#cruel summer fanfiction

[so-long-soldier-writes]

It's a Cruel Summer, With You

kai parker x reader | requested

summary: kai's never had anyone tell him they love him. he panics when he hears it for the first time.

tags: based on cruel summer by taylor swift, mild enemies to lovers, drinking / alcohol, secret relationship, summer love, love confessions, fear / panic, past trauma affecting relationships, emotional hurt, unrequited love (but not really), break-up, heartbreak, unhappy ending, one teensy edgar allen poe reference

word count: 5k

a/n: anon, i apologize once more for the amount of time this took! i hope you like it, and i hope i did taylor swift justice. 🩷 i also hope it makes sense bc sometimes i feel like my thoughts are just all over the place 😅

You were staring daggers into the back of his head, three days after a drastic turning point in their lives. And he, feeling your eyes upon him, turned to face you and smiled. That enraged you like nothing else; no man had ever had such an audacity with you, to raise the hell that he had and still offer a smile. You looked back down at your drink, still fuming, and still aware of him watching you, and texted your friends about it. One replied with an equal disgust, another sent a funny-to-her joke, and there was no response from the third. 

“Maybe he’s got a sweet spot for you,” she had said.

“Ha.”

A sweet spot that’d make him kill you last, maybe.

You rolled your eyes exhaustedly, but by the time you looked back down, someone had slunk into the booth across from you. You jumped, then rolled your eyes a second time at the realization of who it was.

“Hey cutie.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Kai shrugged, unbothered. He kept eye contact with you in a way that made it hard to look away; his blue eyes seemed to pierce right into your soul. They weren’t bright, like Damon’s, but instead had a touch of darkness in them. Like storm clouds rolling in on a bright, sunny day. They threaten rain, but you’re not sure if the downpour will come today or tomorrow.

Kinda like how he came into Mystic Falls. 

“What do you want?” You bit, after about thirty seconds of staring.

“Are you scared of me?”

“Excuse me?”

“Are you afraid of me?” He repeated, eerily softly. 

“Why would you think that?” Forced bravery is better than none, especially when faced with Kai Parker. 

“There’s a slight tremor in your voice. Only one finger touches the table, as if you’re unable to settle. You struggle to meet my eyes.”

“What are you, a psychologist?”

“I’m a sociopath.”

Shocker. 

“So?”

“I notice things.” He took a sip of your coffee. Reached out across the table, met your eyes, and sipped your drink. Again, the audacity. “I spent a lot of my childhood isolated. I had a lot of little brothers and sisters, and they were all taught to be afraid of me. I know how to read the signs.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“That’s what they’d say, too.”

“Well I’m not your siblings, and I’m not putting up an act. I don’t trust you, and I think you’re an ass, but I’m not afraid of you.” Your statement’s bold, but he had struck something fierce in you. A nerve, maybe on purpose, that wasn’t going to let him win this time. 

Kai smiled at that. His gaze dropped to the table, surveying your hands once more. His own pointer finger dragged along the wood. “I like you, Y/N. You’re plucky.”

The words took a moment to register - Kai saying he liked you. Kai didn’t like anyone. 

He got up to leave, causing you to turn towards him, prepared to jump out of the booth if you had to. “Well don’t.”

He cocked his head. “What?”

“I don’t want you to like me. I want nothing to do with you; you said it yourself, you’re a sociopath, and I don’t need that kind of bad energy in my life.”

That seemed to be funny to him, judging by the way he chuckled. “Okay, Y/N.” He put his hands up in surrender. “I won’t like you then.”

And with that, he was gone. 

Of course, he wasn’t gone - gone. Kai was never gone - gone from anything, even when people yelled at him to leave. He would disappear for a couple days, but he always came back. 

And somehow, after your interaction, you’d see him more frequently at the grill, too. He’d never talk to you, but you could feel his gaze. His stone cold blues would linger on you, almost like an animal stalking prey. 

It made you anxious, jittery. But somewhere, secretly, also a bit excited. 

He was dangerous in a way that drew you in. He had this aura about him that intrigued you as much as it scared you. You knew what he had done, and what he was capable of, and yet he still occupied the curious corners of your mind. 

And somehow, he seemed to know that. 

♫

How it happened from there is something you still question. Death glares became stolen glances, became blushing smiles, and by the next time he joined you at your booth, you didn’t try to fight him off. Kai ordered an uncharacteristically pink cocktail to match your own tropical choice. Neither said much as you both drank the rum mixtures down to the ice. You communicated in eye contact, mostly, as if daring the other to speak. Your stubborn personalities that should’ve clashed seemed to meld together instead. An intense staring contest was born. You found yourself entertained in the game, and quickly, enjoying it, too.

The booze soaked your brain as you continued to drink; your thoughts were fuzzy, and whenever you tried to catch them, they’d dissipate like cotton candy dropped in water. When Liv closed the restaurant around midnight, she unknowingly crashed the floodgates that weakly stood between you two. Ten feet out onto the street, you fell into him and he held you up. You laughed in his arms, partly due to your own drunken state, but partly that it’s Kai keeping you on your toes. He held you tight until you found your footing, just for you to crash your lips onto his unsuspecting own. The witch, taken aback but not opposed to it, let you taste him for a moment before kissing back. He pushed you up to the nearest wall, feeling and exploring, before hailing a ride back to your place. 

It had been forever for both of you. The uber driver with a ‘no touching’ rule sobered you up a little, but not enough to make you think twice about it. By the time he laid you down on your sheets, any doubt in your mind had fizzled out. He was a gentle lover, much to your surprise, likely because it was such an unfamiliar feeling to be so intimate with another. The little control you tried to take was met with a laugh, and you understood the signal. You didn’t mind being underneath him, though, nor did you mind him staying the night.

Guilt struck you when you first woke up in his arms, but not enough to barr yourselves from meeting again. The first few times you had to be drinking to convince yourself it was okay, but the more morning-afters you spent together, the less ashamed you started to feel. With time, nights started to feel less like hookups and more like something else. He became something you adored when you had, and craved when you did not. The feelings were mutual, though harder to pull out from the siphon, until you asked him directly, putting both your hearts out for the other to grab.

“What are we?” You asked, head leaning on the vending machine as he fetched himself a post-high gatorade. A bag of cookies were held in your own hand from the exchange you made one minute prior. 

“Having fun,” Kai replied.

“Kai…”

“Or so I think,” he followed his words, questioning the look on your face. 

“Are we anything more? Will we ever be?”

A loud voice down the hall that vaguely resembled his sister made a sharp remark to another person. His response sounded closer, as if they were heading in your direction. Kai grabbed your arm and muttered a simple cloaking spell until they both passed. Liv and Tyler both disappeared into her room, then Kai removed his hand. His touch lingered on your skin for a moment. You’ve grown to quite like the feeling. 

“I don’t know,” he confessed, “I’m not exactly the person for relationships, if you aren’t aware. I’m a sociopath that was locked in complete isolation for eighteen years.”

“I don’t care.” You grabbed his hand and laced your fingers together. “I like you. I don’t want this to stop. I want it to be more.”

“I’m not built for this.”

“But do you want it?”

His mouth went dry as he already knew the truth. He did. He wanted you so much, but fear held him back like a dog on a leash. He didn’t have much slack. “I want you,” he finally said. “I want this to work.”

“I’m not good at relationships, either. We’re figuring this out together.”

Kai seemed to accept that better, and two minutes later, he climbed back under the sheets with you, turning on a movie and sharing snacks until you fell asleep. 

♫

As your relationship progressed, it was tested, like all relationships ever are. You grew closer, more comfortable, as summer went on. Much of your time spent together was at night; you hadn’t told your friends, not ready for their questions nor their judgment, nor did you want the word out to his coven yet, afraid of whatever wrath his father could bring if he were to disapprove. You were still figuring things out, still learning about each other, and testing yourselves through time, and that was okay. Life isn’t something to be learned in a day, it’s something in which to be present to see where it takes you.

So, you let yourselves live, to do just that. On top of rooftops and beside small creeks, you snuck out to enjoy each other’s company. Mystic Falls has a lot of places to hide if you know where to look. 

A couple times, you’ve almost ran into others. More than anyone being Liv and Tyler, also avoiding her father. Once, you’ve ducked under bushes to hide from Bonnie. Kai kissed your neck while his hand was clamped over your mouth, daring you to give away your position, while playfully inhibiting your chance to do so.

Sometimes, you were drunk when you found yourselves venturing the town together. The bar in which neither Matt nor Liv worked became a hotspot for you. But instead of ending the night short, you opted to explore the late hours in each other’s company. The alcohol wore off quickly, but the drunkenness brought on by your unconfessed love never did. 

Kai, as it turns out, was easy to fall in love with. He was charming when you first met, but you were tickled to learn that underneath his manipulation tactics, he could be just as endearing authentically. He was a jokester and a flirt, whether across a room when you’d spot each other in public, or when you were hanging out together alone. You were never afraid to be alone with him. If your friends knew you were out with him, alone, at night, they would’ve freaked, but he always made you feel safe. And, once he felt comfortable being vulnerable with you, he revealed a side that could be sweet, too. 

Even after arguments, you were able to patch things up as if they hadn’t happened. Sometimes, he’d be bristling and volatile, but you knew that a lot of his anger came from a place of fear. You learned what to say that would calm him down; you told him what he needed to hear to feel safe again. You’d provide him with the comfort he’d always desired, and when he settled, he’d melt into your touch and softly request forgiveness.

You complimented each other perfectly. And while it took you a moment to name the emotion, the feeling had been there all along. It was love. 

