#ash talks amusement parks

[ashen--dreams]

my fears have been extinguished

[logaenhowlett]

TEACH YOU HOW TO GET TO PUREST HELL - L.H.

Summary: On the way to one of his cage fights, Logan's truck begins to break down and that's how he meets you, the owner of a repair shop in Northern Alberta. He promises to pay you with his winnings - but what he ultimately offers is far more interesting.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut 18+ only, Fluff, Flirting, Dirty talk, Praise kink, Fingering, Unprotected sex (against the cage), Aftercare, Logan's a snarky motherfucker (but secretly a softie)

A/N: The filthiest 4k I've ever written. I just know he was a menace during his cage fighter era. It's okay though, I'll still be clawing at the enclosure. Title creds to Radiohead. Hope you enjoy!

MASTERLIST

Smoke curls around him, bearing a semblance of warmth against the biting wind. Logan's grip on the steering wheel is loose, the other arm draped lazily across the window. He flicks his fingertips ever so often, the ashes of his cigar disappearing into the falling snow. Mile after mile, the same barren landscape stretches before him.

He's lost amidst the silence, having turned the radio all the way down in frustration at the nonsense plaguing the stations earlier. As sunshine glares through the windshield, he scrunches his eyebrows, vaguely entertaining some ideas swirling in his mind.

Hours pass by painfully slow. He tries to ignore the low rumbling that interrupts his flow of thoughts, body firmly protesting against this all-alcohol diet he'd unintentionally adopted. Logan skims a hand into the glove compartment, clicking his tongue when he discovers only a few wrappers lying inside. Slumping back into the seat, he takes another drag, disappointment etching onto his features.

An orange, flashing icon on the dashboard snaps his attention. His eyes dart to the blinking light, a sense of irritation washing over him when he recognises the ‘check engine’ symbol. In a haste, he pulls the truck over, slamming the door shut behind him as he ventures into the cold to inspect the issue. Though he has an extensive knowledge of motorcycles, by no means does that expertise carry over to whatever mess he finds beneath the hood. Logan returns with a sigh, recalling a faded road sign he'd passed ages ago - at least he isn't awfully far from his destination.

In the distance, the town welcome monument brings him some sort of peace. After driving by plenty of dimly lit diners and pubs, he reluctantly asks a stranger for directions to the nearest repair shop. Logan arrives shortly thereafter, parking at the entrance of this seemingly empty building. Curious, he scans the place, sliding out of his seat in search of anyone.

The distinct ring of metal hitting the floor has him spinning around. He fights back the amused huff at the sight of you, bottom lip slightly caught between his teeth in an attempt to stop the smirk threatening to break free. His eyes rake over your figure as you come closer - appreciating the way your overalls perfectly capture the slopes and curves of your body - before finally, rising to meet your unimpressed expression.

"What're you here for?"

There's a smidge of annoyance in your words, a reaction he very much enjoys being the reason for. He nods towards the truck parked out front, "Problem with the engine."

When you brush past him, Logan spots a name neatly embroidered onto your otherwise soiled clothes. Smiling, he follows after you, shamelessly dropping his gaze to your ass for a moment.

Waiting patiently while you poke around the hood, he steals glances at your profile, filled with the sudden urge to wipe away the grease stain remnants off your cheeks, "Yeah... looks like the head gasket needs replacing."

Logan groans to himself before agreeing with your judgment. He runs a hand across his face, stilling in brief confusion when you chuckle quietly.

"Somethin' funny?" He asks, noting how you browse the insides of his camper with a flair of barely-masked mockery.

"Just admiring the interior design."

That one almost draws a scoff out of him. Logan knows his living quarters are rather bare-bones in nature, at best, providing decent shelter for when he's on the go. Inside, a makeshift bed large enough for a man of his size and basic kitchen appliances - though he rarely uses those. It's all he cares for anyway, yet there's a tinge of self-consciousness he shakes before gruffly responding, "You can do it by tonight?"

"Tonight?" Your eyebrows raise in surprise, "Fine... but it's gonna set you back about three grand."

"I got half for now."

A sharp laugh pierces his ears. And even though it's undoubtedly fake, he thinks you look pretty like this - shooting what can't be anything less than a deadly glare just for him. The corners of his lips tilt up when your tone suddenly becomes stern, "That's not how it works, buddy."

"Listen, I got a fight later, I'll be good for it."

"What? You that sure you're gonna win?"

You're teasing him. You know it, and so does he. Logan studies the way your hand rests against your hip, a challenging glint behind your eyes while you consider this ridiculous suggestion. He moves one step closer and proudly welcomes the surge of satisfaction at the slight crack of your demeanour.

"Darlin', I always win." It's a whisper that leaves him, hushed and dangerously low. Giving your shoulder a playful nudge as he walks by, he circles to the trailer behind the truck, retrieving his motorcycle. He smirks, pleased to witness such a glimpse of weakness, "Eleven-thirty. O'Malley's. I'll see you there."

The engine revs with each twist of his wrist, the movement so precise and natural. As he sinks onto the bike, the suspension adjusting to his weight, he sends you a wink.

"And if you lose?" You shout over the blaring sounds.

With one final grin, "Just fix my truck, alright."

Even from outside, O'Malley's is deafeningly loud. The wooden door creaks lightly with the gentlest push, and a mixture of overly enthusiastic yells paired with the clashing of glass greet your presence. You're no regular here whatsoever, but the fights that occur in this bar are usually the talk of the town. And despite its reputation, you've never had much interest in being surrounded by a crowd of angry, intoxicated men - all drowning beneath the crude insults and empty threats tossed into the air.

Some of the patrons, customers you recognise from work, acknowledge you with a polite smile while you settle into a booth near the cage. As you observe the utter chaos around the room, it only cements your distaste for this so-called form of entertainment. The current match's loser staggers past your table, barely walking on two feet even with the support of his friends.

All you can think about is returning home with your hard-earned cash. It was a rather tiring day, running around salvage yards scouring for spare parts to tend to the old piece of junk he'd called a truck. Not to mention the unforgiving weather, which seemed determined to make your day more miserable. And to top it all off, the jerk wanted it done by nightfall - the audacity! Just the simple reminder of today's events has your body tensing from restlessness.

Behind you, a group of men sneer amongst themselves and between their slurring, the words "pretty boy" and "his ass kicked" grasp your attention. Turning around, you watch as they hand over money to some younger fella, taunting others to join the bet. Oh, that makes your blood boil. This Logan had strolled into your shop with nothing but a superficial promise for your services, and now, he's presumed to lose?

You stand up abruptly, peering across the space in search of him. A rush of fury courses through you at the same time you spot him casually lounging in the corner. As you approach, the faint glow of the bulb illuminates his face, a cloud of smoke momentarily hiding the smirk playing on his lips. His chuckle cuts through the hum of the jukebox he's leaning on, eyes crinkling with a kind of smugness at your arrival.

"You're joking." The bottle of whiskey between his fingers shocks you the most, "Are you seriously getting drunk before your fight?"

Logan grins at your concerned expression, eyes tracing you up and down, "You fix it?"

"Yes, I fucking fixed it. Took me all day!" Fists clenching, you stare at him intently, "Look, I did my job - you better do yours."

"Don't worry 'bout it, darlin'. I'm a man of my word." He dismisses you completely, taking a prolonged swig of his drink. A beat passes before he lazily holds up two fingers right to your face, "Scout's honour."

He laughs again when you roughly shove his hand aside, not sparing another second for this cocksure attitude. You grumble under your breath, making your way back to the booth, "It's three fingers, asshole."

A few matches take place over the next hour, and you're only getting more antsy as each of the competitors exits the cage with nothing short of bloody faces and broken bones. The audience roars all of a sudden, some even rattling the fence as this new person strides into the threshold.

Of course, he'd stripped his shirt off and the sight of his muscle-toned chest only serves to further fuel your irritation. Logan's eyes find yours immediately, looking past the crowd of hecklers now whistling at him. With a nod, he throws you a confident smirk and turns to his rival.

The man he's up against is much more burly and has a couple of inches on him. Though that doesn't seem to faze Logan in the slightest, instead he's flexing his arms almost playfully before adopting a fighting stance. Every punch and kick has you twitching in your seat, your feet firmly stuck to the ground in anticipation.

Remembering how he'd chugged an entire bottle of liquor earlier, you're astonished by the ferocity with which he attacks his opponent, dodging most moves with deadly precision. As he lands more jabs, the spectators begin to jeer and boo, swarming the enclosure of the cage in a tantrum. You peek over their shoulders, ducking away from the things they're flinging around. There's a collective gasp when he knocks out the other man, and you sigh in relief.

Leaning towards the cage, a cigar lightly pressed against his mouth, Logan's focus shifts to you. His chest is heaving from all the physical exertion, skin damp from the sweat. As he exhales the smoke, blowing a kiss in your direction, a satisfied expression returns to his face. He runs a hand through his wet hair, leaving the arena with no regard for the protesting crowd.

You follow after him, squeezing through the tightly packed space. He's settling a score with the owner, a wad of rolled cash passing between them as a reward. After a nod of mutual agreement, Logan faces you, tossing his leather jacket on. And while you're ultimately happy he won, there's also this urge to smack the cheeky look that seems to be glowing as you come closer.

What's more upsetting is the fact that he is undeniably gorgeous - especially like this, all sweaty and wound up from the adrenaline rushing inside. And of course, he doesn't miss how your gaze wanders to the sliver of skin peeking through his jacket, every slight movement only revealing more.

Logan grabs a few bills from the roll of money and stuffs them into his back pocket, holding the rest out towards you. As you reach for the cash, he swiftly draws his hand back with a teasing smile, "Have a drink with me."

"No."

"C'mon." He drags out, repeating the same thing when you try again, "No one needs their cute, little mechanic right now."

Watching you sigh triggers a thrill of excitement, an unspoken victory he claims with no shame. With a simple gesture, he leads you towards a secluded booth, determined to make this a worthwhile exchange. Despite your hesitation, he maintains a sort of relaxed energy, draping his arm along the seat - his eyes not straying from yours.

Two shots of vodka are placed on the table and Logan mirrors your action, slowly raising the glass to his lips. In no time, the air of unease dissipates, replaced by a comfortable silence while the drinks keep coming. As the night wears on, casual conversation flows between you and he asks a few things like how long you've lived here, why you became a mechanic and eventually, when he slides you the money, "What now, darlin'? You gonna leave?"

His voice, dripping with honeyed sweetness, sends a shiver down your spine. You can't exactly place the feeling, but it's a tangle of exasperation and something else - something you're not quite ready to define. Instead, you blame it on the drinks, the late hour, and the fact that there's an incredibly attractive man just inches away.

As frustration envelops your thoughts, you suddenly excuse yourself and head towards the bathroom. The alcohol, previously a gentle companion, now seems to be taking its toll. Looking at your reflection in the mirror, you try to fight against the sensations running through your body. The splash of cold water does little to your state of mind, yet you're back outside in what feels like a tilted world, using all your strength to walk straight.

As you brush past the cage, someone collides into you. Desperate for balance, you reach out to grip the fence, but a strong hand lays steady on your lower back. With a gasp and a tilt of your head, you're caught off-guard when Logan comes into your view. His arm snakes around to gently hold your waist, his body now pressing into yours.

Overwhelmed by the sudden proximity, you tear your attention away from him and glance at the wire pricking your fingers, "This is fucking sharp."

He doesn't break the eye contact. A low hum vibrates through his chest as he leans in, the warmth of his breath dancing with yours. The space between you slowly shrinks, whatever lighthearted facade he'd worn earlier vanishes only to be replaced by something raw and inexplicable.

"How're you not bruised?" You whisper, remembering the way he'd been thrown against the cage earlier.

"Call it a special talent."

Despite your better judgment, you find yourself captivated by him, the intensity of his gaze reeling you in. And so, you decide to play his game, "Can you teach me?"

Logan pauses, "You wanna learn... how to fight?"

"Just a little punch or something."

A faint smile spreads across his face, you're absolutely sure he can feel the way your heart is pounding. When his lips lightly brush against your ear, a quiet rumble escapes and something flickers in your gut - a twist of exhilaration laced with a hint of caution.

There's barely anyone left in the bar at this point besides the one or two stragglers hanging around. Logan and you stand alone in the cage, seemingly tucked away in a little pocket of your own. He doesn't wander too far, remaining within an arm's distance while demonstrating the proper technique for a jab - the motion so fluid and effortless.

Your initial attempts to mimic his movements are clumsy and awkward, his amusement only growing more evident with each try. Slipping behind you, he sheds the jacket, once again exposing his glorious muscles and the thought of tracing his vein-riddled biceps with your tongue leaves you dazed for a moment. This time, he circles his arms around you and guides your hands into the correct position.

As you practice, your bodies nudge against each other, his breath fans across your neck and ignites a fire within you. The tension is palpable, the air thick with implicit desire. You can almost feel his gaze burning into you, every second posing a challenge to cross this imaginary line.

The rest of the patrons are ushered out the door, the owner nodding at Logan before disappearing into the back room. And the silence settles in, a stark contrast to all the commotion that lingered for hours prior. You notice the difference, inching towards the exit, "Looks like they're closing up."

Before you can move away, Logan's hand shoots out to catch your wrist, "And we got it all to ourselves."

"What?"

"Might've slipped the owner a little somethin’."

His fingers trail up your arm, thumb gently pushing your soft skin. Slowly, he brings you closer, his words just a whisper of heat on your cheek. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest, a rhythm echoing your own racing heart. Your voice, hoarse and strained, barely manages a response, "Is this how you budget? No wonder you're broke."

It's his laughter that breaks you at first, followed by, "You got a smart mouth, darlin'. Tell me, what else can it do?"

His lips hover mere inches above yours, there's a moment of hesitation hanging in the air - an out, if you don't want this. But, temptation is a dangerous siren and you're already ensnared by her song.

Fuck it.

Logan's dog tags hang pretty between the slopes of your breasts, his mouth moving against yours in a rough, demanding fashion. It's sloppy. It's wet. And it's goddamn heavenly when his fingers thread through your hair, the gap between you now completely erased. You cling to him as if he's an anchor, nails digging into his shoulders while he pins you to the cool metal of the cage.

He wants to touch you. To feel the warmth radiating straight off your body. The straps of your overalls fall from his force, he takes the opportunity to slide one hand through the side, kneading your waist with a kind of tenderness that surprises him too. When you take a second to breathe, Logan peppers kisses along your jawline, then some beneath your ear before grazing his lips on your neck.

The pulsing vein he finds nearly has him growling in pleasure, "Fuck, darlin'... feel so good already... can't wait to taste you when I'm done..."

He stills when you gasp, glancing up through his lashes and then quietly chuckling at your flustered expression. Yet, he can't revel in his victory for any longer than a blink, your palm tilts his head back before you fiercely capture his mouth once more.

His name rolls out your lips, drawn out and glazed with an obvious need. Taking a deep inhale, Logan feels the bulge in his jeans growing with each passing moment. You're only getting restless as his hands roam over your body, becoming nothing more than a whimpering mess all from his doing.

"Lemme hear you for real, baby... don't be shy." His fingers latch onto the cage, using it to thrust forward and deepen the kiss. Your clothes end up pooling at your feet, the barriers between you peeling away with every layer gone. Now, skin to skin, sweat glistening on your brow, you're left bare and vulnerable to his touch.

Logan reaches down, spreading your thighs wide enough till he can push your panties aside, stroking the outside of your entrance. Clenching his jaw when he's met with a distinct wetness, "Hidin' all this for me?" He almost laughs at how you curl forward and then whine his name, craving for any part of him to be inside you, "Hm... what'd you say to me before? Three fingers?

With no warning, he slides exactly three inside your cunt, pumping in and out as best as he can, "So fuckin' tight, darlin'... c'mon... show me you're ready for the real thing." He knows he's doing something right when you squirm at his actions, jumping at the invitation to delicately flick your clit before sinking his fingers back into you.

"Logan-"

Pain consumes you as he continues, tears springing to your eyes. You've never felt pleasure like this, so intense and so profound, words lost amongst the moans trembling out your lips. Your knees begin to shake under the pressure, and his free hand immediately cups your thigh, securing your body to his. As you call out for him, urging him to fuck you senseless, he tugs his fingers away.

The belt flies, jeans tossed behind in an instant and he grunts, freeing his hard length from his boxers. The tip of his cock teases your folds, the precum slicking down from the head. His nose presses against your cheek when your hand runs up and down - getting him all nice and ready. Breath hitching at the sensation, Logan involuntarily bucks his hips, your eagerness carrying him over the edge.

He's careless about lining himself up, giving it no more than a fleeting thought before thrusting into you. Whatever floods your brain at that moment is much more potent than anything you've ever experienced. It's vigorous, almost animalistic in nature, how hard he fucks you. The veins on his arms become more apparent as he hoists you up, pushing you against the cage. He can hear the little fibers of your skin tearing because of the friction, yet he does little to ease that pain, knowing you're enjoying the hurricane of emotions whisking you away.

Logan pants into your tits, nipping at the soft flesh, "Wanted to ruin that pussy since I saw you this mornin'... all dirty and pissed off at me - god. Thought 'bout somethin' else on your face too."

"Logan - don't... fucking stop. Feels amazing... wanna feel all of you." The words escape you - laboured and breathless - your eyes soften in delight, watching this sort of enraptured expression wash across his face, "So good for me, Logan."

So good.

For me.

And boy, if that doesn't spur him on.

Picking up speed, his movements turn greedy, grinding into you with a degree of passion he's never felt before. As you tug his hair, fingers raking through the dark tresses in a frenzy, Logan taps into the primal energy swelling within. His hands squeeze you further, your thighs constricting his waist as he drives up into you, "That's it baby... fuckin' perfect. Takin' all of me like a good girl... mhmm."

The way your body helplessly arches has him grinning, but that quickly gets swept away when his cock twitches inside you, aching to burst at any given moment. He tries his hardest to control himself, longing for your cries of pleasure as you finish. Thrusts weakening to a leisurely pace, Logan grunts into your neck, mumbling a string of curses while he rides out this wave. Thankfully, you're on the precipice as well, your body reaching its peak with a shiver.

