell his cologne again. It makes you almost dizzy. The distance between you two is less than respectable now.

“Hmm?”

Oh. You haven’t given him an answer and he expects one. You can’t divulge fully. It would be wrong. You have a boyfriend…where is he? Still in the studio, probably. But Suguru needs some kind of answer. You decide to be vague.

“Thoughts.”

The teasing expression widens, and he reaches up, laying his fingers gently on your cheek. His thumb brushes your lower lip.

His touch lights an instant fire inside of you. You feel hot all over and it’s almost like there is electricity scattering between you two like a power surge. Your heart rate picks up even more.

“Thoughts? Of…?” He prompts, voice dipping even lower, to just above a whisper. It sends a shiver down your spine. It’s like he commands the truth out of you.

“Of you.”

His honey-colored eyes spark to life. “What kind of thoughts about me?”

Oh god, oh god, he’s so close and you want him so badly. You’re itching to just grab him and kiss him then and there.

He seems to share your sentiments because he leans in, nose brushing against yours. You can feel his breath on your Cupid’s bow, eyelids fluttering shut automatically.

“Tell me,” he whispers above your mouth, and you breathe out shakily, trying to find the words but all of them have left you high and dry to deal with Suguru alone. Your lips move to form some form of answer, or maybe to close the short distance to feel his mouth on yours—

“Baby?”

Choso’s voice ringing from up the hallway shocks you both back into reality.

Suguru is off of you faster than a wisp of wind, backing up and putting an appropriate amount of distance between the two of you. You feel like ice water has just been dumped over you.

“We’re in the kitchen!” Suguru answers for you, seeing how flustered you are.

Choso rounds the corner and a soft smile appears on his face. “Hey.”

At the sight of his sweet face, remorse floods your body like a tidal wave. You almost kissed Suguru. And before that, you were flirting with him. Behind the back of your precious, loyal boyfriend.

You shouldn’t have come here. You can’t control yourself around Suguru and you almost did something you would have regretted after the fact.

Choso looks at you in concern. “Baby? What’s wrong?”

Say something to him. “Oh, oh—nothing. Just,” excuse, excuse, excuse, “I just feel bad for interrupting your recording session. I got done sooner than I thought and figured I’d come early.”

“Oh,” he smiles in relief, shaking his head. “No, no, it’s fine.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” Suguru adds, grabbing your attention again. He gives you a smile, but his eyes are muddled, swarming with millions of indiscernible thoughts. “We could take five anyway. I figured since I was on the way back from a smoke I’d say ‘hi’.”

You force yourself to breathe slower. Having them both here in the room with you is overwhelming you. Two of the most beautiful men on Earth, their attention solely on you, the angel that you were blessed with and the demon tempting you away.

“Thank you for being so welcoming,” you say, regaining your composure. “I know I’m still a stranger.”

“My house is your house,” Suguru furrows his brow as if to say ‘nonsense’. “You’re welcome any time.”

Choso moves over to you and slings an arm around your waist. You lean into his touch, the smell of his cedarwood cologne familiar and grounding.

“You look amazing,” Choso tells you with a dopey smile, like a teenager with a crush, one that fills you with warmth. He presses a kiss to your cheek, and under the watchful eyes of Suguru, you feel bashful.

That doesn’t add up. Especially when he watched the two of you fuck the last time he saw you.

You meet his eyes, which are boring into your face. You can’t tell what he’s thinking but you can guess by the tight expression on his features. He clenches his jaw for a second before fixing his demeanor.

“Well, I’ll give you two a minute while the break lasts. You’re welcome to come watch him record,” Suguru tells you, and with that, he exits the room, leaving the glass alone on the counter.

As soon as you feel his presence exit, you relax minutely.

Choso turns his face to plant a kiss on your lips, hugging you tightly. “I think I scared him away. I can’t help it—can’t keep my hands off of you.”

The two of them are going to give you whiplash. How can you possibly stand this?

Your hand finds his chest and you look into his eyes, butterflies stirring up in your stomach. The completely infatuated look in his eyes is easy to read. He’s so in love with you and it’s written all over his face. With the way he’s gazing at you now, you wouldn’t question it if he got down on his knees and kissed the ground you walked on.

You touch his jaw and plant a kiss of your own on his lips. “I’ll never complain about your affection.”

He smiles. “I’ll never stop giving it to you.”

You stroke his cheekbone with your thumb. This man is perfect in every way. You wouldn’t trade him for the world. You know that no matter what happens, your feelings for him could never waver. “I’ll never stop loving you.”

The bridge of his nose pinkens underneath the black line of his tattoo. “Well, I’ll never stop loving you, either.”

That warrants another kiss. This time, it’s deeper and it makes your heart pound just like it had the very first time you did all of those months ago.

When you pull back, you’re both slightly breathless, and he grins shyly at you. “Come on, we should get back. I don’t want someone to come looking and catch us making out in Suguru’s kitchen.”

You laugh softly, nodding your head to turn out of the embrace and grab his hand instead. “You’re right. We have a movie to catch soon.”

He squeezes your palm and leads you out of the kitchen, the glass of water you’d originally tried getting slipping your mind completely.

When you and Choso enter the recording studio, Suguru is at the mixing board while Miguel experiments on one of his keyboards against the wall, Larue laying across the couch.

“Hey,” Larue waves at you, and you wave back.

“Hi.”

“Perfect timing. I think I have a good balance going for the vocals,” Suguru says, turning towards the two of you. “I want to record you doing a lower harmony than the one we did for another layer, because I like how your voice sounds in the background. Think you can?”

Choso nods, pulling away from you to walk towards the door of the soundproof-booth.

“Yeah, sounds good.”

He enters the small room, closing the door behind himself. You start walking towards one of the empty chairs to sit, but then Suguru calls your name.

Just the sound of it in the contours of his voice is enough to stop you in your tracks.

You turn around, and he’s holding the chair beside himself open. “Come sit here. Watch your boyfriend make magic with me.”

That makes your insides twist with heat.

“Okay,” you say, sauntering over to the open seat and lowering yourself into it, right beside Suguru. Your eyes scatter over all of the dials, notches, and buttons before you. It looks sort of like an airplane control panel, you think. So many different knobs.

“It’s not as complicated as it looks,” he smiles easily, “I’ll show you while he sings.”

You nod smally, laughing softly. “Okay.”

His eyes linger on you for a bit longer before he turns to the small microphone on the desk, pressing a red button near him.

“Okay, Choso,” he begins, and you look at your boyfriend, who dons headphones and is poised in front of a microphone with a pop-filter. He has his own set-up in the extra room at your place, and he’s explained the basic components, but this place is definitely professional-grade. Even the headphones look expensive. “I want it a third lower than the last take. Like this.”

You aren’t prepared to hear Suguru start singing right beside you.

You’ve heard him sing before, it’s a well-kept secret between you and any deities invested in your drama that you’ve probably made the curve of Curse Manipulator’s streams spike up an embarrassing amount. Lately it’s all you play.

Even still, to hear his buttery vocals ring out right beside you in person is almost an entirely new experience.

When he finishes, you feel like you can finally breathe again. He takes his finger off of the button, and you hear Choso’s voice through the speakers, repeating the harmony you just heard but in his smoky, breathy voice instead. You’re melting. Holy shit.

Your eyes meet his through the glass and he smiles, raising his brows as if to ask ‘how was it?’ and you nod, mirroring his grin.

“Sounds great. Okay, I’ll play the track.”

Suguru moves the playhead of the program on his computer with the mouse near his hand, clicks it back, and presses the ‘space’ bar on his keyboard.

Music flows through the speakers, a bass-heavy track with a really slow yet catchy beat, and the first thing you hear is Suguru’s recorded vocals before harmonies hit and Choso starts to sing under them.

