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hitlikehammers · 22 days ago

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oh golden boy (don't act like you were kind)

part ii: you shined a light on your home

for @kultiras at the ❄️ Winter @steddieexchange 🖤💚

<<< part one

Eddie will not pretend he doesn’t squeak when Dustin bustles past him into the house—a wholly appropriate ranch on the edge of town, with two whole separate bedrooms, no one on the couch anymore, plus a little side room that Eddie thinks probably wasn’t meant as a guest room but can definitely fit about three sleeping bags, four at a push—but yeah, he should have expected Dustin to shove his way into Eddie’s home whether Eddie invited it or not.

He doesn’t have to like it. Or approve of it. Or tolerate it without complaint; without pushing back.

“Hend—” he tries to sound stern, tries to project hand-on-hips-authority like St—

Like some people do. Sometimes. So Eddie’s heard.

“Implied consent!” Dustin cuts him off, voice carrying from at least the living room already, Jesus fuck, this kid; his tone.

Eddie’s glaring hard enough to almost definitely bore a hole through this shithead’s skull, or maybe make him spontaneously combust. If Supergirl was the one glaring, it’d be a done deal.

“You didn’t shut the door, thereby participating in the creation of an entrance,” Dustin’s rambling on and Christ, but he’s such a pompous little fuck sometimes.

“Which is great, and super smart of you,” Dustin tells him earnestly, actually, and wow: if that isn’t condescending, holy fuck; “because the quicker we can address the problem, the quicker it can be solved,” and then he’s turning of his heel and fucking…clapping his hands to together like Eddie’s in goddamn kindergarten.

“So!” Dustin barks with a weird enthusiasm. “Now we can talk about what you did to Steve, and how you’re gonna fix it.”

Eddie blinds at him for a couple couple seconds before throwing his hands up and half-kinda snarling, half-kinda whining:

“What the fuck, man?”

And honestly, Eddie’s torn just now between hurt and angry, indignant and bleeding out a little, because he doesn’t like Dustin accusing him blindly, here, and while he’s long grown past thinking the hero worship was unfounded—honestly, if he’s going to have to think about the man explicitly instead of as the understood ‘you’ that the constant ache of him and his absence has settled as in Eddie’s universe: he thinks what he clocked as hero worship in the beginning probably could have used some bulking up, because…the genuine article was so much more than even the stories Eddie’d refused to believe at the start.

But, back it up: Eddie…Eddie can accept Dustin coming to Steve’s defense—encouraged it, even. But, like, Dustin has stood up for Eddie, too, and just…Eddie didn’t do anything, he’s spent enough cold nights with his arms stretched missing what they’d learned so well to wrap around and hold so close, mourning what’s not there and hell yes, he’s run down every little detail he can think of, where he might have been the one to drive Steve away without ever, ever meaning to, and it boils down the same every time: there’s nothing.

He wishes there was. Because then yeah, like Dustin’s saying—there’d be something to fix. Something to do, to try and salvage what Eddie is entirely aware was very probably the love of his fucking life.

But there isn’t.

“Clearly something is wrong between the two of you,” Dustin gestures broadly in the air, extravagant for no reason but then also it kinda fits entirely because this entire heartbreak of an affair is basically the most devastating thing that’s ever tried to take Eddie down, and he was basically dead in another dimension that one time, so.

That’s saying something, is what he’s getting at.

“And like, I’ve watched when Steve’s been the one to fuck up, man, so like, I can recognize the signs and,” Dustin shakes his head, looks not exactly apologetic but not entirely all-in guns-blazing about pinning the blame on Eddie alone. At least not without giving him a fair shake to explain first.

Which he’d do, if he had any fucking idea what caused them to crash and burn when they’d been the most solid thing Eddie had ever seen, let alone been a part of; got to feel for himself.

“I know Steve,” Dustin says carefully, kinda slow, almost reluctant, which Eddie doesn’t really get until the next part comes out, a little choked, like tears muscled down:

“I’ve never seen him like this.”

Well. Fuck.

Fuck.

“It’s the holidays, man,” Eddie tries to make it sound casual, or at the very least genuine, like his pulse hasn’t jumped for the idea that Steve’s…not okay. Not fucking thriving like he deserves, now that Eddie’s out of the way of what makes him as happy as he should always be. “Sometimes people are just a little down in the dumps, it’s not unheard of,” and he thinks that lands okay, those are all true things, no one needs to know the way his heart’s thumping like a rabbit as his head goes to all sorts of horrible possibilities, and he shouldn’t let himself slide down those pathways anymore, it’s not his business, Steve isn’t—

“He’s not just sad,” Dustin shakes his head; “he’s not,” and he trails off and Eddie’s heartbeat stutters then jackhammers wild for the way Dustin’s face crumples over a fucking interminable stretch of moments that drives every horror possible through fragile arteries not prepared for how much it hurts, laced with the acids at the base of Eddie’s throat and rising, banged around with every beat and—

“I don’t think he’s sleeping,” Dustin says, so quiet, hard to tell if there are actual tears of just the threat of them. “I don’t think he’s eating,” and he takes a shaky breath that gets mirrored in Eddie’s blood, sniffles as he adds on, kinda desperate, fraying at the seams: “Robin can’t even…”

He stops, breathes a couple of times and collects himself—too good at that. Eddie…

Eddie doesn’t even try to do that, for his part. He’s not…strong, like these kids. Like the rest of this little rag-tag-trauma family unit. Eddie isn’t built that impermeable. S’why he’s always had to put on a show, scare people off before they get close enough to see the obvious.

Until…Steve.

And the proof of Eddie’s weaknesses are front and centre right now, so. Case in point.

“I met him right after he and Nancy broke up,” Dustin’s saying after he takes the time to regroup, huffing a breath and furrowing his brows at nothing, until: “after she did the,” and he circles his wrist around again and oh. Oh.

Bullshit.

Eddie’s brow furrows, too, at that.

“I didn’t know it at the time, obviously, and not like I was really paying attention anyway,” Dustin screws up his face a little, like he’s angry at a lot of people for what he’s remembering, and he’s not exempt from his own list; “but you said it yourself, you thought they were meant to be,” Dustin points at him in the sort of way that presses down on Eddie’s shoulders, makes him feel queasy and just…small.

“Unmitigated love, or whatever,” Dustin half-sneers and he doesn’t think that was the word he used but fuck if Eddie’s not transported back to those woods, to those first inklings that his heart was gonna leap and know it couldn’t stick the landing, would less crack and more like splatter, a messy ruin on the sidewalk for trying, for reaching when there was nothing to hook with a grip—

Except there had been, in the end. He hadn’t known it then—just reveled in the way it felt to brush arms against that man, to lean close enough to feel his heat in the frigid deadspace that was the hellscape they were trekking through.

But the end, as it has come anyway, did in fact leave him a fucking spatter-scape on the concrete, exactly the same as he’d feared at the start.

But Dustin fucking Henderson hadn’t been there when Eddie was making eyes at Mr. Former High School Royalty, so—

“How the fuck do you—”

“Doesn’t matter how,” Dustin waves him off like he’s a fucking idiot for asking a question that’s beneath his concern for the topic at hand. “Youthought that,” he rocks forward in emphasis and okay, fine, yeah. Eddie had thought that.

It’d taken a long fucking while for Eddie to stop thinking it; he’s tried not to wonder, now, if he was foolish to ever stop thinking it.

But: no. Of all the reasons Steve got sick of him, he doesn’t think it was because Steve decided to want Nancy. He remembers every word Steve told him about that time, and how Eddie knew it was downplayed for how much Steve took the brunt of her rejection, for how generous Steve was in hindsight to remember how it went down; how genuinely worrisome it was to know Steve actually saw himself as deserving what he’d gotten.

Still. Back in the Upside Down, Eddie had thought it. Told him to get it back. Couldn’t fathom her not seeing the error of her ways even before he comprehended just how egregious her errors ran the first time, just how little even unambiguous signs of love might still fail to deserve Steve Harrington.

But before he knew: he had thought he understood well enough to judge.

Just more reasons for Eddie Munson to quality as an unmitigated idiot.

“So when he lost that,” Dustin’s picking back up again, has got his explaining cap on, trying to map a diagram or some shit, save that it’s Steve and it feels…insufficient in every way, insulting at that, to think Steve could ever be made…simple like that. Cut and dry.

Eddie bristles at it. Maybe he doesn’t have the right anymore, but: Dustin sure as fuck does, and needs to do better.

“He was still okay enough, after that, to fucking join a quest for demodogs and get beat to hell by a psychopath,” Dustin’s saying with the kind of gravity all of a sudden that feels up to reshaping the world; “all just to protect some kids he didn’t even know.”

Eddie can feel where this is headed, can see the lead up to where Dustin’s going to drop them.

He wishes like hell that he couldn’t.

“So if he’s like this, now,” and Dustin sounds…fucking distraught, like all the posturing of pressuring Eddie to reveal what the hell had gone wrong, what he’d done to destroy them, to lose his Steve: the anger and the bafflement was all secondary.

The kid’s fucking scared.

And this kid? Who’s stared down certain death, who’s jumped after Eddie’s stupid ass when the end was imminent, no question?

That…that ratchets Eddie’s pulse up, considerably. For what it has to…mean.

“I have never,” and Dustin’s voice is kind of raspy, kind of too strained and Eddie…Eddie thinks it’d be shitty of him to say that Dustin only sounds like he’s struggling with a fraction of what Eddie’s starting to feel head-on, the bone-deep trembling worry for the unspoken details that must comprise the current state of Steve, piled on top of the wholesale grief and the mourning of both what Eddie’d had, and what he’d been hoping he’d be allowed, be able to keep.

It’d be shitty to say that. So he won’t.

Say it.

“Eddie, I have never seen him like this.”

And it’s all Eddie can do not to whimper, or moan pathetically because the hurt in those words is visceral, and it’s not supposed to be there because Eddie was the problem, he was what was hurting Steve and he’s out of the equation. So what’s causing this much anxiousness, this much concern? How could something have gone to shit so quickly, in just the weeks they’ve been apart—what’s wrong with his Stevie?

(And maybe Steve isn’t his anymore but by god, Eddie is Steve’s, will be to the day he dies, he thinks—no, he knows; no matter where he goes or who he becomes, a part of his heart will belong to Steve for always, whether it’s wanted or not. So that’s his Steve. Where is heart lives. Where is love burns, even as a nuisance. He can’t stop it. He can’t put it out.

It’s with his Steve, and no other.)

“And like,” and Eddie pulls himself enough out of his wallowing, his fretting, the aching in his fucking veins to focus on Dustin as he eyes Eddie up blatantly, the squints a little:

“You don’t look like you’re doing the best, either.”

Okay. Rude.

“Gee, thanks,” Eddie tries to drawl annoyingly, fails miserably; aim to bat his eyes at an attempt at levity that he knows falls flat as hell.

He doesn’t know if he was even trying for it more for Dustin’s sake, or his own.

“Fuck off, man,” Dustin rolls his eyes; “I’m serious,” then he’s gets that grave tone about him again and Eddie hates that these kids have to even know how to be that serious about anything—least of all him, and his…whatever you call the ruins of your everything, when it comes to—

“You might not be hurting like Steve is,” Dustin tells him plain, doesn’t pull punches; “like you’re joyful in comparison,” and okay, ouch—

“But that’s not a healthy bar to clear.”

And Dustin’s eyes are a little narrowed around the call-out, the judgement on so many levels but they’re also…open somehow. Trying to be receptive, and welcoming.

Trying to be a good friend—for Steve and Eddie alike.

“Henderson,” Eddie shakes his head even before his voice strains; “he,” and all the fight goes out of him, drained dry better than the bats ever managed to leave him which is for the best, really, because what he says next, what he admits next is as good as slicing as artery, the way it flays him open to speak into the world:

“He doesn’t want me around.”

He doesn’t want you—

“Oh, right,” Dustin snarks at him with a glare; “definitely doesn’t wilt whenever you come up, doesn’t leave the room or anything,” then it’s Dustinwho wilts a little, somewhere between a pout and concern:

“When we actually get to see him at all.”

“That would be a prime example,” Eddie notes with a kind of…devastated intent, shoving the stabbing sense of worry at the core of him out of the way to make his point: “of what someone does when they don’t want a person around,” and Eddie is right, he’s absolutely right because that’s just natural, that’s a normal reaction and here is clear proof that—

“Not Steve.”

Dustin cuts Eddie’s mental conviction off at its knees with the sheer amount of feeling, of certainty in his tone, like he knows this one thing beyond all the doubt in the world.

It’s that certainty that sours worst in Eddie’s gut.

“If Steve doesn’t want something, he ignores it,” Dustin says, insistent and so fucking sad; “I think it goes back to his parents, like,” Dustin shrugs, and Eddie feels bile at the back of his throat.

“If you’re unwanted, you’re neglected, treated like you don’t exist,” and not for the first time, Eddie kinda-sorta regrets that the murder charges didn’t stick, because then he’d be tarred and feathered appropriately to just go ahead and off the fuckers that made Steve ever wonder if he was somehow anything less than the best person, the most deserving of everything.

“Because that hurts worse,” Dustin says, low, like he gets it. Like he hates it.

“Being invisible hurts the worst.”

Death would be too easy for those fucking assholes who taught Steve that, just because their own hearts were hateful. Eddie…Eddie wants to run to his Stevie and just, fucking, hold him. Make sure he remembers that it doesn’t matter if Eddie’s near or far, his or never close again: he’ll always matter to Eddie. He’ll never, ever be invisible.

“I,” Eddie licks his lips when the silence stretches too long, and Dustin doesn’t seem inclined to fill it this time. “He,” and Eddie’s mouth is too dry, throat still too tight; “we’ve been—”

“You’re together.”

Eddie freezes, heart doing a kind of hard brake thing that shakes him from the ribs on out, and Eddie may not have know where the hell he was going, how he was going to summarize then sanitize what it feels like to give all that you are and be found wanting in the end—but he hadn’t once considered fucking saying…that.

“What?” Eddie chokes, half-assed at best. It’s shock more than it’s denial, save that it should have been past tense, even if Eddie’s whole fucking soul is still with Steve, but he doesn’t think he knows or even fully wants to reel it back.

Ever.

But while they hadn’t hid anything more than in plain sight? They…no one was ever told they’d been dating, and, he, they—

“If even I can see it,” Dustin says, not unkindly exactly but…definitely blunt: “that kinda means it’s an open secret.”

Eddie coughs around the tight shock squeezing at his throat:

“Those aren’t your words,” he manages, because—they aren’t.

And Dustin looks briefly like he sucked on a lemon, knows he can’t fight the obvious.

“Max,” he sighs, admitting from where he’s borrowing uncharacteristic insight; “she told me I was the last to know.”

Any other day, about any other thing, Eddie would feel a much bigger sense of petty vindication in Dustin’s forced humbling.

As it stands? Eddie’s chest hurts too much to fit any kind of twisted delight of the kind getting any sort of foothold in him.

“Right,” he breathes out in an airy, useless kind of sound, doesn’t know where it’s going, doesn’t know what he’s doing.

He feels…actually?

Dying felt less tumultuous than what’s starting to churn through his veins right now, no fucking lie.

“You guys could have told us,” Dustin prods, a little sad, disappointed—hurt that he was left out.

“I,” Eddie’s mouth works around a lot of thoughts, a lot of half-formed feelings because what would it have been like to hold Steve where the people they loved could see, just because they could? To sit in his lap when he got tired, when the scars ached a little from doing too much for too long with the kids. To warm his hands just under the hem of a sweater. To just, just—

“Doesn’t matter now,” is what Eddie lands on, because it’s the honest conclusion of all his wishful wondering; bitter in his voice as much as it is in his chest. “It’s over.”

Fuck. Fuck, has he even said that out loud, yet? Can’t have—it hits too much like whiplash. Like the world ending.

“Doesn’t sound over,” Dustin volleys back like it’s simple; “is it over, for you?”

He asks it, like it’s enough to love with all that you are when it’s got nowhere to go anymore. Like he can strong-arm that kind of feeling through will alone. That one side can make a relationship on their own.

“It sure as hell doesn’t look like it’s over for him,” Dustin stares him down, now, something shifting in his demeanor that screams that he’s done playing games.

“What did you say?” Dustin asks him, something a little pleading in it, but Eddie’s throat won’t work, he can’t fucking speak and Dustin reads it as avoidance, instead of like Eddie’s heart is trying to rip out past his fucking trachea.

“What did he say?” but Dustin doesn’t sound even remotely convinced for his own self that this is on Steve. That it could be on Steve. And…again. Dustin hasn’t been shy about supporting one of them over the other when necessary.

“I,” and how is Eddie even supposed to breach explaining the chain of events that he can parse, leading to where things stand now? Sorry buddy, your ineffably physical and endlessly affectionate brother-slash-babysitter started refusing my kisses and sleeping on the edge of the bed so he barely touched me when he used to be a goddamn octopus to my sloth, grabbing and never letting go until he did, entirely, which is to say nothing of the sex, fuck, did you know your taxi driver is loud as shit in bed, but then all of a sudden if we even had sex he was suddenly silent and if there’s ever a blow to your ego, it’s to fuck your boyfriend and get nothing in response save sometimes tears he doesn’t acknowledge in the aftermath, that really makes a guy feel special.

Yeah, he’s not going to say that. He doesn’t even know how to get across how Steve pulled away, slow and all at once at the same time, overnight as much as it felt like it happened in pieces. But he stiffened when Eddie so much as brushed against him. He barely talked to Eddie. He was always taking extra shifts at work. He didn’t want to be around Eddie. He didn’t want Eddie, outgrew him in the course of weeks, maybe months if Eddie just hadn’t noticed in the beginning, but, it just…they were amazing, one minute. Perfect.

And then they…weren’t.

“He, I mean, it,” and Eddie grabs at his hair and hides behind it, because all of that’s true, all of what he saw and felt and lost in his relationship with Steve before it stopped: it’s accurate.

But then there’s…everything Dustin’s saying. And…Steve was pulling away from him, turning away from him, but did he…was he seeing Robin, or only at work? Was he seeing the rest of the Party?

“He was,” Eddie tries to find a throughway to follow but he’s too distracted because…was Steve sleeping before Eddie stopped coming to bed at all, because everything he tried wasn’t enough, because it was breaking him to keep lying there and not just be ignored, but be actively avoided? Was he…had Steve not been eating regularly, before Eddie left—

Wait.

Eddie…Eddie didn’t leave. He went to Wayne’s, the home that wasn’t the one Steve grew up in, when he needed to get more clothes. It was getting too cold, and since he’d basically moved in with Steve right out of the hospital and never really moved out, he’d been migrating what had survived the old trailer little by little as needed and so he’d…he’d gone to get things.

He’d broken down when his uncle asked him what was wrong, said he looked like someone ran over his cat.

More like his heart, but. Same idea.

And then he’d…he’d been scared. He’d called the house to try and ask Steve when he wanted Eddie to come back, because he’d wondered after telling Wayne everything—and hearing him talk about what it was like coming back from war for some of his buddies—if Steve just needed some space: but the line had rang and rang and rang. Didn’t even grab the machine.

And Eddie had…Eddie had cried so fucking hard he could have sworn he’d busted something in his eye. But…but…

never gonna leave you all alone again

He gasps to himself when the words run lightning quick through his head, and his heart clenches fucking hard.

Did…did Eddie, did he go and…and leave Steve…

Did he leave his Stevie alone?

No. No, it was, Eddie never wanted to keep his distance.

Eddie doesn’t stay awake to all hours staring the the ceiling while his body reels at what it knows it’s missing because he wants to. He doesn’t jolt awake lamenting that emptiness because he likes it, whenever his consciousness drifts in fitful bursts that he doesn’t feel like he deserves, because while he’d maybe been slinking back to lick his wounds when he went to Wayne’s, he would never have even thought to do this own his own, to be estranged.

Though all of those things aren’t without the parasitic leech of a thought on the side: he told you to leave with everything but words, and only that because he stopped taking at all.

