#could be part of a series if anyone wanted one

[shinestarhwaa]

CLIMBING A MOUNTAIN || SAN

PART 1 OF THE YOURDESIRE.COM SERIES

Genre: Smut

Pairing: San x Fem reader

Word Count:3.8K

Tags/Warnings: Sexworker!AU, Sexworker!San, dom!San, strength kink, creampie, praise, orgasm control, bath sex, aftercare, handjob, oral sex, fingering, unprotected sex, riding, doggystyle, dirty language, petnames, bigdick!San

Taglist: @anyamaris @a-soft-hornytiny @whatudowhennooneseesyou @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @woosanbby @dreamlesswonder86 @changbinslovelylegs @jonghostie @lovjensoo @mjyungi @bratty-tingz @sugarnspice630 @wisejudgedragonhairdo @mingisg00dgirl @vesvosmozhno @therealcuppicake @unholywriters @enbymingi @jjoongstar

ENJOY!

A bottle of wine on a late Saturday night combined with the internet might be certain to lead to trouble. Or a lot of pleasure. You're not entirely sure yet which is the case. It was supposed to just be an innocent scroll through your socials but when you landed on a special Twitter account that got your attention, you stopped. You stared at the username for a while, seeing the header and reading the bio. 'Yourdesire.com', it said, which made your heart flutter ever so slightly. The account was full of pictures and videos of handsome men acting seductively and almost pornographically. No, definitely pornographically.

Curiosity got the best of you, and you placed your laptop on your lap and googled the website. You quickly learned it was a company that provided sexual services. Those men are sexworkers, you concluded. Something inside you told you to close the tab and mind your own business but you felt so intrigued you couldn't help but explore the website a little more.

Soon enough you click on the blue ''Our men'' button and you are met with 8 gorgeous individuals posing sensually. You scanned each of them, noticing that they are all different-looking, some are much taller, some are buff and some have the most filthy looking gaze you've ever seen before.

It's not that you're entirely new to sex; you have done it before. But because of certain circumstances you haven't been dating much and therefore you haven't gotten laid in way too long. Maybe hiring a gigolo was the perfect way to get your needs taken care of, while not having to go out to meet somebody to date.

You scroll down the page and look at the pictures of the guys. Without thinking much more you click on the first man's profile.

Hongjoong - 1998 - Dominant

View Hongjoong's kinks/specialties list.

You released a breath you didn't know you were holding after reading his kinks/specialties list. You swallow thickly and scan the others' pages until you land on San.

San's image makes him look cold, stern, even strict maybe. His body is certainly well taken care of. You could only imagine what it's like to touch his toned, muscular body. He has broad shoulders, big arms and defined abs. His eyes are small and his bone structure is absolutely to die for, his lips full and soft-looking.

When you read about him you learn he identifies as a Dominant, but he's the most gentle and caring one of them all - he values women a lot and wants to provide a setting where he can rock their world but also make them feel safe. This made you smile softly, a warm feeling spreading through your body. It wouldn't do anyone any harm to look further, would it? You decide it won't so you click on his profile.

San - 1999 - Dominant

View San's kinks/specialties list:

Strength kink

Creampie

Orgasm Control

Voyeurism

Bath-/Shower sex

Voyeurism

Aftercare

You could feel your pussy pulse after reading about him and you took another sip of your wine. Before you realized it you were looking at the prices of hiring one of their men and the kind of experiences they offer. You kept telling yourself 'No, don't do it, it's ridiculous', but two glasses of wine later you booked yourself a dinner- and hoteldate with San for next Saturday.

The next morning you realize what you've done, looking at yourself in the mirror. ''I must have gone completely insane,'' you mutter to yourself, but you can't bring yourself to cancel the appointment either. The rest of the week you are filled to the brim with anxiety about it and your friends notice something's off. ''It's just my cycle, I guess, you know, hormones,'' you lie, but it works for them.

When the day finally arrives you have no clue what to wear, because what does one wear on a sexdate with a sexworker? You decide to not do much with your hair, letting it fall loosely on your shoulders. You keep your make-up light and put on a darkred lingerie set. 'It's nothing special, but pretty enough for a date' you convince yourself. After about 30 minutes of trying on different clothes you end up wearing a long, fitted black dress since your friends always tell you, you look absolutely snatched in it. And well, they're not wrong. You finalize the look with black heels and some accessories before grabbing your purse, leaving your house.

Your body is shaking while you drive to the hotel. You wonder if your friends would judge you for doing this. Would they think this is weird? Is this actually weird? You know there's no turning back now, since you can't cancel 10 minutes beforehand. With slight shame you look into the rearview mirror and look into your own eyes. There's no turning back now, you realize, you have to own it and enjoy it.

With a partly fake confidence you enter the hotel and enter the luxurious lounge, where you are supposed to meet San. You look around and the place is absolutely gorgeous. Dark floortiles reflect the large amount of lighting on the walls and ceiling. You see businessmen left and right, looking seemingly rich and equally busy with their calls. You wonder how many of them were also hiring a sexworker.

Suddenly you feel a light tap on your shoulder - to which you turn around. ''Miss Y/N?''

You felt your heart stop beating at that very moment, because holy fucking shit, the most handsome man on earth is standing right in front of you. ''Hi, it's nice to meet you, I'm San,'' he says with a kind smile. You shake his hand and nodd, still a little in shock. ''How did you know it was me?'' you wonder out loud. He grins softly. ''Because while discussing the arrangement you had to clarify what you look like and I've seen the photo. Although I have to say you're even more attractive in real life, if that's even possible.''

Everything about San was breathtaking, from his looks to his way with words. ''Let me guide you to our table, I hope you're hungry, the food is lovely here,'' he says with a gentle smile, and he carefully lays his hand on your lower back. You nodd and let him guide you to the table, where he takes place across from you.

After placing your order he looks you up and down. You're feeling slightly nervous, and he quickly picks up on it. ''Is this your first time having an appointment like this?'' he asks. ''Is it that obvious?'' you grin nervously. ''A little, but don't worry, it's completely fine. All I care about is that you're comfortable with me, then we're all good.''

San definitely succeeded in making you comfortable throughout the dinner date, he asked questions about you - not just sexually - and made sure to listen intentively. He occasionally flirted with you and held your hand and it was almost impossible not to fall for him. He was incredibly charming and even cute sometimes.

Since the dinner was paid beforehand, San took your hand and guided you to the elevator. You felt slight anxiety bubble up in your chest, but you pushed it down. San had been so great and gentle with you, you felt like you could definitely trust him.

Now you're standing in the elevator, all alone and suddenly the tension rises. The hand on your back slowly slides down over your ass and you feel his hot breath fan over your neck. ''I can't wait to feel you, darling, I'll make you feel so incredibly good.'' Goosebumps erect from your skin and you swallow thickly. You nod, because that's all you can do when San smirks slightly.

The elevator reaches the 4th floor and you enter the room that was reserved for you two. It was much fancier and bigger than you expected. You first see a large kingsize bed, covered with gorgeous luxury bedding, there's a small lounge and the half-open bathroom where you find a shower and a large walk-in bath created in the floor as if it was a hot spring.

''Wow,'' you sighed softly as you placed your purse on the bedside table, ''It looks absolutely incredible, don't you think?'' ''It truly does, it's gorgeous,'' San says, ''it suits you.'' He gently strokes your rosy cheek with his fingers as he sits you down on the bed.

''You've established you're interested in performing all my specialties, excluding the voyeurism, is that correct?'' San asks, sitting next to you. ''Yes,'' you nod, ''it's not like I'm against it but I haven't had sex in a long time and I just... I need some time.'' San chuckles at your shyness and strokes your hair caringly. ''You don't have to explain yourself to me, dear. Any way, if at any time you want me to pause or stop, tell me and we will pause or stop. Do you have any more questions?'' You shake your head. ''Please use your words with me, dear, I need verbal clarification.'' You shake your head again, muttering a soft ''no''.

''Perfect, let's get started then, dear.''

He pulls you a little closer and lifts up your chin with his fingers. ''Can I kiss you, Y/N?'' ''Yes, please,'' you say, leaning into him. San presses his lips to yours in a smooth motion. His lips are soft and his movements tender, but the grip of his hand on your upper thigh is firm, enough to slightly startle you.

You moved your arms around his neck as he laid you down on your back. His hands roamed over your thigh, down to your calf and ankle. San pulls away from the kiss and you pant softly, looking at him with full anticipation, your mind dizzy. He gently kissed your ankles before slipping off your heels. His hands move up again, along your hips and your sides, stopping to cup just underneath your breasts.

''You look so delicious angel,'' he grunts as he presses kisses over your chest and the top of your breasts. He helps you get up before he unzips your dress. You feel the way it slides down your legs and pool at your feet. You feel much more vulnerable now, noticing he's still fully clothed.

''I wanna see you too, San,'' you pant softly when you feel his lips in your neck, sucking on your skin gently. ''You wanna see me, baby? You got it.'' He smirks as he takes off his jacket, waistcoat and slowly unbuttons his white shirt, revealing his toned abs. You sit down and feel your throat go dry at the sight of his sculpted god-like body.

''How's that baby? Does that look like something you can get used to?'' he smirks. ''God, yes, definitely,'' you sigh, before laying your hands on him. When you place your hands on his abs you realize his cock is already half-hard. The desire to suck a man off has never been stronger than tonight, but San seems to have other plans as he gets on his knees in front of you.

His skilled fingers trail up your thigh and curl around the fabric of your panties, yanking them down and tossing them to the other side of the room. ''Look at that, what a perfect pussy,'' he praises as he settles himself between your thighs. Instinctively you try to close your legs out of embarrassment, but San is unbelievable strong and he keeps them parted.

''Don't you want me to play with that pretty pussy of yours, angel?'' ''N-No, I do, I really do, please,'' you cry out when you feel his breath fan over your sensitive wetness. When San's mouth makes contact with your sex you throw your head back and moan. He's literally 3 seconds in and you're already so disheveled.

His fingers skim over your thighs while his lips close around your sensitive bud, giving it a few soft sucks and kitten licks to test you. Even the feather-light touches are driving you crazy, and you think if he doesn't start to properly eat your pussy you'll go absolutely feral. ''Please, San, please,'' you whine out.

''Okay baby, don't worry, you don't have to beg, I'm here for you, angel, you're doing so well,'' he smiles before diving between your legs again. San starts to lick your sensitive clit, leaving small kisses across your sex, before diving his tongue in again, and God you could feel him everywhere.

You felt tingles throughout your body, your entire being responding to San pleasuring you. You're starting to think that stumbling on Yourdesire.com was the best thing that could've ever happened to you, just from his oral alone. It makes you wonder if he would fuck you as good as he eats you.

You let out nothing but loud moans, not having to fake anything, just letting all your inhabitions go. For the first time in your life you felt truly understood, truly taken care off. ''That's it, that's so fucking good,'' you whimper. He' takes his time's thorough with his work, every flick and twist of his tongue feeling deliciously good and evil all at once.

San took his time - unlike most men would - and spent over 10 minutes between your legs before finally pulling away and regaining his breath. San looks somewhat disheveled himself when he pulls away, looking pleased and fucked out just from eating your pussy for a while.

You feel his fingers skim through your folds before pushing two of his digits inside. You whine when he fingerfucks you with slow strokes, curling his fingers just right. He pumps his fingers in and out of your pussy that's gushing with arousal. With every stroke you feel yourself come closer to an orgasm, and San quickly seems to pick up on that.

''That's it baby, you're doing so well for me, are you gonna come for me? Come on my fingers?'' he taunts. You nod and cry out his name, ''S-San! G-God, yes!'' ''Alright princess, I'm going to count down and you're gonna come at one, am I clear?''

You nod again, but you feel like you could burst at any moment, pussy clenching with each thrust of San's fingers. With all the willpower you've got, you hold on, waiting for San to count down.

''Three...,'' he taunts, looking deeply into your eyes as he keeps fingering your wet hole, ''Two...,'' he says, lingering for a moment before coming down to the last number. ''One,'' San says, and in that exact moment your body releases, an enormous wave of pleasure washing over you, making your body tremble uncontrollably as he rocks you through your climax. ''That's it, that's a good girl...'' he whispers as he calms you down. San retracts his fingers and licks them off to clean them, looking at your fucked out state with a content smile.

He stands up and discards his remaining clothes and as you're starting to escape your high, you remember to take off your bra too, leaving both of you completely naked. You eye San up and down, eyes trailing from his toned torso to his bulky thighs and his crotch.

His cock is so thick, heavy balls hanging underneath as it stands up proudly against his stomach. ''Wow,'' you breathe out. San smirks as he comes closer, and you sit up, eye-leveling his cock. You lick your lips before running your hands up and down his muscular thighs.

''What do you want angel? Want me to make you feel good again?'' ''I want you inside... I want you on your back, and I wanna get on top of you,'' you pant. ''Well, that can be arranged, darling,'' he says as he takes place on the bed, laying against the soft, fluffed pillows.

You straddle San and spit in your hand before taking his stiff cock in your hand. You pump it up and down a few times, not because he's not hard enough but because you desperately wanted to touch him before taking him in. San grunts when you jerk him off faster and flick your wrist every now and then. ''That feels so good baby, you're so perfect, so perfect for me,'' he moans.

After letting go of his shaft you hover your pussy above it. With a loud moan you let him fill your tight pussy up completely. His hands hold your hips steady as you start to grind and roll your hips against him. You let out a shaky moan as his cock drags along your walls - still sensitive from your orgasm.

The pleasure quickly becomes too much and as your body gets weaker, San pulls you close against his chest and kisses you. Your lips move together in perfect harmony, swallowing each others moans as you keep grinding on his cock, his pelvis crazing your sensitive clit.

San starts to move his hips along with yours and fucks up into your pussy, earning loud whines from you against his plush lips. San's thrusts become rougher but keeps a steady pace, knowing just how to make you go crazy. He can feel your pussy clench down on his dick and he pulls away from your mouth, moaning out a string of curses.

''You're taking my cock so well, princess, God damn, your pussy's so well behaved huh? Squeezing my cock just right, you want me to come inside you, hm? I'll fill this pussy up with my cum, make it look so pretty and white. Bet you'd like that, hm? Isn't that the perfect reward for my pretty girl?''

All you can respond are merciful pleads and shards of his name. Your breathing becomes so uneven and you feel yourself getting close again when he reaches places no one has ever reached before. His hands grip your ass tight as he drives his cock inside you. ''I can feel you're about to come baby. Hold it, Hold it like the perfect girl you are, hm? Hold it for me baby, just a little longer,'' he orders you.

You try your best, you try so hard to hold on, keep yourself from coming while he fucks you into oblivion. Lucky for you he says the word ''Come,'' and you burst instantly, crashing onto his chest you scream his name and writhe, your orgasm taking over your entire body. With a few more thrusts he empties himself inside you, filling you up with his hot cum.

''That's it, angel, slow breaths, good girl,'' he says as he slows down and then lays you beside him. He gives you a moment to calm down and drink some of the water from the mini fridge before he gets up.

''Where are you going?'' you ask him. ''Follow me, darling,'' he says with a smile, reaching out for your hand. You hold his hand and stand up, legs wobbling as he takes you to the bathroom. You could feel the mixture of his and your own cum trickle down your inner thigh, but decided not to say anything.

The both of you walk down the steps and enter the hot bath that was ready for you. You hum softly when your body gets absorbed by the nice, warm water, feeling more relaxed instantly. San pulls you closer by your hips and pulls you in his lap as he sits down. You feel his half-hard erection slide between your asscheeks, and he groans. ''Oops,'' you giggle.

