#and that to me feels better than one year shown out of three in high school tbh?? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sliced-peaches · 29 days ago

Text

hit it off right

Jeong Jaehyun x reader | 5.8k | friends to…?

After hearing about him for what seems like forever, you finally meet Jungwoo’s hot roommate. But it’s a lot more wholesome than anything else.

📀 now playing: say it - maggie rogers // decent - bas, amaarae // perfect places - lorde // dear to me - electric guest

a/n: seeing Jae getting drunk with YoungJi did something for me. I miss him and it’s really hard being a military wife. this is part of a larger collection coming soon, so nothing spicy. pls enjoy~

mentions of: other nct members, bff! Jungwoo, alcohol consumption, marijuana usage, light flirting, honestly tho everyone is just shy and cute and silly

A few days before the party, you’d asked Jungwoo what kind of wine his roommate liked. Since it was a celebration, you figured you should at least bring a gift.

“He told me to tell you to not bring anything.”

“How could he even know?” You whine, incredulous.

“Because I know you and your habit of balling out on people who are being celebrated.”

There’s not much you can say to that. You are known to bring a nice bottle of something that suits the taste of the one being celebrated. You love to see the joy on someone’s face when they get a tailored gift.

It’s the least you could do for someone when you notice their hard work. It feels good to appreciate someone, especially a friend like Jungwoo. It’s only natural you’d extend the perks to his roommate, right?

“You talk to your roomie about me?” You coo, poking his cheek. Setting his coffee cup down, he nods, seemingly pleased to share this piece of information with you.

“In passing. I told him you were coming, that I invited your coworker, too. I’ve gushed about her to him a few times. He just kinda smiled? Not in a weird way. Like… I don’t know. He just stared at me for a few seconds. Then he said he was happy to hear that. So-“

“Sounds like he’s in full support.”

Jungwoo smiles, bringing the cup back to his lips. Then he gives you a sly look over the rim before he speaks again.

“He also asked me about you.”

“What about me?”

“I guess I talk about you all the time, right? I told him about your art, all the art shows you’re in. I’m sure I’ve shown him a picture of you before, like from that time we went to the beach.”

“You showed your roommate my bikini photos?”

His eyes widen and he starts to immediately apologize when raise your hands to cut him off.

“Wait. Did he like them?”

“He… didn’t say much of anything if I’m being honest.”

“Oh.”

“Which doesn’t really mean anything, honestly. Sometimes he just doesn’t have anything to say.”

“…okay that’s a little better.”

It’s hard to imagine Jungwoo living with someone who doesn’t talk as much as he does.

The way you two often communicate is rapid-fire, dramatic, occasionally riffing off the other’s jokes. He likes to share his thoughts out loud and use you as a sounding board. You like to ramble about abstract art ideas and the special interest of the week.

Trying to picture your yap king living with someone who probably makes three facial expressions a year (says Jungwoo) makes you wish you could be a fly on the wall.

“How much have I told you about Jae? I know he’s always out, or at work so….”

His roommate’s name is Jaehyun. All you really know about him is that he’s close in age to Jungwoo, he used to be really competitive m, and that he has a cousin somewhere in Europe. Not much else past that.

“One time I was over you showed me a photo or two from when you guys were in high school. I’ve seen him in your stories too.”

“You said he was cute! I forgot about that.”

You recall a guy with dark hair and a cute bowl cut, wearing the same basketball jersey as Jungwoo. When you said cute, you were referring to their round faces and goofy hair cuts. The more recent pictures on Instagram were usually from an angle where you couldn’t really see his face, but he was always dressed nice from what you could tell.

“He was! Little cutie stranger man.”

There’s a beat.

“Okay, so about that. He’s was cute but now he’s, like, super handsome.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, he’s hot. Bulked up, started dressing nicer, smells good. His jawline is insane. He should actually model. I didn’t know he was going to look like that when we grew up, you know?” He shakes his head in disbelief.

“Damn, you ever told him all that?”

“All the time, actually. He’s so sick of me. At this point I’m just saying something that’s objectively true. You’d be lying if you thought he was ugly. So that being said-“

He whips his head towards you, you watch a plot and scheme form in his brain. His lips curl into something devilish.

“Careful not to fall in love with my roommate, yeah?”

You blink at him, two times. Three times.

“Huh?”

His words sounded like a warning, but it feels like he very much would prefer you do the opposite.

“I just feel like he’s someone you’d fall for.”

“You’ve never seen me fall for anyone. Not once since you’ve known me.”

“Exactly. Which is why I’m saying… I think you guys will get along well.”

“Don’t hope too hard, but I’m sure he’s lovely.”

Sighing, Jungwoo offers you a sympathetic look. You ignore it and instead check for any emails from the art festival you’re vending at later in the month. It’s not much help, as you can still feel his eyes on you.

“I think he’d be good for you.”

“I don’t think playing matchmaker with your friends is that good of an idea,” you clipped.

Right before you met Jungwoo in senior year of college, you’d been in a relationship that ended pretty badly. You were in love, and you think he was, too. At one point at least.

But when things run their course, and you stay in them too long, they start to drain you of everything.

You’d lost a lot of time and energy trying to be pretty enough, interesting enough, desirable enough to keep the spark alive. To keep his attention. But to no avail. It was like he was just waiting for you to leave.

After a while, feeling empty and settling for whatever he could toss your way was too much to bear. It was just time to let go.

It was hard when at the end, you realized he just didn’t love you like you loved him. But was too scared himself to be honest with you about it.

Heartbreak was one thing, but grieving a relationship that wasn’t all that real was another. It took you a long time to move through that pain.

Jungwoo watched you put a lot of effort into rebuilding your personality, your self worth, your confidence. He was nothing but supportive, as were your other friends, dragging you to every show in the city, joining you at a new cafe or listening to your new ideas about art you’d been neglecting. And Jungwoo’s friends were a wonderful addition to your life, as well.

It was beyond being choosy- you’d taken yourself out of the dating game altogether, focusing on work, art, your friends. Yourself.

Now you were very careful not to let anyone in and disrupt that. It’s been a beautiful life to fall back into; you’d hate to lose it to the wrong person.

Jungwoo is nothing but understanding still, squeezing your arm instead of pushing any further.

“Well, regardless, I know you’ll get along well. Even as friends.”

You roll your eyes at him, a small smile creeping back onto your face.

“Don’t look into his eyes, though, seriously. He’s something else.”

On the trip over to Jungwoos apartment your friend tells you about her day, catching you up on some work gossip and her roommates string of interesting dates.

She laughs at how engrossed you are in her words, loving how excited you are to listen to the tea. You’re asking questions, connecting dots. The entertainment is delicious.

“I’m never on shit, so I’m living vicariously through you guys,” you sigh.

“We’re on shit tonight! I’m excited to party with Jungwoo.”

You flit your eyes over to her. “Yeah?”

“Girl, yes. He seems like a good person to party with. He’s always so bubbly and sweet when we go out for coffee, and always supportive of you so he’s good in my book.”

You wish she knew why you were smiling so big.

“He is a sweetheart, and a wonderful friend. I feel like you guys will get along well, I’m surprised we haven’t all gone out before.”

Pulling your phone out, you open your camera to check for a lipgloss reapplication when text from Jungwoo comes through.

woo-ah: 🎶 what’s ur ETA?🎵

“C-can I be honest with you?”

Immediately you lock your phone, adjusting your body to give her your full attention.

“Of course you can.”

She glances towards the driver, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth like she’s telling you a juicy secret.

“I think he’s gorgeous.” Her cute confession has you both giggling like schoolgirls in the back of the rideshare. “Don’t tell him, please!”

“Babe, your secret is safe with me.” You pinch your fingers together, pretending to zip your lips. “You wanna hear a secret?”

Her eyes widen in anticipation.

“I think he thinks you’re cute, too.”

“Shut up, no way!”

“Let’s just say I have insider info.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

you: appx 4 min 🤠

woo-ah: 🪩🕺🫶🏼

You lock arms with your friend as you lead the way into the apartment building, being here enough times to know what floor and that the right elevator is faster than the left.

She’s talking about the book her roommate just recommended her as you get to Jungwoos floor. You even ask her to send you a text, saying that she should start a bookclub as you rap your knuckles on the door.

Jungwoo opens the door, moving to hug you both and welcome you into the apartment.

“Come in, come in!”

Music is playing from a speaker, and a chorus of voices comes from the living room.

You walk ahead of Jungwoo and your friend, who are exchanging thank you’s for invitations and gifts of alcohol, and a chorus of voices welcomes you in the living room.

Doyoung and Donghyuck practically race and slide around in their socks to hug you and kiss you on the forehead and you pull them in for a haphazard group hug.

“Long time no see!” Doyoung clasps his hands together. “It’s so nice to have us all together at one time.”

“What a mom, we’re here to get shitfaced.” Donghyuck teasing Doyoung is secretly something you live for, but you pretend to defend Doyoung from him.

“Let us get a few drinks in before you start shit talking him, damn!”

The guys make sure you’re introduced to the rest of their friends, the ones you haven’t had a chance to meet yet. You’ve heard all their names in conversation, usually when talking about some social event or fun times they had back in school. It was wonderful to finally put names to faces, and they were more than happy to do the same for you.

“Jungwoo finally brought you around!” Renjun and Jaemin cheer. “We’ve been wanting to meet you for so long.”

You blush under all the affection from them.

“I’m so glad to finally meet you guys.”

“Come on, you have to try the cocktail YangYang made.”

Dragging you into the kitchen, you’re flooded by more introductions, jokes and insanely loud laughter, and it feels like you’ve been doing this for years with them already.

YangYang passes you a glass, a sliced lemon garnishing the side and all. You take one sip, then immediately take another. “Wow, this is delicious. Thank you!”

“There are three kinds of liquors in there,” he says, shooting you an apologetic look. “All light, but they told me I had to get everyone drunk, so-“

Before he can even try to apologize, stop him.

“That’s my kind of drink, then!” And you propose a toast with whoever’s in the kitchen.

The cheers begin to die down when someone walks into the kitchen.

Jungwoo has a lot of attractive friends. You knew this from the jump. He’s a model, he had model friends, friends who were in entertainment and the arts. From seeing whoever was on his Instagram story every few weeks, to getting drinks with everyone else occasionally, you’d gotten very used to being surrounded by pretty men.

Jungwoo did not prepare you well enough for Jeong Jaehyun.

“It’s our boy! Congratulations!”

The kitchen erupts into more greetings and well wishes as the man of the hour had just arrived. You sit back as everyone moves into pat him on the back, hug him or, like Donghyuck, kiss him right on the cheek.

Everyone’s voices just turn into background noise as you take him in.

He smiles the most beautiful smile you’ve ever been blessed enough to witness, and you have to force yourself to take a large sip of your drink so not to gawk at him.

Renjun and Jaemin motion for you to come closer, and you use the one solid second you have to steel your nerves as you step closer to them.

Jaemin slings his arm around you. “Jae, have you met our girl yet?”

Renjun playfully shakes his arm. “Jungwoo has been keeping her from us for eons.”

Jaehyun takes a step closer to you. He’s tall, much taller than you, so you have to tilt your head back to fully look at him.

And what a sight to see.

Jaehyun smiles again, a little shy but just for you. His eyes crinkle at the corners, smile so sincere and kind like he’s smiling at someone he’s known for years.

Extending his hand out to you, he wants to greet you properly. Shakily you place your smaller hand in his. But instead of shaking your hand, he uses both hands to gently hold it.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.”

The baritone voice almost knocks you on your ass.

Taking take a moment to will some confidence, some chill to come through when you speak, you swallow and push your shoulders back.

“You as well, Jaehyun. It’s been a long time coming, yeah?”

It’s taking everything in you to sound normal and relaxed, unfazed by this man.

He cocks his head to the side and laughs, his nose crinkling and smile lines that resemble whiskers making themselves visible. The sight makes your head spin.

“A very long time.” He releases your hand, and you place it against the side of your glass hoping it will absorb some of the heat from the exchange. “Thank you for coming.”

With your resolve expiring in seconds, you’re so thankful for Jungwoo making his way into the kitchen. While he introduces your work friend to Jaehyun, you shuffle out the kitchen alongside Renjun and Jaemin.

You sit on the armrest of the couch, listening to them bicker over what game the party should play first, remembering how to breathe.

Jaehyun quietly settles into a chair for one close to you, tuning into the commotion. He doesn’t make a move towards you, and you’re glad even if just for a moment. Out the corner of your eye, you take him in.

Handsome isn’t the right word to use, you think. He’s dressed clean and simple, nice jeans and a white t-shirt. The side profile is something unreal, perfect chiseled features but his face still soft and welcoming. His dark hair is slightly pushed back, a few stands falling over his forehead. He leans forward to tap Jaemin on the shoulder, complimenting him on ‘how big he’s gotten’ at the gym, with the younger preening under his praise.

Just in the short time in the same room, it’s clear that Jaehyun is like a big brother. And from what Jungwoo has told you is super sweet and caring. That alone makes you want to know him more, and makes him all the more attractive.

Looking over at you, he offers you a small smile which you mirror to avoid coming off as awkward. Noticing that you are both nursing the same drink, he raises his glass towards you for a small toast.

“To you and the summer,” you offer, raising your glass as you do so.

“I can drink to that.”

You take another large swig of your drink, hoping after the third your nerves can handle more than two sentences next time.

It’s silly, you think, to be this affected by a man. An attractive one, yes. But just a man. A friend of a friend, even.

Jungwoo’s words echo in the back of your mind, that he thought you and Jaehyun would get along well. Part of you doesn’t want to prove him right, but another part of you wonders if getting along with Jaehyun wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

So you try your best to start and make conversation.

“I heard about your promotion, congratulations!”

“Ah thank you,” he says, smiling into his cup. “It’s actually more of a career change.”

“Really? What are you going to be doing?”

He takes a minute to respond, and for a moment you wonder if he even heard in the first place. Before you can repeat yourself, however, he’s speaking again.

“I’m… writing music. Singing some, too. For me and for others.” He points over his shoulder with his thumb. “I’ll be working with Taeyong a lot, in his studio.”

Eyebrows raising, you lean in a bit.

“You sing, Jaehyun?”

“Sometimes.” He takes a drink. “I write stories on artists, interview people in music. Do some editing. The company I work for was really cool about letting me try different things, I really liked working for them.”

There’s a moment where you’re not sure if he’s going to speak again, and right when you think you should ask another question he continues.

“But I always wanted to sing my own songs, produce my own work. My current line of business has its perks, a lot of connections too. So I’ve been working on my own stuff on the side.”

You didn’t peg him as someone in performance- he’s so pretty you’re surprised he isn’t a model or an actor honestly. But he doesn’t seem to be anything anyone would think at first glance.

“That’s so exciting. Especially working with friends, I like Taeyongie’s music. And ’m really happy to hear you’re able to chase after your dream.”

“Thank you, I’m excited to share.”

He looks at you through his eyelashes as he takes another drink.

So we’re both trying to numb our nerves, you thought to yourself.

“I hope I get to hear some music from you soon.”

He casts another smile your way, and that’s when you know the liquor is kicking in because it doesn’t send you reeling this time.

“I hope you do, too. Soon.”

“Shots?”

Everyone gathers around in the living room, passing small glasses around to those partaking in alcoholic festivities tonight. You pass one to Jaehyun, who holds it up against the light.

“I haven’t taken a shot in a long time.”

“I got you the good shit, Jae.” Jungwoo holds up two expensive bottles. “Whiskey? Or gin?”

“Oh shit… let’s do the gin. Sticking with lights tonight.”

He asks for your preference, and you do the same.

Jungwoo opens the bottle of gin and pours the first round of shots for the night. After he pours his own, he holds his glass up for a toast.

“I know this is, like, the fourth toast of the night but it probably won’t be the last if I’m being honest.”

Taeyong groans. “I’m betting on at least seven in total.”

“Those are rookie numbers,” YangYang yells out, the younger boys cackling and suggesting higher numbers.

“Anyway!” Jungwoo bangs the gin bottle on the coffee table. “This is the emotional one. It’s the end of the summer and I hate to see her go. But we’re moving into fall, and falling into our new lives-“

Donghyuck pretends to yawn.

“Dude shut up, it’s just Jaehyun-”

“I’m not finished!” And he taps the bottle again, your head falling against the back of the couch in silent laughter. “Thank you all for being part of another summer and thank you guys for coming to celebrate one of my closest, oldest friends.”

“Literally.”

Doyoung throws a pillow at Donghyuck and motions for Jungwoo to continue.

Jungwoo turns to Jaehyun, who’s made his way onto the couch alongside you and your friend. “I’m happy to see you make your wildest dreams come true. I can’t wait to see you become the sexy superstar you were always meant to be. Cheers!”

The room is full of cheers and then groans from knocking back shots with no chasers, but it’s a pleasant burn as it slides down your throat.

You blow a kiss at Jungwoo, wiping a fake tear from your eye. “Your speech was beautiful. Very moving.”

The next hour is filled with mini beer pong (players had to sip water instead of alcohol, many thanks to Doyoung), stories about the boys time in school or how some of them met their partners, and shared soju.

The boys complain that he’ll cheat if he plays so instead Jaehyun shares a strong bottle of peach soju, his favorite, with you and your coworker.

At first, it’s very cute to just watch Jaehyun laugh at all of his friends antics. He enjoys listening, occasionally cracking a few jokes or making funny noises. But he’s more than happy to settle back into the couch and observe.

But he’s also big on being a good host, even if he’s the one being celebrated- if he isn’t offering you another drink he’s offering to grab something from the kitchen for you. They’re small but clear gestures to make sure his couch neighbors are as comfortable as he is.

He’s laid back and quiet but attentive- it has you swooning a bit. It’s a contrast to the rest of the men in the apartment, who are also sweet but characteristically loud and rambunctious. You love it, but it’s fascinating to watch Jaehyun hum and giggle to himself rather than dominate a conversation.

After you clear the second soju bottle and Jungwoo has wedged himself between you and your friend, you think you hear Jaehyun giggle beside you.

“What’s so funny?” You laugh, setting the empty bottle down on the coffee table.

He just shrugs, cheeks beginning to flush from the alcohol. He’s pretty like this, you think.

“Are you a silly drunk, Jae?” You tease, catching the attention of Donghyuck.

“Oh man, he’s gonna start getting real silly soon.” The younger man comes to sit on the armrest closest to Jaehyun, affectionately brushing his hair off his forehead. He weakly tries to swat Donghyucks hand away.

“I’m not silly,” he tries to argue, way too cute and whiny compared to the man you met just two hours ago.

“You’re sooo silly right now,” Donghyuck laughs. “She’s going to have to take care of you soon!”

His eyebrows shoot up and he tries to sit straighter, attempting to coolly settle against the back of the couch. “No, no. I’m fine. I’m-“

“Come get some air with us!” Jaemin and Donghyuck pull him up by his arms, with little to no resistance from Jaehyun. He just rolls his eyes as they pull him to his feet.

Jaemin cheers, pushing him towards the sliding door to the deck.

Looking over his shoulder, he nods at you. “Need anything while I’m up?”

You wave him off towards the door.

“No, I’m okay. Go get some air.”

With you beaming up at him, Jaehyun swears the room has gotten a few degrees hotter. The air will do him good.

Jaehyun finds you in the kitchen later, just finishing one of the cookies someone brought. You pass one to him and he finishes it in one bite.

“How many drinks in are you?”

“Shit… I’m at about four. Not including that shot.”

“I think I’m at about the same,” he says, shuffling closer to you at the kitchen island overlooking the living room.

There’s a moment of silence that you share, watching all of his and Jungwoos friends (and yours now) fill up the apartment with laughter (and some screaming- Renjun set Mario Kart up on the tv).

Your heart swells knowing how loved Jungwoo is, as well as Jaehyun.

But then it dawns on you that you haven’t seen Jungwoo or your friend in a while. Before you can mention that to Jaehyun, he bumps his hip against yours.

The alcohol might not have been enough to turn the alarms off in your brain yet, but your body is slow to react to him essentially snuggling into your side. He’s warm, and he smells warm too. Like a vanilla candle. There’s something else you can’t place, but it’s more than pleasant.

“I have to tell you a secret.” He whispers, and it’s cute and kind of whiny.

“A secret?” You say, barely over a whisper. He nods slowly, looking into the crowd.

He can’t see shit, in all honesty.

“I may or may not be a little crossed.”

“That’s what I smell on you?”

“Shit, is it bad?” Just like that, he’s a little more self conscious than he is silly. He smells his shirt in a few different places, earning a laugh from you.

“No, you’re fine. It’s because you’re so close that I can smell it.” He sighs and laughs almost at himself. “Is that where you and the boys went?”

“Yeah. I don’t usually smoke but it’s something like a special occasion.”

“Absolutely it is. You deserve it.”

He simply hums, letting a a few seconds pass before he speaks again.

“You smoke?”

“Weed? Rarely.”

“Cigs?”

“Not once in my life.”

“Good for you, we’re all nicotine addicts in here.”

“Vape away, I could never judge.”

At that you both turn towards the other at the same time, chests inches apart.

His eyes are low from the weed, the whites tinted red. He’s looking down at you, a silly, boyish grin on his lips. You can’t help but blush under his gaze, lips curving into a grin of their own.

“Thanks for coming tonight.” His voice is soft, barely audible. You feel yourself subconsciously leaning into him, wishing to hear him a little louder.

“Of course, I had to support the homie. And play wingman.”

He tilts his head back to glance around the room , the realization hitting him then.

“Oh shit, I haven’t seen them in a while.”

“Then I guess I did a good job. I barely did anything but whatever.”

He laughs, voice deep and rumbly. “You did great.”

He leans onto the counter, his arm resting closing to where your hip sits against the edge. He slowly shifts his eyes back over to you, looking over your frame. Just once, even his sluggish brain is careful not to get ahead of itself.

“I’m glad we finally got to meet.”

“I am too.” Your skin is on fire under his intense gaze. It’s not so much intense as it is just so warm, so amiable. You deflect to take some of the heat off of you, quite literally. “Jungwoo talks about you all the time.”

“Yeah? What does he say?”

That you’re so fucking handsome and I’d be stupid to lie and disagree.

“That you don’t say too much, but you’re a really good friend.”

A surprised look washed over his face, then he turns sheepish.

“He’s…… that’s sweet of him.” Jaehyun rubs the back of his neck, thinking on his next words as carefully as his crossed mind will allow him. “I’m glad you’re his friend. He needs someone like you.”

You tilt your head to the side.

“What do you mean?”

“Someone who isn’t as shy as him.”

“Haha, you think I don’t get shy?” It’s funny when you think back on how nerve wracking is was to shake his hand for the first time.

But he’s just giving you this knowing look now, a ghost of a smirk at the corner of his lips.

“If you do, you hide it well.” You could scream. Can he see right through you? “But seriously. You push him to do well.”

Jaehyun is slow to speak, but even inebriated he’s intentional. Something you’ve learned in just the past few hours about him is that it may take him a while to get his thoughts out, but it’s more than worth it to hear what he has to say.

You hang on to every pause like your life depends on it, eager to hear what comes out of his mouth next.

“Before you guys worked together, he was a lot more… reserved. And passive? Like, he’s good at everything he does. We know this. But… he never really sought recognition.”

“You’re right. But he deserves it.”

He nods while he thinks on his next words.

“Yeah. I remember in school he was just happy to pass and be included in things. Never attracted much attention to himself. Never wanted to be in the spotlight. But since working with you, he’s become proud of the work he does. His confidence has grown. He’s louder. Funnier. You pushed him a lot.”

“That’s all him, he works hard-“

“He does, you pushed him though. When he finally started modeling last year all he could do was say how thankful he was for you. How you encouraged him, helped him with headshots. Went shopping with him and made sure he felt good going into auditions. And it took off.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

“He… he said that? Really?”

“He did. You’ve been a very good friend to him.”

Blinking away the tears that started to pinprick behind your eyes, you smile at Jaehyun whose own eyes are filled with mirth. Even cross faded, Jaehyun’s words were so sincere and kind.

“Are you crying?”

You sniffle, using your thumbs to collect any tears in the corner of your eyes so not to ruin your makeup.

“I was gonna but I’m okay.”

He laughs that hearty laugh again and ruffles your hair. It’s such a small gesture, but so comfortable. Domestic even. Like you’ve been friends for years. It makes your heart even fuller than it already is and if he keeps it up, it’ll burst before the end of the night.

The alcohol coursing through you is doing nothing but spread this warmth, double time. Happiness feels good coursing through you.

“Let’s get some water, yeah?” He cocks his head toward the fridge. “Doyoung brought some sparkling water.”

You begin to follow him as he takes a few steps backwards. “What flavor?”

“We have…” He starts, opening the door to the fridge. “I can barely see. Wow.”

“Move, I’ll look.”

You hip check him out of the way, and hear someone come into the kitchen behind you.

“I’m no better, but this looks like ginger peach. And calamansi.”

“Pass me a calamansi, please? You want a sparkling water, Taeyong?”

“Do you think it’s a good mixer for gin?” He asks, loud enough for someone in the living room to hear.

Then, that someone yells out: “Another round of shots?”

Laughing, you hand Jaehyun his sparkling water, and pass a ginger and peach flavored water to Taeyong. “Let’s find out, yeah?”

More cheering is heard as you shuffle back into the living room and let Doyoung pour the next round of shots.

He’s a sweetheart and pours the shots right into you and Taeyongs cans, Jaehyun sneakily placing a sealed water bottle next to your foot.

It’s well into the night, the hour a single digit when the party starts to die down.

Jungwoo is in the loveseat for one and a half, your friend snuggled into his side.

You’ve found yourself back on the couch with Jaehyuns head resting on your shoulder and one of his legs swung over Taeyongs. Miraculously, Donghyuck has found a way to lay across you all comfortably.

“I’m going to order a ride home for us soon,” your friend says through a yawn. Donghyuck is already whining, earning some light smacks from the older boys under him.

“We’re so comfy, why would you want to mess up our cuddle pile?

“I’m not cuddling, I’m being leaned on,” you tease, grinning down at Jaehyun who can barely hold his eyes open. He’s trying his best to focus on one of your faces because he sees three, but he’s not complaining.

“Hm… my bad.” He moves to sit up, but Donghyuck just nestles into him even further, and Jaehyun can’t seem to muster up enough strength to (care) knock him into the floor. “I really… I really did try.”

Jaehyun has hit peak silly hours. From little hums and cute noises to the worst dad jokes you’ve heard in a while, you understand what Donghyuck meant earlier. Jaemin and Jungwoo even got him to cutely pose for drunk selfies earlier.

Laughing through your nose, you use the hand that’s free to reach around and pat his cheek affectionately. In this state he instinctually leans into your touch, humming in approval. You have to fight the urge to squeeze his cheeks. “Jae you gonna be alright?”

“I told you she was going to have to take care of you!” At that, he and Taeyong had enough and pushed him into the floor. He lets out a squawk as his body hits the ground with a light thud. “Fuck. It’s comfier down here anyway.”

Jungwoo slowly stands up, helping your friend to her feet. “So Donghyuck is sleeping here, literally right there. No blanket. I don’t want to see you using something weird as a replacement either.”

While the boys still present start to bicker some more, Jaehyun taps your knee to get your attention.

“I’ll be okay. Just got a little carried away.”

“You’re okay. Let’s get you to bed then?”

His eyes open a little wider, mouth parting to say something. You wait.

“Are you staying over?”

“No I’m going home tonight.”

He pouts, and it almost sends you to another dimension.

“Aw don’t make that face, I’ll be back soon.”

“Okay. Good.”

You call to Taeyong, who really isn’t that much better, but he does help you get Jaehyun off the couch and down the hall to his bedroom.

You let Taeyong handle the hard part of getting him out of his jeans and under the covers, heading to the kitchen to fill a glass of water. “Jungwoo, you have any painkiller?”

“In that drawer by the stove.” He stands beside you in the kitchen. “For Jae?”

“Yeah. You want any water?”

“Nah I was good tonight. I’ll be okay.” He purses his lips. “You’re sweet for that. Taking care of him.”

“I’m not doing anything I wouldn’t do for you.”

“I know… exactly what I mean.” You shake your head and walk to Jaehyun’s room, entering while Taeyong exits.

“He’s decent, just whiny.”

“Thank you, I’ll just leave this for him then.”

You approach the side of the bed where he’s sprawled out, eyes barely open but you can see them following you even in the dark.

“Brought you some water. And some painkiller. Take it when you can, yeah?”

“Hm. Tell Jungwoo to give Hyuck a blanket.”

You chuckle and ruffle his hair before moving to leave.

“Have a good night, Jaehyun.”

“Hmm…”

unknown number: hey it’s jaehyun

unknown number: jungwoo gave me your number. thanks for coming yesterday. don’t be a stranger!

#jeong jaehyun #jung jaehyun #NCT #nct 127 #jeong jaehyun x reader #jung jaehyun x reader #jaehyun x reader #nct x reader #my writing #nct fic

687 notes · View notes

futfemfantasies · 2 months ago

Text

Semi final surprises \\ Alexia Putellas x Williamson!reader

Tensions are high in the Arsenal dressing room as the do or die game is less than an hour from starting. I tie the last knot in my laces before walking out with the rest of the girls to start warm ups. After a brief warm up with the rest of the starters, I sit down in the cubby next to Leah’s and notice a few notifications from Alexia. Before each game, Alexia always sends multiple voice messages. I play the first one and hear the thick Spanish accent come through the headphones.

Hi my love, I know you have the headphones on. I will send you the voice messages.

You will do so well today. Play your heart out, score some goals and take it in.

I love you and I am so proud of you superstar. I’ll see you in the next few days when you visit.

I smile at Alexia’s English and send a reply. My phone goes back into my bag just as Leah bumps my leg to gesture that it’s time to go.