But…but Eddie can’t live with Steve hurting. And maybe Steve doesn’t want him, doesn’t love him like that anymore. But Eddie thought of him as his friend, even if they never had a space between where they were just friends and not everything.

And it sounds like maybe Steve could use a friend. Maybe he doesn’t want Eddie for that either, but. Eddie’s kinda in agony at just the thought of the picture Dustin’s been painting.

“It’s Christmas,” Dustin takes that unspoken cue to pipe back up; “like, I just,” and he ends on a note of straight-up entreaty, damn close to pleading:

“Fix it, man.”

And Eddie…

Eddie doesn’t think he’s wanted, in general. Certainly not to be the one who fixes…anything.

But a nice chunk of his heart is with this man who is apparently hurting, and Eddie’s soul-certain love is fixed on him, probably for the rest of fucking time, so.

He’s sitting here being unwanted already.

Won’t hurt to try; can’t possibly end up worse.

❄️

>>> part iii

for @kultiras🖤

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heyclickadee · 5 months ago

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More Massive Fandom Salt under the cut

If I see one more condescending post about how people who don’t like Tech getting killed off just don’t get it, I’m going to mcfreaking lose it.

Like, okay. I think Tech is alive. I think I’ve been clear about that. If I haven’t, then I don’t know what else to do. I actually even get why taking him off the board for season three could be a good move (give Crosshair time to decompress and Omega time to come into her own and be the hero of her own show, while also maybe setting Tech up for another plot line to come later), and think it’s possible that bringing Tech back later could actually work much better than what I originally wanted to happen. In fact, if it really is a fake-out I think it’s kind of immaculate. And I still get angry reading those posts.

Because, first, a lot of people upset by the handling of Tech from “Plan 99” onwards are upset because Tech meant something to them. It goes a lot deeper than just losing your favorite character. Tech was a fantastic piece of autistic representation and losing that hurt. Losing that and then never getting the catharsis that comes with on-screen emotional processing from the characters, no closure, no real in-show impact besides inconveniencing the others hurt even more. It left a lot of autistic people in the fandom feeling like we were told that we weren’t welcome in Star Wars at all.

And most of us still love the show! The Bad Batch is still my favorite show and I adore basically the entire thing up through season three, right up to the point where everything just kind of stops without resolving anything but Hunter and Omega, and not getting Tech back before the end hit me so badly that I almost dropped Star Wars completely. People are upset for a reason.

Second, I get that it can be annoying seeing criticism of your favorite show. I do. I actually disagree with a lot of criticism of TBB and do tend to get a little annoyed at certain takes. The other thing about the “Tech’s dead and that’s good”/“You thought Tech could come back because you were delusional” posts that makes me want to fight everyone, though, is that they tend to be incredibly dismissive. They’ll bring up arguments people made during the airing of the show for why Tech could come back, or arguments they made afterwards for why they thought he should have, and then either misunderstand or talk right past them.

It gives anyone who made those arguments, or who was upset by the ending, a general sense that we’re not being listened to. That people have already decided we’re irrational and that nothing we say or experience matters, that we saw patterns that weren’t there, or that we care too much about this specific thing, or that we’re being immature. Maybe. Just. I don’t know—consider for a second that a lot of the people who are most upset about Tech belong to the noticing patterns/caring a lot about specific things/dismissed for noticing things that are really there in real life/frequently infantilized neurotype. Again, there’s a reason some of us are upset and having a hard time with fandom right now.

I actually don’t have a problem with people thinking or making posts saying someone needed to die or that Tech “dying” was well handled as a death. I will always disagree, and I think we’re too close to the “bury your disabled” trope with most of the batchers for me to be okay with any of them dying like that, but one person will interpret fiction differently than another and I can’t and shouldn’t police that. I do, however, have a massive problem with the condescending way a lot of those posts go about it. Think Tech ought to be dead? Fine. Call anyone who thinks otherwise a child? Instablock, I don’t need that in my life.

#fandom salt #like #a lot of fandom salt #sorry it’s a salty day #I actually quite like the little corner of the fandom I’m in #y’all are great #but it’s rough out there

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1-have-no-idea · 1 month ago

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homophones

character(s): Anakin, mentions of his mother, mentions of Ahsoka, mentions of Obi-Wan, mentions of Padme, mentions of Rex, mentions of the Chancellor

genre: angst

warning(s): character death, angst with no comfort

701 words

Anakin wanted to be accepted and was the exception.

He wanted validation and affirmation while also being excused and pardoned for things that normally weren’t allowed. If you were to ask Anakin at age nine and below who he was, he would say ‘son’. ‘Dear.’ ‘Handsome.’ That’s when it was just him and his mother. Where he’d play and speedrace and help his mother. Where he was only a young, oblivious and innocent child.

If you were to ask Anakin who he was as he got older, he would answer, ‘The Chosen One.’ Why? Because he was. Ever since he was nine, he’s been the chosen one. Soon to be a great Jedi Master… only he wasn’t. Not yet. For some reason, the others couldn’t see what Qui-Gon saw. …What the Chancellor saw in him. But he’d show them. He would. They just had to accept him first. Obi-Wan had to accept him. The council had to accept him.

If you were to ask Padme who Anakin was, she’d respond, ‘Ani’,’. She’d never admit he was her husband or the father of her children. Not unless you were close to her. And even though she didn’t say it out loud, you would hear the fondness in her tone.

If you asked Obi-Wan who Anakin was, he’d say, ‘my Padawan’. It wasn’t condescending in any way, more affectionate if anything, but Anakin hated that word. It downplayed his efforts, downplayed him. He was more than a padawan, than a Jedi Knight, he was more. He wanted to be known, be seen, as more. Obi-Wan was just jealous. If only he knew that when his master referred to him as ‘Padawan,’ what he really meant was ‘brother.’

If you asked Ahsoka who Anakin was, she’d fondly tell you, ‘my Master,’ and he was. He was a really good Master. She had him to thank for preparing her for everything she would need to survive in this harsh galaxy. It was all him. Maybe if she was in a silly mood, she’d say, ‘Skyguy.’ A name that slowly grew on the Jedi Knight. But as she grew up and you bumped into the more mature her, she would smile at you bitterly and admit, ‘my big brother.’

If you asked his troops who Anakin was, they’d all respond, ‘a general’. However, if you asked CT-7567, otherwise known as Captain Rex, he’d puff up proudly and answer, ‘my general’. And if you asked on a deeper level, he’d say, ‘a close friend.’ And maybe if you saw him years later, as an older man, he’d let out a laugh and say, ‘the greatest Jedi in this galaxy.’

And oh, if only Anakin was aware of what they said. If only he knew.

It’s said that the greatest tragedy of this world is that you never really know how much you’re loved.

Because in his anger, in his fear, and in his hurt, Anakin grew up. And he decided to take the place himself if no one was going to be sensible enough to give it to him. After all, he already got the permission of the Chancellor himself. That was his friend.

Anakin was not accepted by the council or the Jedi. Not even his own wife. But he was accepted by the Chancellor and the Dark Side. And then he became the exception. All Jedi were to be killed by the clones. And funnily enough, there was Anakin leading them. He went for the younglings. The clones went for anyone else. He was doing the right thing. Everybody else was just blind.

And years later, after all the carnage, all the bloodshed and all the deaths… if you asked Anakin what he was, he’d say, ‘dead.’ Because Anakin had died the moment Padme died, and the minute Obi-Wan left him to burn. And in his place, Darth Vader took over. There was no Anakin.

Because Anakin wasn’t accepted. And he wasn’t even the exception anymore.

He was broken. And he was angry. It’s all he knew how to be now.

From little boy to feared definition of power and pain,

This is who he was, and how it was meant to be.

….right?

#the clone wars #star wars #anakin skywalker #anakin and padme #obi wan and anakin #anakin and ahsoka #angst #darth vader

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waterless-witch · 1 year ago

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Of Knights and Demons

Chapter 7

TW: Talk of prostitution, dark themes, violence, forced marriage and swearing MINORS DNI OR I WILL BLOCK YOU

This is my first ever fic so please be nice to me, I’ve also got it posted on A03 and Wattpad under the same name in case anybody would like to read it there.

Previous Chapter

Grimmjow's hand on your hip is warm, so much so that you feel the heat through the layers of your dress. His hand moves slowly, trailing along your hip and holding it firmly for a moment before he roughly spins you around to face him. You gasp and look up at him, he presses just a bit closer and you make a flustered squeaky sound and try to keep some sort of distance but there is none, your back hits the door, he’s just inches from your face and he towers over you looking down with an animalistic smirk.

You try to think of something to say, something to smooth this over. He doesn’t seem all that angry, if anything he’s laughing at you. Nothing comes to mind so you opt to just tell him the truth, “I’m leaving.” You tell him with as much confidence as you can muster, which isn’t as much as you’d like and you sound way more unsure than you’d meant to.

Grimmjow laughs, in the most condescending way you’d ever heard. You want to push him away, he’s too close and you’re a nervous wreck, you can’t help but think that maybe you had him pegged wrong. What if he’d just been fucking with you all this time and he was really loyal to Aizen, what if he was still playing that stupid game of cat and mouse and you’d played perfectly into it. He stops laughing and looks down at you, “No you’re not.” He tells you sternly. The smile slips from his face, “You’ll never make it out there princess, especially not in your pretty little dress. Even if you did manage to make it anywhere, someone would pick you up and do far worse than what your husband does to you. Now,” he says with a pause and brings his mouth right next to your ear to whisper, “If you keep your pretty little mouth shut I’ll take you back to your room and we can pretend nothing happened.” You weigh his words for a second but ultimately decide against it.

You shake your head, “No,” you start to tell him and he scoffs and interrupts you as he pulls back to look in your eyes again, he’s getting annoyed with you but you don’t care, you want out and you can’t keep waiting forever.

“How can you be so well read and so fucking stupid?” Grimmjow asks with venom laced thick in his voice, “You think things are bad now? How about when he has to hunt you down a second time, he’ll kill anyone who helped you, think you can deal with that princess?” He sneers at you.

You start to argue back that you don’t want any help but before you can get halfway through the sentence his hard wraps around your throat. He’s not squeezing but there’s enough pressure that you stop talking and look up at him with wide fearful eyes, “You have no idea what’s out there, you know how to hunt? You know how to forage? Do you even know where the hell you’re going? Don’t be stupid, don’t fucking make me drag you back up there.” Your hands come up and you wrap them around his wrist and you wince, he loosened his grip a bit but doesn’t pull his hand away, you have a sudden realization that he’s clearly not trying to hurt you, just intimidate you.

You look at him for a long while, behind all the anger in his eyes there’s worry. Even though he’s being rough and manhandling you he’s still trying to keep you out of trouble, he’d told you once that he wouldn’t hurt you and you believe him still. Even now he wasn’t hurting you, not really, he was trying to scare you sure but he wasn’t trying to hurt you. You swallow before talking, your voice comes out much quicker and weaker sounding than you’d like, “You can’t keep me here forever. You said it yourself, you can’t guard me all the time. If you take me back there will just be another day, I’ll find another chance and if I can’t I’ll throw myself from the roof. I won’t stay here, I won’t be this.” You argue.

His eyes narrow and he opens his mouth to speak but snaps it shut, his head darts to the side and you try to see what he’s looking at but you can’t see anything past him. Everything’s silent behind him for just a moment before you hear it. It’s distant but you hear the light tap of someone’s shoes hitting the stone. The sound slowly draws closer and you start to panic, someone’s going to see the two of you and they’ll report it back to Aizen, your escape will be squashed before you even make it out of the manor, you knew things would be bad if he had to hunt you a second time but what about this, what would he do about you just trying to leave?

The hand that Grimmjow had braced on the door falls and pulls the handle. You’re stumbling backwards out the door before you know what’s happening. Grimmjow wraps his arm around your waist and redirects you. Your back comes in contact with the cold wall outside the door and you make another squeak sound before Grimmjow's hard comes up to cover your mouth, his body is completely pressed to your own and you can’t help the blush that breaks out across your skin, you’re so close and you can’t help but think of all the dreams you’d had about him even though you didn’t want to be thinking like that right now. Your eyes dart up to his face but he’s not looking at you, his head is turned towards the now closed door and he watches and listens for any sign of the person you’d heard. He keeps his eyes on the door but brings his mouth to your ear again. “Not a sound princess.” He hisses in a whisper still keeping his hand over your mouth.

You nod your head as much as his hold on you allows, his eyes dart to you for a second, he takes in your wide eyed stare for a moment before you hear light noises from inside the room making you stiffen in fear of being caught. You can’t tell what they’re doing but the sounds disappear after a few minutes. It takes Grimmjow another few moments of silence before he removes his hand and takes a few steps back. You take in a shaky breath and look at him. He’s watching you, his jaw is locked and he doesn’t say anything. You stare into his eyes as the cold air nips at you.

An idea pops into your head and your head and you're voicing it before you can think twice about it, “Come with me.” You offer without hesitation. His eyebrows shoot so high you think they’d almost fly off his brow. He stares at you for a long time before he clicks his tongue.

“Excuse me?” He asks in disbelief, “You cannot be serious. What makes you think that I’ll-” He starts to say but you cut him off.

“You hate it here too!” You argue a bit too loudly and he hisses at you to be quiet, “Sorry,” you apologize in a whisper, “But I’m not wrong. You don’t want to be here. You hate him, I don’t know how you ended up here but you want out too. You wanted me to kill him, you hate him. Come with me and we can both get away from him.” You try to reason with him.

He chuckles at you, it’s not the same condescending laugh from earlier, it’s more of a disbelieving laugh but it still makes you feel awkward. “Yeah princess?” He asks, letting a small smirk return to his face, “I’m not one of your little knights, what makes you think I’d drag you across a kingdom for nothing in return. You think I work for your husband out of the goodness of my heart? You got a way to pay me if you’re gonna use me as a sell sword?” He asks.

You refuse to back down from him, “I’m sure my father would pay you when-” you start to say but he cuts you off with yet another barking laugh. Your brows furrow at him and you want to call him a number of unkind names but hold your tongue.

His laughter tapers off and he sighs, “You don’t even know where he is,” he starts, “I have an idea where he might be but it’s no guarantee and even then you have no way of getting there. Which just leads you back to the first problem, you have no way of paying me or anyone else.” He says with emphasis. He considers something for a moment before he speaks again, “Well, you do have one way of payment but I highly doubt you’d…” he tries for a moment to find the right word before continuing. “Lower yourself to that level.” His words confuse you and your brows knit together as you think.

He chuckles and takes another step towards you. Grimmjow had always been one to push your boundaries but today he was really pushing, your personal space was nonexistent and you can’t help but be nervous. “We’ve talked about this,” He says and you shake your head, you hadn’t and had no idea what he’s talking about. Grimmjow smirks at you again, predatory and animalistic, you can’t help but think that he looks handsome, it wasn’t the first time you’d thought it but it was definitely the strangest scenario that you’d thought about it in. “Yes we have, I’ve told you what men would do for you if you offered.” Your eyes widen in understanding at what he’s implying. “So unless you’re willing to spread those pretty little legs or fall to your knees and wrap those delicate lips around my cock you need to get back in your room and behave yourself.” You scowl at him, face flushed and he laughs again but doesn’t say anything.

You think about his words for a long while. You’re so flushed and embarrassed that you don’t even feel the cold air against you. If you went back to your room with him Aizen would just force you to do all things Grimmjow had said and more, you don’t necessarily like the idea of what Grimmjow had said but if he was serious you could at least try to argue for more of it to be on your terms. The idea of doing such things with him makes you feel strange, you’re not necessarily scared but you are nervous and worried that he doesn’t actually mean it. Grimmjow makes another step towards you and reaches for you, you take a step of your own to the side dodging him and making him roll his eyes at you. “Come on princess I don’t have all day, let's get you back inside and be done with this shit. Don’t make me hurt you.” He says in irritation. You know he’s bluffing, if he was gonna do it he would have done so already, he had countless opportunities especially now, especially today when his hand had been around your throat and he’d had you pinned to the door.

“No. And you’re not going to hurt me.” You tell him firmly, calling him on his bluff. You’re not going back, at least you think, if you let him do what he wants you actually get somewhere. If the act is the same regardless at least with Grimmjow you’re closer to being away from Aizen and back with your father. “I’ll do whatever it takes but I won’t go back to him again. So either come with me or let me leave to find someone else to help me, like you said all I have to do is offer.” You tell him in a sneer, you’re not serious about making an offer like that to someone else. You know it’s probably not wise to try and prod at him but you can’t stop yourself, he’s been messing with you this whole time why can’t you do the same?

Grimmjow's jaw locks in anger as his eyes flash with a kind of rage you’ve never seen from him and he lets an angry breath out. “You’re not serious,” He says in anger and you start to argue back but he stops you. “You really expect me to believe that you’re going to whore yourself out to me or anyone else?” He takes a step towards you again and you try to side step him again but he catches you easily and forces you back to the wall with his hand around your throat again. You swallow thickly and he continues, “You’re really gonna let me crawl between your legs and fuck you?” He asks as he slots one of his legs between your own, you gasp and the hand around your throat twitches minimally. “You don’t even like when your husband fucks you, what makes you think I’d treat you any kinder? Are you gonna let me fuck you like a whore or will you insist that I treat you like a lady?” He asks, pushing himself closer to you. “You gonna ride my cock whenever I please? Fall to your knees and suck me off whenever I tell you to?” He growls deeply, you’re staring at him with wide eyes, you don’t know what to say to any of what he’s said but his words have you feeling strange. You’re light headed but not from his hold on your throat but instead his words.

Your hands come up to try and pry his hand off your neck and he growls deeply at you before grabbing your hands and pinning them above you, your breath catches as he pulls back a few inches to look at you. His eyes trail over you slowly before rising back up to your face, he shifts his leg between yours causing your core to press against him more firmly. You breathe in a shaky breath and his eyes widen just a tiny bit. You open your mouth to say something and his eyes fall to watch your lips move, stopping you briefly. The wall on your back is ice cold but between his hands on you and his body pressed against your own, you're hot and flushed. “Grimmjow, please let g-” your voice comes out weak and whispered, you’re going to tell him to let you go but never get it out.

Grimmjow's hand tightens around your caught wrists and pushes them back into the wall harder, forcing a pained yelp from you as his nails dig into your skin. His eyes snap up towards your eyes and his grip on both your wrists and your neck loosens. He presses just an inch closer and his eyes fall back to your lips. You’re sure he’s about to kiss you and for some reason it makes your heart skip a beat as you look up at him, you can’t tell if you want him to kiss you or not but you don’t think about it long before he starts speaking again. “You gonna cry the whole time or are you going to make pretty little sounds like the last time I heard you?” His voice comes out in a growl.

The leg slotted between your own rises a bit, forcing you to the very tips of your toes and making you gasp and completely go red and look away from his eyes. You’re completely embarrassed, not only by his actions but by his words, he’s just admitted to having heard Aizen have his way with you and while you’d known it was more than likely that he’d heard you didn’t want to think about it. He pressed closer yet again, face just inches from your own, his thumb rose from your neck and pushed your chin up to look at him, “I bet you’d make the prettiest sounds for me princess.” You can feel his words as he whispers them against your lips and you can’t help but feel a twinge of arousal course through you. You’re confused by your own reaction and look at him wide eyed, you don’t know what you want. You can’t tell if you want him to press closer and just kiss you or if you want him to let you go and pull away.

You take a shuddering breath as his words make you shiver a bit, you’d blame it on the cold but you know it’s not true. “Grimmjow…” you try to say his name again in warning but it comes out much more breathy and small than ideal. He’s back to watching you and you wish he’d do anything at this point, move or kiss you or hurt you or something, anything. Hell you’d even take him dragging you back to your room at this point, just anything other than the maddening conflicting feelings he’s dragging out of you.

