#because just the thought that eventually the two of them will be forgotten to most except for those like sebastian vettel

[deductordemigod]

GOD GAVE THE DESERT TOO MANY TEETH | R. Wright

i came across a quote from this and it got me thinking about daniel's career in f1, the fact that daniel broke his hand today was coincidental.

[gyusrose]

➵ you’re so vain -> l.hs

⚠︎ smut (mdni)

✎ jock!heeseung x reader, enemies to ?????, heeseung is rlly annoying, hate sex ;), hair pulling, dirty talk, unprotected sex, degradation, backshots lmao. i think that’s it?

summary: attending a new school was supposed to be a fresh start for you, trying to be nice to everyone and have new friends, yet coming across lee heeseung threw all of that out the window.

(heeseung x fem.reader)

wc: 3.2k

your sweaty hands could not be gripping the steering wheel any harder. you wouldn’t call yourself “super shy” but when it comes to a whole new community of people, teenagers, hell yeah you are.

you had to move exactly at the middle of the year due to your mom’s work. they offered her double the salary at the other side of the city, who was she to say no to that? although you were going to miss your friends and the overall environment of your old home, you couldn’t just tell your mom ‘no’, either way her decisions are final.

you just got here two days ago, and to be honest, it wasn’t that bad. the worst thing so far is the fact that the nearest shopping center was 30 minutes away but you’ll live.

you didn’t except your first day of school to be so nerve-wracking. surely you’ll make some friends but who knows what people are like here. eventually, you saw the big navy blue sign with your school’s name on it. it was an averagely big school, bigger than your old one, which also meant more people.

the parking space alone was scary. it was huge yet already full even though it was still fairly early. you went around in circles around the parking lot, trying to find a vacant spot. fortunately you did at the second-to-last line.

as you tried to park, the limited space you had made it difficult to, having to back up and drive in constantly. as you reversed your car, you must have completely forgotten that you aren’t the only one there, feeling a small crash at the bumper of your car.

your eyes widened in panic. you looked back to see what you hit, and with your luck, it revealed at very nice black car, to which you’ve just hit. you tried to quickly get into your parking spot, hoping it was nothing serious, but then someone came walking up to you.

‘shit, that must be the owner’ you saw his red, rather handsome, fuming face.

you got out of your car to confront the first person interaction.

“hey look im so-“

“CANT YOU FUCKING DRIVE RIGHT? YOU HIT MY VERY EXPENSIVE CAR WITH YOUR THING, WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?”

oh he was an asshole. you almost scoffed in his face. who does he think he is.

“it was accident that’s all, it was barely a scratch calm down man.”

“IT WAS DEFINITELY A SCRATCH LOOK AT IT! JUST BECAUSE YOU KEEP YOUR CAR LOOKING ALL MISERABLE DOESNT MEAN I WILL, DO YOU EVEN HAVE A LICENSE?”

lord take me back. you were so close to just leaving him there arguing with himself. but you didn’t want to make him even angrier.

“look im sorry! i can pay for the fix up if that’s what you want, i dont know what else to do?”

the boy scoffed and rolled his eyes at your statement.

“you think i don’t have the money for it? please, it shows you’re a newbie around here.”

“i didn’t mean it like that-“

“yo heeseung!! come on bro!” another blonde boy called from afar, hopefully ending the argument y’all were having.

“ watch your back new girl.” with one last glare, he left to join his group of friends.

you rolled your eyes. shiver my fucking timbers, you thought.

you took a deep breath before grabbing your backpack and making your way into school , hoping to never see his face ever again.

>>

you thought that was going to be the end of it all. but oh boy were you wrong. soon you found out that heeseung is the captain of the football team, and pretty much the most popular boy in school. as cliche as it sounds, every girl would drop their panties if he asked them to.

people know he’s not the nicest person ( an asshole) yet they still look up to him. that’s angered you. how are all these people so dumb? just because he’s kinda good-looking? seriously?

over the course of a few weeks, you’ve managed to make some friends, your closest taehyun and Isa. although you tried to block the negativity, heeseung made it really hard. always giving you snarky comments when he saw you around, ridiculing you in front of other people. somehow always finding a way to run into you despite not having any classes together. except gym.

“ bro open your eyes, catch the damn ball!” he yelled from across from you.

you hated sports. even less could you play one, but you gotta do it for the grade.

“the ball was too high up dummy!” you retorted, rolling your eyes for maybe the 100th time in the class period.

if you hated gym before, you definitely hated it more now.

as the period ended, you decided to take a quick shower in the locker rooms since you couldn’t handle being all sweaty and gross throughout the day.

heeseung finished changing and was outside the locker room with his friends, chatting, waiting for the bell to ring. that’s when he may have accidentally eavesdropped the conversation between your two friends, he could barely the names of.

“where’s _____?” taehyun asked isa, noticing how you weren’t with her.

“she’s taking a shower right now, she told us to not wait for her.” Isa shrugged before taehyun nodded.

a beautiful idea popped in heeseung’s brain. it was too good.

he excused himself and sneakily waited by the girl’s locker room, waiting for everyone to come out. once he only heard the shower you were using running, he quietly entered the room. the bell had rang about a minute ago, so the gym was empty, only you and him. the gym teacher god knows where.

he saw his target and rapidly grabbed the pile of clothes sitting on the bench, a smirk evident in his face.

suddenly the shower stopped running, making heeseung hurry and exit the locker room.

the shower felt too good, you think you spent more time that you anticipated to. as you exited the shower tiles, you looked around for your clothes, which you remember clearly leaving them in the bench closest to the shower. you looked around the whole locker room, hoping you were wrong and placed them elsewhere. unfortunately, you couldn’t even find your damn socks.

your biggest fear has come true. you’re now naked, nothing but a towel covering you, this was more than just humiliating. you felt sad, mad, angry, embarrassed all at once. they’ve been stolen for sure, and you were more than sure on who did it.

grabbing your phone you called Isa, to see if she could help you somehow. and she indeed did. bringing you some spare clothes she had. thankfully, you always bring extra underwear since situations like these could happen. you just had to wait for isa for the clothes, yet the five minutes she took felt like five hours. unfortunately, passing period is over, meaning some students are coming in the locker room to change.

many of them just straight up stared at you. giving you weird looks as to why you were pretty much naked in the middle of the locker room, but none had the guts to ask you.

you wished the ground would just swallow you whole. lee heeseung won’t hear the end of it.

“LEE HEESEUNG!” you yelled across the field. he and his friends were siting down eating lunch outside when you spotted him after trying to find him after the stunt he just pulled.

heeseung knew it was coming, giggling with his friends as they heard you yell his name once again. “ oh she’s about to scold me now .” heeseung scoffed but still got up and went over to you.

“yes ma’am?” he said with a smile, you wish you could slap off but you’re better than that.

“YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID DO YOU KNOW HOW EMBARRASSING THAT WAS?”

“i have no idea what you’re talking about..” heeseung tried acting innocent but failed as he just burst out laughing. you groaned, how on earth is that funny?

“cute panties by the way” he continued to laugh, not sparing a glance at your mad expression on your face.

“you’re such an ass, i hate your guts.” you said leaving him alone, laughing to himself.

“yo bro i think she actually got mad this time.” his friend, jake came over.

heeseung shrugged. “she’s so sensitive, it wasn’t even that bad.”

“i can’t believe he did that…” taehyun said as you told them both what had happened. Isa knew a little bit but not who did it.

“that’s fucked up, what’s he got against you so much?”

you shrugged. “i guess because i gave his car a little scratch, but i guess he took it to heart since he hasn’t stopped bothering me since. he’s a jerk.”

“finally someone who thinks the same as me!” taehyun said making you chuckle.

“then get back at him! you know the one thing that makes him who he is is that damn football.” Isa said.

you tried to be the bigger person this whole time, not paying much mind to his little remarks or pranks he pulls, biting back a little wouldn’t hurt right?

“you know what, you’re right.”

“lee heeseung, mrs. park wants to speak to you.” mr.jung said calling heeseung.

heeseung who was barely paying attention heard his name. his frowned at this. what on earth could she want to talk about with him? either way, he went to her classroom.

he entered the empty classroom to find his coach and mrs.park, waiting for him. what the fuck? heeseung was more confused now. maybe they were going to congratulate him for the good work this semester? his coach’s face said otherwise though.

“there you are, you may be wondering why you’re here..” mrs.park started. heeseung nodded, feeling uneasy.

“a student came forward, showing how you copied word for word her whole assignment, the one i assigned a week ago. i didn’t notice it at first but it’s very clear now, you may know how cheating is unacceptable in my class, i’ve decided to fail you in this assignment, plus you’ll be serving detention this whole week..” she turned to the coach.

heeseung’s heart started beating at a rapid pace, he’s never been caught cheating, and being failed on the assignment that was a big part of his grade, it means he’s most likely failing the class now. the rules for football stated that all players should be passing all of their classes if not, they’ll be dropped….

no no no, the lee heeseung can’t be dropped. he’s the captain! the star player!

“since you’re failing this class heeseung, i think you know what’s about to happe-“

“please coach! don’t kick me out, i’m the captain! what would the team do without me? i’ll get my grade up as soon as possible im-“

“calm down calm down, i’m not going to kick you out, it’s the middle of the season, but unfortunately you won’t be playing the next three games. if your grade is not up by then, then i will drop you. understood?” his coach stated earning a sharp nod by heeseung.

he’s glad he’s still on the team but what’s the point if he can’t play? he’s going to become a joke. the captain that’s a bench warmer. how stupid.

he left the classroom enraged. he knows exactly who did this.

“bro what? what do you mean you ain’t gonna play ?” riki said in disbelief at what his captain just said.

“some snitch told mrs.park that i cheated on the last assignment and coach suspended me for the next three games, and i got detention all week!” sunghoon unknowingly chuckled. heeseung looked at him with a glare.

“what? she got you good, what did you expect hee?” sunghoon kept laughing, making some of the others also laugh silently.

heeseung had nothing to say back, he just rolled his eyes. “tch, whatever.”

nevertheless, you were overjoyed seeing heeseung slouching on the bench. you couldn’t miss this once in a lifetime scenario. obviously you were the cause for it. heeseung asks Isa almost all the time for her notes or to straight up copy her. she willingly let you rat him out after what he did to you.

he can sense how all eyes were on him, but he just tried to block everyone out a focus on the game. he had a poker face on, but deep inside he was irritated . he saw how you were smirking and laughing with your two little friends. you knew what you were doing.

>>

“ahh look who it is, the benchwarmer! “ you said chuckling as you made your way to heeseung.

after the team (barely) won, jake threw an ‘after party’ at his house. even though you don’t normally go to these parties, especially from those boys, you felt like a party would do good with your marvellous mood. something about seeing heeseung’s frowny face made feel over the moon.

“seems like cat got your tongue now huh? dont have anything to say-“

in a blink of an eye you were pulled into a room, heeseung’s fingers wrapped around your neck, pulling your face closer to his.

“what the fuck? heeseung-“

“shut the fuck up.” his hoarse voice caught you off guard. he was actually really mad.

“you think what you did it’s fucking funny? huh? almost getting me kicked out ? “ you’ve never seen him this enraged before. making you almost scared, yet….kinda turned on? no, you hate him, snap out of it! you told yourself yet the wetness in between your legs became hard to ignore.

you didn’t respond. “fuck, you’re so annoying, i can’t fucking stand you. i hate you.” he saw lowly. fuck that was hot.

you spoke before thinking. “then show me.”

not needing to tell him twice, heeseung pulled you completely in. your lips met in a kiss that was anything but gentle, a fierce and consuming clash that spoke longing and raw need.

The kiss deepened, fueled by an unspoken urgency, their mouths exploring each other with a fervor that left y’all breathless. his grip on your neck becoming tighter.

“shit im gonna show you to fucking behave.” he said before pushing you into the bed forcefully. you may have discovered a new kink of yours. watching as he undressed himself and yourself rapidly. feeling his anger through every touch he gave you.

he rubbed through your folds before inserting two fingers aggressively. your body jolted at the sudden move.

“holy shit go softer dumbass.”

“aw you think i give a fuck? suck it up and take it since you think you’re all that.” his fingers pumped faster and faster making it hard for you to answer back to his stupid remarks.

“oh my god..” you tried to pull his hand away before you cum. not wanting to see you orgasm so easily yet.

“just fuck me already heeseung, or is your dick as tiny as your brain?”

heeseung looked darkly at you. that stupid mouth of yours can’t shut up will it?

he retracted his fingers put of you and took his boxers off. wanting nothing more than to prove you wrong.

shit. your eyes went wide at what stood in front of you. saying he was big was an understatement. it was like a zipper for your mouth. how was that thing going to fit inside of you?

“can’t say anything now, can you slut?” he pulled your legs down the mattress to have you at the perfect angle to ram into you.

heeseung ran his til over your folds, teasing his way in. making you aggrevated.

“just put it in for fucks sake!”

“tell me how bad you want it.” you shook your head, no way were you going to beg. no way.

“alright then, i guess im gonna go.” he said letting go of your waist, acting as if he was going to leave.

“okay okay! please fuck me, i want it so bad, i want your big cock so bad heeseung.” heeseung moaned at your words. he didn’t wait any longer and thrusted all of him in you.

you both moaned yet it was more painful for you. you’ve never had something so big inside you before.

“fuck yeah..” he said then grabbing your neck, slightly choking you. your hands went to his biceps, trying to find something to hold on to as the speed he was thrusting in became more hostile.

“fuck me harder, like the asshole you are.” you said in between breaths. heeseung took the challenge and thrusted violently. the skin slapping and wetness of your core could probably be heard in the party outside.

“of course a whore like you would like to be fucked like this.”

before you could respond he pulled out of you earning a desperate groan from you, but then your were flipped, now on all fours and before you knew it he was back in you again. gripping your hip with one hand while he pulled your hair on the other.

“such a tight pussy, you probably fantasized about this am i right?” he said in your ear. you shook your head through your moan.

“in your dreams lee, in your fucking dreams. fuck you.”

“i’m quite literally doing that.” chuckling, he let go of your hair and instead gripped your other hip, going in deeper, nudging your cervix literally driving you to an edge.

“fuck i’m cumming.” you cried out. never has an orgasm felt like this. heeseung was on edge as well, feeling you clench around his dick did it for him.

your climax rose over you, making you fall into the pillow while heeseung kept thrusting until his own organs came over him, pulling out and releasing his white ropes all over your back.

tiredly, he laid besides you in the strangers bed, not knowing what to say now.

you turned to him, smirking. “i think i may hate you even more now.”

[8-0mph]

Forbidden Dream

This is all of my Adventure Time AU in chronological story order. Thanks to my friend for proof-read.

Act I: Prismo and Betty

This takes some time after the events of F&C. Prismo and Scrabby inhabit the TR(TimeRoom) and Golbetty has gotten restless with her time in space. She decides to reach out to other multiversal beings, but no one wants to associate with Golb. She finally finds someone that puts up with her ..that being the Wishmaster.

Prismo is scared of Golbetty at first, especially Scrabby since he has a little bit of history with her. He scurries off or hides behind Prismo when she is in the TR. To Scrabbys surprise, Pris and Betty hit it off and become good friends. They find they have something in common, which is their “human” past. Theyre both mortals turned to immortals.

The duo start off by drinking and making fanfics together, but then Betty proposes the idea of making these fics “real”. Prismo is hesitant at first but lately he doesn’t mind breaking the rules.

At first they visit universes that Prismo considers safe. They treat them like vacations, and a lot of these worlds do not have the typical AT characters. Theyre peaceful docile places. Prismo gets daring, telling Betty that he wants to feel alive again. The two of them agree to visit a dangerous world, the Vampire Kingdom.

Notes:

- Betty chose her physical form to look like magic Betty because she felt it would be strange to appear as she normally did in the past.

- Prismos physical form is what he looked like as a younger human. He thought it would be more fitting for the “adventure”. Also.. He hates how clothing feels on him, so the see-through garments suffice.

- Scrabby is not happy about their friendship. He feels that Prismo has gotten even lazier, foregoing his Wishmaster responsibilities and even worse, ignoring him. The scarab thought he found someone that was happy to spend time with him for the first time, But feels like he has gone back to being the “forgotten” one.

EP II: Vampire Kingdom

Once Pris and Betty teleport here, theyre immediately caught off guard by a group of vampires that whisk Prismo away and the two are separated. Betty gets surprised by a starved vampire!Simon, who at first doesnt recognize her until he gets a good look at her face.

He refuses to believe its actually Betty and rather a wizard attempting to play tricks on him. Marcy calls his name and he flys away, leaving Betty stunned.

The vampire world is an AU where Vampires take over, but Simon never died and was able to stay with Marcy. Marcy isnt evil here. Simons crown was stolen before he could make a complete transformation into IceKing, and his sanity was kept in part to Marcy turning him to save him from a group of hungry vampires. One curse was replaced with another.

Marcy was turned at a younger age by the VK, but Simon saved her by scratching at the VKs eye (his face scar). Even though the King is furious at Simon for this, he thinks it is more amusing to keep Simon alive and suffering from vampirism. Vampires are starved in this world just like “The Star” episode, but Simon proposes the idea to wrangle human (and animal) survivors and keep them on a reserve to supply the Vampires with a food source. He inevitably becomes the person in charge of the Blood farms. Keep in mind, Simon did this to save humans, otherwise they would have been hunted to extinction.

Unlike the safe worlds PrisBetty visited, this world has most of the original cast in them. Finn is a survivor of the Blood Farms, swearing to kill Simon who he believes imprisoned him in there (which.. is true). The farm is surrounded by booby traps all around the perimeter, no one can get in or out without some level of flying.

Finn always managed to get close to escaping But eventually gets caught in one of the traps. The last attempt caused him to cut his own arm off to be freed and helped by Huntress Wizard. She is one of the few wizards to help the freedom fighters, a band of humans and candy people led by Commander PB. Wizards are hated by Vampires since theyre the few beings that can overpower them. They try to stay out of each others business But huntress is an exception as she feels that the vampires are disrupting the balance of nature.

The Candy Kingdom is fortress walled with wooden spikes and garlic (I thought it would be silly Lol). PBs armor consists of wooden stakes and reminiscent of Golb who she is a follower of. She has access to the Enchiridion and sees Golb as a being that she should harness the power of if the vampires happen to overwhelm her people someday.

The end of the story would involve PrisBetty helping Simon overthrow the VK after Marcy discovers the vampires ability to “drink red” instead of blood. They team up with the help of PB and Huntress. Simon never truly reconciles with Betty as his defense mechanism is to push any feelings of his past away. But he does have a newfound respect for her and tells her to visit him again. Simon will assume the role of Vampire King and free the humans afterward.

Notes:

- Simon is the only vampire dressing in traditionally “Dracula” clothes. Because hes a nerd and thinks its fitting.

- Marcy is raised by Simon here instead of VK, so she is a lot kinder and sympathetic to the humans and candy kingdom (even if she doesnt show it for a while).

EP III: Winter Kingdom

After the Vampire world, Prismo and Betty decide their adventuring is “complete” and attempt to teleport back to the Time Room with Prismos magic. This doesnt work out. Turns out, their human forms have been draining their magic slowly, making it so that they need to find a magical item to recharge. This being the Enchiridion.

This is a totally different world than (Canon) Winter Kings as obviously he is alive here.

Ooo has been mysteriously frozen over and put into an eternal Ice Age. There is hardly any life (apart from immortal beings and those resistant to the temperatures) so hardly anyone lives on the surface. Prismo automatically assumes WK is responsible, but Betty refuses to believe Simon would be the cause of this destruction. WK has a much larger kingdom with a variety of ice people, a lot of them more human-like in appearance. It seems like he is trying to mirror a human society.

Here WK has Bettys skeleton and attempting to use the cloning machine he has in F&C to clone a “real” Betty (which is why he doesnt have an ice clone of her).

The backstory of this WK mirrors my au version of him.

Prismo and Betty are briefly separated and I wont go into too much detail on the story. Betty gets the “safe” tour of the kingdom by WK and Prismo is left to wander in search for the Enchiridion. He starts to see things that point to a darker scene (fire people fighting ice soldiers, lack of any plant life, and ice clones of people who no longer exist). At the same time, Betty is off-put by WKs controlling nature. He reveals to her that he has been in a 100-year war with the Fire Kingdom “who destroy everything” with their flames, while ice “preserves it”. Betty is shocked to see the extent of destruction the Ice Kingdom has caused to Ooo and manages to slip away to do her own investigating. She eventually ends up in the room Bettys corpse is kept, which is the only place that WK allows plant life to grow. The Enchiridion was sitting on skeleton Bettys lap.

The two of them engage in a fight where he details his plan for her and Ooo.

Prismo manages to save her at the end of it. Up until this point hes been a pacifist in the story. They use the Enchiridion to teleport home and they end up.. not there.

Notes:

- I had a bonus page where Scrabby is reacting to PrisBetty not arriving back in the Time Room. He thinks they didnt teleport back on purpose.

- This page also has WK grabbing Bettys ankle right as she teleports. I was going to have WK teleport with them so there was some kind of threat. I am not sure yet.

- The fight scene was supposed to be a lot longer with Betty having the upperhand at first, But I didnt want to draw all of it.

- Winters appearance slowly turns back into Simon when separated from the magic crown.

EP IV: Back Home

They end up in Ooo where the magic teleported them into the sky, making them fall a great distance. They are a little injured, but Betty is mostly shaken by her experience in the Winter world. She redirects this into frustration at Prismo for not teleporting them to the correct place and that they would need to search another “sucky universe”.

Prismo is frustrated and goes off on his own to find another magical object. Betty stays put in the forest. When looking up, Prismo realizes the universe they teleported to was actually the main Ooo upon seeing the floating human city. He rushes back to where Betty was sitting, telling her to go find her Simon here in Ooo, that he knew that he had the Enchiridion in his closet. Betty refuses, knowing that she already said goodbye to Simon years ago and him seeing her again will only hurt him.

Prismo is annoyed at this but walks off, and Betty wanders around the forest until she encounters one of the transport boats that take people up to the city. In her reluctance, she hitches a ride. Meanwhile Prismo reaches a graveyard on the outskirts of the woods, he hides in the bushes and sees a familiar person, Finn, walking up and leaving a bouquet of flowers at the grave.

When Betty makes it up to the city, she explores for a bit before approaching Simon (who is signing a childs book). Before she could say anything, she covers her face with her hat and speeds off. He is at first confused by this but is immediately distracted by the kid again.

Betty is in shock and retreats onto the boat leading her back down to land. She eventually catches up to Prismo, who is kneeling over Jakes grave. She attempts to comfort him, but the words fall short. He asks her if she visited Simon, but Betty says she couldnt do it. At this point Prismo feels like he wasted his time in the Time Room when he could have been spending it in his human form visiting Jake. He remained trapped in the TR unable to spend time with the mortals he built connections with. He feels that Betty is going to suffer the same regret he feels after Simon inevitably dies.

In a turn of events, Prismo places his hand on the grave and it teleports them back into the Time Room. They are amazed by this, Jakes grave acted like a magical object would have. They temporarily celebrate before Betty is impaled by an angry Scrabby.

Bettys human form is heavily injured as Prismo and the Scarab fight in several rooms. Scrabby tells him that he alerted the auditors about their misdeeds. That they will both be locked away for thousands of years or perhaps forever just like he was trapped in the Time Room.

Prismo temporarily subdues Scrabby and goes back to the main room where Betty is. This is where he turns her into a fox to keep her hidden, and promises that her memories are all stored in her body dormant in Golb (Like how Prismos form is dormant in the Time Room).

Fox!Betty wakes up in Ooo, no memories, a feeling of disconnect from her body, and hungry.

End of Act 1

Act II is all about Bettys life as a fox in Ooo. Its a lot calmer and slow burn in comparison to Act I. Upon landing in Ooo, fox!Betty encounters posters advertising Simons* sci-fi series Casper and Nova. She is convinced he is knowledgeable about space because a talking dog told her he was.

*EDIT: Someone pointed out that C&N was written by Astrid (it is implied heavily). Pretend the posters are the two of them working together, maybe Simon helping Astrid write them since she is just a kid.

She starts pestering Simon at one of his book signings and he already dislikes foxes because earlier in the week, a band of them stole his draft for an upcoming book. Betty proposes that she will find the notes and return them to him if she can have a place to stay (Even though he says no, she crashes at his place anyway).

I thought about Simon giving Betty a nickname so that she isnt just referred to as “fox”, so she is “Sunny” since she really likes when he makes sunny-side up eggs. She really likes eggs as a fox that is her quirk.

Update 1/21/24: Sunny encounters Simon after breaking into his home and snooping around for clues. Simon ambushes her in the Golb ritual room, assuming she has come to steal the Enchiridion. Sunny explains herself and claims that she can get Simons draft back from the fox thieves. They go on an “adventure”. It is revealed that fox!Betty can transform into Betty only when unconscious/sleeping. Simon wakes up next to her but assumes he is hallucinating..

Post about Simon and fox!Bettys dynamic.

I couldnt fit all images into this post as there is a 10 photo limit. I decided to link additional photos to underlined text. If you want further context, check those out. I love reading others AUs and was inspired to do my own. Any questions can be left in comment. Thanks for read..!

[4unnyr0se]

❥ tsukishima plays the waiting game

warnings: fem! reader, pre and post timeskip! tsukishima, tsuki gets slapped, reader is a sweetie, yamaguchi and hinata mentioned, tbh its mostly fluff

MDNI | No 18+ content here, I just don't want minors interacting with my blog

word count -> 785

part two

Kei Tsukishima wasn’t the best at showing affection at all. He only liked and respected Yamaguchi, but apart from that, there wasn’t really anyone he thought merited his honest and most sincere loyalty and trust. Sure, he respected Daichi when he was still in high school, but Daichi was his captain. It was different.

Then, you moved to Miyagi and enrolled in Karasuno in mid-April. You were placed in the same class as Yamaguchi and Tsukishima. Apparently, you had scored in the top 1% in your old high school, much to Tsukishima’s chagrin. He assumed you would be just another one of those academic bitches (like himself) who only cared about what directly affected them. 

That was the first time Tsukishima was wrong. 

You were sickeningly sweet, so much so that many people thought it was just an act. Tsukishima first thought this, too, that a wolf was hiding under that fluffy sheep wool. But no, there wasn’t. You were genuinely nice without ulterior motives, always volunteering to tutor students after class. You even helped Yamaguchi with his English vocabulary and grammar. He didn’t even have to ask! That’s how sweet you were, and Tsukishima hated that. Well, only at first. 

He knew he liked you the second you snapped at him, calling him an asshole in front of the entire Karasuno team. He was practicing serves and missed completely, the volleyball slamming into your torso as you walked by the practice gym. Instead of apologizing, he blamed you for being in the way. 

Instead of you apologizing for having dared to be in the way of a rouge volleyball, he was met with a cold smack in the face. Vulgar words left your mouth, your face heating up in anger as you called him out for being a stuck-up prick who didn’t care about anyone but himself (and maybe Yamaguchi.) The Karasuno team stood in shock as you screamed at him, your usual friendly and kind demeanor long forgotten. Hinata thought that Tsukishima was absolutely going to murder you, but instead, the lanky blonde just stood there with the tiniest blush on his cheeks. You called him out; you slapped him. The sweetest girl in Karasuno slapped him and humbled him in front of his teammates. You weren’t just an innocent little lamb, you bit. And Tsukishima liked that. 

Tsukishima never acted on his urges in high school; he was too busy with class and volleyball and Hinata’s bullshit to worry about romantic relationships. But he caught himself sneaking glances at you throughout high school, no matter where he was. You two were always in the same class, weirdly enough. Graduation eventually came, and lo and behold, the two of you went to Sendai. He was on a semi-volleyball scholarship, and you had a full academic ride because you did. And to his horror, or perhaps delight, you both had the same entry-level statistics class.

He first noticed that you had a sense of personal style that he approved of. Tsukishima had only ever seen you in the Karasuno girl’s school uniform before, so it was a pleasant surprise to see you wearing a spaghetti strap tank top with a wool cardigan and loose jeans. It was…cute.

Tsukishima was taken aback when you walked up to him after class, bowing your head slightly to apologize for screaming at him when you were in high school. He smirked and accepted the apology, pushing your head down further. 

“You also slapped me and called me an asshole, remember?”

You became flustered and started apologizing even more, tilting your head with sparkling eyes.

“I know, I’m really sorry. I don’t want any bad blood. How can I make this up to you?”

“Go on a date with me.” It came out of his lips so fast that Tsukishima didn’t have time to cover it up with a cough. How could he let that slip from his lips, he always thought before speaking. He thought before doing anything! He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, looking away in embarrassment. “Go on…just go on a date with me, please. I’ve liked you since high school, moron.”

You smiled and hugged him, squeezing his torso with all your might. Of course, Tsukishima thought this was adorable, he was a foot taller than you. “Of course, I’ll go on a date with you! Where?” You asked as you looked up, the prettiest smile plastered across your shining face. Fuck, Tsukishima was totally screwed. He’d give you the world right then and there if he wasn’t so proud. 

“My dorm? Yamaguchi is out with friends for the weekend.”

“Yamaguchi has friends other than you? Damn, he really grew up.”

“Indeed,”

Tsukishima’s side of the dorm was immaculate. Spotless, organized, and decorated with dinosaur posters. It was cute and nerdy, making you smile. Maybe deep down inside, he wasn’t such a jerk.

[sugar-grigri]

Nayuta wasn't killed by Barem, she's his ally 

Poor fandom, you're disorientated just when your compasses should be working properly. 

Let's learn how to eat sushi properly, step by step. Or rather, how about reading Chainsaw Man in the right order? By calmly superimposing everything we know in the right order 

So let's not panic, let's get on with it. Dry your tears, clean your snot and let's get back to the introductions. 

First layer of sushi: Denji and Pochita are made for each other 

Who is Chainsaw Man? It's a question we've been asking ourselves a lot, but how about a simple answer - we're not here to mess around. Chainsaw Man is the combined result of Pochita + Denji. Do we agree? Why have they become so close? Because they look alike, don't they? Alone, hungry, in need of a little warmth and a little love. 

