#but like earlier at work my glasses were all fogged up from being in the freezer and i tried to date the food wigout glasses and it was so

[eternally-tired-cryptid]

Bro I forget how bad my eyesight is until I attempt to do a task without my glasses that I normally have glasses for

[strawbeerossi]

Smarty Pants

Pairing: Gender Neutral!Reader x Spencer Reid

Description: After you and your boyfriend get into an argument over some trivia questions at work and he acts high and mighty when proven right, you have just the way to set him straight.

Content/Warnings: Mentions of an argument, not too explicit smut, dumbification, sub!spencer, dom!reader.

Word Count: 0.6K

Kinktober Day Seven: Dumbification

Navigation || Kinktober Masterlist || AO3

You were in the middle of neglecting your work while doing trivia with the others who were crowded around your desk. “Which country consumes the chocolate per capita?” Emily asked, looking over the index card in her hand. You didn’t even know what prompted this little game but you and Derek were going up against one another and so far, you were killing it. That’s made you so confident about your answer.

“Easy. Germany.” You responded while leaning back against your chair, only rolling your eyes as you heard a soft scoff from the desk across from yours. “It’s right!” You huffed while causing Spencer to look up. “Actually Switzerland is the country that consumes the most chocolate. How did you not know that? Chocolate is literally something they are known for.” The male asked, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Switzerland is actually  renowned for its milk chocolate, the most consumed type of chocolate. Did you know that in 1875, a Swiss confectioner, Daniel Peter, developed the first solid milk chocolate using condensed milk, which had been invented by Henri Nestlé, who was Peter's neighbour in Vevey?” 

Like most info dumps Spencer had been known to give, this just made everyone stare at him with blank stares, besides you.. You were fucking livid. There was no way he was right. Just this once, he was wrong. There was no way.

“If you don’t believe me then you can look it up online.” He stated in a simple tone. He more than likely wasn’t meaning to but he agitated the hell out of you. So bad that you decided to quickly type up the trivia question in the search bar. Sure enough, he was fucking right. The look on your face made him smirk from being triumphant, turning back to the stack of files on his desk. “I told you so.” He stated, proud of himself.

The rest of the day, you were annoyed. You wanted to break his glasses, make hi blind until he could get his hands on contacts. You kept your composure through the work day.

Until you got home.

That’s why you were here now, perched on his cock while he was a blubbering mess on your living room couch. “You really felt so smart earlier but now you can't even form a coherent sentence. What happened to Dr. Spencer Reid, the genius who knows everything?” You’d taunted, hand having his hair tugged back to make him face you. His eyes were glossed over, the amount of edging you’d been doing for the past hour making him desperate. 

He’d been reduced to whines and begs of more, unable to even process the words that were being spoken by you. “Look at you, smart little Spencer Reid being fucked dumb. You don't have another statistic?” You taunted, now it being your turn to be satisfied as he was unable to respond. That IQ 187 had dropped to a staggering two as he had his glasses fogged up, sweat dripping from his forehead from all the stimulation.

“My beautiful, dumb baby boy.” You cooed, moving to cup his cheek with one hand. “Can’t even form the words to speak because I’ve turned that pretty brain to mush.” It was like the words went in one of his ears and out the other. “If only the office could see you now. Fucked to the point you can’t even process what I’m saying. Then again, they don’t deserve to see you like this..” You let your hand slide to his neck now, wrapping it so gently around his throat before giving it a squeeze.

“I like when my big and cocky smart boy is nothing but a little dumb fuck toy.”

[lazyjellyfish300]

for the event: washing eachother’s hair with shiu? (Unrelated to the prompt but wanted to share the thought of how handsome he’d be in a light autumn coat 😭 )

Ohhhhhhh don't I know it 😭😭😭😭😭 he is sooooo very handsome he would look so fine and fancy in an autumn coat and just about anything 🔥🥰 thank you dearest nonnie for that lovely thought hehe 💕 TY for requesting 🖤💐 my Flufftober requests are open all October 🎃

"a sight right there..."

CW: xFEM!READER, suggestive, nudity, minors dni, fluff, mention of blood , smoking

Words: 1.5k

The cascade of ample raindrops on the roof of your ornate home was competing with the steady stream of free flowing water from your shower. A nighttime soak to wash away your worries and unwind slowly from another hard day of being the adored and devoted wife of Shiu Kong. Not expecting him for many hours, you took your time today and spoiled yourself in all of the best ways possible. 

Shiu opens the door,  weary and exhausted pants exiting his mouth, moving as though his limbs were made of molasses as he removed the trenchcoat with one damning stain on the front pocket, kicking off his shoes slowly at the door and trudging towards the laundry chute as he chucked his sins promptly down it. 

He combed a stressed hand through his hair and sighed as he reached for the pack of cigarettes in his pocket, squeezing tightly then letting go in feeble defeat, tossing it on the counter as it could not have been ten minutes since his last partaking. He strode back to the hallway, seeking the more tangible release in the form of his adoring wife whom he surmised was indulging in an evening rinse just up the stairs. 

----

The steam of the shower drapes fog around your figure as you lean back and sigh. The temperature rolling from faucet to skin and settling deep inside your bones. Unknown to you, your husband stares at you from across the bathroom, lips parted and eyes hooded as the sight in front of him works quickly to rid his head of any woes that plauged it earlier. The water trickled and hugged your contours like a creek, with you the supple earth underneath it.

His mouth practically waters as the drops chase one another, creating weeping trails until they land and roll off of the curves of you he adored so much. A literal sea goddess plucked from an island of water nymphs. The kind of body men used to start wars over. 

"Now there's a sight right there..."

You sense him without seeing him and turn with a beam as your bewitched Shiu walks up to the clear glass. 

"Hi baby, won't you join me?" 

"Gladly, dollface..." He responds as his tie is already loosened. 

You smile and watch from the warmth of the shower at the sight of your husband stripping down, a smirk on his face and a look that certainly portrays a series of scenarios going off in his mind of what he'd do when the distance was finally closed off between you. 

As he steps in, your brow temporarily falls in concern, "Honey, you've got..." 

Shiu's hand wanders to his cheek. "Dammit...." He hissed as the bloodstain coated his hand, smudging like ink. "Dammit dammit dammit....." 

"No, let me..." 

He flinches but the sureness of the grip of your hand convinces him to relax as you guided his hand underneath the water, calmly washing it away. Shiu's breath grew slower and slower as the stain cleared, bubbling down the drain. 

"You know I hate when you see me like this..." He muttered, eyes cast downward in shame. 

"And you know it doesn't bother me as much as you think it does, my love...," you retorted gently. 

The illicit nature of his profession was no secret to you. Shiu didn't think twice about getting his hands dirty before, but when you came into his life, it mortified him the idea of someone as precious and innocent as you being mixed up with the complicated messes he found himself in. So he tried to separate them, at whatever cost. But he was floored at how accepting and loving you were anyway. How much grace you afforded him and loved him like it was breathing. 

When he was clean, you hummed as your hands trailed all over his body, his frame and lean muscle you committed to memory on countless occasions across countless days yet seemed to start over anew bringing something you had not yet uncovered with it each time you embarked. 

"Close your eyes..." You hum gently as you back Shiu underneath the water before reaching for the bottle of his shampoo, cedarwood scent filling the space between the fog on the glass. It seeps into his midnight tresses of his scalp and trickles to the dark stubble on his neck, his chest. You take in the sight of your husband at peace as he gently throws his head back, succumbing to the spell of your fingers as they work into his hair, removing worry and leaving peace in their diligent wake. 

"That's nice..." His eyes stay closed as his hands run up and down your hips, loving the way the skin underneath them has turned to silk under the meniscus of the water. "You got magic in your fingertips, dollface."

"Just doing what I can to help my darling husband," you murmur. 

Soon you admire your completed handiwork as Shiu looks down at you, those deep darkened eyes like a starless night seeking the cosmos that were embedded in yours. 

"Wash mine too?" You softly request. 

"Don't need to ask me twice," Shiu whispers. 

Before he begins, he cups both sides of your neck and brings you in, uniting you with the warmth of his wet lips. Soft, tender, and unspoken as the kiss inevitably deepens, the steam of the shower and bare skin left more tantalizing by the water bringing you closer together as your tongues become a little more seeking, hands a little more exploratory. 

When you break it, a feeble whimper squeezes past his lips, mourning the loss of you. 

"That's for later, darling. The night isn't going anywhere." 

Shiu smiles at you, shaking his head and accepting his defeat with a subtle bite of his lip. "You're a damn minx, dollface." He brings you closer so your body is flush against his. "But I've always been a patient man. My turn to wash you." 

You smile and tilt your head back, taking your turn for the water to douse you completely, while the florals and marula oil of your shampoo and conditioner work in tandem with your husband's careful fingers. 

Shiu had a technique to it, somehow the crests of his knuckles were more precise and methodical while the tips of his fingers were lightweight and purposeful like a paintbrush. You could still hear the storm outside, October raindrops relentless with the arrival of the wet season, further endearing you to the warmth of the shower and the touch of your beloved Shiu. 

He hummed gently, "Your Song" by Elton John reassuring against your ear. Unknown to many, your husband could carry quite a tune, but you did not mind if that fact remained only known to you. 

 And when the embrace of the fresh sheets on your bed claimed you at last, your basset hound, Stella in a caramel blob at your feet, brewing nighttime tea, and some warming pumpkin cookies since both of you were feeling more indulgent, mindless reruns on the television, you could not sink into anything but just one another. 

"How bout we go into the city tomorrow, dollface?" He says softly as his fingers touch your nape intermittent between long drags on his cigarette. "See a movie and share that popcorn you love so much...get some pasta together." 

"Oh, I'd love that baby, could we?" 

"It's a date, baby." 

"Oh Shiu..." His name from your lips like undying melody. "You make stars fall from the sky just for me." 

Shiu grins widely. "You're such a poet baby..." His lips press against your neck, enjoying that shampoo scent that lingered there, a couple damp strands of hair by your ear tickling the edge of his nose. "You been reading too much of those romance novels." 

"That one came from me, darling." You smile. "Your love has a way of doing that. I can't help being in love with my husband." 

"My mistake, dollface." His gaze like the latent fire burning in front of you underneath your walnut mantle. "All beautiful things come from you. Everything is better after you've touched it." 

"Awhh, I see my poetry is rubbing off on you, darling." 

"Well, you lit up my world the second you walked into it, dollface. How can I be anything but the lovesick fool I am?" 

"That's a very eloquent way of saying you're getting laid tonight, but I think you knew that already." You tease. 

"There you go again, making my heart jump outside my chest." He purrs as he extinguishes his cigarette, replacing it with the calmly building flame within him. You could not tell if the smoke or the eternal pull between you was responsible for the huskyness in his voice, but it didn't matter. 

"Get closer, baby..." 

And the raindrops could not drown out the passionate love that unfolded in that room by the fire, rather the dark and sensual backdrop as the autumn night bowed into late hours, the shake of the wind prompting streaks of red, orange, and green melding among the indigo of the night to settle into a heap outside the window of your tranquil home. 

. 

[heartfullofleeches]

Practice

College Yan + Older Neighbor Reader [M + G.N]

Summary: A friend requests a favor from you after a rough night

Warning: Legal age gap, mentions of alcohol and drugs, emotional manipulation, groping

-

12 missed calls....

"..Hey, Y/n. Just realized you're probably still at work right now....l I just wanted to say thanks for everything. Without you - I don't think I'd be out here tonight.."

"Y/n - hey! Oh... just missed you I guess. I just arrived, and... honestly I'm really nervous. There's more people than I thought there'd be and I don't know anyone. You mind if I call again? Even if you don't answer - it's nice not being alone."

"Y/n... things are going pretty good so far. Someone just came up to me and handed me a cup. I've never drank before, but I have too many regrets already to have another. This goes out to you."

"Are you afraid of dying alone?.... it never crossed my mind until my grandad died a few years back. Nobody liked the guy so he just.... wasted away alone in his house. I don't want that to happen to me. I wish you were here."

"Y/n?.... fuck... please don't listen to that last message. Can you come pick me up? I sent the address to you earlier, but I forgot to tell you. I think I drank too much and I know it's late but... fuck."

"You're coming to pick me up...aren't you? You wouldn't leave me behind like everyone has... I'm so happy I-"

Message Saved.

You didn't need to hear the rest. Teddi was the sweetest guy you've met in recent years. A little rough around the edges, sure, but it's a given with everything he's been through. Once you cracked that shell, he revealed that dorky, loveable self of his who still cried when animals died in movies yet gushed for hours about his fascination with horror media as a whole. You thought you were doing the right thing by trying to get him out of his comfort zone - keep him from turning out like you.

Breathing through your teeth, you toss your phone into the passenger seat as you exit the vehicle. Beer glasses and someone's glasses left out in the field crunch beneath your feet as you cross the lawn up to the house and adjacent door. Poking your head through the crack; a sea of young adults and their peers overcrowd the living space - egging each other into boisterous acts and having the time of their new lives. Realistically you couldn't be a few years older than the older face in the crowd, but this wasn't your click. You walk up to the nearest, unattended person and tap them on the shoulder.

"Excuse me, looking for someone. Thick glasses, nose ring, blue...ish hair? Should've brought my phone out-"

"Oh!! You must be Ted's partner. Y/n - right?."

"We aren't dating. I'm their neighbor."

"My bad - he's just been talking about you all night so I thought - anyway, he's up on the roof. Said he needed the fresh air. Just head upstairs, the ladder to the attic should be right there.

"Alright. Thanks." You push past them and up the stairs - bracing your foot on the ladder rails that creek under your weight as you climb up into the attic. The room is foggy, musty fog filtered out the open door leading to the patio. You reject an offer for its source as politely as you could as you brush by the individuals occupying the space, pulling your shirt over your nose as you step out into the chilly night. Laying on a blanket made of someone else's coat, Teddi sits beneath the stars wearing the jacket you lent him about a week ago. He takes the blunt offered by a peer, breaking off its tip as he pulls it to his lips. You knock on the door frame twice - smoke violent exhausted from his nose and lungs as he turns around to see you.

"Y/n." Teddi staggers to his feet, legs tangled in his makeshift blanket as he trips and stumbles his way towards you. He sports a dopey grin, fixing your jacket to his shoulder. "Hey, we were just talking about you - this is.. uh.." He snapped his fingers. "Fuck."

"Trudy."

"Trudy! Right, haha - they're great, but not as great as you."

"That's great." You wrap an arm around their shoulder, turning them towards the door. "We're leaving."

Teddi slurs out a whine, leaning back - trying to pull you with him. "What? But you just got here. I wanna introduce you to everyone first."

"Maybe later. I need to get you home." Your right hand finds the small of his back, locking around his waist. "Car - now."

His pink face flushes further. "Okay...."

-

Loading Teddi into the car, his head slumps against the passenger window as you shut the door. The ride home is mostly quiet - his hand glued to your lap no matter how many times you nudge him away. His head rolls over to your shoulder and the alcohol on his breath fans your face as he speaks.

"Do you think somebody will ever love me, Y/n?"

"Why are you asking me?"

"I meant someone tonight."

He studies your face. No twinge of jealousy or sadness. You almost looked relieved. He swallows, buring the ache as he continues. "I meant someone and.... I know they're way out of my league. Kind....smart....when they smile it's like the whole room lights up. We hadn't known each other for long, but they've always been there and... I can't imagine life without them now that they're here. Despite our differences I know we are meant for each other."

You ease your foot off the gas. "....Ted. You're a good kid. If I had known a guy like you back when I was your age I would have loved to get to know him."

Teddi sits upright, looking down as he rubs his face. "Quit talking like you're so much older than me..."

"We're here."

Teddi glances outside. Always when he works up the courage to talk to you.. You park outside your house and round the car to help him get to his. Teddi clutches your arm as you face his yard.

"Please don't make me go home tonight, Y/n."

His nails dig into your shirt. "Please."

You sigh. Helping him up the driveway and into your home, you guide Teddi into your bedroom- afraid of what's happen if you give him the couch. Teddi relaxes as you cross the threshold into your living room. The familiarity of your home, just the two of you in this vast space - he wouldn't give it up for anything. The lingering stress melts from his face as you lower him into your bed, resting on the pillow you lay your head on every night. You set his glasses on the dresser and bring him a glass of water - wishing him good night as you turn off the lights. Hovering over the bed, he grabs your wrist as you turn to leave.

"Y/n..... please stay with me tonight."

He brings a hand up to your face, stroking your jaw as he pulls you closer. "Kiss me, Y/n."

".... how much did you drink, Teddi."

"Alot, but - I need you... to help me I mean. I've never kissed anyone before, and I need the practice if I'm ever going to tell them how I feel. You're the only person I can turn to for this. You promised that you would always be there for me."

You knew that would come back to haunt eventually. "Ted, when I said I'd help you with anything, I meant like teaching you how to do your taxes or change a tire. This isn't something we should be doing."

His cheek presses against your neck, fresh tears staining your skin. "We can forget about it in the morning.... They're all I have. You're all I have... Please don't leave me too."

"....show me."

"Huh?"

"How you would confess. Show me."

You sit on the edge of the bed. Teddi props back against the frame, tucking his hair behind one ear and fixing his shirt. He chews on his bottom lip - the moonlight reflecting off your skin basking you in that heavenly shine he always saw. He looks down. "I'm gonna use your name just to make it easier - okay?"

Teddi takes a deep breath. "Y/n - you... you're the most amazing person I've ever met. When I'm with you, it's like opening my eyes for the first time. You're someone I know I can trust through thick and thin... you've always been there for me, and I want to be here for you... forever."

He scoots closer, placing a hand on your lap as he cups your cheek - leaning in til his forehead rests against yours. "I like you...I love you. Please, stay with me."

Teddi slowly closes the distance; fingers restricted round your thigh as his lips fall flush against yours. It feels like a crime - your soft skin beneath his chapped, bitten lips. He presses deeper, engraving every each of you into his memory and being that his mind would allow. His tongue ghosts your lower lip, snaking against your teeth. His hand clasps the base of your neck as he adds his weight to your chest, pulling you up on the bed as he brings your hanging leg up to his side.

"y/n....."

He cards his fingers through at your hair - the taste of whiskey and desperation hot on your tongue as you wince from the abrupt tug at the back of your skull. The depth of your mouth is more indicating than any substance he had all night. His fingers sink into the flesh of your leg, working towards the curve of your ass as a moan vibrates through your teeth centered from throaty whine he makes as they close around his tongue. His lip ram yours as he tilts his head for a better angle with enough force to bruise, and by god he hopes it does. Biting down doesn't stop his tongue from barreling down your throat - ball piercing sucked to the roof of your mouth. He gives pause only when he finally accepts the stars dancing in view are from the lack of oxygen rather the magic of the eve- falling to your chest with a few links and kisses between greedy intakes of air and your scent. He giggles, hiccuping as his arms shoot around your waist.

"My first kiss...... I made sure to tear off the end when I smoked with that girl so I wouldn't lose it even indirectly. Was I your first too? Can you by my first in other ways too?"

You pull from under him as he nips at your shoulder. "You're not into Trudy?"

"Trudy?" The name rolls off his tongue with such disgust and confusion. "Heck no. The person I like is so much more special than her. I'm lucky to even be in their presence. I wanna give them the world. My heart. I love you.... them- so much."

You fall silent as he nuzzles his face against your torso, eyes growing heavy. "It's late, Teddi. Go to bed."

"Will you sleep with me?.... Stay with me until the morning?..."

".....Always."

Teddi cuddles up to your side as you join him in bed - fighting exhaustion to treasure your sleeping face beside him.

[onskepa]

Heyy, I was wondering if you could write a fic where the Sully kids and Spider meet human Jake. It could be like one day they are at Hell’s Gate and suddenly there's like a white light or something and boom Jake is reverted to his past human self ( wheelchair and all ).

Because in canon they only known Jake in his avatar body, so I think this situation would be fun to explore and see their dynamics.

Helloooooooooo there~!! Honestly this is a good idea and I have got the perfect pic for it! Hope you enjoy~!!

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

[credit to the artist]

Would you love me if I was a worm?

No words or sounds came from netyiri. She just stood still, her eyes wide and mouth open. Her tail stopped swaying. For a solid couple of seconds, everything was dead silent. How can she process what is in front of her? 

“Mom, please, for the love of Eywa, don't freak out” Lo’ak says as calmly as he can. His hands raised up slightly, ready for any outburst his mother would do. Neteyam was beside him, both in front of their father, to protect him. 

“Freak out? FREAK OUT!? I am about to lose my mind! What in Eywa’s name has happened!?” Neytiri screeched. Her anger and fear rising up to her voice. 

In a sharp turn of her neck, she glared hard towards the familiar human scientists. 

“YOU!! WHAT DID YOU DO?!” Neytiri's voice echoed throughout the lab, her rage unmatched. Her amber eyes glaring daggers towards the cowarding humans. Norm, being the more braver among the rest, stood in front of her as if to protect his fellow comrades. 

“W-we didn't know it would turn out like this!” Norm said while his voice was shaking, feeling terrified of the large woman in front of him. 

“did not know!? Look at my husband, HE IS SMALL AND PINK! HE IS HUMAN AGAIN!” 

Few hours earlier…

“So what is the point of that whole machine?” Jake asks as his fellow science friends set up some equipment. “We want to see if our theory of reversing things works”. Norm replied. Jake tilted his head a bit, “reversing things? Like what?” he asks. 