I quickly change into the game jersey and line up with the rest of the girls. I see the Lyon team on the other side of the hallway and I move behind Caitlin in line. I feel a small hand in mine and see a young girl about 6 or 7 years old smiling up at me. I talk to her for a little bit before we go out to the bustling crowd that is the Emirates.

As we all wait for the formalities to conclude, I notice my mascot shivering slightly. I ask her if she wants my jacket and she nods. I take it off and wrap it around her shoulders. A small thank you was said and hug in return made some fans cheer at the interaction.

A short huddle later and the second semi final of the champions league is underway. With Wolfsburg shockingly beating Barcelona a few days ago, the Spanish team will fail to get their three-peat this year. A whistle pulls you out of your thoughts and your teammates start to get into position.

Lyon wasted no time in attacking, taking most of the possession from the first whistle. The Arsenal attackers, Alessia, Caitlin and I drop back into defence while trying to regain the ball to take up field. The deadlock breaks just before halftime with Lyon scoring the first goal. As the French team celebrated, Kim pulled us all into a huddle to motivate us for the rest of the half.

As I walk back with Alessia, I look back and catch Leah’s eye. I give her a slight nod and returned one as to silently say stay calm and focused. No other chances came Arsenal’s way in the first half so I walk into the locker room with my head down, about to give up. After a pep talk from Jonas and a motivational boost from Kim, the team were ready to face Lyon for another half.

As both teams jogged out, Alexia weaved her way through the crowd to get to her seat. Of course her plane had to be delayed and then no taxis or Ubers were at the arrivals part of the airport. Luckily, you had shown Alexia how to watch your games so she didn’t miss anything on the way over to the stadium. As Alexia got on a flight straight after a day of interviews and photoshoots, she came without any luggage. Excusing herself as she moved past people, Alexia finally reached her seat.

In the 70th minute is when the dynamic shifted in half. I try to sneak past Vanessa Gillies but she slide tackles straight into my ankle. I fall to ground screaming and the medic rushes over. I get a bandage wrapped around my ankle as there’s a decent cut. I put everything back on and the game resumes. I see a Lyon player get organised for the free kick, in a pretty good spot and I give Steph a look and hold up 2 fingers for a tactic.

Steph kicks the ball and I watch as it comes towards me. I quickly look in front of me and see Leah so I jump on her slightly to get a better angle on the ball. The ball flicks into the bottom corner of the net.

Equaliser. 1-1.

I run to the corner flag and turn around to be pulled into a group hug. The roar from the crowd was deafening as we regrouped and focused on the remaining 20 minutes.

As time was counting down, I was getting exhausted but I knew I had to keep going. Leah makes a crucial slide tackle and quickly spots me near the box. She kicks the ball over the Lyon defenders and with pinpoint accuracy, it lands on my foot, making it a perfectly timed volley. The familiar swoosh of the net is all I can hear as I drop to my knees in disbelief. Leah was the first on the floor with me and other teammates soon followed.

“You did it y/n/n”

“Games not over yet Lee”

In a matter of minutes the final whistle blew and Lyon bodies fell to the floor in distraught. Legs are exhausted, minds numb. While around the pitch Arsenal teammates and staff were jumping, screaming and crying all at the same time. Leah and I found each other first, hugging for longer than usual. This was our moment. One we’ve been waiting for since we were at the academy. After shaking hands with Lyon, the team and staff went on a victory lap. Walking with Leah and Steph, waving into the crowd when someone caught my eye.

“No way”

There was the love of my life wearing a red and white scarf and of course a Barça baseball cap. I sprint over to Alexia with a wide smile on my face. Alexia opens her arms and I jump the barricade to get into her arms, the place I call home.

“You came. I thought you had photoshoots and media” I say as my voice is raspy due to yelling in the game.

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss this for the world mi amor”

It has been speculation for a while now that you and Alexia are dating, with both of you posting subtle hints on instagram stories and posts. This moment just confirms all the fans TikTok edits and endless stalking they have done. Without another thought or care in the world, I grab Alexia’s cheeks gently and kiss her gently.

“I love you” I murmured against Alexia’s lips.

Alexia smiled as she replied “Te quiero más”.

I got called over by Katie and Caitlin as the group stopped staring and continued their victory parade around the ground. Alexia nudged me to go and said she’d wait here when I finish.

As I walk around the ground, nothing can beat this feeling. I have my sister and best friend with me in the final and the love of my life is by my side cheering me on. How can it get better than this?

#womens soccer #woso soccer #woso #woso x reader #woso imagines #woso imagine #alexia putellas x reader #leah williamson x reader #arsenal x reader #woso community #arsenalwfc #awfc

381 notes · View notes

thatsonemorbidcorvid · 11 months ago

Text

ON AN AUGUST night in 2003, a young woman who went by the name Paulina sank into the sofa of her modest, rented apartment, opened up her laptop, and began talking about sex with a man she’d recently met in a Yahoo chat group. His name was Stephen Bolen. His first communications had been terse, but he soon warmed to Paulina. It didn’t take long for both of them to begin to open up.

Paulina had told Bolen she lived in the Atlanta area, that she had a three-year-old daughter, that her daughter’s father was no longer in the picture. Soon, she was sharing more intimate details: what it was like growing up a skinny white girl in a rough neighborhood outside of D.C.; how her dad, a Marine, had died by suicide two weeks before she was born; how her mom had been emotionally and physically abusive, and had never really shown her love. How she’d had a sexual relationship with her stepfather.

Paulina would put her daughter to bed and then she and Bolen would chat throughout the night, over Yahoo and sometimes on the phone. The back-and-forth could feel like dating, but with an added element of danger and risk: Both Paulina and Bolen knew they were tiptoeing up to a line to see if they trusted each other enough to cross it. It could take a while to figure that out.

Eventually, Bolen asked Paulina to send pictures of her daughter, and she agreed to do so, though the ones she’d shared were chaste — the little girl clothed and her face turned away from the camera or obscured behind an untamable halo of blond curls. After seeing the pictures, Bolen asked to meet. While a lot of the men Paulina had encountered in chatrooms like “Sex With Younger” just wanted to trade images and videos of children, to expand their illicit collections, Bolen was a “traveler,” someone looking to act upon his obsessions.

On Sept. 17, just as they’d arranged, Paulina sat on a bench outside Perimeter Mall with a stroller parked in front of her, scanning the parking lot nervously. Part of her hoped Bolen wouldn’t show. When he did, she could see he was handsome, a preppy guy in a pink polo shirt and khakis. “Paulina?” he asked eagerly. She nodded. As he smiled and pulled back the blanket draped across the stroller, he found himself surrounded, handcuffs slipped around his wrists.

“Paulina” watched his face fall, his confusion giving way to distress as FBI agents took him into custody. It was her first undercover arrest. It would be the first of many.

[long read]

IF ONE WANTED to hide in plain sight, one could do no better than the tidy, suburban neighborhood on the outskirts of St. Louis, where FBI Special Agent Nikki Badolato now resides. The well-tended, two-story homes are so pleasantly indistinct that I could hardly tell you what hers looks like, even if it were safe for me to do so, which it is not. Suffice to say that Midwestern comfort and conformity unspool around every gently winding curve. Here Badolato has raised her two children, a daughter who is now in college and a son who is a junior at a local high school. When planning a neighborhood scavenger hunt or tending the community garden, Badolato does not often mention her many years as head of the Child Exploitation Task Force, a joint effort between the feds and local law enforcement that targets some of the country’s most heinous crimes. Open a cabinet in her kitchen, however, and a government-issued Glock 42 can be found stowed away between the vitamins and mixing bowls.

On a sunny morning this past October, Badolato sat at her dining room table, scrapbooks and albums spread out before her on the dark wood. There was the acceptance letter she’d received from the bureau the spring of her senior year of high school, after a representative had shown up to administer a test in the typewriting room. “I chose to wear a red dress and red heels,” she says of her first day as an FBI mail clerk, two weeks after her 18th birthday. “I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. I guess maybe I was trying to go in bold?” She pauses at a picture of herself on the gun range at Quantico almost 10 years later, her shoulders squared and her caramel hair pulled back into a ponytail as she fires off rounds. By then, she’d married a man she met just after high school, had a little girl, completed college at night, and been accepted into agent training in the heady days after 9/11. She’d seen her first dead body only a few weeks into the job, after the pursuit of a bank robber ended with a shootout in a Walmart. When Badolato got to the scene, the body was still warm, and the perp’s head was resting on a bag of cookies. “It was surreal,” she says. “How many times have you been in a Walmart and walked down Aisle 4, not really expecting there to be a dead person with his head lying on a bag of Chips Ahoy?”

Badolato wasn’t deterred. She felt like the bureau saved her, plucked her out of a shitty home life, and gave her prospects and purpose. As a new agent, she was intent on proving herself worthy. “My training agent told me, ‘You know, Nikki, it’s a marathon, not a sprint,’ ” she says. “I was like, ‘That’s ridiculous. I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean.’ ” She turned a few pages to show a picture of the 391 kilos of cocaine and 140 pounds of meth she’d recovered on a single raid during a stint with a cartel squad, then pointed out another in which she poses with a five-year-old child she’d rescued, the little girl’s hair cut short because the kidnapper had wanted her to look like a boy. But the keepsake she really wants to find is the card that Bolen’s wife had pressed into her hand at his sentencing, the one with the picture of their children — a blond girl of about three years and a tiny baby — and the words “These are the faces of the children you protect each day.” Bolen’s wife had been the only one she’d ever encountered who had lobbied for her husband to receive the maximum sentence. Some wives accused the FBI of planting evidence inside computers. Most seemed intent on clinging to their delusions. (Attempts to reach Bolen for comment were unsuccessful.)

“Right now some little girl is being dropped off in the parking lot of a motel. There are four girls holed up in a hotel next to a McDonald’s. It is happening all the time.”

Which, Badolato has come to understand, is the way it goes with child trafficking and sexual abuse. She had invited me into her home — had agreed to speak on the record about her decades-long career working undercover — because when it comes to the crimes she’s spent her career fighting, she has had enough of the delusions people are under. She’s had enough of the way movies like Sound of Freedom both glamorize and trivialize the work she and her colleagues do, enough of the idea that swashbuckling white men burst through doors and rescue trafficked children with a Bible in one hand and a firearm in the other, enough of conspiracy theories about Hollywood and Washington that detract from the real root causes of why children are trafficked and abused. “Human trafficking is not the movie Pretty Woman — the girl doesn’t get the guy — and it’s not the movie Taken, where people are kidnapped in a foreign country and sold on the black market, or shipped in a container across the world,” one of the detectives who worked on Badolato’s task force tells me. “I’m not saying that doesn’t ever happen, but it’s not what we’re seeing.”

What they are seeing is a lot more insidious and a lot more homegrown. A report released in 2018 by the State Department ranked the U.S. as one of the worst countries in the world for human trafficking. While the Department of Justice has estimated that between 14,500 and 17,500 foreign nationals are trafficked into this country every year, this number pales in comparison to the number of American minors who are trafficked within it: A 2009 Department of Health and Human Services review of human trafficking into and within the United States found that roughly 199,000 American minors are sexually exploited each year, and that between 244,000 and 325,000 American youths are considered to be at risk of being trafficked specifically in the sex industry. Heartbreakingly, many of these children are victimized not by strangers who’ve abducted them from mall parking lots but rather by people they know and trust: Studies have found that as much as 44 percent of victims are trafficked by family members, most often parents (and not infrequently parents who were trafficked themselves). Between 2011 and 2020, there was an 84 percent increase in the number of people prosecuted for a federal human-trafficking offense. Of the defendants charged in 2020, 92 percent were male, 63 percent were white, 66 percent had no prior convictions, and 95 percent were U.S. citizens.

Badolato started her career as an FBI agent in some of the earliest days that children could be bought, sold, and traded online. As the internet-porn industry mushroomed, its most lucrative branch turned out to be that of child sexual-abuse materials (the term “child pornography” is no longer used by those in the field, as it implies consent). And as demand for these images increased, so did the abuse that led to their creation.

In 2003, just a few months after Badolato graduated from Quantico, a Crimes Against Children squad was formed in the Atlanta office where she’d been stationed. By then, the FBI was starting to get a handle on the extent of the problem — if not exactly what to do about it. At a weeklong training in Baltimore, Badolato was given a tour of the darkest underbelly of fetish chat groups and then instructed to figure out how to infiltrate. “Everyone was a little nervous,” she explains of the directive. “It was a process, a direction that was new.” Agents were told that they would need to come up with a “persona” and a “story,” and that they would likely have to provide images of children to “prove” they had a minor on offer. They were also told that they could use images of their own children, if they were comfortable doing so (the FBI no longer endorses this policy).

Badolato’s unit with a kidnapping victim after her recovery in 2011. A Health and Human Services review found that roughly 199,000 American minors are sexually exploited each year, and that as many as 325,000 American youths are considered to be at risk of being trafficked in the sex industry.

Badolato developed “Paulina” based on her understanding that any persona would need to share most of her own backstory and traits. “That’s the only way you can really do undercover work,” Badolato says. “People can tell the sincerity in what you’re saying, so there has to be a level of genuineness, but then you just add this criminal element to it.” Most of the things Badolato had told Bolen were true: where she was from, her family background, the monstrousness of her mother, a woman who she says would pass out cigarettes and beers to Badolato’s 13-year-old friends in a state of manic permissiveness one minute and fly into a violent rage about a piece of lint on the floor the next. (Badolato’s mother declined to comment for this article, but a childhood friend corroborated Badolato’s account.) It was true that growing up in an unstable home with a string of stepdads, she had never really felt loved, true that she had divorced her first husband, true that she was raising their three-year-old daughter on her own. The only thing that wasn’t true was her tale of being molested, her initiation into the “lifestyle” — to use the chatroom parlance — that Paulina said she now wanted for her daughter. As Badolato had familiarized herself with the language and behaviors of the chatrooms, she’d honed that added criminal element, imagining what psychological conditions might believably lead a parent to traffic their own child and how those conditions could be grafted onto her real life story. She already had a history of abuse; it was not hard to extrapolate to a fictional stepfather who had seemed to provide a gentle counterpoint, showing her love and making her feel special when no one else had, even if others couldn’t understand. From there, it was easy to convince the chatroom participants that she shared their belief — or justification — that most people had it all wrong and that “child love” was natural, and could even be beneficial for the child.

Badolato estimates that she has arrested more than a thousand people; not one of those arrests has failed to end in a conviction. She didn’t know until she was in the thick of it that most agents refuse this sort of work, that most can’t even pretend to forge a relationship with someone looking to victimize a child. But she could. “Paulina,” she points out, is not a name she chose at random; it’s similar to her own mother’s name. Badolato says she had grown up learning to compartmentalize for the sake of her own emotional survival. She’d perfected the art of engaging with someone whose actions she couldn’t stand. Doing this work had felt like a way of taking her trauma and putting it to good use, of leveraging her past as a safeguard against her daughter’s and other children’s futures.

Of course there were moments that were hard to take — when suspects mentioned which brands of lubrication were best or whether or not a parent might hold a child down. There were times when she knew that even talking about these things was a turn-on for these men, times when the conversations made her nauseous, times when she’d lie awake all night or play back a recording and think, “Holy shit, I listened to this? I said these words?” But she kept faith in the mission. She reminded herself that the pictures she sent of her daughter — the beautiful, little girl sleeping in the next room — did not represent a real child on offer. “I was thinking, ‘If I send this obscure picture of my daughter and he acts on it, then he’s never going to harm my daughter or anybody else’s,’ ” Badolato says now. “I was presenting a fake girl to save a real one.”

KYLE PARKS SEEMED to think he could get away with anything. He seemed to think, for instance, that he could get away with running a brothel, a 1-900 sex line, and a housecleaning company out of the same Columbus, Ohio, office park and under the same oxy-moronic name, XXXREC and Hygiene Services. He seemed to think he could invite one young woman and five teenagers (four of whom he had only just met) on a road trip to Florida, but instead deposit them in two rooms of a Red Roof Inn in St. Charles, Missouri. When they piled out of the minivan — high on the drugs he’d given them — saw snow falling and asked to be taken home, he thought he could make a little money off them first. All it took was a few ads in Backpage — the Craigslist of sex advertisements — and men began showing up.

Even after things started going south for him, Parks couldn’t fathom that he wouldn’t prevail. When someone alerted law enforcement as to what was going on, Parks (who, according to legal documents, had been out getting food when the police showed up) burst into the precinct the next morning looking to bail his “friend” out. When questioned about the 88 condoms found in the back of his van, he said they had been prescribed to him by a doctor. After being taken into custody, he protested that he was being set up. Most people would have cut their losses and pleaded guilty, but not Parks. He thought he could take his case to court and win.

And it wasn’t impossible to imagine that he might. Badolato knew that even the tightest cases could go sideways when put before 12 people who would inevitably enter the courtroom with a cinematic sense of what sex trafficking was supposed to be. In fact, it wasn’t just the jury that Badolato knew she would need to convince; it was also often the victims themselves, young people who had internalized the exact same misconceptions about trafficking that the jury had — along with any number of other judgments society had thrown their way — and who were loath to submit themselves to a courtroom full of more judgment.

Of all of Parks’ underage victims, the hardest to pin down had been a 17-year-old we’ll call Sierra. Once she returned to Columbus, Sierra seemed to basically disappear. Calls to her mother’s number went unanswered. When one of the other victims managed to track her down in December 2016, a month before the case was to go to trial, Sierra agreed to meet Badolato on a blighted Columbus block with a string of dilapidated homes, climbing into the bureau’s Chevy Malibu with matted hair, dirty clothes, and a wary expression.

By this time, Badolato had remarried, had a second child, relocated to St. Louis, and taken over as head of the Child Exploitation Joint Task Force, which had become one of the most productive FBI teams in the country in terms of arrests and convictions. Meanwhile, as the internet streamlined the process of buying or selling any good or service, trafficking had become one of the fastest-growing criminal enterprises, estimated by the Department of Homeland Security to bring in $150 billion globally and considered by many criminals to be a superior business model: If caught, the sentences were often lighter than those for peddling drugs; and unlike crack or heroin, the same product could be “used” again and again and again.

Badolato taught her team of 20 how to do the online undercover work she’d trailblazed in Atlanta, tracking the movements of child-abuse material through the online underworld and then prosecuting those who distributed and produced it. Her new squad also initiated her in the type of undercover work it had been doing before her arrival: covert sting operations in which a detective would pose as a john, set up a “date,” and then meet said date in a hotel room fitted out with hidden recording devices while, in the next room over, a taskforce team listened in, waiting for the code word that would let them know that enough evidence had been gathered for them to swoop in and shut the op down. This had proved a very effective technique for getting convictions, but Badolato’s arrival coincided with both a growing sentiment that consensual sex work had been over-criminalized and an increasing awareness that what looked like consensual sex work might actually be trafficking, no matter what the “date” professed in that hotel room.

Badolato has a tendency to say aloud the things she notices — about you, about others, about situations — observations that are not at all unkind but are perceptive enough that most people would keep them to themselves. She points out when someone deflects, and she has a sharp eye for defense mechanisms. She once casually mentions my tendency to mirror other people’s vocal and speech patterns. She is not shy about bringing up the emotional and physical abuse she says she experienced as a child, and she is quick to comment when someone is making excuses for someone else’s behavior. It was soon clear to her colleagues that Badolato brought a trauma-informed mentality to the work, a tendency to look beyond what someone was doing and instead try to parse why they were doing it. And she was relentless: While some squads did one or two trafficking sting ops a year, her team was doing four or five a month. In addition to the hotel rooms reserved for the john and the team, they would have a social worker set up in a third room, ready to offer services to the victims. They would have lookouts stationed to see who might be dropping the date off. If that date was found to be underage, the case was automatically classified as trafficking. But even if they weren’t, Badolato’s team was primed to get to the bottom of what was going on, to figure out whether they were being manipulated or coerced, and by whom.

“If I could put my hands on a pimp, that’s what I wanted,” says Jeff Roediger, a St. Louis county detective who was the “john” for many of Badolato’s sting ops and who makes clear that the team was not interested in policing voluntary sex work. “When I had those types of cases, and I knew they were being sincere with me, I wouldn’t book them,” he says. “It was all about talking to the girls. It’s not like in the movies where they come running to you. You know, ‘Thanks, you rescued me!’ It’s not like that. A lot of them try to bullshit you at first — ‘That’s my boyfriend, blah blah blah’— but once I talked to them for a while, they would become more forthcoming.”

Badolato’s unit was one of the first in the country to take on this “progressive and proactive” approach, as she puts it. Soon, St. Louis looked like a sex-trafficking capital — not because it was actually trafficking more victims than other cities but because the task force was so aggressively pursuing those cases, and classifying them as what they were. “I mean, I was working in vice for years,” says Roediger. “Back in the day, it was always ‘prostitution,’ ‘prostitution,’ ‘prostitution’ — until we started to figure it out a little bit, until we started digging a little deeper.”

Once they did, the task force found that roughly a third of the sex-trafficking victims they recovered were under the age of 17 — and they began to see the reach of the problem. Kids were being trafficked out of every hotel in the area, from the seediest roach motel to the fanciest Ritz-Carlton. They were being trafficked every time of day and by every socioeconomic group (“Before you go do brain surgery, you got to bust a nut real quick,” one underage victim told Badolato of her high-end clientele). Some of the victims were girls. Some were boys. Some were LGBTQ kids who’d been kicked out of their homes. Some were straight cis kids from the suburbs. “I tell people that I could probably name two or three [kids] in the school district they live in that have been trafficked,” Roediger says. “And they just can’t comprehend it.”

“If I can be perfectly honest, I truly don’t believe that the FBI realizes what they put their agents through doing that kind of work.”

There were kids who were about to age out of foster care (a particularly at-risk group, according to those who work in the field), kids who’d run away, kids who were being sold to pay their family’s rent, or to buy their family member’s drugs. There were kids who’d sit in the hotel room, backpack at their feet, dutifully working on their math homework while agents and social workers tried to figure out what to do with them. Was their home life safe enough that they could be returned to it? Would a residential program take them? Of all the imperfect options, which would make them least likely to be trafficked again?

The one common denominator was this: They all had a vulnerability that could be preyed upon. They all lacked a safety net — societal, familial, emotional, or some combination thereof — that might have broken their fall. Mostly, their stories weren’t dramatic; they were typical American tales of neglect, of abuse doled out casually, of a steady stream of letdowns by people and institutions who should have propped them up. Badolato found that she had a knack for getting them to talk about this, for getting them to open up to her. She didn’t look like an FBI agent — at least not what they’d imagined. She spoke softly, but with authority and a slight vocal fry. And she thinks that, at some level, they could probably sense that she’d once been a vulnerable kid too, that with only a few slightly different twists of fate, she could have become a trafficking victim herself — and that she knew it. “My trauma looks different than theirs, but it’s trauma nonetheless,” she says.

“And I think victims can feel that.”

AS THE TASK force learned more about the psychology of victims, they also learned more about the ways in which their vulnerability was being manipulated, and how those ways were evolving. It was known in law-enforcement circles that once a skilled trafficker set his or her sights on a vulnerable young person, they could be groomed in a matter of days: one day for an introduction, a day or two to make the victim feel special and cared for, and then the day when a “friend” comes over and he needs to be “cared for” as well. Sometimes violence was involved at that point; sometimes drug use was involved throughout. But emotional manipulation was the key element, which is why it was so easy for grooming to move online, for groomers to take advantage of the false senses of connection fostered on social media.

Of the victims who are not being trafficked by family members, the majority are being groomed in this way. “I would say that probably 75 percent of the initial grooming is happening online now,” says Cindy Malott, the director of U.S. Safe Programs at Crisis Aid International. “Recruiters used to have to work really, really hard to get access to kids, but now they’re practically sitting in a child’s bedroom. And kids put everything out there — what’s going on in their life, who they’re angry about, parents are going through a divorce, their insecurities about their body, about themselves, what they do, how they spend their time — so it’s like a gift to these predators.”

The ways to manipulate are legion: Get a kid to send a compromising photo, and she’ll do almost anything to keep you from sending it out to all her Facebook friends; find out a gay kid is still closeted, and the threat of outing him gives you incredible power. And predators aren’t just on Instagram and Snapchat; they lurk in the chat functions of Roblox, Minecraft, Grand Theft Auto. “They’re everywhere,” says Malott. “People think, ‘Oh, I just got to keep my kids away from those porn sites, those horrible places.’ Well, no, predators are gonna go where the kids are.” And once there, they’re going to zero in on the kids who are most vulnerable.

That’s what got to Badolato. In her online undercover work, she’d plumbed the psychology of pedophiles, but now she wasn’t just dealing with suspects; she was spending time with victims and seeing the same vulnerabilities in them that the traffickers had seen: the instability or poverty, the addiction or mental health issues or abuse that had been normalized in their lives long before the traffickers entered them. Sometimes Badolato couldn’t help but feel that all the conspiracies and misconceptions weren’t just a distraction from the truth of trafficking but rather some sick attempt to let society off the hook for trying to solve the much more intractable problems at trafficking’s root.

“People would rather stick their head in the sand than address the real problem, because then you have to face and talk about the societal issues,” she says. “With a movie like Sound of Freedom, it’s like, ‘Oh, this is in a jungle in South America. This isn’t actually in [my neighborhood].’ You know? It’s easier for people to ignore the problem than deal with the issues on a societal level.”

BY THE TIME Badolato was sitting in that Chevy with Sierra, on that blighted Ohio block, she knew that the rate of revictimization for children who are trafficked was as high as 95 percent, according to FBI reports. She knew that 90 percent of sex-trafficking victims have a history of child sexual abuse, that more than 75 percent had lived in foster or adoptive care. She knew that she could arrest one perpetrator, and another would pop up in his place, that she could send one pimp to prison and the same victims would show up to stings some short time later, run by a different crew. She knew that testifying was a way for Sierra to psychologically push back against what had happened to her, and she was right: After the young woman took the stand on Jan. 10, 2017, Parks was found guilty and sentenced to 25 years; while testifying, Sierra had seemed to transform, to channel and embody a sort of empowerment. But Badolato also knew that once her testimony was over, Sierra would go back to that blighted block. She wondered how long that empowerment would last.

She also wondered about her own trajectory, her own ability to continue doing this work. The youngest trafficking victim she’d ever recovered from a sting op — an 11-year-old who’d been recruited through Facebook — had been returned to her family in a house that had no heat (Badolato had used an FBI slush fund to get it turned back on). One did not become immune to the human misery of such things. They compounded, became harder and harder to compartmentalize. “It’s just a combination of all of those years — and it’s all awful,” she says. “But there are particular moments that, for one reason or another, you can’t get out of your head. I just don’t think it’s in human nature to be exposed to that for so long and it not start changing who you are.”

One night, at a restaurant near where Badolato lives, I ask her whether she thinks children are being sex-trafficked right then, in that very moment, in just the mile or two radius around us. She’s quiet for a long time, her gaze fixed downward at her glass of wine. By the time she looks up, her whole body is trembling. “It’s happening right now,” she says quietly. “Right now some little girl is being dropped off in the parking lot of a motel. There are three or four girls holed up in a hotel next to a McDonald’s. It’s not only when we think about it. It is happening all the time. And if I’m just sitting here, present, having dinner, not thinking about it, that means I’m ignoring a problem that I know is real.” Tears stream down her face.

“Many images have never left my mind,” she says. “It’s really hard to have worked your entire life in law enforcement with a lot of child crime victims and be at the end of your career looking at the situation where you realize you can only do so much to make a difference.” Badolato wipes back the tears with the palm of her hand and shudders her head, as if she can shake the thoughts away. “Damn,” she says. “Fuck. I shouldn’t be the one crying. I’m not the victim of this.” The veteran agent steels herself and repeats, “I am not the victim.”

THE HOUSE WHERE Korina Ellison says she was first sex-trafficked no longer exists. It once stood on an unassuming lot in a residential suburb of Portland, Oregon, that stumbles down to the banks of the Willamette River. Now, Ellison can’t quite bring the house’s features to mind. She was so young back then, maybe four or five. There is so much she’s repressed, or only pieced together after the fact. As a child, she wouldn’t have known what she now believes to be true: that her grandmother scored her drugs by offering up her youngest daughter, Ellison’s mom. Or that, once her mom was hooked on the meth cooked by the man who’d lived in that house, she’d known just what to do to get more. But Ellison does remember being inside the house, unclothed. She does remember how the man would touch her.

Her life unspooled from there. Her father died of a heroin overdose when she was six. Her mom lost custody for good. She bounced around foster care, then various residential institutions, then whatever shelter she could find. In the story she tells of how she was sex-trafficked again in her teenage years, there’s no moment of drama, no kidnapping, no clear coercion. There was just a random, rainy afternoon when she had no place to go and was alone in the street and a car pulled up. The man inside took her home with him, fed her, introduced her to his girlfriend. They took her shopping. They let her stay. When men showed up at the home to have sex with the woman, Ellison was invited to watch, but she wasn’t expected to participate — not at first, anyway. According to a statement Ellison later made to law enforcement, she just “realized that people aren’t going to take care of [me] for free.” Soon, the woman was posting Ellison’s services on Backpage — $150 for half an hour, $200 for a full one — and the trio were traveling the Midwest. For a long time, it didn’t even occur to Ellison, then 16, to leave. “Where would I have gone?” she asks. “I’d been missing for over a year. Nobody was looking for me.” When the man told her to call him “Daddy,” she complied.