His cum trickles out of you, thighs getting sticky as it seeps lower and lower. Lost in a daze, Logan thinks he can see the damn sun in your eyes. With a gentle swipe of your cunt, he sheepishly licks his own fingertips, a smile brightening his face.

The mattress, once a source of great discomfort, now feels like paradise as you cuddle into the crook of his neck, the soft rhythm of your breath soothing him to a state of peace. He'd carried you to his truck earlier, threatening you with a barrage of kisses when you dangled his keys in front of him. There was a rather short game of tag before you relented and collapsed into his embrace, tiredly blinking up at him. He'd tucked the loose strands of your hair back then tenderly caressed your cheek. It took all but one affectionate grin to convince you to spend the night in his camper.

Not a single inch of your body is free from his touch. He pulls you even closer, tracing patterns around the tiny scratches spreading across your shoulders. If you'd asked him yesterday, he would tell you he has no plans of sticking around this town, grown used to a life of impermanence. Yet, as he rests, tangled in your arms, Logan finds a reason to stay.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Nikolai proposes to Price.

cw: mention of past and present homophobia in Russia and the UK.

The rotor blades hadn't even stopped spinning when Nik clambered out of his cab, his hand fumbling through his pocket in search of that velvet box. The gravel of the broken tarmac scratched under the soles of his boots, his knee grazing through his jeans as it hit the ground.

He'd almost lost John.

Two meters between his head and a steel beam falling from a nearby building as an IED had detonated.

As the smoke had cleared, Nikolai had heard and felt nothing. Like someone had reached through his ribs and pulled his heart and lungs out. John Price had always seemed invincible, unstoppable, like a force of nature. But in those few moments when Nik had believed he had been killed, the reminder of John's mortality had stunned him cold. John was not immortal, not a god or a hurricane, but a human man; vulnerable, killable, and Nik's entire world.

Nik had only started breathing again when his helo had swung round and the downdraft had whisked the cover of smoke and ash away to reveal the captain hunkered down, Ghost's arm thrown across his shoulders, Gaz and Soap guarding the rear.

The lieutenant had regained consciousness on the flight home, his concussion slurring his speech, his arm broken, but he was alive. They were exhausted, slumped against each other as the danger receded and Nik carried them to safety. Soap helped his lieutenant out now, supporting his weight as they staggered over the tarmac with Gaz following, his head low.

It was in the gap between Task Force 141 and their captain that Nik knelt, his shaking hand clutching the box against his knee as the adrenalin caught up on him, his words stuck. He had planned this. A dinner at the nice steakhouse John had seen in town, and then a walk through one of the big parks to the lake where they had spent many a night fishing. There, Nik would have asked. No audience, no public display, just them in the peace.

Their love was private. Not because it was shameful, but because it was theirs. It was a place John could tentatively explore the parts he had buried to survive, and Nik could be himself without apology. They could discard their defences and show each other the soft underbelly they guarded so fiercely from others. The vulnerability, the intimacy that came with it, belonged to them and only them; one of the very few things that did.

But what if he never got the chance? What if John had died today? What if John died tomorrow? Or the next day? What if, what if. There was no waiting for them because there might be no tomorrow. They had to live here, now.

Price dropped onto the tarmac, pushing his M4 behind his back as he looked down with a quizzical expression. "Nik?"

Nik drew in a shaking breath, his gaze lingering in the smear of black ash and crust edging a cut on Price's face. He'd lost his boonie hat in the scramble to rescue his officer, so his scruffy brown hair and beard formed a wild mane around his head, framing those blue eyes that were all the brighter as they shone from the sweat and grime on his skin. Nik started talking without thinking. "Lyobit tebya - eto kak dishat… s toboi bremya ostanablibaetsya e ya shivu lish mnovyeiyami pyadom toboi..."

"I can't speak it that well yet, ya muppet, and my brain was just shook inside my skull like a maraca," John said, his voice gravelly and dry. The corners of his eyes crinkled in wry amusement, and Nik's heart ached. He lifted the box, his thumb sliding beneath the lid, and watched John's expression fade from amusement to shock.

"Ty vyydesh’ za menya?" Nik clenched his teeth, irritated at himself, but before he could open his mouth and find the English, John's hand slid over his and he dropped to his knees.

"What is this, Nik?" John croaked, those beautiful blue eyes that so reminded Nik of a summer sky over Kiev glistened.

"A promise," Nik replied. "A... plea."

John leaned forward and their foreheads met, his fingers tightened over the box and Nik felt the coarse material of John's gloves against his knuckles. His hand shook. He was keeping the ring covered, like it would vanish should he look at it, or believe for a single moment it was real.

They had talked so many times about their experiences as young men. In the early hours of the morning, when scotch and exhaustion had worn down their defences, the rawness and the hurt had surfaced. Nik, who had hidden what he was lest he face a bullet or prison, acknowledging his very existence criminalised even now; John, who had grown under Section 28, made to feel degenerate and filthy, his lack of worth reinforced by a slighted father's retribution.

Never for a moment had those boys dreamed of a happy ever after, and both had fled into the arms of violence and bloodshed to lose themselves. Both had tucked their hearts away and buried their dreams until they existed only as dogs of war; weapons of the states that had failed them.

And now there it was. Represented as a single tungsten ring with a thread of vibrant blue in the metal. Like his eyes, Nik had thought as he had purchased it.

They shared the same quivering breaths, the promise clasped between their palms, and Nik watched as the low light of dawn caught the first tear as it escaped. Those soulful eyes closing as John caught himself. Nik stroked his cheek with his free hand, thumb brushing through the tear track. "You own me, body, heart and soul. I only ask for your hand in return," Nik whispered, so very meek compared to what he had imagined.

John threw himself forward and Nik caught him, wrapping his arms around his back as John's face pressed into his neck. He smelled of char and blood, sweat and pain, and Nik held him as he sought strength and stability. There were injuries beneath the Kevlar and padding of John's body armour, and Nik would care for him tonight no matter his answer. They had lost men today and John would need convincing to rest before he embarked on the sombre task of informing their families.

When John sat back on his heels, he sniffed, wiped his nose and face on the back of his wrist and then uncovered the ring in Nik's palm. "S'nice," he said, soft and boyish despite the gruff rasp of his voice. Nik could see that young boy in John's eyes, still uncertain, still struggling to believe that someone would love him enough to want to spend the rest of their life at his side.

"Da," Nik said, "it suits you, no?"

"I like it."

"I am glad."

John smiled, the lines at his eyes returning and making Nik's heart ache. "So this is for real, then."

"Da."

"For keeps?"

"For keeps," Nik said, running his thumb over the cool metal. He remembered fondly the first time John had asked him that. Many years ago, when they had only really just met, still circling, still probing tentatively lest they reveal their secret to someone who would react badly. He had offered John a cigar and John had stared at it suspiciously before asking the very same, and Nik had been endeared by it even then. Lieutenant Price had been even rougher around the edges than Captain Price. They had already done so much healing together.

John huffed a soft laugh, wiping at his eyes before glancing at the sky, and then back at Nik. "Yeah..." He cleared his throat, another sniff, "Nikolai, I want t'... bloody 'ell," he took a breath, "I want t' marry you. Yes, I... I'm sayin' yes."

Nik barked a laugh of relief and Price echoed it, watching as Nik ran a hand through his hair as his heart settled. John pulled at the velcro of his left glove with his teeth, tugging it off between his thighs so that Nik could slide the ring over his weathered knuckle. He pressed a kiss to John's open palm, nuzzling his face to it with a contented sigh.

John leaned to the side to see Soap and Gaz gasping at them from the edge of the tarmac. Ghost was, of course, unreadable, but Nik had already talked to him about his intention. Who did you ask for a man's hand in marriage when his father was unavailable? The loyal lieutenant that had fought at his side through the worst the world had to offer, of course. "The whole base will know by lunch," John muttered.

"Da. I... I am sorry. I could not wait any longer. For a while there, I thought I had watched you die."

John lifted Nik's chin and then gathered his hand to his chest. "Ay, I'm here, aren't I? We got home, we made it. Because of you, Nik."

Nik could only nod. There was no point thinking of next time, not when John knelt before him, battered but alive. "You need a medic."

"I need a shower..."

"Medic," Nik insisted. "And if you are a good boy and don't swear at the nurse, I will shower with you."

"Hmm," John smiled, bashful and soft, "seems a fair exchange."

Nik helped John to his feet. Now that the adrenalin had faded and his men were safe, John was limping, an arm folded across his torso. He submitted to inspection with only a minor grump, and then checked on Ghost, Soap and Gaz. They were sound, as John liked to say. Ghost had to stay the night and Soap remained in the chair at his side, but the nurse was happy John's sprains and cuts were manageable with a little support from Nik.

As they stood in the shower, Nik's lips on John's skin, his arms around his waist to hold his body close, Nik let the hot water disguise the tears running down his face. Happiness, relief; they were as heady and overwhelming as anger and sadness sometimes. Nik let himself feel it, knowing it would leave his mind clear for enjoying John later.

"You solid?" John asked, warm hands stroking down Nik's forearms.

"Never better, solnyshko."

[sunlightmurdock]

Ashes, Ashes | Two | Bradley Bradshaw

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Synopsis: In which Maverick didn’t make it home after the Uranium mission. He’s missing, presumed dead. There are things that have to be done — someone has to take care of the house, the bills.

So, Maverick’s daughter is back in Fightertown for the first time since she was in elementary school. There’s a gaping hole in both of their lives now, and somehow, the world’s supposed to just keep on turning without him.

warnings: bradley bradshaw x minimally descriptive oc avery mitchell. age gap (23/33), smut, angst, hurt / comfort, mentions of character death, mourning, military inaccuracies. This entire fic and my blog is an 18+ space, minors do not interact. Do not repost.

…

Bradley rents a bungalow about twenty minutes from base, towards the south of the San Diego bay. He explains, on the drive there, while she is hugging an overnight bag of her things, that he’s been renting it from this sweet old lady for the past four years — but he’s only been living in it for about three quarters of that time, with deployments.

He talks a lot. Shooting halfway amused looks across at him every now and again as he talks over his music, explaining his entire rental history, Avery just lets him go on and on.

Maybe he’s worried that the silence will give her room to start tearing up again, but she knows that won’t happen — it was already a rare occurrence, just the once. 

She lets him talk. He doesn’t seem to mind how much attention she’s paying either. Anything other than silence is fine, even if he’s the only one filling it.

The respite comes when he parks in the driveway, hops out, and proudly displays the home to her. It’s white all over and covered in plants, all up the driveway and over the porch. There’s a surfboard sitting on the porch, waxed up and looking ready to go.

Inside is masculine and simple, and spotless. It looks more lived in than Maverick’s place, but in an exceptionally organised way. 

Just past the front door, he has an organised entryway with a closet and one of those shoe racks that looks like an end table. 

Beyond that, his living area is all open plan. His kitchen is to the left right as you walk in, and the living room is the clear focus. He’s got a big grey sectional pointed at a big tv with a stack of video games beside it.

He doesn’t ask her to take her shoes off by the door, but she copies politely when he kicks his off. 

That leaves her, blue and white tube socks, toeing against the chewed up corner of the area rug while he busies himself with fixing the few things he deems to be out of place. 

Itching to keep moving, she prods at the fabric, examining the teeth marks, wondering where the dog must be.

“Oh— that was my ex-girlfriend’s dog. I’ve been meaning to buy a new rug.” He explains, furrowing his brows at the spot as he tosses a throw pillow down onto his soft looking grey couch. “Um — so, I do have a guest room, but it’s kind of a gym right now. You can just make yourself at home, and I’ll go get everything out of your way.”

“I can take the couch.”

“No, no, you deserve some privacy at least. I’ll just be a sec — I have sodas and beers in the fridge, glasses are in the cabinet to the right. Help yourself.” He’s a good host, and a better one than she had been yesterday, considering that Maverick’s place is now technically her own.

As he heads for the long, stretching hallway, she shoots a look back down at the mauled rug. With how spotless the rest of this place is, he must have really liked that girl to let her bring her dog here, and to let it chew up his stuff.

She wonders, aimlessly, if he was mad about it. If they argued. If they broke up long ago.

Avery hasn’t had too many relationships of her own. Some mediocre sex and a couple of couch-based movie dates here and there, nothing to write home about. 

She sits cautiously, sinking into the pillowy cushion of the couch, taking the time finally to really look around her. The space is bright, with big windows all around and a view of the bay. There’s a sun catcher dancing from the curtain rod, casting rainbows across his wooden floors.

Maybe his ex had bought that, too.

The bungalow is small, but it fits all of his belongings with an abundance of space left. Avery thinks back to her father’s place, always cluttered and spilling over with junk, treasure from his years of travels.

Maybe Bradley is a little bit less sentimental about keeping things.

He rattles around in the room at the end of the hall for a while, huffing occasionally. While waiting on the couch, she considers getting up and offering to help a few times, but ultimately convinces herself against it.

“Alright! Fresh sheets and some space to move, there’s still a bunch of stuff in there but I tried to get it out of your way.” He comes strolling back down the hallway and drops down onto the couch at her side, letting out a heavy sigh.

She screws her mouth up a little, looking across at him while he rests his eyes, long, dark eyelashes brushing his warm cheeks. His long legs, covered by worn denim, stretch out far enough that he has to bend them around his coffee table.

When one hand comes up to card through his mussed curls, she catches sight of the tattoo inked across the expanse of his bicep. LXXXVI. ‘86. She starts to think on it, letting him enjoy his moment of peace, when he shifts and startles her enough to drag her eyes away from his flexing arm.

“Thanks, for everything,” Avery manages to still sound a little cautious in her tone, even when she’s rushing to speak. “Staying last night, driving me around today, letting me stay with you. I really appreciate it.”

He smiles without opening his eyes, reaching out and letting his hand pat skim across the seam of her jeans, patting at her knee platonically.

“Any time.” He breezes, cool. 

The first night is uneventful. Avery sleeps restlessly on the futon in Bradley’s spare bedroom, turned home gym. 

She pretends that she doesn’t see the numbers on the sides of the weights, and pretends also that she doesn’t give a little bit of her imagination to the way that tattoo must move when he lifts them.

When she wakes up, Bradley is gone and there is a note on the kitchen counter explaining that he went for a run. He was gone for two hours, trying to run far enough that the sick, hot, thudding feeling in his chest would stop.

Back at the house, Natasha stops by and spends the afternoon. She lets herself into the place with her key, which sits on her own keychain like she’s had it for a while. Watching a sitcom from the armchair while they sit beside each other on the couch, Avery notices that the two of them are very close.

She wonders if Natasha happens to have a dog.

Sleep doesn’t come any easier for either one of them the second night. When he finally catches sight of the red, flashing declaration on his alarm clock that it is now 2:01am, Bradley gives up.

He tries to be quiet as he’s getting up, careful not to wake Avery. They’re in much closer quarters in his place than they had been back at Maverick’s house, her door is right opposite his across the narrow hallway.

He pads down the hallway, rubbing at his eyes, tossing up whether he’s going to try to drink something warm and go back to bed, or if he’s just going to stay up. He can’t keep not sleeping.

He almost heads straight for the kitchen, freezing in his tracks as he finally takes note of the blue light coming from his living room, and the sound of women’s voices. It takes him a second, even though he’d been being so considerate on her behalf, to remember that he has a guest over.

“Ave?” He mumbles. 

The TV immediately falls silent. She winces from her spot on the couch, craning her neck to try to see him at the edge of the hallway.

“Just me. I’m sorry! Did I wake you?” She sounds worried. He’s still half asleep. 

He shakes his head as he steps out from the shadows and heads for his kitchen. “No, I just wasn’t expecting you to be up. I couldn’t sleep.”

He passes by pretty quickly, concealed behind the kitchen island in just a few steps. Still, she saw him. Illuminated only by the light of the television, wearing a tight pair of black boxer briefs and dog tags around a silver chain. Long, muscled legs and tapered hips. 

Sure, he was good looking before, and clearly fit — but she wasn’t expecting what had been under those slightly loose t-shirts.

Her mouth is dry as she mumbles out a soft, “Me either.”

“D’you want a tea?” He stands with her back to her now, reaching around in the darkness of his kitchen. She stares, unblinking, at his back.

“You drink tea?”

“Sometimes,” He cranes his neck to look at her over his shoulder. “That’s not weird.”

Her lips almost quirk, and she gives him a confirming shake of her head. “I didn’t say it was. Do you have green tea?”

He scoffs without looking. “Of course I have green tea.”

This whole lack of sleep thing isn’t new to him. It comes with the grief, but it’s there even when he feels like he isn’t grieving anymore. Since he was a kid, Bradley has had thoughts that keep him up at night, thoughts bad enough to stir him from peaceful, pleasant dreams.

He’s tried every tea in the catalog.

He carries the two mugs across the living room without once noticing the way he’s been stared at. He sets hers down on a cute little wicker coaster on his coffee table, walking past and dropping down onto the corner of the sectional.

His legs stretch out and he shifts and twists until he finds himself comfortable. “What’s this?”

She sets her gaze steadily on the television, her hands in her lap, wondering if he’s this brash with all of his house guests. With a swallow, she shrugs her shoulders. “Oh, it’s just this TV show about a columnist in New York in the nine—“

“Are you explaining Sex and the City to me?” Bradley sounds bewildered, his face stark as he stares at her across the couch. Avery’s lips tug at a smile, and she almost forget the nerves she’d been feeling.

Until, the light from the television catches on the silver of his dogtags. Her gaze drops, like a flicker, to his bare, toned chest — and she swiftly looks back to the television.

“You’ve seen it?” She asks softly.

He’s beyond good looking. He’d always been okay looking, he’d had a nice smile in all of those pictures she had seen. But now, the roundness of his cheeks is gone and he has grown into his nose, his lips are a shade of pink that would be a bestseller in cosmetics. 

Avery curses herself; she had been pretty successfully pretending not to notice that he had gotten good looking. Then, he comes strolling down that hallway and making her tea from his apparently extensive collection, having the nerve to sprawl across his own couch looking like that. 

Across from a girl who hasn’t seen any action in the better part of a year too. 

She almost scowls. 