“Well like reversing illnesses, diseases, injuries. For mostly medical reasons. Our modern medicine supply is going to go low at some point. And came to decide other ways to fix or treat stuff” Max replies. Jake nods, understanding. He was mostly out of the way as they completed the machine. It was big, mostly tube-like. A long glass tube for a human or na’vi to get in. Had two sides with touch screens and a computer with a slide to insert something into the tube. Looked very rough in some areas. 

“We had to recycle some materials from the old labs,” Norm explains. 

“So, have you guys tested it yet?” Jake asks. Norm shook his head, “no, we are deciding carefully on what could be our guinea pig, and it needs to be organic. Mostly everyone is afraid to go inside”. 

Jake looks at the machine and slightly raises his hand, “What about me? I could do it”. Norm and Max were quick to turn their heads looking at jake. “Are you sure…? We can't guarantee it would hurt or feel weird” Max says, already not liking the nervous feeling he is getting. “We could try a fruit or something else, we really don't know the levels of danger here”. 

Jake raises his eyebrow, “so you built something, medical wise. And you don't know if it can hurt people?”. Norm swings his arms around and taking a deep breath, “we work with what we got. And yes, we don't know if it will cause more harm. That is why everyone, even us, are hesitant to try it out”. 

Jake shrugs and was still insistent on being the test subject. Norm gave in but max was not liking it at all. Feeling something is gonna go wrong. But no one would listen to him. So jake in his na’vi glory, stepped inside the tube as the science guys began to turn up the machine. “Ok, all systems are go. Ready jake?” Norm asks through the intercom. Jake nods, grinning all excitedly. 

Counting down, norm presses a button and suddenly in the tube released light green mist. Fogging the entire large tube. However, loud banging was quickly heard. On the screens showed Jake's heart rate spiking, alarms going off. Quickly everyone was quick to try and shut off the machine. Even by forcing the glass to open. And once it did, a human hand poked out.

“Your father hasn't come back yet, '' Neytiri tells her children as they enjoy their dinner. Jake isn't one to miss dinner time. He wouldn't miss any chance to eat. All of the kids looked at each other, trying to remember when was the last time they saw their dad. And then, tuk thumped her tail happily. 

“Daddy said he went to see the uncle norm and the others. Said they wanted to show him something” tuk happily provides the information. While it is not unusual Jake would go to visit the humans, what is unusual is that he stays there all day. A couple of hours at most and he leaves. This made neytiri worry the more she thought about it. 

“I can go get him” Lo’ak offers. He knows his mother isn't very comfortable being in the human posts. Neytiri nods but also adds, “neteyam will join you”. She knows well he will get distracted and have not only jake but now lo’ak staying longer than they should. 

After dinner, the brothers went off to get their father. However, once they stepped inside…it took everything for the boys to not scream their heads off. 

Present time. 

Jake sat in silence. Mostly still trying to process what happened a couple hours ago, still processing his literal new [or old] perspective, and still processing just how pissed his tall wife is. He is human. Back to who he was before. And to make it worse. 

He is back in the wheelchair. 

Back to having his useless legs. 

Back to being weak. 

And he hates it. 

The screeches of neytiri became dull in his mind. The more he thinks about it, the more it daunts on jake. Will it be forever? Is this the new reality? After achieving so much, only to go backwards? 

“Fix him! I do not care how you do it! Fix him now!” Neytiri continues to demand norm. She doesn't care what methods, she wants her Jake back to how he was. A na’vi. 

“W-we don't know! We are not sure how to fix it. This could take time” Norm tries to reason with the angry wife but she just shakes her head in frustration. “FIX HIM!!” was all she could say. 

“Neytiri” 

She heard Jake's voice. 

Turning to see him, she can't help but feel her heart tug. There he was, just like how she saw him back in the deep forest. Different, yet the same. The man she fell in love with. And now here he is again. Back to being human. 

“Ma’jake…” she whispers. Slowly going to him, she bends to be at his level. Jake offers his hand and she takes it to her cheek. Feeling his warmth. Feeling a few tears escape, she begins to cry. “How could they do this to you?! Why?!” she questions. Humans are creatures she could never fully understand, no matter how well she thinks she knows. 

“I volunteered to help them. They didn't know I would turn out like this. Its not their fault” Jake answers, trying to level a reason with his love. But her tears didnt stop falling. And he hates this. Hates to see netyiri cry. So doing his best to comfort her, he wraps his arms around her neck and hugs her as best as he could. Joining in on the hug were their sons. 

“You foolish skxawng! Stupid! Idiotic!” Neytiri shouted light hearted insults at her husband, and Jake takes it all in, secretly agreeing with her. “I know, I know baby, I know I am” he repeats. He really did fucked up. 

After a couple of minutes, they let go of each other, but neytiri didn't leave Jake's side. Lo’ak turns to norm to ask, “is there a way to turn him back? He isn't going to be like this forever….right?’. 

Norm took a deep breath and said, “the machine we built is to reverse and fix the main source of the problem. When Jake got in…the machine” point to Jake, “fixed him”. The sully family was slightly confused. “Fixed me? How?“ Jake asked. Rubbing the back of his neck, Max stepped forward to provide more information. “What we built is to reverse a source of a problem. Our best guess is the machine found a problem in you. Your na’vi blood. The machine must has seen it as a problem and using your human DNA to reverse it. Thus…you are fixed. And we cant say if we can turn you back into na’vi…”. 

Dread was what everyone felt. Scared that this would be the new reality. Scare that jake won't be with his family every day. Won't continue to be olo’eyktan or anything. Dread and fear is the collective emotions. 

“How about we sleep on this? A lot has happened and sleep would be best to calm ourselves. Sleep, a bit of coffee and think what our next movie is” Jake suggests. Everyone almost agrees. His family however, not really. “I will stay with you” Neytiri says, no hesitation. But Jake shook his head, placing his hands over her larger ones. “I'm sorry baby, but I need you to go back home. You and our boys. Kiri and tuk are currently alone and they need their parents. I obviously can't…but tomorrow, bring them so they can know what's going on. This won't be forever I promise”. 

Neytiri hisses in frustration. He is right, neytiri left kiri to care for tuk while she came to the lab. Never has she wished this was all a bad dream. A nightmare that she can wake up from. But this is real. And she hates it. 

“Fine…but they have to fix you…I want you back” Neytiri whispers. Holding Jake's hand tightly, observing his pale skin. He feels different. It's not the same hand she loves to hold. It is not the same warmth she leans into for comfort. It's all wrong. Jake isn't-

“Mom” 

Neytiri blinks a few times, looking over at neteyam, his hand on her shoulder. “Let's go home, dad is right. We will come back tomorrow. We can bring kiri and tuk like he said”. Sighing, netyiri finally lets go but not without one last look at jake. Seeing his human form made her feel something. Something unpleasant. 

“Dad…damn it's weird…” Lo’ak says, still trying to get the whole thing wrapped in his mind. Jake could help but chuckle a bit, “it's ok son, I will see you tomorrow”. Not saying much, lo’ak goes with his mother, neteyam also looks one last time before joining them. 

The door shuts behind them, leaving Jake alone to his thoughts. 

“So ummmm….you guys still have my old room?”

“Spider, can you for 5 minutes stop staring at me?” Jake asks, slightly annoyed. Spider on the other hand was staring at him as if he couldn't believe what was in front of him. Slowly spider was using his index finger to slowly poke jake. Looking at it, Jake gently smacked his hand away. “Stop it” Jake warned. 

Spider backed away a bit, huffing a bit, “sorry sir it's just….so weird! You are small and pink and well…human”. Jake couldn't blame the boy. He grew up seeing Jake full na’vi. But doesnt mean it didn't hurt Jake a bit. His pride, he tries to keep humble, but little by little his pride crumbles. 

“Get used to it, come on. Lets see what the others are doing” Jake says as both of them head off to the main room. 

“I thought they were kidding…” Kiri says as she stands in front of her dad. Tuk beside her, eyes wide and in shock. Same reaction as their mother. Jake raises his arms, grinning in a rather floppy way, “I wish baby girl” he said. Hearing his voice only confirmed it more. Tuk releases her grip on Kiri's hand and walks over to her dad. Carefully analyzing his human features. 

“Is it really you daddy…?” tuk asks, excited yet afraid to hear his answer. “It is me tuktuk, surprised?” Jake responds, giving his signature grin. Smiling happily, she hugs him tightly. It's so weird to her, she is the baby but she is bigger than her dad. Letting go, she sees his wheelchair, bending down, she traces the metal wheels. 

“Why are you in a chair?” She asks while her giggles escape. She looks up to see jake give a sad smile. 

“Well baby girl, my legs cant move. I cant walk or do anything, '' he tells truthfully. Tuk’s smile faded a bit, “does that mean you cant run..?”. Jake nods. 

A few seconds of silence passed before she went behind him and grabs the handles, “can I at least push you?” she asks excitedly, her tail swaying in a playful manner. Jake chuckles, “try not to run so fast-WOA!!”. Tuk was off doing just that, running fast making cool drifts with the wheelchair. 

“Weeeeeeee~!!” 

10 minutes later 

“Sorry…” Tuk apologizes while holding her tail and head low. 

She just crashed into one of the computers. 

Norm doing his best to not show his internal scream, he does his best to comfort her. But Jake goes over, grabbing tuk’s hand, “it's ok baby girl, but try to be extra careful. It's not easy to maintain all of this technology, come on, let's go with everyone else”. Tuk feeling better, this time she carefully takes Jake to where the other kids are

“And why are you not with your mate? Especially in his time of need?” Mo’at asks as she mixes herbs to make more healing substance. Neytiri was helping her, but refused to make eye contact. Mo’at was told of what happened, and had to see for herself. And while it certainly was a shock, she was quick to tell the people that their olo’eyktan had to travel for a bit. But she doesn't know how long the people will believe that. 

“The children go to support their father but here you are supporting me when it is not needed” she continues. Putting down the roller, neytiri huffs, feeling annoyed herself. “I went to the spirit tree…” was all she could say. But mo’at gave her a look, “Eywa cant answer all of our problems, as she cant help jake sully this time” she says. 

“This is a problem only the humans can fix” 

But even then, neyiri continues to assist. Thinking about her mate, but doing nothing to see him. The humans have to fix him, they must.

The sully kids were playing Jake's old vlogs as he was cringing from the inside. Was that how he really behaved back then? And speaking highly of Quaritch? How badly he wanted to go back in time and smack the shit out of himself. 

“Wait, but you look exactly the same as in the videos, shouldn't you be looking about your current age?” Kiri asks, comparing her father to himself of the past. But Jake could only shrug, “I am not sure kiddo. But I consider it lucky I haven't lost my good looks”. Kiri rolls her eyes at that self praise. 

Yet, as the kids watch, he couldn't help but wonder about neytiri, she hasn't come even though she said she would. He suspects there is something going on with neytiri but he can't point out what exactly. But jake hopes to see her soon. He can use all the support he can get. 

Norm isnt much help since “they are still figuring it out”. Jake hates this, he hates seeing his human hands. Hates to see himself human. The desire to be na’vi again grows every second.  

“Has mom said anything about coming?” Jake asks neteyam, the oldest slight shrugs. “I asked mom but she didn't say much, just that she will be helping grandma. That's about it” neteyam answers. Sighing inwardly, perhaps she too is still processing the truth. That is fine, giving her space can be good.

But as days passed, Jake was struggling. He was so used to doing certain things, he has forgotten his human habits. Often had to be reminded to wear more clothes, forgetting he didn't had much hair from the start. Technology around him makes him a bit sick, unable to stare at screens for a long time. Not like how he used to. Sounds from the computers annoyed him. 

And dont get him started on food. There is only so much pandora food that is safe for humans. Jake missed eating certain things that the humans find weird or gross. 

And most of all, being reminded of how weak he is. Having his useless legs back is forever mocking him. How he isn't strong as he was in na’vi. And he hates himself because of it.

Jake is constantly reminded of how dull and empty his human life was. And how full and nurturing his na’vi life is. He needed to get back to being na’vi soon. As if each day, a piece of his mind is slowly losing sanity. Jake is a patient man, but when you are used to a certain life, only to refrain to how you started. It takes a toll. 

1 month. 

It took neytiri one month to come see him. And Jake felt relieved to see her. To feel her hands and touch her beautiful face. “I missed you” he says with great relief. Neytiri gives him a small smile as she examines his hands again. 

“They still haven't fixed you” was all she said. 

“You talk as if I am broken” Jake slightly jokes, chuckling to himself. But neytiri wasn't smiling. Taking a more serious look, he leans a bit closer, “neytiri…do you think I am broken?”. He needed to know, from revealing to himself, that is all she ever said, fix. As though there is something wrong with him. 

“You are human…” she whispers. But Jake heard her loud and clear. 

Her eyes were unable to meet his. Her hands are there, but her mind is distant. “Is that bad?” he asks. A bad feeling starts to grow, gripping her hands more, Jake tries to make eye contact but neytiri looks away. 

“Baby please look at me….do I look broken to you?” Jake pleads. But nothing came of her mouth. Slowly, Neytiri pulls her hands back and gets up, “I have to go”. She leaves, almost as though she wants to run. 

“NEYTIRI!” Jake calls out, his voice cracking. But she was gone. 

Tuk was crying, she twisted her ankle while running and was swelling bad, Mo’at was quick to treat her, but tears wouldn't stop. Everyone tried to soothe her, but nothing was of use. From neteyam hugging her, to lo’ak making a fool of himself on purpose, nothing worked. And neytiri was getting more anxious that she couldn't calm her baby. 

“Please tuktuk, ssshhhh it's going to be ok. I know it hurts, would you like your favorite supper?” Neytiri asks, holding tuk and gently rocking her back and forth. 

“No! “ tuk cries out. Her wails loud and heart breaking. Honestly they really tried everything. But what could work?

“Tuk, it doesn't hurt, does it? Why are you really crying?” Kiri asks gently, already seeing through her sister's facade. Tuk shook her head, wiping her tears and taking deep, quick breathes. 

“Nononono!” was all tuk could say. The more she cries, the more worried Neytiri gets. But before anyone else can say anything, tuk confesses. 

“I want daddy!!” and she cries some more. 

Her words broke everyone's hearts. For the past month, everyone tried to continue their lives but it was so difficult without Jake around. Neteyam missed flying with his dad. Lo’ak strangely missed being scolded by him. Kiri missed their late night talks. And neytiri. 

Neytiri misses her mate more than she could ever express. But she knows, Neytiri knows she is a coward to not face him as he is. 

A sky demon. 

“I want daddy!! I want him home! I wanna play with him, I wanna be carried. I want daddy to sing me to sleep even though he is terrible! I miss daddy!” 

How can they really shush when they all feel the same? 

“Ssshhh, hey, its still day time, let's go see him. We can all go see dad together” Lo’ak suggests quickly. That made tuk silence a bit, small hiccups following, but she aggressively nodded. Liking the idea, the rest of the siblings were quick to get whatever they needed to go see their dad at the lab. 

“Come on mom, let's go see him” Kiri says, excitedly grabbing her mothers hand. But neytiri stays put. “You go on ahead, take your time” she says. But kiri halted a second, tilting her head slightly. “Don't you want to see dad too? Surely you must miss him a lot more than us” she says, but her mother looks in a different direction, not able to make eye contact. Tugging her hand, kiri gently, yet forcefully, drags neytiri out of their home. Smiling brightly, to encourage her mother, “lets go, we can do something together, all of us as a family”. 

Neytiri looks at her daughter, and decides to follow. But the ever growing dread rumbles in her stomach.

“There there baby girl, don't need to cry. Accidents happen and we learn from them” Jake effortlessly soothes tuk. The little girl sniffed and controlled her tears better. Despite being bigger, tuk was snuggled up against Jake's chest, hearing his heartbeat. This was what she wanted. To be close with her dad again. And being so touch starved, she clinged on to him the most. 

“See, all better huh? Come on, let me see that smile. What is a mouse's favorite food?” Jake asks. Tuk gasped happily, she knows this one! 

“Cheese!” Tuk smiles happily, her tears and sadness washed away. Jake chuckles as holds her tighter. “That's right baby girl” Jake praises. Gently he rubs his forehead against hers, making tuk giggle in glee. His other children surround them, happy to see tuk calm and back to her happy self. Neytiri stood a bit distant, but calmed herself. Jake always knew how to calm their youngest baby. 

“What are you coming home dad? We miss you. I miss you a lot” Tuk whines a bit. Jake couldn't help but frown a bit. “I am not sure when tuktuk. Until uncle norm can find a way, I am like this” Jake answers honestly. But that wasn't enough for tuk. Growling a bit, she huffs. Like a little hamster. 

“Why can't you come home as you are? Spider can go wherever he wants. Why can't you do the same? There are a lot of masks” she asks stubbornly as she crosses her arms. 

Spider, who was beside Kiri, couldn't help but feel sad for jake. The man is in a worse position than he ever was. 

“True, but unlike spiders. I can't run, I can't even stand baby girl. My legs don't work like they used to” Jake answers with all the patience in the world. Tuk looks down at his legs, well what she can see since was wearing pants. Her ears pinned down, hating it more by the second. 

“Can't Eywa fix this? Doesn't she always help like mom says?” Tuk asks more, a little hope rising. Kiri shakes her head and goes over, gently placing a hand over tuk’s shoulder. 

“It doesn't work like that tuk. Our great mother doesn't just grant miracles like that. This is something that must be solved by uncle norm and the other scientists. They did this, so it is only right they find a solution themselves” kiri tells. 

But it seems that no matter how much they explain, tuk will still remain stubborn about bringing Jake back to their home. She understands the complications, but would rather refuse to see it. Like daughter, like mother. As in a way, tuk reflects what neytiri is doing. Avoiding the real problem. So Jake does his best to hold tuk, whispering comforting words into her ear. Which can only work for so long. 

At the same time, lo’ak turns and sees neytiri slowly, yet surly moving farther away. Confused at what she is doing, he goes over. “Mom? Don't you want to get close to dad?” he asks her in a low voice only for her to hear. But neytiri doesn't answer right away. Looking behind him and back at him, she answers in the same low voice. “I am fine, we are here for you and your siblings”. 

Jake noticed the silent conversation happening between his son and wife. It still hurts him that neytiri left only to come back using their kids as an excuse. It seems like real talk is long overdue. Gently moving tuk at his side, he effortlessly climbs back on his wheelchair. 

“Dad?” Neteyam calls out, curious what Jake will do. Smiling like nothing, Jake says, “Hey, why not bother the science guys? They have been playing pac-man all days. But dont break anything”. Giving full permission, they all smile and head off to bother the humans. Spider calls out to lo’ak to join them and he happily does. 

Leaving Neytiri and Jake alone. 

“Let's talk outside, yeah?”

The couple stood outside, as far as Jake's wheelchair allows to. He scratches the edges of the mask. He forgot what it felt like against his skin. It's itchy and uncomfortable. But he bares it. If it meant talking to his mate. 

“Neytiri….baby please. Why won't you look at me?” he asks. Before him, neytiri’s back was facing him. Rubbing her arms to comfort herself. 

“I'm sorry ma’jake…I can't” she confesses. Hesitant heavy in her tone. 

“Can't…or won't?” he confronts. She flinches. And he noticed. Sighing, Jake rubs the back of his neck. The straps itching his upper neck. “I know it's hard. Trust me I know. I had to learn everything again. That i'm…back to this. A useless being” . 

And neytiri couldn't bring herself to defend her mate. As twisted as it may sound. He was right. Jake couldn't do anything without his avatar. He could run, fight, or run a village. He couldn't do anything before the war. 

“But I know that being crippled is the least of your worries. The kids know, I know why you won't look at me. It's because I am back to being what you hate”. 

Don't say it. Please don't. 

“I am…” 

Stop it. 

“A sky demon”. 

“NO!” 

All that had wings, flew away. Startled by the sudden shriek of protest. 

What stance in silence is netyiri fully facing jake. Her fists clenching, heavy breathing, and eyes wide with inner thoughts that scramble to make sense. 

“Back at the secret base. When I passed out from the pandora air. You crawled in and saved me. Placed the mask over my face to let me breathe. You held me in your arms. You saw me. You SAW ME. A human. Looking past my avatar body. Accepting the truth, you feel for a human”. 

The more Jake spoke, the more his voice cracked. The more tears wanted to escape. 

“Why can't you now…?” 

Yes. Why couldn't she? 

“I don't know” was all she could say. No ounce of anger, resentment. Nothing. 

Nodding, but not fully understanding her words. Jake can only repeat it. “You don't know….so who else? Eywa cant help me with this. She helped me greatly before. And even I know, great miracles cant happen twice to the same person. It  must be earned. Fucking shit now I dont know what Im saying”. 

More silence fell between the two. Unsure of what to say. 

“Maybe it was a stupid mistake on my part. Letting myself be the guinea pig for the science guys experiment. I didn't know this would happen to me. I don't know myself” Jake says. Feeling more frustrated by the second. 

But again, he only received silence from neytiri. 

“Neytiri please, talk to me. I can't be the only one spewing out words” he begs. 

“If seeing me like this disgusts you-” 

“It does”. 

Now it was Jake's turn to be silent. 