That was more than a decade ago, near the beginning of Badolato’s tenure as head of the Child Exploitation Task Force. But by 2021, leaving it had seemed a necessary form of self-preservation. One of her last cases had gone well legally: The perp, a retired police officer from California who had produced child sex-abuse materials of three sisters in Manila, had pleaded guilty to such charges when he learned that Badolato had brought the girls to the states to testify against him. But the experience had been emotionally devastating for Badolato, who had wanted the sisters, then 16, 13, and 11, to have memories of the U.S that consisted of more than reliving their trauma in a courtroom. She took them shopping and to the zoo, invited them to her home to have dinner with her own family, saw them slowly start to open up and laugh and behave like the children they were. Then she’d had to put them on a flight back to Manila, back to the aunt who had allowed the man to abuse them and who Badolato had been unable to extradite. Fortunately, she says, their estranged father ended up intervening and taking custody of the girls, but that feeling of futility in the fight lingered.

“I stayed for a little bit longer after that trial, but it really was when I should have been able to look myself in the mirror and say, ‘Nikki, you’re done,’ ” Badolato had told me in St. Louis. “It became clear that I had been doing it too long.” She’d spend the last couple of years working national security, a position without the immediacy of child-exploitation work, but also without the heartache. “If I can be perfectly honest, I truly don’t believe that the FBI realizes what they put their agents through doing that kind of work. I just don’t,” she says.

And yet, here Badolato was in Portland, leading Ellison, now 30, up to her hotel room, telling her about all the announcements she’d heard in the Atlanta airport instructing travelers to be on the lookout for sex trafficking. “It’s like white noise in the background,” she says as Ellison settles into the sofa. “It’s a false sense of doing something to help.”

“Here’s the thing: Nobody knows what to look for,” Ellison agrees.

“And what about the victims who are in that airport, who are walking around and listening?” Badolato asks.

“I wouldn’t have even heard that announcement,” Ellison replies. “Because I didn’t feel like a victim. It goes a lot, lot, lot deeper than anybody realizes.”

That’s what she and Badolato both understand. That’s why they started talking eight months ago. Of all the teenage victims Badolato’s task force recovered, Ellison is one of the few who she knows has permanently extricated herself from being prostituted, though it took years for her to get to that point, years for her to see that what happened to her was not her fault but rather a fault in the system, a fault in many systems over the course of generations. Neither she nor Badolato can fix that.

Yet they can’t help feeling like there’s something they can fix — or at least try to. Under the umbrella of an organization she’s founded called Innocent Warriors, Badolato created a program for schools, instructing educators on the signs that might indicate a student is being trafficked and teaching kids how to avoid getting groomed online, which, she believes, is not about stranger danger but rather an awareness of subtle manipulation. Ellison has been working with trafficked youth through nonprofits like Children of the Night, the residential program where Badolato’s team sent her when she was 17. Together, they’ve been talking about having Ellison help train undercovers who are learning to do trafficking sting ops. They’ve also discussed starting a mentorship program in which children who are still being sex-trafficked are paired with young adults like Ellison who once were, providing a way for victims to begin to envision a different future for themselves and a path toward it even while being prostituted. Such a program may be retroactive rather than proactive, but it would capitalize on Badolato’s and Ellison’s experience and expertise — and it could help in the healing of mentors and mentees alike.

Badolato had traveled to Portland for the two to talk face-to-face about how the program might work. “You have to understand how they’ve been traumatized because sometimes, to a child, relating doesn’t sound like you’re relating. It sounds like you’re pointing out all the bad things in them,” says Ellison from the driver’s seat of her Nissan Pathfinder as she drives Badolato around to show her certain landmarks of her past after she’d left Children of the Night: the bridge she’d slept under for over a year after a boyfriend had gotten her hooked on heroin, the blocks downtown where she’d bounced between a children’s shelter and the needle exchange. It had taken a prison sentence for her to finally break her addiction and commit to a different kind of life, though that evolution had had less to do with not having access to drugs than with seeing her own mother cycle in and out of the same facility — like looking into her own future and witnessing how bleak it would be. Maybe, she thought, she could provide the inverse of that for kids in Innocent Warriors. Maybe she could reverse engineer her own escape.

“I just want to make it very clear that if you were a victim, you are a victim, and just to not have any shame in that,” she tells Badolato as they drive through Portland’s misty streets.

“What I anticipate and hope is that then we get survivors that are like, ‘They get it,’ ” Badolato replies. “And that it opens up doors to help, for people to recognize that there are people who get what’s really going on.”

“It took a really long time for me,” Ellison says of coming to terms with her own victimhood.

“It’s like reworking your thought process about some of those things,” Badolato agrees. “And that’s hard, and it happens slowly over time, and it looks different for everybody.”

Ellison grips the wheel tightly. “The truth does matter. It does. The truth is the fucking truth. And it’s been empowering to be able to talk about it because that’s another way that I’ve realized, like, ‘Man, I was a victim,’ is re-going over all of this. Because when it happens so many times, you do blame yourself. It’s a lot easier to just continue to live in a lie than believe that you were lied to.”

Still, Ellison and Badolato agree that the impressionability that makes children vulnerable is also what makes them open to guidance and mentorship if a relationship of trust can be established. “What do you think a parent does? They groom you. I’d been waiting to be guided and groomed,” Ellison says.

It’s been instructive to see that potential from another perspective, as a mother doing the guiding. As the afternoon wears on, Ellison stops to pick up her then-15-month-old son, who was being watched by a social-worker friend. She buckles the little boy into his car seat, ruffles his hair, and passes him a bottle. He grins widely and begins removing his shoes and socks, throwing them gleefully onto the floor of the car and then kicking his tiny feet in time with the music as Ellison glances back at him and smiles. “Kids are so perfect,” she says.

The last stop of the day is the large plot of land where the drug dealer’s house once stood. Now, it’s been turned into a playground, with brightly-colored jungle gyms, a covered picnic area, and a large lawn, where a couple leisurely walks their dog. Ellison and Badolato climb down from the car and stand at the park’s edge, as Ellison’s son toddles around the grass, oblivious to what had transpired in that very spot. There is some form of poetic justice in the land being earmarked for children’s enjoyment, but neither woman voices it. Mostly, they’re quiet. Night is falling, the air growing cooler, and the gray sky fading into dusk.

“You would never think a park could hide what it used to be,” Ellison says at last. And yet it did. Driving off with Badolato at her side and her son babbling happily in the back seat, Ellison glances in the rear-view mirror, but only for a moment. Badolato keeps her eyes fixed only on the road ahead.

609 notes · View notes

skele-ghost · 1 year ago

Text

Fuck in the Graveyard (not really)

Summary: (Graves/Reader) You’ve been taking illegal suppressants for wayyy too long, and when you miss a dose, it all comes crashing down.

Content Warning: A/B/O Omegaverse dynamics, reader is afab, female pronouns?, substance abuse, technically is a fuck or die situation, p in v, knotting, brief fingering

Graves is kinda sweet in this one. I’ve never posted my stuff anywhere before and this is the first fic I’ve written in second person. Let me know what y’all think. I do not take requests.

(*˘︶˘*).｡.:*♡

The thing about taking illegal suppressants is that you have to time them perfectly. You’d better have your cycle down to a science, and you’d better take them three days before your heat, during, and three days after—and don’t you dare take them any more than 24 hours apart.

That’s how you wound up completely fucked: you took one dose two hours too late, and now the suppressants were completely ineffective. Was it really your fault? No, you’d been in the middle of a firefight, for fucks sake! But by some sick case of luck and science that made next to no sense, your heat started to build.

You hid being an Omega as much as you could. It wasn’t exactly a secret—it was there in your file for anyone to see. But so long as your heats were taken care of and you weren’t sending every Alpha within a mile radius into a rut, the military was happy.

And you were happy to let them believe that you were taking the regular course of suppressants that they prescribed you, and not the dangerous, high-dose, illegal ones that you preferred. They made your scent next to undetectable and made sure you could actually think straight when you were suppressing your heat, unlike the regular ones.

You were a specialist, an asset of high importance, and you’d be damned if you’d let your own biology stand in the way of that.

That’s why you liked the Shadows. Graves sent you a job offer after working with you on a mission gone sour in Urzikstan. He admired the way you kept your head cool when the world was falling apart around you. Even when you disclosed your designation, he shrugged it off.

“As long as you can keep your head cool like you did out there, we won’t have any problems,” he’d said.

And you’d kept your promise for nearly two years, now. But that was a long time to go without a heat, and a long time to be surrounded by the heady scent of Alpha unclaimed.

You were ashamed of the way you had to take off earlier. Once everyone was back from the mission, in one piece, settled in, you bolted, feeling the heat and sweat cling to you like a second skin.

It was sheer resolve that allowed you to keep the scent patches on for so long, little bandages clamped over your glands with a strong deodorizer, not letting anything out. You nearly passed out from the intense pain of prying them off your neck and wrists, the scent glands over-sensitive to even a breeze.

You blink away the tears quickly; you have to stay focused. You’ll drive to the safe house and crash there, get something planned. You knew the consequences of completely suppressing your heat for so long with such toxic drugs. Now you had to live with the consequences.

The little white farmhouse is remote, nestled deep in an old growth wood. It was beautiful, living up to the pictures you’d seen when Graves had shown it to you as a precaution. It had been in his family for generations before he fixed it up and decided to turn it into a safe house.

You pant as you put the car in park, staring at the building for a moment, your thoughts jumbled and disconjointed. As much as you want to melt into the seat, you have to get inside. A cold shower—that’s what you promise yourself, meek little motivation.

It manages to pull you out of the truck, onto shaky legs that want to collapse underneath you, but you push on.

They key is behind a brick on the foundation beneath the porch. It takes you a moment to remember which one—Graves had only shown you once.

Since you are the only unclaimed omega in the Shadows, he told you where the house was and how to access it. Just in case you had, in his words, “omega-related problems.” It isn’t too far from base. You’d have to figure out some way to show your eternal gratitude for the man…if you ever saw him again.

You retrieve the key and turn to make your way up the stairs, and that’s when things go sideways. You trip on the last step, crashing onto the porch with a force that shouldn’t hurt as much as it does.

The key falling out of your hand is the last coherent thought that you have before the pain takes over. Your sensitive skin and muscles cry out and it feels like hitting a sore bruise, everywhere.

You whimper, tears rolling down your cheeks as you stare up at the watery image of the porch’s ceiling. There’s a wasp’s nest, gross, but it’s November. They’re either sleeping or dead from the cold.

And thank god it’s cold, because at least your skin doesn’t feel like it’s completely on fire.

You know this is bad. You’ve deteriorated too quickly, the heat sneaking up and hitting you like a blitz attack from the dark.

As much as you hate to admit it, heats are necessary. It gets rid of built-up chemicals in the brain, provides a release to make new ones. Not quite like sleep was necessary, but in a similar fashion.

You’re worried that this one might kill you. You’re worried that if this one isn’t quelled and satisfied, you might end up brain-dead or in an eternal coma like the people in those stories your middle school health class scared you with.

But in the face of death? All that you wish is that you could apologize for the inconvenience. What kind of paperwork would Graves have to fill out for your corpse? Would he get in trouble for not monitoring you, for not knowing about your use of the illegal suppressants?

You slip into unconsciousness, the word ‘sorry’ on the tip of your tongue.

A whimper is all you manage as you stir awake, the first thing you notice being the thick, heavy, intoxicating scent of an Alpha, and one you know.

Graves smells like bonfires and bourbon, or maybe it’s whiskey? You make a breathy moan at the smell, brows furrowing as you feel yourself being carried.

“I know, baby, I know,” he says, his voice making a nice rumble trail down your spine.

He’s holding you bridal style and then holds you close to him as he sits down, tucking your head into his neck so that you can scent him.

It cools the flames slightly, letting your mind clear itself of the fog as you finally stir, opening your eyes.

“Com-mander?” You ask, voice not much louder than a whisper.

He pulls you back, glancing down at you, his blue eyes filled with concern. “(Y/N), what’s going on? You don’t smell right, sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“Suppressants…not working,” you grit out, whimpering as an uncomfortable cramp begins in your gut.

“The ones you’ve been taking? Why, what’s wrong with them?” He lays you down on the bed he’d been sitting on and you whine at the loss of contact, squinting your eyes shut at the cramping.

You can hear him search through your bag, the one that had been digging painfully into your back a few minutes ago, and you hear the rattle of a pill bottle.

“Oh, (Y/N), you didn’t…” he says, and you can only imagine what his expression is as he looks at the bottle. It’s pretty damning—the prescription bottle with someone else’s name blacked out on it, half empty, label reading exactly what’s inside.

Graves returns to your side, his cool hand on your cheek turning you to look up at him. He looks…betrayed? Crestfallen? Worried, above all else, as he holds the bottle up with one hand.

“(Y/N), tell me you didn’t take these—tell me this isn’t what I think it is,” he demands, the command in his tone making a gush of slick escape you, adding to your already soaked panties.

“M’ sorry,” you whisper, tears blurring up along your waterline.

“Shit, (Y/N),” he growls, tossing the pills onto the bed, running his hands through his hair. “What do I do? You need to go to a hospital, is that it?”

You shake your head, “no, they can’t do anything. And I’d get arrested—ah!” You cry out, curling inwards as a sharp, painful cramp rolls through. Slick gushes out of you again, your organs overproducing as if they need to make up for all the missed heats. After a few agonizing moments it calms down and leaves you gasping, tears rolling down your cheeks.

You know what your options are, you know how fucked up this is, and you know that Graves is probably going to fire you after this—but you also know that you’re not ready for the final alternative.

“Please, it hurts!” You beg, pleading up at the sight of your commander above you, “please, Alpha.”

He closes his eyes and clenches his jaw, pursing his lips in that way you’ve always found so hot, “are you sure? You’re not thinking clearly, (Y/N).”

You nod frantically, grabbing his arm and scenting his wrist, keening at the smell, “please, please, Graves.”

His restraint snaps and he climbs ontop of you, pinning your wrists to the bed and placing his mouth on yours. You moan into it, trying to lift you hips up to get some kind of friction to no avail.

He pulls away and you tilt you head aside to give him better access to your neck as he scents you, breathing in deeply and growling. You cry out as he runs his tongue and teeth along the glands.

“I never got a good smell of you, (Y/N), you always wear those damn patches and I always want to rip them off,” he nibbles along your jaw, your whines and whimpers filling the small bedroom.

“Alpha, please,” you beg, desperate, clenching around nothing when you want to be clenching around him. “Inside, please put it inside.”

“I know, baby,” he says, pecking your lips again before he pulls back, hands gliding along your sides as he pulls your shirt off. “You’re burning up.”

Tears prick in the corners of your eyes and you squirm, whining and babbling as he pulls your bra off, too. The cooler air feels nice on your sweat-sheen skin, and you buck your hips as Graves gets off of you, hooking his fingers to pull your pants and panties down in one fell swoop.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he curses, then groans at the sight of your slick, how it clings to your parties in wet strings before he pulls them away.

Your boots are still on and he didn’t get your pants all the way off, but maybe seeing how soaked you are makes Graves hasty.

The most pornographic moan escapes you as he sinks two fingers in your hole, your sweet little cunt sucking them in and clenching down.

“Fuck, good Omega,” Graves groans, slipping in a third finger that has you moaning even louder.

Every spot he hits is the right one, every move pure ecstasy. Your voice is a broken babble of pleads and curses and moans, begging for your commander to fuck you, to take you, to make you his.

You almost sob when he retracts his fingers, not even caring to wipe them as he rolls you onto your stomach, grabbing your hips and pulling them up into the air, right against his own.

Feeling his erection against your ass, you turn downright frantic, “please please please, please fuck me, Alpha, please I need your knot so bad!”

He hisses as you rub against him and he begins unbuckling his belt, which only spurs you on more. He manages to still your hips and get his pants down, rubbing the head of his cock through your slick.

You keen embarrassingly loud as he enters you, slowly letting every inch of himself be swallowed up by your greedy cunt.

When he bottoms out, pressing against your cervix, it’s like a switch flips. You cum, whining as your legs shake, as Graves gasps behind you.

“Goddamn, baby,” he drawls, squeezing into the meat of your hips. “You’re fucking perfect, you know that?”

Your brain is too melted with lust to be able to form any coherent sentence. When he pulls out and slowly thrusts back into you, testing the waters, you all but go limp, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you moan.

“Goooood girl,” he praises, speeding up his thrusts and finding a steady rhythm, your skin slapping together. “So slick and tight for me, omega, good god—“

All you can do is moan and take it. There’s no more painful cramping, and though your skin is still hot it’s not as bad. Your body is getting exactly what it needs: a good, hard fucking by a big, strong Alpha.

“(Y/N),” Graves moans, his voice sounding so sweet to your ears, “so good, baby. Better than I ever imagined.”

You keen at that, at your alpha wanting you—well, he isn’t yours, is he? It makes your heart sting slightly but that’s quickly forgotten with a slap to your ass, sending shockwaves of excitement through you.

You can feel yourself getting tighter, getting ready to be thrown over the edge again, and you can feel Graves speed up his thrusts, his knot slowly beginning to swell inside you.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, “gonna give you my knot, gonna fill you up good—“

His thrusts get even harder, even rougher, and you cry out, feeling yourself come tumbling violently over the edge as his knot catches on you, cumming in waves like the sea crashes onto shore.

Graves stills inside you, making good on his promise, shooting ropes and ropes of hot seed. You can feel his swollen knot inside you, just past your entrance, making your pussy full in the most delicious way. You hear him catch his breath before he carefully rolls you both over onto your sides, laying down with you on the bed.

You hum happily as he wraps his arms around you, placing a chaste kiss on your shoulder as both of your ragged breathing calms.

“Fuck, (Y/N),” he says, his voice husky in a way that makes you wish you were his.

“Yeah,” you manage to reply, running your hands along the arms that hold you.

“I don’t want you taking those damn pills ever again,” he growls, making you shiver. “Understand?”

You open your eyes and turn to look at him, confused at the soft expression on his face. It’s almost…vulnerable? Wasn’t he going to fire you?

“Commander?”

“This isn’t up for debate,” he says. Behind his blue eyes is a fire you know well, akin to the one that dances in his eyes on the battlefield. “I’ll drug test you if I have to, but I’m not going to lose you to some stupid suppressants.”

You blink. “You’re not going to fire me?”

“What? No,” he says like you’re crazy for thinking so. “But if you want to stay, darlin,’ we’re going to need to set some ground rules.”

“Okay,” you agree, relieved. You didn’t want to lose your job, it’s a good gig. The employee benefits are killer…and you’d miss your commander.

“It’s simple, (Y/N), no more illegal suppressants, and you come to me for your heats,” that bastard smirk of his returns and you giggle.

“Are you propositioning me, Commander?”

“Hell, yes I am,” he says proudly, reaching up to caress your cheek. “Probably should’ve done it sooner.”

You lean in and kiss him, enjoying how it sweetens his scent. Your heart flutters in place, content, elated; you had only ever dreamed of this. You finally have him.

“Oh, and no more scent patches. You smell too damn good to be covered up.”

You roll your eyes at him, still grinning. “You sure about that? I don’t think you’ll like every other alpha sniffing after me.”

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll keep you safe,” he says confidently, placing a lingering kiss to your cheek. His eyes hint at something darker, “besides… they’ll catch on.”

#phillip graves #Phillip graves/reader #Graves/Reader #graves x reader #cod mw2 #cod x reader #cod x y/n #shadow company #have I ever told y’all how much I hate the name phillip #honestly it’s a turn off ngl #but graves is cute even if he is a war criminal <3 #cod omegaverse #a/b/o #omega reader #alpha!graves

733 notes · View notes

vodika-vibes · 7 months ago

Note

Hey congrats on 650+ followers could I please request a romance regencycinderella type au, where Rex is a prince and has to marry a person of "high standing" but he ends up meeting and falling in love with the reader, who is the servant of the spoiled bratty princess he's supposed to be marrying.

Sorry if this is too much detail.

You Will Be Okay

Summary: You have been the handmaid of Princess Harmony for the majority of your life, your responsibilities include ensuring her clothes are neat, styling her hair, and helping her bathe. It’s only natural that you would join her when she travels to Prince Rex’s palace when it’s time to meet him. The last thing you expect is to catch the eye of the Prince himself.

Pairing: Captain Rex x F!Reader

Word Count: 2452

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, but it's not shown

Prompt: Regency AU

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: Once again, this took me a while to get down. And it feels slightly less Cinderella to me, but I hope you like it anyway! Thanks for your request!

It has been three weeks since Princess Harmony, the Princess you serve, arrived at Jaig Palace, home to her betrothed, Prince Rex. Which means, it has been three weeks since you arrived at Jaig Palace.

In the three weeks since you’ve been here, Princess Harmony has thrown several massive temper tantrums, has destroyed five dresses (two of which had been passed down from the Queen Mother), and has verbally abused the staff of Jaig Palace so severely that they refuse to serve her.

At this point, you would sell your right arm, left leg, and your little brother’s body for a break.

But, Princess Harmony seems to be in a good mood today.

A better mood than she’s been in since you left the Cin Palace that is her home.

You put the final touches on her intricate up-do, pinning some peace lilies into her golden locks, before you step away and bow, “All done, your highness.”

Princess Harmony tilts her head from one side to the other, and then she nods once. “This is adequate. I like the way you have the peace lilies framing my face. Wherever did you manage to find Peace Lilies here?”

“Her Majesty sent some with your luggage, your highness.” you reply.

“Of course she did.” There’s something bitter in Princess Harmony’s voice.

“Is all well, your highness?”

“I’m fine.” She bites out as she waves her hand, “Tell me, Handmaid-” You cringe, in the nearly twenty years you’ve been serving her, she still hasn’t learned your name, “what is on my schedule for the day?”

You blink at the princess, and then turn to pick up the itinerary that had been delivered the night before, “It appears that you have a free day today, your highness. At least, until this evening, when you are scheduled to give a speech.”

“Oh, yes. That.” She stands suddenly and glides away from the vanity, “You are dismissed. I have no need for you today.”

“As you command, your highness.”

“Send in my double when you leave.”

You curtsey deeply, and sweep out of the room before she can change her mind.

Princess Harmony was given a rather large set of apartments when she arrived here three weeks ago. There’s her own room and private bathroom, and then there are two more rooms. A large room for the Princess’ body double, and then a much smaller room that you call your own.

Fiore, Princess Harmony’s double, is sitting in the sitting room with a book in her hand. She is nearly identical to the princess, though her eyes are several shades darker than the Princess’.

“Princess Harmony is asking to see you, Fiore.” You murmur as you walk over to the older woman, and adjust one of the peace lilies in her hair to make sure it’s identical to the Princess’ hair.

“Asking, or demanding?” Fiore asks.

Fiore is, technically, Princess Harmony’s older sister. The King had an affair, resulting in the birth of Fiore, and you know that the older woman resents her spoiled half-sister. She was not a willing body double, it’s something that Fiore has confided in you when she was assigned her position.

“Is it not the same thing?” You ask with a gentle curl of your lips.

Fiore scoffs and smoothly gets to her feet, “Then I had best see what her royal brattiness wants. You should take the day, though.” She adds with a fond smile in your direction, “You’ve been going non-stop since we arrived.”

Personally, you’re of the opinion that Fiore would be a better Queen than Harmony, but it’s not as if anyone cares about your opinion. You offer her a small smile, before you sweep out of the suite of rooms.

Your first free-day in weeks.

You allow your feet to lead you through the, now familiar, halls. Pausing every now and then to speak with some of the guards and other servants. They like you well enough, though you’d have to be blind to not see the pitying looks that they shoot you.

Your feet lead you to the gardens. As you understand it, the Gardens had been the late Queen’s project, and you can tell by looking at the beautiful flower beds, and massive trees, that it had been a labor of love.

A small smile graces your lips as you walk through the gardens, pausing every now and then to admire some of the plants that you’ve never seen before.

Cin Palace is located far, far to the north. The only plants that grow naturally are coniferous trees, and small shrubs. And the greenhouses back home are dedicated to fruits and vegetables, not flowers.

You allow yourself to wander through the flowers, and vanish into the thicket of trees. The leaves are a wide array of colors, from deep purple, to rich green, to vibrant red. It’s like walking through a kaleidoscope.

You can’t help but think, if this is what it’s like living here, then moving wouldn’t be so bad. Even if it does mean that you’re stuck serving Princess Harmony for the rest of your life.

And then, suddenly, you realize that you’re not alone.

“Oh,” You stop mid-step and flush before curtseying deeply as you avert your eyes from the blonde prince standing in front of you, “Your Highness, my apologies.”

He looks just as surprised to see you as you are to see him, “Ah, there’s no need for that. Just Rex is fine.” He says awkwardly, stepping closer to you and lightly touching your elbow to bring you back to your feet. “You are…Princess Harmony’s handmaiden, aren’t you?”

You straighten and fold your hands, “I am, yes.”

A smile, small and warm, crosses his face and you feel warmth in your chest. He really is very handsome, you weren’t expecting him to be kind too, “I thought I recognized you from your arrival. Though, I haven’t seen you since-?”

“Princess Harmony prefers that I stay out of sight,” You reply honestly, “Plus…” You hesitate and then shake your head, “It’s not important.”

“Please. I’d like to hear what you have to say.”

You duck your head, “Princess Harmony has a…difficult…personality at times.” You finally say, very diplomatically, “The servants that were assigned to her suites have refused to serve her due to how she treated them. So I have been very busy since arriving.”

“I have heard rumors from my staff,” Rex admits, “I thought they were just rumors. Still, I am glad that you managed to come and see the gardens. What do you think?”

“They’re beautiful,” You reply with a bright smile, “I have never seen so many different flowers and plants.”

He answers your smile with one of his own, “Would you like a tour?”

“Truly? You’re not too busy?”

“Today is my free day,” Rex replies, “And I’m happy to show off my mother’s garden.” He moves to the side and motions for you to come stand next to him, “This way, the garden is much larger than people generally see.”

His hand settles, warm and comforting, on your lower back as you fall into step next to him. Rex leads you deeper into the garden, telling you stories of his mother, and of the various plants that she chose to fill her garden.

It’s the start of a, slightly surprising, friendship.

It has been three weeks since the day that you first met Prince Rex, and has been six weeks since your arrival at Jaig Palace. And, in your opinion, things are going well.

Well. Wellish.

Princess Harmony’s mood plummeted, and no amount of her favorite snacks, books, or songs could bring her back into a more tolerable mood.

She’s since turned her foul temper on you, and on Fiore.

The first time she struck you indicated a change in your relationship with your princess. And a change in the relationship between Fiore and Harmony.

Fiore refused to allow you to be alone with Harmony, regardless of how Harmony ranted and raved and threatened her. In truth, you’re grateful for the older woman, as her presence made it so that Harmony couldn’t strike you again, no matter how much she might want to.

It also means that you have a lot more free time than you did when you first arrived.

Of course, free time is relative, as you spend the majority of the time trying to prepare for the wedding between Princess Harmony and Prince Rex.

Though, at this point, you’re pretty sure that you’ve spent more time with the groom-to-be than Princess Harmony. In fact, you can’t remember them having a single conversation at all.

And you’re concerned.

Rex is a friend, at least, you think he is. And you’re not overly eager to leave him to Harmony’s wild outbursts.

“May I ask a personal question?” You ask, late one evening as you watch the fireflies dance around you and Rex. Harmony’s nightly temper tantrum evolved into her throwing a vase at you and Fiore, and so you were encouraged to leave the suite for a couple of hours.

Which led you here, sitting on a blanket, deep in the garden, with Rex sitting across from you.

He’s dressed down, in a loose tunic with the laces untied at his neck, baring more of his chest to you than he’s ever done before, and his trousers are loose and stained with grass.

He looks amazing. And you have to force yourself not to stare at him, it’s not your place. It’s a shame that your friendship with him has turned into you having a crush on him.

Rex laughs, “You don’t have to ask permission, cyar’ika.” His grin is teasing, and you make a face at him. He still won’t tell you what that nickname means, though you suppose it doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

“...do you want to get married?” You ask slowly, carefully.

He pauses from where he was peeling an orange, and he slowly sets it down on the blanket, “In truth? No. Not to Harmony at least. She’s…incredibly unlikeable.”

“Ah.” You absently smooth your skirt, “I suppose it doesn’t really matter what you want, though. Does it?”

Rex gazes at you for a long moment, “I have to get married. The law is very clear on this.” He pauses, “Of course, the law doesn’t specify who, exactly, I have to marry.”

“I don’t follow.”

“It doesn’t say that I have to marry a princess.” He clarifies, “Just that I have to be wed before I turn 25.”

“I see.” You murmur.

Rex doesn’t say anything for a long moment and then he sighs. You turn your gaze towards his face, and start when he shifts so that he’s sitting close enough that your knees are touching. He reaches out, and for a moment, you think he’s going to press his hands against your face, but he seems to hesitate before reaching down and taking your hands in his.

“Rex?”

He smiles at you, “I didn’t want to ask, but it’s hard to not notice that you flinch away from Harmony. And it’s even harder to ignore how Fiore seems to hover over your shoulder like you’re her charge. Does Harmony hit you, cyar’ika?”

You nervously lick your lips, “It…only happened one time. And it was my fault, really. I should have known better than-”

“No.” Rex squeezes your hand and his voice is stern enough that your words die on your tongue, “There is no excuse for her hitting you. At all.”

You stare at him, stunned. “Well, yes. Of course.” You offer sheepishly, “But…I’m still her handmaiden and…and…” You trail off, and then squeeze your eyes shut, “You shouldn’t marry her.”

“And what happens then?” Rex asks, his voice gentle.

“We go home, back to Cin Palace.” You say, “And…and nothing changes.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and then releases one of your hands. You start when his warm hand presses against your cheek, “If nothing changes for you, then that means you’ll be stuck with an abusive employer.”

“Fiore won’t let her hurt me.” You reply as you open your eyes again. Rex seems closer somehow.