You try to shift in his hold a bit, only causing your core to press further into him and making you breathe a bit deeper against him. Your legs are straining and your arms are stretched thin, you watch as he looks over your face. Grimmjow sighs in defeat and drops his forehead against your shoulder, making you go ridgid. He's so warm against you but you're still shivering lightly, your heart beats against your chest so hard you’re sure it’s going to rip you apart and you have to focus on your breathing. “Fuck princess…” you can feel your breath against your collarbone and you cut off a choked whine. If he hadn’t had your hands pinned you might have wrapped your arms around him but you can’t and you don’t even know why you felt like you should. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you? I can’t fucking stand you.” You can’t tell if he’s insulting you or not, his words definitely are but the way he speaks them, in a quiet whisper, almost like he doesn’t want you to hear them makes you think otherwise. You don’t know what to say so you opt to say nothing hoping that your silence doesn’t upset him further.

He takes a minute before moving or saying anything. The time feels dreadfully long, you can’t see his face but you can feel every exhale he breathes against you, you’re about to say something to him, your brain is short circuiting and nothing comes to mind. After a minute or two he pulls back completely, he releases your wrists and pulls his body away from yours fully. He runs his fingers through his electric blue hair and paces a few steps in frustration. “You’re serious? About all of it?” He asks sternly. There’s no way you’d be able to answer him so you just nod your head, you’d agree to whatever he wanted if it meant getting back to your father and being away from Aizen. He thinks on it for a long moment, the gears in his head clearly spinning. “I need some assurances from you.” He scowls at you.

A feeling of dread rises in you, he could ask for any manner of things and you really don’t have much to bargain with, besides yourself and you’d already agreed to give him that. You narrowed your eyes a bit at him, “What kind of assurances?” You ask in a weary tone.

Grimmjow shrugs, “I need to know that after I drag you across a kingdom your lord father isn’t going to kill me on sight. I also need to know that I’m not going to be imprisoned or questioned or whatever. Once I take you there I get to leave, I’m not one of your little knights, I’m not sticking around or getting involved in whatever happens after I take you back. Understand?” He asks the question harshly.

His ask isn’t unreasonable, it's a more than fair ask and you nod, “I can try to convince him of-” You start to say before getting cut off.

“No trying, you will convince him. I can guarantee you I can cut through you faster than they can kill me. Got it?” Grimmjow tells you harshly. You agree and reach out to shake his hand in agreement. Instead of shaking your hand he drags you off in the direction of the forest that Renji had tried to take you through. He leads you through the brush and fallen leaves much faster than Renji and it’s a struggle not to fall over your own feet, you nearly trip on a tree root and Grimmjow whirls around to catch you quickly. Your eyes meet his azure eyes as he pulls you back up. He mumbles out an apology before he starts dragging you deeper into the forest, he pulls you much slower this time through, making sure you have time to keep your footing and pace steady.

The two of you keep a steady pace for about ten minutes before he slows to a complete stop and lets your hand slip from his. He turns to face you and starts taking off his jacket. Your skin breaks out in a sweat, you know you agreed to let him have you whenever he wanted but you didn’t expect him to take you here, a few short minutes from the manor and outside in the cold. You look away nervously and breathe a shaky breath in as you hear him stalk closer. He reaches out and grabs your wrist roughly, you flinch not quite knowing what he’s going to do. Out of all the scenarios you mind comes up with, his actions actually shock you, he shoves his jacket into your hand and lets you go. You look up at him in confusion, “Put that on and stay here, got it?” Grimmjow asks in a snarl before moving past you back the way you came.

You turn sharply, “Wait!” You call out and he whirls as he roughly slams his hand back over your mouth. You can’t stop the small gasp or the half step you take backwards at his action. You’re panicked, not wanting to be left alone out here, you wouldn’t stand a chance if someone found you out here right now.

“We’re not that far away don’t fucking yell.” He snarls at you, “You want every guard Aizen’s got out here because they heard you yell?” He asks and you shake your head in denial as much as you can with his hold on your face. “I’m not ditching you or anything, I’ll be right back, if you don’t want to die in the next few days, we’ll need supplies, money and a horse so stay here, put that on it’s cold.” He explains as he removes his hand from your mouth and steps back. Grimmjow waits for you to slip on his jacket before he turns to leave.

Once he's out of sight you rest your back against a nearby tree and let yourself sink to the ground. Now that he’s gone and all the adrenaline has left your body you notice how cold it really is. You pull Grimmjow's jacket tighter around you, you’re thankful that he’d left it but feel a bit bad that he’s out without it. You realize how absurd your plan had actually been, it was much colder now than when you’d tried to escape with Renji. You had no supplies and you would have surely frozen to death if you hadn’t been found. Grimmjow deciding to come with you had definitely saved your life and you’re still more than shocked that he’d actually agreed. While he’d always made lewd comments at you and his looks had been less than innocent, this was a lot to agree to just to sleep with you for the duration of the trip.

One thought led into another and soon you were thinking about your dreams of him. You wondered if when he had you if he’d truly be like that, you thought about the groaned out words and taunts that your mind had conjured up. In your dreams you always seemed to be enjoying yourself much more than you ever did with your husband and you wonder if you actually would with him.

You’re still thinking improper thoughts about him more than an hour later when you hear hoof beats on the ground. You shoot up from your position on the ground as Grimmjow slows the horse to a stop and dismounts. He throws a small burlap bag at you, you catch it and open it. Inside is a black shirt like his own, as well as pants and boots all of which look too big for you. You look back up at him and raise a single eyebrow in question.

“Change clothes. Now.” He demands while crossing his arms, “I can’t take you anywhere dressed like that.” He starts, gesturing towards your dress. “Assuming you're not picked up and sold to a pleasure house, you’d be recognized in an instant. A lot of your high class families have fallen in line out of fear and that last thing you need is for someone to tell him about how they saw you in a pretty little dress in some shit hole.” He explains, his eyes still on you. “Now change.” He growls at you.

You wait for him to turn around to give you privacy or something but he doesn’t. He just watches you lazily. You fluster under his gaze as he clearly intends to watch you strip, “Can you turn around or something?” You ask out embarrassed.

He rolls his eyes at you but does what you ask, “So you’ll offer to let me fuck you however I want but I can’t watch you change clothes? Seems a bit backwards don’t you think?” He asks sarcastically but with no real bite to it.

You wait a second before starting to remove your clothing. You strip off his jacket first, letting it rest gently on the ground followed by your dress before putting on the shirt from inside the bag. It’s big on you and you're sure if someone stood over you they would be able to see your chest down the small v-neck of it. “It would be improper.” You argue back as you pull the matching black pants up your legs and tie them as tight as they’ll go.

Grimmjow huffs a small laugh, “Yeah? And letting a demon fuck you to get what you want isn’t?” You roll your eyes but don’t answer, you slip your feet into the boots and just like you thought they were much too big for you, you tie them tightly hoping that it'll help you not to stumble over them. You pick up his jacket and dust it off from being on the ground.

You’re fully dressed in the clothes that Grimmjow had brought you and while they were much warmer than the deep cut v-neck dress you had been wearing but it’s still cold outside. “I’m finished,” you say timidly, not really knowing what to say. He turns and looks at you and you extend your arm to give him his jacket back, his eyes travel down your form and you're unsure of why, it’s not like he can see much of you in your baggy clothes, especially when compared to the dresses that Aizen had kept you dressed in.

He simply shakes his head at your outstretched arm, “Keep it, you’ll get more use out of it then I will.” He tells you. You thank him kindly and mean it, for so much more than just the jacket itself. You let your eyes fall to the horse behind him, it’s not one of the ones from your stables, they were larger than average with longer hair around their lower legs. This one was simple, just a dark brown body with a black mane and tail, you figured it helped to have a more plain horse than one of the fancier ones from your home. Attached to the saddle where a few small burlap bags as well as a quiver filled with arrows, Grimmjow wears the matching bow slung over his shoulder as well as his signature sword at his hip. “Come on, don’t wanna waste our head start do we?” He sighs out.

While making your way to him you slip the jacket back on, it's warm and comforting in a way that you don’t have the energy to put thought into. Once in front of him he helps you onto the horse before placing himself behind you and taking hold of the reins, trapping you against him in the same way he had the first night you’d meet him. Except this time you’re not afraid of him, you still don’t know what lies ahead of you but you’re certain it's better than what lies behind you.

The two of you set off and you ride for around an hour and a half in silence before you break it, “How long before they come after us?” You ask as you come across the clearing you’d almost made it to. It felt strange to be here, the last time it had taken you all day to make it here. You felt exposed without the coverage of trees, anyone could see you but Grimmjow didn’t seem to be worried about it, perhaps you were just being paranoid.

“Not until tomorrow morning at least.” Grimmjow says but that seems too far away to you, maybe he’s lying to try and calm you down, you can’t tell. He gives a small sigh, clearly able to tell that you’re still upset. “Once Loly realizes you're gone she’ll try to find you herself, she won’t check on you until she has to, to bring you food. She’ll panic and look everywhere she can think of.” He begins to explain and you nod along as you listen. “When she can’t find you she’ll eventually break down and go to Ulquiorra, he’ll take her to Tousen and then they’ll start searching. First around the manor and then they’ll fan out. It’ll be late tonight before anyone realizes how far you’ve actually made it.” He explains firmly.

You’re quiet for a few more minutes just thinking. He was probably right but you were still nervous, one wrong move or misstep and you’d be back where you started. You doubted you’d calm down until you were back with your father. You wondered how Aizen would react to the news, as much as you disliked Loly you did not wish for her to die and hoped that he didn’t kill her for your escape. “And what of Aizen?” You ask quietly.

Behind you, Grimmjow shrugs, “Word will get sent to him tonight, he’ll probably leave immediately to come back and try to find you, his whole plan to take the north hinges on the fact that your father won’t fight him as long as you're in his custody.” None of what he’d said made you feel any better but he continued. “He’ll try to keep the news of your escape on a need to know basis,” he tells you, causing your brow to furrow in confusion.

“Wouldn’t he want as many people out looking as possible?” You ask as you ride back into the tree line, following a dirt path, leaving the clearing behind you.

Grimmjow chuckles a bit, “No he won't. He doesn’t need word to reach your father or anyone else of your escape. Aizens too cocky to believe that you’d make it. He’ll keep the search low for a while before he realizes that he needs to put more of an effort and by that point we should hopefully be far enough ahead for it to not matter.” You nod in agreement but you're still a bit unconvinced. “I swear it princess, I haven’t lied to you have I?” He asks, he’s right, he hasn’t.