♫

You were only slightly drunk the first time you realized the truth. Kai was painted in perfect, purple lighting, and his eyes seemed to sparkle when they met yours. You stumbled towards him and put your arms around his neck. He caught you, hands finding your waist. The music seemed to fade out as you swayed with him to the beat. It was as if a bubble captured you both, drowning out the rest of the world, making him your world, and in that moment, nothing else existed. You kissed him quickly, desperately, like an addict gone too long without a hit. He met you halfway, equally addicted. 

And then, because you were young, and stupid, and courageously in love, you blurted out the words swimming restlessly in your mind,

“I love you.”

You looked up at him, not expecting an answer just yet, but to offer an encouraging smile. Before your gaze even reached his, his body tensed. His hands felt like ice upon your nervously warmed skin, and his once-strong grip on your waist loosened. Kai wore an expression of confusion, different from the emotion that you tasted on his lips. You opened your mouth to retract the words, but nothing came out. The bubble that consumed you seemed to crack; the music previously blocked filled your eardrums once again. 

A fraction of a second later, you were guided to a hallway by your fingertips. The narrow path reduced some of the music, but most of the traffic. The man of your affection took to one wall, leaving you in the middle. You tried for his hand after he let it go, but dropped it at the discomfort he seemed to feel in having you hold it. 

You racked your brain for the right words, but nothing seemed perfect. You stared at the ground beneath your feet for a half second longer until he spoke, 

“You can’t do that.”

“What?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m sorry? I don’t. What did I do wrong?” He only shook his head, prompting you further. “Was it what I said or when I said it? Because I don’t think it’s wrong of me to confess what I feel for you when I know that it’s true.”

“It can’t be true. You can’t feel that for me.”

“Why not?”

“Because…”

“Provide me with a reason,” you interrupted, “or let me do as I please. I want to love you. I do, and I won’t apologize for it.” 

“Y/N-”

“We’ve had some tough times together, I know we have, but we’ve gotten through them. We - us, together - have worked through so much to get here. Of course I love you, there’s so much effort and, and, love, that connects us.” You paused, letting your thoughts catch up to your mouth. “You don’t have to say it back. You don’t even have to acknowledge it, if you’re not ready. I know it’s a big step.”

“You can’t go there, Y/N.”

“I know, okay, maybe it was too much, too soon. I’m sor-”

“No, you can’t ever go there. You can’t love me and you shouldn’t. I’m not designed for relationships, they’re not meant for me. Do you not remember the things I’ve done?”

“We’ve talked about this, Kai. You confided in me about your fears, but we handled them, I thought. Do you not remember what I said?”

“I do, but-”

“‘Tell me every terrible thing you ever did, and let me love you anyway’.”

“By Poe,” Kai finished.

“And it’s true. I don’t care about the things you’ve done. I want to love you, and I do.”

“But you shouldn’t. You shouldn’t excuse the things I’ve done just because you want to see me for someone who I am not. You shouldn’t be so desperate to see a difference in me that you convince yourself you love me.”

“What?! Kai, I’m not excusing nor am I desperate. I know you’re different from the you that wrought pain upon the town. That guy’s gone, buried, with this you in his place. And I quite like this you, and I’ve learned to love him, because his progress is worth loving. He is worth loving. You are.”

“The old Y/N would never say such things about her sworn enemy. You’d never dare hold his hand, nor kiss his lips, nor say such things, because you’d know better, and if you did, it’d be because of some horrible nightmare, or some instance where I spelled you to get what I needed, because Y/N, we’re living in a fantasy, and none of this is real.”

“I don’t understand! This is real! We’re here, together, and we were dancing, and we were happy, and now we’re in this hallway. Still together, but now questioning if the summer we’ve spent together has all been a hoax, or if that’s the booze talking.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“You have to be, to think what you’re saying is true.” You paused, heartbroken, and afraid to show it, but pretty sure the choke in your words already had. “So are you saying you’ve never meant it? All the times you’ve kissed me were just folly? Or the nights we stayed up until the sun rose again were only dreams I made up?”

“That’s not what I meant, Y/N. I know what we’ve done, and I know we’ve shared moments, but a fantasy is all this is for us. Something we want, but cannot have. We have to wake up some day.”

“I disagree, I think we can make it work.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. This was never supposed to be a long-term thing.”

“But we said it could be! We said it could make it work!”

“And that’s what makes it a fantasy! We both know that’s a lie.”

“Kai, I don’t understand. Ten minutes ago, we were fine. Yesterday, you gave me a kiss that swept me off my feet; that replaced all my organs with butterflies; that made me feel like full-bloomed roses on the nicest day of the year. You made me feel cherished, and happy, and beautiful, but now, I feel like I’m on the end of a well-thought out joke, and everyone’s finally allowed to laugh.”

“I’m not saying this to break your heart. I’m just trying to be realistic.” He reached out to wipe a tear from your cheek, but you smacked his thumb away. 

You couldn’t stop the tears from falling, but you still tried to talk through them. “I thought we were being realistic when we stayed up talking, all those nights, about how we knew each other’s flaws but were willing to work through them anyway. I would think, if we weren’t, we wouldn’t have spent a whole week together and considered getting an apartment to share, because we work just that well.”

“That only proves my point further. We haven’t been together long enough to make big decisions like that.”

“Then we’ll put it on pause and address it later.”

“Y/N-”

“Why are you doing this? Why does it seem like you’re giving up on us? Why are your words sounding like a preface to a break up?”

“Because they are,” he confessed, “because they have to be.”

“What do you mean, ‘they have to be?’”

“We can’t work. You can’t love me.”

“But I do, and I want to, and we do! We’ve managed to make it work, despite our-”

“But how long do you think we can keep this up? When will our differences outweigh our desires to stay together? When will we tell your friends about us? My family? We are too different for us to work, and I’m too damaged to be loved by you. We have to stop living in this fantasy.”

“I can’t believe you’re saying this. Do you even know what you’re saying?”

“I’m not drunk, Y/N.”

“So what, have you been planning this? Have you been waiting for the perfect time? Funny, that the perfect time seems to be when I tell you I l-”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, “don’t say it again.”

“What?”

“The less you say it, the less you’ll believe it.”

“That’s bullshit. I believe it in the deepest corners of my heart. You’re etched into my bones. You’re the shimmer of light in the darkest parts of my mind. I love you, Kai Parker. I love you, and I don’t want to apologize for it, and I won’t believe that I’ve made this all up in my mind. It’s okay that you don’t love me, but don’t you dare try to say you feel nothing.”

“Y/N-”

“‘Tell me all the terrible things you’ve done, and let me love you anyway’.”

“You can’t. I won’t let you.”

“You don’t have a choice. I don’t. I can’t control my heart nor its desires. It wants you; you have it. Tell me you don’t crave it. I know you crave love, Kai. I know it in the way you kiss me, and in the way you hold me. I know it from the time you confessed, at two in the morning when you were too tired to hold back, and I know it from when you told me, clear as day, on that Wednesday afternoon. I love you, and I’m not afraid to love you. Why don’t you give in to what I know you want?!”

Because your love isn’t mine to take. 

Because I don’t deserve it.

Because you’re a gemstone, perfect and pure, and I’m the dirt from which it was pulled.

“Because I don’t feel the same for you,” he said instead, “I’m not capable of love. I’m a sociopath, and anything I’ve ever said was for my own fleeting pleasure. It’s over now. I’m done. I’m bored with us.”

“What? No. Something’s wrong. This is not the same Kai I spent the summer falling in love with. Are you Damon in disguise? Pulling some sick prank?”

“I’m not, Y/N. It’s me, being realistic, and telling you I don’t love you, and I never will. It’s time to go home, Y/N, and to your own bed, in your own sheets.”

The tears streaming down your face run your make-up, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. “But my sheets smell like you.”

“Then wash them.”

The harshness in his tone was unlike anything you’ve ever heard before. When you finally brought yourself to meet his eyes, there was no light inside them, no humanity. His jaw was tensely set, and for the first time in months, you saw the Kai that everyone feared when he had broken himself free of his eighteen-year punishment. Scared and sorrowful, you backed away from him. He didn’t follow. You backed further and further away until you were stumbling out of the bar. The wicked August heat kissed your neck like he used to -  passionately. You grabbed your hair, fumbling it up into a bun to get it off your skin, then searched for your phone to call a ride. 

As the white sedan approached your meeting spot, you trained your blurry vision on the door, but Kai never came out. He never shouted your name, hurried down the steps, nor caught you in an apologetic embrace, blaming his temporary ignorance on too much to drink. He never peered through a fingerprint-stained window, watching you from the glass, wondering if it's too late to take back what was said. It was just silent, as car engines roared and drunk couples chattered around you. 

When your ride finally came, you cried harder than you ever had in your life. Your driver glanced to the backseat, but didn't know a good time to interrupt, so he didn't. He offered a polite smile as you got out, thanked you for the five-star rating, and made sure you got in your apartment safely before pulling back onto the road. 

You barely made it through the door before crashing on the couch. Exhaustion settled in your bones halfway through the drive, and you couldn’t even think about climbing the stairs. The worst headache of your life pounded in your skull. Water was too far of a walk, so you let it throb. 

You tried your best not to think about Kai. His words rang in your head on repeat like an old antique bell - loud, heavy, constant. It almost felt like the whole night was a fluke. A nightmare. A spell, perhaps done by his father, or one of your disappointed friends. When you wake up, he’d be there, kissing your fingertips as the smell of coffee fills the air. You let this thought comfort you, and let it soften your heart. Although, deep down, you knew the truth. 

He wouldn’t be there. He didn’t want you. 

You’ve never known pain like this before.

♫

You can only ignore your friends for so long. Blaming a long to-do list can only give you so many excuses, and when Caroline messages you mid-afternoon on a Friday if you’d meet them at the Scull Bar, you realize you don’t have any more excuses left. So, cautiously, you pull yourself from your bed and drag your feet to your closet. You still haven’t washed your sheets, despite wanting to be rid of his once-comforting smell. It’s more stubbornness than anything, refusing to do the chore. If he thinks throwing a piece of fabric in the wash will rid you of him, he’s a damn fool.