The two of their voices blended together sends you right to heaven. At that moment, you find god. It’s a religious experience. Lyrics about love and desire, dark and poetic ride the contours of the beautiful sounds gracing your ears.

“He’s great, isn’t he?” Asks Suguru, and you nod, unable to find a verbal reply. You’re in awe. “How’s the song sounding?”

“It’s…I mean, it’s amazing,” you reply. It’s a song about wanting what one can’t have. You think it fits your situation a little to well, because jealousy and anguish is laced into the mix also. “I like it.”

“Yeah?” Suguru smiles at you. “I wrote it last week. I can’t get it out of my head—so it’s come to life pretty fast.”

Last week. Forbidden feelings…could it be…?

“I’ve just been feeling so inspired,” he continues, and you see that same look in his eyes. You know exactly what—no, who, rather—the song is about, and you take a deep breath.

“I love it.”

The thought of being Suguru's muse goes right to your head. This talented, walking god was inspired by you?

He flashes you a grin, looking almost rewarded, and he turns back to Choso, who is finishing up his last line. Suguru hits the ‘space’ again and the music pauses. He holds down the red button again.

“That sounded great. I’ll have you do it again just for doubles. Sound good?”

“Sounds good.”

Just as he did before, Suguru moves the playhead back to the beginning of the section and presses ‘play’. The same part of the song starts playing, and Choso begins to sing again.

“So,” Suguru speaks. “You see all these dials? See how they’re lined up in columns?”

You direct your attention to the board again. “Yeah.”

“Each column is for a different track,” he explains, pointing to the screen at the top row. “That’s the main vocal, my voice. It corresponds to this first column.”

He points to the left-most section on the board.

“Then you just go down the line. The next row is the next column, and so on. These dials control things like ‘panning’, so it moves the sound to the right,” he turns it accordingly, moving his voice to the right speaker only, “or to the left.”

He does it the other way before turning it back to the middle.

“The switch here is for volume. Up is louder, and down is quieter,” he says. “And that’s pretty much it. Not so bad, right?”

You nod, looking at the mixing board again. Suddenly, it really does seem less imposing.

“Yeah, actually.”

What else could he teach you?

You internally slap your forehead as soon as that thought hits you. Calm down, you tell yourself.

“Glad I could show you something,” Suguru is saying to you as he hits the ‘pause’ and starts speaking to Choso again. All you can think about is ‘you could show me a lot of things’, and then right after, ‘damn it, control yourself’. It’s a loop on repeat, over and over, lust and then berating self-awareness.

The next thing you know, Choso is coming out of the booth.

“All right, are you ready?” He asks you, and it’s then that you realize he and Suguru probably just finished up while you were having a small-scale mental breakdown.

“Oh, yeah,” you say, eager to leave yet reluctant to part ways with Suguru. You like being next to him. You like when he talks to you, his attention on you. But that’s bad. You need to go, and ideally never come back to prevent a mistake.

You stand up and walk over to Choso, taking his hand.

“I’ll see you guys on Monday,” Choso says, and Larue and Miguel reply in kind. You wave as well, and Suguru stands.

“I’ll see you guys out.”

The entire walk down the hallway feels like ten years. Suguru walks behind you and Choso, and you wonder what he’s thinking. Choso is completely oblivious to what had happened earlier, to how close you came to cheating on him.

You frown. That isn’t a pretty thought, but it’s the truth. You almost let Suguru take everything you’ve built with Choso away in the matter of a few seconds. What is going on with you?

You get to the door and start putting your shoes on, forcing the thoughts back. You didn’t do anything. Everything is fine.

“Great job today,” Suguru says, “I think this track’ll sound awesome. That gig we have coming up at the end of the month is a perfect time to debut it, don’t you think? An exclusive before we drop it.”

“Yeah, I think it would be great,” agrees your boyfriend. “It’s coming together really well.”

“I agree,” Suguru replies as you stand back up. He turns his attention to you. “What did you think of it all? Pretty cool to watch it come to life, right?”

Your smile is partially forced. He’s troubling the hell out of your thoughts and you can’t seem to stop wanting him. “It’s sounding great. I can’t wait until it comes out. Thanks for letting me hear it beforehand.”

“Oh, it’s no problem. You have special access,” he says, leaning against his wall. “I’m glad you came by. Your presence is always welcome.”

And that right there is the problem.

“Well, thank you,” you say, taking a breath. “Uh, so, Choso, we should get going. I want to be there in time for the previews.”

“You’re right,” he says, “See you next week, Suguru.”

“See you then. Have a good night,” Suguru smiles, raising his hand in a parting wave. He opens the door and lets the two of you out, allowing you to finally get some space from him.

As soon as you’re down the driveway, you feel a lot more in control of your actions, and your head is clearer. Thank fuck.

“I’m excited to see this movie,” Choso states, getting the car keys from his pocket.

“Me too,” is your response, letting his hand go to get into the passenger seat. As soon as you’re buckled in, he starts the engine and drives off.

You look out of the window to see Suguru standing on his balcony, poised with another cigarette or joint or something between his fingers, looking down at you.

He waves this time, leaning on his hand, and you surreptitiously place your hand on the bottom of the window in a silent response.

Then, you’re driving down the street, away from him.

For the sake of your sanity, you really hope that you don’t end up alone with him again. You fear that you might not be able to control yourself.

—-

A/N: the response I’ve gotten for this is wild!! Thank you all for liking this so much. I hope you enjoyed the update. More drama ahead!

Please don’t repost/translate, but feel free to reblog and share.

Tag list (comment to be added): @jaegerstan222 , @cosmicstarlatte , @dabisdolly , @moonriseoverkyoto , @propheticfire , @bontensbabygirl , @crlyhairedwxtch , @alittlebirdahgaselx , @okkovtsu , @notbellasstuff , @uchihabbynic , @polaroidnana , @childof-iluvtar , @shadowfoxy , @jordan-network , @dreamtravelersade , @unmatchxd

[mrsnancywheeler]

the lakes (8) // finnick odair x f. reader

summary: it's supposed to be over, you and Finnick are supposed to spend the rest of your lives helping each other heal. living as peacefully as possible, but the the third quarter quell throws a wrench in your domestic bliss.

previous part / next part

prequel

4.6k words

warnings: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, manipulation of someone's feelings, drinking away problems, mental illness, mentions of suicidal ideations, savior complex Finnick and reader, codependent relationship, allusions to trafficking and forced sexualization of body, mentions of death/violence happening to children, unedited, no use of y/n, arguments, self-hate, self-doubt, a love triangle that really isn't a love triangle

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

“Oh, you look so beautiful." Cambrie was crying, actually crying. Standing behind you in the mirror, staring the the gorgeous dress she'd designed. You wanted to cry too because even if she'd always treated you more like a doll than a living, breathing person it did hurt to know you'd never see her familiar presence again. 

“You did an amazing job, Cambrie, it reminds me of home." Truthfully the dresses shimmery deep blue did make you think of the waters of home and the seaweed and pearl based jewelry was a nice touch. Of course it was a too low cut for your liking and regardless of the colors would be completely translucent if the light hit it right, it was stunning.

“You really think so?" Her eyes were full of tears and you nodded your head turning to hug her.

“Yes, thank you." It pained you too think about how even if she never treated you fully human she would still be deeply hurt by your death. Her favorite muse.

“I don't know who I'm going to model my designs off of anymore, unless you come back or course, but you make it so easy." Of course she had ulterior motives, but it was somewhat amusing to hear her problems when yours were so much more lethal. She pulled away from you, “I wanted to go more bridal, but President Snow wanted Katniss wearing her wedding dress, so we're going to go for the more subtle route.”

It wasn't subtle in the slightest, a similarly shimmering, translucent veil was in your hair although not covering your face and adorned with sea thrift. Your arms had bouquet-like bracelets of yarrow, lavender, and sea oats from your shoulders down to your wrists. Then there were the sandals covered in pearls and seashells, if it hadn't been purposefully forced to be more sensual you would have genuinely loved it. More of a “natural" makeup look had been preferred to create the essence of more of a sweet mermaid than a sultry, seductive siren.