San smiles and shakes his head, ''You're so cute and sexy, my princess, you know that? I'm having an amazing time with you, you've been taking it all so well, haven't you?'' he praises you. You feel San's lips on your skin, pressing soft kisses over your shoulders.

''Hm, I'd say so, yeah,'' you giggle, grinding your ass back on his cock once more. ''Hm, was it not enough, my angel, does your pussy need a good fucking again?'' He asks, his voice low. San's cock hardens again and you feel him grinding himself between your cheeks. ''Hm, yeah, you should take me again, San, as a reward~'' you say playfully. San definitely can't say no to that, so he orders you to lean on the edge of the bath. You obey him and push your ass up as much as you can for him.

He pumps his dick a few times before sliding it into you with ease. ''God, you're so perfect, taking me instantly,'' he grunts as he leans on you. You feel the heavy weight of his body on yours and moan. You've always loved a strong man, and you love the feeling of having one on top of you.

San holds you in places as he ruthlessly fucks into you. You try to move as you whimper out his name, but you can't go anywhere. San's got you trapped under his body, holding you so tight there's no possibility of escaping. You whine as you try to hold onto him, overwhelmed by his hard thrusts, abusing your hole and making you feel good at the same time.

''Good girl, that's it, taking it perfectly angel,'' he moans, quickly chasing his own release. San fucks you at a pace you're sure is inhumane, and you can't do anything else but moan, moan loudly and let the entire hotel know how insanely good you're being fucked.

With one more rough thrust he combusts, releasing inside of you a second time that night. When he pulls out he lays you on the edge of the tub and makes you spread your legs. He watches your pretty pussy covered in his cum, and rubs your clit just as ruthlessly as he fucked you. You moan loudly and uncontrollably as San gets you to your fastest orgasm you've ever experienced.

After calming down and drying yourselves up San holds you in his arms as you lay on the bed. He whispers sweet nothings in your ear as he playfully nibbles on them. You love laying in his embrace, taking in his warmth.

''Thank you,'' you breathe out eventually. ''My pleasure,'' he smiles, ''it's my job, but I've certainly enjoyed this.'' You grin. ''I'm glad you did, I loved it too. I definitely needed to just get pleasured again by someone else. It was perfect. And worth every penny,'' you smiled.

After cleaning up and getting dressed you gave San one last kiss before saying your goodbyes. As you drive home he keeps playing on your mind, but your mind also wanders to the other men on the website. Would they be able to pleasure you just as much? How different would they be? You suppose there is only one way to find out...

[grapejuicebrat]

between us - d.s. pt. 1

The moment Drew first notices Y/N, and the tension begins to grow.

series masterlist

my masterlist

———

Drew Starkey had never been someone who believed in love at first sight. He’d seen it too many times—celebrities swearing they’d found “the one,” only for the tabloids to rip them apart a few months later. He wasn’t naïve. He knew better than to buy into the romantic fantasy. And for the longest time, he had convinced himself that his career, his ambition, was all he needed.

He was fine with his life, or at least he told himself that every morning as he stared at his reflection, dressed in the same worn leather jacket and the faded T-shirt that seemed to comfort him more than any fancy suit ever could. Hollywood had a way of making you forget who you were, of transforming you into the person everyone else wanted you to be. Drew had spent years trying to keep a part of himself intact, hiding in plain sight, playing roles both on and off-screen, but never fully engaging with anyone—until he met you.

You were 18, a fresh face to the world, but to Drew, you seemed like something else entirely. The first time he noticed you, you had walked into the café with a kind of quiet confidence that was hard to miss. It was a small local place, tucked away in a corner of the city where celebrities rarely came, which was exactly how Drew liked it. He was tired of being a target for the paparazzi, tired of pretending that his life was perfect. Here, he was just another guy with a coffee in his hand.

But you—your energy was different. There was something about the way you carried yourself, something that made Drew’s chest tighten in ways he didn’t quite understand. Your eyes weren’t full of awe when you saw him. No, you glanced at him briefly, and then you went about your business, ordering a drink and finding your usual seat by the window, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Drew couldn’t stop watching you, though. The way your fingers brushed the pages of your book as you read, the way your lips moved when you muttered something to yourself, the little things that most people would overlook, but Drew couldn’t stop noticing. He had never been a fan of people who were “too much”—too loud, too bold, too attention-seeking. But you? You were different. You didn’t try to impress anyone. You simply existed, and in a world full of noise, that was somehow the most captivating thing Drew had ever seen.

At first, he told himself it was just curiosity. Just a passing attraction. He wasn’t about to get involved with someone so young. He had seen the damage that age gaps like that could do. The power dynamics, the imbalances—he wasn’t blind to it. But every day, there you were, sitting in that same spot by the window, looking like you belonged there as much as he did. And slowly, the line between casual glances and unspoken attraction started to blur.

Days turned into weeks, and Drew found himself making excuses to visit the café more often. He didn’t need the caffeine; he just needed to be there, to watch you without saying anything, to pretend that this strange pull he felt toward you didn’t exist. He had convinced himself that it was just a phase. That it would pass. But it didn’t. It only grew stronger.

Then one day, as he walked in, there you were, sitting at your usual table by the window, but this time, you were reading something different. A notebook, filled with scribbled notes, your handwriting a beautiful mess. You didn’t look up when Drew entered, but something about the way you were so absorbed in whatever you were writing made Drew feel like an intruder.

He moved quietly toward the counter, ordered his usual coffee, and then turned to leave. But before he could take a step, he felt your gaze on him. Your eyes met his, and for a moment, everything around them seemed to disappear. The café, the low murmur of conversations, the hiss of the espresso machine—none of it existed. It was just the two of you, in that quiet, charged space. Drew didn’t know if it was the way you looked at him, or the way his heart beat a little faster, but in that moment, he felt something shift.

“Hey,” you said, your voice soft but not shy. “You’re Drew Starkey, right?”

Drew froze, almost too stunned to answer. People recognized him all the time, of course, but there was something different in your voice. It wasn’t admiration, or surprise—it was casual. Like you were asking about the weather.

“Yeah,” he replied, feeling the weight of the moment settle on his chest. He shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to do or say next. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.”

You gave him a small smile, a little lopsided but genuine. “It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize. I see you here all the time.”

Drew blinked. “Really?”

You nodded, tapping the side of your coffee cup thoughtfully. “You’re the one who always orders the same thing—black coffee. Every day.” You leaned back in your seat, narrowing your eyes as if trying to place something. “It’s funny, you know? I always thought actors were supposed to be flashy, always ordering the most expensive drinks or whatever. But not you. You’re… simple.”

Drew chuckled, feeling a strange sense of relief that you weren’t fawning over him like so many others did. There was no flattery, no “Can I get an autograph?” just a conversation like any other.

“I guess I’m not much of a flashy guy,” he said, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

“No, I don’t think you are,” you replied, eyes twinkling. “But there’s something about you that’s different.”

Drew’s heart skipped. He wasn’t used to people seeing him like that—like he was more than just the role he played on screen. But somehow, you did.

For the rest of the afternoon, Drew stayed in the café longer than he planned. He found himself taking sneaky glances at you when you weren’t looking, not sure what was happening but unable to stop himself. There was an undeniable pull. You were so much younger than him. There were rules—unwritten rules—about this sort of thing. The difference in your ages couldn’t just be ignored. But Drew was beginning to understand that he wasn’t the one in control here. Not anymore.

When he finally stood to leave, you flashed him one last smile. “See you tomorrow, Drew.”

And that was the moment he realized there was no turning back. He couldn’t get you out of his head.

[zepskies]

Ooooh I'M so excited to see what you thought of the ATW finale!

Lol aww you remembered!! ❤️‍🔥 I've legit had this scene for this story in my head since that convo! But you're too kind to me, friend, thank you so very much. 🥹🥹 This is a lot shorter than how long my usual series run, so I feared it was a bit rushed, but I'm so glad you've enjoyed the ride. 💕

And yes, I did steal your other Ross gif! 🤣

There's legit a Friends gif for everything.~

Such a strong and hot start, wow! 🫠🔥 Full honesty, as a writer, starting chapters with smut always freaks me tf out. Like, where do you put the damn "keep reading" line without flashing some innocent people at work 😂

We're starting off with a bang! 😝 (Sorry, even I hate my self for that pun.)

Oh God, yeah. How do I include a hook to get people to read this chapter while keeping the steamy stuff under the cut? 🤣🤣

Ooof, I know the exact feeling you're describing here. Kinda like when you're taking a hot bath but the room is cold and so everything not covered by water is freezing... 😅

Yes exactly! The kind of cold that just exists in the air like a frigid blanket. 🥶

Oh, here we go! Executed to perfection 😏

Ahaha thank you, my lovely. 😏❤️‍🔥

First of all, I was just reading this whole, intensely scorching scene with a thundering heart and squeezing my damn thighs hard 😂 Secondly, I loooove this trope! It's sorta romantic?! Idk 😅🤷‍♀️ Kinda gives "waiting for the right one and not in the mood for anyone else" vibes. I did that kinda with Russell recently lol But I love the extra intensity and specialness it gives, y'know? ❤️‍🔥

omg I love that trope too (clearly lol)! Yes that's exactly it on it being actually romantic -- and if you mean on Part 3 of Exit Strategy than I'm even more excited to read that chapter when I get a chance -- hopefully later this week! 😍 I'm loving how you're writing Russell. 💗

But yes I agree it adds an extra spark here imo, knowing Dean has been unintentially "saving himself" for her lmaoo.

Loved the callback of him hearing her again, although his instincts had taken over. It shows how much he cares about her and respects her 💕 And I truly wonder what Sam will say when Dean comes back with a mate lol

Aww that's exactly what I intended as well! He's not so far gone that he doesn't consider her and what she wants (with him). 💕

You know what, a few people have requested seeing an epilogue of some kind where Sam gets to meet the reader and she gets to meet him and Dean Jr., so I may have to sketch something soon for my next little project. 🥰

Lol I was gonna say, "How long do you guys plan on being here? This might take a while" 😂 But I'm so in love with their little afterglow bonding session ❤️❤️❤️ I honestly could read about their convos forever. They're so cute 🥹

Lolll right? They could be here for a week just going over the past 15 seasons. 😂 But they have to start somewhere, right? John's journal can only cover so much. And I wanted Dean to start expressing himself to her in words and start to open up to her in a way he hasn't done for anyone in years.

Aww I'm so glad that you love them together! 💗 In this story I found that the small moments and day-to-day convos between these two were just as important as the bigger action/dramatic moments.

We've already talked about this when he mentioned Dean jr. the first time, but my headcanon is, too, that Dean would be super happy, incredibly sad and lonely, and definitely a little envious and sour lol 😂😂

Ugh that's exactly it, poor baby. 😭 A perfect description of Dean post S15 here (gotta add envious and sour lmao).

You really nailed him here! I could hear every word out of his mouth, too!! 😂🫶

Omg thank you!! I feel like Dean's the one I can hear most clearly in my head when I write for him. 😂😂

Can totally seeing him doing all of that and arguing with her throughout lol Our hero 🥹💚

Oh absolutely. These two would probably be driving each other crazy while still being crazy in love with one another -- bickering all down the mountain. 🙄😂

(Dean grumbling, trying to stamp down his smile: "Shoulda left you for the damn bear.")

Oooh, I completely forgot she doesn't yet!! Aww, she loved him before she knew he had a cool car. This is like finding out he was a millionaire and kept it a secret to find true love and weed out the gold diggers 🤣

Bahahaa I LOVE that comparison. 🤣 I just imagined him pulling up like--

This had me DEAD 🤣🤣🤣

lmfaoooo I meannnn, is he wrong? 😂😂

A year???? Jesus fuck, this is even sadder now!!! Sam was really like, "Ciao, jerk." lol

Yeeeeah maybe this is something I'll explore if/when I write that epilogue, but Sam really is off having his new life. Granted, in my mind he reaches out to Dean to check in, invite him over, etc., but even though Dean's happy for him, it's hard to be around Sam's life when Dean himself feels so aimless (and kind of empty inside). So he probably did a lot of the "staying away" in the situation. 💙

Oh she's about to find out how much 😂😂💚

Oh she's about to find out a lot of things about her man that she never thought possible. 🤣🤣

("You've died HOW many times?!!")

That was such a perfect ending! They literally drove off into the sunset together *swoon* 😍🫠🫶 (And I could totally see Dean singing along to the lyrics at the end there) I seriously enjoyed this series so much, friend!! 🤍🤍🤍 Totally gave me those vibes 🥹💕:

Aww thank you so, so much, Wayne!! 💕💕 They really did have their Hallmark movie moment lol. (Oh, he SO would be singing along -- loudly! lol)

omggg I'm honestly honored that it gave you Mondler vibes. 🥹 I always loved them more than Ross/Rachel tbh, so that's literally the best compliment ever. 💗

Thank you again so much for reading and always brightening my day right up with your wonderful, insightful, hilarious comments on my writing, friend. 💞

Against the Wind - Part 4

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x F. Omega!Reader 

Summary: You wake up in a strange alpha’s cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, all with a busted ankle. He holds shadows in his eyes, even though his hands are gentle. There are iron shutters around his heart, even though he saved you. You might just save him in return.

AN: The grand finale...

Song Inspo: “Against the Wind” by Bob Seger

Word Count: 3.4K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, knotting, claiming, fluff and feels.

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Part 4: Running to Live

His cold hands are warming on your skin as he slides them underneath your sweater. They move smoothly up your back, bunching up the material. You break from his kiss only to help him get the sweater off you, followed closely by his pants.

Your sweatpants slide down your legs with just a sharp tug, baring most of your body to his gaze. His eyes drag over your exposed neck and shoulders, your breasts cupped in your bra, down to your panties and bare thighs.

A shiver runs through you, both from his heated gaze, and from being exposed to the cooler air. Even with the fire going and the heater running in the cabin, the frigid air outside is unforgiving.

You have no problem with the way Dean guides you down from the chaise to take advantage of your nest on the floor, right in front of the fire. He draws you into a sensuous kiss, sucking your lower lip into his mouth and grazing with teeth.

“Were you nesting, Omega?” he teases, between the sinful meetings of his lips with yours. You hum your affirmation before his tongue swipes across your lower lip, seeking entrance.

You open yourself to him in more ways than one; you slip your hands across his naked shoulders and explore the smooth planes of muscle, the dips and softness in between. You encourage him to lower down, to cover you with the length and broadness of his frame. His weight is a welcome one between your thighs and against the softness of your body.

“Was worried about you,” you whisper a confession against his lips. Dean briefly pauses, meeting your eyes.

“Thanks for waiting up,” he says, with a hint of a smile.

Your lips curve upwards in return. You reach up to caress his cheek, feeling the prickling of his stubble. Your fingers thread into his hair, and you pull him back down for a devouring kiss.

Dean’s brows furrow as he holds you to him, wanting to feel every part of your skin against his. His calloused fingers map their way down your side, and across your back to unhook your bra. His lips veer away from yours to burn a wet, heated trail along your neck. His teeth come out to graze your skin, down your throat, down the lovely valley between your breasts.

“Dean,” you gasp, encouraging him when his hand cups one of your breasts. He explores the other with his mouth, teasing a pebbled nipple with his tongue. Your fingers tighten in his hair, your thighs rubbing together between the cage of his knees in the mess of blankets. Already you feel slick forming at the apex of your thighs and slipping down in between.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin. “Fucking beautiful, you know that?”

You can’t help but smile. Your face warms either from the fire dancing shadows across your bodies, or from him, his attention, his warmth, and the heat in his eyes when they meet your again. His hand slides down your body, over your hip and squeezing your thigh as he opens you up further for him.