You hadn’t been lying. He owns a part of your heart, and that can’t be simply washed away with some eco-friendly detergent.

Truthfully, you think, ignoring the heaviness in your bones as you enter the Scull Bar, the only way to remove him would be to carve out your heart entirely; to separate it from its lifeline and from all that’s familiar. But, you can’t, so you choose to let it bleed instead, and hope it doesn’t seep through your clothes. 

A vague sadness hangs above your heads, but none of your friends know the cause. You told them you were tired before joining them. You must not have gotten a good night’s sleep.

After all, it’s the first time in Mystic Falls where something tragic isn’t happening. Damon and Elena are planning out their lives, Stefan and Caroline are newly together, and Bonnie and Enzo, a quite unexpected pair, seem to be happy. Jo is five months pregnant, and Kai has left her alone. The girls wonder if that’s of his own volition, or if someone or something is distracting him, but you don’t offer any suggestions. When they then ask you about your own dating life, you only shrug. They tease playfully, having no idea about the wreckage your heart is still trying to piece back together. The cause seems hopeless. You don’t even have the energy to confide in them. 

The topic finally changes, but only because the one who dropped your glass heart enters. You turn when you catch a bit of his familiar cologne, but remind yourself he’s no longer yours and turn again just as fast. The girls let their gazes linger on him as if daring him to bother them, and for a moment, Kai wonders if you told them. But then, as they shrug and go back to their conversation, he knows you didn’t. Otherwise, they’d be hurling bitter words and sharp tools at him for breaking their best friend’s heart. 

And honestly, he wishes they were. 

It’s what he deserves, after all. 

♫

“I love you,” you had said, only a couple weeks ago. 

His heart stopped. His throat went dry. 

The words seemed to have been shouted at him, despite the booming bass around them. You weren’t yelling, though, you were simply telling the truth. 

A truth he wasn’t ready to hear. A confession he didn’t know how to process. 

How could you, a perfect person, love him, someone so tainted and dark? 

How could he ever love you the way you deserved? 

He did love you, of course. He knew it long before you ever confessed, but it was never something he felt okay to share. 

You always made him feel safe. Comfortable. Dare he say it, loved. 

But love was something he had never felt before, and to have something means that it can be lost. And to not lose it tragically, he must be the one to take it away. 

Hearing the words fall from your lips was both the best and the worst thing he could ever hear. He craves love, he knows he’s admitted it. He craves it more than anything else in the world. But wanting it and having it are two very different things, and now that he has it, he regrets asking for it. 

He had to hurt you then, before your soul could be completely shattered later. He had to stop it. Right then. Before he let you in too much and you got too attached.

So, he lied. 

He broke his own heart with every word, but it was nothing compared to the damage he knew it was doing to your own. He wanted nothing more than to sweep you into his arms, hold you tightly, and say it was all just a spell - an outside force trying to drive you apart - but he couldn’t. His fear of hurting you triumphed over his love for you. His mouth spoke before his mind could process the words he professed. He became unrecognizable to himself by the time he delivered his final blow. Your tears stained your perfect face and your posture was defeated, but he was no longer the one that could offer any solace. He was now the one that ruined you, and there was no coming back from what he had done. 

How terrifying it is, that three little words can make or break you. 

How terrifying it was, to wake up the next morning and realize the damage caused. To have to come to terms with the fact that he had broken the only good thing in his life. To imagine the love of his life sitting on the couch, stirring coffee, with a head full of questions neither will ever be able to answer. 

“I love you, Kai Parker. I love you, and I don’t want to apologize for it…”

“I love you,” ain’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?

[fretschie]

Thank you

For what?

Leaving your scent here

Heyo… I’m still here and creating!

And here are two drawings I made for the Cruel Marauder Summer Bookexchange! :)

I am still very thankful for this opportunity and I hope that there’ll come more projects like these :))

I’d love to collaborate more!

Bug if you want to see more of my stuff… check out my instagram c:

@fretschie

💜💜💜

[maybanksbabe]

𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 {𝐑.𝐂}

Rafe left Kildare behind to make a better life for himself out of Ward's shadow. He finds a busy beachfront town full of life and a bar and grill advertising a 'NOW HIRING' flyer. The Drift might be more promising than he realises upon reuniting with someone he'd never thought he'd see again; Cordelia Marshall. In all her glory, grown up and thriving in ways he'd never imagined.

“𝘪 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘪𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥”

𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐬 ~ 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤

𝐢. 𝐄𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐯𝐞

𝐢𝐢. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐖𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬!

𝐢𝐢𝐢. 𝐎𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐕𝐢𝐞𝐰𝐬

𝐢𝐯. 𝐌𝐢𝐱𝐞𝐝 𝐃𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬...

𝐯. ... 𝐌𝐢𝐱𝐞𝐝 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

𝐯𝐢. 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐲𝐞 𝐇𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐬

𝐯𝐢𝐢. 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐭

𝐯𝐢𝐢𝐢. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐨𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲

𝐢𝐱. 𝐀 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐓𝐨 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐞

𝐱. 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬

---

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: mild to strong language ~ brief themes of infidelity ~ some canon!Rafe behaviour (briefly) ~ references to past drug abuse ~ drug-related relapse and overdose ~ drinking/alcohol consumption ~ strangers to friends to lovers (kind of) ~ 18+ EXPLICIT CONTENT (separate warnings added) ~ summer romance au(?) ~ bartender!AU ~ more TBD

-/-/-

@softcoremaybank @jjsbank444 @rafesangel @dreamingwithrafe @outerbankies @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles

[askinkiskarma]

Cruel Summer | Chapter III: Clean

Pairings: Neteyam x (f)Human!Reader

Word Count: 6.6k words

Warnings/notes: angst, allusions to/mentions of smut, friends-with-benefits, mutual pining, some Spider x Reader, 18+ minors DNI

Synopsis: You and Neteyam learn to navigate life without the other.

A/N: Hey besties, I’m sorry that this took so long, but I’ve honestly been struggling a little on this website, and it’s taken quite the toll on me. It’s been a weird week(?), in which although I’ve never received more followers and more notes etc., I’ve also never felt more alone, and more disconnected from the platform and the people in it. I think you will be able to tell in the chapter as well. When I was posting the Cardigan series, although I had a lot less followers, I felt like people genuinely enjoyed/connected to the story, and I just don’t really feel that way anymore, and I think I’m still learning to deal with it. Anyway, personal issues aside, I really hope you enjoy this chapter! I think it’s only going to be another couple chapters in this story. I might however make an alternate ending to it? I’ve also had some inspiration for Midnight Rain Part II, and thank you so much for being patient with me with that story, it took me a while to understand what I wanted to do with it, as I wasn’t planning on it having a second part initially. Ramble over, I promise.

enjoy besties ily xoxo

: ̗̀➛ listen to Clean here : ̗̀➛ masterlist (x) : ̗̀➛ series masterlist (x)

The drought was the very worst

When the flowers that we'd grown together died of thirst

It was months and months of back and forth

You're still all over me like a wine-stained dress I can't wear anymore

“Come on… open the door, please?” 

Lo’ak’s voice was pleading and saddened, and so were Kiri’s soft sobs, but you pretended you couldn’t hear them, not their tone nor their words, because hearing them meant acknowledging it and you couldn’t. You couldn’t acknowledge them, or the previous few that tried. Not Jake, not Norm, not Neteyam. Definitely not Neteyam. You couldn’t open that door, because if you did, you would crumble at their feet, you would beg and scream and thrash, and you didn’t want to do any of those things. The anger you felt for all of them, each and every one of them was strong enough to drown any other emotion, any emotion other than overwhelming hurt and anguish that was threatening to tear you apart with each passing moment that these people were standing outside your door, every moment that passed in which they were still leaving, still leaving you behind, leaving you alone.

You were all alone. No matter how many years you have spent by their side, no matter how much Jake promised you were as much their kid as the rest of them, no matter how many hours and days and months and years you have spent stuck to Neteyam like glue, it was all in vain. It was all fake. You would never be a part of their family. All these years, you were just a family pet, that they would pass on to the next owners when the situation called for it. This thought was fuel enough for a new set of wailed cries that you tried to muffle with a hand over your mouth. It took a while, but eventually, they left you to your own devices, left you to deal with the mess they made, a mess you’ll never forgive them for. Never forgive him for.

At the dawn of a new day, the dreaded day, a new knock, more timid and timed bellowed, and the sound rang painfully in your ears. 

“Kid… they’re leaving. They really want to say goodbye to you… they all do. Tuk is crying, she’s saying you’re mad at her. Just… just please come out, honey, ok?” 

Tuk… 

“Tuk can come in. But that’s it.” You hoped Norm couldn’t make out how hoarse and broken your voice sounded, and hope he couldn’t tell that you cried so much in one night that you blacked out from dehydration, only to be woken up by his announcement.Sure enough, a few minutes later, Tuk came in through the door you just unlocked. You tried to wash your face and look a little more presentable, but as you took one swift look in the mirror, you knew it was pointless. You just prayed Tuk wouldn’t notice. 

“Come in, baby.” She ran into your arms and fastened her arms around your neck, and you were always shocked at how she was just as tall as you, and somehow even stronger. 

“Sister! I thought I wouldn’t get the chance to say goodbye.” She was crying, you realised, as her hot tears spilled down your back, getting absorbed in your cotton top. 

“Of course you would, baby. I am so sorry. I’m so sad that you’re going, so I needed some time, but I would never let you leave without telling you how much I’ll miss you, and that I love you so, so much. You’re the best little sister anyone could have ever asked for.” Her high-pitched cries tugged at your heart painfully, but you knew you had to be strong for her. She didn’t deserve any of it, any pain or hurt, anything other than pure bliss. 