“What if I had a different idea?” He offers, “A better offer. For you and Fiore.”

“I don’t-?”

“Marry me.”

Whatever you expected him to say, it wasn’t that. You blink at him, your jaw dropped, as your train of thought not only screeches to a halt, but also completely derails. “What.”

Not the most eloquent of ways to ask for clarification, but he doesn’t seem offended. In fact, he seems amused.

“Marry me. Become my Queen.”

“But…but I’m a servant-!”

“I don’t care.”

“You should definitely marry a princess-”

“I want to marry someone I love, and I love you.”

You gape at him, dumbly for a moment, “But. You. That’s…”

“Take your time,” Rex teases. He seems confident and relaxed, as though he hadn’t just dropped a bombshell on you.

“You love me?” You ask, your voice tiny.

“Is that so surprising?”

“You hardly know me-”

“I know you’re allergic to grapes, I know you really like the color blue, but your favorite color is hunter green. I know you like dancing, though you’re too embarrassed to actually dance in front of people. I know you’ve always wanted a garden of your own, but have never been permitted one.” He leans in closer, and presses his forehead against yours, “I know you’re afraid of the dark, but you still enjoy watching the stars.”

“I never told you any of that.” You whisper.

“You didn’t have to,” He releases your hand and brings his hand up so that he’s properly cupping your face, “I know you, cyar’ika. I want to marry you. Become my Queen. And I’ll make sure you’ll never be unhappy again.”

“...but-”

“Fiore will be offered a position as your bodyguard if you agree.” Rex promises, “You’ll both be free from Harmony.” He strokes your cheek lightly, “And, even if you don’t want to marry me, you’ll both be offered positions on my staff. You will be free of her one way or another.”

You exhale slowly, “Okay.” You whisper.

He blinks at you, “Okay?”

“Okay, I’ll marry you.”

And then you squeak when his lips press against yours in a deep and passionate kiss. It takes you a moment, but you end up wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him back just as enthusiastically.

You feel him grin into the kiss, and you can’t help but melt into him.

This might not be what you expected for your life, but you’re not going to complain. After all, this is much, much better.

#star wars #tcw #star wars au #vodika-vibes 650 event #captain rex x reader #rex x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #answered asks

156 notes · View notes

alexanderwales · 1 month ago

Text

Notes on 3000 miles

Last year my doctor told me that I had high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and a high resting heartrate. So I started biking on an exercise bike, and by my best estimations, I'm either close to hitting 3000 miles or have already gone past that.

I should clarify that this wasn't all at once. I took many breaks.

So here are some notes.

When I started, I was on an exercise bike that my wife had gotten from her work. It wasn't the best, but it was free, and I made a deal with myself that if I biked every day for a month, then I could justify getting something better. I really really did not want to buy a piece of exercise equipment that would just sit in the house gathering dust, because that would feel awful ... but I do kind of wish that I had gotten the better bike sooner, because it removed some of the "friction" of exercise, where it felt like there were too many reasons not to get on the bike. The new exercise bike (a refurbished Peleton off Facebook marketplace that my wife got me for Christmas) really does just feel and move better. I think the general principle of not doing costly monetary commitments until you've shown costly personal commitment is a good one, however.

Blood pressure is in normal range. Cholesterol is in normal range. Resting heartrate is in normal range. This was all the case three months in, and this level of cardio is more than enough to maintain it.

Right now, I bike for thirty minutes a day, going 8-10 miles according to the bike. That range is enormous, because it represents vastly different amounts of work. Going 10 miles in 30 minutes is 20 miles an hour, and I keep the resistance relatively high, so by the end of it I'm always panting. By contrast, going 8 miles makes me feel like I didn't put in enough work.

My goal every day is sweat-based and completely qualitative. I want to soak through a shirt. This means that doing more laundry than I'd prefer to, which is an unanticipated consequence of the biking. It's also, compared to all the metrics the bike gives me, a very clear sign that I am actually exercising my body "properly" in a way that's achieving something.

I did some of the Peleton classes, and found a lot of the metrics to be motivating, but ... eh. Exercise is mostly about being healthy and maintaining my body, so my current strategy, for the last six months, has been to either shut the brain down or keep it fully engaged in something that passes the exercise time. Usually this means a TV show, especially a foreign one with subtitles, which need slightly more brainpower.

The final two minutes is always the worst. I'm just ready to be done with it. Sometimes there's gas left in the tank, but I still feel sweaty, thirsty, and overheated. I have a water bottle, and I drink from it while I bike, and I have a fan pointed at me that I turn on once I'm warmed up, but I always have a sense, in those last two minutes, of "finally I'm done". I tried the thinking man's solution, only biking for 28 minutes, and this did not help. In my entire year of biking a half hour a day, I didn't ever elect to go into overtime.

I initially lost ten pounds, then slowly gained it back. I am, in fact, overweight, but I'm holding more or less steady now, and there have definitely been some body composition changes, with muscle replacing fat. I went down about four inches at the waist. I've changed very little about how I eat (which is 90% meals that I cook myself, and a daily coffee drink of some kind, usually made myself with sugar/cream/chocolate). Biking amounts to 300-400 calories a day or something like that, so I'm presumably eating more to compensate and just not realizing it.

Mental health has been rocky, but that's just sort of how it is for me. I definitely feel less mentally well on days that I don't bike, and feel better afterward, but I have no idea how tight the correlation is, and if I had been keeping track on a mood tracker, I'm not sure I would be able to sus out from self-reported mood alone whether or not I was biking.

During the summer I replaced a lot of indoor exercise bike stuff with outdoor biking. My son has only recently learned to bike, so he's been with me many of these times. Usually that means that we're either biking a lot less distance, or we're biking for a lot longer time at much lower intensity, sometimes both. There's a bike path that's downhill from our house which goes for maybe six miles, with some good, clear turn back points, but that means a fairly arduous uphill to get back home. If I lived in a place where the weather wasn't frigid for almost half the year, I would probably be doing outdoor biking more.

I think the most important thing, if you're doing exercise every day, is making sure that you're doing it in such a way that it's sustainable and virtually incapable of injuring you. This mostly means proper form. Early on, I had a habit of pressing down the right pedal with the outside edge of my foot, and after fifteen minutes of doing that, the muscles in the foot would be aching and uncomfortable. I'm not sure why I was doing that, but it was difficult to get myself to bike in a way that wouldn't be putting strain on me.

I think it's okay to skip a day ... if it's for the right reason. Of the days that I've skipped, I always try to make sure the reason isn't "fuck it, I don't want to". I should either be feeling sick, feeling like I need to rest, or replacing biking with some other form of exercise like a hike in the woods or some weightlifting or something. If I start skipping days because I just don't feel like it, that's where the whole scheme falls apart.

I am currently sort of wondering how long this is going to go on for, and I think the answer is "for the rest of my life", or at least until I'm unable to keep it up for whatever reason. I don't think there's any particular reason to prefer an exercise bike (or regular bike) over running or rowing or some other form of cardio, but I think I have proven to myself that this is cardio I can do daily and stick with it to the level that is probably necessary for me to stay healthy. I'm not committed to doing it for the rest of my life, since in theory some other form of cardio might come along and sweep me off my feet.

I do wish that I had started earlier in my life, even if daily exercise has not been the panacea for mental health that I had been kind of hoping it would be. I hope that I have the willpower and wisdom to keep up with it indefinitely.

#exercise #biking

64 notes · View notes

libraryofgage · 11 months ago

Text

The Prince and the Metalhead (2)

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually

I know I just posted part one but I've got Thoughts for this AU that include: Steve's first birthday in Genovia and then his 16th, his conversation with his grandmother about attending public school in America for his senior year, and then we get into him attending Hawkins High and meeting Eddie!

So, yeah, plans lmao

Anyway, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;)

------

"You'll have a rotating course schedule. Mondays and Wednesdays will focus on math and social studies. Tuesdays and Thursdays will be science and literature. Friday will be Royalty lessons and the history of Genovia. We can also include an elective, if you'd like."

Steve blinks, staring at Sue for a moment before glancing at Jonathan and Robin. Jonathan is looking through a book of photography and Robin is idly scratching behind Dart’s ears. "Will we all have the same elective?" Steve asks.

"Not unless Jonathan and Robin want to join you," Sue says, looking at Steve expectantly. She's got a pen at the ready to write down what he says, and it suddenly feels like a lot of pressure.

Is there a wrong answer here? Is there an answer that gets him sent back to his parents? He looks down, biting the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes blood. Before he can lose himself in his thoughts, a cold and wet nose presses against his hand. Steve blinks, smiling at Dart and picking her up to hold close. "What kind of electives are there?" he asks.

Sue hums softly, flipping to another page on her clipboard. "Possible electives include art, music, theatrical performance, physical education, equestrian studies, botany, and foreign languages, to name a few."

"I'll be taking photography lessons," Jonathan says, looking up at Steve and gesturing to his book.

Robin nods and leans back on her palms. "I'll be doing the physical stuff. Like learning how to fight and practicing ballet to improve my balance," she says, leveling a look at Steve that dares him to say anything about the ballet.

Steve wouldn't, though. He doesn't want to make Robin angry enough to ditch him. He looks down at Dart, thinking for a moment before asking, "Can I take more than one?"

"Of course, but you're limited to three for now," Sue says.

What would be the most helpful? Foreign languages, probably, since he'll definitely have to speak with ambassadors from other countries at some point. He should also learn something that can be shown off, a skill that he could pull out at functions to make his grandmother proud or distract guests.

"What language should I learn?" he asks.

Sue thinks for a moment, tapping her pen against her chin. "Mandarin. It's a business language, and we have close relations with a few representatives from China and Hong Kong. If you'd like to learn a Romantic language first, though, Spanish is good."

"I'll learn Mandarin," Steve decides, nodding once to himself. "And music. I want to learn to play...hmm...the piano."

With a nod, Sue writes his electives down. "Let me know if you'd like to add an elective later, Your Highness. In my opinion, though, your current courses will keep you properly challenged for now."

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

Sue wasn't kidding about his academics being challenging. Steve struggles in math, muddles his way through science, drags himself through literature, and is ready to drop when he hits social studies. He'd ask the tutors to spend more time on topics, but Robin and Jonathan seem to have no problem keeping up, and Steve can't bring himself to disrupt their pace.

His Mandarin lessons are going just slightly better if only because the tutor seems to recognize that slower is better for him. After almost a month, he's starting to understand intonation and vocal variation better, and he can recognize a few characters on sight.

Piano lessons are also going well. His tutor there doesn't burden him with theory; she introduces the keys, shows him how to read sheet music, and then lets him choose songs to learn. Steve feels the most at ease when he's squinting at sheet music and slowly pressing piano keys into something recognizable.

The lessons he really looks forward to, however, are the ones for his Royalty Education. He gets to see his grandmother then, and she spends the whole day with him. Even better, something about this stuff just clicks. He's good at fixing his posture and memorizing silverware placement. He bows just right on his first try and his grandmother compliments his wave.

By the end of the lesson, she'll be smiling, her pride obvious, and take him for a walk in the gardens or to eat cookies in the kitchen.

"Royalty requires maintenance," Clarisse says, standing in front of Steve with relaxed shoulders. "You maintain your demeanor, your image, your knowledge of foreign dignitaries, your understanding of the people’s needs, and your humility. But you must also maintain your pride and your boundaries."

"That sounds like a lot," Steve says, idly tugging at the hem of his shirt.

"It can be overwhelming, but it becomes second nature in time," Clarisse explains, smiling reassuringly. "When you're royalty, you are constantly watched. Many eyes are kind or curious, but others are malicious, and you want to do everything you can to disappoint the malicious ones."

"How?"

"By acting like the Crown Prince you are."

"What kind of prince am I?" Steve asks, finally voicing the question that's been lingering since these lessons started. What kind of prince does his grandmother want? What kind of prince would best serve the people? What kind of prince will be so loved by all that nobody could even think of thinking about getting rid of him?

Clarisse hums, thinking for a moment. "I suppose a good one," she says, her slight smile telling Steve that she's only lightly teasing. "My hope is that you'll be kind and competent. You will make Genovia prosperous without compromising tradition. You won't allow politics to stand in the way of doing what's right by the people of Genovia. But this is a tiring job, so I hope you'll learn how to balance your duties with relaxation."

It's a lot, but Steve can do it. He can be that kind of prince, especially for the country and grandmother that's offered everything he's ever wanted and more. He nods once. "Okay," he says, "What do I need to learn, then?"

Clarisse smiles fondly at him. "Let's start by reviewing Genovian history. Only by knowing the past can you face the future."

With that, she places a book on Steve's desk and doesn't wait for him to open it before telling him about Genovia's founding.

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

Steve has weekends off from classes, which leaves him with more free time than he knows what to do with when he doesn't have to clean a house or make his own meals. So, he's bored, and telling Robin that he was bored was a huge mistake after she suggested riding bikes around the garden only to learn Steve didn't know how.

She'd insisted that he should learn, insisted that Clarisse be the one who teaches him, and insisted on hearing no objections.

And now he's here, standing in front of Clarisse's desk and staring down at his feet as she finishes writing something on the paper in front of her. Joe is standing just to her right, hands behind his back.

"Okay," Clarisse says, gently placing her pen on the desk before looking at Steve with an encouraging smile. "What did you want to ask me, Steve?"

Steve bites the inside of his cheek, takes a deep breath, and looks up. "Well, um, Robin wants to ride bikes, but I don't know how," he says.

"Well, that's easily fixed," Clarisse says, reaching for a phone at the corner of her desk. "I'm sure a member of staff is free to teach you."

Before she can pick up the phone, Steve finds himself blurting out, "Well, I...I was hoping...you could teach me."

Clarisse freezes, blinking twice with confusion before looking at Steve. "You want me to teach you?" she asks. When Steve nods once, she sighs softly. "A queen does not ride bikes. Besides, I have too much work to complete. Perhaps I could accompany you for a walk this evening to make up for it."

Despite himself, despite bracing for rejection, it still hurts. In the three months he's been in Genovia, Clarisse has agreed to just about every request he's made. Every held breath as he waits for cruel words has been released with unprecedented relief when none came. Even when he broke something---a priceless vase, according to Jonathan---his grandmother had simply surveyed the damage, thanked him for being honest, and asked him to avoid kicking soccer balls in the presence of priceless vases in the future.

Perhaps Steve has gotten too comfortable. He shouldn't be pushing like this. If he wants his grandmother's affection, he should know when to hold himself back.

So, despite the unfamiliar urge to ask again in case Clarisse might change her mind, Steve nods once. "I look forward to walking with you, Grandmother," he says, his voice quiet. He glances up, waiting long enough to see Clarisse's smile before turning on his heel and leaving the office as quickly as he can.

Clarisse watches him go, her head slightly tilted as the door closes silently behind Steve. She nods once, glad that Steve is sensible enough to understand things like work and propriety, and picks up her pen once more.

"If I may speak freely, Your Majesty?" Joe asks.

"At this point, Joe, you may as well assume the answer is yes."

"With all due respect, Your Majesty, and please pardon my French, my experience has been that assuming makes an ass out of you and me."

It takes a moment for Clarisse to understand the joke. When she does, she can't help her amused smile. "Fair enough," she says, "Go ahead, Joe."

"Do you remember what I said about being Steve's grandmother?"

"Yes, of course."

"Perhaps now is one of those moments where being a grandmother is more important than being a queen. His Highness does not ask for much, and he is not the kind to ask more than once, even if he really wants something. I imagine it took a significant amount of courage to ask you to teach him in the first place."

"Are you suggesting that I...I risk making a fool of myself for all to see?" Clarisse asks.

"I am suggesting you spend time with your grandson, who asks very little of you because he does not believe he can ask for anything."

Clarisse is silent a moment, letting Joe's words process and settle in her brain. Finally, she sighs and gestures to the papers on her desk. "I have work to complete," she says.

"Your Majesty, editing these proposals was on your schedule two weeks from now. You are ahead of your work. A break would not be unreasonable or unwarranted."

Well, when he puts it like that.

Clarisse sighs, leans back in her chair, and looks up at Joe. He's still staring at the door, giving no indication that he feels her eyes on him, but she knows he does. "Have a groundskeeper retrieve bikes and safety gear and meet us in the garden," she says, standing from her chair and bracing herself to look like an utter fool.

Her apprehension fades away fifteen minutes later. It can't hold last when she sees Steve's surprised and delighted expression at her presence. As she helps him put on knee and elbow pads, shows him how to pull the helmet's strap tight, and holds the bike steady as he sits on it, Clarisse decides a little foolishness is perfectly fine (necessary, even) if it will keep the smile on Steve's face.

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

Tag List (let me know if you'd like to be added to future parts!)

@y4r3luv, @potato-of-the-lord,

#stranger things fic #steve harrington fic #princess diaries crossover #queen clarisse renaldi #modern royalty au #future steddie #robin buckley #jonathan byers #the party's parents #my writing #anybody else ever have that experience where the first time you realize that somebody won't make you feel guilty for asking for things #you get way in your head about not asking for the one (1) thing that will ruin it all for you #so every time you ask for something new you're bracing to take the request back as quickly as you can #just me?#aight then lmao #to absolutely nobody's surprise i am projecting on steve harrington #if you made it this far in the tags #you deserve a cookie lmao

167 notes · View notes

sunny-mercya · 1 year ago

Text

Bittersweet

Geto Suguru x Male Reader | Platonic! Guilty Gojo Satoru x Male Reader

Fandom -> Jujutsu Kaisen

Masterlist

Gojo always detest it when he had to visit you. It wasn't because he hated—a strong word, more like dislike—you, if anything, it was more out of the still immense guilt he feels in your presence.

A guiltiness which eats him up, making him a pitiful whimpering mess in the nights. Bawling his eyes out at the empty shrines, after every visit—his confidence crumbling into nothing but dust, the insecurity resurfacing again and haunting him like the phantom, dull, pain he feels in his eyes and back.

It was his fault. His damned fault that you're like this now. A mere shell of apathetic lethargy and suicidal tendencies—three tries had almost succeeded.

So yes, Gojo detests, hated it even, to visit you. He had to though, in his sole duty of being your friend—even when you once had said, he isn't anymore a friend but a stranger—and because leiri made him to do.

Trotting up the stairs to your apartment, bags in one hand and the other causally in his pant pockets—playing with the house-keys—Gojo thought what to cook for you.

Perhaps your favourite? No, no, that it is only reserved for the Sundays. A light meal then? Something with fish? Pizza or Pasta? The list is endless to choice from and giving him a headache.

Shoko had told him, in her doctoring lecturing way, to create a Meal-Plan and only cook light meals for you—easy to digest—and nothing too overall fatty and heavy.

Gojo had waved her off, nagging at her how you wouldn't be able to enjoy the goods of foods with something dumb as a "meal-plan".

In the end, Gojo admits that Shoko was indeed right. Considering the amounts of meals and dishes he had taken home for himself, giving it away to his students or the homeless or had to throw it all away. After all you couldn't eat more than, on your good days, three to four bites—till hours later you would heave it up into the toilet again.

A Meal-Plan, huh? Yeah he could do that. Megumi can help him too.

Unlocking the door, Gojo stepped in and announced his presence.

~~~

After emptying out the bags and putting away the items for now, Gojo ventured into the living room—knowing well you're in there, either sitting or laying on the couch and watching whatever is being shown in the television.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, once upon seeing a half finished puzzle on the coffee table and messy toys around it.

Megumi had brought them over during his last visit, telling you; these are much better to beat boredom than some television. Next time I'll bring some books.

Gojo was glad, relieved even, that you played with it.

Crouching down in front of you, blocking the view to television with his still towering high, he takes your hand in his—greeting you with a more softer gently smile.

»Sky eyes,��

Gojo had decided long ago, when you had first muttered those words to him—in the very beginning of your mental downfall, now a in a constant state of lingering decaying—that this was your way of greeting him, how you told him that you're aware of his presence.

Gojo had once made a mistake to come with his blindfold and spooked you so much—you really had believed and still would, if he tries again, that Gojo had been some kind of intruder with evil intentions—you screamed shrill and released a upcoming hurricane of thunderstorms with your cursed energy—now particularly sealed away for your own safety.

So now, whenever Gojo comes over he wears his round shaped sunglasses from his highschool years.

»Yeah, it's me, how are you today [Nickname]?« he asked questions even when he knew he wouldn't get replies from you.

»Hungry? I will made you some nice chicken nuggets, brought the Dino-shaped this time«

Gojo was aware he babbles. He doesn't care, he rather talks nonsense to himself and your apathetic self—than listen to the constant annoying chatter of the television and the upcoming silence which would follow afterwards.

»C'mon [Name], it's bath time,« Gojo picks you up, carrying you into the bathroom and sitting you down on a stool.

He fills the bathtub, making sure the temperature was neither too hot nor cold. He adds some bubble foam to it and two toys.

Gojo undress you slowly, cautiously of your still fresh wounds—self-inflicted days ago, when a night had gotten worse again. Sitting you in the water, he washes you. Humming happily some melody, occasionally joining you in moving the toy ducks arounds.

»Quack squishy wuack«

»Yeah, wuacky quacky [Nickname], look there wants to join another ducky« he showed you the third toy duck, adding it to the water.

A squeal of joy came over your lips, looking with wide eyes at Gojo, happiness radiating off from you as you continue to play.

Gojo's lips trembles, guilt crawling up his throat again.

~~~

Nights are cruel in their own way. Leaving the thoughts spinning and setting them free. Bringing out a loneliness and feelings once deep buried down.

Gojo buried his head in his hands, slightly gripping his snow white hair—you once said to him, how his hair reminds you of the first snow—sitting at the edge of your bed.

He inhaled and exhaled deeply, breathing in a pattern of three-five-five. His thoughts are going haywire again, flaring up the guilt—which is now so thick in his throat that he couldn't swallow anymore.

He looks at you—such a peaceful expression on your face, already so deep in the blissful dreamland—moving his hand to slowly drive through your hair with his fingers, all the way down to your cheeks and caressing them.

His gaze goes to the few photo frames on your nightstand, the small nightlight illuminates only so much. One particular photo always captures his attention.

It was a photo of Geto and you, happily married with Nanako and Mimiko—when they had been around 3 years old—in your arms.

A time where you had been the uttermost happiest. Now it was in ruins, leaving you all alone.

If Gojo had been a bit stronger, if he didn't let Geto go, back then when they had argued over jujutsu sorcery's politics and their moral beliefs towards the world, had been more stubborn—than it wouldn't have ended like this.

With his best friend being dead—at fault for this was Gojo himself, he was the one who killed Geto after all—and you, who had already lost your husband and losing your daughters shortly after—till today you didn't know how they died and Gojo thanked the above that it hadn't been him who done that—who is nothing but a decaying shell forevermore.

»Ya know, [Nickname], I've decided you gonna move in with me now. So I can take even better care of you.«

That's what Geto would've wanted.

#male reader #x male reader #anime #manga #fanfiction #malereader #oneshot #jujutsu kaisen #geto suguru #gojo satoru #geto suguru x male reader #geto x male reader

226 notes · View notes

deramin2 · 7 months ago

Text

Essek constantly gushing about his partner but pointedly not giving his name hits me so hard in the feels.

Two formative childhood experiences for me:

ONE

I was severely, mercilessly bullied as a child at every school I went to even if they're was no overlap of kids, and authority figures either ignored me or directly told me it was my fault. I was socially toxic. Any other kid who publicly associated with me was also targeted for harassment. I was best friends with a girl around the corner but because I was a couple years younger (in itself an invitation for bullying) and a parish, we could never let anyone know we were friends.

I've been told I should be upset at her for this, but it wasn't her fault. It was the other children who made it a fact that she would be harmed by publicly being my friend. She didn't make those rules, we were both just honest that it existed and there was nothing we could do to change that. The best we could do to survive was at least protect her. And that benefited me by actually having a friend.

So if we talked about each other it was"my friend." No names. No acknowledging we knew each other in public. No introductions to other friends. Keeping that divide up was necessary to survival. I had a couple friends on the same freak level as we and we were in fact targeted with additional harassment to get to the other person. It was a legitimate threat to live with. At some point I just stopped thinking it was ever necessary to reveal who my friends or family are unless it's both explicitly relevant and necessary.

TWO

I learned to use the internet in the late 1990s when anonymity was considered a best practice. Don't give out your age, sex, location, or other identifying information. You don't know who is on the other side of that screen or what they will do to you if they know. Sperate your online and offline worlds to protect yourself.

This helped reinforce experience one because clearly adults also acted like those kids and this just normal human behavior no one will ever put a stop to that you need to be on guard for at all times. Build in air gaps so if one of you is compromised it's harder for the perpetrator to get to other people you care about. Defending them through anonymity is a way of showing you love them.

Also since some family are searchable through have state government jobs that right-wing nut jobs chips target them for, I wanted to make sure they couldn't be connected to me as a queer trans disabled person active online. In case something I said led to them being targeted.

(This is correct advice, even though it flies in the face of modern online conventions. There are tons of malicious people on three internet who will target you and anyone you love if they decide to hurt you.)

RESULT

By default, I refer to people by their relationship to me, not their name. My friend, my partner, my parent, my family, someone I know, etc. Often I avoid gendering them to make it even harder to identify them. I have to consciously consider if the person I'm talking to has any reason to know my associate's name. Blacklist everyone, then whitelist exceptions.

I do this even if both people know each other because the specific association feels dangerous. Better to be viewed as acquaintances than a meaningful relationship that changes how either of us could be viewed. It's not even really a judgement on thinking the person is untrustworthy, I just don't want to spend any extra energy thinking about it. It doesn't even feel relevant because my relationship to this person fellas like it conveys more information that actually matters.

ESSEK

Essek knows both he and Caleb are being targeted by powerful people who have shown they will target loved ones to get to them. Additionally, tensions between the Empire and Dynasty are still high and it could very easily compromise how their own sides view them if it's known that they're romantically entangled with someone from the other side. It could also blow each other's cover and make their meeting places more vulnerable to attack. Especially if their enemies know they could hit both of them at once.

It's genuinely dangerous for their connection to be known, so they don't name names. It's not even a matter of whether Bell's Hells would intentionally misuse that information, but what they also could just let slip to the wrong person. It's not really worth the risk when "my partner" is all the information they actually need to understand him.

My guess is that Essek said "Bren" is hiss partner because they already know a Bren sent them to Astrid. And since Caleb no longer uses the name Bren it would be much harder to connect them. It would have caused more questions, more prying, and more risk to give no name for his partner when directly pressed. So he gives a truthful but less dangerous answer. The anonymity is an act of love.

#critical role #critical role meta #critical role campaign 3 #Mighty Nein #Bell's Hells #Shadowgast #Essek Thelyss #Caleb Widogast #Bullying #Childhood Trauma

77 notes · View notes

grapejuicestyless · 9 months ago

Text

Good Luck, Babe!

Harry Styles x Fem!reader

Summery: Harry could run around the world in search of a replacement to fill the void that you left, but he’s better off coming to terms with the fact that he’d have to stop the world just to stop the feeling.

I’m okay knowing I won’t ever get to call my future lover my high school sweetheart. It’s hard to stay committed to someone for decades as an adult, let alone at sixteen. But it pulls at my heart strings just to know little me would be so devastated knowing the boy who used to string up fairy lights and scribble on big bubbles letters on poster boards for our prom decided I was too boring for his massive life and left once the glitter from all the glamour of fame got in his eyes.

It’s funny to think about, ten years thrown away forever because my stable life wasn’t worth living when he could offer me anything I could ever dream of. God forbid I want to settle down with some little ones to teach nothing but love in a world where everyone can only ever teach their children hate. God forbid I wanted that with him.

No, my dreams were stupid compared to those of his own. Children mean nothing to him if he’s not taking home another award for his excellence. Settling down is a laughable dream, how could I expect him to ever even try when it seemed like with every single chance to start trying he was at a new peak in his career.

When I left him, he didn’t even look sad. Not even when I turned to face him as I walked out of our front door with all my things stuffed in a bag slung over my arm. He looked distant, sure, but not sad and that made me sad, for me but mainly for him.

Three years ago if I had even shown signs of unhappiness he would have stopped the world to fix our issues, ironed it all out real nice to make sure that I never felt that feeling again. Now I could beg on my knees pleading for him to hear me and my cries would fall on deaf ears.

But I don’t regret leaving him in the end. It hurt at first, leaving behind all I ever knew, letting him go after I wasted away all my youth on him, but life goes on and my heart would heal the longer we were apart.

Occasionally he would reach out, letters with the same swooping letters that I recognized as his own handwriting, the same writing that once wrote me love letters, all addressed to me with the hopes of meeting up.

But I knew myself better than that, I knew Harry better than that. If I met him, even only for coffee our night would end with me back in his arms and his head between my legs. We weren’t ever meant to split, but then again no one who’s ever felt the same kind of love like young kids is ever made to walk away from something so sweet.

I was better for it, between each letter there was a new girl. A model who resembled me in the most vague ways. I wondered all the time if he ever accidentally called any of them my name. If he chose them with my eye color so when he looked into their eyes he could see mine for just a second. It felt like each week he was caught leaving some bar with some other girl, someone else’s lipstick staining his jaw.

I got over him slowly, never fully, but enough to love again. I had room to give once more and enough strength left to keep fighting for the love I deserved. I earned the right to be able to hold someone who would call me “baby” with pride, without the slightest hesitation or embarrassment.

Harry could kiss a hundred girls and boys in bars, drink away his twenties and sing to his fans across the world, and I would be here chasing my own dreams. After all, he always needed the spotlight, he lived for it. All I needed was a little love, and somehow in his search for glory, he lost any kind of that he had and I had found it again.