Second layer of sushi: birthday, despair, amnesia...

If we take the stories in outline, Denji meets Makima and then bonds with his siblings. A sibling who eventually dies, and whose final breaking point is his sister, cut in two. On top of that, it's his birthday, isn't it? Makima invites Denji to open the door that confined his traumas, including the death of Denji’s father? 

You see, I've already missed it, I went too fast. Let's resume calmly, birthday... Denji had forgotten it was his birthday, hadn't he? His birthday is the day you're born, it's one of the few pieces of information we don't really question, but Denji forgot it. But haven't you ever really wondered...

If Denji had celebrated his birthday? And why, how, he wanted to eat a cake? His father was violent and his mother died when he was very young, so is it really safe to say that Denji celebrated his birthday? 

I had another question, why does Fujimoto always seem to accentuate the cakes so much?

I really think that cake is one of the keys, because it's a tunnel of memories that resurfaces in Denji, the cake, his birthday, then Power's death, then his father's death. It's a sushi within a sushi (we're slowly taking things back in order), I think it's about layers that need to be taken back in chronological order, yes chronological 1) the death of Denji's father 2) the death of Power 3) Denji's birthday 4) the cake. Which brings us to this scene.

Was this scene shown not just metaphorical or symbolic, but actually happened? Denji having contracted with the control demon whose power is to control memory, in order to reshape him perfectly so as not to be happy and to do whatever she asks of him later. Why couldn't Denji open that door? Why does Aki's death sound so abruptly like Denji's absence, with a mini ellipsis that doesn't show us in concrete terms how Chainsaw Man killed him? I'm going too fast again, let's start again...

Makima hasn't made Denji unhappy, she's created a being made for unhappiness.

This scene refers to an anniversary, amnesia and despair, all ingredients that enabled Pochita to take complete possession of Denji and show us the most complete version of Chainsaw Man.

Which means Barem isn't lying, is he? Same here, I'm going too fast!

Third layer of sushi: the closer Denji gets to happiness, the more he doubts...

Denji manages to become himself again and succeeds in killing Makima, by devouring her. In a very simple and concrete way, Makima was devoured and this put an end to her existence. Keep this in mind. Nayuta is reborn, becoming Denji's little sister, lots of dogs surround them, Chainsaw Man becomes extremely popular and it's in this part 2 that Denji will feel the least like himself, the least like Chainsaw Man. Strangely enough, it's when he approaches a semblance of happiness that Denji pulls away from himself.

Barem really doesn't seem to be lying, does he? But once again, I'm going too fast, let's get on with it!

Fourth layer of sushi: Barem never lies 

This is something I quickly came up with, and it's so precise, I think his character is thought of that way, and it's his narrative role. Even though he's deceitful, manipulative and devious, the bro does NOT LIE. He didn't lie about the weapons attack, he didn't lie that he looked like a Chainsaw Man fan, and he doesn't lie in the last chapter. But same, I'm going too fast. 

Fifth layer of sushi: Nayuta betrayed by Chainsaw Man 

When Denji made the choice to become Chainsaw Man, the house, his source of happiness, was falling to ashes, his dogs, his cat were dying. Denji went through with his dream and abandoned the little sister who made him happy. Barem didn't impose misfortune on Denji; it was Denji who chose misfortune, despite Nayuta's fears. The happier he was with her, the more he lost himself. He left her in Barem's hands and provoked an existential crisis in her. Which made her reconnect with her old self. 

Sixth layer of sushi: an unblocked memory. 

The aftertaste that sticks to your palate is a piece of information I mentioned earlier. Makima has been devoured. What defines the Knights of the Apocalypse from the rest of the demons? Their memory. What if Nayuta had now understood how Chainsaw Man's power worked? 

Seventh layer of sushi: chapter 170. 

This explains Nayuta's severed head, a macabre mise-en-scène to make her brother lose his mind a little more. As for Barem, he doesn't lie to us and gives us instructions on how to read Chainsaw Man. He knows how to read Chainsaw Man, since he knows the two conditions for him to regain his full power because Nayuta gave them to him. For all this is nothing more than their death. 

Layer zero of sushi: the unknown. 

Now I'm entering the quintessential madness of my analysis. Makima contracted with Denji at a very young age, and gave him several orders: survive at all costs, remain miserable, and one day kill Power and Aki. Above all, she ordered him to contract with Pochita, hence Denji's reflex to hand his open wound directly to the demon. This misfortune, this amnesia due to the contract with Makima, this survival on his own, finally allowed a weakened Chainsaw Man to find a kindred spirit, a loved one. Believing in happiness, then destroying it, kept Chainsaw Man's power in check, those vain dreams only a human could imagine. Denji was a kind of Russian doll, holding back Pochita and his over-power. That's why these two conditions exist. 

To be unhappy, or to break this Russian doll. 

To be feared by all, or to be alone. 

Or kill Denji. 

To save Pochita. 

Layer - 100000 of sushi: did you think I'd finished losing my head? I don't think so. What if everything I've been telling you all along, taking things in order, were to be done in reverse? Take them out of order. I'll ask the questions so you can understand. Why is Makima so obsessed with Chainsaw Man? Why did the Knights of the Apocalypse fight Chainsaw Man in the underworld? How did they manage to retain their memories? Why start the story with a parricide? Why was Denji finely polished by Makima to welcome Pochita when Makima never saw Denji, the reason for her own death? How could she enter into a contract with someone she has never seen? 

Because someone is controlling the control demon itself. Just as it controls the way the story is presented to us. How can we trust an antagonist who controls memory? And an amnesiac protagonist? 

Why did Pochita do what he did in the underworld? Why this sudden fury? Why do demons hear chainsaws at the moment of their death? 

Because we've come full circle. More precisely, what you're reading is not part 2 but part 1, or to be more (MORE) precise, the end of Chainsaw Man will lead to its beginning. The desire to create a better world, to kill death, will lead to a temporal loop in the world that will never cross the apocalypse, blocked just ahead. 

Makima herself is controlled by her future self, which allows her to make references to the future and know the recipes for unleashing Chainsaw Man's power without understanding why, her future self knows Chainsaw Man, she loved him. So Makima also loves Chainsaw Man without really understanding why, amnesiac like Denji.

Denji doesn't kill his father, it's his old self who is killed. 

But another Denji tries to put an end to this... 

Spiral. 

Stuck between two worlds, two temporalities, morning (Asa), night (Yoru), someone is trying to put an end to this endless world, before dawn.

[spirit-lanterns]

*slams the door* Alpha Seele! Alpha Siobhan! Alpha Asta! Let me hear your thoughts on these girlies! They're so forgotten that they're not even underwater!!! They're swimming in the molten core of a planet!!!

Sure thing! Cooking up some Alpha headcanons for the underrated girlies as we speak! It took me a while to think of some unique headcanons for them as I honestly don’t think about them often, but hopefully after this post they start gaining more recognition! :D

NSFW under the cut (men and minors dni)

ALPHA SEELE HEADCANONS:

- Smells like leather with a hint of smokiness as her scent.

- Very, very possessive over you as an alpha. While most alphas in general are possessive by default, Seele takes it to the next level by scenting you before you leave the house every morning. Part of your morning routine is just Seele pulling you against her and spending a good three minutes rubbing herself on you so you smell strongly of her to avoid any desperate alphas.

- Seele’s knot is a bit on the smaller side. Despite this, it can take a while for her knot to go down so you’d spend a good twenty minutes or so just connected to her since her knot refuses to deflate. (Angry smol knot lol)

- Seele wants to eventually have pups with you as she’s always wanted to start a family! Though she believes that now is not the time as her job is a little dangerous, the idea of breeding you with her pups is always swimming around her mind. (Sometimes she gets random boners at work at the thought…)

- She may be short, but she is an alpha who’s ready to throw hands for her mate anytime. It doesn’t matter what the context is, if she sees that you’re being harassed, she will fight anyone to guarantee your safety! (Smol angry alpha)

- Bred you in an alleyway once because she couldn’t wait to get home. Had to use her coat as a makeshift bed so that her sweet omega had a soft place to lay down <3

ALPHA SIOBHAN HEADCANONS

- Smells like a lime margarita. Very fruity, but also with that hint of alcohol that hits you in the back of your nose.

- A very popular alpha with the omegas. It is common to see her flocked by a swarm of thirsty omegas, but Siobhan pays no mind to them as she only desires you. Many omegas are often disappointed with they find out she has been claimed by you already, but Siobhan doesn’t care; she’s just happy you chose her out of all the alphas in Penacony.

- Not very possessive actually! She is a very chill and friendly alpha who doesn’t get too jealous. She trusts you to be out on her own, but she will get protective if she sees someone harassing you. I don’t see Siobhan as the type to resort to violence (she is a level-headed alpha that likes to negotiate) but she will punch someone square in the nose if she sees you are clearly uncomfortable.

- Has nutted in you on her bar table before. When it was closing time and Siobhan saw you coming in to pick her up, she just couldn’t resist and had to have her way with you right there on the bar. (Btw, if you two have pups they were 100% conceived on that bar too)

- She likes to leave hidden love bites on your neck as a subtle way to show ownership. No one really notices them thanks to your shirt, but they sure can smell it.

- Average sized knot.

ALPHA ASTA HEADCANONS

- Smells like a pink grapefruit. Very citrusy with hints of a bitter undertone.

- Asta is an alpha who loves to spoil. She is a firm believer that she should be a provider to her omega, so she will oftentimes come home with gifts, food, anything she thinks you would enjoy so that you would be spoiled!

- Average sized knot that takes a decent amount of time to go down. At most, it usually takes about 12-15 minutes, so by then Asta is ready to go to pound town with you once more.

- One time she had her rut while at work, so she had to FaceTime you to see your face while she quickly rubbed one out. It didn’t work however, so she left work early to go see you in person to deal with it, and by the time she got home you had to deal with an angry red cock lol

- A very gentle alpha, but also very kinky. She does not mind if you use toys to get yourself off, as she has her own toy collection herself. (It’s very lavish and big, an entire walk in closet dedicated to sex toys)

- Wants you to wear a fancy collar with her name on it at all times. She’s gentle, but she’s also a bit of a dominatrix as she oftentimes calls you her “puppy girl” and treats you like one. Especially if you are in heat.

[inez-winchester-cameron]

Sharing is Caring (18+)

↠Pairing: Sam Winchester x fem!reader, Dean Winchester x fem!reader

↠Summary: After overhearing his brother having sex with you, Sam finds himself horny and unable to quench his thirst with just his fist (SMUT)

↠Cw: threesome, mentions of collaring, dom!sam and dean, mentions of 'training', oral, riding, cheek slapping, masturbation, shower sex, dubcon

↠Notes: this made me very horny while writing so i hope yall enjoy

-

Sam found himself awkwardly adjusting his boner in the recliner of the motel you, him and Dean were staying in. You and Dean seemed to have forgotten just how thin motel walls were. Just ten minutes before that, you and Dean had announced you were going to shower quickly before heading out to gather details on the hunt. 

It was naive of Sam to think that you two were just going to shower, he now realized. Because when did Dean ever just do wholesome things with you? Sam felt bad, sitting there, listening to the noises you and Dean let out. The recliner was close to the bathroom door, he could’ve gotten up and moved, maybe even stepped outside for a breather.

But he didn’t. He sat there listening. Like a creep. But what was the harm, it wasn’t like you and Dean knew he could hear you, right?

Dean had you pinned, chest against the shower wall, as he pounded into you from behind. He growled dirty words directly into your ear. You had assumed the shower water noise would drown out your noises, but you underestimated just how loud Dean made you. Most of Dean’s dirty talk was similar, not to call it boring, but he normally used a lot of the same phrases and ideas. So, when a new thought came into his brain, he found himself immediately spitting it out.

“You think Sam can hear us, huh, baby? Bet he can. Bet he’s out there touching his cock to your pretty moans.”

Dean didn’t mean it seriously, it was bedroom talk. But then he felt the way you clenched down around him at the words. A smirk formed on his lips, “You like that, baby? Like the thought of him wanting you as much as I do?” Against all morals you had, you found yourself nodding. Dean chuckled lowly into your ear, “That’s so cute, baby. Maybe next time we’ll invite him.” As soon as those words came out of his lips, your cunt spasmed around his cock. There wasn’t even a moment to warn Dean, you came immediately at the thought of that. Embarrassed, you stayed quiet as Dean finished up. 

After a well needed wash up in the shower, you and Dean stepped out, wrapping towels around yourselves. Sam’s eyes widened, as he realized you two had finished. He quickly sat some books on his lap, hiding his massive boner. It’s fine, he would just step into the shower after you and Dean came out. He could rub one out and get right back on the case.

Soon, you and Dean exited the bathroom, both dressed. You were towel drying your hair as you sat on the bed. Sam quietly excused himself into the bathroom and locked the door. Neither of you had noticed his erection, right? It was a bit embarrassing for Sam, but he did have a big cock, and whenever he got hard, it was more than noticeable. 

Sam restarted the shower water and began stripping, as he did this, he noticed something. In the corner of the bathroom sat a pile of clothes. He bit his lip at the garment sitting on top. A pair of black lace panties. Sam’s brain argued with himself over morals, but eventually he snatched the panties, stuffing them into his jean pocket after he slipped them off. Sam stepped into the shower, sighing in relief that he hadn’t been caught with an erection a few moments earlier. Sam shut his eyes and started stroking his cock, his head filled with thoughts of you. Especially the pretty moans you were letting out while Dean fucked you. He wondered what position Dean had you in earlier. Were you up against the wall? Bent over the tub? Was Dean sitting while you bounced on his cock? Sam’s mind ran with endless possibilities. Eventually he spilled all over his hand, in an embarrassingly quick amount of time. 

While Sam was in the bathroom, you and Dean were waiting outside. There was a bit of an awkward silence after what Dean had whispered to you in the shower. It wasn’t super tense, no one was upset, no one was mad, it was just a little awkward.

You cleared your throat and spoke first, “What was that?”

“What was what?” Dean asked, faking looking over the research Sam had gathered.

“In the shower,” you stated, “That dirty talk.”

“I always dirty talk you like that, baby,” Dean replied, avoiding the topic. 

“No, the dirty talk about Sam,” you got specific so he couldn’t avoid it any longer. 

Dean shrugged, “Just came to mind..why? Did you not like it?”

“No, I did, just- it was just different, was wondering what brought it on.”

Before Dean could answer, Sam stepped back out, now dressed in his FBI suit, as you and Dean were.

“You guys ready?” Sam questioned.

“Of course,” Dean stood up, grabbing everything necessary and headed out the door, with you and Sam in tow. You and Sam accidentally ran into each other, trying to go out at the same time. A light blush appeared on both of your cheeks, and neither of you had noticed the others, and Sam took a step back, letting you go first. You gave him a small smile, such a gentleman. It just made you want to know if he was just as respectful in bed or if he had a dark side. 

-

The rest of the day was filled with small, awkward touches between you and Sam. This always made both of you erupt in blush, for different but similar reasons. Oh and Dean saw it all. He didn’t seem like it, but Dean was observant, especially when it came to his girl. He noticed every small touch, every time blush appeared on your cheeks, everything.

Later that night, you three returned to the room. You were first to the shower, heading in and cleaning up. It was a simple hunt, quick salt-and-burn, but you slipped and got yourself all dirty. After about ten minutes, you stepped out of the bathroom, now dressed in Dean’s flannel and just your underwear. It wasn’t uncommon for you to be so exposed in front of Sam. You practically lived together for Christ’s sake. And normally he was respectful, keeping his eyes to himself. But something caused him to look over, looking at your ass as you spoke in careful whispers to Dean.

“Dean, did you do something with my panties?” You asked, setting down the dirty clothes into a grocery store bag to separate them from the clean ones.

“No, sweetheart, you woulda saw me, why?”

“They’re gone.” A puzzled look came onto Dean’s face at this, and he glanced at Sam, and he saw where his eyes were. His eyes were trained right onto your ass. You weren’t paying attention, putting your things back into the duffel you and Dean shared. Dean smirked a little bit and his eyes caught Sam’s. Sam sat still, like a deer caught in headlights. A couple puzzle pieces clicked together in Dean’s mind. Sam did hear you guys this morning, he has been being awkward all day and he was the one that took your panties.

“Hey Sammy,” Dean called out, “You seen her panties? The black pair?”

Sam paused, shocked that Dean just asked that. He took a moment to regain his composure as he realized Dean and you were looking at him. His thoughts were all muddled together and he made a mistake, “No, I haven’t seen any black lace panties.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed and a smirk played on his lips, “How’d ya know they were lace?”

“W-what?” Sam asked, dumbfounded and confused.

“I asked if you seen her black panties, never said they were lace.” Checkmate.

“Oh- I- Um-”

Dean grabbed your waist, possessively and pulled you backwards onto his lap, whispering into his ear, “Whatdya say, baby? Wanna have some fun with Sammy?” With a bite of your lip, you found yourself nodding. Sam wasn’t sure what Dean was whispering, but from the flustered look on your face and the smirk on Dean’s, he knew it couldn’t be good. 

“Yes, sir,” you mumbled.

“And you know the safe word?” Dean quickly checked and you replied ‘whiskey’ under your breath, “Good girl, now go help my brother out of his jeans. Crawl.” At his command, you found yourself on all fours, crawling over to Sam as he sat at the table. Sam’s eyes widened as you did this, but he wasn’t complaining. His eyes flashed from Dean’s eyes to you, his heart was beating out of his chest and Dean spoke up before you touched Sam, “Don’t worry, Sammy. Im a good brother so I’ll share.” You sat up in front of Sam, looking up at him, giving him “fuck me” eyes. 

“Can I touch you, sir?” You quietly asked. Sam nodded, and you immediately reached for his belt, undoing his jeans and pulling his cock out. You licked your lips at the sight, it was just a tad bit longer than Dean’s but it was less girthy. Precum leaked from the tip and you leaned forward, licking it up. Sam moaned at this. Dean chuckled as you took the tip into your mouth.

“You’ll need to excuse his behavior, love. Been a minute since Sammy’s had a good lay,” Dean spoke up and Sam’s face got red.

“Oh shut up,” he barked at Dean. Nothing, not even a pretty woman, could stop the boys from bickering. Sam went to add on but he let out a low moan as you took him deeper in your throat. He finally understood why you and Dean had so much sex, if Sam had a girlfriend this good at sucking cock, he’d have her on her knees every night too. Sam tried to hold back his moans, embarrassed at how much he felt like a teenage virgin. Your tongue traced his cock, eliciting as many moans as he would give you.

“Don’t cum in her, Sammy,” Dean warned, still sitting across the room. He palmed his hard-on at the sight in front of him. Something about seeing his girl pleasuring his baby brother was driving him fucking nuts. Sam nodded and lightly pulled your hair when he was ready to finish. You pulled back, sitting back on your calves, hands folded neatly on your lap, tongue sticking out, eyes looking up at Sam. Dean had you trained well, and soon Sam was blowing his load all over your face. Dean stood up, walking over, looking down at you, “Good girl, baby. How about you give me a treat now?” Sam had missed Dean taking his shirt off but it was off now. He watched you pull Dean’s jeans down, taking his cock into your mouth like you had Sam’s. Sam watched, a bit mesmerized at the scene in front of him. 

Dean smirked, speaking to Sam, “She’s a good little cum slut, surprised we haven’t done this sooner. She’s just always so desperate to get some cock in her.” That turned you on, hearing Dean speak as if you weren’t already in the room. Your pussy clenched, and you spread your legs, gently starting to rub your clit. At this, Dean smacked your cheek, making you moan around his cock, and he warned, “Don’t touch what doesn’t belong to you.” You quickly pulled your hand back and kept working on Dean’s cock.

Sam cleared his throat, speaking up, “You..you have her trained well.” His cock was still out, now half-hard at what he was witnessing.

“Damn straight, I do,” Dean said, taking pride as he tugged on your hair, “She knows she ain’t getting shit if she’s not good.” Sam’s eyes widened, he had never had a girl that he did anything like that with. Most of the girls he had fucked were just a one time thing, and they just had basic vanilla sex. This was new to him and..and he kind of liked it.

Sam bit his lip as he watched Dean cum in your mouth. Dean pulled out, “Show.” You stuck your tongue out, presenting Dean’s cum. 

“Fuck,” Sam unintentionally muttered, now fully hard. Dean smirked.

“Swallow.” You did as you were told. Dean glanced at Dean, seeing the look on her face, “You wanna give it a go? Boss her around? Do whatever you want with her, just don’t cum in my property. She listens real good.” Dean glanced down at you, lightly slapping your cheek and cooing at you, “Ain’t that right, baby?” You nodded and Dean spoke again, “Gonna be good for Sammy?” Another nod. Dean smirked and looked at Sam, waiting to see what he was going to say. It took Sam a minute to think but he eventually spoke up. 

“Strip and sit on my lap,” Sam commanded you and Dean smirked, watching as you listened. You unbuttoned Dean’s flannel and shrugged it off before shimmying out of your panties. Sam looked you up and down, taking in your naked form. He licked his lips, you were prettier than expected. You sat down on Sam’s lap, thighs on either side of him, and hands on your shoulders. Dean sat aside, watching intently. He wanted to see what Sam would do. Sam leaned in and kissed you. It was a hungry but passionate kiss. Sam ran his hands along your body, pinching you nipples and squeezing your hips. He kissed down your jaw, whispering into your ear, “Bounce on my cock.” 

You whimpered but listened, lining yourself up with his cock and lowering yourself down onto it. Sam squeezed your hips tight, and you quietly asked, “Can I take your clothes off, sir?” Sam nodded and you started unbuttoning his flannel.

“Ain’t she pretty, Sammy?” Dean asked, and Sam nodded. Both men looked at you with a certain type of hunger. As you adjusted to the sheer size of Sam, you stripped him of the rest of his clothes, taking a minute to run your hands along his chest.

“She’s really pretty,” Sam commented, looking at your body, “Might have to keep sharing her.” Sam felt you clench around him and he chuckled, “Did our pretty fleshlight like that? You wanna be used?” You quickly nodded and Dean gave a chuckle. 

“That’d be fun, we could get her a pretty collar, keep her in nothing but that,” Dean commented back, biting his lip at the thought of that. You slowly started bouncing on Sam’s cock, lifting and dropping yourself repeatedly. 

“Mmm, she loves that idea, Dean. She’s squeezing me so tight.” You didn’t know where this side of Sam came from. He was usually so sweet, caring, and respectful. But, this, this was new. Not that you minded it. Seeing the respectful brother be disrespectful was so so hot to you.

“Oh is she?” Dean asks with a smirk, speeding up his movements on his cock. Sam moved his fingers to your clit, rubbing it as you pleasured him.

“She is,” Sam replied, groaning as you began convulsing around him signaling your orgasm. Sam leaned in, “Cum for me, baby.” At this, the knot in your stomach broke and you came on his cock. You slowed to a stop and Sam raised an eyebrow, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Huh?” You replied, confused.

“I didn’t cum yet,” Sam explained.

“But my legs-” Sam replied with a swift smack to your ass. You jolted forward, and your eyes filled with tears at the sheer impact. Dean chuckled, amused by this.

Sam wrapped his hand around your throat, “Keep fucking yourself on my cock. Now.” You glanced at Dean, but he wasn’t going to help you. So, like the good trained bitch you were, you continued to bounce on his cock. Sam squeezed your ass tight, watching your tits bounce in his face. He leaned forward, taking a nipple into his mouth.

“Bite them,” Dean recommends and Sam does so, eliciting a moan-scream from you and a clench from your pretty pussy. Your body was so so so tired, but you were a good girl, you would continue to pleasure Sam. Dean found himself getting close, but he didn’t want to cum before you and Sam were done. Sam bit the other nipple, getting another of the same reaction.

“God, you’re a little pain slut, huh?”

“She sure is, bet she could cum just from getting hurt.” Dean egged Sam on.

“Sam please-!” You begged, legs tired, on the edge of an orgasm. Sam growled, turning to Dean.

“I’m gonna creampie your girl’s pussy.”

“Like the fuck you ar-” Dean tried but he stopped, seeing his was too late. Sam came in you, a ton, it leaked out around his cock. You moaned and came with Sam. Although he was just objecting, Dean finished stroking himself to the sight of you two. He then gave Sam a harsh glare.

You panted and laid down, resting on Sam’s chest. Sam smiled and wrapped his arms around you then ran his fingers through your hair. There was the sweet gentle Sammy you knew. You fell asleep there and as soon as soft snores fell from your lips, Sam had one thing to say to Dean.

“Our girl now.”

[frudoo]

For the slasher 141 AU, imagine they didn’t find the guy. He lays low, evading police and CPS until they eventually lose interest, or another case “takes priority” (AKA they can sweep it under the rug.)

141 lies waiting, but maybe it slips their minds, until John gets a call that reader’s been attacked by the guy, or maybe it’s a hostage situation type deal where he has reader and her class under duress while making orders. Does reader dare to try and fight back, knowing her class and the legal trouble it could bring? Does she pretend to comply, until she can overpower him?

Alternatively, 141 using her as bait (consensually ofc) to lure a notorious abuser out of hiding that goes horribly wrong. Love your AU!

I am kissing your brain right now anon

Reader gets some more backstory <3

Part 2 to this.

Warnings: Dark!Fic/DDDNE. Mentions of abuse. Brief mention of teen pregnancy, forced miscarriage, infertility, hysterectomy. Cancer. Cliffhanger ending (sorry!).

“Faster, bitch!”

     You grip the steering wheel tighter, jaw clenched shut. You want nothing more than to smart off to him, but you know better than that. With four armed and dangerous men of your own, you’d think that they would have taught you to check your surroundings at all times, or at the very least to always lock your damn car. You thought it was harmless—all you had to do was run back inside the building to grab your lunchbox you’d left by accident. How were you supposed to know that someone with a vendetta would sneak into your backseat?

     You had forgotten all about the situation for the most part—Oliver had been coming to your class like normal, happy and unscathed, and his mom had been picking him up with no issue. Maybe that’s why you’d assumed the police had taken his father into custody, or that the man simply just didn’t want to come after you. That theory has been completely obliterated, now, with his knife to your neck, barking orders in your ear. 

     “Are you deaf? I said faster!” He’s erratic, positively irate, and you can feel the cool blade pressing harder against your throat. 

     He’s been screaming at you to take him to his wife’s house, and you plan to do just that. You know for a fact that Oliver’s mother has taken him to her parents’ house because she felt unsafe at her own—too many bad memories and the nagging fear that her husband may come back—and for good reason, apparently. The house is totally empty.

     “I’m trying not to get pulled over,” you say plainly, willing yourself not to wince as he leans in closer, hot breath puffing against the side of your face.

     “Whatever. Just- just fucking get there.”

     The man leans back once more, but he’s getting more and more anxious by the second, frantically checking his phone and tapping his leg nervously. You use his distraction as an opportunity to pull out your own cell, quickly searching for one of your lovers’ contacts. You land on John’s, cautiously typing out an SOS and sending it. There’s a read receipt immediately and you know John is already tracking your location, making Simon start the truck and gathering up the other two. 

     You hide your phone before the fuming man behind you can see what you’ve been doing and pray that Simon’s reckless driving will get them at the house around the same time as you do. Your heart and head are pounding with irritation and, for the first time in a while, true fear. 

     Suddenly, you feel like you’re sixteen again, with your father pressing the tip of his blade into your pregnant belly. You can still hear his voice berating you, calling you words no daughter should ever hear from her father. You can still feel the excruciating pain of the bowie penetrating your abdomen right where your womb sat. You can still remember driving yourself to the hospital and being told that you’d lost your baby, and as a result of the knife wound, would never be able to conceive again. There’s emptiness where your uterus should be, loss where there should have been life. Your boyfriend at the time left you after finding out about your hysterectomy. 

     Sometimes you wish you could have been the one to kill your father. Not the stupid fucking cancer that slowly made him hate you less and less as he got weaker. The sickness seemed to take all the spite in his heart and manifest it into a malignant tumor in his pancreas. The doctors found the mass too late, just like your father found some twisted form of love for you far too long after he ruined you. You didn’t have control over his fate, but you do have control over the piece of shit behind you.

     It’s another fifteen minutes of being threatened before you finally make it to the house, and your heart drops when you realize that your boys aren’t there yet. Your mind starts racing—what if they got pulled over? What if they got into a wreck? You don’t know what the hell you’d do without them, especially not now, as the man is dragging you out of the car and forcing you inside the house with him. Thankfully, it’s empty as you expected, but that just infuriates Oliver’s dad more. 

     “Where the fuck are they?” He grabs you by the throat, spittle spraying across your face in his rage. 

     “I don’t know,” you whimper.

     You’re cursing yourself for showing him just how scared you are. He can practically smell your anxiety and it fuels his ego, makes him squeeze your neck so tight that you know it’ll leave bruises. You’ve already resigned yourself to the fact that this is more than likely where you’ll die, with no courage rising up from your belly and none of your boys to have your back. Maybe it’s a fitting end—your father coming back in a different body to finish the job he was too weak to complete all those years ago. 

     “I think you do,” he hisses, tightening his hand and effectively cutting off your air supply.

     Your vision goes spotty and then black, gasping for breath but not even bothering to fight back. At worst, your death will alert the police and your lovers won’t even get to see your body for the last time as you’re dragged to the morgue. At best, the boys will finally show up and get rid of this fucker, albeit too late to save you, but at least they’ll get to see you and take you back home to lay you to rest. Your absence may hurt for a while but things would inevitably go back to normal—and your sweet little kiddos at the daycare. They’re still so young that they won’t remember you after a while, and you take comfort in that fact as you slowly lose consciousness.

     You don’t feel your body hit the ground.

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

hii can u please write an emily x reader fic where emily sees readers sh scars for the first time? and kisses them or smt? if not don’t worry :))

Of course! :) Thanks so much for the request! I hope you enjoy!

