#and then you can drown out all the rest of the noise together <3 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lottiecrabie · 1 year ago

Text

anatomy – matty healy

matty is supposed to tutor you in biology, but there’s another subject you’re much more interested in…

or tutor!au <3

tags: 18+, oral sex, unprotected sex, dry humping, dom/sub undertones, choking, cumplay, virgin!matty, freaky little loser guy

6802 words

You sit on top of the sheets of your bed, ankles crossed. You pop your bubblegum, flipping boredly through your Cosmo. Lipsticks, perfectly preened women, and the top ten sex tips flip in front of your eyes. You halt at the horoscope, indulgently checking yours. You’re not superstitious: it’s just that anything is better than this godforsaken lesson.

“And, you see, the specific shape of the active site of an enzyme enables it to function,” Matty drawls on, unfaltered by your clear disinterest. Maybe he doesn’t see; his nose is pulled tightly in his book. “It’s— It’s really a simple understanding of 'lock and key'. You can think of enzyme activity as molecular collisions resulting in the formation of enzyme-substrate complexes.” All the terms blur together in your mind. In one ear, transformed and decorated by the pretty pink things on your page, then out the other.

You almost feel bad for Matty, pushed into your room by your parents with pleading, desperate eyes to make you learn something. He sits at your desk while you distract yourself with whatever is more interesting which, as it so happens, is almost everything. He doesn’t complain, doesn’t say much to you other than hey and a string of jargon you don’t care to understand. It’s not like your bitchy, unimpressed stare is very welcoming.

Matty has this nervous, twitchy energy about him. He stutters through half of his sentences, pushing his glasses up his nose, searching for the fixed point in his book he lost. He swallows thickly, starts again. An awkward, limby thing.

Really, it’s a shame he wears all those nerdy shirts and drowning clothes, as well as those horrendous thick, square glasses. If you assess him objectively enough, he could be quite pretty. He’s lean, with a cutting jaw, and adorable curly hair. Girls would look away a flutter of red flags if it meant birthing kids with those traits.

You sigh, pushing the Cosmo off your bed, rolling to your belly. You rest your chin on your crossed arms, eyeing Matty. He gives you a look at the shifting noise, rounding his eyes as they fall on the stripe of skin your loose lounging shorts have revealed in the crossfire. It’s barely a few centimeters of your asscheeks, but Matty blushes all the same, flipping back to his book as though burned. You smirk. Interesting.

“Matty,” you trail lightly, the cadence of a song.

You found your bright new, shining distraction. Your smile is vicious and dangerous, ready to bite, to gnaw to the bone.

Matty looks up at you, incertain. You rarely address him during your tutoring lessons. You’re not even sure you’ve said his name before, at least not to him. “I’m bored with biology,” you declare, artfully pouty and dejected.

“Oh,” he says. He swallows thickly. Flips through his book. His nervous tics make him all the more tantalizing to you. Some cruel need to toughen him up. “Um—”

You lick your teeth, grinning. “I want to study anatomy.”

Matty laughs, pushing his glasses up his nose. “That’s not in the syllabus.” There’s something about his total misunderstanding of your line that makes the need frizzle inside of you. An innocent little thing, to pick and devour through.

You sit up, resting your weight on your heels. Your knees part suggestively, the loose shorts riding up your thighs. Your crop top sits up your ribs. Belly button piercing winks at him. Matty takes in the sight, face pale. You grin, victorious.

“I didn’t mean that anatomy,” you say, teasing. You rest a hand loosely on your leg, purposefully dragging his stare down to it. Your pink nails flash against your skin.

“Oh.” He swallows thickly, hypnotized by the soft flesh of your thighs. “I—” He shakes his head, as if to draw himself out of the daydream. “I, um—” He repeats, then laughs, “What?”

You sigh, kneeling up and getting off the bed. Your bare feet wiggle in the fuzzy, pink carpet. You prowl to him, predator-like. His breath hitches in his throat, right where you want it.

“Matty,” you sing, and he chokes at the sound. Just his name drives him wild— good to know. You get close enough to lean on the desk, to tower over him. He blinks up at you, robbed of speech. You flutter your eyelashes at him. “Are you a virgin?”

His lips part in surprise, but he doesn’t answer. Not that he needs to; the fucking sight of him is enough to know. It’s about the fun of watching him stumble, stutter, push his little glasses up his nose, telltale signs you revel in.

You sit on the desk, bunching his careful notes. You trail two fingers up his shoulder, that awful cheap plaid. You almost resent the feel of it on your skin, if not for the way he shivers.

You pout mockingly at him, stopping where the collar of his shirt meets the skin of his neck. “Are you gonna answer me?”

“Yeah— yes.” You run your fingertips on his neck, a grazing touch that has him staring up at you in devotion. You smirk.

“Have you ever been touched like this?” You run your thumb to the other side of his neck, a strong path. You want him to feel it, until your hand stretches over his throat, possessive.

He swallows under your palm, Adam’s apple bobbing on your fortune-telling palm lines. “No,” he admits quietly. You feel it resonate more than you hear it.

You hum, silently thrilled. “And have you ever been kissed?” You whisper.

Matty stares up at you. He waits a second, two— takes his time. “No.” You smirk. You pick your gum between two fingers, pressing it into the corner of his notes. Perfect.

It’s a little awkward, of course, because you’re perched on the desk and he’s sitting all the way down on his chair, gripping its arms. But, still, you bend down and kiss him square on the mouth.

He gasps against you, freezing there. You’re undeterred; you kiss and kiss him, smearing your strawberry lipgloss, until he snaps into action and kisses you back. It’s a rhythmless, artless thing.

He doesn’t know how to kiss.

What he lacks in technique, he makes up in eagerness, opening his mouth and licking a wet tongue into yours. You giggle a little, taste the Sour Patch kids he nervously ate from his bag between two scientific words you purposefully didn’t remember. You press at his throat, just so he’s as breathless as you are. He moans against your lips, panting.

Matty doesn’t dare touch. His body is fixed to the desk chair, letting himself be kissed, taking only what you are willing to offer. He sits there like you are breathing life into his mouth, eating and eating and never asking for more. It’s what makes you want to give him more.

You pull away from him, straightening like a queen taking her throne. Under you, the pages wrinkle and ruffle, and he doesn’t even care. His lips are swollen and pink, shiny from the lipgloss. Breaths puff out from there, pulling attention.

“You’re kinda pretty,” you admit lowly, like a secret he should know.

“Thanks,” Matty flushes.

You release his throat, wiping your pink gloss off his lips. They part instinctively. You smile, slipping your thumb inside. He sucks the strawberry, warm tongue on your fingerprint. Power loosens your head.

“Do you want me?” You ask, as though his mouth drooling around your thumb wasn’t indication enough. You want the words; you want the worship.

“Yeth,” he says, choking on your finger. You smile, taking it out and drying it on his cheek.

You don’t make a big show of taking your shirt off. Your hands are at the hem of your baby tee, then it’s off your shoulders, thrown on the pink carpet. Matty whines, surprised and overwhelmed, throwing a furtive glance at the cracked door of your bedroom.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, taking his hand. Soft and weak; he hasn’t worked a day in his life. It’s slack between your fingers. He lets you puppeteer it to your breasts, lets you grope yourself with him as an instrument.

He makes another small noise from the back of his throat, staring at the fucking sight like he can’t quite believe it truly is his own hand. “God,” he mutters to himself, and it’s exactly how you feel.

“Say thank you,” you taunt him, because you know he will.

Like clockwork, Matty revels, “Thank you.” Growing bold, he rubs a thumb over your hard nipple, a tough callus you didn’t expect on the tip of it. It makes you moan; a crack in your spotless armor, but he doesn’t even notice. Too preoccupied with playing with your tits, pawing at it greedily.

“Can I—” He flushes, shaking his head.

“What?”

“Can I lick them?” A drop of heat strikes through you. You clench your thighs, arching your back into his readied palm.

“Yes.” He leans in before you’ve finished the s, sucking your abandoned nipple into his mouth. He licks and rubs and pinches, raw skill pulling at your sensitive skin. You bite back groans, breathing harshly. Your chest rises and falls into his mouth, but he’s just as diligent.

You rake a long-nailed hand into his hair, scratching his scalp with every particularly delicious lick. He moans at that, vibrating on your sensitive nipples.

He sticks his tongue out, panting like a dog, dipping down to the valley of your tits and pressing a kiss, then climbing up a new breast. He bites gently, and you jump, surprised by his boldness.

“Sorry,” he whispers. You don’t like this little switch-up in power. He’s supposed to be purring for you, enthrallment shining in his eyes. You tug on his hair, making him look at you.

Matty stares up, dutiful. He doesn’t care about the power game; hasn’t even realized you were slipping. He takes what you give.

You soothe away the sting of his hair. “Pretty boy,” you coo. Matty beams at that. “I want to hear you scream.”

With this, you jump off the desk, and kneel under it.

“Oh,” Matty says, eyes wide as he watches you fumble with his pants. You unbutton and unzip, fast and knowledgeable, dipping into his boxers— “Wait.”

You look up at him, inches from your goal. You cock your head, frowning. “What?”

“Just—” He pants, staring at you. “Just give me a second.”

You hum, grazing a finger on the faint happy trail of his stomach. His belly sucks in. “Are you nervous?”

“No,” he says. “Yes. I don’t know.” He laughs. His hands still grip the armrests, white-knuckled. “Why are you doing this?”

You shrug. “I want to.” You tip your head, kissing his soft hand. “Do you want me to?”

“Well, yeah.”

You grin. “Relax.” Finally, your hand slips under his underwear, and you wrap around his hard length. He gasps, cold fingers against hot skin, fingers against him.

His hips jump into your fist as you draw him out. Another nervous glance to the door, still half-opened. Your parents are somewhere in the house, pretending not to exist. You lick your lips.

You lightly scratch your pink nails against him. You run a thumb on his tip, smearing precum. He hisses, turning into a moan as you slowly drag your hand down. He’s frozen and tense, almost afraid of moving, as if that would make you go away.

“Teach me,” you say.

He blinks at you, dazed. “Huh?”

Your eyes vaguely look up to the desk you hide under, biology notes in his scratchy writing laying wrinkled. “Biology. My parents are paying you for a reason, aren’t they?”

“Oh—” He flushes, embarrassed. Pushes his glasses up. “Right, right.” His hands let go of the armrests, searching through the pages. You choose this moment to kiss the tip of his cock. He whimpers, shutting his eyes in pleasure. “Fuck.” You giggle, all too happy.

He struggles to find where you disturbed him, biting his lip in comical concentration. You tease him, enjoying all the little breaths he chokes on, the soft sounds he tries to hide. Your hand pumps up and down, twisting at the wrist.

You wonder how often he’s done this on himself, who he imagined between his legs.

From now, it’ll be you. You’ll make sure of it.

“Um, right, so,” Matty starts, out of breath. “In some reactions,” he continues arduously, “one substrate is broken down into multiple products. And—” Devilishly, you lick a stripe up his length. He groans, twitching on your tongue. “Shit,” he mutters. It’s funny coming from him; the swear rings wrong, like a costume.

He drags his stare down, pulling away from his notes to watch you. You indulge him, parting your lips and wrapping them around his tip. You suck on it gently. His face wrinkles, a moan breaking from him. You pull your head down, swallowing him. He clutches at his papers, scrunching them himself.

“Oh, God,” Matty says, trying to catch his breath as you bob your head. “I’m— Shit.”

You let go of him with a wet pop, stroking him quickly. “Shh,” you tease him. “My parents.” Again, he throws a nervous look towards the door.

Saliva and lipgloss and precum already lube him, but you keep your hand at his base as you spit on his cock. You drag it down his length. Matty’s eyes snap towards you. “Do that again.” He wants to see you.

You smirk, tilting your head to leave wet kisses up his cock, then lick his tip. You spit on it, and a low groan resonates from him. His hips rise up into your hand, but you push them down with your claws.

“Fuck,” he whimpers from the back of his throat, melting on the chair. He likes it messy. You grin, peppering little kisses over his cock, smearing him in strawberry lipgloss.

“What’s the other thing?”

“Huh?” He blinks, tying himself back to reality. “Right, um, substrates. It’s—” Again, you choose this moment to push him down your throat. He loses speech, mumbling incoherent syllables, some broken version of your name.

Though your head bobs quickly, pulling further and further down his length, twisting a stroking hand all the same, you pinch your nails at his hip. He jumps, struck out of the daze of pleasure, blinking down at you.

“Yeah, it’s— The other reactions are—” You let go of his hip, pinching your own nipple instead. Matty whines, losing his train of thought. “You’re not being fair.”

You laugh, spitting him out to catch your breath. You grope yourself and he watches, not sure which hand to focus on. His cheeks are tinted red, maybe from effort, or adrenaline, or shyness. It’s cute enough to bite.

Wonder shines in his eyes. He can’t believe this is happening; he’s eternally grateful, as he should be. As they all should have been, those faceless men you’ve blown in the bathrooms of parties for attention and a momentary stop to complete boredom. They stayed quiet, almost afraid to make noise, to show they enjoyed it, until they shook and spilled inside your mouth. Matty’s not afraid to moan.

Your brain rushes, sticky happy. You pant on his cock, trailing a finger down your stomach, then dipping in your shorts. Matty’s eyes widen, straightening to catch a glimpse. You smile, catching a pool of your arousal.

You come back up, fingers sticky and wet with your slick, and smear it on his cock. Matty scrunches his face, whimpering, shaking under your hands.

“You’re trying to kill me.”

“Only because it’s easy,” you mock, jerking and twisting your two hands in rhythm, wet sounds ringing in the room.

You free his cock, gripping the armrests of the chair instead. You wrap your mouth around it, and bend down until your nose touches the faint smatterings of dark hair on his belly. You gag on him, and he strangles the edge of the desk trying to kill his moans.

You pump him in your mouth quickly, feeling him twitch and rise to meet you. He remembers himself, falling down on the chair dutifully, not even burying a needy hand in your hair, as though afraid that would be asking for too much.

You drag up, making him hit the inside of your cheek, before releasing him. You spit the precum on him, blinking up through teary eyes. He doesn’t have any words, red swollen lip bitten raw.

“I taste great,” you say, and then offer up your still-wet fingers to him. He’s eager, sucking them into his mouth. He bobs, imitating you, and the sight and feel makes hot desire drip inside of you.

You want to squeeze him until he pops.

You take his hand, pulling it into your hair. He grips instinctively, pushing it out of your face. “Don’t push,” you warn, serious. He nods frantically, and you trust him to mean it.

You take him into your mouth for what you know is the final time. You’re certain he won’t last long, droopy and moaning and twitching, hissing every time your tongue runs on him. You bob with skill and precision still. He tugs at your hair, both hands in now, trembling in the mess of it. He never pushes, or fucks his hips up; trusts you to undo him yourself.

He swears and curses and whimpers, head falling down and back, vacillating between the sky and your red, puffy face. The sink is heard from faraway, but you don’t think he can even hear it.

“I'm dreaming,” he whispers to himself, sounding wild. “I’m gonna wake up. I’m gonna be— I’m gonna—” Matty cries, slapping a hand over his mouth, and comes down your throat. He shakes, loud moans hidden in his palm, eyes shut and forehead wrinkled.

He lets go of your hair with a fucked-out sigh, panting. His eyes never leave you, disbelief written all over it. You pull him out of your throat, and smile at him.

You’re about to swallow when he touches your arm, unsure of where he’s allowed to now. “Wait, can you—” He grows embarrassed, blushing. “Can you open your mouth?”

You part your lips, showing off his white cum still sitting on your tongue. He whimpers at the sight, fingers digging into your arm. His breathing turns irregular, cheeks reddening, eyes darkening. He’s so strange.

Still, you stick your tongue out, putting his load in evidence, making a spectacle of it. He looks tortured, enthralled.

You stay long enough that you feel it run down, long white rope hanging from your tongue, then dropping on your breast.

“Fuck,” Matty whispers to himself. Seemingly without thinking, he runs his thumb on your breast, catching his cum and sucking it between his lips.

You smile, slurping the cum back into your mouth, and swallowing it. You flash your red tongue at him. “All clean.”

“Thank you,” Matty says. “I— I’m not sure why you did that, but— I, you know, appreciate it.” He’s so polite. You’d laugh if he wouldn’t snap back into that little head box of his.

“I’m very thankful for all those lessons,” you wink.

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not.” Matty’s finger rubs the skin of your arm, that strangely tough callus, and it has you leaning into his touch. “Though, this has been my favorite lesson.”

“God, I couldn’t even get a word out.”

“Hence why.”

Matty snorts and he offers you a hand. You grab it to manœuvre out from under the desk. You push your sweaty hair out of your face, then wipe the leftover stickiness from your breasts.

Matty, of course, follows the movement to your tits. He swallows. “Do you, um,” he pushes his glasses up. “Do you want, like, something back?”

You arch an eyebrow, incapable of holding a small giggle this time. “Do you know how?”

He stares into your eyes. “I could try.”

And, again, there’s just something about his eagerness, his willingness, his open devotion, that has you saying, “Yeah, I guess you could try.”

You tiptoe to your bedroom door, looking left and right into the hallway, before quietly shutting it. You turn around to a displeased Matty. “Oh, so you get to have it closed?”

“‘S more fun when you’re struggling,” you shrug, devilish. You run to the bed, falling on the pillows, fluttering your eyelashes at him. “Come here, pretty boy.” He practically trips out of his chair to find you. He’s three steps in when you stop him. “Take your clothes off.”

He grows shy under your gaze. Staying in place, fingers shaking, he starts to unbutton his plaid shirt. He kicks off his sneakers and his baggy jeans until he stands there in his boxers. He’s as scrawny as you imagined him to be. You smile.

Matty crosses his arms. “Can I see you, too?” He whispers.

You shimmy your shorts off your legs and throw it beyond the bed. Matty’s stare stutters on your pink thong, wet patch where your desire pooled.

You draw a hand towards him and he takes it, falling over you on the bed. He doesn’t waste time, giving you a sloppy kiss before mouthing at your neck, your collarbones, your tits. He laps at them first and you wonder if he’s trying to get the last lingering taste of his cum. He catches a nipple next and sucks it.

Gaspy moans leave your lips. You part your legs instinctively and he buries between them, already hardening. His cock hits your thigh and he sucks and pinches and plays until you start thinking he might really be able to try.

Your hands descend down his back, freckled under your nails. You grip his small waist, pushing at his hip, the hem of his boxers. Matty understands, leaving you long enough to kick them off. He pants in front of you, leaning back already, wet, swollen mouth parted.

Matty lays over you again and his hard cock presses into your need. You scratch your nails up his back and he jerks, bucking into you. A moan leaves both your mouths. He tries again, artless, just off your clit.

“Oh,” he whispers, mostly to himself. He does it again, building and building heat inside of you, yet never relieving.

You huff. You sneak a hand between your bodies, moving your thong aside until he slips under it.

Another boy would have taken the opportunity, would have buried inside before you even had time to nod, but Matty doesn’t even think of it.

He humps your wet cunt, tucked tight under your underwear, hem pressing his length. Matty moans every time, quickening, desperate. He tilts his hand to better see as his cock bulges the cloth, a wet patch forming where his precum stains.

“Fuck.”

And it’s better; he’s faster, and firmer, and mostly there. He follows your little puffs of shameful breaths, staying where they transform into slack moans. Pleasure starts waking up inside your belly, sickly warm.

But you’ve had boys hump at you before, had them bucking between your legs. You know it’s not what will get you off. You need your mind stimulated, to be so thoroughly hot and desperate you finally let yourself go.

You pinch the nape of his neck, making him look at you. A slack, messy smirk lays on your lips. You tease, “Have you ever thought of me during our tutoring sessions?”

Matty’s hips stutter. He looks away. “Like…”

“Yeah, like, on my knees.”

Matty blushes. “Well, yeah.”

You grin, too pleased. A deadly smile, hunting. “When?”

“I don’t know…” He mutters. You scowl to yourself, and maybe he senses that, because his chin grazes your shoulder and he admits shamefully, “When you ate that popsicle. And you licked and you slurped and you sucked and, just— I’m a guy. I had visions.”

“I had visions.” You imitate, mocking. You tsk, “You're such a nerd.” You roll your hips back against him and a whimper buries in the skin of your shoulder. “Was it how you imagined?”

“Better.” He nods fervently. “So much fucking better. I actually died, I think. Still unsure whether I’m dead or not.” Pride and power makes your head loose, makes pleasure ripple through your flesh.

You claw at his skin, warning dangerously, “Tell anyone and you will be.” All it does is make him moan, bucking faster against you. Your toes curl. You breathe in his ear, “Tell me more.”

“I, uh— Shit.” The tip of his cock burrows in your underwear as he slides, wet and slick from you. He shivers over you. “I’d think about— bending you over the desk.”

Your smile ghosts your face, grazing his soft, fresh cheek. “Really?”

“Just, you know, when you wouldn’t listen. And you’d pop that chewing gum, and you’d ignore me, and you’d be mean.”

You smirk, clicking your tongue. “So you wanted to, what, toughen me up? Take your revenge?”

His cheeks redden. “No.” His lips brush your shoulders, and he kisses, opposite. “I don’t know. I wanted you to pay attention.” He licks your neck. “I wanted to make you scream.” Mouths at your jaw. “I wanted to fuck you. Or for you to fuck me— I wanted you.”

You can’t believe you’re now the one blushing. You pant, glad he’s buried in your throat, that he can’t see. A moan slips from you as he nips gently at your skin. Your eyes roll in your skull.

“You like when I’m mean to you?” You tease meanly, out of breath. You scratch his back, burying your hand in his hair, and tugging until he looks you in the eyes. “Gets you all bothered?”

Matty shivers, whining, “Fuck, please—”

You push him onto his back, rolling over. Two hands press into his chest, and you might very well concave his ribcage. You stare him down, divine. “You wanted me to fuck you?”

His messy, unbrushed hair falls around his head like a halo. He’s sweet enough to make your head spin. He watches you openly behind the glass of his specs, breathing, “Yes.”

You trail your fingernails on his hard cock, down to his base. “And now?”

Devoting, “Yes.”

A rush of thrill fills you. You kneel up, shimmying your underwear off. Matty gasps at the sight, raking a hungry gaze up and down your body. He holds the sheets of your bed with white-knuckled fingers.

You waste no time, rocking your cunt against his tip once, twice, before slowly lowering yourself on him. You inhale at the stretch. Matty’s eyes shut, whining. “Look at me,” you order, and he listens.

His eyes flash open. He blinks at you as you bottom out. His head rolls, shaking. “Oh, fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.” You go to move up, but he holds your hip down. He takes deep breaths. “Can we— Just, this is—”

“It’s okay,” you whisper, taking his hand and placing it over the regular beating of your heart. He thumbs your nipple while he’s there, breathing in sync with your pulse. You slowly roll your hips on him.

Matty moans, gripping the flesh of your thigh. You let him adjust to the feel of it, rocking softly, dragging your clit on his pelvis. You bite your lip raw as pleasure blooms inside of you. Your thighs ache to go faster, harder, but you maintain the delicate pace for him. Just that has him shaking under you, and you once again grip his hand over your heart to ground him.

“Sorry,” he says with an embarrassed laugh. “Fuck,” is immediately added when you circle your hips, his eyes rolling. “Fuck, sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” you order. “What are the other reactions?” You say, attempting to drag him out of his anxiety-filled head. He frowns at you. “Of enzymes.”

His lips part. “I didn’t know you knew that term.”

You roll your eyes, then your hips, euphoria fizzling under your skin. “I listen to you.” His unconvinced look betrays him. “Sometimes.”

“They’re, um— Shit. They come together to create one— fuck, one larger molecule or—” You finally rock faster, angling your hips to have him bury inside you right where you need him. You moan, chest rising and falling quickly. Your legs grow desperate; you chase that sickly pleasure.

“Yeah?” You encourage him on, seeing his own pleasure resonate in his face. He bites his lip, pawing uselessly at your thigh. “Or?” You’re out of breath.

“Or swap pieces,” he finally finishes between two moans. Chuckles, “Actually, pretty much all biological reactions you can think of probably—” Your hips fall harsher on him and he loses his train of thought, overwhelmed. You smile, setting a wild pace, completely unfair.

“Probably what?” You say, teasing, “I’m always thinking about biological reactions.”

“Don’t tease,” he pouts, and you slow down your thrusts just to spite him. He whines, pressing his short fingernails into the skin of your thigh.

“Come on.” You make him look you in the eyes, mocking, “Educate me.”

“They all have enzymes,” Matty finally finishes. You reward him by reaching down and pinching his nipple. He whimpers, cursing your name. “Why have you suddenly decided to be a good student?”

“‘Cause you’re adorable when you’re struggling to find words,” you answer honestly. You hold your weight up on the hand pressed into his chest, angling your hips until your clit rubs and rubs his pelvis. Your eyes roll, fucking him quicker. “Fuck. I love when I can make you all stupid for me.” The power in changing up his DNA composition, making a smart boy incapable of remembering all the jargon you yourself don’t know, is addictive. Undoing him block by block until he’s putty in your hands. Matty just moans, not arguing.

Sweat pearls his forehead. The white sheets make him angelic. He breathes your name, fluttering his eyelashes at you. “Can I try on top?” Maybe it’s because he looks so reverent, so innocent, that you nod.

Matty doesn’t push you and roll you over, instead staying there, as though waiting for it to just magically happen. You giggle to yourself, unmounting him and falling back on the mattress, legs parted. He swallows thickly, laying over you.

His glasses fall down his nose and you laugh, grabbing them and carefully placing them on your nightstand. He blinks, adjusting to the blurry sight.

His hand shakes as he grabs himself and lines up. He misses once, twice, until you rest a soothing hand on his and guide him. Matty moans in your hair as he slides in. He stays in your wet heat for a second, catching his breath, before he thrusts.

And it’s bad, of course. He doesn’t have any rhythm, bucking blindly inside of you. It’s a strange pace, irregular and powerless. He certainly can’t find any type of mindnumbing spot. Pleasure simmers lowly in your belly, heat turned off almost to nothing if it weren’t for the pretty moans that bury straight in your ear.

You grab his hip, making Matty look at you. “Start slow,” you instruct, guiding him. He follows the movements of your hand, rocking back and forth, slow but regular. “There,” you nod, arching your back. “Just, tilt—” He repositions himself, eager to learn, and you shudder. You call his name, syrupy with moans.

He’s a fast learner, following diligently the guidings of your gripping hand. He fucks into you slowly, but surely. Your toes curl. Pleasure wakes up again, coiling in your belly. “Like this?” He breathes. You nod, encouraging him on.

“It’s like I’m tutoring you,” you remark, chuckling to yourself. Matty snorts. “I like being the smart one for once.”

Matty frowns. “You’re always smart.” He says it without thinking, because he means it. Something wet chokes your throat, tugs at your lips. “You just don’t listen.”

“Would you like me to?” You say, tone taunting. A self-destroying instinct, telling you to hurt, to ruin. “Make me your little pet? Be all obedient? Have me sucking your cock while you tell me all about biology?”

His eyebrows furrow. “Do you want me to do that?” All your bullets don’t land. He’s unconcerned on what he wants. You huff.

Instead of reckoning, you order, “Faster, now.” Matty nods against your cheek. He obeys, thrusting quicker. You let go of his hip, climbing up his back just to rake your nails down it. His hips snap faster, harsher, endeavored. You grin, licking his jaw, kissing the bone.

“Fuck,” he whimpers, catching your lips and kissing you. You wrap your arms around his neck, trapping him there as he ruts between your legs. You swallow all the sounds he makes, kill the swears you think of saying. Euphoria washes you.

He leaves your lips just to smack wet kisses over your face, again and again. On your forehead, your cheeks, your eyelids, your chin. He mouths down your throat, starts sucking and nipping at the side. You bury a hand into his hair, pushing him further down. “Not the neck,” you explain, breathy.