“Your body disgusts me. I cannot see you as human. To me, you have always been na’vi. An Omatikaya. To see you as human, I am reminded of the past. What they did to our home. To my family. I refuse to look at you for the sake of protecting my memories of you. I will not look back at the past only to see you as human. I will, always will, remember and see you as na’vi. Nothing else”. 

There, she said it. All that had to be said. 

“And now…I see you as one of them”

2 more months have passed and there was no sign of things getting better. The village has grown wary of their absent olo’eyktan that Tsarem had taken the title as temporary. But even still, it can only keep the peace for so long. 

A peace that is fragile. So fragile, it can break at any moment, and chaos will ensue. 

A chaos the sully family is facing every day. Without Jake around, it has become harder to contain their four wild children. Lo’ak has taken more reckless adventures, tuk has been throwing more temper tantrums, kiri has shut down her emotions, and neteyam has become lost in what to do. And each problem took a toll on neytiri. The only time any of them behave is when they visit Jake back at the lab. 

The lab has become more of a home for the kids than back at their marui. 

Yet still, neytiri cant bring herself to go there often like her children. After her last conversation with Jake, confessing how she felt. Never again did she go back to see him. Still playing back the memories of when he was na’vi. Wanting to preserve that form of jake. Pretending he was around, doing his duties to the clan, pretending he was there beside her as she sleeps. 

Pretending everything is ok. 

And it is getting harder to play pretend. 

Until the day came, Jake snapped.

“Bro, do you think they will ever find a way to get dad back to being na’vi? Lo’ak asks. As each day passes, he notices the distance between his parents grow larger. His family is slowly being ripped apart. Lo’ak wishes for his dad to go back to being na’vi. With him back, everything will be ok again. 

It has too. 

“I'm not sure baby bro. But they are smart, Perhaps it takes longer to find a cure. It's not forever, I can feel it” neteyam encourages, But their little chit chat was cut short. They heard alarms going off at the lab. Running quickly, they find their father.

On the ground. 

Crawling. 

And without a mask. 

They were quick to be at his side, Jake was shaking uncontrollably, gasping heavily. Making inconceivable sounds. It was a scary sight. 

“Come on! We have to get him inside!” Neteyam picked up his dad by the legs, lo’ak by the arms. But as soon as they picked him up, spider ran outside with a spare mask. “Here here here!” spider quickly placed the mask on Jake, strapping it around his head really well. Guiding the brothers to put their dad down, they all sat in silence, anxiously waiting for Jake to respond. 

And what felt like forever, Jake gasped into the mask, taking deep slow breathes. The boys released huge breaths as well. Not realizing they were holding it in. 

“Dad, are you crazy!? What were you thinking?!” lo’ak was the first to yell at his father. Jake didn't mind. Letting it slide for now. 

“Thinking about your mom. If she isnt coming to me. Then god damn it I am going to her whether she likes it or not”.

At the sully marui, kiri and tuk were playing in silence as neytiri laid in her hammock, swaying absent minded. Kiri noticed how dull thing became. Their father brought life, structure, and happiness in their family. Kiri desperately wishes he would come back soon.

“DAD'S BACK!!” 

Damn that was soon. 

She and tuk looked down to see neteyam carrying their father in his back. In a hurry, the sisters helped bringing their dad inside of their home. Excited and happy he returned. Even in his small weak form .

Jake sat in the middle of their home, all of his kids talking at the same time. Tuk chanting “daddy's home” over and over. Lo’ak saying how stupid move it was to risk his life like that. Neteyam and Kiri being worried over nothing. He missed this. But the one thing he missed more. Was his wife. 

And neytiri, upon hearing the commotion, stood to see Jake there. In their home, smiling as their children talk to him. Their eyes meet. A wordless exchange was made. But quickly, and again, she looks away. 

“I'm not going anywhere, baby. I'm here to stay. Where I belong. Human or not” Jake states. He said it loud and clear, enough for her ears to point in his direction. Tuk jumps excitedly as she goes over and grabs her mothers hand,“Isn't that good mama? He can stay with us forever and ever!”. 

No, it's not good. 

“Dad is human obviously some stuff will change but he is back mom. We don't have to move back and forth, and we can play games like always, "Neteyam says, with new hope and happiness rising in his heart. All of the kids were feeling that. They can vision it. 

“No, he has to go back. Its not safe for him here. Nowhere is safe out here for him” Neytiri denies. Many begin to complain but they don't know what she sees. So many things can go wrong. Jake cant even climb up without help. It takes only one wrong move and he falls to his death. Or his oxygen tank runs out and no one is near to get him an extra. Death is easier to reach him now, easier to take him away entirely. And only then, would neytiri reach a new low in her life. 

“Then I will have to adapt, dont I? I won't be some damsel in distress” 

Neytiri internally groans. But she is grateful her husband still has  his stupid sense of humor. 

And things did shifted. 

Now Jake spends more time in the marui and neytiri spends more time at the lab. What is she doing over there? Secretly threatening the poor humans to hurry up and solve Jake's human problem. Her threats gotten so out of hand that Mo'at had to intervene. 

“Daring to send thanators after them? Have you lost your mind my daughter?” Mo’at asks neytiri in a stern but calm voice. Despite what expression the tsahik has, she is clearly pissed. Like a child, Neytiri sits still, stubborn and mad that she was caught. Mo’at sits across from her, examining her daughter's facial features, reading her like an open script. 

“Those humans are taking too long. They started their unwanted mess, so they should fix it” neytiri says. And mo’at can only sigh in annoyance. “Fix, fix fix, that is all you have said since the beginning. What is there to fix? Their machine?” Mo’at asks. Shaking her head, neytiri provides more. 

“Not that….Jake….he is not na’vi. He is not MINE anymore” 

This confuses her mother, neytiri goes on. 

“I have looked into the Eywa, seeking, hoping for an answer. I wanted her to help him as she did before. Yet Jake was right, nothing is done twice. I fear many things sa’nu. I fear losing my family. My mind. My mate….I cannot make tayshlu anymore with him. Yes, I can hold him close to me, but every time I see him. All I see is those disgusting, vile, sky demons. I feel utter disgust. The need to hurt him. To dig into his chest and bring out his na’vi body. Destroy his human shell, burn it, rip it apart.  I want him back to how he was. One of us. I fear my inner feelings will soon rise, and that I make a grave mistake that can never be taken back”. 

Hearing all that. It concerned Mo'at greatly. Those are dark thoughts that must be vanquished, if it grows more, she fears it will blind neytiri greatly. 

“What is preventing you child?” she whispers. 

Neytiri took a few seconds of silence, a small smile crept up to her lips. “His eyes…Jake's eyes are what prevents me from losing it all”. 

She goes on. 

“Jake’s eyes are the color of the sky. Very blue, and very beautiful. When I look into his eyes, I can only look for so long. They hold purity. If I stare into them for a long time, I might taint them with all the horrors I have seen. His blue eyes are pure sa’nok. Pure and good, but his body is not”.

Letting her words ponder in Neytiri's mind, she left. But mo’at prays to Eywa that her daughter won't make a foolish choice. 

 

Entering her home, there was warm light, the smell of something delicious cooking, and laughter. Opening the flaps, she sees Jake telling a story as their children all listen carefully. 

“And then, the lorax said…” 

Just hearing that word, Neytiri knows exactly what story Jake is telling. Their children might be too old to hear it, but the Lorax story was one of her personal favorites. She hasn't heard it in a long time. 

Neteyam looks up and notices her, waving his arm and everyone turns to see her. All warm smiles, welcoming her in. Jake looks at her, his patient and stupid smile, his blue eyes staring deep into her eyes. “Come in baby, I was just getting into the good part of the story” he says, kiri serving a bowl of their dinner to her, neytiri accepts as she makes herself comfortable on the opposite side of jake. 

“What story are you telling?” she asks, and in unison, her family happily responds, “the lorax!”. Smiling slightly, she listens. Letting jake continue his story, his voice soft and calm. His way of talking never changed. Always so calm and peaceful. If she closes her eyes, it will be just like how it was. 

Some time has passed, and neytiri was able to stare at Jake longer and more comfortably. Talking more like how they used to, while she is still hesitant to touch him for long periods of time, she is forever grateful how patient Jake is with her. But it seems her children haven't changed much, they are still themselves. Yet just as foolish as their father. 

“Tonight, the children will stay with mo’at” neytiri says one morning, Jake pauses what he was doing and looks over at his mate. “Oh? May I know why?” he asks curiously, seeing how neytiri’s tail was moving, he grins. 

“I thought we could use a little break from them. And just be the two of us-” 

“You want a date night” 

“Yes” 

A burst of laughter erupts in the home, Jake knows her too well. He can read her mind at this point. Looking over, he can see her beautiful smile returning. Bright and lovely. Making his way over with big leaps with his hands, neytiri gets closer. Her eyes staring into his. “You could have said that from the start,” he says. Neytiri places her forehead against his. “Not fun” she says. 

Looking into Neytiri's eyes, he knows what she wants. Who is he to deny her. 

Loosening the straps, he starts to take off the mask. Neytiri sees this and starts to panic, “ma’jake what are you doing? No, stop it!” She holds the mask. 

“Come on baby, what's fun without some risks?” Jake asks playfully.. Taking it off completely, he brings neytiri’s face close to his and kisses her with all the love and passion he had for her. Neytiri wanted to pull away, but felt his lips on her. She caved in, her hand on the back of his head, deepening the kiss. 

What felt like forever, they pulled away. Jake was quick to put the mask on, smirking. “See? I'm fine, but I don't mind another one”. 

Scoffing, she grins, “you skxawng” 

 “your skxawng”.

Night fell, the two mates held each other close. Neytiri sighed happily, she likes this. Likes holding jake in her arms, for once she can top him. Taking in his features more and more, she wanted to admire his good looks. His hair did grew out, and lofts to run her fingers through them. So soft and lovely. His arms strong and muscular, his confident smile ever so contagious. 

“Even if the science guys cant fix me-” 

“No, not fix. Cannot fix something that is not broken” 

Jake looks up at her, surprised but a welcoming one. Brining himself closer into her arms, both let their love and peace lure them into sleep. Happily welcoming what becomes of their new normal. 

Yet as they sleep, they didnt notice Jake’s tablet flashing a light. A message from norm. 

Aaaaaaaaaaaand that is it for this one! NGL I had fun writing this one. Took me a bit but I am glad how it turned out. Until next time! See ya!

[railingsofsorrow]

do you need me?

[spencer reid x reader]

summary: the one where emily's death takes a toll on you. based on the prompt “don't come over, I can handle it.” from this prompt list.

pairing: s.reid x gn!reader

w.c: 3.5K

warnings/content: mentions of skipping meals; grief; mourning the loss of a friend; jemily (implied); blood; non-graphic descriptions of violence; character death (mentioned/not the MCs); addiction; intoxication; survivor's guilt; crying; unhealthy coping mechanisms; this is... heavy, be aware.

A/N: HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!! I wish that we all have an amazing 2024. here's the blurb you voted for. hurt/comfort at its best <3

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❝ it did not kill me and it did not make me stronger. it simply was and always will be scorched upon my heart. ❞

— d.j

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You don't know who took Emily's death the hardest. Pain is not something that can be measured or compared, people deal with it in different ways. Some are quieter in their grieving, others are loud. And although each one of your teammates knows how to compartmentalize their feelings, there was a fog in their eyes, a heaviness in their shoulders more than usual. Things you could relate well after all that has happened. You wish you didn't. You wished all of that was just a strange and far-off memory.

JJ was different — you noticed it during one of your night outs.

Penelope had forced everyone to hang out after a case, to relax. It had been a few months after what happened to Emily and the team was still... sore. Rightfully so.

Hotch and Rossi left earlier, leaving you, Derek, Spencer, Penelope and JJ at the bar. The only ones who weren't intoxicated were you and Spencer. You were pretty sure the conversation Penelope and Derek were having in their own little world was not PG-13, anyway.

“Do you think she's alright?”

Spencer asked, casting a look towards JJ. It's been half an hour she was nursing a glass of water — you had purposely brought her this one since she'd lost count of her shots —, staring at it with her stare unfocused.

“She will be.” You had said and when he told you he was leaving, you asked if he wanted a ride home. You hadn't drank anything but orange juice. He refused it, hugged you and, before he left, he demanded that you'd let him know once you got home.

You ended up being JJ's designated driver that night.

It was when you first saw a crack through the mask she had put on. Emily and JJ shared a deep bond. You knew their friendship wasn't just friendship, even before Emily had revealed to you that she had feelings for the blonde a while back. When Emily was gone, you saw how JJ took it hard. Not that everyone else didn't as well, but the love from each person in the team carried for Emily was different from the love JJ had for her.

Between the gibberish she was mumbling in the passenger seat of your car, she let escape a faint “I miss her”. Her voice cracked and your heart ached.

“D’ you think...” She muttered as you were helping her into her bed. “D'you think she miss— a hiccup — misses us?”

You refrained from saying that dead people cannot miss anything. Instead, you waited for her to fall asleep, placed a cup of water and aspirin on her bedside table before leaving her apartment.

She pretended nothing happened in the next day and you did the same.

You thought JJ had it worst, until Spencer showed up at your door at 3 a.m craving for something he hadn't touched in three years.

Again, pain is not comparable. One does not hurts more than another; people deal with their hardships in life differently, even if they have gone through the same life-changing event.

Some let it show, others just know how to hide it better. You no longer knew if you were the former or the latter through the eyes of your friends.

The current case you were working on had rendered you mentally exhausted. A victim had been taken hostage and for two days you tried to negotiate with the unsub, but to no avail. You almost had it. Almost. When you thought you had succeeded in releasing the woman, she was shot right in front of you.

She died in your arms and there was nothing that you could have done to prevent.

Or was there?

There was nothing that you could have done. You have heard that before. Countless of times. People tried to inject that into your head as a way to make you feel better. And they have their best intentions, you do not doubt it. But it was no use if you couldn't bring yourself to believe these words.

This was just one of those days, when you didn't know how to cope with that overbearing sadness that crippled your mind.

There was nothing that you could have done. There was nothing that you could have done. There was nothing that you could have done. There was nothing that you could have done. There was nothing that you could have—

“Hey.”

You flinched, startled at the voice. As you came back to reality, Spencer turned up in front of you.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.” His face twitched into a grimace.

You cleared your throat, placing your stuff in your bag. You were so distracted that you didn't realise you had been holding the bloodied shirt you were wearing in the morning; you shoved it inside carelessly. I'm gonna burn it.

“You didn't,” you said. “What's up? I thought you had left already.”

Spencer leaned on the door, fingers playing with the strap of his satchel as he waited for you to leave the room. He followed you to the corridor, an unspoken silence that said a million things. His fidgety hands weren't just mindlessly stimming, he was nervous.

Everyone else seemed to have left, meaning the bullpen was fairly empty. You wondered how long you stayed frozen reminiscing as the minutes went by.

“I was waiting for you.” He responded as soon as the elevator doors closed.

You turned to him with widened eyes. “Why? I'm sorry I kept you waiting—”

Spencer quickly waved you off, “It's alright.” He gave you a soft smile. The one you felt warm inside. “I just wanted to know if you were okay.”

Oh.

“Of course I am.” You replied and you really hoped the tight smile you gave him was convincing enough for him to not question further. You weren't sure if you'd be able to not crumble down completely if he asked again.

“Are you sure?”

Damn, Spencer.

Yes, everything is good. I just need to get home, take a shower and have a good night sleep without interruptions.

Everything is good.

You don't know how many times you repeated that until he walked alongside you to the parking lot.

Arriving home was all that you needed to let your armour aside. God you were so tired. You didn't even reach your bedroom before the tears came like a waterfall. Falling into your couch, with no strength to stand, you finally stopped fighting against the sadness and let it lead you for the time being.

It's hard trying to be strong all the time, isn't it? Not admitting you need someone to be there for you because you only know how to be there for people. You tell them it's going to be okay. You let them be vulnerable. You say it's okay to not be okay.

Why can't you treat yourself the same way you treat the people around you?

You count every raindrop falling down your window, it helps you focus on reality. It was grounding and a few minutes later you have stopped sobbing your heart out.

It was raining hard outside. When you open the window, the cold slips right in and you stay there, enjoying the wind pushing your hair back.

You dial a familiar number tonight. And you don't hang up after two rings. You think about doing it in the fourth, but the person picks up, apologizing before they say hello.

It actually makes your lips twitch slightly. You don't smile, but you feel like doing it after crying so hard.

“Spencer.” You say through the phone interrupting his incessant apologies for taking too long to answer, your brows creasing after you hear how strange your voice is. “You don't have to apologize. I was the one who called you at one a.m. Why are you even awake?”

“I was reading. Lost track of time. I— have you been crying?” Well, shit. Too much for thinking he wouldn't notice through the phone.

“Why do you ask?” You ask rather pathetically. Why did you call him? Why did you bother Spencer at one a.m when he could be sleeping? You should feel sorry for yourself. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called—”

“I was thinking about you.”

Your breath hitches. You close the window and sit back on the floor and you feel like crying again, you don't know why. Maybe it's his voice. Maybe it's the fact that he makes you feel everything that you're allowed to feel.

He takes your silence as his cue to continue. “I know how much you love thunderstorms so I...” he trails off as if he's uncertain about what he will say. “I remembered you.”

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Spencer could take pride in saying he knew you better than anyone else.

He recognised the sound of your voice was different when your were excited about a particular topic and when you were discussing a case at work. He knew you brushed your hair behind your ear when you felt shy, but the same action could happen when you were uncomfortable. It heavily depended on the situation.

He was aware of your odd behaviour by the way you kept on touching your index finger throughout the day. The week, actually. Spencer could tell you were bothered by something, he could tell you were deeply upset. You skipped breakfast and you never had lunch with them. Not that past week.

And judging by the dark circles around your eyes, you weren't sleeping well either.

He saw himself in you a month back.

See, Spencer was the kind of person who didn't like being vulnerable around anyone. If anything, he mastered the act of not communicating his feelings, he just expected them to disappear, which didn't happen but he was getting better at understanding that.

After Emily's passing, the only one he opened up to was you. And it was the hardest and best choice he ever made. You made him feel seen. It was so easy to talk to you about anything that he didn't notice until a few days ago that you were a very good listener. Not that he didn't notice that before, no, it was not that. But you just listened. You comforted. You held.

Spencer was really concerned about your coping mechanisms, because he knew he didn't have the most healthy ways of dealing with things. He hoped you were better than him. He hoped you didn't let it build up until you were suffocating.

So when you called him, he wasn't lying when he said he was thinking of you. His lie laid on the reading part, he was trying to fall asleep but his concern was keeping him up.

I'm here for you too. He wanted to say. Please, let me be here for you.

“I know how much you love thunderstorms so I...” He sat down on the bed, shifting until he found a comfortable position. “I remembered you.” This is what he started with.

Your ragged breathing through the line cut off his rational thinking. So you have been crying.

He called your name softly.

“Hi. I'm here.” You say, forcing out an exhale.

“Talk to me.” He pleads.

He hears a faint sniffle, “I'm here, Spencer.”

No, you're not. You're far away.

“I'm here too. You know that right?”

“It's been a hard week.” You admit through your shaky voice. “I just needed to hear your voice.” You cut him off quickly. “I know that I saw you a few hours ago, but I—”

“Do you need me?” He was the one who cut you off this time. He couldn't bear you explaining the reason you called. You could call him as many times as you wanted. Every five minutes, every second. He wanted to tell you he missed you when your shift was over for the day even if he spent the entire day by your side, and that you never ever could bother him because he cherished your company. He wanted you close. And he just wanted you to be okay now.

“... It's one a.m, Spence.” There is some shifting through the line, sounds like you were moving around. “I— I can handle it. It's fine.”

“Do you need me?” He repeats, shuffling out of his room to the living room. He couldn't care less that it was one a.m. He found his coat hanged and didn't wait for your answer to put it on. Really, Spencer should have done it sooner.

He's half way on tying his left shoe when you breath out in resignation. Your voice much closer to his ear as if you were telling him a secret you should be ashamed of. “Yes. Yes, I need you.”

He let out a hum, standing up to grab his car keys and sprinted out of his home to go to yours.

“I'll be there in ten.”

You lived twenty minutes away from him, but he'd make in ten. He wanted to see you. More than anything, he wanted to tell you everything that you hadn't heard when you were too busy comforting people instead of yourself.

He stops short before knocking on your door, deciding on sending you a text to let you know he was there so you wouldn't be startled at the noise. He didn't get to click send as the door was yanked open. Your bloodshot eyes and swollen lips are the first thing he sees.

“Hi.” He says, slipping his phone into his pocket. As soon as he did that, your arms envelope his shoulders which caused him to let out a sound of surprise, but he quickly recover and wraps his own arms around you, squeezing your shaky body against his. “Hi.” He utters into the croak of your neck, his hand trailing up and down on your back gently. “I'm wet because of the rain,” he apologises halfheartedly. “Sorry.”

The laugh he hears through your sobs might just have made his day.

He was cold immediately after you slips out of his arms. You pull him inside your place and shut the door, claiming you would be back with a towel despite his protests that he didn't need it.

Spencer lost count of how many times he visited your place. He knew every corner of your apartment, every place you left books that you keep losing when you didn't found them on the shelves, every painting and drawing you had on the walls. The ones he happily convinced you to put on because you made them and they were beautiful, you just didn't believe it.

The two of you spent long hours on your couch, either reading a book and saying your favourite quotes out loud or just watching bad movies and TV shows to pass the time.