��Every episode,” He answers gleefully. At first, she thinks of Natasha or that mysterious girlfriend with the badly behaved dog. Then, he adds, “This was my mom’s favourite TV show, ever.”

And suddenly, she feels a little guilty for acting like those muscles make him some kind of ladies’ man. Just because the rest of them have been, she guesses. 

Bradley seems like a nice guy. He slept in a bed clearly meant for a child all night last night, and he let her take the first shower this morning, he chased her across the parking lot and offered to fix all of her problems in one fell swoop. 

Maybe that’s because of some kind of debt he thinks he owes to Pete, and maybe it’s just because that’s the kind of man he is.

She glances across, watching him chuckle at a classic Samantha one-liner and take a sip of a raspberry herbal tea. Wrinkling her nose, she settles back down into the spot she had been relaxing in, and lets herself zone out again. 

They watch a couple of episodes. Unlike earlier, Bradley doesn’t feel the need to talk. He likes the quiet, mixed with their frequent chuckles. It’s an okay thing, to not have to fill that silent void. 

Avery is the first to excuse herself to go back to bed, and she hasn’t once mentioned his little Calvin Kleins or the way they make his thighs look. 

As she walks away, Bradley catches himself. He hadn’t much thought about what she might wear to bed, or what she’d been wearing when he first sat down with her. Her hips wiggle in her stride, her fitted pyjama shorts hugging her ass as she heads for the guest room. 

The material of her loose t-shirt is tucked in at the back. Those cotton shorts hug her hips and show off just the tiniest glimpse of her round ass, from where they have ridden up a little.

He looks away before she’s even out of view, but it doesn’t change what he had been thinking. She’s Pete’s kid, for gods’ sakes. Not much of a kid anymore, but still, it wouldn’t be right.

Man, Maverick would hate it, too. 

Bradley wishes, silently, that he was here to scold him. Pete would square his shoulders and get that rare and serious look on his face, warning Bradley to keep his hands to himself. And Bradley would smile and taunt him, saying, “Don’t worry, Mav, I’ll be the perfect gentleman.”

With her dad gone, it just makes it worse.

These next few weeks are going to be hard, and the least he could do is think with his head to keep things simple between the two of them. He heads back to bed late enough for it to almost not be worth it. 

He wakes to the sound of chaos over the comms, that same last conversation, those snowy peaks behind his eyelids. 

Mouth dry, heart thudding, his eyes are still shut when he stumbles out into the hall and twists the bathroom door handle. It jams, and he remembers. The sounds of water coming from behind the door stops abruptly.

Peeking her head around the shower curtain, already wincing, Avery calls back out to him. “Sorry! I’ll just be a second!”

“No — sorry, take as long as you want.” He calls back, shaking his head and heading for the kitchen. Restless and anxious, he splashes cold water across his face and thinks about Pete.

He saw Mav do this insurmountable times. He remembers all of the mornings that Mav would wake up gasping, shaking, and he would head straight for the bathroom, bolting the door. He’d come back out okay again. He wonders if Mav still did it, even all these years later.

If he still heard Goose’s voice through the comms, calling him out of his dreams. 

The thought makes him shudder. The bathroom door unlocking makes him flinch, looking up sharply. 

Avery steps out of the bathroom, her hair still dry and tied back, droplets of water still beading along the skin and flowing under the plush blue towel she had taken from the linen closet. He had told her to help herself, but he’s staring at her now and she’s second guessing herself.

He stands at his kitchen sink, his hands braced against the countertop, his knuckles white. She barely even notices his little Calvin Kleins. Her brows knit together as she takes a step toward him, barely visible around the corner.

“Hey… are you okay?” Her face creases with concern, lingering in the hallway so that he can see her just enough.

He remembers to let go of the countertop.

“Yeah,” He breathes out, unconvincingly, reaching up and shaking a hand through his tangled curls. He takes a second, trying to gather his thoughts enough to keep the conversation moving. “Were you still thinking you’re gonna need a job while you’re here?”

She blinks, her scrunched up face relaxing as she takes another step closer, cocking her head at him.

“Um, yeah. I think so.”

He nods. “Get dressed. We’ll go see my friend in a bit, can see if it’s something you might be interested in. Maybe, then we’ll take your car to a mechanic this afternoon.” 

Out of the house, he feels like he can breathe again. It’s just sleeping, that’s all. When he’s really awake, he can control it all a little better, it doesn’t get to him as much.

He drives the same way he had yesterday. Three fingers around the bottom of the wheel, seventies music playing. Today, the windows are down. Avery makes a pretty good passenger — she doesn’t ask him to change his music and she doesn’t put her head in the way when he’s trying to check his mirrors.

Mainly because she isn’t once watching the road, but that’s okay. 

She looks around the city like she’s seeing it for the first time. Mav lived her for longer than she’s been alive — and the entire place seems foreign to her.

Bradley knows both of his parents’ hometowns like the back of his hand, and he still hasn’t ever lived in either one of them. 

“Did your dad ever tell you about Penny?” He asks so calmly, drumming his fingers along the wheel, Ray-Ban caravans sitting across the bridge of his nose.

The look that Avery shoots him gives him more than enough of an answer. She sets her phone down in her lap and studies him, frowning slightly.

“Who’s Penny?”

Shit. Bradley shakes his head and his voice pitches up a fraction. “Oh, she and Mav were just good friends for a long time.”

A product of one of Maverick’s ‘good friendships’ herself, Avery doesn’t need Bradley to explain to her what that means. It makes her a little less excited to get to wherever he’s taking her. 

With one quick glance across, he catches the little frown settling across her lips.

“She owns that bar on Breakers Beach. We drove past it yesterday when we saw Admiral Simpson?” Bradley prompts her, glancing across at the passenger seat. She nods along. “I texted her yesterday and she really wanted to meet you, said you can have some shifts there if you want them.”

Avery wrinkles her nose, trying not to frown across at him when he’s doing his best to just be helpful.

“What? — What’s that look?” He prompts, looking across at her with an amused smile toying at his lips. 

“She’s like a long time ago ex, right? She wasn’t dating Pete recently?” 

Bradley thinks on his answer for a moment. He isn’t surprised that she figured out there was something between Mav and Penny, he would have figured it out too.

But, he had heard of Mav’s experience with Penny Benjamin a long time before he had actually gotten to meet Penny Benjamin. Really, he’s surprised to find that Avery has never heard of her, she and Mav were really on and off for quite a while.

He guesses that Mav kept that kind of thing from her.

Which means that he would want Bradley to keep the fact that he had seen Mav and Penny leave the bar together three times in the weeks leading the mission to himself too.

“Yeah. Like a long time ago.” He confirms.

“Alright, okay — yeah, this’ll be good,” Avery sounds more like she’s giving herself a pep talk than like she’s replying to him. He shoots her a smile and a nod anyway. “Thanks, again, by the way. You’re cool for setting this all up.”

Cool. Not the kind of compliment he’s usually searching for from a pretty girl, but he’ll take it.

Reaching across the centre console, he gives her knee a quick squeeze. “Not so bad yourself, Mitchell.”

Briefly, his palm lingers there. It’s just because he’s focusing on turning into the parking lot, but it’s still his large palm hugging the curve of her knee for a minute longer than it should have.

Completely over the thick protection of her jeans, but she stares at the touch anyways. Then, she dares to look back up at him. Totally relaxed as he pulls into a spot up front like it’s his own personal one. 

One more squeeze, and he takes his hand back and swings open the door. The parking lot is surprisingly busy for the middle of the week at noon.

 Avery follows him out of the vehicle, gingerly matching his pace as he heads inside. It’s once he’s spotted that she falters. 

“Rooster!” Someone even taller than he is comes marching up right away and throws his arms around Bradley. Bradley hugs him loosely, greeting him with an aloof but firm pat of the back.

“Payback.” He greets quietly.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you. How are you holding up?” His warm eyes bore into Bradley, his head bowed slightly and his voice sincere. He hasn’t spotted her yet.

“I’m alright,” Bradley sounds convincing enough, but this Payback guy hadn’t seen how rattled Bradley had looked this morning. “This is Avery.” 

Finally, Payback’s gaze flickers to the girl standing behind Rooster. Halfway tucked behind his shoulder, staring at him through her lashes, looking totally lost and sheepish.

“Mav’s kid?”

In the short time Bradley has known her, he knows that’s not the kind of response she would have wanted to get.

Swinging his arm out and throwing the heavy limb around her shoulders, Payback watches Rooster drag the stunned girl out from behind him and present her at his side. “It’d pay you to learn your new bartender’s name, Fitch.”

He’s looking Avery right in the eye, and he already can see that Bradley’s going to have to be reminded that not everyone likes the heavy handed approach to affection he can have.

Still, he smiles at her like he means it and nods his head respectfully.

“Already got it, it’ll be good to have you around, Avery.” 

A small smile works its way across her lips, grateful if not anything else.

“Nice to meet you.” She answers him quietly, stiff against Bradley’s side. He pats her back and urges her forwards.

“Here, this is Penny. Penny, meet your new bartender.”

Penny Benjamin is tall and striking, standing behind the bar with her eyes already on the new bartender. There’s a recognition and affection in the blue of her gaze that tells Avery she was lied to just a moment ago.

That’s a woman who cared deeply for Pete Mitchell.

It puts a bad taste in her mouth, a pit in her stomach, a sudden coldness about the possibility of this job. Even if just for a short time, for however long she’s here, she’s just going to be an extension of the man she had always felt so far from.

Penny cocks her head to the side, just a bit. Sure, she can see semblances of Pete in the girl across from her, but it’s the rigid, flighty look in her eyes that catches Penny’s attention. 

Across from her is someone with something to prove, and a character they’ve been playing for a long time now. That’s what feels most familiar.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Avery says stiffly, trying to sound like she means it. 

Penny nods, smiling. She glances towards Bradley, then back to the girl still tucked under his arm.

“You too. Let’s talk.” 

As Jimmy takes over the bar duties, Bradley’s left with the prospect of facing his friends when Penny and Avery disappear toward the back deck.

He scratches at the back of his neck, shooting one last look at the two of them over his shoulder, and wondering what he’s supposed to say to all of those guys. 

One by one, he could manage… but all in a group like that? — He hasn’t seen most of them since it happened. 

It’s Natasha that he can trust to catch his eye first, giving him that kind of look cautious parents give their kids when coaching them on a bike. She worries a lot for someone who swears that she doesn’t care about the meatheads she hangs out with.

He heads for her as coolly as he can manage, hoping that the other guys know not to give him a hard time today. They don’t, they never would. 

His therapist says it’s a defensive thing, the way he waits for people to say the wrong thing. When he’s hurt, he expects it, almost. He’s trying to get out of it. 

They can all give him credit for that.

Even so, it doesn’t take long for conversation to fade from small talk to the newest, most exciting subject.

“So, she’s staying at your place?” Natasha’s the first one to bring up the missing party, picking up on a comment about the two of them arriving together.

Bradley shakes his head and fiddles with his root beer bottle. “No, she’ll be over at Mav’s place once we get her car fixed up. It’s a real piece of shit, I don’t even know what they’d do to make it run any better.”

“Mav loves cars — and he lets her drive a shitbox like that?” It’s Javy who scoffs that out, the only one still talking about the Captain who had taken a shine to him in present tense. 

Bradley just shrugs. This isn’t the place to unpack whatever went down between Mav and Avery. He doesn’t know enough, even if he wanted to talk about it.

“She came all the way down here by herself?” Callie asks. She doesn’t say it, but she’s referring to the fact that her mother came all the way out to Lemoore to try to move her into the barracks like it was college when she was that age. 

Bradley shrugs again. He hasn’t heard much about Avery’s mom in the past twenty years, he isn’t even sure that he ever met her — certainly wouldn’t be able to pick her out of a crowd. All he knows is the gossip he’d gotten from his mom when it was all going down. 

“How’s she doing?” Bob asks, his blue eyes deep and sincere as he searches Bradley’s face, knowing better than to ask the same question. 

“Okay, I think.” Bradley muses, thinking of how quickly Avery had questioned the recovery efforts yesterday. “I dunno how close they were, but it’s always gotta be hard. Just… trying to make it a little easier on her, I guess.” 

They all nod, slowly.

And then Avery comes marching back inside, her chin high and her hair a little wind-swept, making a beeline right for the closest thing she’s got to a friend in this town.

“Hey.” Bradley offers her a smile, and reaches out for her. His hand grazes the back of her bicep, and she smiles more genuinely than she has in the past two days.

“Hi.”

He catches sight of himself being watched, and takes a look back over Avery’s shoulder to find Penny looking. Her blue eyes flicker down to his hand on Avery’s arm. 

Pursing her lips, she rolls her eyes and shakes her head, and Bradley’s mouth almost falls open. There’s no way she thinks that he’s hitting on Avery. He’s just being friendly.

Penny knows Bradley well enough to know that. He’s always been a very affectionate guy. Still, the look that she gives him is one that certainly, and silently, tells him to keep his hands to himself. 

He blinks, and finds his friends looking back at him expectantly. 

“So, you’re taking the job?” He checks, shaking off Penny’s watchful eyes and settling back into what he knows. Avery nods her head at him.

“Starting tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. That’s way soon. He’s going to have to make sure he doesn’t keep her up until four in the morning watching the misadventures of Carrie Bradshaw tonight. 

“Well, guys, say hi to your new bartender.” 

He brings the bottle of rootbeer back up to his lips and shoots a quick glance back over Avery’s shoulder. Penny stares back, unfazed, as he narrows his eyes back at her.

What does she know about anything, anyways?

…

[dippindaz]

could you write something with billy where the reader is very similar to him personality wise? :)

Sorry there isn’t much to this one, I was at a bit of a loss! But I hope you enjoy regardless!

The roaring engine of Billy Hargrove’s Camaro echoed through the Hawkins High parking lot, a siren for trouble. You leaned against your car across the lot, cigarette dangling from your fingers, watching him through narrowed eyes.

You weren’t sure why you hadn’t walked inside yet. Maybe you wanted to see if the King of Hawkins High was everything people claimed he was. Or maybe you were just bored.

Billy stepped out, his swagger as loud as his car. He didn’t notice you at first, too busy scanning for his next conquest. But when his eyes finally landed on you, something shifted.

You didn’t look away. Instead, you blew a lazy stream of smoke in his direction, your lips curling into a smirk.

“Nice car,” you drawled, your voice dripping with a mix of challenge and indifference. “Guess compensating is a universal language.”

Billy froze for a second before his mouth curved into a grin, sharp and wolfish. He strolled toward you, his cocky demeanor practically daring you to keep going.

“You got a lot of opinions for someone I’ve never seen around here,” he shot back, folding his arms.

“And you got a lot of ego for someone I just met,” you countered, flicking ash onto the ground.

His grin widened. “You always this mouthy, or am I just special?”

You shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to stick around and find out.”

Billy’s gaze didn’t waver, and neither did yours. It was like a silent game, two sparks waiting to ignite. He took a step closer, the air between you charged with that strange energy only the two of you seemed to understand.

“You know,” he started, voice lower now, “most people are too scared to talk to me like that.”

You raised an eyebrow, the smirk never leaving your face. “Maybe they just know better.”

Billy’s lips twitched, clearly amused but also a little intrigued. He studied you for a moment, like he was trying to figure out what made you tick.

“And what about you?” he asked, leaning in just a bit. “You think you know better than me?”

“Don’t know if I know better, but I definitely know how to handle people like you,” you said, pushing off from your car and standing tall. You had never been one to back down, especially not now, when the challenge in his eyes made your pulse race.

Billy’s grin turned predatory, like he was enjoying this—enjoying you. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” you said, stepping forward until you were standing toe-to-toe with him. “You talk a big game, but deep down, you’re just like everyone else.”

Billy’s eyes narrowed. “And how’s that?”

“You hide behind the bullshit. The car. The attitude. But I see it, Hargrove. You’re just as messed up as the rest of us.”

There it was. The thing neither of you had ever dared to say aloud. It hung in the air, heavy and raw.

For a moment, Billy’s expression faltered. You saw it—just for a second—the mask slipping. Then, just as quickly, it was back in place, harder and colder than before.

“You don’t know anything about me,” he muttered, but his voice wasn’t as confident anymore.

You could tell you’d hit a nerve, and for once, you didn’t back away. You stood firm, watching him struggle to regain his composure.

“Maybe I don’t,” you said, voice softer now but no less cutting. “But I know enough to see when someone’s full of shit.”

Billy’s chest rose and fell with a deep breath, trying to mask whatever vulnerability had slipped through. He forced a chuckle, stepping back, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “Well, aren’t you a little truth-teller.”

You didn’t respond right away. Instead, you took another drag from your cigarette, the smoke swirling between you like a barrier.

“I don’t have time for games, Hargrove,” you finally said, flicking the cigarette away. “If you want to throw insults, fine. But if you think you can scare me off with your attitude, you’re wrong.”

Billy studied you for a long moment, and just when you thought he was about to say something else, he just laughed—a low, genuine laugh that startled you.

“You’re something else, aren’t you?” he muttered, shaking his head. Then he smirked. “Guess we’ll see how long you last.”

You watched him walk away, but something in his voice lingered. A challenge.

And you never backed down from a challenge.

—————————————————————————

Music thumped through the walls of Tommy H.’s house, the bass reverberating in your chest as you wove through the crowded living room. Red solo cups littered every surface, and the smell of cheap beer mingled with perfume and cologne. You didn’t even know why you’d come.

Maybe because it was something to do. Maybe because a part of you wanted to see if Billy would show up.

You didn’t have to wonder long.

The Camaro was impossible to miss, gleaming under the streetlights when you arrived. Inside, Billy was holding court, a drink in one hand and a girl draped over his shoulder. His laugh cut through the room like a knife, drawing every eye to him. He lived for that kind of attention.

You leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping on whatever watered-down drink someone had handed you, watching him with a mix of amusement and irritation. He hadn’t noticed you yet, too caught up in being the center of everyone’s world.

“You’re staring,” came a voice beside you.

You turned to find Carol smirking, her lipstick too bright for the dim lighting. She was practically radiating smugness, like she’d just uncovered some big secret.

“And?” you replied, your tone sharp enough to make her falter.

“Nothing,” she said with a shrug, flipping her hair. “Just thought it was funny. You and Billy? I mean, come on.”