Matty finds the side of your tits and he buries there, sucking at your skin. You arch into his mouth, pleasure rushing up your side at the pinpricks of pain. He moans against you, bucking faster. Your mind spins and spins. “Matty.” Again, he speeds up, harsh and wild. “Fucking hell, Matty.”

You tug at his hair and he releases you, lips wet and swollen. He pants over you, eyes dazed with pleasure. A new wave of heat strikes you just from the sight of him, unmade and wild. You sneak a hand between your bodies. You find your clit easily, rubbing.

Matty’s head drops to watch you. He whines, seeing where he disappears inside of you, over and over, where your pink nails swipe at you.

He leans his weight on one arm, joining his own hand with yours. You’re surprised at the act, at the willingness of involving himself in the complicated business of your pleasure. Your fingers stop, resting up on your stomach.

He paws blindly at your cunt, just a little off where you need him. You grip his wrist, angling him at the right place, gently circling and swiping with his finger. The callus presses on your clit and it’s a delicious sensation. You roll your eyes, crying out, then slapping your palm over your mouth. Matty grins proudly, continuing to rub at you.

“This is good, right?” He whispers, pretty eyes all vulnerable on you.

You nod frantically. “Yes. It’s good.” You melt on the sheets, parting your legs further. “It’s really good.” His cheeks flush at the compliment. You wrap your hand around his throat, resting there with silent ownership. “Did you ever think it’d be me?”

Matty chokes on a laugh and a moan. “No. I never thought you’d ever even give me a look.”

You hum, pleased with the answer. He realizes it’s a privilege. You grin, pressing your fingers on the sides of his neck. His hips stutter, then snap even faster, a broken cry leaving him. His lips part in quiet ecstasy. His eyes shut, rapid movement behind his eyelids.

You grin at him. “Say thank you, pretty boy.”

You release him, at least giving him a chance. He falls into your shoulder, taking deep inhales, shaking. “Thank you,” he says, mumbly. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” You rake through his hair, soothing. “Aw, fuck, I’m gonna—” He twitches inside of you.

“Not inside!” You shout. Matty gasps, thrusting out of you. He cries as he comes on your navel and cunt. He catches his breath, blinking himself back to this reality, still shaking.

“Sorry,” he says, shortwinded. A pang of disappointment hits you. It’s not like you’ve ever come with someone else before, but it had felt really close this time.

At least Matty tried.

Matty watches his cum painted over your skin, catching your piercing, mixing with the slick of your cunt. He moans to himself, then bends down between your thighs.

You rest on your elbows, frowning. “What—” He licks a stripe over your cunt, tasting both your juices. Euphoria strikes through you. Your back hits the mattress as you fall back, legs shaking. “Matty.” He hums, faraway, licking and licking to clean you all up. You bury a hand in his hair, grounding him in place.

He finds your clit, rubbing it with the tip of his tongue, circling then sucking it. You jolt on the bed, biting back a scream. You frown to yourself, tugging on his hair, fire boiling inside your stomach. What the fuck.

He laps at you, moaning every time your nails scratch his scalp, the sound vibrating against you. A hand wraps around your thigh, keeping you open for him. He devours you eagerly, hungrily, until you’re a mess melting into his mouth.

“God, Matty,” you cry. You have to actually hold back another one with a slap of your hand, shocked at yourself as you scream into your palm.

Matty stops, breathing harshly, and you throw a glance down in question. He climbs up your stomach, lapping at your skin, cleaning the last of his cum. You whimper at the dirty sight, desire drumming down your limbs.

He throws you a hot look. Tongue out, full of white cum. He goes back between your legs and buries it in your cunt, fucking it in. You jump, cursing to the ceiling. Matty laughs, greedily tasting you.

You roll your hips into his face, hitting the tip of his nose on your clit. Every strike has ecstasy resonating in your bones. You feel light on your bones.

His lips wrap around your clit. He sucks, grazing a tongue, swiping and circling like you showed him. You recognize the same pattern, recognize the rhythm. Of course he’s a fast learner.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you chant, choked by your hand. You raise your hips into his mouth, silently begging. Your legs shake, desperate. Pressure pushes at your belly. Your eyes roll. “Don’t stop.”

He mumbles something in your cunt, probably a promise or a praise, dutifully not stopping. He laps and eats and fucks until your brain melts into your skull, dripping down your spine.

“Oh, fuck, I’m—” Your head shakes fervently. “Just stay— Shit, Matty, just— I—” The pressure snaps and you come on his readied tongue, screaming. Hot white flashes in your vision. Relief washes you, dipping to every crevices, relaxing you. He moans against your cunt.

Matty continues to lick you, mission-bound, until your lungs are on fire and you physically push him away. He smiles up at you, chin sticky and wet and red. He wipes it, kneeling.

“Where the fuck did you learn how to do that?” You say, shortwinded, shocked to your bones. You stare at him like he’s grown a second head.

It’s the first time someone other than your knowing hand made you come. And it’s fucking Matty Healy. You blink at him.

“What?” He laughs, falling beside you on the bed.

You gesture vaguely downwards. “That.”

“Oh,” he blushes. Shrugs. “I don’t know. I researched it once.”

“You— Oh, my God.” You stare at the ceiling in disbelief. “Oh, my God. You’re such a nerd.”

Matty grins, cheekily proud. He gently grazes the bruise he left on your breast, the splotch of red that will darken, be a leftover trace of him.

“Thanks,” he says simply.

“You’re welcome.” You shift your legs, feeling the wetness still between them. “Thanks to you too, I guess.” He grins, hiding in the white pillows.

He gives you a look. “Will you listen when I tutor you now?”

You smirk mischievously. “Maybe if you have my fingers in your mouth.”

“Oh,” Matty says, eyes wide. “Will you— Will this happen again?”

You make a noncommittal shrug, though a more definite answer hums in your heart. “Maybe if you’re really good.” You smile to yourself. “Or really boring, and I need to shut you up.”

“You can shut me up any day.”

“I know.” You linger in that moment for just a second more, eyes locked together, smiles tickling your lips. Then you sit up, reaching for your underwear. “Session’s almost done.”

Matty nods, lips thin. “Right.” He pats the nightstand for his glasses.

You dress yourselves, wiping away sweat and cum, brushing wild strands. You give an awkward goodbye, incertain, and Matty slips from the room. You don’t follow him to the door. You never do.

Downstairs, you hear your parents thank him and give him a crisp 50 dollar bill. You giggle to yourself and fall on the bed, bone-deep exhausted.

#happy Day after me show day<33 #tutor!au #matty healy x reader #matty healy smut #matty healy #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fic #matty healy imagine #the 1975 smut #the 1975 fic #smut #writing #imagine

1K notes · View notes

katsu28 · 5 months ago

Note

hi there! i absolutely lovee your writing, it's so cute and beautiful!! i hope you're having a good day/night <3

can i make a request for Carlos + holding both their hands while holding their gaze gently, before leaning in for a kiss?

thank you so much, and please take your time, there's no rush! thank you for writing so well, and feeding into F1 fans' delusions! :) sending lots of love and hugs! 🤍

you are so sweet, thank you!! hope you enjoy <3

carlos sainz x reader, 1.2k.

You can’t sleep.

It’s four in the morning and you should be asleep because you’re exhausted and you have a flight in a few hours, but you’re so nervous that you can’t for the life of you bring yourself to close your eyes.

You’re flying to Madrid with Carlos to spend the first week of summer break with his family, and to say he’s excited is an understatement. He hasn’t seen his family in ages. The first thing he did when you told him you got some time off work during the break was propose that the two of you take a trip to his home city for a little bit.

You, on the other hand, well, you feel like you’re about to shit a brick. This is the first time you’ll be meeting his family. You’re not typically a nervous person, but this has got your stomach tied up in knots.

It’s not something you can really talk to Carlos about either, not without bringing up your hesitation. Realistically, you’re probably just overthinking things, but as you stare up at the ceiling for what seems like forever and glancing over at the clock to see that it’s really only been a few minutes, you give up on sleep.

Beside you, Carlos snores like there’s no tomorrow, barely moving a muscle as you slip out from under the covers and leave the room as quiet as you can. He’s always been a heavy sleeper.

You pad out to the living room, sinking onto the large sofa with a defeated sigh. It’s quiet this time of day—too quiet for your liking. The city of Monte Carlo is asleep. Not even the birds are awake right now, but then again, neither should you.

This trip has gotten you all out of sorts lately. When Carlos had first confirmed it with his family, you didn’t think it would affect you that much. Meeting people was nothing new to you, and not to toot your own horn or anything, but you always did well with past significant other’s families.

As the trip grew closer, however, you started to worry. This isn’t just anyone’s family you’re meeting, this is Carlos’ family. The family of the man you know you want to spend the rest of your life with. The family who made that man into who he is today, who loves him just as much, if not more than you love him.

Making a good first impression with them is an immense amount of pressure, and you’re definitely feeling it.

Absentmindedly, you switch on the TV. You don’t even want to watch anything, you just need something on so you don’t think yourself into the ground before the sun comes up. Nothing good is on at this time either, so you settle on some nature documentary about sea turtles to drown out the noise.

“What are you doing?”

You startle, tearing your eyes away from the TV to see Carlos standing in the hallway, half shrouded by darkness, squinting at you through sleepy eyes. His hair is flat on one side from his pillow, and he’s scratching his chest absentmindedly as a yawn rips through him.

You’re not even sure how long you’ve been watching turtles swim, but one glance out the large windows across from you tells you that it’s been a while, because the sky is starting to brighten beyond the horizon.

You mute the channel, pressing your lips together guiltily. “Did I wake you? I’m so sorry, Carlos.”

“You didn’t,” He mumbles, shuffling towards you. “I woke up and you weren’t next to me. Got worried. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just couldn’t sleep.” There must be something different in your voice you don’t hear that Carlos does, because he cocks his head, suddenly looking wide awake.

“Something is bothering you,” He says matter-of-factly, narrowing his eyes at you. You open your mouth to protest, but he’s quick to fill the silence before you can even utter a word. “You can’t tell me it’s nothing because if it was, we would not be having this conversation right now. We would still be asleep.”

He’s looking at you like he sees right through you, so you know there’s no point in trying to make up some excuse. You sigh, shoulders sagging. “It’s stupid.”

Carlos crouches down in front of you, tilting his head. “If it’s bothering you this much, it isn’t stupid. Talk to me, corazón, let me help you.”

“What if your family hates me?” You blurt, fidgeting with the blanket across your lap. “What if they think you could do better, what if they think I’m not good enough for you, or—”

“Look at me,” He says softly, holding his hands out to you, palms up. You sigh, but oblige anyways, sliding your hands into his outstretched ones. He squeezes once, twice, then a third time. “You are thinking too much into it.”

“I know, I know, I just—I can’t help it. I really want them to like me.”

“My family will love you, I know it already.”

“How are you so sure?” You whine, shoulders sagging. Your chin drops down towards your chest only for a second before Carlos tuts, bringing your gaze back to his with just a sound. Big, beautiful, melty chocolate brown eyes stare back at you, perfect lips turned down into a frown. “What? It’s possible.”

“No, it is not. I’m very happy with you, and if I am happy, they are happy. They only want the best for me, and that is you.”

“Carlos…” You whine, pouting at him with teary eyes.

“What? What did I say wrong?” He looks panicked, brows flying up in immediate concern. His hands squeeze yours again, though a little tighter this time. “I thought I was being quite romantic.”

“You’re so sweet to me.”

His face melts into a fond smile. “That’s my job as your number one fan, no?”

He grabs your chin gently between his index finger and thumb, studying you for a few beats before pressing his lips against yours gently. You sink into him like you always do, letting your eyes flutter shut as you kiss him back wholeheartedly.

Carlos loves you, and that’s all you need to reassure yourself.

“Now that we have settled that, will you come back to bed? You don’t sleep well on planes, and I know how grumpy you get when you are tired.”

You let him pull you to your feet in lieu of an answer, falling against him as he pulls you under his arm and into his side snugly. “I don’t get that grumpy,” You huff, nudging him in the side. The sharpness of your elbow into his ribs has him letting out a grunt, one that he masks with a snort of laughter.

“You don’t get that grumpy?” He repeats, sounding more than amused. “I seem to remember on the way back from Miami in May when you nearly bit off Lando’s head for waking you up because we were about to land.”

“He dragged us to seven different clubs until five in the morning even though our flight was at six. Were you not grumpy?”

“Yes, but I can hide it well. You are an open book, mi amor, one I know very well.”

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post new fics :)

#requested!#carlos sainz #carlos sainz x reader #cs55 x reader #carlos sainz x fem!reader #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz fluff #carlos sainz fic #carlos sainz one shot

167 notes · View notes

gullemec · 20 days ago

Text

Bitten

ao3 Bitten Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: You and Joel left the QZ together a year ago in search of something better. Against all odds, the two of you have formed a bond, something quiet and rare and fragile. Then, on an ordinary day, it all comes crumbling down.

Warnings: description of infected, gore, description of mortal injury, gun use, mild non-sexual bondage, talk of death/dying

Please let me know if I missed any TWs <3

WC: 7.6k

A/N: My first TLOU/Joel fic I'm ever sharing! And you best believe there's more where this comes from! Also I've included another note at the bottom so please read that!

It’s a cool evening in the rugged wilderness between what remains of Billings and Big Sky, Montana. The air carries a bite of late spring chill, sharp and clean, the faint scent of pine and damp earth lingering after days of relentless rain. The sun has slipped low, casting the forest in shades of deep green and dusky blue, streaks of gold like brushstrokes on the jagged peaks on the faraway mountainscape.

The river that snakes through the dense forest is a merciless torrent, swollen from the rains. Its waters, frothy and wild, churn over boulders and shattered logs, their jagged edges slick with moss and spray. Branches, stripped bare of leaves, whirl chaotically in the current, their twisting shapes momentarily snagging on stones before being pulled back into the fray. The sound is constant and deafening, a relentless cacophony of crashing water and the guttural grumble of rocks grinding against each other beneath the surface.

You crouch at the river’s edge, boots braced against the slippery rocks, arms outstretched to catch the icy water in mason jars to filter back at camp. Overhead, the canopy is dense, needles interwoven with skeletal branches still clinging to the remnants of rain, droplets falling sporadically to pock the surface of the river. Despite the chaos of the water, you feel grounded here, your focus narrowed to the task at hand. The white noise of the rushing river drowns out the rest of the world, and for a brief moment, the wilderness feels almost serene.

Then, a movement—quick, sharp—in the corner of your eye. You freeze mid-pour, breath catching in your throat. Turning slowly toward the treeline, you rise to your feet, knees protesting against the sudden shift. The forest stretches out before you in shadowy stillness, dense with towering evergreens and underbrush thick with rain-drenched ferns. Your eyes dart through the gloom, searching for the source of the movement, but the dimming light and shifting leaves conspire against you. The world feels suddenly larger, the quiet of the forest pressing in at the edges of the river’s roar, your pulse quickening in the cold dusk.

The snap of a branch shatters the stillness of the forest, cutting through the constant roar of the rain-swollen river. You freeze, heart lurching in your chest, as a low, guttural snarl ripples from somewhere just beyond the treeline. It’s faint, almost lost between the river and the rush of your heartbeat in your ears, but unmistakable.

But before you can fully process the danger, it’s already too late. A blur of movement, a rush of air, and then a heavy weight slams into your side. The impact sends you sprawling, crashing hard onto the slick, rocky ground. Pain jolts through your ribs as the world tilts, your vision swimming from the force of the blow. The jar in your hand shatters on impact, slicing your palm as shards of glass scattering across the wet earth.

The creature is on you before you can even catch your breath. Its weight is crushing, its limbs flailing wildly as it pins you to the ground. A feral snarl tears from its throat, a horrifying mix of rage and hunger, as its face, a twisted mask of decay and filth, looms inches from your own. Its skin is gray and bloated, patches of it sloughing off to reveal sinew and bone beneath. The stench of rot and old blood is overwhelming, its acrid breath clawing at your senses.

You thrash beneath it, hands instinctively going to its shoulders to push it away, but it’s strong, so fucking strong, and its gnashing teeth snap just shy of your face. Droplets of its fetid saliva spray your cheek as its jaw clamps shut on empty air.

Panic surges like a shot of adrenaline, cold and sharp. Shit. You twist your body, feet scrambling for leverage on the slippery ground, but the creature’s weight is unrelenting. You try to reach for your knife, only to remember—you didn’t bring it. You thought this area was clear, that the river’s roar would drown out any noise that might attract them.

A mistake. A stupid, deadly mistake.

Your pulse pounds in your ears as the stalker lunges again, its teeth snapping so close you can feel the rush of air against your skin. With a desperate yell, you plant your feet and buck upward, trying to throw it off. But it doesn’t let go, its rotting fingers clawing at your jacket, its growls reverberating through your chest.

You twist violently beneath its crushing weight, legs curling upward as you fight for leverage. With a guttural cry, you shove your boots hard into its torso, muscles straining as you push with everything you’ve got. The creature topples to the side with a sickening grunt, its limbs flailing as it scrambles to regain its grip. Wasting no time, you roll over and claw your way forward, boots slipping on the wet earth as your eyes lock onto one of the mason jars lying just out of reach.

Your fingers are inches from the glass when a cold, rotting hand seizes your waist, nails tearing through fabric and skin as it drags you back. Then the pain hits, a searing, white-hot agony as the creature buries its face into your side, teeth scraping against flesh. You scream, a sound ripped raw from your throat, and your free hand finds the mason jar. Without hesitation, you swing it with all the strength you can muster, smashing it into the creature’s skull.

The jar shatters on impact, shards of glass slicing into the putrid flesh. The stalker reels back, momentarily stunned, its snarls faltering into gurgles as blackened ichor oozes from its shattered head. You’re screaming again, this time desperate, panicked.

“Joel!” The name tears from your throat as you shove yourself backward, kicking at the writhing body, desperate to put distance between you and the thing on the ground.

A single gunshot cracks through the chaos, sharp and deafening. The creature jerks once, then stills, its grotesque form collapsing into a lifeless heap.

Your chest heaves as silence rushes back in, broken only by the relentless roar of the river and the distant patter of rain. You scramble to your feet, legs trembling, hands flying instinctively to your side where pain pulses in hot, angry waves. The world feels unsteady beneath you, every movement sharp and raw as you clutch at your side. Your fingers dig into the fabric of your shirt, and with a hiss of pain, you pull it up to inspect the damage.

Blood. So much blood. It blooms across your skin, bright and vivid, the gash at your hip jagged and cruel, clawing its way across your waist. Your breath catches, panic rising like a flood as the implications hit you.

Before you can speak—before you can even think—you hear it. The unmistakable click of a pistol being cocked.

Your head snaps up, eyes locking onto Joel. He stands a few feet away, his face a mask of hardened resolve, his breathing labored but steady. The barrel of his pistol is trained on you, unwavering. His eyes are dark, unreadable, jaw squared.

“Joel—” your voice trembles, barely a whisper.

“Don’t move,” he warns, his tone low and sharp. His grip on the gun tightens as he steps closer, each movement deliberate, measured.

“Wait!” Your voice cracks as the word bursts out, raw and desperate. You throw your hand out in front of you as if it could shield you from the inevitable, as though the small gesture might protect you from the bullet with your name on it. “Please, just… wait,” you beg, the words coming out as a broken, trembling whine that shames you even as you say them.

Joel doesn’t move. His shoulders are stiff, his hands trembling around the pistol, knuckles white with the pressure of his grip. His eyes dart frantically, torn between your face and the wound at your side, the gash you’ve tried to hide, like covering it could somehow erase it from existence.

Your left hand moves instinctively, tugging at your shirt to pull it over the gaping wound. The thick cotton clings to your skin, soaking up the blood in heavy, sticky patches. You feel the wetness against your fingertips, warm and damning, and your stomach churns at the realization of how bad it is. You don’t need to look at it again to know the truth, you can feel it.

“No…” Joel murmurs, the sound barely audible over the rushing river and your own ragged breathing. His voice is shaky, distant, like he’s talking to himself now instead of you. His gaze hardens, his jaw clenches, and his finger hovers near the trigger. He’s slipping away from you, mentally already miles ahead, as if you’re not even standing in front of him anymore.

You know what he’s thinking. To him, you’re already dead. The infection is a foregone conclusion, the gash on your body as good as a death sentence. You see it in his face—this is no longer you standing here. In his eyes, you’re just a corpse waiting to fall, a hollow body waiting for the bullet that will silence you before the sickness has a chance to take hold.

It’s over.

“Joel.” You force his name out through chattering teeth, your lips trembling uncontrollably. “Listen to me. Please.” The words crack under the weight of your fear, barely holding together as dizziness washes over you. Pain radiates outward from your side, sharp and unrelenting, but the ache in your chest, the utter hopelessness gripping your heart, is far worse.

In any other moment, you’d hate yourself for this. You’d hate the way your lip quivers, the way your voice shakes, the way you’ve laid yourself bare in front of him, vulnerable and pathetic. You’d curse yourself for throwing every card onto the table, for showing him just how desperate you are. You’d tell yourself to stand up straight, to act strong, to meet death with dignity.

But none of that matters now. You’re not ready. You don’t want to die.

This isn’t the first time you’ve begged for your life. There were countless moments over the years when you were forced to plead, to barter, to lie just to stay alive. But this is the first time you’ve begged knowing it’s utterly futile. Knowing that no amount of pleading will change the truth, or his mind.

You’d talked about this moment, back when you left the QZ together, when survival was still something you both believed in. You’d made a pact, as so many travelers do.

If you get bit, I won’t hesitate.

The words had come from Joel himself, blunt and unflinching, delivered in that steady, gravelly tone you’d grown to trust.

And you’d agreed. Of course you had. It was practical, logical. You’d said the same thing to every companion before him. A foregone conclusion this late in the game, but still you'd felt the need to make it entirely clear that your definition of mercy was a swift bullet to the forehead.

And yet, here you stand, begging the man in front of you to wait, listen, hear me out.

“Joel,” you whisper again, softer this time, pleading. “You have to listen to me. I’m not—” Your voice catches, the words faltering as the weight of his gaze presses down on you. His face is unreadable, his expression stone-cold and unyielding, but his eyes…

His eyes tell a different story.

You see the anguish there, buried beneath the hard lines of his face. The war waging inside him. The man you’ve come to trust, who’s fought beside you, bled beside you, isn’t made for this kind of mercy, no matter what he says.

And yet, you see his finger twitch on the trigger.

“Joel.” Your voice is shaking, but louder now, cutting through the space between you. “I’m not ready. Please.”

The world feels smaller, darker, as you wait for his answer. For the sound of the shot and the unknown that follows.

This was the reality you’d known since you were a child, torn from innocence and thrust headlong into the nightmare of the end of the world. The collapse had been swift and merciless, leaving you to navigate the jagged edges of survival before you even understood what it meant to truly live. Death had been a constant companion, circling you like a predator, never far away. You’d faced it down more times than you could count, each encounter stripping away another layer of who you once were.

You knew it now with the intimacy of an old, cruel lover. The way it crept in quietly, the way it demanded submission, the way it took and never gave back. And yet, now that it has finally come for you, fully and undeniably, you recoil. You flee.

Your breath shudders as you stare into Joel’s eyes, searching for something, anything, to hold onto. His gaze is hard, but there’s something beneath it, a crack in the armor. You plead with him, your voice trembling, words spilling out in a desperate torrent, but it’s more than words. It’s the raw urgency building in your chest, clawing its way up your throat, begging him to feel it.

He shakes his head, almost imperceptibly at first, then harder, his face tightening in anguish. His lip quivers, just the faintest tremble, but it’s enough. It’s a crack in the foundation, a glimmer of doubt in the man who never hesitates. You catch it, latch onto it like a lifeline.

When he says your name, it’s like a prayer, soft and broken. A plea wrapped in the syllables of something he’s never wanted to say. It cuts through you, sharp and cold, leaving you raw and exposed.

His hands are shaking now, the gun unsteady in his grip. You watch it tremble, the barrel wavering slightly, and for a fleeting moment, you think he might miss. That if he pulled the trigger now, the bullet would veer off course, grazing past you instead of ending you. Your mind whispers, Run. Maybe you could bolt, maybe you could make it. But deep down, you know better. Joel doesn’t miss. And if he did, he wouldn’t miss again.

The two of you remain locked in this fragile standstill, unmoving, unblinking, as the moment stretches unbearably long. The adrenaline that had flooded your system begins to ebb, leaving you hollow and weak. Your outstretched hand, once rigid with desperation, falters and starts to fall. It drifts downward, as if surrendering to the weight of inevitability.

Your legs buckle beneath you, the strength draining from them as exhaustion and pain take hold. You collapse slowly, leaning back against the rough bark of the tree behind you, its surface digging into your shoulder blades. Joel’s gun follows your movement, unwavering, the barrel trailing you as you sink to the ground.

“Just wait, okay?” you whisper, the words barely audible over the pounding of your heart. Your eyelids flutter, heavy with exhaustion, but you force yourself to keep your gaze locked on Joel’s. “Wait until I turn. Don’t shoot me… not yet. Just… wait.”

He doesn’t move. His grip on the pistol is steady, but his chest rises and falls unevenly, betraying the storm inside him. For a moment, the silence stretches so thin it feels like the world itself is holding its breath. Then, he exhales, a long, ragged sigh slipping past his lips.

“D-darlin’...” His voice cracks on the word, soft and uneven, a plea in itself. His eyes glisten with unshed tears, and you see one break free, tracking a shining path down his cheek. “We agreed. You—” His voice falters, breaking on the words he can’t quite bring himself to say. “You were bit, and I… I have to.”

The way he says it—have to—isn’t just broken; it’s shattered. The weight of the words twists something inside you, but even now, as death looms close, the tenderness of his pet name stirs a small, bittersweet pang in your chest.

“You don’t have to do anything, Joel,” you murmur, shaking your head, your voice unsteady. “Just let me live a little bit longer, okay? I didn’t get to see much or do much… Just give me a few more minutes. Please.”

The words feel foreign, like they’re coming from someone else’s mouth, distant and detached. The adrenaline that once roared through your veins has ebbed, leaving you woozy and untethered. The world around you feels unreal, a blurry haze of pain and fear.

Joel’s jaw tightens as he fights with himself. His finger hovers near the trigger, but his hand trembles now, betraying the conflict raging inside him. You watch his face carefully, every muscle tense as he weighs the impossible decision before him. His eyes flicker, darting around the clearing, searching for something—anything—that would deliver him from the scene laid before him.

He tilts his head back, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. His gaze turns skyward, as if beckoning the heavens to intervene. The seconds crawl by, agonizing and infinite.

Then, slowly, Joel lowers his gun.

You shudder as a strangled, heaving sigh escapes your lips. Relief floods through you, too sharp and too cruel, making your chest ache with its weight. It tricks you, just for a moment, into believing you’ve cheated death, that you’ve won. Your lips twitch with the urge to laugh, but you hold it in, choking back the sound before it escapes.

Joel moves quickly, breaking the fragile stillness between you. He drops to one knee, his pack already in his hands, and begins digging through it with a kind of frantic determination. You watch him, your body too heavy and your mind too dazed to question what he’s doing.

When he stands and starts toward you, a small bundle clutched in his hands, your stomach lurches. He unfurls it, and your breath catches, terror and confusion gripping you. Your eyes squeeze shut, bracing for the feel of a knife piercing your skull.

“W-what are you doing?” you manage to whisper, your voice trembling with fear.

“Fuckin’—stay still,” he growls, his tone clipped and uneven.

Your eyes flutter open as his arms reach around you, and you realize what he’s holding: nylon rope. He pulls it around your torso, cinching it tightly against the tree. His breath comes in sharp, hot gasps, fanning against your cheeks as he works.

“Joel,” you gasp, your voice rising in alarm, but he doesn’t respond. His eyes are locked on his hands, refusing to meet yours as he ties knot after knot, the rope biting into your sides with cruel precision. The pressure sends fresh waves of pain shooting from your wound, and you wince, clenching your teeth to keep from crying out.