If anyone knew what they were talking about in regards to all of this was him. You decide its better to trust him than to drive yourself insane with worry trying to figure out every little possibility of every action and you try your best to let it go.

~~~

The two of you ride the rest of the day in silence, eventually Grimmjow brings the horse to a stop in order to make camp. You try to offer to stay awake for him the same way you did for Renji but he refuses. He tells you that you’ll be coming across a small town at midday and that you’ll get a room at the inn and he’ll sleep there. You swallow thickly but agree. Grimmjow builds a small fire and gives you a strip of dried meat as well as some bread. You thank him and eat in silence, watching the fire crackle and burn.

You wait, a bit on edge but Grimmjow makes no move to sleep with you. You blame it on the cold and know that tomorrow when you make it to the inn he’ll more than likely have you there. The thought makes you nervous but not in the same way that you had been when faced with the same act from Aizen. Perhaps the task was not so daunting because Aizen had already stripped you of your innocence or perhaps because even if it’s for selfish reasons Grimmjow was helping you. You’re still thinking about it when the sunsets and Grimmjow tells you to sleep.

It takes a very long time for you to fall asleep, you’ve never spent a night in the elements like this. To make matters worse every few minutes you could practically feel Grimmjow watching you. It’s cold even with the fire burning and you can’t help but wonder how Grimmjow manages to do this on a regular basis. Though it seemed that you would be finding out. Your mind keeps conjuring all manner of terrifying possibilities making sleep all that much harder to find. It’s hours before your eyes finally drift closed and your breathing evens out enough to let you slip into unconsciousness.

You wake early from Grimmjow shaking you awake. You wake with a fright and he has to grab you firmly to stop you from smashing your head into his own. You look at him wide-eyed, you’re afraid that he’s going to tell you that someone has found you but he doesn’t. “Didn’t mean to scare you,” He starts, the sun has just begun to peak over the horizon and the forest floor was still dark, “We should get moving, keep distance between us and them.” He tells you, you nod and pick yourself up. You dust yourself off and try to smooth down your hair as much as you can without a brush. Your body is sore from sleeping on the hard ground but you don’t comment on it.

Grimmjow again helps you on the horse before taking his seat behind you. Yet again the two of you rode in silence, which is fine with you, it felt as if you’d only been asleep a few short minutes before you’d been woken up. Eventually a small town comes into sight in the distance. “While we are here you need to do exactly as I say and stay close. No wandering away, no talking to anyone you don’t need to, no nonsense. Understand princess?” He rasps against your ear as a man riding in a horse drawn cart rolls past. The man smiles and nods towards the two of you and you do the same, Grimmjow doesn’t move behind you, choosing instead to follow the man with his eyes as he passes.

“I understand.” You respond to him and he nods before straightening out behind you. The town is nothing special; you take note as you ride though it. The roads are wet with mud and you wonder if it ever dried. A few people watched as you rode by but nobody stopped or said anything, you kept your eyes ahead and tried not to look as nervous as you were. Most of the buildings were made from old and cracking stone and a few of the houses even had broken and boarded windows. Few people were out and about, most huddled inside the buildings but you could see a few peeking at you through windows or standing in doorways of public spaces.

Eventually you came to a stop in front of what you assumed was the inn. The building's stone was cracking matching with the rest of the town and the side of the building was adorned with the most rickety looking wooden stairs you’d ever seen leading to multiple sets of doors which you assumed held the rooms. Grimmjow dismounted and tied the horse to the hitching post outside the main set of doors. He offers you a hand and you take it gingerly as you step down into the mud. “Stay close.” He reminds you before leading you inside the building.

The inside looks just as run down as the outside, the floorboards are peeling upwards and the desk is made from rotting and chipping wood. The inside is dimly lit by a few windows and a few candles scattered along the wall. Once Grimmjow pushes the heavy wooden door open you see a woman behind the desk, she’s older, white hair and wrinkled skin, she doesn’t look at Grimmjow at all and instead focuses on you with a puzzled look. The woman doesn’t move from her spot over a book as Grimmjow approaches the desk, you stay a few steps behind him but close enough.

A man of the same age appears from a room behind the desk and smiles brightly towards the two of you. “Lookin’ for a room.” He asks in a kind tone. The woman still stares at you and you can’t help but fidget, your picking at the skin on your hand as all manner of negative thoughts rush through your head. Does she recognize you? Does she know something’s wrong? You can’t help the anxiety that rises in you under her gaze and you wish she’d just look away.

“Why else would we be here?” Grimmjow bites back with an annoyed tone. The man just gives him another bright smile and flips through a handwritten book.

The man reads what’s on the pages before looking at the two of you. “I’ve got a nice room with our most comfortable double bed and-” the man began but Grimmjow cut him off.

“Two beds.” Grimmjow interjects and demands in a harsh tone. The woman looks at him in surprise and you do too. You don’t say anything, he already seems annoyed and you’d like to not make it worse. You’d assumed he’d just get one bed and take you there but you guessed not. You didn’t let yourself believe that he’d leave you alone though, you didn’t want to risk the disappointment, but still it was an interesting turn of events, you’d at least get your own space when he was done with you hopefully.

The man looks between the two of you, “Are you sure? We’re not in the business of judging round here?” The man asks as he cocks his head at you specifically. You highly doubt that. The woman looked like she’d enjoy nothing more than passing judgment and later gossiping with whoever would listen the second your backs were turned.

Grimmjow just scoffs and slams a few to many coins on the counter, the man's eyes widen a small bit at the overpayment and his eyes dart to Grimmjow, “Two beds and no more fucking small talk.” He growls out, anger clear in his voice.

The man simply nods and retrieves a small brass key, “Second floor, third door.” Grimmjow swipes the key quickly and turns on his heel, he storms past you and catches your wrist, dragging you along behind him. You let out a small squeak sound at the treatment but Grimmjow pays you no mind and just keeps dragging you on. He leads you back outside and you stumble a bit on the rickety stairs. He lets your wrist fall from his grip as he unlocks the door and holds it open gesturing for you to enter. You walk through the door and look around the small room.

Like the lower floor the wood on the floor is peeling upwards and cracked at strange angles. There is a small bed on either side of the room, pressed against the wall with plain white sheets and a small blanket on each. There’s a window evenly between each bed and underneath is a small tattered chest meant to hold personal belongings. Above each bed is a small shelf, each shelf holds a candle and a few books that look like they haven’t been touched in years. Opposite of the beds there’s a small door leading into a tiny bathroom which surprises you.

Grimmjow slams the door behind the two of you and throws the few bags you have on the furthest bed. He’s clearly angry and you’re not fully sure why, yeah the couple downstairs had been annoying but you didn’t think it was that bad. “I’m going out to get some stuff,” He starts and you look to him, “I’ll lock the door behind me, don’t let anyone in and stay the fuck away from the window, got it?” He growls out and you nod. You thought he wanted to sleep but you don’t voice your concern, not wanting to anger him further or turn his anger toward you.

Left alone again you’re unsure of what to do with yourself, you look around the room and decide to look at the books on the shelf. You pick up a fiction novel about a pirate and dust it off before curling up with your back to the wall on the bed that Grimmjow hadn’t claimed. You don’t get much reading done, in fact you don’t make it off the first page. Your mind is too occupied thinking about everything that could go wrong.

What if Grimmjow had been wrong? What if you didn’t have the time he thought you did? Perhaps Aizen would find you and kill you just to be done with the trouble, he could always claim that he’d brought you back and that you were staying in your room again. What if someone else killed you, or if someone recognized you and turned you in? What if the woman downstairs already had? What if you both were wrong about your father’s whereabouts? What if when you got to the northern mountains there’s nothing there? What if Aizen sends men out to kill your father and everybody else on the mountain? What if Nnoitra found you and Grimmjow wasn’t around? A thousand thoughts rush through your head and its work to keep yourself from hyperventilating.

You can’t stop yourself from overthinking. You pull your knees up to your chest and try to breathe and stop your own thoughts but you can't. Your mind just spins on and on, endlessly tormenting you and making you suffer. An unknown amount of time passes before Grimmjow returns, you're still in the same position but you lift your head as you hear the door unlock and open.

Grimmjow’s blue eyes fall to you immediately, “What happened? Are you alright?” He asks instantly, eyes darting around the room, you’re unsure what he’s looking for but his eyes fall back to yours as he waits for an answer.

“I’m alright, nothing happened.” You tell him, nothing technically had happened to you, you were just freaking yourself over nothing. Grimmjow's eyes narrow at you, for some reason his hair looks more wild than normal. In fact a lot of him looks more wild than normal, his clothes are wrinkled and as you look him over you see a swipe of blood on his wrist. Your eyes widen at the sight, “What happened?” You ask, letting your legs fall back to the bed and moving closer, you stop yourself before getting too close, figuring he wouldn’t want you to actually touch him.

His brows knit in confusion and his eyes fall to where you’re looking, he moves his wrist to look at it better and laughs a bit, “Not my blood, don’t worry about it princess.” He says as he walks further into the room.

“If it’s not yours then who’s blood is it?” You ask in a wary tone, he seemed in a bit of a better mood but if he had to go out and kill to achieve it you didn’t want that and didn’t know how safe you felt with him if that were the case.

He steps into the small bathroom to grab a rag and quickly wipes the blood from his arm, “You really want the answer to that?” Grimmjow asks in an amused tone, his eyes fall to you again as he sits on the mattress across from yours. You nod your head slowly, you don’t know that you necessarily want the answer but you need it. He smirks at you which doesn’t help the uneasy feeling that’s begun to rise in you, “Well princess, you’ve been a panicked little mess so I went out and made sure no one was following us.” He says casually.

You nod in understanding, the blood on his arm clearly indicated that he’d found someone and you can’t help but wonder how many people were out looking for you. “How many did you find?” You ask, trying to calm your nerves and failing as per usual.

“Just two, they’d almost made it to the clearing.” he begins, as he makes his way back into the room. “It’ll take them a few days to figure out they're gone, so can you calm down now?” He says before throwing himself on the mattress. You wonder if he’s done this to make you feel better or because he likes to fight, perhaps it's both but you're unsure. He looks to you and waits for you to say something, you don’t know what to say, while you do feel a bit better that no one who was looking for you was close by it still seemed like an unnecessary burden for him to take on.

“Why go through the trouble?” You ask, you realize that you might sound unappreciative but you don’t really care all that much. You can’t help but notice his attitude change either, this is the longest he’s gone without making some kind of lewd comment or trying to get a rise out of you, it was odd, especially considering he technically now had the right to do such things. You’d given him full permission and he’d stayed tame which made you feel strange. “I thought you’d only agreed because of…” You stumble for the right words for a second, “Because of the offer I made you. Why go through the trouble of any of this if not for that? Especially if you’re going to go out of your way for me? I don’t understand.” You tell him a bit shyly, not really looking at him.

Grimmjow stares at you for a minute before answering, in fact he doesn’t say anything until your eyes flick back to his own. He sighs deeply before flipping onto his side and holding his head up with his hand, “Do you want me to fuck you princess?” He asks bluntly.

Your entire body flushes and you gape at him for a second before you try to answer. His body language screams casual and collected but his eyes look completely different, almost predatory. “N-no!” You stutter out with embarrassment at his improper question.

With a shrug Grimmjow flops back to his back, staring up at the ceiling. “Well, there you go. Now drop it.” He bites out, he’s irritated but not near the amount he normally is. He still hasn’t answered your question which is annoying. With a sigh you pick the novel back up and decide to try to read again figuring he’s going to finally sleep for a bit.

Everything’s silent for a few minutes, you don’t get much reading done but you still manage more than your previous attempts. You wonder if your whole trip will continue in this manner, if he’ll stay irritated and angry the whole time, if he’ll keep you at arm’s length. After a while you hear Grimmjow shift and in your peripheral vision you can see that he’s looking at you for a second before again looking back to the ceiling. He takes a deep breath, “You remind me of my mother and sister.” He confesses in a calm and almost gentle voice. Your eyes widen and shot to him at the confession but he’s not looking at you.

#bleach fic #bleach x reader #cross posted on ao3 #grimmjow x reader #multi chap fic #aizen x reader #aizen x y/n #aizen sosuke x reader #long fic #cross posted on wattpad #fantasy au

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harmonyckrs · 3 days ago

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finished DC2 so here's a tier list for both DC2 and DC4. Unlike with DC1 there's nobody that I found super irritating. Before anyone asks I am doing okay mentally, I initially predicted Amelie as the first boot so I was prepared for her to leave as the second. Ted was more unexpected but considering they almost voted him off in EP 2 it made sense

DC2 Explanations:

Krystal: She got character development and all but the power went over her head super fast and I can't forgive some of the stuff she's done. The redemption didn't feel fully earned either what with her trying to demean Oliver to get him to work with her again and only actually apologizing after Connor exposed her. But otherwise she's an alright host

Nina: She's funny but her voice was grating to the point where I had to switch to the Spanish dub because of how much it was irritating me. Sorry to the VA, hopefully they improved her voice in DCAS which I will not be watching unless if Alessio returns to the game and wins DC4

Hunter: The Hunter/Tess/Ally polycule actively make each other worse. Tess and Ally's conversations revolve around Hunter most of the time and the interesting bits of Hunter's character (the stuff he used to bond with Tess and Ally initially) fly out the window in favor of the love triangle conflict. He became more interesting to watch after Ally got eliminated

Riya: Was rooting for her initially but she was doing way too much for pretty much nothing. She was already in a comfortable position in the final four from her alliance with James and Aidan, there was no need to destroy their relationship when the two were already planning on voting for Hunter before she did all of that. Could've waited until after the challenge or before the start of the finale

Karol: On one hand she was kind of robbed and it sucks that we could've have seem more of Karol's softer side through Aidan because of James, on another hand she kept antagonizing Aidan when he called out James for throwing her under the bus IN FRONT OF HER and also apologized to her when she came back. Going after James is understandable, but Aidan didn't do anything wrong the first time

Maggy: Want to like her but her personality is just that she's the shy one who gets bullied and is also Kai's girlfriend. Also the interactions with the girl's alliance at the beginning was boring but unlike Rosa Maria and Lake she didn't really have much of a chance to shine after that. Her cheerfully threatening to give Yul a second black eye during the finale was funny though

Yul: He sucks but he was meant to suck so it works

DC4 Explanations:

Lynda: She's pretty funny even if she does plays the game as if she ran out of diamonds in an Episode story and isn't good at any of the challenges. Girl was in the perfect situation at a swing vote and fumbled it horrendously. Also in regards to that one scene in S4 EP 4 she's seems more ignorant than homophobic, even if she did apologize to save herself she at least apologized

Jade: Her character right now is just being the strategic one. There's snippets here and there that show more of her real personality (love for marine biology, getting anxious when doing timed math which is kind of a mood, getting visibly angry at Benji for messing up her plans to get Diego off Spencer's back, being uncomfortable talking about her vitiligo due to the struggles she had because of it) but they're just snippets. We need more

Spencer: Actively makes Diego worse (Diego was initially in Mixed Feelings before EP 4) and his personality is insufferable. He's not really fun to watch, and it sucks because I was actually looking forward to him when I saw his audition tape. Yeah the scheming's cool but I don't like him as either a person or as a contestant

Ivy: Her personality felt superficial and her conversation with Benji only confirmed what I already knew, that entire situation felt condescending. Bro just wanted to get an answer for why he wasn't included in the alliance and she goes "you just gotta find your peeps" as if 2/3 of the entire group weren't already in an alliance that was excluding him and "you voted for Spencer which doesn't help," which was because HE WASN'T TOLD ABOUT THE VOTE. Rooting for her downfall alongside 5/8 of the remaining Red Team member because I hate that six-person alliance. Blue Team FTW

Also my favorite pairings so far are Gabellie and Jaidan. Zaivy has potential to be interesting considering their drastically different backgrounds but we'll have to wait and see. I'm neutral on Anarissa, Huntessally and Tomjake and I dislike Spenciego

Rankings might change later

#disventure camp

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hiemaldesirae · 1 year ago

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please. I'm begging you for more crumbs about VADD!Shen Jiu and also that Roxana AU you have from that art post you did of the two.

As a VADD AND SVSSS fan, especially as a fan of the original villains— please. I AM FROTHING AT THE MOUTH FOR MORE. I'm actually in the process of outlining a crossover with the original goods of both.

God, the Roxana one as well— please, PLEASE TELL ME SJ IS ROXIE HE'S SO ROXANA-CODED SOMEHOW. GIVE HIM BUTTERFLIES AND POISON AND— *gets knocked out*

by the way, LOVE your artstyle. scratches an itch i did not know existed in my brain. your chibis as well. they're so cute!!

oh you have no idea how long ive waited to talk about them. this mayyy get a bit long so ill leave it under the readmore.

disclaimer: i intend on finishing these fics so what im going to be talking about is inspirations and unfinished / abandoned ideas and other ideas i have for the works instead of anything relating to the plots themselves

for svadd, sj is a lot more complicated than he appears to be on the surface. im not so sure if what i have written currently is what i /want/ exactly because i know i want his character to go a certain way. the relationships between him and his modern-day friends is one meant to parallel the in-game "shen qingqiu" sj compares himself to and in much the same way, mirror the way that sy contrasts himself with sqq in canon: but instead of being condescending and viewing sqq as a one dimensional character, sj is able to appreciate his nuance while still being rightfully angry over his actions

to me, sj is supposed to be an unreliable narrator who constantly enforces his own thoughts. he tells himself over and over that he misses his home and that he wants to go back, that he absolutely needs to- but then, he turns the other way and finds himself being sucked even deeper into this different one.

i also really wanted to explore how sjs dynamic with a lot of the characters would be affected knowing that they were "based off" his real friends, but again im not very confident with how it came off lol

there was a lot of points in the story where i attempted to add in foreshadowing for the ending i want the story to take... in any case, it definitely wont go the same way as vadd, though i did toy with the idea of a "version" of sy being the main villain haha

(it might still happen for shits and giggles)

as for the roxanna au there are a lot of things ive wanted to do with this au and its good that i havent posted because it means i can keep revising til i come up with something good lol

its a liujiu au with some bingyuan / cumplane thrown into the mix (the cumplane is overwhelmingly toxic btw bingyuan is the healthy one out of the two here 😭) where yes sj is xana !!! he really just makes such a good manhwa villainess haha

i had been puzzling over what i wanted his motif to be-- after all, sj is typically associated with the simplicity and calming bamboo so the glittering butterflies wouldnt work with him- but after some deliberation i decided with using moths for him :3c still subject to change ofc but i think im happy with this as is

the story is somewhat similar to how roxanna goes but surprise sj isnt the transmigrator here! (and honestly, roxanna wouldve been sm better if xana hadnt been a transmigrator... or maybe i just think that because it was only used as a convenient plot point for her to know crucial info. sigh.)

my outline of how the roxanna au goes is basically this:

lqg fucks around and finds out

sj who has been seeing dreams of the "book" sy read knows what will happen to his family if lqg dies

etc

at the same time: sy, transmigrator, attempts to make sure his only surviving older brother lives to a long happy life and the only way he can secure this is by fucking up that hack author

also i killed off qi-ge and idk if i want him to come back. he'll be like the stereotypical dead anime mother for this au lmao

hmm and i think thats all i have to say for these aus... thanks for giving me a chance to ramble on haha ~ much appreciated !! and thank you for the compliment, im flattered!! 🥹🥹💕

#ran rambles #quite literally #shen jiu #original shen qingqiu #svadd #sv x roxanna #svsss #svsss au

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inamindfarfaraway · 6 months ago

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Yeah, the only thing Cruella specifically had against the dogs was that it was so difficult to turn them into a coat. They were worth killing to look good to her because that's just how much she values all life, as expendable in the pursuit of her greatness through her fashion. Carlos absorbing her materialism is such an interesting concept.

The other three VKs each start out having ostensibly the same beliefs that made their parents evil, but with an underlying sympathetic twist rooted in their circumstances. Their drive isn't pure pride or greed or vanity, it's self-preservation. Fear rather than malice at the base, fear of the world or their own parents destroying them which is completely justified in their environment.

Mal: "Power is everything; love (especially romantic) is nothing", but unlike the totally confident Maleficent it's because "love makes you weak and I need to be strong, or I'm a failure". Learning that love is actually good and can make you stronger disarms her immoral traits.

Jay: "Success is everything (and all the better stolen through underhanded methods); trust is nothing", but unlike the entitled Ja'far, who acted out of sheer entitlement, it's because "I can't trust anyone, so I need to lie and steal to survive". Learning that he can rely on others and have sincere, non-transactional relationships disarms his immoral traits.

Evie: "Beauty is everything; all other qualities are worthless", but unlike the spiteful Evil Queen it's because "I'm unworthy and incapable on my own, and need beauty to win a boyfriend to take care of me". Learning that she has value beyond her appearance and can provide for herself disarms her immoral traits.

But Carlos doesn't HAVE any immoral traits! None of his unhealthy beliefs lead him to hurt others! He's the soft, nice, anxious youngest kid for Mal to boss around and Jay to pick on, and also the Smart One. He literally never does any tangible harm. Chad can’t even manage to accuse him of anything in his rant. And that isn't unrealistic. That is absolutely a type of abused kid. But if Descendants is meant to be a story about the type of abused kids who are messy and have selfish, antisocial coping mechanisms and could be written off as lost causes doomed to turn out like their criminal parents, and how that doesn't have to be true and seeing them that way will just make it more likely, Carlos is thematically out of place.