“Tell me what you want, Omega.” While I still have control, his tone implies. His voice is gravel and sin while his hand moves swiftly and smoothly up the inside of your thigh.

“Touch me,” you breathe.

Nodding, he hooks his fingers around the hem of your panties and slides them down. You help him kick them off. Afterward, his thumb brushes over your mound, making you sharply inhale and squeeze his shoulders encouragingly. His fingers dip inside your wet heat, his brows raising with a smirk, as he feels the sheer amount of your slick already coating his digits.

“Fuck. This all for me, baby?” he remarks.

You hold onto the back of his neck with both hands as you nod, biting your lip. Your hips begin to cant against his hand on reflex, urging him to touch you.

“Alpha, please…” you implore, in a ragged whisper. He swallows your plea with a ravaging kiss, but he still gives you what you want. His thumb circles your clit, earning a moan from you into his mouth.

Soon, two of his fingers plunge slowly inside you, working you open, drawing more gasps and shudders of pleasure from your body. His length continues to strain hard against your thigh, but for him, it’s worth it to draw every sound, every time your body writhes and arches against him, craving release.

With a few more purposeful strokes, your inner walls clamp tight on his hand, and a flood of slick coats his knuckles even more. You gasp his name, your hands squeezing his arms just as tight as your pussy around his fingers.

Your skin is beginning to get dewy with sweat, and he kisses some of it off you when he trails down your chest. You stroke down his arms, down his back, whatever you can reach as you catch your breath. But then, his name falls from your lips with a firmer tone.

Dean raises his head, and you gently push at his chest. His brows furrow in confusion, only for it to be replaced with a smile of surprise when you curl a thigh over his hip and guide him onto his back. His head just manages to fall on one of your pillows, but he still utters a small grunt. You giggle down at him, bowing to meet him for a kiss.

He smirks and holds onto your hips, playfully squeezing your ass. “My wily omega.”

“Thought I was your cheeky omega,” you tease.

He snorts. “That too.”

You giggle some more as you treat him to the same path of open-mouthed kisses down his neck. Except this time, you hook a hand behind his neck, and you trail your tongue around his mating gland. You feel his jolt of surprise, as well as his instinctive growl of pleasure in response to his mate. Or at least, not yet…

His heart pounds in his chest.

“Omega,” he says, a warning not to tease as his grip tightens on your hips.

The command in his voice makes you shiver, but you smile and nuzzle his cheek in affection. You kiss your way down his body, playing special attention to his nipples, his stomach, the soft V and the happy trail of light brown fuzz leading you down between his hips.

Your fingers slide down his hardened desire through his underwear, earning a grunt from him, along with a shifting of his body against the blankets. Your lips curve as you nuzzle him there as well, letting your lips drag across his impressive length.

His fingers tangle in your hair when you hook your nails around the waistband and free his cock from its confines. His boxers join the rest of your clothes somewhere, and finally you get to see all of him, as much as he takes in all of you. Your hand wraps around his girth, your thumb circling around the sensitive, weeping head of it. Dean groans, a sound from deep in his chest.

You don’t know this, but it’s been a while since anyone but his own hand has touched him. That’s not the only reason his body has been calling to yours, but it plays a part in how fucking good it feels, and how much more he wants you.

He feels your intentions when your hand moves down his shaft in a teasing caress, your fingers tracing around his knot. A shudder rattles down his spine, makes his desire burn hotter in the pit of his stomach.

He can’t fucking take it anymore. He needs you, needs to be inside you. Needs to take you the way his instincts demand.

He grasps your shoulder before you put your mouth on him. You blink up at him, with a question forming on your lips, but he hefts you up onto his chest by your arms. He cages you there with a kiss filled with abject need.

“I can’t. Can’t wait anymore,” he says. He drags his fingers through your folds and earns another moan from your when he finds your clit. “You ready for me, Omega? Need my knot?”

“Yeah,” you nod, agreeing against his lips. “Need you, Alpha—”

No sooner had the words escaped your lips, when Dean rolls you back underneath him. But this time, he guides you onto your stomach, then raises up your hips, until you’re on your hands and knees. You catch your breath as you regain your bearings, shooting an incredulous smile over your shoulder at Dean. He smirks back at you, but his gaze is intense, his pupils darkened with the alpha inside him. 

Still, he soothes a hand down your back and steadies you with a hold on your hip. You feel him slot himself behind you, guiding his cock at your entrance. His chest presses hotly against your back.

“Last chance, Omega,” he says, his voice tight with restraint.

You look back at him again over your shoulder, your mouth threatening to frown. You reach back and sink your fingers into his hair with a sharp tug. “Do it.”

He sinks into you with one smooth plunge. It’s a relief for both of you, your mingled moans echoing in the near silence. All that’s left is the sound of your quickening breaths, of skin against sweat-slick skin as you move together.

Dean brushes your hair away from your neck. He kisses and licks his way along your bare shoulder, and finally the back of your neck. You’re trembling by the time his lips find the sensitive flesh of your mating gland. It echoes with the pulsing from your core as he continues to drive into you.

“Alpha,” you gasp on reflex. You squeeze his arm; he has it wrapped tight around your middle. Your pleasure builds ever closer to that crescendo, especially as his thrusts become ragged, at an angle that zips delicious tingles through your core. “Close…just…I need…”

Dean isn’t so far gone. He hears you, and helps you, reaching his hand around to strum his fingers insistently on your clit, along with his final thrusts.

Finally, it tumbles you over. Your inner walls become impossibly tight around him as he draws out your second release—one that triggers his own. Dean groans into your ear; his knot swells and locks into place, and he spends himself deep inside you. He pants hot against your neck, but even though he fastens his lips there, he hesitates, once again making you shudder. 

“Do it,” you repeat, in a coarse whisper. You’re close to tears. “Please. Want you, Alpha. Need you…”

Once again, he hears you.

His teeth sink into the back of your neck, making you cry out. But your pain is quickly overshadowed by a deepest pleasure, thrumming along with his.

 Afterward, Dean holds you in his arms. The warm glow of the fire paints your skin in its light, despite the utter darkness in the rest of the house. 

While you both wait for his knot to subside, you revel in the fact that you know he’s content. You can feel it through the newly formed bond. He traces random shapes in your skin, which still glistens with a fine sheen of sweat. The fire he stoked doesn’t help to cool you down, but you don’t care.

Nothing else matters but this. You turn your head toward him over your shoulder. He meets you there with a gentle kiss, much more gentle than any other you’ve shared before. It feels right. 

When he parts from you, he presses another kiss to your forehead. Then he leans back a little and sighs. You feel his thumb trace the raw flesh around the claiming mark on your neck. A small shiver runs through your body. Maybe on another day, you’ll mark him in return.

“It’s too damn late,” he says, breaking the silence. “You realize that right?”

You shoot him a frown. “Too late for what?”

“For me to let you go,” he says. 

His words both warm you and make you sad. Just how little does he think of himself?

“Dean,” you say, endeavoring to be patient. “You’re my true mate. Do you know how rare it is that we’ve actually found each other?”

Dean remains quiet.

“And after everything you’ve done for me,” you add, “how can I not think you’re a good man? How can I not think this is right?”

He seems to consider your question. His gaze briefly falls, then meets your eyes again.

“You don’t know me that well,” is his answer, with a wry turn of his lips. 

You reach back to caress his cheek. “Then tell me. Tell me about, um…tell me about how you became a hunter. From your dad’s journal, I got the sense that it’s a family thing.”

A vendetta, you wanted to say, but you keep that thought inside.

Dean chuckles, dropping another kiss onto your shoulder. You feel the pleasurable rasp of his stubble.

“Yeah, more like a family business,” he says. 

He tells you why John Winchester started writing in that journal in the first place. Dean explains it in his own words, of what his family was before and after a demon broke into his brother’s nursery. Your heart continues to break for him, over and over, the more story he tells. Your shock can only reach new heights when he tells you about angels and demons and everything in between. 

There are moments where he pauses, needing the time to find his words. He’s talked for so long that his knot finally softens, allowing you to withdraw from him, just to turn in his arms and be able to see his face. He bundles you in the blankets to keep you warm, but he also keeps you close, with a loose arm around your waist as he continues. 

You sense that he’s not telling you everything. How could he? A lifetime of blood and wins and incredible losses; family gained, and family lost, endless saves, and so many near misses. You listen with rapt attention (and a lot of shock) to everything he can share, but your heart twinges when you see how he struggles to talk about his mother’s most recent death. Then his best friend Cas. 

You realize that this man, for all his self-deprecation, is a hero. More so than you already knew.

“After the whole Chuck thing was done, I thought we’d just…go back to status quo. Me and Sam against the world, you know?” Dean says. He gives a rueful smile. “Then Sammy tells me he knocked up his mate.”

You smile. “You’re happy for him though.”

“Course I am,” Dean nods. “He never thought he’d get to have all that. A badass chick who can keep him on his toes, a house, the kid, the whole damn thing. He’s downright respectable again.”

His brotherly pride and his humor are tinged with something else though. You think you begin to understand. His losses have weighed him down, leaving him aimless and living in that in between, not unlike the ghosts he used to hunt. You know the feeling. 

You thread your fingers with his, earning his attention. 

“You can have that too, you know,” you say. “I mean, I don’t want to skip ahead, but I feel like things are going well here, despite the whole busted ankle thing.” 

Dean slowly smiles, shaking his head. He brings your hand up to his lips. 

“Okay, enough about my Hallmark movie life. What about you?” he asks. 

So you tell him. 

You two continue to share and explore, both in words and with your bodies, until morning comes. 

It’s another week in the cabin before Dean insists on helping you down the mountain. Your ankle has gotten a little better, but at this point, you need to see a doctor. It takes a couple of days, going as slow as you need to. He ends up carrying you for most of the way anyway. You tell him over and over that he doesn’t have to, but your alpha is stubborn. 

Once he gets you back to the city, you two take a shuttle to the nearest hospital. X-rays are taken, and you get a new cast for your officially fractured ankle. At the very least, you don’t need surgery. You’re able to call your mom from there and let her know where you’ve been, that you’re all right, and best of all…that you’ve found your mate. 

You cry along with her on the phone, this time for a good reason. The best reason. 

When you’re eventually released from the hospital, Dean picks you up in a sleek, black Chevy that has your eyes wide. 

He grins at the look on your face. “Hey, sweetheart. Come meet my Baby.” 

He parks the car and keeps the heater running while he comes around to you in swift strides. He takes your crutches and slides them into the backseat, then helps you into the passenger seat. 

“It’s beautiful, but my God, how old is this thing?”

“She. She’s a she.”

“Oh, pardon me,” you say in amusement. “Do I have some competition here?”

Dean gives you a teasing smirk. “Well, technically, she’s been with me a lot longer than you.” 

You scoff incredulously. He laughs and takes your hand, pressing a kiss into your palm. You discreetly study him and marvel at how much lighter he seems. You don’t know how much is because of this, what your hand in his symbolizes, and how much is because he’s reunited with something important to him. 

“It’s okay, Omega mine,” he says, with a measure of desire in his eyes. “From now on, you’re my priority.”

Your spine prickles with the same arousal you can feel from him through the bond. You lean across the way and share a thorough kiss. 

Until a horn honks loudly from behind. You both jolt, but Dean’s face falls into annoyance. He shoots up a choice finger at the car behind him in the rearview mirror. You laugh as he begins to peel out of the curved pick-up and drop-off zone in front of the hospital. 

“Where are we going, Dean?” you ask, still smiling in amusement. 

“Wherever we damn well please.” He turns to you with a hint of a smile reforming on his lips. “Want me to take you back home? We can sort out the logistics on, uh…well, this.”

You think about it. He poses a good idea, but at the same time, you’re not quite ready for this part of the adventure to end. 

“How long has it been since you’ve seen Sam?” you ask.

Dean blinks at your question. He whistles lowly. “About a year. Jesus, since my nephew was born.”

You smile and reach over, resting your hand on his thigh. 

“Let’s go see him, then,” you say. “I want to meet your family. Then you can meet mine.”

After that, you two can figure out the rest, like where to live, and how you’ll live. 

Dean raises a brow. “Really? That’s like, a thirteen-hour drive.”

You shrug. “I’ve always wanted to go on a real road trip. Can we get some food first though? I’m starving.” 

He laughs and nods as he stops the car at a red light.

“What do you know? A woman after my own heart,” he says. His amusement eases into a gentler smile the longer he stares at you. You smile back, and you give into the urge to lean in again, meeting your lips with his. He brushes your cheek tenderly with his thumb. 

“I know what this needs,” he says lowly. Your brows draw together in a silent question. 

He pulls away to reach into the side compartment along the driver door. He fishes out a cassette tape labelled Zeppelin IV. You bite your lip and try not to say anything smartassed.

Damn, this man is old school. 

He skips ahead until he finds Track 7, just as the light turns green. A melodious guitar riff fills the car as he turns onto the main road with your hand wrapped in his. 

Made up my mind to make a new start.

Going to California with an aching in my heart…

AN: And that's all, folks! 🥹 I truly hope you enjoyed Against the Wind!

Like I said in a recent update, I have more stories in store for you guys. January 3 will be Part 1 of Outlander -- sequel to The Honorable Choice -- a Western AU with Dean as our resident cowboy! I'll post a sneak peek on that one soon.~

But in the meantime, I hope you'll let me know what you thought of ATW! 💜💜

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the warren, part eleven - outsider

price x f!reader | series page | ao3 tags: dual pov, brief mention of missing persons, supernatural elements, firearms/gunshot, pursuit, possessive john price a/n: kyle takes you on a walk in the woods. 🔪

John stalks the woods for hours, his steps silent, his presence loud. No cougars, no wolves, no bears cross his path. Even the coyotes keep their distance. All of them scatter when they scent him upwind. Only the slivers of orange far off remain—hunters fumbling in the undergrowth, cursing as he chases their quarries off from a distance.

The predators on the mountain cut him a wide berth, instinctual or otherwise. They smell it in the air, the thing he carries, the thing he is. They must feel it radiating from the pit in his chest like a second heartbeat. All the animals know, just as the townspeople know. They sense the natural order, and they know where he sits.

At the top, enthroned, watching with an unmatched hunger.

And man and beast are the same at their core. Driven to eat, to mate, to breed. But the thing inside him, what carved itself a home there so long ago, is neither. It wants all of those things and more. It wants to bind his pretty liar to him in ways man's words and vows never could. He can taste the thought of her, of their children, and the hunger gnaws at him so fiercely his teeth ache.

He rakes his nails over the meat of his thighs as she squirms in her sleep. She's feeling it—the pull, the call that brought her here, just like MacTavish, just like all the others. It lures them in, makes them stupid, but she's different. It's different this time.

In the morning, he'll comfort her. Give it to her again. Trap her in the snare of his arms, ask about her dreams with his mouth to her neck and a few loads of his spend hot against the plug of her womb.

It's bound to take one of these days. 

They've been going at it like, well.

John wraps his fist around himself under the sheets, and watches her toss and turn. She doesn't yet understand the weight of what's unfolding. But he knows. She's his. There is no leaving this place.

She will know the seasons here. The leaves will burn red and gold before falling. The frost will creep in until the bay hardens to glass. And through it all, she will be with him, bound to the land and to him. Full of him.

His pulse beats hard in his palm. 