You didn’t bother responding. People like Carol thrived on reactions, and you weren’t about to give her one.

As if on cue, Billy finally noticed you. His gaze slid past the crowd, zeroing in on you like a predator locking onto its prey. The smirk that followed was slow, deliberate, and infuriatingly cocky.

You held his gaze, refusing to back down. If he wanted a game, you’d give him one.

It didn’t take long for him to weave his way over, leaving his entourage behind without a second thought. The crowd seemed to part for him like he owned the place.

“Didn’t think you’d show,” he said, leaning against the counter beside you.

“Didn’t think you’d care,” you shot back, taking another sip of your drink.

Billy chuckled, tilting his head as he studied you. “Oh, I care. Can’t have someone like you running around stealing my thunder.”

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Please. I’ve been stealing your thunder since day one.”

That laugh again, low and genuine, but with an edge. “You really think you can keep up with me?”

You turned to face him fully, stepping closer until there was barely any space between you. “I don’t need to keep up, Hargrove. I’m already ahead.”

For a moment, the air between you crackled with something almost dangerous. His smirk faltered, just slightly, and you could tell he wasn’t used to someone standing toe-to-toe with him.

Before he could respond, the girl he’d been with earlier appeared, sliding her arm around his waist. “Billy,” she whined, glaring at you like you’d just insulted her entire family.

Billy didn’t look at her. His eyes stayed on you, the smirk returning as if to say, What are you going to do about it?

You didn’t blink, didn’t flinch. Instead, you reached out and plucked his drink from his hand, taking a slow sip of it.

“See you around, Hargrove,” you said, your voice smooth and confident as you turned and walked away.

You didn’t need to look back to know he was watching you. You could feel it, the weight of his gaze burning into your back.

————————————————————————-

The party had spilled out into the backyard, where the air was cooler, tinged with the smell of cigarette smoke and freshly cut grass. You leaned against the edge of the wooden fence, letting the muffled bass of the music fade into the background. The drink you’d stolen from Billy was still in your hand, though you’d barely touched it.

You weren’t alone for long.

The creak of boots on the grass caught your attention, but you didn’t look over. You already knew who it was.

“You’ve got a bad habit of stealing what’s mine,” Billy said, his voice low and rough.

You turned your head slowly, meeting his eyes. His smirk was still there, but there was something darker beneath it now.

“Didn’t realize a drink counted as a prized possession,” you replied, tilting the cup toward him mockingly.

Billy took a step closer, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him. “I’m not talking about the drink,” he said, his voice dropping even lower.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning disinterest even as your pulse quickened. “Let me guess. Your ego’s bruised because I didn’t fall at your feet like everyone else?”

He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You think you’re so tough, don’t you?”

You shrugged. “Or maybe I just know you can’t handle someone who doesn’t play by your rules.”

That struck a nerve. You saw it in the way his jaw tightened, the way his smirk flickered for just a moment. But instead of snapping back, he leaned in even closer, his voice a low murmur.

“Careful,” he said, his breath brushing against your ear. “You might find out just how wrong you are.”

You didn’t react. If he wanted to intimidate you, he was going to be disappointed.

“You know,” you said, your tone as sharp as the edge of a knife, “for someone who talks such a big game, you’re awfully predictable.”

Billy straightened, his eyes narrowing. The tension between you was electric, crackling with the kind of energy that could either end in a fight or something else entirely.

“You think you’ve got me all figured out?” he asked, his voice hard now, defensive.

You took a step closer this time, the space between you nearly nonexistent. “I think you’re scared,” you said, your voice quiet but steady. “Scared someone might actually call you out. Scared someone might see through all the crap you pull and realize there’s nothing underneath.”

For a second, the mask fell. You saw it—the raw vulnerability he tried so hard to bury. But just as quickly, he snapped back, his smirk returning like a shield.

“You really don’t know when to shut up, do you?” he muttered, but his tone was different now. Softer.

“Not a chance,” you said, taking one last sip of his drink before shoving the empty cup into his chest. “See you later, Hargrove.”

You turned and walked back toward the house, leaving him standing there, staring after you like he didn’t know whether to be furious or impressed.

And you couldn’t help but smile to yourself, knowing you’d gotten under his skin.

[pokeshippingweek]

POKESHIPPING WEEK 2024!

It's that time again, pokeshippers!

Last year, we announced that the format of Pokeshipping Week - one theme per day - was getting retired. We also said that we'd still put on a celebration of some kind going forward. Well, the time is here, and I'm happy to announce that we are planning a pokeshipping zine...next year!

If you'll forgive the bait-and-switch there, we have seriously talked about doing a zine, but time got away from us this summer. So, while we do hope to tackle that undertaking in 2025, for this year, we're planning what you might call an open Pokeshipping Week!

How does it work, you ask? Simple: over the years, you all have submitted a lot of potential themes for Pokeshipping Week. For every seven that got chosen each year, plenty were left behind. Well, now you can fill November 1 to 7 with art, fics, AMVs, GIFs, graphics, etc., all about our favorite Poke-couple, using any seven you'd like from the unused themes list.

Any and all contributions are welcome, and if they're tagged #pokeshipping week 2024, we'll reblog them here and on the main @pokeshipping blog. Besides Tumblr, we’ll keep our eyes out for the tag on Twitter and DeviantART for artwork, for fanfics on FF.Net and AO3, and for AMVs on YouTube (no NSFW, please).

The full list of unused themes (from years 2020 through 2023) is below the "Read More" break. Use, combine, and create as your heart desires, and we'll see you November 1!

A bad fight A day in the life  A never-ending road A ship full of shippers Alola sunset scene Amusement park Anime characters meet their game/manga counterparts Anniversary Art classes together/Drawing each other Ash and Misty in Sinnoh Ash’s hat Avatar: The Last Airbender AU Birthdays  Breakup Cameran Palace ball (as in Movie 8) Celebrating Celebrities Champions/Masters  Cheerleader Misty Childhood sweethearts Chocolate Comfort during a natural disaster Comforting each other Competition Confiding in one another Cooking disaster Costumes Criminal/Detective Crossover Crossover with game/manga-verse D&D Dealing with Team Rocket’s teasing in “A Scare in the Air” Dewpider/Araquanid Different hairstyle Disaster dates  Disney AU Double dating Elder years  Elders Ash and Misty Evolution Fairy tales/Fantasy AU Fankids Fireworks First day on the job Food Fortune-telling/foresight Game of Thrones AU Giving advice to a younger generation Grey hair Gym leader Ash/beginner Misty Halloween/horror/ghost story Hanahaki disease Handkerchief Happily Ever After/Fairy Tales Hiding Hogwarts AU Horizons Hot tub/Hot springs If Ash heard Misty’s Song If Ash or Misty weren’t from Kanto If Ash started his journey at 16 or older If Ash’s journey had ended after winning the Indigo League (in season 1) If Misty caught Lapras If one came from another region If their parents met If they didn’t meet on Ash’s first day In-universe Pokéshippers Intimacy Japanese-style confessional love letter JRPG AU (ie, Final Fantasy, Dragon Quest, Monster Hunter, etc.) Karaoke Ladybug and Chat Noir Last goodbyes Learning a different language Lost Pikachu Love Letter  Love triangle Lovers across the multiverse Lovestruck (if Ash acted like Brock) Meeting the parents/relatives Mewtwo Strikes Back alternate ending Misty and other Pokégirls discuss their loved ones together Misty meets Goh and Chloe Misty overcoming her fear of Bug-types Misty the coordinator Misty’s Bug-type phobia Mixtape/playlist  Mystery dungeon Nervous Ash  Never have I ever Other Pokemon games AU (Detective Pikachu/Pokemon Masters/etc) Out of their element  Overprotective Misty  Perspective of Oak Ranch Pokémon on their relationship Photo shoot Pirates Plot twist Pokemon daycare Pokémon Mystery Dungeon AU PokéNav communication/Video calling Possessed/evil Misty Pregnancy/Birth Pro-gamers Puberty Reappearance of Ash’s father and/or Misty’s parents Regency Era Romance  Return to Orange Islands Romeo and Juliet Sci-fi AU Scuba diving Secret identity/superhero AU Slow Slumber party Spies AU Stargazing Studio Ghibli AU Sunshine and Rain  Superhero AU Swimming lessons Sygna suits Tabletop RPG AU Taller (height differences)  Tauros ranchers Ash and Misty Time capsule Training together Umbrella Vacation Visiting Oak’s ranch  Water and electricity/water and fire What if Ash didn’t take Misty’s bike? Yoga together Z-ring/Mega Stone

[shogunish]

𝗮 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗯𝗲𝘁𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝘂𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝗼𝗻.

satoru x f! reader, tooth-rotting fluff, satoru and reader explore their relationship, space talk bc i'm a sucker for that

970 words

“the moon is beautiful tonight, isn’t it?’’ said satoru with cerulean eyes hidden behind sunnies that were as dark as the space in-between the seemingly infinite stars. his face was pale as the moonlight, hair white as snow in the middle of december and those eyes..oh, they held the skies and everything holy in them.

little dots sparkled in the dark of the night sky which was illuminated by the moon which merely reflected the sun’s own light. craters and their shadows were visible to the naked eye - no six eyes were needed for that. dew lay atop blades of green grass like countless little crystals just waiting to disappear once the sun would kiss them with its first rays. gently, the grass tickled satoru’s ankles as he sat down right next to you.

his gaze drifted from the moon towards your awestruck face scrutinizing the moon and trying to read constellations that you had never been able to find. too many stars, you always said and gave up with a pout. it was cute, satoru thought. even though he knew nothing about the night sky and its celestial wonders, he did know about you.

a chuckle vibrated in the back of his throat, deep like the ocean yet soft like the waves kissing the shore. he shrugged his shoulders almost nonchalantly as if amused. “she looks a little lonely, but maybe that’s why i consider her beautiful.”

“the moon isn’t that lonely. all these little dots of stars are her company and yet..the sun is the star closest to her and lights her up.” your voice came out as nothing but a murmur that was as gentle as the caress of the night breeze caressing the leaves of a tree above.

a hum of understanding. satoru didn’t know why he was next to you, shoulder to shoulder and having this sort of conversation with you, yet his heart seemed to know the answer and spoke before his brain could approve. “do you think the moon is the sun’s favorite companion?”

“who can say what the sun truly thinks of the moon? he’s big and complex and pulls everyone in his orbit like magic.” leaning back, you supported your weight on your palms. then, your eyes drifted over to satoru. the night cast gentle shadows upon his defined yet soft features that would always distract you during yaga’s classes. a little unfair how the gods crafted satoru with such care and the fingertips of a mother. “what i can say is that the sun is the moon’s favorite companion.”

a smile tugged at the corners of your lips. going on missions with satoru was a walk in the park. it was always him who exorcized the curse and treated you to a bowl of ramen in the hidden streets of tokyo. you envied him. if only you could show him your strength for once, but he always insisted on keeping you safe.

satoru tilted his head to the side, one eyebrow furrowed before he came to face you with a curious expression on his face. “what would happen to the moon if she strays too far?”

for a moment, you had no words. was this not..about the moon and space and everything lingering in-between? a blush dusted the apples of your cheeks, your tone a little wistful. “i think the moon would feel lonely and roam the emptiness of space forever.”

dissatisfaction was painted all over satoru’s face and a huff left his lips; his breath came out in a little white cloud of smoke. “that fate is too depressing,” he stated, “then what if the moon came closer to the sun?”

to sit next to satoru with the inside of the universe bared to your eyes was probably the closest thing to bliss you’d ever experience. perhaps, this was a little taste of paradise just behind the dormitories, hidden behind trees and bushes and atop a small hill where the grass was still dewy. “the things that get too close to the sun burn to ash. but if the sun truly loves the moon, i hope he’ll let her come close enough to spend an eternity together.”

underneath satoru’s ribs, his heart was suddenly pounding. he liked to believe that the moon reciprocated the feelings the sun had for her, but..he still tested the waters and only dipped a toe into the waters. “i think the sun would appreciate if the moon came a little closer.”

there was no infinity when you scooted a little closer to satoru and your shoulder gently bumped against his. nowadays, it was rare to see satoru without infinity surrounding him. you couldn’t possibly blame him for that decision and yet, you appreciated this little gesture more than any “good morning”, than any hug and any bowl of ramen he’d treat you to.

he trusted you.

he didn’t burn you.

instead, he carefully lured you into his orbit and refused to let you leave his space.

“like this?” you giggled, eyes crinkling at the edges.

for some reason, satoru was still dissatisfied. sure, you were quite a bit closer than before, but his heart yearned for more. “mh, no. more like this.”

and before the words on the tip of your tongue could fall, satoru cradled the back of your neck with a warm palm and pulled you in until his lips were upon yours in a sweet kiss. his lips tasted like those strawberry lollipops he always sucked on and his breath warmed the apples of your cheeks.

when satoru broke the kiss, his lips hovering just above yours, you asked, “how close do you want us to be?”

gentle fingers tugged a strand of hair behind your ear and caressed your warm cheeks. “close enough to taste you.”

taglist. @torusmochi

(if you wanna get added to my taglist, hmu 🧚🏻‍♀️✨)

[k-nayee]

Saints and Sinners Devil All The Time

wc: 3.9k a/n: Song Inspiration: Take Me To Church by Hozier; recommend you listen while reading!!

Traveler M.List

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

The heat clung to Arvin like a second skin, the late afternoon sun turning the school parking lot into a sweltering wasteland.

He stood next to his truck with a cigarette hanging from his lips, the brim of his cap casting a shadow over his eyes as he waited for Lenora—something he did every day, watching the doors of the school for her figure to appear.

His patience was wearing thin, the relentless humidity weighing on him, but he didn’t dare leave without her.

Not here. Not in this town.

His eyes scanned the yard, and that’s when he saw it: Lenora, standing off to the side, clutching her books like a shield.

She was surrounded by a trio of girls, their voices sharp and mean, cutting thick through the hot air.

Arvin could see the way she shrunk, trying to make herself smaller as their words slicing into her without mercy.

A surge of protectiveness flared—the same way he always did when someone threatened her,

He flicked his cigarette to the ground, stomping it out with a curse under his breath.

Just as he was about to intervene when you appeared, striding through the dust and heat with the kind of confidence that turned heads and stopped conversations.

You walked right into the middle of the scene unbothered by the sneers and whispers thrown your way.

“Didn’t think she’d need a slut to protect her,” the leader of the group spat, her posse snickering behind her.

You didn’t even flinch. Cool as ever, you reached into your pocket and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with a effortless precision that had Arvin mesmerized.

“Slut, huh?” you echoed. There was something almost playful in your tone, like you were amused by her attempt to insult you. “Ain’t that what your boyfriend calls me when I see him?”

The girl’s sneer faltered, her eyes narrowing as she tried to hold her ground. “Wha...what’re you talkin’ about?”

"Your name’s Gina, right?" you asked, exhaling smoke into the humid air.

Gina stiffened, sensing the shift in conversation. "Yeah, why?"

You shrugged, flicking ash off your cigarette and giving her a once-over that made her bristle. "Just something your boyfriend mentioned."

Gina blinked, her face twitching with confusion. "And what the hell's that supposed to mean?!"

"You know you're cuter than I expected," ignoring her question you blew smoke into her face, making her take a step back. "Then again, don’t remember much he said when his face was buried between my legs."

The other girls gasped as the color drained from Gina’s face. She opened her mouth, but she struggled to find the words in a sputtering rage.

Arvin, caught between surprise and amusement, couldn’t stop the choked chuckle that escaped his throat.

His sudden sound made everyone turn, including you.

Your eyes landed on Arvin, still smirking as if you’d known he was watching the whole time.

Gina, humiliated and seething, took the chance to storm off with her friends trailing behind her.

"You...you disgusting WHORE!" she screeched over her shoulder, her voice cracking in anger.

You didn’t miss a beat. “Funny, that’s not what your boyfriend was saying,” you called after her, your voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Ate me up quicker than a sundae in July!”

Arvin shook his head in disbelief as the trio disappeared from sight, trying (and failing) to suppress his grin.

He glanced back toward you and Lenora, who was still clutching her books like a lifeline, her face flushed with embarrassment.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Lenora murmured, her voice soft, full of gratitude but laced with worry. “People already—"

"—talk about me?" you cut in with a shrug, flicking the cigarette butt to the ground and crushing it beneath your boot.

“Don't worry 'bout it Bible Thumper.” Your tone was playful, the nickname clearly something affectionate between you and her.

You lift your chin, gesturing toward Arvin’s truck. "Looks like your ride’s here."

Lenora gave you a small smile, casting a final glance at the ground as she shuffled over to the truck.

Arvin hadn’t moved though. He was still standing there, watching you.

You were dressed in a tight, low-cut top and a short skirt that hugged your curves—clothing considered vulgar by small-town southern standards, especially for 1965.

The bright red bandana you had tied in your hair made you look even more rebellious, standing out like a beacon among the pastel dresses and modest cardigans the other girls wore.

Then there was the fact your brown skin was a rarity in Knockemstiff, Ohio. The town wasn’t overtly racist, but had an undercurrent of prejudice was always lingering like smoke in the air.

You raise an eyebrow at him, catching him staring. "Got a problem with your vision church boy?"

Arvin flushed, realizing he’d been caught.

"No, uh... no problem," he muttered, fumbling with the brim of his cap before awkwardly tipping it in your direction and stumbling back toward the truck.

Lenora was already in the passenger seat, her wide eyes watching the exchange with mild curiosity.

He shot you a final glance before getting behind the wheel, hands gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary.

As the truck rumbled to life Arvin couldn’t help but steal one last look at you in the rearview mirror.

You were leaning against the side of the building with another lit cigarette, your form growing smaller as the truck rolled away.

The road stretched out in front of him but his mind lingered behind.

It wasn’t until a few miles down the road did Arvin work up the nerve to ask, “That girl...back there. She, uh...you know her?”

Lenora didn’t look up, instead trained on the frayed strap of her bag that she was nervously fidgeting with.

“Her name’s ____,” she said, her voice soft with fondness. “She’s been helpin’ me. You know, with the girls at school.”