“I love you, too! I want you to come with. Why can’t you come with?” 

You tried to ignore the way your entire body felt like it was being put through the meat grinder, and just focused on her, on her tears and her soft little hair that you caressed gently, and the way her head fit so well in the crook of your neck. 

“Because I’m human, baby. And where you are going, they wouldn’t like me. I wouldn’t fit in. But baby, look at me.” You brushed the unruly braids out of her face and her tears from her cheeks, giving her the biggest smile you could muster. “This isn’t goodbye forever. I will see you again soon, and I can’t wait to hear all the adventures you’ve had and all the memories you’ve made. I’m so proud of you, you know? One day, you’ll outgrow me, and I’ll get to watch you be the most amazing warrior ever, just like your mummy is. And I’ll still be your biggest cheerleader, and I’ll watch from the bleachers, like in the movies, do you remember?” 

She nods half-heartedly, but her face lights up a little, and you think the worst is over. 

“Come, I’m sure everyone’s waiting. I will miss you, sweet girl. Be safe.” 

You kissed her forehead and both of her cheeks, and with one last hug, she left. 

They left. He left.

Hung my head as I lost the war

And the sky turned black like a perfect storm

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

“How does it feel?” Neteyam watched as you eyed his queue, that was leisurely hung over his shoulder, a glimmer of curiosity in your eyes. He’s noticed you doing that for a while now, and when you were kids, he’s let you touch it once or twice, but it’s been years now, and the situation was no longer applicable. You were no longer just a friend, not quite a mate, somewhere in between, something undefined and awkward, something you didn’t talk about unless absolutely necessary. 

“How does what feel, Vol?” 

“The Tsaheylu. Connecting to another animal, another Na’vi. How does it feel?” 

“I thought you knew about from all your little books.” You rolled your eyes and huffed annoyedly. 

“Yes, I do. I know the theory. I know you use it to connect to other beings, to Eywa, I know you can feel each other’s emotions. I know all of that. But how does it feel?” 

Neteyam thought about it for a long time. How was he supposed to describe something that was so natural and so quintessential to his life, to his existence, to someone who would never be able to experience for themselves? 

“Do you know how sometimes we look at each other and we kind of just have a whole conversation just with one look? Because we know each other so well now, that words are not really necessary? Vol… I know everything you think, and everything you feel. I know you so deep in my soul, it’s hard to separate my own feelings from yours, my own thoughts. You’ve become so  essential to my being, it’s like you are a constant part of me.” 

He suddenly felt very vulnerable and exposed at the confession, and felt like he overshared something that may have been better left unsaid. 

“I mean, I-“ 

“I know what you mean.” 

You sighed and got closer to him, and you moved until you were in his lap, in your own little bubble of safety and comfort. It was your favourite place in the world, you once told him. 

“I know what you mean too well. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell where I stop and you start.” 

He felt relieved at your words, relieved to know you understood and felt the same. That you got him. 

“Well, there you go. That’s kinda how it feels like.” 

“But, how does it feel like? When you mate with someone, does it amplify the sensations, does it… make it better? Make it so you never want someone else ever again?” 

The saddened, desolate tone of your voice told Neteyam that you were moving into uncharted territory, that this conversation was taking a turn neither of you were ready or skilled enough to navigate safely. He didn’t know what was the right way to answer something like that. Because the truth was that yes, from his understanding, it did make it better. It made it more intense, more special, it made it everything. There was a reason Na’vi had sex with however many people they wanted, but only bonded with one. It was the bond that separated a sexual experience from a mating experience, from something you would only ever wanted to experience with just one special someone. But he couldn’t say that to you. Not when you didn’t have this ability and never will, not when he knew how much you wanted it, not when there was nothing neither of you could do about it. So he considered a different approach. 

“Do you want to touch it?” 

Neteyam’s never allowed anyone near his queue before. No Na’vi would. The kuru was for themselves, for their mates and for their mothers as infants. It was the most sensitive and intimate part of them, and so naturally, Neteyam was a little uneasy and nervous. But he trusted you. He loved you. He was in love with you, and would have given anything to mate with you, but maybe this will be enough. 

He laughed softly at the way your eyes widened in shock. You understood the implication of what he was asking you, and that scared you both. But still, almost bashfully, you nodded, a soft warm loving smile taking over your features. You softly reached for it and brushed your hands over the length that was draped over his shoulder, a touch so soft, so minuscule that it was barely there, but Neteyam’s whole body shuddered, goosebumps instantly appearing throughout his whole body. You quickly removed your hand, and looked guilty as you spoke. 

“I’m sorry. This was probably a bad ide-“ 

“Hey, stop.” 

Neteyam couldn’t help his fingers as they reached out and stroked you face and jaw, making their way down your throat and collarbone. He smirked a little when you shivered under his touch. 

“See? Did that feel bad?” 

You smiled and shook your head gently. 

“It doesn’t feel bad. It’s just… new. But I want you to do it, Vol. I want you to do it.” 

A little unnerved, you resumed your inspection of his braid, grabbing at as gently as you could and bringing it up to eye level. 

“The hair here is softer.” You mused, almost to yourself. “I love that.” 

Slowly, you moved downstream, until eventually, you reached its end, and gasped slowly as the pink tendrils came into view, moving a lot more erratically and enthusiastically than they normally did. 

“Why are they doing that?” 

“Because of you, Vol.” he said through panted breaths. He was experiencing a range and intensity of emotions he never had before, never in his life. The things you were doing to him, that only you ever did to him, the feelings you evoked in his mind and body, were now intensified a thousand fold, and he was crumbling under their weight. 

“It’s doing that because my body feels you. Feels what you’re doing, knows who you are.” He hesitated before speaking, but he needed to get it out, he had to get it out. “It’s doing that because it knows I’m close to someone it… it wants to mate with.” 

You removed your hand from him almost like his queue burned you. Your face contorted in a frown and you were struggling to push tears back in your eyes. 

“Oh. Well, unfortunately, that’s never going to be able to happen, so…” You removed yourself from his lap and started turning your back to him, but he caught you and held you in place. You were almost face to face like this, which Neteyam was happy about. He had to look into your eyes to get his point across. He had to look into your eyes to get the courage needed to say this. 

“Ma Vol, it doesn’t matter.” You scoffed, and the small movement of your head spilled unwanted tears, that you quickly brushed away with your thumb.

“Hey, look at me. Please?” You did so hesitantly. His thumb was caressing your face, your jaw and lips. 

“It doesn’t matter. Do you not understand, Vol?” He moved his hand to rest on your chest, above your heart. “I can feel you. I can feel everything you feel. I can feel feel it like I’m going through it. When you’re sad, I’m sad. When you’re happy or shy, or anxious or scared, when you are annoyed or excited, I feel it all. You see? It doesn’t matter.”

“Don’t you get it? It never mattered. Not with you.” A small moan escaped you at his words, that he knew you needed to hear, and he needed to speak out loud. He didn’t know what would happen, didn’t know if he should have, but as you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him, harsh and needy, he couldn’t find it in him to care. 

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

There was nothing left to do

When the butterflies turned to dust that covered my whole room

So I punched a hole in the roof

Let the flood carry away all my pictures of you

Neteyam woke up with a mean headache, and he felt almost hungover. He always did these days, pain seeping through every dimension of his life, of his body and mind. The dreams were unrelenting, and they stung each night, so many memories, so many moments he wished he could go back to, that he wished he could relive… that he wish he could forget. It’s been weeks, yet your final interaction still haunts him. How could it not? He didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye. Nineteen years of friendship, of being each other’s safety net were swiftly thrown out the window in a split second, and Neteyam found it difficult to cope with the gap you and your presence left behind. There was so much that had to change for him, it felt like every day was a new life he never asked for and didn’t want, but was forced to live through regardless. A strange purgatory, one with warm breezes and crystal clear water and golden sandy beaches. Probably not the worst of purgatories, if Neteyam was honest with himself, but even Heaven could easily feel like Hell under the right circumstances. 

“Ok kids, remember, no getting into trouble. Go meet Tsireya and Aonung and train. Pull your weight. Neteyam, once you’ve mastered the ilu, Tonowari said you can start learning how to tame the tsurak. Now let’s go show the Metkayina how the Omatikaya do things, alright, kids?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Neteyam walked alongside his siblings to the meeting place they’ve been training every day for the past couple of weeks. As it turns out, the Metkayina can hold their breath underwater for up to 15 minutes, their bodies physically adapted to allow them to, and well… the Sullys couldn’t. So there was a lot of breathing training, on top of swimming lessons and ilu riding practice. Neteyam was frustrated to have to start anew, frustrated that he couldn’t fly every day, the way he has grown accustomed to for the past 6 years since completing his Iknimaya, frustrated that he went from being the future Olo’eyktan to a novice, to a nobody.

Despite everything, he tried. That was in his nature. He would always try, he would always give his best, and he would always make the best out of a bad situation, because that’s who he was. That’s who he had to be. The move left him broken and unmoored, with no purpose and no home, but Neteyam would still keep going, because his family depended on him, and that knowledge alone was enough to keep him afloat just a little while longer.

Neteyam couldn’t help be jealous of his little brother, who not only adapted, but he did so almost instantly. The new place felt immediately like home to the boy who has always felt alone and misunderstood, like a pariah and an outcast. It was the same here, yet somehow, the presence of the Olo’eyktan’s only daughter seem to lessen the blow and make him want to try harder than he ever has before. His breathing technique was better than all of theirs, except Kiri's, most likely due to the extra lessons he was getting every day from Tsireya. Neteyam was proud of Lo’ak, he really was. But he couldn’t shake the feeling of annoyance that once more, whilst Neteyam was plagued with insurmountable challenges and continuous sacrifices, Lo’ak once more got everything he’s wanted handed to him on a silver platter. He just wishes sometimes life could work out in his favour the same way, at least once. At least in one aspect. The one aspect. 