And if she needs convincing, he has experience.

~~~~

There's a note tucked under the corner of the mat when Kyle returns after lunch. It wasn't there this morning nor at lunch. He has half a mind to request a camera from Shepherd, contemplating a discreet mount above his door.

It's from the motel front desk, scrawled on a piece of branded note paper. An unnamed woman called and left a message for him—Grouse Bay Grocery, open til 7.

Not ominous at all.

Kyle knows the proprietor is John Price. Everyone he's spoken to knows of him, but no one has offered much more. No one seems willing to share more than the basics. In this town, the badge doesn't carry weight. It only makes people clam up, smile stiffly.

And here, it's an even harder sell. You're not from here. You're here to get people in trouble. That's what they see first. 

He isn't oblivious. He understands to a degree. He's an outsider. Towns like Ponderosa and Grouse Bay don't care for being poked at, and the fact he's asking tough questions doesn't help. His real mistake, however, was assuming that someone, anyone, would want answers.

He stares at the note in his hand. Maybe it means he's found someone who does.

~~

Kyle squints, glancing from the note to the woman behind the counter. The poorly disguised look of surprise on her face confirms she wasn't expecting him.

When he saw her through the glass before coming in, he'd felt an unexpected wave of relief. After seeing her in the passenger seat of that truck, next to the scowling man with a bad haircut, he worried his case folder would grow by one. Yet here she is, alive, but the question swims in his thoughts: who left the note, if not her?

She's with a customer, so he drifts to a revolving stand of postcards. Half of them are coated in dust. Not a popular destination to write from, apparently. Still, one catches his eye, its pun curling his lip into a dry smile: Having a bay-utiful time in Grouse Bay!

Yeah. If only.

When the bell above the door chimes, he takes the aisle that leads straight to her, making sure she sees him coming. He slips off his sunglasses and hands over the postcard.

"Two fifty."

"Two fifty?" He echoes, pushing a soft laugh and smile, thumbing through his wallet. "For a postcard?"

Her eyebrows shoot up. "Sorry, I don't set—"

"I'm just teasing," He cuts in, warm enough to smooth over her nerves. "I know you're not responsible for the price."

She smiles tight and takes the money, turning to make change at the register, and his eyes narrow.

"What happened there? Looks painful."

She stiffens, brushing over the cut on her forehead, the sheen of drying ointment catching the light. There's a delay, a loaded one he immediately recognizes and loathes.

"I fell. I live at the top of—I fell. Loose gravel." 

He leaves the opportunity for her to continue or alter course. He knows she's lying. And she knows he knows.

"Right." He counters with the note when she mechanically offers his change. "Did you leave a message at a motel today?"

Her lips press into a flat line. "No?"

"Any ideas on who might have? Would've been a woman."

Her eyes flick back to his. "I don't know anything about it."

"Interesting," Kyle slides the note across the counter, tapping a finger against a corner. "'Cause despite its brevity, it seems like an invitation. And it brought me here. To you."

Her shoulders stiffen, and she glances at the door. "I don't know why anyone would…" She trails off, frowning, and when she continues, it's clear she's choosing her words carefully. "Are you—I recognize you."

"Do you?"

"I saw you. Yesterday. First, at the coffee shop, then after when I was with a friend." She pauses. "Are you here for the season or…?"

Kyle lets the silence stretch long enough for her visible discomfort to deepen. He smiles, and there's no humor in it. "No. I'm not. 'Least, I'm on a different hunt." Her gaze darts toward the door again, but before she feeds him some excuse, he takes his chance. Withdrawing his badge from the inner pocket of his jacket, he lays it out for her reference. "You met my colleague, Phillip Graves, outside The Echo Diner, isn't that right?"

Her throat bobs as she swallows, hands curling over the edge of the counter, thumbs worrying at the edge of a missing strip of plastic. When she finally looks at him, her eyes seem larger than they were a moment ago. "Am I in trouble?"

The question sets something off in the back of Kyle's mind. The meekness in her voice is different from what he's heard before from hedging witnesses. No, it's sincere, and with the cut on her forehead, it's probably in her nature to placate.

She's scared.

Not only of him, or the badge. Probably deeper than that. Of authority. Maybe men, too.

"No. You're not in trouble. I just want to have a conversation, Miss…?"

And on the third check of the door, she gives her name. Makes him wonder if Mr. Price is supposed to be in soon.

"You expecting someone?"

"No, but if a customer...This isn't a good time to talk."

Kyle nods. "I can respect that. How about after close? Seven, right?" He gestures over his shoulder. "We could meet at The Foxhole." 

Her hesitation is immediate. "No. That won't work."

"Okay…What if I come back here?"

"Not here either."

He frowns and runs his tongue along his bottom teeth. He doesn't want to scare her off, but—"What's your address, then? I'll pop by. It shouldn't take long."

A piece of the laminate snaps off under her finger and catapults across the counter. She stares at the shard of fake wood.

"You're not in trouble," Kyle reassures, slipping his badge back into his jacket. "The sooner I get what I need, the sooner I can be out of yours and everyone's hair."

That tips her head up. With reluctance, she gives the address. It's up the hill. Dark red cabin, lots of cats. Can't miss it. Eight o'clock, to give her time to eat.

"Eight it is."

"Eight."

"See you soon."

Kyle feels her eyes on the back of his head all the way to the car.

~~

She wasn't kidding about the cats. There must be at least a dozen.

He parks down the drive. The sun's dipping lower, shadows starting to stretch over the property. The woods are dense, walling in the cabin. The further in, they seem to pull the light right out of the air. He notes the woodshed and the sagging carport, but the cabin itself appears sturdy enough. Beaten up, sure. In need of care, definitely. But standing.

The lights are on. So, hopefully, she's still willing to meet.

When she opens the door, it smells like garlic, onions, and warmth, but her posture is cold, standing in the doorway like a one-woman blockade. She doesn't invite him in. Doesn't want him here at all, most likely.

So, he offers an alternative. Tosses the line and waits to see if she bites.

"Why don't we go for a walk instead?" 

"A walk."

"Yeah. Explore a bit. Walk and talk."

"Aren't you worried about the wild life?"

He pats his hip. Smiles just enough to gentle her. She's close, almost in reach. Whoever made that call had a reason for him to meet her, and whatever she knows, he needs.

"We won't go far. I'm armed. I promise I won't let anything get you."

After a moment, she steps inside. A minute later, she returns, bundled in an oversized men's coat, the shoulders too broad, the sleeves shoved up past her wrists. There's a torch stuffed in one pocket, its weight dragging the fabric crooked.

She locks the door with a resigned sigh. 

"Well, let's walk and talk."

~~

Kyle doesn't bring up Graves right away. Better to let the mood settle, not risk her bolting.

The sun sinks lower, the light thinning, the temperature dropping. She crouches every few steps, picking up and inspecting rocks, brushing off dirt and moss to collect them. He's not much for the outdoors himself. Knows his way around a forest if he has to, but he's never felt the need to romanticize it. 

"Tell me how you met Graves. Did you approach him, or did he approach you?"

"He came up to me outside the diner. We barely spoke then." She shrugs, one shoulder hitching under the oversized jacket. "It wasn't much of a conversation."

"'Then'. Did you meet a second time?" That's news.

"Mhm. He came by my cabin." She gestures in the direction from where they came.

"So it's your cabin?"

"No," She shakes her head. "I'm renting. Visiting."

"Yeah? Whereabouts are you from? Long trip?"

"Yeah, far." She searches the ground. It's a dodge, but he lets it sit. "I read about this place. It kind of called to me."

Kyle hums. He doesn't press. She hasn't shut the literal or figurative door on him yet.

"Not the first time I've heard that." It's the truth. Several townsfolk echoed the same refrain. Nature has that effect, he supposes. "Mind tellin' me about his visit?"

Her exhale is halfway to a groan. She picks up a pebble and tosses it into the undergrowth. "You promise I'm not in trouble?"

He smiles. "Unless you're about to confess to a crime? No."

She sighs, then leans against a tree. Another deep breath, and she starts talking.

~~

While Graves neglected to mention his house call, her story aligns with what he shared before going AWOL. For the life of him, Kyle can't imagine what the man was thinking.

Graves was supposed to be investigating cold cases—a string of disappearances spanning decades. Perfect place for it with the forests, rocky terrain, lake, and hundreds of abandoned mining tunnels. Of course, the area was a magnet for murderers. Serial killers. Culty, domestic terrorists. Hundreds of miles of unpoliced remoteness? Fucking catnip for criminals.

Made for terrible work. A punishing non-punishment for open complaints with internal affairs and human resources. When Graves got the assignment, he and Shepherd dragged their heels for weeks until he was all but forced onto a plane.

Kyle doesn't know what he did to inherit it all. Clearly, something awful in a past life.

Phil's last official communication was cryptic at best. Notes about an accident that left three men dead. Something Kyle would brush off, but Phil didn't volunteer out of the goodness of his heart, even if a local agency asked. So why this? Why a crash that has nothing to do with the cold cases? Why knock on this woman's door, only to erase her from the report entirely?

Until, near the end, she shares quite the revealing detail—

"And then he asked me out. Kind of. I said no."

She is Phil's type.

"Sorry to hear that. He can be a bit…uncouth." Paging, Internal Affairs.

She stifles a laugh. The flashlight appears in her hand, clicking on to cast a wide beam of light at their feet. "Should we head back? It's a little too dark for my comfort."

"We should."

They walk in silence, the woods quieting down at this hour, until she asks, "Any idea what happened to Phil? I should tell you, I tried texting him once or twice to follow up. He never replied."

Another flag. This whole time, ever since Shepherd mentioned Graves's missed check-ins, he figured the guy finally lost it. Got tired of the write-ups for his sketchy, borderline-aggressive behavior, creeping out interns and agents. Maybe he used his connections to go off-grid. Bold and brainless, but his style exactly.

"Can't tell you that, I'm afraid," Kyle offers a hand as they approach a wide fallen tree. "Active investigation, y'know."

She pauses mid-step over the log, her hand in his, face partly lit by the torch. "Phil…You don't think something—"

A twig snaps somewhere off to their left, sharp enough to cut her words in half. Both their heads jerk in the same direction. The beam follows, slicing through the underbrush and landing on a wall of green. Leaves and branches part, forming a gap for a pair of glowing yellow eyes. The air turns, smelling like wet dog.

"Oh God," Her fingers crush his as she scrambles over the tree. "G-Garrick, your gun, get your gun—"

The light shakes violently in her hand. Her voice climbs into a thin, shrill note that breaks just shy of a scream. She lets go, stumbling backward.

"Stay calm," He says, though his pulse jumps. His hand drops to his hip. "Don't run. Whatever you do, don't run."

The thing in the bushes chuffs, the sound wet, almost choked, like a clogged pipe. Then, the eyes begin to shift—upward.

Shit. Wolf? No, too big. His stomach sinks. Bear?

He doesn't get a chance to confirm. The moment the thing starts to rise, the light jerks away—and she ignores his instruction completely. She bolts.

"Fuckin' hell." Kyle pulls his pistol, pivoting as he takes off after her.

Behind him, the low growl deepens, turning angrier and guttural. Then the bush explodes. The thing tears through it, branches cracking like toothpicks.

The thing gets louder, closer. Gaining ground and fast. Kyle grips the Glock tighter, trying to steady his breathing, when something barrels into his side—a blunt, dense weight, like a battering ram. His hip explodes with pain, and he staggers, slamming into the rough bark of a tree.

"Shit." He hisses through his teeth, twisting to stay upright. Leaves crunch under its feet to the left and behind him. He feels the heat of the thing's breath, the stink of its damp fur.

Ahead, the light swings back, catching him full in the face. He flinches, blinded. Over the thunder of his pulse in his ears, he hears his name. He doesn't answer.

Instead, he fires.

The shot cracks through the air, and the creature lets out a high, grating and horrid scream.

He doesn't wait to see it fall, can't with the spots in his eyes, anyway. He shoves off the tree and runs toward the light, ignoring the searing pain in his side.

"Run!"

Kyle grabs her wrist, pulling her with him. She stumbles, but he keeps pulling until she matches his pace. Everything narrows to the thud of their feet.

He keeps his head slightly turned, straining to listen, but he doesn't hear their pursuer. All he hears is a thin, high whimper, and it fades as they put distance between themselves and it. He steals a look at her as the cabin comes into view. All he sees are the whites of her eyes, wide with terror.

They cross into the cabin's clearing, rounding the corner. Kyle releases her wrist as they head for the front door. Cats cluster beneath her car, their eyes flashing orange and green.

He slumps against the wall under the cabin's light, and runs a hand over his side, wincing as his fingers skim the tender, bruised skin beneath his shirt. No warmth, no wetness—no blood, then—but the ache is deep, radiating with each inhale. Cracked rib, probably. He shifts his grip on the torch, crossing it over the Glock.

The beam reveals nothing but the branches in the wind.

Beside him, she frantically digs through her coat. "The keys…I must've dropped the keys—" She turns out her pockets, scattering the stones she collected.

Kyle spares her a glance, his jaw tight.

Fucking wonderful.

He keeps the torch fixed on the tree line. "Right. Reach into my jacket. Take my keys. We're gonna run for my car. You take passenger, alright?"

Her answer is her trembling hand slipping into his pocket, closing around the fob and key. The second she withdraws, they break into a sprint again. His side throbs with every step.

The tail lights flash, and they split around the SUV, wrenching the doors open and slamming them shut. Kyle drops a fist on the lock, immediately checking the rearview before twisting his neck to scan behind them. Nothing.

He takes the keys, holstering his gun with a grunt. The engine hums to life, a miniscule comfort, but his mind is elsewhere, thinking of the creature. Absurdity overtakes fear and leaks through the adrenaline. A trained federal agent, running from what? An animal? It's ridiculous. Still, he's not going to let some mangy, overgrown dog be the thing that ends him.

Kyle drags in a sharp breath, wiping sweat from his brow. "What the fuck was that?"

"No idea, no clue," She shakes her head, hand twitching toward him. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm alright. Got a good lick in, but I'm solid."

Her face softens with worry, adrenaline wearing off. "Thank you, by the way. I'm sorry. For running."

He licks his lip, measuring his words. "It's okay. It's instinct. Hard to overrule."

"Regardless, thanks."

Her face, and all its earnestness, makes his ribs and hip hurt more. He turns his attention away. After a few minutes, it's clear the thing either limped off to lick its wounds or its corpse is cooling. Either way, the night isn't over.

"Well, your cabin's out of the question," Kyle huffs, wincing. "Got somewhere to stay tonight?"

"My boyfriend's place."

He cuts her a look in the mirror, but she's shifting in her seat, fishing a phone from her jeans. It's old, one of those indestructible brick models. It spawns a batch of questions, but he bites his tongue. Not his business.

"And where's that?"

"Down the hill," She murmurs, barely audible over the engine, thumb hovering over the buttons. "Attached to the store, around back."

It clicks into place after a beat. Kyle freezes, unsure if he heard right. Her boyfriend is her boss? John Price? Of course. This whole day just keeps getting better.

"Got it."

It takes only a few minutes to return to Grouse Bay proper. The Fox Hole is lit up, the only place alive on the otherwise dead main drag. Kyle fishes a card from his jacket as he turns onto the drive arcing around the store.

He hands the card over without looking. "Call me if you think of anything else about Graves. Anything." He pauses. "Or if anything else is troubling you. I'm staying across the lake, but I can come to you."

She takes the card, their fingers brushing. "Okay." She stuffs it into her jacket just as the back door bangs open.

John Price steps out into the light, and he's every bit as folks described. Strong, broad shoulders fill the doorway. Tall enough to skim the frame. The lines of his face, overlit by the exterior bulb, projecting authority. His fists rest on his hips, flannel sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposing forearms thick with the muscle of a working man.

Kyle watches him, assessing. He'd bet the man's never set foot in a gym. No need.

"Oh," She mutters, scrambling out. There's a tremor in her voice he doesn't miss. "Hey John."

He follows. Doesn't need to, could just drive off, but Price is on his list anyway. He's come up too often to introduce himself, potential witness or otherwise. And her reaction makes him want to hang around. Ensure she's set.

"Wasn't expectin' you tonight, darl." John's head dips in Kyle's direction, sizing him up. "Who's your friend?"

"He's–"

Kyle rounds the SUV, hand outstretched. "Agent Kyle Garrick."