Tracing You

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: past self-harm, mental illness, trauma, implied sexual assault/abuse (nothing graphic though!), mentions of afab body parts, discussions of sex Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: You and Emily have been dating for over a month, and you've still haven't let her get to second base. You're scared she'll see your self-harm scars and run for the hills. But, eventually, you'll have to expose them.

You knew it was coming. You always knew, and you always hated it, hated to cut everything short.

Emily was kissing you hard, passionately, as you both lounged on her couch, and you kissed her back. The movie you’d started earlier was long-forgotten. You loved kissing Emily. You could kiss her forever. You loved the way she pushed her body into yours until she was nearly on top of you, as if she physically couldn’t stand to be apart from you–even one centimeter apart. You loved the way she snuck her tongue into your mouth, somehow gentle and rough at the same time. You loved how her fingers felt against your flushed skin–cool and electric. The way she smiled into you. She gave you butterflies.

But you also knew that any minute now, she’d pull up on your shirt, as if asking for permission. You knew that her hands would sneak a little higher up on your torso, and she’d watch you to make sure you were okay. And you knew that, just like you always did, you’d gently push her hands back down, gently tug your shirt back into place, and continue kissing her like nothing had happened.

But that was the problem–nothing had happened. Nothing would happen because you couldn’t bear to let Emily see what was under your shirt. It wasn’t that you were modest, that you had a hard time with sex. What you had a hard time with were the scars that dotted your breasts like a galaxy, scars that even the best of sports bras couldn’t hide entirely. You wanted Emily and, god knows, she wanted you. But you just knew that she’d see them–see those red streaks painted across you like an oil painting of flames–and one of two things would happen.

She might see them and feel sorry for you. And you’d seen that kind of sorry before. It was the kind of sorry that swallowed relationships whole, that changed the way someone thought about you, looked at you, loved you. And you hated that. You were six years into recovery, no relapses, and you were proud of that. You wanted the people who loved you, who saw you at your most vulnerable, to know the you that you used to be, but to love the you that was now. And so often it seemed that people got stuck on the you who dragged safety pins across your skin. You weren’t her anymore. You’d worked hard not to be.

Even worse, Emily might see the scars and find you disgusting. She’d see that there had been something wrong with you, with your brain. She’d know that at some level, there was still something wrong with you. After all, your trauma, your mental illness–they hadn’t gone away. You had spent a whole lot of years in therapy and on medication to deal with them, but they were still a part of you, a part of your story. They were a part that was hard to look at. Even for you. You found those parts of yourself ugly, believed they deserved to be hidden–much like your scars. How much uglier would they be to Emily? Emily, who wasn’t in your mind, who didn’t know what had come before or during or after, and could only see what was left–the evidence that you were not okay.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, Emily’s fingers slipped under your shirt, tentatively dancing up your torso. You let out a shaky sigh and grabbed her hands in yours, deepening the kiss, hoping it was enough to distract her. But it wasn’t. Not this time.

She pulled back and watched you with furrowed eyebrows.

“What?” you prompted, flushing and trying to act like nothing was wrong.

She bit at one of her nails as she watched you, and you pulled her hand away to hold it between both of yours.

“Are you…” She hesitated, like she didn’t quite know how to ask. “Do you want to… break up?” She looked sad, scared. And, for your part, you were sure you looked absolutely shocked.

“What!? No! No, Em, of course not!” You ran gentle fingers over her face, trying desperately to communicate that you absolutely didn’t want to break up and would, in fact, like to never, ever break up.

“You just…” She sighed, picking at her fingernails again. “I love making out with you, but you never want to go any further. And I get it if you’re not ready, that’s completely fine. It’s just… it’s been a while, and I want to make sure you’re not here because… you know, because you feel like you have to be.”

You stared at your hands. You felt like your guilt might swallow you whole. Here you’d thought you were playing it cool, but realistically, what would have been the end game? Never having sex with Emily? Never letting her see your body? You’d been in relational limbo for over a month now, and it had been stupid, so stupid, to assume there wouldn’t be any consequences. She thought you didn’t like her! She thought you weren’t as into her as she was into you! And it was exactly the opposite–you were so into her that it scared you, so into her that it was scarier than it had ever been to show your scars. The thought of losing her–already, even so early on–was terrifying.

“Emily,” you started, rubbing your thumb over her hand. “I’m here because I want to be. I really like you.”

She blinked, thinking harder. “Am I… am I doing something? You know, that makes you… not want to–”

“Oh god,” you groaned, burying your head in your hands. “No, Em. No. You’re beautiful. You’re perfect. I do want to.”

You sighed and looked at her. Her head bent, hands worried. Your self-consciousness was making Emily self-conscious. And you really couldn’t bear that she’d think less of herself because of you.

“Take off my shirt,” you said, bluntly.

“What?”

“Take it off. It’s okay.”

Emily fiddled with a stray piece of upholstery on the couch. “I don’t know, Y/N, this doesn’t seem like the right mood for—”

“Emily,” you pleaded, squeezing one of her hands. You knew if you didn’t do it now, you might never. “Please.”

Emily watched you with concern, but did as you asked, slowly lifting your shirt up and over your head.

You looked up to the ceiling, exhaling shakily, willing yourself not to cry. She would see them. She was seeing it. She saw them. You didn’t know if you could ever look her in the eyes again. You didn’t even know if you could look at yourself.

You felt Emily’s hand press gently into yours, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to look at her. Then you felt one of her fingers, cold for the shock of it more than the actual temperature, at the top of your breasts, the part that peeked out from the bra, littered with angry, red lines that had only somewhat faded over the years.

You felt her trace one of the scars, the whole, long trajectory of it, with her finger, and then when she reached the end, she leaned forward and planted a kiss at its zenith. Your breath caught in your throat as she continued following the scars, kissing you again and again and again until–though you’d worked so hard not to–you had stray tears leaking down the side of your face.

Emily grasped your face in her hands, so gently, so gingerly, and lowered your head, using her thumbs to brush the tears from under your eyes. You still couldn’t meet her eyes.

“Y/N, look at me,” she said softly, caressing your face. You finally forced yourself to look into her eyes, and what you saw there surprised you. It wasn’t pity and it wasn’t disgust. It was something new. Admiration and respect. And–maybe, just maybe–love?

“You’re beautiful,” she told you, staring at you pointedly, holding your face so that you couldn’t look away. “You’re beautiful, and that’s all we’re gonna say about it unless you want to talk more.”

“I feel like you should–” you said, your voice breaking a bit as you sniffled. “You should know why and– and when, and–”

“I am happy to listen to anything you want to tell me,” she assured you. “But I don’t want you to feel like you have to. It’s your story, and you can tell me what you want, when you want. Believe me, though,” she said, smiling mischievously. “I don’t need any more information tonight if you’re not ready.”

“Really?” you asked.

Showing the scars had been hard enough. You didn’t really want to talk about your hellish high school and college years, the man who had touched you there and made you want to rip all your skin off, the years of therapy, the relapses, the depression, the medication. You’d tell her. You’d tell her all of it, you knew. But right now, you wanted to reap the rewards of being brave. The rewards being Emily.

Emily nodded and winked at you, then leaned in to brush her lips against your ear. “Y/N,” she whispered. “The only information I needed was that you had boobs under there.”

You blushed and grinned at her, wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling her in for another heated kiss.

When you pulled away, Emily was nearly panting. You smirked. “I showed you mine. It's your turn.”

[munson-blurbs]

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: Apologies were in order when Eddie's true whereabouts were revealed, but would a rainy evening bring forgiveness or an even harsher storm? (4.6k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, misunderstanding, anxiety, self-deprication, parental conflict, poverty, jealousy, brief touching, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter eight: mind your own business

A simple conversation changed everything.

Admittedly, it was not your conversation, but one you had eavesdropped on. 

You had turned in the final exam for your Experimental Psych class, ruminating over any possible wrong answers as soon as your paper touched the pile on your professor’s desk. Did you get an abnormal amount of Cs in the multiple-choice section? Were your short answers detailed enough?

And then you overheard two guys talking in the hall, one sounding like he’d just chain-smoked a carton of cigarettes. 

“Dude, what the fuck happened to your voice?”

“Lost it at a concert the other night. Totally worth it, though.”

“What concert?”

“Death’s Echo.”

You froze, hoping your sudden stop didn’t draw any attention to you. Death’s Echo had a concert? Where was it? Is that where Eddie was on Monday night?

Potential exam mistakes forgotten, you strode over to the guys on a quest for information. “Excuse me.” Your lips curved into your best customer service smile. “Did you say you saw Death’s Echo?”

The hoarse-voiced one nodded. “Yeah, why? You like them?” His eyes narrowed in assessment; you clearly didn’t embody his expectations of a punk music fan. A fair enough judgment, because you certainly weren’t. 

“Where did they play?” You pressed, ignoring his question. 

“Webster Hall,” he coughed, and his buddy laughed at his apparent pain. “You listen to them?”

“Yup,” you lied easily, not wanting to stick around and have him find out why a “fan” didn’t even know about a local gig. “Um, feel better!” You hurried out of the building, head spinning with this newfound knowledge. 

Webster Hall. It was just over an hour to get there, which meant that the concert must have started late; a practice not unheard of for more up-and-coming bands. The prime time slots went to the headliners who brought in the most money. 

If Eddie had gone to the concert on Monday, why wouldn’t he tell you? Did he think you’d be angry? Disappointed?

Or maybe he just didn’t want you to know he was blowing off work for a concert, you reasoned, and your opinion beyond that is irrelevant. 

Should you ask him about it tonight? Could you? He might hole himself up in his room, ignoring your knocks and only coming out after your shift.

Maybe that was for the best. 

His harsh words from last night continued rattling around your brain, barely taking a reprieve during the test. Honestly, you were grateful you wrote down actual psychological terminology instead of I am a total hypocrite over and over until self-deprecation filled the pages. 

Tomorrow was your last official day of your undergraduate career, your own personal deadline for confessing the truth to your parents, and yet you were no closer to being ready than you were when you first made that silent promise. 

The problem spun a web woven from neurons and synapses, its delicate threads slowly taking over your mind and catching the most daunting tasks. 

NYU Essay revisions Graduation The motel Eisen’s Eddie

Too much. It was all too much, but you couldn’t shake them from their entrapment. You wanted to squeeze your eyes shut and only open them once everything had been resolved. 

You had a fleeting thought of boarding the bus and remaining seated as it rolled past the motel, leaving it all behind and reclaiming your sanity. Running away was always an option, in theory; realistically, you would be overwrought with guilt before the bus made it to the next stop. 

What you’d once considered loyalty was now stained with splotches of cowardice. 

Maybe one day, you would be able to see yourself the way you wanted to be seen: as a trailblazer, a go-getter, a woman in pursuit of her dreams. 

Today was not that day. 

Rain streamed down from the clouds in thick sheets as though compensating for the week’s idle threats of stormy weather. It pelted against the motel’s windows like a steady drumbeat that wouldn’t be drowned out by your clock radio cranked up to its maximum volume. 

Darkness loomed in the night sky, heavier than usual. Wind accompanied the rain, jostling the power lines and making the lights flicker. 

If the electricity went out tonight…

You couldn’t finish that thought, not when the front door swung open to reveal Eddie, drenched from head to toe. His curls clung to his forehead, his cheeks, the back and sides of his neck; his chest heaved beneath a faded Black Sabbath t-shirt that was saturated with rainwater. 

He stood in the doorway for a moment, unmoving and catching his breath. 

This was your chance to apologize. To admit what you know—what you might know. The timing of the Death’s Echo concert could have been a coincidence, but your intuition told you it wasn’t. 

Another awkward smile that didn’t reach his eyes, a tentative “hey,” and he was trudging past you without attempting to stop.

Opportunity went as quickly as it came. Every word you had planned had been scrambled like a tornado swept through your brain and left gibberish-laden debris. 

The version of you that had confidently confronted him about smoking pot a few weeks ago would have scoffed at the way you failed to utter a simple apology. But this was much more complex. 

Eddie’s forgiveness—if he forgave you—was only half of the battle. His blatantly false accusations about your work ethic had cut too deep to ignore. 

Did he really think that little of you? Or was that his own defensiveness rearing its ugly head and taking over?

Then came a cry from down the hall.

“Of fuckin’ course!” Eddie boomed loud enough to be heard beyond his closed door. “Goddammit!”

You abandoned the desk, grabbing your essay papers and bolting to his room. He was at the window, violently pushing down on the pane, but it remained open. The shirt he’d been wearing earlier laid right next to the door as though he’d peeled it off as soon as he stepped into the room. 

Your eyes landed on the dusting of hair that was now plastered to his pecs, another effect from the weather, the soft brown tendrils partially obscured by his demon head tattoo. 

This wasn’t the first time you’d seen him bare-chested. The night he had arrived, he answered your knock in only his Calvin Klein boxers. He was wearing Fruit of the Loom tonight, the elastic waistband exposed from the weight of his rain-sodden jeans. 

Heat burned in your belly, a sensation you hadn’t experienced in a long while. 

“Little help?” Eddie grunted impatiently, and you nodded, tossing the essay onto his nightstand among a sea of his own handwritten papers. 

Had he caught you staring? 

He moved over, bringing both of his hands to the right side so you could press both of yours to the left. The combined force was enough to smack it closed, the resulting burst of wind sending the papers airborne. They floated to the ground, paragraph-laden parachutes, but all you could focus on was the patch of carpet beneath you. It was completely soaked, visibly darker where the rain had seeped in, and it squelched under your sneakers.

“I’ll grab towels.” You started towards the door, pausing to scoop up a sheet of looseleaf that had landed near your feet. It was obviously Eddie’s; his was not as meticulously curated as yours, full of scratch-outs and barely legible, but the words you could make out were enough to pique your interest.

Want what I can’t have

She’s got me mixed fucked mixed up

You couldn’t read any more of it without him noticing, and you certainly did not want to get caught snooping after upsetting him, so you placed it on the bed as casually as you could.

There were extra towels stored in the supply closet, and you jogged back to the lobby, mentally calculating how many you’d need to sop up the mess. Taking as many as you could carry, you perched your chin atop the oversized pile and lumbered into Eddie’s room, dropping them to the ground. 

To your dismay, he had put on a new shirt, but it did nothing to temper your thoughts of running your fingertips over his inked skin. 

The air was now rife with the scent of burning tobacco, the cigarette between Eddie’s lips already smoked halfway to the filter.

“Thanks.” It was muffled and gruff, hardly an olive branch, but it was enough to tug the corners of your mouth in a tepid smile.

You wanted to stay, wanted to ask about what he had been writing, but Eddie snatched up your essay papers from where they’d scattered before you could ask. He shoved them towards you, leaving the edges creased where they crinkled under his grip. 

“Don’t worry, I didn’t vandalize them,” he sneered. A gray cloud whorled from his lips as he spoke, but it didn’t hide his sarcastic grin. 

You steeled your gaze and forced yourself to look just above the glowing ember and into his eyes. “I’m sorry.” You let your apology float downwards, watching for any indication of a softening expression, but he remained tense. 

“You didn’t even bother asking where I was,” he spit. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, less abrasive this time. “I assumed...because you were so mean to Ben…” Any further explanation felt too much like an excuse, so you left the sentence unfinished.

Eddie’s chest deflated slightly, his bravado extinguished. He’d been expecting a fight, you realized. 

You refused to give him one. 

“Were you at Webster Hall?” Your voice deliberately turned up at the end, careful to pose it as a question rather than a declaration. Certainly not as an accusation. 

Eddie flinched, his forefinger and thumb quickly pinching his cigarette to keep it from falling. “What?”

“Monday night,” you said. You pushed your right foot into the mound of towels, hit with a sudden bout of antsiness. “Was your errand seeing Death’s Echo play at Webster Hall?”

He said nothing, just looked at you. Really looked at you, assessing whether or not you deserved to know the truth. 

The admission came out gradually, as if it was being met with resistance, pulled from a place so deep he had forgotten its existence. 

“Yeah.” 

“Why?”

Eddie took another drag from his cigarette. He held the smoke in his lungs until forced out with a cough. “Wanted to hear how they sounded with their new, ah, frontman.”

Lower lip tucked snugly beneath your front teeth, you nodded. “And how did they sound?”

“Great. Really fuckin’ great.” His wry smile held more sadness than amusement. “Better than when I was with them.”

Your heart lurched. Without thinking, you reached out and took his hand, giving it just a little squeeze before letting go. “I know that’s not true,” you said. “I heard you playing on Sunday, and you’re good, Eddie. Not just anyone could pull off playing Metallica without an amp, but you did.” 

You wished he could see himself from your perspective, see the man whose talent was too vast for a dingy subway station, whose music deserved to be heard by sold-out crowds at The Garden.

Eddie didn’t agree, but he didn’t disagree, either. His face remained neutral, and given the circumstances, you considered that a win.

“I can work tonight. Hang the new wallpaper.” A lightning-speed subject change, but you were becoming accustomed to seamlessly shifting tracks to follow his train of thought. “I’ll be back out as soon as I finish this.” He lifted the cigarette to his mouth again and you nodded, closing the door behind you.

Part of you expected him not to return. If his brain worked like yours, he would overthink the conversation, replaying it over and over until he’d wrung out all the positives and left it saturated with the negatives. He’d opt to stay in his room and smoke out his pack, leaving the wallpaper job unfinished. But you heard the door hinge creak and his footsteps pattering into the lobby.

One thousand words flooded your brain to form myriad sentences, from a joking long time, no see to a much more serious who were you writing about?

Ben thought Eddie had feelings for you, ones that stretched past the platonic confines. But he’d only met him once, briefly. He didn’t really know him. 

Want what I can’t have She’s got me mixed up

Did you really know him?

Eddie had an endless list of things he couldn’t have, which often was the case for people facing poverty. As for the girl who had him mixed up, you couldn’t narrow that down, either. The only women you’d seen him interact with were Phyllis (an unlikely muse, but it wouldn’t be the most bizarre case of unrequited love you’d ever heard of), your mom (again, not likely), and you. 

There was no doubt you had him mixed up. Maybe even fucked up, as he’d written and crossed out. But had you had enough of an effect on him to warrant poetry or song lyrics–

Song lyrics.

It all clicked into place: The band; more specifically, the drummer who happened to be his ex-girlfriend. He’d gone to see them play. He could have spoken to her, and maybe realized that a spark was still present. A real spark, not whatever pathetic flicker you might have felt that night when he’d held your hand as you removed wallpaper, or when you’d exchanged gentle touches after his unfortunate wasp’s nest encounter, or when he’d loomed over you in the subway car and a delicate dip in your belly made itself known.

You decided that this explanation, the one in which you had little to no involvement, held the most logic. His inspiration was his past love–potentially his current love–and your argument was a mere distraction from a much more complicated situation.

A natural silence fell over the lobby, a healing balm over the wound you’d taken turns picking at and reopening. It was the perfect setting to finish editing your essay, and yet you found the task impossible. Any threatening grammatical errors paled in comparison to the slight movements of Eddie’s back muscles, visible through his white cotton shirt as he smoothed down the wallpaper panels. 

The pronounced flex of his tricep as he drove the paper cutter above the moldings with utter precision. 

The soft grunt that escaped his lips as he pressed on his thighs to stand up and admire his handiwork. 

You didn’t know how long you’d been staring at him before the slamming front door snapped you out of it. 

“L-Looks good,” you managed, throat suddenly bone-dry. 

Eddie crossed his arms, took a small step back, and nodded. Wide brown eyes scoured the wall for any uneven edges or unglued seams, his lips pursed in concentration. “Not my best work but, uh, it’ll do.” He smirked at you, then jutted his chin to your left.

A middle-age man stood beside the desk, rainwater dripping off of the slope of his nose. He held an umbrella, turned inside out and rendered useless by the wind. 

“Sign out front says ‘vacancy.’” He grumbled and swiped at his bushy eyebrows, revealing a sliver of beer gut when he raised his arm. “Just need a room for the night.”

“Mhm, of course.” You found your footing with a polite smile and collected the stranger’s money, just as you always had, just as you were supposed to. Because you were at work, and that was your job–not watching Eddie hang wallpaper.

As you scanned the wall behind you for a key, a warm whisper tickled your ear, breath tinged with a smoky aroma. A shiver reflexively wiggled down your spine as Eddie spoke, your body unused to this level of proximity.

“Put him away from my room. He looks like a snorer.”

You tucked your lips into your mouth to stifle your laughter. Eddie was right; you weren’t quite sure what it was about the man, but he did look like he snored. Loudly. 

You meant to look over your paper after your shift, but sleep was too seductive to resist. Just one more day, one more final exam, and then you were done. At least until August. 

Summer stretched before you, and though you would still be spending nights behind the desk, your days were wide open. 

Days that might be spent alongside Eddie. 

There was no formal apology from him last night, a fact that nagged at you throughout the bus ride to school and prevented you from looking past the first page of your essay. That, and the burdens of shame both you and Eddie carried: yours from the blatantly wrong accusation, his from…what, exactly? Why was he embarrassed to tell you where he’d been?

The wound was still too raw last night to press on it, to ask further questions; instead, you kept the conversation light and airy. The only foray into dangerous territory came from Eddie himself when he asked about the vandalism at Eisen’s. You couldn’t answer fast enough before clumsily pivoting the discussion to the warming weather.

And maybe it was your inner people pleaser that craved reconciliation, needed it to unfurl and bloom like a budding rose, that lowered your guard and bade you to talk with him. But people-pleasing didn’t explain the warmth that crept through your body, lazily winding through your veins, when he laughed at your jokes.

That laugh–the gentle nose scrunch it evoked, the lightheartedness it exuded, how it chiseled away at the remaining iciness between you. It was all you thought about that night, your heart relaxing as the friendship was no longer in limbo. 

But when you got to class and flipped through your essay one last time, that newfound homeostasis meant nothing. Yes, there were ten pages present and ready to be stapled, but unless your conclusion focused on angsty song lyrics, you were missing the final page.

Dread’s chill pricked at you, followed by an overbearing wash of heat. The granola bar you’d scarfed down threatened to make a reappearance. 

Stupid. How could I have been so careless? All I had to do was check before I left home, but I was too busy thinking about Eddie to do the bare minimum.

It was a bad dream; you’d wake up and find yourself in bed with your full essay safely stored in your bag. All you had to do was wake up and page ten would be a continuation of psychological development in infancy. 

Your eyes opened hopefully, but you were still in the classroom, and the page still beared Eddie’s sloppy scrawl:

I’m the castle She’s the queen Can’t be a king I’m too obscene

The lyrics a few lines down stopped mid-sentence:

Crushed beneath a broken dream Failed to launch now I

You were wasting precious time. If you left now, you could probably make it home and back before the professor left. You’d have to fork over the money for a dollar cab and forgo your afternoon coffee, but it was a sacrifice you needed to make. 

Stupid stupid stupid—

Your name being called drew you from your pit of self-loathing. It wasn’t Nora; the voice was too masculine and too far away for it to come from beside you. 

It was someone with the same name. Just a coincidence. 

And then you heard it again. Loud enough so it echoed down the hall, but not frantic. And yet your heart fluttered in your chest. 

Eddie. 

There was no way; he couldn’t be—

You squeezed past Nora and thundered towards the door, trying to quell your hopes before they rose too high. 

But there he stood, sweat pasting his hair to his forehead. His chest heaved beneath a white cotton undershirt that was tight around the biceps. Deep brown eyes lit up when he spotted you in the doorway, his lips curving in a triumphant smile. 

“I have your paper!” Sure enough, your conclusion paragraph was clenched in his calloused hand.

You could have cried with relief. Fueled by gratefulness and residual adrenaline, you flung your arms around him. Your hands found his back muscles; at first tensed, almost reflexively, but quickly relaxed. The paper crinkling between your torsos jarred you out of the moment, and you took a step back before he could return the gesture—if he even would have. 

“Sorry, I…” Words suddenly evaded you, eviscerated by the musky scent of his deodorant. He didn’t appear to be uncomfortable, all soft doe eyes and lazy grins from his unlikely heroism, but…still. Your relationship now teetered between employee and friend, and you couldn’t afford to knock it off-balance. “How did you get here so fast? And how did you find me?”

Eddie exhaled a chuckle. “Took a cab. And when I got here, I asked every other person where the psychology classes were.”

“You walked from where the dollar cab dropped you off?” How many blocks was that? No wonder he was sweating. 

His cheeks, already flushed from exertion, tinged a deeper shade of pink. “N-No, I, um…it was a regular cab.”

Sheer disbelief widened your eyes. He must have dipped into his meager savings to shell out the money for an actual cab, putting him even farther behind in his journey home. 

“I…” There were one thousand ways to finish your sentence. 

I can pay you back. 

I can’t believe you did this for me. 

I am so sorry I ever doubted your character. 

I wish we’d hugged just a moment longer. 

You finally settled on a string of words that required no courage at all, just a genuine thankful smile. “I have your lyrics. Let me turn in my paper and I’ll grab them for you.”

Eddie’s timid expression shifted into one of amusement. “Shit, yeah,” he said with a laugh. “Was wondering where those went.”

Opportunity splayed out in front of you, tempting you to ask him about the woman who had him mixed up. Every cell in your body ached to know if she was the same queen he’d placed on a royal pedestal, unattainable despite his valiant efforts. 

Was it fear or politeness that held your tongue? You weren’t supposed to see the lyrics in the first place; how could you justify your questions? Sorry I read your innermost thoughts without permission, but could I pick your brain about them?

Any doubts about your intentions were confirmed when he took the page from you, cocked his head, and asked: “What’d you think?”

There it was. Your opening. You could see it, practically touch it, your fingertips brushing the chance to admit that the songs’ mysterious inspiration gnawed at you—

But then he might ask why you wanted to know. And, quite honestly, you lacked the energy to figure it out for yourself. The desire was too strong to be nosiness, too personal to be gossip. 

Not to mention the inexplicable sourness that burned your esophagus when you’d considered the high probability that he’d written them about his ex-girlfriend. 

“Really good,” you managed. “I can’t wait for the finished product.”

Coward. 

“Me, too,” he agreed with a laugh. “I’m sure the folks at the train station are dying to hear it.”

“The rats’ll give you a standing ovation.”

He snickered. “My biggest fans.” 

A hand squeezing yours prevented you from getting lost in the slight dimple that appeared when he smiled. Nora now stood beside you, expression innocuous to Eddie or any other man, but her dark brown eyes silently asked, are you okay?

I’m fine, you replied with a squeeze of your own, grateful for someone who swooped in seeing you with a man she didn’t know.

“Nora, this is Eddie,” you introduced her. “He’s–he’s my friend who’s been helping us out around the motel. Eddie, this is Nora, best friend and study buddy extraordinaire.”

“Ahh, Wallpaper Boy.” Nora furrowed a brow. “You go to school here?”

Eddie cleared his throat and scratched the back of his head. “No, I…she left her paper, so…” He trailed off as though embarrassed by his chivalry. 

“So now she can graduate!” Nora wrapped you in an embrace so tight that you briefly worried about your shoulder dislocating. She leaned in knowingly, her tone teasing with an air of seriousness. “And keep me company at the ceremony, right?”

You rolled your eyes, acutely aware that Eddie was watching the entire interaction. The last thing you wanted was attention drawn to the fact that you weren’t attending graduation. “Maybe,” was all you said, and Nora left it at that.

There was an awkward beat before anyone spoke again, and it was Eddie who eventually filled the silence. “Heading home now?” He asked you, already starting towards the building’s doors. 

“No, I’m going to Eisen’s. I promised Ben that I’d help clean the graffiti.” You braced yourself for a volatile reaction, or at least something akin to annoyance, but his response was more surprising than any snarky remark. 

“I’ll come with.”

Cocking a disbelieving brow, you did your best to keep your tone free of judgment. You were waiting for the gotcha, but you couldn’t let him know that. “Seriously?”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah, why not? I’ve got the day free, and I have some…expertise in graffiti removal.” He relented with a shrug when you and Nora exchanged curious glances, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “My trailer got hit a time or twelve back in the day. The tragic life of a Satan-worshiping freak, y’know?”

“But I bet the vandalizers were upstanding citizens.”

“Keys to the city and everything.” Eddie stuck out his hand, palm up, and you could see the details etched into his pale skin. Calluses decorated the pads of his fingers; you’d assumed they were mostly from guitar playing, but now you could add physical labor to their origins. He looked down at his hand, then back at you. “Shall we?”

Your own hands were suddenly slick with anxious perspiration, like a middle school student on her first-ever date. Even that juvenile scenario held more significance than this—two friends scrubbing down a hardware store was a far cry from the Sandra Brown romance novels you secretly devoured in high school. 

And yet, you felt it—that soft electricity that crackled through your whorls of fingerprints when you slid your palm against his, the jolt of energy as he tugged you forward and laced his fingers with yours. If he noticed the nervousness that embarrassing seeped from your pores, he didn’t mention it. 

Nora, ever astute, excused herself with a story about not wanting to miss the bus, but not before whispering in your ear, “he’s cute.” An approval that would almost certainly be followed up with a phone call later to discuss the fine details of the afternoon’s escapades. 

There are no ‘escapades,’ you reminded yourself. You’re removing graffiti, not embarking on a Parisian vacation. 

Eddie led the way until he reached the building’s doors, blinking as his eyes once again adjusted to the sunlight. “I, uh, I have no idea where we’re going.”

You laughed at his candor. “Follow me.”

It was an opportunity to break the grasp, to unleash the anxiety that threatened to cleave you and Eddie back into two separate pieces. He was dangerous because he was temporary; if you allowed him in even farther than you already had—beyond the confines of friendship—his inevitable departure would destroy you. 

Let go. Let go. Let. Go. 

And yet you kept holding on, adjusting only to take the lead. Eddie’s thumb brushed against yours, pausing just at the knuckle to press down in subtle acknowledgment. 

Hi. 

You pressed back with an accompanying smile. 

Hi. 

This time when you reached the subway station, you both jumped the turnstile. 

--

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[bunny-lily]

Tether Me - Prologue

Pairing(s): Geto/Gojo/Reader Summary: You ran.

