#and the other one was a rather persistent ask about blocks

[gomzdrawfr]

Hello there!!

I saw your asks were open again! I'm sorry for the situation you had before with it, that must really suck :( (idk how it is I've only gotten two asks lmao)

But I wanted to drop in and just say that I really appriciate you and your art! I love seeing it on my page, it like always makes my day! Even the angst is amazing, even if it makes me wanna cry lmao. I adore your art, its so cute and it just makes me smile so much, and you're so nice!! I love interacting with you so much, your just a amazing person!

And I really hope that everything outside of art and online is going well for you, long shifts non-stop really suck and I hope your able to take some breaks. This is also your daily reminder to go grab a drink and a snack :3

Remeber you're awesome <3 Stay strong Gomz!

are you guys ganging up on me- /j 🥹aw thank you so much for the kind words!! I uh Im gonna pass out when Im home so I'll treat myself to some snacks tomorrow maybe :)

[reel-fear]

MIKE BLOCKED ME ON TWITTER FOR ROASTING HIS DUMBASS RESPONSE TO THE GRAPHIC NOVEL STUFF!!

grown ass man scared of the 19-year-old queer being mean to him over his public meltdown more at 8.

[saturnsbabyboii]

🫧My experience being friends with the Moon signs 🫧

-Please remember that this is not a reflection of everyone with said placement. The behaviors of a single asshole aren't that of the many (sometimes). Also, I don't/didn't have friends with all Moons. Some would have one person or no specific person, and rather so, I'll be giving general observations.

🫧Taurus Moon🫧

Friend #1: Kind, loving, generous, thoughtful, quiet, slow, and internalizes everything. She is one of my closest friends ever. She is practically the father figure of the group, helping everyone out, protecting them, advocating, giving advice, and making sure that they're set and good. Picky with her friends, many of them are people she has known since childhood, and most are her cousins with very few that aren't related to her. Tech and cyber expert. A big animal and nature lover. She loves her space and peace, she is slow to return texts, hates calls, and has the social battery of a sloth. Good singing voice. Loves video games, and is OBSESSED with whatever she has an interest in. Overall, her emotions are well-regulated, however, as an Earth Moon she rationalizes herself and stays pretty chill, even when she needs to pipe up.

Friend #2: Obsessive, jealous, sensual, persistent, indulgent yet very frugal, and stubborn af. A big-time foodie, he does have quite the appetite. Good singing voice too. Always at the clearance section of 'Bath and Body Works'. Thrifty. Got to have three of the same body spray. Candle queen. Trust issues with a very paranoid outlook on things. A bit greedy. Always asking people to buy them things. Very sexual. Cares for his younger sisters and loves his family and friends.

Friend #3: Big-time nerd. Memes are his only talking reference. Great singing voice and can imitate voices very well. Shy extrovert. Loves animations and even studied to be an animator and designer. Hugger. Big animal lover (he legit has what seems like a zoo of pets at home).

Friend #4: Obsessed with history (especially medieval history). All about death and our relationship with mortality. A literal cat. Isn't afraid to get her hands dirty. Goes all in on a subject of interest. Has the same appearance and sense of style as always.

I find Taurus Moons to be very comforting and a joy to be around. They defiantly bring a sense of stability to the relationship, mainly because they're predictable. Not in the "boring" sense but rather that they're people of clear and simple emotions no matter how grand they're in expression, it's pretty clear what they feel, how they feel, and why; Basically, there's no catch or an underbelly to their emotions. Other qualities I have found was that they're pretty aloof, they hate to be intimate with people they barely know, and they actually like fast-paced relationships (only if they really like you), they love to dress simply but chic, and they do have a well known "thing". They always got that "thing" you associate with them and they have it for comfort, like a kid with a blanket or a toy. They also love animals, pastels, the color brown, and karaoke. Hates confrontation and always second guesses their gut feeling. They're also very stubborn and in general, find it much harder to break out of habitual cycles of disconnecting and detachment when shit gets real.

🫧Gemini Moon🫧

Friend #1: Very smart. Great writer and lyricist. Talented musician and singer. Loves people. A bit timid about being in the spotlight. Loves to connect with others over interests, especially art and social issues. Great dresser. Romantic. Bends too fast. Dislikes confrontation but would stand up for a loved one. Bad judge of character (always attracts cheaters and assholes).

Friend #2: Certified L.A.B (lying ass bitch). Says shit for the sake of saying shit. Fake trauma bonding. Leeches off of people. Toxic. Abusive. Always with abusers. Manipulative and hateful. Been around the block. Would do anything for validation. Makes up stories about others to play the role of the victim. (Very likely she has a cluster B personality disorder and no Gemini Moon would claim her.)

I think I have experienced two extremes of this moon, with one being highly and continuously evolving and the other being consistently trash. I am fond of the energy that Gemini has on the moon. There's this innocence that they possess at the core, and it could be the purest and most genuine thing or the biggest fabrication in history. Nonetheless, I do love to be around them and the energy they bring to a relationship. It is always lively, fresh, and new, they'll always come up with something to do with you, and always find a way to spend time and be close to you. They definitely give mixed signals since they tend to be a bit playful, especially in their platonic relationships, and they are very touchy. They're bold and outspoken generally about how they feel. They're less guarded and more likely to share and talk about their problems and their opinions. In contrast, they would rather die than open up about their deep true emotions.

🫧Cancer Moon🫧

Talking about their ex was their favorite pastime. Never misses an important function. Celebrations and social events were considered important. The person that would want to go somewhere but then gets upset because things did not go how they imagined they would. Ruminates on past events and feelings. Vents a lot but also gives you the space to do so. Strong stan on temporary emotions and circumstances. Feels how she feels and doesn't care how others perceive her for it, or what they think about it. Low key ferocious (I live for it though). The only person I know that isn't afraid to publicly voice their boundaries when crossed.

I don't think I met another Cancer Moon besides this person, and we became friends only because we were together in similar classes at uni. Overall, I would say from what I have observed, her relationships with her friends were always great and seemed pretty solid. Romantically though, sis was very challenged, and I don't think it was totally her date's fault. She is an acquired taste and she knows what she wants. Seems very hung up on the idea of meeting expectations and fighting an imaginary clock to get THE perfect life. Good luck with that.

🫧Leo Moon🫧

Creative. Self-motivated. A visionary. The definition of an untamable person. Careful of who they keep company. Lives for an adventure. All about self-expressing, being authentic, and breaking the system. Great philosophical talker. Has true parental instincts. Very comfortable with themselves. Sexual. Great body-mind attunement. Good at mirroring others.

I have heard/read a lot of shit spewing about this placement, but I have to say that I do love to meet them. They're a breath of fresh air. Although I get how they can give an impression of a know it all "I am better than you" life dula, I never detect malice in their approach and usually they're more than respectful if you talk to them about it. They carry the weight of life with such ease, and I envy their perseverance. They definitely love to live life to the fullest. They have their select few friends that they have for a lifetime and like to keep it that way.

🫧Virgo Moon🫧

Never been friends with a Virgo Moon, although not for lack of trying but they themselves are quite apprehensive of bonds with people. They're close to their family and the friends they have they got to know them through school, work, or because they had no other option than to be around you. A molded chaos, and an organized mess. Life runs much faster for them and there's never enough time to finish anything. Despite their tendency to give everything a sense of debilitating urgency, they aren't hypochondriacs. Being strong and well functioning is important to them, as such they take good care of their bodies and surroundings. Oddly spiritual with a devolution to routine rituals. Their emotions are well hidden, they have the hardest exterior to crack. However, they're avid about mental health and wellness. I have also noticed that they tend to lash out, uncharacteristic of them, when they're overwhelmed or feel cornered.

🫧Libra Moon🫧

Friend #1: Very sweet. Bad Bitch™. Always looks good. Best dancer I know. Craves love and relationships. Attracts drama. They are very close to their family. Heavily underestimated. "Legally Blond" but Elle is a Latina that studies medicine. Loves astrology. Takes care of their friendships. Always on the go. Meeting new people all the time.

Friend #2: Pushover. Non-confrontational yet very aggressive. Easily frustrated. Closed minded to different interests. A bit extreme and abrasive. HATES astrology. LOVES the show 'Friends'. Self-critical. Insecure.

A placement that perfectly embodies Libra. Heavenly body and presence. Indecisive as hell. Always stuck in bad relationships. Head is always in the clouds. Romanticizing everything. Walking like they're being filmed. I would say there is an emphasis on companionship and finding "the one" throughout their lives, plus drama is second nature. They might be used to drama so much so that they lose sense of their boundaries and self, in turn making them vulnerable to manipulation and abuse. Their "all about me" era is like no other and is a true turning point in their lives. They seem to thrive when are surrounded by masculinity and masculine people, or overall very competitive and cut-throat environment. They use being underestimated to their advantage.

🫧Scorpio Moon🫧

"Me, myself and I". Paranoid as hell. Big spender. Artistic. Good at portrait sketching. Dresses well. Loves drama. Is the drama. Tone deaf. Low-key ungrateful. An immense sense of self-importance. Passive aggressive. PETTY. Mature exterior with very childish interests. Hypercritical of everything, including themselves.

"Jesus take the wheel" was made as a phrase for dealing with a Scorpio Moon. I get the fragility and being highly emotional and sensitive, that I read about. However, I mostly find them to be disagreeable and pensive. You never know what is the truth, so I assume everything is a lie, and if it's the truth then there must be a catch. They would wake up and the day already sucks. They love to surround themselves with expensive things. It's uncomfortable to be around a placement that seems to believe their own projections and preconceived notions of others rather than getting to know people, or maybe just mind their own business. I would say though that having a Scorpio Moon is probably unpleasant, but I have seen worse happen to other placements with "favorable" moons. And of course, I am talking about the ones that I have met and not every single Scorpio Moon out there.

🫧Sagittarius Moon🫧

Friend #1: Life of the party (actually the life of life). Loves to laugh. Comfortable with everyone. Always hype. Smokes like a chimney. Either brave or stupid. Hype. Frequent dealings with older guys. No chills. Loves to play with friends. Car hangouts over going into places. Funny on the outside, sad on the inside.

Friend #2: Very smart. Tarot mogul. Always a good time. Great convorsaitonlist. A softie. Very sensitive. Expressive.

Friend #3: Would cut a bitch. A true ride or die. A person you want to be on her good side. An unofficial dominatrix. Sweet but feisty. Loves her cat. Always lit. Would do anything for her friends. A good bullshit detector.

A favorite of mine, it is very hard not to like a Sag moon. They're so caring of others and are always making sure that you're good and having a good time. They're the type of person to trust if you're in a bar or a club. I would say that there is a very sad side to them under all that happiness. They're always anxious, which is probably why they don't sleep or eat very well. They also get a lot of migraines. If they open up then they really really really trust you (which is important to them since they can vibe and hang out with anyone but barely trust). They usually have a much calmer Earth sun best friend. I would say that they act much older than their when young but then seem to stay stuck on childish cycles of defensiveness and escapism as they get older.

🫧Capricorn Moon🫧

Friend #1: Artistic and crafty. Resilient. Capable of being very sweet and stern. Good with money, planning, and organizing. Maticolus. Conscious and realistic about their growth and development. Loves animals. Loves to be active in nature. A strong believer in karma.

Friend #2: A true powerhouse. Wonderwoman. My mentor and only real-life role model. An established businesswoman. Rags to riches. Despite having a physical disability she can drive, open pickle jars, do lifts and push up, plus she is a fashion designer that can sew. All of that with one arm. A fighter through and through.

Never had the privilege of being friends with many Capricorn Moons but I have known quite a few and some are very close friends of my family. A rough start in life. They really do take time to peak, however, the glow-up is real. Least spiritual Moon sign. Not egotistical or cold as I read so often. Quite warm and welcoming actually. They might be borderline Darwinists when it comes to the importance of human life and mortality. Believers of hard work and initiative. Lovers and fighters. Silent passion. When young, their relationship with their mother can be described as codependent, and their relationship with their father is strained with a sense of animosity. However, with time the roles seem to slowly reverse. Regardless, their family defenatliy takes precedence throughout their lives. They value respect more than anything else.

🫧Aquarius Moon🫧

Friend #1: Devoted to volunteer work and other people. The "fixer" type. Wants to be needed. Self-help books are all they read. Their interests and style are influenced by the people they're hanging out with. Accidentally (or maybe not) trauma bond with others. Desires to be a leader. Emotions focused. Worries about their reputation a lot. No luck with love. And also in friendship. Many friends, very few that are close, and only one has been consistent so far. Loves to have hangouts with large groups.

Friend #2: Music is their soul. Hippie. Loves acting. "center of attention". Dress based on aesthetics. TikTok addict. Interested in astrology and spirituality. Cold. Performative.

Friend #3: Know-it-all. Bad at expressing themself. No filter. Self-centered. Radical thinking. "Everyone is stupid". Loves to stand out. Learned how to finish a Rubix cube just to show it off. Having low grades is a "red flag" to him. Has a strong desire to be loved, yet none to give it back.

Friend #4: All about the drama and lights. Emotionally explosive at times. Hiding behind a facade. Loves to meet different people. Business savvy. Guarded but would give you their heart once they let it down. Displays emotions as anger when in reality they're scared. Superficial connections to others are more prevalent.

Generally, these people are dynamic and quite sociable. They're people focused in the best and worst ways possible. There is a constant desire to change surroundings (and at times help others change and grow) but they themselves tend to be relatively rigid at the core. Impressionistic (even though they would probably deny it). Self-image is usually not the reality (this could manifest in being overconfident or self-critical). They love to work with their hands a lot and do much better when working with others in comparison to working alone. They are altruistic but aren't attentive to others' desires; as a result, they believe they know better about everything and "what is best" depending on the situation. Imitates emotions rather than naturally expressing them.

🫧Pisces Moon🫧

Another very close friend of mine. Hard to read. Intelligent. People smart. Their friends are family. Uncomfortable with expressing their emotions, yet a good listener. Extroverted introvert. Loves to go out and meet people. Likes to club, going to parties, playing video games, and trying out new things. Loyal. Tough shell, soft heart. Doesn't give a flying fuck about what strangers think of them. Trophy hunter. A very realistic and pragmatic view of the world. Melancholic. They are perceived as troubled when they're just quiet. Low-key altruistic.

This Moon sign is not as bubbly as I have heard about it. They're hard to pinpoint as they usually come off as either Aquarius or Scorpio Moons. They tend to go through much more emotional turmoil, especially as children. They have a floaty feel to them. They feel a lot but nothing at once. They are usually witnesses to harm done to others and suffer losses related to other people rather be it themselves directly, which contributes to a sense of isolation from their peers. They do definitely grow into brave people that face life despite all the baggage they seem to drag around. By far the moon sign that takes the longest to open up honestly and completely, although they do experience spats of anxiety from time to time. Also FOOOOODDDD. They love food and everything that brings them comfort. Vices.

🫧Aries Moon🫧

Very emotional yet not expressive. Dedicated and strong-willed (she is a pediatrician). Hung up on "the one that got away". A true badass. So pretty yet so sad. Her dogs are her babies. Always choosing violence. Femme fatal that drives a Jeep Wrangler.

Emotions that cut deeper than a sword. They seem to compensate for emotional and inner needs with material things and career achievements. Very intimidating when you meet them at first, as they appear put together and quite the expert in their field. They spiral downwards if life doesn't go their way. Personally, I think this moon sign is the most emotionally rigid. Not for their lack of desire to change but rather that they get stuck on what their heart desire and can't seem to see or want anything other than that thing or person that they can't get. They also seem hellbent on trying to control what we can't control, such as the past, other people, and unforeseen misfortune. Highly upkeep on their exterior. Needs some form of vice to process emotions, usually it's smoking and drinking. They tend to be their parents favorite.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Called to Duty 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, abandonment, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Summary: You struggle to move on from the biggest mistake of your life but find it hard to forget among the whispers of a small town.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The bank is as ever anxiety inducing. On pay day, you go down to cash your check then give most of it right back, parsing it out for your various expenses. At the end of it, you have even less than the month before. You don't get it. Thing's only seem to get worse; not just money, but your body. Every day you wake up, you feel even more crummy than the last. 

Your hopes of a treat at the cafe are dashed. You give a longing look as you walk by and peer through the window. You can smell cinnamon and coffee. You're strict non-caffeinated, doctor's orders, but a decaf would be amazing with one of those cinnamon buns. Ugh, damn, why are you torturing yourself? 

You turn to continue down the street but barely dodge out of the way of another pedestrian. He makes sure you can't pass as he mirrors you, sidestepping to block your way. You sigh as you step back and look Sy in the face. For a big man, he sure can sneak up on you. 

"Hey," he flips up his dark sunglasses, "how're you feeling?" 

You stare up at him defiantly, not quite bold enough to glare. He hasn't done anything wrong, he's just persistent. It isn't his fault he reminds you of that spoiled deadbeat. Or that your emotions are volatile, one moment teary eyed, the next blazing hot with rage. 

"Fine, thanks for asking," you shrug, "Sy, I gotta--" 

"I owe you a cookie," he points to the cafe window at his shoulder. 

You blink. You remember the cracked shortbread. You forgot about that. The mention of the sugary treat makes your stomach growl and your mouth water. 

"No, you don't--" 

"I do," he insists, "I don't like to carry 'round debts. Let me buy you one." 

"I got it free," you say, "it's not a big deal." 

"It is to me," he counters, "I was heading in anyway." 

You stare at him. You really don't get this man. You're no longer so sure that Thor sent him to check up on you, not since your last interaction. In fact, the wingman seemed more spiteful of him than you. You look across the steeet to the pharmacy then back at him. The aromas wafting out with each swing of the door have you ravenous.  

"I can't stay long, I gotta work," you say. 

His cheeks twitch, as if he tamps back a smile before it can bloom, "after you." 

He gesture behind you to the door. You turn and lead the way. He reaches past you to open the door before you can and you enter ahead of him. The din within is lively and the air is warm from the crowd and the employees steaming out orders behind the counter. 

"Wanna find a seat?" He suggests, "you should rest." 

You open your mouth to argue but think better of it. You'd rather not stand in the clustered line. You nod and head off to claim the table by the window. There isn't much left. 

You pull out the chair and brace your back as you sit with a sigh. You glance over and find Sy watching you as he stands in the queue. His gaze makes you want to wilt, instead you turn your attention out the window. 

Not even Thor looked at you like that. Don't be silly. Sy is just being a dutiful guy, helping out the town slut in her time of need. You won't be duped. Not when you can hear your name being twisted on tongues at that very moment. 

You sit and wait, wring the strap of your small purse. You watch the street. If it wasn't for the people, Hammer Ford would be serene. 

A plate clinks in front of you and a porcelain mug as well. It isn't a cookie and you can smell the herbal tea's rosy flavour. You peer up at Sy as he gives an apologetic look. 

"Cookies are still baking so I got you a cinnamon bun," he says. 

"And tea?" You add. 