Price doesn't move from his perch, and that alone stops him in his tracks. It's a short-lived standoff. John doesn't look inclined to step down, and Kyle, in turn, rests his hand above the holster. 

"We had a scare in the woods." Kyle says, watchful. She moves past him, hopping up onto the porch and into Price's side. His arm snakes around her, pulling her close to drop a long kiss to the top of her head, all while keeping his eyes locked on Kyle. "Not sure what it was. Wolf. Bear, maybe."

"That time of year…Whereabouts?"

"Behind the cabin."

"Go on a night hike?" A wry smirk bends his mouth.

"I insisted."

"Ah, your mistake, then." Price's grin spreads wide enough to show teeth. "Easy one to make as a visitor. Especially one so far from home, out of their element."

What a prick. Kyle files it away—possessive, defensive. The type to need to be the biggest man in any room. He doesn't rise to it, instead parrying with a calm smile at the woman tucked under Price's arm. "Sure you're alright?"

The hand atop her shoulder flexes. 

"I'm good."

"Good." Kyle shifts his weight, taking in both of them. "If you don't mind, I'll take a look tomorrow, see if I can't find the body."

"If it died." Price says casually.

Their eyes meet, and Kyle scents it then—a whiff of something ferrous and sulfuric. Strong enough to wrinkle his nose. "Yeah. If it died. I'll look for your keys, too."

"Your keys?" Price asks, gaze flicking down to her briefly.

She shrugs sheepishly. "I think I dropped them when we were running."

Price chuckles, squeezing her tight. "We can grab new ones from Kate." He brushes another kiss over her temple. "Thanks for bringing this one back to me, Garrick." 

It grates just enough to stir something in his chest. He ignores it. 

"My pleasure. Glad to put a face to the name, too. I'll be by for a chat, Price." With a final nod, he starts toward his car.

"Lookin' forward to it, agent."

Kyle doesn't respond. He climbs into the driver's seat, gravel crunching beneath the tires as he swings the car around. In the rearview, their figures linger, framed by the porch light. Price holds her close, fixed on the car as it passes. Kyle doesn't look away either, until he must.

His attention snaps back to the road in time to brake hard, tires skidding as a young cat streaks across the headlights. "Fucker," he mutters, swerving slightly before continuing onto the street. His chest tightens, the adrenaline resurfacing in smaller, sharper waves.

Once he's on the road, he pulls his phone and dials. The line clicks after a ring.

"Sorry for the late call," He sighs. "I need you to run two names, in addition to those plates."

[lillaydee]

Head Over Heels Part 9

Jackson!Joel / Reader

Special Guest Appearance by a Certain FBI Agent who may or may not look a lot like Joel.

You left the loneliness of your home and headed to Jackson with Joel and the teenage girl he was with, hoping your new life would be less lonely. You should've stayed alone.

WARNING:

Non-canon Compliant, Pining, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Joel (The Last of Us), Joel is Bad at Feelings (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Joel Lives (The Last of Us), Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Soft Joel (The Last of Us), Jealousy, Loneliness, Trauma.

MEGA WARNING: Descriptions of Attempted Sexual Assault.

@copperhalfcent @joelalorian @vickie5446 @peelieblue @nandan11 @liciafonseca @senoratess @denisanoemi @lovefreylove @heartpatch

SERIES MASTER LIST

Part 8

---

You couldn’t sleep those first few nights they were back. You were too afraid that you would wake up, and all of this would turn out to be nothing but a dream. Your brothers were here. The men who spoiled you rotten when you were growing up, who took on the role of your unwanted bodyguards and teachers. The men whose actions you thought were bullying and teasing helped give you the skills you needed to survive this incessantly challenging world. They’re here.

And Marcus. Marcus. Your friend Marcus, who you met that day the outbreak happened. The man you spent the first two weeks of the outbreak with. The man who was partially responsible for you being alive, who helped you get your bearings back then. The man who begged you to go with him, who kissed you before parting ways. The one who said he had wished you had met under different circumstances. He’s here. Living in the same house as your brothers.

You went through the dinner service in a daze, a smile you couldn’t wipe off your face permanently etched on for the evening. Your brothers came back to the hall for dinner, looking like they’d had some sleep and a good shower, wearing the clothes you had placed on their bed, not knowing it was for them at the time. Marcus joined a little later, looking like the clean shaven man you met 21 years ago, though neither him nor your brothers looked anything like the buff, protein-filled men they used to be. They sat with Tommy and Joel in the hall, eating their dinners, eyes disbelieving that they didn’t have to fight anyone for their dinner a few hours after having their lunch.

You came out to join them, a container of homemade crackers in your hand, along with a bowl of tomato soup your Mama used to make, placing them in front of you, sitting down between your two brothers. They dunked a cracker in the soup, closing their eyes at the taste. When they opened them, there were tears in their eyes.

“Mama’s tomato soup,” they whispered, looking at you as if you’d just brought them a gourmet meal from five Michelin star restaurant, and not just some blended tomatoes, chicken stock and cream. They finished the bowl, tears dripping down their now clean shaven chins.

They made you stay with them that night, needing to see their little sister at all times, still having a hard time believing this was real.

They were in the Falklands when the outbreak happened. Literally at the end of the world. Took them five years to get out of Argentina alone. Those early days after the outbreak was tough, and they, being Special Forces from the USA, needed to be careful, managing only a couple of miles a day to avoid detection, both from the armies and infected. All they wanted to do was get back home. To you, to your parents. Their army buddies Frankie and Santi decided to stay somewhere in Texas, in a settlement similar to Jackson – having found some of their family members there. Your brothers did stay a while there they said, but a few years passed and they both couldn't get rid of the strong feeling that you were still alive, and all they could think of was to get to you.

They arrived home about six months ago, shocked at how lived in the place was despite having been neglected for a few months, considering 20 years had passed since the outbreak. They didn’t think it was you living there, until Benny found a drawer full of polaroids of you and Bill and Frank. You remembered the day those photos were taken. It was Frank’s birthday about five or six years ago, and Bill had gifted him a polaroid camera he had found a few months before. The pictures came out well, considering the camera was 15 years old.

With renewed hope that you were still alive, they decided to travel further north, running into Marcus somewhere in Iowa, all alone. He told them about the place in Jackson he had heard of, that he was headed there on the off chance the rumours were true.

And a few months later, here they were. Sitting with you on their couch in their living room, asking you a thousand and one questions, all ready to contribute to the town. They were staying, they promised. They were never leaving you again.

You told them what might have happened to your parents, how you were too late getting home. Benny was shocked Bill didn’t just shoot you on sight, much less tolerated you for 20 years. Before that night was up, it was as if the last 21 years never happened. The two men who you looked up to growing up was back to teasing and annoying you as if they’d never left.

Marcus was quiet all the while you and your brothers talked, listening intently, smiling and laughing along, but never sharing anything. Maybe it was awkward for him, you thought. Not like anyone else had a chance to speak when Benny was around. Frankly, you were shocked he didn’t alert a horde of clickers the whole time they were travelling. You received a punch from him for that.

They all begged you not to leave, but you told them in a stern voice that to live in Jackson, you had to contribute. And you had to get up early to make everyone breakfast. They all had a meeting with Tommy and Joel the next day anyway, to see how they could help the town and what their roles would be.

“Speaking of Joel,” Benny said, a sly smile on his face. “Anything you want to tell us?”

Shit.

Suddenly memories of your brothers cornering Adam Trenton for kissing you in middle school came flooding back to your mind.

“Nope, nothing.”

“Sure about that?” Will asked, standing up, looming over you.

“Why would you think there was anything to tell?”

“I don’t know, maybe because ever since we saw you this afternoon, he couldn’t take his eyes off you?” Benny said, his face somewhere between smirking and seriousness.

“Good night, you old busybodies,” you said, hugging them good night. Marcus asked if he could walk you home, and you happily accepted. He offered his arm to you, and you took it, walking slowly towards the library building.

It was weird. You had only known this man for two weeks, 21 years ago. Yet, he emanated the same kind of energy you felt when you first met him all those years ago. A good energy. You trusted him right away.

Although, the outbreak had taken a toll of him, as it did everyone. That much was plain to see. There was a hardness to him, yet a sadness that was clear in his eyes. You didn’t ask, of course, he needed to tell you in his own time. But right then, in the streets of Jackson, as the two of you chit chatted idly about the place, you felt as if you had your old friend back, the conversations flowing as smoothly as it did during the chaos of those two weeks you spent with him. Even back then, Marcus managed to make you laugh. Put a smile on your face. And now, in the relative safety of Jackson, you were clinging on to his arm for dear life as he recounted being unable to get rid of some ducks that had imprinted on him as he made his way through Illinois those first few weeks after separating from you.

“You didn’t eat them, did you?”

“Are you crazy? I’m sure they called me Mommy!”

You had to wipe tears from your eyes, barely able to climb the spiral stairs to get up to your apartment. He gave you a small peck on the cheek before insisting you get up, telling you he’s not leaving until he heard your door lock, only to call you as you were about to close the door, asking you how to get back to his place, a cheeky smile on his face.

**********

Joel Miller was a man who had been hurt before. And not just by women. He broke his arm in two places when he was three after falling from a tree behind his Grandma’s house. He fell off his bike more times than he could count throughout his youth, breaking his nose in one particularly spectacular attempt at a wheelie. The amount of times he had accidentally hammered his own thumbs instead of a nail was not even worth remembering, not to mention stapling his own hand instead of a piece of wood. Throughout the 21 years the world turned to shit, he had destroyed his own hands beating other people up, broken bones and had concussions from being beaten half dead, shot, burnt, and even stabbed. He had been at deaths door more than he would’ve liked to be.

But he would go through it all again, just to not feel this pain he was feeling right now.

This stabbing, unbearable pain he felt at sight of you, so happy in another man’s arms.

Marcus Pike was a good looking man. More and more people had told him how much the two of them looked alike. He heard people talk about the similarity too, talking to each other as if he wasn’t there. And every single time – as much as that information on its own already annoying the living shit out of him - the statement would be followed by others that made him want to die.

“That Marcus guy looks like you, Joel, except he’s younger.”

“That Pike could be your twin Joel, except I’ve seen him smile a lot more these two months than I’ve ever seen you smile since the outbreak.”

Joel wanted to punch Tommy in the face for saying that.

“Marcus looks just like Joel if he was ten years younger, except he’s nice, not grumpy at all.”

“Marcus is so hot. He’s like the better, nicer, neater, badass FBI version of Joel.”

“Marcus actually suits Elena, she always looked so happy when she’s with him. Joel just looked like he wanted to kill anyone who looked at her, without actually looking at her himself. I’m glad Marcus came to town. They make a cute couple.”

That last one almost made Joel storm out. He wanted to scream. Put a hole through a wall.

In the short two months Marcus had been here, he, Will and Benny had quickly established themselves as great hunters and protectors, quickly getting into the routine of being on patrol.

The ladies in town swooned over the three of them, batting their eye lashes whenever the men were around.

Esther tried her luck with all three men, her face snapping shut when she found out their connections to you. The looks she gave you... you could feel the imaginary laser beams she was shooting at you.

But for a while, she did leave Joel alone, and so did the other ladies in town, save for Vanessa, but that was a story for another day.

Joel didn’t mind this, of course, he had never cared about the ladies’ attention. But every time he saw you laugh with Marcus, he had to fight the urge to punch the ridiculously good looking younger man in the face.

Every time he arrived at your place to walk you to work, Marcus was already there before him. What the actual fuck. Joel woke up at 430 to do that, despite his late night rest, and somehow this Marcus was already there before him. Every time he went to the hall to pick you up, Marcus was already there, doing just that. He finally had to talk to Tommy to change his own patrol schedules so that he would at least have a chance at walking you whenever Marcus was out on patrol, himself spending his own patrol time seething at the thought that Marcus was walking you in his stead.

The thing that irked him the most, was the fact that Marcus always, always offered an arm for you to take whenever he walked you. And you always, always, very happily took it. Joel wanted so much to do that, but he was worried that the moment you touched him, he would lose all control. How long had he wanted to just take you in his arms and never let go? He kicked himself for his own weakness. He could fight off clickers and men without much thought, but offering his arm to you scared the living daylights out of him. What if you laughed at him? What if you looked at him with disgust?

And of course, there was that one little detail Tess had told him years ago.

The fact that Marcus had kissed you. That one time 21 years ago.

God, what he wouldn’t do to for a chance to kiss you.

And what made it so annoying was the fact that everyone was right. Even he couldn’t deny it. He liked Marcus right away. The man was charming, kind, funny. Yet, he's a great fighter, with legitimate FBI training to boot. He could see why the ladies would go for him.

Hmph. What kind of a name was Pike, anyway? And Marcus? Stupid name.

To be fair, you didn’t exclude him from your life. You still sat with him for meals, as you had done since Jake was born, you still saved whatever you thought he would like for him, like that pasta he couldn’t get enough of, you always had the extra strong coffee, just the way he liked it, waiting for him whenever he came in for breakfast.

But you did those things for Marcus too. And unlike him, Marcus didn’t refrain from enjoying your cooking the way he did when you first got here, a mistake he still kicked himself for. He had apologized to you over and over for that, even going as far as rejecting Vanessa’s offerings to him since that day you confessed how much his actions had hurt you.

Vanessa though, seemed unphased. She seemed happy the three men were there, Marcus in particular. She had taken to giving more meals to Joel, going so far as sitting down with him to make sure he ate them. He finally had to tell her she didn't need to bother, he was okay just eating at the hall.

Somehow, she found out about Joel's secret chicken coop rendezvous. Rather than give up, she had taken to asking Diana for cooking lessons, determined to win Joel's heart. She paused when Diana told her it was you who usually cooked, before begging her to teach her anyway. The loyal friend that she was, Diana made excuses, and finally told her that she had no interest in helping a married lady win over the man who was clearly in love with you, one of her best friends. Rather than give up, Vanessa coaxed Joel into talking Diana to teach her, only for the man to finally snap and told her to stop.

Joel had no space in his head to deal with her insistence right now. The woman he loved was spending way too much time with a handsome, kind, charming, gentlemanly, ridiculously funny man, and Joel needed to focus all his energy to figure out how to get her attention.

Ellie noticed, asking him why he looked so fucking miserable all the time these days, even more so than he did before Jake was born. Her teenage mind's advise was simple, if Marcus smiled a lot, maybe he should do that too. Maybe Marcus's appeal was his friendly nature. Try that.

That backfired, badly. He tried. He really tried, his facial muscles hurting from smiling so much. You just looked at him funny, asking him what was wrong with his face?

Ellie, bless her heart, then suggested that he cleaned up a bit, maybe get a haircut? Dress better? You’re a good looking man, Joel, maybe if you looked a bit better, she would choose you?

That’s what brought Joel here. In his bathroom, after coaxing Maria to cut his hair for him, and getting some new sets of clothes for him. He took a deep breath, looked at his soaped up face in the mirror, and put a razor to it for the first time in over 30 years.

**********

You and Marcus were sitting at the edge of the town, just spending time together, talking about nothing and everything you could think of.

“Joel,” he said, “Is he your boyfriend?”

You huffed a laugh. “No,” you said, a blush you didn’t want to happen appearing on your cheeks. “He’s a friend.”