It's what you did in life. It's all you knew how to do. You ran, ran, and kept running and never stopped, because if you stopped, it meant you were trapped, chained, a bird with shredded wings in a gilded cage.

So, how did you end up here, tucked away into a little village in rural Japan, falling into the depths of two black holes with no way to escape?

How could you run from this? From them?

…Would you? CW: No y/n | polyamory | slow burn | slice of life | alt au - no curses | fluff | light angst | eventual smut | forgive me, there's internal monologues | I like using big words... | Gojo & Geto are whipped for you | emotionally constipated reader | (most of the tags have been condensed, you can find the full list on my ao3 here) AN: this is just the prologue chapter, sort of exposition. No bois in this one (technically), but I'm posting chapter 1 at the same time as the prologue. As a heads up, my most comfortable place for posting my longer fics like this is ao3. You can find more of my blurb thoughts on there. I'm not the best at tumblr posting, so forgive me pls ;-;

Ch: Prologue | Ch: 1 | Ch: 2 | Ch: 3 | Ch: 4 | Ch: 5 - 1 | Ch: 5 - 2

WC: 9.4k

You’ve always likened yourself to a kite, but less pretty and enjoyable.

Every time you glanced at a kite in the children’s toy section, or watched as thousands flew in the sky during festivals, your eyes stung and something bitter and uncomfortable twisted in your gut. In a way, you saw yourself in them; fragile little creatures tethered to the earth by no fault of their own. So easy to snap – to break.

They were always trapped, chained down, forever bound to either get reined back in after one had their fill of fun, or to fall like tragic angels to the ground when the winds died, and they would once again be unable to travel free amongst the stars where they belonged. All thanks to the threads wrapped around their very bones, far too strong for something that looked so thin and prone to fraying.

Yet nobody ever did release the chains. Who would willingly free their prized, imprisoned bird?

Of those pretty, unfortunate kites, you lamented with them. 

You, too, were pinioned to solid ground. Your wings were clipped, feathers torn from flesh one by one until you were born in a body that could no longer fly. Responsibilities, duties, relationships – they all kept you drowning in a suffocating pile of down-stuffed pillows, filled with plumes that were once yours. They progressively got heavier and heavier, locking your limbs between illusions of comfort and safety, sitting on your chest and flooding your mouth until you choked and gagged and couldn’t breathe.

You were different from kites, sure, beyond the very obvious things. You weren’t a pitifully flimsy, inanimate toy, left forgotten in some closet, awaiting the one day you’d be remembered, taken out, and allowed to taste the breath of deities themselves again. But if you could glide in the wind like they could, oh, nothing would bring you more joy, more solace, even if you were still tied down. All for just a kiss of freedom.

You ached to be detached from everything and everyone. An untethered kite, a fledgling bird learning to fly, a paper lantern that glowed its very joy from within for all to see.

Paper lanterns.

You couldn’t stand paper lanterns, because you yearned so deeply to be one. How wonderful it would be to have a warmth alight inside you as you rose to the heavens, lighter than air. 

You envied them. 

They made you nauseous with longing.

They made you want to stretch your fingers high and try to catch one within your palm like a cascading star.

They made you want to reach your fist past your throat and rip out your heart barehanded, just to make the accursed thing stop pounding so goddamned hard in your stomach as it sank lower and lower with each additional candle that got to join their family of stars beyond celestia. 

Because, for fuck’s sake, you belonged up there, too. Free, flaring, blazing and flickering so spectacularly that philosophers would wax poetic about you for ages to come.

It wasn’t fucking fair for you to be stuck on Mother Nature’s spine like this, burdened by the neutron star in your body that just grew more and more dense, urging you to dive into the ocean and let it snare you into its depths. You didn’t choose to spawn with a spirit disconnected from the flesh that acted as its prison, you didn’t choose to be jailed like this.

So, why?

Maybe that’s one of the reasons you were drawn to kites. You pitied them. You pitied yourself.

You weren’t a kite. You didn’t want to be one, to have your boundless form fettered down. But when you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, that’s all you could ever see staring back at you. A kite with faded, worn out paints that barely clung to the tattered paper, feebly held together by thin strips of bamboo that had been aged and mottled from the inside out by time.

You hated paper lanterns. You hated kites. You hated yourself.

As the years dragged on, from the moment your brain snapped into your body with the sudden realization that you were a conscious, living, breathing person, those ugly feelings festered and spread like a fungus that refused to abate even a trace, just a second so you could catch a breath of fresh air that didn’t reek of mildew.

The seconds spanned on for eons without prejudice, destroying your cells at the molecular level with each passing birthday that trudged reluctantly along.

In the back of your mind, the sensation of being asphyxiated by your own feathers that had been shorn away from you etched itself deeper and deeper into your psyche. You became restless, antsy, the variegated world around you fading rapidly. Colors you once saw as a child, before you could latch the inherent sense of wrongness in your chest to a concept, gradually dulled until all you were left with was a world tinged heavily in gray.

The streets you were raised on grew denser, despite the amount of people living on them never actually changing noticeably. The verdant grass of your backyard turned into a dominating presence everytime you laid your eyes on it, unruly and all-consuming, demanding an undivided attention you did not want to give. The orange beams that hung over black asphalt instilled a sense of panic in you that wasn’t there before. 

You used to be fond of walking around your neighborhood in the middle of the night, when you rightfully should have been sleeping. An inverted circadian rhythm suited you well when you were young, unaware that the crushing sensation under your sternum would only get worse. 

Now, though, the thought of straying out where there wasn’t enough light to see straight ahead made sweat form on your chest and palms while your teeth clattered from a nonexistent chill.

Everything caved in on you. Not in a rush, not in a cataclysmic flood. No, you didn’t discern you were fighting for air until you were already gasping fruitlessly. Lost, terrified, unsure, you could only bear witness to the collapse of your own mind.

Then, one day, a soft voice whispered in your ear.

Run.

It wasn’t a threat, not some ominous warning of death looming over your shoulder. It was a suggestion, an offering, an olive branch towards that freedom you coveted. It was salvation. 

Who were you to ignore the hand of deliverance?

The first time you changed your scenery, moved elsewhere, even if it was only a few streets away from your childhood home, felt incredibly liberating. After so long that you had forgotten how it felt, you got the chance to gulp down air as if you had surfaced from beneath the perdition sea after spending your whole existence beneath it. 

Color returned to your world, excitement formed anew, everything felt right. Achromatic wastelands turned into kaleidoscopic meadows, fulgent and lucid. You savored it, reveled in it, frolicked and danced and lived.

…It didn’t last. 

Not long. You exhaled, and it all vanished, sand swept away by an uncaring and spiteful hand.

Once you had become used to the environment, when you no longer had to actively remember where your flat was, or how long it took to get to the store, everything was washed out; water dumped on a painting that had yet to form defined shapes.

That crushing sensation had returned, and with it the reminder that, as much as you wished you weren’t, you were a kite. Tethered, perpetually confined, worn bamboo strips and thin paper threatening to rend under the drag.

Thus, you ran again. A new town, a new city, a new skyline. Euphoria nestled cozily under your breast like a second heart, purring contentedly as it curled up on the nest of blankets it created for itself.

New places, new faces, new people. All of it was fascinating to you beyond measure. It interested you to no end to learn about other human beings; their thoughts, their perspectives, their preferences. What they despised with grit teeth and barely restrained anger clenched in trembling fists; what they loved so dearly that they could never drown beneath the same waves that followed your heels, tide rising progressively. 

They glowed from within, bright and budding and vibrant. Their eyes flickered with life, glazed so clearly that stars sparkled in the depths of their hues. You were drawn to them, a moth to mesmerizing fire.

You felt free. You rode that high as much as you could, for as long as it would allow.

Until a realization struck you with the force of a bullet train one night. A man hung onto your arm, easy laughter shared between the two of you as you let him take you home. Alcohol tinged his breath, but not enough to give him anything more than a slight buzz. He was a total gentleman through and through, and you listened with eagerness as he spoke about his upcoming work project, his excitement palpable with every word. 

His hand linked with yours, fingers intertwined, his warm palm engulfing yours. There was a comfort in that transient window of time, one you held to your heart. It was so unfamiliar, so addictive. And as you stopped before your door, having completely forgotten of your lack of wings, you waited with bated breath for him to slant into you.

A pair of infirm lips, minutely chapped and tasting of wine, pressed against yours, and dread exploded in your gut.

He pulled away from you, lovestruck in the way his eyes shone as he looked into your own, and reality crashed down on you with horrors in three measures, shattering like broken glass in the vortex of your conscious thought.

When you stared at him, watched the way he opened his mouth to speak, you made the connection.

“I really like you,” he had murmured to you that night, nearly shy. Yearning. Hoping.

Paper lantern.

“I want to ask you out properly.”

Tether. 

His words sank into your skin like ice, digging deep, burrowing into your marrow.

Kite.

The illusion of pellucid skies of the richest shades cracked, the lush plains you fantasized of often turned to barren heaths, and all those tormenting feelings came back to choke your breath with a vengeance. Sickly fingers wrapped around your throat, sunk into your mouth, dug past your gag reflex, wrapped around your ankles and wrists until you could barely lift your feet just to move forward. 

You remembered with great disdain what you were. You had managed to sever your thread by running off from the pod you were born in, but it wasn’t a clean cut. The string hung off your fragile wooden bones loosely, just waiting for somebody to grab and yank, to shred your freedom away from you once again, to leave you knotted around a pole to sit like decoration and stay.

You were not free.

You were not a paper lantern. You did not gleam from your soul like he did. You did not pour light from your heart and words and touch.

You’d do anything to forget that, to prove that sentiment wrong, to show the world that you weren’t a rock thrown into a pond. You’d do anything to change the narrative, to force a rewrite. So, you did what you always did.

You ran.

You found somewhere else to live, blipping off the radar unannounced. One moment you were there, the next you had cut your lingering thread an inch shorter, following the wind blindly like a duckling to your next destination.

Each time you settled down somewhere, you had this silent hope: maybe this is where I’ll be happy.

You clung to that hope, fervently ignoring the screeching whisper in your ear that said otherwise. The next place was never the final one. It never would be, no matter how hard you tried to delude yourself into believing you weren’t a lost soul, unable to move on. Some pathetic ghost you’d make, if you weren’t one already.

Whenever you let yourself rest for a heartbeat too long, the rope you had trimmed ever shorter was skimmed too close by too-warm fingertips, and you fled again, and again, and again.

That’s all you seemed to know nowadays.

Perhaps proven now, as you sat on a train in a foreign country, absentmindedly watching rural landscapes race past the window. Your knuckles pressed indents into your cheek, the sensation unpleasant and nearing on painful, though you had stopped paying any mind to it a while ago. Your thoughts laid scattered at your feet, and you couldn’t be bothered to pick them up.

Rather, the white matter of your brain was being filled with the empty, buzzing tune of songs you’d heard a hundred times over playing through your earbuds at the loudest volume possible. It made things easier to manage during this grand, several-thousand-mile-long trip. The less thinking you had to do, the better. It was the absolute last thing on your bucket list, loitering just under the cutoff line, hoping to sneak in a few words you refused to listen to.

You couldn’t let yourself regret this. You wouldn’t.

Not now, not after you’d already dropped everything and dissipated beyond the welkin’s gaze. You had only one place you could go to at all now, and you were already on your way there.

So if you had to blast your eardrums out to bridle the whisper-shouting voices spurned by overthinking, so be it.

Rice paddies blurred by, blending in from one farm to the next. The sun reflected off the waters the stalks soaked in, absorbing the warmth the light provided and feeding the plants with the fruit of life. Somewhere along the way, you had begun counting each field you passed for no particular reason.

You thought it’d lull you to sleep like counting sheep, subconsciously desiring to sink into a dreamless abyss and catch up on the hours that had been eluding you every night for months up to this point, given how far away you still were from your destination. But your cerebrum was not kind to you, and your body refused to succumb to the tempting allure of nothingness.

Thus, you remained as you were, counting paddies as the day never quite moved forward. The sun dwelled high, trying to glare down on you, but it couldn’t get the angle right to invade the shade of your tiny cabin room on the train.

It stayed stuck to the center of the sky, mighty and proud. But then, after what seemed like only a few seconds, you blinked, and suddenly it was hanging off the horizon’s ledge.

With a slight jolt, you realized the train had decreased in speed, and was continuing to lose momentum as it approached an isolated station, all alone in the countryside. You checked the time on your phone, your eyes feeling unusually heavy and sticky. It was only early night, but you were worn down to your sinew.

Right. Jet lag. You had hopped on a plane and traveled to the other side of the planet on a whim, another desperate attempt to grab onto the concept of freedom you craved. It didn’t take you longer than a week to find a small house deep in the pastoral lands of Japan, where mountains wrapped around the valley like a scarf. You chose Japan, if only because you learned the language when you were studying abroad some years ago.

It resided in a town of such a low population, blissfully around 600, it was a wonder you could even find a train that took you this far to begin with. Of course, that meant the house was decently rundown, with a community small enough to consider it unnecessary to repair. You couldn’t care less. All that meant to you was that it was cheaper to buy it outright than rent a more maintained structure. Buying it was a risky move, given your track record of up and ditching the last bed you slept on without any hindrance, but, at this point, you were tired.

You just wanted to be somewhere for longer than a month or two. Maybe owning a house was contrary to your desires to be unbound, with no board to pin your tattered and thin wings to, sure, the pros far outweighed the cons.

Cheap shelter, little to no people, far, far away from anywhere you’d been before. Three for three.

It’d still be a 45 minute drive or so before you actually got to your new residence, but you weren’t in any particular rush. You chose the most isolated place on purpose. Less people, less deafening sounds, less claustrophobic, brutalist structures that loomed higher and higher.

Less chance of being tied down.

With a hiss and a loggy wheeze, the train settled into place, jostling you as you got to your feet and stretched your arms above your head. The muscles in your back and shoulders twinged from sitting in the same position all day, and your legs stung like sparklers, but it was nice to work your joints properly again. After tucking away your phone and earbuds, you tugged your luggage down from the overhead rack with a grunt.

You were hopeful that there’d be taxis outside the station, and that you wouldn’t have to walk to the village. Who knows how long that would take. You’d probably keel over after the first mile. The thought made you snort while you squeezed down the aisle, suitcase with your bag stacked on it rolling behind you, purse strapped across your torso. The conductor – a sweet, older man – nodded silently to you as you disembarked, waving a farewell to you, which you returned. He was nice, you remembered him greeting you when you first boarded. 

He didn’t talk much, just a polite, “welcome aboard,” while the ticket collector pointed you in the direction of your cabin, which you greatly appreciated after hopping off a plane and hurrying your ass over to your required station. You were too spent for conversation.

Leaving the station was much easier than you expected. Unlike your home country, where you could get lost just by turning 45° to the left, Japan seemed to prefer neater environments that were easy to navigate. And, upon stepping out of the building, you rejoiced at spotting a few variously colored cabs waiting along the curb. Outside of one stood a man, roughly in his 50s or so, who waved you over.

“Need help getting somewhere, miss?” He questioned, and you nodded as you pulled out your phone, scrolling through your emails to find the one confirming your purchase of the listing. 

“Yeah, could you take me here?”

He glanced down at your screen when you showed him the address and chuckled quietly. “Well, that’s a surprise. Last time I visited that house was some twenty years ago to take the owner to the station, rather than from.”

You blanched nominally. Twenty years? Had your house really been abandoned for twenty years? The listing claimed it was only ten max, that estate bastard. A sigh left through your nose. Too late to deal with that now, you figured. “I just purchased it.”

The man nodded as he popped open the trunk and assisted you in slotting your luggage inside. “You look like you’ve come from far away. It’s rare for foreigners to choose to live in such a distant location. Not a fan of the city?”

I fucking hate cities.

“Something like that, yeah,” you assented, thanking him as he opened the back door for you. 

You appreciated his efficiency as he wasted no time dilly-dallying around. As soon as he was buckled up in the car, he was on the road, taking you down the last leg of your trip. The world outside the window streaked by in shades of violet and blood orange as the sun hovered on the edge of the skyline, reluctant to rest for the night.

“Ah, apologies. I’m Hayato Kazuhiko, you may call me Kazu, if you prefer,” he quickly introduced himself, and you followed suit. “Why’d you choose this little village of all places? It’s very small.”

You hummed. “That’s exactly why I chose it. I’m not a big…people-person, if you know what I mean.”

The older gentleman chuckled lightly. “My wife is the same,” he nodded as he peeked at you via the rearview mirror. “She had to visit the small town I used to live in one day, and it was love at first sight for us. She was immediately drawn to country life, and we’ve lived out in the neighboring town here ever since.”

“How long have you been married?”

“Twenty-five years,” he nodded, and you could see the pure love and devotion in his eyes as he spoke about his spouse. It was wholesome, and softened your heart a sliver. 

He was surprisingly relaxing to listen to. Pleasant voice that didn’t grate on your ears, a few stories shared about his wife, the occasional tale about some significant structure or location. It was calming, in an odd way. He’d point out a shrine or hiking trail you’d pass by, and offer to take you to them one day to teach you its history and meaning, and you actually considered it.

It could’ve been the harmless nature about him. Even as night descended and you could only really see his silhouette, inspecting him reminded you of your father, but…better, for lack of an accurate word. You weren’t afraid that he’d suddenly raise his voice, or take you down a suspicious road – or, hell, back to the train station to send your sorry ass right back to where you came from.

“Mr.–” you cut yourself off and cleared your throat, mildly embarrassed about slipping back into your mother tongue. Japanese honorifics were something you continued to struggle with. “Hayato-san, do you have children?”

He gave a mellow laugh and shook his head slightly. “Please, just Kazu is fine. And I do, three of them, in fact. A younger son, and twin girls about your age,” he estimated roughly.

So the fatherly air to him you picked up on wasn’t imagined. That brought you a form of reassurance you couldn’t distinctly name.

“My twin girls are all the way up in Tokyo,” he continued, chest puffed with pride, “and my son is still in highschool, causing chaos.”

“Chaos?” You raised a brow.

“Yes, but not the type you’d think,” he hummed. “He’s a gentle child, but his kind nature means he’s unfortunately quite gullible and gets himself into trouble.”

A voice, the faint echo of a memory long lost, intoned in the far reaches of your lucidity; someone shaming you for getting caught up in an issue that wasn’t even your fault. Your stomach twisted with dread, and your head snapped to peer at Hayato, expecting to find disappointment shining in his eyes when you studied them through the rear-view mirror.

Except, there wasn’t any.

Concern at most, a crease in his brow as he warred within himself between protecting and helping his kin, or letting the kid learn on his own. There wasn’t any disappointment, or anger, or exasperation. You could see him reminiscing as he stopped talking, focusing more on the twists that followed the mountain’s curve, and all you saw was just…love, and happiness.

The churning in your gut settled, instead replaced with a sense of hollowness. Not the kind that made you sick; rather, it was like you had a gap in your chest where a puzzle piece was missing, while his was filled with a perfectly fitted heart.

Bittersweet, possibly, but only distantly so. You felt happy for someone who was borderline a complete stranger to you, someone you shouldn’t even care about beyond tipping him well for driving you to the middle of nowhere in the dead of night, but you did anyway. 

Maybe I could have had that too, your thoughts mutedly supplied, if I was normal.

Then again, you didn’t want that, not really. Though you couldn’t tell if that was just who you were as a person, or a result of the coals perpetually under your feet, it didn’t change your mind.

Nothing could.

You were sure of it.

Smooth concrete eventually became a densely packed dirt road when Kazu turned off the main path, the car vibrating as the wheels rolled over loose stones and gravel. It didn’t last long, thankfully, as the shabby looking pile of wood came into view, albeit dark since the stars overhead were too dim to illuminate anything much.

“Where we are, miss,” he spoke as you both climbed out of the vehicle and met at the trunk. He opened it to retrieve your luggage, and you pulled your wallet out of your purse and counted off a few bills, wondering what the right amount to give to him would be.

It was hard to translate currency worth when things were valued differently in this country. Your trip abroad was a long time ago.

“Is this enough?” You peered up at him and held out the bills.

He took one glance at them and chuckled deeply. “That’s far too much, really,” he replied as he pulled only two of the strips out of the small stack you were holding. “Be careful with your money while you adjust to the currency of this country. Do you need assistance with your luggage?”

“Oh,” you analyzed the remaining money in your hands before tucking it back into your wallet. You really hoped he took the right amount needed and didn’t undersell himself. “No, I’ll be okay. You got me here in one piece, that’s all I could ask for.”

“Are you sure?”

Your head bobbed as you inspected your suitcase and bag, popping out the handle. “Yes, I am. Drive safe, Kazu-san. Thank you for taking me here.”

His chest rumbled with a laugh. “Please, it’s my job. You are pleasant company.”

“Likewise,” your lips rounded into a smile as you bowed politely. It was small, and you were tired, but it was genuine, the first one you’ve had for a long while. “Goodnight.”

Kazuhiko waved his hand in farewell, bidding you good dreams as he climbed back into the taxi and drove off, leaving you alone.

Your lungs deflated.

The air here was crisper, stinging your throat in a pleasant way as you inhaled slowly. Faint hints of pine and sap drifted across your senses. Nothing indicated any heavy stenches of smog or gasoline or gods know what litters the streets of every downtown city you’d been to before.

It would probably take you a while to get used to, and you oddly didn’t want to, if only so you could admire the fresh fragrance every time you stepped outside. Your muscles relaxed, surprising you as you hadn’t noticed just how tense you were until you were perched outside the front gate of your brand new (old) lodging.

Turning to face it, you groaned upon the realization that it was on a hill. Said hill was tiny, mind you, but a hill nonetheless. You found you couldn’t give much of a shit right now, just yearning to lay down and pass the fuck out for a while. Maybe the rest of tomorrow, too. A few weeks, actually, if you were allowed to choose. A coma sounded wonderful.

“Home sweet home,” you mumbled to nobody in particular as you pushed open the gate and virtually jumped out of your skin at the near shriek it gave. Okay, it had to have been longer than 20 years, that was loud. 

With your heart fluttering rapidly, you made a note to deal with it (and everything else) later and trudged up the incline, almost eating shit and dying when the toe of your boot caught on the edge of a stepping stone. Another thing to add to the “deal with later” list. You had a feeling it would just keep growing exponentially.

Finding the key was easy, for better and worse. It simply sat in the door knob’s lock, very safe and secure and definitely not putting your house at risk of…what?

There was nothing in there, evident when you pushed open the front door, which wailed just as loudly as the fence gate. You felt the blood drain from your face. Sure, the interior was empty, but the house was a wreck. Peeling walls, strange, crusty scent, and a sticky floor at the entrance that made you grimace when your sole pulled off it like velcro. You knew that it was custom in Japan to take off your shoes at the door, but fuck that. Absolutely not. You were not walking in any part of this house either in socks or barefoot.

Everything was virtually pitch black as you delved further in, so you depended on your other senses, and the ability to smell was one you wished you didn’t have. Your nose wrinkled as various rotting odors welcomed you, making you immediately regret going through all this.

Morning. You’d deal with it all in the morning.

Practically sneaking on your tip-toes, you explored the open space, trying to find the room that smelled the least and was passable to sleep in. Granted, there were really only two actual rooms down a hall going opposite of the kitchen besides the restroom and washroom, but the bigger one seemed decent.

At least you had a sleeping bag and wouldn’t be conking out on the bare floor. You went through the motions of prepping for bed mostly by habit, doing the bare minimum seeing as you didn’t have much of a choice. You brushed your teeth with the water from your tumbler, located and unrolled your sleeping bag, and climbed under the rustling top after yanking your shoes off, zipping it up as far as it went. 

Admittedly, the setup was kinda janky, but it got the job done. 

You couldn’t be bothered to change into pajamas.

With your head plopped on probably the least comfortable pillow you had found to bring with you (also the only one that would fit in with the rest of your shit, it was practically a pillowcase filled loosely with sporadically placed lumps of stuffing), you closed your eyes, and your body finally let sleep take over.

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

Morning was not pleasant. Surrounded by the musty scent of gods-know-what, back aching from the restless sleep you got from your pitiful sleeping bag and the hard floor, you were groggy beyond belief and desperate for fresh air. And a massage. And a cigarette.

You didn’t smoke, finding the heavy and pungent funk nauseating, but the temptation was there. You felt you gained a little more understanding of smokers.

Brushing the thought aside, you pushed yourself up into a sitting position and rubbed the heel of your palm against the sore spot on the side of your skull. You would have believed someone replaced your pillow with a rock if you hadn’t intimately known that lump of fluff. Or, rather, lack thereof.

Red lines, tender to the touch and tingling a little, were pressed onto the arm you laid on for most of the time you slept, causing you to hiss when you traced your fingers against them. It seemed to be barely past dawn when you reviewed what was out your window, leaving you questioning just how long you slept, if at all.

Figuring you wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep anyway, you shoved yourself out of ‘bed’ and groaned when every joint in your body popped and every bone creaked. Hell, you weren’t sure you’d be able to sleep tonight again. Not here, anyway. More problems for future you.

She’d certainly be happy about that. She already had so much shit to handle.

The growl of your stomach reminded you that food was something you needed to consume to continue living. 

Reluctant as you were to do anything, you figured going out by starvation was 1) probably not the best idea, and 2) you wanted to be out of this dingy torture shed.

What was unfortunate was that you, like a smart person, didn’t bring anything more than snack bars and those weird trail mixes with the fruit cubes that you just threw into your bag without much care. It was really the only motivation you needed to walk your sorry self out the door. 

After you brushed your teeth and changed your clothes, of course, being very careful to not let anything touch the floor.

Stepping out of your home through the shabby and creaky door with your purse slung across your chest, you were met with the grandiose sight of mountains surrounding you on every side. They rose high, aching to brush the sky and touch a star, just one, just once, just for a second. Covered in thick greenery, you figured the faint yet present scents of cedar, pine, and other woodsy tones were carried down into the valley from the steep inclines.

You couldn’t see any of these details nearly as well when you were dragging your tired ass to this place with ink covering the sky in a thick veil, but it truly was breathtaking.

Had nature always been this green before?

Having only done some cursory research on the village – namely, population – you didn’t bother giving yourself time to actually inspect photos of the tiny rural town. From what you’d seen anyway, pictures could never do it justice. A velvety breeze brushed against your cheek, prompting you to tuck your hair behind your ear and pivot towards the direction the gale came from.

Your breath left you in a silent ‘oh’, mesmerized by the incredible view of the rising sun you had. It shone valiantly and radiantly through the gaps it had carved out between the towering peaks itself, illuminating the land in shades of brilliant gold with its splendor.

For perhaps the first time in your life, you felt…nothing.

Not a sense of hollowness, nor a void in your chest, no.  A peaceful kind of nothing, as if not a thing in the world could take your mind away from this newfound elysium you found in sharing the morning’s shine with its source.

Invisible fingers caressed your jaw, threading through your hair with the gentle touch of adoration, as if you were delicate.

You hated to be treated like you were easily breakable, as fragile as glass, but this sensation was consoling, rather than degrading. The wind cherished you, not akin to a brittle figurine, rather as someone who was beautiful and worthy of gentleness unsullied by pity or licentious intentions. As if you were someone to be worshipped and revered.

A mother combing her fingers through her daughter’s hair, humming a lullaby only she knew the tune of.

Perhaps it wasn’t impossible to find what you were searching for. You didn’t know what it was exactly, a question without an answer, but it gave you a place to start.

With a deep breath swelling behind your ribcage, filling your soul with air untouched by sickly city pollution you were so accustomed to, you turned and began heading down the beaten dirt path that led into the heart of the village. The early summer warmth was pleasant on your skin, not too hot given the time. It seeped into your cold fingers and made them ache a little less with each minute going by.

While the town you had chosen was visually quite a bit older in style, with smaller structures dotted about reflecting traditional Japanese designs, there were some modernities. Electricity was, fortunately, one of them. 

Based on the fact that you found and bought the listing online, you figured there was likely a way for you to get your hands on some Wi-Fi here, too. You’d probably die without it.

The nearer you drew to the center of the population, the denser the structures became. Not to say they were rubbing walls, but neighbors were only a short few steps away, compared to the distance between your own house and the one closest to it.

Minka houses in significantly better condition than yours spanned either side of the road as the terrain shifted from soil to asphalt. They were beautiful, and you bet that living in that kind of house in this kind of place was either absurdly expensive, or dirt cheap, with no real in-between. You were personally on the latter end of this, which probably wasn’t a good thing. 

Doomed by the narrative once again.

Off in the distance on an elevated surface, you could see what you thought was a Wayo Kenchiku temple, if you had to guess. Its overlapping roofs were a deep green in shade, nearly black. They protected the desaturated brown walls of the building, and you were taken aback by how easy the temple was to see from where you were.

It sat across a wide river, one surprisingly calm as you approached it. It rushed along, springing with glimmering waves that shimmered under the light and frothed white around raised boulders. Despite it coming across as fairly deep, you could see clear through to the bottom, with the water itself being a refreshing shade of clear blue. A bridge spanned the rift, made of sturdy wood that had dark railings protecting either side of you, matching the aesthetic of your surroundings.

The bridge whined under your weight, but didn’t shift, giving you some reassurance that you wouldn’t go crashing through the planks. It led into the most packed section of the whole area, with structures built closer together, bearing a more modernized likeness, while retaining its unique characteristics.

In truth, though you remained apprehensive, the voice that scratched at the back of your skull everywhere you went and pestered you to run, run, run, had quieted. You hadn’t registered it, the silence, too focused on taking in your new surroundings as a serene blanket covered the thoughts that usually pranced wild and free in your cranium, putting them to rest with a whispered mercy:

This feels right.

It didn’t take you long to spot what you figured was the local grocery store. The bell above the door chimed as you stepped inside, peering at what products you could see on the shelves and aisles from where you stood. Being an anxious little creature, you double-checked to make sure you had your wallet, as well as the translated bills within. Last thing you wanted was to embarrass yourself in a place where everybody knew everybody.