Suddenly you could feel the tears threatening to pour over, “I wish you would have been able to just design my wedding dress with normal circumstances. Thank you for this.” 

"Oh you're such a sweetheart, I can't fathom how they could do this again to such a sweet girl. Everyone loves you, there's so much outrage. You'll certainly have lots of sponsors.” She cupped your face, shaking her head sadly. "We'd best be on our way.” She sighed, leading you out of the room for the last time.

There all the tributes stood waiting in their line, Katniss was already waiting in her wedding gown. She caught you staring at the dress, "Snow made me wear it.” 

"Make him pay for it.” Johanna remarked ok the side, in another one of the tree related get ups her designer has such an attachment too. She looked you up and down,"Even in death they just can't leave you alone?” It was true, you were basically naked if people were staring at the way the colors caught the light.

“Just making sure to squeeze out every last drop before I go." One last glance at the body they'd controlled before you took it back forever. Johanna scoffed.

“Make him pay for that too." You took your place in the line next to Finnick, whose shirt was heavily unbuttoned.

“Is this our own wedding get-up?" He asked, arm sliding around your waist. You hummed a yes as you pecked at his lips.

“Do you like it?" You asked, hand playing with his sleeve.

“You look stunning. Do you like it, would it be your top contender when I finally get you that real dress?" He asked, a loving grin adorning his face. 

“Maybe, if it wasn't so see-through. Reminds me of home though.” Finnick nodded in agreement.

“Look like you came straight from the moonlit waters, angel." You rested into his warm arms which were a godsend when the fabric did even less to protect you from the chill in the air. Cashmere and Gloss both proclaimed how difficult it would be to let go of their friends from the Capitol. How they were all like brothers and sisters to them, trying to further manipulate the audience's feelings into somehow getting them to prevent the games. Snow would never let that happen, but taking a shot at it couldn't hurt. Enobaria and Brutus both acted like it was a normal game, with just as much intensity as they had the first round. Wiress was rambling on and on, sometimes coherently, but the audience simply laughed like it were some huge joke about how unstable she was. Beetee’s rationalization took hold, talking about all he had done, all he'd offered to the Capitol, and questioned how legal this type of Quarter Quell was, couldn't it just be unwritten since it would have such a negative effect? Finnick rubbed circles on your arm as you nervously tapped your foot. “You've got this, my love." He reassured you as you were lead to wait off stage.

“Our very own Capitol Princess!” Caesar Flickerman’s voice blared and you put on your most charming smile to enter as he said your name. Waving at the audience, blowing kisses. The cheering soon calmed down and he turned to look at you, “Now, I think we're all a little bit upset with you and your husband. Aren't we?" The audience gave out enthusiastics agreements. 

“I'm sorry!" You giggled, breathily. “We didn't want to take away attention from the star-crossed lovers."

“Oh we have enough love for the both of you!" The audience cheered in agreement.

You looked out at the crowd, “And we love you! It breaks my heart to know we won't get to share our journey with you." The tears that wanted to spill about other things you willed to appear now.

“So a secret marriage? How did that come about?" Caesar asked after the ooh’s and aww’s had quieted.

“We just knew that if we were going to die in the arena, we needed to be one with each other, and the waters." The first tears began to roll, “Now that we know we can't ever again have those moments. Especially to share them all with you." You could vaguely see tears on obscured faces and you knew it was working. "We'd been quietly planning how we'd get engaged in front of all of you, but when the Quarter Quell announcement came it just couldn't wait. So now we can't do the dress, and the wedding, and the house decorating, and the kids with all of you.” Wiping away the tears falling down.

"We'll certainly mourn that just as much, won't we?” The crowd boomed with agreement and cries. "One more thing, last time you were here you were also going into the arena with a romance, now it's happening all over again, does that add to the emotions we’re feeling tonight? The idea that if you win you'll have lost another love?”

Your tears glistened under the lights as you nodded, "All I have to say about that Caesar is that I have no intentions of leaving that arena if I can't be with him. We are one and I couldn't bear to live my life without knowing I'd see him everyday. This hurts so bad because I know it'll be my last time seeing all of your kind faces.” By now the audience was sobbing and suddenly the tears began feeling real, creeping up on you.

Caesar nodded solemnly, “And we'll be sorry to see you go. Ever romantic, our Capitol Princess!" Tears were blinding you and it was difficult to find your way to the pedestals where the other tributes were standing. Suddenly your face was being held and honey tasting lips were on yours, Finnick. You could hear the audience cooing and crying, he wiped the tears once he pulled away and led you to where you needed to stand.

"Sorry, Ceaser I couldn't help myself." His warm voice filled the room, his gorgeous smile being zoomed in on by the cameras.

“Oh no worries! Making ever the entrance, Capitol darling Finnick Odair!" The audience let out a resounding cheer for him. “Finnick, can I be honest?"

“Of course, Caesar." That gorgeous, sunshine smile rested on his face and it was no wonder it left the Capitol citizens swooning for more.

“I don't know what we're going to do if you don't come back. Right?” The audience loudly agreed and Finnick chuckled. "I mean you've been such a favorite, both of you have, and the world will not be the same without it.” How ironic, if it would be so painful then they really should make more of an effort to put a stop to it, but they wouldn't.

"I'm very sorry about that Ceaser, but my hands are tied. If we could, we would spend every moment with all of you, we're so grateful for your love.” A bold-faced lie, every party to keep up appearances, each call from the Capitol was far more draining then just spending a peaceful day together which could be endless.

“We wish you could too. Being married in the arena, how's that going to work? I mean we've heard from her that there's no grand plan for her to come back, but I assume as the husband you might have something to say about that?" This elicited a laugh from the audience and Finnick nodded.

“Well certainly, Caesar, what kind of husband would I be if I let her have her way in that? I will say, my love, you have my heart for all eternity, and if I die in that arena, my last thought will be of your lips.” You were sick, honestly nauseated with grief. This was so unfair, you'd tried not to think about it, but in just over 12 hours you'd be forced back into the arena and risk losing each other.

"We wish you the best luck with that." People were weeping in the audience and Finnick's face had become so sober that it was jarring how naturally it fell back into an easy smile. “That's Finnick Odair, Capitol darling." Soon he was right beside you on the podium, kissing you again for the audience to be giddy with joy, but also hearts ruptured for the lovers torn apart for only the first time of the night. You could taste your salty tears mixing with the honeycomb of his lips before he pulled away, giving another grin to the audience.

His hand stayed intertwined with yours, but something wasn't quite right about his demeanor. Even if physically he kept up the same presence as always you could feel the shift in his aura, in his touch. He was upset, but not in the way you were. You couldn't stop yourself from continually glancing over at him, silently trying to get his attention so you could see what was wrong. Squeezing his hand with yours to try and get a response when he finally did meet your eyes it hit you that the look was disappointment, dread and when you shot a quizzical look back he looked like he was going to cry as he put his focus back on the stage.

You were stuck in your own head no, had it been something you said? Did? It was all for the performance which he had to know. Your foot was tapping and you were zoning out of the interviews until all the sudden the audience was shrieking. Katniss’ wedding dress disappeared in clouds of black smoke and when they disappeared the dress had transformed. Upon lifting her arms you could see what it was, a mockingjay. A public symbol of the rebellion, Caesar was trying to cover, but the cameras already would have caught it.