"Can't have one without the other," he says, "no coffee for you." 

"Yeah, I... I know." 

You could laugh. He suggested before he's been reading things about pregnancy. You just can't picture him with a copy of What To Expect When You're Expecting.  

"Thank you," you smile as best you can. 

"Gotta get mine, be back," he excuses himself and marches back to the counter. 

You look down at the gooey iced draped spiral. You really shouldn't. Not only accept his misspent generosity but indulge in the excess sugar. Yet your hormones won't let you resist. You can at least wait until he's sitting down. 

He returns with a black coffee and a rather colourful donut. They don't match. Bitter and sweet all at once. He sits and takes off his hat and sunglasses. 

You put your purse to the edge of the table and rest your hand on your stomach, doing your best to resist the animalistic need to tear apart the dessert. His eyes follow the movement and you quickly drop your arm. You don't even think when you do it, it's just a habit. 

"You-" he begins. 

"Wh--" you find your voice at the same time. 

You both stop, hesitant. He nods and gestures to you, lifting his cup as he watches you intently. That's new too. Thor never listened much, only talked a lot. Besides, you weren't exactly together for the conversation. 

"Sy," you clear your throat and sit forward as much as you can, "why are you following me around?" 

His brows form a vee, "I'm... it's not... I'm tryna help." 

"Okay, but why?" 

His eyes flick up to the ceiling and his cheek ticks as he gives the question genuine thought. When he looks at you again, his face is set, "because I want to." 

"You want to?" 

"Yes, I'd like to take care of you. And the little one, if you'll let me." 

You can't help your snort, "we hardly know each other." 

"Isn't for lack of trying," he taps his fingers on his mug. "Aren't ya gonna try the bun?" 

"I will," you assure him. He's trying to distract you and it's close to working. The cinnamon is driving you mad. "A baby is a lot of work and... I'm not your responsibility. I know Thor is your friend." 

"Was," he interjects.  

"Sure," you accept his decisive declaration, "but that doesn't mean you have to worry about his mistakes." 

"Mistakes? I don't think so," he says. 

"Well, it's not exactly planned," you scoff, "Sy, really I don't feel right about you doing so much." 

"Wouldn't feel right not doing it," he shrugs his burly shoulders. 

“But why?” You nearly exclaim. You just want to know why he cares so much, about you? 

He leans forward, elbows on the table, “they talk about me too, ya know? Since I got back from... serving. They say I’m f—crazy, or whatever. It wasn’t easy or nothin’ over there but I’m not nuts. Not like they say. Just like you’re not some slut, forgive me for saying it out loud.” 

You look down at the table and exhale. So he hears as much as anyone else about you. At least he’s honest. At least he isn’t joining them. You purse your lips and reach for the cinnamon bun, unable to restrain yourself any longer. 

“For what it’s worth,” you raise your eyes to meet his, “I never thought you were... unwell, or whatever they say.” 

His cheeks pinch, another suppressed smile, and he tilts his head, “I’m only happy to hear you think of me.” 

[theofficialpresidentofmars]

thinking about how avatar legends implies that Lu Ten was on his way to figuring out that the Fire Nation were the bad guys pre unfortunate demise, so naturally here’s an AU where Lu Ten gets it together sometime before he dies during the siege of Ba Sing Se, does something about it, consequently survives, and how it would affect the rest of the world.

Lu Ten had always been a people person, a skill which served him well as the future crown prince and made him a favourite in the court, and a skill that led to him realising that the way that the Fire Nation treated other people as a whole was not something he could stand to be a part of anymore. He’d always been sheltered from the brunt of it, he suspected in part due to his duty as a prince not being one that involves seeing the worst of what your nation has to offer, and just as equally due to his own father trying to preserve his innocence at best, and trying to deliberately avoid sparking his natural curiosity at worst. He’d worked his way up in the military by his own hand as a result, in order to get his answers on the frontlines himself- and what he’d found wasn’t pretty. The Siege of Ba Sing Se has torn families apart, seen cultural history razed to ashes, and has in no way done anything to spread the peace and prosperity of his nation with the innocent people of the Earth Kingdom. It had confirmed all his worst fears about the Fire Nation, and about his own father. Lu Ten knew there was truth to be found, and truth he did find- a truth he could not stand by and idly ignore.

And so Lu Ten challenged his father, on the five hundred and fiftieth day of the siege. It was not a rallying call for action, or a public spectacle, rather a series of raised concerns in the enclosed space of a tented war meeting. But it was a challenge in the eyes of the seated officers, it was a challenge by Fire Nation law- he had undermined his own father’s authority, challenged his honour, and there was only one way to settle these sorts of things. If Iroh wanted to keep the respect of his men, he would have to fight his own son, and win, in Agni Kai.

Neither of them wanted this. Iroh offered Lu Ten the first strike. Lu Ten refused, and when Iroh persisted, refused to fight at all. Although Lu Ten would not surrender, it would be the easiest victory in Fire Nation history.

Iroh could not bring himself to harm his son, but if he let Lu Ten go without any punishment, he would lose the respect of his men. He asked, then commanded Lu Ten to surrender, to accept that his father was right. But Lu Ten simply refused, over and over. An hour went by without a single flame. Eventually, Iroh realised that even in stalling, he was losing. He did not like what he had to do, but his son was grown. He had forced his hand, and he could not be allowed to think that he was exempt from his duty as a citizen due to his status.

Iroh sent out a burst of flame. It would have been ridiculously easy to avoid, or to block, and then Lu Ten would have fought back enough for his defeat to not ridicule Iroh.

But Lu Ten simply let it wash over him, let it touch upon and burn his skin. It hurt, but it reinforced a further truth within his mind- his father would choose his nation over his own son. That was the last thing he’d needed to know.

Iroh was able to call a defeat there and then, a punishment enacted, a warning that Lu Ten would be further reprimanded later. But when he reached his son’s tent hours after, he found it only empty- of both the firebender and his belongings. Lu Ten had disappeared, and as the next morning made evidently clear, deserted.

…

Only days later, Iroh returned to the Fire Nation in disgrace. The Siege of Ba Sing Se had been on a downwards slide, but the Agni Kai had damaged morale, and had publicly humiliated the Dragon of the West, causing the Fire Lord to order a strategic retreat. The once-great General had been made an example of by his traitorous son, and had brought shame upon their entire bloodline as a result.

When Iroh’s younger brother suggested a change in the order of succession not long after, Fire Lord Azulon was a little more open to the possibility. Ozai was made the Crown Prince, and Ursa was there to see it. Iroh did not grieve his son, nor chase him over the world in a spiritually enlightening journey of self-discovery. Instead, he closed off and hardened up after his failure, much to the dismay of Ursa and the young prince Zuko.

Lu Ten became the Fire Nation’s most wanted criminal, but seemed to disappear off the face of the planet entirely. No one could catch him, no one could ever seem to see him. Some joked he’d gone and found the Avatar. But it was made clear that he no longer had a home to return to.

…

Sozin’s Comet was close approaching, and it was time for a new era. A new Fire Lord was crowned, after the old one perished peacefully in his sleep. The Fire Lady went missing, although not many noticed, as she’d appeared in the public eye less and less.

The new crown prince of the Fire Nation found himself in a war meeting, and as some things never change, was unable to stop himself from standing up for what he believed in.

Zuko consequently found himself in an Agni Kai arena, facing his father. Under different circumstances this might have gone some other way, but Zuko had heard about his cousin. He’d heard what had happened, how even though his father had tried not to hurt him, he’d come away burned, disgraced, and had almost toppled the entire royal family as a result. He’d heard how Lu Ten had refused to fight, and how his own nation wanted him dead for it.

Zuko knew he was not as widely beloved as Lu Ten, and he knew that his father was not afraid to hurt him, not if it taught him a lesson. So even though everything inside him screamed this is wrong, this is cruel, this is unfair, don’t fight him, don’t let yourself become a part of this, Zuko did not back down. He knew that his father could not and did not expect him to win. He knew that his father wanted to publicly demonstrate that his will as the Fire Lord was correct, and as such, he would receive the least punishment if he helped to show this. Defeating a child who did not fight- that was not a display of strength. Zuko was expected to fight for his honour, and he was expected to lose, but the honour was in the act of fighting, not winning.

Zuko rose, and accepted his opponent. He swallowed his every instinct, and took the first strike, a weak and pitiful thing. Zuko fought, and some part deep within himself was irrevocably changed as a result.

He lost, but his father did not banish him, did not brand him. He was dishonoured, but he was allowed to stay, allowed to learn from his ‘mistake’ in the sanctity of the palace walls, surrounded by tutors and teachers appointed by the Fire Lord.

Zuko did in fact learn something. He learnt to sit down, and shut up.

It didn’t matter what he thought. He was too young to understand the scale that the Fire Nation operated at, too inexperienced to understand the weight of the sacrifices his people made for him. And he was clearly alone in whatever he’d thought before, as no one had stood up for him in the arena, no one had offered to take his place, or spoken up for him. That was just how things were done, and Zuko was alone.

His father had been angry with him after the battle: not that he’d fought, but that he’d fought weakly. That was going to have to be the first thing remedied. If Zuko were to be the crown prince, it would not do to have Agni’s chosen be outshined by even his own younger sister.

His mother was not there to protect him. His uncle was busy with his own things. His cousin had left him, had run away, never to return.

The new firebending teachers were ruthless, painful, and effective. If he disappointed them even slightly, the price to pay was high.

Zuko learnt how to suppress his emotions, and in turn, himself. It worked.

…

Lu Ten had learnt how to fend for himself during his time in the military, and had been able to live off the land, travelling from Earth Kingdom village to village for the better part of three years, before he heard of the Avatar’s re-emergence.

Wasn’t that something.

He’d spent much of his time helping people, both through hands on work that his youth, strength, and fitness allowed him to take on beyond most people in needs’ own capabilities, and through very small scale political and charity work where his charm managed to set things right. Nothing that could draw too much attention to himself though, as he knew the bounty on his head was high. He’d been working his way down through the continent, and had managed to avoid any dangerous confrontation with his homeland so far.

Then the Avatar arrived, and Lu Ten was no longer the Fire Nation’s most wanted. Lu Ten himself was greatly pleased at the news, and hoped that it might herald the end of the war. He also hoped to one day meet the spirit, but had no plans of his own to seek him out.

That was, until he heard the word of his capture, by none other than the newly-promoted Admiral Zhao. The Avatar had been apprehended, and was being held in Pohuai Stronghold.

Pohuai Stronghold? That’s not too far from here.

And so it happened that armed with a single sword, an Earth Kingdom theatre mask he’d spontaneously picked up from a street vendor after being reminded of a game his young cousins used to play that involved sneaking around (Zuko, although you’d probably disagree with me for doing this, this one’s for you), and a dream, the former prince of the Fire Nation met the Avatar in the highest cell of the fortress, and then again properly after a successful escape.

…

“Ha. Azula, come have a look at this.”

His sister walked up to him and snatched the letter out of his hands. “This is a correspondence from Admiral Zhao saying that the Avatar is no longer in holding at Pohuai Stronghold. What’s funny about that?”

“Read the details. He was broken out by a single man wearing a Dark Water Spirit mask. Can you imagine?”

Azula sighed. “I can, actually. That sounds like just the kind of stupid thing that you would do. In fact, if it weren’t impossible for you to have traveled that distance in the time since it happened, you would be my first suspect.”

He laughed again. “I’m flattered, although I’m not stupid enough to break into a highly armoured Fire Nation prison with only a sword.”

The eye roll of serious doubt he received in response was almost audible.

“I would have brought two swords.”

“Idiot.” Azula read the rest of the letter. “Either way, this isn’t something to laugh about. We’ve lost the Avatar, who if you’ve forgotten, could bring an end to our whole civilisation.”

That did sort of kill the mood a little bit. She was right, as always.

“… But it’s a little funny that it happened to Zhao, of all people.”

“That guy is such a kiss-ass.”

“Trying to get in the Fire Lord’s good graces when he can’t even defend a fortress from a single lowly peasant in a play-mask?”

“They’ll make anyone an admiral these days,” Zuko agreed, and they both smiled, united by their hatred of a common enemy.

There was a moment of quiet that followed, and they both took turns reading the letter again.

“I should hope our ground forces in the area are at least competent enough to find and apprehend the criminal shortly,” Azula decided.

“Yeah.”

“Maybe we should push for an execution. It would send a message to those would-be ‘heroes’ looking to harbour the Avatar.”

Zuko sighed. “Probably for the best.”

…

this is only just the beginning. I have more planned. Lu Ten bonding with team Avatar, Iroh having a later-in-life come around to being wrong. Azula and Zuko being sent on missions together, and Zuko WILL be forcibly kidnapped, separated, and taken under someone’s wing whether he likes it or not (he won’t). Silly things happen, but at the end of the day, it’s all towards the same goal.

And even in this different universe, some things won’t change. And some things that seem to have changed already will right themselves with time.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Clingy.

Written for a very lovely anonymous commissioner.

Pairing: Yandere!Wanderer x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 5.0k.

TW: AFAB!Reader, Modern AU, Non/Con, Blood, Intimidation/Threats of Violence, Toxic Relationships, Emotional Abuse, Slight Financial Abuse, and Codependent Behavior.

[Part Two]

On your third date, your boyfriend-at-the-time demanded that you give him a spare key to your ‘shitty shoebox of an apartment’, despite refusing to so much as let you into the penthouse Ei had leased for him while going to a university a hundred or so miles away from the multi-story, marble sculpted, beachside mansion he’d reluctantly flown you out to when he got sick of listening to you ask why he still hadn't introduced you to his moms eight months into your relationship. That probably should’ve been your first red flag, but somehow, you’d persisted. He brought out your competitive side, like that.

He made you want to dig your nails in, plant your teeth in your neck, and refuse to let go. It wasn’t good for you, but nothing he did was good for anyone. That never stopped him from doing it, though.

You could only assume that this – Kunikuzushi, your boyfriend of eighteen months and your ex-boyfriend of one, splayed across the couch in your living room, the keys he’d never given back dangling from his ring finger and the phone you’d forgotten when you left for work that morning in the other – wasn’t going to be good for you, either.

You didn’t say anything at first. It was all you could do to groan, to shake your head, to pretend you didn’t see him or didn’t care long enough to throw your messenger bag onto the nearest chair and tear off your jacket. He’d clearly made himself at home. A textbook was open on your coffee table, a drink from the cheap, trendy café he’d always whined about having to take you to sitting half-empty next to it. He wasn’t looking at either, though, his attention entirely centered on your phone. You didn’t have the energy to pretend to be surprised. He used to like to go through your conversations and delete the contacts he ‘didn’t trust’ when you were together, too, but you’d been more willing to write it off as the cute-but-concerning tick of a jealous boyfriend, back then. You must’ve fallen out of practice after your breakup.

You opened your mouth, but he was ultimately the one to break the silence. “You know Ajax?”

You crossed your arms. “Why are you here?”

“I mean, I know you’re in the same microbiology course, but c’mon, him? The fucker couldn’t tell a proton from a nucleolus. Honestly, I’m surprised he hadn’t flunked out yet. Give it another semester - he’ll be gone by spring, I promise.”

“I didn’t say you could come over.”

“I texted you last night. Did you try to block me again?” You’d blocked him, then reported his number, then changed yours when he’d started using burner phones to drunk dial you in the small hours of the morning and leave disjointed, rambling voice mails about how well he was doing without you, how much time he had now that you weren’t pestering him, how many people he’d slept with since the last time you'd seen each other. All of it was bullshit, obviously, but it was his bullshit. Somehow, he always knew just how to get under your skin. “Scratch that – I’ll take care of it. I should’ve known you wouldn’t be able to get through a month without my help.”

You grit your teeth. Swallowing as much of your anger as you could, you stepped in front of him, snatching your phone out of his hands and retreating before he had a chance to take it back. You were tempted to look at what he’d been scrolling through, see which conversation had gotten him so upset, but you forced yourself to turn off your phone completely, to set it down on the far side of your coffee table and think about something else. It’d take hours to fix the damage he’d done, to unblock all the acquaintances he didn’t approve of and the apologize to all the friends he'd insulted under your name. You’d rather get rid of him first, then try to fix everything he'd already started to tear apart. “Get out.”

He scanned over you, his eyes lingering on the wrinkles in your button-up shirt, the cheap material of your dress pants. “Y'know, if we were still together, you wouldn’t have to put up with that shitty job. You could just quit and finally move in with me.”

Once, you’d let him buy you a new laptop when yours gave out in the middle of the semester and you didn’t think you’d be able to scrape enough up for another before you next exam. It’d been a used model, already a few years out of date, and you swore up and down that you’d pay him back when you had the money, but he’d held it over your head for months, smirked and gloated and taken every opportunity to remind you how grateful you should be to have a boyfriend so willing to spoil his oh-so-unfortunate partner. He hadn’t let you pay him back. He hadn’t let you pay for anything until he’d gotten tired of playing savior and went back to acting like a brat, too desperate for your attention to care if he was in-charge. You doubt he’d be any more bearable if you actually moved in with him, if you lived in his house and relied on his good-will. If you actually depended on him.

But, rather trying to say any of that in a way he’d understand, you sighed, clenching your eyes shut. “It’s an internship and I need it for my major. Get out.”

His scowl wavered. “When did you get so bossy? This isn’t going to work if you think you can tell me what to do.”

“I’m not bossy, you’re just a prick. Get out.”

He sat up, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Cut it out. I’m not going to want to get back together if you keep acting so immature.

“I don’t want to get back together with you.” And then, gesturing towards your door. “Get. Out.”

If nothing else, that seemed to shut him up.

It took a few seconds, but eventually, he responded. There was an airy laugh, a thin smile, a certain air of hurt disbelief as he sat up. “You really aren't kidding, are you?”

You didn’t indulge him with a reaction. Rather, you watched with a pressed scowl as he pushed himself to his feet and stepped toward you. He was in his usually ‘too cool to try, but too bored not to’ get-up – ripped jeans and long sleeves striped in black and violet, half a dozen rings and bolts pierced into the curve of each ear and a belt from a brand you couldn’t name, but knew you were supposed to tacked on to further feed into his ego. He must’ve been here all day. His short hair was more disheveled than he usually liked it to be, and you could see more irritation in his dark eyes than you were used to, paired with a certain type of frustration that only ever slipped out when you managed to keep him waiting. You hadn’t, technically (you couldn’t be late to meet someone who you didn’t want to see), but you didn’t bother trying to point that out.

“I thought it’d be nice to see you after… How long? Five weeks?” He glanced down, starting to toy with something in his back pocket. “I thought we could order lunch, talk for a while, maybe watch a movie or something. Then, I don’t know…” His smile took on an apologetic lull, almost pleading. “Kiss and make up? It’s not like any of this is new for us.”