Reassured, you chose a random aisle and headed down it, skimming the products to see if any of them appeared even vaguely familiar to you. Besides cans of soup and tubes of Pringles, there wasn’t much for you to grab onto. Sure, there was ramen, but you didn’t have a way to boil water. Cereal and milk, maybe?

Shit, no, you didn’t have any cutlery or dinnerware. Unless you wanted to be a sad raccoon and eat raw cereal straight from the box, but you weren’t that desperate.

Yet.

Mentally crossing out your options as you went through them, you nearly knocked over an entire row of items when you almost ran into an older lady who stood in the middle of the strip, watching you.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” You hopped back a foot, raising your hands in front of you placatingly. “I-I didn’t see you there, am I in your way?”

The woman laughed and shook her head, her smile reminding you of a grandmother that’d sneakily give her grandkids candies while their parents weren’t watching. “You’re quite alright, I was actually wondering if you need help?”

“Oh, uh…” Bashfully scratching the back of your head, you glanced at the various bags of foodstuffs beside you and debated your choices. Say no, when it was painfully obvious how green behind the ears you were, or set down your pride and ask for assistance.

Your stomach chose for you, warning you to suck it up and get food before it began eating itself.

The woman’s chuckle was heartier the second time around, her eyes glimmering with mirth as she motioned for you to follow her. Feeling a bit like a scolded child, you trailed after her while she wove her way around her store towards the produce section at the back. She pulled a random fruit from the thunder-rain-shelf-thing (you honestly had no idea what it was called) and rubbed it against her apron before handing it to you.

“Eat,” she insisted.

You blinked rapidly, peeping the fruit, the sign for it, then her. “How much…?”

The lady waved her free hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. Eat, I insist.”

You were going to argue further, but a deep cramp in your gut had you sinking your teeth into the sweet and wonderfully-textured treat. As embarrassing as it was, you borderline moaned as you chewed, quickly taking another bite. Whatever it was, it tasted divine.

This time, when she directed you to move with her, you followed without hesitation. “Thank you so much,” you mumbled as she pulled out a chair from behind the counter and urged for you to sit on it.

“It’s nothing, I can’t let you go hungry, now,” she swept away your worries. “You’re new here,” she stated, rather than asked.

You nodded through another bite, waiting until you swallowed before continuing the conversation. “Yes, I got here last night.”

“Oh? Are you visiting someone?”

“No, I moved here.”

Her brows raised. “Really, now? Who are you staying with?”

Mid-bite, you stopped to address the matter. “Oh, no, I’m not living with anyone. I purchased the house just outside the village.”

The way her eyes widened was nearly comical. “That place? Now, that’s a surprise.”

If you had a nickel.

“That’s the second time I’ve heard that now,” your lips tugged into a frown and you stifled it with another chomp into the sweet object in your hand.

At that, she simpered mutedly. “I apologize. I’m merely awed that it was still standing, let alone that someone had bought it. Last I heard, there hasn’t been anyone living there for, oh, maybe 20 years or so.”

The realtor, that dog. He did lie to you after all.

You scornfully hoped he was enjoying spending your money.

Picking at your cheek with your free hand, you looked away with a nervous giggle. “Yeah, it’s…not in great shape. I have a lot of work cut out for me.”

“You’re going to try to repair it?”

“Yeah. Keyword being try.”

“I’m not sure that’s a wise choice.”

You sighed. “Me neither, but I don’t have much of a choice now.”

The woman shook her head, smiling regardless. “You let me know what kind of help you need. There are plenty of handymen in this village of ours, I’m sure they’d be happy to help.”

“Oh, that’s very nice of you, but…I’m sorry, I didn’t ask for your name,” you pouted, hurriedly introducing yourself.

“Just call me Granny. And I won’t take no for an answer, missy,” okay, now you really felt scolded. “I won’t stand for you trying to fix up that cluster of wood by yourself, it’s far too dangerous. And you shouldn’t be staying there while it’s in that condition, either. Give me a moment, let me find someone you can stay with.”

Panic rose up in you and you waved your hands frantically in front of you. “N-No! It’s fine, I’ll– I’ll figure something out, really, don’t worry. Please.”

Granny eyed you suspiciously, her hand hovering over the landline on the wall. “Are you sure?”

“Yes! It’s fine, I’m fine, I promise.”

Her eyes remained squinted, even as she lowered her arm. “Alright, if you say so. But if you need any kind of help, big or small, come to me right away, okay?”

Relieved you wouldn’t have to interact with more strangers, you nodded and deflated. “I will.”

“Promise me, young lady.”

“I promise.”

She grinned brightly and ruffled your hair. “That’s a good girl. Let me pack you a few things to take with you so you have something to eat.”

“Ah– wait, I…I’m not very good with currency yet,” you halted her sheepishly. The prices were still confusing as fuck to you. Man, how the fuck were you going to manage this when you get a job? If?

“Nonsense, it’s on me. I won’t charge you.”

Sorry, what? Did she do that for every person she met five minutes prior?

“But– but that’s not–”

“Finish up your peach,” she asserted as she was already walking away with a bag in her hands that wasn’t there a second ago. What was it with grannies and having some weird, innate magic?

Your eyes darted down at your half-eaten peach, surprised to learn that it wasn’t some foreign fruit you’d never even heard of before, let alone tried. It was an exceptional blend between succulent and rich; easy to bite into and chew without pouring juice all over yourself.

The fuck kind of peaches have you been eating before?

Sensing you might be buying these often if they were this good, you had well-nigh inhaled the rest of it by the time Granny came back with a stuffed bag.

“Here you go, dear,” she held out the shopping bag to you, which you took graciously after tossing out the peach pit into the small trash can by the counter.

Glancing into the bag, your lips shifted downwards. It was filled with a few different fruits and veggies, a couple bags of snacks, but mostly packaged food that looked like it could be eaten as is without needing to worry about cooking it. Your guilt skyrocketed. “Granny, this is too–”

“Don’t worry about paying. Save your money for the repairs of that home of yours.”

Your head shot up, eyes widening. “I can’t–”

“You can because I say so, young lady,” Granny puffed out her chest proudly, using a motherly tone that easily put you in your place, much to your bafflement. You didn’t even listen to your own mother like this. “Come back in the evening, I’ll have something cooked up for you.”

“You really don’t–”

She made brushing motions with her fingers, shooing you off the chair. “Off you go. There’s a lovely little pergola in the park, go have breakfast there. Just turn right when you leave and keep walking straight.”

Flustered, you let her push you along out the door, your confused brain trying to catch up. “Granny–”

“I’ll have a list of handymen for you when you return,” she informed you right as she managed to get you out the door. “Explore the town while there’s still daylight!”

And just like that, she was back in her store, sweeping with a broom that you swear materialized out of nowhere. You stared at the shop for a good minute, blinking dumbly until you processed whatever just happened.

You still weren’t wholly sure. You went in, expecting to grab a bag of something random to ‘feed’ yourself with, and left with a bag full of free food from a woman who spontaneously decided to give it to you. 

The fuck. She’d go bankrupt if she just kept giving strangers sustenance off her own back.

Your own feet seemed to carry you along as you exhaled through your nose and took her instructions to heart. Too late now, you’d feel bad if you went in and returned everything. It’d be insulting at this point, and you were hungry, anyway

A cooked meal did sound lovely as well, discomfited as you were. You had never met your own grandmothers – not in person at least, so you had no idea if grandmothers were simply like that or not. Regardless, you had a feeling she was going to fill that role in whether you liked it or not. 

Luckily, you were drifting towards like. She did give you free food, after all, and was going to find help for you. That part you were more apprehensive about, however, stubbornness and introversion making you want to be stupid and attempt to pick up carpentry out of nowhere.

All you could do was try to accept it and sigh, taking in the sights, stores, and dwellings as you walked past them and towards the park. A couple shops caught your eye, particularly a clothing boutique, and what could possibly be a hardware store. You weren’t certain, and didn’t want to find out yet. The prospect of entering one and facing the big ass sign that said ‘you don’t know what the hell you're doing!’ was too daunting to approach for now.

It didn’t take you long to get to the park. In fact, it was such a short walk that it bemused you. A population of 600 people seemed larger on paper than it was in reality. Most of the town was behind you, granted, but the uncanniness was uplifting, in a way.

It didn’t feel claustrophobic. The trees in the park were closer together than some of the buildings outside it, and they smelled so good that it knocked you back a step. The entire wild garden carried the fresh perfume of sweet and fresh vegetation, from blooming flowers scattered about and the grass underfoot, to the rustling leaves above. You couldn’t recall the last time you were in a park, let alone one that was as vibrant and alive as this one.

The pergola was easy to find. It resided in the center, right beside a large pond that you saw was filled with koi fish when you got close. 

They swam to-and-fro, carefree, intermingling, playing, and searching for food. 

Your stomach twisted when you made an unintentional connection in your mind. They reminded you of kites. Pretty, ultimately trapped.

The koi fish, however, didn’t seem to mind one bit. Not that you could understand fish language. They just went about their business calmly. It perplexed you, didn’t spending their lives in a single body of water bother them? Didn’t it make them depressed?

Could fish feel depression?

Shaking your head to rid it of the peculiar journey your mind had gone off on, you set the bag down on the table under the pergola and settled into one of the chairs, reaching to dig through your options. Of the items present, you opted to munch on a sandwich Granny had tossed in with everything else, bundled in saran wrap and clearly made by her.

While you were skeptical of pre-made food bought in a grocery store like this, one sniff had you biting into it ravenously. You were way hungrier than you thought as you devoured it, trying to will yourself to slow down enough to at least savor the taste of it. Your earlier guilt and trepidation disappeared three bites in, and you were now very much anticipating Granny’s handmade cooking if this was the kind of sandwich she was capable of creating.

You questioned again if all grannies were like this, or if you lucked out. Either way, if it meant you didn’t have to struggle with food for the time being (or ever, if Granny let you mooch off her forever), you didn’t mind getting spontaneously adopted by her at all.

About halfway through your meal, the koi fish in the pond caught your attention again. They were gorgeous animals, graceful and sleek with scales that twinkled iridescently when the sun flickered over them from between the gaps in the canopy above. They had you mesmerized, sights focused solely on them as they showed off.

Maybe they had managed to hypnotize you, because you decided to tear off a piece of the ham, rip it into tiny pieces, then throw it towards the pond. There was a large splash as all the fish rushed towards the food, making you snicker.

A sort of childish glee bloomed within you, persuading you to indulge them a smidgen longer before you finished off your food. The park seemed like a sacred place where nothing could touch you, where the lands would remain lavish and healthy, and where you could let all your worries fade away.

Arcadian – that was the best way you could describe it. Placid, halcyon, grounding, mellow. You could go on and on, really, but you–

The hairs on the back of your neck prickled when you sensed that someone, or something, was watching you. Heat grazed against your nape, slow, measured breaths right behind your ear. A kiss from a pair of soft lips that never reached your skin. A demanding presence wrapped around your figure, a prey caught in the trap laid out precisely by a steadfast and salivating predator.

Ghostly fingers slid down your shoulders, crept over your forearms, and encircled your wrists, holding them in place with a deceptively lax hold. Something firm and wide pressed against your shoulder blades, keeping you between it and the table.

Your heart kicked in your throat, preventing you from swallowing anything more than a tiny gasp.

And, like the cornered quarry you were, you shifted slowly to peek from the corner of your eye, avoiding any sudden or abrupt movements. You expected to find a beast hovering over your shoulder, eagerly anticipating your reaction. 

There was nothing. 

Only foliage greeted your wide-eyed inspection, expansive and untouched since you came here. The feeling of being hunted on had evaporated as soon as you checked, and though uncertain of this verdict, you chalked it up to being in totally unfamiliar territory. A result of a soundless, featherlight brush of wind, a critter in the foliage envying the fish you fed, lasting no more than a sigh.

Your brow furrowed as you searched through the plant life, seeing not even a hair out of the ordinary. That dovish sensation the park carried returned like it had never left to begin with, coaxing you to let it go and relax.

Maybe that was your cue to leave.

You shook off the lingering sensation with a shiver. Everything was okay in the wooded pasture, and as tranquil as your surroundings were, you knew you’d have to face the elephant in the room eventually.

You dusted yourself off as you got up to dislodge any lingering crumbs, carefully packed everything back into the bag, and took one final look around. This place would become your safe haven, you determined. Already, you were thinking of coming back, the memory of your adrenaline spiking fading rapidly. Imagining returning here gave you that minor push you need to fill your lungs with courage and turn to head back out the way you came.

You could explore the town later. Right now, you needed to address the state of your new stead and gauge what laid ahead of you first. Maybe it’d give you at least an idea of what you required to get started on all of this, though you doubted you’d come out of witnessing it in the full glory of the sun knowing more than you did now.

Absentmindedly, the milieu filtered into your subconscious, automatically noting small landmarks here and there to assist you in finding your way around the streets while they still confused you, until you had learned to traverse them and knew every path and alley like the back of your hand.

(Just in case, you assessed the back of your right hand. You know, to reacquaint yourself with it.)

Glumness overtook. You knew you probably wouldn’t stay here for too long, no matter how much you liked it. You could fix up the house, flip it, and head off someplace else again in pursuit of something that probably didn’t exist.

It’s always been this way for you. The same old pattern, the same old story, the neverending book that looped in on itself over and over, caught in a wormhole where the exit was the entrance.

So it was easy to convince yourself to not get attached to the valley, nor the people, nor that damn sticks-on-bricks abode. Not even the grass filled with flowers and protected by tall trees you had already found yourself longing for.

It was easier this way. This was all you knew, after all.

You had it all figured out.

Didn't you?

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heartbreak feels so good (part 3)

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Female!Reader Word count: 6.2k CW: Shitty ex-boyfriends, slow burn, angst, fluff, use of Y/N

Part One Part Two

Whether by the grace of some mystical power or Elijah choosing to be sensible and avoid you, you managed to go three days without running into him on base. During these three days, you saw more of Bradley and Natasha than you ever had while working. You were an engineer and spent most of your days nestled underneath fighter jets or shoulder-deep in their engines, while your friends spent most of theirs in the sky. Because of this, it was rare that you crossed paths. 

While you’d found the past three days extremely pleasant, you knew their presence was only heavy because they were keeping an eye on you. 

On Monday, Bradley came into the hangar and told you that his jet had started making a weird noise whenever he took off. You spent most of the day attempting to pinpoint the problem, and he stayed with you while you worked, pestering you from his perch on an overturned oil drum.

Why did it take you so long to pinpoint the problem? Because there wasn’t one. After hours of taking things apart and adjusting things, you finally relented and asked him to start the engine while you were standing next to the plane. You listened intently for a few seconds and eventually held your hand up for him to cut the engine. 

Throwing your hands up in exasperation, you shouted: ‘I don’t hear anything!’

Bradley climbed out of the cockpit, looking confused. 

‘Huh, that’s odd. You must have fixed it without realising when you pulled that pipe out.’ 

‘Well, that’s lucky then.’ You played along. ‘I guess you can report back to Mav now.’

He seemed mildly disappointed. ‘I guess so.’

On Tuesday around lunchtime, Nat brought In-N-Out to the hangar. There was enough food to feed the whole squadron, so it shouldn’t have surprised you when Bradley, Jake, Bob, Javy, Mickey and Reuben waltzed in. You weren’t sure these guys even took lunch breaks, let alone took them all simultaneously. One thing you were sure of, however, was that Bradley was the only person on base who knew how much you loved In-N-Out. He’d discovered this after a particularly rowdy night out just before you’d met Elijah when you’d insisted he find a way to take you there even though you were both slaughtered and missing the rest of your group. He’d been the only one there, which led you to conclude that he’d orchestrated this group meal that had so clearly been intended to cheer you up.

I mean, come on. They weren’t even trying to hide it. It would have been flattering if not for the embarrassment. They were so concerned that you couldn’t cope with this heartbreak alone that they’d indirectly put you under a 24/7 watch. 

On Wednesday, Bradley and Nat were both waiting for you outside the hangar when you finished up for the day. They’d already changed out of their flight suits, and Nat had a beach bag over her shoulder. 

‘There she is,’ Bradley beamed, pushing his aviators onto the top of his head. ‘We’re heading to the beach for a swim. Thought you might like to join us.’ 

You had to admit, a dip in the ocean before dinner sounded nice. 

‘I didn’t bring a swimsuit, though.’

‘I have a spare.’ Natasha grinned. 

‘That’s convenient.’ You said, raising a brow.

She shrugged. ‘It’s always good to be prepared.’ 

Now, it was Thursday morning, and you were sitting outside on the tarmac, drinking coffee and watching the pilots start their drills. The sun might have been low in the sky, but from the way the air rippled above the runway, you could tell it would be a scorcher. After a delightful start to your week, you’d almost forgotten that you were supposed to have your guard up just in case. This wasn’t to say you’d forgotten about Elijah and all your negative emotions. It was more that you’d been too distracted to notice how your body and mind held said emotions, and it was only now that you saw him drilling with the rest of the pilots that you’d been reminded. 

As much as you hated to say it, he looked good when he dropped to the floor and started doing his press-ups. You had to find a way to get your mind off this undeniable fact that didn’t involve going inside before you’d finished your morning ritual. 

Nobody would have blamed you for opting to look at Bradley instead. Still, you felt guilty anyway, partly because you were only looking at him as a way of not looking at your ex and partly because it felt highly intimate, even though he had no idea what was happening. 

By the time you’d finished the last sip of your coffee, you needed a cool shower to bring you back down to planet Earth. To say you were flustered was perhaps the biggest understatement of the year.

Thankfully, time started to slip away the minute you lost yourself in your work for the day. Having something productive to do was massively beneficial. If nothing else, your heartbreak taught you that keeping your hands busy was the key to forgetting that you were in agony. 

Lunchtime came and went. The last time you’d so much as glanced at a clock, it had been 9:30 am. Now, at nearly 4 pm, you’d only put your wrench down because you needed the bathroom. 

There was only an hour left of your work day, and since you’d stopped and lost your momentum, you wondered whether anybody would miss you if you cut out early. The pilots had been in a training seminar all day, so you hadn’t seen anyone, and as much as you loved your friends for looking out for you, the peace and quiet had been soothing. Being able to zone out and focus on rebuilding part of an engine, scrubbing turbulence ducts or configuring navigation systems without half the squadron hovering over you had been damn near therapeutic. 

But you were ready for a well-deserved self-care night. 

After cleaning down, turning everything off and locking up, you made the short walk back to the main base and grabbed your belongings from your locker. Normally you changed clothes before leaving the base, but you didn’t want to risk running into anyone in the changing rooms, so you unzipped the top half of your flight suit and tied it around your waist. You always wore black tank tops underneath to avoid any noticeable oil stains. 

It seemed as though everyone else was still busy, as you didn’t run into anyone on your way through the building. In fact, you made it all the way to your car without so much as a ‘hey, Y/N.’ You were calm and content by the time you walked through your front door, more than happy to be alone with your own thoughts for the first time since the breakup. Part of you thought it was too soon to be this at ease, but you weren’t one for looking gift horses in the mouths. 

So, it was time to start your self care night. 

Step one: throw your dirty uniform in the wash. Step two: quick shower and hair wash.

Step three: run a bubble bath with your most luxurious products. Step four: pour yourself a glass of your favourite wine. Step five: relax in the aforementioned bubble bath and finally finish the novel you’d been trying to finish since last month. 

Step six: get rudely interrupted by someone buzzing your intercom thirty million times. 

Step six was supposed to be: get out of the bath, find your cosiest pyjamas and order takeout to eat while watching Gilmore Girls. 

This was not part of your plan. 

With a huff, you bookmarked your page (you were so close to being done that it almost hurt to put the book down) and grabbed a towel from the rack. The buzzing was constant, and you hoped whoever it was had either been mugged or stabbed. Or both. Because jeez. 

In your haste to get the buzzing to stop, you didn’t even ask who it was. Water dripped onto the floor where you stood, and you wrapped your towel tighter. Panic started to set in. What if it was Elijah? The thought of him seeing you like this after everything made you realise that opening the door in nothing but a towel was probably not a good idea. But just as you were about to run to your bedroom for your dressing gown, the knocking started. 

You froze. 

It wasn’t the usual three polite knocks that people usually make at somebody’s door. It was rapid and incessant, like the buzzing. Whoever stood behind that door really needed to see you. 

Heart racing, you peeked through the spy hole. Panic quickly gave way to shock, which soon gave way to a strange, warm sensation that tingled throughout your entire body, from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. 

The strangeness of it all eclipsed your earlier decision to put on your dressing gown, and you opened the door without hesitating. 

Bradley was panting, clearly having run up all three flights of stairs leading to your apartment. He was still in his flight suit, the top of which was tied around his waist just as yours had been. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his neck, settling in the sweet spot where his collarbone started. His black T-shirt was soaked through. 

‘Bradley?’ 

Breathing heavily, he examined your towel-clad form and wet hair. 

‘What happened?’

You were lost. ‘What do you mean? Nothing happened, I was taking a bath.’ 

Bradley ran his hands through his hair, knotting it in his fists. He let his hands rest there momentarily while he caught a breath.

‘I came to see how your day went, and everything was locked. I thought something had happened.’

Now that he knew you were okay, his shoulders sagged, and he was able to offer you an embarrassment-tinged smile. 

‘I thought something had happened,’ he explained. ‘When you weren’t on base, I thought maybe you’d run into Viper, and he’d upset you. I don’t know. Guess I just panicked.’ 

You were simultaneously warmed and humiliated by Bradley’s thinking that something had happened and that it was his responsibility to come and fix things. It was like you couldn’t take care of yourself. You appreciated it, and at first, it was nice, but it was beginning to make you feel sheepish. 

You crossed your arms, which only drew attention to your very naked form. You felt your face warm, then your neck, then your chest. Paired with being treated like a child, it was a level of embarrassment you’d never had the misfortune of experiencing before. 

‘I can take care of myself.’ You murmured, unable to meet Bradley’s eye. 

He exhaled sharply. ‘I know you can, Y/N. Doesn’t stop me from worrying, though.’ 

Tentatively, you peeked at him from beneath your eyelashes. His gaze was locked onto your face in an attempt to stop himself from looking elsewhere. Bradley Bradshaw—ever the gentleman. 

You cleared your throat. ‘I can’t express how grateful I am for everyone taking care of me. Especially you, Roo. But I’d like it if you’d stop treating me like I’m going to break. I’m not that fragile.’ 

‘Oh, I know you’re not fragile, sweet girl. I just care about you so much.’

You couldn’t help but smile. ‘I care about you too.’

‘I can’t explain it. It’s not that I think you’re a flight risk,’ he smirked at his pun. ‘I just like taking care of you. I like knowing you’re safe and happy, and I like knowing that it’s because of me.’ 

You didn’t know which way to take this. It was a hard thing to hear for a few different reasons. For one, you weren’t used to hearing things like this from the men in your life, weren’t used to them wanting to take care of you. For two, it was coming from Bradley—one of your long-time best friends—and friendly wasn’t precisely the word you’d use to describe his tone. For three, you were standing in your apartment doorway in a towel with bubbles stuck to your legs, dripping water all over the floor. 

You couldn’t help the little laugh that escaped you, but Bradley wasn’t inside your head, so it seemed like you were laughing at his confession.

You apologised. ‘My brain is on overload right now,’ you explained. ‘And I don’t think this is a conversation we should have in the doorway while I’m in a towel.’

Bradley looked you up and down; although it was brief, you couldn’t ignore the hunger hidden behind it. It would have been easy to miss had you not been so well attuned to his mannerisms. Another addition to the list of things to be confused about. 

‘Yeah, I should leave you to it. We can talk some other time, when you’re fully clothed.’ He smirked.

Your blush deepened. ‘You gonna be at The Hard Deck tomorrow night?’

‘Is the sky blue?’

You chuckled. ‘Tomorrow it is, then.’

When Bradley got back to his apartment, he had no idea what to do with himself. He was sweating, covered in jet fuel and overthinking every word he’d just said to you, so the only option was an ice-cold shower. As he stood underneath the cool spray, he tried to imagine a world where things were simple. A world where you’d never met Elijah, never had your heart broken, and your whole perspective on love shattered. In this world, he wouldn’t have to wait for you to heal because it would have been him all along, and you’d never have gotten hurt. 

But you were hurt, and it had never been him. Judging by the way you’d laughed after his semi-confession, it might never be him, and this was harder to swallow than one of Penny’s homemade shots. 

He took his time in the shower, but all the cold water in the world couldn’t wash away the memory of you standing there in your fluffy white towel. This image was more powerful than everything else, and he was ashamed. It was more powerful than his anxiety over you not feeling the same, more powerful than the fear of losing your friendship. 

It wasn’t that he cared more about the thought of seeing you naked than getting turned down, or maybe not having you in his life anymore. It was more that his nerves were frayed after a really hard day at work, and he simply didn’t have the energy to dissect hidden truths and map out possible outcomes. His exhausted brain found it easier to latch onto the more simple thoughts and imagined scenarios, like coming home to you after a hard day, and having you take care of him in all the ways. Or sharing that bath with you and wrapping you in that towel with his own two hands before leading you to the bedroom and unwrapping it again. 

Pleasure and anticipation unfurled in his abdomen at the mere thought of your naked body beneath his. He didn’t need to experience it to know that skin-on-skin with you would be like finding out that heaven did exist and that it was a place on Earth. Or rather, a person. He tipped his head back and let it rest against the shower wall, and when he reached down to take his dick in his hands, the satisfaction transcended the guilt. 

It was only your name in his mind, repeating over and over like some kind of mantra.

Y/N. Y/N. Y/N.

It was the kind of news that felt like a swift kick to the gut.

Out of the entire Dagger Squad, Jake wasn’t your closest friend. You didn’t share deep secrets or have any inside jokes, and he wasn’t the first person you went to when you needed help or a cinema date. But he was still your friend, and you would miss him. 

Eighteen months abroad on some secret mission was a long time, especially when it was just him out of his entire squadron. You weren’t a fighter pilot, but you’d been sent away before as your skillset was rare amongst navy engineers. The six-month stint you did at sea was the scariest experience you’d ever had; nothing had topped it yet, and you highly doubted anything ever would. Eighteen months was inconceivable to you. 

Jake had known that he was going away for quite some time, but he hadn’t told anyone until two days before. He said he didn’t want his last few weeks Stateside to be ruined by everyone coddling him—he just wanted it to be normal. You could hardly blame him for that, but it made his news much harder to digest. You’d only found out about the mission earlier on that day, yet here you were getting ready to go to The Hard Deck for his leaving drinks. 

Natasha sat cross-legged on your double bed with her makeup bag in her lap and your hand mirror in front of her face. You sat on the carpet in front of your full-length mirror, where you always did your makeup. An 80s song you hadn’t heard in years played through your Bluetooth speaker, and you hummed along contentedly. 

‘What dress do you think I should wear?’ You asked.

‘What are the options?’

‘Either the new yellow one—with the corset top—or the white one.’

‘The one that looks like Marilyn Monroe’s dress?’

You smiled. ‘Yeah, I guess it does.’

Natasha didn’t wear much makeup, nor did you, so you were nearly finished. ‘I think the white one. Save the yellow one for a special occasion.’

‘You don’t think Hangman leaving for eighteen months is a special occasion?’

Natasha snorted. ‘No. I don’t think Bagman leaving for eighteen months is a special occasion. That yellow dress is for a first date or a wedding reception. He’d get the wrong idea and—’ 

Nat cut her sentence in half. Suddenly, she was extremely focused on applying mascara to an eye she’d already finished. 

‘And what, Natasha.’

She ignored you.

‘Natasha Trace.’

‘What?’

‘And?’

‘Oh, I just mean it might give everybody the wrong impression. You getting so dolled up on a night that’s all about Jake. Especially now that you’re back on the market.’

‘I am not back on the market. I’m healing.’

‘Yeah, right. You just need to grow a moustache, and I can start callin’ you Rooster.’

You launched your lip gloss at her, and she ducked, howling with laughter. 

‘Hey, don’t bring Roo into this. He’s just very emotionally mature! It’s a good thing.’

‘Emotionally, maybe. But what about everything else?’

You knew it was a lighthearted jest, but you were still stuck on the other part. Did she mean that everyone would get the wrong impression, or was she worried about a certain someone? You hadn’t seen Bradley since he showed up at your door unannounced yesterday. He’d said…what, exactly? Not a great deal. Just that he liked taking care of you, liked knowing that he was the cause of your happiness. 

What was a girl to make of that? 

‘We’ve gotta be there in twenty minutes,’ Nat said, pulling you from your thoughts. ‘Best get that dress on, Marilyn.’

‘She’s not here yet, man. You’re gonna get a crick in your neck if you keep turning round to look at the doors.’ 

Bradley rolled his eyes in Jake’s general direction. He didn’t want to make eye contact because he knew he’d be met with that world-famous shit-eating grin. It was bad enough that he was pining after you, he didn’t need Hangman—of all people—giving him shit for it. After last night’s activities, he was all too aware of how pathetic he was. 

‘On a serious note,’ Jake continued. ‘What’s the deal with you two?’

‘There is no deal.’ Bradley replied. Because there wasn’t. 

‘Oh come on, you think I came off the back of yesterday’s milk truck or somethin’? You better not be about to tell me that you’re just friends.’

‘We are just friends. There’s nothing else to it.’

‘But you want there to be.’ This was a statement, not a question. 

‘It doesn’t matter what I want. She’s still getting over Viper.’

‘That clown. He’s so crooked, he could swallow a nail and spit up a damn corkscrew. I’m still pissed I didn’t get to run into him before my deployment. I’d have given him two matching shiners.’

Bradley had to smirk at this. ‘I think that’d add to what he’s already got going on.’

‘He’s got nothing going on. He’s the ugliest son of a bitch I’ve ever seen, and I’m sittin’ in front of you.’

‘You really can’t give it a rest, even if it’s your last night, huh?’

Jake winked. ‘You should know me by now, Rooster.’ 