His role of the Smart One could intersect really smoothly with materialism, since he canonically has a way with gadgets. I'm imagining him collecting every scrap of broken, discarded technology he can find, tinkering with them, fixing them, turning them into tools and weapons that are more helpful to a gang on the Isle. Everyone else has tools and weapons, knives and swords and bats and pipes and crowbars, but nobody has what he has. Or if they do, they can’t accomplish the same results with them. Nobody can offer his allies what he can. He’s different, special, gifted. At this one thing, he’s the best. Is he physically weak? Yes. Bad in a straight fight? Yes. Unimposing, neurotic and easily frightened? Yes. Would he get obliterated without his gang’s protection? Yes. And he knows it, he knows it all too well. Cruella loves to remind him of how pathetic he is. So he desperately clings to the notion that he can prove his worth and secure his safety by producing works as brilliant as his mother’s fur coats. They have to be perfect. He has to be perfect. If what he builds is faulty or useless, so is he. He affects a cold, haughty, misanthropic detachment from people and animals to disguise his vulnerability, acting condescending and dismissive to everyone outside his gang in a less angry imitation of Cruella’s callousness. But it’s obvious that he cares about his friends and he drops that mask around them. He just doesn’t understand that yet because unconditional love doesn’t fit into his framework. Cruella is an obsessive mad artist with a superiority complex who creates objects that aren’t strictly practical for personal gain and will cause innocents any degree of senseless pain to achieve her selfish goals. Carlos is an equally obsessive mad scientist with an inferiority complex who creates objects that are entirely practical for his friends’ gain, is averse to directly causing pain and has partly selfless goals all along.

Auradon is a dream come true. On top of escaping Cruella, the vast improvements in scientific knowledge, application and education allow him to expand and hone his engineering skills more than he ever could have before, therefore increasing his worth. He’s the least invested in the evil scheme, as he’s lost faith in ever earning his mother’s approval and Maleficent’s world where the strong dominate the weak is not one he’s suited for in body or spirit. But Auradon is. His horizons are endless with the laws against magic levelling the playing field. He can be invaluable to this whole society! Even thinking it will fall apart, he’s determined to get the most out of his studies.

A distraction like the wretched, stupid campus mutt is the last thing he needs. They really should have put that thing down by now. You matter as much as you can give, and all Dude can possibly offer his human overlords is hassle, fleas, mess and injuries. He isn’t trained to do any jobs. He’s too plain and common to be a status symbol. His coat is hideous and not particularly soft or warm, were you to skin him. Why would anyone want such a useless creature?

Oh.

That’s why.

Well, shit. Long live good.

His inherited belief is “objects are everything; living things are worthless”, but it’s because “…above all myself, unless my material output can justify my existence”. Learning that no living thing, not even a stray dog, needs to justify its existence disarms his immoral traits. That’s a Villain Kid arc!

Now I’ve got to alter his character design accordingly. On the Isle, his clothes are big, bulky and layered, protecting him but making him look tiny, and covered in pockets that store his arsenal of equipment, along with a tool belt or two. He views himself exclusively as a vessel for his productivity. You should be able to picture his section of the gang’s hideout in utter disarray and him insisting that he has a system. His hair is slightly longer, wild and matted. His gloves have full fingers to defend his hands from burns and they and his sleeves are singed. He has black makeshift goggles with red-tinted lenses that he uses to shield his eyes and try to be a little scarier in the field, as seen in “Rotten to the Core”. His design is a cluttered, asymmetrical mess that conveys ‘eccentric, workaholic engineer’ and ‘underfed, overburdened workhorse’ and, in deliberate contrast to his mother, that he couldn’t care less what he looks like or how people perceive him. In Auradon, his outfits progressively get more comfortable and better fitting to reflect his lowering guard and improving mental health. He loses the layers. He pays increasing attention to hygiene, washing and brushing his hair. He trades the goggles for red-tinted sunglasses (growing up beneath a constant sheet of clouds would give the VKs light sensitivity) and switches to fingerless gloves to match his friends when not actively doing hazardous science, because he has other hobbies and a richer life outside that now. Most of his tools are transferred to a box in his room as he comes to trust that no one will take them. He learns to enjoy his clothes. To enjoy his life. And finally at the coronation, he turns out to clean up nicely in a formal suit. Just by finding control and confidence in self-care and self-expression, he ends up being more fashionable than Cruella has in years.

ok further thought having finished re-watching the OG Descendants:

not only is Cruella de Vil wildly out of place in a line up of otherwise fairytale & fairytale-adjacent villains the film also just completely fails to grasp her as a character?

Like: Jay's thing is that he was raised to be selfish and only look out for number one and he learns the value of being a good team player. Evie was raised to think being beautiful is the only thing that matters and learns that she's actually smart and talented. they're both solid character arcs w good messages for the audience and engage with what made their respective parents evil.

Carlos's thing is that he was. raised to think dogs are bad and then learns that dogs are nice? problems here:

a. this isn't a Growth Arc like the others bcos its not like he was raised to think dogs suck bcos love & friendship are bad his mother straight up lied to him that they're dangerous and as soon as he met one he realised they're not. he doesn't have a personal flaw to work on, he was just ignorant.

like there's shades of a good arc here w idk his mother having raised him to think love&friendship are overrated and that the only thing that matters is what people can provide for you? he would be all like 'what's the point of having a dog they're nuisances who just eat and poop all day' and then he would learn about unconditional love. but no that's not what happens bcos his mother just lied to him about what dogs are.

& this stands out bcos the other character journeys are actually very solid!!

b. hating dogs. was never Cruella's thing? Cruella's thing is consumerism. she's into furs bcos it's a way of showing off how rich and powerful she is and slaughtering 99 puppies just to make the world's fanciest coat is the ultimate expression of her conspicuous consumption. its a custom baby seal leather boots situation.

so like Cruella's kid's issue should be having been raised to value material goods over people's feelings which is an arc that absolutely could be resolved by him befriending a dog but again the root cause of his issue with dogs is that they're 'rabid pack animals'

aughhhh (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻

#i LOVE carlos. he's my boy. and i do appreciate the irony of cruella treating him like an abused dog #but this is a really fun idea as well and more thematically and narratively cohesive #plus: the running joke of him having whatever you could think on him seemingly at all times #carlos de vil #descendants #disney descendants #descendants rewrite

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madewithonerib · 8 hours ago

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youtube

NEVER make conversation with "the woman" | Manis Friedman

I don't understand this: You shared in another clip how your mentor played dumb so as to never correct a woman's husband in-front of her—this way the husband doesn't lose his man card; and in another session, that it is extremely difficult for couples to build on their existing connection if they try to be intimate with the lights on, or if they are angry or tired or drunk—so short of you entering a situation where you're stuck in a power outage: Why wouldn't you be able to control yourselves, when it is so difficult to get intimate with your spouse—whom you are much more motivated to & familiar with?

You also mentioned how Adam's missing rib is finally returned to him when he enters in a marriage union with a woman, so if we are made one in marriage: Why would this pose a problem? Anger/Revenge?

It sounds like the specific rib is always singularly meant for one man; and this you explained is how cool it is that GOD causes a confluence of events to bring these two together..

In a Church setting, I suppose the NT agrees that married women never ask others for answers—besides their husband, but there is no moratorium on single people. In the end, it sounds contradictory to assume anything meaningful would come from a handshake..?

Plus it sounds like wo/men can't work together. . ever

Unless you're attracted to s/o, other than your spouse, it makes little to no sense to beg out of most situations with an explanation—but it also seems odd, as you mentioned w/ A&E, that GOD has HIS reasons.. meaning HE would not allow it without an explicit reason or lesson behind a temptation: i.e. don't eat of the fruit [eyes bulging] towards the vine, to enact HIS plans for redemption.

I'm still so new at this concept of redemptive reversals. So I wonder if there are any such instances where you slipped on this rule & shook someone's hand, and it hurt you morally &/or spiritually but it also somehow helped to draw you closer to GOD & your fellow woman?

Or was that the caveat to gain discernment, that in the end, wisdom is knowing when to not trust yourself with ppl you don't care about? Because at that point, the flesh [animal soul] will come out & attack or take advantage of the unsuspecting?

Less than two years ago, I heard some comedians commiserate about the genius & tragedy of Bill Cosby, the single-most successful comedian in the history of man. And they said most people in the biz respected him, and they themselves struggle with their own demons but GOD forbid they luckily never got to that level of breaking bad.

P.S. I have witnessed the playing dumb card that some "teachers" try to pull on women who ask them pointed questions & it comes across as disrespectful, the same way you say we shouldn't condescend to our children & spouses when they say something that holds truth to it. But it seems there is a high level of deception men are allowed in dealing with women & even encouraged to do this—very old school thinking & it is holding a double standard.

How can you strive to be genuine & still recommend this? You said marriage should not be about love, but all the things that make for lasting foundational basis for relating to one another [respect, honesty, kindness, patience, transparency, etc.]

P.S.S. I still think the material GOD inspired you on the differences between wo/men, marriage success, and the implications of what brings about different POV/breaking points in the gender wars & marriage tranquility is beyond brilliant.

#Manis Friedman #intimacy #public settings #handshake deal #work #greeting #anger management #breaking bad #transparency #Thank GOD no more old school thinking

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notverybigbrain · 1 year ago

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I don't even know how to start this. An apology probably. You didn't need this. You deserve better than this, than me. You have enough going on without me throwing this at you. Catch, I guess. Your kindness to me throughout our friendship so far has been nothing short of wonderful and I'm afraid I may have to ask for it one more time.

Guess I should just not waste your time and put my cards on the table. I have feelings for you. There are so many reasons I shouldn't. Our friendship is something I hold so closely to my heart and I do not want to risk losing it, losing you. I want to make it clear that my feelings do not have to mean the end of our friendship in my eyes, this isn't all or nothing. I understand though if this is too much for you. Your religion is another, I do not want to put you in a position where you feel like you have to disrespect that or choose between me and it. I'd always give way in that case, it means more to you than I ever could or should. Also you are so busy. You have so much happening in your life that I am totally understanding that I don't have any right to ask to fit in to that.

But I guess here I am doing it.

You deserve an explanation so here goes.

There are things I see in you that I'm certain you don't see in yourself. I've said before how incredible you are and meeting you in person just reinforced that over and over again throughout the day. You're beautiful. I had to stop myself many times from just saying it, and yes there was one time I couldn't stop myself. I meant it though, you truly are stunning. The patience you showed me throughout the day as it was so overwhelming to be there. Not just for my first event like that but to be with someone who over the course of the day I realised I was falling for. Hard. The way you introduced me to your friend group with such kind words about me, words that I will always be grateful for and words that I will never live up to but thank you. My heart is so much more full because of such incredible shows of kindness that show you to be an amazing person with the kindest heart I have ever met. I've been so impressed by you even before we met, with the strength you have shown to face everything you are facing, to take the emotional beatings you have been taking and still managing to come out the other side as this wonderful person who I am so grateful to know and call a friend. Without meaning to sound too condescending and belittling, I am so proud of you. You have already achieved so much, you are on the way to achieve so much more and the fact that you are doing all this while still holding on to this incredible heart of yours is nothing short of inspirational. It is a genuine honour to be around you and witness what you are doing. Your creative work is incredible, and I see you improving all the time. You will be unstoppable, you know that right?

I know I have been there for you a lot recently and I will continue to always be there for as long as you want me to, and believe me I do appreciate you thanking me for that. However I need to say that I don't think you realise what you have done for me at the same time. You have been, and continue to be a light at the end of so many tunnels that I've been fighting my way through recently, you have been an absolute rock and seeing a notification from you is enough to just park my worries temporarily and allow me to focus on something in my life that I have genuine love for. Thank you. I owe you.

I'm not telling you this because I want to hear it in return. I'm telling you this because I need you to know, I never want to keep anything from you and we have said to each other before that we should always feel comfortable to open up to each other. I fully accept that I may well have crossed a line here and if you're angry with me, I accept responsibility. I'm not asking you to feel the same. I'm not asking for a change in our relationship. I just can't keep this from you anymore. I'm sorry. I love you.

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zachsreaderinserts · 4 years ago

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sapnap, dream, tommy, and c! techno x s/o who cried while arguing headcannons

FIRST REQUEST OOGA BOOGA OOGA BOOGA

also im about to hit 100 followers! thank y’all sm!!!

edit: so uh, i didnt know tommy didn’t like to be written in romantic x readers, that was on me 100% so i changed it to platonic!!

wc: 1,285

SAPNAP

as we all know, sapnap is a little bitch when he’s arguing with someone, compiled with lots of yelling, screaming, and probably physical gestures.

so, it was no surprise that when you had brought up the fact that he had been neglecting his chores around your house, that he retaliated almost instantly

“i’ve been sitting in the office the last few days working! i don’t know what you want from me!”

somehow, with you being you and sapnap being sapnap, the argument escalates really fucking fast

to the point where his voice is starting to get hoarse and you’re pretty much shaking in retaliation, regretting ever bringing up the entire argument

sapnap’s too blinded by his anger to realize that you were not fine and were backing yourself into the dining room table in attempt to seperate yourself from the situation

and when he turned to glare at you and continue his point, he paused when he saw the tears building up in your eyes and the fearful look you had

he dropped the argument almost instantly and darted over to you, holding you by the shoulders. you couldn’t even form any words, just blubbering as he squeezed you close

you apologized for crying, but he didn’t want to hear shit. he felt guilty for letting the argument escalate like that and the both of you said sorry for the entire situation as a whole.

at the end of the day, you still love each other, y’know?

DREAM

dream’s biggest problem when arguing is that he can’t truly decipher what is an insult and what is a light jab to his ego.

it was during a stream that you had made a joke, something about dream resembling his smp! rendition of his character and that irked dream automatically

after the stream, he came into your room and addressed it, but anyone could see how quietly pissed off he was. and already, you were angry because he was angry

so, you bit back. told him that you were sorry about how he felt and how you pressed his buttons, but not sorry for making the joke. it wasn’t meant to be taken the way he did and that was his fault for stewing over it

mans is angry

so, a shouting match starts up, naturally and it gets heated real fucking quick

“you don’t get to decide whether or not i should blow over a joke!”

(wanted to say that in this argument, you’re both valid, but the way you went about it is not)

it gets to the point where dream’s all up in your face, shouting about how annoying it is for you to be making jokes like that and how he found it unfunny and shit.

which isn’t a bad criticism but also, with how he’s yelling it to your face, it hits a little different but not in a good way. you’re practically swallowing back the tears as he keeps ranting about it.

and when he pauses to let you argue back and speak and you respond with a voice crack that gave away how you truly felt. dream looked back over at you to see you wiping at your eyes, trying to push the emotions back

the vibes shift into something calmer, still heated, but not as bad as it was. he walked back to you and hugged you, letting you let all the emotion out.

from then on, you two talked about it quietly and respectfully, making sure to keep the intense emotions on standby.

and hey! you’re still holding his hand by the end of it.

TOMMY

this fucking rat of a man has a hard time trying to keep his emotions on standby and not go ape shit. knowing tommy, it’s probably a longstanding problem that’s been around his entire life

so, you’re pissed at him first for him blowing up your house on the smp. i mean, i can’t blame you, i’d be just as pissed. that house had been around since the beginning and it held everything you worked for on the server

tommy found it dumb that you had such an angry reaction and began to argue back that it truly didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things and that you were being out of pocket

“c’mon, you know that i didn’t mean for it to hurt you like this and this isn’t a reaction you should be having.”

he keeps mostly level headed the entire argument, but you can tell by how he’s gritting his teeth and how his eyebrows are furrowed that he’s getting annoyed

and then he raises his voice, the coil keeping his frustration snapping along with it. you’re shocked to say the least and start to feel invalidated for him reacting the way he is. while his frustration is all anger, yours is more sad.

tommy stops his harsh tone when he notices the sorrowful look on your face and reels back, taking control of himself. he says that you two need a moment to recollect so you can discuss this again at a later time

despite the argument still lingering hours later, tommy is just as kind as he was before it, making sure to let you know that he still appreciates you no matter what the situation was

and whenever you did discuss it again, tommy and you made a little system to let him know whenever he took it too far. he felt better knowing that you were no longer upset with him and you feel better knowing that he was willing to try and understand you.

C! TECHNOBLADE

techno is fucking notorious for being an especially condescending little arsehole, it’s canon both in his character and irl

so, he takes on a more emotionless and rough approach at the sign of any sort of criticism. he’d rather you think of him as a bitch than let you see that he was any sort of empathetic.

it was when you got onto him for never sleeping that he showed this side of himself. you couldn’t even see it in his body language that he was upset and that made you angrier.

techno was pissed, 100%, but he wanted the upper hand. he refused to let you see him vulnerable.

“i don’t think it’s as big of a deal as you’re making it out to be. why can’t you just ignore it?”

he keeps drawing out the arguing, somehow countering your very valid points to about how disorganized or lazy you were. rather than accepting the criticism, he forced it onto you.

and with every point he spoke, you felt your heart hurt just a little more. he was nitpicking at that point and that hurt more than anything else. he knew you felt insecure about certain things and you just couldn’t see why he wasn’t showing the proper emotions in this argument

eventually your mind became so muddled that you were even aware that you were crying. techno immediately stopped talking and stared at you in slight shock. he made you cry.

the voices were quiet, not giving him instructions or advice. he was on his own.

techno marched forward and held your face, wiping away the tears as quickly as they fell. you just looked up at him, showing so much pain, that his expression broke instantly. he looked like he was about to cry at the sight of your crying

you guys never got back to the argument but it was clear that he was sorry for what he had done. every time he came to bed early proved that enough and on those nights, he held you just a little bit tighter.

#sapnap #sapnap x reader #dreamwastaken #dreamwastaken x reader #tommyinnit #tommyinnit x reader #c!techno #c!technoblade x reader #technoblade x reader #technoblade #dream smp #dreamsmp x reader #mcyt x reader #minecraft youtubers #minecraft youtubers x reader

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what-even-is-thiss · 3 years ago

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Bi/pan lesbians are allowed to identify that way, the rest of us are allowed to be insulted by it. Negative feelings are just as valid as positive ones, and positive feelings aren't automatically correct just because they make you feel good. Bisexual women who want to feel extra special can call themselves lesbians, but they shouldn't be surprised by the hate. Lesbian may have just meant wlw in the past, but today it means women exclusively attracted to women. Language evolves, that's good, yea?

Maybe it’s because I’m from the asexual community where we’re like “yeah here’s the basic definition but if you feel like the label helps you even if you don’t perfectly fit it that’s cool too” but I feel like you’re kind of getting angry over something with little to no consequences.

Also if you’re talking about that tiktok with the lesbian staring off her pride flag after she had sex with a man, you do know that you can have consensual sex with people you’re not attracted to, right? People do it all the time. Sex isn’t some inherently sacred act that can only be performed when sparks are flying.

Also, I’m a gay trans man that has no memory of ever making a post about bisexual lesbians? Why are you spending your energy on me in particular?

Also also, why are you sending hate to anybody? Even setting aside how rude it is, if they’re not immune to hate by now they’re just gonna be made depressed and not learn anything and if they are immune to hate by now then they’re just automatically not gonna take seriously any mean or condescending comments. I know this because it’s happened to me. If someone is telling me a good point but it’s couched in an insult I won’t listen to it. Because I’ve had a following on the internet for a while and that’s what happens to you for the sake of your own self-preservation. You stop listening to hate because if you don’t your mental health will spiral very quickly. If you actually believe these things, maybe don’t advocate for sending hate and wording your points so condescendingly because it automatically makes me not trust you. If you actually believe that you’re right about this and actually want to convince people, you need to learn how to give proper criticism and pick your battles.

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astoryisaloveaffair · 3 years ago

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Fix You - Chapter 12: Free Fallin’

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Fem!Reader

Fic Masterlist

Read on A03

Spotify Playlist

»»———————►

Chapter Summary: You and Frankie have to look inwards when you get into a fight

Word Count: 9500

Rating: 18+, Explicit, Lemon

*If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature and explicit themes, kinks, and violence. Additionally, you understand and acknowledge warnings may not be present to avoid spoilers for the story*

Chapter Warnings: age gap (10-15 years), cussing, drinking, ANGST, PiV, oral (m rec), exhibitionism, SOFTNESS, Frankie being a dick

A/N: Hello and welcome BACK my friends, I couldn’t leave you hanging that long without posting so here we go! LETS GET INTO IT! Shit’s really picking up now so prepare for multiple scene shifts. We are also getting a Santiago POV!! This chapter does have more of a limitation on where reader lives, but it had to be this way because it’s significant to the story. BIG big shoutout to my babe @musings-of-a-rose for being a cheerleader, sounding board, and for making the chapter moodboard I AM IN TEARSSSS. I also dedicate this chapter to @moralesfish who made an amazing fancam for this fic last week! Go check it out pleassseee!