One more interview before the night would be over and you'd wait to be shipped back off to the arena where certain death awaited you. Charming Peeta insisted that he and Katniss too had a secret wedding to have the traditions of District 12. The audience ate each crumb he gave right out of his hands when suddenly he made the world stop, “If it weren't for the baby." Shock, outrage filled the room. All of these people who'd been fine watching children fight to the death and suffer after they won for personal entertainment couldn't stand the fact that Katniss could be pregnant. The irony of it all, how smart Peeta had been on his feet made it hard for you to suppress the smile. As Caesar desperately tried to do damage control once again you noticed how everyone of the tribute's hands began linking, placing your free hand in Beetee’s who bobbed his head before holding Wiress’. Hands joined, you lifted them above your head increasing the audience's screams and Caesar was yelling for lights to be turned off, all this did was illuminate your figures in the low lights. 

Then you were being filed off of the pedestals and to the hallway. You instantly met eyes with Haymitch, holding some glass filled with some type of drink. You didn't say a word to him before taking it from his hand to take a drink. 

“Dealing with pre-game jitters with alcohol really seems like a great idea." He said sardonically, scoffing. He didn't try and grab the drink back though even when you scowled at him. Right when you'd taken another drink of the bubbly liquid it was Finnick who took the drink from your hand, handing it back to Haymitch. "What? Trouble in paradise?” He took a drink too.

“Just need you to be rational instead of hungover in the morning.” Finnick muttered, he was angry at something, that much was obvious. 

Haymitch took something off of his wrist and handed it to Finnick, “Show her this and she'll realize I gave it to you, since she won't ally with you of her own accord." It was a gold bangle and Finnick nodded as he slid it on his wrist. They were whispering something to each other and you pulled away to an Avox holding a tray of more bubbly drinks nearby. Grabbing one you nodded a thank you, swallowing it down as fast as you could before Finnick had grabbed it again, looking at you sternly.

“I'm not going to be hungover.” You rolled your eyes and he handed the second, nearly empty glass to Haymitch as well.

"Well you don't exactly make great decisions for yourself.” You rolled your eyes at him as he ran his fingers through his curls.

"What's your problem? I made them sympathetic, I did what I was supposed to!” You couldn't fathom why that would upset him, it was a performance and he did the same thing.

"You have a death wish, that's the problem, I'm not letting you die for me!” You stared into his gorgeous sea-green eyes and scoffed before turning around to walk straight back to your floor.

"Thank you, Haymitch.” You heard Finnick say before he was following you to the elevator.

"You're really gonna argue with me about what I said in the interview right before we head back into the arena?" You pressed the cold buttons before crossing your arms, refusing to look at him.

“When this started I begged you to talk to me, to stop punishing yourself for whatever you did six years ago to survive, but you still are. You didn't say anything until right before we headed back into the arena, informing the world all about how you plan to die in there.” The elevator opened and he stepped in as you followed.

“I don't plan too, I just expect it. I'm not going to keep going if you die."

“Yes, you are, Annie needs you, Mags needs you." He pointed to the bangle quickly to put off anyone who could be listening in, “Needs you. This insistence that you're going to die is ridiculous, angel, I'm not going to let you.”

             𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

You stood backstage with Conway, having to consciously force your leg to stay still, to not keep tapping as you waited to do on stage. The air was chilly which wasn't helped by the thin material of your dress, it's low-cut, or the huge slit in it's side at least Conway got to be in a suit. Your eyes were glued to the screen where the male tribute from District 3 had just begun his interview.

“Now, how old are you?" Caesar asked, the boy was small, he couldn't be that old, it looked like the seat was going to swallow him whole.

“Thirteen." His voice was shaky and your ears started ringing. How were you supposed to do this, that was a child, a tiny kid whose family was sitting back home watching their baby boy be shipped off to certain death. You could feel the tears approaching and your breathing getting more shallow. Cold hands were suddenly on yours.

“Are you okay?" Conway asked, as you began to hyperventilate.

“I can't do this." You whispered out as the first tears began falling, “That's a little boy, I can't-"

“I get it." Conway reassured, his big, brown eyes trying to comfort you. “You've got this though, you can't do anything about him being here, but you can make a good impression with the audience. We have to focus on that no matter how screwed up you feel like it is. Go up there and do what you have to do.” What you have to do, charm them, be sweet, and pretty, but a little mysterious. Finnick had all types of angles for you. You gave a final look back at Conway who tried to give a reassuring smile, but you could tell he was bothered too. Caesar's booming voice called your name and you stepped out into the bright lights of the stage. Beaming for the audience, waving, giggling at their cheers.

“I have to say, everyone was blown away with how charming you seemed at the tribute parade, but then that training score came out. How did you do that?" Caesar asked as the two of you sat down, the audience murmuring in agreement. 

“Well, Caesar, a lady has to have some secrets for herself." You made your laugh airy and winked at the laughing audience. “I have to save some things for the show, don't I?"

Caesar nodded, laughing along. "Of course! You know when I saw your face at the reaping I couldn't help but feel like I recognized you from somewhere, did anyone else feel that way?” The audience cheered out agreements and your stomach knotted. What was he talking about? You certainly didn't know how they knew you. "I mean this was literally keeping me up at night.”

You leaned forward, the dress putting a little too much on display, but you persisted. "Well do tell.”

"Months ago we were doing a catch up piece of Finnick Odair and you were in some of it, very briefly, but you were.” The audience was wild, they adored Finnick and loved any type of connection. Your stomach clenched, how were you supposed to seem in love with Conway when this was being chosen for you.

You blushed, “Oh yes, Caesar! I didn't imagine anyone would remember that!" 

"Well we did and we love it!” He proclaimed and the audience agreed. "So tell me, just between us-” The audience laughed and you did too. "Are you and a certain victor pining for your return to tell us all some very exciting news?” You shook your head slowly, trying not to look as embarrassed as you felt. “No? I don't believe that, look at you, charming and obviously extremely talented. There was definitely something going on when that program came out, not anymore?" Time was running out and this was not going the way you planned.

So new plan, “No, Ceasar.” Your voice was light and sounded shaky on purpose. You shook your head.

"Oh, so this is a tale of heartbreak?” He asked and the audience cooed. "Well if you win, he'll have to take you back won't he? I'm sure we won't let up until he does!” He laughed and the crowd seemed to agree with him. 

“I'm afraid it's much more complicated than that." You smoothed out your dress even if it needed no smoothing.

"Oh! Is there another man as well, we live for the drama!” You nodded slowly.

"Yes and I'm afraid winning won't help me in either case.” You were alluding and there was only a few seconds left. Caesar stood up.

"Well now you have to win this thing, so we can all know about this tale of romance. It's going to be keeping me on the edge of my seat!" 

“And I'd love to share it with all of you." You let a few tears fall as you blew a kiss out to the audience who adored it. The two of you bowed as you walked off the stage. Heart pounding rapidly as you were escorted out to the hall where Finnick, Ondine, and your designer Cambrie stood.

“Oh you looked divine!" Cambrie announced, hands on your shoulders. “All of my friends are going to want to sponsor you, I'm certain you'll be the talk of Panem, leaving us on a cliffhanger like that!" She was basically shrieking in joy when she got distracted by some hors d'oeuvres an Avox was holding.

You buried your head in your hands as Finnick approached, “I didn't know they were going to side swipe you like that. It could be good for your image though." You were now hyper aware of the eyes on the both of you even if technically he was your mentor just giving you advice.

“Could be bad for that, unless he picked up what I was putting down." You pointed at the screen where Conway sat with Caesar.

“So Conway, I'm sure all of us were very impressed by your training score, a big, strong man like you, what's your strategy?" Caesar asked and the audience made comments under their breath, acting as if they were also part of the conversation. 

“Let's just say I know what I'm up against and am confident in the people I've decided to trust." Looking at him made you see flashes of your childhood, of him crabbing with your family as kids, hair billowing in the wind as he made sure you didn't slip on the water covering the boat’s deck.

Caesar nodded, “Well alright, making us wait for tomorrow as well?"

Conway smiled that kind, loving smile he gave everyone, “I guess you could say that.”