He wasn’t wrong. You’d been together for a year and a half, and most of that had been spent caught up in ear-splitting, tear-inducing, world-ending fights. He’d burn the notes you borrowed from your classmate, and you'd refuse to talk to him for a week. You’d decide you were over his constant mood swings and go on a date with the cute guy from your calculus class, and he’d mail a slab of raw meat to your best friend because, in his own words, ‘you couldn’t come up with such a stupid idea by yourself’. It wasn’t balanced, you would never be able to give as much as he took, but still. When he started yelling, you did too, and when he showed up at your door a few days later, his eyes still bloodshot from crying, you always took him back. Because he was Kunikuzushi. Because you loved him.

Because you knew he’d make your life hell, if you didn’t.

Which was exactly why you couldn’t just… kiss and make up, this time. Not if it’d mean swallowing your pride and letting him get everything he wanted.

You sighed, but kept your arms crossed, your expression stern. “I’m tired, Kuni. I don’t want to do this anymore.” You paused, bit down on the side of your tongue. “It’s not good for either of us. We’re not good together. I don’t want to pretend that we are.”

His smile wavered, but didn’t fall. “What do you mean, babe?”

“I mean,” You braced yourself, shut your eyes. “I think you should leave.”

At least he seemed to hear that. You watched with as little sympathy as you could manage as his grin cracked and fell away, as his shoulders slumped downward, as he let out an airy chuckle that cracked halfway through. “You’re breaking up with me?”

“We broke up a month ago.” And he’s been insufferable ever since. “And we’re not getting back together.”

Parted lips, glassy eyes. He raked a hand through his bangs, doing what he could to blink away the tears slowly forming in the corners of his eyes. This wasn’t new, and yet, you still found yourself struggling not to break, not to embrace him and mutter soothing nothings while he sobbed quietly into your shirt and wrapped his arms around your waist and, inevitably, ended up on his knees, his face buried between your legs as he made you cum until you forgot why you’d been mad at him in the first place. “Fine. That’s fine. Honestly, that’s great. I don’t know why I’d ever want to be with such a heartless bit—” His voice broke before he could finish. He made a half-hearted effort to wipe at his eyes, but that only drew more attention to the tears starting to roll down his flushed cheeks, only made you more tempted to pull him into a kiss and act like this had never happened. “Fine. If you’re really that sick of me, I’ll go.”

He pushed past you, starting towards your door. That was what you wanted. Kunikuzushi gone, your apartment empty, your life just a little less fucked than it always seemed to be when he was a part of it. You should’ve let him go. You should’ve stood there until he was gone. You should’ve let him leave.

But you heard another hitched sob, a string of muttered swearing, and something in your chest broke open. With a shallow sigh, you dropped your arms to your sides, forcing yourself to speak through clenched teeth. “…do you want a hug before you leave?”

Kunikuzushi glanced over his shoulder. “A hug? What do you think I am, a toddler?”

“It's the only thing I'm putting on the table. Do you want it or—”

You never got the chance to finish. His arms were already around you, pinning your arms to your torso as he buried his face in your shirt. You choked back your protests, forced yourself to fight the instinct to push him away, and in a few excoriating seconds, his hold on you loosened, his back straightening, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder and his lips pressing into your neck. There was a lingering8 kiss laid onto your jugular, then another to the corner of your jaw, but you didn’t bother to try and push him away. Instead, you only shifted in his arms, nudging at his chest. You’d gotten yourself into this, called him back when he was a few steps away from leaving. You only had yourself to blame. “I didn’t say you could—”

“I knew you’d change your mind.” A hand fell to the small of your back, the heel of his palm pressing into the base of your spine. “You always do. You always make the right choice, in the end.”

You opened your mouth, ready to remind him that you weren’t taking him back, but you hesitated. He was always weird, just a little too hostile, just a little too desperate to keep you close to him, but you didn’t trust the levity in his voice, the way his smile pressed into your skin despite how close he’d come to crying a few minutes ago. “I think…” You trailed off, bit down on the side of your tongue. “I haven't changed my mind. You have to—”

Something flat and stiff pressed into your back – the blunt edge of a switchblade. His switchblade, you realized, dredging up hazy memories of bandages wrapped around thighs and hollow promises that he’d be more careful, next time. You heard his nails drum against smooth metal, felt something cold and sharp cut into the skin above your shoulder blade, and you froze, your mind instantly going blank.

He laughed, the noise cracking and airy. Warm breath fanned over the crook of your neck, and he melted into you, nuzzling into the curve of your throat. “I love you.” And then, pressing the blade into your flesh. “Say you love me too.”

Automatic, robotic. The only thing you could spit out through grit teeth. “I love you.”

Another laugh – more giddy, this time, more eager. If he noticed your reluctance, it clearly didn’t bother him. The switchblade was pulled up to the nape of your neck, then drawn in a loose arch to your collarbone, the tip never leaving your skin. “I mean, yeah, obviously. That’s why we get to stay together, even when we’re at each other’s throats.”

He paused, burrowed into you. In turn, you were dragged further into his chest, but pushed away just as quickly, allowed to get just far enough to make it possible for Kunikuzushi to raise his free hand to the collar of your shirt and drag you into a clumsy, rushed kiss – too rough and too forceful for anyone but him to enjoy. His teeth scraped against your lips, his tongue dragging over yours, but he pulled away with a breathy groan, his pale cheeks flushed and his eyes still glossed over. “…you didn’t get with anyone while I was gone, right? You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”

How could you? He hadn’t given you room to breathe, let alone get past anything more than a first date with someone new. Even when you’d been together (actually together, not fighting or on a break), he’d been so suffocating, so possessive, you’d never been able to get any further than heavy petting, oral, his body on top of yours and your legs wrapped around his waist before he said something you couldn’t brush off and the night devolved into something... less romantic. It was hard to be with someone like Kunikuzushi, someone who acted like they’d rather give up the air in their lungs than a second of your time. Even after a year and a half, it was hard to let your guard down around him when he seemed so willing to give you every reason you ever could've needed to keep it up.

You guessed you should’ve expected this, looking back on it. He’d was bound to get tired of waiting for you to trust him eventually.

This was just his way of letting you know that he’d never really needed you to, in the first place.

Stiltedly, you shook your head, and he let out a relieved sigh. “Perfect. That’s why we’re supposed to be together.” He kissed the corner of your lips, then your forehead. “You’d never hurt me.”

He didn’t give you time to respond. Instead, he took you by the hand – his fingers intertwining with yours as he turned and tugged you forward, moving to lead you further into your apartment. The switchblade left your skin, falling momentarily to his side, and for a few brief seconds, you considered trying to get away, jerking yourself out of your hold and running as far away as you could get from him and his fucking issues. You made a passing effort, but Kunikuzushi’s grip turned crushing as soon as you began to shift, and you gave up before he could break something more vital than your heart. He was between you and the door, you and your phone. He had a knife, a weapon. He had you, and until he decided he was done, he wasn’t going to let you go without a fight.

With little ceremony, you were drawn out of your living room and into your cramped bedroom. Kunikuzushi let go of your hand, but you didn’t have time to run before you were being pushed onto your unmade bed, before he was straddling your waist and pinning you to the center of the mattress. The knife was brought back to your neck, but quickly plunged lower, slid beneath your uppermost button and used to separate thread from fabric. Somehow, annoyance managed to overshadow your panic, if only for as long as it took for one rational thought to be followed by another. This was your nicest shirt, one of a handful you’d splurged on for your internship, but it wasn’t like Kunikuzushi would ever understand anything like that. It wasn’t like he’d ever tried to, before.

The tip caught on the slight dip below your diaphragm and you winced, a few dots of red immediately seeping into white fabric. You winced, beginning to protest on reflex. “Kuni’, that—”

“I’ll take care of it.” Absentminded, only half conscious that he was speaking at all. He reached the hem, pulling his switchblade free and letting your dress shirt fall away from your chest and over your shoulders, as useless as it was embarrassing. “I’ll take care of everything when we’re done. Just sit pretty and keep your mouth shut for a while.”

Really, you could only wonder why you hadn’t dumped him sooner.

Your pants were next, slits carved into the material over your hips and ruined fabric torn away. He moved to cut off your boxers, too, but seemed to hesitate, to linger, to find the strength to pause just long enough to drag two fingers over your clothed slit and press the pad of his thumb into your clit. You hissed at the friction, but Kunikuzushi only smiled, dipping his head low enough for his lips to ghost over your collarbone, then the midline of your chest, then the tender spot just below your navel. The last was accompanied by a slight groan, throaty and deep. You did what you could to block it out. This would be better if you didn’t think about it, if you just imagined he was trying to win you back after a fight, that there was a wilting rose in his other hand and not a knife already stained with your blood.

It was almost a mercy when his hands finally slipped under the hem of your boxers, doing away with your last layer of protection with only a slight laugh and a lilting smile. You did what you could to relax, to lean back and close your eyes, but Kunikuzushi’s weight was an ever-present anchor to reality, only made worse as he shifted lower, as he pulled your legs apart and threw them over his shoulders. He pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses into the inside of your thighs, his teeth ghosting over tender flesh as he sucked harsh bruises into whatever he could reach. This was his favorite part, by far. He’d always been clingy – possessive to the point of total, nail-biting, jaw-locking paranoia. At first, you’d been able to write it off as a sort of overeager enthusiasm that came with a new relationship, but he’d never stopped. He was always ready, always desperate to dig his teeth into your skin and leave as many marks as you’d let him – or rather, as many as he possibly could before you were able to pry him away. Even then, you’d tried to think of it as cute, just one of the quirks of your immature-but-loving boyfriend. Now, all you could do was hope it’d be over soon.

It took him full minutes to actually reach your cunt, for his tongue to lave over your slit. Instantly, you stiffened, clenching your eyes shut and attempting to ignore the heady sounds of his whimpering moans, the feeling of his tongue tracing patterns in your entrance. It was sloppy, messy, all drool and teeth and clutching hands, but warmth flooded into your core as the bridge of his nose ground into your clit, as his hands wrapped around your hips and dragged you that much closer to his mouth. Everything he did was dirty, but he knew you, knew your body, knew that you’d have to spread your legs as soon as his tongue thrust into you.

You arched your back as two fingers slid into your entrance alongside his tongue, scissoring you open while his attention shifted to your clit – his lips sealing around the sensitive bundle of nerves while he sucked gently. If he hadn’t been so vocal, it might’ve been more bearable, but no, he couldn’t seem to stop whining into your cunt, to stop sending waves of those awful reverberations from your clit to your core every time he whimpered or grunted or moaned. Before you could stop yourself, your hips were rolling weakly against his mouth as he nursed you through your sudden climax. When you fell limp, his mouth fell away, but his hand still cupped your pussy, his fingers still curling and thrusting inside of you.

He didn’t slow down, didn’t let up, not until you were crying out and clenching around him, not until you could feel the slick running down your thighs, soaking into your sheets. He didn’t stop until you were babbling – spitting out incoherent pleas for him to slow down before the overstimulation turned from overwhelming to agonizing. You were forced to endure another kiss to the inside of your thigh, the wet sound of his tongue running over his fingers, but he pulled away in a few seconds, finally letting you have just enough space to breathe. Even that was temporary, cut short by his lips crashing into yours. You could taste yourself on his tongue, as little as you wanted to. You could feel him panting against your lips, and it was all you could do not to scream.

He pulled away abruptly, grinning. “You’re a virgin.”

It wasn’t a question, but you found yourself shaking your head, denying it on instinct. “I never—"

“You didn’t have to.” There was a peck to the corner of your lips, another to your cheek. “I know everything about you. Your parents were too strict to let you date in high school, and none one’s ever lasted more than a couple of weeks with you before me. Since you wouldn’t so much as take off your shirt around me before our three-month anniversary, I’m going to assume you weren’t a total slut before we met.”

You narrowed your eyes, shoving gently at his chest. You just needed space. You just needed him to get away from you. “So?”

“So,” he leaned in, his smiling growing that much wider. “I’m going to ruin you.”

It was something about his tone, the dark glint in his eyes as he leered over you. Your heart dropped in your chest, and very distinctly, something very large and very sharp began to crawl up your throat.

You started to shake your head, but he was already edging jeans downward, already freeing his cock – the flushed tip leaking precum in fat, white pearls. His weight was enough to keep you pinned down as he aligned himself with your entrance, as he traced the head over the length of your slit, and his eyes never left your face, your expression painted with heavy strokes of horror and disbelief. He never wavered, never blinked, even as he thrust inside of you, bottoming out in a single uninterrupted motion. Even as you cried out, the sound more pained than anything else. Even as you felt a single, warm teardrop fall off of his cheek and onto yours. You hadn’t realized you’d shut your eyes, not until you forced yourself to open them, not until you found him cloudy-eyed and grinning above you.

He was crying, again.

Huh.

You thought he would’ve given up on that, by now.

He wasn’t gentle. He’d never been delicate with you, but right now, it felt like he was trying to be rough, to pin your legs against your chest and split you open every time he moved his hips, every time he found a way to hit something deeper and more sensitive inside of you. You tried to scream, but your voice caught in your throat, strangling itself into something more akin to a cracked whine and a few broken whimpers. The stretch, the pressure was more than you could take. You couldn’t stop yourself – going rigid underneath him, your eyes rolling back as your mouth fell open in a silent, agonized cry. Your reactions, however involuntary, only seemed to spur Kunikuzushi on, his pace growing more erratic and his breath now coming in quick, shallow pants. No matter what you did, it just made him worse.

You could hear him talking, distantly – little mumbled tangents forming between thrusts. “You’re just so—” He cut himself off with a long, wordless moan. “We’ll do this every day, until— until you know you don’t need anyone but me. Then, you’ll love me, and you’ll never have to—” He thrust deeper into you, letting out a fracturing laugh. “And then, I’ll rip out your tongue and cut off your legs if you try to leave. We’ll always be together. No one will ever, ever take you away from me again.”

You weren’t with him. You didn’t want to be with him. If it wasn’t for his immaturity, his manipulativeness, his fucking knife, this wouldn’t be—

His knife.

Both of his hands were on your thighs, his nails digging into your flesh, keeping your knees pressed into your chest. He wasn’t holding it. He couldn’t be.

Without daring to look away from him, you groped around the mattress blindly, your fingertips eventually brushing against something cold and metallic – his switchblade lying abandoned on the edge of the bed. You took it up before you could hesitate, gripping the handle tightly enough for the sharp corners to bite into your palm, for your hand to cramp and go numb by the time you found the strength to actually lift it up. You didn’t aim. You didn’t have time to, not unless you wanted to think about what you were doing, not unless you wanted to let Kunikuzushi win. Not unless you could—

The curved tip just barely made contact with the skin above his collarbone before you faltered, before he had time to catch your wrist in an iron-clad hold. You tried to let go of the switchblade reflexively, but his hand shifted to wrap around yours, to keep the blade pressed into his chest – applying just enough pressure to break the skin. “Do it.” Soft, drawn out, too eager to mean anything good. “I’d let you carve your name into me, if you wanted to. All you'd have to do is ask.”

You didn’t ask. You didn’t want to. You didn't want any of this, but Kunikuzushi pressed the blade in his skin regardless, letting out muttered confessions of love and loyalty as a thin red line formed in his flesh, as blood dripped down his chest and disappeared behind the loose collar of his shirt, blotting against the dark fabric. He guided your blade to his lips, next, making a small nick in the corner of his mouth before taking the switchblade out of your hand and tossing it onto the floor, out of your reach. It would’ve hurt less if he’d tried to hurt you, too, taken the blade to your skin after his own. If would've hurt less if he’d acknowledged that you’d tried to do anything at all.

You didn’t have much time to linger on that thought, though. He was already moving again, already making up for time lost by fucking into you like a man crazed. With no preparation, no warning, he jerked forward, his chest pressing into yours as he kissed you, as he forced his tongue past your teeth and smeared his blood over your lips. It felt like you were drowning in nickel, being slowly suffocated by some nameless, slick, oppressive force. It felt like you were choking, despite being able to breathe, to think as clearly as you’d ever been able to around him. It felt like you were going to die.

But, you weren’t. He’d never be so kind, he’d never let you have that kind of comfort, not when he was still grinding into you, not when his cock was twitching against the walls of cunt and he was groaning into your mouth without reservation. You could feel your poor overstimulated pussy clenching around him, your vision burning white around the edges as, for lack of anything more stable to hold onto, you wrapped your arms around his neck and raked your nails over his back, clawing into whatever you could reach. If he noticed, if he cared, it only worked to drag him that much closer, to leave him as deep as he could possibly be when he finally finished, when you felt something warm and vile flood into you.

He stayed like that for a long moment, silent and unmoving, his chest pressed into yours and his lips trailing from your mouth to your throat, settling just above your jugular. It was a small mercy when he finally pulled away and straightened his back, easing himself out of you and wiping the blood off of his face, his neck. You watched from a distance as he fixed his clothes, before pushing himself to his feet, never sparing you so much as a second glance. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Pack your stuff, and make sure you’ve gotten your shit together by then. I’m not letting a mess like you into my apartment.” He paused, lingered long enough to smile. With no sense of visible urgency, he walked to the side of your bed, retrieving his switchblade and kissing your forehead softly, gingerly, with a kind of tenderness you could only wish he’d found a few hours earlier. “I love you, babe. Even when you act like a fucking idiot.”

His grin pressed into flesh, cutting and cruel.

“And I’m so, so glad you’ve realized that you love me too.”

[im-so-normal-iswear]

You can do a one-shot yandere scourge x fem reader shy

A/n: I love scourge sm man.

Yandere!Scourge x shy reader

The bar was loud, filled with the stench of alcohol and the chatter of others with far too much to say. This wasn’t your kind of place, you’d much rather be at home, but your friends had insisted. They told you to come out, to “loosen up a little,” and to “stop being so shy all the time.”

It was ironic, really. Here you were, pressed into the corner of a dingy bar, doing everything in your power not to be noticed. You kept your eyes glued to your drink, swirling the glass absentmindedly. It was just another night to endure.

Until you saw him.

The sound of a door slamming open cut through the noise, and the room fell silent for a moment. You didn’t look up.

Shit. Of course, the one time you went out. He had to show up.

You should’ve kept your head down and prayed he’d move on. But, unfortunately curiousity kills the cat, and your eyes flicked up for just a second. That was all it took. His gaze locked onto yours, and a smirk spread across his face.

He slid into the seat across from you without asking, propping his chin on his hand as he stared at you like you were the most interesting thing in the room.

“What’s your name?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he cut you off

"Ah, no, y'Know what? Enough about you. Who you should really be interested in is me"

Your silence only seemed to amuse him.

“Cat got your tongue? Don’t worry, I don’t bite, unless you ask really nice” He chuckled at his own joke, leaning back in his chair.

You wished you could disappear. Small talk was already too much for you but this? You didnt know how mych more you could handle.

The night dragged on, and Scourge didn’t leave your side. Every time you tried to excuse yourself, he’d block your path with a casual stretch of his arm or a sharp remark that left no room for argument.

“Where d’you think you’re going? I’m just getting to know you.”