Bradley sipped his beer. It was nearly empty, but he didn’t feel like pushing his way through the masses to get to the bar. Mainly because he was waiting for you to arrive so he could buy you a drink, too. 

‘All I’m saying,’ Jake said. ‘Is that when I get home and open my front door, I want there to be a wedding invitation waiting for me.’ 

Bradley’s heart constricted. It wasn’t that he’d never thought of your name, his and marriage in the same sentence, it was just that he’d never said or heard it said out loud before. It was like Jake had just come up behind him and ripped his stool out from underneath his ass. 

He was lost in thought, imagining you in a white gown walking down the aisle, when Jake suddenly wolf-whistled. Bradley’s head snapped up, and he followed Jake’s line of sight to the front doors. You were arm in arm with Natasha, and although Bradley wasn’t sure he believed in God, something out there must have been listening to his thoughts. 

It wasn’t a wedding gown, but it was the prettiest little white dress he’d ever seen. Your hair was done all curly, and a pretty white bow was clipped in the back to keep the top half out of your eyes. Bradley’s eyes must have been bulging out of his head because Jake elbowed him sharply in the ribs. 

‘Anybody ever tell you it’s rude to stare at a lady?’

He flushed from embarrassment and something else. The same something had taken over his body in the shower the previous night. 

When you and Nat got to the table, he did his best to organise his facial features into something that resembled composure.

‘Ladies,’ Jake bowed dramatically. ‘You both look gorgeous.’

Natasha squinted at him as though she was waiting for the catch. The catch never came, so at least Hangman was being nice to someone on his last night. 

You hugged Jake, but as quick as the flames of jealousy licked at his insides, they were put out. You looped your arms around his neck (obviously standing on tiptoes) and pressed yourself against him. He brought his arms up and wrapped them around your lower back, pushing you even closer. It was all warmth and skin and the strawberries in your shampoo, and he wanted more.

More. More. More.

Jake cleared his throat, and just like that, it was over. He missed the contact already, but not for long. The next thing he knew, you took his hand and led him towards the bar, Jake and Natasha following closely behind.

What had he done to get so lucky tonight?

The vibes at The Hard Deck were always lively. If pure, unadulterated joy had a physical form, it would be this bar on a Friday night with all your closest friends. Despite the sad and somewhat scary occasion, you were there to mark, it was still one of the best nights you’d ever had. There’d been good food, homemade cocktails, round after round of Penny’s special shots (that she wouldn’t reveal the contents of) and your favourite songs on the Jukebox. It was hard to tell if they were your favourite songs because they stood out to you or because you were listening to them here, surrounded by these specific people on this night.

You and Mickey were belting the lyrics of Africa by Toto when Bradley reached around and yanked the jukebox cord out of the wall rather unceremoniously. 

‘Hey!’ You yelled.

‘Sorry, sweetheart,’ he grinned. ‘I’m gonna play some real music.’

You were about to argue that Toto was real music when the meaning of his statement dawned on you. 

He was getting behind the piano. 

Since you’d disappeared from the face of the Earth for a while, you hadn’t experienced one of Bradley’s performances for a long time. Few things were more enjoyable than seeing him perform. Your whole body tingled with anticipation, as it did when you were about to drop on a giant rollercoaster or the first time you’d gone up in a jet. 

He was watching you expectantly, and you realised he’d just asked you something.

‘What did you say?’

‘I said, do you wanna sit with me at the piano?’

Your heart soared. Nobody ever sat with him at the piano.

‘Really?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Yes!’

He was chuckling as you followed him to the piano, and you wouldn’t have been able to wipe the smile off your face if you tried.

Mostly everyone drinking at The Hard Deck that night knew what was coming and had swarmed around the piano to await his presence. You were both pretty drunk and when Bradley sat on the bench and pulled you into his lap, you didn’t think anything of it. Had the two of you been sober, he probably wouldn’t have done it, and if he did, you wouldn’t have let him. Because friends don’t do that, and it would have been weird. 

Luckily, nobody in the bar was anything close to sober. 

‘I’m trying something new tonight.’ He announced. Then quietly—so only you could hear him—he said: ‘It’s for you, doll.’ 

You had the perfect view of his hands and watched, mesmerised, as his fingers danced along the black and ivory keys. He played with the effortless grace of somebody who had music in their veins and could do it with their eyes closed. You’d heard enough about Goose to know that this particular gift came from him. 

When he started singing—

Well. That was a whole other story. 

There's a little moonlight dancing on the sand There's a warm breeze blowing by the ocean as you're taking my hand. You need to know where I'm standing now. That I'm right on the edge of giving in to ya Baby it's a long way down.

His raspy voice was like some kind of drug to you. The second he started singing, you were transported from the room to someplace closer to heaven. And it wasn’t just his voice; it was the lyrics. You listened more closely than usual since he’d told you this song was yours. 

If I fall, can you let me down easy?

If I leave my heart with you tonight Will you promise me that you're gonna treat it right? I'm barely hangin' on If I fall, can you let me down easy?

The scent of your perfume floatin' in the air You're looking like an angel lying on a blanket with a halo of hair And those lips look too good to be true.

Once I taste that kiss, I know what'll happen I'll be at the mercy of you If I fall, can you let me down easy? If I leave my heart with you tonight Will you promise me that you're gonna treat it right? I'm barely hangin' on If I fall, can you let me down easy?

When the song ended, the whole bar erupted into cheers. He didn’t give them a chance to disperse, though. He launched straight into the crowd favourite: Great Balls of Fire. It used to be your favourite, too, but now. Everyone was dancing and singing along. His legs bounced as he played, and you giggled like a maniac, getting jostled about whenever he moved. You wanted to go and sit somewhere quiet so you could digest the previous moment, but you were too wrapped up in this one.

Everyone begged for an encore once he’d finished playing, but he told everyone he was desperate for another drink but might play something else later. You were still planted firmly in his lap, and you locked eyes with Nat from over the top of the piano. She raised a brow, and you gave her the universal ‘I don’t fucking know what’s going on either’ look. The crowd started trickling outside or to the bar. Somebody plugged the jukebox back in, and Africa resumed, although it didn’t sound as good as before. All you wanted to listen to now was Bradley’s song for you.

It was time for you to get up, which proved incredibly difficult. Bradley was warm and solid in a comforting way but also in another way that you weren’t quite ready to unpack just yet. You climbed out of his lap and turned around to face him. He was still sitting but had moved to the other side of the stool to face your direction. He gazed up at you with those big, puppy dog eyes, and you realised with a start that if you took one more step, you’d be standing between his legs. You could have rested your hands on his shoulders or the sides of his face. You could have leant down and kissed him.

Because of this, you didn’t know what to say, and this wasn’t good because the ball was most certainly in your court. He’d just said everything he needed to say with that song.

You decided just to be honest with him.

‘I don’t know what to say, Roo.’

‘You don’t have to say anything. I just needed to get that off my chest, and I didn’t know how else to do it.’

‘I will say something,’ you assured him. ‘Just not right this second.’ It was clear that he was trying to hide the dejection he felt. You saw right through the fake smile meant to reassure you, and immediately, you felt as though you’d let him down. Thinking on your feet wasn’t easy when you were drunk, and you might have chosen to do things differently had you been sober. Now probably wasn’t the best time to deal with something like this, but now was all you had. You couldn’t bear letting him go home tonight, thinking you didn’t feel anything towards him.

So you took his hand in yours and tugged his arm. He got up silently, and you led him outside, across the decking and onto the sand. He trailed behind you down to the water, which was starting to come back in after low tide.

Your thought process had been that it might be better to talk out of earshot from the rest of the daggers and that words might come easier if you were somewhere more peaceful. This was, in fact, not the case, and the absence of commotion was only making things awkward. There was nothing to distract you from the longing behind his eyes, nothing to distract him from the way you nervously picked at the skin around your fingers.

It had never been this way with you and Bradley. Way before Elijah—which was beginning to feel like it had happened to someone else and not you—your friendship had been as easy as eggs on a Sunday morning. Thoughts flowed freely during lengthy but never tiring conversations. You didn’t need to guess how he felt and vice versa because both of you always just knew. You had inside jokes for days and more than a few secrets.

Just because you hadn’t grown up together and hadn’t known one another your whole lives didn’t mean you weren’t inseparable. The bond you shared was forged in everlasting fire the day you met at the academy. It was made out of some kind of magic, a rare kind that most people spent their whole lives searching for and never even coming close to.

As you thought about all this, you realised what a fool you’d been to neglect such a bond for somebody like Elijah. But even with all this, you’d never imagined the two of you would be anything more than best friends. When you had something as extraordinary as this, it was hard to fathom risking it when it was already perfect the way it was.

Or so you’d thought.

What if it wasn’t perfect the way it was? What if all those years of friendship were a prequel to something better?

A forever kind of something.

You took a deep breath and trusted that if you spoke your heart, everything would turn out precisely the way it was supposed to. And since you were speaking your heart, you started by saying his name. He’d been looking out over the water, but now he focused his attention back on you. You didn’t think you’d ever spent so many consecutive minutes in his company without him saying anything.

‘I wasted so much time looking for love in the wrong places,’ you started. ‘And when it ended the way I always knew it would—deep down—I listened to you tell me over and over that real love isn’t supposed to feel like that. I listened to you tell me that I deserved better, all while not believing what you were saying.’

It was hard to look at him now. There was so much riding on whatever you chose to say next.

‘What I’m trying to say is, I wasted so much time looking for love and the real meaning of it, when I should have been looking at what was right in front of my face the whole time.’

It wasn’t exactly what you wanted to say. You wished it could’ve been more eloquent—like his song—but this was what you had, and so you gave it to him.

He smiled broadly, and it reached all the way up to his eyes.

Oh, the things you’d have done for that smile.

Part of you was worried that these kinds of revelations would mess with your synchronicity, but you had no need to worry. There was no awkwardness, no clunkiness and no anxiety when he cupped your face in both his hands, and you reached up to loop your arms around his neck. You only felt overwhelming joy and an innate sense of rightness when your lips met in the most passionate of kisses.

And when he tilted your head back further and parted your lips with his tongue, you were able to revisit that feeling you’d felt when he pulled you into his lap not half an hour before. It wasn’t something you could tame, and you highly doubted he could, either, though you could tell he was going to give it his best shot.

You just couldn’t imagine this getting old or wearing thin. If you and Bradley really were a forever thing, you knew that being with him would always feel as exciting and enticing as it did right now.

You let one hand snake down his side, resting just above his hip. When you pulled his body closer so it was pressing against yours, he groaned into your mouth. You could’ve sworn you’d blacked out for a second.

‘Slow down, doll.’ He said between kisses.

‘Why?’

He pushed you away ever so slightly, and you pouted.

‘Because I wanna do this properly. I want to take you out for dinner, drinks, dancing, all of it. You can’t rush something you want to last forever.’

Ah. So he was thinking the same thing as you, then.

‘What if I’m impatient?’

‘Then I’ll take you to dinner now.'

He was making light, but you decided to indulge him. ‘Take me, then.’

Bradley laughed. ‘It’s almost midnight, sweet girl. We won’t get a table anywhere now.’

‘So take me to In-N-Out. And then take me home.’

His eyes were all pupil, and you knew that now you’d put the thought into his head it would be impossible to take it back out.

‘You’re terrible.’

‘It’s not my fault!’ You protested. ‘You’re standing there looking all delicious, kissing me like that!’

‘If I agree, you have to promise me one thing.’

‘Anything.’

‘At some point next week, you’ll get dressed up. You’ll let me take you to a fancy restaurant with overpriced cocktails and tiny portions, and then you’ll let me drive you home. When we get to your front door, you’ll let me kiss you goodnight, and then you’ll let me go home. We have to do it in a civilised manner at least once.’

You laughed. ‘Okay, fine. If you insist.’

‘I do.’

You kissed him again, and it felt like coming home after being away forever.

‘You know something, Bradley?’ You murmured. ‘I never knew heartbreak could feel so good.’ 

A/N: I planned on ending this series here, but now that the final part is complete, I've realised I have many more ideas for where this can go. Maybe some sequels or a whole other series off the back of it. If you'd be interested, let me know and I can tag you in future parts.

Taglist: primroseluna eloquentdreamer sgt-barnesveins daybleedsintonightfa11@sadgirlgiselle @sleepy-writersblock @lovelyygirl8 @my-therapist-hates-me

[strwberri-milk]

Could I request s/o giving the boys snack boxes with Kaveh, Ayato, and Wriothesley?

Those were so so so cute!

Kaveh is overtly very curious about what you're putting together. If you ask him to his face he won't admit that he wants to know what you're doing. You eventually end up telling him that you're simply preparing some gifts for the people in your life. He doesn't want to ask you outright if he's included in that list because he'd 1) hate to assume he is and 2) be embarrassed if you say that he isn't and this is for some separate event wherein he's not the intended audience.

A few people who know the two of you come up to him and ask if he's gotten a gift from you and he simply laughs it off, not wanting to make things awkward for anybody. However, the thought of it still sits in the back of his mind as their questions roll around his head. It makes itself known in the pit of his stomach, trying to figure out how he can ask you about what's happening.

When you come back home you see him sitting on the couch, deliberating intensively about just that. You're not sure if you should interrupt him, the bag in your hand almost forgotten in the state of mild panic his intensive thinking taking precedence.

He hears you coming up to him and looks up, trying to string together the proper words to ask you why you aren't getting him anything. You can see the slight pout on his lips as he tries to get rid of it, laughing a little to yourself at his attempts. You brandish the bag to him at the same time, Kaveh's eyes lighting up while you explain you wanted to make him an extra special treat. You're rewarded with a tight hug and his insistence that the two of you eat everything right now.

Ayato doesn't mind too much. He knows you were running around putting gifts for some of your friends and to him, he just assumes it's simply something nice you just wanted to do for them. He doesn't want to interrupt you in your project so he's keeping his distance from it. After all, it'd be devastating if he accidentally destroyed the snacks you were so carefully trying to preserve for your friends.

He does make positive comments though, finding the smell wafting through the home to be very pleasant. He lives for the way you practically glow under his sweet praise, feeling just as satisfied as if you hand confessed your undying love for him once again.

He sees a specifically ornate box being kept to the side and out of curiosity, he starts to build up a list of the most likely receptions of that box. When he sees that it's gone one day he simply assumes that you've delivered it to your intended recipient, not thinking much of it and not realising that it's sitting in your shared bedroom one night.

You have to point it out to him, recognition dawning on him at the same time as him realising that you saved the most elaborate gift for him. He laughs to himself, opening the box and admiring the efforts you went through as he presses a kiss to the top of your head and sets it aside to save for an afternoon with you.

Wriothesley almost doesn't notice you're making something with his busy days until he finds a strange amount of bags sitting around waiting to be filled. You quickly explain what you're doing and he nods in understanding, smiling at how kind you are and leaves it at that.

He never really would expect you to give him anything so the thought that you might even make him one never crosses his mind. As far as he's concerned, you're just making some people some tasty treats as a show of appreciation.

When you come up to him with his own tasty treats in tow he gives you a warm smile and opens it up to see what you've made him. He'll ask if you've got a bit of time to spend with him, already getting up to brew some tea that he feels would perfectly compliment the treats you've made.

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR FOURTEEN

in which eddie finally offers you an honesty hour. which is great, until you learn you've bit off more than you're capable of chewing. (oh, and we find out more of what happened at steve's infamous party)

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 5k+

→ a/n: there is still one more bit of the memory left for steve's party!! i broke it into three bits because otherwise it would be too long as one giant clump lol. sorry this is being posted so late... but hey! it's here! see y'all again thursday lol thank you to everyone for continuing to be so kind about this story and show it so much love

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

14:00 ────────ㅇ─────── 24:00

SIX MONTHS EARLIER 

It’s Eddie. You only know because when Nancy opens the door, she greets him loudly, letting her drunken squeal echo down the hallway and into the kitchen. 

“Munson! Finally!” her voice carries, and you fight the urge to try and move to peek through the doorway to see him, “Took you long enough!” 

Eddie's voice is too quiet for you to hear his reply. He’s not drunk, not fueled by reckless decisions and overflowing affections like most of the other friends were already. 

There’s a terrible twisting in your gut at his arrival, and you know it shows across your face when Robin looks at you apologetically. As if for a moment, they had forgotten they way you and Eddie avoided each other. As if for a moment, they had all pretended that the entire group could convene and it could be easy, and that was on them instead of you or Eddie. But it wasn’t on them. That blame could never fall on them.

It was on Eddie, you decided. He was the one who more ardently avoided you rather than vice versa. He was the one with a sharper tongue between the two of you, always snappy, always irritated with you. It was on Eddie. It should be on Eddie. 

Except, you still felt bad about the Chrissy ordeal. He may have acted as if he disliked you for no reason before, but now he was hating you with reason. You can’t blame him; you’d do the same thing.  If he ruined a date like that, stomped all over possible potential and threw it away without even considering your feelings involved, you’d be out for blood.

You sort of needed to apologize, and needed to apologize soon. 

“Eddie, my man!” Argyle calls out from the couch. It captures your attention just in time to look over and watch as Eddie enters the room, his back facing you, his shoulders slack beneath his leather jacket. 

He’s relaxed. You’re immediately sure that he doesn’t know you’re here yet. 

“Hey, man,” he greets with a gravelly voice, an edge of fatigue to it you’re familiar with. It’s the kind of tiredness that follows long weeks, as you two had spoken about that first night. For a second, you wonder if he’s still having those. And if he is, how often they happen, if he ever comes home from them and thinks about that night, if he has anyone to call when it’s late and they haunt him.

You know you don’t. Neither Steve nor Robin are ever awake that late, or at least don’t answer the phone at that time of day, and you don’t feel close enough with the rest of the group to burden them like that.

There had been a time where you would wonder if Eddie could have become that person, if the type of conversation you two had at the bar the first night could ever translate over phone lines. But that time had been early on, and was long dead. It laid in an unmarked grave with all your other ponderings of what a friendship with Eddie might look like. 

“We can keep you two apart,” Robin whispers, or at least tries to whisper. She’s loud, “He said he had work and wouldn’t make it. We… We thought he wasn’t going to come, so we invited you instead.” 

Oh. 

Oh, what a knock to your pride. Robin means nothing harmful of the words, they should be neutral and just an explanation offered to you. But your mind takes them in its grasp and runs, runs, runs. 

“We thought he wasn’t going to come, so we invited you instead.” 

You’re the backup plan. You see it now, and it sucks, but you press your lips into a cellophane smile that Robin can’t see through in her flurry to distract you with an offering of you two plus Steve having another round of drinks. You decide to take a straight shot of the nearest bottle of vodka, swallowing it down to drown your already sinking heart. You fake laugh when Steve tells bad jokes, you make up lies about your dates of the last few weeks, deciding you no longer care if you add in more details to look less pathetic. 

You’re the backup plan. So you’re sure they won’t notice when you spin a new version of yourself.

This version of you that spews from your lips has gotten lucky more times in the last month than you have in the last year. This version of you is always the one having the last say in conversations, the one leaving men on read rather than the tables being flipped as they were in reality. 

Robin says nothing, even when she notices some of the things you say not aligning with what you’d told her earlier that week.  She only side-eyes you as Steve drinks in every detail, only disrupting to suggest another shot. 

At some point, she gets too drunk to side-eye you. 

“Fuck,” Steve sighs, throwing his head back as he glances out to his living room, where Nancy, Jonathan, Argyle, and Eddie have taken to sitting in an oblong circle around on his and Robin’s furniture, “I need some fresh air. Anyone else?” 

“Me,” Robin responds so quickly, you would have made fun of her if you didn’t notice the sickly shade of green creeping up on her. 

Steve looks at you, raising an eyebrow, but you only shake your head. It makes the room threaten to spin. Maybe, just maybe, you should have slowed your roll with the vodka shots. Maybe.

“I’ll stay in here, hold down the fort,” you promise, letting your eyes fall shut before you inhale deeply through your nose, exhaling softly through parted lips. 

No way. You hadn’t drunk nearly enough tonight to excuse getting sick as Robin was seemingly about to. 

Robin and Steve leave you be as you compose yourself. You think you hear them extend the offer to everyone in the living room, but you can’t make out who agrees to go and who stays. But as you listen to all the footsteps making their way out the front door, Steve calling out that they’d be back soon, you start to become convinced you’ll open your eyes to an empty apartment. 

You open them to an empty kitchen. So far, so good.

But then a voice clears their throat from the living room, just as you pull your phone out of your pocket. You open it to find the cursed dating app still open, your messages with the bartender still staring you back in your face. The bartender you thought you’d hit it off with. The bartender that had stood you up the night before. 

Fuck him, you think bitterly as you turn to find Eddie entering the kitchen. Because of course, given your luck, Eddie was the only one who stayed back. 

“Those apps fucking suck,” Eddie notes, using the neck of his beer bottle to gesture in the general direction of your phone. 

You look between him and the lit up screen for a moment, finding half the mind to click out of the private messages, “You’ve used them in the past?” 

“Nope.”

You wait for a second, giving him the chance to elaborate. But he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t, he’s Eddie. If he explained himself to you, that would just be too easy. 

“Okay,” you sigh, squinting at the page and past the vodka, trying to fumble your way back onto the screen that would show you eligible bachelors in your area, letting you swipe and judge them by solely looks as if they weren’t actual people on the other side of the phone. As if they weren’t more than a reservoir of attention at your fingertips. 

Maybe that had been your mistake with the bartender – you let him become a real person to you.

“Why are you even still on them? I heard you’ve been having a shit time with the guys on there – quite the opposite of what you’ve been telling Harrington tonight, might I point out.” 

It’s something in the way he says it. One moment, you’re looking down, ignoring him. The next, you can’t help but lift your head in shock. The words all felt sharpened and poised for a kill, ready for an attack you hadn’t expected so early on in the night. 

“I-” you don’t know how to defend yourself. You don’t know whether to stick by the lies you’ve told tonight, or to be concerned with who was telling Eddie about your love life, “You win some, you lose some. It’s the nature of the app.”

Eddie grins and leans on a counter across from you, “You haven’t made it sound like you’re losing at all tonight. I nearly started a drinking game with Nance where we took a swig every time you said you managed to pull another ‘fuck ‘em and leave ‘em’. Quite the body count you’ve got there, player.” 

You’re drunk. You tell yourself that’s why you take his words straight to heart – you’re drunk, and therefore, you’re sensitive. 

“You’re bluffing,” you snap, “You couldn’t hear me from all the way over there.” 

“We could.”

“No, you couldn’t.”

“Yes, we could.”

“You’re lying,” you spit finally, crossing your arms defensively. Your emotions were rising too high, too quickly, and you blame the vodka. You blame the vodka and you blame the drink Steve had made you. You blame the bartender who stood you up. And most importantly, you blame Eddie. 

“I’m lying? You’re the one who’s been telling Stevie nothing but lies tonight,” Eddie narrows his eyes at you, as if he expects you to shrink in cowardice when he stands up straight and takes several steps across the kitchen to be closer to you, “Why do you need to even lie about all that, anyways? It’s not like the truth would be any more pathetic than the act you’re putting up. Everyone strikes ou-”

“I’m pathetic?” you scoff and interrupt him, not even paying any attention to where he was going. The tips of your ears are starting to flame with a red tinge, “Just last week, you lied to the group. You were trying to avoid being where I’d be and told them you had to walk your neighbor’s dog.” 

“I did!”

“Your apartment has a strict no pet policy, Eddie.” 

He freezes up entirely, grin faltering before your eyes, “How do you know that?” 

“I didn’t, but Nancy did,” you roll your eyes at the cracks in his composure, “It’s all I had to hear about the entire night. How she wishes we could get along, how she hates when you lie to her. Thanks for that, by the way.” 

“It’s not my fuckin’ fault you go out with my friends,” Eddie grumbles, reserving himself back to his side of the kitchen. If someone came in and squinted closely, they’d find that imaginary boundary between the two of you, an invisible line that would not be crossed. Not here, not tonight. You wouldn’t touch Eddie Munson with a twelve-foot pole if you could help it. 

“And it’s not my fault that you don’t.” 

You can see his agitation spreading like wildfire across his face, in the tick of his jaw and the twitch of his eyes. You can practically see the words that linger on his tongue as he bites down on it – it is your fault. 

“Whatever. Why are you lying to Steve?” his voice goes monotonous as he crosses his arms, and the muscles strain against his shirt. His leather jacket has long been discarded, probably thrown over the back of the couch or a chair in the living room. 

You mirror him, crossing your arms, letting the screen of your phone press into your side, “I’m not lying.”

“You are. With Steve, and with me at this very moment,” his eyebrows furrow and you consider the consequences of chucking your phone at him. 

Your irritation, your own agitation, is all bubbling beneath your skin. If it wasn’t for the vodka mingling with it, you would have been squirming from the discomfort. Usually, he doesn’t get to you. Normally, his off-handed comments come with a sting that can quickly fade. 

None of the jabs are fading tonight. They only seem to linger. Because he’s right, and you hate that he’s right. 

“How the fuck do you even know how my dating life is going?” you uncross your arms, waving your hands wildly into the empty air between you and Eddie, “We aren’t exactly friends. Did Robin tell you? Did Steve tell you?” 

Eddie swallows hard, and you can watch the words wash over him, but you’re unsure of which of your drunken slurs specifically got to him. You weren’t wrong in any of your statements, you weren’t outlandish in either of your guesses. But your words have frozen him up all the same and you aren’t sure why. 

“You’re right,” when he physically melts, the deathly chill remains in his voice, “We aren’t friends. But Rob and Nance are, and Nance and me are. See where I’m going with that one?” 

It’s in the way he says it, confirms it. 

We aren’t friends.

He hisses it out as if it were a painful reminder, as if saying those words burn him eternally. He says them as if they are capable of sending ice through his veins and bones alike. 

You know why he froze now, and it’s too late. 

“Well-” you pause, unsure of how exactly to respond. You’ll be having a talk with Robin, surely. But technically, Nancy was your friend, right? Surely, she was allowed to know the drama of your love life, wasn’t she? “You say that as if Nancy and I aren't friends.” 

“Are you?” he tilts his head tauntingly, as if he knows something you don’t. 

“We… are.” 

He catches the hesitation; he runs with it. He finds the handle of the knife you’d tried to keep so hidden, and he twists as hard as he can.

“Would Nancy agree if we asked her?” he hums, as if he were seriously contemplating this, as if it were a mediocre debate rather than a question of if you had friends or not, “Do you even have her on Instagram?”

“You, her supposed best friend, don’t have her on Instagram.” 

“Because I don’t have Instagram, full stop.” 

“Instagram isn’t the normal gauge of friendship,” you defend yourself, “Some people can have thousands of followers and no friends.” 

You don’t have Nancy on Instagram. You don’t follow her, she doesn’t follow you. The most she’s acknowledged your presence on the app was tagging you in a photo on a night out once. 

“It’s not about follower count,” Eddie shrugs, “It’s about mutual followings. That’s how Hollywood dictates whether celebrity couples are still together these days, yeah? If they follow each other. If you’re friends, you’d follow each other.” 

The vodka makes you bold. Bold enough to mutter out, “Oh, fuck you,” in response to Eddie’s prodding. 

“Wait, I-” you watch an unfamiliar emotion pass over Eddie’s face, something kin to regret. But his words are already out in the air, he’s already twisted the knife in your gut fully. He’s already spilled your blood in the middle of Steve’s kitchen, with no one around to witness it. He did it for himself – he did it for his own pleasure, his own enjoyment.

He enjoys hurting you. 

“Save it,” you mutter, slowly deflating as you turn your back to him, facing the counter to grab your drink to nurse your wounds. 

If you looked close enough in the corner of the room, you would have seen the shovel you should have used to bury away your hope of a friendship with Eddie. You should have piled the dirt over the casket, should have put 6 feet of soil and earth and worms between you and that fruitless yearning. 

But you didn’t. He hadn’t taken it quite far enough yet. 

Yet. 

But then he had to cross that invisible barrier. He just had to walk across the kitchen, come up behind you, and not mind his own business. He just had to look over your shoulder just as you opened the bartender’s profile again, if for nothing else than to further hurt yourself for the night.

You were so caught up in your own disappointment, you never saw the flash of recognition that crossed Eddie’s face. Only the anger that followed.

—

HOUR FOURTEEN - 5:00 AM 

You don’t bother with putting pants back on, only Eddie’s sweatshirt. At this point, pants were just beginning to feel like a nuisance when it came to the two of you. A nicetie, as one might put it.

What were the points of niceties with him if he could never hate you? 

You have the entire five minutes he spends in the bathroom to try and compose yourself. To try and desperately ruminate through these feelings and detach them from everything that was transpiring. The emotions didn’t belong here, there weren’t twists of guilt and sorrow of loss involved for Eddie when he was fucking you. 

So why is that all you could feel right now? 

He could never hate you, but he had spent the last year doing exactly that, hadn’t he? 

“Hey,” he reappears in the entryway of the kitchen with the worst possible timing, right in the eye of the storm that had begun to cloud over your mind. He holds up a pack of cigarettes you can only assume he’d snagged from his room, “I’m, uh- I was gonna grab a smoke out on the balcony. Join me?” 

There’s something of desperation in the way he asks you. All the words are casual, but his tone is an undermining plea; please say yes, please join me, please let me in. He knows something’s wrong, and he’s not just turning a blind eye and ignoring it this time. 

You stare at the pack of Marlboro Reds for a few seconds before shrugging, “Sure.” 

It’s certainly not as enthusiastic as you’re sure he was hoping for, but he smiles at the small victory nonetheless.

The first thing you notice about his balcony, aside from the clustered furniture, is the view. You’ve never thought your city to be very charming, always looking at it from a pedestrian’s view or through the lens of a tired, crabby college student embarking on another late night. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d step foot on a higher floor of a building like Eddie’s, one just tall enough to see over the rooftops of most of the mundane buildings, one that could peer right over the skyline and show a new dawn breaking. It’s a flourish of pink, orange, and violet, each shade stealing away another breath. The sun is just barely yawning over the horizon, just finally awakening. 