The final tug is brutal, the knot digging into your flesh, and he ends up behind you, his hands lingering for a moment as if testing the ropes’ strength. You feel him pause, his breath shuddering as he finally stops moving.

“Joel,” you say again, softer now, your voice cracking under the weight of everything left unsaid.

But he still doesn’t look at you.

When he steps back, his shoulders are slumped, his face shadowed by something you can’t quite name—grief, guilt, maybe both. He wipes at his face roughly, as though trying to erase the evidence of his tears, but they’ve already betrayed him.

You’re bound, defenseless, and hurting, and yet all you can think about is how utterly broken he looks as he stands there, staring at the mess the world has forced you both into.

“Thank you,” you manage to whisper, your voice small and steeped in guilt. The words hang in the air, fragile and trembling, but Joel doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even glance your way.

Instead, he turns on his heel, his shoulders tight and his head bowed, and walks to another tree about ten feet away. He plants himself at its base, his back to you. His silence cuts deeper than any words might have, and you feel the weight of it settling over you like a suffocating shroud.

The two of you share the silence, your shallow breaths filling the void between you. Each exhale feels labored, your body struggling against the pain radiating from your side, but you force yourself to focus on something else. You lean your head back against the rough bark of the tree, the texture biting into your scalp, and lift your gaze to the heavens.

The stars are impossibly bright tonight, scattered like shards of broken glass across a velvet sky. You try to commit them to memory, tracing their constellations with your eyes, knowing these moments might be your last chance before you navigate them on your imminent departure.

As you stare upward, memories begin to filter through your mind, unbidden and fragmented, slipping through the cracks of your composure.

Your parents, once so vivid in your mind, are now nothing more than faint, blurred shapes. You can almost feel the warmth of their presence, the comfort of their arms around you, the safety they once provided. Almost. The memory is fleeting, like a firefly winking out in the dark.

Will their faces greet you on the other side?

Your adolescence in the QZ flashes through next, a sharp contrast to the hazy warmth of childhood. The cold, unforgiving reality of it all. Hunger gnawing at your belly, desperation clawing at your throat, the endless days that taught you how to survive but left little room for hope.

Then the years on the road in between QZs, each one harder than the last. The faces of strangers, some kind, most cruel, blur together. Every day had been a gamble, every night a test of endurance. And yet, through it all, you’d kept going.

Finally, your thoughts settle on Joel. The better part of a year spent in his company, you guessed. It had started as a shaky partnership, the two of you circling each other like wary predators. Two feral creatures lowering their hackles just enough to agree to watch each other’s backs. You’d both been so used to solitude, to the cold comfort of self-reliance, that you’d resisted the vulnerability of companionship.

But somehow, somewhere along the way, that had changed.

The memory surfaces vividly, as if it had only just happened. The two of you had set up camp, the evening falling quiet save for the crackle of the fire. Joel had rolled out his sleeping bag next to yours, closer than he ever had before. It was unmistakable, deliberate. Your breath had caught in your chest when you realized just how close he was. Close enough to reach out, to touch. To feel his warmth radiating.

That night, he’d taken first watch, as always, sitting cross-legged by the fire with his rifle resting across his lap. But you hadn’t slept, not really. You’d stayed awake, your heart pounding in your chest, stealing glances at him through the dim light of the flames. The moonlight dusted his features in silver, softening the hard lines of his face. You’d stared at the rough stubble along his jawline, aching to reach out and trace it with your fingers.

You’d felt like a teenager again, giddy and restless, wanting something so badly it made your chest ache. It was dangerous to feel that way in this world, to allow yourself even a sliver of something as fragile as hope, but you couldn’t help it. That night had changed everything for you, though you couldn’t say if Joel even realized it.

Now, sitting bound to this tree, your side throbbing and your vision dimming, you wonder if he’s thinking about it too. If he remembers that night, or any of the moments you’d shared since. You glance toward him, his back still turned to you, his shoulders hunched. You want to call out to him, to say something, but the words catch in your throat.

Instead, you close your eyes, letting the memories wrap around you like a fragile cocoon. You hold onto them tightly, as though they might somehow tether you to this life for just a little longer.

You’d never said anything. How could you? This life wasn’t made for love, for relationships, or for anything that resembled romance. Whatever you felt for Joel, whatever that small, fragile thing blooming inside you was, had always seemed impossible to name, let alone act on.

The world you lived in was harsh, brutal, and unforgiving. There wasn’t room for tender words or soft moments, and certainly no place for anything as foolish as hope. All you knew was that you felt safe under his protection, warm under his rare but lingering gaze. Anything beyond that, any flicker of desire, longing, or affection, could be swallowed whole by the world so long as it meant keeping him close.

But now, things are different. You’re staring down the end, and there’s nothing left to lose. Everything worth losing had already been ripped from you piece by piece over the years. Maybe it’s selfish of you to want this moment, to unburden yourself of something you could have taken silently to the grave. Maybe it’s selfish to pile this weight onto Joel when he was already carrying so much. But then again, you’d already been selfish, hadn’t you? Begging him to forgo his own safety for the sake of putting a bit more time between yourself and his bullet in your brain.

And he had complied, hadn’t he?

Fuck it.

“You know what I thought of you when I first met you?” you ask into the silence, your voice low and trembling, but steady enough to carry through the night air.

Joel doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even flinch. His broad shoulders remain rigid, his gaze fixed on the darkness in front of him as though it holds some kind of answer he’s desperate to find.

“I thought you were an asshole,” you continue, forcing a small, breathy laugh out of your chest. It sounds pathetic, even to you, but you push on. “A grumpy asshole.”

Still, nothing from him. But you’re certain, almost certain, you catch the faintest twitch of his shoulder.

“And once I figured out how easy it was to piss you off, I couldn’t stop myself. I’d say the dumbest shit just to get you all riled up.” You smile faintly at the memory, even as the ache in your side deepens. You stop to take a deep breath, hoping he might take this chance to interject, beg you to shut the fuck up and die quietly already. But he doesn't. “You’d get so mad, Joel. Your face would do this thing, this little twitch, like you were trying so hard not to tell me to shut the fuck up. And I think—no, I know—you liked it.”

That finally earns you something: a sharp exhale from his nose. A sound so faint you might’ve missed it if you weren’t straining to catch every little thing.

“If I was nice to you, you’d ignore me. But if I said something dumb just to piss you off? You couldn’t help yourself,” you press on, emboldened now. “I think you liked the banter. The arguing. Maybe it made things feel… normal.”

You pause, drawing in a shaky breath. Your chest feels tight, your body heavy, but you force yourself to keep going. “Do you remember that night a few months ago? When you set your sleeping bag up right next to mine?”

His shoulders tense at that, just barely, but he still doesn’t turn to look at you.

“I liked it,” you admit softly. “A lot. Probably more than I should’ve. And I couldn’t sleep that night, Joel. I just kept laying there, staring at you while you were on watch, thinking… Maybe you liked me, too.”

Your voice breaks on the last word, the confession hanging between you like a fragile thread. You don’t expect a response, but part of you still hopes, desperately, foolishly, that he’ll turn around and say something. Anything.

Instead, his shoulders shudder, and you hear it, a ragged, broken breath that shakes his entire frame.

“Joel?” you whisper, your own voice trembling now.

But he doesn’t answer. He stays where he is, his back to you, his head dipping forward as though the weight of your words, and everything they mean, has finally crushed him.

You lean your head back against the tree, the bark biting into your scalp, and close your eyes. The pain in your side throbs in time with your heartbeat, and your breaths grow more shallow with each passing moment. But you don’t regret saying it.

If this is how it ends, if this is your last night on this broken earth, you’re glad you told him. Even if he never responds. Even if the silence stretches on forever.

“I know what you're gonna say, Joel. You're gonna tell me it didn’t mean anything, and…” You stop, your breath hitching as tears well up and threaten to spill. “Fuck, maybe it didn’t. I don’t know.” You inhale sharply, struggling to keep the flood of emotions from overtaking you. “But you should know that it meant something to me. All this time we spent together, it wasn’t just survival for me. Being with you, it’s the closest thing to happiness I’ve felt since… since before the world ended.”

Your voice cracks again, the weight of your confession pulling it down to a trembling whisper. The tears that had gathered finally spill over, streaming hot down your cheeks. You can’t wipe them away, but even if you could, what would be the point?

“If I could go back,” you continue, voice thick with emotion, “I would have told you then. I wouldn’t have waited. I’d have kissed you just so I could’ve known what it felt like. I’d have asked you to lay with me, to hold me, to—”

“Stop.”

The word cuts through the air like a whip, startling you into silence. Joel’s voice is low and hoarse, laced with something sharp and raw.

Your eyes dart to him, still sitting against the tree, his face hidden in shadow but his posture stiff, brimming with tension. His shoulders rise and fall heavily, and for a moment, you think he might stay there, unmoving, until the sun rises.

“Joel—”

“No,” he snaps, his voice rough and cracking like a fraying rope. “You need to stop.”

Before you can respond, he pushes himself to his feet in one swift, almost frantic motion. His boots crunch against the underbrush as he rounds the tree, his long strides closing the distance between you in seconds.

The gun glints in his hand as the moonlight catches it, but he doesn’t raise it. He doesn’t point it at you. Instead, he stops just in front of you, towering over your slumped, trembling form.

You crane your neck to look up at him, your breath catching as his broad silhouette eclipses the moon. The glow from behind outlines his unruly curls, casting his face into shadow, turning him into something impossibly dark and imposing.

And yet, despite the towering presence above you, the sharpness in his voice, and the speed with which he closed the gap, you feel no fear. You’ve seen Joel like this before, anger weaponized, his mere presence a threat designed to cow and intimidate. He’s used it countless times against others, and now it’s turned on you.

You should feel afraid.

But the only fear you feel now is for yourself, for the minutes, the seconds you have left before the darkness comes to take you. For the inevitability you can’t run from.

You stare up at him, the moonlight weaving through his curls like a halo, his face cast in shadow but no less striking. He looks like some tragic figure out of a dream, the kind that lingers in your chest long after you wake. Your lips part, and before you can stop yourself, the words spill out.

“I love you.”

It’s barely a whisper, cracked and fragile, but he hears it. You can see the way his shoulders tense, the faint shudder in his breath. Despite yourself, you smile, a soft, bittersweet curve of your lips. You want nothing more than for him to drop to his knees, to pull you close, to press his lips to yours and grant you one final wish before the inevitable.

But you don’t ask. You know better.

You’ve been selfish enough, asking him to delay the mercy he’d promised you. And Joel—Joel is many things, but generous isn’t one of them. Not when it comes to matters of the heart.

He shakes his head, the motion jerky and stilted, and you feel tiny droplets splash across your cheeks. For a second you fight the urge to chuckle at the insult of sudden rainfall added to the injury of your imminent demise. Of course you would spend your last moments shivering, cold, and wet.

But when you glance up, the sky is clear, the stars sharp and bright against the endless black.

It’s not raining.

The realization dawns slowly, your gaze drifting back to him. His broad shoulders quake, his head bowed, his face hidden from view. A sob tears free from his chest, jagged and raw, the sound of a man breaking under the weight of something far too heavy to bear.

“Oh no, Joel—please don’t cry,” you croak, your voice trembling as guilt twists like a knife in your gut. “I’m sorry, I—”

Your words catch in your throat as a sob wracks your own body, your tears flowing freely now, warm and relentless. The two of you dissolve into shared grief, your cries mingling in the stillness of the night. The air between you feels heavy, saturated with sorrow so thick it’s almost suffocating.

And then he moves.

Joel drops to his knees in front of you, the motion unsteady, like his legs are buckling under a weight he can no longer carry. His hand hovers in the air for a moment, trembling, before it finds your cheek. His palm is rough and calloused, but his touch is impossibly gentle, wiping away the tracks of your tears. His thumb lingers, as though he’s memorizing the curve of your cheek, the warmth of your skin, before it fades forever.

He leans forward, his breath uneven as it fans across your face, and presses a kiss to your forehead. It’s soft and lingering, a silent prayer offered up to whatever gods might still be listening.

When he pulls back, you tilt your head up instinctively, angling your lips toward his. You can feel his hesitation, the way he freezes, his hand faltering on your cheek. His eyes dart between your mouth and your tear-filled gaze, his own eyes wide and uncertain, searching for something he can’t seem to find.

But then he pulls away.

Your heart clenches, fracturing further as he backs up, his boots dragging across the dirt. He doesn’t stop until he’s ten feet away, where he collapses against the base of another tree. His posture mirrors yours, slumped and defeated, but he’s unbound. Untainted.

You can’t blame him. You know how the infection spreads, the risks it poses. A kiss might seal his fate as well as yours, and you couldn’t bear that, not after everything. But there’s a cruel, gnawing thought that whispers something worse: that he didn’t want to kiss you at all. That it wasn’t the infection that held him back, but a lack of affection.

You’d been his companion, his partner in survival. Nothing more. His tears now are a testament to his enduring humanity, to his ability to feel for others despite the walls he’s built around himself.

And you? You’re a dying woman desperately clinging to the scraps of a life already slipping through her fingers. A life at its end, spent confessing your love to a man who might never have loved you back.

You let your head fall back against the tree, your vision swimming as fresh tears blur the stars above. You’ve never felt so small, so painfully insignificant. The weight of the unspoken words between you feels unbearable, pressing down on your chest, suffocating.

The two of you sit there in the thick, silent night, your breaths the only sound between you. For what feels like forever, you both stare at each other, the weight of unsaid things lingering in the space between you. The moonlight plays across his features, painting him in shadows and silver, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if he sees you the same way, if he’ll remember this night after you’re gone.

You start talking.

You tell him about your life before the world ended, the warmth of your parents’ smiles, the taste of summer nights spent in the quiet of a safer world, the way everything seemed so simple back then. You describe the house you grew up in, the creaky wooden floors, the old red bike you used to ride around the neighborhood, the smell of your mother’s cooking wafting through the open windows. It’s all so distant now, like a dream you can’t quite touch.

Then you move to the people you’ve met since the world burned down. Companions, friends, lovers, whatever they were, however brief. You tell him about the ones who had your back, the ones who betrayed you, the ones you couldn’t save. You tell him how, despite everything, none of them ever quite compared to him. There’s a rawness in your voice, a truth you never dared speak before now.

You find yourself laughing a little, shaky at first, when you tell him about the time you tricked a QZ guard into giving you double ration cards. The image of his face when you handed over the counterfeit papers is enough to make you chuckle even now. The momentary relief, the feeling of outsmarting the system, feels almost like a lifetime ago.

But then your voice falters, and you recount the loss of your parents, their faces gone too soon, their absence an ache that never quite goes away. You talk about the lengths you went to survive in the aftermath, how the world didn’t stop for grief and how, somehow, you found a way to keep moving, even when everything inside you screamed to collapse. Your eyes never leave Joel’s face, watching him as he listens. He doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t offer pity or comfort, just listens, soaking up every word, every part of you you’re willing to offer.

As the words flow, they start to spill out faster, louder, and more frantic. You’re no longer telling stories, no longer reminiscing. You’re unraveling, thread by thread. You talk about your regrets, your fears. You speak of all the places you never got to see, all the dreams you’ll never chase, the future you’ll never have. You tell him about Yellowstone and Old Faithful, about the sunrise over the Grand Canyon, about the quiet peace of a morning in the mountains. You make him promise, with desperation edging your voice, that he’ll go. That he’ll see it for both of you, and your hope that, in doing so, you’ll somehow live on.

Your heart aches with the weight of it all. You want him to know you, every little piece of you. You want him to hold onto your stories, to carry them with him long after you're gone, so that maybe, just maybe, someone will know you for who you were, not just what the world reduced you to. You want to be remembered.

But as you talk, you begin to feel the distance between you grow. The adrenaline that once fueled your desperation, your need to be heard, starts to wane. You feel it in the weight of your limbs, the fog creeping at the edges of your mind. You know the end is near, even if you don’t want to admit it. You can feel yourself fading, your words becoming less coherent, your thoughts scattered like the leaves in the wind.

And Joel, he sees it too. He sees the way your shoulders slump, the way your eyes flicker as though trying to hold onto the present but failing. He watches you, his face hardening with the realization that no matter how much he listens, no matter how much he tries to understand, he can’t stop what’s coming. He sees you slipping through his fingers, and it makes it hard for him to focus on anything else.

You try to hold onto the last few fragments of yourself, the last words you want him to hear. But your vision blurs, and the words begin to jumble. You hope, in the deepest part of yourself, that somehow he’ll hold onto them, that something will remain after you’re gone. That somehow, in this moment, you’ve found a way to live again.

But as the world narrows, as the last threads of you unravel, you realize that perhaps all that’s left now is for him to remember you in the way you are right now—alive, speaking, a fleeting presence in the shadow of the man who, in this moment, matters more to you than anything else you could have ever dreamed.

“I… I gotta go.” His voice cracks as the words leave his mouth, and for a moment, he struggles to hold his composure. “I’ll just move over there,” he gestures toward a large tree about ten feet away, a hollow, tired motion. “I’m not leavin’ you. I just… I can’t see you like that. I can’t watch it happen. I’m sorry.”

The words hit you like a blow, but not the one you expected. Not the harsh sting of rejection, but something softer, something heartbreaking. You hold his gaze, letting the weight of his apology settle between you. His eyes are soft, regretful, heavy with the pain of his own helplessness.

In the year you’ve spent together, he’s given you more than anyone else ever could. Tonight, though, he’s sacrificed everything, pushed his own limits to keep you alive just a little longer. You can’t ask him to stay by your side and watch as you slip away, but God, you want him to. You want him to hold you, keep you anchored, be the one who’s there when you cross over.

But you know what’s fair. What’s right. You know he’s already given you everything he has. You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat, trying to breathe through the ache.

“Joe, will you still talk to me though? Please?” The words are barely a whisper, but you hope he hears them. “Just until… until it’s over. Please.”

It’s his turn to nod now, his eyes wet but unwavering. He gives you one last lingering glance, his gaze a soft promise, something too delicate to touch. A mental photo to keep in the locket of his heart. You catch a brief flash of sorrow in his eyes, something deeper than words can express, before he turns away.

He walks a few paces, the sound of his boots crunching against the damp earth almost too loud in the heavy silence. Then, as he settles at the base of the tree, his back to you, you realize something. He’s doing this for you. He’s giving you space to fade without the burden of his gaze, giving you dignity in the last moments when it matters most.

You can’t help but wish for the opposite, wish for him to be by your side, holding you as you fall away. But you don’t voice it. Instead, you whisper, your words soft and fragile, as though they’re the last thread tying you to this world, to him.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, barely audible through the thick air.

“It’s okay,” he answers, his voice rough, strained, like he’s holding back tears. It’s a simple phrase, but it means everything to you.

You smile weakly, the gesture trembling at the edges, as you whisper back, “Please don’t cry.” It feels like an echo, your voice thin and fragile in the night, but you say it because you know it’ll be the last time you can.

“It’ll be okay,” he replies, and you feel the weight of his words settle over you like a blanket, soothing in the way only he can.

But the darkness is creeping in now, slow and inevitable. You’re so, so tired. The exhaustion is more than physical, it’s in your bones, in your soul, and you can’t fight it anymore. You pull your head up just enough to see him one last time, to glimpse his silhouette framed by moonlight, his broad shoulders, the curve of his dark curls.

A weak, tremulous smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. It’s a smile for him, for everything he’s been for you, everything you never expected to have. For the kindness, the tenderness, the fleeting happiness you got to hold onto before it all slipped away.

You feel the weight of your own eyelids, heavy and reluctant. Your head slumps forward, your gaze unable to keep hold of anything.

And then, just like that, you descend into the dark, the world slipping away from you like sand through your fingers, the last breath you take a whisper in the wind.

Hoo boy, did that hurt as much to read as it did to write?? 😭 Believe it or not there are (at least) two more chapters that follow this so... 🌚 I won't be updating this as regularly as golden cage partially because i don't have it all written just yet, and partially because i am doing my master's degree while working full time lol. also please like/comment/reblog, i'm a new writer and all the encouragement i get genuinely means the world to me!

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us hbo #tlou joel #joel tlou #joel the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller angst #fanfiction #tlou #tlou fanfiction

104 notes · View notes

thelov3lybookworm · 1 year ago

Text

Remember Me? (Part five)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Summary: Under the Mountain, Y/n met the High Lord of the Night Court, Rhysand. She was scared of him, but soon she found out that he wasn't who he pretended to be. Despite her efforts at not falling in love with him, she fails. It's not that bad as he loves her back.

But now he's gone, and she's left alone with nothing.

Except for a very adorable reminder of him.

•○●⛦●○•

Tw: secret pregnancy, none more that I can think of, so let me know if I need to add anything.

A/n: after this, I won't be tagging future parts as Rhysand x reader because this is turning into an eris x reader fic. Also, I'm sorry that it took me so long to post this! I'll try my best to be more frequent with updates ❣️

•○🌑○•

A loud squeal broke the silence, waking Y/n from her nap.

She groaned, turning her head, trying to bury her face in the pillow in hopes that it would drown out the noise of laughter and feet chasing around the house.

It was useless.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes before she squinted at the window, trying to gauge how long she had slept. The sun was high overhead when she had gone to sleep, and judging by its position now, she had slept for an hour at best.

Standing, she stretched. She looked around the room once as she pulled her hair up into a messy bun before she went downstairs.

The noise became louder and louder as she descended the stairs. Fin came running towards her, his little body slamming into her legs making her wobble dangerously. By the time she had regained her balance, he came into view.

At some point, he had discarded his heavy embroidered tunic, choosing to stay in the simple inner white shirt he wore. The shirt was thin, almost sheer, and a simple rope crisscrossing over Eris's chest held the garment together.

His gaze rose from Fin's body to Y/n's eyes, his grin faltering as he slowed down, panting. He gave her a quick once over, his eyes flickering to hers again. But then he grinned, returning his attention back to Fin.

"May I ask what the two of you are doing?" Y/n gently ran her fingers through Fin's soft white hair, slightly damp with sweat, her other hand resting on his shoulder.

He grinned up at her, his chin resting on her stomach as his hands clutched at her dress tightly. "We are playing. He is a soldier and I am the criminal. After he catches me, I will become the soldier and he the criminal."

Y/n smiled. "Are you not tired?"

Fin shook his head vigorously, his eyes sparkling.

Eris cleared his throat. Both mother and son looked at him. "I was wondering... if I could take Fin out?"

Y/n cocked her head. "Why?"

Eris shrugged. "I just thought it would be fun."

Y/n studied Eris.

It had been almost a month since that night when he had showed up at her door at midnight, and so far, he'd visited Fin almost everyday. Y/n was still trying to figure out why Eris was so interested in her son. She couldn't, for the life of her, make sense of Eris.

But his intentions didn't seem bad, so that was... a good thing?

Finally, she nodded, sighing. "Go. Have fun."

The hope on Fin's face turned into joy, and he turned to Eris with the biggest grin on his face. Eris returned it, grabbing the little boy's hand and sprinting off towards the living room.

"We'll be back soon!" Eris called out, and Y/n watched as he buttoned the last button on his tunic and led Fin out of the house. Or rather, Fin dragged Eris out of the house, the red haired male laughing at the youngling's enthusiasm.

A small smile bloomed on Y/n's face, and she had to make a conscious effort to wipe it off her face as she set to make dinner.

•○🌑○•

Y/n paused with her teacup midway to her mouth as a knock sounded on the door. It hadn't been all that long since Fin and Eris had left, and she wondered if it was them. By the excitement in Eris's eyes, Y/n had figured it would be quite some time before they returned.

The knock came again, more confident this time, and Y/n rushed to stand from the couch. "Coming!"

She set her cup on the center table, walking briskly towards the door.

And then she opened the door.

Which was honestly not the best choice, she decided as soon as she got a glimpse of who stood on the other side. She wondered if it would have been better if she just pretended that no one was home instead of screaming to let her guest know she was coming.

The only thing that kept her from slamming the door shut in his face was his appearance.

He looked like he'd been through hell.

And if Y/n was the one saying it, then it was a serious issue, because she had seen him go through literal hell under the mountain. She had seen him at his worst, and she still had never seen him this haggard.

She studied him, her hand tightening on the door handle.

There were dark circles under his eyes, so dark they made him look a little pale. Or maybe he had gone pale. His eyes were tired, no light in his those beautiful purple orbs Y/n had once adored so much.

"Y/n..."

The hoarseness in his voice snapped her out of the haze that had fallen over her, and she began to close the door.

But she couldn't do it because Rhysand's hand snapped out, his palm flat against the wood of the door. "Please, Y/n, I just want to talk. Please."

The sadness, the guilt in the once smooth, now rough voice gave her pause.

She wondered what to do. Her heart told her to let him in, not only into the house but in her and her son's life. Her brain scoffed at her heart's pathetic response and told her to slam the door shut in the bastard's face.

After a moment of contemplating, she decided to let him into the house, and her brain shook its head at her.

But the grateful look in his eyes prompted her to ignore her sane mind.

She shut the door behind her, watching quietly as Rhysand took in the toys lying haphazardly throughout the room, the papers drawn on with crayons, the chocolate stains on a shirt of Fin lying nearby. Y/n hadn't even noticed the shirt lying there. Maybe Eris had changed Fin's clothes when Y/n was sleeping.

She watched as Rhysand swallowed, his throat bobbing. There was so much emotions swirling in his eyes, Y/n had the urge to pull him in for a hug and never let go, whispering promises of forever and a family in his ear, just like before.

Just like before, when Feyre hadn't existed in their lives and it was just the two of them, keeping each other alive and sane under the mountain.

Y/n sighed, pushing those thoughts away. She couldn't think like that. She wouldn't.

The expulsion of air from her made Rhysand turn around, sadness and a plea in his eyes. Maybe a little tint of hope, but Y/n decided she did not see it.

"What did you want to talk about?" She muttered, wrapping her arms across her chest.

A small smile curled Rhysand's lips, one that didn't meet his eyes and told Y/n that it was a ruse because he was trying to not break down.

She could read him like a book, but maybe that's what happened when you spent almost half a century with someone.

"Straight to the point, eh? What happened to hellos and how are yous?"

Y/n gave him an unimpressed look, and he sighed. "i... I'm here to beg for forgiveness. I'm sorry."

That made Y/n roll her eyes and she straightened from where she was leaing against the counter behind her and made to turn away.

But suddenly a muffled thud sounded, and Y/n whipped her head towards where Rhys had fallen to his knees, his eyes wide and pleading, filled with tears. Her eyes widened, unchecked shock coursing through her.

She knew he would never go to his knees for anyone or anything other than his court, knew how much significance the tattoos on his knees held.

He lifted his hands in front of his face, shaking so badly that Y/n had the urge to hold them and never let go.

"What are you doing?" She asked, holding her heart on a leash.

The tears began streaming down his cheeks and his lip wobbled, staring up at her as he opened his mouth to speak. "Please forgive me. Please. I havent been able to slep or eat or do anything since we met that day. I cant think of anything except you and Finnian. please Y/n, forgive me. please."

"Rhys... we talked about this. You can't just waltz back into my life as you see fit. Where were you when i needed you? Where were you when Fin needed you? Why are you back now? It can't be because Fin is your- your son. You already have another one."

Rhys opened his mouth, but a sob escaped instead of words.

And Y/n's heart shattered right alongside the broken voice in which he spoke next. "I'm sorry. I am so sorry. I need you Y/n, I need you back."

Y/n dropped to her knees too, settling back on her heels as she stared at him, horrified. "What?"

He nodded, running a hand through his hair. "I still love you. I never stopped."

Y/n laughed without humour. "And what about Feyre? Huh? Is she disposable to you? Are all females disposable to you, oh mighty high lord?"

Rhysand winced. "Y/n please."