It didn’t matter how many times you insisted you were just here with friends, that you weren’t looking for company. Scourge didn’t take no for an answer. He leaned closer, his smirk widening as he noticed the way you shrank back.

“You’re shy, huh? Cute.”

The word felt more like a brand than a compliment, and you hated how your face burned at his attention. He thrived on it, on your discomfort, like it was some kind of game to him.

When your friends finally decided to leave, you thought you were safe. You practically bolted out the door, ignoring Scourge’s parting words as you hurried down the dimly lit street.

“See you around, sweetheart.”

You hoped it was a lie.

It wasn’t.

For the next few weeks, Scourge was everywhere. He’d show up at your favorite café, lounging in a booth like he owned the place. He’d loiter around your place of work, a cocky grin plastered on his face.

He even appeared outside your apartment one night, casually leaning against the wall next to your door as if he had every right to be there.

“Miss me?” he’d say, every single time.

At first, you thought it was a coincidence, a series of unfortunate encounters. But the house incident proved otherwise. This wasn’t random. This was deliberate.

The more you tried to avoid him, the more persistent he became. If you ignored his text, how he’d gotten your number, you didn’t know. He’d show up in person. If you didn’t answer the door, he’d wait outside for hours, whistling a tune that grated on your nerves.

And when you finally confronted him, he just laughed.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he said, his grin sharp enough to cut glass. “You’re mine, sweetheart. I don’t care how shy you are or how much you try to run. You’re mine.”

It escalated quickly after that. You’d come home to find your locks tampered with, your belongings rearranged just slightly, small items gone.

“Thought you could use some company,” he said casually one evening, lounging on your couch like he belonged there. You didn’t even hear him come in.

Your protests fell on deaf ears. Scourge wasn’t the type to listen, especially not to someone like you. He thrived on making you feel small and powerless.

He doesn't care what or even who it is, when he wants something. He gets it.

[queenslimeball]

The Coffee or The Man

Steve Harrington x male!reader

contents; fluff

Summary; steve finds out that his crush on his best friend was much more obvious than he thought

The clock ticks again, and again, and again. It had been ten minutes since M/n left to get a coffee for Steve, yet he can't stop staring out the window and glancing at the time. No matter how long Steve stares, nothing seems to change, so he instead appears rather desperate. The VHS tape in his hand still hasn't been placed on the shelf. He's a statue now, helpless and longing...

"Steve!" The familiar voice shakes Steve out of his trance. His head whips around to look at Robin, who's giving him a rather suspicious look. "Are you seriously that desperate for M/n to get back?" She teases, leaning against the shelf with a knowing smirk. Steve just scoffs, moving his arm forward. He tries to put the VHS on the shelf but misses and has to look to put it on properly.

"I don't know what you're implying, but I just really want that coffee." Steve replies, not looking back at Robin. Robin puts down her tapes and moves closer to Steve, trying to get his full attention. "You didn't want M/n to leave when he offered." She retorts.

"Look– I–" Steve cuts himself off, jaw hung low as he tries to think of some kind of excuse. He looks at Robin and huffs. "He's my best friend. I just wanted his company."

"Right, right. But are you aware of the way you look at M/n?" Robin tilts her head as if trying to get her point across. Steve is fully aware.

It all started not that long ago when M/n and Steve were trapped in the Russian basement together. M/n had sacrificed himself to protect Steve from any harm while he got tortured for answers. Steve was grateful, very grateful. But he also felt love for M/n in that moment. He tried to push it away. To convince himself that he's not the sort of guy that likes men. But he couldn't seem to change himself. He still can't.

Several months later, Steve is even deeper in love with M/n. He doesn't want to admit that to himself, talk about to Robin. It's all so confusing. Why has Steve suddenly started liking guys? And why his best friend of all people?

"I look at him how I look at anyone." Steve denies, grabbing a tape and continuing to stock the shelf. He wants to move on from the conversation. But he knows Robin will persist. "No, you don't! You love him, don't you? Just be honest with me." She continues to pry.

"Robin! I'm not gay. Just drop it. We talked about this. I like boobies or whatever." Steve argues, clearly getting more frustrated in his tone. "Just because you like women doesn't mean you can't like men. Specifically, M/n." She explains.

Steve doesn't quite know what to say now. He's been caught, and there's no denying it anymore. He can barely admit this to himself, talk about one of his closest friends. He can't quite force any words from his lips that agree to Robin's accusations. If Robin finds out, that means other people would eventually find out, including M/n. But also including Steve's parents. They'd kill him.

"I just want him to get back with my coffee. That's it." Steve says, finally able to get words out of his mouth, despite the devastating crack in his voice.

"Is it the coffee or the man that you want?" Robin asks, barely even considered a question. They both know the answer.

Ding!

Steve and Robin look over at who's entered the store. M/n walks in, back pressed into the door as both of his hands are holding a cup of coffee. Steve completely blocks out whatever M/n is saying, too distracted by his own feelings at just seeing the boy enter. Exchanging a glance, Steve and Robin make a telepathic agreement to be quiet about this, nodding their heads once.

M/n doesn't need to know. Not yet.

[link7057]

SHARE YOUR HEADCANNONS ABOUT CHRISTINAAAAA 🫶🫶

First, I'm so sorry for the late answer months later 😭😭🙏 Please forgive me and second!! Actually I hadn't thought of many headcanons for her... yet... but she's one of my favorite characters so ofc I thought of some!! I might say silly ones or ones more about her personal life (and definitely not projecting some parts!) I love Christina Posabule 🙏♥️

Music wise I think Christina would like 60s music, rock, and/or synth-pop or idk genres are hard to actually get right nowadays. If it's specfic, "The Daughters of Eve" and Mitski would be part of her favorites fjjdbrbnd (then I think she'd like The Killers especially "When You Were Young" when she was in her teens :)) Speaking of Christina in her teens, she'd want to learn piano or some sort of instrument but her parents probably got annoyed by how much she played so she wouldn't have as many chances. She's definitely a bookworm or just loves reading and also writes in her freetime like little stories or poems. And when Block ended up staying with Orel's family, she was kind of the only one who missed him as her parents didn't really mind/express their emotions about it.

Andddd talking about her parents, they're both VERY controlling and kept watch on what she'd do, the polar opposite with Orel, which his parents didn't gaf where he was 💔💔 Especially Poppit, and I think with Christina's story it'd be a toxic mother-daughter relationship (mommy issues!) rather than her and her dad, and that Poppit rather likes taking charge but to be in "a woman's place" y'know sexism and even tells Art what to do but makes sure that he does what a "man has to." And she'd be veryyy persistent on Christina with how she presents herself and make sure that she was a nice church girl at all times. And Poppit would very much have breakdowns in front of her and vent to her about her own issues... yeah... And whenever Christina was getting yelled at or being told what to do the only thing she could do is not say anything back to not upset them. She was also grabbed a lot like by her wrists or something similar how they showed in the show. When she moved to Moralton, she was bummed out bc yeah she just moved to a new place where she knows no one. Then when she met Orel something about him intrigued her and she's like Oooh y'know what I like this place already... then BOOM! Having to move again :( Also I don't know if it's just me but she's probably homeschooled or she's just attending another school jfjfnntnf and about her past town she'd be doing so many shenanigans during the same time as Orel probably. Another silly thing she might be more confident than him like I think he'd be more shy when he got older fjjdjnfbfn

Also yes Christina was sadistic I had to say it bc... we remember Orel's masochist era... And same thing with her being emo/goth when Orel was and at least for a while when they were teens👍👍 It's canon bc I said so

About when she's an adult, once Orel and her got married and had their kids, she'd be really worried about repeating anything her own mother used to do to her (along with Orel who'd try to be the best dad to his kids and would ask Christina if he was doing a good job if he was too worried about becoming anything similar to Clay or just anything otherwise) and I'm not quite sure about if whether she kept contact with her parents but she probably would but obviously has a strained relationship with them along with Orel's parents... But she would give her own family all her love :D also she's definitely working in a type of job I forgot which one but something that helps people bc she's sweet like that <3 so yeah girlboss !!

I might've forgotten some things to mention or other things I had in mind for her but yeah!! Or it was badly/worded weird perdón. Thanks for reading 💕

[gothamdwellings]

How they are as exs! ~ Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Roy Harper, Kate Kane.

Warnings: Mature! Mentions of stalking- no smut but still 18+ as always! Infidelity? No gender is mentioned for reader, but it may be insinuated reader is afab. Reader is insinuated to be oblivious to the crime fighting career. Bad grammar bc I suck

Dick Grayson is the type of ex to plan things out. He wants to get back with you, he really does. He’s changed, he promises! To show you how much he changed he convinced Wally to invite you to the annual cookout and Barry’s. Bruce didn’t attend, but he sent Dick in his place, and it was the ideal excuse to get his arm around you again. You’d get there and huff, seeing the raven-haired man throwing his arm around your mutual red-haired best friend. You’d only say hi to Wally, even using his full name to indicate you were upset. Soon Barry would come to ease the tension, the man could read a room! After a few beers you’d be open enough to talk to Dick, and his honey-sweet words and charming gestures would overtake you. By the end of the night you were in his lap around the campfire, and he was casually kissing your lips.

Jason Todd will text you, every so often. You swore his number was blocked, you swore the last five numbers he used were blocked, but he’s simply smarter than that. Using texting apps to message you, keeping his messages to you hidden from the world. His text come at the worst time. You’re at work, focusing hard on your task. Then it pops up, on the phone next to you that is supposed to be in your personal bag. You just needed a calculator, and now your heart is racing with both anxiety and excitement! You couldn’t lie, you missed him. Your current boyfriend couldn’t touch you the same, whisper those sweet nothings that made you feel like a goddess before her lost loyal disciple. You responded with great enthusiasm, and he replied with the same energy. Slowly, though, guilt and memories of the past seep in. His immaturity, his mommy issues, his abandonment problems. How clingy, manipulative, and mean he could be- the illusion all comes crumpling down, and soon you find your fingers reaching for the block button. Don’t worry, in a few months you’ll get another message. It’s been two years since the breakup—

Roy Harper is more toxic than the other two. He uses dumb excuses to run into you, going to the same bank, grocery store, gas station. He knows your area, he knows your car and your friends homes. He stalks you, a little bit, but will never be caught. He’s too smart. He’ll tug on your heart strings, messaging you on social media to send you pictures of his cat. (I believe Roy is a cat man.) he’ll say something dumb like ���we miss you, baby.’ Just reading those messages makes you putty. You’ll persist, and he likes that about you. He’ll send you a gift on your birthday or any holiday you celebrate. He’ll ask you to not block in in a card attached, and soon he’ll be able to see your status again.

Kate Kane and you met at a friend’s party. Having been circling the same group of friends, running into the red haired woman was rather common. Bonding over childhood trauma and her father’s crazy wife. It was fun to meet someone who understood the struggles you went through. When Kate cheated on you, and it was plastered in the front page of all the queer gossips magazines and other social medias. You learned from one of your mutual friends, but the evidence still hurt. You blocked her, and washed your hands clean. Months later she is at your apartment door, stumbling over her words. Her makeup is smeared from crying, and the urge to shut the door in her face is overwhelming. She sobs about how she loved you, and it was a publicity stunt to cover up her father’s own cheating scandal. It’s hard to believe, but when she reaches to kiss you, you don’t stop her.

[horseshoegirl]

Damn Those Dog Tags: Part 15 - Have You Ever Seen The Rain

📖I need to make two apologies. First, I am so sorry for the long delay. While work was beating my ass, I actually received a rude comment on my Wattpad account for the last chapter that triggered a horrible writer's block. It was taken care of, and it didn't bother me at the time, but I didn't realize how much it affected me until I started to write. Then I decided to use it for inspiration!

Secondly, I'm so sorry for what is about to unfold. This one was planned from the get-go (which is also probably why I struggled because this is the one chapter I dreaded having to write).

(I'll be running from the pitchforks as they come, Woot Woot!)

❗️+18, strong language, godmother reader/original female character, Mentions of an original child, Shitty family dynamics, Angst, verbal fights, sexist implications, one slap across the face, and Jake being Hangman.

#6k words

Part 14 | Masterlist | Part 16

The story behind how you started ego-checking some of the cocksure pilots at Hard Deck is less interesting than one might think.

It all started with a game. 

You weren't kidding when you told Jake you were a library, loving geek who'd rather spend her time deep in the stacks. That was the plot of your entire post-secondary experience. You didn't know how to flirt. You stayed clear of frat parties and cliquey groups. And if a guy tried to flirt with you, you ran for the freaking hills without a backward glance.

You only decided to take that bartending job in building H's damp, dark basement because you were dead-ass broke. But the thing about being a bartender on a University campus, there were moments when you had nothing but time on your hands.

You had to get creative.

Looking back, you would blame the writer-orientated part of your mind that decided to create that little game of making up stories for the people who regularly visited the miserable bar.

The quiet girl, always sitting in the back corner, cramming for a test or writing a paper. Did she like the ambience, or was she avoiding the library? Or was she trying to work up the nerve to ask out one of the bussers, waiting for the perfect meet cute?

Maybe the nerds who gathered every Friday at the arcade-style game consoles playing Pac-Man needed to leave their dorm because Friday nights tended to be the one night everyone liked to party.

Those popular girls sitting around a table with their $5 cocktails, lowcut tanktops, and jean shorts, always on their phones gossiping over the latest social media post from their favourite celebrities. Did they have Regina George in their ranks? Which one was sleeping with the other's boyfriend? How much blackmail did they have on each other?

Which one would murder the other first?

That little game you invented for yourself got you out of your shell. It also made it easier to deal with the persistent football jocks who'd try to flirt with you for a free shot.

Ridley would always get a kick out of it whenever you told her. You'd always imagined her curling up in a ball and kicking her feet back and forth while she squealed in laughter over the phone.

"Be a character in one of your freaking stories. Or better yet, act it out! You're a damn writer, Lizzie."

She was right. So you did. 

You'd never forget the laughter of that football jock when your rejection of his flirting attempts to weasel a free drink out of you resulted in his childish reply of, "Well, nobody's perfect, Sweetheart, least of all you."

"I never said I was," you had said with a smile.

You must have said something right because a few minutes later, Penny was introducing herself and chatting you up, asking if you wanted a better job bartending.

You were all too happy to leave. But nothing could have prepared you for the hotshot, ego-driven, and stupidly horny Top Gun pilots who frequented the Hard Deck. 

Between remembering their drink order or what side of the room they tended to gravitate towards, you needed more than your little guessing game to figure out their tells. You did pick up little things about them, though.

The WSOs were the kindest; ironically, they stood out in the crowds. Always a kind smile, never a bad thing to say about anyone.

The female pilots were always badass. At least, you thought so. Strong. Always commandeering the room the second they walked in. Always nice, no question about it. But mess with them; you got schooled hard.

They were the literal definition behind the saying, 'Do no harm, but take no shit.'

And with each new group that came in, the male pilots, the single flyers you had called them, paled compared to those jocks. They never changed. A pair constantly vied for first place with each new group that came through the Top Gun program.

Always a pair of males. Women always knew there was more at stake than a freaking trophy.

Those guys talked to you. Well... properly flirted at you.

That's where your little game came in handy. Picking out the little things about them, letting your mind do the creative parts next. It's how you turned Jake down so quickly that first time.

But the guy currently approaching the bar? He did not fit the bill of any regular customer you had seen in a while.

Tourists came and went without question. They stood out like a pack of flies, unsure where to go, with friendly faces and always asking what the best places were. They tipped great, and they never returned.

This guy? 

Not a tourist.

He was from out of town. The plaid shirt, jeans and cowboy boots were unusual for a California bar. It was also how he gaped at the walls and ceiling, taking in all the Navy memorabilia Penny had collected over the years. If you hadn't been paying attention, you could have sworn there was a look of distaste on his face with each new item he saw.

But what irked you was the sense of familiarity you couldn't place while looking at him. Blonde hair and a sharp face. Something in how he carried that toothpick between his teeth, not in the way god forbid fucking Tyler had, but as if it was a piece of grass. Also, in the way he walked.

Then he openly leered at a woman's ass as she walked by, and it all made sense.

Ah, a Wham, Bam, Thank You, Mam.

He sat in the empty chair directly in front of you, still watching the women's retreating form. You didn't want to serve him, but a tiny part of you hoped your assumption had been wrong.

It had been a while since you had to rebuff flirty advances; the newer pilots going through the Top Gun Program hardly said anything to you except smile and relay their order.

You suspected Jake was behind it.

"What can I get you?" you smiled at the guy. He slowly pulled his eyes away with a sly grin. The second he caught sight of your face, his mouth stretched even wider as he leaned forward on the bar.

"Your number and the name of a good hotel."

You should have known better. 

If it looked like a duck, it quacked like a duck too.

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you straightened the line of shot glasses under the bar, not once looking up as you answered him. "Well, I can answer one out of two of those questions, but I'm afraid the only hotels around here are resorts. There is a bed and breakfast about ten minutes down the road that will give you a good deal."

"Will they give me a good deal if I mention your name?"

"Only my friends know my name, and you are simply a customer sitting at my bar wanting a drink?" you raised your eyebrow, tapping your finger against the bar.

He made a show of thinking about it, rocking his shoulders back and forth. He finally nodded, leaning forward to answer you.

"Whiskey. Straight."

You recognized his accent as you reached beneath the bar to grab the bottle. It was more pronounced and slightly more profound, but without a doubt, he sounded like Jake.

Good old southern Texas Charm.

Normally you'd engage in small talk, but you wanted nothing more than to leave this asshole alone. Thinking he'd leave it be after you poured him his drink, you slid the glass forward, then made your way over to the other side of the bar.

The words he called out after you made you stop in your tracks.

"You must get attention all the time. Having your pick of the litter each year."

You whipped around, offended. " Are you calling me easy?!"

He shrugged. "I'm just saying a good-looking woman like yourself, in this place... you clearly aren't sticking around because of the pay."

Oh, you wanted this guy gone. That could have been one of the most double-standard comments you had ever received. Old Liz would have sputtered, maybe run into the back fridge and asked one of the other bartenders to handle it.

You now? No chance in hell. If he were going to give it, you would give it right back. You weren't going to play the boyfriend card. You could fight your own battles, and something told you even if you told him you had a boyfriend, he'd think you were lying. He seemed like the type that wouldn't take no for an answer.

"You've got some nerve." You crossed your arms, matching back to him from the other side of the bar. "Let's get one thing straight. I'm not here because I'm looking for attention or have trouble finding a date. You've spent all of two minutes sitting at this bar, talking shit, while I've been fighting the urge to point out your confusion regarding basic anatomy." 

He raised his eyebrows at your reply. "My confusion?" 

You leaned forward, resting your arms upon the bar, eyeing him sourly. "Is your mouth your asshole, or are you just one?" 

It was one of the more cruder remarks you had ever responded with. But this guy was trying to go for gold. Unphased, he leaned back in his chair, throwing his hands up. "Hey, no need to be aggressive. You should take it as a compliment. I never called you anything derogatory." 