Suggested Songs: “Free Fallin’” by Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers, “Yellow” by Coldplay, “Runnin’ Down a Dream” by Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers, “Let Down” by Radiohead, “Where It Stays” by Charlotte OC

“What the fuck are you doing?”

You freeze, your heart dropping in your chest. Shit. You turn to face him and grimace, sloppily shoving the paperwork back into the dresser without even looking to see where it was going.

It’s hard to look at him. His jaw is clenched so tight you swear you can hear his teeth grinding as the muscles twitch and shift in his cheeks, his entire body is stiff as a board, hands at his sides in fists, opening and closing, fingers twitching. His eyes…are so wide, his brow so furrowed, it makes you look away because keeping eye contact with those hard black eyes staring angrily in yours actually physically hurts.

“I asked you a question.” Somehow, him not yelling made it sound even worse.

You look at your feet. “I was…just trying to help.”

“By snooping through all my shit and trying to find all the things you can fix about me?!”

You jerk back at the jab, the harshness of it making you feel like you were shot in the chest. “No! Frankie…I meant I was just trying to help you with your laundry! I didn’t know there was anything even in there. It was an accident!” You can feel the tears welling in your eyes and you subtly pinch the bridge of your nose to keep them at bay, playing it off like it’s an irritated tic. You heave a sigh and return your gaze to Frankie’s. “Look, I was just putting your clothes away and I got a papercut and I was wondering what —”

He cuts you off, his voice cold and stern. “I don’t need you to clean up after me. I’m not a child.”

“Um. I know that, I thought I was doing you a favor. You don’t need to be condescending. Why the fuck are you being so mean? Throwing the things I told you back in my face? I told you that in confidence, I don’t do that anymore.”

“Yea, you told me in confidence, and I didn’t show you this at all, so if you’re mad, maybe you can understand how the fuck I feel.”

You could never have prepared yourself for how this anger would feel when it was directed at you. It swells and burns, and when the pangs in your chest abate and your chest swells, you realize you're getting angry too. Before you can stop yourself, you snap back. “Well, who hides something in a dresser drawer?! And why are you hiding shit anyways? I don’t have any secrets from you. But I’m starting to feel like you do.”

“Get out.” His eyes are completely hollow, devoid of any emotion whatsoever. You almost don’t even process what he’s saying. Your heart drops into your stomach, throbbing as you stand and stare at him. “What?”

“Get out of my house.”

“...Are you serious?”

Still no emotion. He looks like a robot, but not the cute Wall E kind. More like Hal 9000. Or an IG-Series.

He continues. “I don’t like having to repeat myself.”

Who is this person? You grit your teeth to stave off the tears once more, swallowing thickly before you look up at him and fix him with a glare to match his own. “Fine.”

You push past him to the bedroom, grabbing the overnight bag you’d set down in there when you came to the house a few hours before, not making any eye contact as you stuff your things back in and zip it up. You can feel the tears finally swelling and cresting over your lower eyelids and you would rather die than let him see it, so you stare at the ground and hustle past him without a word. You manage a shaking goodbye to Gabi as you rush past, opening the door and shutting it with a slam just to piss him off as you stomp to your car, get in, and leave.

All you can feel is rage as you drive, and you try to calm yourself by surfing your Spotify shuffle, choosing some vintage Eminem and screaming the lyrics in your car. You feel like you’d never been so pissed in your entire life, the fact that Frankie chose to take something you told him with trust and throw it back at you sets you into such a violent temper that you actually kind of want to drive back over there and barrel your car right into his truck or something.

Okay, so maybe you should just turn the music off. You smack the dial to switch off the sound transmitting through your aux cord to your phone, releasing a heavy sigh. How the fuck did that even happen? Everything was fine, so incredibly domestic, only to devolve into that? You’d imagined how cute he’d be when he came home exhausted to find his things washed and put away, clutching you close to his chest as he presseskisses all over your face.

But instead he flipped out like a fucking psycho over some papers you didn’t even understand, and why? He’d just told you he trusted you. You’d been completely open with him, fuck, you let him tie you up and fuck you rough and raw with the amount of trust you had in him. Why didn’t he trust you? What was he hiding?

You simmer on the drive home, and as your anger abates, the lava of it melts and oozes, sliding off your heart and exposing once again the real source of your ire.

This really fucking hurts.

You don’t text Frankie the rest of the night and none the next day, but he didn’t text you either so it didn’t feel vindictively fulfilling for you. You’d cried yourself out that night, burritoed in your bed, but now you just sit in various places glaring at your phone, hovering between wanting him to contact you and not, you texting him or not. You finally just turn the damn thing off and veg out catching up on shows.

Late in the evening when you finally turn it back on, you feel a rush of happiness to see Frankie in your banners, and you hate yourself for it. You hate yourself even more when you see the messages.

Frankie 🐈🐟: Are you coming for your shift tomorrow or should I find someone else

Frankie 🐈🐟: Please let me know ASAP

You pull your lips into a hard line, the muscles of your jaw churning, seizing with tension that travels down your neck and shoulders and worsens the mini headache already starting to form from crying all day. All business. No acknowledgement of what happened. No apology. No request to talk it out. Just what you can do for him. Fuck. Him. It makes you almost sick to your stomach and you consider telling him to fuck off, but you don’t. You like the job. You love Gabi. You want the pay.

Yep. I’ll be there.

You wait, hoping maybe this would leave the door ajar for him to reach out and say something, but as the seconds slip by and you get no response at all, you finally get impatient and throw your phone across the room. At the exact time that it chimes.

“Son of a bitch…” You crawl back to your phone and flip it over, wondering what he said. A thumbs up. And nothing else for the rest of the night.

You can be petty. You know it. It’s not your favorite thing to admit about yourself but sometimes just being sooooo fucking petty makes the hurt sting less, makes the anger feel like it has been fed.

When Frankie opens the door for you Friday evening, you breeze through without acknowledging him at all, ignoring his hardened expression while he stares at you with an open mouth. You do the absolute most greeting Gabriela, more dramatic than your normal greeting, but she doesn’t seem to notice or care, running towards you with a shout as you lift her into your arms.

“Hi baby” You murmur into her soft curls. After putting her down you start setting up a movie for the two of you facing away from Frankie, who is still standing frozen at the front door.

“Hey..” His voice is low, and incredibly soft. It makes your heart lurch, an uncomfortable twinge radiating through your heart to your arteries and out through your body like you’d been stabbed with a knife and severed them. It would be so easy to relent, turn around and run to him, hug him, tell him it’s okay, but your stubborn streak flares up instead. You did nothing wrong.

You completely ignore him.

He slams the door on his way out.

“Remind me again what it was she found?” Santiago leans back in the booth, flinging an arm across the seat top.

“My paperwork. My suspension, trial date, all that.” Frankie refills his glass with another round of beer from the pitcher.

Will’s brow furrows. “I thought you said you’d already told her about that.”

“I did, but it’s another thing completely to be looking through my things and reading what a fuckhead I am on paper.” The table goes silent, the tension so thick it’s like they can feel it compressing them even as they sit. Frankie has been unbearable the past few days, cranky and irritable, morose and slightly paranoid in a way Santiago hasn’t seen in a long time. Usually he understands. This time, it pisses him off.

“I think you’re creating drama when there doesn’t need to be any, as usual.” Santiago says pointedly, shrugging nonchalantly at Frankie’s answering glare.

“What?”

He puts his hands up, his palms facing Frankie in the universal sign of calm. down. “Consider this. Take one second and use that dumb ass brain of yours and consider the fact that she might just have been cleaning up your house to make your life easier, like a good girlfriend, and she wasn’t snooping around. That what she said is true.”

“I’m not a dumbass.”

“You kind of are, because every time something gets fucked up, it’s you that did it. You sabotage your own damn self and you’re doing it right now. So I gotta call it out.”

Frankie bristles for a second at the insults, but quickly settles back down, slumping into the seat back of the booth, cupping his palms around his mug. “Yea. Yea…I — I know…I flew off the handle and then I guess I dug my feet in and got stubborn because I didn’t want to look like a dick for yelling at her, and now she won’t even talk to me. I did it to myself.”

“You’re fucking stupid.” Says Benny.

“Fuck you Ben, you haven’t been able to keep a girlfriend for more than a month.”

“Not all of us have had the perfect fucking girl dropped right in their lap. And she actually likes you back! You!”

Frankie stands up abruptly, his hips colliding with the table and jostling it, shaking their beer and spilling some of it across the bar top. He slams his palm down on the surface and gets right in Benny’s face. “Hey, fuck you man.”

Benny stands up too, shoving Frankie back. “Nah, fuck YOU!”

Santiago is done. “HEY. SIT THE FUCK DOWN. BOTH OF YOU. AND SHUT THE FUCK UP.”

Both men turn and stare at him, as well as several other customers in the bar. Their chests heave and swollen like some ridiculous pompous birds that haven’t even attracted a mate yet. Frankie opens his mouth to argue but Santiago cuts him off.

“No. That’s it. I’ve fucking had it. This is absolutely ridiculous. Benny, learn some tact. Frankie, get your goddamn tail between your legs and go fucking talk to her. You’re fucking wrong. Right now. Get the fuck out of here.”

“I —”

“Get out of here or I’ll bitch slap you. MOVE OUT.”

Frankie jerks, an audio trigger response buried deep within before giving him a soft nod, his lips twisting about his face as he throws some money on the table and slides out of the booth.

The drive home is agonizing. What does he even say? How can he even explain how he reacted? How can he explain that sometimes he gets so mad in the moment he can’t see just how completely and utterly wrong he is. That when he realizes it, sometimes he still won’t admit it, because he doesn’t want to feel the shame and guilt of being wrong. That he’s completely fucked up and creates his problems himself, then runs away from accountability because it’s easier. That you should find someone who’s better, nicer, less stubborn, who has a stable temper and doesn’t have all his baggage. That he might never change, but he’s too fucking greedy to give you up.

He doesn’t even get an opportunity. The moment he opens the door you’re up, your crossbody already slung across your chest so you could get away from him as fast as possible. And it shatters his heart. As you drive away he realizes, you didn’t even take your pay. You’d been that desperate to get away from him.

I ruin everything.

Luckily for you, that had been your last shift before Gabi went to Lex’s for two weeks. Two weeks. Maybe enough time to calm down and process what happened. You almost spoke to him that night. You wanted to, but once you realized he was trying to reach out you decided instead to dig your heels in. No you cannot talk to me. Sit in your fucking feelings for a bit, like you did to me.

He texts you for days straight.

Frankie 🐈🐟: Baby

—

Frankie 🐈🐟: Please talk to me

—

Frankie 🐈🐟: I love you

—

Frankie 🐈🐟: I’m really sorry

But after a week, nothing. And not the day after, or the day after that. After several more silent days, you hear from someone else.

Dali🌻: Hey babe, what you up to today? I’m bored.

So were you. You’d done nothing but sit around your apartment watching bullshit. You were growing tired of maintaining the anger.

Not doing anything. Wanna come over?

She does, giving you a tight hug when you open the door for her. “I brought wine, fancy cheese, and Pride and Prejudice!” She declares.

“BBC or Keira Knightly?”

She scoffs. “Keira Knightly, obvs. I can’t be here all week.”

You laugh and hug her again, stepping aside so she can deposit everything on your kitchen counter, not wasting any time before breaking open the wine. She offers you the first glass, then pours herself one, before pulling out all the cheese and crackers she bought, arranging them neatly on a plate.

“I’m such a whore for a charcuterie board.”

“MMmm me too.”

The two of you bring your wine and snacks to your coffee table, settling in a giant blanket together for the movie, only pausing once to order some pizza.

“Thanks for coming over.” You mutter as the credits begin rolling.

Dali smiles softly. “Of course. Are you okay? I know you and Frankie are in a weird place, but you haven’t answered anyone else either.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. We just care about you. Benny’s pretty beside himself though. Look…we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want but I love you and I’m here for you—”

“I think I ruined it.”

“What do you mean?”

“He…he reached out to me last week, a lot. I ignored him. And he isn’t anymore. I was just so mad. He told me to ‘get out of his house’. I…that really shocked me. He’s never talked to me like that before. It was like he was a different person. Who talks to someone they love like that?”

“Maybe a rough mess of man who cares so much about what you think of him that he has completely irrational reactions to stupid shit he thinks will change your opinion of him but he did that on his own by being an asshole.”

You stare at her. “Dali…what the fuck.”

She shrugs, taking the last sip of her wine. “I’m dating someone very similar. But I don’t think yours choked a guy out in the grocery store.”

“No— but. Wait WHAT?!”

She widens her eyes, her lips resting on the rim of her wine glass as she nods, then takes a big gulp. “You didn’t know? I’d figured Frankie would have told you.”

“No. I mean, I could tell there was something in Will’s past but Frankie thought it should be up to him to tell me, and I never asked. Now the barbecue we had on the Fourth makes so much more sense.”

“He wanted to keep that side of him a secret from me too. I mean, I get it. His fiance’ left him soon after that. But he’s getting better, and I don’t give a shit what he did in the past. I care about who he is now. And he’s never going to be perfect.”

“I didn’t ask for perfection, I asked for honesty. And I want respect.”

“I know…”

You sigh, leaning back against the back of your couch. “Fuck.” You pause, pursing your lips as you try to articulate what you’re thinking. “I think…I probably pushed the ‘ignoring him out of spite’ too far and he’s done with me anyways.”

“I can tell you with absolute certainty that he is not.”

“Yeah?”

“Yup. He is so fucking in love with you, talks about you all the time. Quite annoying actually.” She teases. You stick your tongue out at her.

The two of you end up crushing almost two bottles of wine and watching movies late into the night, finally collapsing in a giggly heap in your bed, dead to the world.

What only feels like minutes later, several loud dings yank you right back out of that sleep, and you moan dramatically as you flop onto your back, rubbing your face. Dali is sitting up next to you, texting furiously.

“Hey, morning!”

You groan. “You are way too chipper for this morning.”

“Hangover?”

You groan.

“I have a remedy. You like pancakes?”

You and Dali meet up with Will and get breakfast, the sweet carb and protein goodness doing wonders to settle your head and stomach. Maybe it’s Will’s presence, or maybe it’s the pancakes, perhaps it’s even both, but by the end of the meal you’re feeling much better. There’s something about Will that is just so comforting to fold into when shit hits the fan. He just seems so solid, so mentally strong, you can see why Frankie confides in Will the most about his sobriety.

“I don’t understand how you can get shot in the stomach and just be like, ‘okay well that was a small annoyance, let me continue on with my day.’”

Will smirks, lifting his shoulders in an uneven shrug. “Non-vital organs. That time. Headshot was worse.”

“Fuck.” You murmur. “I…don’t really know what to say to that other than that sucks and I’m really sorry you had to go through that.

“It is what it is. I’m here. That’s all I can ask for.”

Dali reaches out her hands, threading her fingers through his. You look down at your plate, not wanting to intrude on an intimate moment, lifting your eyes when you hear him speaking again.

“We’ve all been through a lot. Shoulda died many times. Fish too. Kinda puts stuff in perspective that some shit just ain’t that important. He made a mistake. He’s really sorry. You should talk to him.”

You scrub your face with your hands. “Yea, alright. I know. I’ll go over there after this.”

After several hugs and more words of support, you jump in your car and head to Frankie’s. It’s a rainy day, somewhat gloomy, and a light fog permeates the semi swampy neighborhood Frankie lives in. His truck is there when you pull up, but the lights are dark, so you decide to knock on the door rather than just burst in.

It takes a few knocks for him to answer the door.

“God dammit Pope— oh.” The irritation on his face shifts immediately, eyes widening into that puppy dog look like his eyelids are just drooping down his face. “Hi.”

“Hey. Ummmmmm can I come in?”

He blinks several times before almost jumping out of your way. “Yea! Yea…please come in, you don’t have to ask.”

You step inside and lean against the back of the couch. “Well, last time I was here, you kicked me out.”

He swallows. “Yea…look I’m really sorry. I thought something else was happening and I completely overreacted. And then I didn't wanna admit I was wrong. But I was.”

“Why did you do that?”

“I dunno. I guess I think you’re gonna find something you hate about me and be done with me.”

You bite your lip, raising your gaze to look at him. He looks like shit. Still handsome, but also like shit. His hair is disheveled and slightly matted, he’s got huge bags under his eyes, and it looks like he may have been wearing the pajamas he was in for an entire week.

You bring his attention back to you. “Look, Frankie. I know it’s hard to trust people but please try. I’m not trying to find a defect in you. The only person that can push me away is you. But when you flip out like that, it makes me think you’re hiding something. Are you?”

He looks at you, the hurt so plain on your face, the sheer disappointment, and he can’t bear to ever see that look from you again. It’s too much. Too similar.

He lies. “No.” He steps forward, lifting your hand from your thigh and holding it in his. “There’s nothing else, I swear.”

“Okay. I’m sorry too.”

“For what?”

“For ignoring you. That was wrong too. I shouldn’t have done that. I was just really hurt, and mad.”

“Oh.” He looks down, not able to look you in the eyes. He can’t even understand why you think you would need to apologize to him, but here you are, doing just that. He glances up at you again, starts towards you then halts, hovering awkwardly in front of you instead. “Baby, can I…please hold you? Is that okay?” And fuck, when he looks like that you just can’t say no, you can’t resist that sad, droopy face and those pouty lips, those warm brown eyes, the coziness and warmth radiating off him. You step into his arms. He releases a stuttered breath, his arms wrapping around you and molding you into him, burying his face into your neck. He definitely has not been showering regularly, but you find you don’t much care. He still smells good. He smells like home.

He says your name. “...I love you. So fucking much. I’m really sorry.”

You thread your fingers into his matted curls. “I love you too. But please don’t ever talk to me like that again.” He nods and squeezes you harder.

Today was super important. Not as important as the suspension review next week, but definitely very important. Frankie was going to take you on the best date ever. He can’t stop beating himself up over your fight and how he talked to you, so he decided that he was going to make a grand gesture to show you how much he loved you and how sorry he was. He can feel the adrenaline pumping in his veins when you pull up to his house, bright and early.

You open the door of your car dramatically with your leg, heaving yourself out of the car. “Alright! I am here! At 8:00 AM! On a Saturday! Now tell me what we’re doing.”

He’s already bounding down the steps of the porch and all but skipping to you as you shut your car door, again with your foot. “Nope!” He opens his arms to you, bending at the knees and wrapping his strong arms around your thighs, lifting you up with a squeal as he rumbles with love-sick giggles. As he puts you down, he plants wet kisses all over your face and your neck, suckling one little spot and releasing it with a pop. He has stupidest grin on his face. It’s adorable. “It’s a surprise.”

His mood must be infectious cause you giggle back and step towards him, pinching his little tummy fat with your nails before swirling them out towards his hips.

He pushes you back with a chuckle. “No no no! None of that. Come on, hop in the truck, I’m almost done loading up.” On your way, you stand on your tiptoes to look over the bed of the truck and then the cab backseat, which is completely full, a blanket resting over everything and hiding it from view. Whatever he had planned, you knew it would be worth the wake up call. It was Frankie. If you were with him, you were going to have a good time.

The two of you stop at Starbucks for your caffeine fix, then hit the road. You spend the two hours chatting, arguing amicably about TV shows or movies, and singing along to a playlist that Frankie made for the trip that is solely made up of Tom Petty songs.

You’re not from Florida, you don’t really pay attention to where you’re going or the signs that pass, content to relax in Frankie’s beloved truck with your feet up on the dash, the sun shining on your bare legs and your hair tousled about by the wind, humming along to “Runnin’ Down a Dream.”

When he finally pulls to a stop with an ecstatic grin, you’re even more unsure of where you are.

“Frankie, why are we in front of a random house?” He says nothing, letting you figure it out, which doesn’t take long because there’s a sign on the lawn saying exactly what it is. Your mouth drops when you notice it, your heart lurching up into your throat and you jerk your gaze to Frankie, who is watching you with the softest fucking expression, and you just can’t help it, you start crying because Frankie has driven you to Gainesville and has brought you to Tom Petty’s childhood home.

A broken sob of joy and disbelief escapes your lips as you fling yourself to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and crying into the fabric of his shoulder. “Baby!” He chuckles. “Why are you crying?!”

You pull back, not even caring your face is a mess as you sniffle. “Because! You brought me to his house?! This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me!” You press yourself back into his neck, and he reaches an arm over to undo your seatbelt and drag you the rest of the way over to him and into his lap. He cups the back of your head and presses his nose into your hair, inhaling and exhaling with a sigh. “I love you so much babe.” You talk back to him but your mouth is still muffled by the breadth of his shoulder and the fabric of his shirt, and the only thing he hears is the cutest little muffled mumbling sounds. He slides the hand from the back of your neck to your cheek, cupping the other with his other hand, and pulls you back a little to look at your tear-stained face.

You’re starting to calm, and he swipes a tear away with his large thumb. “What was that?”

You sniffle. “I love you too.”

He pulls you to him with a hum, not caring about the salty taste of your lips from your tears. “Well, do you wanna get out and look around or not?”

The home is small and modest, with light gray paneling and a dark brown wooden door, a steel column on each side completely covered in pretty cascading ivy vines. The entire property is overflowing with plants, whether it’s from whomever lives there now or someone maintaining how it was when he lived here.

After leaving Tom’s house, Frankie takes you into downtown Gainesville, a pretty main street with little shops and even a Farmer’s Market. He’s patient as you meander up and down the aisles to visit every booth, even though you know he is bored out of his mind.

“Here.” You turn to him as you walk side by side. “Open your mouth.” He does, and you pop the most delicious and warm apple cider doughnut into his mouth.

“Oh fuck.” His moan is absolutely sinful, and you can feel your body responding to the sound as he grabs the baggy from you and stuffs two more into his mouth at one time.

“Frankie!” You chide, yanking the bag back. “You’re going to make yourself sick.” He whines like a baby and you laugh, ending up returning to the donut stall to get a bag for the house.

As the day fades to evening, Frankie hustles you to the truck to take you to your final destination. If you weren’t a blubbering mess before, you certainly are now. Frankie pulls into the parking lot of a massive park named after Tom Petty after he died, handing you warm insulated tote bags and ushering you forward deeper into the park. He urges you to sit as he whips out a picnic blanket and then starts emptying the tote bags with a ridiculous amount of food. Fried chicken, salad, biscuits, his world-famous mac and cheese he’d been promising to make you, and a homemade pie. You’re so overwhelmed with emotions you can’t even say anything.

After stuffing yourselves silly, you pack everything back up and put it back in the truck before taking a slow walk around the park, observing the sunset and just enjoying each other’s company. You tell Frankie about how your dad introduced you to the music, and it reminds you of him when you listen, a welcome comfort living so far away.