"Now everyone is dying to know if you have a special girl back home, I mean you’re a good looking guy and even girls in the Capitol are swooning.”

"Well, it's a lot more complicated than that, Caesar.” Conway and his boyish charm was sure to bring in more sponsors as well. Caesar took a second, looking at Conway and the audience with as much drama as he could, like he was slowly connecting the dots.

“You're not saying what I think you're saying are you?" He asked and the crowd screamed in agreement, eating it up.

Conway adjusted his shirt collar, “Regretfully, I might be."

“Well isn't this straight out of a fairytale." A dark, corrupted one if that. “That sure complicates things doesn't it?"

Conway nodded, “Yes."

“You're certainly going to be keeping all of us on our toes, a love triangle. Well I certainly wish you the best of luck in your endeavors." Caesar laughed. What luck? Only one ‘choice’ would be alive if you won.

“Thank you, Caesar. All I can say is even if it's doomed, hopefully she doesn't pick the one who already broke her heart.” Even if it wasn't meant that way to you it felt threatening, hopefully you didn't or he'd be forced to kill you? You honestly had no idea what the best outcome was, maybe him asking you to take care of his family before sacrificing himself? But now you were overtly aware that you not only had him observing you, but all of Panem desperately wanting to know where you would land. 

            𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

You were laying on the bed, hands covering your face as Finnick went on and on about how self-destructive you were. Maybe he was right, but you didn't see why it mattered. It's not like you were going to do anything intentional, you'd just do what you could to get Katniss out of the arena alive and be with Finnick.

“How are we supposed to do this if you don't believe you can survive?” He was pacing the room,"The moment that gong rings you need to come find me, I need my eyes on you.”

"I will, Finnick! But you need to focus on other things too.” You defended, sighing.

"How am I supposed to do that when the person I love the most is a danger to herself?” He stopped moving for a moment to stare at you, even with your face hidden in your hands you could feel his eyes burning into you.

You finally moved your hands,"I'm not! I just want to go to sleep, Finnick, can't we just rest?"

“We can sleep when I can rest well knowing you're not going to make impulsive decisions or give up if I get hurt. Don't be dependent on my life, angel, you deserve to live." You stood up only to walk to the open bathroom door and begin removing your makeup. 

“I don't know what you want me to say, Finnick." He followed you and stood behind you watching you in the mirror. You were passive to his pleas, you couldn't understand why it mattered so much to him. If he died it's not like he would know if you did too and if he lived there were plenty of other women who would be glad to comfort him, plus the revolution would keep him distracted.

There was a pause as you continued with your routine before he removed the bottle from your hands and turned you to face him, he'd always been much stronger than you and there was no use trying to release yourself. 

“That your life matters to you just as much as it does to me and I want you to believe it when you say it."

You sighed, “Finnick I will do whatever you tell me to do, I'll stay right by your side if you want me too. All I want is to be with you, that's all that matters to me."

He closed his eyes, exhaling shakily, “I can't believe I let us get so codependent." You watched a tear make its way down his cheek and felt you swarmed with guilt. “I can't make this better overnight no matter how badly I want to, but I do want you by me every second in that arena. Don't you dare go sacrificing yourself for someone, anyone. Angel, I can't live without you either.” His warm arms brought you to him, caught in his embrace as the guilt overwhelmed the numbness. "We're both getting out of there alive, no matter what it takes.” He whispered and although your brain told you not to believe him, to accept your fate you would trust him to the grave so you nodded your head into his shoulder. 

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

thank you so much for reading and all the support I've been receiving, I love you all so much and am glad you're enjoying my little thoughts. next chapter we can finally get into the games of it all, not gonna like this chapter was a lot of fun to write but took forever because I was having too many thoughts. if you enjoyed it feedback, likes, reblogs, and comments are all super appreciated. my inbox is always open! I love you all, thank you again! 💋

taglist: @imaegonstargaryenswife0 @avoxrising @artsyaquarium @jennaaaaaaaaaaaa @secretsicanthideanymore @darlingsoulbeautfulthoughts @thatonegayloser616 @kybermp3 @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @ravensinthedaylight @innercreationflower @uhnanix @aesthetic0cherryblossom @yourdailymemedelivery @ang3lflor @maxinehufflepuffprincess @prettybiching @miserablebl00d

[velvetcloxds]

~little bird series masterlist

characters: mafia!sirius black, princess potter!reader, prince!james potter, prince!remus lupin, bodyguard!lily evans, secret agent!regulus (unrelated to sirius in this au), mercenary!peter pettigrew

series warnings: possible blood and violence, non-canon characters and places, no magic, time lapses between parts, non-conventional viewing of monarchy and other social systems, mafia characters, dirty business, love triangle, allusion to the prequel I have in the works as well

series summary: the second generation of royal potters and lupins have to face the new reign alongside a resurrected mafia force, mercenaries creeping out of the past, constant threats to not only the crown but their lives and the princess' search for peace at all costs lands her in the middle of an epic love triangle between a dangerous mafia boss and a prince who has cast himself away from his throne.

chapter one- when your parents go missing and hoards of people are trying to get into the palace to hurt you and your brother, you have no choice but to go and get help from the last person your parents would have you be associated with

chapter two- regulus confronts you about going to see sirius alone, your parents being home forces you to lie about how you solved the crisis in their absence and even amid damage control you're still thinking about sirius, seems he's thinking about you too

chapter three- james has to speak at the post-crisis press conference which forces you to come face to face with other royals, one of whom you hadn't seen since he broke your heart as a teenager, an unexpected visitor at the conference sends everyone running in terror and makes you realize just how dangerous of a world your mother has left for you to inherit (coming soon…)

[phoenix-fell]

Anti-Bumbleby criticisms answered with BB analysis - Big post

As expected, as Bumbleby gets more attention from the show, the anti-BB crowd have surfed in on their tidal wave of bitter lemons. So, I’d like to put my degree, job and training to use and compile my thoughts down in one place - a one-stop shop if you will - it’s long and will be largely unfiltered as I tackle the weirdest and most common criticisms and BB analysis. (I kinda miss Bumbleby analysis Megaposts, I might make one sometime to go alongside this as a point of reference as most I’ve seen end around Vol 6).

TIA for anyone who actually takes the time to read my ramblings and please feel free to give your thoughts/analysis and I’ll edit it in. FIRST EDIT - 8th Mar 2023 presenting labels and sexuality in Remnant - 4th from end.

Credentials: Double major 1st class grad in Literature and Creative Writing, specialising in fairy tales and WLW representation in media. Recipient of dissertation award exploring character psyche and the presentation of psychological themes. Literary critic, writer and content specialist. 

Let’s start off with a cracker from Reddit!

“Why couldn’t the BB scenes be more of a background thing? Why do they need to focus on them like they’re a main plot or something?”

Is... Is it stuffy under all that homophobia? I could easily rhyme off a string of sarcastic quips like ‘gee, I wonder why, it’s almost like it’s important to the development of two of the main characters or something.’ But it’s so lost on some people that I’mma spell it out:

We’ve seen Blake and Yang’s trauma painted across the screen from ‘Burning the Candle’ when Yang first confesses her abandonment issues, to the White Fang / Adam arcs that gave us a picture of the abuse Blake has endured - not just as a Faunus, but from her partner (“Adam used to get into my head, make me feel small.”), right through to their separation that dealt with their respective issues with running away/being abandoned and the shared trauma which has tied them both together indefinitely. They’ve been apart, they’ve repaired their relationship, they’ve grown together. In a current volume that’s so inherently focused on character’s individual development, seeing Blake and Yang together was almost inevitable as they’ve been so completely involved in one another’s development throughout the entire series. This is without going into their fairy tale allusions that tie them together which I’ll go into further down or the references to Yin/Yang and numerous romantic tropes that show how integral they are to one another’s characters. Contrary to belief, it’s not romance for the sake of romance - in this instance, the romance very much strengthens their development individually.