You huffed, pushing yourself away from him, rolling your eyes. "Calling me good-looking, then proceeding to say I'm only working here because it's 'easy to access' is still calling a woman a slut. You don't need to say the word to imply the meaning." 

You ripped the dishrag from your shoulder, running it under the tap, muttering more to yourself, "There's no way that shit works on women."

"It does on the women back home," he answered you.

"Oh, so are you staying? Don't tell me you're a new pilot at Top Gun."

They'll beat that attitude right out of you.

"Oh, I'm just passing through. I figured I'd scout out the area. I heard this was a Navy bar. Don't understand what all the fuss is about." 

You didn't answer him. Opening your mouth only led to him replying, and the quicker he finished his drink, the faster he'd leave. He took your silence as a means to continue. 

"Still playing hard to get?" 

"You ask me a question. I might choose not to answer." 

"Wow. Subtle." 

You turned, a hand on your hip. "You can't honestly expect me to speak to you, a complete stranger, after the way you just undermined my job because I'm not giving to your attempts. There is nothing to get." 

He smiled, holding out his hand. "George Seresin. There, not a stranger."

Well, shit.

You wanted to hang your mouth open like a fish. You were staring down Jake's brother.

Now you understood Jake's reaction to Janet's warning. His anxious behaviour in the back of his truck. His lost-in-thought stares or the way he couldn't stop looking at you and Sadie when he came home from work this week.

George Seresin was a very unwelcome, uninvited and long-awaited guest.

Something snapped in your stomach, a twinge of weariness that Jake didn't confide in you. Then again, your slight disappointment was overshadowed by something greater.

Clearly, you were fated to ego-check both Seresin brothers while standing behind this bar. Because the idea came without warning, without doubt, or any sense of hesitancy. 

George Seresin was at the Hard Deck.

He was right in front of you, trying to flirt with you without any idea who you were. 

And he was sitting in the best spot in the entire place.

It was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

You stepped backwards, turning to lean up against the bar. As you did with Jake all those months ago, you took the rag and started to wipe.

"So let me get this straight," you said, dragging the damp cloth around his glass, not once looking up. "I tell you my name in some effort to prove we are not strangers. I'm supposed to forget about your 'comments,' so you can use that good old Texas charm to woo me into your bed with a promise of a good time?"

You finally looked up, George only staring back at you with a heated smoulder.

"Something tells me none of those loose cannons cannot even promise you a good time. A quick roll in the sheets before they let some brass monkey in a fancy suit tell them where to shoot. You look like you could let loose for once in your life."

You froze, losing your grip on the rag and fingers twitching. Scanning Jake’s brother, you leaned against the bar, resting your weight on your elbows, throwing the fabric over your shoulder as you got inside his bubble. You never once broke eye contact as you pinned him down.

George bought it, hook, line and sinker. He was so focused on you and your face that he was oblivious to everything and everyone around him, including how your hand slowly reached up toward the rope hanging from the top of the bar.

The second he looked at your lips, you tugged.

Cheers and music flooded the Hard Deck when everyone heard the distinct ring of the barbell. You guessed the song right away, old habits dying hard.  Slow Ride, its distinct beat letting you know Jake was here and he had seen the whole thing.

George reeled back, shocked as a few people came up and slapped him on the back, thanking him. You laughed softly at his reaction, pushing yourself away to help the few customers you knew who would take advantage of the free drink.

You had never rang the bell for someone like him. George Seresin would be the only exception.

"What the hell just happened?" he called after you. You didn't bother turning around, flinging your hand to gesture over your head, "Read the sign!"

George followed the direction of your hand, landing on the piece of wood dangling by the silver chain.

You disrespect a lady, the navy, or you put your cell phone on the bar, you buy a round.

You had already helped a few customers when he managed to tear his eyes away to glare at you heatedly. You turned to face him with a gleeful grin. Instead of asking him which one he thought you rang him out for, you started teasingly singing along to the chorus.

You hadn't done that in a while. It felt good.

"What did he do to warrant that?" 

You smiled up at Jake as he approached the bar. He never took his eyes off you as he leaned on his elbow against the top of the bar beside George. 

"What do you think?" you laughed at him.

Jake smirked. "I'd say he didn't take no for an answer."

"He did a little more than that. Tell him to put his cell phone on the bar, and he'd get three out of three."

"Ouch," Jake dramatically drawled. He finally turned his head, nodding once in his brother's direction. "Hi, Georgie." 

You stiffed a giggle. 

George huffed, jutting his chin out in your direction. "This one is trouble."

"Don't I know it," Jake said, looking back at you. "Pulled the same trick on me the first time I met her. Only she didn't ring the bell. Guess I did something right, considering she let me come back."

George glanced between you and Jake several times, and you could see the gears grinding in his head. 

"Hi," you beamed at him, walking over and holding out your hand. "Elizabeth Beck. Your brother's girlfriend. I guess we aren't strangers after all."

George stared down at your hand, then gritting his teeth, knocking back another gulp of whiskey. He spat out his following words with the glass still to his lips, "So you are real. Jake, there's no way you're dating her."

 You didn't try to hide the snark from your voice as you lowered your hand. "You thought I was imaginary? Sorry to disappoint."

George still chose to ignore you. "What's the matter, little brother? Need your girlfriend to speak for you?"

Jake stiffened, and it took everything in you not to ring the bell once more. Cause you knew if you did, Jake would be the one to help throw George out, and you didn't know what repercussions he could face.

"At least he has a girlfriend," you scoffed. "I can't imagine you've ever had a meaningful relationship with how you treat women."

You spied his empty whiskey glass, grabbing it firmly.

"Wham."

Sliding it across the bar's smooth surface, you caught it in the palm of your other hand.

"Bam."

Reaching into the pocket of your apron with your free hand, you slapped his bill down in front of him, rounds and all, attempting your best version of a Texan accent.

"Thank you, Mam."

Not wanting to waste more time on him, you turned to Jake, slightly worried. Some of you didn't know how to act around Jake when he was like this. When he was so... Hangman.

You gently touched his wrist, murmuring softly, "I'll see you in a half hour?"

He twisted his arm in your grasp, sliding his hand down so he could gently squeeze yours. But his eyes screamed a different, intense, unsettling story. As if he was assessing you for any threat.

"Sure."

You tried not to let it bother you, his non-chalent reply. Trying not to frown, you let go of his wrist to serve another customer, calling out as you walked away, "It was nice meeting you, Georgie!"

Jake watched you go with a slight turn of his head, proud you one-upped his brother but wishing you didn't leave him alone.

He knew why George was here. What he wanted him to do. No amount of smirk, cockiness, or even Hangman, could save Jake from this. George was the grave reminder that no matter where the Navy sent him, whether in California or on the other side of the world, there was no end to the metaphorical leash the 'hell bringer' had on both of his sons. 

George scraped his chair back to stand. "Come on, little brother," he gruffed out, tossing his credit card onto the bar. "We need to have a chat."

—-

With Ridley's Jean jacket in hand and your bag, you placed them on the bar as you greeted Jimmy after finishing your shift. "Can you watch these for a second, Jimmy? I'm just going to the bathroom before I find Jake. We're going to pick Sadie up from Penny's and take her out for dinner."

The older man smiled. "She's feeling better?"

You nodded. "Mild concussion. She was okay after a few days and back at school. Bummed about not being able to play in soccer playoffs, though. Hence the trip."

"That girl loves her soccer. What a shame."

"Jake's is making it easier on her. I don't know what I would do without him."

He tilted his head towards the bathroom hall with a knowing grin. "Go get ready for your date."

You blushed, walking away, calling over your shoulder, "It's not a date!"

After freshening yourself up, you took a few moments to stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror. You saw the famous callsign board hanging on the wall behind you. You scanned the names from the mirror, looking for Jake's, doing a double take when you couldn’t find it. You turned, properly facing the wall.  

Like the sign in the bar, it was a piece of wood with the words engraved into the top, “Ladies Beware: Navigate the Hard Deck with Care!” and underneath that, “Pilots who fly solo.” Several metal slots were glued to the surface, designed so she could easily slide plastic slate with a pilot’s callsign into place. 

You recognized a few, even Rooster's, though his was listed way further down, out of harm’s way. But Jake's was nowhere to be found. 

Then you realized - Penny had taken his name off.

She didn't do that for a lot of people. You could only recall one other instance when she removed a pilot's callsign from that board. She prided herself on it, so much so she never removed Maverick's at the top of the list, even after they got back together.

You needed to tell Jake. 

With a hint of a smile, you eagerly walked out of the bathroom to find him. He was standing with George at the pool table, the elder Seresin brother lining up a shot as he spoke. As you approached them, you honed in on Jake, realizing he looked uncomfortable. Stiff, shoulders square, and his fists were clenched tight.

The closer you got, the more you heard of their conversation, and when you heard Sadie's name fall from George's mouth, you froze. Hearing him utter her name, especially in that hardened tone, was a punch to the gut. The urge to hide behind one of the support pillars in the middle of the room at the last second was too great to ignore, and you made yourself as small as possible. 

You had stumbled upon a conversation you weren’t supposed to hear. George’s voice accompanied the sound of the eight-ball scattering the balls across the table. 

"Come on, man," he said, his tone laced with arrogance. "Think about it. She threw her whole life away for her niece. She's tied down now, and you deserve someone who can give you more than that."

Jake remained silent. George continued, encouraged by his lack of protest. "You're a Navy pilot, for crying out loud. You could have anyone you want. Why settle for a girl with so much baggage?"

You weren’t stupid. You knew enough about George to realize he was the golden child, the favourite used to getting his way. George would only see you as Jake’s attempt to one-up him on something. 

“You know why I'm here,” you heard him say firmly. “Dad doesn’t approve. He wants you to know if you continue on with her, you will never be welcomed back home.”

You swallowed hard, a knot forming in your stomach. There would never be a time when you asked Jake to choose you over his family, even with what you knew. You wanted to go out there, but this was Jake’s battle. Storming out to threaten anything but a kick to the balls was out of the question. 

But when Jake finally spoke, his words were like shards of ice piercing your skin.

"Yeah, you're right."

A strangled noise escaped from you, a sound of raw pain and disbelief. You clapped your hands over your mouth, trying to muffle the sob threatening to escape. George’s reply triggered the blood rushing through your ears, the pain in your forearm from your nails biting hard into the skin. 

“You know I am,” he laughed, another clack of the pool balls sounding out. “

There was only one way you saw this - Jake played you like he played those other bartenders. 

You couldn’t hide any longer. You pushed yourself away from the pillar, swerving around to confront them. 

“So Sadie and I were just a game to you?” 

Jake turned sharply, shock in his eyes. “Liz,” he held his hands out in front of him. “It’s not what…” 

“Not what?” you said heatedly, tears streaming from your eyes. “I heard plenty!” 

He opened his mouth to say something, but the words died in his throat, confronted with your beat red face and tears. You were not supposed to hear all that. 

The shock on his face was not enough to erase the sting of his words.

"Come on, Liz. You don't understand... it's..."

"What's there to understand, Jake?" you interjected, your voice seething with a volatile mix of pain and anger. "That I'm just another one of your bartenders?"

“Liz, don’t.” 

“Enlighten me, Jake.” You crossed your arms. “Tell me all the reasons why. That bringing me flowers wasn’t a game. That getting close to my niece wasn’t a game. Asking me to give you a chance, taking me out on a date.”

 You sobbed. “Taking me up in that damn plane.” 

The thought was erupt, tearing itself from the deepest part of your mind. You couldn’t help it, the words spilling out in blinded anger. “Was my grief an opportunity for you to get into my pants? Telling me it would be alright so you could leave me high and dry? Telling me it was going to be okay?” 

There was a sudden shift in his expression, his gaze hardening. As if a switch had been flipped, the warm, understanding man you knew disappeared, replaced by a stranger draped in defensiveness and sarcasm.

"Oh, excuse me," he declared. "I didn't realize I was your knight in shining armour, rushing to your rescue the second you need all your problems fixed. The girl who never had a relationship, thinking a man would solve all her issues."

The words hit you like a physical blow, your knees nearly buckling beneath you. Jake's harsh gaze didn't match his usual soft and protective demeanour. It was like looking at a stranger, someone you didn't recognize. The man before you was not the Jake you'd fallen for.

This man reminded you of your father. 

Was this his plan all along? You racked your mind, searching for any indication this had been coming. But what only stood out was Rooster's words echoing in your head where you found none. 

Did you really only add your name to the list of women Hangman had pursued?

Because here and now, those months of working through the trauma of losing Ridley didn't matter. 

Was anything about this past year even worth it? The moments you worked through when you would avoid anyone mentioning her because acknowledging her in the past tense was too much. Avoiding the things that reminded you of her. Till helped you through it.  

She would know what to say right now. She would be the one beating his ass with verbiage and scathing remarks. She would nail the moment and get it right. 

It hit you, the hidden weight of how desperately you missed her. 

Suddenly, you were that girl again, starting her first shift in that basement bar, wondering what to say to the students who saw you as a mere bookworm with no character or class - because you couldn't compare to the girl sitting in the corner writing her paper, actually having the courage to ask that busboy out. 

Or the geeks in the corner cheering as hard as they did when they beat their high score on the console, uncaring of strange looks. Or that girl, finally standing up to her 'so-called friends' when one had been spreading rumours and crude remarks about her to the others behind her back. 

He really did leave you out to dry. 

"Stay the fuck away from my niece," you managed to gasp through your tears. "And stay the fuck away from me."

You wanted to believe your assumption that Jake was merely putting on a front. Hangman, his alternate self, was his attempt at protecting himself. 

You had a hard time doing so.

There, plain as day, across his face was the most condensing grin you had ever seen as he dramatically drawled out slowly, "No fucking problem, sweetheart."

You didn't believe in thinking about everything you regretted throughout your life. Ridley was the only exception; if you had done more, moved back home after school, or gone to the police the day you kicked Tyler out, maybe she'd still be here. You couldn't change what had happened in your life, so spending time thinking about it in the present wouldn't do you much good. 

So it was no surprise to you when you followed through with your knee-deep reaction, your hand coming up out of nowhere, open and firm, slapping Jake hard enough across the side of his face, his head turning with the force of it.

You knew you shouldn't have. You weren't a violent person by any means. Next to Tyler, you never had raised a hand to anyone. You were too hurt to care you just slapped him.

That should have scared you shitless.

Rather than voice the obvious, you remained silent, allowing every repressed thought, every buried emotion to resurface.

Ridley - dead. 

Sadie - hurt. 

Tyler - lurking. 

Bradley - damaging.

It was all too much.

George's figure stood out from behind Jake amongst your blurry vision, tears creating a vignette in your line of sight. You tore past Jake, sticking your finger out only to push George square in his chest. He stepped back at the force, hand shooting out to balance himself against the pool table.

Jake wouldn't have done that had George not shown up. Had he not played with Jake's emotions.

"You need a fucking ego check and to grow the fuck up," you seethed at him. "I don't know whose got your balls on a very tight leash, but you have no right to go around and fucking up other people's relationships."

George didn't answer you, taking his hand off the table to stand properly. You pressed him again. "Does it give you some sick fucking pleasure to hurt your brother? Dad loves me best, so I'm going to remind everyone just cause I can?"

George was still avoiding your heated glare, fixating on his football ring, twisting the piece of metal back and forth. It only pissed you off further.

"My eyes are over here, Jackass! Have the decency to look me in the fucking eyes when I'm talking to you."

If nobody had been watching when you slapped Jake, you clearly had their attention now. Even with the music blasting from the speakers, every conversation in the Hard deck had gone quiet. You could feel everyone's eyes on you, but you couldn't care less.

You were too far gone.

George slowly cocked his head to face you. Your breath was harsh, your body jolting with each gasp as you gave in to the anger. "My sister died, and I took in my niece. What's so fucking wrong about that? That I threw my life away, that I have no future?" 

He shifted on his feet, about to transfer the pool stick into his other hand, when you reached out and snatched it out of his grasp, tossing it behind you with a clack. 

"You're damn right I did! That's what you do for people you love. I would sacrifice my entire life so she could have hers. And I would do it again in a fucking heartbeat. I will stay on the other side of that bar for the rest of my so-called miserable life, getting catcalled and dealing with assholes like you if it gives her the best shot with the shitty hand she's dealt. You, George Seresin, have no right to judge the choices I've made in my life." 

Your breathing was harsh, ribs aching with effort. Every vein, every pore, was consumed with pure white rage. And yet, you still found yourself growling out, "You have no right judging your brothers either." 

Even after breaking your heart, you still stood up for Jake. 

"He risks his life every single time he goes up in that jet just so the whole world can fucking survive. So you can go on day in and day out and let your father control what you want to do with your life. So you can gallant around letting someone who has lived their life decide what you do with the rest of yours? So Jake’s here for you to bully and control every time he comes home? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

The burning sensation in your cheeks mirrored the fire in your eyes, unshed tears making them shine brighter. The salty sting of tears blurring your vision did little to diminish the searing gaze you levelled at George.

"My sister believed everyone deserved a chance. That people cared, regardless of what they did or who they were. I had forgotten that until my niece invited Jake to a barbeque, till she invited him on a hike because he was being treated differently. Despite what I heard and everyone telling me otherwise, listing off why I shouldn’t. That he will hurt me and my niece, and I still gave him a chance.”  

Squaring your shoulders and balling your hands to fists at your side, you take a step forward, a dangerous glint in your eyes. You lean towards him, your face close enough to feel his breath, your jaw clenched and muscles tight.  

"You are the first person ever to prove my sister wrong,” your voice is dangerously low, underlying anger accompanying each word. “You sure as hell don't deserve that sentiment." 

As you stepped away, George lifted his head to glance around the room, everyone's eyes pinning him down. The older Top Gun instructors had stood at their tables and chairs, arms crossed. Some of the current students in the program also stood, the others sending him the most scathing glares they could manage. Even some regulars who weren't aviators were casting him a scornful glance.

You spun, ready to leave him in embarrassment and escape this literal fucking mess, when you caught Jake's bewildered gaze, his mouth hanging open in slight shock.

You weren't sure whether it was that look or the dying embers of your outburst that made you spin back around to snarl, "So, leave your brother the fuck alone! Live your own goddamn life without judging others for the choices they make! Cause you sure as hell don't know what it means to sacrifice something for those you love. If you need an example, look around this goddamn room."

Jake reached for your wrist as you charged toward the front door. The second you felt his touch, you shook your hand loose, a wrenching sob tearing through your chest.

"Don't fucking touch me!"

You didn't bother seeing his reaction to your remark, rushing to grab your bag and Ridley's jean jacket off the bar.

The skin around your wrist burned from his touch, the rough callouses once a comfort but now felt like coarse sandpaper. You wanted to get under a shower or jump in the sea, hoping to remove the feeling of every memory, kiss, and word.

God, you let him touch you. Do things with you.