The days were long and tedious, but every day something happened that he wished he could tell you about, that he wished you could experience. You loved water. He could just about imagine your face, your thoughts, your every expression, every sound you would make, every undulation of your voice. He could imagine taking you to the mangrove forest and finding a spot just for the two of you, your screams of pleasure drowned by the greenery and the sounds of exotic birds. He could see you taking your mask off despite his complaints, and kissing him, deeply and passionately, smiling as his tongue explored your body, as your hands explored his. 

He missed you. He wondered if you missed him too, or if the hatred that probably fuelled your days prevented you from doing so. 

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

“I’ve missed you.” 

You were a mess of tangled limbs on your bed, Neteyam’s warmth enveloping you like a cozy blanket, much more so than the one currently covering you both. His voice was thick and laced with languor, and so sweet, it was making your eyes flutter closed in bliss and soothing relaxation. 

“I’ve missed you, too, Teyam.” 

Neteyam’s large hand cupped your face, lifting it gently so he could meet your eyes, smiling softly as he did. 

“Ma Vol… are you happy?” 

Neteyam’s loaded question took you by surprise, and woke you from your near-sleep. You thought about it for a while, pondering the weight of the word. Happy. Were you happy? Happiness was such a strange, abstract concept to you. On one hand, yes, you were. So, so happy. In this moment, you were happy. In every moment you were in his arms, every moment he laughed at your silly jokes, or watched you intently as you spoke about your day, in every moment he was just who he was, your best friend, your confidant, your boyfriend and mate for all intents and purposes, except the one that mattered most. And there was the flip side, the ugly monster, that was ever-present and following you everywhere you went, marring even the most serene, the most beautiful, the happiest memories. The truth. The truth was the antithesis of happiness. Because the truth told you that one day, Neteyam would up and leave you, and when he did, your life as you have come to know it for 19 years will change. Because let’s be honest. Not only will you lose him as a lover, as an unofficial boyfriend, but you knew you would lose him as a friend. You knew that whoever it was that would be his mate would not approve of your friendship, and that, in time, even that will dwindle and fall apart, leaving you completely on your own. 

Still, all of that was far away in the future in your mind, and telling Neteyam any of it meant admitting feelings you shouldn’t be harbouring to begin with, so you settled for a white lie. A harmless lie. A necessary lie.

“I am, Teyam.” 

“Are you?” 

“Right now, I am.” 

“Good. Because so I am. I know it’s strange. I hate this place, you know. So many horrible things have come out of it, so much hurt and pain and death, but somehow, being here with you… this room, this bed. Somehow it feels like home. And I think it’s you. I think you’re my home.” 

You tightened your grip on his body and didn’t say anything as you allowed yourself the respite of his words, and the hope of tomorrow.

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

You woke up in pain, and crying, as you did most nights these days. You were slowly losing hope the nightmares would ever stop, that his face would ever be erased from your mind, both conscious and unconscious, tugging at every strand of sanity you had left, any shred of self-preservation still keeping you going. It’s been long enough that you thought the pain should have subsided by now. Long enough that maybe, just maybe, the world wouldn’t be as dark and gloomy anymore, that maybe while not the whole sun, but at least one ray of it could penetrate the ice that wrapped around your heart, slowly thawing it. But your world was still dark and filled with dim shadows and water that was slowly filling every chamber of your heart and lungs, slowly drowning you. 

You got out of bed with a sigh and turned on the shower, water so hot it felt almost scalding on your skin, the only way you showered these days, the only way it was bearable, the only way. Because this way, in your mind, little by little, every inch of skin on your body he ever touched was slowly melting away, and in time, all the cells that died would be replaced with new ones, and in time, your body will be rid of his imprint and then, maybe then, you could finally be free. 

You made your way to the dining area, determined to be a productive member of society at least to some extent today, determined to not spend yet another day in bed, replaying the same 10 songs that only made you sadder, or the same show that you have seen so many times you have memorised by heart. Most of the humans and Avatars were there, enjoying some breakfast prior to a long day ahead. There was yet another attacked planned today. Tarsem was a good leader. Strong and capable, unrelenting in his quest to impede as many of the human developments as he possibly could. He was not deterred by the Recoms and he had faith in Eywa’s ability and desire to protect her world and her people, and so far, he has been right. Even with Avatars, they have not been able to find the new Omatikaya base of operations, and you have even found some of them dead in the woods, mostly likely as a result of an attack by all the ikran that lived in the mountains. 

“Morning, honey.” Max sent a wide smile your way, that you tried your best to reciprocate. 

“Coffee?” The words were music to your ears. You’ve only tasted coffee a couple of times when you were young, before the provisions depleted, but now, with all the trains and helicopters that the Na’vi and Avatars managed to take down, the stronghold had plenty to spare once more.

“Yes, please.” Norm poured you the magic liquid and took a sip of it himself, sighing happily to himself. 

“You know, it really does suck that the humans came back, but my God, this is definitely a silver lining.” 

You chuckled a little. 

“I doubt the Na’vi will see it that way, Norm.” 

“No, but outside of coffee and burgers and all the other human things we’ve missed, Tarsem is incredible, kid! We have so many lab supplies, reagents and equipment that we are still trying to unpack, categorise and put together. It’s incredible all the stuff they brought with them. It’s almost like all the stuff we used to do on Earth, they’re trying to bring here. Who knows what we could do with all of it?” 

“After breakfast, I can help you with it. This way we can go through it faster and figure it out?” 

“That’d be great, kid.” 

“Where’s Spider?” 

“He’s training with the Olo’eyktan and his men. You know? Tarsem loves him!” Norm laughs heartily. You raise an eyebrow. 

“Seriously?” 

“Yeah, kid! Turns out 19 years of training with Neteyam and Lo’ak under Jake’s supervision really did make him quite the fighter. Now, he’s obviously never going to be able to take the Iknimaya or be one of the people, but Tarsem sees a true warrior in him. Can you believe that?” 

You couldn’t really, but you also couldn’t help the swell of pride that overtook you. It was nice to know there was some hope for the humans in the clan after all.

“Why don’t you go with him? You’ve also trained with the kids growing up. I know you split your time between that and being in the lab, but kid, it’s worth a shot. There’s a whole life out there waiting for you, and this way, you get to feel more integrated with the village. This is what you’ve wanted all your life, isn’t it?” 

Yeah, you thought bitterly. A different life. 

Despite everything, you took Norm’s advice, and spent your time training with Spider and the Na’vi warriors, deepening your understanding of guns, practicing bow and arrows and even learning hand to hand combat from the human Avatars. In the spare time, you helped in the lab, doing experiments and organising all the overwhelming amounts of new things you were receiving from all the raids. It was a good distraction, and it kept you busy sun up til sun down, each day, every day.

You and Spider got closer by the day, even closer somehow than you used to be. You cleaned his wounds and he helped clean yours, although he didn’t know much about how to do it, but in time, you taught him and you enjoyed the feeling of another person helping you, another person healing you. You almost felt the edges of the gaping hole in your chest start to close when you spent your days together.

But no amount of distraction could really keep the nightmares away when they wanted to come and haunt you in the night.

Ten months sober, I must admit

Just because you're clean, don't mean you don't miss it

You woke up panting, crying and tugging at your night gown in an effort to make the pain stop, the gaping hole in your heart that hurt still as badly as that first day, that never seemed to get any smaller, that refused to heal. You barely registered the door to your bedroom sliding open with a soft whoosh, but jumped when you noticed a dark figure approaching you slowly. 

“Spider, you scared the shit out of me.” 

“Sorry. I just heard you scream, I was worried about you.” 

You looked at Spider, your eyes adjusted to the dark enough to make out his beautiful face and his dreads that were getting longer by the day. He needs a haircut, you decided mindlessly. You had to admit his presence was soothing to you, his presence in this room that only Neteyam truly ever came in, that only Neteyam ever slept in, that only Neteyam knew as well and intimately as you did. But Neteyam wasn’t here. Neteyam would never be here again. You winced at the sharp burst of pain that shot through you at the thought. 

“I’m alright. Thanks for asking. Just had a nightmare.” 

Spider sighed, picking at something on his arm. 

“Yeah. I get those too.” 

You barely stopped to consider what Spider must be going through, too self-involved in your own heartbreak to recognise his own, one that was probably closer to yours that you could have ever thought. You lost Neteyam, but Spider lost Kiri. You both lost a Sully, both lost a love you cared for deeply, more than anyone could ever understand except the other. 

“Ok, well, sleep well. Let me know if you need anything.” 

You saw Spider turn around and make his way towards the exit, and you could’t help the voice that came out uninvited. 

“Can you… stay? Please? I don’t want to be alone.” 

Spider stopped in his tracks, still turned away from you, and you watched as the atmosphere of the room shifted, as the silence became thicker than it had been a few moments ago. 

“Yeah… yeah, I can stay.” He slowly walked towards your desk chair that had a few clothes thrown carelessly on it, that he removed and put on your desk instead. He sat down, playing with the height and back support controls. 

“Goodnight, gorgeous.” 

You laughed quietly. 

“Spider, I meant stay with me.” You shuffled on one edge of your bed and patted the other side. You watched his eyes go wide and mouth agape, as he stared at you in shock. 

“You don’t have to, if you’re uncomfortable with it.”

He shook his head and lowered his eyes to the ground. “No, it’s not that, it’s just…” 

“Spider, it’s ok. Forget I asked, ok?” 

“Oh, shut up. I want to, ok? I just needed a second to adjust. Jeez.”