Arvin frowned, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. “Helpin’ you? Didn’t seem like the kind of person who—”

Lenora snapped her head towards him, eyes fierce. “You don’t know her, Arvin.”

“She’s good!” She continued, more certain, like she needed to make it clear before he could form any more judgments. “She’s not what people think.”

Arvin raised an eyebrow, giving Lenora a sidelong glance. He wanted to believe her, but it didn’t add up—not with what he’d heard, not with what he’d seen of you.

“Doesn’t even come to church,” he tries.

Lenora shrug, facing the window. “Doesn’t make her bad Arvin. Jesus loved Mary Magdalene, didn’t he?”

The statement hit him harder than he expected. He wasn’t sure why, but the comparison lingered.

Lenora, despite being the town’s purest soul, seemed to see something in you that no one else did.

“Mary Magdalene,” he muttered, as if testing the words on his tongue.

“Mary was a sinner, wasn’t she? A woman with a reputation. Jesus showed her love and forgiveness. He saw her for who she really was, not what people thought of her.” She paused, her eyes back on her lap. “I think ____ is a lot like that.”

Arvin fell silent. He had grown up hearing stories of redemption, how Jesus saw past sins to the heart beneath.

It was one thing to hear those stories in church—to recite scripture and praise, but to apply it to someone like you? Could it be that simple?

He thought about the way you had stood in that parking lot and how you defended Lenora without hesitation.

You did cared about the insults thrown. You didn't falter when they spat the word slut in your face.

Then there was Lenora, tucked behind you, her wide-eyed innocence protected by someone the town swore was trouble.

Arvin didn’t know what to think. Part of him—the part raised under his grandmother’s strict moral code—wanted to reject it, to cling to the safety of what he’d always been taught.

People like you with a reputation weren’t to be trusted. They were trouble. They’d drag you into the dirt with them if you weren’t careful.

But another part of him couldn’t stop thinking about you.

The way you had looked at him, with that teasing smile like you knew something he didn’t. Like you weren’t afraid of him, or the town, or anything.

There was something so free about you, so untouchable...and it was dangerous.

It stirred something deep in him, something that had nothing to do with right or wrong.

“I don’t know,” he muttered finally, more to himself than to Lenora. “Just seems like the kind of person you shouldn’t be hangin’ around with.”

Lenora’s head snapped up at that. “I mean what would Grandma Emma say?” he added quickly, trying to justify his hesitation.

He didn’t want to sound like he was being overprotective, but the thought of Lenora getting caught up in your world—it didn’t sit right.

“She knows,” Lenora said, her voice surprisingly firm. “She doesn’t like it, but... she lets me. Because she knows that ____ is kind. She helped me, Arvin. No one else stood up for me the way she did.”

Now that stopped him cold.

If Grandma Emma with all her devoutness and strict adherence to Christian values could allow Lenora to be around you, then maybe...maybe there was more to you than what he thought.

Arvin glanced at Lenora then back at the road. The thought gnawed at him, your image lingering in the back of his mind like a half-formed idea he couldn’t quite grasp.

He was caught between two worlds—his grandmother’s moral code and the inexplicable draw you had over him.

Temptation, that’s what it was. Plain and simple.

It didn’t feel simple. It felt heavy, he wasn’t used to feeling that pull,

But maybe Lenora was right. Maybe, just like Mary Magdalene, you were more than what people said.

Maybe he’d been too quick to judge.

The drive home was quieter than usual, each of them lost in their own thoughts.

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

The weeks that followed your encounter with Arvin in the parking lot slipped by slowly, each day dragging with the heavy heat of summer.

You had begun to linger in his thoughts, creeping into his mind in the quiet moments when he least expected it.

He noticed you more now. At first, it was accidental—a glance here or there when he’d pick up Lenora from school or drive through town.

Sometimes you’d offer him a nod, a faint smirk playing at the corner of your lips as if you knew exactly what you were doing to him.

You didn’t go to church, not like the rest of them.

Every Sunday without fail he'd catch you: leaning casually against the brick wall near the chapel as you waited for service to end.

It was one Sunday, Arvin stood with Lenora under the oak tree by the steps, half-listening to her talk about something from the sermon.

His eyes drifted across the street, scanning the quiet neighborhood out of habit—and there you were.

The sun caught the edge of your dress, and for a second, you looked like something out of place. Not of this town, not of its rules or restrictions.

Like you were from another world entirely.

Without thinking, his gaze lingered too long, and you caught him. Your eyes locked onto his, and for a split second, Arvin felt that strange tightening in his chest.

Embarrassment crawled up his throat, but you didn’t look away. Instead you smiled—the corners of your lips curling up as if you’d expected him to be watching.

He swallowed hard, quickly glancing back to Lenora who was still talking, completely unaware of the silent exchange.

He tried to brush it off—told himself it didn’t mean anything. But the feeling of being seen by you, noticed in that way, was something new.

The feeling stayed with him long after you were gone.

In the weeks that followed he caught himself looking for you more often. He’d spot you from a distance, sometimes walking by the side of the road as he drove by in his truck.

Your posture was always casual, unbothered. Your dress would sway with your movements, your hips rolling in a way that defied everything about this small, stifling town.

There was nothing modest or demure about you, and Arvin couldn’t stop looking.

And whenever you catch him staring, that same smirk tugged at your lips before you’d nod in acknowledgment.

At night, when the house was quiet and everyone was long asleep, Arvin would lie awake, your image burning in his mind.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn’t supposed to think about you.

His grandmother’s sermons about temptation played on a loop in his head, warnings about sin and damnation ringing out in her voice.

But you weren’t just a temptation; you were kind to Lenora, protective even. Arvin had seen it, the way you stood by her side without expecting anything in return.

People called you all kinds of names, painted you as something to be avoided, but none of that matched the way you were with her. It didn’t make sense.

As for Lenora, she spoke more often of you now. She adores you—admire even. That always struck Arvin as odd.

There were days when Lenora would beg you to join her in the woods, sitting under the trees while she read aloud from her Bible.

You were nothing like the type of person he imagined Lenora would fall in line with, but then again, Lenora was far more forgiving than anyone in Knockemstiff.

She defended you like she had something to prove, telling him how you’d been helping her and that people didn’t know the real you.

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

The afternoon sun was beginning to sink lower in the sky as you and Lenora walked toward the Russell home.

You’d just finished leaving the woods, her familiar chatter filling the silence between you.

Lenora (ever the sweetheart), had invited you in, mentioning that it was Arvin’s birthday and they were planning a small dinner to celebrate.

Knowing the town’s judgment followed you wherever you went, especially in public spaces like the Russell home, you turn it down.

It wasn't until you saw Lenora’s broken expression did you hesitate. Before you knew it, you were walking up the steps with her.

You didn't plan on staying long, just until dinner started.

The idea of sitting down for a family meal, especially at the Russell home, wasn’t exactly something you were comfortable with.

As soon as you stepped inside, the scent of warm bread and mixing chatter of the Russell family greeted you.

Grandma Emma was in the kitchen, her back straight as she prepared dinner. She gave you a brief, suspicious glance when you entered with Lenora.

Earskell seemed to take an immediate liking to you. He was lounging in his chair by the living room window with a grin spread across his face, looking entirely too relaxed.

Arvin stood near the doorway. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, clearly caught off guard by your presence.

For a moment, the room froze. Your eyes met his and the tension was immediate.

You hadn’t been this close to him since that day at the school, and it was clear he hadn’t expected you here—certainly not for something as intimate as a family dinner.

His gaze flickered over you. It was more modest than usual, a subtle nod to Emma’s old-fashioned ways.

With a black knee-length skirt, your light-colored blouse clung to your shoulders, the neckline dipping low enough to be daring in this town.

Arvin’s eyes traced the curve of your collarbone, his throat tightening at the sight.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Arvin muttered, low voice barely hiding the nervous tint beneath it.

You gave him a slow teasing smile, your eyes glinting with amusement as you stepped forward.

“Didn’t expect to be here either. Hope ya don't mind birthday boy,” you replied, the words rolling off your tongue with a soft lilt that made Arvin shift on his feet.

Earskell watched with a grin, clearly enjoying every second of the interaction.

Blissfully unaware of the tension swirling around the room, Leanora hurried back to the kitchen when Grandma Emma called for her, leaving you and Earskell alone with Arvin.

“Well, well, well. If it ain't miss ____." Earskell drawled, his voice carrying a hint of Southern charm laced with mischief. “Didn’t think we’d have such fine company tonight. Sure do brighten up the place.”

You grinned at that, makin your way to sit on the couch next to his chair, arms casually crossed. “You flatterin’ me old man?”

Earskell barked a laugh, eyes twinkling. “Just callin’ it like I see it. Ain’t often we get someone who can keep up with me.”

“You ain’t wrong about that,” you shot back, your voice low and teasing, the crassness in your tone catching Lenora by surprise as she returned from the kitchen. “Though I’m not sure your nephew here knows what to make of it.”

Arvin tensed visibly, his ears burning red at the way the conversation seemed to be shifting toward him.

He stayed quiet most of the time, barely able to meet your gaze. And now, with his uncle egging you on, he felt like a rabbit caught in a trap.

“Boy’s always been a quiet one,” Earskell said, waving a hand dismissively. “But I reckon he’ll come around, especially with someone like you lightin’ up the room.”

Arvin shot his uncle a sharp look, his face flushing even deeper. “Earskell,” he muttered, warning in his tone.

“Ain’t no need to be shy, boy,” he teased, leaning in as if sharing a secret. “Not every day a pretty girl walks through that door, is it?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, giving Arvin a sideways glance, watching him squirm. He was trying so hard to keep his cool, but the flush on his neck and the way his hands fidgeted gave him away.

“Don’t worry, I won’t bite,” you say to him before giving a flutter of your lashes. “Unless you ask.”

Arvin’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, the tension in the room thickening for just a moment.

He couldn’t bring himself to respond, instead opting to drop into his chair at the far end of the couch, avoiding your gaze entirely.

The older man didn’t miss a beat, clearly delighted by your banter.

“Now don’t go thinkin’ you can outtalk me, girl,” Earskell said, leaning forward in his chair with a grin. “I’ve got years of experience on ya.”

“I ain’t scared of a little experience,” you replied with a smirk, flicking your eyes over to Arvin long enough to catch him glancing away.

He was practically squirming now, clearly unsure of how to handle the banter and the easy way you seemed to command the room despite barely trying.

You stood after a while, brushing your hands off on your dress and glancing toward the kitchen. “I should get goin’ before dinner’s on. Don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

Earskell laughed, waving a hand. “You’re always welcome here, girl. Don’t let these sour faces fool ya.”

Grandma Emma emerged from the kitchen just in time, wiping her hands on a towel and nodding toward you. “You’re welcome back anytime.”

You gave her a nod, offering a respectful smile despite the subtle weight of judgment that always seemed to hang around Emma.

She wasn’t cruel, not like the others in town, but she was set in her ways—rigid in her moral code.

You appreciated her decency, even if it was accompanied by a thin veil of disapproval.

Earskell leaned back in his chair, grinning as he turned toward Arvin to nudge him. “Why don’t you walk her out boy? Least you can do, seein’ as how she graced us with her presence.”

Arvin flushed at the suggestion, his hands immediately coming out of his pockets as he looked between you and his uncle.

“Uh... sure,” he muttered, the nervousness thick in his voice.

He rose from his seat and awkwardly motion for you to follow him to the door. The walk was short, but every step seemed to stretch out painfully for Arvin.

He could feel your presence next to him, the  faint scent of cigarette smoke and wildflowers clinging to the air.

It was intoxicating, and he cursed the way his skin tingled when your arm brushed lightly against his.

At the door, you turned to face him, your expression softening just a little.

The usual teasing glint in your eyes was still there, but something else had crept—something more intimate, more dangerous.

“Happy birthday,” you say quietly, your voice softer now, as if you didn’t want the rest of the house to hear.

Before he could respond you reach into your bag and pull out a small card, pressing it into his hand.

Your fingers brushed his as you passed it over, the contact sending a jolt through his body.

He stared down at the card, blinking as his mind scrambled to catch up. “What’s this?”

“Just a little somethin’ for later,” you murmured, your eyes locking with his for a heartbeat too long. “Don’t forget to read it.”

Giving him one last smile, you turn and walk out into the fading evening light.

Arvin stood frozen at the door, watching as you disappeared down the dirt road. He could still feel the ghost of your touch on his skin, the weight of the card heavy in his hand.

His heart was pounding, the familiar pull of temptation gnawing at the edges of his resolve.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he glanced down at the card.

His name was written across the front in your neat handwriting. And when he flipped it over, his breath caught in his throat:

Meet me at the abandoned barn by the cornfield.

His mind raced, the invitation clear—undeniable. His heart thudded in his chest, and a small voice in the back of his mind reminded him of all the reasons he shouldn’t go.

All the reasons this was dangerous, reckless. His fingers tightened around the card, and for a brief moment he wondered what the hell he was doing.

But he knew, deep down, that he’d be there.

.*.·:·.☽✧✧☾.·:·.*

The moon hung high in the night sky, casting a silver-blue glow over the fields.

Arvin could hear the sound of his own heartbeat echoing in his ears as he made his way down the narrow dirt path toward the barn, the folded card tucked tightly into his jacket pocket.

He’d read it at least a dozen times since you handed it to him, each glance sparking a new wave of heat that crawled up his spine. 

He should’ve stayed home. He knew that. He’d spent the last few hours after dinner sitting on the porch, wrestling with himself.

When he reached the barn door he stopped just outside.

His grandmother’s warnings about temptation played on repeat in his mind, endless sermons about purity and righteousness and the consequences that came to those who strayed.

It wasn’t just her voice he heard; it was the town’s, too—the collective judgment of the people he’d known his whole life.

They wouldn’t hesitate to condemn him, to call him a fool for even thinking about following you here.

Because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop thinking about you

The way you’d looked at him when you handed him the card, the softness in your voice when you wished him a happy birthday.

The memory of it made his heart race and he hated how much he wanted more of that feeling. More of you.

His fingers nervously twitched at his sides as he took a breath, steeling himself before finally stepping inside.

You were already there, waiting for him.

[remember-digimon]

Next up is my favorite, Matt!

Wow what a cool guy.

So, Matt is usually described as a loner, Tai's rival, and the Angsty Cool Guy. None of these actually describe who he is, so let's dive into that.

1. Loner. Matt isn't a loner, he's lonely. Big difference. He keeps others at a very long arm's length as a self-preservation mechanism; due to his parents' divorce basically breaking his little heart at a really young age. He learned then that other people could hurt him by leaving, and decided from then on he wouldn't give them the opportunity to hurt him. His loneliness is so deeply rooted that it's interpreted by others as aloofness, while he is only 11 years old. Like damn wtf

2. Tai's rival. Outside of the Cherrymon incident, which was just good ol' manipulation to get the two most powerful Digimon in the group to fight, Matt was really only considered Tai's rival in early promotional stuff that had a little bio for each character. Matt likely gets interpreted as Tai's rival because they fight a lot, but it's not that simple. Matt doesn't want to compete with Tai, he doesn't want to be the leader. He butts heads with Tai because they're basically opposites. Matt is acutely aware of the group's feelings and needs, while Tai remains laser-focused on the goal at hand. This dynamic isn't like Ash vs Gary, where they're actively competing with each other. Matt gets frustrated with Tai very easily, and he feels things so intensely that he can't really help but blow up.

3. Cool Guy. Let's get one thing straight, this kid right here is not cool. This was more of a thing in the dub iirc, but regardless, his attitude is just a cover to keep people from getting too close. Hell, it takes Gabumon a few episodes longer than the other Digimon to really get close to Matt; before that point, Matt certainly isn't a total dick to Gabumon, but he isn't fully trusting yet either.

Matt's relationship with TK is an interesting one. He feels like it's his sole purpose to protect TK, not just from monsters but from anything unpleasant in life. All of the familial love and affection he gets comes from TK so it's understandable why he would feel this way.

One complaint I often hear about Matt is that his breakdown in the Dark Masters arc when TK gets kidnapped by Puppetmon is way overblown, that he wouldn't normally react that way. He left TK at the amusement park during Weregarurumon's Diner, and when he couldn't immediately leave he didn't break down like that.

The difference in these situations is obvious if you pay close attention. First of all, from the time the kids get up on the day Bakemon raid Odaiba to when they're back at the digital world and split up after talking to Homeostasis, is all one day. It feels much longer because of how many episodes that is, but they're all on at least 24 hours without sleep or taking a break. Also, keep in mind that Matt woke up earlier than the others, before sunrise, as his dad got him and Gabumon to the warehouse to keep them from getting abducted by the Bakemon.

Second, in that span of time the kids have all realized what they're up against. They've lost Wizardmon, Chuumon, Piximon, and Whamon in quick succession, the last three to the Dark Masters. Learning that his little brother has now been captured by one of these Dark Masters would lead Matt to fearing the worst.

Then there's the big fight he had with Tai just prior to the breakdown. He accused Tai of being obsessed with fighting and ignoring the others' grief at the loss of their Digimon friends. By the time he and TK are in the tree with their Digimon, he's already showing signs of wanting to break away from the group, saying that they don't need the others.

Matt also feels that his growth is stagnant compared to the others; this is untrue, as Gabumon would not be able to digivolve to higher levels if Matt wasn't growing and changing. But his self-image is so damaged that he always sees the negative aspects of his personality when comparing himself to his peers.

And of course we have to talk about the Dark Cave. Because of how the Digital World operates, Matt's depression materializes and manifests as a cave that he can't escape until he comes to terms with it. Obviously this quick recovery from a depression spiral is not based in reality, but this is an episodic kid's show so I'm surprised we even got this much.

Matt's experience in the cave is one that a lot of people who have dealt with depression and loneliness can relate to. He says he wants to be alone, but Gabumon calls him out on that and makes him realize that isn't what he wants, actually. He wants to be more open with people, he's just under the impression that he's not really important, not wanted, so it's better off to just not even try. His relationship with his mother is highly strained because of the divorce, and because he has an overwhelming sense of loyalty he probably feels he has to be cold to her for his father's sake.