You were going to throw up.

God forbid you didn't want to walk home. But you needed to go, be anywhere but here, and you didn't have your car. Barely keeping it together as you took off toward the door, you had half a mind to look up to watch where you were going, deaf to Jake's shouts of your name.

There was Bradley, sitting in the first booth by the door. His brow furrowed as you made your way over to him, probably having witnessed the ordeal. You were too upset even to question why he wasn't marching across the bar, ready to knock Jake to next Sunday.

It had been weeks since the fight, with no communication in between. But it was a distant memory compared to this. 

It didn't matter what he implied. It didn't matter what happened in your hallway.

It didn't matter.

It didn't matter.

It didn't matter.

You just needed your friend.

With each step you took toward him, your shame only grew greater. You couldn't even look him in the eye when you stopped, standing next to his side of the booth, hugging yourself tighter.

"Can you take me home, Bradley? I don't want to be here anymore."

Bradley's opportunity to act smug had finally arrived. But he didn't do anything other than frown. Standing up from his booth, he threw a few bills onto the table before blocking everyone's view of you. He placed a comforting hand on your back, gently pressing you forward as he uttered quietly, "Of course I can, Liz."

You kept your head down as you stepped towards the door, but Bradley, so willing to help you without so much of an 'I told you so,' made whatever resolve you had, crumble. Your knees wobbled, and your heart dropped into your stomach. You fell, and Bradley's arm whipped out, gripping your hip and pulling you tight to his side to support your weight.

Burying your head into Bradley's shoulder, you hid your face. You didn't want to see the looks of everyone in the Hard Deck, whether pity, concern, or applause, as another wave of tears wrecked your body.

Closing your eyes seemed better than reliving the truth.

And because you kept them shut, you didn't see George place a hand on Jake's shoulder, preventing him from going after you. Nor did you see the look of devastation wreck his face; the weight of every wrong decision he had ever made coming back to haunt him. 

Whether Jake turned on a dime to punch George square in the jaw, you heard none of it. You hadn't even bothered to turn back to look as Bradley carried you out the front door.

.... So... Who is going to pitchfork me first? 👀

Tag List:

@blue-aconite @tinytotontheoversizedpony @djs8891 @caitsymichelle13 @startrekfangirl2233

@mayhemmanaged @ereardon @dempy @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @daggerspare-standingby

@phantomxoxo @formulapierre @eli2447 @fulla02 @blckgrl-sunflower @mizzzpink @ohgodnotagainn

@bubblegumbeautyqueen @sarahsmi13s @desert-fern @lynnestra44 @memoriesat30 @penwieldingdreamer @mxlanciia

@bradleybeachbabe @bobby-r2d2-floyd @lavenderbradshaw @roosters-girl @lovinglyeternal @kmc1989 @gigisimsonmars @dakotakazansky

@keyrani @craftytrashprincess @hisredheadedgoddess28 @abzidabzy @memeorydotcom @vicsnook

Part 16 - In the Blood coming soon

Wickett ;)

[kingslimeball2]

The Coffee or The Man

Steve Harrington x male!reader

contents; fluff

Summary; Steve finds out that his crush on his best friend was much more obvious than he thought.

The clock ticks again, and again, and again. It had been ten minutes since M/n left to get a coffee for Steve, yet he can't stop staring out the window and glancing at the time. No matter how long Steve stares, nothing seems to change, so he instead appears rather desperate. The VHS tape in his hand still hasn't been placed on the shelf. He's a statue now, helpless and longing...

"Steve!" The familiar voice shakes Steve out of his trance. His head whips around to look at Robin, who's giving him a rather suspicious, look. "Are you seriously that desperate for M/n to get back?" She teases, leaning against the shelf with a knowing smirk. Steve just scoffs, moving his arm forward. He tries to put the VHS on the shelf, but misses and has to look to put it on properly.

"I don't know what you're implying, but I just really want that coffee." Steve replies, not looking back at Robin. Robin puts down her tapes and moves closer to Steve, trying to get his full attention. "You didn't want M/n to leave when he offered." She retorts.

"Look– I–" Steve cuts himself off, jaw hung low as he tries to think of some kind of excuse. He looks at Robin and huffs. "He's my best friend. I just wanted his company."

"Right, right. But are you aware of the way you look at M/n?" Robin tilts her head, as if trying to get her point across. Steve is fully aware.

It all started not that long ago when M/n and Steve were trapped in the Russian basement together. M/n had sacrificed himself to protect Steve from any harm, while he got tortured for answers. Steve was grateful, very grateful. But he also felt love for M/n in that moment. He tried to push it away. To convince himself that he's not the sort of guy that likes men. But he couldn't seem to change himself. He still can't.

Several months later, Steve is even deeper in love with M/n. He doesn't want to admit that to himself, talk about to Robin. It's all so confusing. Why has Steve suddenly started liking guys? And why his best friend of all people?

"I look at him how I look at anyone." Steve denies, grabbing a tape and continuing to stock the shelf. He wants to move on from the conversation. But he knows Robin will persist. "No you don't! You love him, don't you? Just be honest with me." She continues to pry.

"Robin! I'm not gay. Just drop it. We talked about this. I like boobies or whatever." Steve argues, clearly getting more frustrated in his tone. "Just because you like women doesn't mean you can't like men. Specifically M/n." She explains.

Steve doesn't quite know what to say now. He's been caught, and there's no denying it anymore. He can barely admit this to himself, talk about one of his closest friends. He can't quite force any words from his lips that agree to Robin's accusations. If Robin finds out, that means other people would eventually find out, including M/n. But also including Steve's parents. They'd kill him.

"I just want him to get back with my coffee. That's it." Steve says, finally able to get words out of his mouth, despite the devastating crack in his voice.

"Is it the coffee or the man that you want?" Robin asks, barely even considered a question. They both know the answer.

Steve looks at Robin, who's already looking at him. They both make eye contact; one of mutual understanding. There's no need to say an answer. Steve's glazed-over, doe eyes say it all. The man.

Ding!

Steve and Robin look over at who's entered the store. M/n walks in, back pressed into the door as both of his hands are holding a cup of coffee. Steve completely blocks out whatever M/n is saying, too distracted by his own feelings at just seeing the boy enter. Exchanging a glance, Steve and Robin make a telepathic agreement to be quiet about this, nodding their heads once.

M/n doesn't need to know. Not yet.

[nevermoreternity]

Hello ! How do you do ?

May I ask for an headcanon for Andrew Kreiss with a reader that is very head in the cloud and has verh creative ideas ? Like, they enjoy writing poetry, they get lost when they speak about topics they love and they constantly stumble because theh can't help looking at the sky

I thought it might be cute !

Thank you !

"That does indeed sound cute."

𝗪𝗛𝗬.

You were an individual rather devoid of thoughts.

Or perhaps, the right term would be that you were too deep into your own mind.

Or, is it that you're just... that simple-minded.

The gravekeeper had pondered over these theories for a while ever since he met you. An airhead, is what he would refer to you by.

He could count the amount of times you'd space out during a conversation, whether with him or someone else. The way you slowed your words until eventually falling quiet, eyes fixated on a certain area before your focus snaps back to the present. At first, Andrew thought you were a bit rude, especially when you were the one who came up to him first before giving him such a blank stare. Twinges of concern and suspicion flickered in his expression when you chatted about your interests before trailing off and staring distantly at the sky. Andrew couldn't understand what could have gathered your attention at that point, unable to spot anything apart from the spots of clouds.

“What's so interesting about the sky?”

Andrew noticed it was a pattern for you to stare at the vast sea of blue and white. Whether he found you like that already, or if you trailed off as usual to think, your eyes would always end up sliding up to gaze at the sky. So, when he felt confident enough to do so, he asked you about it. About what gravitated you to look up in pondering quiet, letting silence mix in with the wind. In a vague corner of his mind, another concern popped up about the sun burning your eyes with how long you would space out at times.

When you finally turned to him, or whether you just kept your eyes serenely trained up above, he wouldn't inquire any further. Regardless of your answer, Andrew drops the topic. Unable to get a fulfilling answer, he instead tilts his own head upward. The sky was simply the sky in his perspective — was it the cloud shapes that intrigued you? Was it the color? He didn't understand the appeal. Or maybe the albino just lacked the abstract view you had. He wouldn't know. At the time, he doesn't think he really wants to know either.

Andrew could feel himself regretting opening the door to his room, your familiar figure now stood inside of his small abode. You were rather persistent in your own way or maybe you found yourself waltzing in, maybe he even invited you in himself. Either way, it didn't matter because here he sat on his bed watching and listening to you with reluctance. It wasn't that he felt rude, he just couldn't figure out how to keep up with you. You spoke with a certain cadence in your voice, a spark in your eyes as you rambled to him about some creative expressive piece you've been keeping in the works. A canvas painting of some sort, or a new sentence jotted down in your journal, or a new picture you took of something others would find mundane.

How could someone have so much energy yet none at the same time?

How could someone wander life in such a daze yet have such a sharp spark when speaking of their passions?

Andrew pursed his lips, unable to find a conclusion for either question.

You continued talking, but it was inconsistent. A sudden pause in your step, a stumble in your words as you tried to find the right terms to describe yourself, even a lack of a reaction from him goes unnoticed as your focus drifts from his dusty shelves to his window. His window had its curtains blocking the light, you pointed out.

Andrew didn't know how to reply to your small observations, leaving the room in awkward silence when you cut your rambling off with a questioning stare. He stared back, not knowing where else to look, and so you stared at each other, until you began to look uncomfortable. Or wait- no, you had that distant look in your eyes that signaled you were deep into your own mind once again. He calls your name out hesitantly, waiting to see your eyes regain focus back onto him, realizing you had lost yourself in mental clouds yet again. The pinch of annoyance was familiar by this point, but he kept such a thought to himself, clutching the crucifix around his neck with a sigh instead.

He rubbed the necklace between his thumb and index finger before quietly asking you to resume speaking, recalling your last sentence to pick up where you left off.

You were simply confusing,

Andrew would conclude.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

“What are you doing?”

Andrew asks with furrowed brows and a small frown. There you were being a mess of thoughts again, your response making him question your current actions. You were staring at him again much to his discomfort. Were you dense toward his obvious wary attitude around you? Or were you ignoring the weak glares being sent your way?

He didn't realize he was staring right back at you.

He'd watch you, his own eyes fixated on you before he ends up embarrassed with your focused stare pinning him down. He would always be the first to look away. Andrew had so many contemplating questions about that mind of yours. No matter how many times he got an answer a new one would pop up. It was odd, the way you would sometimes fidget with your hands, blow a strand of hair away from your face, a spacey smile ‐ or a face close enough to be considered a smile, always settled on your lips.

The fact you were doing it around him made him grow even more puzzled. Those thoughts came after his questions, with the sudden realization that you were still so persistently hanging around him.

“Are you going to... leave?” Andrew asks with his hands clasped together on top of the table you share in the commons room. He would have sat farther from you, possibly even settled for the other side of the room. But even then, he would probably find himself stealing glances in your direction without knowing why. If you attempted to shuffle closer he wouldn't stop you, only grumbling about the fact there's much more space to pick from. Why did you choose the seat next to him? Why did you have to notice all the little things at this moment? Why were you commenting on the way he stiffened up when you got too close? Weren't you too busy in your own head to pay so much attention on him?

“I'm fine.”

Whether or not you called out his bluff didn't matter because the gravekeeper got up from his seat and left shortly after, hands still clasped in front of his chest as he feels himself speed walking down the hallway and away from you. He's not sure why he's even leaving in such a hurry. He just doesn't want your prying eyes on him anymore.

Andrew frowns to himself, a conflicted feeling bubbling in his stomach as he murmurs to himself.

Andrew could say you're too in the moment at times,

and other times, you aren't in the moment at all.

He got used to it after a while, a long while. He'd notice your change in pacing before they even occurred, recognizing the long pauses you would take when you drifted off, so that he'd snap his fingers in front of your face to pull you out of your trances. Andrew found those moments shifting from irritating and confusing to something much more standard. His feelings became more indifferent, albeit now tainted with a bit of worry. You made him question your whereabouts several times, notably whenever you turned up late to a meeting with him because you got distracted somewhere along the way.

Andrew found himself staring at you for longer periods of time whenever he spotted your eyes on him. He still always ended the prolonged eye contact first though, stammering complaints about your unnerving gaze, his face giving way to faint reddening when you parted your lips to question him.

He found himself changing and he didn't know if he liked it.

But... it also may not necessarily be a bad thing.

Andrew questions you again.

This time you two were under a tree, your time spent together being a regular occurrence by now. He couldn't exactly go under the sunlight as the fear and inconvenience of being sunburnt stopped him from doing so. He preferred the shade anyway, the heat was always too much. Even then, when he refuses to move from his sheltered spot, his eyes find themselves lingering over to you.

His head tilts to the side, his back pressed against the tree. Andrew noticed you were staring out into the scenery in front of you, that same absent look in your eyes. He didn't find any need to disturb you or break you away from your thoughts, since you two weren't having any previous conversation this time to begin with.

However, when you suddenly turned your head back at him to meet his gaze he found himself breaking out of his own trance, growing abruptly flustered at your glazed over yet distinct stare. “It's nothing.” Andrew answers when you curiously pry over his strange behavior, him placing a hand over his mouth in an attempt to hide away.

He was so conflicted with himself.

Why? Why was he so conflicted in the first place?

Andrew turned his head back toward you after regaining his composure, but seeing that you were still staring made him want to turn away even faster than before. With a subconscious grumble escaping his throat he hid his head into his own arms, his knees pressed against his chest. Still, you kept your eyes trained on him. Except now, you had that certain distant fog in your eyes. Clearly spaced out again, most likely unaware that you were even staring at all. So, without thinking, already used to bringing you back to reality, Andrew moves a hand up to touch your nose, flicking the tip of it. Your reaction to the sudden action amused him silently for a few moments, until he realizes the physical touch he just initiated. Just like that, he's back to how he was seconds before, retracting his hand and letting the embarrassment of brief contact swallow him whole while you tilted your head in confusion.

There were still so many questions Andrew didn't have answers for. He didn't know if he ever would have the answers to some of them. However, he had made at least one certain conclusion after spending so much time with you. You may have endlessly confused him, but, somewhere along the way, your behavior had grown endearing rather than puzzling. Now, when he looked at you, he found that you were actually quite...

cute.

— end.

[arazialotis]

Get Him to the Con - Part 7

Pairing: Jensen × Reader

Word Count: About 6000

Summary: The reader stumbles into Jensen at her favorite bar, a very drunk Jensen. She soon realizes Jensen was booked for a con this weekend and has to be eight hours from town in only two.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Warnings: Language

Although this is an RPF, it is a character I created and should not reflect back IRL. I intend no hate or ill wishes to him or his family. This is purely just for writing and wasting my time as coping skill. Maybe some of you will enjoy it too. I apologize in advance for any mistakes or grammatical/spelling errors. I appreciate any feedback or suggestions!

*** Saturday ***

“Hey man,” Jared greeted Jensen, clasping hands and pulling him in for a half hug. “Glad to see you’re still alive. How was it?”

The entirety of the trip was still catching up to him. He was tired, from being in constant motion for three days straight to sleeping on crappy motel mattresses. But it was more than that. He had made it blatantly clear how he felt for you and still held no inclination on your stance. That wasn’t true; if you had any affection, it would have been reciprocated. Sure, there was the flirtatious banter and the natural ease in each other’s presence, but twice he had laid it all on the line only to be met back with a block of ice. And that last one… Hell, it had been magical. Sparks flying, gravity-defying. But your response confused the hell out of him. He’d been misinterpreting signals and your friendship the entire time. And god, he was such an idiot. He practically forced it upon you. If you felt uncomfortable or violated, his reputation would be in shambles, as he knew it should be.

“It was fine.” He grumbled. There was no need to get into all this with Jared, for the fact alone he would gloat about being right for months on end.

Jared did not let his relief show. Maybe Jensen was finally coming back to his senses. He feigned empathy instead.

“Just fine?” He asked.

No, it wasn’t just fine; it was amazing. You were amazing, and perfect, and hilarious. And he fucked it up just like he predicted.

“Yeah,” Jensen responded curtly.

“So, no Y/N then?” Jared pressed, a little confused by Jensen’s abruptness. “I thought she’d be here.”

Yeah, you and me both, pal. “Nah, she knew we’d be busy all weekend and wanted to hike the mountains instead. I don’t blame her. I’d rather be doing that myself too.”

“Are you okay?” Jared persisted.

“Yeah.” Jensen squeaked. “Let me get cleaned up. Then we can scout out some dinner before the craziness starts.”

Jensen left Jared in the hotel lobby. Jared sighed, unsettled. Something was clearly bothering Jensen, but getting him to open up would be hard. All Jared knew is it was centered around you. Ultimately, if the road trip didn’t go as planned or wasn’t everything Jensen had dreamed up, it was for the best. Sure, Jensen was down now, and it hurt to see him this way, but hopefully, this would help him move on and snap out of these unrealistic fantasies.

Jensen didn’t sleep well that night. The mattress was too plush, the sheets too silky, and the space beside him was too cold. He’d been informed that a few videos of the kiss had been circling some fan accounts and to expect questions about it at the panels. Followed by a scolding lecture on how to respond. He knew the expected response but wondered what he would say if he hadn’t been coached. It didn’t settle right with him. Maybe he’d get up early and call you in the morning. Just rip the bandaid off and ask what you wanted him to say. He tossed and then tossed again—the sheets tangling around his calves. He reached for his phone, the light momentarily blinding him. His heart raced as he scrolled through Instagram. It was easy enough to find. Replaying it, he could still imagine your lips against his, the back of your neck in his grasp, the fabric of his shirt straining as you pulled against it. It was a very good kiss. That is when your text came through.

‘Thanks again for an amazing trip! If you’re looking for a buddy on your next road trip, let me know. And don’t worry, the ghosts here are all bark, though I can’t say the same for those in room 217.’

He didn’t think his heart could drop further, but it did. There was no second-guessing it this time. The word repeated in his mind. Buddy. He had officially and unequivocally been friend-zoned.

*** Sunday Afternoon ***

If AllTrails had been tracking your time, they would have sent you a medal for the record time in which you descended that mountain. Even paying no heed to the speed limit, you couldn’t make it to Denver until mid-afternoon. You called Jensen twice, hoping to explain that you were on your way and wanted to talk, hoping he could spare a few minutes of his day. If you held these pent-up emotions in your chest any longer, you would explode. On the third attempt, you hung up early, logically knowing he was predisposed.

“Come on, come on, come on,” You chanted through the city streets, the consistent string of red lights taunting you.

The wheels of the rental car screeched as you pulled into the parking lot with a little too much tenacity. Upon exiting, you backtracked, realizing you had left the vehicle running. You ran through the hotel lobby to the adjoining convention center. The hall was filled with fans and staff alike, all eagerly waiting for the next event. Booths were filled to the brim with Supernatural merchandise, shirts, photos, and trinkets. Cosplayers caught your eye, Castiels and a human version of Baby. It was overwhelming and distracting from your overall mission to find him.