In true Spider fashion, he stomped over to the bed and got under the covers, and slowly turned around to face you. This was a strange feeling to adjust to for sure. You’ve never had a normal sized person in this bed before. You’ve never had anyone else in here before except Neteyam. Spider looked tiny by comparison, even though the young man was almost a whole head taller than you. Your synchronised breaths were the only thing filling up the tense, awkward silence. 

“This is a little weird.”

You couldn’t help chuckle. Well, at least one of you acknowledged it. 

“A little.” You admitted. “But I’m glad you’re here, Spider.” He gave you a boyish, crooked smile, one that you’ve grown up seeing develop, just like the rest of him had. You never really paid attention to Spider before. To you, he was just your weird, Tarzan-impersonator, lanky and smelly friend, someone that was just always there. After Neteyam, you never really paid attention to anyone, especially of the opposite sex. Why would you? Any second spent on such affairs was a second wasted, in your mind. But now, Neteyam was gone. Neteyam would move on, and he’d find a mate, whether in the Metkayina or back here, if he ever return. It was time for you to pay attention, it seemed. And you did.

Spider grew up into a beautiful man. He was tall and strong, a testimony to the entire life dedicated to living as close to a Na’vi as he possibly could in this body, that was pure muscle. He was completely naked barring a pair of boxers, and even in the cover of darkness, you couldn’t help trace his biceps and pecs, his pronounced collarbones, and settle you gaze on his face, still kind and innocent, still the same kid you’ve known your whole life. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you smiled a little, almost bashful that he caught you, not that you were in any way subtle about it.

“You’re beautiful, you know? I think I’ve always been caught up in my own bullshit to really notice, and I’m sorry for that.” He rolled his eyes, but the blush in his cheeks was so intense it was noticeable even in the dim light coming from the bioluminescent glow of the nature right outside your window. 

“You mean caught up in Neteyam.” 

It was your turns to blush, hard enough that your cheeks felt like they caught fire. He laughs at you. 

“It’s ok. You’re not the only one who knows what it’s like to love someone you can never have, and also not the only one who did things Neytiri would kill you for if she ever found out.” He opened up his arms. 

“Come here.” 

You hesitated for a second, but couldn’t help the sudden need to be held again, to allow yourself the chance of some sort of connection, some sort of lull in a sea of storms and heartache. Once in his arms, you were once again painfully aware of the difference between him and the man you’ve come to know by heart, the man that still held every part of you hostage, trapped in his hold.

“I know you’ve had a really tough time, and I know that you’re angry, and that most of all, you’re sad that it’s over. I am, too. But the rest of us are still here, you know? The rest of the world is still here. And I think maybe it’s time you give it a chance. Who knows what will happen?” 

“How can you be so ok with it? They left us. They abandoned us.” His hand was calloused, but warm and gentle and it caressed up and down your back, and the touch, so familiar and yet so different, brought tears in your eyes as you found yourself wishing once more other hands, bigger and bluer, could do it instead. 

“They had no choice. You really think any of them would abandon their home, their family, the forest… any of it, if they could help it?”

You were surprised at Spider’s words and way of thinking, so much more nuanced and level-headed than yours. You knew he was right. You knew it in your head that you shouldn’t blame any of them, shouldn’t blame him, that this was probably even harder for them that it would ever be for you, and yet still, your head and your heart rarely ever got along or saw eye to eye. Your heart was aching, shooting its poisoned blood all throughout your body with every heartbeat, trickling onto every cell, every ounce of you it could get to, making a mess out of you, leaving you reeling and broken, full of hatred and resentment.

“Don’t you… miss her?” He sighed, and stilled his hand movement on the nape of your neck. “I do. I miss them all. But this is a chance to prove myself, to live and show people that I am more than the Sullys’ little pet. And I will take this opportunity and give it everything I got. I suggest you do the same.”

“You should sleep. I’m gonna kick your ass in practice tomorrow otherwise.” 

And so you did. And for the first time in months, you had a peaceful night. 

Ten months older, I won't give in

Now that I'm clean, I'm never gonna risk it

The peace didn’t last, as it never seemed to, as Norm burst in the lab one day when you were doing some experiments. 

“Kid. I just heard from Jake.”

The mention of Jake’s name stilled you in your tracks. The name and the names associated with it could always do that, will always do that, even though it’s been months. You knew Jake would never risk their cover to get in touch, so whatever the reason for this was, it was serious. You felt a lump in your throat, restricting your airways, making the breaths you took shallow and uneven.

“What’s the matter?” 

”It’s Kiri. Something happened to her underwater. She’s unconscious. Jake asked us to come right away.”

Kiri… your sister in all the ways that mattered, you loved this girl with all your heart. The thought of anything bad happening to her was unthinkable to you. Another thought crept unwelcome in your mind, increasing the lump now completely obstructing your breath, that got stuck in your airways. Spider… 

Trying to calm your thoughts, you spoke, and the voice scratched your throat painfully on its way out. 

“Did you t-… did you tell him?” 

“He’s out in the forest. There is no time. Me and Max are going now. Kid… I think you should come with.” 

Eyebrows raised and mouth agape, you struggled to gather your thoughts enough to speak, only soft mumbles coming out instead. 

“W-wh-“ 

“Because I think there’s a lot left unsaid. I know you’re angry, and you have a right to be, far be it from me to tell you how to feel, but…” he sighed, and you could tell he felt uneasy speaking to you about this. “Spider got some closure. You didn’t. Take it from an old man, life’s too short to not have some peace of mind. Kiri’s unwell, and if something happens to her, you will regret for the rest of your life not having said a proper goodbye when they left, when they wanted to.”

“I know it’s not what you want to hear, but they did think they were protecting you by leaving. You know they love you, kid. You’re their sister, their best friend. You’re as good as Jake’s daughter. They wouldn’t have left if they ever thought they had a choice.” 

“Look, you don’t have to come. I just want what’s best for you, and I think isolating yourself the way you’ve been doing for months isn’t what’s best for you. Just come. Help us save Kiri, say your peace to the Sully family and then maybe you can move on, honey. And who knows… maybe you and Spider…” 

You refused to think about his last sentence and focused on how your mind was short-circuiting at his other words, at his desire for you to join, at the thought of seeing them again. Of seeing him again. Your heart was beating so hard it felt like it was trying to escape your ribcage, and you ran your hand up and down your arms in order to remove the sweat that was gathering on your skin. You knew you probably shouldn’t, you knew that you were better off never seeing them again and forgetting the way his touch and his presence and his voice still had the power to make your knees buckle under the weight of what he meant to you, of the calamitous love you will always feel for him, but another thought, more pressing and urgent, more demanding, made you speak before your mind could intervene. 

“Fine. Let’s go.” 

The drought was the very worst

When the flowers that we'd grown together died of thirst

Taglist: @liluvtojineteyam @pinkpantheris @netemoon @fanboyluvr@bananafruityawne @liluvtojineteyam @zaddyneteyamlovergirl @netemoon @www-interludeshadow-com

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

Title: cruel summer | chapter 6

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Pairing: No outbreak!Joel Miller/Female Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI)

Chapters: 6/6

Read on AO3 | Masterlist | Join a tag list

Summary: Joel takes a contracting job renovating a master bedroom and bathroom while the homeowners are away for the summer on a cruise.

He wasn’t expecting their twenty-three year old daughter and the thoughts he’d have about her.

Author’s Note: This is the end! Thank you all so much for enjoying this little fic that I have loved writing. Requests are open if you have anything you wanna see in the future 🥰

Additional Tags/Warnings: explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), age gap (23F and 38M), mild/moderate angst (resolved!), alcohol consumption, discussions of family dynamics, semi-public sex, unprotected p in v, oral sex (f receiving), slight fem dom?, dirty talk, pet names. Let me know if any are missing!

You don’t hear from Joel the next two days, save for the text he’d sent the night he dropped you off at your apartment with a broken heart. He said he’d fix this and god, you want to believe him. But silence doesn’t feel promising.

Your dad has called no less than twenty times since that night. You’ve let them all rot away in your voicemail graveyard. You don’t have the motivation to do much besides sit on the couch for your daytime crying and move back to your bed for your nighttime crying before exhaustion finally wins and you fall asleep.

There’s a knock at your door on the third day, but you don’t make any move to answer it. You hear the key turn in the lock and your mom enters the apartment.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she says gently, setting down an armful of groceries in the kitchen before sitting beside you on the couch, smoothing your unwashed hair from your face with a gentle hand. “I’d ask how you’re doing, but I think I know the answer.”

Tears prick at your eyes. “It hurts, mama.”

“I know, baby,” she murmurs. She pulls your head to her chest. “Have you heard from Joel? Or your daddy?”

“No, I haven’t heard anything from Joel. Dad’s called a bunch, but I…I don’t wanna talk to him, mama. He was so mean.”

“You gotta think about where he’s coming from. You’re his only baby, his little girl. He’s having a hard time separating the baby he used to rock to sleep from the woman who can make her own choices. And he reacted with the heart of a dad, not the brain of a logical man.”

You sniff. “That doesn’t make it any better.”

“I know. You don’t have to forgive him. I’m spittin’ mad at the man myself. But I just wanted you to know.” She presses a kiss to your head. “Now, help me put those groceries away. I have somewhere I gotta be in an hour.”

________

Joel nervously scrapes at the paper label on his beer bottle as he waits for his lunch guest to arrive. He’s been a wreck the past couple of days, trying to keep it together in front of Sarah while his mind wanders to you, your last words to him ringing in his ears.

I love you, Joel Miller. I hope you find it in you to not be a coward and love me back.

That’s exactly what he intends to do. He just needs someone on his side.

Which is why he texted your mom a few nights ago, asking if he could talk to her.