As for his father, Hiroaki is at work more often than not. Every time we see Hiroaki and Matt interact, Hiroaki is either brisk and business-like or even annoyed; when Matt meets up with him at the TV station, Hiroaki is angry that he didn't stay hidden. Obviously this is out of concern for his son, but still. A moment later, when TK shows up, suddenly Hiroaki is much softer in speaking. So I imagine that this dynamic would also have an impact on Matt's mental health; his dad is almost always at work, and when we do see him with his dad, Hiroaki is a bit tough with him.

But it isn't all sad times and angst with Matt. He loves music, later forming a popular band in middle school and high school. Once he realizes that he can open up to people, and they won't intentionally hurt him, he's able to create real, lasting relationships that aren't based on the cold exterior he uses to protect himself. It's clear that he needed to learn to let others in, and once he did learn that, he becomes much happier and more willing to open up and let those walls down. Even if it's just a little bit.

[mothmanperson]

Picture Unperfect

cw: gender neutral reader, slightly insecure reader, angst, tiniest bit of fluff, reader doesn’t cry, mean frat dude probably, ooc probably

tw: mocking, being made fun of for appearance

well at least until you have the glow-up everyone else seems to be having, or already had, or never needed.

you were so jealous of those people,

and you genuinely never understood how it even came to, that you befriended them.

that they genuinely want to hang out with you in breaks, write you(by their own will, mind you) regularly or ask if you‘d like to go out with them, to a restaurant, expensive ones, your friends seemed to have that money, or amusement parks, or to one of your places.

you were amazed by the fact they simply didn‘t care. they didn’t care that you looked a mess 80% of the time, they didn’t care that you had emotions, that you were more sad and depress at times. your small friend group didn’t care that your room looked how it looked, overlooking the trash mountain by the side of your bed, which you didn‘t have the energy’s to clean up yet.

you were never conventionally attractive. and you never will be, you made peace with that. it was hard, and it still is. every time you come across a reflective surface and catch a peek of yourself you falter, jump at someone you don’t quite recognize. you know those features, all to well, after spending hour standing in front of a mirror, criticizing every wrong placed cell in your body, but they don’t make sense in the way you want them to. your image in your mind is so much different than whatever it is that owlishly blinks back at you.

but after years of yearning to be normal, to look normal, you‘ve come to an agreement with your body and mind, and now you don’t completely hate how you look anymore. it was nice in a way, but it still wasn’t easy.

you felt like you lost so much in your younger years. something you could never recover or catch up on.

conventionally attractive people have it easy, you always thought. sure they might have problems too, but they didn’t wake up with dread, dressing in the biggest and darkest clothes because nothing else felt right on their dirty skin, you always told yourself, in that close mindedness of yours. and that’s okay, somehow this close mindedness brings comfort, just once you only thought of yourself.

conventionally attractive people didn’t have the problem of seeing their friends get pined after left anf right, didn’t have to give advice to a topic they couldn‘t even imagine, and only dream of.

people tend to say ‚your time will come‘ or ‚you will meet someone when you least expect it‘, well…. now you don’t expect it at all anymore, so where is your soulmate? you angrily thought to yourself as a, now ex friend, told you how hard it was to have three people have a crush on her at the same time, because it was so exhausting trying to be nice to them, even if they annoyed her and she only had eyes for one.

‚just block them‘

you once said to which she simply replied

,i don’t want to be mean‘

you stood up and left then and there. your friendship crumbled like ash after. and you never talked again.

romantic interaction and people telling you they like you, romantically or platonically, wasn’t really a thing for you growing up.

one or two friends stayed with you over the years, but the rest you never saw or even talked to anymore.

you often wonder if they think about you as much as you do about them and the way they openly disrespected you and hurt your feelings and you didn’t even get it.

you never had much reassurance growing up that how you looked didn’t matter, that to some people you looked cool, that they wanted to be friends with you because you looked the way you looked.

and that ruined so much for you, most of which you have yet to heal from, yet you’re trying your best.

and then, after you graduated from secondary school, you went off to a technical college. were you met your new friends.

they were so odd and awkward at the beginning. but so were you. you guessed it was destined you got jumbled together into this mess of a group you call friends.

and things finally started to look up. you laughed and cried, shared secrets and insulted each other, it just fit perfectly.

you were oh so greatful to finally find people that you could start to believe, wanted to be friends with you.

even when you started to doubt and ask, they always reassured you, so lovingly, in a way no one else had, you had no other chance than to believe them.

but you have yet to come over the fact that such, ethereal, pretty and handsome people, wanted to be friends, with you, it sounded absurd and made absolutely no sense to you.

all of them were more than just conventionally attractive, and definitely way above ‚over average‘ and they definitely knew, how could they not?

gojo satoru, a tall, white haired dude with big blue eyes was the heartthrob of the school. wearing sunglasses all the time, his laid back and nonchalant personality made him even more popular with everyone but the teachers.

geto suguru was more toned down, a calm and collected individual, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t just as much of a menace as satoru. his long hair, done in an attractive loose man-bun most of the time, helped bring across his put together yet relaxed persona. and slightly slanted and ever narrowed eyes that gave him such an alluring look that had everyone swooning in secret.

(he even had tunnels, a feature you shared, which made you even more happy, his were just a bit smaller than yours)

and last but not least, shoko leiri, an ever tired, chain smoking woman. her brown hair suited her well, and while controversial, so did her dark circles, it gave her such character you couldn’t even begin to describe. when you looked at her, everything just clicked into place and made sense. having smoker parents yourself, her scent was comforting, oddly enough, mixed with her cherry scented lipgloss (she sometimes shares it with you).

and then there was you… you knew how you looked like, and that’s the exact reason you avoid looking at yourself in group pictures. it was a sweet gesture of them, of course, and you appreciated not being left out, but you simply couldn’t stand seeing yourself next to them. so out of place, so happy yet, it almost disgusted you, you disgusted yourself for ruining such a pretty photo once again.

‚aww, it looks so cute!‘

you excitedly tell your friends as they show you the picture they took of you all while out eating, skillfully ignoring that nauseatingly familiar face, stuffing itself full with food. they don’t notice how you felt, years of covering your disappointment made that possible.

it’s not like you didn’t want them to see or know, because they did, you just… didn’t know how to stop doing it.

if you knew someone, gojo most of the time, took a picture, you took great care in hiding your face, with your hand or a piece of clothing. but sometimes your weren’t fast enough or didn’t notice gojo was taking a picture in the first place. he loved to take those kinds of pictures. and you let him have his fun, admittedly, some of them were really funny and made you laugh aswell, but you‘d never tell them that… they‘d never let you live it down.

it was only one time this kind of escalated into something ugly…

———————————————————————

„oh my god, i look disgusting in this picture..“

„whaaat? no! you look totally cute“

you shot gojo a glare as you continued to look through the plethora of pictures he had taken, physically sick at the way you looked.

it was already evening and the sun just started to set. you and gojo sat on a bench, waiting for geto and shoko to come back from their smoking break. satoru hated the smell and you didn’t smoke anymore so you two always did something else while they killed their lungs.

and today satoru felt like taking pictures, stupid ones that looked ugly no matter how you looked at it, but also some really pretty ones if it wasn’t for you and your little imperfections that only seemed visible to you.

„i’m going to delete them..“

you said, after a lengthy pause and instantly were tackled. gojo put his whole body weight on top of you and reached for his phone, eyes wide and panicked.

„NO YOU‘RE NOT- THOSE PICTURES ARE AMAZING-„

he yelled, or more like whined as he struggled to get ahold of his phone, you kept far away from him. you tried to push him off but to no avail, so you wriggled your way out from beneath him and took some steps back as a precaution.

„nooo- i look awful in these, i’m not gonna let you keep those-..“

you groaned, sidestepping your friends attempt at catching you.

„oh come on, why not? it’s not like anyone is gonna see..“

he tried convincing, stalking closer, eyeing his expensive phone, gripping tightly in your hand.

you faltered a bit, your arm lowering slightly, easily convinced.

„alright, okay“

you sighed out

„but you’re not gonna show anyone else alright? you can send them into the group chat but no showing around..“

you handed him back his phone and he sighed in relief, checking his phone for damage that wasn’t there.

always so quick to exaggerate.

you really hope you could rely on the small chance no one would see.

but alas, you hoped to soon..

days later, in the big break, you sat with suguru, shoko and gojo at a small table at the back of the cafeteria, where you always sat. there was more space for others to sit at but most f the time it was just the four of you.

not today though, some people you didn’t know, but gojo apparently did sat with you for some stupid reason, talking his ear off and taking all his attention.

to say it was awkward would be an understatement. you geto and shoko weren’t quite as extroverted as gojo was, so you didn’t talk, which you were totally okay with, but there were strangers at the table that stared, and talked about topics you didn’t know about. they were loud and unruly, disrespectful and you you could see satoru cringe here and there at something one of the guys said, his phone screen side up layed in front of him, as he played with it impatiently, hoping the guys he knew but really didn’t know would finally leave.

it all happened in a matter of seconds, and gojo received a message, his screen lighting up, showing a dimly lit photo.

it was one from a few days ago, on the bench.

someone stupid and ugly looking sitting right next to him, as if they were on the same level. they shouldn’t even be near him.

thoughts started to crowd their mind, progressively getting worse and worse but you said nothing.

„who is that person with you on that photo?“

one of the guys asked, his voice sounding odd, almost degrading even if he hadn’t said anything bad. you snapped out of your mind, and your eyebrows furrowed. now you felt ashamed.

you could just hope gojo wouldn’t say it wad you, to spare you the embarrassment of being perceived.

„is that your partner?“

another voice called out, less condescending and more curiously before a third voice joined in, grating and mocking tone of voice. it hurt your ears.

„really? you could do better than that, satoru, they look so weird, you can even see their double chin“

the voice laughed, and so did the other’s. all the while your friends already small smile slipped from his face, as now a borderline annoyed expression took it‘s place.

„and such unclear skin“

„and their weight?“

„they look stupid“

„ugly“

„unlovable“

you weren’t quite sure anymore which words your mind made up and which ones were truly spoken, but it mattered little. if you could, you would just love to sink into the ground and never face earth an it’s opponents ever again.

„it doesn’t matter does it?!“

gojo’s uncharacteristically angry voice interrupts, and you were happy it was quiet again.

„how they look doesn’t fucking matter does it? their personality is awesome, unlike yours and they look stunning something you could never achieve, so fuck off..“

it was unusual for gojo to slip out of his happy-go-lucky persona, but this was his friend we‘re talking about, he never held back when it came to his friends.

you didn’t listen what happened after that, leaning onto geto’s shoulder and indulged yourself in your phone, a nice distraction from this escapade.

you knew it didn’t matter, those guys… didn’t matter, but that didn’t make it hurt less. emotions from still open wounds trickled out like cold blood. you took a deep breath as the table got silent again. no one talked. but it wasn’t awkward.

there was just a bitter solemn tension in the air.

you were a bit more reserved after that, quiet and less engaging in silly conversations, and your friends knew to give you a bit of time, they didn’t pity you and kept treating you normally.

but they were a bit more affectionate, especially geto.

gojo kept his distance knowing he was part of the cause, and also because he didn’t know if or how he could apologize.

shoko gave you her silent support, a stable individual you could rely on. and you loved her for that.

it was alright though, you‘ll come around eventually, you always did…

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Do you have a girlfriend?

Jeremy Farrell x girlfriend!reader

warning : fluff, flirtish (a little), kissing

Summary : The investigation of the murdered beauty princess has Jeremy spending the night in a cell until the analysis of his shoes is complete. Luckily he gets a visit from his girlfriend in the evening at the police station with a small gift and affection.

info : A bit difficult for him to write when he didn't even have five minutes of screentime but I tried and he is cute. Have fun reading and until next time have fun :)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That night she never thought she would be on her way to the local police station in her little old car that had seen better days. Hours before she was still wearing her comfortable dark pyjamas with little pentagrams on them and lying peacefully in bed with Jeremy.

They had watched Ash vs Evil Dead together, laughing at the effects and holding each other, and she was just on her way to the police station to bring him things. It was funny to her when she found an empty room after taking his sister to the door and only found a hastily written note, ,,I'm on my way right now, I promise baby," she had spoken into the receiver of the phone when Jeremy was allowed to make a call.

His mother was hardly an option, she had to take care of his sister and so she was the only one left. She didn't mind, but the fact that he was suspected of something and was now there-couldn't two young adults dressed in dark clothes be left alone without having killed someone? But she had long given up that hope; they were both used to the look, but now this.

With a nervous beating heart, she turned into the parking lot of the police station, looked for a good spot and took the sports bag with her. The last time I was here was with the kindergarten, she thought, having to stifle a smile as she thought of her amazement at how great and fascinating everything had looked when she arrived at the entrance.

An impetuous woman looked at her, wanting to get in and out, the blixk said more than a thousand words at least she let her through to the cells even if she was being watched she was even closer to him now. Some of the cells had a few people inside, some were already asleep, others gave her a look that made her move on quickly, not to mention the words she heard.

Hearing the number six echoing again and again in her head, she looked hurriedly into the cells and pressed the sports bag against herself until she saw two hands, which, as far as the handcuffs allowed, were outstanding between the bars. ,,Jeremy!" she said with relief, looking at a relieved but above all judged face and clasping his hands to be somehow close to him.

It had only been a few hours but the circumstances, what was at stake and his innocence seemed like days. ,,To see my heart so distracted…don't worry nothing will happen to you I haven't done anything I'm innocent" he began to cover himself with his words knowing that he too was nervous his talk with his mother was short but she could see from his look that there must have been a fight and not just a small one.

Leaning her head against the bar, the cool metal prevented them both from fully embracing but their fingers connected, ,,I know it wasn't you, you were with me and I miss you," she admitted, swallowing the lump in her throat and not wanting to let the grief win instead, she opened her eyes and looked into a mesmerized gaze.

He curled his fingers over her cheek, letting the metal of the handcuffs scrape against the cell door as he touched her and an indirect kiss passed over her lips that would be a little difficult here, ,,I know I miss you too my heart I miss your voice, your look…your body," he winked the last word and she rolled her eyes in amusement.

No matter the situation, he seemed to find a way to cheer her up, another of the reasons why she appreciated him so much, his fingers running over her top, which was covered in little bats and her jeans revealed some of her belly, ,,The policeman actually asked me if I had a girlfriend," he said in passing, tearing his gaze from her body to look her in the eye again. A strange question at first, she thought, but when she thought about it, ,,I hope you said a really good-looking one," she winked and saw that he stifled a laugh.

Logically someone had to confirm whether he had an alibi and his mother well it was complicated one step away from his cell she rummaged around in the sports bag and handed him the individual shirts and other items through the small flap.

,,The old lady at the entrance wouldn't let me through at first, she had to search the bag," she mumbled as she handed him the mp3 player he still had because the cell phone had been taken from him and she heard his amused shake of the head, ,,Old hag," he mumbled the insult and unstrapped the headphones.

She watched him, the clothes she had brought him were enough for two days at most until he was allowed to leave again, I hope it all clears up quickly, she thought and tried not to let her thoughts wander again as she saw a headphone in front of her face.

,,My lady, may I have the pleasure of listening together, such a beautiful sight deserves the best sounds" he did his best to speak as anciently as possible and made a semblance of a bow before she accepted the headphones and the two of them slowly sat down on the floor, the first sounds of rock music could be heard in the cell and she was glad that it was still romantic and not a tragedy.

Jeremy moved his fingers through the bars as best he could and they held each other, ,,I hope I get a kiss goodbye after all this, don't I?" he asked after a few minutes when they were already on the third song and she shook her head as she turned slightly towards him and brought his hand to her lips, kissing her fingers.

,,Of course you'll get it my romantic boyfriend," she said and the two of them enjoyed their togetherness for a while longer, apart from the guards, the investigators or the shrill voice of the receptionist over the loudspeakers telling them that the visit was over.

Giving him the headphones and waiting a moment, they took each other's hands again, the other leaning so close to the bars and she closed her eyes in judgment as she felt his lips on hers, a kiss of longing to finally hold each other again, a kiss of desire and they could hardly wait until they could see each other again.

Only a few more hours had to pass before she could pick him up in her car. They both knew it had to be this way, he hadn't done anything wrong, ,,I'll come back for you, I promise," she murmured as she stroked his fingers one last time and broke away from him, seeing his hopeful look before she made her way back, but his shouted confession of love brought another smile to her lips.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@angelsanarchy , @starry-eyed-wild-child

[ashen--dreams]

: )

[messenger-of-stupidity]

I was writing this for a fic that I got from generating tags, but I gave up. However, some of the banter is too good to lose. So...

---

Just to be clear, Tank had no interest in being here. It had been two weeks since their parents moved to Dahlia from Washington. And in those two weeks, they had already decided they hated it here. Friend groups within the pack were already formed and it sucked when you felt like an adult was forcing the close-knit friends to accept your presence. Their solution of just avoiding the pack adults didn’t seem to be working either. Which was how they found themselves sullenly following after Gabe and the other kids their age in the pack. 

The terror and joy filled screams as they passed the amusement park rides had them frowning and shoving their hands deeper into the pockets of their jacket. It was too warm outside for a jacket, but when David suggested they leave it in the car, spite had taken over. So they were now stubbornly wearing a jacket, overheating, and miserable. It was going to be a horrible day. Marie was with Asher’s parents somewhere collecting food for everyone. They shrugged their jacket higher up on their shoulders, earning a glance from David. They glared right back at him, but he dropped back to walk beside them nonetheless. Usually, he was one of the less bothersome ones. He didn’t talk very much, and when he did it was usually only to Asher. But his sense of responsibility could be grating.

“You look like you’re going to melt.” He said, his eyes staring straight ahead of him as he spoke. Tank’s scowl deepened and they rolled their eyes. 

“I’m fine, Shaw.” They snapped back at him. David merely sighed and shook his head, clearly disapproving. But they didn’t need his approval. They didn’t need anyone’s approval. They marched on ahead of him, wanting to create distance. He, thankfully, didn’t follow after them. Probably because he knew that it was herding them closer to the group instead. They slowed down again next to Milo and Asher, not acknowledging either’s existence. Asher glanced at them, but didn’t stop his talking with Milo.