Your heart sinks as the sun disappears and the darkness falls, because you know that must mean it’s time to leave. But Frankie surprises you again, spreading some blankets for cushioning into the bed of his pickup, and he helps you up into it, strong hands squeezing into your waist and leaving goosebumps on your arms.

It’s where you are now, lying back in the truck, whispering and giggling to each other while eating more pie directly out of the tupperware.

“I ate so much I got my pregnant belly.” Frankie observes, patting his puffier than normal stomach.

“I told you not to eat all those donuts.” You tease.

“I thought you loved my tummy.”

You roll towards him, your hand resting on top of his belly as you skate your fingertips around his belly button and hip dips, eventually slipping your hand under his shirt and running your fingers through his happy trail. “I do.” He relaxes under the attention, letting you rest your head on his arm as he gazes at the night sky. The quiet is comforting and welcome, like with the closest of friends, you could simply be together without having to talk.

You realize that this man has ingrained himself in you so deep that you consider him your best friend, as well as the love of your life. You don’t think you’ve ever had that before. You scold yourself once more for being vindictive and almost ruining this. You turn to look at him in the dark, admiring the way his profile cuts into the darkness of the night. He is so fucking handsome.

“Do you know any of them things?” His voice is husky from disuse.

“What things?”

“The astrology.”

“Constellations?”

“Yea.”

“Kind of, I had this cool little app that would tell you where everything is when you point your phone at it. Did you not have to know them for the Army? Er—Delta Force?”

“Some. The North star and the Little Dipper.” He points to them.

“Mmmhmm and Ursa Major is attached to them.” You trace the line of it with your finger for him, temples pressed close together.

“Do the app thing.” You oblige, pulling out your phone and re-downloading the app, then spend the next hour letting Frankie aim your phone at different sections of the sky, revealing which constellations lay hidden there.

“What’s your sign again?”

“Catfish.”

You roll your eyes, poking him in the side. “No, I mean your zodiac. Your sun sign.”

“I don’t know what all that means, but I'm a Virgo.”

“Oh yea. September. Hmmmmm. Reliable. Logical. Hard-working and observant. Completely accurate.” You scan the sky for his constellation and show him, then find yours, as well as Venus and very weak Mars, your favorite constellation Draco, and Orion’s belt. When you’ve had enough of stargazing you snuggle closer against him, closing your eyes and just taking in the sounds of the night, of the crickets and frogs, of Frankie’s heartbeat pressing against your ear.

“It was my stuff for my suspension hearing.”

“Hm?”

“What you found. It’s my original suspension and the notice of the hearing, and some letters of recommendation. The hearing is next week.”

“Suspension of what?”

“Um, my helicopter license.”

“Oh. OH! Of course! Frankie, I already knew you were suspended.”

“Yea, I know. It’s just…the paperwork is just really…damning. I didn’t want you seeing it. And I’m nervous about the hearing too, so I was a dick. I’m sorry.”

You wrap your arm around his waist. “That makes sense. I wouldn't worry about it though, I’m sure you’ll get it back.”

“You think?”

You nod. “Yes. And you better take me in one when you do.”

He raises his eyebrows, thankful for the topic change, and he uses his strength to flip you so his body is pressed atop yours. “Oh yea? Can’t wait to get in my cockpit, hm? You know, the joystick vibrates.”

“Oh my god you are such a dork.”

“Mmmm but you love it.”

You wouldn’t have even argued that even if you could, because your attention is completely taken by the feel of Frankie’s stubble rasping against your cheek down to your neck as he lays a trail of soft kisses from behind your ear to your shoulder blade.

“Cat…” You sigh, and he takes advantage of your open mouth and sinks into your lips with a groan, massaging your lower lip with his tongue, then sliding it in to meet your own. You wrap your arm around him as the kiss deepens, tugging on his hair with the fist of your hand as you whine into his mouth. He tastes like pie, and salt, and Frankie.

He wriggles against you, pressing himself in between your thighs, and you open for him instinctively. You can feel him rising for you, and he starts to lightly grind against your thigh as he tries to find some relief. You can already feel that familiar tingle, your body always so reactive to his. But this time it’s just…not right.

“Frankie…we can’t. It’s a public park.”

He lifts his head, looking around in the dark. “There’s no one else here. We’re fine.”

“No, I can’t explain it. I’m not comfortable. It's just too open.”

He halts his kissing immediately. “Oh. Truck?”

You pause, considering as you rub your arm up and down his toned forearm. Plenty of room. The car is facing a dark mass of trees. His windows and the back cab window are blackout tinted. And you haven't fucked in it yet. “Yes.”

He takes your hand with a grin, pulling you up off the blankets on the bed of the truck, holding your waist once more as you jump down, landing so close you're pressed together and you can feel his hot breath caressing your face. He lunges for your mouth, can’t help himself, and you whimper at the ravenousness of it as he slides his hands up the back of your thighs, grasping your ass with his hands. You’re wearing incredibly short shorts that expose just a tease of your plump cheeks and sliding down the truck bed didn’t make them any longer, the fabric riding up so your cheeks are almost entirely exposed. He hums appreciatively at your lack of clothes and presses you into him so he can show you just how bad he wants you, the fat bulge of his cock against your stomach, belt buckle pricking into your soft tummy flesh.

He groans as he pulls away and looks at you, taking in how disheveled you probably look but you’ve never felt sexier, and you swear, even in the dark, you can see his predatory eyes blown out black with lust, looking you up and down, licking those pouty lips until they’re wet and shiny. You want to suck on them. Bite on them.

“Look at you…” He husks, before taking you by the hand and pulling you to the cab, helping you up into the seat. He hops in right after you and you reach for him, tracing the line of his zipper. His hips buck up toward your palm.

“I want to suck your cock.”

“Jesus.” He exhales sharply, chest heaving as he pretty much rips open his belt buckle, the metal jingling as he pulls his pants down just enough for his dick to spring free. You slide your shorts off too, the lights of the dashboard emitting enough of a glow that he can see the wet spot gathering where your juices are leaking out of you. It’s almost too much, he squeezes his cock to calm himself down, but the sight of him touching himself is doing something you never thought could be so fucking hot.

You urge him on. “Don’t stop. Keep touching.”

His breath hitches and his eyelids are hooded and he rests his head back on the headrest as he lazily slides his hands around himself, slow tugs morphing into longer strokes. His eyes never leave yours as he touches himself, breathing in and out heavily with how good it feels. The eye contact makes you nervous with anticipation, but you don’t look away, and you can feel yourself clenching involuntarily at his expression. You join him, sliding your hand into your panties and rubbing your clit, the sound of the wetness between your folds commands his attention, and he can't stop staring at you. “Hey. C’mere.”

He sounds so pretty and you don’t want to make him wait, so you pull your hand out of your panties and slide forward again to reach for him. He hisses as you grasp him, his eyes slamming shut and his head thumping back against the headrest. You bend down, making sure he would be able to see himself in your mouth before poking your tongue out and swirling the tip of your tongue around the head of his cock, continuing until your tongue dips into the little hole and you lick up the pre-cum already gathering there. His right hand grasps the back of the flannel shirt he put on you when you got chilly and clenches it in his fist as he struggles not to thrust up into your mouth, to let you take control while he just takes.

In the safety of his truck he feels comfortable to be loud, the beautiful sounds of his moans, pants, and whispers spurring you on as you slide the head of his cock in between your lips, suckling it like a lollipop, the salty tang of more pre-cum oozing into your throat. After torturing him a few minutes you finally take his cock fully into the heat of your mouth, enveloping him, slowly bobbing up and down as he continues to struggle not to buck up into you. You moan around his cock every once in a while so he can feel the vibrations around him, can feel just how much you love sucking his cock, because you do. You wrap your hand around the parts of him you can’t reach, pumping him slowly, then twist up his shaft in a corkscrew and back down. When you look up at him through your eyelashes he is a vision, eyebrows tilting up, mouth slack, eyes heavy lidded and trained on the sight of you. He licks his lips when you make eye contact with him, groaning loudly and bumping the back of his head against the seat’s headrest again, giving you a nice view of his strong corded neck muscles. He pulses beneath you, and suddenly you feel his fingers taking you by the hair and gently tugging. You sit up with a hum and wipe your mouth.

“You gotta stop or I’m gonna blow my load in your mouth, and I want to fuck you.” He gasps.

You chuckle softly and he grabs you around your ribcage, pulling you to him and settling you in his lap. You can feel him hard and waiting underneath you, pressed against the small strip of the thong’s fabric covering you from him. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his hat off his head and throwing it to the side. He leans in and nibbles along your jawline, your neck, nosing at your ear.

“Can you ride me like this?”

“I think so.” You whisper back, and you lift yourself to hover over his lap as you reach for him, pushing your panties to the side, sliding him through your wetness and sinking down on him.

His head tilts back once more, a low, guttural “Fuuuuuccckkkk.” releasing from his mouth as you take him to the hilt. He pulls you to him as close as he can, your back arcs into his body as he burrows himself into your chest, pushed towards him from the bend of your spine. He nuzzles into you, placing open mouthed kisses all over the tops of your breasts, occasionally squeezing them over your tank and bra. When it’s no longer enough, he pulls your flannel, tank top, and bra down your arms and chest to rest on your stomach, exposing your breasts to the air of the cab.

He pulls back and watches you as you rise and fall slowly onto him, your tongue between your lips and your eyes screwed shut as you figure out your rhythm. He cups your breasts in his palms, squeezing softly, thumbing your nipples as you start moving faster, eventually pushing them together so he can take both nipples in his mouth at the same time.

“So fucking beautiful.” He lathes and suckles, nips and pulls, your moans pitching higher, your pace increasing. The sensation soon becomes too much and you lean back, resting against the wheel, careful not to hit the horn. Frankie helps support you, one arm around your back, the other runs flat up your stomach in between the sweaty valley of your breasts as he watches you impale yourself on the thick girth of him.

You never knew “Mmmmmm”s and “Yea”s could sound so fucking sexy but you also knew that Frankie’s deep rumbling voice made anything sound hot as fuck, and you whine against him as you slide back and forth on his cock, basking in the sound of his coos and praises. He’s transfixed by the sight of himself entering and withdrawing, more of your juices on his cock each time he slides out, and he grips your hips and tilts them so he can see better.

Your thighs are growing tired and he can feel them quivering against his own, so he gives you room to lean forward once more, your arms braced on the headrest, and he eagerly resumes touching you all over your chest. He helps relieve some of the work, his hands placed firmly around your waist as he bounces you on his cock, your tits jiggling in his face. He pulls you forward even more so you’re pretty much smothering him in them, but you can hear how much he enjoys it as he moans against them, tasting you wherever he can reach as he thrusts up to meet your hips with his own.

He suddenly has to kiss you, and he angles his head up and pulls you into him by the back of your neck, kissing you frantically as your bouncing shifts to a grinding roll of your hips while you chase your peak. You return the kiss just as fiercely, licking into him and moving your head so he can delve further into you, your whole reality becoming only this kiss and the fullness of him inside you.

“Frankie…m’gonna cum.”

He hums under you, taking you once more by the hips as he all but yanks you back and forth on him, grinding your clit on the coarse hair above his cock. His belt buckle is jingling and the metal is cold against your ass and his hair is soft and wet from sweat as you finger it, his mouth gaping open as he watches you take your pleasure, and just the idea that watching you can fuck him up so much, the constant desire to always make sure you are taken care of first causes you to shatter over him, lurching forward into his chest as you quiver in his arms, your slick gushing out and soaking his lap.

You don’t even notice him flipping you to your back onto the seat until you’re already there, your mind hazy and mouth gasping to regain your breath. When you open your eyes, he is on his knees above you, or as much as he can in the space of the truck. His cock is stilled partially inside you, and he’s just looking at you, your heaving chest, your wet hardened nipples, your pussy being split open by him. He meets your eyes. “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world.”

Your cheeks burn under his warm scrutiny, and you squirm under him hoping to spur him on. But he takes his time, his hands leaving your hips down to where you’re joined. He circles your clit softly with the pad of a thumb, the other hand opening you up further to him. He sighs. “So small. So fucking pretty.” He presses down harder on your clit.

“Frankie…please move.”

He meets your eyes again and smiles shyly. “Sorry. You’re just so fucking pretty.” He starts moving slowly, the heavy slide of him allowing you to feel every ridge and vein. “And mine. Yea?”

Your eyes roll back in your head as his hands move back to your hips, your eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks as you reply purely on instinct. “Yes. Only want you…don’t want anyone else. Ever.”

He moans, his heart palpitating like a million butterflies exploded out of it. “I fucking love you. I love you so much.” He drops his head to watch himself fuck into you, the white creamy buildup of your cum gathering along his shaft. His pace is leisurely, he can feel the grip of your pussy and the way it tries to pull him back when he withdraws.

“Love you too…please don’t stop. Just like that. It’s so good.”

“Yea? Want me to keep fucking you like this?”

“Yessssss.”

“Tell me. Tell me I’m the only one that fucks you this good.”

Your brain suddenly switches back on and you look up at him and bite your lip with a smirk, your hand reaching down to touch your clit, thinking of what things you can say to make him explode. Frankie loves praise. He likes to hear how big he is, how much better he is than anyone else. How you’re his. It’s all true. “Mmmmm no, no one else has fucked me so good. They were all little boys. I needed a man.”

He whines and moves faster at the praise, the tops of his thighs hitting the back of yours as he pulls you onto his cock. You can hear the squlching of your slick as he slides in and out, the sound seeming so much louder in the small space of the truck cab.

You bite your lip. “Yea…a big, scruffy older man with a thick cock. Takes such good care of me.”

“Oh shit. Ho fuck…”

You smirk as you deliver your coup de gras, hoping the risk lands. “Give it to me, fuck me daddy.”

“Oh-my-god-jesus-fucking-christ!” Frankie pulls out of you with a roar, pushing your ass down flush to the leather of the seat. You hiss at the loss but he doesn’t make you wait long, bending your knees up to your chest as he pushes back into you all the way to the hilt, the new position allowing him to amp up his pace, punctuating each word with a thrust. “You fucking…filthy, dirty little girl. FUCK!” He can see everything. The slide of his fat cock forcing itself into your tightness, your body expanding just for him, pulling him and hugging him into your warmth.

“Frankie has a daddy kink.” You whisper, a light giggle escaping as he pinches your ass.

“It’s…about the care.”

“DILF.”

“Dad you love fucking.” He laughs with you, his hips stuttering a little before you both regain your rhythm. You rub your clit furiously, determined to cum again. He loves how you’ve become so comfortable taking what you need, how vocal you are now and how you fit him so perfectly. He can feel you clenching around him, you are impossibly tight, and he finds himself slowing down to long strokes so he doesn’t cum before you can. You’re hovering on the edge, your body tensing and your back tics up into a mini arc as you try to get there, but he can see you need more. Frankie pushes your legs into your chest further, allowing him to grab your jaw and make you look at him. You open your mouth for him, he pushes his thumb into your mouth for you to suckle as he presses deep into you. Your eyebrows are pinched and your eyes slam shut as you sloppily chant his name over and over.

“That’s it baby doll. Come on. Take daddy’s cock.”

Your eyes snap back open and he’s sending that shit-eating smirk right back to you, but you can’t even say anything snarky back because you are suddenly fucking cumming hard. You throw your head back, exposing your neck as you wail for him, waves of pleasure exploding from your core, rushing out onto him until you’re shivering and shaking under his restraint, and in the back of your mind you tease yourself. Holy shit, that made me cum, that actually, really made me cum.

He swallows the end of your cry with a kiss, you hadn’t even noticed he’d settled between your legs to cover you, his broad body and comforting weight pulling you back from the brink to the present. The weight should be too much but it isn’t, it’s warm and exquisite, and safe, and overwhelming, and the smell. It’s just Frankie.

He grabs your leg and pulls it up to his plush waist, his pace relaxed but the sound of wet slapping still permeates the entire cab of the truck. You reach down and grab his little ass, pulling him deeper into you as he buries his face in your neck, his hot breaths prickling the skin there. His other arm rests beside your temple, a soft flannel sleeve pushed up to the elbow to anchor him as he moves. You turn your head and lathe your tongue against the flexing muscles. The sweat of your back pulls against the leather of the seats with each connection and withdrawal, but you find the prickling sensation welcome. You pull his face to you, cupping his cheeks as you bring him to your lips to kiss him sweetly. “Wanna make you cum.” You whisper against his lips. “Want you to cum in me and make me stain this leather.”

He can’t even speak, just lurches forward with a groan as his hands curl around your shoulders for leverage. You wrap your legs around him as he focuses on himself, his cries hitching higher and louder, his hips lifting and rutting back into you one, two, three more times until he pushes in deep, his hips pressed firmly against you as he tries to burrow his cock in you as far as possible, spilling himself inside you with a low groan.

He collapses into your arms, nosing at your neck, his panting breath causing goosebumps to rise along your skin. You drop your legs to the seat and wrap your arms around him, your fingers sinking into his sweaty curls and carding through them just as he likes while he catches his breath.

You’re about to relax and doze when a single thought rushes to the front of your mind. We are in a public park. In the dark. Naked in a truck. “Frankie!” You hiss. He whines grumpily, you can tell he’s shaking his head in your neck, his nose dragging back and forth across the skin there. “Frankie, We should get dressed. We’re pushing it. And I don’t think getting arrested for public indecency is a good idea for you especially.”

He responds to that, jerking his head up to the window to peer into the dark. The two of you scramble to put your clothes back on amongst giggles and frantic looks in every direction, settling back into the seat to catch your breath from the rush.

Frankie looks towards you in the dark. “Well, at least we—”

A sudden knocking on the window behind him jolts him upright with a yell, followed by an annoyingly bright light trying to illuminate the inside of the truck. Frankie lowers his window with a sigh.

A park ranger is standing there, but he politely lowers the flashlight once the window is down. “Park’s closed.”

Frankie clears his throat. “Uh yea. Yea, we were just leaving. Sorry.”

“It’s alright. Y’all have a good night.”

The two of you nod quietly, sitting shock straight until the ranger gets far enough away and Frankie starts the car. Your eyes creep to his as he pulls out of the lot and onto the main street to head home.“Okay. He definitely knew.”

“Yup. Sure did.” He makes eye contact with you quickly before reverting his eyes back to the road, flexing his pointer finger from the hand gripping the top of the steering wheel. “No one needs to know we did that. It never happened.”

“Aw, what about the daddy thing.”

“No. Especially that.”

You sigh.

“Special occasions.” He winks at you and reaches his hand to yours, intertwining them together.

You’re completely passed out by the time Frankie pulls into the driveway, and he carefully and quietly brings the leftovers inside, shoving them quickly into the fridge before coming back to you. He chucks you lightly under the chin. “Baby doll, we’re home.”

You moan softly and reach out for him, your intention clear. He undoes your seatbelt, grabs your bag, and hauls you up and into his arms to carry you inside.

Oh, fuck does this feel almost as good as sex. Frankie holding you, supporting you, taking care of you, the texture of his tee shirt soft against your cheek, his neck warm against your arms, that intoxicatingly comforting scent of him cocooning you. Musky spice. A little bit of sweat. Cinnamon. A forest. The coconut shampoo of yours he started using since it was already at his house.

You help him with the door so he doesn’t have to put you down and he heads straight to the bedroom, his cheek pressed to your head. He whispers to you, soft nothings and coos, a long press of a kiss to your head, and then you’re on the bed. You pull off your shorts and shoes as he undresses too, ripping your bra off to sleep in your tank and panties because putting on pajamas would take too much effort. The bed dips as he lays beside you.

“Reminds me of the last time.” He murmurs.

You press your forehead to his. “What do you mean?”

“When you fell asleep at my house that time, before we were together. I picked you up just like that and carried you to bed, you were holding me so tight and I kind of wanted to die because I wanted you so bad. I kissed you on the head.”

“You’re so fucking cute…” Your voice trails off as you slip into sleep, a soft smile on your lips.

When he knows you’re asleep, Frankie pulls away from you, sitting against the headboard as he scrubs his face with his hands.

I’m not cute. I’m a fucking liar.

»»———————►

Post A/N: Me - “I’m not going to have a daddy kink in here.” Also me - “here is some daddy kink”. Also, I’m one of those people that constantly makes up new nicknames for my partner at random times so Frankie and Flower doing so isn’t weird for me. Sometimes that shit just pops out lmao.

#frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #triple frontier #pedro pascal #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales fanfic #triple frontier fanfic #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #my writing #fix you fic #pedrostories

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ah-ga-seven · 4 years ago

Text

No More Pain | Jung Jaehyun

Pairing: Jung Jaehyun x Fem!reader

Synopsis: The lingering wounds of your miscarriage have reopened. Now that you are broken up, an unforseen change in Jaehyun’s life has brought him back to your doorstep. Will he be able to fix you this time? Or will he fail just the same as before?

Genre: Angst, One Shot.

Warnings: mentions of the reader having a miscarriage, depression, alcohol addiction and heartbreak.

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: Probably one of the heaviest angsts I’ve written. I know the subject is rough but the idea came from a dream so I just had to write it down.

This was a different kind of pang to your heart.

You’ve had your fair share of tragedies, heartbreaks and disappointments, but this…

This feeling was nothing like anything you’ve ever felt before and quite frankly, you wouldn’t wish this upon your greatest enemy.

It was a Thursday night, one like many where you decided to stay in and recharge from a busy day at your demanding job.

You were seated on your couch with a hot cup of tea as you mindlessly scrolled through your Instagram feed. Completely wrapped in the warmth of your favorite fleece blanket. But even the thick fluffy material couldn’t protect you from the cold shivers that ran down your spine.

You blankly stare at the post your best friend forwarded to you via dm and stiffened.

Memories of the night you miscarried 4 months into your pregnancy flood back to you as you stare at his comment.

You remembered how broken he looked when the doctor couldn’t find the baby's heartbeat anymore.

You remembered how he held you as you cried in his arms, promising that he’d love you just the same as he tried to console you to his best ability while suffering himself.

You remembered the pain and the relief of having Jaehyun by your side through it all. Glad that even though your life was about to change forever, he’d be the one constant thing you could rely on.

You remembered all of these moments like they happened yesterday, wishing future you could mentally prepare past you for what was going to be the hardest time in your life.