The woman in question approaches the table and Joel stands to greet her, holding an arm out for a handshake. She only rolls her eyes, pulling him into a hug that surprises him. When she seats herself, the waiter swings by and takes her order for a glass of Chardonnay before leaving the two of them to stare at each other.

“So. Joel Miller. You love my daughter, huh?” She asks. He swallows nervously.

“Yes, m’am.”

“And my husband was an asshole to you about it?”

He considers his response. “It..uh..could have gone better.”

She nods. The waiter drops off her wine glass and she takes a dainty sip. “Well. Tell me the whole story.”

So he does. He leaves out the more salacious bits, because your mom doesn’t need to know about what happened in her kitchen, instead focusing on how you drew him in with your sweet disposition and he was helpless to avoid falling in love with you. He tells her about bringing Sarah over and how you played with his little girl like she was the only thing that mattered in that moment. He talks about the trip to the aquarium. He mentions his stupid attempt at pushing you away.

“And I can’t do that again, m’am. I don’t want to. I told your husband that she’s the best thing that’s happened to me since Sarah was born, and I meant every word.”

The whole time, she stays quiet, sipping her wine. Occasionally, a small smile will pass across her lips.

“You know, my own daddy didn’t like my husband when he first met him. Thought he was a no good troublemaker. I think my husband forgets that he’s just as in love with someone’s daughter as you are with mine. And one day someone will love your little girl, and you’ll think they’re not good enough for her, too. It’s the curse of being a father.”

Joel nods, unsure of what to say. Your mom finishes her glass of wine before continuing.

“I think you should join us for dinner tonight, Joel. And I promise to change the gun safe code before you get there.”

________

Joel shows up at your parents house with a bottle of wine and enough nervous energy to power a small city. He feels like he might throw up as he waits for someone to answer the door.

Thankfully, it’s your mom. He hands over the bottle of Chardonnay he brought and she gives him a kiss on the cheek.

“Chin up. You got this,” she says, patting him on the shoulder and guiding him to the living room.

Your dad is sitting on the couch, a glass of whiskey in hand as he staunchly refuses to meet Joel’s eyes. He takes a seat in one of the accent chairs.

“My wife says I owe you an apology,” your dad says. “And that I need to get my head out of my ass before I lose it up there for good.”

Joel has to fight back his laugh, biting his lip hard.

“I just want my daughter to be happy. And she’s right, she’s an adult now. I forget, sometimes,” he continues. “She used to ask me to check for monsters under her bed and in her closet. Hard to believe that same girl is about to graduate college. Become a doctor. Save the world. All the best things I always wished for her. And I also used to wish she’d find someone to love her. And I can’t begrudge you for being that person. So, I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Your mom shouts from the kitchen. Your dad rolls his eyes.

“For being an asshole. And ruining your date,” he grumbles. He drains the rest of his drink.

“Thank you, sir,” Joel replies. Your mom enters the living room.

“Excellent. Now, come on, Joel. Let’s talk New Year’s Eve plans.”

________

It’s New Year's Eve and your mom showed up at your apartment just after dinner with a garment bag and a stern expression.

“You are coming to the party, young lady,” she insists. “Now get in the shower.”

You do what she asks with heavy limbs. You still haven’t heard from Joel. Your dad’s phone calls have stopped. You’re not exactly looking forward to seeing him tonight.

When you get out of the shower, your mom is wielding your blow dryer like a weapon. You sit at your desk while she styles your hair for you. You do your makeup under her watchful eye, then slip into the shiny silver dress she brought for you.

“Gorgeous. Come on. Let’s go.”

She hustles you into the passenger seat of her car and drives to her house. There’s a whole line of cars parked along the curb, and you groan at the idea of having to mingle with their friends.

“Alright, in you go, chop chop,” your mom says, shooing you from the vehicle. You enter the bustling house, forcing a smile as some of your dad’s business colleagues and your mom’s friends say hello, pulling you into hugs and cheek kisses.

Your mom brings you a glass of champagne, pulling you along at her side as she talks with her guests. When the doorbell rings, your mom politely asks you to answer the door.

When you do, you feel like you’re hallucinating. Standing on the front porch is Joel, dressed in a suit, his wild curly hair slicked back and his face clean shaven.

Christ, the man can wear a suit.

“Hey, baby,” he says.

Seemingly out of nowhere, your dad appears beside you. “Hey, Joel! Come on in, can I get you anything to drink?”

You look between the two men, feeling like you’ve stepped into the Twilight Zone. Have you missed something?

Your dad shakes Joel’s hand, all smiles, and your questions only multiply. Joel squeezes your hip as he passes by, following your dad to the kitchen for a drink. You trail behind them, confused as hell as you watch them chat like they’re old friends and your dad pours him a glass of whiskey.

“Uh, Joel?” You ask. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure, sweetheart,” he replies. He excused himself with your dad and you lead him upstairs to your childhood bedroom, his palm hot on your lower back.

In your room, you shut the door and take a deep breath. “Joel, what’s happening?”

“I fixed it,” he says, setting his glass down on your old dresser.

“You fixed it,” you repeat incredulously. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” he says, stepping closer and slipping an arm around your waist, “I’m all in. No more runnin’. No more secrets. No more bein’ a coward. It means I’m yours, and you’re mine, and nothin’ is gonna change that.”

You blink at him. “But…my dad—“

“Met with him and your mom. Had some good talks. He just wants you to be happy, baby. He did threaten that he knew a good place to hide a body if I hurt you, though.”

“Why didn’t you call me? Or text me?”

“Because when I came back to you on my knees beggin’ for forgiveness, I wanted to have everythin’ squared away.” He drops down to one knee, then the other, looking up at you with those big brown eyes of his as his hands grip your hips. “So, can you forgive me, baby?”

You smirk. “I could probably be persuaded.”

“Naughty girl,” he murmurs, trailing a hand up your calf. “You want me to earn it?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, voice already breathy and your core clenching in anticipation. “I think you owe me a real thorough apology, Joel.”

He grins at you as his fingers reach the hem of your dress, urging it up your thighs until it’s bunched around your waist, exposing your panties underneath. He gently pulls them down your legs, eyes glued to your face as he does. He urges you to step out of them once they’re around your ankles.

Tossing them to the side, he lifts one of your legs and situates it on his shoulder, opening you up to his hungry gaze.

“Missed you so much, sweetheart,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to the inside of your thigh. “Was goin’ crazy without you.”

“Less talking, more apologizing,” you demand, breathing already labored.

He huffs a laugh against your skin before angling his face toward your center, his nose brushing your needy clit as he licks a broad stripe through your folds, his tongue dipping into your entrance. Your head drops back against the door with a groan.

“You gotta be quiet, can’t have all those nice people downstairs knowin’ you’re gettin’ your pussy devoured, huh, baby?”

You bite your lip to hold your noises as he returns to his apology, licking and sucking and biting at you until you’re a writhing mess.

“Joel!” You whisper-shout, tugging on his hair. “Want your cock, baby, please?”

His lips are shiny with your essence as he stands, hands working his belt and fly open in quick succession. He presses a messy kiss to your lips as he frees his cock, an arm wrapping around your waist to lift you up, your legs automatically circling his hips. His hot length slides against your clit and you moan into his mouth, the sound swallowed in his kiss.

He presses you against the wall so that he can use one hand to position his cock at your dripping entrance, pressing his hips forward to drive himself inside you. Your arms cling to his shoulders as you gasp at the stretch.

“Christ, darlin’,” he whispers against your neck. “I’m not gonna last long like this.”

“Don’t care,” you reply, swiveling your hips in an attempt to get him to move. “Come on, baby, you’re not gonna make me cum standing still.”

Joel chuckles darkly, drawing back and slamming harshly up into you, the power of it knocking the breath from your lungs. He pounds into you harshly, his hands sure to leave fingertip shaped bruises on the skin of your hips and ass where he holds you to drag you over his length.

“Touch yourself, pretty girl, I need you to cum with me,” he demands. You slip a hand between your bodies, fingers circling your clit with little finesse as you work in tandem with Joel to reach your release.

It shatters over you in a consuming wave, your legs going tight around his waist as you lean forward to bite your scream into his shoulder. You feel his cock pulse inside of you as he presses in deep, his release warm as it fills you to the brim.

You slump against him, boneless in the aftermath. He presses a sweet kiss to your shoulder before gently lowering you to the ground, an arm looped around your waist to support you as you try to stand on shaky legs.

He tucks his softening cock away into his boxers, pulling his pants up. He locates your panties on the brown and kneels down to help you step back into them.

“Not gonna steal this pair?” You tease. He nips the inside of your knee in retaliation.

“Only because I’m not about to send you out in your parents house with my cum dripping down your thighs,” he replies, situating the fabric on your hips before pulling your dress back down over your thighs. When he stands, he pulls you into a deep kiss, his palms framing your cheeks. “I love you,” he says as he pulls back.

You grin at him, smoothing your fingers through his mussed hair. “I love you, too.”

________

You rejoin the party, your hand in Joel’s as he leads you to the kitchen for a drink refill. It’s nearing midnight, and your dad has turned on the TV in the living room to the ball drop in anticipation.

The man in question is in the kitchen with your mom, the two of them flushed from their drinks and the heat of the full house. Your dad gives you a tentative smile.

“Hi,” he says as the two of you approach. You release Joel’s hand to pull him into a hug, his arms wrapping around you tightly.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispers.

“I know. Thank you, dad,” you reply. You don’t miss the shine in his eyes when you pull back and kiss him on the cheek. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” he tells you.

The noise in the house starts to grow as the ball begins to drop, the countdown echoed in chorus by the party goers. Joel hands you a glass of champagne, pulling you into his side as he starts to join in.

“3…2…1! Happy New Year!!”