I saw Harry a couple years later, the small bar in Brooklyn with the good music and sweaty bodies. He looked good, he always did. His hair looked a little grey and I must admit, I almost drooled, but looks were the only attraction I would ever feel for him. Emotionally, I was cut off, even when he leaned up close and pressed me into a bone crushing hug.

With a cool smile on his face he asked me confidently what I was doing here and how I’d been. I told him a friend of a friend had invited me along to come celebrate an old friend’s birthday, that I didn’t really want to drink tonight and was just trying to enjoy myself.

I could see his hesitation when an arm slung itself over my shoulders, curly brown hair tickling my cheek and a kind smile flashing towards him and somehow in our conversation, I forgot the most important update in my life, one I’d make sure he’d never forget.

“Who’s this?” He asked kindly, ready to introduce himself even though we were all well aware everyone in the room knew him by name.

“Oh, Harry, how rude of me!” I laughed at the time, but I’m still not sure if he could hear it over the music. I hope he did, because it would have been the last time he would hear it.

“Harry, this is my girlfriend.”

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #yn x harry #harry x reader #harrystyles #harr

76 notes · View notes

aves-rook-laidir · 27 days ago

Text

Here are my live notes that i typed out on the Sticker App while playing the game for the first time. - MAJOR SPOILERS -

They are slightly out of order because I was just jumping in typing wherever:

Holy shit it’s on TWO DISCS?!!?

Not me staring at the press any button screen for ages

I like that Neve is like Cassandra, your no 1

Davrin Rook bonded so fast because they were immediately thrown into a dragon battle together and it got really tough real quick

Did Gilhanain just say YOUR BLOOD KNOWS YOU’LL DIE HERE?

Absolutely loved bringing harding as the extra companion, she’s just so exasperated by it all

I do feel like the va tone didn’t always fit with certain more serious situations.

Staring at Solas in photomode, so mixed emotions, mostly exasperation.

So what was he doing at the strart? Putting evanuris in a stronger prison, then tearing down the veil, or? Because if he was just putting them in a new prison, and exlained himself to Varric non of this would be happening.

God damn, someone ask Morrigan about the fith blight, actually, is it even public record who journeyed with the Warden? Was it kept hush hush?

Can wardens still hear the calling if all the high dragons are awakend? Whos calling them in the deep roads?

I wonder if Davrin has a hard time talking about the elven god reveal because he has a special relationship with Halla and Ghilanain was the god of Halla?

Oh, why would we have Varric's shaving mirror?

Lucanis so fucking weird haha

Davrin - “Couldn’t have asked for a better day” Rook immediately, ungracefully slides down a cliff

Emmrich is making a mistake, why would he want to be immortal, like look at these three imortal clowns running around.

Ok so The Ancient Elves were spirits who took physical forms using the lyrium, which is the blood of the ancient titans, They became the first mages? This caused a war between the elves and the titans

I wish they had shown more of Emmrich getting her out of the fade, because that is his very specific skill, like all the attention Lucanis got about using the dagger, to cement Emrrich's role in all this, I wanna see him being a badass in a direct story point.

The Butcher was scarier than Elghanan, should not have been,

Elghanan should have been wayyyy scarier, less talking.

“The gods they give strength but all they ask in return is everything” dope

Literally fuck off no scene getting her out of the fade, her reacting to getting out, the grief? The Relief? Helo?

“Though Harding also told me” LMAO Emmrich

I feel like it makes more sense for Harding to sneak up on Ghillie, This is her moment, tragic because we’ve seen her whole journey. Harding saying ‘should I take the shot’ at the start of the game then taking guaranteeing Ghilanains death with her simple bow and arrow. and to have this little dreamless thing, created out of the desicrated titans be the last thing she sees, fuck yes.

The first thing they did was retrieve all the bodies. They found Harding and Leliana and the Inquisitor brought her back to her village

Solas: How did you even get out of the fade? Rook: gestures vaguely to Emmrich standing behind her ‘He knows more about the fade than you.'

I wish there was a bit more dialogue with Dorian at the end, saying ‘Do it for Varric and or Harding, won’t you? They were just so…oh, you…know...’

Taash everyone I loves dies NONONO I love you!

‘Everything dies, its what they do’ Including imortal gods

Is solas fucking losing??? fucks sake cant even do one thing

Solas assisting the Shadow Dragons at the end paint a funny picture, like, imaging Dorain trying to evacuate the city and Solas is just also there, after like 10 years. How did that reunion go?

It had to be bellara that got blighted, those gods were hers, that history is hers, and she's just so innocent, it was a great character arc

me the whole time 'its fine just go grey warden'

Shaved her head after coming out the fade to feel something

What if it’s not enough? What if it is?

I really though time travel was going to be a thing, after the dorian stuff?

Leo represent my Inky because in my AU she is too weak to travel as the mark is still sucking the life out of her, arm or no arm, but she dragged her ass up for that final scene with Solas. Leli and Josie spread a misinformation campaign around thedas, so unless you meet them directly its really hard to know if Inky is a female Elf, Male Human, and whoever else.

I hope Morrigan is ok

#dragon age #the veilguard #da: the veilguard #dragon age the veilgaurd spoilers #dragon age the veilguard #datv #da4 #dragon age veilguard #dragon age spoilers #dragon age 4 #da4 spoilers #da4 tag #datv rook #datv spoilers #veilguard

20 notes · View notes

littlest-w01f · 5 months ago

Text

Chapter Ten

Series Masterlist

Cw: Necromancy, torture, slight mention of sa

The dinner had a rather abrupt ending to it after Rhysand mentioned visiting the Bone Carver with Feyre, the Death God was nothing new to Rheana, having read all his tales, but she'd never met him, visited The Prison all but twice to lock up traitors.

She had seen him in passing though, when the curiosity got better of her and she made her way down the prison, in the form of a young female with bright firey hair, light bronze skin, violet eyes, and large Illyrian wings, sitting in the cell, playing with bones. The female looked eerily similar to her, at the same time, she carried a stranger's face.

Rheana took a step closer to the cell, her heart pounding in her chest as she calmed herself down. She could feel the energy radiating off the girl, making her feel both uneasy and strangely drawn towards her at the same time.

But she knew better than to converse with the Carver, so she had left, even still, the thoughts of why he had shown up as that female haunted her, all because it was a question she didn't know the answer to.

The new morning she saw outside on her balcony in the townhouse, a piece of parchment in front of her, an ink pot and the fancy quill she preferred beside her, with some chamomile tea in her hands.

As Rheana sipped her chamomile tea, her mind wandered back to the Bone Carver, and the peculiar sight of him appearing as a young female, it had been years since then, centuries even. She picked up her quill and dipped it into the inkwell, changing her thoughts from the Bone Carver to Tarquin, the High Lord of Summer her brother had asked her to write to.

Rheana, despite the view people had for her Court, was very nicely received among the royal families of other Courts, she spoke in the language people wanted to hear, and read people so well that she knew what they expected without breaking into their minds.

So, the words flew freely, asking Tarquin for a visit to Summer, for herself, Rhysand, Feyre and Amren, spinning a tale of wanting to mend Court relations, after Amarantha had destroyed Prythian, she did feel a visit to other Courts would be important, especially after she had killed Tarquin's mother, an old friend of hers, along with his father for the Summer Court trying to rebel against her.

Rheana knowing full well how persuasive she could be when writing letters, hoped that this one would have the desired effect. Kallos took the chance to jump in her lap in the form of a little kitten she kept them as, purring like one too, but their skin was as scale-like as it had been when she met them. She finished writing her letter, dipping the quill again to sign her name elegantly before placing everything neatly aside, she hovered her hand over the parchment, using her magic to dry the ink.

She held the paper, and folded it thrice before summoning an envelope, setting the letter inside, and sealing it with hot wax and her court's emblem, using the quill she made three stars on the bottom of the envelope with Night Blooms under the stars, her own personal mark for Tarquin to know who it came from.

With the letter sealed and marked, Rheana stood up and walked over to the balcony, gazing out at the city below. She felt a sense of anticipation building within her, wondering what response she might receive from Tarquin. She closed her eyes, letting the warm breeze caress her face, and whispered a silent prayer to the stars, hoping that her efforts would not be in vain.

Kallos appeared on the windowsill and with a wave of Rheana's hand, they turned into a raven, a deep black coat that still had its scaley texture, bigger than most birds, Take this for me. She said in their mind.

Kallos mindlessly picked the letter with their beak and nodded, for you, They then took flight, and Rheana cast a glamour on them to keep them invisible to anyone who looked to the sky.

Rheana watched intently as Kallos took flight, carrying her letter towards its destination. A pang of worry briefly crossed her heart but she quickly banished it, trusting in the strength of her words and her bond with Kallos, they would get the message to Tarquin. She returned to her seat, pouring herself another cup of chamomile tea, she pulled a book from her shelf, settling back comfortably with the intention to pass the time by losing herself in someone else's fantastical world until news arrived.

Rhysand and Feyre returned earlier than Rheana had expected, sensing how upset Feyre was, and told her enough of the fact that they hadn't visited The Prison.

Feyre had said nothing but locked herself in her room, and Rhysand had simply asked Rheana not to try to make her come out, giving her space.

Rheana nodded understandingly, sympathizing with Feyre’s pain. "Of course," she murmured softly, casting a glance towards the door of Feyre’s room. "Give her time." She advised gently, reaching out to place a comforting hand on Rhysand’s arm. "And you should give yourself some time too. It must be difficult to see your mate hurt."

Rheana could tell from the set of Rhysand's shoulders and the distant look in his eyes that he was indeed struggling too. His emotions were so closely tied to Feyre's, that it was hard for him to remain unaffected when she suffered. Rheana moved away from him slightly, stepping over to the fireplace to stir the embers and add more wood, the crackling flames providing a comforting sound.

Rheana left Rhysand with himself and some of the calming tea she had been drinking, and made her way up the House of Winds, if she had been in a hurry, she would've flown, but for now, she had the time to walk up the spiral staircase to the top.

10,000 stairs may seem daunting to many, but for Rheana, it was a familiar trek, one she often undertook when seeking solitude or clarity. As she climbed, the air grew cooler, the scent of saltwater and seafoam wafting in through the open windows that lined the staircase. By the time she reached the top, her legs were pleasantly tired, and her mind felt refreshed.

She had the House of Winds to herself, Cassian had gone to Illyria to see how the training for the males was going, she herself would be leaving soon to train her females, as she did every morning and afternoon, but she also had business to care for before that with Azriel, who waited for her.

Her thoughts went to the library in the House of Winds, on the new Priestess that had joined them almost a few days ago, when her temple was infiltrated by Hybern soldiers, the soldiers that Azriel had ripped apart with his Siphons and the general that he had beaten till his death.

After a few moments of peace, she took flight into the caves of the mountain the House of Winds was built on, as she stepped past a spell of glamour, the dungeons formed in front of her, muffled cries coming from deep inside, the place was dark, Rheana was sure many bats lived in the cracks and crevices in the caves, which might also be why Azriel always came with a new batch of captured insets every time he visited.

"Azriel?" Rheana called out when she felt a few shadows shifting around her, she knew every knock and cranny of this place, having worked alongside Azriel to contain her power and rage before she found much more suitable ways to manage herself.

She felt the shadows move behind her and she sensed Azriel, who simply moved past her when he knew she felt him, "How nice of you to join me, Rhea, this will be like old times."

Azriel led her to a cell, where a dead body lay, the body of the Hybern general, the only physical thing left of the people who attacked Sangravah, Rhysand had been quite pissed that Azriel had left no one standing to interrogate but after what he had told the siblings, Rhysand hadn't been that mad, and besides, Rheana could make it work.

"Ah, so this is him?" Rheana tutted, her clothes transforming, leather replacing cotton, armour, and Siphons on display, the look of death in her eyes, the male's face was bruised and battered, frozen in a look of terror from when Azriel had unleashed himself upon him, "Doesn't seem too intimidating."

"He looks like someone who picks fights with people who can't fight back." Azriel growled and Rheana rested a hand on his shoulder in comfort.

"Hey, why don't I do this alone? You take care of anything else..." Rheana sighed softly, "Perhaps see over the Illyrian females, while I'm busy."

Azriel left with a huff, he'd clearly wanted to see the male suffer, but they needed information more than sadistic pleasure. The second Azriel winnowed away, Rheana exhaled, the room filled with darkness, she looked at the male, tied up to a chair with chains, body slagging in it, covered in cuts and bruises, some received way after he was dead.

Rheana weaved her hand through the dead general's hair, with a sharp inhale, her eyes turned completely black, her skin going paler than the moon as she let go of her darkness and daemati powers, weaving them both together to take control of the dead mind of the general, bringing his body back to life with a gasp of harsh breath the body took, it's eyes dark just like Rheana's were.

The general blinked open his eyes, groaning in pain, staring blankly ahead as though trying to focus on something just beyond reach. Rheana stood before him, her form barely visible amidst the darkness, that swirled around her. She wasn't the dainty princess her father had wanted his daughters to be, clad in warrior leathers, muscles tense from power, biceps flexing from her grip in his hair, nails digging right into his skull, wings flared wide, dark purple Siphons gleaming in the darkness, in front of the general stood The Lady of Darkness, the witch of the dark the Illyrians feared, and the dead general had the right mind to look frightened. She leaned down closer to the male, her voice a low whisper against the silence of the dungeon.

"Speak," She commanded firmly, her eyes burning with an otherworldly intensity. "What were you doing in the Sangravah temple? What did you take?"

The general's lips parted, but no words came out at first. He tried to struggle against the restraints holding him in place, but they held firm. Fear shone brightly in his eyes, a stark contrast to the darkness of Rheana's own gaze. But still, he remained silent. Rheana frowned, her grip tightening even more. A curl of her hand sent another surge of energy coursing through the general, forcing him to obey.

"I… I was following orders!" He finally managed to stammer out, voice almost hypnotized, fear making his voice tremble. "We were tasked with finding and retrieving something specific."

"The feet of the Cauldron, that's what missing, there would be no need for it if you didn't have the Cauldron hidden with you." Rheana's eyes shone dark like a starless cold night sky, "Does your king have it?"

The general nodded, his mind in her hands, quite literally, fear etched across his face as he struggled to keep his composure. "Yes… Yes, he does! It's hidden somewhere safe. No one knows its location except for the king and those closest to him!"

"Like you," Rheana smirked like darkness and death herself, her hold on his mind tightening, "So, where?"

The general grimaced, pain shooting through his head as he fought against the compulsion Rheana exerted upon him. His eyes darted around wildly, searching for some kind of escape, but there was none, because he was dead, nothing about him quite alive. "I… I don't know exactly! Only that it is far from here, somewhere secluded and well-guarded," He confessed, desperation creeping into his tone.

"Fine, guard it in your mind, you only can for so long." Rheana hummed, her voice dangerously sweet, "And the young female you assaulted? Was that an order too? Or do you just liked having power over a defenseless female?"

The general paled further, his mind recoiling at the mention of the assault. "It wasn't an order! We… I acted on my own, without permission. I just couldn't resist her, she was so beautiful and helpless… And that bitch hid the children! It was an easy way to punish her..." He trailed off. "Please, forgive me, I swear it won't happen again!"

"Oh no it won't. Because you suffered and died, and I brought your mind back to torture you again," Rheana smiled, "But her? She suffered, and she will heal."

The general shuddered, his entire being trembling under the weight of Rheana's command. His eyes closed tight as tears began to stream down his cheeks, Rheana was sure the male had wet himself too, there was always that downside of bringing a mind back with magic, it jolted up some other functions too. "Please… Please don't hurt me anymore," he begged, voice cracking.

"Well, if you're lying to be general, you'll wish your body was obliterated like the rest of your soldiers," Rheana cooed as if talking to an infant, "Because I will be back, and that would hurt so much more."

Rheana withdrew her hand from his head, her fingers and palm soiled in blood as the male went limp again, looking more dead than he was before.

{General Taglist- @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria @paleidiot}

{Flames and Darkness Taglist- @anuttellaa @tuggboatfishin @inloveallthetime}

32 notes · View notes

gretavanmoon · 3 months ago

Text

an omnipresent force • ch 4

Chapter 4 - DARK ALLIANCE

Jake x female reader

Words: 13K

A/N: Semi-AU// Set six years in the future, the world has decided to cast humankind aside, starting with the poisonous entities that are destroying her the most.

*Thank you to everyone who has shown support for this story that goes a little bit against the grain. I so truly appreciate your little messages of reaction and interest, it's truly what makes me want to keep telling the tale. xoxoxo

Warnings: Dystopian Horror, Cursing, Crying, Suspense, Feelings of Fear and Uncertainty, An Apocalyptic World, Violence (& mention of firearms), Kidnapping, Blood, Death & Dying, Lying, Attacks, Deceit, Panic, Mental Anguish. Smut: Kissing, Heavy Pining, Light Touching

JAKE

“Jake they’re right behind us…” I hear Y/N whisper from over my shoulder as we traipse through the thick field of grasses. A quick glance behind me shows that she’s right- three of the hooded guards are rushing behind us, their bodies floating a bit more quickly than us on our two legs.

“Fuck,” I gasp, trying my best to pick up the pace and catch up with Sam and Danny who are just a bit ahead of us trying to pull away at fallen branches and thick foliage. I pull her along behind me, just as she had pulled me through the building that’s now lying as a pile of rubble in the distance.

My mind is rushing with what to do, where to go as I feel them closing in on us in the dusk of the evening. Do we keep running? Do we hide? Do we turn around and fight? Every single survival movie I’d ever seen comes rushing back to my memory, but I’m left without a shred of an idea from the pure exhaustion that I feel in my bones, lulling my mind into a blur of confusion and panic again. I’m smarter than this, I’m better than this… think, Jake…

And then, as if our minds are still tied together with an invisible rope, Sam points to a tree with low branches a bit in the distance, and immediately I know that climbing it will give us an advantage. I nod to him as we duck under a thick thistle, thorns catching my ugly gray sweatshirt as I feel the sweat beginning to pool on my face.

“Can you climb?” I whisper as quietly as I can to Y/N, watching as Sam uses Danny’s shoulders as leverage to climb and sturdy himself atop the lowest branch.

“Yes,” she says with confidence, watching as Sam gets his balance and jumps on the branch a few times to test its integrity. Thankfully, the cover of trees has concealed us for just enough time to climb ten or twelve feet high into the tree, all of us running on enough adrenaline to not be afraid of falling. I reach out my hand and help Y/N out onto the highest branch we can reach, and make sure my brothers are safely hidden, as well. I get my balance and hunker down, trying to calm my breathing so as not to give away our location. The air is still blowing cold, and I wonder if these beings have any power to find our hiding place with anything other than sight, but I can’t think of that right now. I’ve got to stay tactful.

As the four of us perch on our respective branches, we watch as the four beings cross below us, their hoods and cloaks still covering their bodies as the thorn bushes are no match for the material they’re made from. I hold my breath as we try to stay as still as statues. I hear them begin to communicate, using a language I’ve never heard before with sounds that don’t sound anything like a human being’s. I’m terrified as I watch them below us, scrambling around as they realize they’ve lost our trail.

I cover my mouth with my hand as I try and calm myself, my heart beating from my chest as I realize these beings are mirror images of the ones that adorn the cover of our first album.

They’re real, and they’re right fucking in front of us, trying to do anything but share their wisdom around a stupid campfire.

Their noises are like the screams of ten people, each one emitting a screech while simultaneously the lowest, deepest bellow. I feel the branches barely shake as we all shudder with fear, and I glance to my brothers, seeing that they’re shaken with just as much terror as I am.

I feel the branch shake more as the leaves rustle, and my head darts sideways as I realize Danny has lost his balance, holding on for dear life as the thin branch he is standing on has begun to break. “Daniel!” I squeal as I reach out for him, my hand only barely gripping onto his sweatshirt as the branch finally gives way and his fingers slip from their desperate grasp. All the breath leaves my lungs as I watch him tumble through the leaf-covered branches, Sam even falling a few feet just from the knee-jerk reaction of trying to catch him as he falls.

All three of the beings look up to us, and I know our cover is blown. They rush to gather right where Danny is falling to, his hands and arms reaching out at every turn to try and stop his own fall, but his body weight is no match. He falls with a light thud onto the thick grass, and I watch as the hooded figures swarm him on the ground, their coverings a quick blur as the wind blows them.

“Daniel!!” Sam wretches as he begins lowering himself quickly, branch by branch. I feel the draw to do the same, I can’t stand by and let them be taken. I feel a fire beginning to burn within myself, much the same as I would guess Y/N felt as she watched these same motherfuckers attack me in the hall just an hour ago. Don’t ask me how I knew it, but I could tell that she was preparing herself to jump just the same as I was.

“Stay here,” I say to her with a harsh look of ordinance before I begin lowering myself down the damp bark of the tree branches, completely unknowing of what was happening below me. All I know is that I’m not getting separated from them again. I’m not losing them again.

“No!” she cries. “I’m going with you! I’m not staying here and watching you get–”

She can’t even finish her sentence as I watch her eyes well with terrified tears, still red and blotched from her cry earlier. I stand on a branch a few feet below her, turning to face her again. “If you stay here, you might be able to come and help us, or you might be able to find your Paps… they might not even know you��re up here. Just stay, please.” She doesn’t realize that I can’t even bear the thought of those things getting ahold of her. Fuck, I don’t even know this woman, and I already don’t want anything happening to her.

“Jake!!” I hear a curdled scream from Danny on the ground below me, and I jump right back into lowering myself back down the slippery branches. My arms and legs carry me down fast, just like they’d do when I was a kid and we were late getting home for curfew. The first thing I hear is the brash and mind-bending sounds that are coming from those creatures, all surrounding Sam and Danny on the ground. I nearly vomit with fear, and the need to protect my little brothers. I feel my fists ball up, my fingernails crushing into my own skin as my body lurches forward, digging the toes of my boots into the tall grass and dirt to get to them.

My hands make contact, my head in a rush of overwhelming adrenaline as I feel the fabric of the coat of the one I’d decided to tackle. Just touching it with the palms of my hands burns, but not in a way that makes me jump back in pain. It’s almost like it’s emanating a buzzed glow of energy, lightly zapping at my hands as I push it off of Daniel. I thrash my entire body weight onto it, pushing it over into the grass and expecting to finally be face to face with it, but all I see under the hood is darkness. It’s faceless.

I expect it to become violent with me, retaliating against my show of authority, but it doesn’t. It lies on the ground as it’s body thrashes and shakes below me, eventually teetering out into a somewhat peaceful relaxed position. And the sound it’s making suddenly isn’t haunting, anymore. Suddenly it sounds familiar, speaking words I recognize in a comforting timbre as I’m struck with surprise. My hands gripped hard on it’s chest, it speaks to me,

“Who… is the wiser… to help us steer?” it asks gently, it’s face still invisible to me.

“What?!” I cry, the familiar words hitting me in the chest.

“You… you are the wiser…” it answers itself.

I bite my lips, remembering all the information I’d been given as of late. They want Josh, they want us for the knowledge that they assume we possess. They think we are the wiser, able to use us for the preservation of their own world.

It’s then that I know for a fact that these beings must most definitely be those who live with one foot in our realm, and one foot in the other.

“I don’t know shit! And neither do my brothers!” I yell in its face, pinning my hands down harder into its burning chest. “Let us go!”

“You are the wiser…” it repeats, it’s voice sounding like an angelic plea. “You will steer our land of infinite wonders… that lies a billion lightyears from here…”

What in the everliving fuck is this thing talking about? Just then, the burning sensation on my hands becomes more intense, and I can suddenly hear my brothers struggling alongside me with the others. My hands can hardly stand the buzzing heat, but I try my best not to let up on it, keeping it pinned beneath me. My teeth grit as I fight against the raging fire I’m holding on to, to the point where I feel my hands begin to blister.

“Ah, the wounded warrior…” it says with a sly laugh, as if it’s taunting my pain. “Your world is riddled with scars, come, come with us…” I want nothing more than to strangle the thing with my bare hands, but I can’t seem to move them.

A strange softness overcomes me as I listen to it, and I feel as if I broke my concentration, I could float away. My body feels lighter, and my mind is suddenly filled with clarity. It’s voice speaks to me like a siren song, luring me in to listen to it, hypnotizing me…

“Get the hell away from him!” Y/N’s voice breaks me from my trance, and my body is knocked sideways and off of the being. I land in the grass, the wetness dripping off of the blades and onto my face, waking me up and bringing me back to reality. I sit up in surprise, finding Y/N straddling the same being that I just was, except it’s bony hands and fingers are now wrapped around her throat. It slaps her, grips her wrists, wraps its hands in her hair with force as it tries to undo itself from her reign.

And I’m filled with protective rage, all over again.

“Y/N, NO!!” I slip as I stand, darkness now falling around us. I reach underneath her arms, lifting her off of it and thrusting her back onto the ground. “Its gonna hurt you!!” But just as I get my words out, I watch from my peripheral as something is shot directly through the chest of the being that we were just fighting. It screams its terrifyingly haunting sound, causing the other two to repeat after it. Its chest caves, leaving it quickly lifeless as its limbs fall weakly to the ground.

Danny and Sam take the opportunity to rise up from their own physical altercations, and just as quickly as the first had happened, two more long objects fly straight through the chests of the other two, making them land with harsh thuds on the wet ground.

I hear Sam yelp from fear, falling as he crab-crawls backward to us. The four of us sit stunned, looking onto the beings in complete terror as we see them lifeless and unmoving on the ground, the thin sticks emerging straight from their chest cavities.

“What the fuck, what the fuck? Did something just–” Sam pants, his voice wrought with fear as he grips at his own chest and throat.

I can’t breathe, I can hardly even speak as I slowly inch closer to them, trying my best to get a closer look. “Jake, no! Back up!” Danny says through heavy breaths. “They could still be–”

“It’s arrows,” Y/N says quietly from behind us, confirming my suspicion. “Someone shot them…”

“Who did?! What did?!” Sam panics. I begin to shake my head side to side to signal that I don’t know, when I hear what sounds like horse hooves racing on the ground behind us. My first instinct is to run to Y/N, standing in front of her to block her from whatever new impending danger is about to face us. Danny and Sam stand quickly, too, joining at my sides.

The past ten minutes have been like a fever dream, pulling and pushing me through a hundred emotions one after another, but nothing could have prepared me for what I saw that very second. My hand reaches behind me and finds Y/N’s, gripping her fingers and interlacing them with mine out of pure fear.

In front of us, in a glittering red cloud of dust, appears a man on a white horse. Two men, dressed completely in black, are walking behind him.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Danny mutters.

“Stay away from us,” I warn him, my voice nervous and shaky, but commanding nonetheless. Y/N’s fingers squeeze into mine.

The man is ethereal, his skin a rich tone, glittering specks of orange and red as it reflects off the last bit of setting sunlight. His lower half is dressed in white leather and gossamer, with shining gold jewelry adorning his body. His dark hair reaches all the way down to his waist, and his movements are slow and calculated, powerful and confident.

And there, rested across his back, is a wooden bow.

His eyes jerk to me, bright orange as he finally makes sense of my threat. It’s then that I realize he only has one eye. He tilts his head back and laughs, showing all of his bright white teeth. He steps off of his horse, gripping it’s reigns in his hand as he begins stepping toward us, making us retreat.

“We said don’t come any closer,” Danny says from beside me. It’s then that I remember the two men behind the man on the horse.

“It’s okay, Jake, he’s on our team,” one of them says as the dust around them settles, the dryness throwing me off as we’re all covered in wet mud. I recognize his voice immediately, as the First.

“Hey, what the fuck are you doing here,” I ask, feeling a little more at ease that now the men I know only as the First and Second have found us. “What the hell is happening, who is this?”

“Do you not recognize me, Jacob?” the man laughs as he runs his hand along the mane of the horse. “Don’t any of you recognize me?” He glares at each of us intently, his one glowing eye bouncing from one to the next as he looks a little offended.

“I… think I could take a wild guess…” Sam admits under his breath.

The man drops the reigns and steps forward, pulling the arrows from the beings’ chests with ease as he inspects them, sliding them all back into his quiver. I take notice that there isn’t any blood covering them. “Don’t be shy, gentlemen, you did only write a song about me. A quite catchy one, at that. Lots of emotion, huh? What, does the steed and the bow not give it away?”

The four of us stand stunned as we watch him, the same thought flowing through all of our minds.

“Are we being fucking Punk’d right now?” Danny whispers into my ear, making me huff a disbelieving laugh through my nose.

The man glides over closer to our group, standing tall and confident as he places his hands on his hips. I watch behind him as the First and Second rest an arm against his horse. It only just now hits me that I can see their faces, reminding me that they are brothers.

“It’s alright, I know this must seem a bit… unreal,” the man boasts, wiping his hands together. I’m struck by his grit, mixed in with the right amount of a strange flawless beauty that I’ve never come in contact with before. He most definitely doesn’t walk this earth naturally. “But don’t be afraid of me, I beg you… I’m here to help. Just as Josiah just told you, I’m on your team.”

Josiah.

“Jake how the fuck did that guy know your name? Who is this? What the hell is going on, here?” Sam asks with a bit of annoyance in his tone.

“Sam, Danny, listen to me, I can explain all of this…” I try and calm him, releasing Y/N’s hand from my grasp.

“Yeah, you better explain because I think we almost just got killed by these fucking things, and then again by this guy,” Sam shouts, throwing his hands into the air. “He shot them with fucking arrows, Jake! They almost hit us!”

“Whoa, whoa, my aim isn’t that bad,” the man interrupts us. “I put them to sleep for you, didn’t I?”

“I’m talking to my fucking brother, please, sir, can you just–” Sam says, disbelief and aggravation written all over his face, and Danny’s too. The scene that’s unfolding around us looks and seems absolutely absurd.