“You sure about that? I think he likes you,” he said, a teasing smile on his face. He leaned over, whispering conspiratorially, “And you know what? I think you like him too.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your face betrayed you.

He laughed, oh… I think I’m right, he said.

“So, what’s the story? Why aren’t you together?”

You shrugged. But told him the story, just for the sake of it, avoiding certain details, obviously.

“Elena,” he said, his voice soft and coaxing. “You may not know the full story here. There might be things he didn’t tell you. You know he likes you, heck, if you ask me, the man is crazy in love with you. The way he looked at you? Fuck. A man like him? With his reputation? He looks at everyone else like he was about to pick a fight with them. But you? He looks at you like a man yearning to be loved.”

“I don’t know, Marcus, he hurt me, it’s not that easy for me to get over that.”

“Come on, anyone can see the guy is trying. You know he’s smiling more these days? I think that’s for your benefit.”

Oh… that was why his face looked a bit weird.

“All this questions about me and my love life, what about you? Anyone here caught your attention?”

He shook his head, his face gloomy all of a sudden. Like thick clouds had suddenly covered the usual dose of sunshine it radiated.

“I met someone, about 15 years ago. Lily. She lived with her family on this farm in Iowa. She was like you, had brothers, so, she’s a badass. That’s where I’ve been all this while. I was passing by, got injured, and her brother found me, brought me home. We fell in love, got married. We had a daughter. We named her Elena.”

You were stunned. “Marcus, I don’t know what to say…”

He smiled, “I’ve always remembered you, Elena. I told Lily about you, and all she could say was what a badass you were. So when she got pregnant, she suggested we name our girl Elena.”

You couldn’t help share the smile he gave with him, even though you knew where this was going.

“About a year ago, her brothers went out to hunt, I stayed home, one of us men always did whenever we go out hunting, her father was getting older. Out of the four, only three came back, they got attacked by clickers. We checked them for bites, but found just scratches and such, so we mourned the brother we lost, and moved on, went to bed.”

Your eyes were now filled with tears. His lips quivered.

“We didn’t even make it ‘til morning. Elena, our daughter, she… she was in a different room, with her cousins, so by the time I got to her… Lily, her mother and I got out, but we didn’t realize her mother had been bitten. She… uh… she attacked Lily, so I had to…”

Your hand was over your mouth, bracing yourself for what would come next.

“Lily, she was lucid for a few hours after that. She told me to carry on, to not give up. She begged me to…” tears were falling thickly down his face, “She begged me, I had no choice. I contemplated just letting her turn and attack me, but she begged me… she hugged me, raised my gun to her head and then she…”

He sobbed. His shoulders shaking uncontrollably. You let him cry into your shoulders as you hugged him, unable to imagine what he must’ve felt, what he went through was unimaginable.

When he calmed down, he told you that he contemplated just ending it. But Lily’s words stopped him. She wanted him to carry on. To not give up. So here he was. He found out about Jackson from some people he met throughout his aimless journey, unable to stay at the farm after that.

“So, to answer your question, no. No ladies will ever catch my attention again. I had my great love, and the only reason I’m still here is the promise I made her before she passed. So, I’m just going to live my life, whatever’s left of it, and hope I have you to keep me company.”

You took his hand in yours. “You do, Marcus, always.”

“And Joel,” he continued, “He seems like a man who had been through a lot, am I right?”

You nodded slowly.

“It’s not easy. We came from a world where men were expected to never show their feelings, Elena, a world where showing feelings meant weakness. And now, in this world, that weakness could be a difference between life and death. There might be things he hasn’t told you, but maybe he was just trying to protect you from them, or maybe he just wasn’t ready. Give him the benefit of the doubt. Give him a break, huh? Let him in.”

You didn’t say anything, processing his words in your head.

“Will you still be my friend even if I decide to let him in more?”

“Of course, I’ll be here,” he said, side-hugging you, pulling you to lay your head on his shoulder, keeping you there as the two of you sat in silence, watching the view.

“I’d better be your man of honour when you marry Joel, that’s all I’m saying.”

He received a hard smack to the back of his head for that, the two of you belly laughing as the sun set over Jackson.

**********

You ran ahead of Marcus when you got to his street. He tried to stop you, telling you the house was messy, needed cleaning, even offered to body block you if you wanted to squat under a tree, but you ran ahead anyway. Autumn was coming and the nights got chillier as the days went by, and a breeze that blew by as he walked you home went screaming for your bladder. You went straight to the bathroom, which was clean, unlike what he claimed at all. You dried your hands, walking out of the bathroom, running into someone as you did.

Liv. Naked, except for a towel. At your brothers’ place. In front of your oldest brother’s room.

Oh. My. Gawk.

Will came out after Liv, also in a towel, Liv looking like a goldfish, mouth opening and closing without any words coming out, trying desperately to gauge your reaction. Will made to move towards you, but you took a step back, before turning and walking out to the living room, your face pale as if you’d just seen a ghost. Marcus looked like he was about to rush you out when towel-clad Will and Liv came out after you, his face morphing into understanding, and then panic, before telling you it’s late and he’s going to bed.

“Wait.”

Marcus froze at the staircase.

“Did you know about this?”

“Well… I…”

“Wait a second. Is that why you asked me out for a walk? So they could have the house to themselves?”

“Erm…”

You looked at the two most guilty-looking faces in the room right now.

“Why couldn’t you just go to her place?”

“Erm…”

Your insides froze at a realization, running out the front door, going to the house next door. Marcus came running out after you, Liv and Will shouting your name. You flung the door open, Diana jumping off the couch, a knitted blanket haphazardly covering her front, her face morphing into horror as she saw you. A naked man was lying face down on the couch, Diana picking up a t-shirt off the floor to cover his bare ass.

“Benny?”

“Nope, not him,” Benny’s voice answered, except in a ridiculously high note.

Liv and Will came running in, shoving a stunned Marcus aside. You looked at the four of them, all speechless and guilty looking, their dishevelled state clearly giving away what they were just doing before you came in.

“I’m going to dinner.”

You rushed out, four defeated voices calling out your name. Marcus came running after you. He was quiet, hands in his pockets, nervously peeking at your eyes with his guilt-riddled ones.

“So… uh… how angry are you with me?”

You didn’t answer, just took strong, steady strides forward. Marcus ran ahead of you, walking backwards as he tried to explain himself to you.

“Look, Elena, they asked me not to tell you, they saved my life, you know? I had to keep their secret.”

You walked into the hall, going straight to the food line, piling food onto your plate and sat down rather aggressively at an empty table. Marcus joined you, and soon after, the other four. All of them sat silently watching you attack the blameless roast potatoes on your plate as if it had stabbed you in the back.

“Elena…” Benny cooed.

And you lost it.

You gave a loud snort, before howling with laughter. Tears were pouring down your face. You managed to compose yourself a little, but one look at their startled face set you off again, and you fell to the floor laughing. A startled Marcus helped you back up.

“You, you should’ve seen your faces!”

It was only then that everyone gave a relieved laugh themselves, before the whole table erupted with uncontrollable laughter.

“So, you’re not mad?” Will asked apprehensively.

“Why would I be? I’m just mad I didn’t think to set you guys up first.”

The four of them looked at each other, Will and Benny placing their arms around their new ladies, giving them a kiss on their temples. You wanted to cry, so happy to see your brothers like this. And Liv and Diana, for everything they had done for you while you were miserably moping after Joel, they deserved this. They all deserved to be happy.

“You, though,” you snapped at Marcus, your laughter disappearing. “I’m gonna kill you.”

He stuttered, mumbling an apology to you, trying hard to justify his actions. He was just being a good wingman, he began, before you started laughing again. You were laughing so hard, you had to cling to his arm, your head dropped onto his shoulder to avoid from falling on the floor again. He placed his arm around you to stop you from falling.

Joel stood at the entrance of the hall, watching helplessly as you laughed into Marcus’s shoulder, his arm around you, feeling as if his heart was in his stomach.

“Wow, Mr Miller, don’t you look spiffy,” Esther’s voice snapped him out of his broken-hearted stupor. “Wanna take me to dinner?” she cooed, hands snaking up his torso.

Joel took a step back, pushing her hands away from him.

“Esther, I’ve said no so many times. What do I have to say to make you understand I’m not interested?”

“Oh, come on, you cannot possibly still be pining for that old woman,” she said. “From my point of view, she’s busy with someone else now. Come on, Joel. Just one time, please?”

As much as his heart clenched at the thought that she might be right about you and Marcus, he repeated his rejection, louder this time, telling her there was no way in hell he would ever, ever say yes to her, and walked away.

As Esther turned to walk into the hall, she realized that the hall had gone quiet, and everyone was staring at her. Everyone heard Joel Miller rejected her. Her eyes found yours and lasered in on them, knowing that you were the source of this humiliation.

And she wasn’t going to take it anymore.

---

Part 10

[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 108)

People were beginning to pack, the launch scheduled in the next four days.

Truthfully, they had been. Bit by bit, trying to cram as much as they could into a single suitcase each… because that is how much the weight limit allowed. One small suitcase for every adult drone, tucked under their sleeping pods for the duration of the journey on Copper-9's only… and most uncomfortable, commercial space flight.

Honestly… Uzi didn't have a lot she wanted to take with her. Her laptop, yup, it would be the last thing packed away though as it was currently in use researching remedies and diagnosis for an extremely sick toddler with sudden and apparently vivid nightmares.

The parts to her railgun she'd never actually gotten fixed. She got busy and dead drone parts were an absolute biohazard now, so no power source, thankfully all the parts unassembled left plenty of room for everything else…

Which aside from some extra clothes… nothing else seemed all that important. Sure there were plenty of old sketchbooks or trinkets she could take, but… she wasn't attached to much of it.

And N was even worse. The only thing he packed aside from a spare set of clothes was a tiny unlabeled box that he told Uzi not to open until they touched down on Titanium-28. Which kinda made her want to snoop on what it was… but she restrained herself.

Or. More accurately. She was too busy with everything else to get the time to see what it was secretly.

Which left still. Plenty of room.

And so… all of Tera's toys were going to go with them. Even the stupid, red plastic lizard that now was half chewed into nothing. A bit like Guys hand.

Which filled it up a bit more, so… when it was time to leave, they would pack Bishops owl blanket.

Uzi stared at the finished creation that was “The Shuttle.”

Tera snuggled up in what was essentially a pouch next to her core, the sound and warmth seemingly the only thing keeping her calm enough to sleep and eat. She'd stick her head out sometimes, little purple eyelights peering out over the edge before they disappeared again.

She was… near silent now. Except for her cries in the middle of the night or soft, yet threating growls when anyone other then her mom, dad or little brother tried so much as even touch her.

Uzi walked through the big aluminum door that would seal them all in when the time came, after walking up the launch strut stairs, if there was one thing she didn't miss is the extra weight or exhaustion of growing a whole being…

But she was surprised to see a person already standing in the shuttle, walking slowly, looking at every panel, every pod, every device with… awe, maybe?

“Mom?”

Nori turned around with a shocked look on her face. “Uzi! What are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be inside with the little ones?”

Tera poked her head out and hissed. Uzi couldn't see it, but her right eyelight flickered yellow for a breif moment.

“Ah.” Nori chuckled as Uzi smiled warily. “Thought getting her some fresh air might help.” Uzi explained, stroking her hand down the large pouch Tera was in, when Nori stepped closer, Tera balled herself up as close as possible to her moms core and refused to move.

“I wanted to come see your handiwork. Khan went on and on about it. Had to see it for myself up close.” The older woman smiled. “You got your brains from me, clearly.”

Uzi found her heart swelling just at the thought of her mother's pride, though it fell a moment later.

“I-If you were alive… even just as a core thing or whatever. Like you said, why didn't you come back?”

Nori seemed to flinch, as if not expecting or not liking the question, she paused for a moment.

“I was… looking for something.” She replied after a breif period of silence.

“What was it?”

…

“A patch. It's supposed to make the solver easier to control. No… surprise takeovers or… instincts that get too loud.” She explained. “I knew you had it, same as me. I wanted to give you an easier go… but after the rot started creeping in. I ran out of time.”

Uzi sighed. “It would have been easier if you were there…”

Nori looked at her, sadly. “I'm sure it would have been… that's where we're most similar I think though, once we get our minds set to something. We see it through…”

She gestures to the ship around them. “Point. This.” And she smiles. “I never would have thought about using the busted up old pods as parts to make an escape shuttle. I didn't think there would be enough of us left to pull something this size off, being honest.”

“It wasn't easy… there was a lot of people that started off too scared to help… but uh… I did accidentally announce I was pregnant during the pitch so-”

Nori near threw her head back in a laugh. “HAH! And then if they said no they'd feel like monsters… nice.”

Tera didn't like the laugh. She shuffled in her pouch.

“Kid doesn't like me.” Nori pointed out.

“Ah… no… I can't figure out why… she's loved almost everyone else, and then she got sick!”

“Hm.” Nori hummed, sliding her hand over one of the pods she was standing next to. “I kinda chalk that up with me not having my anti-virus be updated in… ten or so years. That's probably my bad.”

“Maybe….” Uzi huffed. She was frustrated and worried and confused because nothing was quite adding up even though the answer felt like it was right in front of her face- Ugh.

“Chin up. You do the best with the knowledge that you have.” Nori shrugged.

Uzi blinked.

“What did you just say?”

“Hm? You do the best with the knowledge that you have?”

She blinked again.

“Did you hear N say that or something?”

Nori blinked as well, and took a beat to respond. “Oh! Yes I did! That's where I got it from. Figured it might be comforting to hear his little saying or- whatever.” She waved her hand as if waving off the interaction.

Well… that was weird.

“I should head back and help your father pack… he's trying to fit all his tools into one suitcase. And it's not going to happen.”

She walked off, though as she went past Uzi Tera went mental in her pouch, shuffling and hissing though it's muffled behind the cloth.

“Alright. Calm down… shhhh my little bat.” She stroked the pouch again, hearing a sound off of different chirps and chatters that took a second to register…

She furrowed her brow. Thinking for a moment before she dailed up the audible frequency of her audials.

Squeak! “Danger!”

Chi! “Wrong!”

Prrap! “Away!”

Each sound that Tera made suddenly shifted into a much more understandable word, since when that was even a thing she didn't know… but Bishop was born doing it, and Tera had been rather early… how long has she been missing words because she was tuned to listen for the same audible frequencies as a human?

Uzi blinked as she looked back in the direction her mother had went. But she was already back within the bunker…

Consumed with curiosity, and a growing sense of anxiety. She unfurled her wings and flew to the tip of the shuttle, pointed upwards, ready to go.

The black and red spiderwebbing rot was everywhere. There was a fence that went around the outer perimeter of the bunker, and it was the only thing separating them from it, like it was somehow holding it back.

V had said it was getting close. But she surely didn't mean…

Her eyes hollowed as she looked out further, between the buildings that were bring consumed and drug underneath the decaying crust there was a great, shambling mass.

Hundreds, thousands of dead drones come back to life, tumbling over each other, crawling, if they had to, in a near march to them.

Some of them were attached to each other, the black tendrils growing into each other like a runaway fungus and conjoining them, dragging one across the ground as the other two carried on in lockstep.

It quite literally took her breath away. There were so many, from every side. Every disposed of drone that ever existed on Copper-9 converging onto one single point.

Them.

[widebrimmedhatsblog]

hi!! just read that absolute masterpiece response you had to the anon asking about Xaden and Violet at the end of OS!! I almost want to save that post purely to check back when we finally get the fourth and fifth books to see how much you correctly predict!