God, you’re going to regret not actually sleeping during this time.

“What’s got you scowling?” Eddie mumbles the question out around a cigarette, pausing with his lighter in midair.

You turn your head, and- just like that, all the anger and confusion melts away. He’s painted in the same shades of the sunrise, in a golden light that almost seems to be emitted from him rather than the waking sun. He is all soft edges and tired eye bags, a stubble that you can imagine the itch of against your palm if you were to reach out a hand to hold his face. If you were to kiss him right now, you fear he might dissolve all over your tongue, leaving nothing but his sweetness behind to remind you it was all real. 

It’s real. Even if it doesn’t make sense with what you guys projected before tonight, even if it doesn’t align with how your lives will continue on, tonight was real. You were here, he was here, and what happened…. Simply happened. 

I could never hate you. 

You get it now. Because in this lighting, with a soft breeze tugging your hair and mind alike, you know you feel the same way about him. And you know it contradicts all you have shown him in the past. 

You could never hate him. He could never hate you. It’s unfortunate that that’s what you’d been calling it before tonight – hate. 

“It’s going to really suck,” you breathe out half a sentence. Two endings before you: letting this night go or, “Not sleeping for a full twenty four hours.” 

You don’t know how he does it, how he looks at you like he knows you had something else to say. But he gives you those eyes, and they almost elicit the truth from you. 

Almost. 

He throws his head back in laughter, and the pinks and purples and all the fights wasted are now trailing down his neck, “Yeah, it is, isn’t it?” 

He’s much better at pretending than you are. You know that now. 

“Seriously,” you turn and walk to the railing, crossing your arms against the metal grate before he joins you at your side, “I’ll probably ditch my classes on Monday. I’ll have to sleep twenty four hours straight to even the score.” 

“God, I wish I could fuck off for Monday,” Eddie groans. He’s throwing his head back again, and you can’t help but wish you could replace the golden rays with your lips. You wish your warmth could sink beneath his skin like the sun’s does. 

“You can’t?” your voice cracks with the question as he finally lights the cigarette between his lips. 

He takes a long drag, shaking his head with the exhale of smoke, “Nope. I work Mondays at the shop.”

“The shop?”

“Myo’s,” the way his lips curl around the filter of his cigarette as he fights his grin burns a hole in the middle of your chest. Burning and erupting, yearning and longing, ignored and buried, “The auto shop on Main street.” 

You know by the way he looks at you that the name should ring a bell, but considering you don’t own a car, you don’t have the slightest clue what his job is, “Oh, so you’re a mechanic?” 

“I- Yeah,” he nods slowly, “Yeah, I’m a mechanic,” he pauses and you can see that he has more to say, it just takes him a moment. He looks off the balcony, shifts his weight between his two feet, takes another drag of nicotine. When he finally gathers his thoughts, you’re patient and waiting, biting back a small smile the moment he whips his face towards you, “Have we seriously never talked about that before? I swear I’ve told you I’m a mechanic.”

“Nope, seriously. Never.”

“There’s no fuckin’ way.”

“There absolutely is a way,” you laugh, letting your head fall backwards and not catching the way his gaze falls on you. The sunrise paints you in just as beautiful of a lighting as it had him. If someone asked you, you’d say that you doubt he noticed, but he did. He noticed. He always noticed, “Usually, by now, we’d be at each other’s throats.” 

“We sort of were,” he shrugs, eyes still glued to how your collarbone peaks out from beneath his sweatshirt, “Surprised we didn’t leave more hickies.” 

The topic you’d been avoiding. The topic he seemed indifferent about. 

I could never hate you. 

You decide to put his words to the test.

“Are we going to talk about it?” you ask, looking down now and picking at flakes along the metal railing, still not noticing him noticing you, “About…. what we just did?” 

“Are you always this straight to the point?” he chuckles nervously. In your peripherals, you catch the way he leans and mirrors you, side by side on the railing. His light cigarette hung loosely between indifferent fingers. Indifference, indifference, indifference. 

If you’d just look at him, you’d see anything but indifference written across his face. 

“Only when it matters,” you reply, breathing in his secondhand smoke, “Only when it’s important.”

His pinky is within reach of yours once more, just like at the parking garage. Even after feeling the entire expanse of his bare skin against yours, you still crave more – you crave for the intimacy that comes from hooking pinkies as grown adults, from knuckles curling into each other like hinges of a door of possibility. 

You don’t see the way he swallows hard, or how he nods subtly to himself before he says, “Alright. Let’s talk about it.” 

Those words make you look at him quickly, taken back and not expecting for him to give so easily. If you had noticed him noticing you, it would have been the expected reaction; if you’d seen the way his eyes traced over the pink and orange shadows of your features, you’d know he can’t really say no to you. Not anymore. 

“Yeah?” you only ask for the confirmation because you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He won’t let it. He holds it tightly, just nodding, “Yeah. I… You deserve my honesty.” 

You deserve my honesty. 

I could never hate you. 

“I’m starting to get a bad feeling of deja vu, Eddie. We don’t have to do honesty if you don’t want to-”

“Ask me anything. Right here, right now. I’ll answer with the full truth.” 

You flashback to hours before, when he’d offered his honesty this willingly and you’d only thrown it back in his face. But right now isn’t that moment, the two of you aren’t in the heat of an argument, there isn’t an impending doom on the horizon and the weight of the night no longer rests on either of your shoulders.

You don’t care as much about why he hates you now, or what he meant by never hating you to begin with. You don’t care much about the porn magazines and you don’t care what changed that first night. 

They’re all petty details that have had too long to gather dust. 

You do care about his job, you do care to know why he chose to fix cars. You do care about if he still takes night classes, and if yes, which ones. You care to know his favorite color and you care to know how he takes his coffee in the morning. Maybe you even care to know if he has a favorite coffee shop. 

You care to know all the new petty details you’d never uncovered about him. Miniscule bits and pieces of him you crave to hold in your hands, if only just for tonight- or today, at this point. 

But you need a baseline question. Something that won’t throw him off, but really doesn’t twist around your heart as severely as the others. Something that does neither damage nor nurture to the vines and blooms still occupying your chest. 

You suddenly remember a small detail that had been revealed to you by a third party tonight, “Okay, um, well…” you ponder on phrasing, and Eddie edges ever so closer to you, “At that bar we went to tonight, the bartender – Frank – mentioned how you’d been going there for about six months.” 

Eddie pales, but he nods nonetheless. Maybe the question is more loaded than you’d anticipated. 

“I guess... I…” you continue to stumble over your words and it only leaves Eddie more time to panic, “I’m just curious why you started going? Yeah, yeah. That’s… that’s my question,” you tilt your chin up, try to be seem more confident in your question. 

Even in his panic and sudden blanching, Eddie looks ready to laugh at you as his eyebrows scrunch. Somewhere between the wrinkles, you swear you could find something like affection, “That’s your question? Why did I start going to a bar that’s conveniently close to my apartment?” 

Maybe it is a good baseline question. Maybe he was just nervous from the other possible questions you could have asked about your time spent together at the bar. 

“That’s my question,” you confirm. 

The color isn’t returning to Eddie. His hand shakes when he brings his cigarette to his lips. His breath is evidently shaky on the exhale as the smoke puffs out unevenly. 

It’s not a good baseline question. 

“I…” he won’t meet your gaze, and all your gut can do is twist, twist, twist in anticipation, “I got kicked out of my last bar I was a regular at.” 

“Got kicked out? Why?” 

It’s ripping the bandaid off the wound of honesty, and neither of you even realize it. Neither of you notice the blood of your history catching up to you. 

Eddie sighs and rolls his shoulders before looking at you, “I got into a fight.” 

Your twisted gut stills. A fight? Why is he freaking out so evidently over a fight? Does he think you’ll judge him that harshly? 

“A fight?” you echo your thoughts with a soft laugh into the morning air, “You… Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing? Jesus, did you go to jail that night? That would suck, but… Eddie, I won’t judg-”

“I didn’t go to jail,” he interrupts, “I mean, they should have called the cops on me, but they didn’t. They gave me a second option of leaving immediately, and being banned for life, effective the moment I stepped out of the building that night. I took the ban.” 

“Well,” you relax your shoulders, looking over at the rising sun, “That’s nice of them, I guess, right? I’m sure whatever mean drunk swung their fist at you deserved to get their ass handed to them-”

Eddie interrupts you with a soft utterance of your name, making you look back to his hues of gold instead of the sky’s, “I swung first.” 

Oh. Maybe that’s why he still looks so wrecked with nerves. Maybe he thinks that’s the piece you’ll judge him on – it has to be the reason you can see sweat gathering along his eyebrow, just beneath his bangs. “Then I’m sure whoever it was deserved it? I-”

“He did,” he interrupts one final time. You’re about to finally snap at you, telling him to just let you speak, to just accept that you weren’t going to judge him over some bar brawl, when he drops the final bomb of an answer. Here is the honesty, you both realize at the same time, as his words slice through you, “It was about you. I got banned because of you.” 

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[ronwestbreeze]

you're gonna go far | 6

pairing: jake sully x neytiri x tsu'tey x fem!human! reader summary: a scientist arrives on pandora (unwillingly) a year after the exile of the rda. now she must deal with the likes of a clan leader, a great warrior, and a thanator rider. . . word count: 8.5k

read on AO3

It was a little difficult to get out of bed that morning.

One of those days.

Long and exhausting. It was challenging to get stuff done. You knew things like this wouldn’t just go away instantly. But you hoped that maybe…

It wasn’t too bad like before. You were able to think about the chores that had to be done later in the day and pushed yourself out of the bedroom.

So you went through most of the day barely existing. Norm was the first to notice your slight change in behavior because he began trying to joke more with you—no matter how bad they ended up being—and tried getting you out of your head. And you were thankful for that. At least that’s what was different this time around. You weren’t entirely alone nor held up in your room.

That was progress, right? You honestly couldn’t tell. Sometimes you felt like you were still stuck, that you weren’t moving forward. Or getting better. At least back to what you used to be.

Yet, you’ve been this way—asleep—for so long that you have forgotten what you used to be like. You forgot when the last time you smiled. You forgot when you felt the most happy or any other emotion besides anger and grief.

You wondered where that part of you went. Some days you went searching. Other days you somberly accepted that it was a part of you, that you were never going to get back.

At some point, you figured it died along with your mother.

“You want me to check on the baby today?” Norm asked you as you were getting ready for your link for the day.

You shook your head as you sat on the link bed, “No, I’ll be fine. Just one of those days, you know? We all have em’.”

He frowned when you shrugged it off or appeared a little too nonchalant about it, “Yeah, I guess.”

“Thanks for offering though.”

“Anytime, Doc.” He gave you a pat on the shoulder, while watching you particularly closely, “Just tell me you need a break. Don’t push yourself, okay?”

He was nice. You needed something like that.

Neytiri noticed it too.

While the two of you were in the garden that day, Neytiri had been saying words in Na’vi for you to repeat. And you did it, not perfectly of course, but you managed. It was just that you didn’t take in any information. Not in the way she knew you to.

You had a certain look that told Neytiri you were hanging onto her every word, whenever you were learning something new from her. Eyes slightly vibrant with curiosity.

That look wasn’t there today. Instead, in its place was a dullness and lifeless sort of unfocused gaze.

Your ears were low again.

Neytiri didn’t know when she became so attentive to your moods or facial expressions. So much so that she could tell when you were somewhat happy and really, painfully sad—

You were just easy to read in this form.

Yes, that was it.

“What is wrong, tanhi?” Neytiri eventually asked because she didn’t completely despise you so much to ignore your change in mood.

There was a twitch in your ears when you heard your name being called. You looked up from the newly planted mushroom seeds you had been mentally counting at Neytiri to find her staring at you expectantly. “Huh?”

She rolled her eyes, “You are not listening. I know you are distracted. What is wrong with you?”

You cringed at yourself for allowing yourself to get so distracted by your swimming thoughts. Drowning in them as usual. “It’s nothing. Just have a lot on my mind.”

But the answer did not satisfy her. Neytiri shook her head, “Sky People are always hiding their feelings. You are doing that. It is okay to be sad. It is natural.”

“I’m not hiding it—” You sighed, turning your gaze back to the mushroom seeds. “It’s just one of those days. Maybe—Maybe today I am sad. I could barely get out of bed and tomorrow it might be worse—what are you doing?”

You watched as Neytiri got up and moved behind you. A second later, you feel a brief tugging at your hair until it became loose from your short braid. “If you want to learn our ways, then you must take care of your hair. I look at it and it is a mess.”

“It was in a braid before…”

“I did not like it.”

With that, she got up again and trekked back into the forest. You watched her go in bewilderment at the sudden change of conversation and attitude from the Na’vi woman. You had no idea what had come over the woman or what made her suddenly leave, but you didn’t focus on it for too long. The confusion and startlement you had was enough energy to continue planting the rest of the mushrooms. You didn’t bother putting your hair back into a braid, not wanting to spend time threading through the thick strands until your fingers were too sore to complete your job. And the last thing you needed was something stopping you from finishing this one simple task—

A splash of cold water was suddenly dumped onto your head, leaving you soaking wet.

And terribly pissed.

You snapped your head behind you to find Neytiri placing the leaf down next to her—which was glistening with water. The same water that was now spilled all over you.

“Neytiri—ouch!”

“Hold still.” Neytiri hissed at you as she ran her long fingers through your hair.

You grumbled but reluctantly listened, still confused and a bit pissed at what was going on. And for a while, the two of you remained there. You, sitting on the ground still counting the seeds quietly to yourself while Neytiri stayed behind you. Braiding a few strands of hair.

It was then you realized just how different your hair was from the way it was in your human body. The hair length was very similar to how you used to wear it when you were a teenager. You wondered then just how old this avatar body was.

Once she was finally finished, she crouched down in front of you to get a better look. Her yellow irises scanning your face and her work. Tucking rebellious strands behind your ear, patting down some of the fuzziness, and making sure the braid was visible around your face.

You watched her quietly. And soon, when she was done obsessing over your hair, she watched you too.

It wasn’t the way you and Jake watched each other. This—this had something different about it.

Time was an illusion here. Trapped in her yellow gaze. You hadn’t realized you had been staring for so long—nor did you realize you had briefly glanced at her lips—until a sudden sound from the forest pulled the both of you out of this strange trance.

And once you snapped to your senses, your body quickly reacted. You shot to your feet and cleared your throat, “I gotta check on the avatar now.” You didn’t meet her gaze. “I’ll see you.”

Before she could stop you, you already scurried off. Stopping once you were far enough away out of her sight.

Stopping when you felt a new pair of eyes watching you rather closely.

You glanced around the forest surroundings as you approached the longhouse with a frown until your eyes locked on another pair of yellow eyes. Severe ones.

Tsu’tey was in the trees further away but enough for you to see him watching you, even when you caught him doing so. He did not look away from you. Narrowed eyes and that scowl resting on his angular face.

For a moment you wondered what the look was for. You wondered what he could yell at you about this time, even though you listened to his demands and had stayed away from the Omatikaya territory.

A scared part of you wondered if he had seen you and Neytiri just now.

Nothing happened. But still, it would give enough ammunition for him to verbally attack you. Hate you even more possibly.

Except there would be no battle today. As Tsu’tey disappeared within the trees without a word.

You were confused but relieved at the same time.

Dealing with an angry clan leader was not on your to-do list. Nor were you properly prepared for it.

After watching the trees in silence, you eventually went inside.

Neytiri watched your retreating figure with a frown, her heart…shifting—only a little bit as you disappeared. Her gaze then moved toward the trees, the area where the sound had come from before. And with an irritated frown, she got up and stalked toward the area.

They were still there. She could feel their eyes on her as she went further into the forest. With a hiss, she glared at the trees, “Come out. Enough hiding!”

Just a little bit above her, a few feet away a familiar warrior snaked out of the bushes and seated himself on the large branch with his usual expression he wore whenever he was away from their shared hut.

Neytiri frowned up at Tsu’tey, “You are watching me.”

“I am watching her.”

After a beat and a quiet sigh, Neytiri climbed up the tree and joined him. Despite his very sour mood, he tugged her close to his side as they sat together. On the branch, they had a good view of the Avatar Compound. A few dreamwalkers were running about but none of them seemed to bother Tsu’tey as much as you did. Neytiri could easily tell with how he kept glaring at the longhouse, the same place she always watched you disappear in whenever you left your false body.

“You have been spending time with her,” Tsu’tey stated more so than asking. There wasn’t much to hide, they both knew Neytiri spent some of her free time visiting you. Only when Tsu’tey or Jake are busy with their duties and she’s finished with hers before the both of them. “I do not like it.”

“She has done nothing.” Neytiri reasoned.

“Yet.”

“And what did I say if she does? I would kill her myself.”

As she said this, Neytiri felt a certain wavering in her heavy words. Like a part of her didn’t believe it anymore.

She rested her head on his shoulder, hugging his arm with a content sigh, “But I cannot ignore what the Great Mother has shown me. She has stopped my bow before and now she’s done it a second time. Do you not think it means something, yawne?”

In the corner of her, she watched as his jaw tightened, his features becoming particularly focused. “I do not trust this.”

“You do not trust the Great Mother?”

“That is not what I mean.” He corrected her calmly. Neytiri knew that Tsu’tey, like any other child of Eywa respected her and trusted in her signs. Always had. That was how he was raised. And she knew he wasn’t about to abandon that because of one demon.

But his words were still reluctant, “I do not know where our Great Mother is leading us. I do not know why she wants that demon spared—when she is just like the rest of them.”

Neytiri considered his words, “Perhaps she is like Jake—”

“There is only one Jake. And she is nothing like him.”

She made a sound of disagreement but didn’t push further on the subject. She noticed how tense he was, how tense he had been for the past week. She wondered then if he was truly upset by this or if there was something more to this quiet anger he so carefully restrained. Of course, his hatred for the Sky People was no question.

But Neytiri knew Tsu’tey.

Skin and bone. Heart and soul.

She knew her mate. Not only as a mate but as a friend. They had grown up together. Along with her sister, Sylwanin. There was nothing he could hide from her even if he tried.

“She may not be like Jake. But clearly, the Great Mother has chosen her for a reason. My mother even allows her to stay—I believe it is time you seek the answers.”

Tsu’tey scoffed but didn’t brush her off. Instead, he leaned in closer, allowing his hand to rest on her growing stomach. “You will be a great Tsahik.”

“Not as great as my mother. Nor my sister.”

Tsu’tey shook his head and cupped her cheek, “You will be great, my beautiful heart.”

A soft smile tugged at her lips only to falter when she noticed how exhausted he truly looked. How close he looked to breaking but hiding it. He could never hide it well from her. Nor Jake.

She then took his face in her hands and whispered soothingly, “What is it, my love?”

Knowing that there was no point in denying a response—knowing that Neytiri would not stop until she got what she wanted—Tsu’tey turned away from her to stare back at the compound.

“The Tipani clan are becoming reckless. They already do not like the Sky People that have stayed—but now that the demon has come, I worry they will begin to take matters into their own hands. I worry…that our clans will begin to clash.”

Neytiri took his hand in hers and pressed a gentle kiss onto his knuckles, “If it comes to it, I will stand by you. Jake will too. But I also will ask you to speak to our Great Mother about your troubles.” She caressed his exhausted lines with a small frown, “I worry for you, Tsu’tey. I do not want you to take on this task by yourself. You have Jake and I to be with you. That is why Eywa brought us together.”

Right then, he seemed to consider her words. His gaze was still unfocused while staring at the longhouse. A silence settled between them.

“Eywa has created this new path for us.” Tsu’tey mused. “Somedays I wonder if it will lead to something good in the end.”

“Do you think it won’t?”

He was silent. And Neytiri didn’t push.

When Tsu’tey went to the Vitraya Ramunong, the night had already settled around him. When he went to kneel at the tree, connecting his queue to one of the links, his prayers were silent. But his questions were clear. His intention was pure to the Great Mother.

What does it all mean? Guide me, All Mother.

So when a single atokirina flew away from the tree, Tsu’tey took to following it both out of curiosity and apprehension. The Great Mother’s answers weren’t always clear. If anything, her signs only led to more questions.

So, Tsu’tey wondered. He wondered if this would lead to any more answers.

Or just more unwanted questions.

Tsu’tey rushed through the forest, never losing sight of the spirit. He kept going and going until he was nearing the Sky People’s base. Until the trees suddenly became familiar. Until the grounds he had seen many times before unwillingly began to appear around him.

But his body never stopped moving. He never stopped following it. Too desperate for answers. Too desperate, too yearning.

Oh Eywa, he was yearning.

And then, and then, and then.

And then he was staring down at your still false body.

It was strange. Seeing no life in your face. Tsu’tey had only seen your false body from far away, but now seeing you up close. You looked so different yet the same as your human form.

Why was he here? Why did the spirit bring him to…

No.

No.

No.

His vision rippled. Your body morphed from your human form to your false body—impossible.

And then he woke up.

Awake.

Awake.

Awake.

Tsu’tey finally realized where he was. Instead of standing in the middle of the forest chasing an atokirina, instead of standing over your false body, he was back in his hut. With his mates sleeping next to him. With his son cuddled between both Jake and him. With Neytiri hugging his waist from behind.

A dream. It was only a dream.

But why you? Why you?

Why?

“Yawne?” Tsu’tey breathed out a sigh and looked over his shoulder to find Jake shifting out of his sleep, looking at him through heavy eyelids. He sat up a bit, careful not to disturb Neteyam’s sleep as he did, “Another nightmare?”

Tsu’tey hesitated—considered the question. The dream he just had. Was it a nightmare?

“No. I am fine. Go back to sleep, my love.”

Jake didn’t look entirely convinced but eventually lied back down. Usually, it took a while for Jake to fall asleep, so Tsu’tey lay back down, adjusting Neytiri’s arm around his waist and squeezing his other hand on Jake’s shoulder.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Jake asked, his voice deep and sluggish.

Tsu’tey nodded, and tucked his nose into Neteyam’s cheek as gently as he could, “I am now.”

It took you a little longer to get out of bed the following week. But you managed. You watched a few more of your mother’s logs and even some of the other ones still in the system.

Dr. Augustine. Norm. Some guy named Quaritch. And then there was Jake Sully.

As a human.

You paused the video to examine his face. You suppose the traits matched his now blue form. The only difference was that instead of his longish dreads, he had a buzz cut in the video. And a tattoo poking out of his short sleeve shirt.

Eventually, you moved on, willing yourself to forget his face for the time being.

You also tried not to think about the fact that Neytiri hadn’t been back for about a week now. Which was normal. You didn’t overthink it. Especially not after that moment—

Eventually, you moved on, willing yourself to forget your thoughts about her.

Then you remembered Tsu’tey. Him watching you so closely. You hoped he didn’t see you and Neytiri. Frankly, you weren’t sure what would happen if he did know.

He’d kill you. That’s for sure.

Eventually, you moved on, willing yourself to forget all three of them.

When you finally got out of bed, you continued with your regular schedule and tried to think of literally anything else. You tended to your garden by yourself and continued checking the baby.

There was a bit of determination for yourself, to keep moving. To not stay in one place any longer or else you’d be stuck.

And you weren’t sure if you’d make it out if you did.

Jake continued visiting the tank room whenever he could.

Today was one of them. Only this time you made it before he did.

“How’s the baby?”

You glanced up briefly from your notes, “Healthy. It might be because Na’vi babies might grow faster in pregnancy—judging by that we might have a couple more months before it’s born.”

Jake nodded, his face serious, “Anything else?”

For a brief second you didn’t respond, too caught up in your thoughts until you realized he had asked you a question. Jake tilted his head, brows furrowed at you.

You shook your head eventually, “No, everything’s all normal.”

He stared at the belly for a moment longer before he left. You were somewhat surprised at his quick retreat but didn’t think much about it. He was some type of great warrior, he was probably busy with something else in his clan. If it meant that the two of you didn’t have to interact much with him anymore or probably a lot shorter than before, then you were okay with it.

It seemed he finally took the hint.

All you could do was keep moving.

Jake came again the next day.

This time around you brought out the ultrasound.

He watched you and the machine intensely. You noticed and gave a sound close to a huff or a snort, “Nothing’s wrong with it. I’m just doing a thorough check-up today.”

A quick look of relief crossed his otherwise exhausted features, “Right, right, of course.”

Once you got the ultrasound running and connected to the avatar, you immediately found the heartbeat with the blurry image of the fetus appearing on the screen. It had grown considerably since the first time you saw it.

“There she is.” You mumbled mostly to yourself. The heartbeat was calming in a way, easing your usual tense muscles.

Jake perked up instantly, staring at you in disbelief, “She? It’s a girl?”

You glanced up at him briefly to find a soft expression on his face upon looking at the fetus. Neteyam—who you just noticed attached to his chest—sleepily snuggled closer to his father’s chest. When his head moved out of the sling, Jake held the back of his head, giving it support.

“Yes.” You gave a short nod.

Another look of relief flashed across his face, this time he didn’t try to hide it like before. A small smile tugged at his lips, “That’s—That’s nice. Amazing.”

In the corner of your eye, you watched him. That easy fatherly expression fell upon his face. How soft his smile was, for something that wasn’t even his. You weren’t sure what to think of it—no, you expected it. It was foreign. A father loving his child. To you at least.

You didn’t know your father. Nor did you have a father figure in your life. That type of love was unfamiliar to you.

Love itself was a foreign concept that you could not yet grasp. The only time you could truly say you experienced something close—similar to love—was with your mother.

And if love was like this—heavy. Leaving you…like this.

You weren’t sure you would want to experience any type of love ever again.

“You sure you’re ready to take on another?” You raised your brows, not looking up from the belly.

Jake looked at you, “Do you care for my answer?”

“I am watching over her. I suppose I should make sure she is left with somewhat tolerable parents—that is, if there aren’t any problems with her when she’s born.” You hummed, rolling your eyes at the sudden look of worry on his face. “Relax, that’s the standard check-up of any baby—well, I don’t know how different it will be compared to human ones.”

A beat went by before he finally answered, “I wouldn’t be honest if I said I wasn’t nervous. What new parent isn’t?”

“Mmm.”

The rest of the session was just the two of you, sitting in a somewhat comfortable silence. Comfortable for you because you were able to ignore him without any problems. And Jake wasn’t being too talkative or apologetic, which was a plus. But he was noticeably less hostile toward you as the time went by. Showing that he was taking the truce quite seriously and keeping his end of the bargain.

In other words, the truce was possibly the best option for you both. You could work in peace without being hammered or interrogated. And Jake would continue his visits without any problems.

You still didn’t like him. And you were sure the feelings were mutual.

But things were becoming easier.

And sometimes you like easy. Just as much as a challenge.

There was a part of him that was curious. Jake didn’t understand it. He didn’t understand Neytiri’s easy trust in you but it only made him more curious as he kept coming to see the baby.

Of course, you were guarded and curt around him. And he was quite the same but that didn’t mean he wasn’t at least a little bit interested in why you were so important to their deity.

So many questions.

A part of him wanted to ask Eywa himself—he wasn’t much used to praying to her but he would now and then out of respect for the People. If he asked, he would possibly gain an answer—which was incredibly rare—or he would gain more questions, which was the more common response.

So, Jake took to finding things out for himself. Even if it meant doing it the hard way. Even if it meant getting his head out of his ass and finally putting things into perspective.

Jake Sully was willing to at least keep this tolerable relationship with you going. Keeping this stable cord steady. You weren’t going anywhere anytime soon. It was time he had to get used to it. It was time for him to get over himself.

And he was willing to show that he did want something different. That he was ready to change, to finally understand you in a way.

But you still didn’t like him. Which was fine.

He didn’t like himself all that much either.

Another week went by and Neytiri still hadn’t come back. Surprisingly, you found yourself missing her. And when you began missing others, you got angry.

Since you didn’t feel like going through that process again, you resolved yourself to thinking that she must’ve gotten busy with her clan. Or grown tired of watching over you and your depressing personality once she realized that you weren’t a threat to her clan.

That must’ve been it. That’s what you chose to believe at that moment.

One day at a time.

You moved forward. Because you had to.

Throughout the week you focused on your work tending to the garden, checking on the baby, and even taking on more responsibilities around Hell’s Gate.

Sometimes you’d help Dr. Patel in the bio labs, other times you went with the other avatars to train your body. There were also days you would help Norm pack different human items he’d usually bring for the Na’vi children of the Omatikaya Clan. You, of course, never ventured too close to their territory whenever you went with him to drop off the items. You’d either stay in the ship you flew in or stay at the base as he left on his own.

Jake still kept coming around but his time there became shorter and shorter with each visit. Again, you didn’t bat an eye. You welcomed it and continued with your work.

Toward the end of your busy and long week, you woke up with a start when a blaring sound struck your room. It had to have been the middle of the night as you looked around frantically, only to realize the sound was coming from your tablet.

Quickly, you grabbed it to find the alarm was the system alerting you something was wrong.

And the problem was coming from the tank room.

You stumbled out of your bedroom and dashed through the long halls until you finally ended up in the tank room. Not caring that you were probably making a bunch of noise in the process.

When you got to Augustine’s tank, your heart sank when you found Grace’s avatar was violently twitching with the lights inside of the tank blaring a red.

“Fuck!” You hissed as you immediately checked for the problem.

The first thing you checked was the avatar itself. Her heart and the baby’s were fine but the avatar’s was slightly elevated, probably in response to whatever was happening to the machine which was the next thing you began to check.

There you discovered that something in it was malfunctioning. Throwing the liquid temperature off, the placentiums weren’t giving any more nutrients like they were supposed to. Whatever was going on, you didn’t have time to fix it or the machine.

If you wasted time like that more damage could be done and you weren’t going to risk that. Especially when the baby was in there. Especially when the baby could receive the worst of your mistake. Of this malfunction.

So, you worked fast.

You searched the room for an empty tank—which you were able to find and rolled it over next to the one Dr. Augustine’s avatar was in. You pulled the empty tank open just as Norm and a few other scientists entered.

“What happened?!” Norm questioned hastily.