And then the leash on Y/n's anger snapped, and she snarled at rhys. "Please what rhys? Please what? Come back to you, even though you are mated, married and a father?"

"Yes!" Rhys snapped back at her, leaving her stunned. She was more shocked of the answer than his tone.

She blinked slowly, a tear slipping out of her eyes as she stared at Rhys's panting form, his eyes furious. "Yes, I fucking want you to come back to me. I am ready to leave everyone and everything behind to give my life, my time, my everything to you."

"You are telling me to destroy another female's, another child's life just so I could have you?" Her voice was no longer loud. It was soft as a feeling of resignation spread through her.

Nodding, he crawled forward, towards Y/n, making her scoot back until her back was against the wall.

"Rhys..." She whispered, trying to get his attention for long enough to tell him to get lost, but his eyes that had been staring into hers were now fixated on her lips. She pulled her knees to her chest as she monitored his every movement, her heart beating in her throat.

"Rhys." This time he met her gaze, and she was shocked to find hunger in that violet gaze.

He prowled closer on all fours, simply staring at Y/n the whole while.

When he was practically on top of her, he leaned forward, one of his hands rising to cup her cheek. "Y/n..."

"No..." She muttered on an exhale, but she couldn't do anything to stop him. It was as if someone had gotten into her mind and was forcing her to stay still.

But no matter how much she protested, she still wanted him. Wanted him to kiss her, to hold her, to be with her and to be hers. Only hers. She didn't want to share him with any human turned fae filth.

No. No. No. This is not what I think. What is going on?!

His face was inches from hers, his eyes searching her eyes as his face lowered, only a few inches between them. A hairsbreadth between them. And then finally, finally-

A loud knock on the door jolted Y/n, making her flinch. It was like a bucket of ice cold water had been dumped onto her head, making her realise she was about to let Rhys back in.

Rhys growled, deep and low as his head swung towards the door. But then he froze, his head turning back towards her, slowly, his feral eyes meeting hers. Betrayal swirled in them, and something like guilt climbed up Y/n's throat.

He had smelled who was out there, and he was not happy. "What is he–"

She didn't give him a chance to finish, pushing him away with her hand on his chest as she climbed to her feet from her position on the floor and stalking towards the door. He made a sound of frustration behind her, and it prompted her to open the door quicker.

Eris smiled at her as soon as the door was open, Fin asleep in his arms, one of his hands holding a number of bags Y/n didn't bother to count.

She swallowed as he made to step inside. She hesitantly stepped aside as he began speaking. "We would have been out for longer, but then Fin was getting tired, and he also fell and scraped his knee. As soon as I picked him up, he fell asleep."

Eris shook his head, a soft smile on his face.

But then he stilled, his head twisting to look at where Rhys was now standing, glaring daggers at him.

If looks could kill, both the males would be dead, because both of them stared at each other like their mother was killed with a stick, and neither of them backed down.

"What are you doing with my son?" Rhys spoke in a deadly voice, prowling up to Eris like the predator he was.

Eris, to his credit, didn't waver. "Something you are not doing for your son."

Rhys snarled, lunging across the space between him and Eris, his hands outstretched towards Fin's sleeping form.

In a moment of panic, she threw herself in front of Rhys, and he jerked to a stop, his eyes blazing.

"Get away from him Y/n." Rhys snarled.

Y/n shook her head. She turned, meeting Eris's eyes, silently pleading.

Eris's own eyes were filled with deadly intent, but he quietly handed Fin over to his mother.

Y/n walked away from the two fuming males, not wanting anything to do with their bullshit. She knew both of them were pissed and not in their right minds.

But when were males in their right minds?

She gently set Fin on his bed, trying her best not to jostle him. And then she walked out, closing the door behind her. If the two males out there decided they were going to be having a screaming match, she would rather not have her son hear it.

When she walked out, she found the two of them still glaring at each other, but now there was a little more space between them.

As soon as they felt her, they whipped their heads to look at her. She could feel both their eyes following her every movement as she went and stood near Eris. Not near enough to touch, but enough to make a point.

That she trusted Eris more than her former lover.

Rhysand looked like he was about to go on a murder spree, but before he could do that, Y/n spoke.

"Leave."

Rhys laughed, begining to stalk forward. "no."

When he was close, he reached out his hand to her fsce, as if he was going to grab her.

But his touch never came.

Baceuse Eris had pushed his hand between the two of them and was having an intense staring match with rhys.

"She told you to leave."

"And I said no." Rhys muttered, eyeing the hand in front of Y/n.

"She. Told you. To leave. You don't want me to repeat myself."

Rhys lifted his eyes to Eris, then to Y/n. She looked away, her hand instinctively reaching towards Eris.

She realised it a little late. She was trying to shield herself from Rhys.

Rhys laughed again, a deranged sound.

"You will regret this Eris Vanserra. I will make you regret it." Then, in a voice that would have made greater men piss themselves, he mumbled. "I banish you from the night court. Leave while you still can. You have till sunset to leave, and if after that you still haven't left, I will hunt you down like the animal that you are and bathe in your fucking blood."

And then, Rhys simply stalked up to the door, nearly ripped it from its hinges, and walked out.

Eris then turned to Y/n and silently pulled her into his arms.

She let him.

And she let down walls keeping her emotions in check.

She clutched his shirt in her fingers as if she'd die if she ever let go, and cried and cried and cried until she couldn't anymore.

And before long, she heard the whispered words in her ear.

"Come with me to autumn court. Let me take care of you."

•○🌑○•

Part 6

Taglist: @awoa1 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @luvmoo @we-were-beautiful @eerievixen @zoe2 @fussel9913 @j-pendragonx @thesnugglingduck @jesssicapaniagua @devilsnightz @esposadomd @littleffawn @mandowhatnow @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @princesslolaasworld @asemkta @cat-or-kitten @txzii @bunnyredgirl @theofficialmadman @leeknows-wife @aria-chikage @amygdtjhddzvb @azriels-mate123 @inky-clover @kemillyfreitas @12358 @justdreamstars @cuethedepession @princessvesta

551 notes · View notes

cakesunflower · 6 months ago

Text

lovelorn (and nobody knows) [rafe cameron au fic] chapter 5

Summary: Isla Carrera had planned for the summer before college to be focused on three things: helping out at her family’s restaurant (the helpful daughter), preparing for college (the good student), and having fun with the Pogues (the loyal friend). But one fateful night, where her car breaks down and her rescuer is none other than Rafe Cameron, seems to send her summer down a path she didn’t see coming–one teeming with a secret, illicit romance with the last person she expected. And if her friends and sister found out, Isla isn’t sure they’ll be so understanding, no matter what her feelings are.

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Author's Note: I tried a little something different with this, in which there's a convo that happens in Instagram DMs so I made like an edit and posted the screenshots as a way for you guys to read them! But I also put the conversation in the image description for each screenshot if it's easier to read that way! Let me know if you guys like it and I should continue doing that!

The brief nap and unexpected conversation with Rafe had sobered Isla up by the time she joins her friends in the backyard once again, all of whom are tipsy or beyond. As soon as he spots her, JJ shoves a cup of beer in Isla’s hand, which she accepts without a fight as she settles down at the base of a tree where her friends are sitting. The party around them rages on, people dancing and chatting and swimming and playing games, the music drifting through the air but nearly drowned out by the noise of everything else.

As she stretches her legs out, Pope sniffs the air and glances at her questioningly. “Were you smoking?”

Lips on the rim of her cup, her gaze darts to Pope’s, mildly surprised, while JJ pipes up, “Without me?”

“Not weed,” Pope tells him with a roll of his eyes.

Isla slowly lowers the cup. “Yeah. Bummed one off some guy,” she answers with a casual shrug.

Pope purses his lips at her. “Those things will kill you, you know.”

Widening her eyes, Isla gasps. “Really? I had no idea,” she exclaims, feigning shock and dissolving into laughter when Pope shoves her.

“Don’t come crying to me if you get lung cancer,” he says, leaning back on his hands resting on the grass, wincing when Cleo smacks him on the chest.

“Don’t joke,” she tells him pointedly, looking up at him with a half-hearted glare. He leans down and presses a kiss to her forehead in apology, which seems to satisfy her. She lets out a long, content sigh. “This summer is going to be amazing, I can feel it,” Cleo says from where she lays with her head on Pope’s lap. “The outdoor movies, boat rides, barbecues, concerts—I’m ready for it.”

Kie raises her cup of beer in cheers. “Back to OBX life, baby,” she grins.

Isla was of the same mindset, smiling into her next sip of beer as she thought of the coming months. It’s the last summer before college, and while in between all of the fun Isla and Kie will be working at their family’s restaurant, Isla is still looking forward to the summer.

They sat together, discussing their plans for the summer—most of them with each other—as the party continued on around them. Isla watches people jump into the pool, the group of them sitting far enough away from the splash zone, and she feels a smile tugging on her lips as she closes her eyes and leans her head up against the tree. The weather is perfect, warm with a cool breeze every now and then, and she lets out a long sigh of relief before taking another sip of beer.

“Midsummers is also coming up,” Sarah comments, prompting Isla to open her eyes while Kie groans.

“Don’t remind me,” her sister mutters, twirling a dandelion between her fingers, face scrunching in distaste.

Isla gives a shrug. “I don’t mind it.”

Kie’s nose wrinkles. “You enjoy being surrounded by rich people who spend the night trying to one-up each other by flashing how much money they have?”

JJ snorts as he, Pope, and Cleo rearrange their sitting positions to engage in a game of cards. Isla rolls her eyes at Kie. “No. I just have fun dressing up and eating good food. Sue me.”

The food at Midsummers was always top tier, especially when Pope’s dad was running the oyster bar. “You’re such a girly girl,” Kie quips.

“Why is that a bad thing?” Isla retorts, arching an eyebrow. “Where else am I gonna get a chance to wear high heels and a dress? The Chateau?” She gets to her feet, feeling a little miffed at Kie’s comment. She and her sister share a lot of similarities, but they’re also plenty different; one of them being that Isla will never pass up an opportunity to dress up for an event. While she doesn’t particularly enjoy all of the events that they attend in Figure Eight, most of her joy comes from the process of getting ready, dressing up, doing her makeup. She’s always been that way, and no one has ever faulted her for it. Why should they?

But sometimes Kie’s distaste for all things Figure Eight gets the better of her, and she’ll get the tendency to make Isla feel bad for her not caring as deeply as Kie does. She’s a Pogue, just like her sister and friends, but is it so wrong to like some things about Figure Eight? Her friends don’t think so—of course, they don’t. If they did, John B wouldn’t be dating Sarah, who they all welcomed into their fold, nor would they be spending their Friday night at a party here, either. Kie can just take it too far sometimes.

“Where are you going?” she frowns up at Isla.

“I need some chips,” she says, which is only half true. She kind of doesn’t want to talk to Kie at the moment. It’s nothing serious, just some sisterly annoyance which she’ll get over in the next five minutes. She is kind of hungry, though.

John B pushes himself up, too. “I’ll come with.” Standing straight, he reaches down to brush some of Sarah’s blonde locks away from her face. “Want anything?”

She shakes her head, smiling. “I’m okay.”

“I’m good too,” JJ tells John B with a smirk.

“Same,” Pope and Cleo add, twin shit-eating grins on their faces. John B merely flips them all off and joins Isla on the trek towards the house, throwing his arm over her shoulders.

“You good, buddy?” John B asks her as they walk by the pool.

Isla nods, chin lifting slightly. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” she responds, wincing only slightly as they pass by the speaker that’s blasting music. In a mumble, she adds, “Jesus, that’s loud.”

“Okay, grandma,” John B snickers, which results in Isla digging her elbow into his ribs while sipping the beer. “You looked a little ticked off at Kie.”

They walk into the house, weaving around party goers, his arm still around her shoulders in brotherly affection. Isla sighs, unsurprised that John B caught her expression or slight shift in demeanor. The guy is the Pogue-anointed leader of their group; he’s always had the ability to be in-tune with his friends. “You know her,” she says as they approach the kitchen. “She doesn’t mean anything by it, really, but she’ll make those subtle comments about me that almost make it seem like she’s judging me because some of my interests are different than hers.” With a roll of her eyes, she shoots him a look and adds, “Not Pogue enough, I guess.”

“Ah,” John B says with a sage nod of his head. “Whether she means anything by it or not, she loves you all the same, Isla. We all do,” he says with a smile, giving her arm a squeeze. “But if her comments bother you, just let her know. I doubt she’d ever want to hurt your feelings if she can help it.”

“You’re right,” she sighs again. He made the non-issue seem easily resolvable, which Isla’s sure it is.

The kitchen counter is littered with snacks, a lot of which are opened already and have been dug through. There’s even a bag of marshmallows, and Isla pops one into her mouth as John B stands a few feet away, raising his eyebrows at her expectantly as he opens his mouth wide, silently signaling her. With a laugh as she chews the one in her mouth, Isla grabs another marshmallow and tosses it towards him, grinning widely when John B catches it in his mouth.

“Incredible,” she gushes exaggeratedly with a clap of her hands, John B taking a bow in response that only makes her laugh more. Turning to the several bags of chips on the counter, Isla asks him, “Which one should we steal for ourselves?”

John B hums thoughtfully, lifting his hat up to run his fingers through his hair before fitting the cap back down. “How about—”

“I was hoping to run into you here, Isla.” She freezes at the familiar voice, gaze flickering up to see Carlo standing on the other side of the counter, dark eyes fixed on her. Oh, fucking hell. “I wanted to—”

“Nope,” Isla cuts him off with a sharp shake of her head, lips pursing at the way he frowns at being interrupted. Screw him. “I have nothing to say to you, and I promise there’s nothing you can say that I’d wanna hear. So, no.”

Carlo’s forehead creases even more as his frown deepens. “Don’t you think you’re being childish?”

“Hey, buddy,” John B says from next to her, raising his eyebrows at Carlo. “She said she’s not interested. Take the hint and walk away.”

“Fuck off, Routledge, I wasn’t talking to you,” Carlo scowls and Isla’s stomach twists, dreading that getting him to leave her alone wouldn’t be easy. His eyes flicker back to Isla, and even the counter separating them isn’t creating enough distance. “Come on, Isla. We never got the chance to talk things out.”

She exchanges a look of disbelief with John B, who also looks pissed on her behalf as his narrow eyed stare goes back to Carlo. She half expects John B to walk around the counter and get physical with Carlo. “What the hell are you talking about?” she says to Carlo, exasperated. “What is there to talk about? You cheated. I broke up with you. End of story.”

Her pulse is quickening, wanting him gone, as John B crosses his arms and says to Carlo tightly, “Yeah. End of story. Now leave.”

Carlo’s jaw clenches. He’s around the same height as John B, their stare even as he glares. “This ain’t your damn house, John B.”

“No, but it is mine.”

Isla’s eyes widen, the air whooshing out of her lungs when she sees Rafe entering the kitchen. She’s pretty sure her pulse skitters when she sees the cold expression on Rafe’s features, his gaze on Carlo as he takes a few steps closer. No scowl, no glare, but a chilling look of indifference that contrasted to the hardness of his icy blue eyes. She can’t help but think this look on him is far more intimidating, in addition to how his six-foot-two height towers over Carlo, and even a little bit over John B—who tenses up next to her, like he doesn’t think Rafe’s arrival is a good thing.

When did Isla start thinking it is?

Because she finds herself relaxing upon Rafe’s entry, the tight knot loosening in her chest as he stands a few feet away from Carlo, who has the right mind to look a little frightened. It brings Isla more satisfaction than it should.

Carlo finds his tongue. “I was just—”

“Leaving? Good choice,” Rafe cuts him off with a nod. When Carlo gapes at him, Rafe arches an eyebrow. He may look calm and collected, but Isla notices the muscle in his jaw jumping, like he’s grinding his teeth together. “She obviously doesn’t want to talk to you. Get the fuck out while your dignity is still intact.” He gives Carlo a slow once over, lips curling back into a sneer. “Whatever little of it there’s left.”

Isla claps her lips together, which had been parted in shock, in order to stifle back a gasping laugh. Her gaze darts to her left to John B, who is watching the whole interaction looking a helpless combination of bewildered, surprised, and wary. She can’t really blame him. Rafe Cameron, of all people, is coming to her defense, and while this isn’t the first time for Isla, it is for John B, and she can only imagine what’s going through his head right now. Probably a bit of the same of what was going through hers that first time.

Right now, though, she stands in the Cameron’s kitchen with her skin warming, watching as Carlo’s jaw works, looking as though he’s genuinely considering telling Rafe to fuck off or, worse, swing at him. She knows for a fact Carlo won’t win that fight. So when he looks at Isla, features tight and a contemptuous look hardening his eyes, she knows that he’s going to leave her alone for now.

He turns and stalks out of the kitchen, his departure making it easier for Isla to breathe as the tension eases out of her shoulders, which sink as she lets out a sigh of relief. Rafe finally turns to look at her, blue eyes meeting her brown, and she watches as the hardness in his gaze melts away, softening as he runs his eyes over like. Almost as if. . . He’s making sure she’s okay.

And then when he subtly arches an eyebrow, Isla knows he’s making sure.

Heart fluttering erratically, Isla dips her chin in an almost imperceptible nod. Still, she finds herself saying, “Thank you for that.”

“Yeah, very decent of you.” Isla almost startles when John B speaks up, gaze snapping over to her friend. He’s watching Rafe with that same wary look, though there’s that familiar touch of patronization that her friends and Rafe always get when they’re talking to each other. Isla tenses up ever so slightly; she doesn’t think she can handle any sort of confrontation between them right now. Not when John B is her friend and Rafe has been so. . . Different with her. John B lifts his chin. “Very un-Kook-like.”

Rafe’s gaze slides over to John B and immediately his expression shifts, that smug smirk returning that’s always been so condescending. Isla knows she should only see it as that, and yet. . . She can’t help but find it attractive. Oh, God.

“It’s not like you were doing much to help,” Rafe says in return, arching an eyebrow.

John B scoffs while Isla takes a long sip of her beer. “I did the exact same thing as you did, which was just talk to him, by the way.”

Rafe cocks his head to the side, smug. “And who did he actually listen to?”

When Isla notes the narrowing of John B’s eyes, she steps in. “Alright, we’re not having a dick measuring contest, okay?” she says, cheeks flushing ever so slightly at the mere thought of Rafe’s dick. The heat only seems to intensify when his gaze touches her, something intense passing through his eyes in an instant. “Thank you both for your help. Let’s move on.”

She grabs the bag of barbecue flavored chips, grasping John B’s upper arm with her free hand to pull him out of the kitchen. He glares at Rafe until the second when Isla shoves him out of the kitchen, only pausing briefly enough to glance over her shoulder at Rafe. She doesn’t know why she does it until their gazes meet and she finds herself smiling as she mouths, thank you.

And then Isla sees his shoulders relax, the smirk turning into the smallest of smiles as he dips his chin in return, and the fluttering returns to her stomach once more.

“Well, that was fucking weird,” John B remarks as they walk through the back doors and step out into the backyard.

“A little,” Isla lies. She digs through the bag of chips and practically shoves a handful in her mouth, hoping John B won’t linger on this topic of conversation.

Of course, that’s only wishful thinking, because the moment they arrive back where their friends are sitting, he announces, “Something weird just happened.”

Isla suppresses a sigh as she sits back down, back against the tree, while a chorus of “what?” sound from the others. As John B sits next to Sarah, he informs them, “Well, first, fucking Carlo was here.”

“Who the fuck invited that piece of shit?” JJ asks while Kie looks over at Isla. Whatever annoyance from before disappears as her sister silently, with her eyes, asks if Isla is okay. She just nods in response, giving a small smile.

“Don’t look at me,” Sarah says with a shake of her head, hands raising in defense. “He probably tagged along with someone.”

“Is he still here?” Pope asks, dark eyes darting around the yard, seeking out Isla’s ex.

“No, he left,” John B answers. “Which brings me to the actual weird thing.” Isla holds her breath as he briefly meets Sarah’s gaze before telling the group, “Rafe was the one who kicked Carlo out.”

“Rafe?” Cleo repeats, eyebrows shooting up. “Rafe Cameron?”

JJ shoots her a droll look. “How many Rafes do you know?” he asks, earning the middle finger from Cleo. “You’re telling me King Kook stepped in and helped you?” he adds, glancing at Isla in surprise.

Sarah tilts her head. “I thought my dad was King Kook?” she murmurs, almost to herself, unperturbed by the label. She shakes her head before saying, louder, “You guys, my brother isn’t some villain. He has his moments.”

“As rare as they might be,” Kie adds on with a pointed arch of her eyebrow as her gaze flicks back to Isla.

Their eyes meet and Isla tenses because she can see the clear question in her sister’s eyes, and can see where her thoughts wandered. And right now, Kie is thinking of when Isla had told her how Rafe had helped her out when her car broke down, which the rest of their friends still don’t know about. Adding what just happened now, her friends would have questions, suspicions, and Isla couldn’t honestly refute any of them because of her own changing opinion of Rafe. She couldn’t truthfully tell them it wasn’t a big deal, that it was just a one time thing—because neither of those things were true. At least, not for Isla.

So Isla gives a minute shake of her head, needing Kie to understand what she’s silently telling her. Kiara raises an eyebrow and Isla knows that though Kie remains silent, they will definitely be talking about this later. Isla isn’t looking forward to it.

*****

“So. Spill.”

Isla exhales sharply through her nose, bending down to spit out the toothpaste-tinted water in the sink. As she dries her face, she looks at Kie, who is leaning against the bathroom door frame, arms crossed. Trying not to be too rattled, Isla says nonchalantly, “There’s nothing to spill.”

“Fuck off,” Kie laughs, shaking her head. “You told me he gave you a ride the other week when your car broke down, and tonight he kicked out your ex? Those are nice things,” she emphasizes with a raise of her eyebrows. “And Rafe’s not that nice of a guy.”

Isla shrugs as she rubs and pats moisturizer on her face. “I don’t have an insight into his head, Kie,” she says with a slight chuckle, wanting to brush this conversation off. “I don’t know what he’s thinking. But—” She decides to be honest, meeting her sister’s gaze. “I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, you know? He helped me both times when he didn’t have to, and I appreciate it. That’s all.”

Kie twists her lips to the side, not entirely looking convinced. “It’s still sus,” she says. “Like, at least tonight. Why step in at all? John B was there, it’s not like you were dealing with Carlo on your own.”

As Isla rubs lotion up and down her arms, gaze on the movement of her hands, a ghost of a smile tugs at her lips as she remarks, “Maybe it was his good deed of the month.”

“What?” Kie asks, puzzled.

Isla resists the urge to swallow, and instead chuckles. “Nothing.” She shoots her sister a smile. “Anyway, it’s whatever,” she says, moving past Kie to get out of the bathroom. “Who knows why Rafe does anything?”

Kie snorts, moving into the bathroom for her turn to get ready for the night. It’s a little after two in the morning, their parents fast asleep, and at this point, neither of them are too drunk. Isla hadn’t drank anything after the beer JJ had handed to her, and Kie knows her limits when it comes to drinking. “I guess so,” she muses, tying her hair up into a messy bun.

Isla goes to her own room, shutting the door behind her before climbing into bed, sighing as she slips under the cool sheets. The main room lights are off, but she keeps the colorful LED lights hanging in front of her curtains on, bathing her room in dim colors as she unlocks her phone.

The first thing she does is go on Instagram, scrolling through her notifications to see people liking and commenting on her posts and stories from the party tonight. But her thumb freezes when she notices the top notification, which came in just three minutes ago.

Rafe.Cameron1104 is now following you!

Her eyes widen, the breath stilling in her lungs, even as she tells herself this isn’t a big fucking deal. Because it’s not. Yet, she still clicks on his profile, and before she decides whether or not to follow him back—because she is damn sure her friends will notice—she does a little stalking, feeling heat pool into her cheeks as she does, like she’s doing something wrong.

Still, Isla can’t help but scroll through Rafe’s profile. He doesn’t post that much, but his posts are mostly what she expects them to be; on his family’s yacht, with his friends, some with his family. No selfies, which doesn’t surprise her, but Isla does find herself looking at the solo shots of him, biting the inside of her cheek when she stares a little too long at the shirtless photos that makes her blood heat up in her veins. He’s fit, which is known, with broad shoulders and lean muscles, his torso tight with prominent abs glinting against the sunlight. Enough to make her mouth grow dry.

God, what’s wrong with her?

Why did he follow her? More importantly, why is she freaking out like she’s a middle schooler with a crush? Despite her warring thoughts, Isla scrolls to the top of his profile, thumb hovering over the blue follow button. A bunch of people she knows follow him, though none are her friends—except for Sarah, of course. Isla hesitates before letting out a quiet huff, hoping her friends don’t weirdly check Instagram followings, and presses the follow button before exiting out of the app, locking her phone, and dropping it on her stomach, all in the matter of five seconds.

She stares, wide eyed, at the ceiling while trying to slow down her foolishly racing pulse, chest rising and falling with every breath she takes. “What the fuck, Isla?” she whispers to herself in the dim lighting of her room, looking at the kaleidoscope of colors reflecting off the ceiling thanks to the LED lights.

He’s literally just a guy. A guy that, admittedly, her friends don’t like and she shouldn’t, either. Too often have JJ, John B, and Pope gotten into fights, both verbal and physical, with Rafe and his friends. Granted, her friends sometimes instigate the fights just as much as Rafe and his friends do, but the animosity has existed for years now. Which should be reason enough why Isla shouldn’t be engaging with Rafe anymore than she already has. Hell, smoking with him in his room tonight could be considered crossing a line, where her friends are concerned.

It feels like she’s playing a dangerous game—one where she has no idea what the rules even are.

Her phone suddenly buzzes and Isla’s throat dries as she lifts it, squinting against the bright screen. When she reads the notification, her stomach does a somersault, reading the message Rafe sent her on Instagram. God, why is he awake? Embarrassment floods her cheeks, knowing he received the notification of her follow back right away. Part of her wants to pretend she never got the notification of his message and just go to sleep, but intrigue wins out, and she opens Instagram and goes on her direct messages.

She rolls her lower lip into her mouth, reading those three words with a flutter in her belly, thumbs hovering over the keypad until she figures out how to respond.

Isla takes a deep breath, reading Rafe’s last message a few too many times before exiting out of the app, finding it a good place to let the conversation naturally end. The last thing she needs to keep doing is messaging Rafe Cameron in the middle of the night. So she plugs her phone into the charger and rests it on her bedside, turning away and burrowing herself deeper into her cocoon of blankets, needing sleep to take her away from the turbulent thoughts that surround Rafe.

144 notes · View notes

cathedral-of-sinners · 1 year ago

Note

I humbly request a Tighnari NSFW alphabet please whenever you're free and if you're willing to dear author!

Tighnari, Tighnari, Tighnari, Ti-

For him, I'm always willing <3 (being free and having motivation was a different story though lol)

CW: gn!reader (no pronouns/genitalia mentioned), reader can be either sub/dom and top/bottom depending on the letter, creampie (C)

— Tighnari: Full Alphabet

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

He's deliciously buzzed, so high on cloud nine that he doesn't want to come down. His head will drop to rest on your shoulder or in the crook of your neck, trying desperately to inhale as much of your scent as possible. You’ll even catch his tail flicking gently like a happy puppy’s would, something you can't ever bring up outside of the moment or else he'll never recover (not to mention the teasing Cyno would bring if he ever somehow heard of this habit lmao). Once he's collected himself though he grows insanely soft, ears relaxing as he places a kiss on your forehead, asking if anything hurts or if you want anything. Food, some water, medicine or a warm/cool cloth, he had it all set up on the nightstand before you started and reaches for what he needs before curling up beside you, tail wrapping around you in some way.