He'd ramble on and on about the inconsistencies of any plot and you'd engage in his refutations until you'd disagree and some bantering ensued.

“Here.” Spencer turns around to see you offering a towel for him to dry off. The middle of your forehead furrows slightly, he feels the need to smooth it out himself but he refrains from doing so. “It's dangerous to drive when the weather it's like this. I'm sorry that I made you come all the way here for nothing.”

“Nothing?” He shakes his head as if it's the most absurd thing you've ever said. “You're not nothing.” He accepts the towel and what he recognizes is a jumper of his he must have forgotten a while ago.

When he's completely dry, he walks to the kitchen where you had ventured off to make some tea.

Two mugs are placed on the kitchen counter, the smell of camomile slowly filling the room. You are lost in your thoughts again, mixing the honey in your tea with a spoon for forty-three minutes, your gaze unfocused. Lost.

His fingerstips trails down your wrist to your hand, proceeding to take one of your hands in his, thumb running across your palm. “Can you please look at me?” He requests softly, head tilting until you have no choice but to meet his eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“It” are a lot of things. But he doesn't know if you feel comfortable enough to talk about all of them tonight. He'll just follow your lead and respect your time.

“I don't want you to see me like this.”

He feels your fingers tighten around his hand and he squeezes back as a form of reassurance.

“Like what?” He can't help but ask. Vulnerable? Human?

“Weak.”

“You could never be weak in my eyes.”

This time, he does smooth down the frown between your brows with his thumb, surprised that you don't reject his touch but welcome it by leaning into his hand.

Neither of you drink the tea. Instead, you move back to the living room, settling down on your couch. You end up cuddling, which wasn't strange because you have done it many times before. Now it just feels more intimate. His hold never strayed from yours. This time, he listened. He comforted. And he held you.

“I'm used to blood, we see it all the time.” you carry on, speaking directly to his chest as he looks down at you. “But I... My hands. There was just so much of it and I couldn't, I couldn't save her.” Your fingers play with the straps of his jumper to distract yourself.

There was nothing that you could have done.

“She knows you did everything you could.” Spencer reassures. He was well aware that you weren't just talking about the victim that you had lost today. “Wherever she is right now...” He lifts a hand to cup your face stroking your cheek with the utmost care in the world. “She knows.”

Your bloodshot eyes study him carefully, searching for any indication that could make you not trust anything he just said. He knew how hard it was to believe that you had no fault in the loss of a friend. Maybe if we had gotten there sooner... Maybe if we had figured everything out sooner...

A little bird told him once that you can't dwell on the past for long or else you'll be stuck in it. And those words — your words — helped on his healing process. He hoped he did the same to you now.

You were laying on his chest, one of your hands positioned right where his heart laid as your other arm involved his middle. His arm wrapped around you as his fingers were trailing up and down your back in the way he knew calmed you down. Spencer felt the most rested he hasn't felt in months and he wasn't even sleeping.

“Tell me if I'm making you uncomfortable.”

He shook his head in response, finding that statement completely absurd because it was not possible for you to make him feel uncomfortable. He's not a fan of PDA, but he found that he didn't mind it with you. So he lowered down on the couch, moving your body with his to be more comfortable, lips grazing your temple in a soft kiss.

“You're not.” He says brushing your hair away from your neck. Your eyes were shut and he could feel your breathing evening out. “Try to sleep a little.” He let out in a whisper to not disturb your peacefulness. He knew you needed it.

“Don't go.” You croak out, tucking your nose in the croak of his neck, breathing into him.

The corner of his lips quirk up. “I'll be here when you wake up.” He promises as thunder rolled outside. Fluttering his eyes shut when you have finally dozed off, he ignores the warnings in his head about sleeping on the couch and how bad it is for one's neck.

No, he could deal with that tomorrow. For now, he would just hold you.

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❝ all I know of strength, I have learnt from breaking. ❞

— sahiba

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taglist: @lilyviolets

[writerman]

hey, for the writing prompts, if barduil and 'fog' and/or 'glass' work for you that would be great, or if those words work for Garrett and Aro, also feel free to go for it! <33333333

Thank you <3

I would have finished this earlier but I went for a walk with my friend that ended up being way longer than expected aha.

Also, I genuinely thought I would never be able to write Barduil again, so I sincerely and genuinely thank you for the prompt.

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Title: Howling Night

Pairing: Bard x Thranduil (Barduil)

Word count: 2064

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It was cold.

The kind of cold that latched on to a man, icy fingers caressing each vein the deeper it sank in, leaving the skin to tingle as shivers, unbidden, eager to seize the entirety of the body ran over gooseflesh skin.

Bard had been travelling toward Mirkwood, having left late night soon fell around him and with it a fog rolled in thick, a swirling mass of white overlaying the darkness of an already moonless night.

Picking his way through the marshland was already difficult, such had always been the way with terrain of its kind, but past rainfall had left the way treacherous, and ill ease had fallen over him as his horse proved overly skittish as they slowly squelched through mud with only a small lantern for light.

It was too late to undo his mistake.

While Bard was acutely aware of how far from both Dale and Mirkwood he was being on the marsh, he could not pinpoint just where he was, for all he knew his horse could have been leading him in circles, not that he could leave the blame on her entirely.

With what meagre light came from the lamp he had fastened to the saddle, Bard halted his weary steed and tried to assess just what he was going to do. Vestele shifted nervously beneath him, her huffing breath mingling with the fog still swirling around them.

“Shush now, we’re alright, we can move again once I work out where in the Hells we are.” His words were a whisper as he tried to soothe her, though he was sure his own worry radiated well enough that Vestele likely picked up on it tenfold, as animals were known to do.

An eerie and distant screech echoed through the night air, a howl much like a wolf appeared to respond, Bard grabbed at the loosened reins hoping to pre-empt any attempt of the horse bolting, he was a moment too slow and with a panicked whinny Vestele reared up high throwing Bard from her back before she bolted into the dark.

The sound of her hooves splashing through streams and mire grew distant until he could no longer hear a single thing around him. The silence was overwhelming and dread drenched Bard’s insides as he picked himself off the floor. His clothes are soaked, smeared with mud and the sickly-sweet smell of rot that only came from the peat marsh.

The terrible screech sounds again, a howl follows, closer than before. Two beasts of the night conversing in a song that would chill even the most steeled of nerves.  Bard rested his hand on the hilt of his sword as he tried to gauge which direction it had come from, and he curses under his breath.

A fine thing it would be to have the newly crowned King of Dale die to beasts because he eschewed having a guard accompany him. It was out of habit; Bard had always done things alone and assumed he still could.

And yet, there he was standing shivering in the cold, blind to what lurked in the mist with no idea where he might be and how long until the sun would rise.

Would the fog even clear when the sun rose?

There was no use standing around waiting for danger to find him. He had to keep moving, as he takes his first step, he feels something solid crunch beneath his boot, crouching down to see what lay in the mud, Bard could scarcely make out the rather forlorn sight of his lamp, the glass shattered the flame long since dead.

The mire enveloped it causing it to, essentially, vanish right before his eyes.

Bard’s brow only furrowed deeper than it already was as he tried desperately to peer into the swirling mist and darkness before him, raising back to his full height, he moved on and began to trek to… well, wherever he ended up.

There was something strange, almost unsettling about the marshland, as much as Bard wished he could attribute the worry to his bad luck, something told him to be careful of what he might come across.

Time appeared to drag as Bard wound his way toward what he hoped was either Dale or Mirkwood.

With an aching in his bones and a persistent and sharp pain in his leg plaguing him, his progress had slowed to something akin to a determined stagger until he conceded to no one in particular that he had to stop and rest.

With the absence of light Bard could not inspect the pain, nor determine if the strange sticky wetness on his clothes was blood or mud. With the air so damp and his spectacular fall earlier his clothes were still soaked through and as the night proceeded on as the night usually does, the chill on his skin began to worsen and lay heavily over him seeping into his bones until his teeth chattered.

Fool King, that is what they will remember me as when I am found frozen solid with chunks torn out of me from night beasts.

Bard internally bemoaned. He had been so full of confidence and perhaps a smidge of bravado when he had sped out of the city on his mighty war horse with a winning smile to the crowd as they gawked at him.

The gawking, he understood now, was utter disbelief at his stupidity and not his people being struck by his very person being near them. He had very little ego, but at that moment, leaning against a sturdy shrub, he accepted that what ego he had was now dust in the wind.

Through his inner turmoil and humiliation, there was a howl again, the screech had since died out, close and clear. So loud it had startled Bard and he scrambled to get to his feet. A hand, still trembling from the cold, reached for his sword.

A pair of golden eyes appeared in the dark, and slowly the form of a grey wolf came into view. It stared at Bard for the longest time before throwing back its head and howling several times in succession before falling silent.

Worried it had called for the rest of the pack, Bard unsheathed the sword at his side, hand moving back ready to swing if he had to. The wolf does not move, aside from sitting down- the golden glow from its eyes had receded and there is silence.

There is a low rumble, something familiar and yet it was not thunder. Bard eyes the wolf warily before slowly turning his attention to where he believed the rumbling came from, the rumbling soon gave way to the sound of many things splashing through muddy waters.

Unless the wolf had somehow summoned a behemoth, it had to be the thunderous pounding of hooves, horses!

With renewed hope Bard tried to call out, whoever it was be it hunters or guard drills he would set aside his embarrassment of being lost and hope for rescue.

At his side, the wolf appears standing beside him letting out a long and sonorous howl and a flash of golden light burst through the dark as countless armed elven soldiers come to a halt on their breathless steeds.

Their lanterns carrying a magical golden glow, reminiscent of the wolf’s eyes not moments ago, illuminated a far wider range than a normal lantern would have managed.

“My Lord, this way!” A soldier called to Bard, they dismount and hurry toward him before being unceremoniously moved aside by the very man Bard was really hoping would NOT show up.

Thranduil is moving toward him, eyes raking over him as he takes in the state Bard had found himself in. He cannot hold Thranduil’s gaze and looks away to the wolf still sitting patiently at his side, there is a slight wag to its tail which was actually very comforting because if Bard was a wolf he would wag his tail at the sight of Thranduil too, if he wasn’t so damned embarrassed.

“You are injured, someone attend to him immediately.” He raises a hand and beckons unseeingly to the soldier he had all but pushed out of his way. They hurry over with a thick cloak throwing it around Bard.

“When Vestele arrived without you, I…” Thranduil’s gaze had softened, and as if suddenly remembering his station realised, he was forgetting himself in front of his soldiers and cleared his throat. “We spend much time away from Mirkwood, your injuries cannot be allowed to linger here in the cold.” Without a word to the soldiers, they moved aside and into formation allowing Thranduil to lead Bard to the elk standing patiently in the dark unbothered by the nighttime escapade it had been dragged out to.

It would be a struggle to get up on the mountain of a creature Thranduil rode, especially given that his leg was now starting to cause more pain to the point he was limping, wincing with every step he took.

Standing before Mahtar, Bard hesitated before looking back at the others, who had the sense to avert their eyes as Thranduil with grace and, quite frankly, heart fluttering ease, lifted Bard to assist him on getting up.

“You will not walk, Lord Thranduil, I could not allow such.” Bard’s words tripping from frozen lips clumsily, blushing at how his decorum crumbled so easily in the elf king’s presence.

Thranduil did not answer as he climbed up sitting comfortably behind Bard reaching around his waist to take up the reins urging Mahtar forward with a gentle click of his tongue.

“It has been too long since we have been this close, I sincerely doubt I could manage to walk the entire way knowing you were so close and not against me this way.” Thranduil whispered into Bard’s ear as they headed toward Mirkwood without any issues from the fog.

“T-the wolf!” Bard stuttered trying to change the subject before he combusts from the heat in his cheeks, he certainly was not cold now, but he had to distance himself from the conversation. Just because Thranduil was whispering did not mean elven ears could not hear.

He twisted round to see the wolf trotting by their side obedient as a dog.

“He assisted us in finding you ahead of time- I did not want to leave to chance that you might have been injured or attacked in the dark. He let me see through his eyes for a spell, but once he had gotten too far ahead of us, he would signal to us where he was, and we merely followed the sound.

He will return to his home in the forest now.” This conversation might not have interested Thranduil, likely dull considering it was the norm for him, it fascinated Bard and many questions sprang to mind.

However, Thranduil was far more invested in talking with his hands as they slid under Bard’s clothes, his warm hand inching up Bard’s stomach to his chest.

It appeared the king had been anticipating Bard’s arrival with more fervour than expected.

“I do hope that injury of yours is healed with haste, if I must wait a moment longer to have you, I fear my behaviour might be unbecoming of a king.” The hand under Bard’s clothes rested over his pounding heart and Bard was gifted with the deep rumble of a quiet chuckle.

“Ada, please people can hear you!” Legolas appeared out of nowhere coming to their side on a sleek white horse, his face set in an expression of mortification before he sped off ahead calling over his shoulder that he was behaving like an elfling.

“Perhaps, we should enjoy the rest of the ride home in companionable silence.” Bard managed a laugh as he pressed his back against Thranduil’s chest raising a hand to softly caress his cheek in sympathy and consolation.

“Wise words, meleth nin. I would agree with you.” The response again was quiet with a slight pout in the words but nothing Thranduil would ever admit to.

The ride to Mirkwood was far more comfortable wrapped in a heavy cloak with an elven king wrapped around him, the only problem he had was that his injury now throbbed horribly.

But he could overlook the pain for his dear Lord Thranduil, his mell.

[ofthecaravel]

Brandy

Chapter One

Summary: A port on a western bay serves a hundred ships a day, and the lonely sailors flock to the Caravel Cantina, run by the Kiszka brothers (minus one). But when their brother returns with a handsome sailor in tow, the youngest Kiszka brother finds his perspective about his family and himself turned upside down.

Tags: Brotherly shenanigans as always, mentions of parental death, a little squabbling, flirting, minor angst

Words: Lil under 10k (whoops)

A/N: I started this literally a year ago. God help me. Inspired by Brandy by Looking Glass and Sam and Danny being goofuses. I really hope y'all like this because there is so much more to post 😭

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As always, the Kiszka brothers had gotten to work a little earlier than they needed to.

The elder of them, Joshua, had always believed that a clean bar would result in an easygoing night, so they often found themselves slipping in through the back door around 5pm on nights they didn't even open and staying until 8pm to mop the floors and replace anything that had been tarnished in nights previous. Josh and his spritely spirit found it invigorating to fiddle with such things as measuring the level of alcohol in their assortment of kegs and casks, or the arrangement of glasses and the security of the coat hooks. But Sam, the youngest of his siblings and the only other one who tended to the family business on a regular basis, usually found himself walking away from all of the menial chores Josh assigned him. He was annoyed enough that he'd had to start full time as their one and only waiter since their brother Jake had left the family business to his twin and little brother to chase his dream of sailing the high seas three years ago. Since then, Josh and Sam had struggled to manage the popular bar all on their own, stretch their very small budget out between the business and themselves, and not murder each other in the process. Sam thought he deserved a little break before work, and the seemingly pointless tasks that Josh insisted he do to help out were not exactly morale boosters. He was coming up on a year of Josh's least favorite pre-shift ritual of his, which included leaning his head against the window tucked into the corner that faced true north and staring in unblinking, unmoving silence. 

It was a clear, early June evening when from his post wiping down the keg spigots, Josh noticed Sam drifting out of the corner of his eye. He sighed when he realized where his younger brother now stood.

"Will you get away from the window? I just cleaned it and you're gonna fog it up again with all your longing sighs."

Sam tossed a sour look over his shoulder at his brother, who stood behind the bar with a rag slung over his shoulder and a judgmental look on his face. Josh pulled the rag down and across the already gleaming wood in front of him and shook his head in near pity, his hand working anxious circles on the surface as it had done every night for nearly 7 years now. 

"I'm not fogging it up," Sam argued. "What, I'm not allowed to look out the window of my own bar?"

"Not if you're going to get your fish breath all over my nice, clean glass," Josh shot back with a barely contained smile, looking down amusedly while Sam scoffed.

He rolled his eyes all the way around to look back out the window, his keen eyes trained on the bustle of the harbor town coming alive as the sun slowly sank deeper into the twilight sky. Lamps were starting to blink awake in the windows of the weathered brick buildings surrounding their little bar, casting their amber light on the cobblestone that the fishmongers tread on with their stained aprons still tightly tied as they headed homeward bound. Sam sported a similar apron that he kept hiked up flatteringly around his waist, worn begrudgingly and scattered with its own fair share of stains and stories. But unlike the fishmongers that passed him by without so much as a glance, he was in for the night,  his shift starting when the first patron inevitably burst in with a thirst for comradery and the extra strong spirits and liqueurs that Sam and his brothers distilled themselves. 

They all specialized in their own kinds, and as their regulars eventually went on to point out, they all suited their specialties very nicely. Josh with his appropriately rosy cheeks and boisterous, people pleasing nature was a natural when it came to bold, sweet wines. Jake had a knack for whipping up a whiskey with a sharp bite and smooth burn, but just like the man himself, those bottles were usually gone from the bar and ran out fast when they were. But Sam was the only one with the patience and palate to tend to the bar's most sought after delicacy: casks of sweet brandy that he laid down in crystal glasses bought off a merchant ship with his private stash of tips. The men that frequented the bar the most had long since stopped referring to him by name, simply raising their hands to catch his eye as he made his rounds and calling out "Brandy!".

Much to his chagrin, his name slowly started to get left at home, and he was soon known solely as "Brandy" to the bar goers of The Caravel Cantina. Only Josh called him Sam at work, knowing it was a surefire way to get his attention as he tended to the mobs of ever parched, low lidded men. Josh called it then, recognizing the mournful look his little brother was casting towards the docks that lay just out of sight of the northern window that his head was lolled against. Sam startled again and fully turned away, pressing his hand briefly to his forehead to feel how his skin had cooled against the pane.

"What?" Sam asked in annoyance, already feeling his ears perk as he thought about the water and its many ships that now lay at his back. As Josh shook his head at him again, he absently wondered if he would be able to recognize the ship he was waiting for by the creak of its sails or how its bow sliced into the dark seawater that pooled around their port. "You wanted something?"

"I want you to get away from my goddamn window and do your job, you hooligan," Josh scolded lightheartedly, tossing his rag with force into Sam's slight chest, who caught it with an audible "oof".  

"Nobody's even here yet," Sam pointed out, gesturing dramatically with the cloth out at the warmly lit yet definitely empty sea of cramped tables and chairs with its lone jukebox pressed against the wall. 

"Sam," Josh said again, his voice softer this time. He let out an even softer sigh and cocked his head at his brother, giving him a small smile. "They're not coming tonight. You got to give it up, bud."

Sam hesitated, slightly stunned that Josh had been able to read his mind so easily, but after a lifetime of close quarters and shared secrets, he could only be so surprised. 

"Jake said they'd be back in the summertime," Sam said carefully, echoing his brother's words of encouragement from the year prior. "The fishermen are starting to bring in albacore and those big, pink shrimps and you know damn well those are only in season when the weather has turned. It is officially summer, thank you very much."

"Hell, you think sailors measure the seasons by the fuckin' fish?" Josh barked out a condescending laugh. "They're not out there to pick salt off of shrimp and clams. You think Jake captains that hunk of junk across the Atlantic to get the ol' pole out and let it fly?"

Sam's cheeks flushed in embarrassment and he furrowed his dark brow with a frown, casting his eyes down as he wrung the filthy bar rag between his lithe hands. 

"Jake knows," Sam muttered. "And he promised."

"Because his promises are so reliable," Josh said sarcastically, a genuine hint of bitterness slipping out as he started stacking glasses aggressively. "Something tells me it's not him who made you that promise, Sammy."

"The sun is staying up for longer, too," Sam pointed out, skillfully ignoring Josh's accusation. "He'll notice that the daylight is blazing beautifully on their masts for an hour longer or whatever pretentious garbage sentiment he writes in his journal. Or do they not have the sun out on the sea, wise guy?"

"Sam."

Sam finally met Josh's gaze and felt a guilty curl in his stomach from the glint in his brother's tired, brown eyes.

"Why don't you have a drink and remember how sweet the fruit of your patience can be, hm?" 

"Yeah," Sam replied simply, feeling a slight shame that he was only adding to ever growing list of Josh's stressors. "Okay. Might help with the rush tonight."

"Rush?" Josh looked lost for a moment before he gripped the glass in his hand even tighter and spun to look at the bar's beloved Mermaid of the Month calendar. "It's Saturday? I thought it was a fucking Friday, fuck!"

"Oh, and Fridays are any better for us?" Sam laughed, dipping behind the bar with his frazzled brother to grab a glass and pouring himself a shallow drink of golden brandy from its coveted bottle. 

Outside, Sam could already hear laughter carrying from down the street that would soon arrive as a pack of rowdy men ready to unwind after a long day by the docks. They surely wouldn't be the last group to swarm their painfully understaffed yet ultimately well loved cantina, and as Sam was throwing back the last of his drink and watching the panic sizzle off of Josh's abundance of curls, the door slammed open and the space filled with thundering voices and cackles.

"Good evening, gentlemen," Josh greeted jovially, his visible anxiety peeling off of him in an instant as men started to take seats at the bar and drag tables together. "What can I do you for?"