also (not to request another essay, so feel free to ignore this if you don't want to) are there any other parallels you've seen with RY's other writing? I've seen parallel relationships (Tairn/Sgaeyl mirroring Violet/Xaden), but any other common themes/tropes that Yarros loves that you think could make it into books 4&5?

like i said, feel free to ignore if you don't want to reply!!

Oh thank you so much!! I've been wanting to make a post like this for agessssss so this is a perfect opportunity!! I love writing essays so don't even worry, LMFAO, anyone can request an essay at any time!!

The only way for me to do this is to spoil a significant amount of her contemporary romance b-plots, so I'm gonna put the theories ABOVE the cut, and then you can click see-more if you want the essay with the parallels. I will say, her b-plots are always kind of insane, and I think the spoilers don't detract from the love stories themselves. So unless you're hellbent on going in blind, I think it's fine? You'll still get the love stories.

Dain's dying for Xaden in book 4! This theory has spoilers from the Flight and Glory series (specifically books 1, 2, and 4, although the only one I'm really spoiling anything you can't gleam from the back cover is book 4)

This isn't a theory, this is just some spaghetti I'm throwing at the wall, but! Lilith wrote the book on Unnbriel that Papa Sorrengail saved for Vi in Deverelli. This one has spoilers from The Things We leave Unfinished.

Theory One: Dain's dying for Xaden in book 4.

Some housekeeping: Rebecca's Flight and Glory series is 5 interconnected standalones (meaning each book deals with a different couple in the same world. it would be like if FW was x and v, but IF was Immrick and OS was dain/sloane). Book one, Full Measures, is about Josh and Ember. Book Two, Eyes Turned Skyward, is about Paisely and Jagger (yes, terrible names, just hold my hand). The book 3 couple is irrelevant for my current purposes, but book 4, Hallowed Ground, comes back around to Josh and Ember as the "main couple". The couples are all part of one big friend group and together all the time. To be SO frank, Josh and Jagger feel like they each got half of Xaden's personality, and Ember and Paisley feel the same way when it comes to Violet. (Josh has the reformed bad boy thing going on, secrets, and the whole caretaker dom thing going on, while Jagger ALSO has the reformed bad boy thing, he's RICH, also has secrets, and the daddy and mommy issues 1-2 combo. They also both just talk like Xaden. I thought Jagger was a lot less Xaden-esque during the first 75% or so, and then there's a pivotal scene where he is so aggressively Xaden-coded I started jumping up and down. Ember's a history major mourning her dead father, while Paisley's a librarian mourning her dead sibling. Paisley also has a heart condition that's very debilitating for her, and results in her loved ones being seriously overbearing.)

Paisley and Jagger's story is the most important to my purposes here, so have a quick summary of the opening of Eyes Turned Skyward: The novel opens with Paisley in a relationship with Will. Will was Paisley's dead sister's best friend, and after her sister's death, Will and Paisley came together in their grief. Paisley's heart condition means that she has to seriously limit physical exertion, she wears an apple watch at all times to track her heart rate, and she can't live life like a "normal" person. A big part of this is that Will won't have sex with her because he's worried about her having a heart attack. No, I am not joking. @maethologies was the first recipient of this summary many moons ago, and she calls it the "my doctor said no sex" book. The pivotal thing here is that Paisley's doctor didn't ACTUALLY say no sex. Will's just being overprotective.

Does this remind anyone of anyone we know? Because Will's character reminds ME of one Dain Aetos!

Further Dain-isms: Jagger, Josh, and co. all hate Will because he went to West Point and is super cocky about it. Will is super devoted to the codex rules and regulations of flight school to the point he turns on his classmates (which you're not supposed to do! snitches get stitches!) for a traditional prank (also, fun fact, the commanding general of their flight school? Paisley's dad!). Throughout book 2, Will gets his karma for being overprotective with Paisley, and he slowly becomes less of a stick in the mud. He befriends Josh, Jagger, and co, and he's a reluctant member of the gang in book 3. Again, do y'all see what I see???

Now, a summary of the grander plot of Hallowed Ground: Book 3 (Beyond What Is Given) ends with Josh, Jagger, Will, and their fourth friend Grayson, graduating flight school and getting their duty stations. Josh, Jagger, and Will all stay together, and Josh and Jagger get deployed first. Will stays home and takes care of Paisley and Ember. At the end of Beyond What Is Given, Paisley and Jagger getting engaged and married just before Jagger gets deployed. Six weeks later, Will gets deployed and follows Jagger and Josh into Afghanistan. During his opening flight (like, LITERALLY his first day) Josh and Will are in one helicopter while Jagger's actively in combat. They realize Jagger's in danger, so they go to him and join the fight. They all get shot down by the Taliban, and Will ends up jumping in front of Jagger and saying that his wife needs him. Will dies FOR Jagger and asks him to keep taking care of Paisley.

(The one thing I'm NOT mentioning there is that when Will does sacrifice himself for Jagger, Paisley's pregnant. I am NOT manifesting that for Violet.) (They actually name their kid after Will, which is kind of insane with the Dain implications. Dain Riorson-Sorrengail.)

Ever since I finished Hallowed Ground (so, July!) I've been convinced the final culmination of Dain's redemption arc was going to be dying for Xaden on Violet's behalf. I actually totally thought it was going to be in book 3 and not book 4, because it seemed like Rebecca thought Dain was redeemed even though the majority of fans disagreed. I've been a bit tongue-in-cheek about how much fan-interaction happened in Onyx Storm, but I definitely think the changes to Dain and Cat's characters especially were a result of Rebecca seeing how they were received by the readers and making corrections to their portrayal so that we see what she sees. Still, the parallels with Will are abundant. In his case, we meet him in book 2, but we immediately do not like him. He gets redeemed toward the end of book 2 and into book 3. By the time book 4 comes around, you're a fan! He's on the cusp of a new relationship with Paisley's best friend Morgan, and then....dead. Again....are we seeing the parallels here?

So, yeah! That's my take. Again, I actually thought this was happening in book 3, but I see why it didn't. I have NEVER enjoyed Dain as much as I did in Onyx Storm. Like, I feel bad about characterizing him how I usually do now. His death in OS would not have been impactful, whereas in book 4....

If you don't quite believe me about plot recycling from RY, the main romance plot line of Josh and Ember's first book Full Measures: falling in love -> she Knows he's keeping secrets (in this case, about his "occupation" as well as his past with her parent, but the secrets plotline is genuinely ALMOST every single book she's ever written, I am not joking, I CAN keep going) but she doesn't know enough to do anything about it except keep getting conned -> she learns enough! third act break up -> Iron Flame esque argument about secrets/asking questions/etc. -> make up!

And this isn't a critique from me: I've read sixteen of her books for a reason. There's something comforting in knowing exactly what you're going to get; however, I know exactly what I'm going to get.

THAT is the end of my more fleshed out theory. Now, Lilith time!

Theory 2: Lilith wrote Papa Sorrengail's book about Unnbriel:

I've been slowly re-reading (and highlighting and tabbing) Onyx Storm over the last few days, and yesterday, I read this line:

"My father's observations on the combative isle are sharp, almost clinical, but lack his usual insight. There's a marked difference between his book, written when he was 23 and straight out of the scribe quadrant, and the manuscript he left for me in his office." (Onyx Storm, chapter 28)

The epigraph for the chapter in question:

"There are times I look at Parapet, at the very act of Threshing, and marvel that dragons have not been to Unnbriel.... -Unnbriel: Isle of Dunne by Second Lieutenant Asher Daxton"

I said this in my other essay response, but Rebecca has two types of what I like to call "gotcha!" foreshadowing. Usually, she'll have a throwaway line somewhere that's REALLY easy to brush over, but it will either literally spell out a situation for later in the story, OR it exists to be proved false. I CAN grab examples, but this essay is already ridiculously long, so maybe another time if anyone doesn't believe me. In any case, I think this is the second type of foreshadowing. Rebecca goes out of her way to REPEATEDLY say dragons have not been to the isles, which really makes me think dragons have been to the isles.

Now, to compare and contrast with Rebecca's The Things We Leave Unfinished. I will say, this spoiler actually would impact your reading experience in that it's the big final reveal of the novel. However, a lot of you probably aren't going to read it anyway, so! I also actually think a LOT of Rebecca's works are better the second time around, and in this way the spoiler would make it more fun, as you better understand what's going on. So, you can take my word for it and stop here, OR you can keep reading.

A summary of the plot of The Things We Leave Unfinished:

The FMC of this novel's grandmother dies, leaving one unfinished novel she'd like finished after her death. This novel is the true love story of her grandmother's life. Through a deal with her agent, the MMC gets contacted to finish the novel for the FMCs grandmother. Half the book is the modern timeline of the FMC and MMC trying to finish the novel, and the other half is the historical timeline following the novel in question (book within a book!). As the novel progresses, you find out that the MMC keeps noting differences across Scarlet (the grandma's) body of work in terms of tone (sharpness!) and general story construction (insight!). (When I re-read that line about Vi's dad, I felt like someone walked over my grave.) Eventually, you learn that Scarlet actually died 70-odd years before the story begins, and that her sister is who the FMC thought was her grandma. Her grandma's sister is the one who finished her grandma's novel, then went on to write an entire body of work in her sister's name.

Now! Why would Lilith's work be in papa sorrengail's name? I don't actually know! Maybe since Dunne is an isle of warriors, he knew he needed His warrior to handle it for him. They're clearly obsessed with each other on a Riorgail level, and Xaden is immediately willing to fight on Vi's behalf on Unnbriel. I've said this offhandedly before, but the parallels between Lilith and Xaden are actually insane when you think about them. I also think this expands farther into the Dunne/Violet/Lilith/Theophanie nonsense I do NOT know enough to unpack right now. Anyway, I think that's it! I can try and pull the actual line from The Things We Leave Unfinished if anyone cares, because I'm pretty sure the phrasing is similar when the MMC figures out true authorship.

I said this above, but if anyone else has any other questions, feel free to ask!! I need to use my PhD in Yarrossian studies for something. I actually really wanted to compose a full list of my thoughts on her contemporaries/similarities/what I'd rec to the fourth wing girlies of the world, but I haven't gotten around to it yet. So if you're interested in that, let me know!

[storiesbyrhi]

Part Four: Friends, family, feelings

Eddie Munson x Reader Series Masterlist 1256 Words

If the people we love are stolen from us, the way to have them live on is to never stop loving them. Buildings burn, people die, but real love is forever.

Warnings: canon typical violence, references to sexual assault, swearing, drug and alcohol use, sexual references, child neglect, death/grief, references to organised crime

Late, October 29, 1995

“Gideon’s Pawn Shop just burned down to the foundation,” Grange announced, walking into a room where Brenner sat at a large table. The room was otherwise unoccupied. It was cold, industrial. What Brenner was doing was in there was anybody’s guess.

“Nobody cleared this little event with me,” Brenner replied.

“I didn’t have nothing to do with that,” Neil piped up, lingering in Grange’s shadow.

“And I’m sure you must be awfully disappointed,”

“And I got trouble. One of my crew just got himself perished,”

“And who might that be?”

“Tin Tin… Someone stuck his blades in all his major organs in alphabetical order.”

Brenner looked at Neil. “Well, gentlemen, by all means… I think we ought to have an introspective moment of silence for poor ol’ Tin Tin.”

Neil knew better than to reply to that.

“You’re working for me tomorrow night, right?” Brenner asked.

“Whatever you say, I can do,”

“Good. That’s very good… That’s very reassuring… So, I haven’t heard the story of why Gideon’s burned down? Was it a natural catastrophe or an act of God or something? Call it my need to know.” Brenner nodded at Grange.

The Pit was no place for a teenage girl. It was no place for anyone with a soul, really. Still, Max walked into the bar with her skateboard in hand. She located her mother.

“I told you not to come in here,” Susan whispered.

“Guess I shouldn’t expect you home tonight?”

Susan sighed. She pulled some dollar bills from her bra and put them on the bar. “Go get some food,”

“Someone already bought me dinner,” Max spat. “The police!” She said it loudly, ruffling the feathers of more than one patron.

“Shhh!” Susan warned.

“Don’t bring him home. Especially if he’s got his asshole son with him,”

“Maxine!” was called from somewhere behind her.

Max grimaced. She knew that voice. “Speak of the asshole himself.”

Billy laughed. “Why don’t you go play with your dolls or something, huh?”

Max threw him a look and the finger, grabbed the money, and left.

Billy took her place in front of Susan. “Better get your little bitch under control there. Don’t want T-Bird hearing about her quality time with Hop the Cop, yeah?”

Susan clenched her teeth, lowered her gaze, and nodded.

Max skated through the dark, wet streets. She was upset but wouldn’t let it show. She concealed as much as she could. Still, she often got lost in her thoughts, her memories. They hurt like a bad headache.

She was under one of these spells as she skated out onto the road. Someone grabbed her from behind, saving her from becoming roadkill. She thrashed in their arms, screaming, “Get off me, you creep!”

Eddie let her go.

Max yelled after the car, “You didn’t slow down, dickhead!”

“He couldn’t have stopped,” Eddie said.

“Whatever. I could’ve made it…” She looked at him, though he tried to hide his face. “What are you supposed to be? A clown or something?”

“Or something,” he replied.

Max shrugged and moved to retrieve her skateboard from the gutter. “It’s more like surfing than skating out here,” she said absently. “I wish the rain would stop just once,”

“It can’t rain all the time.”

Max knew that voice. She knew that line. “Eddie?!” She spun around, but the street was deserted.

Hopper sat at his desk drinking coffee from a mug that read ‘mornings are for coffee and contemplation.’ It was a few hours until midnight.

“Don’t thank me,” Office Annie Cooper-Smith said as she dropped a file on his desk. “Are we fighting the good fight?”

Hopper hesitated. “Double homicide a year ago. No convictions…”

Annie took the paper from Hopper and read aloud. “We, the undersigned tenants of 1986 Caulderon Court Apartments- What is this? A petition?”

“A big kick-me sign for a very nice girl who found herself a cause,”

“A cause that got her killed?”

Hopper said nothing.

“She was fighting tenant eviction in that neighbourhood?”

Hopper sighed. He said your name. Paused. “Her and her heavy metal boyfriend Eddie Munson.”

Annie left Hopper to look over the files. He found a picture of Eddie. It was a promotional shot taken of his band, Corroded Coffin. Hopper pulled out a black pen and coloured in Eddie’s face.

Hopper was keeping his own secrets. Maybe, he thought, so was someone else.

November, 1994

It only worked until Hopper walked in. Before him, you’d been feigning some sort of amnesia.

It wasn’t as though it was easier pretending you’d forgotten. That’s why people usually faked memory loss, you figured. Remembering hurt, so it was easier not to. Easier to bury the past. The truth was, either way was agony. Either way was an army crawl through Hell.

You pretended you’d forgotten so you didn’t have to say it out loud. So you didn’t have to use words to describe the sound of Eddie’s scream or your own death rattle. Describe the sensation of a knife hitting your bones. Describe the torture. The rape. The begging. The sobbing. The extinguished hope that accompanied knowing Eddie could not have possibly survived the fall, despite what Hopper told you.

You pretended so you didn’t have to tell anyone what it meant to die. Or how you’d never forgive them for bringing you back to a world without Eddie.

Hopper, who hadn’t always been a good cop but had always been a good person, told you that if there was any shot at putting the men responsible behind bars, you had no choice but to remember. And he had no choice but to hand you over to people who could protect you.

April, 1995

It had been over 150 days without Eddie. Over 150 days since you’d died. Brought back. Induced coma. Awake. Relocated. Hidden. The hospital staff were told, once you’d been moved, you’d passed away. Everyone involved – the cops, paramedics, all your friends and family – thought you’d died and resided six feet under alongside Eddie.

Hopper held that secret and buried all the guilt that came along with it. The penance he’d pay for lying to the grieving was keeping a close watch over Max, buying her hotdogs when she’d not eaten, staying on her case when she skipped school, learning the difference between a kickflip and an ollie.

You didn’t speak to him. There had to be no connection between your life before and your life now. No Max. No Gabriel. Just long days of nothingness as you went through the motions.

In just under 200 days, it would be Halloween again.