“Listen, remember just a while ago I told you that there is more to this than we think there is…? Remember I told you we are in for a lot worse than we realize, and Daniel, how I was telling you that your thoughts about our music are very much real?” I try and begin to explain, knowing that I could sit here for hours before I get all the pieces put together.

They do nothing but nod, their eyes anxiously jumping from me to the new people behind us.

“Apparently uh, apparently you were exactly right, Danny. That world we created, or thought we created in our heads, in our music… it exists. In another realm, right alongside ours. Josh told me, right before the night they all came and took us from the cabin, that his inspiration was drawn from nightmares that he’s had for decades. All this time, he thought he was writing music about an imaginary place that his nightmares showed him, turns out that he is somehow able to see one that truly exists.”

The two of them stand and study me, looks of near entertainment daring to push through their features.

“You’re fucking joking, right? Like this is a joke?” Sam says through a smile.

“That’s exactly what I thought, too, when I learned about it all,” I say, glancing back to the brothers still standing by the horse. “Our world is killing us, right? Using the technology we created to exterminate mankind… well, that realm that exists alongside us can’t survive without our world, and neither can its inhabitants. And vice versa. So, the ones who inhabit that world,” I motion to the three beings on the ground beside us, “have been sent to collect us. The ones who can’t be infected by the rash, the ones who haven’t been victim to the extermination. And more importantly, the ones who they think know exactly what is going to happen next in the Infisonicosm.”

Danny erupts with laughter, just as I thought he would. Sam, though, studies me intently as his eyes squint.

“Nightmares,” he whispers. “All of that, that whole thing we created, was because Josh had nightmares?”

“Most of it,” I say. “Some of it was from our minds, if you remember…” Sam nods in what I feel to be a bit of understanding.

“So you,” Danny trudges forward, pushing himself between Sam and I, “What are you, the Archer? That dumbass character that we wrote about and I dressed up as in that video?!” he mocks. “Yeah fucking right, this is ridiculous.” I can tell Danny is in denial, which throws me off, given that he has been the one unraveling all of the ties of our music the past couple of months.

“Might sound ridiculous, but it’s true, my guy,” the Second says, reminding me of that first night in the dark room when they told me everything.

“And who the hell are you guys?” Danny presses. “Guards from the pods? Why should we trust you?”

“They were the ones that found me the first night we were taken, Daniel. They found me and told me everything. They were hired by the others, but they’re here to help us. They’re playing devil’s advocate,” I explain, earning two nods from the brothers. “They used to be fans of ours, actually.”

“Fans, fuck that’s convenient. And you, Archer Man, why are you helping us? If you’re from that world, why did you just kill these three things?” Danny presses. I feel Y/N at my back again, her presence instantly calming me.

“I’m part of the resistance, always have been,” he says nonchalantly with a shrug. “I’ve already been through this once, during the First Battle, the one you guys ended up writing about. Well, me and Sparrow, of course,” he rambles. “But now my people are using humans to their advantage so we don’t take as severe of a loss as we did last time. They’re taking your people and transforming you to bring you into our world, making you forget all about your own. Wiping all your memories of this place. And I promise you, though our world has it’s perks, you’d much rather stay here, even though Mother Nature is trying to push you off…” The man is explaining this all to us as if it’s second nature to him, which, now I gather is probably true. “Oh, and I didn’t kill these things. I told you, I put them to sleep. They can’t die all the way, because they inhabit both this world, and their own. They’re only half-alive over there.”

“This is fucking ridiculous…” Sam says with a huff, running a hand over his mouth as he turns away from us all. Danny just stands dumbfounded with his hands on his hips.

“So wait,” I hear Y/N’s quiet but stern voice speak up as she walks to the man. “You said they’re transforming our people, what do you mean? Wiping our memories?”

“Yes, that’s right,” the Archer clears his throat. “There are these… buildings where your people are being taken, elderly, from what I hear. They’re wiping their memories, taking all of their pasts away so that when they bring them permanently to the realm I am from, they won’t have a clue about the past life they lived here, on earth. Will force them to learn the ways of that land, and force their allegiance to it. Heartbreaking, really.”

“Paps,” I hear her whisper before turning to me. “That’s where they were taking him before the sink hole took…” she trails off, her mind obviously racing. I go to her again, taking her elbows in my hands.

“He might be there, Y/N, now we have more information, now we have help… we can find him…” I reassure her. “Hopefully we can get to him before–”

“This your mate, Jacob?” the Archer interrupts us.

“Uhh, no, no… just… just a friend,” I stammer, both of our faces turning bright red. “We ehm. We were kidnapped the same night, put into the same pod.”

I watch as the Archer slowly walks to her, his eyes never leaving hers. He towers over her, and at first she looks a little scared, until he gently takes her hand in his, bringing it to his lips for a kiss.

“Well, she is beautiful… very intelligent, I can tell. Resourceful, fearless… I can see your aura, Ms…”

“Y/N,” she replies softly, her cheeks still bright pink.

“Y/N,” he repeats, still holding her hand. “You’ve got more inside you than you let on, don’t you…”

I stand by and watch as she pulls a few strands of hair behind her ear. “I–I don’t think so?”

“Mm,” he goes on, his thumb rubbing over the back of her hand, “I believe you’re full of a great amount of ferocity, zeal and passion. Remind me a lot of my Sparrow… you better take heed, Jacob, or another Immune might realize what’s in front of him before you do.”

My jaw nearly drops at his words, and I go to speak up but he interrupts me again. “Samuel, Daniel, are you going to spend the entire evening walking around with your hands behind your heads trying to make sense of all this? Or are you going to believe us, believe your brother, and allow us to get on with our journey?” the Archer asks as he picks up the three beings with ease, draping them across the back of his horse as they sleep.

Y/N makes short eye contact with me but shies away; I’m glad she does, I wouldn’t know what to say, anyway.

“You seriously expect us to believe all this, Jake?” Sam says. “This is all ridiculous, you have to understand that, right?”

I give Sam one last long glance as I return my attention to the Archer. “Do you know where our other brother is? And the rest of our family?”

“Not exactly, but if I had to guess, they’ve already taken your brother Josh into their protection. Deeper than they had taken you, simply because he was the one having the dreams,” he explains. “Now can we get going? We need to bed down before nightfall.”

Y/N

I’m. Fucking. Filthy.

I’m tired, my legs feel like jello, and I’m starving. I feel as though I haven’t had a shower in weeks, when it was only just a couple of days ago that they let us shower in the pods. I haven’t shaved my legs or armpits in forever…my nails need trimmed so badly it hurts, and my hair probably looks worse for wear than my pimple-covered face does. Gross. Just really fucking gross.

But I’m alive.

I pulled Jake free from the sinkhole and away from danger. And he, in turn, pulled me away from the danger of those…things.

The Archer had been leading us through the woods for about half an hour now, likely looking for a place to make camp or…something. The two guards that Jake knows walk alongside us with their weapons drawn, and their heads on constant lookout. Sam and Danny haven’t talked since we left, just walking along, stomping their feet and pulling at sticks and branches as they pass them by. I can tell they’re both mad. Upset, confused, pissed off… Hell, I would be too, if I were them. Knowing everything they had ever worked for had come down to this: walking through the woods with some mythical creature that they thought they had created in their minds.

My thoughts are frivolous and a little bit jumbled, and I know the other guys are having just as hard a time with this as I am, maybe even worse. I guess this is why Jake had told me to not show my tattoos, at the risk of one of the beings seeing them and knowing that I may have some kind of connection with the lore, too. He was trying to protect me.

I start thinking back to when Jake was trying to get me to understand, without outright telling me. When he was talking about The Battle of Evermore, using it as an analogy and trying to get me to put the pieces together myself. Make sense of what Josh had been unknowingly doing all those years, and why he did it. Hell, the amount of music that’s spawned over the years from fictional times and places is enormous, are they at risk, too? Are all of these places in time connected? Could these other artists have had the same dreams that Josh did?

I can’t think like that, my brain will explode. Instead, I turn my attention over to the only other person whose mind is probably right on track with mine, finding him already meeting me at my side.

“Hey uh, about what he said earlier, about another Immune getting to you–”

“Don’t worry about it, Jake. That was… really odd of him to say,” I try and brush off the interaction, when in all reality I want to harness this overwhelming emotion that I’ve noticed every time I’m in Jake’s presence.

He nods, his eyes heavy. “I just don’t want you to feel threatened by him, or anything. Uneasy, you know? He seems a bit–”

“Overconfident? Yeah, I agree,” I laugh, trying to stay quiet. “But no, I don’t feel that way. I can tell he’s harmless. Even though wrapping my head around who he is and why he’s here is a bit fucking…”

“Yeah, I know. This shit is making me feel crazy. But, good. Last thing we need is me having to fight a guy twice my size for offending you,” he chuckles, sending a shockwave right through me.

I laugh along with him. “Now why would you have to do that?”

He gives me the tiniest smile I’ve ever seen from him, and one sweet little shoulder shrug. I can tell he’s feeling shy, or holding something back from me. Probably the same thing I’m holding back from him. We stay quiet for a few minutes as we trudge on, our fingers barely brushing against each other’s every few steps. His hair is tangled at his neck, but still pulled back into a messy knot. Though none of us have eaten in days, and the sun wants to burn us more than ever, his skin still looks glowy and healthy. I can’t lie- right here in this very moment, I find him more attractive than I ever have, and that’s saying something.

It’s funny, years ago as we were all heavily in our lust for every man in this band, that’s all it was. Just rockstar lust. Screaming over photos and buckling at the knees during shows. Of course we were all enamored by the people that they were, and the things that they stood for, but now, as we’re all in our thirties, a new thought process has taken over the mindset that I lived in for so many years. Now they’re all grown adults, fully self-aware and sure of the men that they are. A bit more poised, and no-bullshit with their attitudes. A little rustier in their movements, a little gruff in their appearances. I’d always heard of what generally happens to men when they hit thirty, but damned if I’ve ever seen it come to life like it has in these three.

I just hope that Josh is doing the same somewhere safe, keeping true to himself and not in any danger.

“How do we know these people aren’t luring us there? How do we know this isn’t all a trick to get us where they want us?” Jake breaks me from my thoughts.

“I dunno…” I whisper, taking another look at the Archer still ahead of us. “You trust those other two, right? I guess we just have to trust the fact that they might know where Josh and your family are. If he can get us that, nothing else matters.”

“And Paps,” he adds without a thought. I bite my cheeks in, stifling a punch to the gut.

“And Paps.”

—--

The Archer didn’t take us to a camp. No, he brought us to a large, abandoned home balanced on a hillside equipped with a wraparound porch and what was once a koi pond out front. The home stood by itself, we’d passed no neighbors or other structures for about a mile. Obviously, this family had money, and just from the looks of it, you could tell they stayed alive inside this home for as long as they possibly could.

Stone made up the foundation of the beautiful A-frame home, and a heavy oak front door adorned the front. I caught sight of three generators underneath the porch, and I wondered if they lived long enough to use all of the fuel from them.

“We’re staying here? How do we know the people who lived here aren’t still inside?” Sam asks, the first time I’ve heard his voice in a couple of hours.

“Because I’ve checked. Do you think I would bring you to a place that was still inhabited and let your mortal self have to deal with digging graves this evening? I would never, Samuel,” the Archer bellows as he hops from his horse, his flowing sheer robes falling as gently as snowflakes around him as he lands. I’m starting to like this guy’s witty personality. “You will bed here. Get some rest, we’ve got a long few days ahead of us.”

“Why are you doing this, why are you helping us?” Danny perks up as I watch the two guards rush up the porch stairs. “For all we know you could be pretending and have plans to trap us all in that house without food or water and let us die. For all we know this could all be a ploy and you do work for those other guys.”

I watch Jake’s eyebrows raise in an agreeing question.

The Archer rolls his eyes as he runs a hand through his long hair, adjusting the bow that rests on his back. “Listen kid, I’ve got a long, long story. And I’ve been around long enough to know where and how to spend my time. I can’t die, do you get that? Unless something kills me in the other world, I’m stronger than ever here. I’ve spent hundreds of years fighting against those godforsaken people that rule my world. It’s tyranny, it’s control… and now that your world has decided to say fuck you human beings, my people have taken their chance at even more control than they’ve ever dreamed of. All at the expense of you.” The Archer is nose-to-nose with Danny now, pressing his pointer finger into his chest. I can feel the rage dripping off of him, and I know that Sam and Jake are ready to jump within a second’s notice. But Danny stays strong, not backing down.

The Archer realizes that and turns away, going back to his horse’s saddle as he continues to talk. “Most of my years have been spent protecting your world against any overlapping with mine. I run interference, I control what needs to be controlled, assisting your people if I ever catch word of my rulers overstepping their boundaries. Over the years, I’ve made progress. Caught onto things and stopped them before they could happen. I’ve managed to keep it at bay.”

“Why haven’t they tried to kill you?” I ask.

He smiles, reaching out his long arm and running his soft hand along my cheek. “They know better.”

I feel all of my insides grow weak and I shudder at his gentle touch. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that this man rather enjoys my aura.

“All clear up here, Odin!” I hear one of the guards interrupt our moment.

“Thank you,” the Archer replies, as I learn he has a name. “Now, Daniel, if you’ll follow our friends up the stairs to the place we’ve prepared you, I’d love to get my horse to some water.”

—--

“Come on, baby… come on…” I watch Sam coax the generator as he primes it, hoping and praying to start it up long enough to power the lights on. He jerks on the pull-start over and over before it finally starts running, a sound that I feel like I haven’t heard in decades. His face lights up with joy, and his smile reaches from ear to ear, but his happiness is short-lived, as the generator putts out after only a few seconds.

“Son of a bitch!” he yells. “Y/N are you sure you made sure there was connection?”

“Yes, I’m positive!” I yell back at him as I try not to laugh at his expense. He stands up with his hand on his hip, his free hand coaxing his beard that’s gotten fairly long, now.

“Sam, what’s the big deal? It’s not going to work…” I hear Jake say from up on the back porch.

“Yes it will. There, free-standing water tank, still half-full of water. Water pipe from tank to house. Generator connected to water pipe. Non-mechanical pressure system, boom. Water in the shower,” he spats at Jake, using his hands to talk. “This isn’t technology, Jake. It’s just moving parts powered by sparks and gasoline…”

I look up to Jake and Danny above me, leaning on the banister of the porch. He’s not really wrong…

“Your attempts are futile, Samuel. I doubt there is much fuel still left in that generator,” I hear Odin from the wooded area behind the house. “Come now, this fire is much better suited to assist you in your human needs than that old machine…”

As we cut our losses and give up, we walk behind the house to the wooded area where Odin and the two guards have prepared a fairly large fire. It looks as though they’ve salvaged a few things from the home, some canned goods and two or three jugs of water. I can smell the food already being heated, and I realize then how dehydrated we probably all are. We all wearily gather around it, taking places on the damp ground as the Second, as Jake had referred to him, hands us small bowls of some kind of cooked beans.

“What’s your name?” I ask him, getting comfortable with my back against the trunk of a tree.

“Me? Oh, I’m Robert. Robbie, if you want. That’s my older brother Josiah,” he responds, resting his hand on his belt as I take the bowl from him.

“See, Jake? They have names…” I tease as Jake comes and takes a spot beside me, his shoulder pressing harshly into mine.

“I think I’m still gonna call them The First and The Second,” he huffs. “Seems more fitting, seeing as how they beat my ass a couple times back in the pods.”

“Hey now, now, we told you that was coming,” Josiah interjects with a mouthful of beans. “We had to make it look like we were doing our job. Just be glad the sinkhole came when it did, we’d probably still be whooping your ass in there,” he laughs jokingly.

“From the bowing earth,” Danny interrupts solemnly from across the flames. “Uprises the weeds of war, caving the floor… a renaissance born.”

We all are struck into silence as Danny recites the old lyrics, his eyes boring into the fire as his hands stay wrapped around the bowl of food that he’s yet to touch.

“The earth is bowing, the floor… it’s literally caving. It’s–it’s the sink holes…” he reiterates, making my face feel like it has turned to stone. “We wrote about… we wrote about this, too…”

“Precisely,” Odin whispers. “A bit prophetic, don’t you think?”

“Fuck…” Jake whispers beside me, obviously not yet having made that connection, either. “What the hell else are we going to learn?”

“There’s much to learn, Jacob. Much for you all to learn,” Odin says as he adjusts himself on the ground. “I know you’re all full of questions, please, now is the time to ask. And I’ll do my best to answer.”

I look around at the three of them, their faces painted with fifty different emotions as I know they have no idea where to start, so I do.

“You keep mentioning this First Battle, what do you mean by that?” I ask. “Was it really The Battle at Garden’s Gate?”

“Excellent question, my darling,” Odin says, crossing his legs. I hear Jake huff a breath of annoyance. Hah, good.

“In short, yes. That Battle happened over 500 years ago, when our world was first threatened by another outside force, one that I don’t have time to delve into at this moment. You gentlemen really paid it justice, I will say, through your music. Joshua’s recount of his dreams was quite vivid, if I do say so.”

“We made up a lot of those lyrics while we were high as kites and three bottles of tequila in,” Sam jests, shaking his head. “How does that make sense with what you’re saying?”

“Ah, that may be true Samuel, but I’m sure your eldest brother pushed forth the guidelines for the majority of it, hm? If not filling in the gaps, writing the framework?” Odin says as the fire crackles between us.

Sam nods, “I guess so, yeah.”

“The Battle did actually occur at the iron gates of our Garden, the largest and most wondrous sight your human eyes couldn’t even comprehend. The outside force that threatened us had found a way to infiltrate our realm, seeking nothing more than blood and quick kills. You see, the Garden itself wasn’t just a garden, it was miles and miles of rolling green hills, bursting at the seams with flora and foliage and flowers and weeds, an abundance of life that all existed in harmony. Fields of thorned white roses grew naturally, some growing ten, twenty feet high with their vines all intertwined within one another. And on the other hand, it was also partially covered in thick ice and snow, with crystallized caps and pristine glittering mountaintops that you can hardly fathom with thought. It was beautiful, vast, alive… All of the natural life growing right alongside the roaring, freezing, ice-ridden landscapes.”

“Kind of like how it’s the middle of winter here, now, and the trees are more green than I’ve ever seen them…” Sam says.

“That’s right. It was normal for us, there, but I’m afraid your world is already starting to adopt it, too. This, my friends, will be called your Fifth Season.”

I’m startled, feeling odd now that I realize that the cold winds that blew today are now replaced by a heat that is not coming from the fire.

“The heat from above,” Odin goes on, “will come at night.”

“You’re shitting me…” Danny scoffs with a whisper, shaking his head in disbelief.

“My words are true, Daniel. If I may go on, you all told the stories of the Battle quite well, your imagery, from what I have been shown, illustrated nearly identically to what our lands were left like after the Battle. Dry, deserted, no longer did anything flourish, it’d been burned to ash.”

To wonderlands of ice and snow, in the desert heat where nothing grows…

My mind is absolutely overrun with all of the ties that are being made, with all of the old graphics that went along with this album… the green, the white, the red and the black…

“There was once a temple in the center of the Garden where very few lived, but many passed through. If my memory serves, you all included that image, as well. And, a nice statue-esque depiction of myself looking mighty handsome, I will say…back when my hair was a bit shorter. Though it was destroyed in the Battle, along with big parts of the temple,” Odin recollects. “Many of our ancient writings and teachings are etched in the walls there, still… written in gold.”

I feel Jake’s lungs fill as he sits still beside me, and I can hardly fathom what his mind is learning right now. All of it…

“You, my friends, have to realize that the music you’ve been writing since you were mere children is all centered around the true happenings of our world. So many things intertwine, so many concepts brought to life in your music. It’s astounding, really. And, from the bottom of my heart, I am so sorry that my people are now exploiting it,” Odin says with a harsh solemnity in his voice.

“Well we exploited you, in all actuality,” Jake says. “We didn’t know we were making a mockery of your history, we had no clue it was all real.”

Odin smiles. “I wouldn’t say it’s a mockery, Jacob. If anything, you brought an awareness that your audience didn’t even realize they were a part of.”

“Who is Sparrow?” I ask, making every head jerk to look my way. He has mentioned the name twice, now.

“Let me take another wild guess…” Sam interjects.

“My Sparrow,” Odin breathes, recollecting himself to speak more mannerly. “I can honestly say though my ears interpret music differently than humans do, the words and melodies that you all wrote about my sweet lady were very close to the truth.”

I think back to those lyrics now, hearing the sweet acoustic guitar playing in the back of my head.

“Sparrow and I met by happenstance, in the city square ten days before the first Battle. She struck me, even from across the masses of crowds… I was drawn to her. She was only passing through, but somehow, after nearly three days spent locked up together in my quarters, I convinced her to stay. A wild flower, she is. Always blowing across the breeze wherever it decided to take her. And brutal, my,” his brows furrow as he smiles at the memory of her. “More fiery and absurd and hard-headed than any person I’d ever met. Her decisions were her own, then, and no word I would mutter across our pillow could keep her at bay. She decided that she was going to fight, told me that there was nothing keeping her from taking part in the war. Felt it was her duty. Suppose I learned quickly that I cared more for her than she of me, but alas. The sword she carried never left her side during it all as she rode on horseback only at night, surprising the enemy as they slept. All night, she would fight alone, reappearing only as the sun rose to retreat back, letting the rest of us fight while the sun shone. My Sparrow of the Dawn,” he explains, his one bright orange eye flickering in the reflection of the flames as he sits in deep thought. “Now where you all acquired the title of Flower Power, I always have wondered…”

All three of them laugh quietly. “We thought we were hippies, I guess,” Sam chuckles. “Felt fitting, at the time.”

“Is she still alive?” Josiah asks.

“She is. She rarely crosses to this world, she prefers to stay tucked away and safe, until absolutely necessary. I go and see her from time to time. Our love has faltered over the years… grown and subsided and grown again. I’ve come to realize that there is no taming her, and she’s best suited to live her own life, though I would lie mine down before her feet even to this day, if it meant she would stay with me,” he says, swallowing a lump in his throat.

“When did you see her last?” I ask.

“Probably eighteen, nineteen years ago,” he answers. “It’s funny, I suppose the timeline nearly meets of when your brother must have had the dream about her, and you all wrote the song. May have been right as I was seeing her for the last time.” I’m struck with disbelief again, in complete and utter shock of how all of this is mapping out. I wish that we could go to Josh, and he could learn of all of this, I wish he would have been comfortable sharing that he had these dreams at the times he was having them. I feel no shame in setting my bowl to the side, and taking Jake’s hand in my own, as I feel an overwhelming rush of sadness come over him. I know that he is feeling more isolated than ever, without his twin.

He gently lies his head onto my shoulder as Danny and Sam look at us, giving us both pitiful looks of empathy. Their eyes fall as they realize their brother is really just fucking sad. So I gently pat his cheek and pull him further onto my shoulder, surprised and glad that he feels comfortable enough to display himself like this, with me.

“What you gentlemen also need to realize is that the reason my people want to harness your knowledge so intently is that we were well aware there was a prophecy not long after the First Battle was fought, and nearly lost. We knew another was to come, though this one wouldn’t be fought on our soil. The hooded guards, the ones who attacked you earlier and who are now locked away in the basement, there are many of them. Uncountable. They all work for the ones who inhabit the Tower, the ones who rule us so harshly. They are all nearly omniscient, sharing their prophecies and fortunes with one another. There has been a fire burning at the Tower for nearly a millenia, it’s smoke always billowing a clean white. But right before your world decided to wipe herself clean, the smoke from the fires burned black.”

“The new age crisis,” Danny mumbled. “It signaled you that something was about to happen.”

Odin nods. “Yes. And happen, it did. And your brother saw it happening in his dreams nearly what, fifteen years ago? When you wrote that song as young boys… he prophesied it before our rulers even knew about it.”

Jake suddenly rips his head from my shoulder and stands, pulling his hair back with his hands as he stomps around the fire. He stands still for a second, his breath chopped as he looks like he is about to burst into tears. He darts around the side of the house, his sobs already wracking through him as I share a quick look with Danny and Sam before we all stand and follow him. “We’ll be back,” I say to the others before we take off after Jake.

“Go away, I just need a second,” Jake yells at us as we finally find him beside the old koi pond.

“What the fuck is happening,” Sam says rhetorically as he plops down on the ground, his elbows meeting his knees as he curls up around himself. Danny walks to the edge of the old driveway, his fingers interlaced at the back of his head as he stares off into the night sky.

Jake is leaning his hand on the post of the porch, trying to calm his own breathing with his back to the rest of us. I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to think. This all feels so surreal, so fake and dreamlike, but again, the fire that’s burning in the yard behind us and the horse that’s tied to the tree five yards away are both very, very real.

I can smell the smoke from it, I can feel the little bit of food being digested in my stomach, I can recognize that these three men that surround me are going through one of the most unreal realizations that they’ve ever encountered in their lives. I can’t even fathom their thought processes right now.

“How did we do that, how did Josh do that,” Danny says as he turns back around to us. “All those years, all that we thought we just made up in our heads because it sounded good…”

“It’s okay, Danny, we’re gonna get it figured out, we’re gonna find Josh,” I try and intervene.

“No, Y/N, it’s not gonna be okay, don’t you see that?” Jake bombards me, taking my shoulders in his firm grip. “There’s nothing we can do to stop this, and Josh might already be too far gone, they probably already have him. And our families, they’re probably–” his face is riddled with confusion and hopelessness, he’s barely holding it together. “We’re fucked, we’re all fucked. The whole world is gone, and we didn’t even know that we knew it was going to happen!” He shudders with fear, and I can feel the guilt in his chest as he yells in my face. I’ve never seen him like this, and I have to admit, he’s scaring me a little.

“Hop off, Jake, calm it,” Sam is suddenly beside us, putting his hand on Jake’s chest. “This isn’t her fault, either.”

Jake huffs a sob as he steps back, running his hands over his face as enraged and guilt-ridden tears fall from his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“It’s okay,” I choke, feeling things calm for just a split second as they all try to breathe. “Listen, guys, I know you all don’t know me, and you probably think I know you more than I actually do, but. There is no way you all could have known that the Earth was going to do this. Honestly. And even if you did, how in the fuck do you think you would have been able to stop it? Huh? ‘Listen to our music… it’s telling the truth! All we’ve created is going to cease to exist!’ No, everyone would have called you completely crazy. So don’t even begin to blame yourselves, this was all going to happen regardless of if you realized your music was foretelling the future or not. All we have is what’s in front of us. We have each other, and we have Odin, and the brothers. And we have a mission. We’re going to find Josh, we’re going to find Paps, and we’re going to find your family. We’re going to keep ourselves alive, and we’re going to find the others like us and get them to a safe place. That’s all we can do. One step at a time…”

I know my words probably carry no weight, but I’ve at least got to try. A tentative plan might give them hope.

It’s quiet as their wheels turn, and Sam and Danny give me slow nods of understanding. “You’re right, you’re right…” they both mutter as they take deep breaths and pat my back reassuringly.

“Go get some sleep, huh?” I give them stern looks, lowering my voice to command them. I know they’re both probably exhausted beyond belief. “Go inside.”

They both stuff their hands in their pockets as they walk up the steps back to the fire, leaving Jake and I in the calmness of the night. I take a seat on the high wall of the koi pond, the grass high around my knees. It’s filled with bugs and loud wildlife, all making simultaneous noises as they take up refuge in the weeds. Jake is still standing nearby, looking out at the night sky and the new moon in the distance.

“I’m scared, Y/N,” he says, refusing to turn and face me. I swallow down his words.

“I am too, Jake. I think we all are.”

He finally turns and comes to join me on the wall, letting his body relax as he takes another deep breath. “You remember how dark our last album got, right? That day that Josh told me everything, all about his dreams, he said he was dreaming about that shit, too. Is this about to get that much worse?”

It’s true, their last album was the darkest, yet. Though Josh’s lyrics were sewn with allusions and metaphors and the like, the themes were heavier than anything they’d ever done. He focused on struggle, he focused on destruction, he focused on death.

“I don’t know, Jake. For all we know, that could already be happening, we could be in the middle of it right now,” I respond, and frankly, the way we are all feeling right now justly mirrors the way listening to that last album felt the first time I heard it. “We’re already surrounded by death and loss, you know?”

He nods again, his eyes never leaving the sky. But then his hand comes to find mine again, just like mine had done earlier with his while we were around the fire. The callouses that once were embedded in his fingertips are a little softer now, I can tell, and the scars that run the length of his left forearm are brighter than ever. In a bold act, I gently run my finger along them, feeling the caverns and healed skin from the stitches he had all those years ago. To my surprise, he lets me. His fingers intertwine with mine in such a way that feels more right than anything I’ve ever felt, more comforting than any contact I’d ever received.

His free hand lifts the sleeve of my dirty gray sweatshirt, revealing all the tattoos of his music that line the length of my arm, and he runs his finger along them, too.

“I can’t believe you followed us, all that time,” he says quietly, the touch of his fingertip sending shivers through me.

I huff a laugh through my nose. “It was the best adventure I ever took myself on, I can promise you that. Ten years of traveling with the friends I made, going to new places, taking Paps along with me… I’m sure you guys all thought it was weird that the majority of us did that, but. It was honestly one of the best parts of my life. Made me feel like I was really connected to something that I belonged to, I could call mine. I dunno, it sounds strange saying it to you,” I laugh.

“No,” he whispers. “Seems like you were genuine about it, not just in it for the same bullshit some of the others were. I know how it feels to connect with something really intensely, like that. And I couldn’t picture my life without my own escapes. So I get it. I’m glad we could be that for you, and your friends…”

“You still are, really,” I admit. “That feeling doesn’t really ever go away. Once it’s ingrained in you, you know.”