"I sure could use a tall, sweet drink of brandy," one of the grizzled regulars purred, giving a sharp toothed grin to Sam, who had already grabbed his tray and slipped from behind the bar and out into the fray. Josh bristled at the man's comment as he skillfully poured him up a glass and watched his brother sidle up to a throng of butchers, who were giving him a look they usually saved for their finest cuts of meat. Josh knew what the men in the bar thought about his brother's feminine features and hospitable grace. He heard what they said about his body and long hair as he slinked through crowds and brushed hands with eager patrons, flashing his wide smile and playing into their little jokes. Of course Sam knew too, and it's not like The Caravel was the kind of place that would let anything like that go by without getting a boot to the ass, but Josh couldn't help but feel protective of him nonetheless. 

"Cool it, Caldwell," Josh said with a slight bite in his gravelly voice as he set down the drink in front of the sharp toothed man. "We wouldn't want the missus knowing what you say about my brother after a few of those tall and sweets, now would we?"

"You're no fun, Kiszka," Caldwell mumbled into his drink, his mustache dipping into the liquor as his grubby pals quickly roped him into a conversation and left Josh to his pouring and coin collecting. 

Across the bar, the jukebox blared to life, and Sam felt a wave of relief wash over him at the sound. The jukebox's chronically high volume meant he had an excuse not to hear everybody's little comments to and about him as he dutifully dished out spilling glasses and salty scoops of peanuts. However, as the song stretched out beyond the first 30 seconds of instrumental, the wave inside Sam came crashing down as he recognized the song's bright lyrics and the vocals they danced on. He swallowed an emotion he'd been biting back since he'd first felt the temperature begin to rise, and as he placed a ring of shots on his metal tray with shaking hands that made the metal and glass clatter in time to the beat, Sam relived a burst of last summer for what felt like the hundredth time.  

-

One Year Earlier

-

Against his will, Sundays had become the designated day for Josh and Sam to come to the bar during the daytime and work on any repairs that couldn't be done in their little interludes before regular nights. The Caravel was closed on Sundays, and despite Sam's consistent protests that that logic should also be applied to its employees, Josh insisted that it was a great opportunity to fix it up for the upcoming week. 

Despite the fact that he and Josh hadn't got home until 3am, Sam woke up with the sun that Sunday. As he lay in bed and focused only on the feel of the linen sheets on his bare skin and the distant whistle of the wind outside, he tried to think back on the last time he had gotten a full night's sleep. 

He figured it had to be around the time that he'd last seen Jake, right before he had left to join a crew on a merchant ship that he made seem a lot cooler than it probably actually was.

"The captain says we're going to sail to all kinds of places," Jake had told him, perched on the end of Sam's bed with a map so wide it sprawled across their knees and grazed the edge of his pillow. "Not just Europe, but Africa, too. Maybe even Asia."

"I don't even understand what you'll be doing," Sam had mumbled darkly, bitterly watching Jake's fingers trace over imaginary waves in the yellowed sea on the paper, charting routes he was yet to go on. Without them. 

"We'll be transporting cargo to ports all across the world," Jake had explained proudly, not understanding the disdain that Sam felt towards his sudden career change. "Not every harbor is as drab as this one. There are really wonderful ones, and I want to see them all."

"It isn't that drab here," Sam had argued weakly, even though he wholeheartedly agreed that their town was the poster child for sad, salty, seasick ports. "Just work on the docks that sail to Canada and Greenland if you want to get on a ship so bad. You could be home for Christmas if you wanted."

There was a moment of silence when Sam leaned back against the wall sullenly, crossing his arms and glaring at Jake. Jake couldn't look him in the eye, instead choosing to slowly roll the map up and secure it with a little slip of ribbon as Sam huffed and bit back any tears that threatened to rise to the surface. The whole house was quiet in that moment, every room empty of noise and joy, Josh having long grown silent since Jake had broke the news over dinner and caused Josh to immediately retreat to his room with a slam of the door. The air had grown thick and cloudy since the words had left Jake's mouth, and as he watched his lanky little brother suddenly shrink very small on the bed he'd slept on since he was a child, Jake fully understood just what his absence was going to do to his family. 

"I need to do this, Sammy," Jake had pleaded with his brother, scooting closer to Sam on the bed and putting a hesitant hand on his shoulder. "I'll be back before you even care that I'm gone."

"I care now," Sam had whispered, shrugging away from Jake's touch and turning away.

It had been the truth. And it was still the truth two years later, after months of letters that came few and far between, and random parcels that came in the mail containing garments made of soft, dyed fabric that Josh snuck into every outfit and hair oils that had made Sam's awkward, choppy bob grow into glossy, walnut waves that he wove into plaits and loose buns to keep out of his face at work. These little gifts he sent from his travels were nice to have around, but they couldn't make up for Jake's substantial absence in their lives. As he got out of bed and dressed in the hazy peach light streaming through his thin curtains, Sam looked at the map hung crookedly on his wall and wondered where Jake's ship was docked now. 

"Jake wouldn't drag me to the bar on a fucking Sunday," Sam murmured to himself in his mirror as he pulled a comb through his hair and twisted it into a loose, wavy ponytail that swung nearly to his lower back. Just a moment too late, he heard his brother's footsteps out in the hall, and hoped in vain he didn't hear what he had said so close to his only partially closed door. 

"Yes, he would!" Josh called from right outside the door as he passed by, knocking on it with an enthusiasm that seemed completely unwarranted for the time of day. "Lighten up, Sammy, we only have a few chairs to fix. It'll be nice and easy for you, Mister Cranky."

"You always say that!" Sam called back, smacking the door and hearing Josh's donkey bray of a laugh move into their small kitchen, followed by the familiar clatter of the kettle and the other sounds that Josh put into motion to bring the house back to life for the coming day. 

Sam looked back at himself in the mirror, tugging on the lavender skin under his drooping lower lashes and pale waterline, taking only a second to dwell on any thoughts outside of getting through the day before he braced himself and headed out the door. 

As predicted, a few chairs to be fixed turned into a couple of barstools that needed tightening, a window pane that needed to be replaced, a floorboard that needed to be hammered back into place, glass shards that somehow went unnoticed from a minor brawl two nights prior needing to be swept up, and Sam being sent on an errand to find a vendor open on Sundays selling oranges. By the time Josh called it quits for the day, the sun was already starting to start its journey back down under the horizon line, much to Sam's dismay. He could barely keep his temper under wraps as Josh circled the bar one last time, letting his honey brown gaze rest a moment longer than necessary on every square inch of the place.

"This is insane, Josh, let's go," Sam hissed, trying not to claw into the doorframe as he attempted not to bolt. "There is absolutely no need for this level of astuteness unless you're expecting the goddamn Queen of England to pop by for a visit."

"You never know when a special guest might grace us," Josh said mysteriously, wiggling his eyebrows while he locked up the maintenance closet.

"Nobody even comes on Monday nights," Sam continued to whine. "You're prepping for three drunks and some mice." 

"Maybe I'm just trying to set an example for the level of care this place deserves," Josh explained in his even, oh-so-wise tone that Sam hated. "This place will be yours someday, you know."

"Yes, I know, and your ghost will still find a way to micro manage it."

"I'll be great for business," Josh grinned, finally turning down the lamp and clicking the key into place. "Sailors love a ghost story."

"It was a dark and stormy night when the young master Kiszka broke free of his cruel, domineering eldest brother and slayed him in his sleep," Sam crooned in a spooky voice as he took the lead down the street back to their little house. 

"You'd never get the chance," Josh scoffed.

Sam continued on with his dramatic tale of how his brother's ghost went on to curse his bar for all eternity and sent him spiraling into madness, with Josh contributing his own details where he saw fit as he trailed him. Right before it went out of sight, Sam cast a look back at the bar, sitting squat and dark against the lilac sky, wondering if what made him detest it so much might be the same thing that made Josh fuss over it so much.

-

The following night, Sam's expectation of a slow night was more than lived up to. By the time 9pm rolled around, Caravel had been graced by a whopping 2 patrons, who had only lingered for about an hour before leaving Josh and Sam to awkwardly sit around and flick coins at each other. 

Sam was able to read his brother's moods pretty well, and as he watched Josh stacking silver coins in a pyramid at the other end of the bar, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off with him. He kept glancing at the door and his usually steady fingers had a slight tremble to them, which caused the coin pyramid to shift and slide to a clattering mess on the wood, making Josh cuss and scoop them back into his palm.

"Hey, brother of mine," Sam prodded gently as Josh occupied himself with spinning a quarter like a top. "How are you?"

Josh tossed him a weird look, laughing slightly as he straightened to admire his growing army of spinning coins. 

"I'm peachy, baby," Josh chuckled, knitting his brows. "And yourself?"

"Good, good," Sam said absently. "You know, if something's bothering you, I'm here to talk."

"Sammy, nothing's the matter," Josh insisted as if it was the silliest thing in the world, but he said it a little too fast. "Seriously. All is well in the house of Kiszka."

"I don't believe you," Sam said lazily, resting his face in his hands as he stared his brother down. 

"Well, I can't help that, now can I?" Josh teased, rolling one of his coins towards Sam. "Let's see how many of these we can spin at once."

Sam rolled his eyes, knowing he wasn't going to be able to get anything more out of Josh but still watching him out of the corner of his eye as they worked together to set the glimmering surface of the bar ablaze with a ballet of dancing silver coins. 

Around midnight, they had managed to accrue a small group of women in the back corner and a few more men at the bar, keeping them only slightly more busy than they had been in the empty bar. Sam, bored out of his mind, stepped away for a moment to "check inventory". This thorough "check" consisted of Sam slipping out the back door and taking a moment to breathe in the sweet, summery air. The chill coming off the ocean gave it a cold, salty bite, and Sam breathed it in gratefully through his nose as he slipped a cigarette and lighter out of his apron pocket. The cigarette, purchased secretly from the general store's quiet cashier, lit up quickly and was slowly inhaled, the herbs and tobacco mingling deliciously with the night air in Sam's senses. He tipped his head back and let loose a billowy stream of smoke into the dark sky, watching a moth sail through it on its way to the streetlight a few doors down. Josh would absolutely kill Sam if he knew he was smoking, so Sam had to sneak them in his rare moments completely alone. He was going to save it for a busy night when he'd really need it, but Sam couldn't help but give in to temptation. He closed his eyes and took in another long, slow drag, listening to the sizzle of the paper and the unmistakable, jovial noises of a group of sailors making their way down the street in front of the bar.

'Oh, boy, here we go,' Sam thought begrudgingly, hearing the muffled shouts and laughs enter the bar through the door to his back. Surprisingly, he heard Josh's voice ring out the loudest, making some kind of announcement and laughing. Josh was loud, of course, but he wasn't one to command a room when there were customers just coming in. Sam took a few more hits before dropping the cigarette and crushing it underfoot, putting his ear to the door curiously as he listened further. Josh's voice seemed to layer over itself alongside the unfamiliar voices that had just come in, and Sam furrowed his brow as he tried to figure out what he was hearing.

"SAM!"

"Fuck, shit," Sam whispered to himself, readjusting his apron and swinging around to open the door, stumbling back inside and powerwalking his way through the back and out into the open expanse of the bar. 

"There he is," Josh grinned brightly, his face completely alight. He was, for once, out from behind the bar and mixed amongst the sailors cluttering the front of the bar. Sam suddenly questioned if his assumption that they were sailors was even correct, judging from their casual, loose fitting clothes that varied in style. Usually the sailors that passed through their town were decked out in the traditional, matching garb with plain stripes and jaunty hats. But, still, Sam couldn't shake the feeling that these were sailors of some sort of caliber. He approached, turning on his cute waiter charm and flashing a warm smile, only for it to fall a moment later when he caught sight of who exactly Josh was standing with his arm around.

"Got a drink handy for an old seafarer?" 

"Jake?" Sam blurted in disbelief, adrenaline seizing his every sense as he tossed his tray haphazardly towards the bar and threw his arms around his brother, who clapped him on the back with a genuine and utterly Jake laugh. "Holy shit, I thought it was Josh I was hearing. What, I mean, oh my God, you're here, what the hell!"

"Good lord, Sam, since when do you swear like a sailor?" Jake exclaimed good-naturedly. "That's supposed to be my sort of thing."

"You should hear the shit he says, I tell you," Josh interjected. He was absolutely beaming, radiating joy from the tips of his curls down to his loafers in a way that should've projected the shimmer of sunlight's pure heat. Sam knew how much he had missed his twin, and now that they were back together again, it felt like something in Josh had slid back into its rightful place. Standing right next to each other, Sam was able to properly assess just how different Jake looked from the last time he had seen him. When he'd left, Jake's hair had curled up boyishly around his ears, but it now fell in sun kissed and wind tossed waves just above his shoulders. He was sturdier in build, with muscles built from lugging cargo on and off ships. He also sported some sparse facial hair and the biggest, ugliest hoop earring Sam had ever seen. Jake was lucky that Sam was too overwhelmed with emotion to make a comment about it, even when they hugged again and Sam felt it brush against his neck, causing him to choke down a giggle as Jake started one of his rambles. 

"You wouldn't believe the weather we had to get through to make it here," Jake said, throwing his palms up dramatically. "Rain like knives the whole way. I thought it was gonna cut through the sails but thanks to some expert direction from yours truly, we made it in record time."

"So, what, you're a captain now?" Sam asked, slightly in awe. 

"Sure am," Jake announced, pride dripping off him as he tipped his chin up and smoothed down his shirt. "A lot has happened since I've been out to sea."

"And you never thought to mention it in any of your letters?"

"Didn't seem fair to brag."

"Oh, get over yourself," Sam scoffed with a smile. "We've been pretty damn successful here without you. We're the talk of the town."

"Really? I didn't hear anything when I was showing the boys around town tonight, did we, boys?" Jake spoke to the crowd around them, and Sam startled slightly at their muddled replies and laughs as he remembered that it wasn't just him and his brothers alone in this space they had grown up in.  

"When we had dinner tonight, did any of you hear about the ol' Caravel?" Jake teased, slinging an arm around Sam and pulling him down to his height, mussing his hair. "Any talk of sweet Brandy?"

"Shut up!" Sam cried, trying to wiggle out of Jake's surprisingly strong grip, his face flushing as the men around them erupted into raucous laughter and whistles. He finally released him, Sam immediately straightening and brushing his hair out with his fingers with a huff as Josh covered a smile with his hand and Jake laughed. 

"You're the worst," Sam declared in true youngest sibling fashion. "You can make your own drinks tonight, how about that?"

"It would be my pleasure," Jake invited warmly, and from the genuine twinkle in his eye, Sam could tell he meant it. 

"Don't you fuck up my bar, Jacob," Josh said seriously, jabbing his finger at his twin as Jake happily made his way behind the counter. "We did all this cleaning and organizing for you, you know."

"Wait, wait, wait," Sam exclaimed, putting the pieces together as he glared down Josh, who immediately turned sheepish under Sam's sharp gaze. "You knew he was coming back? That's why you were being so weird? Why didn't you tell me?"

"We thought it would be a fun surprise," Josh explained meekly. "I still think it was."

"You're unbelievable," Sam sneered, secretly very touched by the gesture. "If I had known it was just Jake, I would've left some of that glass out on the floor."

"Cruel!" Jake cried from his spot behind the bar, where he was now dutifully pouring drinks for his crew, who were only now starting to settle. "It's not just me, it's my men, too. Wouldn't want them getting hurt, now would we?"

Sam didn't reply, simply smiling innocently and turning back to grab his tray to tend to the sailors who had taken seats at tables. He didn't remember exactly where it had ended up landing in his tackling of Jake. He looked around the shoulders of the burly men who had conveniently gathered around the spot on the bar he figured he must have set it down, but didn't see it anywhere. 

Behind him, the jukebox started up, a high instrumental starting to swing out over the crowd inside the Caravel. Sam turned towards the sound instinctually, and blinked in shock when he saw his tray resting atop the jukebox, sitting casually beside the tall man facing the jukebox. Sam approached the tray thief, sidling around his strong frame and preparing himself to have to argue with whoever this kleptomaniac was. Instead, Sam found himself freezing up when he caught sight of the man's profile. 

His eyes, cast down and shadowed by dark, stern brows and long lashes, tracked the song listings as his long, calloused fingers ghosted the dials. His hair was as long as Jake's and fell in smoky ringlets that swayed against his broad shoulders. His nose was handsomely aquiline, and Sam realized that he was close enough to see a peppering of freckles across it. He swallowed thickly and prayed that he hadn't been standing there too long, suddenly unaware of how much time had passed since he had first started looking at the stranger. Sam decided to break himself out of his brief funk by reaching up and snatching the tray off of the jukebox, the flimsy metal making a racket that made the jukebox man jump slightly and turn to Sam with wide eyes. 

"That's my tray," Sam announced, staring him down. There was a short pause, a smile creeping onto the man's face as his gaze softened.

"You're Brandy," he finally said, his small smile stretching into a full, charming smile that was crooked in the way Sam had only ever read about. Sam flushed, his ears going hot as he gripped the tray tightly and curled his lip.

"It's Sam, actually," Sam snapped, wondering why his flustered state was translating as frustration.

"Oh, well, my apologies," the man said sincerely, dipping his head slightly in apology. "That's what the captain called you. I'm Daniel."

"Your captain is my brother, so I wouldn't take anything he says about me at face value," Sam explained, pushing away the thought of what the hell Jake told his crew he was like, if he talked about him and Josh at all. He must have. He was too much of a sap not to. 

Daniel laughed, and Sam flinched at the sound. He didn't know why, it was a nice laugh.

"Don't worry, he speaks very highly of you," Daniel affirmed, and Sam was annoyed to find himself physically relaxing. Did he really care what a bunch of sailors thought of him? "You don't look how I pictured, though." 

"Oh?" Sam barked out an awkward laugh. "What did you think I'd look like?"

Daniel shrugged, his hair shifting enough to reveal hoops in his ears similar to Jake's. He did a dramatic look up and down of Sam, which made him go hot in the face again as Daniel's eyes finally rested on his own. 

"He always described you as, I don't know, like a squirrely little brother," Daniel remarked, gesturing vaguely at Sam. "Messy hair, snotty nose. Which is definitely not you."

"You're strange," Sam replied, meaning it. 

"You're pretty."

Sam froze as he had when he had first approached Daniel, every muscle tensing up as his mouth snapped shut. Daniel stood there smiling at him like he hadn't said a word. 

"I'm working," Sam countered nervously, turning away and then turning back. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too," Daniel echoed, looking back down at the jukebox. "Brandy."

Sam tossed a silent glare at him before hurrying away, quickly distracting himself with fetching rounds for the nearby tables occupied by Daniel's crewmates. 

'What the fuck was that?' Sam kept thinking to himself as he bustled around for the next hour, far too aware that Daniel was still somewhere in this space with him. It wasn't that he had made Sam uncomfortable...it was something else entirely. He couldn't put words to it, and it frustrated him. 

"You're a pistol tonight, Sammy," Jake commented as Sam came sailing back to the bar for the 3rd time in the past 10 minutes, clearing his tray and stocking it with a fresh round of clean glasses. "I knew me being here would renew your zest for work."

"You're a hoot, Jakers," Sam said dryly, both of them exchanging mocking faces as Jake poured up Sam's new round. "Your friends are something else."

"They're a lively bunch, aren't they?" Jake responded proudly, casting a look out over the bar at his men. "Make any friends yet? I talk about you and Joshy every chance I get, you should know. These boys all think you two are the bees knees. Brother of the Year goes to me, thank you."

"Daniel told me about that," Sam replied coolly. "The talking about us, not you being Brother of the Year. Not sure you've earned that one, Mr. Runaway."

"Ah, Daniel," Jake smirked, shaking his head with a mysterious smile. "I love that guy. Damn good when it comes to heavy lifting and rigging. Did you get a look at those tree trunk arms of his?"

"I can't say I did," Sam muttered, lying.

"He's a strong fellow. His talents are much appreciated. He also happens to be a complete sweetheart. If you're gonna actually try and befriend any of these fuckers, he's probably your best bet."

"Noted," Sam replied quickly as Jake poured the last drink. "I'll be back in a second."

"Take your time!" Jake encouraged, pushing Sam back out into the fray. "Go say hi to Daniel for me!"

-

Sam didn't honor Jake's request until after 3am, when Josh had finally taken back control of the bar and insisted Jake and his crewmates get moving so they could clean up. 

"Tell me they're not staying in our house," Josh muttered to Jake as the three of them huddled behind the bar, pretending to be busy as the sailors all gathered up their coats and drunkenly stumbled their way to the entrance. "You promised. We only have the three rooms and our living room is certainly not up to code for sailor folk."

"I've booked them week-long stays at the inn, don't even worry about it," Jake insisted in a whisper. "I sure hope I'm allowed the privilege to sleep in my own bed."

"Of course, idiot," Josh smiled, smacking Jake's arm. "Your bed is still how you left it."

"You're only here for a week?" Sam questioned, his stomach sinking as reality shook the seeming eternity of this odd night. 

"I'm afraid so, pipsqueak," Jake affirmed, his tone weak but his voice far too laced with whiskey to effectively communicate any kind of genuine sadness. 

Sam stared into the glass he was halfheartedly wiping and held back everything he wanted to say. He wished he could say anything about how it wasn't fair to the family for Jake to leave for so long, or how the almost complete lack of communication was even less fair, or how much easier it would be for him to just stay. But Jake was drunk, and it was late, and it just wasn't worth it, so Sam just mumbled an "okay" and stacked the glass. 