Asides from all of this, it was decided from the very beginning that Yang would lose her arm (foreshadowed in the Yellow trailer). The moment they decided that Yang would lose her arm protecting Blake, was the moment a decision was made to invariably tie these two narratives together on a very fundamental level.

But also, don’t clown yourself into thinking you’re not a homophobe if you think any LGBT content belongs in the background whilst also rejoicing any onscreen developments between straight ships.

“If BB was meant to be a thing then they wouldn’t have had Sun as a romantic interest.”

Is there a universe where love triangles and bisexuals are a foreign concept?

But in all seriousness, I think that certain corners of fanbases seem to struggle with any concepts that are non-linear; something I often see with anime. By ‘linear’, I mean: love interest introduced > build up > canon > together forever. As opposed to ‘non-linear’; a character that goes on their own journey of discovery and, through which, has more than one interest and path over time and has the ability to change their mind. The show was never a ‘romance’ as a primary theme; it’s an action/adventure which has some romantic subplots. But to honest, Blake changing her mind shouldn’t really be this much of a shock to the fanbase given that our FIRST ever interaction with Blake, in her TRAILER, is her changing her mind about her partner (and first romantic interest) and deciding to pursue a new journey. A scene which is actually referred back to in the Season 6 opener when Blake uncouples the train and sees what she believes to be a hallucination of a hooded Adam on the opposite carriage, foreshadowing the importance of that original decision later in the series (“you didn’t leave scars, you just left me, alone”). 

The arc that follows Blake thereafter is inherently tied to Adam (amongst other important themes), who is predominantly based off Gaston and the rose (or curse of the rose) from Beauty and the Beast. Blake and Yang are interchangeably alluded to as both Belle and the Beast throughout their character arcs from as early as the Red Trailer: “Black the beast descends from shadows / Yellow beauty burns gold.” and as recently as Blake describing Yang to the Hunter Mice in Vol. 9 Chapter 1. I can rhyme off these allusions until I’m blue, but again, I may save this for a master post.

The story that Blake is based on is a love triangle - she was never meant to have one set path from the beginning and romantic interests were always meant to play a huge part in Blake’s story/development; she was always going to have a romantic decision to make after conquering the curse / Gaston. Blake being haunted by her first romantic interest is foreshadowed in the ending of her trailer and first referenced in her conversation (with Yang) at Mountain Glen, and becomes an undeniable path of exploration once Yang loses her arm to Adam at the end of Volume 3. Let it be noted that Sun was present when Yang announced she was going to find Blake at the Battle of Beacon - a decision was made here for Yang to be the one to lose her arm protecting Blake, as was Adam’s poignant promise to take away everything Blake loves - “starting with [Yang]” or, otherwise, the solidifying of this romantic subplot. Which, again, is called back to with the infamous line: “What does she even see in you?” besides the obvious subtext, it’s setting the stage for these parallels between Adam and Yang, past and future, the previous love interest identifying something in Blake that used to be reserved for him, now directed towards Yang.

This season began with Blake declaring that Yang “seems scary, but isn’t”. Because, once Belle knows the Beast isn’t scary, she allows herself to fall in love (conveniently, this is said whilst walking through a fairy tale).

I could go into a big post about romantic foils and the ways in which Yang, Adam and Blake are all foils to each other but I might make a separate post instead for anyone new to the FNDM. Either way, I feel it’s worth mentioning as it’s Blake who directly compares Yang to a past love interest who was designed with semblances and characteristics that mirror each other. Point being, no one should be shocked that Blake has multiple interests given the character and fairy tale she’s based off and heavy allusions where Yang is concerned.

“Oh yeah, because Yang ‘literally purred at guys in their underwear’ Xiao Long and Blake ‘literally kissed a boy’ Belladonna are clearly bisexual because of [insert out of context reasons]” and “yes but Monty said...”

1. You mean... the one, and only one scene in 9 entire volumes where Yang shows any interest (albeit jokingly) in a guy, and the literal scene directly before she sees Blake from across the crowded room and proceeds to never express interest in men again? (Ignoring the very obvious implied trope here). And, in fact, only expresses interest in a woman from this point onwards? This is your frame of reference? Personally, I find it quite lovely that Yang’s perspective is never the same from the moment she sees Blake. Asides from this, while ‘bisexual’ is the label that these guys have gone with, Yang’s sexuality hasn’t been confirmed outside of being sapphic - it’s not outside the realm of possibility that she is, in all likelihood, lesbian. It’s important to note here that any young character expressing an interest in a man would not invalidate that same character being a lesbian. In fact, if we apply this to real life, it’s not uncommon for people not to realise that they’re queer immediately (I myself didn’t until I was 21). But in the opening episodes of the series especially, I’d very much chalk this up to writers exploring the characters.

2. As for Blake - there are, from what I remember, three kisses in the entire show so far. The one between Jaune and Pyrrha - on the lips after prolonged romantic allusions between the two (their romance is explicitly referenced by Nora - “practice what you preach, Pyrrha.” - almost fitting that it’s Nora to call out the Bees in Season 7 - A Night Off, no? Neat little parallel for y’all). The one between Ren and Nora after trying to work out the status of their romantic relationship - again, on the lips. And the one where Blake says goodbye (and thank you) to Sun by kissing him... On the cheek. (So hot, I know). Which is immediately followed up with Sun telling Neptune “it was never about that”. One of these is not like the other, can you guess which? I’ll wait.

As for referencing Monty - I could go on all day about this one, and the quote most notoriously used is ‘they’re a sisterhood’. Firstly, let me just say that I find it disturbing that anyone would use the show’s deceased creator as ammunition, whilst also disregarding his other comments on LGBT rep - specifically, ‘maybe there are LGBT characters there now / they’re just kids rn and figuring it out / it needs to be earned’. But also, it’s really disturbing and egotistical that anybody would pretend to know what Monty wanted better than the crew he handpicked, worked with, collaborated with and was friends with (special mention to the fact that his own brother is one of the cast). If you truly want to honour his legacy, then show respect to the people he put his trust in.

“I don’t have an issue with BB, but why does it always have to take away from Yang’s moments with Ruby?” / “All Yang’s feelings for her sister transferred to Blake.”

One from the hall of fame. The age old question of ‘can a girl have a romantic partner and still care about her family?’ I wish this wasn’t a serious question, but there are actual sides of the Fandom that seem to think that Yang’s forgotten about her sister that she raised because she has feelings for someone and that the sole purpose of Yang’s existence is to be her sister’s keeper.

I’mma address this on 3 fronts. 1 - Logistically, the episodes for RWBY, excluding the intros, are 15-20 mins long currently and typically oversee several different storylines particularly as the cast grows larger, leaving us with... What? About 5 minutes of team RWBY interactions? It’s not a lot of time to pack in character development, relationship development, plotline, strategy etc. so often if they’re wanting to develop more than one relationship, they will alternate between putting these themes in the background (such as the yellow in Blake’s sword, references from other characters etc.) and foreground, and some developments have to be shoulder-to-shoulder to fit them in. This isn’t an indicator of how much one character cares for one another and is more a demon created by people’s perception of how they ‘think’ a protective sister should act.

Additionally, it should be noted that Yang fawning over Ruby and not allowing her to develop other relationships outside of her sister, would actually offer us nothing from a development perspective for both Yang and Ruby’s characters and would, instead, steer these two strong female characters down a path of co-dependency. 

2 - It feels like a very easy excuse for Anti-BB folk to throw out there, conveniently forgetting how great of a sister Yang actually is (contrary to the number of RWDE videos I’ve seen arguing otherwise, as this is an essay I could write in itself). These very often take isolated incidents out of context and conveniently forget important information like Yang 1. Literally sacrificing herself twice to protect her sister 2. Sacrificing her entire childhood to raise her sister and 3. Importantly, the fact that Ruby is her (self-sufficient) Team Leader needs to be factored into their dynamic, as Yang gives her space to find herself as a leader and steps in when her sister actually needs her - not when the audience thinks she does. People hear ‘protectiveness’ and seem to think that this should mean that Yang should be overbearing. 