“I do know,” he smiles, finally turning to look at me, his face closer to mine than it was the day he told me everything at the pods.

“You’re a little different, aren’t you, Y/N?”

“Apparently, according to Odin,” I try to break the high-intensity of the moment, my heart thrumming so quickly I can hardly breathe. I feel his breath on my lips, I feel his fingertip moving up to my elbow, then my shoulder, then to my neck… My entire body is covered in nerve-ridden goosebumps from his proximity.

His other hand is still squeezing mine, his fingers kneading into my palm as my breathing audibly quickens. His nose grazes across mine as I try and collect enough breath to breathe him in, relishing in the moment that I never in a million years thought would happen. I feel the slightest brush of his lips on my cheek as his jaw clenches, the roughness of his mustache making my head spin with want. I haven’t been this close to anyone in so long…

“Well he’s right,” he whispers, his lips moving across my cheek and against my lips… but still yet, he doesn’t make contact. “There’s something about you… I don’t wanna stay away from.”

Then his fingers come up and cup my cheek, my jaw resting comfortably in his palm. Every inch of me is on fire, in complete disbelief that this is really happening. All of my odd, unimaginable feelings from the past couple of days, completely warranted.

“I know you’ve got to go find your Paps, I know you can’t stick with us forever…” he says, his jaw biting into itself over and over through his words, obviously holding him back from doing what he really wants to do.

“Says who?” I reply, my eyes fluttering open and closed. “This is a team effort, who says I want to leave you?”

“I don’t want you to leave me…” he mutters through a rough breath, biting his bottom lip in as I feel his eyelashes brush across my cheek. It’s taking literally every ounce of energy in my body not to connect us, my yearning urging me to do something.

“I’m not, I won’t,” I say, and just as soon as the last word escapes my lips, he finally connects his to mine, rough and needy and sweet, his hand still gripped in my hair and pulling me into him. I’m floating above us, the nerve endings in every centimeter of my body experiencing a euphoria I’ve been dreaming about for the past ten years… complete and utter disbelief… way more intensely than I had ever dreamed of.

My hands find him as I disconnect our intertwined fingers, gripping at the neck of his sweatshirt and gathering it up in my fists as I kiss him back, wanting and heavy as I allow my body to taste a shred of what it’s been begging me for since the world began to end. I feel the breath from his nose against mine, holding for just a few seconds as his subconscious reminds him he needs to breathe. I lean in, and he reacts, pressing himself closer into me, our chests touching and heaving already.

His hands are on either side of my face, squeezing me so tightly that I feel my ears ringing. But finally he pulls away for just a second long enough to utter one word, ‘Fuck,’ before he delves back in, his tongue searching deeply for mine. So I reciprocate, giving him exactly what he wants as I lick back into his mouth. I feel my core begin to throb, obviously, having gone without the touch of another human for months now, months before everything began to happen, really. My body is begging me, carnally and against my own will, to give it more.

I turn myself in my seat, my legs straddling either side of the wall we’re sitting on as he turns too, putting his hands underneath the backs of my thighs to lift me closer to him. It’s turned into a frenzy of hands and hair and mouths, our bodies both heaving and lurching into one another. I can’t breathe, I can’t see, I can’t even hear the sounds of everything I know that surrounds us. All I feel is him.

His hands are on my waist, his fingers digging into my skin up underneath my shirt as they pull at my skin, and I let out the tiniest whimper into his mouth, and I immediately regret it. Fuck fuck… no don’t, Y/N. But at the same time, it makes my mind clear. I’m fucking kissing him, right now. His hands are on my body… I have thought about this exact moment a thousand times…

I shouldn’t have been embarrassed by it, because as soon as the sound leaves me, he growls into my mouth, making the entire world around me shatter. Good god, this feels worse than heaven and hell combined. We’re unbridled and fighting, his hands yanking at the hair at the base of my neck as I bite at his bottom lip, the both of us treating the other as if we’ve been this close for a hundred years.

But we haven’t, and he’s not–

I rip myself away, my hair covering my eyes as I peer at him in the darkness, my breath barely able to keep me upright and from fainting as I see just as much surprise on his face. But I also see lust so heavy that I contemplate diving right back in. His hands are still balanced on my bare hips, his fingers now ghosting rather than digging.

“I’m sorry, I– yelled at you earlier, and then I– I shouldn’t have–”

“Fuck off, Jake,” I say, giving him a devious grin, this time throwing my own hand up to cover his mouth. “Don’t fucking apologize.”

Instead of answering, his featherlight touch on my hips switches back to a possessive grip as they run from them up to my ribcage. I lean in and kiss him again, my forehead knocking hard into his as he bites at my tongue. I can’t even begin to explain how he tastes, maybe I’ll get into that later, but for now I’m just going to enjoy it.

It’s only a few more seconds before I’m inching myself closer to him, my tits now pushed firmly against his chest. I know he can feel it, as he allows one of his hands to travel up from my ribs and under my sorry excuse for a sports bra, confidently taking my left breast in his hand. This spurs me on, of course, as I can feel myself absolutely pooling with desire for him. I stop myself from imagining what he has going on.

“Goddamnit, fuck, we can’t–” he finally says as his fingers pinch at my nipple, almost making me come un-fucking-done, right there by the koi pond. “I can’t I can’t I can’t,” he says in succession.

“Why, what?” I barely get out, my head still in a state of euphoria.

“We can’t– I’ve gotta, stop myself, Y/N… we can’t even do that right now, fuck…” he’s rubbing a hand over his eyes and hair, trying to calm himself as we separate. “There’s, there’s too much risk, I don’t know…”

I’m not mad, but I’m not happy, either. I pull my bra and shirt back down into place, checking behind us that one of the others haven’t caught us in the act. “Jake, I’m thirty years old, I know my body,” I willingly admit before I can even stop myself.

“Yeah but I didn’t… I didn’t even ask you if that was what you wanted, I don’t know, I acted too much on impulse, I just–”

“Listen to me,” I demand of him as I take his face in my hands. “I haven’t been touched by a man, by another human in almost ten months, Jake. Probably more, if I’m being honest. We’re in the middle of the fucking apocalypse, the world is fucking ending, and I haven’t had a goddamned drink since my home fell into the first sink hole in Tennessee. I don’t know about you, but if a little touchin’ and squeezin’ is wrong, then I don’t wanna be right.”

His eyes silently search mine for a few seconds before I release him from my hold, watching as he tilts his head back and laughs. Laughs hard.

“What’s so funny?” I complain as he’s wrapping his arms around my shoulders, leaning all his body weight onto me as his chest rattles with laughter.

“I like you, I like you a lot,” he says, void of any sexual sentiment. “You’re really funny. You make me feel normal.”

“That’s cause I am normal. You’re famous, you wouldn’t understand,” I answer, and I feel him smiling against my hair again.

“Shut up, you know what I mean,” he says as he pulls away. “Like I’m back down to earth and not part of a conspiracy that prophesied the end of the world.”

“You’re reaching, Jake,” I say, squinting one eye at him. My nerves are finally calming from the intensity of a few moments ago, and I can finally breathe.

I watch him look at me as he bites his jaw sideways, likely feeling conflicted about what we just let ourselves do.

“We’re human, Jake, with human needs, and human wants. Can you blame yourself? I mean, I’m hot, you’re hot…”

“Shhhut up,” he chuckles again. “You’re a really good kisser, Y/N.”

“Thank you,” I say. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Oh, really now?”

“Yeah, I think you’ll have to try again sometime, though, just so I can be sure,” I relay with faux confidence, pulling my leg back over the side of the wall.

I finally stand, the muscles in my legs a little jittery from the position I was just in, and from them wanting to wrap themselves around Jake’s waist, or his face, whatever I could, honestly. Fuck, I know the both of us are going to be thinking about that for days… making this journey alongside him now is going to be a lot more difficult now that we’ve been that… close.

“Come on, we need some fucking sleep,” he says, standing beside me to lead us back to the fire.

Just then, I hear a rustle in the gravel, like fast footsteps lightly barrelling their way toward us. We both gasp and turn back around as Jake shoves me in behind him. “Who is that? Who’s there?” he calls out.

I see nothing but shadows, and what was once my pounding, excited heartbeat is now replaced with terror. No one answers, but the rustle of the footsteps keeps getting closer. Jake backs us up against the porch, and I feel his hand grip around my thigh in protection, telling me not to move. “I said who’s there!” he yells. I see a reflection of silver metal glisten in the moonlight as the steps come in closer. “Josiah!”

Just as quickly as the figure closes in on us, I hear the rushing footsteps of the rest of the group coming behind us. “Who’s there! Name yourself!” Josiah yells, stepping in front of us with Robbie at his flank. I can see their hands on their weapons.

The footsteps close in and finally reach the grass, still covered in darkness as I watch the silver shimmer again. Jake’s hand is still wrapped hard around my thigh as he presses me into the wooden leg of the porch. Josiah and Robbie grip their weapons, removing them from their holsters as they begin to take aim. Sam and Danny are just behind us, already panicking as well.

“Don’t come closer, we’ll fire!” Robbie yells into the darkness.

I hear their weapons release their safeties, and I prepare myself to hear the worst, when Odin comes barrelling between us all, yelling and shouting for everyone to stand down. “Stop, stop! No!”

“Odin, move, it could be an armed looter!” Robbie yells.

“NO!” he calls, running into the shadows of the high grass. “It’s my Sparrow…”

I’m instantly at ease as she finally comes into the dim light of the fire around the corner, her body adorned in silver armor, her glittering yellow hair in braids that fall across her shoulders and back. And tucked away at her side, is her shining silver sword.

“Odin!” she calls as their bodies meet, “I thought I’d never find you…”

“My love, my love, you found me. Why are you here? Are you alright?” he comforts her as they embrace, almost emanating their own dusty light in a mix of silvers and reds.

I think back to what Odin had said earlier, that Sparrow only comes to this world when absolutely necessary.

“I’m fine, I’m well, but I come with news. Let us gather, so I can see everyone’s faces,” she says, gliding past Odin and toward us so that we can be close to the light of the fire.

The six of us let her pass through us, all of us in disbelief at her beauty. Her skin glitters just as Odin’s does, her movements graceful and quick as she blurs the air as she passes through it. I’m almost enamored at the presence of her, so intoxicatingly gripping as she makes her way to the light of the flames. We follow her in succession, everyone stunned and surprised at her sudden appearance.

“Here now, everyone around,” she says, her voice from somewhere ancient and her accent one that is nearly unrecognizable. We all do as she says and gather around the fire again, watching as she literally shimmers in the light.

“There we are, hello, hello,” she sings, looking each and every one of us in the eye as she introduces herself. “My name is Sparrow, I’m unaware if Odin has mentioned my name, yet.”

“Of course I have, my love, I rarely speak to anyone without the mention of you,” Odin gloats, acting though he’d fall at her feet. “What brings you here, what brings you to us?”

Sparrow is silent as she walks around, getting eye-to-eye with all of us as she passes. “You men, you were the ones who wrote about me, who wrote of the stories of our people. It is a true pleasure…” she curtsies, making Sam and Danny hop back with surprise.

“The uh, the pleasure is ours Ms. uh, Ms. Sparrow…” Danny chokes, his eyes darting nervously to us.

Sam looks to Jake beside me, mouthing a quick ‘What the fuck?’

“It is true, I come with urgent news. I hope that Odin has told you that I rarely cross over into your world, if not for good reason. And a good reason, I do have.” She takes a seat on an oversized rock that lines the wooded area by the fire, and we all follow suit. She takes her sword from its holster on her side, and balances it across her knees. She runs a finger down from the end to the tip of it, letting it poke into her fingertip as she cracks her neck.

I know that Jake is absolutely fucking loving this.

Just then, the sword itself looks as though it is glowing with cool white light, and her barren hands grip at the blade, squeezing onto it until her knuckles are white. My body tenses, expecting to see blood beginning to trickle from her hands, but instead, the sword just glows brighter.

Her head tilts back, and her mouth falls open, as she begins speaking in a voice that is not her own.

The voice, though, is one that is so familiar that I feel my bones begin to crumble, my blood begin to harden, and my organs turn to stone within me.

The voice that is leaving her is Josh’s.

“All is hallowed here, let their proclamations of faux deities and untrue alliances die along with the world that surrounds them! Upon this sacred ground they’ll surrender, within my words they’ll learn the truth of all that encompasses this divine ether. Let them not tether there, or they shall suffer with the insignificance of man, they shall perish alongside the ones the Earth has decided to exterminate. Let them live in jubilance as we celebrate here, as one, sanctifying all that is true. Faithful they shall be, and faithful they shall live! It is here, their destiny is manifested!”

Just as Sparrow speaks the final word, her hands let go of her sword and it’s dullness returns, as she collapses to the side into Odin’s waiting arms. I am stunned absolutely speechless.

Things just got way, way worse.

I look to Sam, then Danny, then Jake, the look on all of their faces identical as they have just listened to the voice of their brother recite a speech so terrifyingly haunting that I’m not sure if they are even still able to breathe.

“Inside, bed. All of you,” Odin orders as Sparrow stays asleep in his arms.

“Odin, what the fuck was that? You expect us to just–” Jake yells.

“I said inside!!!” Odin bellows, shaking the trees with the volume of his voice.

“That was my brother! His voice!” Jake challenges him. “Where is he?! Does she know?? Why was he saying those–”

“If you don’t get inside and get some rest this very instant, I will abandon all we have done for you, and you will continue this journey alone, without any guidance or anything to arm you. Now, do you want that, Jacob? Or do you want to do as I said and get some rest, so that you awaken with a clear and readied mind, and a rested body, for when Sparrow is strong enough to tell us what exactly she knows?” Odin presses, staying stern with Jake.

Jake reaches down into the embers of the fire, picking up some still-burning ash and harshly throwing it back down to the fire, igniting the it into a million sparkles as he trudges back toward the house, his fists clenched at his sides. I stand there, unable to move.

“Inside,” he orders me again, so I collect my losses against all my better instinct of leaving right this instant to go and find Josh, find our families. I rush up the stairs, and enter the dark house that is unfamiliar. I slam the door behind me and find the three of them stomping around the carpeted floors of the house, a huffing mess of confusion and doubt.

“On the couches, all three of you. Sit down, and try to rest. We won’t even make it to our families if we don’t. We need clear minds, and rest. Odin is right,” I repeat, the words tasting wrong in my mouth, but I know they are true.

They all three follow suit and find places on the old, oversized couches, hugging at pillows and old blankets in the darkness. I feel Jake find my hand underneath the red quilt I’m now under, interlacing his fingers with mine again as we try to calm our minds enough to rest, if only for an hour.

Tags: @gretavangroupie @britney-gvf @sacredstarcatcher @wetkleenex-gvf @farfromthehomelands @takenbythemadness @writingcold @builtbybrokenbells @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @fleet-of-fiction @milkgemini @gvfpal @ageofcj@dancingcarbon @highway-tuna @stardustjake @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface @gvfmarge @gracev0609 @myleftsock @literal-dead-leaf @peaceloveunitygvf @ageofbajabule @slut4lando @jordie-gvf @sadiechar @tinydancer40 @rosabellagvf @capnjaket @lyndz2names @thetroublegetssoloud71 @gretavanomens @spark-my-nature @josh-iamyour-mama @anythingforjtk @alwaysonthemend @danieljlmwagner @klarxtr @fortunatelytinybasement @demonrat444 @gretavansara @watchingover-hypegirl @hippievanfleet @digitalnomadz @raviolilegs @lipstickitty @hippievanfleet @klarxtr @strange-whorizons @do-it-jakey-baby @myownparadise96 @gvf-luna @starshine-wagner @cassiesgreta @joopsandjangs @whimsiliz @kiszkas-canvas @whimsiliz @joopsandjangs @broken0mens @scoreofinfantryvines @whereiskeara @do-it-jakey-baby @miravanfleet @heckingfrick@kiszka-canvas @whimsiliz @joopsandjangs @broken0mens @scoreofinfantryvines @whereiskeara @do-it-jakey-baby @miravanfleet @heckingfrick @jenniferkiszka@jjwasneverhere @gvfmarge @pineapple-photographer @vanfleeter@gretnavannfleet @pineapple-photographer @joshylanefleet @becinabubblegvf @ageofmach1ne

24 notes · View notes

gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan · 7 months ago

Text

Wonders Unceasing

Prologue =-= Past =-= Next

Author's note: Zaarius next part in Husbandry.

Warnings: Let me know if I need to add anything.

Summary: Zaarius meets his Bonded Human.

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams,

Tagged continued: @sleepyfan-blog, @whorety-k

Zaarius is walking along one of Ancient Terra's sandy beaches, the ocean's water lapping at his feet a little as he let his mind water as his eyes gaze out accross the waves and beaches. It's pretty on Terra, at least, in this point in time. Before War, Greedy, and whatever else it was in the future-past that destroyed this agri-like world into the shit-hole that it had become. Part of him wondered if them being on Ancient Terra would change things, or if things were going to go the way they had because they'd shown up. Or-

His mind stops thinking along those lines as he rips off his helmet, his nose bleeding a little. Ow. This was why Psyker-type brothers and cousins were best when dealing with Warp Nonsense, regardless of the fact that he's a Chaos Marine, and has been one for a long, long time. Sometimes it's better to stop prying into things that are Too Much for a person. Figuring that out is the trick of it all. He is glad, mostly, to be on Ancient Terra, to see how it had once been, before things got Bad.

He's been looking out, searching for his Bonded, not all Space Marines have a bonded, but some do, three of his current War Band do. And while he's happy for them, he gets seethingly jealous as well. How sweet and unafraid the Bonded Human is of their Chaos Marine. No matter how twisted and inhumane they trully are in appearance. The human will just coo lovingly, flaterringly about them.

He unclenches his hands, gently shaking his claws a little. He's glad that they aren't uncontrollably drippoing poison any more. That had been a pain in the ass to get resolved. The Little shit hadn't apologized, no matter how long he was stuck inside the base. It was almost impressive, even if it was annoying. Hura would tell him to not nurse his wounded pride. He would point out to Hura that, for some reason, he likes the Little Bastard Son of Dorn.

Then again, Zaarius doesn't really get what's going on in that head of his. Death Guard… even more Chaos were an odd bunch. They've become even more strange over the ensuing ten thousand years. He's chasing new sensations and experiences, things tend to be more vibrant and colorful. Rather than how experiences, following after The God of Excess had slowly emptied him out and made him more hollow, despite seeking out more and more intense experiences to get to feel Something. Anything.

That is one good thing about Ancient Terra, despite its many, many drawbacks. Playing nicey-nice with the Renegade and Loyalists sometimes chafes his hide. But. at least he's mostly used to that. With the occasional scuffles with some of the Uppity among them. Or when new arrivals first show up and decide to try and Murder Them First. Fucking over-zealous bastards the lot of them!

He usually didn't volunteer for finding new arrivals, as they tended to take being on Terra, Ancient Terra, poorly in some way to begin with. While it's fun to see the anguish and torment on the faces of the Loyalists, well. Even that gets boring if he has to deal with it for too long or too often. He spots someone staring out at the ocean, a base line human, they seem to be leaning on a cane.

He tilts his head as he heads closer to the base line human, bored and wanting to see if he can pester a reaction out of a base line human sounds like a grand time to him. Besides, so long as he stays within the rules there is plenty of give and loop holes that he can worm his way through if need be.

"Greetings human," He calls out to them in a sing song way in High Gothic.

The human turns to stare at him, shifting back a little as they crane their neck to stare up at him fully. Base line humans tend to be far less skittish of them on Ancient Terra than back in his home Era. Or any Era where Astartes are created to serve and protect.

"Hello there," They reply with a slight twitch of their lips, in the common tongue of the base line humans in this area.

He can understand more of the language than he can speak it, mostly so he understand what the base line humans are saying, rather than an urge or desire to interact with them, most of the time. There is a warm, tugging sensation, that envelops his soul as he continues to speak with this base line human that he's not felt before. Curious to know what the feeling is and why he's feeling it he continues to follow after the human talking to them and listening to them respond, as they sound increasingly more confused until he decides to put them out of their misery, for not at least and says in the local dialect very clearly and carefully in his enunciation.

"You and I," He says as the words roll of his tongue like sweet caramel, "Bonded."

"Oh!" The human says with a gasp, eyes widening in surprise, and a mixture of other emotions. "It's oh. I'm glad to meet you. I'm ---."

"A lovely name for a lovely human," He purrs, "Call me Zaarius."

They mouth his name to themselves a couple of times before saying it out loud. And oh- what a rapturous experience to hear his newly bonded human say his name. He purrs more loudly at that. Pleased that they are almost correct on the pronunciation after a couple of times. He continues to follow after his lovely human, sending a message to the rest of his War Band that he's found his human. They all congratulate him for finding his human, his Captain, who's being unusually nice, has decided to allow him a month or two off to get to know and bond with his human more. The sends a thank you back before continuing to trail after his human.

#warhammer 40k #space marine husbandry sentience #space marine husbandry #warhammer #adeptus astartes #oc: Zaarius #emperor's children #emperor's children oc #noise marine #noise marine oc #poor unfortunate souls au

33 notes · View notes

justmeinadaze · 1 year ago

Text

Him and I (Steddie X You)

Prequel to Without Me / Part 2: You Should Be Sad Here

A/N: ENTER WITH CAUTION! Like my previous chapters THIS WILL MAKE YOU FEEL! Its angsty and dealing with dark themes of addiction. I WILL STILL LOVE YOU IF YOU CHOOSE TO SKIP THIS STORY!

Warnings: Toxic Steddie X Fem Reader, SMUT, I wanted to show the two parts of them and how the treated her before and after they started getting worse with their vices. The first half involves loss of virginity for the reader, dirty talk, kinda rough but more passionate I would say, The second half is definitely rougher, more dirty talk, degrading (whore, slut, etc), spanking, choking, Y/N is a willing participant in both instances!

Some FLUFF, they really do love her and vice versa but unfortunately they love their addictions more.

ANGST: DARK THEMES OF ADDICTION! Steve is an alcoholic and Eddie is a drug addict. Reader mentions more in Without Me how she's addicted to them and I feel like that's explored a bit more here. She gets on them a lot about their vices and every time they are dismissive. There are mentions of their childhoods and we do get an interaction with asshole older Harrington here (he belittles Steve and smacks him).

The accident from Without Me is here but with some details. Its more about Eddie and Steve's interaction before they ran and left her. We also get a glimpse of her in the hospital waiting for them.

Again NOT A WARM FUZZY STORY! I won't blame you if you choose to skip it <3

Word Count: 7874

1982

“That was…the grossest fucking thing you two evil people have ever shown me.”, Steve shudders as the three of you exit the theater.

You and Eddie cackle as you follow behind him out the front door.

“Oh, don’t be a fraidy cat, Harrington. It wasn’t even scary.”, the metalhead teases.

“I thought it was creepy. What would you do if I started to transform into some evil screeching alien?”

“I would still think you’re beautiful, honey.”

“Aw, Steve Harrington, you’re so sweetheart.”, you joke as you stick out your tongue.

Tonight was a much needed reprieve from all the chaos you and your two best friends had been dealing with. Junior year at Hawkins high was shaping up to be an exhausting one. Steve’s dad was on him much more and with more vigor than he had before reminding the younger Harrington that his future was looming just off in the distance.

“Steven! It’s time to buckle down and really focus. No more playing around, son. You need to focus on bringing up those grades and being a better athlete so you can get into a good college. I don’t hire losers at my firm!”

The older Eddie got the worse the town and student body seemed to be with him.

“What’s wrong, freak?! To busy focusing on your satanic shit? Get lost and take off that fucking Dio vest! You look fucking stupid.”

He did everything he could to focus on other things but idiots like Jason Carver and the other jocks were always around to make his life hell.

That’s probably why they both seemed to “let loose” more than usual or at least that’s how they described it to you the first time you noticed them excessively drinking and doing drugs.

“It just takes the edge off you know?”

“Is it? Steve, you have a flask now that you carry with you. Why would you need to do that?”

“It’s not a big deal, Y/N. It’s not like I have a real problem or anything.”

“Yeah, it’s just to relax. Here, sweetheart, you look like you need to chill out for a bit.”, Eddie adds as he offers you some of the white powder from the bag you noticed on his dresser.

“Um, no thank you. I think I’m ok weed.”, you giggle trying to laugh off the worries that bubble in your stomach.

You had started worrying about them more and more since this past summer. When you guys started high school, you noticed a change in them that wasn’t just normal adolescences. Steve’s words started to slur more throughout the day and whenever you three would spend time together his breath would smell so strong like a bar that you’d have to take a few steps away from him so you wouldn’t cringe every time he opened his mouth.

Eddie’s personality would shift at random points. In the mornings he would seem like the metalhead you befriended and then by lunch his behavior would be so erratic that it would frighten you sometimes. By the final bell, you would notice him staring off into the wall or even find him passed out in the back of the library.

Your mind always explained it away with different excuses almost as quickly as the ones they gave you when you asked questions.

“Hey, do you guys want to come over? My parents are out of town this weekend.”

“Sure. Sounds like fun.”, you beam up at him.

***

You woke up that following morning on Steve’s bedroom floor with Eddie beside you and the other boy passed out leaning against the wall with his long legs stretched out towards you both. Quietly, you got up to use the bathroom, checking your reflection in the mirror before you ventured downstairs to grab some breakfast.

Your eyes scanned the photos along the stairs, sympathy washing over you as you noticed Steve’s uncomfortable demeanor in all of them. His house always had a sad air surrounding it. It never felt exactly lived in and when his parents were home, neither seemed happy. Both he and the metalhead spent a lot of time at your place which you didn’t mind. You loved their company and you wanted them to feel safe.

Your parents always treated them like family and that’s how you saw them as well. You knew what both boys had been through and were still going through. Anything you could do to make things easier for them, you did with little to no question.

After opening his pantry, something immediately caught your eye. Within the trashcan were a ton of empty liquor bottles. Not just single beer containers but bottles of whiskey that should last a long time in a house with one occupant, emptied and discarded.

“Hey Y/N. What are you doing up?”, Steve groggily asked as he entered the kitchen.

“Steve Harrington, what is this?”, you inquire back showing him the contents within the trash.

The man’s eyes widen and it takes him a moment before he nervously chuckles.

“Uh, my parents had a party last week so—”

“Your parents weren’t home last week. You told me they were on a business trip which is why you spent the night at my house because you didn’t want to be alone.” The two of you stared each other down until you finally continue. “You drank all this by yourself?”

“It’s…it’s not a big deal, honey.”

“DON’T you honey me, Steven!”

“What’s going on?”, Eddie asks after loudly banging down the stairs.

“Did you know he was drinking this much?!”, you shriek as you show him what you found.

“I mean, it could be worse, Y/N.”

“HOW?! How can it be worse?! Are you fucking kidding me?! Rock bands don’t even drink this much!”

“Y/N! Come on. You’re making this into a big deal when it’s not!”

“Fuck you! I’m not going to watch you drink yourself to death. I love you but this is excessive!”

Stomping past them both, you head for the front door but the man hastily cuts you off and blocks you from leaving with his body.

“Y/N, please. Shit… I’m sorry, okay? You’re right. I have been going overboard lately. It’s just everything with my dad and school… I promise this will never happen again.” As your arms fold over your chest, his beautiful eyes scan your angry frame. “You’re the only one that ever cared about me, Y/N; you and Ed of course.”

You sigh as your demeanor softens.

“I DO care about you a lot, Steve. You know you can talk to me about anything and I’ll be there for you no matter what. You both don’t have to numb yourselves the way you do.” Eddie nods as you turn towards him, his head hanging in shame. “I worry about you two so mu—"

As you swivel back towards the other boy, you’re surprised when you are met with his lips on yours. You had never been intimate with them in any fashion up until this point, always seeing them as your best friends. You’d be lying, however, if you didn’t say Steve’s lips tasted good.

He pulled away from you for a moment, the two of you panting into each other’s mouths as you process what just happened. Before you could do anything or even respond, a ring covered hand grabbed your arm and yanked you against a bare chest as Eddie’s own lips connected with yours.

You could still hear the other boy’s heavy breaths causing you to groan at the sound. Lifting you onto the end table by the door, the metalhead hastily tugged down your pants and panties while Steve came up beside you to lift off your shirt and toss away your bra.

Eddie’s fingers dug into your thighs as he opened your legs wide and kneeled in front of you, making you whimper when he shoved his face into your cunt.

“Wa-Wait. I’ve—fuck—I’ve never done anything s-sexual before.”

A heavy growl emitted from both men as the long-haired boy sucked and flicked his tongue along your clit while Steve’s lips attached to your neck. Moving his friend out of the way, he lifted you in his arms and carried you to the couch.

You watched with wide, lust blown eyes as Steve pushed his shorts down enough to free his cock, spit in his hand, and stroked it along his length.

“St-Steve, you’re so big. It won’t fit.”

His honey brown eyes met your own and it was almost like for a moment he had forgotten it was your legs he was between. Tenderly, he leaned forward to kiss your lips.

“It will, honey. I promise. I’ll go slow, ok? Unless…do you want me to stop? I just…you are the only one to care about us. I love you so much, Y/N. Let us make it up to you.”

Your gaze momentarily shifted to Eddie who was looking at you with the same gentleness that you saw when you first met him all those years ago. Licking your lips, you kiss him again before shaking your head.

“Just…go slow…and keep talking to me…please.”

Your arms clung to his neck when you felt the head of his cock line up with your entrance. Your breath caught in your throat as he began pushing in and on instinct you tried to push him away from you.

“No, no, baby. You’re ok. E-Eddie, fuck, can you—”

Eddie quickly came up to your side and held you still with his hands as Steve pushed another inch into your hole.