"You know," Sam started to say, faltering slightly when both of them looked at him expectantly. "Josh, why don't you just go back with Jake and I'll finish up here. I don't think he can make it back by himself, and I doubt he's kept hold of his house key since leaving."

"Aw, Sammy, you don't have to," Josh pushed back, putting an appreciative hand on Sam's slight shoulder. "I think he can make his way."

"I'm standing right here," Jake interjected, swaying only slightly as he leaned forward. "I can give input. My input is I'm completely fine to walk the 5 minutes home."

"And you have your key?"

Jake paused, his glassy eyes darting around in space as he thought, gently moving to pat his pockets.

"He does not," Josh said to Sam alone, his tired features raising in devilish amusement.

"No, he does not," Sam agreed as they watched Jake turn away slightly to dig in his pockets some more. 

"Still here," Jake piped up again, finally giving up on his key search. "But, yes, it would seem I've misplaced them. But I can wait outside. It's not even that cold and I got some fire in my belly to keep me warm."

"People are going to think you're a vagrant, Jake, no," Sam argued, waving his brothers away. "Josh, take him home. Both of you, get some sleep for once. I'll lock up and see you in the morning."

"Are you sure, Sammy?" Josh asked again, looking at him with a little too much concern. "I'm not saying I don't think you can, I'm just-"

"Get out!" Sam insisted, grabbing both of them by the shoulder and spinning them to face away from him. "And stay out! Follow the crowd, little fish, swim away. I'll be fine, I can handle putting up chairs and mopping."

"Fine, fine, sheesh," Josh giggled, wrestling Sam away from him and slinging a rough arm around Jake, hauling him towards the last few men trailing out the door. "You take care of my baby! And get home quick!"

"Bite me!" Sam replied cheerfully, waving them away with his rag like he was waving off a ship.

"Good to see you again, Sam! I love you!" Jake called loudly, despite being only a few feet away.

"I love you too, you drunk!" 

"Aw!" Jake blew him a kiss, causing Josh to cackle and start up an unheard conversation as they opened the door in identical hand slaps and slipped out into the cool, dark night. 

Sam turned his back to the door, slinging the rag in his hand over the spigot of the sink and sliding the tub of dirty dishes into the basin, letting the water run from cool to warm to soak them. He looked into the full length mirror that Josh had tipped sideways in front of the sink and just under the first shelf of bottles, grimacing slightly at the dark circles continuing to grow under his eyes and the state of the flyaways that had fallen from the ponytail he'd thrown up around 1am. Sam leaned in closer, pulling the ribbon from his hair and letting it fall in a shiny curtain, smoothing it back with his damp fingers. Something fluttered in the mirror, causing Sam to squint and look into the slightly warped and smudged glass, catching sight of something dark behind him. He straightened with a jolt and spun on his heel, brandishing the silk ribbon as if it could do anything to protect him against an intruder. 

Instead, he found Daniel wandering around by the door, watching him with that same gentle smile he'd given him before. Sam's heart had raced when he'd seen something behind him, but now it was just about ready to slam a gory hole through his chest and escape. 

"Oh, my God," Sam wheezed, clutching his chest to hold his heart in. "You scared the shit out of me."

"I didn't mean to," Daniel said with a chuckle, his long legs delivering him to the bar. "I was worried we got off on the wrong foot and wanted to rectify that."

"And you figured waiting in the corner like a silent specter until I was alone was the perfect solution to starting up a jolly ol' friendship?" Sam teased, annoyance lacing his voice with no real venom behind it. "I stand behind when I said you were strange."

"And I stand behind what I said after you said that," Daniel doubled down, leaning onto the bar and meeting Sam's eye, which Sam tried to hold with a nervous swallow.

"Oh, is that why you stayed?" Sam laughed weakly, turning away from Daniel to start on properly washing the dishes. "I don't know what kind of guy you think I am, but I'm not like that."

"No, no, that's not..." Daniel sighed, and Sam watched him lean his head against his hand in the mirror for a brief moment before looking up again, watching the back of Sam's head. "I'm fucking blowing this, huh?"

"Pretty much," Sam agreed with a smile, his cheeks warming. "You really haven't talked to anybody outside of your crewmates for a while, hm?"

"No," Daniel mumbled dejectedly, and Sam bit his lip to prevent a giggle from escaping.

"I can tell."

There was a minute of quiet between them, the only sound being the motion of the water in the sink and the dishes clinking together as Sam rinsed them and wiped them down haphazardly. 

"Do you want help? I can dry."

Sam looked over his shoulder in surprise at the offer. Daniel looked sincere, so Sam nodded slightly and motioned for him to join him behind the bar. Now that they were standing right next to each other, Daniel's towering height and body heat were dizzying in Sam's peripheral as he struggled to keep his hands steady in the soapy water. Daniel dutifully took the ratty drying towel and gently dried off the glasses and plates as Sam handed them to him, both of them working in tense silence. Sam's mind spun as they fell into rhythm, wondering once again just what the hell was going on tonight. 

They were done in a quick 10 minutes, with Daniel drying the last dish with a flourish and training his blinding smile on Sam, who returned it with much less fervor. 

"What next?" Daniel asked brightly. Sam just looked at him for a second, squinting his eyes in confusion as he stared up at the kindly giant who was apparently more than ready for chores.

"Dude, we're closed," Sam explained. "And you don't work here. You're lucky I let you stay this long. You don't have to be here."

"I know, but I want to be," Daniel explained right back. "And you're lucky to have some company. So, what's next?"

"Uh," Sam stuttered, utterly flummoxed by Daniel. "Well, I was going to put the chairs up so I can mop."

"Okay, why don't you get the mopping stuff and I'll put the chairs up?"

"Well-"

It was too late for any kind of response because Daniel had already started shimmying out from behind the bar and making his way over to the sea of tables that had been knocked around and moved all night, straightening them up and effortlessly lifting chairs with a single hand and sitting them gently on the wood. Sam hesitated for only a minute, watching Daniel work to a tune he had started humming, absently wringing his cold hands before wiping them on his apron and shuffling off to the maintenance closet to pull out the mop and bucket. By the time he had wrangled them out, Daniel had managed to get every chair off the ground, allowing Sam to flop the old mop onto the hardwood and start pushing clean water across it. 

"Careful or I'm going to mop you into a corner," Sam threatened, starting towards Daniel with the mop. Daniel yelped in mock fear, backing away dramatically with his hands up. Sam let his front fall for a moment at seeing Daniel play along so easily, smiling as he lifted the mop off the ground and held it out towards Daniel, swinging a spray of floor water towards the sailor. Daniel yelped for real then, laughing as he tip toed his way back towards the bar, perching on one of the bolted down stools as Sam snickered to himself, continuing his mopping route.

"You're a beast with that thing," Daniel encouraged, kicking his leg up onto the stool and resting his cheek against his knee. "How long have you been a mopping prodigy?"

"Well, I've been the designated mopper since I was 12, so about 10 years now," Sam said, and Daniel let out a low whistle. 

"I'm surprised they started you on it that late. Did you do any work here before that?"

"Some," Sam offered, redipping the mop. "More cleaning stuff. I couldn't serve until after we inherited it, so I had sort of a late start on that front." 

"Jake told us about that." Daniel paused. "I'm sorry about your parents."

"It's alright," Sam answered immediately, the response mechanical after so many years of sentiments. He couldn't even begin to delve back into the emotions their accident brought. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Another lull, save for the sound of water.

"My folks bit it, too."

Sam's grip on the mop shifted and he had to fight it from falling over, looking over to Daniel at the bar, whose face was still chipper despite his statement.

"Same thing too, actually," Daniel continued, his hand tracing the motion of waves. "Spot of bad weather on a trip and down they went. The sea is a merciless mistress."

"I-I'm sorry to hear that," Sam stammered, shocked at how blasé Daniel was about such a trauma, especially considering how much he could relate.

"As you said, it's alright, and thank you," Daniel grinned, nuzzling his cheek into his knee further. "I forgave her."

"Her?"

"The sea," Daniel explained, his eyes twinkling slightly. "She can't help but do what she does. Sometimes it means getting a little rough and taking a few of our own. She can't stop it, and neither can I. All I can do is try and bend to her ever changing will."

"Sounds like you two have a complicated relationship," Sam joked as he mopped himself back towards the maintenance closet. Daniel laughed and he nearly bowed under the weight of it, instead gripping the sweat slick handle of the mop a little tighter.

"Maybe we do," Daniel laughed, watching Sam with a fierce grin. "But I love it. She's my life, my lover, my lady."

"Is that so?" Sam leaned the mop back inside the closet, taking advantage of the door shielding him from seeing Daniel for a second. "Then what are you doing here with a landlubber like me?"

There was no reply, forcing Sam to close the door and make eye contact with Daniel again, who was still staring at him with that frustratingly ever present smile ghosting his rosy lips. 

"Because I'm going to need someone to hang out with while I'm here," Daniel said simply. "And Jake told me you're my best bet."

Sam couldn't help but let an inappropriately timed laugh escape then, rolling his eyes to the ceiling and crossing his arms.

"Jake, you bitch," he spoke to the sky. "He said the same damn thing to me tonight."

"Ha! He's never struck me as the matchmaker type," Danny chuckled. "What a sly dog." 

"I wouldn't call it matchmaking," Sam protested, bending to lift the mop bucket and struggling to get it off the ground, flushing in embarrassment. In a flash, Daniel was on his feet and in front of Sam, taking the bucket from him and carrying it like it was a glass of water.

"I would," Daniel argued back. "Where do you need this?"

"Uh, the sink," Sam replied meekly, waving towards the sink. "If you get it there, I can dump it."

"Don't bother, I got it," Daniel insisted, strolling over to the sink and tipping the gray, foamy water down the drain. "Come on, you're not going to let me take you out?"

"I already told you, I'm not that kind of guy," Sam doubled down, tucking hair behind his ear as he watched Daniel shake the last of the water out. "Gimme that."

"I suppose you'll want this back too?"

Daniel held the bucket aloft and in his same curled hand, Sam's silk hair ribbon hung down, the longest bit of lilac thread nearly grazing the inside of the bucket. Sam let an involuntary quiet gasp fly, feeling his cheeks flush once again as he stomped towards Daniel, reaching out for the bucket and ribbon. Daniel held it even higher then, giggling down at Sam as he stood on his tiptoes and struggled for his things.

"You're a fucking kleptomaniac, you know that, right?" Sam hissed in frustration. "It's a disease, and buddy, you have it tenfold."

"One date, that's all I ask," Daniel cooed. "Jake said you'd be tough, so I came prepared to wear you down."

"Jake said what?!"

"He saaaaid,'' Daniel began, lifting the bucket and ribbon even higher when Sam made a springing jump for them, grabbing desperately. "That his little brother was a sweetheart pretending to be a real tough cookie and in desperate need of a date."

"Lies and slander," Sam seethed. "Jake was lying through his teeth to prank you. You've been pranked. Now bite the bullet and give me my things back, please!"

"Mm, no, see, he said you'd say something like that," Daniel hummed, backing up against the bar as Sam stalked closer. "He said there were few things you'd be unable to resist and that I had the most of those qualifications out of our crew. Therefore, I was deemed the lucky fellow tasked with treating you right."

"Oh, really? And what are these alleged traits I find so irresistible?" 

"He said you were a sucker for dark hair," Daniel smiled, cocking his head so his glossy curls swung around his flushed face. "Especially curly hair. He said you like freckles, and green eyes, but most of all you like someone who can handle your attitude."

Sam stood there silently, his heart pounding in his ears as he attempted to glare a hole through the center of Daniel's head.

"You don't have green eyes," Sam pointed out, his voice still dark with frustration. "And I can barely see your freckles." 

"But you admit I'm doing a good job of handling your attitude."

"Stop putting fucking words in my mouth!"

"Stop fighting me and admit you're enjoying yourself!" Daniel crowed, the bucket swinging happily over his head. "You already like having me around. I'm charming, and I'm useful, and I'll pay for your dinner." 

They stared each other down, inches apart, Sam's already burnt out brain churning desperately to make sense of the situation and figure out how to proceed with such a relentless prick holding him up like this. Finally, he dropped back down to the balls of his feet and let his arms rest at his side, letting out a furious huff through his nose and walking away from Daniel.

"Keep them, I could give a fuck," Sam declared. "I'm going the fuck home. Get the fuck out."

Daniel laughed again, and Sam could've strangled him for it. He heard the clank of the bucket hitting the floor and then the soft tread of Daniel's footsteps approaching. He drew in a sharp breath when Daniel's arm came around his side and extended the ribbon to him, his palm up as if in surrender. 

"At least let me walk you home," Daniel maintained, his voice low and velvet soft. "I don't want any criminals snatching you up on your way."

Sam's hand came up and gently took the ribbon from Daniel, the tips of his finger grazing the warm roughness of his hand and then retreating just as quickly, tucking the ribbon into his pocket. He sighed deeply and looked over his shoulder, trying not to startle physically when he realized how close Daniel was, the front of his dark linen top nearly grazing the curve of Sam's back. 

"Get your coat," Sam muttered, stepping out of the near embrace and making his way to the back door. "And stay away from the register."

Daniel laughed as he went back for his corduroy jacket, sneaking a look at the back of Sam's head and graceful figure.

"You really think I'm a lowdown dirty thief, don't you?" Daniel accused, catching up to Sam and opening the door before he got the chance, a gesture which Sam begrudgingly accepted as he stepped out for the second time that night. 

"Yes, I do," Sam agreed, all but yanking Daniel out the door and locking the door with a firm click that soothed his soul a little, certain the craziness of the night was locked away with it.

"You have no idea," Daniel murmured mysteriously, dipping down to hum it in Sam's ear. The feeling of his hot breath ghosting the cold shell of his ear sent chills down Sam's neck that made him involuntarily speed up his pace as they walked down the dim, quiet alleyway. 

This walk usually took about 10 minutes when he walked with Josh, slowing his speed ever so slightly to account for the gangly legs that Josh simply did not possess. However, with Daniel beside him, Sam arrived at his door in record time, not needing to check the time to know it had been about half his usual time. Daniel had tried a few times to strike up a conversation, but Sam had chosen to satiate him only with simple replies and looks, far too worn out to put up with his relentless cheer any longer. 

"Well, this is me," Sam said with finality, pulling his keys out again and giving Daniel a polite smile. "Thank you for walking me home, it was nice to meet you."

"Of course," Daniel replied, his eyes tracing over Sam's face as Sam quietly slid the key into the lock and opened the door a crack. Before Sam could get inside and finally wind down for the night, Daniel reached out and grasped his arm with gentle force, turning Sam ever so slightly towards him.

"Listen, before I go," Daniel began, his perky expression fading ever so slightly into a calmer look Sam couldn't quite read, his features softened by the hazy moonlight. "I know I've been a lot, and I know you probably don't care for me very much, but I really would like to take you to dinner tomorrow."

Sam let out a long, heavy sigh, looking longingly towards the door. Once inside, he would be able to fall into his nice, warm, comfy bed and just sleep. He could even sleep in if he wanted to, and then in the morning, he would get to hang out with his brother, whom he hadn't seen in 2 full years. But here he was, being tugged on by an aggressively cheerful sailor, who was also aggressively into him. Standing on worn, tired legs, in the cold, in the dead of night. There was only one thing standing between him and that sleep he was fantasizing about.

"Sure," Sam finally agreed, shifting awkwardly to accommodate the grin that burst onto Daniel's face at the affirmation. "If it'll get you off my doorstep."

"Wonderful," Daniel said, his smile bleeding into his voice. "Meet me at the pub by the inn at 5 tomorrow. I'll have you back before your shift starts."

"How do you know when-"

"Have a good night," Daniel cut him off, patting Sam's shoulder before spinning on his heel and setting off towards the inn, whistling the jukebox tune he'd played earlier in the night as Sam watched his dark form bounce away. 

Sam waited until he was out of sight to release the tension he'd been holding in his chest in the form of a fast, hot huff of breath, bracing himself against the doorway as he took in another drink of cool air and tried to stave off the perplexing dizzying feeling that overcame him. He entered his house as quietly as he could and shut the door firmly behind him, his fingertips shaking from the adrenaline that had overcome him and seized every bodily motion with uncomfortable velocity. Clenching and unclenching his fists in an attempt to get it out of his system, Sam silently padded by Josh's room, listening only for a second before he heard the soft and unmistakable rattle of the snoring his brother claimed not to do. Next, he stopped in front of Jake's door, finding it ajar and peeking in to see him curled up on top of the blanket and sheets, one of his comically large wide brimmed hats sat crookedly on his head and tipped over his face. Sam went to shut the door but stopped halfway, recalling a memory of Jake tossing a shoe at his head when they were much younger, bitching to keep the door open because he "needed the air". Sam left it open, and retreated to his room.

Sam immediately collapsed on the edge of his bed, slipping his shoes off and ridding himself of his shirt and pants in a flurry of motion, rolling over with a grunt and taking the blanket with him.  He faced the wall for a few minutes, trying to steady his breathing so he could dip into the sleep he so desperately craved, but his eyes didn't close and his mind didn't slow to allow unconsciousness. He turned so he was laying on his back, pulling the covers over his bare chest and staring up at the blank ceiling, trying to clear his mind. 