3 - Anyone who says this doesn’t have siblings. I have older and younger siblings and, having largely raised my younger sibling, I can safely say that I still love them even when I’m in a relationship. I also feel extremely secure in arguing/disagreeing with any of my siblings because I inherently know they will still be there at the end of the day - a sibling love goes deep (referencing ‘Fault’ from Volume 8). However, in a romantic relationship that is not established and very new... you will feel insecure, that’s normal, it doesn’t have the luxury of established stability that siblings do, and therefore you will overtly express more anxiety about this as a result. It’s a very strange concept that if you have a sibling, you need to give them all of your attention and ignore any love interests. Yang has gone through her own traumas, she has every right to care about others, heal herself, and have a life that isn’t defined by being a caretaker for her sister. ESPECIALLY as she already gave up her childhood to fulfil this role, unselfishly AND as the person she’s bonding with is best poised to understand Yang’s trauma. Yang as a character deserves to receive the love she constantly gives out. Again, this is a demon born from the fact that it either doesn’t reflect the relationship commentors have with their siblings, or the fact that they’re *imagining* how that relationship should be.

Bonus picture below: Yang putting aside her anguish for Summer Rose, who she considered to be her mother, to prioritise comforting her sister about that same loss.

“I hate BB shippers because they pass off BS interactions as platonic. BS made more sense, there was no build-up to BB until Vol 6 and they let the BS build-up go to waste to force BB.”

First off, there’s nothing wrong with BlackSun as a ship. Shipping shouldn’t be dictated by canonicity and people have the right to ship it and to their opinions. And while a few of these seem to have referenced BS, I don’t actually think that BS shippers are at fault for the hatred coming this way, but rather that the ship seems to get used as ammunition from the Anti-BB crowd - to summarise, Anti-BB and BS shippers are not synonymous. I personally don’t ship BS, but I do enjoy the debate and actually think that Sun is a very important part of Blake’s development and arc. There did seem to be some form of mutual attraction between Blake and Sun. Had they gone down that route, I wouldn’t have hated it, I just never felt excited by it, which seems to be a large consensus amongst BB fans. An appreciation whilst feeling there was a better alternative.

Believing all the development between Sun and Blake was ‘wasted’ is also very closed-minded given how much he helped Blake in the White Fang arc and also disregards the importance of their friendship. BS has the potential to be one of the best and most supportive friendships in the series, I stand by that.

That said, I don’t think it’s entirely wrong to acknowledge that a lot of (not all) interactions between BS were platonic from Blake’s pov while Sun’s feelings were more explicit. The only real hint I saw of Blake reciprocating was a blush at the Vytal festival. Maybe the dance at a stretch, but there’s hints at both BS and BB and I will fight you on it. Now, it might be a question of timing; Adam was still a prevalent threat during this time which will have been weighing on Blake given the resurgence of the White Fang, and is clear when Adam rocks up seeking vengeance in Volume 3. For this reason, I honestly think it would have been disingenuous to have explored Blake in a full relationship with anyone at this point given these loose ends, and Blake undergoes a lot of development over volumes 4-6 as a direct result of this.

Additionally, if BB didn’t begin until Volume 6 then that means that BS had 4-5 volumes to happen - 2 of which where they were in their own arc, separated from the main cast. It didn’t happen. What happens instead is Blake’s guilt over Yang weighs heavily on her while she deals with her arc and Sun helps her come to terms with this, ultimately redirecting her back to her team, and Yang, while Sun’s interactions with her become increasingly platonic from his side.

Lastly, the only way you don’t see build up for BB, is if you actively will yourself not to see build-up. If you replace Blake and Yang’s moments with Sun, I don’t feel there’d be any misunderstandings on how these moments are supposed to be interpreted. Take off the hetero goggles, and we’re cool. 

But on a sidenote and personal pet peeve of mine, the cries of ‘BB is forced while BS had build-up’ will forever irritate me - BB has a slow burn, a full arc, developed from a friendship and partnership as well as several tropes and allusions without going into too much detail. BS, firstly, never ended up happening, but it starts when Sun runs past, winks at Blake, magically knows she’s a faunus, then proceeds to follow around a girl he doesn’t know for two days who, at his own admission, didn’t speak that whole time. But... BB is forced? I’d say it’s subjective, but logic defies when this is the barometer for a natural introduction of a romantic pair.

“BB is ‘queerbait’”

Let’s address the ‘Goliath’ in the room, shall we? ‘Queerbaiting’ gets thrown around like a reflex at the moment by pseudo-fans who I don’t believe actually know the gravity of their statements or the meaning behind the word. I often see this slur paired with BB being strung out to keep the shippers watching. Now, there’s an essay in itself that could exist in this section, but are people really still clowning themselves that a show that’s explicitly shown that it wants to have queer representation in the cast and foreground is ‘queerbaiting’ it’s audience? Even weirder for me is the part of the FNDM saying that it’ll be baiting if they make BB canon. Please stop this nonsense and do some research.

Now, one thing I would like to tackle is that, sadly, some will still see pairings on the show through heteronormative glasses, so let me use that here. If the pair were a m/f couple and had several seasons of development and increasingly intimate moments, there would be no doubt in anyone’s mind that 1. It was heading in the direction of canon and 2. That it was a slow burn romance that’s building to its’ climax. Interestingly, the show actually does use the hetero goggles to frame BB on several occasions by paralleling this budding romance with several straight ships such as Arkos and Renora. Why? Because this is a narrative technique often used by writers to frame LGBT romances to separate them from ‘just friendships’ and, let’s face it, use an unconscious heteronormative bias to their advantage.

“BB is badly written, they barely interacted in volumes 1-3 then didn’t speak for two volumes.”

Tickle me pink. Volumes 1-3 are a very strange reference point for ‘in-depth’ development between characters. Crumbs, sure. The odd scene, absolutely. But let’s be real here - the show started as a low budget web series with an onus on cool fighting scenes and, most importantly, the episodes were around 5 minutes long whilst entertaining teams RWBY and JNPR, the White Fang, the Vytal tournament and several other plots. Nobody particularly interacted much but the writers did the best they could with what they had and the rest is left to us, the audience, to interpret that relationships are developing off-screen. Though from a critique POV in the interest of fairness, I would say the current season is a breath of fresh air by re-focusing the plot on the central characters as I think the show can sometimes be guilty of taking on too many plotlines.

As for volumes 4-5, while they’re in different continents, it’s obvious that they’re prevalent in each other’s arcs. Whether it’s Yang admitting she’s struggling with Blake’s abandonment - in the same episode the first lesbian character is revealed confessing their feelings to Blake (sidenote, all of team RWBY left Yang, and it’s Blake she’s mad at, this was always meant to be framed differently to her other teammates and IMO the struggle they go through is meant to frame the characters coming to terms with the depth of what they mean to each other), the parallels of them both getting onto the ship (named ‘Pride’ - wink wink), or Blake actively struggling to talk about Yang, yet referencing it when Sun is hurt (“Not again!”) showing it’s at the forefront of her mind. All of which culminates in their reunion in the Vol 5 finale.

Is it the best writing ever? No, nothing’s perfect. But they do explicitly use parallels throughout the series to drive the narrative forward as a foreshadowing tool to strengthen subplots.

“Blake being bisexual makes no sense - she was interested in Sun, it just seems so out of the blue, she and Yang just seemed like friends to me.”

Funny, because she and Sun seemed like friends to me too.