Quickly, you jumped down from the empty tank and rushed toward Grace’s, “It’s malfunctioning. I don’t know why but we have to move her.”

Thankfully, Norm didn’t ask any more questions. He ordered the other scientists to help you.

You worked quickly. Draining the rest of the liquid from the tank, carefully moving the avatar—this required multiple hands—until you placed it in the new tank.

“Track her heart rate.” You ordered one of them.

A second later, a woman responded, “Stable but its body temperature’s dropping fast.”

By the time she said that you closed the tank. “Norm, fill it up.”

You jumped down, grabbed the heart monitor from the female scientist, and watched the lines closely. The tank was nearly filled up as Norm came up beside you.

Along with the heart monitor, your heart pounded through your ears as the tank finally filled up. You gave the monitor to Norm and went to adjust the temperature back to the usual settings.

When the blue lights came on it felt as if the room breathed a huge sigh of relief. You took the monitor back as Norm hummed, “Lucky you were the one to get here first. And quick thinking too—do you know what went wrong with the other one?”

The rest of the scientists poured out of the room as you slowly shook your head. “I don’t know. I couldn’t waste time, Spellman. Not when it could’ve risked the baby.”

Norm nodded and patted your shoulder, “You’re right. Good work, Doc.” He moved to the other side of the tank with a thoughtful expression. “You want me to stay and help with anything else?”

The lines on the monitor were stable, which brought you some sense of comfort. And yet the slight panic remained. “No, no. I’m good here. You can go back to bed. I’ll finish up here soon.”

“Okay.” Norm eventually moved toward the exit. “Get some sleep, Reeds. I’m serious.”

You nodded without looking at him. “Yeah, sure. Goodnight.”

“Good morning.” Norm corrected with a tired grin.

With that, Norm left. You breathed in a steady breath before grabbing a chair from the corner of the lab and sinking onto it. The monitor was kept nearby, the heart rate melodic in your ears as you set your tablet down on your lap.

For a while, you studied how far along the avatar was. It had been a good couple of months since you first discovered the child—which left her at about twenty-four to twenty-seven weeks at least. That’s not even counting when she first got pregnant. But compared to a human, the Na’vi pregnancy went by a lot faster, which also confirmed your theory.

Or maybe your perception of time was fucked up with how distracted and busy you had been.

Was that why the malfunction happened? Were you too distracted to notice any faults in the system during your usual sessions? What did happen?

You contemplated this for a while. Until your mind became hazy and your eyes droopy. At some point, you fell asleep next to the tank because there was no way you would leave the fetus’ side at that point. Not after all of that.

It felt as if your eyes had been closed for only a couple of seconds before you were suddenly jolted awake to find Norm standing over you.

“What happened? Is it the tank again?” You instantly asked, turning to check on the tank.

“No, no, no—the—she’s fine!” Norm quickly assured while easing you back into your chair. “I thought I told you to get some sleep.”

You stared at him for a beat, both a tired and an annoyed expression easily falling upon your face. “Well, I assure you I certainly wasn’t sitting with my eyes closed just then.”

Norm winced, “Sorry. I thought you’d want to get in your own bed before Jake gets here.” He rubbed the back of his neck as you got up from the chair. “I had to tell him what happened—he’s flying over now.”

“That’s fine.” You grumbled. “I can stand just one day in the same room with him. Besides, I should probably figure out what went wrong with that tank.”

Norm nodded, “Okay—uh, should I be a mediator for the both of you or..?”

“Oh, please.” You rolled your eyes. “It’s not like I’m meeting their clan leader.”

“You really need to try and get along with him.” Norm chuckled with a shake of his head.

You scowled, “Are you going to keep yapping in my ear about it or be useful?”

“Alright, alright, don’t an ass.” He strolled toward the doorway. “Jake’ll be here in fifteen.”

Once he left, you got to work again. You weren’t an official engineer but you knew a good amount of information from your training back on Earth. You hoisted yourself up and into the tank before you began taking it apart. You stood in it, trying to find out what exactly had gone wrong—while glancing at the heart monitor now and then.

Your brain was moving quickly yet hazily from the sleep. Eyes honed in on the mess of wires in front of you. So distracted by your silent questions and theories that you didn’t hear the incoming footsteps. Only the voice that followed after.

“What happened? Is she okay?”

“Yes, she’s fine.” You replied immediately, watching in the corner of your eye as he approached the new tank. His hair was tied back and across his chest was a leather strap that carried what looked like a machete. “It was just a malfunction with the tank. We were able to get her out before any real damage could be done.”

Jake frowned, “Malfunction? How the hell did you let that happen?!”

“Look, I don’t know.” You replied calmly, ignoring the twitch in your jaw. “I’m still trying to figure all that out. But she’s out of it and fine. Norm helped if that makes you feel better—”

“I thought you had things handled? What happened to that?” Jake scowled, his tone vicious.

“I do.”

“Then what the hell happened—”

“I already said I don’t know!” You seethed, glaring down at the group of wires now hanging from your hands. Somewhere in the back of your brain, you realized that Norm really did have to stand between the two of you. That this truce wasn’t stable enough. That the two of them were just too explosive. “The hell do you think I’m trying to do? Kill the baby?!”

You missed the way Jake’s face faltered slightly, catching himself. “No…No, that’s not what I—”

“Then get off my fucking dick!” You snapped, throwing a piece of the tank to the floor with a clatter.

All sound was gone from the room then.

This was the last thing you wanted to deal with. Being scolded like some child—like you already weren’t beating yourself up over this mess.

You sunk onto the floor of the tank and continued working. Because that’s what you were best at. Not conversations. Not people. Not love.

Work. It was everything to you.

Already you were mentally drowning Jake out, ignoring the fact that there was another person in the room with you. But eventually, you realized that there was nothing wrong with the wires. It must’ve been something else. Another theory down the drain.

Jake uttered your name at one point. And you ignored him.

There was a sigh followed by a short pause before he spoke, “I’m sorry.” You continued ignoring him. There was something about his apologies. You were just tired of them. “That wasn’t fair, you’re right. I shouldn’t have come at you like that—”

“Augustine’s avatar is over there.” You mumbled. “You can check on her yourself.”

There was another silence but you were too focused on what was in front of you to notice or care. You were so determined to ignore him and the sting in the corners of your eyes.

You didn’t like to cry. Especially in front of others.

Thankfully, you ignored him long enough until you realized you were finally alone.

After a while, you breathed out a tired sigh.

Fortunately, as the days went by there were no other problems with the new tank or baby, but it didn’t stop you from always double-checking everything after that close call. So much so that you didn’t realize how much sleep you were missing until Norm pulled you away from your work and forced you back into your room. Locked the door and everything just to make his point.

With the promise of Norm taking care of your work, you eventually allowed yourself to sleep for practically the entire day. Not without the tablet on the dresser next to your bed of course.

Even after catching up on some semblance of sleep, Norm still didn’t let you get back to your schedule right away. Which irritated you of course.

“I don’t want you in my garden, Spellman.”

He rolled his eyes, “And I don’t want you stressing yourself out. As your friend and colleague who happens to care about your well-being, I demand you stay away from the garden until you’re completely rested.”

You frowned at him, “We’re friends?”

“Shut up and accept my love.”

And he kept true to his word. Norm kept you away from the gardens, even the tank room. And made sure that the scientists knew how to keep you away as well. He covered all of his bases.

Damn him.

You couldn’t sit around and do nothing though. So, at some point you were so desperate you resorted to practically begging Norm to just give you something to do that would distract you throughout the whole day. You nagged and nagged and nagged until Norm finally gave in.

“There’s an old link shack north of Hell’s Gate. We’ve been thinking about restoring all of them around the area. But that particular shack’s connection is a little wonky. Maybe you could head over and restock the supplies with your avatar. Maybe even fix the connection while you’re at it.”

You nodded quickly, “Yeah, sure thing. I’ll get on that—”

“And don’t try to sneak your way to the gardens!” Norm added sternly, sending you a look over his shoulder while clicking away at his computer. “Plus, you won’t need the Samson ships. The shack’s not too far from here.”

With that, you went to grab supplies, such as med kits, weapons—one gun and a few stacks of ammo—blankets, Na’vi weapons, a hunting knife, and a bow with a few arrows. You kept the hunting knife to yourself just in case.

After getting all of this, you placed the bag of supplies in the compound longhouse where your avatar always slept when you weren’t linked. Once you got to your link bed and linked up with your avatar, you grabbed the hunting knife and the bag of supplies before taking off north from Hell’s Gate.

The sky was grey today with a few darker clouds on the horizon instead of the shimmering blue you were used to. A storm might’ve been coming.

Which meant you had to make this trip quick. There was no telling how bad these storms could get on this planet.

Similar to how you traveled through the forest with Neytiri, you took to the trees so that you’d have less of a chance of running into or disturbing any of Pandora’s finest. Hopefully, you had learned to be quiet enough to not draw any attention your way as well.

As time went by, the sky got darker. You followed the coordinates Norm gave you while slipping through the trees like the true shadow you were. Traveling and climbing through the trees got easier as you went. You had done it enough times with Neytiri that you knew what to do and how to do it. Albeit not perfectly, but enough to get by. Blending into the environment as best as you could.

You enjoyed it, the vibrant life and colors of the forest once again. Every time felt like you were taking in Pandora for the very first time. Every time felt like a huge breath of the freshest air. Here, you were weightless. You weren’t a scientist. You weren’t human. You weren’t an avatar. You were just were.

You existed here. You were real.

Truly this place was everything you dreamed of when you were younger.

Rain began to pour by the time you spotted the shack. It was propped up and well hidden in a large tree, with moss growing out of the sides, the entire thing looking like it hadn’t been used in a long time.

You slid down from a branch as quietly as you could and landed in front of the metal entrance. By the time you got the door open and crouched inside, you were soaking wet from the rain.

The shack itself wasn’t too small, which surprised you. It must’ve been made to allow avatars to be able to roam freely through here without too much trouble.

Once the door was closed, you sunk onto the empty cot in the corner of the shack and began unpacking the supplies. The med kit went into the cabinets above a wooden table attached to the wall. The blankets went on the cot. The gun and ammo went under the cot in a long black case filled with old and rusted weapons you had to throw out into the rain. You kept the hunting knife tucked in your shorts.

The rain kept going. It was relaxing. Stopping for a moment to listen. Smelling it through the cracked window next to the cot you sat on.

It was nice. You could stay here if you wanted. This could’ve been your new home if you didn’t have responsibilities at Hell’s Gate.

Lastly, you worked on the radio that sat on the wooden table—which you assumed was connected to the main base. So, for the next few minutes, you took your time messing with the radio. Listening to either ongoing static or barely audible voices going in and out. At some point, you messed with the wires a few times before Norm’s voice finally came through.

“Tomato. Tomato. Tomato.”

You pressed one of the buttons, “Hey, Norm.”

“Oh, Jesus! Reeds!” Norm startled. “Warn a guy next time!”

You pressed your lips into a thin line, “I just wanted to test if it worked. Clearly, I fixed it.”

A snap of thunder drew you away from the radio. Seemed like it was getting worse out there. You hadn’t realized how long you’d been out there until now.

Norm seemed to realize this too, “You gonna stay there and unlink?”

“Mmm.” You paused. “I’m gonna try bringing the avatar back.”

He sighed, “Alright, good luck.”

“Don’t need it.” You said as you got up. “I’m too awesome.”

“Whatever, Reeds.”

Another clap of thunder filled the air as you stepped out of the shack. Immediately you were soaked by how heavy the rain was.

Thunder continued to boom, making your skin jump every now and then. It was just terribly cold, making you start to run so that you could get out of it faster.

You ran and ran, and ran, and ran, and ran, only to realize just how much noise you were making and that the area was too unfamiliar to you. It wasn’t long until you realized how lost you were. It was just too dark to navigate your way back or recognize any familiar spots guiding your way.

With that in mind, you went toward the nearest tree and began to climb.

But your body was yanked away from the tree bark almost instantly as you were tackled down to the ground by a large weight. Your left shoulder exploded with vicious pain as if a bunch of sharp knives buried itself into your skin and continued to tear through it.

A strangled scream left your lips as the thunder clapped in the sky once more. You could barely see the creature but it was a dark, large beast. Digging further into your shoulder.

You hadn’t even seen it coming. You hadn’t been paying attention.

Now…

Now you might die because of it.

You tried shoving at it, managing to get most of its weight off of you. But the teeth were still in your shoulder. There was still pain. There was still warm liquid dripping down your arm.

When you moved your leg, you remembered the hunting knife in your shorts. Immediately, you dug into your pocket and found the handle instantly.

After that, you didn’t waste any time stabbing at it blindly and desperately. You did this, you kept going until more warm liquid covered your knife-wielding arm. You did this until the animal was limp against your body. Until you were able to push it off and scramble to your feet and run.

The pain was awful but bearable enough for you to run back to the shack at least. Mud was all over your clothes—some of it in your mouth. If anything, you probably looked insane right now.

You ran. Ran. Ran. Ran. Ran. Way too clumsy to be quiet. What’s worse was you had no clue where you were. And there was more shuffling coming from the bushes and trees surrounding you. If anything, you were probably throwing yourself further into the lion’s den.

It wasn’t long until a black creature suddenly came out of the bushes in front of you, causing you to stumble to a stop as it made its way toward you. Sleek and dangerous. Eyes locked on you.

Thunder boomed again. An identical creature came out from your right. Another on your left. Another. And another. And another.

Until you were surrounded. Until you knew there was no way you were going to make it out of this.

You kept your knife in front of you, trying to ignore the pain in your shoulder, the warm liquid running down your arm, the shakiness in your legs. You began to wonder how much blood you were losing with your energy slowly dwindling as time went by—no, it didn’t matter.

Damn it, you weren’t going to die here! Not like this.

“Come on!” You hissed as you pointed the knife at them. “Come on!”

They growled at you, closing in. Finally, one of them pounced toward you. With the knife, you slashed at it. At that, the creature cringed away and missed you entirely but that didn’t mean the others were going to try their luck.

Out of instinct, you stumbled back as two more tried coming for you. Your back hit a tree as you yelled and swung your knife wildly at them.

Only neither the creature nor your blow landed.

The two creatures were thrown to the side as another clap of thunder struck your ears.

Another figure emerged from the trees and rushed toward you.

Instantly, you swung the knife, only for it to be caught in an iron grip.

You screamed.

“Hey, hey, easy!”

It took you only a couple of moments for you to register the words and that they were coming from a familiar avatar. The last person you ever expected to be here.

Jake lowered your arm with a hiss. You blinked as another round of thunder rattled your ears.

The creatures were closing in again. Jake turned his back to you, hissing at them. His larger arm stretched in front of you protectively when one of them got a little too close for his liking. The creature hissed back

You watched warily behind him, still clutching the dirtied knife. Both of you exhausted and animalistic. Yellow eyes glimmering. One with warning and the other with desperation.

Jake looked terrifying in this light. Just as murderous and dangerous as the animals that surrounded you.

You remained behind him, trembling but glaring. Gripping that knife like your life depended on it.

There was suddenly more shuffling, more thunder, and the creatures then scattered.

You, dumbfounded by this, spoke shakily, “Why did they—”

Jake grabbed your wrist holding the knife.

“We need to move.” He said, dragging you forward.

The two of you ran in the opposite direction of the creatures. He hauled you up a tree before climbing up himself. “Is there a link shack nearby?”

For a moment, you wondered how he knew about the link shacks. You leaned on a branch both to catch your breath and because the quick movements left you a bit dizzy. When you couldn’t come up with plausible answers to your silent question you instead said, “I just came back from one. North from here—I don’t know how far it is.”

Your body leaned a little too far. Jake was quick to grab you in his stronger, more stable arms as he pulled you away from falling off the edge, “Hey, hey, Reeds, I need you here with me, okay? Just stay awake long enough until we get to the shack and we’ll clean you up.”

“I’ve...I’m losing a lot of…” Blood. Blood was what you wanted to say. But the adrenalin was wearing out. Your shoulder throbbed horribly. Exhaustion weighed you down and placed inconvenient black spots in your vision.

“I know.” He draped your good arm over his shoulder and kept you upright. “I know, we’ll get there. I promise.”

There was no arguing with him. You were soaked to the bone and in a hell of a lot of pain. Going back to the shack was your best bet in this horrid weather.

Jake continued to support your weight as the two of you followed the same coordinates leading back to the shack—or rather you haze inaudible directions of what you could remember from the information Norm had given you while Jake haphazardly followed.

Thankfully, the rest of the way wasn’t a long journey. Or maybe you just kept blacking in and out along the way, you didn’t know.

Jake and you stumbled through the door of the shack. He closed the door while you made your way to the radio with whatever strength you had left.

“Norm.” You tapped the radio while wincing. The pain in your shoulder was getting worse. Before now you had been tolerating it. “Norm, can you hear me?”

The static went on.

“Storm must be messing with the signal,” Jake said from behind you as he rummaged through the shack. “We should stay here until the storm settles—”

You rested your head against the small table, the rest of his words becoming nothing but muffled noise to your ears. God, you’ve lost so much blood. And you were so tired.

For a moment, just for a few seconds, you wanted to sleep. Only for a moment.

“Reeds.”

A larger hand rested on the back of your neck, bringing you slightly out of your unconsciousness.

Jake kept calling your name. “Hey, where’s the med kits at? We need to work on your arm, okay? And I need you to stay awake. Can’t have you unlinking in this condition.”

Sluggishly, you nodded, “They’re in the cabinets.”

More thunder rolled by. Jake left your side briefly to search through the cabinets above you. You leaned back in your seat, staring bleakly up at the ceiling.

“How long do these storms last?” You asked.

The thunder responded with a clap.

sorry for the long wait! hopefully it was all worth the wait. another 8k chapter, yay, that wasn't difficult to write at all lol! but now jake and reeds are alone in a shack. anything could happen....

(i'm not adding anymore people anymore!)

taglist: @doggyteam2028 @bigbootahjudy @innercreationflower @n7cje @celi-xxmoon @readerofallthingss @sillyblues @squirtlebob @saturnhas82moons @1mawh0re @aprosiacperson @loserwithnofriends @garfieldsladybird @slutforsmut4ever @lik0

[think-like-a-poet]

Carlos Sainz 55- spending time

Carlos Sainz x Fem!Reader

Summary: you and your boyfriend finally have a day to yourselves. You want to make the most out of it.

Wc: 2,8k

Warning: lots of nicknames, translated Spanish, Some smutt at the end MDI!

DON'T USE MY WORK PLEASE

It was one of those days when you and your boyfriend both had the day off. It didn't happen often. Carlos was always traveling or training for the next race. He was on the other side of the globe most of the time. Being a personal stylist yourself and having your own mode magazine didn't leave you with a lot of spare time. You traveled a lot in the fashion season, attending shows and even walking some yourself. The thing was that when you had to travel, Carlos was home and vice versa. Of course you both visited each other at your work, supporting each other career. But both of you having free time was rare, so this was a special day. 

This is how you found yourself in bed cuddled up against the chest of your Spanish boyfriend. You sun had woken you up because you had forgotten to close the curtains after last night's encounters. Both of you hadn't moved to close them, to wrapped up in each other's embrace. Your finger was painting circles on his bare chest as his hand went to massage your head. "This is nice." Carlos whispered, echoing your own thoughts as you both basked in the peacefulness of the morning. The world outside seemed to fade away, forgotten in the midst of your shared connection and the desire to simply be together. You knew you wanted to spend some time outside of your home today and for that you had to get up. 

"We can go out for breakfast. I fancy some tortilla Espanola." You look up at your boyfriend, the corners of your mouth moving up in a smile. Carlos returned your smile, his eyes twinkling with warmth and affection as he leaned in to place a sweet kiss on your head. "Just give me a couple of minutes, mi vida. Then we can head out," he promised, his voice filled with tenderness and love. You hum in response. Carlos's fingers continued to weave through your hair, sending shivers of pleasure down your spine as you fought the urge to drift back to sleep. You didn't want to 'waste' this day together by laying in bed all day. You wanted to make the most of every moment spent in each other's company.

Eventually you both got out of bed. Your Dior slip on dress had moved a bit in your sleep, your side boob hanging out. "We can also just take it off completely." Carlos tucked on the dress a mischievous smile on his lips. Before he could take it off you slap his hand away. "You have to waite till tonight cariño. I want to go for breakfast first." he groans in response way too eager for your love right now. You laugh at him as you walk towards the bathroom. It had been your routine that Carlos would make you both a cup of coffee as you went to get dressed. After that you could pack as he took a shower. So that was exactly what you were both doing right now.

Carlos was sitting in the kitchen making two cups of coffee as he heard you singing in the other room. He smiled to himself. He really won in life with you. You walk out of the bathroom in only your blouse looking around for your necklace that you couldn't find. Carlos followed you with his eyes, sometimes looking down at your but. When he noticed that you were looking for something he stood up and went to stand behind you. Putting his hands in your waist he asks "What are you looking for?" You turn around facing him and look up to see in his eyes. His gorgeous big brown puppy eyes. "One of my Vivienne Westwood necklaces. The one that you got me. I don't know where I put it. "

"I got you lots of those." You were obsessed with her jewelry line and he just had to give you everything you looked at for more than one second. You had quite the selection of her stuff. "I know you did. I am forever grateful for that even if I tell you that you don't need to get me those." He shrugs his shoulders knowing he would buy you another right now. "The Valentina Pendant. Have you seen it?" 

"Is that how you are going out." Carlos asks with a smile on his face as he looks at you still not wearing a skirt. A confused look appeared on your face thinking he didn't like what you were wearing before you saw that your legs were still bare of any clothes. 

He did indeed see it a couple minutes ago. He lets go of your waist much to your own disliking and walks to the coffee table. The necklace was laying on top of the current book you were reading. He picked it up and walked back to you. He moved your hair to the side and put it around your neck. "Thank you." You turn around and stand on your tip toes to give him a kiss. He pulls you right back when you want to leave. His hands had moved down to your ass, squishing it a bit. You smile into the kiss and you almost give in to him. "Not now, Carlos. We have things to do. Go get ready!" 

"Alright" He sighs. "There is coffee for you on the counter." He kisses your head and walks towards the other room. You thank him and grab your drink. Sitting down on one of the chairs you check your mail for any important news. You saw a new invitation for a fashion show and some questions about collaborating. You put them unread not wanting to answer them right away. You put your empty cup into the sink, also cleaning up after Carlos who hadn't yet cleaned up his stuff.

You ran back to the bedroom and walked out, this time wearing the skirt you wanted to wear. You checked if you had everything in your bag before walking out of the apartment. 

You walk hand in hand through the busy streets of Madrid. Even though you had moved in by Carlos two years ago, the city never disappointed you.

You can't help but smile as he pulls out a chair for you to sit and you exchange warm glances. His efforts to showcase the beauty and charm of Spain never go unnoticed, but you playfully resist admitting that it is indeed the best country. 

Carlos leans in closer, a playful glint in his eyes. "Come on, admit it. You know Spain is the best," he teases, nudging you gently.

You laugh, shaking your head. "Maybe it's pretty great, but I'll never say it's better than my home country."

The waiter approaches, interrupting your conversation, and you both place your orders. The suspense of your upcoming show hangs in the air as you share with Carlos that you received an email about a performance.

"So, when's the show? I can't wait to see you up there, shining on stage," he says with a grin, his eyes full of admiration.

"I still need to check the details. Don't want it to clash with any plans," you reply, a warm feeling of gratitude for his support. He nods his head agreeing with your statement. 

As you sit at the cozy, sunlit table outside your favorite cafe in Madrid, you can't help but reflect on the memories you have made in this vibrant city. Three years back you were here on a holiday with a couple of friends. That was the moment that you met the man in front of you. The love of your life. You had gotten lost in the crowded streets and asked a stranger for directions. He walks you towards your destination and gave you his phone number. You hadn't sent him a message right away, scared that he may be a creep. Your friends had convinced you after they heard you say his name. They knew he wasn't a creep. He is your future husband. 

You both look up by the sound of the waiter approaching your food. You take the food and thank him before turning back to your conversation. 

"I cleared by schedule for next week so I can come to Imola with you." You say and take a bite from your tortilla Espanola. His face lights up as you mention it. "Really? I already have a paddock pass for you. You are going to bring me luck." You smile at him. It had been some time since you were in the paddock. You really hated yourself for not being there so often as other wags. They all have their own jobs and they still managed to visit their boyfriends. 

After your brunch you walk through some shops. Carlos had bought a new suit for an upcoming event he had to attend. You had bought a matching dress for the event and a new top for next race weekend. 

Right now you were walking in a Victoria Secret and were looking at some new lingerie sets. The last two were broken after some fun activities you had done with Carlos. "What about this one." He shows the set to Carlos. It was a blue one, with lace trim and a little heart on the nipple coverage.

"It is beautiful, just like all these others you have chosen." He sat admiring you in every piece. He was already carrying some of the sets you had picked out and you disliked the idea of him having to waite much longer so you got dressed in your own clothes. When you got out of the changing room Carlos had already paid for everything and was carrying your bags. When you asked for them he just gave you his hand and walked out of the shop. 

"You didn't have to pay for that. I got my own money." 

"What kind of boyfriend would I be to let you pay. Everything you want i will get it for you, mi amor." He kisses your cheek. You blush at his words. "What if I wanted to get a special limited edition car that cost way too much." 

"Then I get it for you. Do you have anything in mind right now. I know that you want a Porsche. I can get it for you. Or a Ferrari, I personally really like those." He jokes in the last sentence. 

It was getting late and you were walking back. "Want to get some ice cream?"Carlos asks as he points towards a Gelato shop. 

"Won't your trainer disapprove?" You ask, knowing that ice cream isn't part of his training and dieting schedule. You are pretty sure it is somewhere at the bodem, just under all other delicious food.  "What he doesn't know doesn't hurt him. Lets go." He takes your arm and together you walk to the shop. The line isn't too long and you can already order after five minutes. 

"I love ice cream." You lick your cone. You had gotten a cone with pistache and white chocolate. You always take the same, can't go wrong with pistache. It is the best. Carlos had a cone with a vanilla scoop. A bit basic, but always delicious too. 

Carlos was still carrying your bags so he couldn't take your hand for the rest of the walk home. You had tried multiple times to ask to hand over your bags, but he just shrug and walked further.

You had stopped and took a picture of the sunset. While you were doing that Carlos took pictures of his sunset, You. For him you are the most beautiful thing in this universe. When you were done it didn't take long to reach your apartment. 

He opens up the door for you to walk through and you find yourself back in your home. You go to sit on a chair and take off your heels. "Finally free." Carlos shakes his head. He knows that those heels go and hurt your feet after more than one hour and still you refuse his suggestion to wear more comfortable shoes. 

Carlos walks towards the bathroom and you take this as your cue to run to your bedroom. You grab your Victoria secret bag and take out one of the sets that you had just bought. Carlos hadn't seen this one yet. It was a red piece with little coverage. You put it on and admire yourself in the mirror. You hoped he liked it. 

You heard the door open again and you went to place yourself on the bed. "Carlos, can you come here real quick?" You say as his footsteps get closer. You see him stop right in his tracks as his eyes stop you. "Mierda, eres tan Hermosa." he breathes out as he walks closer to you. He goes to sit on the bed and you lock eyes. His hand grabs your chin as he moves your head closer to his. Your lips touch into a deeply kiss as a soft moan escapes his lips. You move yourself onto his lap. 

You start to move your hips into his and Carlos groans at the sudden movement against his dick. The bulge in his pants was growing with each movement that you made. A moan leaves your mouth at the growing feeling under you. His lips attach to your neck as his hands move you closer to him. He leaves a trail of kisses down to your breast before staying in one place which was definitely going to leave a mark tomorrow. Your finger tucks on his shirt mentioning it that it has to go off. "It isn't fair that you are still wearing all of your clothes." He removes one of his hands from your ass and takes off his shirt. 

You go from his lap to help him with his belt. You stroke your hand over his throbbing area, this time a louder moan leaves his mouth and it sounds like heaven to you. Tonight the neighbors won't be getting any sleep.  You go further down the bed as Carlos takes of his pants leaving him in only his underwear. He towers over you both hands on either side of your head. He leans back down to place a kiss on your lips. You gasp as his hands move up your leg towards your wetness. He slips in his tongue when your mouth opens. "So needy for me already." He says as his fingers stroke over you pussy. The thin fabric of the lingerie doesn't do too much as you feel yourself asking for more. "Please, Carlos. I need you to touch me. "

He smirks. He pulls down your panties. He puts in one finger helping your adjust to it a bit before adding another. He keeps kissing you as he starts pumping his finger into your pussy. Moans leave your mouth as he takes up the speed. "So beautiful. So loud and all for me."He leaves a kiss between your breast. Your riding his fingers had been something you looked forward to since this morning. He feels you getting closer around his fingers and he takes them out just before you reach your climax. You groan in frustration as you feel empty. "Why?" You cry out. He places another kiss to make it up. "I want you to come all over my cock, princessa."

He takes off his underwear and his already hard cock  springs out. You moan at the sight of it. "Please, just fuck me. " He puts his dick by  your entrance moving it a bit up and down. Your hand fly in to his hair pulling in frustration. You need him now.

He enters you and fills you up. Pain went over you but it was fast replaced with pleasure as he began to move in and out of you. Your hands grab the duvet under you  and the feeling of pleasure goes over you. "Papi, faster" You scream out. Carlos didn't mind if everyone heard you. Right now was all about love. He picks up his pace and your eyes roll into the back of your mind. You feel a familiar knot forming in your belly and you know you are close "Don't stop, please I am so close." He feels himself getting closer to his own orgasm as you tighten around him. He goes a bit faster and you back arches. Heavy panting is heard as you both come riding out  your orgasms. 

Carlos catches his breath before sliding out of you an empty feeling leaving you behind. He walks to the bathroom and gets a wet towel. He helps clean you up and places a kiss on your mouth. " I love you, mi vida." He lays next to you and you put your head on his chest. " I love you too."