It was around 5am when Sam finally got his shut eye, sinking back into his thin pillow with his lips parted, the darkness outside starting to lift with the first flickers of morning light. It had only taken an hour of tossing, turning, and indulging in the relentless parade of images flickering against his eyelids, counting the freckles on the strange sailor's nose until he drifted away.

~~~

[e-dubbc11]

As I read through the prompts for your sleepover, I fell over "Breathing frosty fog onto a surface and drawing in it." And I couls just imagine Brock's S/O doing this and it would make that big strong man blush 🫠❤️

My lovely Lily,

I do love writing for Rumlow so thank you for sending this in, thank you for being a part of my sleepover and thank you for being such a good and supportive friend to me. Love you lots and I hope you like it.

A Kiss Out in the Cold

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Brock Rumlow x F! Reader

Warnings: Maybe a couple of swear words, Rumlow being his normal brooding self, little jealousy, fluffy bunnies and unicorns

Word Count: 1.1K-ish

Summary: Reader is a realtor, her client is her ex. Brock thinks he has an ulterior motive

As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

“He could have gone to any other realtor, ya know that right, doll?” Said Brock, he sounded angry enough to spit nails.

He was talking about your ex coming into your office earlier today, looking to buy a house. Obviously, you weren’t expecting him, of all people.

Without looking up from your paperwork, you said, “Hi there, give me one second and I’ll be riiiiiight with you.”

“Take your time, pretty eyes.” He had said.

You knew that voice but you hadn’t heard it in months.

John was your ex-boyfriend and apparently he was in the market for a new home. He had plenty of money so if you were to find him one, the commission on it would be staggering. D.C. was a very expensive area to live in so you looking at John at that moment was like looking at two life size dollar signs. Nothing more.

“D.C. is full of realtor’s, y/n and he chose your office?” He said. Even on the phone, you could tell he had a sour look on his face. “I don’t like it.”

“You are such a cynic, Rumlow. You know I’m with YOU, right? Ya big dumb animal.” You snapped into the phone.

“I still don’t like it, sweetheart.” Brock stated with bitterness in his voice.

“You’ll like it when I bring home that commission. I have the perfect house in mind for him too. I gotta go, handsome. I’ll see you at home.” You said and hung up.

He’ll get over it.

**********

You hated showing houses in the winter time. Getting in and out of the car, sometimes the homes were vacant so the heat was only on low so the pipes wouldn’t freeze, and the homes with yards didn’t look nearly as nice in the winter as they did in the spring and summer.

For the next few days, you lost count of how many houses you showed to John. He just kept finding new ones to look at, going back to previous ones, finding little things that could easily be fixed but he “wasn’t sure,” or it wasn’t the right neighborhood. Showing him house after house was exhausting.

But you just had to keep thinking about the payout you’d get.

Brock came home and found you in your comfortable clothes, your feet up and a cold towel over your eyes. It had been a long day.

“Well it looks like you had a long day, sweetheart.” Said Brock. Even with a towel over your eyes, you knew he had a slight smirk on his face.

The little lines around his amber colored eyes crinkled when he smiled. You heard Brock set his work bag down and went to the kitchen to grab a beer. You already had a glass of wine that was resting on the coffee table.

“How many houses did you show Ritchie Rich today?” He asked, sarcastically.

Without removing the cloth from your eyes, you replied, “Four.”

“How many do you have to show him before you realize he’s just tryin’ to spend as much time as he possibly can with you so he can get back in your pants?” He asked, after taking a sip of beer.

You removed the cloth from your eyes and sat bolt upright. His wild brown hair looked a lot different than it did this morning; it was slightly messy and fluffy.

“Why do you have to be so crass? How many times do I have to tell you that I’m with YOU, Brock? What do I have to do to convince you?” You asked.

Brock set his beer down, stood up and walked a few paces away from you then turned around. With his hands on his hips, he glared at you, his face was tight with anger, and the early evening sun made his eyes look a lot more golden than usual.

“I don’t like calling your office and your assistant telling me that you’re still out showing houses to captain money bags. I know what he’s trying to do and I just…I just don’t want him to take you away from me.” He said, his raspy voice low and soft.

Brock wasn’t the type to share his feelings so when he actually did, it was always a complete shock to you. It was like pulling teeth to get him to say anything about how he felt about you.

Flustered, you started to say, “You don’t wan—“

Popping up off of the couch, you slipped your shoes on and headed for the front door.

Confused, Brock asked, “Doll, what are ya doin’? You can’t go outside dressed like that, it’s freezing.”

The bitter cold stung your lungs when you stepped outside in your tank top and lounge pants. Goosebumps erupted all over your body as you walked over to the large living room window. With the frame at eye level, you expelled hot air against the cold glass, casting a fog against the window. You began to write something.

“Will you get in here?!!” He shouted.

Violently, you shook your head and continued to write. I…♥️…U. And you quickly kissed the window, leaving a perfect print of your lips against the glass.

He cracked a smile…a big one, which wasn’t easy to do. You thought you saw him mouth the word “Crazy.”

Brock flung open the front door and stuck his head out.

“Get your ass in here! What is the matter with you?!” He yelled, his warm breath visible in the dry cold winter air.

You quickly ran inside and he pulled you into his chest, trying to warm you up. He pinched your chin between his forefinger and thumb, tilted your chin up so you were looking into his eyes, and he inched his face closer until his lips gently touched yours sending flutters to your stomach and a shiver down your spine that wasn’t because of the cold.

“You’re crazy, ya know that?�� He husked with a subtle smile.

“No one is gonna take me away from you, Brock. I love you.” You said, raking your fingers through his soft brown hair.

“I love you too, doll.” Whispered Brock.

He kissed you again, harder this time, his tongue tangled with yours as he pulled you in close by the waist. His body heat radiated from underneath his shirt and easily warmed you from the outside clear to your bones.

“You’re sexy when you get a little jealous, Rumlow. You’re sooooooofffftttt for meeeeee.” You taunted him with a devilish smile and a playful tone.

Brock hated being teased like that but he couldn’t help but crack a smile.

“Ok, ok…very funny, sweetheart.” He said.

Your tone turned a little more serious. “Alright, I’ll stop…I can get someone else to show John houses if it REALLY bothers you.”

He shook his head and said with a wink,“Nah…go get ‘em, baby. Bring home that paycheck.”

Others that might enjoy: @itwasthereaminuteago @fluffyprettykitty @k-marzolf @redstarsandnightmares @nutmeg17 @gijos @randomlittleimp @nekoannie-chan

If I tagged you and you didn’t want to be, just let me know and I’ll never do it again. As always, thank you again for reading!

[madphantom]

Another day another Sarah snippet under the cut

We did not have much for dinner, just the soup I had cooked earlier from the vegetables we had grown in the yard. A few candles illuminated the kitchen and turned the swaying branches outside the window into looming shadows.

The storyteller sat by the table like a gaunt deadman, a smile playing on their thin lips. In the flickering light I got a somewhat better look at them, but my observations still did not help me to determine the age or gender of our mysterious visitor.

They had taken their waistcoat off, revealing a richly embroidered forest green shirt that seemed oddly out of the time and place and hung on their twig thin frame like a potato sack. I couldn't help noticing that they were wearing two old silver rings with rose quartz glass eyes instead of gems. I felt oddly followed by them.

"So," they said eventually, leaning forward and playing with the ring on their right hand. They moved with the precision of something that was almost human, but not quite. I could not put my finger on what exactly about them unnerved me, but something uncanny was there and raised the hairs on my arms. "What led you two to live out here all alone?"

"That is a long story," I responded, treading lightly.

The stranger smiled, a toothy grin. "That's quite alright. I enjoy stories. The longer the better."

Sarah and I exchanged glances.

"We both ran away from our homes in spring, as our parents would not have approved of our relationship. We secretly lived in a blind old woman's barn throughout late March and April before we relocated here," Sarah admitted, her cheeks glowing red, a tiny smile on her lips, like a famous master's painting.

"I see. Quite the wanderers." The storyteller tilted their head. "How come you left?"

"She was murdered one night," I explained. "Someone came to her in her sleep and beheaded her. We did not want to get caught sneaking around the house, seeing as we would surely be suspects due to our status as runaways, so we left as soon as we found out."

The storyteller nodded. The flickering candle painted shadows on their face. "Quite wise of you two."

"How about you?", Sarah asked. "Where are you traveling to?"

"Oh, well…" The storyteller chuckled. "Nowhere, really. I just wanted to get around a bit. Not stay in one place for too long."

"But isn't that dangerous?", Sarah inquired.

"Dangerous?" They raised their eyebrows. "Why…ohh, right. Pardon me, I forgot." A grin. "No, not so far. And even if it were, danger is a small price to pay for being what I want to be." They suddenly leaned forward and tilted their head. "You understand that, don't you?"

Sarah and I exchanged a glance of which we were glad the storyteller did not see it. They folded their hands.

"You call yourself a storyteller," Sarah finally said, opening a new topic. "Can you tell us a story?"

They tilted their head and leaned back, crossing their legs. "Naturally. What kind of story do you want to hear?"

"Tell us a ghost story." Sarah smiled mischievously.

"I would rather hear a love story," I noted.

A sharp-fanged grin. "All right. I shall do both.

Once upon a time there were a man and a woman who lived together in a house with an apple tree in the yard. They were a hard-working, honest couple, and they loved each other sincerely since their youth.

One day, like many other days before, the husband kissed his wife goodbye and went out into the woods to hunt, with his great hunting knife and a bag of apples for the way. And like many days before, his wife waited for him when the sun began setting above the birch trees and turning the sky a summery red.

But her husband did not show up.

When the moon began to rise the despondent wife called all the neighbors. With torches and echoing calls they searched the entire forest and when the morning star stood above the fog-blue marshes a man saw a mossy creek flowing red like the setting sun, and upon following it, discovered the husband lying face down in the water, the bloody knife still in his hand, side by side with a great hog. They had both died in that final battle and taken each other with them.

The husband was buried and his widow began to live alone in the house with the apple tree. Soon, she began to awake at night, hearing fingers tapping on the window, as if someone was pleading to be let in. Many times she rose with a candle and opened the door, and many times a cold wind entered the house and made the curtains dance. She found rotten apples on the doorstep too, half eaten, as if her husband had gnawed on them on his way home. With time, she grew fearful of the night and her face became sunken with weariness. Every sound seemed like her husband to her, and oftentimes, when she did not lay awake with wide open eyes, waiting for the tap on the window or the sudden thud of apples thrown against the door, she dreamed of a great dark shadow walking through the house, a shadow with a hunting knife.

For three months she lived this way, and she went to the priest and begged him to bless the house. And the priest blessed the house, but even with his blessing, the haunting continued. So she went to an old woman who lived in the marshes, a woman in red who was said to be a witch, and she begged her to lift the curse upon the house. And the woman in red sent her spells upon the house, but even with her white magic, the haunting continued. Nothing, no prayers and no crucifixes, no herbs and incantations, could bring peace upon the widow's home.

And eventually, she realized that the thing stalking her in her home was not her husband having come back wrong. It was not a creature of the dark either. It was her own feelings and the knife was her grief.

And when she realized this, she stopped leaving flowers on his grave every day and began to go there every month. And eventually, the house was just a house and she began to sleep all by herself. The tap against the window was nothing but the apple tree's branches, the breeze that made the curtains flutter nothing but a draft. Time heals all wounds and slays all demons. And with time, she began to miss the haunt, for the beating of her heart when she had thought a deadman's fingers were tapping against the window was the same as when she heard her husband's footsteps in the hallway after a long day of work.

Lord, she prayed after a year. Let me be haunted all you want, but let me be haunted by him.

But there was no ghost. There never had been. There had only been love and what it had left behind."

Sarah's eyes shimmered in the candlelight. "That was beautiful. And both a ghost story and a love story, what a feat!"

The storyteller smiled. "What is a ghost story if not a love story in a different tone of voice?"

[stacywaters]

Just Pretend (BEOMGYU) CH11 - The Moment I Knew

(Y/N POV)

Yesterday, I worried all morning and tossed and turned the night before, fretting what would happen to me and Beomgyu once we finished our presentation.

The presentation went well, but not me and Beomgyu.

Since I showed up that morning, he had been acting strange. I woke up early to do my makeup and hair, trying my best to look nice. My mom thinks it's because of the presentation. But really, it's because it was the last time we were forced to work together, and I hoped that if I could look good enough or sound smart enough, he would stick around.

However, he was distant the entire day. Like those pictures you see of the milky way galaxy, he seemed to be orbiting a whole other sun.

He performed well when it came to the slideshow, but I didn't see him again all day. It's like he was hiding. He had been dodging eye contact and muttering to himself since he got here. Was it something I did? I worry. I think back to me grabbing his hand earlier, shoot! I probably weirded him out and now he hates me, and, and... these nervous thoughts followed me all day, like the cherry blossoms in the spring air. Except far less pretty.

I practically ran to the front gates of the school. If I could see him just one last time before the weekend, maybe somehow I could... keep myself in his thoughts? He walked slowly from the classrooms, eyes down. When he finally looked up and saw me, he practically froze. Has he actually been avoiding me? What did I do?

I still smiled and ran over to him, "I keep forgetting that we don't need to work on our project after school today"

He gulped, "y-yeah" His eyes seemed to jump around, rarely meeting mine.

If I messed something up, I want to fix it! But how am I supposed to fix it if we never talk again?

"so, got any plans for the weekend?"

"Nope"

I went to prom with him (kinda), I talked to him once he lost his old friends, he helped me escape people that were bullying me, we've done this whole project together, how can we just move on as acquaintances after that?

"Then, uh," my mind raced as I tried to think of something we could do together, some excuse to meet up.

I looked at him again. He looked almost... agitated? He turned away and covered his face. I breathed a sigh. Then again, if he were to fall in love with me like I hoped, wouldn't he have by now?

"Then, I guess I'll just see you around"

He was still looking off somewhere. Maybe at someone else. Maybe at nothing at all, "Mhm"

I turned and began walking home. Once I was farther away, I felt tears start to well up in my eyes. I cried silently the whole way home.

Maybe it's stupid. Maybe I'm the one being unrealistic. But I really thought we had something, or maybe I just really believed we could've. I shouldn't have invited him to prom, it just made my feelings worse. And now I have to accept that we could've been, but we never will.

My feelings will just be fog on a window, obscuring my view but clear to him. My warm welcomes just melt at the hands of his cold gaze. And I'll have to be okay with that.

-----

I sip my warm latte, steam floating up and warming my face. I listen to the tap tap tap of the icy rain against the metal roof.

In this quiet morning, I just scroll through Pinterest. Saving photos of cute animals or funny memes. Just relaxing.

I hear something hit the window. I look out there, but I don't see much through the condensation on the glass.

Again, a knock. Is there some animal messing with the latch of the window? A squirrel that went a bit crazy?

The sound continues, so I finally close my phone and unlock the latch of the window to see what is going on.

"What is-"

I freeze in my spot at my desk. My eyes now wide and glassy.

Soaked from the rain. Eyes red; he's been crying for a while now. Hair all messed up. A slouch to his posture, shoulders weighing him down. Arms flat at his side. A pleading look.

"I didn't know where else to go," he mumbles.

A roar of thunder. A flash of lightning. A shiver as he stands before me. I'm still so shocked. I was worried I'd never see him again, but here he is. And that was the moment I knew, for sure this time.

This was real.

I finally call to him, "Beomgyu?"

[blubushie]

I have really sensitive and fucked up eyes (not even my goddamn oculist, bless her heart, knows what the fuck is up aside from astigmatism. Like, my problems are not scientifically discribed yet. so thats fun. Other than that I got sensory issues so bright lights are a no go), and sunglasses are useful as hell to keep me comfortable and not flashbanged any time I step outside.

I used to have a special coating on my prescription glasses that would darken into sunglasses in the sun, but those proved most inconvenient. Walking inside after spending over 2 minutes outside effectively blinded me because of the sunglass coating, amplified by the fog that builds up with the change of temperature.

So my latest few prescriptions haven't had the coating. I've been walking around with my eyes basically closed for a bit, out of habit to sheild my eyes. And apparently thats not good for my eyes.

But earlier this year I got sunnies that fit OVER my glasses. Which is miracle and a half because I got round spectacles with wire frames, and literally nothing fits over them. Had to replace my snowmobiling helmet so I could ride and not be a walking safety hazard. (I honestly even considered handmaking myself some sunglasses/goggles that were round and specifically fit over my glasses). But they fit! And I love them. They make me look like a greaser, they do not look stylish in the slightest, but they've become part of my person.

I do look like a dork when they're not perched on top of my normal glasses though. Bc they'll be up on my head. And then I'll be walking around with sunglasses on my head, and normal glasses on my face. I feel like that one tf2 cosmetic where scout has all the glasses.

Either way, they're remaining on my head. The shades stay ON

I honestly feel kinda naked without em

sunnies club :]

-🧮 (boom, now im Abacus anon. I dont think anyone else would choose abacus as a sign off so its Mine now)

"I feel naked without them" is exactly how I feel without my sunnies. The first thing I do when I'm done dressing game is immediately wash my hands and put my sunnies back on. It's not just a matter of being comfortable but also because the Australian sun is a total bitch (sorry, sun-woman, but you really are at times) and I have blue eyes and these things do not mix.

Also because I wear sunnies for work. If I didn't wear sunnies I'd go blind trying to shoot, between the Australian sunlight and the eyestrain of trying to pick out targets. Ngalmudj bless sunnies.

[howyoutalktostrangers]

So,

The swirling mist on the surface of Kootenay Lake curled up into the white sky, like a tumbling waterfall in reverse.  

It was early afternoon in late November 2017 and my leg bounced anxiously against the passenger side door while I watched, red-eyed, from behind fogged glass. Ghostly apparitions ascended skyward then plummeted back down, an intricate and tragic pantomime intended for my eyes only. I’d driven this route countless times in the past few years, the serpentine route from Nelson to Kalso, but I was usually the driver. 

Oh-oh, the voices sang, I’m a rebel just for kicks now. Gonna kick it like it’s 1986 now. 

At the cops’ insistence my roommate Bree was at the wheel of my RAV — I’d lost my driving privileges after a series of manic shenanigans — as we rounded the last few bends toward the Balfour ferry terminal. We were en route to the Cranbrook Airport, a few hours away, so that I could flee home to my parents’ house on the coast after an embarrassingly public mental breakdown. 

Bree blew a strand of fire engine red out of her face, quietly focused on her task, while light rain guzzled down the windshield. I could hear the stress in her breathing. She sounded like Tony Soprano.

In the past few days, things had spiralled out of my control. My brain space was a dumpster fire of shame, fury, and manic self-righteousness. I was dressed in uniform bouncer black, with a slick grey tie tucked into a form-fitting vest and a toque pulled low over my bleary eyes. I’m dressing up for my breakdown, that’s what I kept telling myself, finishing the look with a pair of neon pink gas station sunglasses. 

In the previous month I’d lost first my job, then my mind, and now I was losing my home. The whole trifecta. I wanted to handle the continuing descent with a modicum of dignity, but social media was my one final finger-hold. After spending a week jogging panting laps between the hospital and the police department, dumping my drama on whoever would listen, I’d successfully found a way to speak out and do real damage. 

Gloves off, motherfuckers, I typed into Twitter. Omar’s coming!

As a journalist I’d been writing to an audience of 10,000 people twice a week for nearly four years now, becoming something of a mini-celebrity in the tiny mountain town of Nelson, B.C. I was the school board and arts reporter, but also covered a variety of breaking news stories — robberies, forest fires, mental health crises. But about a month earlier, during a routine Wednesday lunch hour, my publisher Aaron had summoned me to his office along with my editor Ed. He didn’t even ask us to sit down before informing me that I was being let going without cause, and saying that perhaps we would get the chance to work together again one day. 

Let go without cause. 

I’d been prepared for this moment, had felt it coming, and had he fired me the traditional way I would’ve been prepared with an arsenal of arguments for why it was a wrong-minded, short-sighted, bullshit decision. But this was a blindside I hadn’t expected, like being dumped via text. It gave no room for dialogue, for human interaction – it was like being expelled from a machine. Exiled, excommunicated, excised. 

Really, it was a cleverly disguised lie. There was a cause, but they just didn’t want the liability and rigmarole that came with admitting that.

They’re all complicit, I decided. The whole Nelson community collaborating on my downfall. After spending weeks therapy-painting in my living room, smoking pot and nursing my rage along to YouTube videos played on repeat, I’d come up with an emotionally satisfying counter-narrative to the one Aaron had offered: my publisher had shut me down to stop publication of two politically sensitive stories, a testimony from two sexual assault survivors and a feature about a recent high school graduate who had died of a fentanyl overdose. 

After three and a half years of reporting on parades, fundraisers, and city council meetings, I’d finally found two stories with teeth, stories that mattered, and that’s why I needed to be silenced. It just wasn’t what the public wanted from their local paper. They wanted the same comfortable stories, told the same way, year after year — not to be brought face to face with the community’s sins, with its toxic subculture. With its evil. 

Let go without cause. It had to mean something more than the literal words suggested; it was like a unsolvable mind-puzzle, custom-designed to torment me. By reframing the situation in my mind, though, I’d recast myself as a tragic hero instead of a meddling stoner dip-shit in the thick of a psychotic break. If this was an episode of The Wire, then I was Omar — Baltimore’s Robin Hood, the only one brave enough to speak the truth undiluted. As the mania took hold, I felt a raw power burbling inside of me. Like a spirit that had been waiting to be unleashed. I was the real Slim Shady, I was Tyler Durden, I was Jaime fucken Lannister. 

You help me lose my mind, the voices sang. And you bring me something I can’t define.

Once we arrived at the loading lanes, Bree maneuvered us past some parked police cars sitting idle in the afternoon drizzle. I perked up, scanning the rest of the terminal like an attack dog. I was living in a perpetual present, with no past or future, and every moment felt drenched with significance. I hadn’t slept in nearly three days, but somehow I was still trembling with energy. 

“What’s going on?” I asked her, wondering momentarily if I was their target. I swept my head to the left, to the right. “Look at all these cops cars everywhere.”

“They don’t have their lights on.”

“Holy shit, there’s what? Like four? They’re parked down both sides of the causeway.”

“There’s one over there too.”

Earlier that morning we’d woken up to a light snowfall, and from the second floor window I could see that the police had returned my vehicle — I’d left it parked diagonally in their lot before charging in to see the Police Chief Paul Burkart the day before. I called down to the station to ask for my keys, and a few minutes later stood in the street talking with one of the constables about everything that had gone down over the previous few days. My social media landscape was scorched earth, with all the people pissed at my incendiary Facebook posts and volatile Twitter threads. 

I have to stay high all the time to keep you off my mind, the voices sang. 

Burkart reassured me that people in Nelson understood what I was going through and would empathize despite my demented vitriol. He wished me luck while snowflakes fell, and shook my hand. I’d never felt so embarrassed. Losing your mind is humiliating.

“Your job now is to take care of yourself. You’re going to be just fine,” he said.