There are so many things I wanted to fire back at this, from the insinuation that if a woman first shows interest in a man then it’s out of the blue that she’s bisexual now that she’s showing interest in a woman... Like, how do you think it happens for bisexuals IRL?! Did you want her to burst onto the scene in Volume 1, announce she likes men and women, and then express explicit simultaneous interest in both of them? Start a harem? Proposition a throuple?

This particular take amuses me most of all as someone who is very openly bisexual. Yes, she and Yang seemed like friends. Great friends, in fact. That hold hands and blush and want to spend all their time together. And check each other out when the other isn’t looking. And make excuses for casual physical contact and flirt and giggle like a couple of giddy teenagers. Just like me and my ‘best friend’ did, before I realised I was bi. I’m sure that a lot of people thought it came out of the blue for me too. Blake being oblivious to being bisexual until it becomes too obvious to ignore is actually a very realistic scenario.

Bonus headline - just because you don’t understand/identify with something, doesn’t mean that it’s not good representation or realistic. I feel it’s also important to mention Blake’s VA, Arryn Zech, is bisexual and has spoken numerous times on the matter. The reason I bring this up is because it’s clear that the way in which the bisexuality of her character is presented on the show is actually something that’s incredibly important to Arryn - because good representation is significant. 

Presenting labels and sexuality on Remnant: A Theory and - “BB is a terrible representation of LGBT and your critique ignores the female and LGBT people that have spoken out against it.”

They say, to someone who is both female and LGBT. Credit to the Anon who charged into my inbox to accuse me of the above - hope you enjoy. Now, there’s a couple of things I’d like to cover before I go into how sexuality is perceived in-universe. The first is that if you use this argument against someone who is queer without seeing the belligerent hypocrisy of your statement, please check yourself as, clearly, you only care about LGBT voices on representation when it aligns with your own rhetoric and ready to dismiss any narrative to the contrary from that same community.

Secondly,  the queer/LGBT community is a vast and vibrant community of *individuals* with their own opinions and own voices. I didn’t nominate anyone to speak on my behalf, just as I don’t speak on the behalf of the rest of the community. Moreover, any art is open to interpretation. My opinion does not override theirs, nor does their opinion erase my own. And, believe it or not, it’s quite possible to have two or more differing opinions within one community without being at war with one another. I respect their opinion, just as I hope they respect mine.

We clear? Great. Onto the analysis! Huge shoutout to @crimsonxe​ for the brilliant discussion and assistance with the analysis in the comments that helped me construct this section! You’re awesome.

Let’s dive in with the headline - Homophobia doesn’t appear to be an issue on Remnant and labels don’t appear to exist, in the sense that it doesn’t appear anywhere in-universe. Now just to pre-emptively disclaimer: this may change, but in 9 volumes and however many supplementary materials, we’ve not heard any labels or had any representation of this type of discrimination. If that changes, I’ll happily remove this. 

So why is this important, you ask? Ultimately, when you take away the inherent ‘fear’ that a lot of the LGBT community face IRL along with prevalent ignorance towards the community and society’s insistence on labelling sexualities and gender identity, it creates a world divorced from our own and is, from a narrative point of view, a double-edged sword. On the one hand, it allows the characters to explore themselves in a non-discriminatory environment that is inherently more fluid and free, whilst the audience will inevitably want to compare that to their own experiences. But we can’t - not properly - due to the still very real stigma and discrimination that exists in our own world. Instead, what we see are characters who express an interest in other characters and find other ways to allude to their preferences or identity. A prime example of this would be May, canonically a trans character, who does not use this term in-world but instead says, “To the Marigolds that meant I wasn’t their son, and I made sure everyone knew I wasn’t their daughter.” This is a theme that is poignantly reflected in the accompanying media for the series - such as the books; for instance, Coco, canonically lesbian, referring to “breaking the hearts of many women.”

How does this tie into the relationship with Blake and Yang? Glad you asked. If you bear in mind that Remnant has a very fluid outlook on sexuality and more of a ‘love who you love’ ethos which is blind to gender norms, it immediately subverts the assumption that interactions between m/f are romantic while f/f are platonic. It’s an open field, if you will. BB is a steady build from partner/best friend (though I’d argue that at least Yang had an immediate attraction, with Blake figuring herself out) with interactions that become increasing more intimate. Eye rolls and jokes become winks and innuendo (“I love it when you’re feisty!”), nudges become intimate hugs (Burning the Candle), become hand-holding (it isn’t coincidence that these two have held hands more than any other pair in the series), becomes pining, blushing, forehead touches (BB and Renora - remember those parallels), which evolves into flirting and... More. And yes, some of their interactions will still resemble the friendship they built their foundations on. But in a world where labels don’t exist, that journey from friend-to-lover is much more subtle and embedded in a gentle upwards curve of increasing intimacy.

“BB is only happening because the horrible BB fans demanded it, the show caved and gave in to the toxic fanbase, it wasn’t planned from the beginning.”

I’ve seen this in so many places, like a broken record. I have no doubt that there are BB fans that are fanatical, and I’d never justify the behaviour of any so-called fan that resorts to death threats or violence in any way. I’m hoping this surely must be a minority that has, hopefully, shrunk over the years as the audience has matured. However, this also really isn’t how shows work... 

As many have pointed out in recent weeks, the show would be a very different landscape altogether if CRWBY were, in fact, that easily swayed by fans; namely, I’m thinking of Clover/Qrow, Pyrrha, Penny etc. While I don’t doubt that show-makers pay attention to the fanbase where needed and where it’ll be beneficial (seeing how fans react to developments, if allusions are clear etc.), sending death threats or whatever is actually much more counterproductive than anything else. But also... You’re not on the crew, you’re not part of those discussions. I feel confident that Miles, Kiersi and Kerry aren’t writing BB content with a gun to their head.

Lastly, the ‘it wasn’t planned from the beginning’ war cry is a tale as old as time. Like Beauty and the Beast. (See what I did there?) Asides from the fact that 1. Yang and Blake were actually the first created out of the team, and made with each other in mind, regardless of in what context (check out the original character designs/concepts) 2. Even if it wasn’t planned from the beginning, what difference does it make? There are tonnes of examples where the writers have felt the chemistry between two characters as the story’s gone on and decided to put them together (case-in-point from outside the anime world.. Chandler and Monica from Friends). In fact, while some writers like to plan every element of their plot from the beginning, there’s a great many writers who allow the characters to steer the plot as they grow - especially arcs with romantic undertones. The series was made predominantly for the action - it’s not a romantic series, so if they didn’t plan it from the beginning that wouldn’t be unusual, especially given that the episodes of the first few volumes are literally 5-10 minutes long. But regardless of whether the romance of the two was planned or not planned, it does not make it any less meaningful.

But let’s be real, the issue at heart isn’t that they weren’t sucking face in the first 3 seasons, it’s that they thought Blake would be with a guy, and she chose a girl. To which I say... Get over your bruised ego, and move on.

“BB fans deserve the hate they get because of x, y, z and cos it has toxic shippers.”

And you’re... Not... Toxic? If you’re an Anti-BB shipper and go out of your way to stalk and comment on BB tags/accounts just to harass shippers etc, then are you any better than the toxic fans you supposedly hate? To me, following BB tags and looking at BB content whilst being an Anti-BB shipper is so weird, why you trying to hurt your own feelings?

Also, saying that innocent shippers who are just living their best life should bear the burden of the toxic FNDM, is literally the definition of tarring everyone with the same brush. Some of us just want to eat our crumbs in peace, and from our POV, you’re the toxic ones being disrespectful. Bonus point: others being toxic does not give you licence to be hateful to anyone you come across that doesn’t agree with you.

“I’m no longer watching the show cos it’s trying too hard to be ‘woke’”

This ain’t an airport, you don’t need to announce your departure. But since you are, if your issue is the gay representation in the show then wake up and look around... We’re everywhere. The show is literally just reflecting the diversity you see day-to-day; but you keep sipping that haterade, my dude, we’re here to stay.