You pulled open large double doors leading to the main ballroom.

“Ma’am.” Someone called, and it took you a moment to realize they were speaking to you. “Ma’am. You need a wristband to enter here.”

Security personnel dressed in black pants and a yellow shirt with a conspicuous earpiece halted your progress further into the room.

“A wristband?” You questioned.

“Yes, you have to check in outside. Exchange your ticket for a wristband.” They explained.

“I don’t have a ticket.”

“You’ll have to buy one to enter.” Their patience drawing thin, tired of a weekend of over-explaining processes.

“Okay,” You held up your hands in defense. “Okay, where can I buy one?” You started to back away, signaling you wouldn’t be a problem.

You followed the directions back through the hall’s entrance to a booth where two bored attendants scrolling through their phones sat. Most attendees had already checked in at this point.

“Hello,” You tentatively called them from their screens. “I’m here to see Jensen.”

The one with pink hair sighed. “You and everyone else, sweetheart.”

Their concentration broke from the phone, and puzzlement crossed their face. Only then did you realize what state you were in from the morning hike. Tangled hair, sweat-crusted clothes, dried dirt down your entire left side, and a series of angry red scrapes on your calve. But they quickly recomposed themselves. Apparently, it wasn’t the oddest thing they had encountered today.

They grumbled as if you should know the process. “Ticket?” They held out their hand for a paper stub or your phone.

“You see, I don’t have a ticket.” You gritted your teeth, knowing how the next bit would sound. “But Jensen and I are actually… friends. So maybe he left my name or something on a list so I could get in?”

Something between a scoff and a laugh escaped the second’s mouth, covered up by a following cough.

“There’s no list. Friend or not, you still need a ticket to get in.” They held firm.

“Right, totally understandable.” You attempted to present as sane as possible, realizing passersby were staring too long for your comfort. “May I purchase a ticket?”

“If you want to meet Jensen in person, photo ops are done for the day, but we have a few silver packages that include autographs.” They explained.

“Great, that sounds wonderful. How much?” You asked compliantly.

“750.”

Now it was your turn to scoff. “You must be joking.” Even for romantic prospects, paying that absurd amount would take hell freezing over.

From their facial expression, they were not joking. “You could get general admission for 95, but that will only get you to the day's last panel, starting in about an hour.”

You raised an eyebrow. “A 100 dollars to hear them talk for what, forty minutes, an hour max?” Fucking ridiculous.

“You need a ticket.” They crossed their arms.

“Listen.” You pulled out your phone. “I literally drove the man here. I have the pictures. I think it will be okay if I go see him.”

You realized how much of a ‘Karen’ you were coming across as, but something inside you was starting to boil. The further you were being pushed away from him, the more you needed to fight.

The second attendant leaned into the collar of their polo, whispering. “We have a potential code gray.”

Fuck. You tucked your phone away. “You know what, it’s okay.” You slowly back away. “I’ll wait until it’s over. This is a big misunderstanding and does not need to get out of hand. I’ll talk to him tonight, and it will all be fine.”

You weren’t sure if you were trying to settle them or yourself, but you turned back down the hall and hastily walked out. Back in the hotel lobby, you weighed your options. You looked at your phone, and he still had not responded to the missed calls. Your stomach rumbled, and you smirked, knowing Jensen would tease you about not making the most rational decisions on an empty stomach. And you know what else? He’d encourage your spontaneity. Rather than wait in the lobby until the evening, you’d find another way in. There couldn’t be watching eyes everywhere. And once you did find him, he’d explain everything to whoever was being called in for code gray or whatever that meant.

Exiting the lobby, you circled the building and found a little courtyard where fans sat, chatted, and indulged in a quick meal. A hint of envy glossed over your eyes as you caught sight of an In-N-Out bag. You anticipated the doors to be locked, circumventing fans to use the one entrance, but they easily gave way. With feigned nonchalance, you went through another hall as if you belonged and knew exactly where you were going. Having quickly mapped the layout, you went around the ballroom to the back.

You were quickly met with a barricade of metal fences and high black curtains. An obvious sign to keep out and most likely where cast and crew could walk through unimpeded. You were close to out of ideas when an unmistakable figure in black jeans and a blue denim shirt walked past, followed by a posse.

“Jensen!” Your voice cracked.

It didn’t sound like your voice. It was higher and sharper. But through the sways of fabric, you saw him briefly hesitate. He was quickly ushered along.

“Oh, I think not.” You mumbled to yourself.

One leg was over the fence railing before your brain could comprehend your actions. Two shadows approached from behind the curtain as you straddled the cold metal. The crackling of their radio startled you, and you realized too late your mistake.

“Ma’am, we’ll need you to come with us.”

Double fuck. You ran for the exit back to the courtyard. Pausing once outside, you texted Jensen.

‘You remember that bucket list item I was talking about? Yeah, well, it might be much closer in the future than I anticipated.’

You tucked your phone away and continued your circle of the building. At this point, you were in too deep. You either had to leave the premise or find Jensen so he could bail you out. Well, fuck it. Unwittingly, he was the one to get you into this situation in the first place. He could get you out. You came across a stairwell entrance requiring a keycard for access. But gods, be blessed; whoever was watching you sent an answer. Someone came out for a cigarette break, and they even held the door for you as you stepped in.

You plotted the path in your mind, where you were positioned, and the direction he was headed. You took a left, scanning the area for any threat. A hall stemmed down to the right, and you saw more black curtains, but this time, you were successfully on the other side of them. You had to be close. A mischievous smile crossed your lips. This was fun. The adrenaline coursing through your system giving you a temporary high. Soon the Ocean Eight team would be knocking down your door, begging you to join their next heist.

Your false confidence shattered as you collided with the solid frame of a man. You looked up and up some more. His expression was far from pleased. A small, terrified giggle escaped your lips. As you turned, you found his double blocking your exit. Handcuffs came down upon your wrists, and you were escorted away.

Jensen sighed a breath of relief, making it to the holding room, where he joined Jared. He made it through photo ops; all that was left today was the panel and autographs. The panel earlier today for VIPs went better than expected too. The kiss never came up, and he was holding out hope that this next one would mirror it. Clif, his long-trusted security guard, closed the door behind them.

Jared had already gone through a pour of bourbon and was now cracking the seal of a Russel’s 13.

“Make mine a triple,” Jensen instructed.

Jared laughed. “That kind of day, huh?” And handed Jensen a generous double.

“I can almost see the finish line.” Jensen sniffed the top of the Glencairn and took a testing sip.

He prayed that the whiskey would loosen his nerves or, at the very least, get you off his mind. Logically, he knew you were in Estes Park but couldn’t stop thinking about you. It only worsened as the day progressed. In this last hour alone, he thought he glanced at you exiting the lobby and later heard you calling his name. He shook the feeling off as he took a bountiful swig. He smirked, knowing you’d call him out for not slowly savoring the whiskey’s intricacies, and he would retort with you being a snob. He poured himself another round, this time to take it more slowly. Jared scoffed and was about to condemn him when the Barrell Seagrass caught his eye.

The radio crackled, and a stern voice came through. “Tiny, we have a situation. Require your assistance.”

Clif, who was also about to help himself a pour, cursed under his breath upon hearing his codename. It had almost been a flawless con. He had jinxed himself by celebrating too soon.

Jared’s brow furrowed. “Everything alright?”

Clif grumbled. “It will be once I get there.” And exited the room.

Jensen was unconcerned and too focused on the palate of cherry and leather.

“What’s that about?” Jared chuckled.

“I find it better for my mental health not to dwell on the possibilities.” Jensen teased back.

He went to his phone charging on the gray console to check the time, wondering when he’d needed to start hyping himself back up. Immediately his brow furrowed upon seeing your three missed calls and your message. Bucket list? Bucket list? He had to think back. The alcohol already clouding his memory. His eyes popped. Immediately setting the glass down, he dialed your number. You didn’t answer. He dialed again. No answer. He resorted to texting.

‘For the love of god, pick up your damn phone.’

Followed by, ‘I swear to god if your ass is in jail, I’m not bailing you out.’ Though he fully would.

“Jesus Christ.” He muttered. How was he supposed to get through the day now?

The holding room you were kept in was less of a room and more of a closet. The several monitors that observed the conference center’s layout indicated that you were not as stealthy as you had initially thought. One security guard sat across from you while the other stood behind them. Both of their arms crossed.

“Come on.” You reasoned. “One of you has to be the good cop and at least pretend to believe my story. At least offer me a coffee.”

“You think you are hilarious, don’t you?” The one seated said.

Deadpan, you said, “I think I’m adorable.”

They did not engage further, only held the stern expression.

“I’m not fucking crazy.” You would have gestured to the phone if your hands weren’t cuffed behind you. “You saw the pictures, the texts.”

“It’s amazing what Photoshop can do these days.” The one standing remarked.

“What about the video with the kiss?” You pressed.

They both scoffed. As you watched it with them, there was no clear angle of your face.

“That doesn’t prove anything.”

You rolled your eyes and clenched your jaw.

“Then bring him here, and he will vouch for me.” You demanded. “If he doesn’t, I will willingly walk away and accept whatever restraining order you see fit.”

There was a knock on the door, and your hope lifted. The one standing stepped out. Thus commenced a staring contest with the one across from you. As your phone rang, you lost.

“That’s him!” You exclaimed.

They didn’t move, still engaged in the staring contest. He let it ring to voicemail. Immediately it rang again.

“Goddammit! Answer the phone!” You demanded.

“Just because you named someone Jensen on your phone doesn’t mean it’s him.” He held his head high. “But then again, I’m fully aware there is no use rationalizing with a delusional person.”

Your breath became ragged and sharp. You were forming venom on your lips when the door opened, and the man you saw yesterday approaching Jensen appeared in the room. A couple of texts came through, but you couldn’t read them. The man took one look at you and sighed with disappointment.

“Let her go.” He instructed.

It was all you could do not to stick your tongue out in victory.

“Y/N, I thought you were supposed to be in Estes Park?” He said with an agitated tone.

The cuffs clicked as they released, and you rubbed your wrists.

“How do you know my name?”

You were equally concerned yet grateful this stranger was on your side.

“It’s my job to know.”

The other two whispered back and forth to each other.

“Speaking of jobs,” He remarked. “Why don’t you do yours and look for an actual threat?”

“Yes, boss.” They hung their heads and left you alone in the room.

“Let me guess,” You started. “Good cop?”

He chuckled. “No, not at all. The name’s Clif. I’m the head of Jared and Jensen’s security team. You caused quite the stir these past couple of days.”

“Yeah,” You agreed. “I may have gone a little off the deep end at the end there. Am I in trouble?”

“Only if Jensen wants to press charges.” You could tell he wasn’t joking. “Which I imagine he won’t. Not after a kiss like that.”

Your cheeks grew warm. “I’m here to talk about that with him, actually. To talk about that and a lot of other things. I know he’s busy, but…”

Clif checked the silver watch around his wrist. “He’ll be getting ready to go on stage in about 15 minutes. Something tells me you’ll need more time than that.”

You nodded in agreement though slightly disappointed.

“If you’d like to sit in, it might make the time go faster,” He continued. “I can grab you afterward. There’s a dinner break between the panel and autos. I think he would be agreeable to see you then.”

You held up your bare wrist. “I don’t think they’ll let me in.”

Clif chuckled and fished through his back pocket, producing a bright orange wristband.

Before you left with Clif, you found Jensen’s texts and shot him one back, hoping he would see it before he had to go on stage.

‘False alarm. I’ll explain later. Have a great panel.’

The conversation was already in full swing by the time you arrived. Clif was escorting you there when he commented on your leg. Now that the adrenaline and pain meds from earlier had worn off, the pain was catching up to you. He made a quick pit stop on your behalf, getting you some additional painkillers and water. He insisted on cleaning it up better, but you insisted harder you wanted to see the panel and that it could wait.

The door echoed as it shut behind you. Jensen’s head snapped in your direction, but from the lights blinding him and dimming the crowd, he could barely make out a figure. He continued the banter with Jared as they began taking questions left and right.

As your eyes adjusted to the low lighting, you scouted out empty seats, yet the throbbing in your hip protested. It had already been cramped on the drive down here and again in the security room. You opted instead to lean against the back wall. Their antics riled up a laugh in you, but you couldn’t help to notice Jensen was on edge. He was fidgeting more than usual, wringing the microphone with his hands, combing his fingers through his hair, twisting in the barstool. You couldn’t help but feel a slice of guilt knowing you had caused some of it.

A girl walked up through the crowd, and as she got closer, her face felt familiar. She leaned against the wall a few feet away from you.

“Oh, I remember you.” You said aloud. “We took pictures with you at the Colorado sign.”

She glanced out of her peripheral and then fully at you when the realization hit.

“Oh my god, yeah. You were with Jensen, right?” She confirmed.

“Yup, that’s me.” You followed her gaze over you and remembered how dirty you were and most likely smelled of sweat. “Sorry, I went hiking this morning but wanted to make the panel.” You explained.

“No, I didn’t mean to stare. Sorry.” She gulped. “It’s just, yesterday you said you were only friends, but then we saw you kiss outside the hotel, and, like, that was a kiss to end all kisses. You’re totally together now, right?”

You gulped and stared ahead.

She didn’t wait for an answer. “What was it like? Kissing him?”

You inhaled sharply, remembering his taste, his scent, the feeling of his strong fingers against your flesh, wondering where else his hands and lips might wander if you gave him the chance.

“That good, huh?” She concluded.

“Are you having a good time at the convention?” You asked, hoping to move on to other topics.

“Oh, absolutely, but the crowds,” She gestured outwards. “They get a little overwhelming at some points.”

You nodded understanding. “Y/N.” You introduced yourself and held out your hand.

“Casey.” She said and shook.

As if proving her point of crowds further, Jensen used the bottom of his shirt to wipe his face. The crowd went feral upon seeing a hint of skin.

“Stop it.” Jensen’s voice boomed over the system.

Then with a wave of his hand, he called for more praise which the crowd was more than happy to oblige. This went back and forth for at least three rounds. Jared and Jensen shared a private small conversation.

“Alright, alright, simmer down,” Jensen called. “We have more questions to answer.” When he finally drew command over the crowd, he turned to the girl on the right. “Hey, we ran into you at the border, didn’t we?”

The girl nervously chuckled, flabbergasted that he would remember.

“Oh, that’s my friend.” Casey pointed.

You were standing obviously next to flight, and based on the girl’s response, she must have been freeze.

Finally, she regained her composure and stumbled out of the question. “My question is for Jensen, and I’m a little shocked it hasn’t come up yet,” Jensen’s face dropped as she continued. “Since a lot of people saw you yesterday and the video of you kissing that girl has been circulating, I was wondering if you are officially off the market?”

Jared’s head whipped to Jensen. He held his microphone down as he hissed, “What kiss?”

Jensen gulped, realizing he had discussed it with Clif and his PR team but forgot to loop in Jared. Well, maybe purposefully forgot so as not to relive the humiliation. The crowd was so silent you could hear the air conditioning humming. Only the pounding of your heart was louder.

The lights seemed to grow brighter as the seconds ticked by. He raced through what his team had suggested and how he should respond. He breathed into the microphone, then paused as if halting a thought before it even started.

“It’s complicated,” Was all he said.

Jensen gave Jared a pleading look for aid.

Jared breathed in deeply, thinking he was going to save the situation. “I know every heart in this room just broke but don’t worry, everyone needs a good rebound, and Jensen was due for one, give it a few weeks.”

“No.” Jensen stopped him. “No, that’s not what this is at all. I…” His voice cracked, and he paused again. He was exhausted from being careful with his words, hiding shit, and painting a face that would create appeal. And so he decided to let it all go. He picked a loose thread in his jeans as he confessed to the world. “A few months ago, I met someone. And I was a complete ass, but she gave me a second chance anyways. She’s not just a rebound from Elena. She’s kind, and funny, and a smart ass, but most of all, she is real. And she sees me not as Jensen Ackles, but just as…”

“Dean Winchester?” Jared grumbled.

A few fans yelped, but most stayed respectful.

Jensen’s jaw tightened. “She sees me as I am.” He huffed. “I like her. Like, like her.” He said as if he was in middle school, and there was a collective aw in response from the audience. “I saw a future with her.”

“Okay, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Jared piped in.

“Calm down,” He snipped back. “Not wedding bells, two kids, a dog, and a white picket fence. Not yet, anyway. Just taking it a few months at a time. Having someone other than you to confide in, to care for and be cared for in return, someone I can laugh and cry with, someone to share adventures with, I don’t know…” He sighed, defeated, getting away from himself, feeling like he wasn’t making sense. He turned to Jared, “It’s not like you aren’t my best friend, but you have Gen. You have someone you can go home to, someone you can talk to when I’m annoying the hell out of you, someone you can be vulnerable with and don’t have to act around.”

Jared sighed.

“That doesn’t sound complicated.” The shy voice peeped up.

Jensen smiled mournfully, addressing the fan again. “The thing is, she doesn’t feel the same. I got friend-zoned. Hard. Which is okay. It is completely her right. And I mean, I’m a lot to deal with, so I get it. So it’s complicated because we have to figure out if we can stay friends now that I screwed us over with that kiss half of you witnessed.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. It took a second for you to process it all.

“This is utter bullshit.” You gasped, Casey taking it all in, though you had completely tuned out the rest of the world as if you were talking directly to him. “Friend-zoned, how did I friend-zone you? Maybe, and here’s a thought: if you had the ability to confess your feelings to me with as much ease as to hundreds of people, I could have told you I felt the same. But you just kissed me, and I panicked because I didn’t know what you wanted, and I thought I wanted more than you. Because I do see you as you are, but I acknowledge that you are still Jensen Ackles, and I’m still a crazy little fan that shouldn’t even know you in the first place. It’s not either, or, asshat; it can be both. I’ve been waiting for your lead this whole time. And now that I’m here, you are telling everyone it’s over before we even had a chance. Fuck!”

Although it was a rageful whisper, Casey heard everything and ferociously typed away on her phone.

Before Jared tried again to regain control of the situation, Casey’s friend jumped back on the mic. “Y/N says that if Jensen had confessed his feelings to her in the first place with as much ease as he can in front of thousands of fans, she wouldn’t have accidentally friend-zoned him.”

Jensen stood abruptly. “Y/N’s here?”

Panic rose again, seeing heads turn, looking for an imposter in the crowd.

The girl continued. “She says she was waiting for him to decide if he wanted to take the relationship to the next level, probably because she’s just a fan like us, and well, fuck, he’s Jensen Ackles. And I’m looking at her right now, and she is head over heels. Well, okay, she’s a little furious, but if Jensen wants her to have his babies, she would totally have his babies. Girl, we have to help her lock that man down…”

Again, silence in the room.

“What did you do?” Your eyes were wide.