As seagulls shrieked overhead, I wrenched open my passenger door to figure out what was going on at the ferry terminal. I counted at least five cruisers strategically flanking both the loading and unloading lanes, and a trio of uniformed cops standing at water’s edge. I felt like I was in the movie Heat, right before Val Kilmer and Robert De Niro open fire with their machine guns. Something was about to go down, something exciting, and I wanted to be the one to capture it — like Michael Mann, one of my favourite directors. I stretched out my arms and did a few CrossFit stretches, my head wobbling as I pushed away sleep. I needed another joint, or a coffee, or maybe a slap in the face. I felt like a time traveler, like I’d come back from some far away future just so I could live this moment. 

But why?

As I worked my way through the rows of cars, I spotted Cst. Lisa Schmidtke locking her driver’s door, looking hurried and tense. She was one of the officers who traveled around the district to teach students how to hide during a school shooting — I’d taken her photo for a story months earlier. As it turned out, she was also looking to connect with me about a drunk driver I’d reported over the weekend. After nearly getting into an accident with him outside the bar, during my break, I’d actually run into him a second time in the hospital the next day. He was strapped to a gurney outside the room where I was being interviewed by a pair of nurses trying to figure out whether they should commit me or not. 

I didn’t know his name, so I just called him Face Tattoo.

“Lisa, hey,” I said, sauntering over. “I hear you want to talk to me?”

Schmidtke gave her key a quick tug, then pivoted towards me. She had an assault rifle slung diagonal across her chest, and was gazing past me to the ferry that was just entering the terminal. Her brow line wrinkled. 

“Not now, Will. We have to get this guy into custody.” 

What guy?

I didn’t get a chance to respond before she went jogging along the line of vehicles, her gun wagging like a taunting black finger. This is not your job, it’s ours. That’s what Burkart had told me, when I came crashing into his office to tell him all the secret intel I’d compiled since Aaron let me go without cause. I had a list of 25 names, people I could take off the street for good with my testimony, but he hadn’t taken me seriously. None of them had. Everyone was complicit and I was the only one who could see the truth through all the lies. 

If Nelson was Eden, then this was the Fall. Was nobody paying attention? 

It seemed like every day a new crowd was rushing the streets on social media, down in the U.S., chanting in unison: Black Lives Matter! Black Lives Matter! Black Lives Matter! The mass shootings in the States were relentless too, all while Trump continued to rampage his way through the White House. Lately he was playing international chicken with Kim-Jong Un, boasting about the size of the nuclear bomb button on his desk. 

I felt like I was living in a burning building.

“What’s happening?” Bree asked as I sauntered back to the car, the hood of my winter jacket up around my face. She was leaning out of the driver’s side door, and I stopped there to fill her in. I told her everything felt like it was happening all at once, like I had tiny planets orbiting my head like bees, and I just needed a moment to pull myself together. I took a long breath and closed my eyes. 

All I was needed was one calm moment, and here it was. I had something specific to fixate on, learn more about. I was on the front-lines again, reporting from the thick of the action, except now I didn’t have an editor, which meant no censorship either. I was like McNulty from The Wire, a principled but preposterous Baltimore detective known for his heavy drinking, insubordination, and unwillingness to play by the rules. In the fifth season he invented a serial killer to dupe the police department into funnelling city funds in a new direction. I was rocking his energy, making shit up as I went along. 

I’d lived my whole life to become this guy, right here and right now, this goon.

“You stay here,” I told Bree, turning my face toward the rain. “I’m going to find out.”

“Don’t go too far away. They’re going to be loading soon.”

“I won’t be long.”

As I approached the shoreline, I spotted some cops I recognized from CrossFit. I stood just barely within earshot, pretending to contemplate the horizon as they gossiped. It was a gorgeous day, heaven peeking through the dissipating clouds. The rain had taken a breather, and gentle wind kissed my face.

“He’s in the fourth car, middle lane,” one of them said, pointing at the ferry. It groaned and buzzed and clanged as it came to a stop. The cops were gathering together, excitedly bouncing on their feet. One of them was doing hamstring stretches. It was like they were getting ready for a track meet. I’d always admired the police in the Kootenays, and it felt almost cinematic to finally see them in action. 

Earlier that year I’d written a magazine feature for a magazine called Maisonneuve about how they’d successfully arrested a bank robber named Andrew Stevenson back in 2014. I trusted them, and they trusted me to tell their stories — even though the Star was also their department’s most persistent critic. As they fanned out around the cars in formation, some of them with guns drawn, I held my breath. For a moment I wasn’t thinking about my own bullshit, I was just wondering who this guy was and what he’d done. 

Then I saw him. Two cops were frog-marching this sketch case down the line of the cars, roughly forcing him down the gangplank, and I took a quick visual inventory: early 30s, he was scrawny, with a puckered mean expression and a punk rock bleach job. It wasn’t until I spotted the prison tattoo by his left eye that I confirmed who it was: the dirtbag I’d reported from the bar and the hospital, the one I was supposed to talk to Schmidtke about. Here he was, right in front of me again. Insane coincidences seems to happen all the time in Nelson, but I still couldn’t believe it. The universe had hand-delivered this guy into my presence for the third time in three days. 

It was like our souls were entangled, our trajectories caught up together somehow, but he was en route to jail and I was headed for sanctuary at my parents’ house. Chaotic images swirled. What was the difference between him in handcuffs and me, standing here free? 

“That’s him!” I shrieked, before I had a chance to stop myself. “That’s the fucking drunk driver I caught the other night! That’s him.”

I could see in the cops’ faces: oh, shit.

“That’s right, fucker!” I yelled, running out from between the parked cars. “Enjoy prison, fuck face! You could’ve killed somebody.”

The dude’s hateful eyes swung my way. He had meth head energy. Sneering, he thrust out his chest with a toothy smile.

“Fuck you, fatty,” he said. “Come at me.”

By this point I was waving my arms, jogging across the concrete, but I pulled myself together just shy of actually tackling the guy. My chest heaved as they forced him swearing and kicking into the backseat of their cruiser. I was like an angry hobbit trying its best to be intimidating but looking ridiculous instead. I could feel my shoulders getting damp, and I struggled to catch my breath as my pulse throbbed rhythmically in my neck. 

“Get back,” the cops said. “Or we’ll arrest you for obstruction.”

That shut me up for a moment, but right away I knew what to do: call Greg Nesteroff. Dude was my former editor and absolute hero, working at a local radio station, and like me he had a justice boner for holding assholes accountable. During our time sharing a newsroom he’d nailed a man charged with possessing child pornography and had written a fiery editorial calling out a local police officer for punching a woman during an arrest. He’d also stood up for me through a number of work altercations I had with management. Quickly dialling his number, I paced by the car, and I tried to remember the drunk driver’s name from the other night. It was right there, like I could almost say it out loud, but my memory was too messy. As soon as Greg answered I made sure to talk as loudly as I could so both the cops and the guy in custody knew exactly what I was doing.

“I’ve got the radio on the line,” I told one of the cops. “What’s this guy’s name?”

“We can’t tell you that. Privacy.”

“Greg, they got the drunk driver from the other night, from Tony’s Taphouse. They just arrested him in front of everybody, out here at the Balfour ferry. I’m right here, I just watched it happen, right in front of me. I recognized his face tattoo.”

“Sorry, slow down,” Greg said, his voice measured and calm — just liked he sounded on the radio. “What happened, exactly?”

Once I’d filled him in, I clicked my phone off and made my way back to Bree. I was feeling all kinds of uncomfortable emotions, unsure of how to bring myself down, and I squeezed out hot tears as I rocked in the passenger seat. The cars were beginning to start their engines around us, and I could see the extra cruisers begin to pull away now that they’d made their arrest. 

I’ve got guns in my head and they won’t go, the voices sang. Spirits in my head and they won’t go. 

I pulled out my phone and began to scroll through Twitter again, seeing if any of my grenades had found purchase. I stabbed at the screen, retweeting and commenting and engaging with whatever conversation floated up to my face. The Nelson community wanted me silenced, wanted me gone, but I wasn’t going to be a good little boy. 

This isn’t fair, I wrote. You fire me in the middle of a fucking fentanyl crisis?

I tagged anyone I thought might be able to intervene on my behalf, though I had no idea what that would look like, as the cars began to load. Bree maneuvered the RAV into place while I sat in the passenger seat in attack mode, calling out people I had a problem with. I felt like Tyler Durden standing in the middle of Baker Street, my shirt ripped open, begging for somebody to punch me. 

That’s when my editor from Maisonneuve reached out through a direct message. She was in the hospital on the verge of going into labour but took the time to tell me I should stop posting online. Another writer told me “you’re in no state to be giving interviews” and encouraged me to get off social media. I sent her a thankful emoticon and signed out.

“I’m going to pace around the deck,” I told Bree, once the ferry was moving. “I need to clear my head.” 

Kootenay Lake was gorgeous, glass-like, as I walked around the perimeter. Everything was calm except for me. I chatted with a truck driver for a few minutes, then pulled up my hood and started marching laps from one end of the boat to the other. The anger pulsing through my limbs didn’t feel like an emotion; it was more like a physical malady, like a stomach ache or a migraine. My fingers were trembling. My thoughts kept circling back to the same asshole, someone completely unrelated to my current crisis, but for whom I’d carried around a multi-year beef. Cam Carpenter. I thought of Cam living safe and happy in Nelson while I lost everything I love and I just couldn’t fucking handle it. 

Finally I came around to the back, where some loose orange netting was the only thing between me and the water below. Staring down at it, I realized that I could easily jump into the cold arms of Kootenay Lake — I figured my coat would weigh me down enough that I would drown. Then someone else could deal with this.

Holy shit, I realized. That’s a suicidal thought.

It was the first time in my 33 years on the planet that I’d contemplated suicide, and it scared the shit out of me. Right away I knew it was a whole new line that I wasn’t ready to cross, so I quickly beelined back to the car and jumped in.

“Hey,” I told Bree. “I just thought about throwing myself off the back of the ferry. “I don’t want you to worry, because I’m not going to do it, but I’m going to stay in the car, okay?”

She looked at me with exhaustion in her eyes.

“Yeah,” she said. “Stay right there and we’ll get you to the airport.” The Literary Goon

[theminecraftbee]

"You know, you're starting to bother me," Xisuma says.

Joe nearly drops the cat he'd been gently lifting away from an unexpected patch of sculk (can't let the cute little kitty get its paws in the hazardous material without a hazmat suit). The cat yowls. Joe kisses its little nosie in apology and then drops it. It runs behind a bush.

"You nearly made me drop my cat!" Joe says accusingly.

"Why were you holding a cat?" Xisuma asks.

"Well, I don't know, maybe animals are adorable and therapeutic!" Joe says, huffing. "You wouldn't know. All you... you Hermitopia people keep on trying to get me to move them, instead of loving and cherishing them like you ought."

Xisuma pauses. "You confuse me, my friend."

"...are the cats not what you're mad at me about?" Joe asks. "Is it the office supplies? Because, like, you've seen me show up to take more, and you haven't really cared before. Like, you know, if you were gonna be mad about me taking some of my rockets or glass -"

"No, no, it's not that either," Xisuma says. "It's about Cub."

"Oh," Joe says.

He thinks for a while.

"I don't really get it? I mean, I'm not working for Cub. I'm working for Pixlriffs. And for False!" He leaves out which False he's working for; he feels like, right now, it's more helpful if he's just like, oh yeah, I'm working for False, she's giving me an apartment to stay in since you all stole my house, but it's cool, we're fellow Hermits, as opposed to pointing out Joe's currently dubious Hermit status of late by pointing out that he's working for the non-Hermit False that seems confused and distressed by their very existence, and also that he increasingly thinks the Hermit False might be spying on, and...

Look. Sometimes, being Joe Hills is very confusing.

...what was he confused about again?

"No. I mean, sort of? You did sell him all those catalysts," Xisuma says. "We really shouldn't be giving him sculk. It's like I said earlier. He's not the same Cub we know, my friend, and you..."

Xisuma trails off. Joe waits for him to get to the point. He doesn't.

"The catalysts were technically already Cub's, but like, don't tell him that," Joe decides to say.

"You still should have burned them or something!" Xisuma says. "Now he's gonna, gonna infest even more! It's like you don't even care!"

Something strange and hot burns in Joe's chest. "I do care," he mutters. "I care about a lot of things."

"Then why are you - you can tell he's sick, can't you?"

"Have you banned him from Hermitopia yet?" Joe asks, and, hm. He left first. He shouldn't be quite so upset about that, about the feeling like being an outsider thing. He's been here for so long that he should be used to that. Here he is though.

"Yes," Xisuma says. "Because he keeps on - well, you know!"

"Well, the way I see it," Joe says slowly, "Cub might need a job. Or maybe a friend? I don't know."

"Are you blind? He's - he's sick Joe! He's - I don't know what's wrong with him."

Joe huffs. The strange warm thing in his chest gets hotter and colder all at once. It sort of feels like when you drink in hot chocolate on a cold night, and are breathing out again, and all the warm air in your chest condenses into fog in your lungs. Like that.

"Well, maybe he's been perfectly nice to me, outside of annoying my employer. Besides, it's Cub. I'm honestly just impressed he's trying to get away with this. And, um, that's not - none of that is my fault, right? I mean, I didn't... Listen, I have this apartment I have to finish renovating. Also, like, eighty cats to feed. So, um, if... if you don't mind if I just... go do that," Joe says.

Xisuma stares. "Maybe there's something wrong with you too," Xisuma says.

"I don't think so?" Joe says. "I mean... maybe I just..."

He trails off. He still hasn't quite figured out the words for what he just yet. He simply does. He just. And he feels it more every time he remembers that Enemy of the State sign, or that trash can, or the towering monstrosity that he was the first one to build on but didn't get to name, or the way everyone keeps on calling his cats odd, or how hard it was to get hired, or the fact that not-Hermit False had given him an apartment for doing something easy like watching, or the fact that he wants to go home very, very badly, to his pinball machine, and all the things he actually understands, and the rules and friendships that make sense.

And in all of that, burning, he remembers: Cub is one of his closest friends, and Cub has been kicked out too.

So.

"You're in danger, friend," Xisuma says lowly, and he leaves, and Joe's still not really certain which of the many confusing things Joe's been doing lately he's talking about.

He stands there, chest still burning, for a bit, then he goes to the bushes. "Here, kitty," he murmurs. "The big scary Doomguy is gone now, don't you see? Here, here kitty kitty..."

He'll worry about what all this he's feeling is later. Probably at an inconvenient time, actually, like the next time he runs into Xisuma while taking glass from Hermitopia or something. It's fine though. Everything's fine. He's just... he's... just. Yeah. Yeah.

...Maybe he should tell False about this, too. Technically, Xisuma approached the tower, after all. It'll give his shaking hands something to do when he still doesn't have the energy to put the finishing touches on his apartment. Yeah.

No one could possibly be mad at him for that.

[uplatterme]

Redheads Come With More Fun

cw: sub!diluc, dom!reader, amab!reader, knightoffavonius!reader, blowjob, hair pulling, praise kink

a/n: honestly am tired of uni so i haven’t got much time to write and also lost motivation BUT here i am sigh

Ah, the Dawn Winery.

Such a beautiful location, filled with vines all around and crystalflies coming in from time to time giving the place a much more aesthetic view during evenings.

However, that wasn’t the reason why you were here. You wouldn’t deny if someone gave you a glass of wine but there were other matters to attend to.

You could hear the whispers of the fellow maids as they saw you nearing in. It was old news that Diluc has some sort of grudge from the Knights of Favonius but you seemed to have gained his favor to the point that you’d spend time in his manor, something Kaeya would be jealous of.

Stuttering filled your ears as they all greeted you a good evening, in which you returned.

Your familiar steps echoed as you stepped to the second floor, heading straight to Diluc’s room. A sigh left your throat as you realized that he was not there, which meant that he was probably still working.

“Need some help, Diluc?” Your voice distracted him, ink slipping on the paper by accident.

“(Name).”

He continued on with his work right after that, barely giving you any attention.

Diluc was just so attractive when he’s in this serious mode of his, glasses placed perfectly on top of his nose. Messy hair, tied in a high ponytail despite some of the strands falling out on the sides.

Oh, how you’d love to mess him up some more, make those glasses all blurry as you two—

“(Name), are you drunk?” He questioned, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Me? I’ve only had a drink or two with Kaeya, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Once again, his writing slipped. You were sure he would have snapped the quill if he didn’t stop himself.

“Why? Are you jealous, darling?” He looked at you but didn’t respond, giving you that iconic stare whenever he was annoyed.

You finally stepped away from the door frame and went towards his desk, then finally behind his chair as you hung your arms on his shoulder.

“Can we do this later? You can clearly see that I’m–ah!” You bit his right ear, leading to a much more of a reaction than you expected.

“(Name)…”

“It’ll be quick, I promise.” You grinned at him. Diluc knew not to trust that expression of yours, but he’s far too overworked already to argue.

You pushed him onto the table, papers scattering without his permission. His arms are pinned down and he’s growing weak with how much you’re kissing him right now.

“Mmm…” Diluc hummed, enjoying it despite the fact that he looked like he was just doing it to get rid of you.

You sat on the chair he was previously sitting on, just smiling at him.

He knew what you were getting at. “I’ll get my clothes dirty.”

“Then, you know what to do.”

Diluc kneeled down, unzipping your bottoms and using his gloves to get started. “Use your mouth, babe.”

“I know.” He started licking your tip, slowly pushing you more and more into his mouth until he reached what he guessed was his limit. His glasses were fogging up.

Some strands of his face fell as he continued sucking on your cock, you used your fingers to tuck them behind his ears. “Can’t have your hair covering your beautiful face now, Can we?”

Diluc flushed red as he heard your compliment, accidentally choking for a bit. “You’re doing such a good job…”

Compliments rushed to his ears, the jealousy of you being with Kaeya earlier doesn’t seem to bother him that much anymore.

“God.” You pushed Diluc down, forcing him to take all of you, tears forming as he felt you cum inside his throat.

“Did you swallow it all?” He opened his mouth, only for you to see traces of your own cum on his tongue.

“Bitter.”

“Yet, you still swallowed.”

“What–But–You told me to!”

“Did I?” You continued to tease the redhead as he got more irritated at you. Looks like it’s time to please our dear Darknight Prince.

You hated how often it is a struggle to take off his pants, eventually, you just got used to them. Nevertheless, you weren’t one to deny how greatly it shaped his ass.

He sucked on your fingers when you offered it to him, knowing that if he didn’t then he would be the one to suffer later on. He was such a good boy.

You had only inserted a finger. “Hah-”

Then goes another. You fondled his insides, moving at a rhythm that made his cock press against the front of his underwear, wetting it in progress due to pre-cum.

Positioning yourself, you slowly penetrated him while he faced down on his work, taking you whole as he tightened up against your shape.

“Aah–” He moaned as you pulled his hair.

“Let me see the expressions you make.”

You thrusted against him, moans coming out nonstop. “(N-Name), wait–”

“Hm? I’ll make it quick, remember? And, keep your voice down. Your maids are just below us.”

He covered his mouth, completely forgetting it as soon as you inserted a finger into him. Diluc thought that he was doing fine hiding his noises until he felt your fingers on his hardened cock.

“I-I can’t… Too s-sensitive.”

Still, you stroked him while continuing to pleasure him behind. There was too much going on all at once, his mind felt like it was exploding from all the stimulation. “Hn! Please…”

He started to beg, wondering if you’d go slower while his thighs shook against one another. He’s about to orgasm.

“(N-Name), I–Aah! Ah!”

You kissed him once more, having him moan into your mouth as he cums all over the table, covering all the paper that he was signing with cum.

You wanted to find him a towel but before you could even take a step, you felt a pinch pulling on your clothes.

“C-Can we do it once more?”

[bradshawsbitch]

first frost | robert bob floyd x reader

disclaimer: this is my first time writing the sweetest human alive, please go easy on me🥺 it’s also short, just to see if I could even do him justice. I’ve wanted to write for Bob for a while now but I’ve been a bit nervous because he’s just too good for this world. I hope you’ll find it sweet<3 please let me know if it’s out of character, I’d love pointers on how to best encapsulate this sweetheart whom I love so much!

warnings; none really, fluffy, sweet bob, no use of y/n, gender neutral reader, using of pet names

description: You’ve finally managed to drag Robert to your home town, in the middle of November. Bob, who’s been in San Diego and Lemoore for quite some time now, gets to borrow a cute knit cap.

Giggling, you covered your mouth with your hand. Bob looked absolutely adorable wearing your old hand knit pom beanie, ear flaps and braided tassels included. It was a very traditional ‘ugly’ but still cute hat, with all the colors of the rainbow making a particular pattern. The pattern was traditional for where you were from, and it made your heart skip a beat seeing Bob wearing it with pride. Any time you’d made any other friend or partner try to wear it, they’d always refused. Not Bob though, he’d lit up at the chance to warm his ears in the November chill.

“Bobby, you look so adorable I don’t know how to get through the rest of the walk when you look like this,” you stepped closer to him, your breath turning into thick fog in the frosty air. The warmth of your breath seemed to swirl between the two of you, before it settled on Bob’s glasses, fogging them up. Your boyfriend wore a goofy grin as he looked at you through fogged lenses, the tip of his nose and cheeks turning pink - from the cold or embarrassment you couldn’t tell.

“Are you going to show me around, honey? I can’t wait to see where you grew up,” Bob continued softly, his ocean eyes glimmering with adoration as he cradled your cheek. The soft fabric of his mitten soothed you, and you smiled as you nodded at him. It had been a miracle that Bob had gotten enough time off work to come with you to your home town. You had arrived earlier that afternoon, and you really wanted to take him on a walk around the neighbourhood, where you would see your old school, and the streets you frequented as a child and teen. Grabbing ahold of his hand, the two of you strolled slowly through the streets, stopping as you pointed out different spots and the stories behind them.

Bob smiled at your enthusiasm, letting you speak excitedly about happy memories. As you crossed a grassy lawn, the grass crunched under the soles of your feet.

Bob smiled at your enthusiasm, letting you speak excitedly about happy memories. As you crossed a grassy lawn, the grass crunched under the soles of your feet.

“Wow, look at all the frost, baby!” the blonde said, taking in how pretty everything looked as it twinkled and glittered in the moon and starlight. You were busy staring at the black starry sky, being all too familiar with the frosty grass beneath your feet. Watching your warm breath turn in to a cold fog that swirled it’s way upwards, you couldn’t help but smile at the beauty of it all. You were at home, and your Robby was with you. You felt so completely at ease, so full of love and safety it almost made you tear up.

There was something about the first frost that made everything fall silent, it felt as if the whole world had stopped spinning and there was only you, you and Bob in the frosty park, a dim light illuminating the both of you in the form of an old street light that cast a golden glow, along with the cool light from the full moon and the twinkle of the stars. Every breath you exhaled sounded loud, and you loved how serene the cold made you feel.

“Are you okay, honey?” Bob spoke softly, coming up beside you and wrapping an arm around your waist. You nodded, averting your gaze from the stars to smile at him “I’m so happy you’re here with me, you make me feel so safe and loved,” you confessed in a whisper, not wanting to disturb the comforting silence that the night brought, and Bob beamed back at you, embracing you close to his chest.

“I’m honored to be here, my love,” he murmured against your own knitted hat, his lips kissing your forehead lightly before he looked at you.

“Do you want to head home to make tea?” You murmured softly, feeling your cheeks growing colder by the second as night fell and the temperature dropped lower. Bob nodded eagerly, staying silent for a beat before asking “is there any chance for a guy to charm his way in to a cup of hot chocolate?”

“With a hat like that? You’ll even get whipped cream and mini marshmallows. As many as you want,” you smiled, kissing his lips sweetly as the two of you made your way back to your home.