“God fucking damn it, you’re so fucking tight.”

“Are you ok, sweetheart?”, the other boy whispered in your ear.

“Hurts.”

“I know, baby. It’ll feel good soon. I promise.” His lips comforted you as he kissed your cheek and your head arched back as the other boy slide further into your body. Eddie licked his fingers and reached between your bodies to rub slow circles into your bundle of nerves as Steve kept going.

“Fuck, Eddie!”, you screamed causing the boy inside you to grunt when your pussy clenched around him.

“Y-You like that, honey? You like Eddie’s fingers on your clit. Fuck, you’re doing so good, Y/N. I’m almost all the way in.”

“Steve…you’re so big…”

His cock twitched at your words and you groaned as the pain began to slowly dull. When his hips connected with yours, your eyes rolled back as his length grazed against that sensitive spot inside of you, you didn’t even know existed.

Leaning on to his knees, his palms held your calves as he pulled himself almost all the way out before roughly thrusting back in.

“Steve!”

“Fuck, Y/N. Keep shouting my name like that, baby.”

Eddie’s hand petted your head, as the other boy set a steady pace.

“You’re doing so well, pretty girl. You look so beautiful like this. You deserve to feel good to. Does it still hurt?” He smiled when you shook your head. “How does it feel?”

“G-Good.”

“Yeah? Tell him, sweetheart.”

As your eyes scanned over Steve you couldn’t help but marvel at him as you view him through this new filter. Usually, you only saw him as a friend. You never really thought about his gorgeous eyes or perfect lips. The way his broad hairy chest looked so sexy glistening with sweat. You never noticed that one lock of hair that fell just so as his head tilted forward or how low and gravelly his voice was when he was turned on.

“You feel so good, Steve.”

“Oh come on, Y/N. Tell him how you really feel. It’s just us.”

The boy tilted forward, taking one of your nipples in his mouth and you moaned as your fingers tangled in Steve’s hair.

“F-Fuck… your cock feels so fucking good. I-I can feel you in my stomach.”

His lips trailed up your chest to your neck and your eyes fluttered shut as you turned your head to the sound of his voice in your ear.

“I feel good, baby? Fuck, Y/N. I’ve—I’ve never had a pussy that felt this amazing before. You were made for us, honey.”

“Steve, I… I feel… Something’s happening.” Your arms circle tightly around him as he thrusts into harder and faster. “Steve!”

“That’s it, pretty girl. Oh my god. Cum all over my cock!” You screamed his name as an intense, pleasurable feeling you had never felt before washed over you. “Goddamn it.”, he grunted as he quickly pulled himself out of your quivering entrance and you watch with heavy eyes as he stroked his length over you, releasing his seed on your belly.

Lost in a haze of bliss, you barely felt both boys switch places and Eddie flip you over positioning your ass in the air. When his tongue licked a long strip up your folds, however, you gasped as your body shuddered against the couch.

“So sensitive. I like that. Jesus, sweetheart, you taste so sweet. Are you ready for me?” When you don’t answer, his chest presses against your back as his fingers move your hair to the side. “Are you ready for me, Y/N, or did you want to stop? We can stop if you want to, baby girl. We’ll still love you.”

Craning you neck slightly, you able to meet those beautiful chocolate eyes. You had never noticed how intense they were especially when they were full of care like they were now. You never noticed how kissable Eddie’s lips were or how seductive they looked when they pulled back into a smirk. It never occurred to you how much bigger his gorgeous hands actually were compared to yours as he balanced himself so he wouldn’t crush you as he whispered in your ear.

“You both love me?”

Your question threw them both off guard.

“Of course, we do. There’s no one else in the world like you.”

“You helped make us who we are, Y/N.”

Steve’s words hit you like a train. You just found a trashcan full of liquor he had been hiding from you. They were both utilizing drugs and alcohol to a degree that was beginning to become concerning. Maybe…maybe they’d be worse if it wasn’t for you. Maybe you could help them get better and heal so they wouldn’t need to turn to that stuff.

“I love you to. I’m ready, Eddie.”

You both groaned as he ran his mushroom tip between your puffy lips, collecting your slick before he gradually began guiding himself inside of you. Your back arches up, pushing against his chest as he stretches you open. It didn’t hurt as bad as with Steve but Eddie was thick and it still felt like you were being ripped in half.

“G-God, Y/N. Steve was right…how can you still be this tight?”

His arms wrapped around your body as he began pounding into you. In this position, you were feeling all new pleasurable sensations that had your toes curling as he grunted into your ear.

“Do—mmm—do I feel good to, sweetheart?”

“Y-yes.”

“Keep talking to me, Y/N. The way you did with him. Really let go, babe.”

“Your cock…feels so good…Eddie. You’re so…deep.”

Lifting himself onto his knees, he yanked you up with him, the sound of skin slapping echoing through the house.

“K-Keep going.”

“I can’t. Fuck. I’m…”

“Yes, you can. I can feel your pussy squeezing me. Beg me, baby. Beg me to make you cum like he did.” When you didn’t answer him again, he placed his fingers on your clit, moving them so fast as he matched his own rhythm.

“Eddie! Oh my…Please! Make me cum. I want to cum again! Please…”

The metalhead pushed your face down into the sofa as he did what you asked, slamming is cock into you till the coil snapped and you shouted his name as you came. He soon followed, moaning obscenities as he pulled out and came on the meat of your ass.

Unsure of what happens next, you remained frozen in that position as you listened to Eddie’s heavy pants. You were a complete mess, naked, hair frayed, and everyone including your own arousals dripping from your body.

“Whoa! Hey, it’s ok. I’m just picking you up to take you upstairs so we can get you clean.”, Steve explained when he felt you flinch.

You sighed exhaustedly as he lifted you up and you clung your arms around his neck. Eddie ran ahead and as soon as you both entered the bathroom your bath was ready. Sitting there quietly, you starred off into the tile in front of you as they ran a washcloth along your skin.

“Y/N?” The metalhead reached for your chin and gently turned you to face them both. “Are you alright? We didn’t hurt you or anything, right?”

When you shook your head, they exchanged a glance.

“What are you thinking about, honey?”

“Why? Why now? You two have had so many other girls in your life—”

“None like you.”, Steve interrupted. “I wasn’t lying, Y/N. I love you. My dad doesn’t give a fuck about me, my mother is never here, the girls at school just want me because I’m ‘popular’.”, he rolls his eyes. “You’ve never wanted or expected anything out of me. You treat me like I’m not fucking worthless.”

“Because you’re not, Steve.”

“When my mom died, I thought I’d never be happy again. Then I met you guys. Baby, I love you to. Even with Wayne sometimes I feel like I’m burdening him.”

“You’re not, Eddie. He loves you.”

“I know but I get what Steve is saying. We hear all this bullshit enough and it just sinks in you know? But with you…”

“We’ll still be your best friends, Y/N, even if you don’t want us like that.”

“I didn’t say that.”, you smirk as both their gazes shift towards you. “I would like to be wined and dined though.”

“You wanna go out on a date?”

“Yeah. Maybe we can check out that new Star Wars movie and then—”

“We can take you to dinner.”, Eddie beams. “Treat you like a princess.”

############

1983

“Wow, Steven, you suck at this.”, Eddie teases as you giggle from the side while you both watch Steve try to shoot one of the balls on the pool table into the corner pocket.

“Well shit, Edward. Do you wanna wrap your arms around me like you do with Y/N and teach me to be better.”, the pretty boy slurred as his cue missed the ball entirely. “Fuck.”

The metalhead extended out his arms toward him as he began to sing.

“Love lift us up where we belong.”

“Don’t you touch me.”, he laughs as they both flash each other a toothy grin.

“Come on, princess. Show him what I taught you.”

Playfully swaying your hips as you saunter over, your eyes flick to them as you line up your shot. Steve tosses back the liquid in his flask and Eddie lights his fourth cigarette in a row. He’s getting antsy which means soon, he’ll excuse himself to the bathroom where he’ll snort his powder and come back with half lidded, glassy eyes.

You savored small moments like this where you could. Where you three were having fun and they weren’t totally clouded over by their vices. Tonight was a regular date night and you were so happy that they didn’t seem to be in a bad mood. You always knew how ever it wouldn’t take much for that spark to ignite though.

Beaming at them, they clap for you obnoxiously loud as you make your shot.

“That’s our girl!”

“Shut the fuck up, freaks!”, Jason Carver hollers from the corner of the bar.

“Go to hell, Jason!”, you shout.

The jocks cackle at your comment as Andrew’s eyes rake across your body.

“Little girl has a mouth on her. Maybe we can show her how to use it.”

Eddie stomped towards them before you could stop him.

“Say that a little louder, asshole. I don’t think I heard you correctly. That ‘little girl’ is my best friend and you willshow her fucking respect!”

“Go to hell, Munson.”

“HEY! Knock it off or I’ll kick you all out!”, the owner shouted as he glared where you guys were standing.

“Come on, Ed. Let’s get out of here.”, you try and sooth him in a calm voice. “Please.”

Angrily turning away, he barrels out the door as you run after him.

“Eddie, it’s ok.”

He ignores you as he opens his van door, pops open the glove box, and pulls out the little glass vile of his drug. You watch with helpless eyes as he pours some on the edge of his hand near his thumb and snorts the contents.

“That’s not going to help anyone.”, you growl.

“Yeah, well, no one fucking asked you. Let me ask you something. Why did you want me to stop? Huh? Do you want to fuck Jason and his stupid friends?”

“Have you lost your fucking mind? Of course, I don’t.”

“Pfft, please. Little whore like you can’t help herself.”

“Fuck you, Eddie.”

As you turn and try to walk away, he grabs your arm and tries to keep you from leaving.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

“I’d rather walk than deal with this bullshit.”

“Guys…”, Steve slurs as he appears beside you. “Can we do this later? I’m fucking exhausted.”

***

Driving his van for them, you all went back to Steve’s house and let them talk you into staying over. Around two in the morning, yelling startled you awake causing you to panic when you realized Steve wasn’t beside you.

“Eddie.”, you murmured forcefully as you shook him. “Eddie!”

“Jesus H Christ, WHAT?!”

“Something is happening downstairs. I think Steve needs our help.”

“He’ll be fine. Just shut the fuck up and go back to bed.”, he grumbled as he rolled over.

Ignoring him completely, you quietly tiptoed out of the bedroom and leaned against the railing as you listened to Mr. Harrington screaming at his son.

“This is a $500 dollar bottle of bourbon, Steven! I save it for important clients not my idiot kid and his friends.”

“For the thousandth time, I didn’t drink it!”

“Oh, so all of my alcohol just disappears then. Even though you, the freak, and that whore are here a majority of the time alone.”

“Don’t call her that.”, Steve grunted through gritted teeth.

His dad stepped forward and smacked him hard across the face.

“Don’t talk to me in that tone of voice.”

Running down the stairs, you put yourself between them.

“Leave him alone! He’s not drinking what’s yours.”

“Everything in this house fucking is mine, little girl. I paid for it with my hard-earned money. What the fuck has he done? Nothing and that’s all he will ever be. The sooner you figure that out the better.” Mr. Harrington raises his finger and points to his son. “You owe me $500 dollars or I swear to God, Steven.”

With that his dad furiously left the house, slamming the front door for emphasis. Quickly facing him, you cup his cheeks in your hands, and check him over.

“Are you alright, baby?”

“Why the fuck did you do that, Y/N?”, he asks in a sharp tone. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Marching towards the kitchen, he opens cabinets till he finally finds a bottle of whiskey that actually still has some liquid within it. You glared at him as he knocked it back, panting when he finally removed his lips from the glass.

“You both promised me you would slow down on stuff like this.”

“Yeah, well, we don’t answer to you, honey. If you don’t like it, you can fucking leave.”

“Maybe, Andrew is still at The Hideout. He can give you a bed for the night.”, Eddie sneered as he rounded the corner and leaned in the doorway.

“Fuck you both. I’m fucking done.”, you spat. “You want me to leave? You got it.”

You headed towards his room, throwing off his clothes so you can put on your own and head home. You knew better. You knew you should have just left but part of you was hoping they’d beg you to stay, groveling at your feet as they told you they loved you. You wanted them to fight for you…show you that they needed you as much as you felt like you needed them.

And they would…in their own inebriated way…

“Why the fuck are you still here?! I thought you were leaving?!”, Eddie shouted when he found you. Grabbing your pants from the floor, he threw them down to the first floor with your shoes and socks. “Get a move on, baby!”

Ignoring him, you banged your feet loudly down the stairs but as you bent down to grab your jeans, Steve came up behind you and captured your wrist turning you to face him.

“You made things worse by butting in.”

“No, Steve, you make things worse by continuing to drink. Why?! Why do you two do this?”

The man rolls his eyes as he takes a swig from the bottle in his hand.

“Please. Like you fucking care. You’re going to break our hearts just like they did. May as well just leave now, honey, and leave us in peace to destroy ourselves. It’s what Eddie and I are good at, right bud?”

Eddie’s only response was a deep inhale that you knew was his him snorting his blow.

Shaking your head, you turn to leave but he doesn’t release you from his hold.

“I thought you said I could leave, Steve. That’s what you want right? To fulfill your own prophesy of me abandoning you.” You try to yank your arm back but he just tugs you close to his chest, glaring down at you with angry eyes. “It’s not like I’ve been by your sides and both your best friend since we were little kids.”

Sarcastically, you laugh knowing what you say next will rile him up but you don’t care. In this moment, you were in so much pain after the way they spoke to you. You were fully prepared to give them a taste of their own medicine.

“Your dad was right. You are nothing.”

In one swift motion, he released your wrist and took hold of your hair, leading you to the couch where he bent you over the arm.

“I’m nothing, huh? HUH?!”, Steve shouted near your ear as he leaned over your back. “Say it again, little girl! Come on. Let me hear it!”

“You’re nothing, Steve Harrington! I thought you wanted me to fucking leave! I’m going to abandon you anyway, RIGHT?!”

His palm came down hard on your behind, making you yelp before he moved the cotton blocking your core and abruptly pushed two of his long, thick fingers into your sex.

“You’re not going fucking anywhere tonight, babe. Not until we’re done with you.” You groan as he curls his fingers inside you and spanks you again. “You always talk back but you’re still so fucking wet for us, aren’t you? AREN’T YOU?!”, he yells as he hits you again.

“YES!”

“Fuck, just listen to that pussy, Munson.” The sound of your slick fills the room as he thrusts his fingers at a faster pace. “Fucking whore is always ready.”

“Probably why she can’t help but eye fuck this entire town.”, Eddie condescends as he comes around to sit on the couch in front of you.

“Please…”, you moan as the coil tightens in your stomach.

“Please.”, he mocks making you growl before his fingers roughly pinch your cheeks. “Control the fucking attitude, Y/N. Since we’re nothing and we do nothing for you, might as well use you one last time and I’ll be damned if you’re going to look at me like that.”

Steve spanks you again causing you to whimper as your pussy clenches around his fingers and you cum hard around them. After literally ripping off your panties and Eddie tugging off your shirt, the other boy loops his arm around your waist, carrying you around the front of the sofa, and tossing you on it. You wince as you fall a little harder than you should of making both boys freeze. They don’t genuinely want to hurt you; they never have. You know what they’re doing right now is an outlet especially for Steve after what happened with his dad. They needed to feel in control and so did you. You desperately needed to feel like you could reign them in and keep their vices in check so it didn’t get worse.

If they needed to use you so they didn’t use themselves, so be it.

Your eyes flick between theirs before a slow, cool laugh leaves your lips.

“Oh, come on, boys. Don’t pretend like you fucking care now. I’m a whore right, Ed? Steve? Come on, baby.” You coo in a sarcastic tone as you push up on your knees and wrap your arms around the man’s neck. “Prove to me you’re not nothing. Show me what a real Harrington man is.”

With newfound motivation, he manhandled you till you were on your hands and knees facing Eddie’s lap. You mewled, biting your lip at the feeling of Steve’s spit hitting your cunt before he pushed down his shorts enough to free his cock and roughly thrust it into your entrance.

Ringed fingers tangled in your hair, tugging you back till you were looking at the metalhead’s angry face.

“You’re going to suck my cock, little girl, and you’re going to take all of it. No whining or complaining. Sluts do what they’re told.”

You nodded with heavy eyes as the man behind you abused that sensitive spot inside you over and over till your toes were curling. Shimming out of his boxers without letting you go; his dick sprang free and you wasted no time taking him into your mouth.

Eddie groaned as you did what you were told, his tip hitting the back of your throat as you drooled around him. Every time you moaned at Steve’s thrusts, his fingers gripped you tighter as his eyes fluttered shut.

“Fuck, baby, that’s it. At least that bratty mouth is good for something. Shit.”

Looping his arm around you, Steve’s hand reached between your legs and began rubbing fast circles into your clit that had you screaming around Eddie as you pushed back against his hand.

“Fuck, Steve!”

“Yeah. That’s the fucking spot. I know. No one knows you better than us, little girl. Cum. Cum hard on my cock, Y/N!”, he demands as he spanks you with his other palm.

As the ball drops, you moan his name as your pussy quivers around him.

“Fuck. That’s it. Good girl. Good fucking girl.”, Steve grunts as he pounds into you chasing his high.

Clinging to your hair, Eddie holds you still as he thrusts up into your mouth and fucks your face as you gag.

“There you go, you little whore. Choke on my dick.”

Steve’s rhythm falters and he grunts as he releases his spend roughly into your cunt. As he fills you up, the metalhead pushes you lower onto his lap and growls loudly as your throat constricts around him. They both pull out of you at the same time and Eddie forcefully tugs you onto his lap facing him.

Your jaw falls open as he grips your waist and brings your down onto his cock, your hands clinging to his shoulders as he guides your movements.

“Harder, Y/N! Fucking make me believe that you fucking care!”

As you wrap your arms around him for leverage, you bounce faster and harder on his lap, throwing your head back as you moan loudly.

“E-Eddie, please!”

“Fuck.”, he grunts, lifting you into the air without pulling out, sitting you on the sofa while his palm grips the back as he takes over thrusting into you. “God, you feel so fucking good. You’re ours, little girl. This pussy belongs to us.”

When all you do is mewl and nod, his fingers take hold of your jaw, and force you to meet his intense gaze.

“Say it, Y/N. So we know you fucking understand.”

“I-I…my pussy be-belongs to you. Fuck.”

“Who do you belong to?”

“You two.”

“WHO?!”, he snarls as he rolls his hips hard.

“EDDIE AND STEVE! Fuck, I’m gonna—”

The metalhead’s ringed fingers grab your throat and you whimper as you cum again. Eddie’s grip tightens and you feel your air slightly cut off. Right as your panicked eyes find Steve’s, the other boy paints your walls as he fucks it deep into your core.

Steve reaches over and tugs at his friend’s wrist, signaling for him to release you which he does. His chocolate eyes scan you over with worry, when he hears you cough as you catch your breath.

“I…I…shit. Y/N, are you…okay?”

When you don’t answer, they swiftly kick into action as Steve lifts you into his arms and carries you to his bathroom where he gets the tub ready. Eddie appears next to you with a bottle of water but as he offers it to you, you turn away.

“Sweetheart, you have to drink something.”

“Like either of you care.”

“Honey, of course we care.”

“DON’T! Don’t you honey and sweetheart me! I’m a whore who wants to fuck the entire town, right?! I’m butting into your business and making things worse, right?! I don’t love you and you don’t care if I leave, RIGHT?!” Pushing Steve away, you wince as you lower yourself in the warm water and bring your knees to your chin. “What do I have to do to prove to you that I only want you two? That I’m not going anywhere? Why does it have to be this way?”

They hang their heads as they silently clean you and you allow it. After drying you off and finding you a new pair of clothes to wear, you continue to ignore them as you climb into Steve’s bed and close your eyes. Both boys do the same, placing themselves on either side of you as Eddie presses himself against your back looping his arm around you and pulling you to him while Steve tenderly caressed your face.

“We’re sorry, baby.”, he whispers. “You deserve so much more than this. We’re fucking assholes.”

Steve watched your bottom lip quiver as Eddie held you tighter to his chest and he pressed his face into your shoulder as he began to quietly cry.

“I’m sorry, princess. I didn’t mean to grab you so hard. I love you. You’re not a whore. You’re our perfect angel. We can be better, Y/N.”

###########

“Hey, Y/N. Are you alright? You look tired.”

“Oh, thanks Glen. You know I’m trying this new routine—”

“Ok, ok, I get it. That was a little rude.”, he laughs. “You know, you always look beautiful.”

You softly smile as you turn towards your locker. These were the moments you wish you could tell people that you, Eddie, and Steve were more than best friends. Glen was a nice guy but you were in love with someone else. You knew it bothered them (especially Eddie) when men hit on you and it equally upset you when girls would do the same with them.

They knew better though just like you. You knew when Steve stumbled into a room with a girl on his heels they were probably just talking. Whenever he would call you over at 2am sobbing about something you couldn’t understand under his slurred words, you were positive that the perfume you were smelling was most likely yours from days ago when you spent the night.

They made sure you never had to worry about things like that…

As you opened your locker a note tumbled into your hand.

“Hey pretty girl,

We just wanted to say we love you so much and miss you.

Can’t wait to see you later tonight.

You deserve the world, angel.

-Steve X Eddie”

“Are you, um, going to the party tonight?”

“Yeah.”, you answer him as you hold the note to your chest. “Steve is probably going to pick me and Eddie up.”

“Oh. Ok…I thought, maybe, you’d want to ride with me.”

“Glen…I…thank you but I’m just not…”

“Hey. No worries.”, he grins. “I’ll still be your friend and think you’re cool.”

***

“Geez, this fucking house is insane. How many people live here?”, Eddie asks as he takes a sip of the “punch” in his cup.

“I think 3 but…”, you laugh as you wonder around with them.

“Pfft. Jamie’s parents and herself makes three people who are never home.” Steve picks up a figurine and shows it to you with confusion before putting it back. “I will never understand why rich people buy these massive houses but are never in them. Our house isn’t that big but it’s just me or the three of us 99% of the time.”

“Ok, got it. When we move in together no big house.”, you giggle causing him to stick out his tongue at you.

“That’s too bad. When I became a rockstar I was going to buy us a HUGE mansion.”, the metalhead muses as he glances up another spiral staircase that was blocked off. After looking around, he tugs down the ribbon, and grabs your hand to guide you up to the next floor.

“Hm, baby. This reminds me of The Shining.”, you whine.

Eddie chuckles as he turns around and wiggles his index finger in front of your face.

“Redrum!”

“Stop!”

Continuing to laugh, he pulls you to his side as you wrap your arms around his waist. You loved these moments; the moments where they seemed like their old selves before things had gotten worse. It gave you hope that you could save them; that you could bring the Eddie and Steve you first met on those swings back to you.

“Hey guys. Come look at this here.”, Steve calls as he opens a random door. “This must be her parent’s room.”

As he stared at the massive sized bed with a canopy, you ventured into the bathroom while Eddie looked around the closet.

“Jesus Christ, this is bigger than our fucking trailer.”, he scoffs as he flashes Steve who followed him in some of the clothes. “If you need a bench in your closet, maybe the closet it too big, yeah?”

The other man took a swig from his flask as his eyes scanned everything around him.

“I don’t think I’ll every be rich enough to give her this.”, he mumbles causing the metalhead to abruptly turn his way.

“Don’t say that, Harrington. Just because your dad is a douchebag doesn’t mean you won’t own a company one day. It doesn’t have to be his.”

“Pfft, said the rockstar.”

“Ha! Yeah. That’s if I can get my fingers to do what I want them to do.”, Eddie sighs as he begins digging his is pockets, finding his little vile. “Or my brain for that matter.”

“Maybe…maybe we really should slow down, ya know?”, Steve whispers.

“It’s not that serious, Steven.”

“You almost choked her out.”

“And you fuck other cheerleaders. Do you really want to play that game right now?”, Eddie hisses.

“Shhh! I don’t…I don’t mean to. We go somewhere and then I wake up the next morning…”

“Yeah, tell her that.”

“I love her.”, Steve growls. “I don’t want to hurt her.”

“Well, I love her to.”, he sighs before patting his friend’s shoulder. “Everything’s fine, man. Trust me.”

The sound of you jumping onto the bed brings them back into reality as they exit the closet and find you sprawled out with a wide smile on your face. Crawling in beside you, the three of you lay there in comfortable silence as you listen to them breathe.

“I love you both…for who you are…I hope you know that.” You feel their eyes shift towards you as you continue. “No matter what. It’s always been just us and I’m always going to be here for you. I don’t care if we have a house like this or… a tiny trailer.”

“We’re not going to let you live your life in a tiny trailer, sweetheart. I don’t care what I have to do but that’s never going to be your reality.”

“Whatever WE have to do.”, Steve clarified. “We’re always going to be there for you, honey. You put up with a lot when it comes to us. Soon it will all be worth it.”

“Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t we ditch this party, go back to my place, and watch some spooky movies that will make Harrington pee his pants?”

Nodding, you giggle as Steve rolls his eyes. After running down the stairs, a face you recognized abruptly stopped you to say hello.

“Hi Glen. I’m actually about to leave!”

“Really? I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” His nervous eyes scan Steve’s stumbling frame as Eddie bounces on his heels waiting for you. “You’re leaving with them?”

“Yeah of course. We’re going to go hang out at Eddie’s trailer.”

“You’re driving right? Or, maybe, even I can.”

“Oh, um…” Your own gaze shifts towards them, taking note at the longer you take the more annoyed their eyes seem to become. “His place isn’t that fair. It’s not a big deal. I appreciate the thought though.”, you smile as you give him a quick hug.

Before you can turn away, Glen holds you in his grasp.

“Don’t go with them, Y/N. Please.”

Holding your smile, you pull away and nod your head, slightly assuring him that everything would be alright.

“What did he want?”

“Just to say hello. We have a couple of classes together and we help each other sometimes.” As you three search for Steve’s BMW, you anxiously watch him fumble with his keys. “Stevie, baby, maybe you should let me drive.”

“Pfft, I can drive, honey. I’m barely even drunk.”

Eddie’s arms wrap around you from behind as he tenderly kisses the nook between your neck and shoulder. “Come on, princess. You can sit in the back with me.”

***

Steve frustratingly tries to yank at the car door but it won’t budge.

“Steve…”, Eddie calls to his friend as the sirens begin to wail in the distance.

“I can’t…the door…” Desperately, he falls to his knees and tries to reach for your hand through the shattered window as you dangled upside down from where you were still buckled in. “I can’t reach her…Y/N…w-wake up.”

“S-S-Steve.” The sound of sirens got louder as the metalhead panicked going into sensory overload. The sirens, Steve grunting as he tried different ways to get to you, the smell of metal and blood. “STEVEN! We need to go. NOW!”

“Eddie, we can’t just leave her here!”

The long-haired boy tugged at his friend’s sweater, dragging him to his feet.

“Yeah? And you’ll never see her again if you get arrested for drunk driving and me for possession. She’ll be fine. They’re almost here. They can get her out!”

Steve had his own internal battle pausing only for a second when he heard the sound of you groan.

“I-I-I…FUCK!”

Both boys run and disappear just as Hopper’s police car skids onto the scene.

***

“Hey, Y/N. This feels like a stupid question but how are you feeling?”, the police chief asks as he takes a seat beside your hospital bed. It had been almost two weeks since the accident and people could barely get anything out of you.

Your parents had been by your side the entire time, holding your hand, and caressing your hair as you cried through every painful process the doctors put you through. Your mom and Hopper exchange a worried glance as you ignore the question, continuing to stare at the phone by your bed.

“I’m not going to bug you too much but I was hoping to get some more details about what happened. We know you weren’t driving because we found you buckled in the backseat.”

Again, no response.

“We, uh, got a tip that you and some friends left a party at the same time. Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington? The car in the accident is also Mr. Harrington’s.” Your eyes start to tear up and you quickly suffocate the notion by closing your eyes. “Um, Mr. and Mrs. Y/L/N, may I have a moment alone with Y/N?”

After your parent’s leave, Hopper comes to sit on the opposite end of the room directly in front of you, his gaze soft as he scans you over.

“Y/N, you’re not in trouble. I know you didn’t cause this. I also know that you’re very loyal to your friends but, honey, you’re not helping either of them if they don’t face the consequences for what they do.” Your eyes open finally meeting his and he doesn’t faulter as he continues. “No one is in trouble here. I just want to help them and you. I also want to make sure no one else gets hurt.”

Shifting you gaze towards the phone again, a montage of everything they had been through ran through your mind. Eddie had lost his mom and his dad was abusive before going in. After moving in with Wayne, things got better at home but not at school or in Hawkins. People bullied him relentlessly making him feel like he was a freak who would never be anything but.

Steve had basically raised himself being alone most of his childhood. His asshole father and absent mother were always away on business or even pleasure leaving him behind. When they were home, his dad said terrible things to him and broke him down constantly telling him he was worthless. While the boy was popular school, adults constantly seemed to underestimate him adding to his insecurity.

They didn’t need prison, they needed you. It was just you and them against the world. Yeah, they hadn’t called yet but they would. They would give you a rational reason for leaving you behind and comfort you, telling you everything would be ok. Then things could go back to how they used to be or even better. Maybe this accident would wake them up to the damage their vices can do…

“I don’t remember who was driving. I just remember something darting into the road and then waking up here.”, you whisper.

The police chief sighs as he nods. He can’t force you to say what you need to say. If that’s the story you want to stick with, he’ll write his report and give it to the insurance companies.

“I see. Ok, Y/N. Thank you for your candor and I hope…I hope you feel better. I’m always here if you need to talk.”

Softly smiling, you turn your attention back to the phone as you continue to wait.

They’ll call or come by. They love me. We need each other… I know it.

#############

111 notes · View notes