Casey kept typing, ignoring your panic. “Trust me.”

You felt eyes on you and slid down the wall in mortal dread.

“Sorry,” The friend at the mic said. “Those were texts from my friend. I probably shouldn’t have read every single one.”

Crickets.

“Y/N’s here?” Jensen asked again.

“Yeah,” The girl looked through the crowd and pointed. Thankfully, it redirected some of the gaze to the back. “She must be sitting with my friend over there somewhere.”

Jared stood, but Jensen waved him away. “How do I know it’s really Y/N, and you're not making this up?” He asked skeptically.

Casey looked down at you as you were hiding your face between your palms. She nudged you with her foot.

The girl’s voice sounded throughout the ballroom. “I spy something yellow, clouds or mountains, the nasty-ass ball pit, Neil Diamond, or Bate’s Motel; any one of those should do.”

Jensen snickered and shook his head back and forth. “God dammit, Y/N. Do you want to try and make this work? Be more than friends?” He was still searching the crowd but couldn’t find you.

“Sign an NDA,” Jared sarcastically commented, believing Jensen’s previous analysis of your commitment to privacy was shockingly misguided.

“She says you can ask her face-to-face on a proper date.” Some of the crowd chuckled; others held a sadness that the window of his singleness was closing.

“I didn’t say that.” You snipped at Casey.

“We can’t make you seem too eager. Not after that baby comment.” She retorted.

Jensen chuckled again. “How does ten tonight sound? You pick the place.”

From a distance, he could see the door in the back crack open, light flooding the darkness momentarily, and he knew it was you. A small smirk escaped his lips.

The friend at the microphone continued to telephone Casey’s messages. “She left, I think, 'cause I embarrassed her and exaggerated certain details. But if I didn’t completely mortify her, I say it’s safe to change your relationship status.”

From the main lobby, you could hear the cheers and applause. This was not how you expected the day to go, especially almost getting arrested and working things out with Jensen over a panel. There was the sound of heavy footsteps and keys jingling as Clif rounded a corner.

“You keep making my job more and more interesting.” He jokingly scolded. “Come on,” He gestured with a nod of his head. “Let’s get you out of here before the panel ends, and people put two-and-two together.”

You stepped in line. “Let me make the record clear that Jensen was the one to kiss me and could have been more tactful in answering that question. I will only take the blame for momentarily losing it and breaking a few convention policies that may or may not be criminal offenses. I don’t know how this stuff works.”

He turned to look back at you and wiggled his eyebrows as if keeping you privy to a secret. “Something tells me I’m going to have to keep an eye on you.”

“Not when you should have both eyes on Jensen.” You teased back.

He laughed as you continued down the hall, and he parted a black curtain for you. “Oh, I like you.”

He led you to the holding room. It was nearly as messy as a frat house after a championship victory. Bottles of whiskey lined a TV stand, jackets and sweatshirts were strewn about, devices of all kinds were plugged into outlets, and piles of eaten and unopened food sat everywhere. You found a clear spot on the couch, and exhaustion finally hit you. Exhaustion from traveling non-stop, to restless nights, to hiking earlier this morning, to internally debating everything that was happening. You leaned your head back and shut your eyes.

The temporary relief was short-lived as the click of the door opening jolted you from the micro-nap. You stood up as Jensen and Jared entered the room. They looked equally exhausted but somehow maintained their brightness and energy. Jensen’s face glowed upon seeing you.

“Y/N!” Jensen exclaimed.

“Hi.” You greeted sheepishly.

He bounded over to you and took your cheeks in his hands, pressing his lips against yours. Jared went for another round of whiskey.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He pulled away and looked you over. “What the hell happened?”

You didn’t know where to begin. “I met a park ranger.” You said, accompanied by something between a laugh and a huff.

Jensen took in your scrapped-up leg, and his face grew stern. “Are you okay? We should get a doctor to come look you over.”

“I’m fine,” You promised. “The ranger did a thorough examination and knocked some sense into me. I should be back to normal in a couple of days.”

“Was he cute?” He asked.

You grinned. “Very.”

He pinched his lips together in a smile. “Well, then I better up the antics for our date tonight and really try and impress you.”

“Oh my god,” You giggled. “I never said any of that!” He gave you a questioning glance. “To be fair, not most of it.”

“So, no babies then?” He teased, and your cheeks turned ten shades darker. “Hey Jared, it’s time I officially introduce you; this is Y/N. Y/N, Jared.”

“Pleasure,” Jared stated coldly.

“It’s great to finally meet you,” You offered.

“Hey, we should order some food before autographs.” Jared bypassed you and spoke directly to Jensen.

“Yeah,” Jensen agreed. “I’m starving. You want anything?” He asked you.

You shook your head no. “What I need is a shower and clean clothes.”

Jensen smiled and dug through his wallet, fetching out a key card. “Room 912. If you need anything, text Clif. I’ll send you his number.” He handed it to you. “See you later tonight? Then maybe we will have the chance to talk about all this.”

“Yeah.” You bit your lip, accepting the key and trying not to get ahead by wondering if you would be sharing a room tonight.

Starting a relationship with him required a plan, including expectations and boundaries. As much as you wanted to rush into things, taking it slow was for the best. Waiting for him to finish autographs would give you time to make a list and develop some questions on what a relationship with him would entail beyond the normal stuff. This wouldn’t be as easy as it seemed, but you trusted he would be there to guide you. Before parting, he placed another peck on your lips, leaving you craving more.

Part 8

---

GHTTC Tags: @maggiegirl17 @foxyjwls007 @djs8891 @deans-spinster-witch @tmb510 @ghostofjoharvelle

[ticklystuff]

Can you please do Lee!Alhaitham and Ler!Kaveh with feet? Thanks!

send no more, thanks!

word count: 1.5k

ahhh hewwo anon! thanks for the request! i'm really bad at writing feet tickles but i hope this turned out alright!

---

"Alhaitham! We're gonna be late, for archon's sake! Alhaitham!!"

Alhaitham groaned sleepily as the knocks to his bedroom door grew louder with each passing sound. He attempted to block out the noise by throwing an extra pillow over his head, but Kaveh's fist hammering away at the door combined with his already grating voice easily pierced through the pillow, violating Alhaitham's ears with an unholy mix of sounds. When there didn't seem to be an end to Kaveh's persistence, Alhaitham threw the pillow off his face with a sigh, allowing his eyes to acclimate to the morning light peering through his bedroom window.

"C'mon, Alhaitham! We're going to miss Nilou's performance!"

Alhaitham didn't believe that one bit, recalling how during a trip to Inazuma, Kaveh fretted all morning about possibly missing their boat at Liyue Harbor, only for the two to reach the pier two hours before the ship was supposed to leave, thus forcing Alhaitham and Kaveh to stand around the harbor to kill time. This wasn't so bad for Kaveh as the blond found entertainment in conversing with the locals, but inefficiency was one of Alhaitham's biggest ticks and idling around while waiting for their boat could not have been a worse offender. 

"Alhaitham!"

Clearly this was another case of Kaveh being a worrywart. The clock hanging from the opposite wall of Alhaitham's bed read ten o'clock sharp as the time. It would approximately take five minutes for Alhaitham to prepare himself for the day, as he was a relatively simple person. Normally, a walk to the bazar where Nilou's performance was scheduled to take place would take Alhaitham twenty-five minutes, but since he and Kaveh were attending together, he would need to account for Kaveh's slightly faster walking speed, making the trip twenty minutes instead. Add an additional five minutes to account for potential error or mishaps that might happen along the way and the two would still be reaching the bazar thirty minutes early. This means Kaveh is essentially attempting to rob the scribe of an extra half hour of sleep. Not a particularly ideal morning, if one were to ask Alhaitham.

"You better be awake already, Alhaitham!"

There was also the fact that Alhaitham wasn't particularly interested in Nilou's performance in the first place, only attending because of Kaveh's bickering about how "you need to be more supportive of your friends!" Granted, Alhaitham didn't mind Nilou in the slightest, as the dancer's presence was relatively inoffensive, but meaningful conversation seldom stemmed between the two's brief moments together and Alhaitham would rather spend what little free time he had at home. Maybe if he ignored Kaveh and pretended to continue sleeping, the blond would go alone..

Good thing he made a habit of locking his bedroom door at night.

"Alhaitham!" He couldn't help but smirk at the incessant banging at his door. Why Kaveh was so hellbent on making him go wasn't something he could wrap his head around, but it sure was entertaining listening to the blond basically fistfight the door.

After a few more seconds, the knocking slowly stopped and Kaveh had stopped screeching the other's name, prompting Alhaitham to sigh in relief, content that Kaveh finally got the message-

Click.

Alhaitham's eyes widened.

Oh no- 

Did he forget to lock the door last night?

The knob began to turn.

He did.

Without even thinking, Alhaitham quickly flipped over on his stomach, pressing the side of his face to his pillow as he threw the covers over partially over his head and shut his eyes. Maybe with the archons' graces, Kaveh wouldn't notice..

"Why didn't I just do that the first time?" Alhaitham could hear Kaveh mutter under his breath, as he entered the room. "Hey, Alhai-! Oh."

The sound of footsteps could be heard approaching the head of the bed and Alhaitham's breath steadied, rhythmically slowing to one that would hopefully give the impression that he was snoring and still passed out. There was a brief moment of silence, followed by a pensive sigh and the Kaveh's voice. "Fine, fine, catch up on sleep, I suppose."

Alhaitham internally sighed with relied as he listened to Kaveh move away from the head of the bed and head to the door, but an abrupt halt in Kaveh's steps subverted Alhaitham's expectations. 

"Hmm."

There was the temptation to sit up and crane his head, but he resisted, not wanting to give up the facade he put in effort to construct. The slight shift and movement at the foot of mattress piqued Alhaitham's curiosity as to Kaveh's whereabouts, but it wasn't until he felt Kaveh's arm wrap around his foot peeking out from under the covers that the alarm bells in his head began to sound off. 

"I wonder..."

What is he-?!

A sudden tingle ran up his leg as he felt a singular poke to his bare sole and Alhaitham did his best to keep from instinctively pulling his leg back and out of Kaveh's grasp. Unfortunately for him, the slight twitch of his toes did not go unnoticed by the blond and his toes involuntarily curled again at another poke.

"Interesting." The absolute eccentricity in his voice.. Alhaitham did not like that. It was almost as if Kaveh struck gold and every hair on the back of his neck stood up when Kaveh tightened his grip on Alhaitham's ankle.

Alhaitham barely had any time to prepare for the singular finger swipe from heel to toe and his hands dug into the mattress, curling his fingers around the bedsheets as Kaveh repeated the same action in the opposite direction. His foot flexed in Kaveh's grip as more fingers were added with time and Alhaitham found himself gritting his teeth, struggling to keep the giggles that threatened to spill out at bay. It didn't help that the image of Kaveh's triumphant smirk was at the forefront of his mind, knowing full well how much the architect was most likely enjoying the situation.

"I've still got some time, I think," Kaveh muttered to himself, now leisurely zig-zagging his thumbnail across the length of Alhaitham's sole. It took every ounce of willpower not for Alhaitham to burst out into laughter, unable to hold out much longer. The toes of his other foot pressed into the mattress while hidden under the covers as its twin fought the ticklish sensations that ran up his leg. His cheeks puffed into the pillow with each heavy breath, feeling the resistance in chest slowly crumbling. It wasn't until Kaveh's thumb dug into the underside of his toes that a snort escaped past his lips and his leg involuntarily jerked in Kaveh's grip, toes curling to defend themselves from the invading thumb.

"Oh?"

Kaveh's grip on Alhaitham's leg adjusted and his foot was back on the mattress, with one of Kaveh's hands pressing his toes down, leaving his foot full vulnerable now. Part of Alhaitham knew he should sit up to finally put a stop to this, but the other part of his mind knew full well that Kaveh would still tickle him regardless, yet there was that slight sliver of hope that he could possibly skip out on Nilou's performance if he remained "asleep"..

Those thoughts and hopes were dashed the second he felt Kaveh's fingers dig into the underside of his toes.

"HaAAH!" Alhaitham's body finally jumped, releasing a strangled squeal as his last attempts to fight the tickling crumbled. "Kavehehehe! StahaHAHAhahap!"

"Ah, there you are," Kaveh mused, tickling the digits relentlessly now that Alhaitham was wide "awake". "I was wondering if I should start tickling both feet to speed things up a bit. Don't want to be late to Nilou's performance, after all."

"A-AhAHAHAhahaHA! I-I'm up! LeheHEHeheht gohohoho!" Alhaitham's laughter rang through the tiny bedroom, as his upper-body squirmed under the sheets and his leg fought for freedom, no longer fighting the tingles that shot up his leg. Why did it have to be tickling of all things?

Damn him.

As Kaveh continued to torment his foot, there was a slight change in his grip and Alhaitham saw his opening, using the chance to finally pull his leg back with whatever strength he could muster. Once free, he quickly brought both legs up, curling them out of Kaveh's reach and shooting him a glare was he was safe, to which Kaveh just responded with a smirk.

"Well, glad I could wake you in time," Kaveh said as he finally stood up, mischief still behind his voice. "Hurry up and get dressed. If we leave soon, we might still be able to get good seats."

"Just.. give me a moment," Alhaitham sighed tiredly, recovering from the short bout of tickling. "Can you step out already?"

"Okay, well, no dilly-dallying. This performance is really important to-"

Bang!

Alhaitham smirked to himself as he shut the door behind the blond, using his constant blabbing as a distraction once Kaveh stepped out of the room. This time, he made sure to lock the door as well, before stepping back to his bed, hopping in, and throwing the covers back over himself.

"Hey, Alhaitham?" Kaveh's voice came from the other side, followed by banging at the door and the sounds of the doorknob wiggling. "You can't be serious- ALHAITHAM!!"

There were still five more minutes of sleep for him to enjoy, after all.

[lbibliophile-sw]

Soundscape

Also on AO3 [960w] @ailesswhumptober - day 21: "this will make you feel better, ok?"

The job of Marshal Commander is stressful and hectic and for every problem he solves another two seem to pop up in its place, but Fox does try to practice self-care. He delegates where he can. He accommodates the medics’ instructions as much as his duties allow. He makes sure to eat, even if it is just ration bars between meetings or while completing formwork. He stays hydrated, even if a rather higher percentage than advisable is caf. And he tries to sleep.

He blocks out his schedule and he leaves his office, he locks his comm to all but emergencies and he settles into bed. And then he lies there. Fox tries to sleep, but if he is anything less than utterly exhausted, then his mind just goes around and around in circles – work and worries and his mind replaying everything he might ever have possibly done wrong. He stays in bed, the medics have been very firm that resting is better than nothing, but too often just ends up watching the hours count down until his next shift, frustrated with the knowledge that he is neither sleeping nor working nor even enjoying himself.

He is fairly sure that at least part of the problem is that his room is too quiet. Clones are social creatures, spending their whole lives crowded in next to each other. Fox is one of the elite few with rank sufficient to earn the privacy of an individual bunkroom; a luxury that he is now finding he would rather do without.

He’s tried borrowing a bed in one of the general barracks, hoping that the sound of his vode around him will settle him. And to be fair, it did stop him from spiralling. But only because he startled every time one of the other troopers moved or made a sound, constantly alert in case something needed his attention. And honestly, it was just plain awkward, feeling like he was intruding on his subordinates’ private space.

It might have been easier sharing with the other commanders – fewer people and closer in rank – but they mostly each cover different shifts, so there would be little difference to his private room anyway.

So he starts looking for other ways to cover up the silence in his room.

He tries the radio; but finds himself either cursing the inanity of talk shows, or taking mental notes for work from the news bulletins. He tries music; but he never realised just how many styles there are to choose from. And even when he eventually finds ones that might work, it just leaves him lying in bed feeling guilty about the indulgence.

It is Senator Organa who finds him a solution, during one of the stolen conversations when they are not yet Fox and Bail, but ‘Commander’ and ‘Senator’ are more than their titles.  

Fox shows up to their early morning meeting – ostensibly a security briefing regarding an upcoming press conference – with eyebags almost as big as his oversized cup of coffee. Official business quickly out of the way, Organa asks after his health. To his own surprise, Fox finds himself honestly describing his problem, frustrated by his persistent inability to just make his tired brain cooperate.

Organa ponders for a minute.

“Perhaps a slightly different approach is needed. You know, I used to do a lot of hiking when I was younger. I am assuming that your training covered wilderness safety as well as urban environments?” Fox blinks at the non-sequitur, but nods. “What is the first sign of danger in natural environments?”

“Silence.”

“Exactly.”

“I don’t quite understand what that has to do with -” Fox’s comm beeps. He looks at the message and grimaces. “ Sorry, Senator, I need to go.”

“Of course. I’ll send you a file, and you can tell me how it goes.”

Fox is kept moving from crisis to crisis all day, but when he settles down that evening he sees that the Senator has indeed sent him a sound file. He wonders what it is. Perhaps he has sent his own music recommendations; Fox is interested to hear them even if he doesn’t have any real faith that they will help.

Fox opens the file, and his room is filled with a cacophony of noise. Or… perhaps not. It takes him a moment to parse the medley of natural sounds, but he starts to pick out distinct patterns within the chaos. Clearest, are the long fluting calls – a melodic rise and fall with a flourish at the end. Next, he notices the intermittent clusters of chirps and squawks, several sequences of each. There are lower rhythmic sounds: a regular creaking, a flowing drone, and something that almost sounds like bonk. And behind it all, a whirring buzz in a dozen different pitches and rhythms…

The next thing Fox knows, his alarm is going off. And he feels more rested than he has in weeks.

That night, he plays the file again. But instead of losing himself in the deluge, he focuses on picking out one sound, learning its rhythms and variations, letting the rest of the soundscape flow around him and fill all the empty spaces in his mind.

The next night, he chooses a different sound to follow.

Another day later,  he manages to steal time with the Senator again and gushes about all the sounds he has identified and listens raptly as Bail tells him about nightingales and cicadas and pobblebonk frogs.

Three weeks later, just as the soundscape is becoming familiar, a new file appears in his inbox.

And so it continues. Fox spends his days run off his feet, treasuring the rare hours he spends with Bail, and each night he is lulled to sleep by the sounds of Alderanian wildlife.

When the War ends, Fox follows Bail back to Alderaan. That first night, lying in bed between Bail and Breha, should be a dream come true. And Fox is so so happy. But he is also staring at the unfamiliar play of shadows on the ceiling, feeling the itch in his brain as it refuses to let him relax. As much as he wants to be here, he also finds himself ruefully missing his music player.

A warm breeze brushes his face, and with a burst of clarity he realises that he doesn’t need the tinny recorded wildlife after all, not when the reality is right there. He focusses on the sounds coming in through the open window – the lilting call of the nightingale, the creak of the frogs in the pond, the droning hum of cicadas – and lets them wash through him. Then he focuses on the steady breathing of his partners beside him, and lets the combined melody drag him down into sleep.