B = Body Part (Their favorite body part of their partners)

Your shoulders and arms! Adores when you wrap your arms around him both in and out of the bedroom, their presence something he simply really enjoys. Loves when he can bury his nose in your shoulders too, careful though, he's a biter ;)

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically)

Addicted to cumming inside or on your stomach. The way his seed dribbles and dots your skin makes his head swirl - as for inside? He could pass out from how good it feels to stuff you full <3

D = Dirty Secret

Has very big thoughts and feelings about teasing you all day with a toy. Wants you to roam the forest or into the city as he stays and does some paperwork in his home, the knowledge that you're no doubt struggling to keep it together until you get back at the forefront of his mind. By the time you get home he can smell the arousal dripping from you as he turns and smirks. Don't worry, he rewards generously to well behaved individuals :)

E = Experience (How experienced are they?)

Honestly could see him as both a virgin and not. Like, there's the idea that he's not interested in sex at all during his studies and then when he became a Forest Watcher there was both no time and no one that piqued his interest. But then I think he could also be the kind to have a one-night type thing once or twice while he was in school. He’s an I do want when I want kinda guy in some ways after all.

THEN AGAIN!! Fennec foxes mate for life sooooo, there’s that… but other than that he’s had plenty of moments when the topic came up in his research or conversations he’s overheard (both willing and unwillingly), therefore he’s really only lacking in the practice aspect.

F = Favourite Position

Lotus!! This is mainly because of how close the position makes you both, chests pressed up against one another, every breathe felt and every noise of pleasure heard. Plus, like mentioned before, it lets Tighnari rest his head on the crook of your neck, drowning him in everything that is you.

A close second is doggy style.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc.)

He’s sassy no matter where he is (man has no fear honestly) so I’m damn certain he’ll unintentionally (or even intentionally) be funny during the moment. For the most part though he’s pretty serious.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

*chef's kiss* he is very well-groomed. Tighnari takes extremely good care of both his ears and fluffy tail, so it’s only right he takes equal care down below. Firm believer that his pubes are the same shade as his tail and not a mix like his hair or solid black. Pretty clean shaven, the thinnest of bushes present.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect)

He can be very romantic when he wants to be!! Holds your hand, kisses you all across the face, down your neck, across your chest, he’ll whisper praise and compliments in your ear, all the things like that!

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Doesn’t jerk off much simply because he doesn’t feel the need to. The only times he would are if you’re not available (like out of town unavailable) or if he’s in a rut and you’re just taking too long to come home :((

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Marking: He's a bitter like I said but Tighnari also likes to admire the scratches left on both of you after an intense round. Really likes to trace them with his eyes as you both cuddle or as he takes care of them.

Breeding: I’m totally not adding this because of his fennec fix urges lmao (I am a little), but it doesn’t matter what you got downstairs, your hole will be stuffed with his cum to the point of overflowing.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Tighnari isn't picky about where you do it but he favors the bedroom slightly above the rest. It's just far more comfortable and there's less of a chance of being interrupted by a patrolling Forest Ranger or some random hiker

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Let him drown in your scent and he's yours. Also, he’s really sensitive when you kiss or drag your tongue over his Adam’s Apple ;)

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

He likes the risk but he's not stupid enough to risk your safety. He likes to play around with strange mushrooms and flowers but if he doesn't know everything about them - effects, antidotes, the like - then he's not bringing it around you. (But that’s honestly what any good lover would do).

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Honestly??? He’s got no preference. However, there is one pro when it comes to sucking him off: you get to see his ears cutely twitch.

A natural when he goes down on you. It’s partially due to his boldness and lack of hesitation. With minimal kitten licks, he dives right in like he might die if he doesn’t get a taste of you right that second. Bonus points when he looks up at you through his lashes too - it's really a sight to behold.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

He's honestly a mixed bag, he can go either way most days. It also depends on the circumstances: did you tease him? How much time do you both have on your hands? What are your preferences in the moment? As a default though he leans slightly more on the fast side.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

"Really? Now? Right before I'm suppose to leave for patrol?" He'll act like it's an inconvenience but really he doesn't mind. If either you or he are feeling needy before one of you have to leave or are expecting company he's not opposed to busting out a quick round. Just to satisfy you both until later where you have all night to play.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Again, dude's got no fear. Can and will fuck anywhere he wants (with your consent of course). Forest? Hell yeah. In the Akademiya? Oh how it’d piss the higher-ups off! Tighnari also doesn’t mind introducing new things he thinks you might like or something he wants to try, always opening up with “there’s something I’d like to try, if you’d let me?”.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last)

Tighnari in heat can go for what feels like forever even though it’s really only a mighty 7 or 8 rounds. When he’s not in heat however, the Forest Watcher averages about three. He’s always able to take some time before orgasming.

T=Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

KINKY TIGHNARI 🥵😫 (I thought it once and I’m never going to let it go, it’s permanently stuck in my head)

Owns every fucking toy under the sun (exaggeration but damn close to the truth). Loves using them and doesn’t mind bringing them into the bedroom with you either. For himself, has a favourite combo between a dildo and a cock ring (vibrating or not doesn’t matter to him). He just fucking loves bouncing on it, hitting that one sweet spot with the added stimulation from the ring.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Nodding my head vigorously. He so loves to tease you. “What? Did you really think I was going to touch you? Just like that? You’ve got me all wrong.”

Fucking loves teasing your nipples too. No explanation, it is what it is.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

If you manage to catch him off guard he’ll moan really loudly and slutty before growing red at the lewd sound ;) Tighnari whines and whimpers more than he does moan. He’s usually not too load but when he gets lost in pleasure, drunk on you, he can get pretty loud that people passing by will hear it

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Enjoys seeing you in lingerie and would die a happy fox if you surprised him in a black set, body draped along his bed as you await for him to unwrap his unexpected gift.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Average length, ‘bout 5 to 5 and a half inches. Definitely has a little more girth to it though. Has a prominent vein that travels along the side of his dick. Is a grower.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Not overly high, like it’s there but its also not. Before meeting you and before things in Sumeru calmed down there was just so much to do. Withering Zones, Elezar, the Akademiya constantly bothering him, the list goes on. The only time it's high is during the season *wink wink*

Z = ZZZ (how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

After catching his breath, going through the motions of caring for you both and finally laying down, Tighnari is asleep after 10 to 20 minutes, provided there’s minimal post-sex talk. He doesn’t mind chatting so if you do then he’s out after about 45 minutes.

Tag list: Not a Soul

If you'd liked to be tagged in any future works lmk via comment, DM or my askbox!

#tighnari x reader #tighnari x reader smut #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #tighnari x gender neutral reader #genshin tighnari #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact tighnari #tighnari smut #—val writes

649 notes · View notes

granddaughterogg · 1 year ago

Text

You Let Me Complicate You - Part 2

This is a love story about Simon "Ghost" Riley and you, starting with a random hookup and later navigating your increasingly complex feelings and desires towards each other.

PART 1 HERE

PART 3 HERE

~~Reblogs are always Greatly Appreciated!~~

SUMMARY: Ghost and you engage in some more flirting at the goth club. When he decides to get you acquainted with his favourite brand of bourbon, things get increasingly Physical - and unhinged, but you like it.

Chapter 2 - The Taste That Burns

He watched you like a hawk while you smacked your lips together, focusing on the metallic taste and tuning out everything else – the blue light, the music and the noises from the crowd.

Focusing on the liquor, mixed with the taste of his skin.

"So. It's different from Jack Daniels..." you concluded after a while.

"For fuck's sake", he snorted. "I'm not seventeen anymore, y'know. This is the good stuff."

You licked your lips, trying to come up with a more sophisticated review, but to no avail. Perhaps that slug you'd downed earlier was stronger than you thought. Or perhaps it was this stranger's fault. He made your thoughts disorganised and blurry. He made your breath rush.

"You'll have to do it again so that I can form an opinion about this venerable beverage", you announced, boldly looking him in the eye. It takes two to do this dance.

The man sighed slowly, shaking his head.

"Do I have to feed you like a baby bird? 'Cause I will do just that if you make me."

"Knock yourself out," you offered, feeling a pleasant rise of adrenaline in your veins.

Suddenly one of his large hands found its way under your chin, capturing it in a gentle but steady grip. His thumb rested on your jaw. A few centimetres lower and he'd hold you by your throat.

You didn't have time to contemplate this stunning prospect, for he pressed the glass to your lips and tilted it – again, with caution, but you weren't ready for him to actually do it. Golden liquid filled your mouth and flooded your throat, burning it with its smoky sweetness. A bouquet of amber and balsamic scents exploded in your nose. You choked and the booze dribbled down your chin.

"Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy", said this madman, still not letting go. „Look at all the mess you've made.”

His tone was as even as ever if laced with faint amusement. He leaned over your ear, and added in a husky whisper:

"You should've swallowed. We will have to work on that."

Hair all over your body stood on end – the ones that weren't already standing, that is.

"You dick!" you growled, pulling yourself out of his grip and shaking your head like a dog. "You could have drowned me!"

"Don't ask for somethin' you don't want, gorgeous...”

That was a tender word, yet he fixed you with a stare as distant and indifferent as a celestial body. There was no way to bridge that kind of distance. Neither on foot or in a spaceship. Many women probably died from lack of oxygen while trying.

"...because you might as well just get it."

"All right, all right." You started looking around for tissues. "Fetch me a napkin, will you?"

"What for?" He reached out, quick as an attacking snake and slipped his hand around your waist, pulling you so close that you almost slid off your stool, and placing his other hand at your nape. You felt his fingers weave into your hair, still damp from the rain. His grip was as skilled as it was assertive. Impossible to argue with.

You inhaled the air suffused with that citrusy-woody perfume of his, the smell of fireworks and his own masculine musky scent. You liked it. You wanted to dip your nose into it.

"You're gonna kiss me now?" you whispered.

He shook his head. The pale rictus of the Grim Reaper has denied you.

"Not yet."

"Fucking tease," you spat into the black, unfeeling mask.

His eyes widened. You didn't know whether it was anger or excitement at your insolence. Either way, you quickly regretted your outburst, for he brought his face so close that you felt the rough cotton of his balaclava on your cheek.

"You have quite a temper, love. Not gonna lie...this sort of feisty disposition is my favourite."

He whispered that right into your ear, enveloping you in the aroma of exquisite whisky. And there was that deadpan again. It drove you mad as much as the word "love" with its implied tenderness. You knew quite well that Brits call all women that - including those who they don't find fuckable in the slightest. When uttered by this Mancunian, „love” could mean anything or nothing.

His grip around your waist didn't loosen. He drew a circle around the small of your back, shooting electricity up your spine. Then he let go and pulled his mask upwards in a quick motion. You thought he'd get rid of it completely, but all he exposed was his pale chin and the very tip of his nose.

"I was about to ask how you plan on drinking in this thing..." you murmured.

"Just like that."

He noticed you gawking and said in a firm tone:

"Eyes averted, sweetheart."

And since all you did was raise both eyebrows, he added gruffly:

"No peekin'."

"Say, what do you even wear this thing for?" You asked, turning your head away, but very much intending to peek.

He shrugged as if asked the most inane question ever.

"To hide me face."

You glanced intently as he took a generous swig of his bourbon and threw his head back with a satisfied exhale. You've been expecting your typical Brit lip, as narrow as the slit in a mailbox. But his mouth was wide and quite shapely, with a sharp, pronounced Cupid's bow. It looked sensual yet ruthless. You could imagine a man with a mouth like that uttering a truly murderous putdown, unlike those playful jabs which he'd directed at you so far. If he wanted to, he could deal real damage. He could make people crumble, their self-esteem terminated on the spot. Or maybe it was just your inebriated imagination talking.

"What did I tell you about peekin'?", he grunted. Did he really expect you to obey this weird order...request...whatever it was?

"You knew that I will anyway", you said defiantly.

When he smirked, the corners of his mouth didn't go up like they were supposed to. They just stretched in both directions, creating a flat line. Interesting, you thought.

It was not a kind smile.

Before you could react, dodge out of his way, say anything – that bastard held at your face and licked the remnants of liquor right off your chin.

His tongue was searing hot and a little coarse, but not unpleasant.

This unexpected intimacy took your breath away and threw you off balance.

You stilled as if turned into stone, but with a hurricane howling inside your head, thoughts going circular at 200 miles per hour. That wetness on your chin burned like an executioner's mark, teasing and tickling at the same time. Deep within you blossomed a dark flame of excitement, licking your insides. Your starved body has been a stack of dynamite, and he just threw a lighted match.

He let you go and sat straight, looking awfully pleased with himself now that he'd put you in your place. Now that he has messed with you.

He's an animal all right, you thought. A beast that enjoys toying with its prey. An apex predator.

"As I was saying", he drawled, his mouth still curled up in dry amusement, his eyes boring into yours, keen and provocative, „This is the good stuff. I'd hate to see it go to waste.”

You remained silent, trying to reach within yourself, to quench that eager softness, blooming deep within your body. To find the familiar blade of cold, focused anger. You could've pushed his hand away, raise your voice and destroy this fucker. Tranquil fury has been your side weapon for so long. You could wield this power in your sleep.

Except that now it wasn't there.

How much of your inner confusion this kinky showoff even understood? Very much or very little - you would never know. His eyes glimmered in the dark, betraying nothing. He raised his glass.

You didn't have any better ideas, so you raised yours as well.

„Hey. Here's to fateful encounters”, he said.

"You say this to every poor gullible girl you've ever met in this shithole.”

His eyes flashed with amusement.

"That I do, yeah", he admitted without an ounce of shame, taking a sip of the golden liquid and giving out a small, satisfied sigh.

"Does it work?" you asked.

"Without fail. They burst into a fit of happy giggles."

"Tough luck, handsome. I don't do stupid noises", you declared, measuring him with a disapproving glance. You might've as well tried to melt the glacier with a lighter.

"Looking forward to the noises that you make."

To that, you couldn't help but laugh. You rested your head on your palm. That absolute nerve of his was disarming.

The giant guy took another sip from his glass, not breaking eye contact. You realised you don't even know if he's blond or dark-haired or something else entirely. His hair was hidden under that damn mask, and his eyebrows invisible in the murky light.

"Do you like your drink?" he inquired, leaning his long, muscular forearm against the concrete counter. You couldn't resist the temptation to watch the muscles ripple under the black cotton. The guy was covered up to his very neck. I wonder if he has any scars?

You took another slow sip, tasting thoughtfully. Your palate was on fire from the artfully blended notes of caramel, orange, cinnamon and a few more flavours you hadn't previously associated with alcohol. More like with a patisserie.

"It's good!" you exclaimed, pleasantly surprised. "What's it called?"

"Blanton's. It's my favourite. Tastes like Christmas, innit?"

"It does..." you admitted, relishing another sip.

"Not like the real Christmas though. Like the one they show on the telly", he mused.

"So generous of you to share your favourite flavours with a stranger.”

"Yeah, I'm Mr. Selfless, me." The corners of his eyes squinted in a smile. It was kinder than that rictus he had on his face while disregarding your bodily integrity earlier.

You were both quiet for a while, sipping the golden liquid in agreeable silence. Liquor coursed merrily through your veins, whispering that everything would be all right. Music swelled. Deafening bassline and metallic notes enveloped you like tentacles of smoke. You began to jerk your leg to the rhythm.

"Say", said the big guy, staring straight ahead. "Why don't blind guys skydive?"

You seriously pondered over the answer.

"Because their dogs would totally freak out?”

And then he laughed - it was a genuine guffaw, deep and rumbly. It made your skin prickle but in a good way. He threw his head backwards, showing you the curve of his wide neck. It was covered with soft black cotton of the mask, but you still noticed the outline of his Adam's apple.

"Well, fuck me sideways!” he chuckled.

"This could be arranged", you heard coming from your own lips. Was this the expensive (and you could tell that it was stupid expensive) whisky talking? Or just your own shameless yearning for this man? For his steady voice, his knowing touch, his admirable lack of fucks given and his large body, intriguingly shrouded by those drab clothes? A body which you'd love to know in great detail?

Your own upper body was already leaning flirtatiously against the counter, drawing meaningless circles on the concrete with your free hand.

"A woman after my own heart," he murmured, setting down his empty glass.

The bastard knew exactly what was going on with you, That stare of his mellowed, lids lowered in satisfaction. He was clearly a master at this game for two. Hell, he might've invented it.

Your whole being vibrated from desire and anticipation.

He pulled that cursed mask right over his face. Before you had time to realise it - you were looking at the wide, empty grin of the skeleton again. But now the man underneath it was also smiling.

His body language softened, too. It was as if he had shed an invisible armour. He turned towards you, one big hand resting on his thigh, clad in blue denim - the least gothic choice ever. He placed the other one right next to yours on the grey concrete counter.

You watched as he captured your thumb between his own thumb and forefinger, stroking your skin. His digits were rough to the touch. Then again, you've never seen a man with such pale hands. Did this guy ever come out during daylight?

"I'm down for that”, he murmured, sidling up close. So close that he obscured the light, once again enveloping you in his unique blend of scents. You liked how he smelled, even if the most lucid areas of your brain were screaming that you should really pay attention to that firework note. It was important...for some reason.

„I'm down...But there's no need to rush, don't ya think? The night's still young and so are we."

He gave you the usual sweet talk, but those tired lines sounded compelling when uttered in his deep, guttural voice. You found it more and more difficult to keep your head on.

"Sure thing, stud," you said, smiling alluringly. You were giving him the eyes now, the low lidded come-hither look and it wasn't at all calculated. The wave has risen. He knew and you knew how this night would end. You both drifted in that knowledge, as sweet and intoxicating as the whiskey.

"Speaking of young. How old are you exactly?" you asked.

"Half past thirty, give or take."

"Ah." There was a small silence, and then you added, inebriated by his masculine scent and proximity:

"Aren't you gonna ask me anything? My age? My name?"

He reached out and held at your chin. Amazing how gentle such a big guy with paws like shovels could be - if he wanted to.

"Do I need to know?"

"Well," you replied, a bit annoyed by this lack of interest, "I would like to know your name, at least. Or I'll just call you Skullface.”

You heard a muffled snort happening under the mask. His broad shoulders trembled with laughter.

"Skullface works fine for me. Look, love, how 'bout we go sit someplace cosier? Like away from those bloody lights?"

Said lights barely did their job, shrouding you both in a dim yellowish tint - but you got the idea. It would have been hard for you to get handsy on those damn stools. Not to mention the keen eye of the bartender, who passed you every now and then, dispensing various drinks to his customers.

"Yeah, let's", you agreed.

"Geoff, we'll take the bottle”, announced your companion. Once again you noticed this intriguing feat of his. He raised his gravelly voice just a notch, yet it cut through all the noise without effort. This man is used to speaking and to being obeyed, you thought.

And the frowning bartender must've been under his spell, too - for he materialized right before you, putting the requested bottle on the counter. There was a dainty brass figurine of a racehorse mounted on its cork.

"And water, please", you added.

"And water", the masked man repeated with a sigh. "For the lady."

He took both the booze and the flask of precious H20, assigned you the task of carrying both glasses, and the two of you wandered deeper into the dark bowels of the club.

He took point and you had nothing against it. First, you had the immense pleasure of watching him rise from the stool, and now your field of vision was mostly filled with his broad back.

Holy fuck, he was a big one.

Not only tall - although the moment he stood up, you felt like a hobbit - but also broad in every sense of the word. Strapping, Herculean, thicc. His shoulder blades lived so far away from each other, they probably had to send letters. As he moved, his beefy arms swung away from the large torso. His waist was also wide, his ass pronounced and shapely, and his long legs as juicy as they come. It got increasingly more packed as you went, but Skullface would just plough through the crowd, parting it like Moses. Whoever didn't want to be stomped flat - scuttled the hell out of his way. Heads turned, and many mouths opened in awe.

You stepped comfortably in his wake, feeling like a tiny boat towed by an icebreaker. You knew that sooner or later you'd get him out of those jeans, and that thought was an impatient flame, licking at your synapses.

Finally, he reached a secluded corner just against the wall, but with a good view of the whole club and the dancefloor. There was a sofa upholstered in worn plush and a low table (lame - as you immediately find out by placing the glasses on it.) The music blared much louder than at the bar; you could feel the pulsating rhythm under your feet.

The masked one threw himself on the sofa with a grunt, head falling backwards and legs splayed in a perfect manspread. He poured himself another glass of bourbon and patted the space on his right.

"Come 'ere, love."

You complied, yet it somehow wasn't close enough, for he grabbed at your hip, pulling you closer. Not your thighs were pressing into each other, his fingers dug painfully into your flesh and you could hardly breathe.

„Hey. Are you dru-

You weren't given the chance to finish this question, as the masked guy did four things almost at once. He pulled up the mask, emptied his glass, leaned over and kissed you, hard and messy.

You had to admit that he acted fast as lightning. You wouldn't have expected that from someone of such bulk. This thought - like all other thoughts – got banished to the back burner of your mind because your mouth suddenly lit up. Your throat was full of alcohol, burning you like fire. Somehow you swallowed this fiery wave (it sank into your stomach with the grace of a broken lift) and tried to free yourself, seized by understandable panic. You pressed both hands into his impressive pectoral muscles. Your fingers didn't even make a dent. You might've as well push a boulder.

You finally broke contact only because he allowed it.

"Are you drunk?!..." you gasped indignantly, pulling yourself away. Those damn eyes of his. So dark, so wide, unblinking.

"Yeah", he admitted, still not letting you go. "Get in my lap."

You straddled him, trying to prevent your stupidly short dress from riding all the way up and disclosing the colour of your panties. Results were mixed.

Now your bodies had way more contact than before; you put both hands on his wide shoulders, feeling the muscles of his thighs ripple under your own. His body burned you through the fabric. It felt like sitting atop a working oven.

"How many glasses did you have before we started talking?" You whispered, moving closer nonetheless. He was doing the same, tilting his masked head up so he could meet your gaze. Your bodies slowly converged, drawn together by one of the greatest force known in physics, namely: stupid drunk desire.

Skullface shrugged, and it was as if a mountain decided to rearrange itself.

"Don't know. Three? Four, maybe?.."

"You are off your tits", you stated with a resigned giggle. He lowered his head, meeting you halfway, his exposed, parted mouth tracing along your temple. His lips were still wet with liquor. You trembled.

"Gotta give it to you, big boy", you whispered into the soft fabric covering his neck. "It didn't even show."

"Never does." His voice was thicker than before. "Petal?"

Your head darted up at this old-fashioned term of endearment.

"Yeah?..."

"Kiss me."

You stilled, undecided whether you should remain in the arms of this inebriated madman or not.

Suddenly there was such yearning in his eyes. All the posturing, all those fuckboy strategies, practised to perfection - gone. All that remained was hunger, aching and hollow.

This desperation couldn't be about you, some woman he's just met at the bar. You felt as if tipping at some greater, darker mystery. One which you probably shouldn't drag into the limelight.

"Kiss me", he whispered hoarsely, looking at you from under heavy eyelids. "Please."

And kiss him you did.

That was the last time when you had any illusions of control.

His lips felt scorching hot. They were dry and chapped and tasted like alcohol, like tobacco smoke and like something essentially - him. It was a new flavour, as unique as human bodies are, and as heady as that whiskey that he's poured down your throat. Now you were both drunk and crazy.

His musky scent riding on the woodsy-citrusy notes filled your nostrils, while you could feel one of his large hands creep up the small of your back. The fingers of the other one were snaking their way through the hair at your nape. It was an ironclad hold. He locked you in so that you couldn't possibly slip away.

Not like you'd want to.

He licked his way inside your mouth, claiming it with frantic abandon that made something feral twinge deep within you. It felt as if this hulking stranger's taste matched a blueprint buried deep within your DNA. As if every fibre of your being has lightened up in recognition, calling out:

That's right. He's the one we want to fuck.

There was no finesse to what you two were doing; just clashing mouths and tongues entwining, as sloppy as they come. Sharing a moment of blind, uninhibited lust. You could hardly breathe under such onslaught of stimuli, yet you didn't let go, because it set your blood aflame. He didn't either.

At some point you rolled your hips and bit his lip, unable to contain yourself, and felt him buck under you. His hips met yours and you realized with a start how hard he had become inside those jeans.

"Fuck, love. Too much", he chuckled breathlessly, pulling away – not very far, just so that you could both still breathe the same air, panting softly into each other's mouths. Your French twist has come partially undone, sleek tendrils of hair framing your face. He threaded his fingers through one of them. His eyelids were fluttering, those fathomless eyes now big and vulnerable and seeking yours.

"Don't do that. I can't..."

"Can't what, exactly?" You smirked impishly, pressed your whole ass to his swelling length and nipped at his lower lip once more.

He slammed his eyes shut, exhaling furiously. Then he opened them again and shot you what you'd call a deathglare – if his chest wasn't heaving like a ship amidst a storm.

"Keep at it and I'm gonna raw you. Right. On this fuckin'. Couch", he hissed, his voice low, every word clearly enunciated, encased in grit and oh, so delicious. "In the middle of this fuckin' joint."

"They'll throw us both away", you giggled, hiding your hot face in the nook of his throat. "And the weather is shitty."

"Then stop biting me", he said, but didn't push you off his lap.

You stilled for a while after that. Distorted, metallic rhythms boomed all around you. The music felt like crusted blood on your tongue.

You let him hold you in this unbreakable embrace, pressing your ear to his clavicles, still hidden from you by a layer of black cotton. His breathing slowed down and then went back to normal.

"You're pretty excitable for a guy in his mid-thirties", you quipped under your breath, splaying your fingers over the well-worn fabric of his hoodie. The pecs under it were delightfully wide and firm. You traced over a small, perky nipple. He sighed.

"I haven't touched a woman in two months", he said matter-of-factly.

"Huh?" You sat up, looking him straight in the face. "Where have you been, in the fucking desert?"

"Yeah." His eyes regained that closed-off expression from before. Once again you felt as if looking into a boundless cosmic void, and it was chilling.

"I'm sorry", you said, regretting that thoughtless jab. "It's really none of my business."

"It's not", he agreed. His stare didn't soften much, but he still wouldn't push you away.

A moment of silence passed between you. He reached to the rickety table and helped himself to another long swig of whiskey, while his other hand stayed entwined in the – increasingly loose – hair at your nape. His fingers moved absentmindedly, loosening it further. You didn't protest. It felt soothing.

Suddenly the throbbing metallic rhytms which have surrounded you came to a halt. The dancing crowd has stopped as well; there were groans and even cries of protest. The DJ – a smallish, ratty-looking dude – didn't seem to care. He grabbed the mike and announced flatly:

"Ladies and gents, it's 10 P.M. Which means that it's time for some beloved classics. Enjoy the set."

"That sounded more like a fuck you than an invite", you giggled. But then the rhythmic crackle of automatic drums gushed from the speakers, followed by guitars, tuned in the most morose key possible. Your ears twitched at the familiar words of the song. The vocalist sounded like he was grappling with laryngitis.

In the heat of the night

In the heat of the day

When I close my eyes

When I look your way

When I meet the fear that lies inside

When I hear you say

"Oh hell yeah. I love me some good old Sisters of Mercy! Come on, handsome," You asked, getting off his lap and leaning over him, grinning widely. "Dance with me!"

The patrons behind you adjusted to this change in music style. Some have already begun to sway like trees in the cemetery wind. Others were shifting from one leg to another, a little lost but determined not to miss out on the fun.

The masked one, however, did not share their commitment. The skull shook slowly from left to right.

"I don't dance, sweetheart."

"Oh, come oooon," you pleaded, placing both palms on his wide chest, trying to negotiate with those dark, implacable peepers. Were they actually black? Or something else entirely? The dim blue neon light didn't give you any answers.

"What's the worst thing that can happen? That you'll enjoy it?"

Andrew Eldritch was proclaiming melodic, mournful nonsense to the world, guitars were chiming and that damn man sat unmoving like an anchor. You knew there was no point in pulling him off the couch by force. Firstly, it wouldn't do any good. Secondly, your shoulders would pop out of their joints.

"I know what I don't enjoy." That was not a rebuff, more like an excuse.