The man who swore never to leave you did just that, and not even 6 months into his new relationship, your biggest insecurity was made into a reality.

He had moved on for good, and even though you have no ill feelings towards him, you can’t help but feel anger over sadness right now.

It was that easy to replace you. And that easy for him to find someone that could give him what you couldn’t.

Even though your miscarriage wasn’t the direct cause of why he left, the effects of the incidence on your mental health dragged him down with you. So both of you felt it’d be better to part ways for the sake of not wanting to hate or resent each other in the end.

But God…you hated and resented him now more than ever.

It didn’t matter to you that both of you started to date new people, because a part of you always held on to the fact that you’d somehow find your way back to each other, though the probability of that ever happening again turned to ash.

Your miscarriage broke you.

No appetite for weeks, no motivation to get yourself out of bed and no cure for the monsters in your head who told you that Jaehyun was only sticking around out of pity for your broken state.

That same insecurity is what drove him into the arms of the women he told you not to worry about, and now they’re having a fucking child together.

Knowing that that should’ve been you was a thought that was just too much to bear right now. You suddenly feel sick to your stomach, tears prickling your eyes as you rub the spot on your belly where the mini bump used to be 8 months ago.

You were finally doing better, thriving in your job and social life. Meeting new people and dating a few loose ends here and there, but you can already feel yourself spiraling back into old depressional habits as you stare at the picture once more.

You pettily decide to like it, hoping it would spark interest from none other than your ex, and much to your surprise, it did.

Not even 20 minutes later your phone started to buzz on the counter as you poured yourself a glass of wine. You mindlessly retrieve it, expecting it to be your best friend but when you see his name as you take a sip you almost choke.

Is he serious?

You try to come up with what to say for the next 3 to 5 minutes but nothing in your head seems to translate your exact feelings to your fingertips.

You sigh in agony while leaning over on your kitchen counter with your phone still in your hands, reading his messages over and over again. You subconsciously start to bite your lip in deep thought, getting startled by your ringtone as your phone starts to ring in your grasp.

“Fuck,” you mumble to yourself, taking a big chug of the alcoholic beverage in front of you, putting on the bravest face and straightest posture to make yourself feel better before accepting the call.

You knew you didn’t have to answer, but you were dying to hear what he had to say under these circumstances.

“Y/N? Is that you?” His voice was unchanged. You didn’t know why, but you expected him to sound different, be different. Yet the same worry he’s always had for you was evident in his tone this time as well.

You clear your throat to avoid a voice crack and sigh. “Congratulations,” you tried to sound as genuine as you could, but you knew you sounded like shit.

You start to play with the ends of your hair out of anxious anticipation, waiting for him to respond on the other end of the line.

“I meant to tell you,” he starts. “I just…I didn’t know how and Chaeyoung suddenly uploaded the picture and-”

“Jae…please spare me the details,” you interrupt him. Saying his name like you used to felt like speaking a foreign language. He stayed quiet upon hearing your voice again and let out a frustrated sigh.

“Do you still live in the same apartment in Itaewon?” he suddenly asks, immediately alerting you to stand up straight because he could only be asking for one reason and one reason only.

“Y-yes.”

“Good, I’m on my way.”

Just like that, he hung up and just like that your heart rate starts to race uncontrollably.

You down the remnants of your wine glass and hope he’s isn’t too close because your place looked far from neat. For the next 15 minutes, you run around, shoving things into random cabinets. Whether those items belonged there or not was the least of your concern and just as you fluff the last pillow on your couch, your doorbell rings.

You take a deep breath, calming your nerves as you walk up to your front door, taking it off the lock before you open it with a dramatic swing.

There he was. Jung Jaehyun.

As beautiful and put together as he always looked, no matter the circumstance. You forget how to breathe when you lay eyes on him and gulp. It’s actually him.

His big dark orbs widened as he laid eyes on you after months of not seeing you. His facial expression softened, slowly parting his lips to speak but you beat him to it when you broke out of your trance.

“What are you doing here?” your shoulders fall as you look into his eyes for answers. The same eyes that once looked at you with so much love and adoration, but right now his pupils were stressfully darting back and forth, trying to read you like he used to be able to but he had no idea what you were feeling right now.

“Because I feel like shit y/n. Please let me in and let me explain,” he pleaded with a defeated tone.

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “What is there to explain? You knocked up your girlfriend and finally got what you wanted. Why bother coming here? To rub it into my face?”

Your plan of staying calm and collected went completely out the window just now and you could tell by the shock on his face that he did not expect you to be angry with him.

He took a step forward, backing you into your own hallway. His height towered over you when you stepped back and without looking back he closed the door behind him.

“Y/n. I would never purposely do that to you. Ever.” You ignore his statement, narrowing your eyes at him.

“I don’t remember inviting you in Jaehyun. Does she even know you’re here?”

You hold your ground, crossing your arms over your chest as you wait for him to counter your attack, but he simply shook his head. Knowing damn well that you’re acting tough just so you won’t get emotional.

As he’s scanning the premises, his eyes linger on the red wine bottle on your kitchen counter and with a look of utter disbelief, he averts his attention back on you.

“You’re drinking again?” he asks with an almost condescending tone.

“Did you come here to practice your parenting skills because no thanks Jae, please leave,” you bite back as coldly as you could, but he wasn’t having it.

“That shit almost killed you and you’re just casually drinking again?” He runs his hand through his locks out of pure frustration, not knowing what to do with the misplaced feeling of still caring for you just the same, while also knowing he has no business to tell you how to live your life.

The truth is, Jaehyun had no idea what he was doing here. Everything about the situation felt wrong and he couldn’t lie to himself any longer. Ever since Chaeyoung told him she was pregnant; he couldn’t be fully happy about it. He couldn’t commit to fatherhood knowing how much it broke your relationship. How much it broke the women he loved most to this day.

“A little red wine didn’t hurt anyone,” you mumble under your breath and that comment alone send Jaehyun’s emotions into overdrive, unable to hide his disappointment and worry for you any longer.

“IT HURT YOU Y/N. DAMN IT!” He raised his voice at you as he roughly grabbed your arm to make you look at him, which is the last thing you expected. He wasn’t mad at you. He was mad at himself. Mad at the fact that he wasn’t there when you needed him most and mad at the fact that this is what your lives had come to.

You might have previously dealt with your pain by drinking, and you might have mindlessly mixed your anti-depressants with your drink once, which…just might have earned you a trip to the hospital, but that was your lowest low and you made sure it’d never happen again.

You beat your demons by yourself when he had already moved on, so he had no place to waltz back into your life when he felt like it, just to judge you.

You’re absolutely fuming by now because of that same reason and much to your dismay you feel new tears well up in your eyes.

“NO, YOU HURT ME!” you yell back at him as you smack his chest, the salty droplets streaming down your face as you kept hitting his chest to make him feel your pain. “YOU LEFT ME.”

Your knees got weak and you knew you looked absolutely pathetic as you crouched down in front of him. Shock took over his features as he got down on his own knees just as quickly, pulling you into the comfort of his arms. The warmth that you used to call home and the warmth that always seemed to calm you down engulfed you completely, a feeling your favorite fleece blanket from before could hardly imitate.

He patted your head with assuring strokes, whispering sweet nothings to you as he held you on the floor of your apartment. Letting you sob the pain away in his black shirt. “Shhh, it’s okay…” he kissed the top of your head, caressing your cheek as he wiped away your tears.

You calmed down slowly, ignoring the suffocating ache in your head and heart while he made you feel safe and sound like he always did. You sat there like that for God knows how long, letting your minds go into overdrive as silence comforted the both of you.

Ironically enough, this scenery was the exact same as the one in the hospital 8 months ago. You cried in his arms just like this when you had lost your child, but now you were crying because you had lost him. For good now.

“I would never purposely plan to have a baby this quickly y/n, you have to believe me. Chae was on birth control but it just…happened,” he whispers, finally breaking the agonizing silence.

You stay quiet, closing your eyes to the sound of his low voice, letting his words register. “I was going to tell you. I was planning to ask you out for a coffee but as soon as she passed her first trimester, she was just so excited and made the announcement…it was just bad timing.”

“All of this is bad timing,” you mumble, which made him nod in agreement. He sighed into your hair as he continued to explain. “Y/n, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t care for you anymore. I wish things were different, but they simply aren’t and I’m sorry.”

You sniff, dabbing your tears and your nose with the sleeves of your blouse before looking up at him through your lashes.

“You don’t have to apologize for moving on and being happy Jaehyun. It’s all I ever wanted for you.” You wipe the single tear that remained on the corner of his eye, not having realized that he shed a few tears himself too.

He leaned into your touch as he looked into your eyes before closing them, leaning his forehead onto yours while taking a deep breath.

“I just want you to be ok.” He says suppressing a sob. “I can’t live this picture-perfect life knowing that you’re in pain y/n. It makes no sense; you deserve so much more it’s not fair.”

Your lip starts to quiver as his words hit you, and you build up the courage to look at him again.

He stared at you longingly and lovingly for the first time since forever and you knew a mistake was about to be made when he inched his face closer to you, but it was too late.

His lips made contact with yours and you completely gave in. Letting him lead you into a slow yet passionate kiss that took both of your breaths away. Before things could get more heated, you realize what was happening and froze.

You take a hold of his wrists as you pull away, your eyes staring into his equally electrified ones as you recompose yourselves.

“I-I’m sorry,” he started. “I should’ve never confused you like that. Fuck. What the fuck am I doing.” He covers his mouth as he got up. Frustrated with his own behavior, he digs his fingernails into the palms of his hands to suppress the urge to swing at your door or any other object in sight for that matter.

You get up just as quickly as well. Straightening out your clothes before shaking off the nerves of what just happened.

You take a deep breath followed by a shaky exhale as you opened your front door, turning around on your heels to look at an equally distressed Jaehyun.

He was about to speak; about to confess that he still loved you, but you stopped him by raising your hand, motioning for him to keep whatever he was about to say to himself.

Your eyes find his own and you take one last glance at the man that was supposed to be the pillar to your family. The man you used to call yours, and the man that you had hoped to still have a future with, despite everything.

But you knew better.

You knew what was right and you knew what you had to do before things would start to spiral out of control again.

You stepped aside so he could pass by you, trying to avoid eye contact all while you could still feel his burning stare lingering on your fragile state.

You swallow harshly, licking your lips before you spoke as clearly and steadily as you could.

“For the sake of your family, please leave Jae…and never come back.”

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yoonpobs · 4 years ago

Text

bad boy good thing iii.

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining

warnings: smut, jungkook is really an asshole, the angst hurts a lot tbh, unhealthy relationships (?)

words: 2, 393

summary: a series of drabbles where you're confused and jungkook's confusing

“You’re bailing again?” Taehyung looks up from his stack of books for the first time in the last hour since the two of you have started your study date. Granted, he meant no spite but he didn’t understand what set you to flee. The name that was almost taboo to you; the name that brings more tugs to your heart that hurts than one that’s fond.

You glance up at him with meek eyes, “I have an office hour with my economics professor in half an hour.”

Taehyung purses his lips.

“This is the fourth time this week you’ve ditched.” Taehyung sounds mildly irritated and you don’t blame him. You made a promise months ago before mid-terms coming up that you’d help him with statistics. But before the two of you could ever get into the nitty-gritty details of math; somehow the forbidden name comes up.

“I know.” You say softly. “I’m sorry …” You don’t say anything else because your heart is speeding up in a way that is anxiety-inducing. Because Taehyung off-handedly mentioned that Jungkook would be dropping by in a few; and you didn’t know when he’d turn up and you rather not stick around to find out.

His words still linger in your mind and every time there was any prompt to remind you of his face, or his name—you remember the way his words sounded so assured in the context of the situation first. You remember the malevolence that lied behind his usually kind eyes. But it’s like the eyes filled with desire in a one-dimensional view of your body replaced the youthful mirth you grew up with.

“Look.” Taehyung sighs, pushing himself up to look at you with a stern stare. “If you don’t want to tutor me that’s fine. I can find another tutor. But I’d appreciate if you’d let me know beforehand so I don’t have to come all the way just for an hour then have you leave once the content begins to get tougher.”

Taehyung was by no means being rude or outwardly offensive. He was straightforward and you appreciated that he was honest with you. And rather, you feel guilty of the fact that you bailed for your own selfish reasons.

“I do want to tutor you.” You tell him, fiddling with your fingers as your eyes dart to the doors of the library. “It really just slipped my mind.”

It sounds lame, even to you; and Taehyung picks up on it too.

“You don’t forget things like this.” He says pointedly. “It’s like every time I mention—”

Taehyung stops himself and your eyes dart away, hands already tugging your bag over your shoulder. Maybe if you sped up, he wouldn’t stare at you with an inquisitive stare that looked similar to one of realisation.

“Did something happen between you and Kook?”

You wince. Taehyung is observant.

“Are the two of you—?”

“I’m fine.” You snap, tone defensive and on edge when you hear the bell of the library door ring. You don’t dare to turn to look. “We’re fine.”

“_____ …” Taehyung frowns.

“I gotta go. Okay?” You huff, offering one last apologetic look before you turn to leave. But in your haste, you bump into a solid figure and you’re terrified that it’s—

“Careful.” A deeper, unfamiliar but welcomed voice murmurs.

When your eyes look up, it’s just someone you recognise from Jungkook’s football games. You were sure he was a key player too. His stature was definitely one of an athlete. He was tall, broad, and firm; and the black shirt that hugged his chest only emphasised your guess.

“S-Sorry.” You squeak, looking down.

You brush past him before he can get another word in, and only when you slip past him do you see Jungkook lingering behind with a frown on his face.

“______—” He calls.

You’re able to leave before he can get a hold of you; and that only causes the frown on Jungkook’s face to harden.

When the door rings once more to signal your departure, Jungkook is already sat with Taehyung and the other person that bumped into you.

“What’s up with the two of you?” Taehyung asks.

Jungkook stiffens and responds with a grit of his teeth. “Nothing.”

Taehyung doesn’t look convinced and Namjoon—though recently enlightened with the fact that there was potentially something brewing between the two of you—was also observant enough to pick up on the tense atmosphere that you left with.

“Aren’t the two of you super close?” Namjoon says offhandedly, already shifting through his assignments while he lays them out.

Jungkook wants to let out a dry scoff at the assumption. Sure, the two of you were close. He isn’t so sure about that anymore.

“You’re clearly lying to me.” Taehyung snorts. “So whatever it is the two of you are keeping a secret please just sort it out because I need _____ here to tutor me and you’re getting in the way of my education.”

Taehyung mostly says this as a joke, but it strikes Jungkook straight where it’s vulnerable. He wasn’t going to be the first to break, nor will he indulge Taehyung into what he said to you in the same library they were in at this very moment.

So instead, Jungkook brushes it off like he’s been doing so more recently than ever.

“Whatever.” He mutters.

For some reason, you see Jungkook again on the same day—accompanied by the same person that you bumped into.

You realise that you’ve spent more time avoiding him than dealing with your feelings after what transpired. But you’re weak and you suppose you’ve always been weak when it came to Jungkook.

It was difficult … to say the least. Because while Jungkook’s words were malicious and filled with the intent to hurt and break you; the better (and foolish) part of you wanted to believe that he was angry. Driven by emotions that he wasn’t thinking straight. But while you were naive, you were also substantially aware that there had to be some form of truth to the words he’s thrown at you.

But this was the same Jungkook that you grew up with, the young boy you’ve somehow seen transition from awkward and endearing teen to … to the confident and assured man he was. You didn’t want to make any excuses for him but you’ve always been soft. And you hated that your eyes somehow still linger on his approaching figure when the rational side of your brain tells you to run away.

However, it’s not him who greets you. It’s his friend. The one you vaguely recognise but can’t quite put a name to a face.

“Hey!” He calls out to you.

His smile is easy with a dimple appearing on his cheeks. He looks kind and soft for someone that was easily a head taller than you were, and despite his height—there was something oddly comforting about the way he approaches you as if he knows you.

You try to ignore the coldness from Jungkook’s end and remind yourself that you should’ve felt angry—not the other way around.

“Hi?” You say, or more appropriately ask.

Jungkook’s expression is still blank; every time your eyes briefly linger on his face you wonder how it’d ended up this way.

“_____, right? I’ve seen you at a few of our games.” His friend enters a conversation so seamlessly. “Kook’s never introduced us, though.”

You clear your throat and you hope your face isn’t a dead giveaway of your discomfort. Especially when you blatantly ignore Jungkook’s piercing stare on the side of your temple.

“I don’t … mingle around that much.” You say softly,

And it’s parallel to the image that Jungkook has of you. The quiet, timid girl that’s free time is consumed with books and assignments than a social life to make up for it. You used to think that maybe you weren’t the type that enjoyed large or loud gatherings. But Jungkook’s voice only makes you wonder if you were the problem instead.

“Well, I’m Namjoon.” He smiles at you, offering a grin filled with teeth that you find yourself unconsciously returning, albeit awkwardly.

“Nice to meet you … uh … Namjoon.” You mumble, and your eyes nearly land on Jungkook’s face out of pure habit, but you stop yourself before you hurt yourself even more.

“It’s nice to formally meet you too. I’ve been asking Jungkook to introduce the two of us since forever ago but he seemed dead set on keeping you to himself.” Namjoon jokes lightly. And you almost miss it, but you swear Jungkook stiffens by his side.

“Ah …” You reply lamely, fingering your strap as you shift on your heels.

It feels awkward to not acknowledge Jungkook; you’re wondering if Namjoon picks up on the cold air between the both of you. Namjoon looks like he’s thinking of something, but before he can say anything—Jungkook is tugging his arm roughly.

“We have practice.” Jungkook grits, finally making himself known.

Your eyes dart to your feet, and you hate how small you feel in his presence. It should’ve been easy but this was the hardest part of it all. Pretending like you were objectively okay when his words constantly lingered at the back of your mind.

“Go ahead without me. I want to ask _____ something.” Namjoon shrugs Jungkook’s hand off of him. And this time you catch the venomous glare that he shoots his friend, accompanied by the clench of his jaw.

“Coach will—”

“I’m the captain, remember?” Namjoon snorts, but it’s not condescending. Just a reminder.

Jungkook purses his lips and his eyes dart between the two of you; and you know him well enough to know that there’s something on his mind, especially with the way he nibbles on his bottom lip.

“Don’t be late.” Jungkook grits, stomping off in the other direction without even sparing you a glance.

You frown at him because he was the one that came to you that day unwarranted; treating you like absolutely nothing as if there weren’t years of history behind the two of you.

But Namjoon is large enough to distract you because he quite literally blocks the view of Jungkook’s disappearing body with his own when he stands right in front of you.

“Sorry about that.” Namjoon looks sheepish. “I hope you don’t mind …” He trails off as he scratches the back of his neck.

Your eyes widen as you shake your head, “N-No! It’s fine. Just … uh … what’s up?” You wince inwardly at your horrible social skills and you have a slight understanding of why Jungkook pointed out the things he did. Maybe he was right—

“I—well …” Namjoon mumbles, and he seems less assured than he was earlier. “I think—you’re really—cool?—and smart—you seem nice so … sorry! God.” He rambles as he brushes his hands over his face.

You blink at him.

Namjoon takes your reaction as a bad one as he winces, chuckling lowly.

“I’m sorry. I’m not this … awkward.” He tells you.

You nod your head slowly trying to process his words. And you feel a little guilty knowing that your lack of response probably pushes Namjoon further into his shell. But he has a glare in his eye that shows that he won’t be affected so easily.

“Well.” He clears his throat. “I follow your podcast. And I think it’s really great. You offer some really interesting perspectives on the War on Drugs—or as you mentioned—the disproportionate effects of racial tension that lead to unjustified or mass incarceration rates in the U.S.”

Somehow you know you’ve said the exact same words in the monthly podcast you do with the International Relations department for extra credit. But when Namjoon speaks, it’s as if he’s carefully picking apart the context and nuance of your words so carefully before he quotes it back to you; as if he treats your opinion with heavy regard and not one of the light matters.

You feel flattered.

“Oh.” You blink. “Thank you?”

Namjoon offers you an easy grin. And you recall: captain of the football team, he says? He doesn’t really … fit the stereotype. Besides the fact that he looked insanely fit. He was gentle, that much you could tell. But you also were a little biased when it came to footballers because you only had Jungkook to compare him with.

“Sorry for just springing that on you.” He apologises sheepishly and you’re even more confused as to why he feels the need to say sorry. “It’s just that Kook was always so bitchy about introducing me to you whenever I asked so … I thought why not take the chance myself?”

You gape at him. You don’t know what to do with the set of new information you’re presented with. Firstly, the fact that someone like Namjoon paid attention to a nobody like you? And secondly, the weird revelation that Jungkook somehow gate kept his friendship … or whatever the fuck it was … with you.

“No, no.” You shake your head, “I’m really flattered. Thank you. No one’s ever … told me that before.” You give him a gentle smile because that’s all you can muster.

Namjoon returns it tenfold as he hikes his bag across his shoulder.

“Well, I gotta go now. Practice calls.” He jokes, waving at you. For a moment, he stills; as if remembering something before he fishes out a piece of paper from his pocket and shoves it to you in a haste.

“What is—?”

“My number. You know—if you ever want to talk. About … stuff. I think you’re super smart—and intelligent. They’re synonymous but yeah. If you want.” He rambles.

You blink up at him and before you can muster a response, he’s darting away.

You watch his figure retreat and notice that Jungkook is waiting for him a good distance away. But his eyes aren’t on Namjoon’s somewhat giddy figure—but on you.

He stares at you long and hard, and you feel conflicted. The paper in your hand nearly chafes, but the feeling is easily forgotten when his expression hardens.

When Namjoon reaches him with a clasp to his back, the pair walks off. Not before he gives you one passing glance over his shoulder that leaves you feeling more restless than ever.

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