“It was just Pokemon cards, Ash. Let it go.” Milo groaned and Tank glanced over at the two other shifters. Milo looked like he was a few seconds away from trying to put Asher in a headlock, meanwhile Asher was wearing his usual shit-eating grin. It was infectious and the corners of their lips twitched briefly. 

“It’s not just about the Pokemon card, Milo. It’s about the fact of what was on it. Now, if it was Typhlosion or Flygon I wouldn’t be upset. But it wasn’t.” His words… were fighting ones. Even Tank stopped walking to turn and glare at Asher. They didn’t need to say anything as Milo continued.

“I know, for a fact, that you didn’t just insult Typhlosion! What the hell is wrong with you, Ash? That’s Pokemon Gold for a fuckin’ reason!” Milo exploded incredulously. Gabe even stopped walking to turn towards the conversation. Amanda merely smirked from where she was beside the alpha. 

“Language, Milo.” He reminded lazily. Although, based on the amused snort that followed it, there was no real reprimand there. David closed the distance, narrowing his eyes slightly. Asher only grinned as his best friend approached and jerked his thumb towards David.

“Hey, it’s better than Bowser.” 

“Bowser isn’t even a Pokemon.” David replied, not missing a beat. Asher waved a hand, dismissing the defense as weak.

“Doesn’t matter. It’s in Smash and that’s all that matters.”

“Is Typhlosion even in Smash?” Tank asked suddenly. They frowned at the shocked silence that followed their response. Quickly, they turned away from the other kids and started walking.

[hash-driveway]

Down With Me (Chapter Four)

I'M BAAAAACK Life happened right after i posted the last chapter, lol. I'm very happy to be updating this and I hope you all enjoy! The reception that this fic has been getting so far really means a lot to me. love y'all sm :*

Roxie’s lungs burned as she jogged along the dirt road of the trailer park.  She was just about to break the threshold of the part of the run where she felt like shit, and get into that feeling that people called “runner’s high.”  Just as she was about to do so, the sound of an engine idling nearby caught her attention. She looked up to see a black car creeping down the dirt path between trailers, with shitty music blasting from the blown-out speakers. The driver rolled down his window, and a tall, lean man with slicked-back hair leaned out, cigarette dangling from his fingers. He had a sharp, sly grin that made Roxie feel a bit uneasy, but he seemed friendly enough.

“Hey there,” he called out, his voice low and smooth, “Haven’t seen you around here before.”

She slowed to a stop, slightly irritated that he had interrupted her focus.

"Just heading home," she replied between gasps, eyeing him warily.

He chuckled, flicking ashes from his cigarette. "Ah, well, I don’t see many new faces around here. You from the park?"

She hesitated, not sure how much she should share, but figured there was no harm in being polite. "Yeah, sort of new here."

"Interesting. I’m Cyrus." He extended his hand out the window, as if expecting her to come closer to shake it.

“Roxie,” she replied, staying a couple of steps back. Something about him set her on edge, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

“Roxie, huh?” He said her name slowly, like he was tasting each syllable. “Nice to meet you. You look like you could use a little something to unwind.”

She froze, surprised at his perceptiveness. "What makes you say that?"

He shrugged, his smirk widening. “Just a hunch. And, you know, I happen to have a little green with me, if you’re interested.”

She blinked, considering his offer. It was tempting—she was tired of scrounging around for weed, and no one else seemed to be around. She glanced down the path, hoping to catch a glimpse of Ricky, but it was empty.

“Come on, just a little taste,” Cyrus pressed, his voice almost coaxing. “Special deal for the new girl.”

Roxie took a step closer to the car, peering inside. The seats were worn and the car smelled faintly of stale smoke and something sour, but Cyrus seemed relaxed, almost amused. She hesitated, feeling a flicker of unease but dismissing it as paranoia.

“Alright, I could use a little,” she said cautiously, slipping into the passenger seat.

Cyrus grinned, pulling a small bag from his glove compartment and handing it to her. "This’ll be enough to hold you over for a bit. But if you ever want more, you know where to find me."

She inspected the bag, nodding, as the engine rumbled to life. But instead of pulling over, he started driving forward, his eyes flickering with a strange intensity. "Let’s take a little spin, get to know each other better."

Her stomach twisted. “Uh, actually, I’m good. I’d rather just head back.”

Cyrus raised an eyebrow, unfazed. "Relax, Roxie. I’m just taking a little drive. What��s the harm?"

Just as he turned the corner, the figure of Julian appeared in the rearview mirror, striding quickly toward them with a look of unmistakable anger on his face. He jogged up to the passenger side, motioning for Cyrus to stop.

“Pull over,” Julian commanded, his voice sharp and unyielding.

Cyrus let out an exasperated sigh, barely glancing at Julian as he continued inching forward. "What’s your problem, Julian? We’re just talking."

“Get out of the car, Roxie,” Julian said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

She shot a glance at Cyrus, who smirked, clearly unfazed. Reluctantly, she opened the door and climbed out, feeling Julian’s tense gaze on her the entire time. He took her arm, pulling her aside, his grip firm but careful.

“What the hell are you doing getting in his car?” Julian demanded, his voice laced with concern. Behind him, Ricky and Bubbles approached with urgency. Ricky was already shouting at Cyrus to "fuck off, Shitdick!"

Roxie folded her arms, bristling at his intensity. “I was just buying a little weed. You don’t have to freak out about it.”

Julian’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with barely contained frustration. "He’s not someone you want to mess with. Cyrus is bad news. Don’t ever get in his car again."

She scowled, irritated by his tone. "I can take care of myself, Julian. I don’t need you telling me who to hang out with."

“Fine,” he replied, his voice low and hard. “But don’t come running to me when he gets you mixed up in something you can’t handle.”

Cyrus leaned out of his window, his grin widening as he watched the exchange. "Julian, why don’t you calm down? Roxie here is smart enough to make her own decisions.”

Julian’s fists clenched, but he held back, his voice dangerously calm. “Stay out of this, Cyrus.”

Roxie couldn’t help but feel a strange thrill at Julian’s protectiveness. As annoying as it was to be treated like a damsel in distress, something about his intensity made her heart race. She shook her head, brushing him off as she took a step back. “You’re overreacting, Julian.”

The loud clang of Ricky hitting the roof of Cyrus' car with a taped-up hockey stick stole their attention for a moment.  Cyrus desperately tried to grab it through the window, but to no avail. On the other side of the car, Bubbles gesticulated wildly while berating Cyrus.

"Overreacting?" His gaze softened for a moment, but he was still visibly on edge. “I’m just trying to keep you safe. You barely know the people in this park, Roxie. Not everyone’s looking out for you.”

She swallowed, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. “I get it, okay? But you don’t need to babysit me.”

Julian exhaled, his frustration evident. “Just… promise me you won’t get in his car again.”

She glanced back at Cyrus, who watched them with a smug expression. His gaze flicked to her, and the way he looked at her made her skin crawl. Finally, she turned back to Julian, nodding. “Fine. I won’t.”

Julian relaxed, nodding once, though he still looked troubled. “Good.”

As Cyrus finally pulled away, she caught Julian’s eye, noticing the concern that lingered there. It struck her, the way he looked at her like he actually cared. A part of her felt flattered, warmed even, by his protectiveness.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you,” she said quietly. “I just… I’m not used to people looking out for me.”

Julian’s gaze softened further, his shoulders relaxing. “You don’t have to apologize. I just don’t want you to get hurt. Not here, not by someone like him.”

Roxie swallowed, feeling the weight of his words. She tried to keep her expression light, offering a small smile. “Thanks, Julian. I appreciate it.”

A warm silence fell between them as they walked the rest of the way back to her trailer, side by side. As they reached her door, she lingered for a moment, not quite ready to let him go. “Thanks for stepping in… even if it was a little intense.”

He chuckled softly, nodding. “Anytime.”

Before they could get too far, Ricky reappeared out of nowhere, jogging up to her with a sly grin on his face. Bubbles followed behind.

“Hey, uh, Roxie. Listen, after all that Cyrus bullshit, you might need somethin’ to take the edge off, huh?” He fished around in his pocket and pulled out a baggie of weed, holding it up like it was a prize.

Bubbles sighed, “You’re seriously pitching her weed right now?”

“Hey, I’m just sayin’,” Ricky replied with a shrug, “it’s top-quality. Better than anything that dick Cyrus is selling. And, uh, you know, since you’re new, I’ll give you the friends-and-family discount.”

She snorted, amused despite herself, “Friends and family, huh? Does that mean it’s free?”

Ricky looked genuinely horrified at the suggestion. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. I still gotta make a livin’, Roxie. But, like, ten bucks off or somethin’. Come on, don’t make me beg.”

Roxie rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smirking. “Fine. I could use it.”

As she handed over some cash and Ricky passed her the weed, the unmistakable sound of Mr. Lahey’s car sputtering up the dirt path reached their ears. Roxie groaned, stuffing the baggie into her pocket just as the rickety old vehicle rolled up beside them. Julian tensed up slightly, clearly stressed out.

The window rolled down, revealing Mr. Lahey’s flushed, overly intense face. Randy sat in the passenger seat, shirtless as usual, with his hands resting on his gut like it was a prized possession.

“Well, well, well,” Lahey began, pointing a shaky finger at Roxie. “Another innocent soul corrupted by the shitbirds.” He squinted dramatically, first at Ricky and then at Roxie. “You’d better stay away from these boys. They’ll drag you down into the shit abyss faster than you can say Sunnyvale.”

Roxie couldn’t help but laugh, her earlier tension melting away at the sheer absurdity of the scene. She tilted her head, feigning innocence. “Oh, so you’re Barb’s 'pathetic alcoholic husband', huh?”

Lahey’s face went redder than a ripe tomato. Before he could stammer out a response, Randy leaned halfway out the window, his gut almost knocking over the car’s side mirror. “Hey! I’d hit you if you weren’t so pretty!”

“Randy!” Lahey snapped, smacking him on the arm.

Randy sat back sheepishly, muttering, “Just saying…”

Lahey ignored him and leaned further out the window, narrowing his bloodshot eyes at Roxie. “You listen to me, young lady. The winds of shit are blowing. And when the shit storm hits, you’ll wish you never got mixed up with these two shit streaks.” He pointed dramatically at Ricky, who looked unimpressed.

Roxie raised an eyebrow, struggling to keep a straight face. “Wow. Profound stuff. You write that yourself?”

“Don’t mock me!” Lahey barked, jabbing a finger at her before putting the car in gear. “Mark my words, missy. You play with shit, you get shit on.”

With that, he peeled off down the road, kicking up a cloud of dust. Randy waved enthusiastically from the passenger seat as they disappeared around the corner.

Roxie stared after them for a moment, then burst out laughing. Ricky stood beside her, looking mildly irritated.

“Man, that guy’s always ruining my sales pitch,” he grumbled. “Anyway, enjoy the weed.”

“Thanks, Ricky,” Roxie said, still chuckling as she turned and walked back toward her trailer.

For all its chaos, Sunnyvale was shaping up to be way more entertaining than she’d anticipated.

“So, Roxie, how’s the dating pool been?” Sarah called out from the dining table, her voice laced with curiosity as she toyed with her beer bottle.

Roxie sat on a barstool in Lucy and Sarah’s kitchen, foils folded into her hair. Lucy was busy peeling one apart to check the progress of the bleach, her cigarette dangling lazily from her lips. The air was thick with the scent of smoke, hair dye, and air freshener.

“Ehh…” Roxie let out a small chuckle, shrugging. “I wouldn’t exactly call it ‘dating.’ More like… just trying to have a little fun, you know? Enjoying my freedom.”

Lucy raised an eyebrow, taking a long drag from her cigarette before exhaling a plume of smoke.  “You say that now, girl. But trust me, ‘a little fun’ can turn into a lot more real quick if you’re not careful.”

Lucy led Roxie to the kitchen sink and began pulling the foils from her hair. Roxie laughed, shaking her head, “Oh, I’m not looking for anything serious right now. After my last relationship… I need a break.”

Sarah cocked her head, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. “Yeah? What happened there? I mean, if you don’t mind sharing.”

Roxie hesitated, feeling the old familiar sting in her chest. It was still raw, even after all this time. But there was something about the two women that made her feel safe, like she could finally let her guard down a bit.

“Well…” Roxie took a deep breath. “He was controlling. Financially, mostly. He made way more money than I did, and he never let me forget it. He’d throw it in my face anytime we argued, always reminding me of everything he paid for.” Her voice dropped, the pain from those memories bleeding into her words. “Tried to mold me into some perfect little housewife, like I was his property.”

Lucy glanced at Sarah, her expression darkening, “He sounds like a real piece of work.”

“He was,” Roxie muttered. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to keep going. “It got worse after he found out I couldn’t have kids.”

Her mind flashed back to having to hide from him in the bathroom as he tried to break the door down.  The bloody nose he gave her once he got in.  The way he acted like he cared about her when he spoke to the nurses at the ER.

“Oh, Roxie, I’m so sorry,” Sarah said, her voice soft with sympathy. She reached across the table as if to touch Roxie’s hand but hesitated, unsure if the comfort would be welcome.

Roxie gave her a small, tight smile. “Thanks. But that wasn’t even the worst of it. He started getting distant, colder. I knew something was up. One day, I was using his computer, and he’d left his email open. I saw these emails to some woman from his job. They were sending pictures to each other, talking about meeting up…” Her voice trailed off, the bitter memory making her feel sick to her stomach.

Lucy’s eyes narrowed, her now-gloved fingers massaging dye into Roxie’s hair. “That fucking asshole. Did you confront him?”

Roxie nodded, letting out a humorless laugh. “Oh, I confronted him, alright. Caught him with her at a restaurant. I made a huge scene, threw his drink in his face, yelled at him in front of everyone.”

“Good,” Lucy said firmly. “He deserved that and more.”

“I even keyed his car on the way out,” Roxie added with a small grin, a hint of satisfaction in her voice.

Sarah let out a low whistle. “Damn. You went full scorched earth on his ass. Respect.”

Roxie nodded, staring at the countertop as the memories washed over her. “I thought that would be the end of it, but things got worse after that. He isolated me from everyone—my friends, my family. I had nowhere to turn. I’d never felt so alone.”

There was a beat of silence as the weight of Roxie’s words settled over the room. Lucy finished her work, wrapping a towel around Roxie’s wet hair.  She squeezed Roxie’s shoulder gently as she led her away from the sink, “You got out, though. That’s what matters. You got out, and you’re here now.”

Roxie nodded, her eyes stinging. “Yeah. I packed up and left without a word. Moved here, and honestly… I’m happier now. I feel like I can breathe again.”

“Fuck that guy,” Sarah said bluntly. “He’s not worth another second of your time.”

“Agreed,” Lucy added. “You’re better off without him.”

Roxie took a deep breath, feeling a little lighter after getting it off her chest. “Thanks, guys. It feels good to talk about it. Most people just look at me like I’m damaged when I bring it up.”

Lucy frowned. “Well, they’re idiots. You’re not damaged—you’re a survivor. And trust me, you’re in good company here. We’ve all got our shit.”

“Yeah,” Roxie said, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, we do.”

A comfortable silence fell upon their conversation as the hairdryer drowned out all remaining sounds. Lucy finished up with Roxie’s hair, turning her around to face the mirror. Roxie’s eyes widened at the sight of the red highlights woven into her dark brown hair, the vibrant color catching the light.

“Wow,” Roxie breathed, running her fingers through her hair. “Lucy, this looks amazing.”

Lucy grinned. “Glad you like it. You deserve a little pick-me-up.”

Roxie felt a swell of gratitude. She reached into her purse, pulling out her cigarette case. “I have a little something to repay you both.”

She pulled out a neatly rolled joint, offering it to Lucy and Sarah. Their eyes lit up with excitement as they followed her outside to the steps of the trailer. The cool night air was a welcome relief, carrying away the thick smoke and heavy emotions from inside.

“Ladies first,” Roxie said, passing the joint to Lucy. Lucy sparked it up and took a long drag, holding it for a moment before exhaling a cloud of smoke.

“You know,” Lucy said, passing it to Sarah, “I’m glad you’re here, Roxie. This park needed some new blood. And some good company.”

Sarah took a hit, nodding in agreement as she exhaled. “Yeah, for real. You fit right in with us.”

Roxie smiled, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the weed. “Thanks, guys. I really needed this.”

As the joint made its way back to her, Roxie took a deep drag, letting the smoke fill her lungs. The familiar burn was comforting, the buzz slowly creeping in to dull the edges of her anxiety. She leaned back against the steps, staring up at the stars.

The three of them sat there for a while, the joint passing between them. The night was quiet except for the faint hum of music from another trailer and the distant sounds of laughter and chatter from the other residents. Roxie felt a wave of gratitude wash over her. For the first time in a long time, she felt a sense of belonging.

“What happened after you caught him cheating?” Lucy asked gently, breaking the silence. “How did you leave?”

Roxie let out a long breath, staring down at the joint between her fingers. “It wasn’t easy. After I caught him at the restaurant, he tried to make me think I was crazy for accusing him. But I knew what I saw. He got angry, blamed me for snooping, said I drove him to it because I was ‘acting distant.’’” She scoffed, shaking her head. “I tried to leave that night, but he wouldn’t let me. It got ugly.”

Sarah’s face twisted with anger. “That’s so fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Roxie agreed, her voice hollow. “I felt like I was trapped. But, it was weird because I felt more free after finding out. The next morning, while he was at work, I packed up everything I could fit into my car and just… left. I didn’t tell anyone where I was going. Just drove until I ended up here.”

Lucy let out a low whistle. “That takes guts. Seriously, Roxie. I’m glad you made it out of there.”

Roxie nodded, blinking back the tears that pricked at her eyes. “Me too. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but… I’m finally starting to feel like myself again. Like I can rebuild.”

“You will,” Sarah said firmly. 

“Guess what his name was.” Roxie paused, “Bradley.” 

Lucy and Sarah groaned in disgust, “What a douchey name! So fitting.” 

Roxie laughed with them, “I know! At least he was consistent.”

“And if you ever need us to beat the shit out of some Brad-lookalike asshole, just say the word.”