He stroked your exposed forearm, then squeezed your hand in his strong grip. Those rough fingers of his were warm and pleasant to the touch.

"But you go dance."

"What?.." You weren't sure where this was going. And you sure as hell didn't like it.

"Have fun, love. I'll watch over you."

You stood up, smoothed up your dress (which has ridden obscenely high during your little makeout sesh) and sent him a salacious smile.

"You'll watch me dance?"

He stretched out on the sofa like a lord, spreading his arms on the backrest and balancing a glass of whisky in his fingers. He looked like the embodiment of dark debauchery. You really wanted to climb into his lap again, but you weren't a woman who easily went back on her word.

"I won't even blink," he assured you with this absolute certainty in his low voice. Chills ran down your spine.

"All right." You straightened your back, checked if that hairpin was still holding up (it was) and turned your back on him to say over your shoulder:

"Then watch me."

You sashayed to the dancefloor, swaying your hips extra hard. The goths were awfully accommodating - they let you into the fold.

You found yourself surrounded by a writhing mass of people, moving along with the hard-hitting rhythm. There were elated faces all around and arms flailing in the dark, punctured by rays of dim blue light. It took away all semblance of reality, making all those faces disembodied. You felt as if immersed in a neon aquarium. Encased in your very own vision, a music video for one.

For he kept his word. He was truly watching.

You undulated under the blue reflectors, making sure that your dance moves were giving more "ethereal seductress" than "a teenager on crack" which was your default. But after some time you lost yourself in the music and stopped caring so much about how you look. Your body was doing its thing, gracefully coiling into figures you'd never be able to recreate on purpose, and your mind focused entirely on him.

Even when you closed your eyes, you could feel his stare, as inscrutable as it was unwavering. There was some gravitational pull to this man , as if he'd been highlighted by a black aura. The opposite of a limelight.

After "Dominion" they played a Marilyn Manson song (apparently the term "classics" was being applied very broadly), then "Dragula" by Rob Zombie - and suddenly it got way, way more crowded. A breathless, happy crowd began to push against you from all sides.

You swayed your arms, shook your hips and stomped your feet like nobody's business, trying your best not to thwack anyone in the kisser. Some nondescript dude sauntered close to you and started dancing obnoxiously near. Probably thought that he was being seductive. You ignored his ass, but he stuck to you like dandruff.

The fray got so thick that you lost sight of Skullface. Dancers blocked your view.

The stranger leaned in closer still. His hair was so long that it hit you in the face, and his eyes had this glassy expression which gave you chills. Drunk? Drugged and off his rocker? You didn't want any of it and tried to manoeuvre as close to the edge of the fray as possible. Then this fucker put his hand on your ass. You jumped, trying to shake it off - to no avail.

Hot, sticky words fell from his mouth, but to you, those were just sounds without a meaning. "Dragula" sleekly transitioned into "This Corrosion” and the patrons screeched in uniformed delight. The dancefloor had been packed before, but now you felt as if trying to do dance moves on your morning commute. A mass of sweaty bodies pressed onto you from every angle, and that long-haired creep kept pawing at your rear, face contorted into an empty, maniacal grin. Where the fuck was Skullface when you needed him? You've had just enough of this nonsense.

You stopped dead in the middle of the song, turned around with such momentum that the surprised assailant let go of your ass - and delivered a sweeping kick to his shin.

OK, maybe it was supposed to be sweeping. Truth be told, you didn't have much space for fancy martial arts. But thanks to your trusted combat boots it probably hurt.

The creepo staggered backwards and seized you with a furious look.

"You dirty slut!" he squealed.

You didn't wait to hear what the scorned suitor had to say next. You pushed past the crowd and ran off the dancefloor, staggering and panting heavily.

The sofa against the wall was empty.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Where did loverboy go?

Seriously. Where did he go?

--to be continued--

#ghost call of duty #modern warfare #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #ghost modern warfare #ghost simon riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #ghost x y/n #ghost x female reader #@thychuvaluswife #simon riley fanfic #simon riley smut

187 notes · View notes

links-in-time · 8 months ago

Text

Hero's Scars

Part 3 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️

Happy Pride Month!!!

@hyruledwarriorr

The gushing of blissfully hot water filled Link's ears, as he leaned comfortably against the side of the large wooden bath tub. It was so loud in fact that he failed to notice Sara sneaking into the bath house. Visa versa, Sara was walking backwards into the mostly quiet room and had no idea she wasn't as alone as she had suspected.

The sound of the running tap caught her attention quickly however and she couldn't stop a shriek of surprise escaping her lips. Link's previously closed eyes flashed open at the noise. He ducked low behind the rim of the bath and turned his head to see the intruder.

"Oh by Hylia!" Sara exclaimed, managing to half whisper her scream. She slapped a hand over her mouth as her cheeks flushed bright pink. "Captain! I had no idea anyone else was in here. I'm so sorry, I'll go."

Sara immediately turned on the spot and began to open the door. She couldn't believe of all people Link would be in the bath at this time of night. Moreover, she couldn't believe she had managed to walk in on him naked twice now.

"Sara?" She heard Link call behind her.

She paused with her hand on the door knob, wondering whether to ignore Link and go back to her chambers, or to stay.

"Yes Sir," she replied sheepishly, scrunching up her shoulders.

"What are you doing here this time of night?" He asked, equally as bewildered as she was.

"I couldn't sleep, so I came to have a bath," she replied, still facing the door. "I didn't think anyone else would be in here. I'm so sorry Captain."

Link considered for a moment, leaving Sara hanging in a painful silence.

"You don't have to leave if you don't want to," he said.

"Really, it's not a problem Sir..." Sara tried to argue but Link interrupted her.

"Nonsense, it's fine," he insisted. "Honestly I don't mind. You just surprised me. But, I'm not king of the baths."

Sara let out a steadying breath and finally turned around. She gripped her washbag close to her chest and walked towards the other end of the room. She was aiming for a bath in the opposite corner to Link's, but he noticed this and called out to her.

"Where are you going?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm gonna go run my own bath," she replied. Link chuckled.

"Sara, these baths are built to hold ten people, are you really going fill one up all for yourself?"

"Well you did," she remarked, but regretted making such a snide comment.

"I suppose I did," Link laughed again. "But it doesn't make sense wasting water now there's two of us," he pointed out.

Sara let out a long sigh, slumping her shoulders and dropping her head. It had been one thing accidentally walking in on Link getting dressed. That had given her dreams enough fuel already. But sharing a bath with him. The two of them, naked, together. Not that she didn't want to. But he was still her commander. Realising that Link wasn't going to drop the subject Sara waddled over to his bath and placed her wash bag on the floor.

"Erm, can you close your eyes, or turn your head. Or something?" She asked, tugging at the hem of her top like some bashful school girl.

"Of course," Link replied. He rested his head back against the bath tub and closed his eyes.

Sara waved her hand a little to make sure he wasn't peaking, then quickly stripped off her shirt, trousers and boots. Climbing into the large tub was a little awkward but she quickly settled herself under the water, sinking down so it covered her all the way to her chin.

"Alright, you can open your eyes now," she said tentatively.

Link opened his eyes slowly. He didn't want Sara to think he was being impatient with her, or trying to catch a glimpse.

"Sorry this isn't the quiet bath you hoped it would be," he apologised, with a little tilt of his head.

"It's okay, at least this way if one of us falls asleep we won't drown!" Sara replied matter of factly.

Link burst out laughing. Surprising Sara as he slapped the water with his hand, sending ripples and splashes her way.

"You know, I hadn't thought of that," he spluttered, wiping water from his face, but only succeeding in dampening his bangs.

As Link's laughter subsided they settled into an awkward silence. Sara wanted to reach for her washbag, but for that she'd have to ask Link to close his eyes again.

"Do you want me to close my eyes while you wash?" He asked for her.

"Just for a minute, if you don't mind," she replied, relieved she hadn't had to ask.

"I don't mind at all. I usually sit here with my eyes shut anyway," Link sighed, closing his eyes once more.

Sara leant over the side of the bath to grab her bar of soap and a sponge. She set to work cleaning herself, always keeping half an eye on Link in case he was peaking. But like the gentleman he was, he kept his eyes closed the whole time.

"How often do you come in here at night then?" She asked, scrubbing the soles of her feet.

"Whenever I get the chance really. I er, I don't like to come in when there's other people about?" Link explained, his ears turning a shade of pink. He wished Sara was the one with her eyes shut so she couldn't see him blushing. He hoped she would think it was just warmth from the water.

"Why's that?" Sara asked, splashing water over her face and hair to wash off the last of the soap.

"Well, remember when we talked about my secrets. They would be a lot more difficult to hide if I bathed with the rest of my troops."

"You can open your eyes now," Sara sighed as she settled back down in the water.

Link opened his eyes and found Sara looking at him with a mixture of sympathy and curiosity.

"You told me yesterday that you wanted to talk when we got back to the castle. Is this what you wanted to talk about?" She sighed.

"I wanted to talk about... Wanted to ask... Argh, I don't know how to say any of this right." He groaned, pressing his hands into his eyes.

"It's okay, you don't have to say anything if you don't want to Link," Sara tried to assure him. But Link shook his head.

"No, I want to. I need to." Link curled his fingers into his wet hair in frustration.

"Alright, just please take a breath and stop clutching your hair so tightly. You'll hurt yourself," Sara pointed out, concerned for Link.

Link realised what he was doing and released his grip. He let his hands fall back into the water and let out a long pained sigh.

"Take your time, I've got all night if you need it Link."

"Hmm, you're very sweet Sara," Link remarked. "How did I end up with you as a friend?"

"I'm honoured you consider me a friend Captain," she nodded.

"Why wouldn't I?" Link frowned. "We've always gotten along haven't we? And you came to my rescue at the Inn the other day. I hoped that we might have been growing close. But you're still calling me Captain."

"I'm sorry, I guess it's just a force of habit," Maari blushed. "I'm also glad we're friends."

Link took a moment to collect his thoughts and consider what he wanted to tell Sara.

"I said it would be difficult to keep my secret if I came in here with the rest of the troops. I suppose I should start by explaining what I meant." Link paused, dropping his gaze to watch the ripples in the water.

"When I was a kid I never felt comfortable in myself. I always felt isolated and trapped somehow. As I grew up things about my life just didn't make sense to me, until one day I watched the soldiers parading through Castle Town. I asked my mother who they were and she told me they were the proud men and women who defended Hyrule and the royal family. I felt inspired. And something told me I might find a purpose as a soldier. When I was old enough I enlisted and began my training. I found a sense of comradery and fellowship I hadn't had anywhere else before. No one cared who I was or where I was from. Everyone had their own story and most were low born like me.

Soldiering felt like my calling and it made me feel a lot less lonely and I felt more like my true self than I ever had before. When I found out I possessed the triforce of courage and the hero's spirit," Link paused again. He sighed and gazed off into his memories. "I guess it reinforced everything I had always known about myself. I felt validated in my own body and I didn't feel quite so isolated anymore. But it came with its own challenges. Being the hero came with a specific image people expected, and I suppose I still wonder sometimes if I truly live up to that image."

Sara had been listening intently to Link as he spoke. She could feel how this was both a releaf but also difficult for him to say all these things. Understanding more about Link's past gave her a window into his troubles, but she couldn't help feel he was leaving something out.

"I'm sorry you felt lonely for so long Link. It's a hard thing to feel alone, especially when you're surrounded by people who adore you."

Sara stopped and considered before asking her next question. She didn't want to overstep any boundaries, but she felt she had to ask.

"What do you mean when you say you felt validated in your own body?"

Link didn't answer. His gaze shifted away form Sara to literally anything else in the room. He gulped hard and picked at his finger nails beneath the water.

"Link?" Sara leaned forward a litte. She wanted to reach out to him, but buried that instinct down quickly.

"Can I ask you something first? Then I'll tell you the rest of my story. If that's alright?"

"Of course."

"I know we've become friends, and I really enjoy our time together when we can get it. So my question is, do you maybe like me?" He asked with almost a wince.

"Of course I like you, we wouldn't be friends if I didn't like you Link," Sara replied, giving a simple answer to what she saw as a stupid question.

"Sara," he raised an eyebrow at her. "That's not what I meant. I'm asking if there's a chance you might have feelings for me?"

"Oh," Sara exclaimed, as a dark red blush washed over her face.

Of course she had feelings for Link. He was intelligent, he had a sense of humour and as far as she had seen he wasn't the kind of guy to sleep around. Not to mention he was incredibly handsome with blue eyes deeper than their bath tub.

"Um, I wasn't expecting you to put me on the spot like that." She began, subtly splashing water on her face in a vein attempt to cool down the heat in her cheeks.

"I'm sorry, but it's important to me that I know if you do. I didn't mean to make you even more uncomfortable than I assume you already were!" He apologised, giving her a crooked smile.

"Well..." Sara said, stretching out her vowels. "Maybe for a few months now I have been feeling those kind of feelings for you."

As she spoke she was unable to look Link in the eyes. In all her dreams and fantasies of confessing her affections for Link, this was not how she imagined it at all. Although she may have had a dream about them sharing a bath before.

"Really?" Link asked, his eyes lighting up even though she sounded unsure. Sara let out another long sigh.

"Uh, yeah. I'm definitely attracted to you and when I saw you sitting at that bar crowded by those admirers, maybe I felt a little bit jealous." She admitted, talking quickly to get the words out.

"Wow, well that's fortunate because I like you too Sara," Link uttered.

"And maybe when my room-mates tease me about my crush on you... Wait what?" Sara kept speaking, until she registered what Link had said.

"I said I like you too," he reiterated.

"Oh." Maari wasn't sure what colour her face was at this point, but the heat had now spread to her ears.

"It's true what I said about feeling more myself and less alone in the army. But I still get those feelings sometimes. I don't always feel I can be completely open with everyone. Which is why I asked about your feelings."

Link closed his eyes and tried to compose his next words. He was desperately worried about how Sara might react. Oh how he wanted her to accept him. Link had grown closer to Sara than any one he'd ever met. She talked straight to him, but she teased him too, called his bluff but was also so caring and considerate.

"Okay, here goes. When I was born I wasn't... I didn't start life... My parents thought I was a girl." Link fumbled out his words.

He looked over at Sara in the hopes of gauging her reaction, but he struggled to read her face. She was almost impassive, apart from the blush across her face.

Sara had had her suspicions. She wasn't completely ignorant and after seeing Link's chest scars she had an incling what his secret might be. But of course she hadn't asked about it. What kind of person would? Besides, it didn't matter to Sara whether Link had been born a girl or a boy, or something in between. She liked Link. Surely the rest didn't matter. It was at this point Sara realised she had been saying all of these things in her head instead of out loud and Link was beginning to worry about her stunned silence.

"You think that makes a difference to me?" She asked plainly, giving Link a sympathetic smile. "Link, it wouldn't matter to me if you had two heads, or goat legs! I just told you I like you, romantically or not, I do. I feel honoured that you've told me this precious thing about yourself. But you shouldn't have worried that it might change anything between us."

"I'm sorry. I guess since everyone has a specific image of me in their heads. When they find out that image isn't the whole story, some people freak out or react badly towards me," Link sighed. "But you really don't care?"

"Not a bit," Sara nodded her affirmation. "I'm just sorry you felt you had to hide who you are. I had a friend growing up who was born as a boy. But she always felt more kinship with the other girls in the village. When she realised her body didn't align with how she felt, she changed her name and now she's much happier living as Kristeen than she ever was before."

"I knew I wasn't unique, but," Link sighed, unable to keep talking.

"Hey, you don't have to keep talking about this if you don't want to. You've already told me so much tonight."

Sara caught Link's eye and he could see how earnest she was being. He relaxed a little, all of a sudden he realised how scared he had been of this moment. Now that it had past Link didn't feel the need to be afraid anymore.

"In fact," Sara continued. "I think I'll let you finish your bath in peace and go back to my room. Unless you'd like me to stay longer. But my fingers are already starting to prune up!" Sara asked, observing her wrinkly finger tips.

"No it's okay," Link chuckled, realising he had also been sitting in the water for a long time. "I think I'll get out soon anyway," he remarked.

Without needing prompting, Link closed his eyes and waited for Sara to get out of the bath and wrap a towel around herself.

"Alright Link," she sighed deeply. "I'm going to bed."

Sara gave Link a sleepy smile before turning and heading towards the door.

"Hey Sara," Link called after her. "Thank you. For listening."

Sara stopped half way across the room. She turned back to Link and smiled more broadly.

"Thank you too."

"For what?" He asked.

"For telling me your secret, for telling me how you feel about me. And for kinda forcing me to do the same," she explained, rasing an eyebrow at the last sentence.

"Ha, yeah, I'm sorry about that," Link blushed, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

"Don't be, if you hadn't, I might never have told you how I was feeling about you. Goodnight Link. Sleep well."

<Part 2 :

#legend of zelda fanfiction #legend of zelda #fandoms #fanfic #link #the legend of zelda #link hyrule warriors #trans link #trans masc #lgbtq #pride month #trans pride #zelda fic #hyrule warriors #lu chain #hyrule warriors link is a precious baby

29 notes · View notes

cressthebest · 11 months ago

Text

Art Heist, Baby! thoughts pt. 14

we’re nearing the end yall and i’m getting HELLA nervous. five chapters left. and reg is gonna die. i’m not ready

chapter 34:

1. the mulciber swap went perfect. still nervous though

2. the heist is almost over. and they’re all splitting up to go places. i don’t think i can handle this

3. god, it’s the lucius swap. i don’t think it’s gonna go well. i’m so worried

4. “Regulus cleared his throat. “I just want to say that it had been a privilege and an honour to conduct this heist with all of you. Each of you are brilliant individuals and I couldn’t have asked for a better team.”” sobbing so badly rn. horrifically sobbing. oh my god. the death must be this chapter. it feels all like a final goodbye, and it probably is for reg

5. reg wants to fix his relationship with sirius over a hundred cups of coffee. that sounds so nice

6. reg is looking forward to attending sirius and remus’ wedding! and he’s surprised that sirius wants him there. this. this all feels so foreboding

7. god. they’re face to face with tom riddle. this isn’t gonna end well. i can feel it

8. it was a set up. all reg gets to say is “james run” and then there’s bullets. i almost don’t want to read the rest of the chapter. i don’t even think i’m gonna cry. just quiet resignation. i will be fine. i fucking called it last post tho, saying it would be tom riddles fault.

9. oh gosh. reg is dying right there on the floor, blood pooling in his lungs and he’s telling james not to be scared

10. i was a fool. of course i’m sobbing. i sent my freind a two minute long voice recording while sobbing about how sad i was over the death. they can confirm, though i’m not asking them to

11. reg gives james his ring. oh fuck

12. dying by tom riddles’ hands. drowning in his own blood. of course he dies by drowning

13. on another note, i’m sure that james’ gun kink is very much gone

14. “It wasn’t the amount of blood that had accumulated all over the floor that convinced James that Regulus was dead.

Or the fact that Regulus had stopped the gurgling and wheezing noises several minutes ago as he drifted into cruel stillness.

It wasn’t Barty’s tear stained and blood splattered face. Or Evan’s desperate attempts to shake Regulus awake. It wasn’t even Peter’s sorrowful look upon checking for a pulse. Or his frantic attempts to do CPR anyway.

It was Sirius’ agonised wails as he pleaded and called out to a God he never believed in to spare his brother. To bring him back. “I just got him back,” Sirius screamed. “I just got him back. Please. Don’t do this. Please bring him back. I just got him back.””

this fucking fic i swear to god

15. everyone else is dead, thanks to evan and barty. for once, i agree with their unhinged. it was a slaughter of men on the other side, and i am glad. they are dead, and they don’t even deserve it. they deserve a life of torture for what they did. thank fucking god they’re dead tho. it makes me rest easy

they were supposed to get a house with green or red shutters and get married and travel the world and make tea and orange muffins and snog in art museums and visit their freinds and be happy and in love and never live a mundane life cause they’re rich and together. but NO. it has to all get ruined

im not okay, thank you for asking. i will never be okay, thank you for asking. i never want to be okay again, stop asking.

#marauders #jegulus #art heist baby #james potter #mwpp #mwpp era #regulus black #fanfic #ao3 #sirius black #sirius and regulus #sobbing crying throwing up #tears are streaming down my face #literally sobbing #barty crouch junior #evan rosier #cress' ahb reviews

33 notes · View notes

your-world-with-nct · 1 year ago

Text

polaroid love | njm (1)

ONE — ooh, someone’s got a cruuush!

<- BACK | MENU | NEXT ->

PAIRING | na jaemin x female reader (ft. nct dream + enhypen 02z)

GENRE | fluff, angst, college au

WARNINGS | intended lowercase, cursing, mentions of sex, alcohol consumption, stem student slander

WORD COUNT | 2.5k

SUMMARY | inspired by enhypen’s ‘polaroid love’ — in his twenty-two years of living, na jaemin has never been in a proper relationship. after witnessing his best friends go through their fair share of complicated, devastating heartbreaks, jaemin decided he was better off investing his time and effort into his studies, rather than wasting his time falling in love. years of having fleeting crushes and being countlessly confessed to passed by and not a single person could tempt jaemin into the world of love. that is, until, he meets someone that he can’t get out of his head no matter how long he stares at his anatomy textbooks. someone that reminds him of the hopeless romantic he once was. someone that can show him that love doesn’t have to be so complicated to succeed.

A/N | i’ve been waiting for the day to put this out and here it is!! i hope you guys enjoy this first part and look forward to the rest of the series :) feedback is always appreciated and please reply to this post or send an ask to be added to the taglist <3

FIC PLAYLIST LINK | click here to enhance your reading experience!

HEADER KEY | • REC -> a character’s point of view | ■ GALLERY -> a flashback from that character’s point of view

JAEMIN CAM • REC

“jaem, food’s here, you can finish that later,” jaemin looked up from his computer after countless hours of meticulous editing to see jeno leaning against the doorframe, impatiently tapping his foot.

“mmm, yeah, be right there,” jaemin hummed, with absolutely no intention of getting up within the next few seconds.

jeno rolled his eyes at his housemate. he knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t be moving from his desk any time soon, “hmph, okay, but hurry up or renjun and haechan’ll beat you to the couch and you know you get all huffy when you have to sit on the floor.”

“i don’t get huffy,” jaemin scoffed, shutting off his computer and getting up from his chair, momentarily holding onto it for balance as he’d underestimated just how long he’d been glued to it, “i’m not getting up because you said that, i’m getting up because i don’t want the terrible two to take my favourite soju flavours before i get there and leave me the strawberry one.”

jeno chuckled as he signalled for jaemin to snag their spots on the living room sofa whilst their other housemates finished laying out the pizza and chicken they’d ordered.

once haechan had stopped complaining about how he deserved the best spot since he paid for the food, the four friends sat down and enjoyed their delicious meal accompanied by whatever show jeno had come across whilst flipping through channels. four full stomachs and five empty soju bottles later, the boys piled together messily on the couch, their drunk conversations drowning out the sound of the show playing and reducing it to background noise.

“soooo, lee jeno, are we not gonna talk about the guest you brought home last night?” renjun teased, rubbing his flushed cheeks against his best friend’s side.

“ahh, well, what was her name again–”

“you forgot her name?” an equally red jaemin sat up from haechan’s lap, his droopy eyes now wide open, “you brought her home and you don’t know her name?”

jeno slowly shook his head, lightly hitting jaemin’s chest, “calm down, she’s an international student and she has an english name so it was harder to remember… ah! it was lila, she was at the bar last night when the basketball game was on, and she seemed kinda bummed when the team she supported lost so–”

“you made her feel better about it by making her feel good blah blah blah, i don’t care about how you worked your charm, what i wanna know is why she practically ran out of here saying ‘i’m sorry’ over and over,” renjun said, earning himself a slap from jeno for both interrupting and exposing him.

“i was getting to that,” jeno huffed as he recalled this morning’s events, “well, uh, you see, when lila first came to korea she befriended… rina.”

“your ex rina?!” haechan’s high-pitched exclamation had the rest of the boys covering their ears with their hands.

“no, the waitress at the sushi restaurant rina,” jeno deadpanned, “of course, my ex rina! lila didn’t recognise me until this morning because, well, i-it was dark… and we, we weren’t exactly fully sober. but when she did, she pretty much left as soon as she could, saying that she felt awkward for getting with her closest friend’s ex and that she wasn’t gonna contact me again for the sake of their friendship.”

“damn.”

“that’s… unfortunate.”

“yikes.”

“i know,” jeno carelessly reached for another bottle of soju, taking a swig, “it’s rough.”

“you’re not the only one going through it,” renjun piped up, holding a shot glass in front of jeno’s bottle, gesturing to pour him some. after tipping the burning liquid down his throat, he sighed, “i stopped talking to chaeyeon, well, more like she stopped talking to me. she said she was never really that into me and that she just needed someone to entertain her for a bit so—”

snatching the bottle from jeno, renjun took another pitiful sip, the rest of the boys giving him sympathetic pats on the back or reassuring him that he’d find someone soon enough or maybe it was for the best.

“seems like none of us are having much luck with relationships lately,” haechan said, “i asked hyeyoon if she wanted to go on a third date any time soon and… she ghosted me.”

“oh dear,” jaemin winced, the second-hand embarrassment sending shivers down his spine. “renjun-ah, don’t hog that bottle, give hyuck some too,” he gripped the green bottle, lowering his voice, “come on, he needs this just as much as you do.”

he whined but gave in, handing the drink to his slightly more sober friend, “i assume you don’t have any news regarding your non-existent love life, jaem?”

“that’s meannnn, jun,” jeno lightly hit renjun again, this time for the snarky comment, “wait, jaem, what’s that face for? surely… no, it can’t be.”

the boy shrugged, the dreamy smile on his face completely unmoved. “well,” he paused to grab their attention, “there is this one girl…”

those words alone seemed to sober up jaemin’s best friends, as they all sat up, jaws agape and anticipating gazes on him. it was rare for jaemin to ever contribute to these conversations besides from providing emotional support or advice, so the mere mention of a girl on jaemin’s mind had piqued their interest. as he opened his mouth to continue, the boys simply hoped that it was going to be more than just another of his fleeting attractions.

JAEMIN CAM ■ GALLERY

“and remember, next week you’re gonna need a model for what we’re doing, so don’t forget to bring a friend along,” eunjin reminded the group before they all left, “ooh, and i’ll post a reminder on the club’s instagram story in case you’re super forgetful!”

jaemin whipped his phone out of his pocket, quickly typing the reminder ‘bring someone to photography club’ into his notes, already trying to figure out which of his friends would be the easiest to persuade to come along.

“ah, hyung, i’ll get going now, see you next thursday,” the enthusiastic second year engineering major jaemin had befriended waved goodbye to his senior, flashing a grin as he packed up his things and set off.

“see y– wait, jake! you almost left your camera bag,” jaemin called after him, handing him his belongings.“what’s got you in such a rush? you’d never leave your camera behind.”

the younger boy turned to retrieve his stuff, bowing to show his gratitude, “oh, thank you so much, hyung, i would’ve gone insane if i left this. my best friend’s waiting for me and she did not appreciate the extra time eunjin noona took at the end of the session–she’s impatient and hungry and it’s my turn to pay for dinner so if i don’t hurry up, i have to deal with a hangry y/n for longer than i’d like.”

“sim jaeyun! come on!” the voice of who jaemin assumed to be the ‘hangry y/n’ caught his attention, however, the annoying image he had envisioned in his head did not match up with the beauty he laid eyes on.

“calm down! i was just thanking jaemin hyung for giving me my camera back, which i wouldn’t have forgotten if you weren’t rushing me, geez,” jake rolled his eyes as he turned his back to you, mouthing a ‘see you’ to jaemin as he hurried to the door, “i’m coming, i’m coming!”

after packing away all of his equipment, jaemin set off on his way home, not forgetting to bow to eunjin on his way out.