You counted the days since. Counted the days to. Counted the physical scars. The permanent and lingering consequences of the attack. All the ways you continued to hurt. Nothing helped. It was all morphine for a wooden leg.

October 29, 1995

You had the news on all day, waiting for the reports to roll in. Devil’s Night was spreading, an epidemic. A war America was losing. But still, it was always the worst in the city you used to know.

It always started with a single flame. The fires were beacons, urging on all the people just itching to come undone. Vandalism. Looting. Carjacking. Robbery. Assault. Murder. It wouldn’t end. Not for days.

You didn’t know what you were watching for. It wasn’t like Brenner or any of his pawns were going to be rounded up and carted off to prison. Still, whatever was going to happen, you were bearing loyal witness.

End Note: There are a lot of iconic lines from the film and comics. Iconic, but a little cliche. We are cringe, but we are free.

We have obviously diverged from canon and now, and this marks the halfway point. How are feeling? xo Rhi

Fic Taglist (open): @mrsjellymunson @princesssunderworld @qweencrimson @b-irock @writinginthetwilight @bornslippys @ali-r3n @lexr86 @eddiesgirl1944

All Eddie Taglist (open):solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes  @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob  @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel @dashingdeb16 @cultish-corner @mrsjellymunson @munson-blurbs

[iquirms]

My Voltron Fic is OUT !

" A baby with pointed furry ears wails in the night, purple eyes squeezed shut in pain, and a small line of red blood oozes down the side of his tiny head. A man holding a simple kitchen knife hovers above him, mouth parted in terror when he sees the figure in the doorway shaking with rage. She lunges and the baby wails louder.

Krolia does what she does best and protects her child. No matter what. The Blades of Marmora don't understand, until they do. Purple gems twinkle and laughter echos through the halls while silver blades turn red from stains that can be removed, but stay. The child wails no longer. "

A volron AU that follows Keith as he grows up with the blade of Marmora, and faces his trials to find a place! Possibly the longest rewrite of his backstory lol give it a check out for additional info like tags n stuff if you want

It's called Bigger Than the Whole Sky!

[tea-cat-arts]

Shen Yuan getting transported into pidw isn't "the system punishing him for being a lazy internet hater," but instead representative of "step 1 of the creative process: getting so mad at something you decide to go write your own fucking book" in this essay I will

[wandixx]

Seriously chaotic fashion misadventures

I realized I posted a teaser and never really followed up on it, so here is some more of that

“Hey, Dami?”

Boy hadn’t looked up from the kittens he was bottle feeding but let out a hum indicating he listened.

“I'm thinking about trying out a more girlish style. Do you think it would suit me?”

Well, Damian had no idea but if Dani wished to give it a chance, then, well, the only proper reaction was to offer his aid.

*-*-*

“Father, I require access to your rouge gallery.”

Bruce almost choked on his breakfast when his youngest made this announcement.

Rouge gallery, as his children playfully called it, was vast collection of lipsticks, which he collected to uphold his Brucie persona. Famous playboy with head constantly in the clouds couldn’t not show up with discreet signs of scandal from time to time. And it couldn’t always be the same shade. Or scent when he choose more subtle approach and used one of his more feminine perfumes.

In all honesty, he enjoyed this.

But that’s not the point, point was that Damian wanted to use it and Bruce needed to know what disaster would fall upon him if he agreed.

“Mind telling me why, chum?”

Dick, who visited Manor for a weekend, barely stifled his laughter while Tim stared at his empty coffee mug like it personally betrayed him. Cass just wore her usual knowing and mischievous smile.

Damian shifted in his chair, hands clenching on butter knife. He was nervous and suddenly Bruce dreaded the answer he was about to hear.

“I don’t see how me sharing this information would change anything. It won’t be used to cause harm to anyone but it’s necessary in the extracurricular project I just started.”

“Dami, what project?” Dick asked, voice oozing with genuine curiosity and excitement. He was almost bouncing.

“I don’t want to disclose it.”

“Is this a hero or civilian type of deal?”

Damian didn’t look any of them in the eyes, both hands clenching on his seat as he kept shifting. Bruce narrowed his eyes. Was his youngest… flustered?

“Civilian”

“Alright, great” Dick swung back with single clap, almost tripping his chair over “I think B won’t have anything against you using his rouge gallery, will he?” Man knew his oldest son well enough to recognize his ‘don’t you dare to disagree’ tone. He was confused but there wasn’t any harm so he nodded with affirmative hum.

“Thank you, Father”

Boy practically inhaled rest of his food and rushed outside. Despite all his training and all his efforts, they clearly saw his excitement. Tim pinched himself and returned to staring at his mug.

“Cass, have you seen what I’ve seen or am I overreacting?” Dick asked, barely restraining his enthusiasm. Girl nodded eagerly, shoving more crumbs into her mouth. Young man cheered, throwing his hands up.

“What have I missed?” Tim mumbled, frowning a little.

“BABY BAT HAS A CRUSH!”

Cass nodded again with wide smile.

Oh.

Oh no.

Who were they? What did he know about them? Was Protocol 3r0s started? Did someone run a background check already? What could they do if they somehow hurt Damian? Was this person a risk to their identities? Oh gods, oh no.

He probably will have to do The Talk™.

He always dreaded having The Talk, with any of his kids. He felt The Talk with Damian would be even worse. Understandably so.

“Also sleep in at least three da-”

“Fuck off, dick.”

“Was this insult or-”

His children remained obvious to how much work it meant, cheering and sassing each other like they often did.

*-*-*

Damian did not know how it was possible but he lowered his guard enough to get caught.

"What are you doing?" Brown choked out after they stared at each other for a long moment.

"It does not concern you–"

"You're rummaging through my wardrobe, not many things concern me more and also, that's frickin creepy don't do it to anyone outside of the family"

She did have a point however he was not convinced it would be the correct approach if he shared his plan. Father's wards (even unofficial like Brown) tended to make assumptions and overreact based on these conjectures. Dani wasn't easy to scare off but he didn't want to check if his family would manage. They often did things thought to be impossible.

He tried to get away but the blonde stood fiercely in a door, leaving the window as the only way out. He wasn't this desperate. Yet.

Girl looked more and more angry at his silence. He had to give her some answers.

Now that he actually considered it, she could be a useful asset. She was far better versed in women's fashion and if he phrased it correctly, he wouldn't even need to bribe her. Question was, how should he phrase it?

"I have an acquaintance- I have a friend," he corrected himself "from the animal shelter I volunteer at. She mentioned wanting to try out more 'girlish style' and asked for my opinion. I wanted to see if you had any clothes that would fit her. She is smaller than me so I thought that whatever I take, it wouldn't be missed." 

Brown grinned with an unsettling gleam in her eyes. He suddenly regretted opening his mouth if not coming to this room in the first place. 

"Say no more, I have a plan Demon Child"

[xerith-42]

[kyouka-supremacy]

(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

[applestorms]

i was just gonna leave this as a comment, but my response started spiraling sooooo. guess i'm makin' this a full on post lol =3=" uhh anyways, responding to @skyborneveggie's tags on this post:

#really good analysis #always here for high-functioning depression light takes #i want to add; while Light is better at reading & manipulating people in the moment he also tends to overlook some things in the long run #because of his superiority complex #like his father volunteering for the eyes in matsuda's place #and matsuda in the ending. As much as i like to think of matsuda as wholesome- #-i do think if light played his cards right he could have manipulated him over to kira's side #but he didn't because he didn't think matsuda was important in the grand scheme of things

very good points!! about matsuda in particular— it’s interesting in retrospect how consistently he’s set up as a side character, particularly with how he is almost always immediately pushed off to the side despite that. like, alongside soichiro, he’s really the first member of the JTF we see pre-lind l. tailor (in the anime, anyway. in the manga it’s a bit more ambiguous, though matsuda definitely shows up to mention KIRA bringing the crime rate down in ch.3, still quite early).

he’s always the one counterpoint within the group, playing devil's advocate in a way with how he brings up the pro-KIRA side of things, yet as you say light underestimates him So consistently that he even ends up evolving into a full on joke/shakespearean fool character by yotsuba, which is really what makes his actions in the end so incredibly significant.

i distinctly remember reading that section where aizawa & mogi are getting more deeply involved with near and, in the case of aizawa in particular, are starting to genuinely consider the possibility that light might be KIRA, and just getting sooooooo so SO goddamn suspicious of what matsuda was doing. this was in part because i already had some spoilers about the ending, specifically about matsuda shooting him, but goddamn do his actions start looking suspicious when you begin taking him seriously as a threat. like, while aizawa is starting to live through his own psychological horror novel come to life, realizing that the innocent kid & strong leader he's been taking care of & following all this time might actually have been the fucking serial murderer they've been after for literal Years, here's what matsuda is up to in the background:

(light's face here. fuckin freak LMFAO)

(this one is particularly notable to me as it shows that even aizawa underestimates him— it's not just light, it's the whole damn team. even ryuk joined in earlier.)

(and of course, my absolute favorite example. the contrast between their expressions alone here is absolutely golden all on its own, but matsuda's heartfelt "don't worry, light!! i'll never betray you!!!" in comparison to THIS only makes it all the more juicy:

like, light doesn't even bother responding to him until he's got a goddamn bullet in his hand. he just sits there confident in the expectation that matsuda will lick his soles like a dog. jesus fucking christ.)

anyways, as i was saying: he's mostly just doing a bunch of dumb shit, making silly jokes in the background, fucking around with ryuk and being written off as an idiot by most characters, especially light but again also aizawa and ryuk. AND YET. he is Always hanging around over light's shoulder, lurking somewhere behind him in almost ever panel he shows up in, perfectly innocent to the point where it's can almost be more off-putting than if he were outwardly, actively questionable. like, this panel in particular, and i mean goddamn, just look at it again:

it hits So Hard in retrospect, not just because matusda is the one to shoot light in the end, possibly being his cause of death had ryuk not stepped in when he did, but also because it's true. as incredibly fucking suspicious as this panel may seem if you are armed with the knowledge that matsuda does, eventually, end up being the one to shoot light, it's equally easy to write it off as normal dumbass matsuda behavior because that is Exactly What It Is. and you would be right!! matsuda is trusting of light to a fault— when he eventually breaks, it is Not due to his own betrayal. it's the evidence of light's. and not just of his manipulation of the task force, for years and years and years on end— it's soichiro's death specifically that finally makes matsuda lose his faith in him.

the idea that light could've manipulated matsuda over to KIRA's side had he just tried a little harder is fascinating, but i think i can also understand why he didn't exert any more effort— it was kinda unnecessary. for basically the entire story, from the moment matsuda is formally introduced, to the minute light breaks and admits he's actually KIRA, matsuda is one particularly dedicated conversation away from being a full-on KIRA supporter— or so light believes, anyway. and he's probably not that far off.

really, i'm of the opinion that it's matsuda's existence as this KIRA-sympathetic figure in the task force in the first place that causes light to believe so strongly that he could eventually convert the entire JTF over to the side of KIRA— possibly even saving all of them their lives in the process. like, as i've said before, for all that light monologues about how he's Definitely Going To Kill The Task Force, Don't Worry, I Can And Will Do It When I Have To, he. never actually does it. instead, light goes through all the trouble of keeping the JTF strung along behind him for more than half a decade following L's death, holding on to all of these strings of his former life even when they are almost undoubtedly more of a pain than they're worth. unable to kill his father, unable to kill misa, unable to kill matsuda— even when he directly tries to.

i forget which post this was on, but i believe someone pointed out before that potentially a major part of light's grief following soichiro's death comes from the fact that he springs a shock on him at the last minute before passing: soichiro never stopped suspecting his son. when he sees light's lifespan above his head his first thought is to be relieved, because the question he's held at the back of his mind for Years has finally been undoubtedly assuaged. light is desperate to believe up until the end that he can make the world truly and genuinely pro-KIRA; his final actions in the moments of clarity before he starts begging at ryuk's feet for his life involve an enthusiastic speech as he makes one final bid at converting the JTF and SPK to join him and believe in his vision of Justice.

and yet. he never quite gets mastuda.

never bothered? or never could? perhaps a bit of both, but it's a fascinating character progression nonetheless, and easily one of the most interesting arcs in the series. poor, poor mastuda, indeed.

sidenote: this is a somewhat half baked thought, but i can't help but make a somewhat minor connection between light's treatment of matsuda and his treatment of misa, as well as his relationship with takada. like, let's think through the list of his main (human) supporters throughout the series, the ones who end up taking on the title of KIRA themselves: in the first half, misa, in the second, takada & mikami. if we add matsuda to this list, we get two mirroring pairs: misa & matsuda for the front half of the series, takada & mikami for the latter.

light's treatment of each of these pairs is quite different, despite the fact that they all essentially fulfill the same purpose to him: misa & mikami act as KIRA's eyes, killing those light is unable/unwilling to himself, while takada & matsuda fill the role of KIRA's spokesperson, albeit to very different audiences. thus each half of each pair executes a different side of KIRA's ideology: misa & mikami the practical side, becoming killers themselves, and takada & matsuda the persuasive side, pointing out the positive influences KIRA's actions have had on the population to The People and the rest of the task force respectively.

it's not quite as simple as i've laid out here, of course— tadaka eventually ends up killing before she dies at light's hand herself, misa lives as light's partner until she loses her memories and never quite recovers, mikami becomes quite static, just playing at a killer for Appearances, until his actions eventually end up accidentally betraying light and leading to his downfall. yet it still seems notable to me that despite light treating takada & mikami noticeably better for the majority of the time that he's working with them, those two are the ones who eventually end up dead, betrayed and betrayer respectively. yet, in the case of misa & matsuda... for all that light degrades them and treats them like shit, those two are the ones that get to live on past him while remaining stubbornly loyal until the end, until light's own actions twist back and smack him in the head.

i think perhaps part of the reason why light never ends up converting matsuda is not just his own ego blowing Shit outta proportion and assuming that matsuda will either very easily convert/is too much of a dumb liability to even bother with, but also light's own discomfort with having followers at all. like, it really takes him that full time skip to get fully on board with the idea that people will Submit to KIRA, despite the fact that he logically must know how necessary that is. light wants the recognition and love and commitment of other people, but he doesn't necessarily want the responsibility of their own stupid actions— a sentiment perhaps reflected in how easily he kills criminals, seeing their "evil" as something to be Purged, an annoyance just as much as a liability for the happiness of the Good, Pure People of the world.

as i've outlined before, misa is the main person who's enthusiastic submission consistently gets on light's nerves and icks him the fuck out, but i can't help but wonder if this same reaction applies at least in part to his distaste of matsuda. it's easier to get away from matsuda at least, considering he doesn't have to play the Good, Heterosexual Boyfriend around him, but that doesn't mean it isn't still somewhat present either. this also gets interesting if you start considering lawlight dynamics during yotsuba as well, and L's similar (if somewhat more overt, even) dislike of matsuda during that era BUT. that'll perhaps have to wait until another essay lolol =3=

[uchiha-gaeshi]

Does anyone else automatically size themselves up with people their age and look for ways that you’re inferior to them? Just me? Ok….

[gingerbreadmonsters]

its so important to me that you know how much ive already cried over this wip and its literally only been two days