Roxie smirked, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The three of them laughed together, the sound carrying out into the night. As the joint burned down to a roach, they passed it one last time, savoring the final few puffs before stubbing it out on the concrete. The shared laughter, the easy friendship—it was a small but meaningful moment for Roxie, like a crack of light breaking through a long stretch of darkness.

Lucy stood up first, brushing ash from her jeans. "Alright, I think we all need some water after that," she said, playfully fanning her face. "My throat is feeling like a desert right now."

Roxie grinned, pushing herself up as well. "Yeah, I could use a drink. Thanks again for listening, guys. I haven’t had friends like this in a while. I almost forgot what it felt like."

Sarah slung an arm around Roxie's shoulders as they made their way back inside. "Well, you’ve got us now. And we’re not going anywhere."

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, fading light across the trailer park as Roxie made her way home from Lucy’s. She tugged her hood up over her head, feeling the chill of the summer evening set in. 

Her heart raced with a mix of nerves and anticipation for the party tomorrow. It wasn’t just about being the new girl in the park, though that was part of it. It was the first time she’d be around everyone all at once, and she couldn’t shake the worry of how she’d be perceived. Memories of standing awkwardly at Brad’s side at countless social gatherings flooded her mind—his sharp looks whenever she spoke too much or too little, his possessive hand on her lower back. 

As she recalled the bitter memories, that same spot on her back seemed to burn. Those parties had made her hate the spotlight, made her shrink into herself. Roxie shuddered, closing her eyes and taking a long, deep breath.  She forced herself to instead focus on the soft crunch of the road beneath her shoes, and the smell of freshly mowed grass.  She reminded herself that she was not trapped anymore– That she was safe. The tension in her shoulders released slightly, and her new sense of reality made her feel thankful for Lucy and Sarah being her friends, as well as being familiar with Bubbles, Ricky, and… 

She opened her eyes and glanced up to see Julian approaching, a casual smile on his face. The sunset behind him stretched his shadow along the road, with what remaining light that was present reflecting off of the ice in his drink.  For a moment, Roxie felt like her breath caught in her throat. 

"Hey, Roxie," Julian greeted, his voice smooth and warm. "You headed home?" 

She swallowed, suddenly aware of how dry her mouth felt and how stoned she was.  Her heart pounded at the mere sight of him.  She couldn’t deny her attraction to Julian, but there was something about being alone with him.  The light of the sunset cast shadows on his face that accentuated his features.

"Yeah," she replied, swallowing the dryness in her mouth. The weed from earlier had her feeling a little spacey, but she liked the slight haze—it made her feel less nervous, less on guard. "Just leaving Lucy’s."

"Got your hair done, huh?" He motioned to her hood with a grin. "Let’s see it."

Roxie hesitated, feeling an inexplicable flutter of nerves. It wasn’t just the fact that she was stoned; it was the intensity of his gaze, the way he looked at her like he was really seeing her. Slowly, she reached up and pulled the hood down, running her fingers through her freshly styled hair. The deep red highlights caught the remaining light, giving a shimmer against her dark brown strands.

Julian’s smile wavered for a moment as he took it in, making Roxie’s nerves hike again.  Before she could overanalyze any further, Julian’s smile returned. 

"Looks good," he said simply, his tone genuine. "Really suits you."

"Thanks," she murmured, tucking a piece behind her ear. His compliment made her cheeks flush.

A moment passed before she realized that she was staring right into his eyes.  He can definitely tell that I’m stoned , she thought to herself. She cleared her throat and averted her gaze in a failed attempt to dismiss her embarrassment. 

“You going to the party tomorrow?” he asked, sliding his hands into his pockets and leaning a little closer, as if he couldn’t help it.

"Of course," Roxie replied, trying to sound casual, even though her pulse was racing. "Wouldn’t miss it."

"Good," he said, nodding at her response as if taking a mental note. "It’ll be fun. I think everyone’s looking forward to having you there." He glanced away for a moment, then back at her, as if studying her reaction.

“I’m looking forward to it, too.” It was a half-truth, but true nonetheless. Roxie felt the tension ease a little, her nerves settling in the wake of his smile. "What about you?" she asked, arching a brow playfully. "Out on a night patrol?"

Julian chuckled, shaking his head. "Something like that. I like to walk around the park at night sometimes, make sure everything’s quiet. It helps me unwind, you know?"

She nodded, understanding more than she could put into words. It was like a shared need for solitude, a craving for the quiet moments where you could just breathe. "Well, thanks for making sure we’re all safe," she said lightly, though the sincerity was clear in her voice.

Julian looked at her, his gaze softening. "It’s just in my nature, I guess. I used to look after my mom and grandma. Learned early on that if you care about people, you do what you can to protect them."

Roxie felt a pang of empathy, mixed with admiration. "That’s really sweet," she said quietly. "You don’t see that often. Most people are just out for themselves."

"Maybe," he murmured, looking down briefly as if embarrassed by the compliment. "I don’t really think about it. I just… do what feels right. It’s what I have to do."

She laughed softly, a genuine smile breaking through her usual guarded expression. "You really don’t give yourself enough credit."

Before she could continue to compliment him further, he changed the subject, “I’ll walk you home, if you want.”

“I’d really like that,” The words slipped out before she could stop them, and she silently hoped that she didn’t seem too eager.  Julian’s smile remained, so she decided not to make herself worry about it. 

They walked in silence for a moment, side by side. The air was cooling quickly, carrying the scent of distant bonfires and pine. The trailer park prepared itself for the evening, with most people heading inside their homes to retire for the night.  Roxie stole a glance at Julian, noticing the way his eyes scanned their surroundings. It was like he was constantly on alert, always watching, always protecting. It made her feel oddly safe, like she could relax in his presence.  He exchanged nods and waves with some folks as they walked.  They waved at her as well, and she couldn’t help but return the polite gesture. 

"Hey, thanks for listening to me this morning," Roxie said after a beat, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t usually open up about… all that stuff. But with you, it felt different. Like I wasn’t just dumping my baggage, you know?"

Julian glanced at her, his expression serious. "No problem. You’ve gotta talk about that stuff. Sometimes you just need someone who understands." 

“I’ve never been part of a community like this before. Everyone looks out for each other,” she glanced away, “I’m not used to it.”

"This place, this park… it’s where people come to be themselves, without judgment. We’ve all got a past. But it doesn’t define you. Besides, you’re getting along great so far. You fit right in."

Roxie looked at him, a smile tugging at her lips. "You really are something else, Julian. Your mom and grandma raised a good one."

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "They taught me to look after people, make sure they’re alright. I guess it stuck."

Roxie’s gaze softened, her admiration for him deepening. Before she got stuck staring at his soft, blue eyes again, she nudged him with her arm, “Just make sure that you take care of you , too."

He shook his head, his expression less stoic now.  He was embarrassed, "Yeah, yeah," he muttered, brushing it off even though she could see the faint blush creeping up his neck. "I don’t really deserve it."

"Yeah, you do," Roxie insisted, her voice gentle, “Keeping track of Ricky is a job in itself. You can afford to relax once in a while.”

She met his eyes, her heart doing a little flip at the look he gave her—something soft and unguarded, like she’d caught him off balance. She felt her cheeks warm, and she quickly turned her gaze back to the path ahead.

When they reached her trailer, they both slowed to a stop. The night was still around them, the sounds of the park distant and muffled. Roxie felt the words catch in her throat—an invitation, maybe, or just something to keep him there a little longer. But her nerves got the better of her, and she couldn’t quite bring herself to say it.

"Well," Julian said, looking at her with a warm, lingering smile. "I’ll see you at the party tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Roxie replied, nodding quickly, maybe a bit too quickly. "See you there."

Julian hesitated for a moment, as if he might say something else. His eyes locked with hers, and she felt a jolt of electricity pass between them, something unspoken but palpable. Then he nodded, giving her one last smile before turning away and heading back down her porch steps.

Roxie watched him go, her chest tightening as he continued walking down the road. She let out a long breath, her fingers curling into the fabric of her hoodie. The anticipation, the tension—it was almost too much. 

Shutting the door behind her, she leaned against it as she let out a long, shaky breath. Her heart was still thumping in her chest from the moment she shared with Julian on the porch. She could still feel the electricity in the air, lingering like a static charge that hadn’t quite dissipated. Pushing herself off the door, she walked to the small kitchen area, her hands busying themselves with the dishes piled in the sink.

The clinking of plates and the sound of running water filled the quiet space, grounding her racing thoughts. Her mind replayed the look in Julian’s eyes when he hesitated at the bottom of her steps—like he had something else to say but held back. She scrubbed a mug, her fingers running over the chipped rim, her thoughts drifting.

Roxie glanced out the front window, catching sight of the faint glow from Julian’s driveway. The park was mostly quiet now, the distant sounds of life fading into the night. She sighed, shaking her head at herself. 

Get a grip, Roxie, she thought. It wasn’t like she was some lovesick teenager. But still, the pull she felt toward Julian was undeniable, and it scared her how quickly it had taken root.

She finished the dishes and wiped her hands dry on a towel, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was late, but she didn’t feel like going to bed yet. Instead, she flicked on the TV in the living room, flipping through channels until she landed on a rerun of some old sitcom. The laugh track filled the room, a comforting background noise.

Even with the TV on, her eyes kept drifting back to the window, as if pulled by an invisible thread. She peered outside, scanning the road for any sign of Julian. Her gaze traveled over to his driveway, and  saw the dim shape of Ricky’s car parked there. One of Bubbles’ cats loafed on the roof, curiously observing the cloud of smoke drifting lazily out of the open window. 

Bubbles stood at the side of the car, his hands gesturing animatedly as he spoke to Ricky, who sat slouched in the driver’s seat.  She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but their conversation seemed lively, judging by Bubbles' expressive hand motions. 

Roxie’s eyes darted back to the road, and her breath caught when she saw Julian approaching. He walked with that easy, confident stride of his, a drink in one hand and the other at his side. Roxie froze, suddenly hyper-aware of how she must look—standing in her dimly lit trailer, staring out the window like some kind of voyeur.

As Julian got closer, she noticed Ricky glancing in her direction. His eyes crinkled with amusement as he nodded toward her trailer, gesturing with his thumb. Her eyes darted to Bubbles, whose magnified eyes stared directly at her.  Panic shot through her, and she quickly ducked behind the curtain, her pulse racing. She pressed her back against the wall, holding her breath as if that would make her invisible. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, a dozen anxious thoughts racing through her mind. Fuck. They definitely think I’m spying on them.  

She stood there, hidden, trying to decide what to do. The sound of muffled voices reached her ears, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying. Her fingers clenched the fabric of her hoodie, and she cursed herself for being so obvious. The idea of Julian knowing she’d been watching made her feel exposed in a way she hadn’t expected.

Roxie stood, acting as if she needed a drink.  She walked as casually as possible to the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of water.  As she conveniently faced the window on her way back, she peered out just in time to see Julian turn his head toward her trailer. Her breath hitched and Julian raised his hand in a wave.  He gave her a warm, easy grin that sent a rush of conflicting emotions through her. It was like he was saying, Hey, it’s okay. I see you.

Ricky gave Julian a playful shove, clearly teasing him about something as he pointed back at her trailer. Bubbles laughed, clapping a hand on Ricky's shoulder. Roxie felt a mix of mortification and a strange fluttering in her chest. Were they talking about her? Was Julian saying something to them about her? The thought filled her with a mix of dread and excitement she couldn’t quite make sense of.

Before she could overthink it further, Julian turned back to his friends, saying something that made Ricky smirk and Bubbles chuckle. He gave one last glance at her trailer, a look she couldn’t quite interpret, before he headed up to his own. Roxie let the curtain drop, her face hot, her mind racing with a thousand possibilities.

Stumbled away from the window, running her hands through her hair as she tried to calm her pounding heart. What if they were talking about me? The thought sent a shiver down her spine. She couldn’t decide if that idea thrilled her or made her want to hide under the covers forever.

Turning off the TV, she made her way to her bathroom to get ready for bed. She looked at herself in the mirror as she brushed her teeth. The sight of her new hair led her mind back to Julian’s reaction to seeing it earlier. Part of her didn’t want to believe that he liked it that much. Her cheeks certainly were flushed, and she scoffed in a desperate attempt to brush her reaction off.  She washed her face, silently hoping that it would calm her nerves.   It didn't.

She made her way to her bedroom, taking a large swig of water before setting it on the bedside table. She slipped under the covers, pulling them up to her chin as she stared at the ceiling. Her mind kept drifting back to Julian’s smile, to the way he waved at her even after catching her watching. It wasn’t a mocking smile; it was warm, almost reassuring. It made her wonder— Did he like that she was watching him? Was he glad to see her looking at him?

She tossed and turned, trying to shake off the self-consciousness that lingered. Despite her embarrassment, a tiny spark of hope had ignited inside her. Maybe they were talking about her, and maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. The idea of Julian thinking about her, even talking about her with his friends, made her heart skip a beat.

[thevioletcaptain]

Kind of a Buddy of Mine

14.8k | Mature | DeanCas

It’s been sixty-five days since they left Alliance, and Cas is still seven inches tall. He's the one thing that Jesse Turner didn't put back to normal before he took off for greener pastures, and Dean figures he's holding a grudge. On some level, he can’t really blame him. Cas did try to kill the kid, after all. Still, it does seem kinda harsh to have left Cas looking like G.I. Joe’s Corporate Cousin for the rest of forever. With the apocalypse looming, Dean is determined to find a solution.

Sitting at a bar in Harrisonburg, Virginia, Dean slips Cas from the inside pocket of his jacket and carefully turns him around in his hands. He’s not sure why he’s bothering. It has to be two dozen times that he’s checked him over for some clue he missed this week alone, and it's not as though something new is going to just pop into existence after two months of nothing, but... well. The latest lead they had went absolutely nowhere, and he’s gotta do something.

It's been sixty-five days, now. He’s trying not to worry that this is gonna be permanent. He’s really fucking trying.

Since they left Alliance, he and Sam have checked out anything and everything that looked like it might have been remotely connected to Jesse in the hope that if they could just talk to him again, they might convince him to put Cas back to normal. Every single time it’s turned out to be something else.

First time was pixies. Second was a witch. Their latest lead, the one that first brought them to Virginia a few days ago, ended up being the work of some kind of malevolent trickster whose entire shtick was making you think you'd almost achieved some long-wanted goal, just to rug-pull and create utter chaos once he had you on board. Worst possible hunt they could've found themselves on right now, as far as Dean's concerned. He's fucking wiped. Mentally exhausted. One more false lead away from straight up having a total emotional breakdown.

Sam didn't even argue when Dean said he needed to grab a drink before he could think about packing up their motel room. He'd just nodded, and clapped Dean on the back, and headed for the passenger seat, still smelling faintly of lighter fluid thanks to the sage-and-flambe method it had taken to deal with their monster of the week.

That was all of twenty minutes ago.

Now, Dean is ordering beers at the first bar they happened upon, while Sam is outside in the parking lot finishing up a call with Bobby, his collar turned up against the lightly falling snow.

At least, Dean plans to order beers, just as soon as the bartender stops chatting up some other patron at the opposite end of the bar. Until then, he takes the time to look at Cas some more. Carefully, he raises and lowers his arms. Lifts up his coat to check if there's a clue hidden in the lining.

When he turns him back around, he notices a smudge of something on his face, high up on his plastic cheek bone, just below his bright blue left eye. Dirt, maybe. Or ash from the hunt. Dean licks the pad of his thumb and gingerly rubs it away, only remembering after he’s done it that Cas might very well be conscious of what’s happening. He grimaces.

“That never happened,” he mutters, just in case, and hears a snort from behind the bar. When he looks up, he finds the bartender has finally come to take his order. He's looking at Dean with a raised brow and an amused tilt to his mouth.

“Nice doll.”

“He’s not a doll,” Dean says, a little sharper than he intended, and the guy’s eyebrow lifts even higher. Right. Probably not the best thing to say if he doesn’t want to seem like a weirdo. He clears his throat and makes a cursory attempt at backtracking. “He’s, uh. It’s an action figure.”

[keep reading on Ao3]

[fruitsofhell]

One of my new surfacing gripes with FF7R is how a lot of moments from the original game that rested heavily on player investment seem completely stripped out of the remake in favor of everything being a constant 60 hour long movie experience.

Like every now and then I hear the original game get shit for not taking its political messaging seriously at certain key set-pieces that are too game-y and chill like Costa Del Sol and the Gold Saucer, but that's not the whole picture when you consider how much control the player has over the party in that game. Costa Del Sol was just where you landed on the next continent and there was like a guy or two to talk to to point you in the other direction, a few lighthearted interactions to break up the fucked up shit that happened on the boat ride over, and then you could leave. The idea that the original Costa Del Sol indulged in the tourist trap goes only as far as how you as a player approached the space, if you got to Costa Del Sol and felt "Oh, this is a shitty Shinra colonial project I hate it here" you could book it outta there and maintain some of that disgust, but you fucking can't in the remake and its horrible.

For some fucking reason the boat ride over is on a cruise ship instead of a military vessel like before, so instead of a funny moment of humanizing the soldiers by being miserable with them, you get this fucking card tournament quest where everyone is suddenly SUPER into all this shit and doesn't care about any of the obvious underlying bullshit of the boat? And then its even worse when you get to Costa Del Sol because likefhsjkdhf? Everyone is OK with this glaring parallel to real world colonization and exploitation of island nations? Even Barret who literally had an amusement park built on the ashes of his home village by the people who burnt it down? EVEN YUFFIE WHO'S WHOLE SHTICK IS HOW HER HOME WAS INVADED AND TURNED INTO A TOURIST TRAP????

I cannot speak 100% for the original, because I remember it also missing these opportunities and besides that my memory is hazy, but its the fact that it wasn't flooded with all these ridiculous cutscenes and extra set-pieces that force you into experiencing areas a certain way, and a way that is just really fucking OOC?? And like for as OOC as the original could be, THE REMAKE IS 25 YEARS YOUNGER AND WISER THAN IT, PICK UP THE SLACK? But instead we get a fucking beach episode where you can put the girlies in bikinis or some shit. It's such a waste.

I can't think of like a single moment of subtly that the Remake retained from the originals. And it DOES have them under all the silly tonal whiplash stuff that the Remake cranks up to an unhealthy extent.