“sorry, jakey, i just couldn’t wait,” he heard a much gentler version of the voice from before in front of him. looking up from his phone, jaemin recognised the two figures in front of him as the bickering best friends he’d encountered not even a few minutes ago.

“couldn’t wait to what? drain my bank account?” jake’s joking questions were met with complete silence, “oh, i see how it is!”

“kidding! i meant that i couldn’t wait to spend time with you now that you’re not busy with that big, mechanic… project, uh, thing. yes, i know what it’s called, i just don’t want to say all those long sciency words,” your whining brought a smile to jaemin’s face, having heard similar words from his own arts major friends.

his smile only grew as he crossed the road and saw you almost trip over the curb from laughing so hard at whatever jake had said next, too preoccupied by your joyous laughter and the way you beamed at your friend to have heard.

jaemin sighed as he looked on, wondering how fulfilling it would be to be the cause of that pretty smile or the reason behind your contagious giggles. or, to put it simply, he wondered how fulfilling it would be to loved.

JAEMIN CAM • REC

“na jaemin… are you joking,” haechan turned towards him, blinking slowly in disbelief at what he’d just heard, “another random crush that you saw for a few minutes and never again? we thought it was gonna be different this time, man.”

before jaemin could even defend himself, renjun seemed to have had some sort of epiphany, “woah, wait, slow your roll there, hyuck. i think our jaem might actually have a chance.”

“he does?”

“i do?” even jaemin was ready to admit that you were just another brief attraction, but hearing that he had even the slightest chance with you had his cheeks burning redder than ever, “c-could you elaborate?”

“i could… if you show us what this y/n looks like,” renjun cocked an eyebrow, holding his hand out to see if jaemin would accept his offer.

“wh-why would you wanna do that?” jaemin didn’t know if it was the drinks or the idea of his best friends potentially showing interest in you that had him fumbling over his words.

“calm down, we’re not gonna steal her from you,” jeno wrapped his arm around his shoulder, nuzzling into his side, “we wouldn’t do that to you, man, we’re just curious, that’s all.”

“mhm!” haechan chimed in, “we just wanna give her the best friend stamp of approval before we proceed.”

jaemin took a moment to consider his friends’ words, before retrieving his phone from the disgustingly messy table, “fine! but if any of you accidentally like any of her photos i swear i’m gonna… i’ll— i won’t be happy!”

the boys chuckled at their roommate’s sheer inability to get angry at them; his tolerance and kindness were just some of the things they loved about him, qualities they knew his future girlfriend would appreciate. they waited as jaemin opened instagram to find your page, haechan advising him to go through jake’s following to make it easier.

“what? like none of you have ever tried to stalk someone’s profile before,” haechan scoffed, leaning closer to the screen, “oh! right there, she’s tagged in his most recent post.”

clicking on the small square, a smile unknowingly crept onto jaemin’s face as he stared at the candid photo of you laughing with jake and another friend he was sure he’d seen before on his account. although the gentle hues of the sunset made for a picturesque background, he couldn’t help but think that you and your beaming smile were the most beautiful view of all.

“ahem… earth to jaemin?” renjun frantically waved his hand in front of the dazed boy’s face, “if you wanna gawk at her pics so badly, i would recommend checking out her account.”

the sarcasm dripping in his words would’ve normally had jaemin rolling his eyes, but he was too focused scrutinising every little detail of your profile. the aesthetically pleasing highlight covers were almost as eye-catching as the selfie you’d set as your profile picture, and the large array of posts featuring cute outfits, your friends, pretty views, and more selfies had jaemin curious to see more.

“ooh, ‘hyu second year philosophy student,’ a second year, ah, mark hyung does philosophy too,” jeno commented as he looked over your bio, “i don’t see anyone tagged in her bio, and there’s no dedicated highlight to a boyfriend or anything, so looks like she’s single!”

“not everyone documents their relationship on social media, that doesn’t automatically mean she’s single” renjun pointed out the obvious, smacking the back of jeno’s head. “but, we can figure that out later. so now that y/n’s got our stamp of approval, do you wanna know the plan or not, jaem?”

“wait, wait, we’re still looking!” haechan continued to tap on jaemin’s phone and scroll through your pictures, “she’s cuuute, pretty feed too.”

“i know, right?” jaemin sighed dreamily, earning a disgusted look from jeno, “sorry, sorry, go on, jun, what’s the plan?”

“you need to bring a model to photography club this week, don’t you?” renjun paused for jaemin to nod.

“based on what you’ve told us, jake and y/n seem very close, close enough that he’ll most likely bring her along as his model. if, and when, he brings her, you can actually go and talk to her, maybe get her number or something. as for making sure she’s single, whichever one of us you bring along can just discreetly ask your friend jake if y/n’s taken, and drop the hint that you’re interested—you could get him to help you out with her.”

a few moments of silence passed before jaemin launched himself onto renjun, engulfing him in a tight hug, “thank you, thank you, thank you! wow, i never would’ve thought that i’d actually have a chance with her but thanks to you and your genius mind, now i might. will you come with me on thursday, jun, please?”

“ah, you’re welcome, but y-you’re squeezing me, you’re almost as bad as jeno,” renjun pleaded, dramatically placing a hand on his chest when jaemin loosened his grip.

“i would love to, but thursday? i’m working on a ‘global sculpture through the ages’ exhibition that afternoon. i’m sorry, jaem, but i’m sure these two’ll be happy to help!”

“ooh, ooh, i am! i’m free then, and i’m happy to be your gorgeous model and your wingman all at once,” haechan mimed a hair flip, batting his lashes and grinning at jaemin.

jaemin knew he couldn’t stand the exaggerated facial expressions any longer and answered him, “okay, fine, hyuck! just— i know you can get very friendly, very quickly, so don’t drift off-topic and just stick to the plan, please, for me. if you succeed, i’ll buy you food after as a thank you.”

“woah, thanks, nana!” haechan snuggled into said boy’s side, showing his gratitude by acting annoyingly adorable, “i guess this means that operation ‘get jaemin a girlfriend’ is a go!”

his declaration was met with whoops and cheers, with jeno pouring everyone another round of shots to celebrate their roommate’s potential romance. as they raised their glasses and downed their drinks, jaemin squeezed his eyes shut and hoped, with all his heart, that their operation would be a success.

67 notes · View notes

ashintheairlikesnow · 1 year ago

Text

This Reality

For @amonthofwhump's day 3 and day 4:

3: George Bailey “We’ve lost everything we have.” | Disowned Drowning | Comfort: Christmas Market

4: The Grinch Sedatives | Blackmail | Yandere Whumper | Comfort: Ugly Sweater Party

Follows on this piece exploring the AU of Chris never being rescued/running away and instead being abandoned years later on the street

CW: Drug use, drugged whumpee, references to noncon/dubcon scattered throughout

“Hey.”

A foot nudges against his side, but Baldur barely notices the pressure pushing into one rib. He’s drowning and it feels wonderful. The push of the pill through his veins keeps him languid and loose-limbed, lying on the ground with his eyes open, staring up into the watercolor sunset. He can feel the earth turning on its axis, spinning wildly in the empty universe. The pinks and reds in the clouds above him shift and change with the movement.

Everything was so loud today. There are people everywhere, crowding together for the Christmas parade. He’d taken his usual route around looking for someone who might give him a bed to sleep in if he handed over the body everyone used anyway, but instead of the usual handful he knew, there had been police officers watching with their handler-like eyes, groups of families fighting and laughing and shouting.

The Christmas market and parade. He’d forgotten about it.

His Sir had always given a speech at the parade, ridden in a float. Baldur had watched him on television each year, lying in silence on the floor, wondering if he missed his Sir or was glad for the time alone. Desperately grateful for any time at all where he wasn’t afraid.

But then he’d forgotten it would still happen, even after his Sir didn’t want him anymore.

Today had been terrifying. People everywhere and he’d had to push through them as he moved, the constant weight of their voices pressing his brain into a smaller and smaller space, bouncing around the inside of his skull.

He’d caught himself shifting his hands, trying to flap, had to stop himself - stillness is better than what I do - repeating his handler’s mantra for him in his mind over and over and over again. But if he couldn’t move, he couldn’t get the sounds out from under his skin. Everything had been crawling over him, laying against him, buzzing like bees in his ears and behind his teeth.

Then he’d run into Vamp, a runaway like him who works a corner at night and a convenience store counter during daylight. She’d seen the look on his face when he ducked inside to hold off the worst of the noise and told him to wait while she got something out of her purse. She’d even bought him a bottle of water to wash it down with.

About an hour after that, and in the hours since, everything has been soft around the edges, the noise bouncing off of him. There’s a wall between him and the rest of the world. He doesn’t even know when he got to the park, only that at some point he stopped standing upright and instead was like this. Nothing ached in his legs and arms any longer, his mind no longer buzzed with the weight of the noise.

It feels just like the mornings at home with Sir, or when he’d gone off to work for the day and left Baldur behind, dozing drugged in his bed waiting for him to come back.

He used to cry all the time, when Sir was gone, wishing he could think again. Palming the pills when he dared. Now he just wishes he could at least go back to the quiet room and the comfortable bed, to one man demanding access to him in exchange for his life, instead of many. But the pill helps.

A little.

The foot nudges him again.

“Hey, are you-... are you dead?”

Baldur manages a blink. He has to consciously tell his head to move on the stem of his neck to look to the left now and see the man leaning over him, staring down.

Vaguely familiar, with wild black curls ringing a perfectly lovely face, big warm blue eyes, dark brows a little knit together with concern. The guy who bought him breakfast a couple of weeks ago, he thinks, after they’d been the stars of the show in that house the night before. That had been fun, Baldur thinks. Maybe. Or had it not been? Skin on skin never feels good, but he’s supposed to act like it does. Sometimes he blanks out and he thinks his body has fun, then… His lips move with his thoughts, unable to separate enough not to.

The man squints. “Okay, so not dead, definitely moving and breathing, but… are you, like, OD-ing, or… what is this whole thing happening here? What am I looking at?”

“... colors,” Baldur whispers, and looks back up into the sky above him. Grass tickles the back of his neck and the palms of his hands. “Night, soon. Then we’ll see stars, stars dead… a billion years ago. Far enough… far enough away… we still see the lights. Like me. Dead but you still see me… dead, but the image… like ghosts. Like… us.”

The man’s frown deepens, but he drops into a crouch, laying a hand on Baldur’s forehead, pressing a palm to his cheeks one after the other. He closes his eyes at the touch and pushes up into it like a cat. His Sir never cared enough to check him for fevers like that. He has fuzzy memories of a woman, dark hair, smiling eyes, who would do that. Oh, sweet boy. You’re on fire, huh? The image dissolves, though, before he can hang onto it or turn the impression into a real memory. It leaves an imprint of pain behind, making him wince.

The man pulls his hand quickly away, and Baldur fights back the urge to whimper at the loss.

No one touches him anymore unless they want to fuck him about it. He’s so tired of just wanting someone to hold him and stop there.

The man sighs, shifting to sit down. “Just really fucked up, huh? I get it.” After a pause, the man lies down beside him, fingers laced together behind his head, following Baldur’s gaze to the sky. “I do that, too. What’s got you wanting to fuck off out of this reality tonight?”

Baldur doesn’t answer.

Instead, he thinks for a long, long moment of silence, and then manages, “... I forgot your name.”

“Kauri,” The man answers readily, without offense. “That’s okay. I remember you said you’re called… Baldur, right?”

“My Sir… called me that.” Baldur blinks again, his eyes shutting with a clang in his mind like garage doors before opening back up again. The thought makes him smile. “I… don’t like it much. But there… isn’t any other.”

“Oh.” Kauri thinks that over. Then asks, “What do the guys you fuck call you?”

“... baby. Sweetheart. Sexy…”

“Yeah, I guess there’s only so many nicknames in bed. Do you want to be Baldur?”

“... no.”

“Oh. Then… you can pick your own new name, if you want.”

It takes a little while for the statement to work its way in. He hears the words but they don’t really land, just sort of flit around his head for a while trying to find a place to nest. He giggles at the thought, like pretty birds with wings chirping pick your own, your own, own new name, name you.

Kauri watches him, then exhales. There’s a fond sort of smile on his face, but it isn’t the kind of smile Baldur is used to seeing, one heavy with meaning. The kind of smile that comes before a hand on his ass or moving his head down where they want it. Baldur turns his head to look back. They’re inches apart. He’s probably supposed to kiss him, now.

But the pill makes it so he remembers that he doesn’t actually want to do that. It makes him so he can just lay here, and wait to be kissed or not kissed. It’s okay. Everything is okay, like this.

“Funny to see it from the outside,” Kauri murmurs, and then moves up on his elbows. “Hey. Listen. If you could call yourself anything else - not Baldur, or your number, just like anything else that you picked and you alone… what would you choose?”

Baldur blinks again. Lets the words settle, arrange themselves into something that makes sense. Then, he closes his eyes and drifts, almost asleep instantly as soon as he shuts himself away from the vision of the sky and the way the yellow-gold fading sunlight turns the hair of the man lying next to him to some kind of glimmering brilliance. “... -ris,” He mutters, the sound coming to mind without any thought.

“What?” Kauri pokes him in the nose, making him open his eyes with another giggle to see his confusion, which only makes Baldur laugh harder. “What’d you say? Did you say Chris?”

No.

But Baldur can’t say no, can he?

No, good boys only say yes.

“Yes,” He says, and puts his hands over his mouth to try and stop his giggles from escaping. He fails, and finds himself rubbing his feet one against the other even through his shoes, rolling from side to side. He thrills at the forbidden movements, something he can only do now, when his mind isn’t in control of him any longer, when the handler’s whispered demands and punishments aren’t the loudest thing he hears.

“Oh, wow, you are gone,” Kauri says, a little enviously. “Well, damn. Man, and that was basically my plan tonight, too. That’s okay, though, nothing like playing babysitter to the world’s most beautiful park decoration for a few hours to make you appreciate sobriety, huh?”

Baldur’s laughter fades, replaced with a hazy frown. “... hours?”

“Right. Yeah. Cause the way you are right now, somebody’s going to murder you and you won’t even notice until like ten minutes after you’re dead. So I, being your self-declared fairy godmother of the evening, am going to keep an eye out and make sure this little Cinderella lives past midnight.”

Kauri pokes him in the nose again.

“Got that, Chris?”

It sounds good, actually, that name. Baldur weighs it on his tongue. He mouths it, teeth close together and then opening, tongue moving. Chris. Chris. Chris.

“Chris-... Christopher,” He sounds out, slowly, thinking of a child’s movie he barely recalls, a teddy bear. “Christopher. But Chris.”

“Right. Once you sober up, I’ll get you something to eat and then I want you to go see a friend of mine. I think you could maybe use somewhere to crash for a while, and there’s a place I go - they don’t make you do anything, there. So I go there sometimes. There’s a shower and you can eat any of their food and nobody stops you. You’ll like it. How’s that sound?”

Baldur doesn’t hear anything Kauri says. He’s too busy sounding out the name he’s chosen inside his mind. But he knows from the way Kauri’s voice lilts up at the end that he’s been asked a question. So he just says, “Okay.”

“Great. So tell me more about the stars and shine on you crazy fucked-up diamond.”

Kauri lies back beside him, the side of his arm just barely touching Baldur’s, a warm touch grounding him to the earth without climbing on top of him or shoving a hand down his pants or telling him to shove his hand down someone else’s. Baldur lets his eyes close, and breathes in the cool air.

“A lot of the stars… are already dead. But, but we… still see them. Because the light, um, of dead… of the dead stars… still travels so, so far… and it takes so long… we see them shining… and, and they’re already gone…”

“Hm. I take it back. Talk to me about something less depressing than that.”

Baldur has to think for a long time to find something that fits. Then he offers, “I met… a man over by the red diner… who carves little horses out of wood. He told me that he used to… work with wild mustangs, horses, a long… long time ago…”

“Perfect.” Kauri’s smile is brilliant, and Baldur is caught by the sight of it, staring for a long time in silence with wide eyes at the way it shines. Those blue eyes catch his, their heads turned towards each other. “Well? Keep talking.”

Baldur swallows, and then slowly nods, and tries to think of all the funny people he’s met since his Sir decided he needed replaced. He stammers, sometimes, but Kauri doesn’t seem to notice or maybe just doesn’t care.

He doesn’t hear the handler’s voice in his head, either.

Not while Kauri is looking at him. For the first time since his Sir shoved him out of the car and drove away, he feels like someone cares.

#streetkid chris au #streetkid au chris #I can't remember which tag I was using #chris the strawberry blond romantic #whump #whump oc #amow #a month of whump #drug use tw #drugged whumpee #referenced noncon #referenced dubcon #chris is hiiiiiiiiigh #he just wants a hug that doesn't go further #that's all #kauri

50 notes · View notes

oblivious-aro · 10 months ago

Text

Where the Sky Meets the Sea, Ch 3/3: Wavebreak

Summary: Rewrite of the parts of season 6 of Ninjago (Skybound) that make my blood boil. The main change is that Nya's struggles are respected, and she's allowed to yell at people. Also, Jay isn't a complete tool the whole time abs actually goes through some character development. Follows roughly the same plot line as Skybound. The parts that are unchanged are just skimmed through.

Word count: 7600

Nya grimaced at her reflection. It was slightly better now that the extra arms had been removed, but looking at herself in Nadakhan’s mother's wedding dress made her stomach tie itself in knots.

She didn't have anything against dresses, but Nya liked simple clothes. Clothes that you could easily move around and work in, not bulky restrictive skirts drowning in oversized flowers and unnecessarily showy frills.

And wedding dresses were the apex of pointless bulky dresses. She never understood how people could be excited to wear them, even when they weren't being forced to.

The familiar feeling of her gi on her skin under the dress was a small comfort, but the reflection she saw in the mirror wasn't her.

It moved when she moved, scowled like she scowled, but was still a complete stranger.

The whole situation was horribly surreal.

Tap tap tap!

Nya's attention was pulled from the mirror by a noise at her window.

She looked over and saw the last person she expected to see clinging to the bars.

"Jay?" Nya rushed over to the window.

"Nya!" Jay briefly let go of the bar with one hand to wave to her. "Are you okay? Did Nadakhan hurt you?"

"I'm fine. His goons just stuck me in this stupid thing.” She gestured to the dress. “What are you doing here?"

"Uh, some combination of freeing you, rescuing our friends, and defeating Nadakhan. I haven't super worked out the details yet…but hey, we made it this far, so that's good!"

“We?”

“I put together a little rescue team of back-up ninja.” Jay grinned proudly.

At that moment, Nya spotted a brown blur in the distance being chased by three armed pirates.

“Is that Dareth?” she asked, squinting.

“Yeah…my options were kind of limited.”

Nya watched Dareth until he disappeared behind a barbershop.

“I always forget how fast he can be with the right motivation.” She said “But please tell me you at least brought Skylor.”

“Of course I brought Skylor! Honestly Nya, I thought you said you believed in me!”

Jay planted his feet against the side of the building and gave the bars a good yank.

"It's no use." Nya said "I already tried."

"Maybe if we work together…”

Nya grabbed the bars and tried to push while Jay pulled.

"Ugh," Nya grunted "Still...won't...budge!"

"Keep...going. Maybe…it'll-AGH!"

Jay's foot slipped and he fell down the side of the building, landing in the bushes down below with a crash!

"Jay!" Nya called.

Creeeak.

The sound of the cabin door opening made Nya's heart stop. She turned to find Nadakhan floating at the entrance, leering at her.

Nya made her stance as wide as possible to block the window and smiled as innocently as she could.

"That dress suits you much better than those garish ninja robes." he said, shutting the door and setting his sword against the wall.

Nya bristled at the unwelcome compliment, but at least Nadakhan hadn't seen Jay.

"I've been watching you, you know." He continued.

"You have?" Nya wrinkled her nose.

"Yes." Nadakhan seemed oblivious to Nya's discomfort. "I've seen how you struggle, how you have to work twice as hard just to get the respect the rest of the ninja simply have. You know, if you were to marry me, all your struggling would be over. You could get your every heart's desire without having to even lift a finger. It would be a nice change of pace, would it not?"

Nya gritted her teeth. It took every fibre of willpower she had not to claw this condescending idiot's eyes out.

But as insulting as his suggestion was, she knew their best chance of beating Nadakhan was Jay's final wish, so she had to keep his attention on her and away from Jay as long as she could.

That was why she'd let herself get captured in the first place.

She steeled herself and plastered a doe-eyed expression on her face.

"Really?" she said.

Nadakhan grinned.

"Of course. Once I marry you, I will be able to wish for anything I want, no limits, no restrictions. And naturally, I would be able to give my bride anything she desired as well…" Nadakhan's eyebrows slid up his head as he let his sentence trail off.

Nya pretended to consider what Nadakhan was saying.

"Anything I wanted? That...does sound nice."

"Excellent. The ceremony is right this way."

Nya blinked.

It was that easy? He really believed that she'd changed her mind and wanted to marry him just like that?

She quickly wiped the disbelief off her face.

"You mean we can get married today?"

"Of course. The second I saw that temple in Djinnjago, I knew it would be the perfect location for the ceremony. I had my crew clean it from top to bottom, set out some very tasteful decorations, prepare seating, and to finish, Clancee performed a preservation ritual to keep it in pristine condition for our union."

"Oh wow," Nya looked away bashfully. "All that for me?"

Nya cringed internally. She was trying to fit the demure role Nadakhan had picked out for her in his head, but it wasn't a role that came naturally to her, and she was laying it on too thick. Nadakhan knew that she wasn't normally like this, there was no way he would fall for-

"But of course my dear," Nadakhan cooed, flying closer to Nya. "Any bride of mine deserves nothing less than the best."

Wow.

Nya had never met anyone who thought so highly of themselves. Or so little of women.

She was almost too astonished to be insulted.

"Now come," Nadakhan picked up his sword, "It is time for us to be wed."

"O-Of course," Nya turned her head towards the window. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Jay caught up in a fight with two pirates.

…Was that Captain Soto fighting by his side?

“Is something the matter?”

Nya's head snapped back to Nadakhan.

“Nothing!” she said quickly. “It's just…are you really bringing that sword to our wedding?”

"Of course. It is tradition for a djinn king to be wed with the djinn blade.”

“Oh well, that's not really a traditional wedding thing here in Ninjago. You should just leave it here during the ceremony.”

Nadakhan narrowed his eyes.

“For what reason would you want me to leave my djinn blade behind, little ninja?"

Panic seized Nya.

"Call me Delara." she said, surprising both herself and Nadakhan. "I just...want to be close to you. I don't want some sword, or ninja nonsense, or anything else getting in the way of…us."

That seemed to do the trick.

"Well," Nadakhan smiled as he leaned the djinn blade against the wall "I suppose I won't have any need for this once we're wed, anyway. Seeing as I will be able to simply wish for whatever we desire."

Nya forced out a shrill giggle. The sound made her slightly nauseous.

"Come Delara," Nadakhan said as he threw open the door "We have a wedding to attend, as the guests of honour!"

"Yes, and with no ninja or silly sword to get between us!" Nya said as loud as she dared, following Nadakhan to Yang's stolen temple.

She desperately hoped that Jay had gotten the message. She had Nadakhan distracted and unarmed.

The rest was up to Jay and his last wish.

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

When Nya entered Yang's temple, she found it hard to believe this was the same haunted building the other ninja had told her about.

The outside was still a bit decrepit, but the inside was so polished and pristine it almost hurt to look at.

The front entryway had been completely emptied out and filled with pews and colourful floral arrangements. An altar had been set up in between the double staircase.

The alter and pews looked too new for Yang’s temple, but Nya decided against asking where the pitates had gotten them.

Once everyone was situated, a nervous green serpentine with a peg leg read out a long passage followed by an even longer list of vows.

“...through the g-g-good times and the bad, t-t-till death so you part?” he eventually finished, pausing for an answer.

“I do.” Nadakhan smiled, savouring the triumph of the moment.

“And do y-you, Ny- I-I mean…D-D-Delara, t-t-take King N-N-Nadakhan to be your lawfully wedded husband, in s-s-sickness and in health, through s-s-sunshine and rain, whether r-r-rich or poor…”

As Clancee talked, Nya subtly turned her head to glimpse at the shut temple doors.

There was still no sign of Jay. Where on earth was he? Why hadn't he crashed the wedding to use his last wish yet?

A worrying thought crossed Nya’s mind.

Had Jay actually figured out what that wish was going to be? He hadn't mentioned anything about it at the window…

“Erm…D-D-D-Delara?”

Nya turned back. The vows had been said, and everyone was waiting for her answer.

“Oh, um…just…just hold on for a second? I need some time to…you know…think this through…and…you know…”

Nadakhan frowned.

“I thought you said you wanted to marry me, Delara.”

“What?” Nya smiled widely “Of course I do, I just…didn't hear…um…Clancee, was it?”

Clancee nodded nervously.

“Yeah, I didn't really hear what Clancee said. I'm afraid I got caught up daydreaming about married life. Ah, so silly of me! Do you think he could repeat himself?”

“He's asking if you want to marry me.” Nadakhan said curtly “There's no need to waste all of our time with needless repetition.”

“Oh, of course I want to marry you! We’ve clearly established that! I just…think it's important to understand exactly what I'm saying ‘yes’ to before I actually say ‘yes’, right? I mean come on, that's like clicking ‘I agree’ without actually reading all the terms and conditions. Who does that?”

There was a tense beat of silence.

Nadakhan flew closer to Nya, slowly rising into the air above her.

“Are you questioning me, Delara?”

Several audience members flinched. Clancee threw his book protectively over his head.

Nya took a panicked step back.

Nadakhan was running out of patience, which meant she was running out of time.

What on earth could be taking Jay so-

BAM!!

The doors of the temple flew open.

Everyone in the audience turned their heads.

Standing in the doorway was Jay, Nadakhan's djinn blade in his hand. Behind him stood the back-up ninja crew, Flintlocke, and all of the previously captured ninja, armed and ready for battle.

Nya gasped with joy.

Nadakhan’s face scrunched into a mixture of shock and fury.

"What in the name of-"

"Nya! Catch!" Jay called, throwing the Djinn blade in her direction.

Nya caught it and turned to find Nadakhan scowling, having fully processed exactly what was going on.

"You dare double cross me, Delara?" he growled, rising further into the air and glaring down at her.

Nya glared right back at him.

"My name," she said "Is Nya!"

She grabbed the skirt of the wedding dress with her free hand and in one swift motion, sliced it off with the djinn blade.

Nadakhan looked as though he’d been slapped with a cast iron skillet.

Nya only savoured his expression for a moment before hurling the severed skirt in his face.

"Gah!" Nadakhan struggled hopelessly under the frilly fabric.

Nya yelled and swung her blade, but Nadakhan teleported away just before it made contact, the wedding skirt drifting to the ground in a lacey heap.

Nya’s head darted all over the temple, searching for where Nadakhan was going to pop back up.

Poof!

Everyone turned to the front of the temple where an angry Nadakhan glowered at the crowd below.

“What are you all standing around for?” He spat “Seize the ninja!”

Pulled out of their stupor by Nadakhan's command, every pirate stood up and drew their weapon.

The ninja squared up, ready to defend themselves.

“STAND DOWN!”

The booming voice made everyone freeze.

Dogshank stood up from her seat in the front row, her expression daring anyone to question her.

“Dogshank!?” Nadakhan’s eyes were nearly bulging out of his head “What is the meaning of-”

“Flintlocke was right!” Dogshank turned to the rest of the audience, “Nadakhan's no captain! He never cared about Djinnjago or any of us!”

She turned back to Nadakhan, her beady eyes narrowed.

“You may have given me great strength, but you took away my beauty and made me believe that meant I had nothing to offer! For the longest time, I really thought that was true. I thought my ugliness made me worthless, that no one would want me. That's why I joined your crew, because I thought this was the only place I could go. But when Flintlocke spoke out, he made me think about exactly who was benefiting from those ideas in my head!”

Dogshank gestured to the audience.

“You took everything from all of us and convinced us to keep giving you more! You’re nothing but a slimy snake and a coward!”

As Dogshank finished speaking, the pirates in the audience looked at each other anxiously, unsure what was happening or what to do next.

“Sh-sh-she’s right, captain!”

No one expected Clancee to be the first one to speak, but there he was, looking up at Nadakhan with uncharacteristic determination in his posture.

“I’ve never liked the way you’ve always t-t-treated us. You’re nothing but a big b-b-bully!”

Clancee flinched when Nadakhan turned his seething glare on him, but he didn't hide under his book.

“To think, after everything I've given this crew,” Nadakhan spoke through clenched teeth, “That you would have the gall to turn your backs on your captain! I used my power to give you Djinjago! I have been nothing but generous! But…”

Ndakhan’s voice grew dangerously quiet.

“Perhaps you’ve all forgotten how easily my gifts can be taken away. I may not have infinite wishes, but I am still a powerful djinn king who is not to be trifled with!”

Nadakhan punctuated his statement by opening his fists to reveal four bright balls of green fire.

On the opposite end of the front row, Doubloon stood up and drew his cutlass. He looked at Dogshank and his happy face turned to the angry side challengingly.

Money Wretch climbed onto Doubloon's shoulder and started screeching.

“At least some of you still have functioning brains.” Nadakhan huffed.

He thrust out his arm authoritatively.

“Those of you that are still loyal to your captain, take care of these interlopers and ingrates!”

With a puff of orange smoke, Nadakhan was gone.

“Ninja!” Lloyd yelled “Follow Nadakhan!”

“Back-up ninja!” Jay yelled “Keep Nadakhan’s crew busy!”

Lloyd, Kai, Zane, and Cole ran out the door as about two thirds of the audience launched out of their seats.

The remaining third of the audience tried to fight back, but it wasn’t long until the Nadakhan loyalists spilled out into the isle and surrounded Nya and Jay.

Nya raised the djinn blade, ready to fight, but before she could get a single swing in, all of the pirates were knocked out by Skylor and Ronin.

Soto and the police commissioner similarly helped Jay. Dareth cheered then all on from his hiding spot under a pew.

“We’ll handle these creeps,” Skylor said, kicking away another pirate “You two go after Nadakhan!”

Nya looked over her shoulder.

Dogshank was locked in a heated battle with Doubloon by the altar. She was able to block his blows with her thick arm guards, but Doubloon was nimble and kept dodging her comparatively slow punches.

“But what about-

“We’ve got things handled here!” Ronin whacked the pirate he was fighting in the head and turned to Nya “You belong out there, saving Ninjago with your friends. It's kind of your thing, isn't it?”

“Ay! I’ve been itching to knock some o’ Nadakhan’s goon’s heads for years!” Soto declared as he tripped a passing pirate with his peg leg. “Just make sure to give the ol’ captain one for me, eh?”

“You got it.” Nya nodded “Hey Skylor, before I go…”

She held her hand up to Skylor.

Grinning, Skylor gave Nya a high-five, their hands glowing amber when they touched.

“Much appreciated.” Skylor said as she summoned a giant ball of water and lobbed it at a group of loyalists who were trying to sneak up on Dogshank.

“Go Skylor!” Jay cheered “C’mon Nya, we gotta move!”

Just as the two of them made it to the door, three pirates jumped in front of them, blocking the path to the exit.

Nya swung the djinn blade. When the sword struck the pirates, they shrank into balls of light and flew into the jewel on the hilt.

“Wait, you can just hit people with the sword to trap them?” Nya asked incredulously “Why does Nadakhan even bother with the whole three wishes then?”

“That’s what I'm saying!” Jay said before a pirate jumped on his back. He quickly pushed her off and followed Nya outside.

“Where'd that slippery djinn go?” Nya growled as she and Jay caught up with the others.

“There! Up there!” Cole pointed.

Nadakhan could just be made out floating by a line of maple trees on a distant island, high above the one the ninja were currently on.

“Ugh, how are we supposed to get all the way up there?” Kai groaned.

“I do have one idea,” Jay said “But it's kind of crazy.”

“This whole situation is kind of crazy.” Lloyd said “It'll fit right in.”

“We jump across those!”

Jay thrust his hand towards the numerous mine bombs floating in the air between the islands.

There was a beat of silence.

“You…do know those explode when you touch them, right?” Cole asked Jay.

“Well, I personally oversaw Monkey Wretch’s design and construction of those mines,” Flintlocke said “They’re only meant to go off when something big hits them, so I reckon they’re actually pretty safe to jump across.”

“And exactly how confident are we in that?” Kai raised a sceptical eyebrow at Flintlocke.

“According to Pixal,” Zane's eyes lit up as he spoke, “Those explosives are designed to detonate from the impact of an enemy airship, so they should be durable enough to withstand a much smaller impact, such as a single person landing on them. Most likely, anyway.”

“Good enough for me!” Nya declared, running to the edge of the island and taking a leap.

She landed on the closest mine. It wobbled a little, but it didn't explode.

The group let out a collective sigh of relief.

Confident that the mines weren't going to blow her up, Nya jumped to the next mine without hesitation. And then the next one.

“Hey!” Jay called “Wait up!”

He jumped on the mines after Nya. The others followed right behind him.

Bang! Bang!

The ninja turned back to Yang's temple.

A few pirates had managed to slip past the back-up ninja, and were shooting at the ninja with pistols.

“That's not good…” Cole said, eying the mines floating all around them.

“Just keep moving!” Lloyd commanded.

Nya hadn't stopped in the first place.

Between dodging bullets, the drifting of the mines, and the fact that only one person could fit on one at a time, the ninja were progressing towards Nadakhan's island at vastly different rates.

Nya and Jay got pretty far ahead of the group and were the first ones to land on the island.

Nadakhan was waiting for them when they arrived, armed with a slightly weathered cutlass.

“Foolish girl,” Nadalhan gritted his teeth. “I offer you nothing less than infinite wishes, and yet you still insist on being a thorn in my side!”

“Oh I've got something bigger than a thorn for your side!”

Nya charged.

Nadakhan parried her blade with his cutlass. He sliced back at Nya, but she quickly moved behind her sword to block his strike.

Nya was quickly back on the offensive, striking hard and fast.

Nadakhan growled in annoyance, but he deftly countered her every blow.

They continued back and forth like this, the battle so heated sparks seemed to fly from their weapons.

One by one, the others arrived. Once they landed on the island, they stood by Jay, entranced by the fierce dual.

The energy between the combatants was intense. No one dared to interfere.

Finally, Nya spotted an opening and swung, but Nadakhan teleported away at the last second, the djinn blade slicing through orange smoke.

“Ugh! Where'd that slimeball run to now?” Nya growled, panting as her head darted back and forth searchingly.

Nya didn't see the swirl of orange smoke directly behind her.

She didn't see Nadakhan suddenly appear with a maniacal grin on his face.

She didn't see his cutlass raised above her, ready to strike.

“Nya look out!” Jay cried.

Nya looked obliviously into Jay's eyes.

Nadakhan swung.

Bang!

Splat!

“Gah!”

The cutlass dropped to the ground with a clatter.

Nya turned and gasped as Nadakhan dazedly staggered to the ground, a yellowish green stain splattered across his chest.

Everyone's heads snapped to where the bang had come from.

Flintlocke stood with his arm held out in a firing pose, a thin stream of smoke trailing from his pistol.

“I found a strange vial on the floor when I had to clean Nadakhan's cabin.” he said “I had a feeling it was the tiger widow's venom.”

“Nice shot!” Cole cheered “But I thought Lloyd's wish made it so you couldn't aim properly anymore.”

“I can’t.” Flintlocke blew the smoke from his pistol “That's why I aimed for your Delara look-alike. Nya, was it?”

“You what?!” Kai’s eyebrows nearly flew off his head. “You're telling me you aimed the deadly spider venom at my-”

“We don't have time for this!” Lloyd cut in, “Jay, you need to make your wish now!”

“I- what!?”

“Lloyd's right Jay,” Zane said “Nadakhan will overcome the effects of the venom in less than a minute! This is your only chance to make a wish without him teleporting away!”

“I…uh…” Jay stammered “I wish…I-I wish…”

This was bad. After all this time, Jay still hadn’t figured out a wish that would stop Nadakhan. They didn’t have any more venom, so Zane was right about this being their best and possibly only chance.

But Jay couldn’t think of anything!

He was going to let everyone down in the final hour…he really was useless after-

No! It wasn’t over yet!

Jay didn’t want to give up. He was done with giving up.

He still had time! He could still think of something…

‘The wish has to come from the heart!’

As Lloyd’s words played in Jay’s head, his eyes fell on Nya.

Jay stopped thinking and listened to his heart.

“I wish for Nya to have my last wish!”

Nadakhan was too dazed to even utter his catchphrase as the sparkles of wish magic swirled around him.

“What?!” Nya looked between Nadakhan and Jay with a mixture of panic and confusion. “But Jay, I don’t think-”

“Don’t think!” Jay interrupted “Remember what old-Lloyd said! The wish needs to come from the heart! Don’t focus on trying to beat Nadakhan, just wish for whatever your heart’s telling you to wish for!”

The hesitancy on Nya’s face only lingered for a moment before morphing into her signature look of stubborn determination.

“I wish…”

Nya took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

“I wish I wasn't wearing this stupid wedding dress!”

“What!?” Nadakhan said as he once again let out a burst of orange sparkles.

The wish magic swirled around Nya.

Her shredded top faded away, leaving Nya standing once again in her maroon ninja gi.

No one moved. The wind rustled gently through the trees, but outside of that the world seemed to stand still.

“You…you imbecile!”

Nadakhan picked himself off of the ground. As his strength slowly returned he ambled over to Nya, his face contorted with rage.

“You had me at the tip of your knife just now! You could have wished for anything…anything in the world! I am just about set to become the most powerful being in all the realm, and your main concern is your clothes?! Foolish ninja!” Nadakhan turned to Jay “I can’t believe even someone like you could’ve been so wasteful! Giving up your last wish to some vain little gir-”

Shwink!

Nya hit Nadakhan with the djinn blade.

His body shrank into a sparkling orb.

The orb circled around Nya, then disappeared into the gem on the sword's hilt.

It was over. Nadakhan was finally defeated.

Nya panted and stared at the djinn blade, her eyes drifting from the gem to her reflection in the polished metal.

The image was distorted and bits of hair were stuck to her sweaty face, but a strong sense of satisfaction washed over Nya.

She looked like herself again.

“You did it sis!”

Nya was pulled from her thoughts by a tackle hug from Kai, which she returned enthusiastically.

“It’s so good to see you again,” Nya looked at the other ninja “All of you.”

“Likewise.” Lloyd smiled.

“Most impressive Nya.” Zane said ”But, if I may ask, why did you use your last wish like that?”

“Nadakhan's a master of twisting wishes to his advantage. The only way to win against that creep was to not play his game.” Nya grinned slyly “But I figured it would really mess with his ego if someone made a wish he wasn't expecting, and in those extra few seconds he was ranting, I remembered another very obvious solution.”

Nya gestured to the djinn blade before sheathing behind her back.

“Also I really didn't want to be in that awful dress anymore. Nadakhan's mother had a terrible fashion sense, and a her waist was definately smaller than mine.”

Everyone started to laugh, but the celebration was cut short when the ground started to shake.

“What's happening?” Cole asked.

“It seems that with Nadakhan gone,” Zane explained as he struggled to keep his balance, “There's no longer anything to hold up the- AHH!”

The other ninja screamed along with Zane as the ground fell away beneath them, sending everyone into a floating free fall.

“Ninja quick!” Lloyd shouted “Call your dragons!”

Four elemental dragons flashed into existence and flew into the air.

Nya didn't summon her dragon. She'd noticed Jay was in trouble.

When they started falling, Jay had wound up in a midair spin that made it hard for him to get his bearings.

“Ahhhh!” he screamed, his panicked flailing not helping the situation.

Nya kicked and dove until she was right next to Jay, then reached out and grabbed his arms, steadying him.

Despite the fact that he was no longer spinning, Jay still continued to scream.

“Ahhhhhhhhh-”

“Jay!” Nya barked, shifting his attention from his predicament to her voice, “You need to focus and summon your dragon!”

“D-Dragon? Right, y-yeah. C'mon dragon…”

Jay's voice was unsteady, and his grip on Nya's sleeves was tight.

It didn't take a genius to figure out Jay was too panicked to summon his dragon.

“Come on!” Nya said more gently “You can do this! We'll do it together!”

Jay looked into Nya's eyes. Her words seemed to calm him down.

A tiny bit, anyway.

It would have to do.

“One…two…three!”

Jay and Nya simultaneously manifested their dragons.

Kah-Krakk!

The other ninja watched in awe as a giant elemental dragon rose into the air above them, both Nya and Jay on its back.

The dragon was a strikingly bright blue, with an even brighter blue energy flowing between its scales. Each thunderous beat of its mighty wings filled the air with a sprinkle of raindrops and sparks.

“Woah!” Nya exclaimed.

“Did we do that?” Jay asked, suddenly full of confidence.

“I think so, but I'm not really sure what we did.“

The other ninja flew up to Nya and Jay's level.

“Did you two just make some kind of fusion dragon?” Cole asked.

“That’s awesome!” Kai beamed.

“Ahhhhhh!”

The fearful noise pulled the ninja's attention from the new dragon.

Two pirates were huddled together on a small piece of land, screaming as it plummeted towards the earth.

Lloyd zoomed towards the pair. His dragon stopped just below the little island, flapping its wings rhythmically to keep in place.

“Hop on!” Lloyd yelled.

The pirates gave each other a quick glance before running to the edge of the island and jumping on the dragon behind Lloyd.

“We have to help the other pirates!” Lloyd called to the others.

“But there's only so much room on our dragons!” Kai said “Even with Jay and Nya’s new giant dragon, there's no way we can carry all the pirates to safety!”

“I got plenty of room over here!”

The ninja turned at the voice and saw Misfortune's Keep approaching. They instinctively prepared themselves for conflict, but then noticed Flintlocke smiling at the bow, Dogshank behind him at the wheel.

“I may not be able to shoot the broad side of a barn,” he said “But I sure as sugar can still steer a ship! I’ve got my crew patrolling around on their own vessels too, so just drop our people off with them and they can unload them here on The Keep!”

“Roger that!” Lloyd saluted before turning back to the group “Listen up everyone! Djinnjago was made by pulling chunks of land directly up into the sky, so that means these falling rocks are headed right for the city! Cole! Zane! You two head down and help everyone evacuate! Everyone else, round up the stranded pirates! Ninja go!”

“Ninja go!” the other ninja repeated before heading off in the appropriate direction.

Kai had to hold on to his hood as the hydroelectric dragon sped past him. It was much faster than any of the other elemental dragons.

Jay and Nya stopped by a falling coffee shop to pick up a group of five pirates.

After some flying around, they found one of the patrol ships Flintlocke had mentioned.

As they were transferring the rescuees from the dragon to the ship, an eerie shadow fell over the group.

They looked up and saw that an island the size of a whale was plummeting straight towards them.

“Oh man,” Nya's eyes widened “That's gonna do a lot of damage when it hits the ground.”

“Forget the ground, what about us?” Jay shrieked “We gotta-”

The hydroelectric dragon suddenly threw its head back.

“Hey!” Jay cried “What's this crazy dragon-”

He was cut off by a deafening crackle as the dragon opened its mouth and let out a stream of black sparking clouds.

The stream quickly grew into a mass of clouds that was big enough to block out the falling island above them.

The clouds warbled as the island crashed into them, but to everyone's surprise, the island didn't fall through.

It simply sat there, nestled above the group in the giant black clouds.

A soft drizzle began to fall on the ninja and pirates.

“Are those storm clouds?” Nya asked.

“I think so,” Jay said, wiping rain off of his face “But how are they holding up the island?”

“It's not just your dragon's clouds,” the pirate piloting the patrol ship said “Look!”

She pointed to a smaller island in the distance that was sitting in a thick cluster of white clouds.

“My wish!” Nya's eyes lit up “Remember? During our battle with Nadakhan, I used my third wish to make it so the clouds would catch us!”

“Guess you've saved us with your wishes twice now!” Jay laughed “Now let's go catch the other islands!”

Lloyd and Kai helped gathered the remainder of Nadakhan's crew while Nya and Jay used their dragon's storm cloud breath to catch as many falling islands as they could.

They missed a few of the smaller islands, but Cole and Zane were there to protect the Ninjago citizens when the islands crashed into the city below.

The city ended up suffering a fair bit of property damage, but thanks to the city's incredibly efficient evacuation protocols, there were no major injuries.

It was far from the worst catastrophe Ninjago City had faced.

Once the dust had settled, Doubloon and Monkey Wretch approached Flintlocke and Dogshank, their heads hung low.

Flintlocke and Dogshank nodded at each other in mutual agreement before Flintlocke walked over to Doubloon and patted him on the back.

“I'd be a real hypocrite if I was mad at you two for being manipulated by Nadakhan.” He said “I think we all deserve a chance to decide where our loyalties are without him looming over our shoulders. In fact, after things settle down a bit, I'm gonna have a chat with Jay about getting the rest of our people out of that magic sword.”

Doubloon's face turned to the happy side.

The chunks of Ninjago City caught in the clouds were still stuck up in the sky, but maintaining their elemental dragons for the entire rescue had taken its toll on the ninja, especially Jay and Nya. The townsfolk were very understanding when they decided to wait until tomorrow to figure out how to get them down safely, even if that meant they'd have to wait a bit longer to go to their favourite coffee shops.

But tonight wasn't about despairing over caffeine withdrawals, tonight was for celebrating!

As the sun set, Ninjago City was filled with coloured lights and joyous shouts. A city-wide party was held to celebrate the defeat of Nadakhan.

Luckily, the ninja's favourite karaoke juice bar was still intact on the ground, so they had the perfect place to celebrate.

After nearly two straight hours of singing her lungs out, Nya had stepped out onto the veranda for a break.

Partying with the group was great, but it was nice to just take a quiet minute to look at Ninjago City, one again at peace, even if it was missing a few pieces.

"Nice night, isn't it?"

Nya turned to see Jay approaching with two drinks in his hands. He held one out for Nya.

“Mango? I got you a purple crazy straw and a little umbrella.”

“You don't need a crazy straw to sell me on mango.” Nya smiled as she accepted the plastic cup.

“You deserve it after saving all of Ninjago.” Jay took a sip of his lemonade. “I gotta say, that’s not at all how I thought you’d use the wish, but I’m still pretty glad I gave it to you.”

Nya swirled her cup uneasily.

"Look Jay," she said "I appreciate you giving me your last wish, but it doesn't change anything. We still aren't going to happen."

"Wait, what?" Jay’s eyes went wide "Oh! No no no no no, that wasn't my intention at all! Did you seriously think I'd use my wish to try and manipulate you romantically?"

Nya raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, that's…” Jay rubbed the back of his neck “Actually a pretty fair assumption, I guess."

"Why did you give me the wish then?” Nya asked, “My best idea at the lighthouse was summoning The Great Devourer."

"Yeah…I am glad you didn't do that."

Jay took a long drink of his lemonade while he thought about Nya's question.

"Well, Lloyd said to wish from the heart, and giving you the wish was what my heart was telling me to do. I've been making so many mistakes lately, especially when it comes to wishes. But you..." Jay looked Nya directly in the eye "It seems like no matter how challenging a situation you get thrown into, you always manage to rise above and come out on top. I knew that you'd find a way to stop Nadakhan, even if I couldn't."

The corners of Nya's lips scrunched slightly.

"I'm not trying to flirt with you! I swear!" Jay said quickly.

"I...yeah, I know.” Nya fiddled with her straw “It's just..."

"You don't trust me." Jay hoped the hurt didn't show in his voice.

"I do! I mean, I trust you with my life, and I trust you to always have my back, but..." Nya bit her lip.

"Yeah, I get it." Jay rubbed the back of his neck "I screwed things up pretty badly the last time you trusted me, huh?”

Jay's words hung in the air as the two of them watched a group of pedestrians go by, singing boisterously at the top of their lungs.

"For what it's worth,” Nya didn't take her eyes off the crowd, “You were an alright boyfriend back then. Which is commendable, since I was a pretty bad girlfriend."

"What? Come on, don't be like that. You were a perfect girlfriend!"

"Jay, I left you for a roomba. And I flirted with Cole while we were still dating. Ugh, I honestly don't even know why I did that. I don't even like Cole like that, nothing about that situation made any sen-"

"You flirted with Cole while we were still together!?"

"You didn't know that?"

"No!"

"Then why did you attack him when Pixal said we were the perfect match?"

"...It...erm...has come to my attention recently that I...may not be the most...secure person in the world...sometimes."

Jay felt a part of him deep inside screaming in terror as he said those words, but he knew they were words that he needed to say.

He needed to stop hiding.

"Oh, you think so?" Nya grinned, but her smile fell when she looked at Jay's face and realized how serious he was.

Jay took a deep breath. The noise of the celebrating crowd slowly faded in the distance.

“It's just…you guys are the best friends I've ever had, and I know it's sappy, but I don't want to lose any of you, and sometimes there's a part of me that scared if you guys knew the real me, the weird me who's afraid and messes up all the time, you wouldn't like me anymore.”

Jay took a quick drink of his lemonade to help with his dry mouth.

“I guess Nadakhan took advantage of that. He used my…I let him use my insecurities to control me. And then I tried to hide it like I hide everything else I don't like about myself. I guess a scaly tail and fangs weren't the only thing I needed to stop hiding to live up to my true potential, huh?”

Jay chuckled.

“But seriously,” he quickly sobered, “It was selfish how I tried to use you to feel better about myself.”

Jay looked back up at Nya.

"Speaking of, there's something else that's come to my attention. About you.”

“About me?” Nya raised an eyebrow.

Jay nodded.

“You have to face a lot of challenges that the rest of us don't, and we don't really help you with that stuff. I don't really help you with that stuff.”

“Oh, you mean what I said at the lighthouse…” Nya looked away bashfully “Look, I didn’t mean to lose my cool like that. There was just so much going on, and I was exhausted, and-”

“But you meant everything you said, didn't you?”

Nya looked back at Jay.

“You get brushed off a lot don't you? And not just by bad guys and sleazy reporters, but by us, the people who're supposed to be your friends. I love how strong you are, we all do, but that strength shouldn't have to come from having to carry things on your own. That sucks. We suck for doing that to you.”

Nya was silent the whole time Jay talked. He couldn't read her expression, but he decided to just keep going.

“I know I broke your trust in a really big way, but I really mean what I'm about to say: from this point on, I'm going to make sure you aren't going through your problems alone anymore. I won’t show up to those PSA shoots if you don’t get called too, I'll hold down those sexist producers so you can punch them, I'll..I'll tell those interviewers I'm dating Cole so they'll stop bugging you about that stupid love triangle thing!"

Nya let out a snort that almost made Jay fall over the railing.

"Uh, I feel like Cole might take issue with that plan," she said "But…thanks Jay."

Despite the smile on her face, Jay noticed Nya's tone sounded a little forced.

"It's okay if you don't believe me right now. I know you've got good reason to not have faith in people having your back, especially me. But I-I really do mean everything I just said. About trying to be better. I really do want to start being there for you. If, you know, you're okay with that…”

Having said everything he had to say, Jay’s eyes fell to his half-drunken lemonade.

He couldn't recall the last time he'd been so open and serious. It was cathartic, but also terrifying.

What happened next wouldn't be up to him.

It was up to Nya.

All Jay could do was wait.

“Hey,” Nya said after a few beats.

Jay looked at her.

Nya held her fist up to Jay.

He smiled and bumped his fist against hers.

Once they pulled their fists away, Nya took a sip of her juice.

The sweet taste of mango hit her like a rainbow after a storm.

It had been a long time since she'd had a mango juice. She'd forgotten how refreshing they were.

"There you two are!"

Jay and Nya turned to see Kai’s head sticking out the door.

“You gotta come inside!” he said “Zane made this giant drawing of Nadakhan, and we're all throwing shurikens at it!"

"Oh I gotta get in on this!" Nya smiled deviously as she moved to follow Kai inside.

She stopped at the door and turned to Jay.

"You coming? If your time as Nadakhan's prisoner was anything like mine, I'm sure you want to throw sharp things at that stupid face as much as I do."

Jay smiled and followed Nya inside.

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

"Boom! Take that sucka!" Kai yelled as he threw his fourth shuriken.

The other ninja cheered as it sunk into the Nadakan drawing's previously only shuriken-free arm.

“Whew! You got him Kai!” Cole slurred, nearly falling off his stool as he raised his cup. “That's all his legs!”

"I think that's enough juice for you." Zane said, taking Cole's cup from him.

Lloyd, Nya, and Jay clapped as Kai pulled his shurikens out of the drawing.

"For you sis," Kai mocked bowed as he offered them to Nya "If anyone deserves this, it's you. After being forced to wear that horrendous dress."

"Why Kai, you shouldn't have." Nya returned Kai's bow as she accepted the shurikens.

Jay held out his hand, and Nya gave him her drink to hold.

The ninja watched in eager anticipation as Nya held her hand back and carefully aimed, before flinging two shurikens at the drawing.

Thinck!

Thuck!

The loudest cheer of the night rang out as Nya's shurikens landed in both of Nadakhan's eyes.

"Excellent precision, Nya." Zane remarked once the whooping had finally died down.

"Thank you Zane." Nya grinned proudly “I've been wanting to do that for a while, and with Nadakhan trapped in the djinn blade, I was worried I’d never get to.”

She held her remaining two shurikens out to Jay.

"I imagine you want a turn." she smiled.

Jay blinked.

He's seen that smile. He knew that smile.

Her face was less wrinkled and her hair was shorter, but there was no mistaking it.

Nya was smiling the exact same way she had been in the vision Jay had seen in the maze.

After everything that had happened and how much he’d thought about that smile, there was no way Jay could mistake it.

What did it mean?

"Hey Jay," Nya's smile morphed into a concerned look and the spell was broken "You all good in there?"

"Huh?" Jay said "Oh yeah, I'm good. I'm just…glad we're all together again, you know?"

"You can say that again," Kai draped his arms over Nya and Jay's shoulders "Now take those shurikens and dish out some payback on Nadakhan already!"

"With pleasure!" Jay traded the two drinks he was holding for Nya’s shurikens. "But you know, it's not really Nadakhan I'm getting payback on, it's more like Nada-drawn."

Everyone in the room groaned.

"As the maker of this drawing," Zane said flatly "I would like to request that you do not call it that."

"Fine then." Jay crossed his arms poutily. "Be no fun."

"It's good to have you back, Jay." Lloyd said.

"It's good to be back. Now take this!"

Jay tossed his shurikens.

Zip!

Thunk!

One of Jay's shurikens sailed right out an open window, and the other right through Cole's head into the wall behind him.

Everyone turned and gawked at Jay.

"Um…whoops. Sorry everyone, my bad." he said, gesturing to his eye patch. "Forgot that my depth perception's kind of out of whack."

There was a beat of silence before all the ninja burst out laughing.

"That's not funny!” Cole protested “Jay could've killed me if I wasn't already..."

But even he couldn't keep his face straight for very long.

Everyone continued to laugh hysterically for a while, some combination of the hilarity of Jay's blunder and the relief that they'd all made it out of the Nadakhan situation okay fueling the mood.

Jay finished getting all his laughter out before everyone else, and turned to look at Nya.

After wiping away a tear, Nya looked back at Jay and smiled.

It's that same smile again. Jay still wasn't sure what it meant, but he had a feeling it was something good.

He smiled back at her.

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

#lego ninjago #ninjago #ninjago fanfiction #jay walker #nya #nya ninjago #my fanfic #my writing #I had a piece commisioned for this but it's not gonna be ready for a bit so I decided to post the chapter just add it in when it's done

9 notes · View notes