Joel tilts your face to his, planting a kiss to your lips, in front of everyone. When you pull away, your mom tugs you into a hug and your dad shakes Joel’s hand, both men smiling.

And you can’t help but think how amazing it is that one summer can change your whole world.

Tag list: @huffle-punk @telepathay @johnwatsn @hopelessromantic727 @caatheeriinee07 @leeeesahhh @whereasport @pedr0swh0r3 @yellingloudly @dragon-of-winterfell @mydailyhyperfixations @liati2000 @endlessthxxghts @fake-bleach @thedeadsingwithdirtintheirmouths @lovebandrry @str84pedro @daddy-din @missgurrl @paleidiot @mattmurdock1021

[roosterbruiser]

𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 — 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐍 𝐱 𝐘𝐎𝐔 (𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐄) 𝐱 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐘 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐖 𝟖𝟎𝐒 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐔 𝐁𝐘 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐋𝐘 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓. 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐁𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓. 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝟏𝟖+. 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐘 𝐁𝐄 𝐔𝐏𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆. 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆. 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐀𝐍 𝟖𝟎𝐒 𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐀 𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐋-𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑. 𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐄, 𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐄, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐄. 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇, 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃, 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄, 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑, 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓. 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐊.

𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃

𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐎𝐚𝐤𝐬, 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕. 𝐀𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐧𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐩 𝐀𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐝��𝐚, 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞--𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐜𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐭. 𝐘𝐨����'𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐩 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲, 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐝𝐲𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐜 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 '𝟖𝟕 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐭 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧, 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞. 𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐥𝐩𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞-𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐝𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐲. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐞. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐞. 𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫, 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬, 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠--𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧. 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐞𝐥, 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫. 𝐎𝐫: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐝 𝟖𝟎𝐬 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 —𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐀𝐊𝐒 𝐆𝐀𝐙𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟏𝟗𝐓𝐇, 𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟏𝟕𝐓𝐇, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟏𝟖𝐓𝐇, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟏𝟗𝐓𝐇, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟏𝟗𝐓𝐇, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟎𝐓𝐇, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐗 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟎𝐓𝐇, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟏𝐒𝐓, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟏𝐒𝐓, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 ��𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐏𝐓. 𝟏 & 𝐏𝐓. 𝟐 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟏𝐒𝐓, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐍 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟐𝐍𝐃, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟐𝐍𝐃-𝟐𝟑𝐑𝐃, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟑𝐑𝐃, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟑𝐑𝐃, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟒𝐓𝐇, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟓𝐓𝐇, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐏𝐓. 𝟏 & 𝐏𝐓. 𝟐 —𝐒𝐓. 𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄'𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐋 —𝐀𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐋 𝟏𝟓𝐓𝐇, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟖

𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐂𝐔𝐓 —𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐘.

[witchwyfe]

cruel summer ii - rc

pairing - (non-canon) Rafe Cameron x female reader

précis - part two of cruel summer !!

content/warnings - mentions of food, mentions of eating, language, kissing, i think that's it

word count -��1,331

a/n - the long-awaited sequel! thank y'all for being so patient i really hope it was worth the wait :)

“Okay, so I have Diet coke, Oreos, and the breadsticks from The Wreck, that you love.” You list of the items that are neatly packed away in your lunchbox from high school, gesturing to the backseat, where said lunchbox is sitting.

“You’re the best.” Rafe flashes you a shiny smile as he hauls himself into your passenger seat. You wait for the click of his seatbelt before pulling out of Tanneyhill’s driveway. 

Ever since you and Rafe had talked and acquired your new friendship status, you’d been spending quite a bit of time together—as in the whole summer. You have a week before you’re heading back to school, and it pains both of you more than you’ll ever admit. Tonight’s event is a beach picnic, hence the old lunchbox and blanket in your backseat. 

Instead of your usual chatter and occasional banter, Rafe is glued to his phone, a frown etched onto his lips. You glance over once, at a red light, but he doesn’t appear to notice. 

“So,” You start, somewhat awkwardly. “How was your day?”

Rafe clicks his phone off, looking up as he clears his throat, the sound husky as it reverberates throughout the car. “My day?” He coughs, red rising on his cheeks. Your foot pushes against the gas pedal so you don’t notice the blushing boy beside you. “Was okay. Worked with my dad.”

You grimace on instinct, wrinkling your nose in a way, Rafe doesn’t want to admit, is cute. “Was he nice to you?”

He laughs half-heartedly. “He was okay. Just the usual.” You frown again and lean over to pat his shoulder, ignoring the uncomfortable twinge in your arm as you bend it back.

“S’fine.” He shakes his head. “Seriously, nothing I can’t handle.”

“You shouldn’t have to handle it.” You murmur, more to yourself than him, but he catches it anyway.

“Well, enough about me.” He pauses to shift in his seat, swallowing down the hesitation that engulfs him. It’s such a simple question—one you’d already asked him—but he can’t help but feel how domestic it is, how sweet that you care enough to ask, to ask and mean it, rather than throwing out a meaningless sentiment. “How was your day?” He croaks out, covering it up with a cough that does nothing to stop more heat from rising on his cheeks. 

“Pretty good.” You smile. “Better now. I get so lonely during the summer, I should’ve gotten a job or something. I did go shopping though, on the mainland, had to get up early.” You frown. “Sorry for talking your ear off.

“You’re not!” He expresses immediately. “I like hearing what you have to say.” He could listen to you talk for hours and never get bored, you could say the same sentence a hundred times and he wouldn’t mind, he’s sure your sweet timbre would make it more than bearable.

“Oh,” It’s like the heat has spread from his cheeks to your own. “Thanks Rafe.” 

“D’you find a new duvet?” He inquires. “I know you said you wanted a new one before you go back to school.”

“Yeah, I-I, did.” You smile, swallowing over the stutter in your words. “Didn’t realized you remembered.”

“I do actually listen when you talk, ya know?” He teases.

“Could’ve fooled me.” You retort, giggling when he gasps in mock offense.

“Oh right, because you totally listen to everything I tell you.” He argues, playful sarcasm tinting his words.

“Shut up, I do!” You’re laughing again when you pull into the beach parking lot and see Rafe’s pout and crossed arms.

“Oh yeah?” He challenges. “What game was I telling you about yesterday?” He taunts.

You’re silent for a few seconds before he’s shaking his head in disappointment. “See, I knew it!”

“S’not my fault Rafael!” You shriek in attempt to defend yourself. “Baseball’s so boring, I was listening but I forgot.”

“Oh, you forgot?” He eggs you one. “Nice try, sweet girl.” 

He processes the nickname two seconds after it fell easily from his lips. You don’t seem to notice so he doesn’t make a deal about it. Seem is the key word, because you didn’t think it was physically possible to want someone so badly, a simple term of endearment sending you into a frenzy. It’s different than the princess, he’d always called you, even now that you’re friends. This wasn’t a tease or a nickname you give to bother someone, it’s sincere and real. 

“Okay whatever,” You sigh, reaching into the backseat for the lunchbox and the large beach blanket. “I promise, next time you talk baseball, I’ll take notes so I don’t forget.”

“Gonna get you into baseball someday!” He sing-songs, sidling up to you as soon as you’re both out of the car. “Want me to hold on to your stuff?” He wonders softly, noticing your lack of tote bag.

“Hm, yes please.” You murmur, handing him your wallet and keys. “Thank you.”

The beach as is crowded as you expected, late evening in early August, still hot but cooled just a bit for the incoming sunset. Rafe helps you lay out the blanket before settling right beside you on it. 

You pull out two cans of Diet Coke and Rafe’s eyes light up. Surprisingly, you and him also shared an obsession for the soda. He cracks a can for you, then one for himself. You take a generous sip, the crisp carbonation sliding down your throat, deliciously. 

As the sky melts into orange and pink sherbert, snacks and diet cokes demolished, you and Rafe sit silently, shoulder to shoulder, his body heat radiating against your skin, even through his t-shirt and your crewneck. 

You sit, gathering your nerve, wanting, needing to say something, anything.

“Hey Rafe?” You wonder softly, clearing your throat. 

“Hmm?”

“Is it gonna be different?” You’re spitting words out before you can even think of what you mean but you keep going. “Like, since we’re friends now like, are we—“ You cut yourself off with a sigh. “I guess what I mean to say is, will it still be like this when I go back to school?”

“Like, us hanging out? And talking?” He wonders slowly and you nod.

“I just, I’ve had a really good summer with you and I don’t want it to end just because I’m leaving.”

He nods knowingly. “It doesn’t have to.” He assures. “I’ve had a great summer too, and you know, UNC isn’t that far, we can hang out whenever we want.”

You nod. “Cool.”

He nods again and the silence returns, this time charged with something different, unfamiliar, something that’s been building the entire summer, finally enough that you can feel it.

“And one more thing,” You start, building your nerve. When he turns to you, you set your hands on his shoulders and press your lips to his, just once, soft, and delicate.

“Fuck,” You hiss, eyes widening as you search his expression. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed, we can just act like it never happened and—“

There’s a magnetic pull between your lips and his, a sigh of relief leaving you when his mouth finally covers yours. Your fingers scramble for purchase on the collar of his shirt, before dancing up to thread through the hair at his nape. His hands are on fire at your sides, skimming underneath your sweatshirt, rough palms meeting smooth, soft skin. 

“That was more than okay, sweetheart.” He grins crookedly when you pull back, lips wet and swollen. “Long time coming I think.”

“Yeah.” You sigh, curling into his side. “I’m gonna miss you.” 

“I’m gonna visit you.” He promises with a kiss. “As much as you want. You’re going to be sick of me.”

“Not possible.” You shake your head. “I think I had enough of that the last ten years of my life. I want to get as much of you as I can.”

“You have me sweetheart, all of me.”

© witchwyfe 2023. absolutely no reposting, translating, or modifying, even with credit.

[vampiregirl58]

i think acswy (alonf with FoG ig) has to be one of the most universally known byler fics. it has a great storyline, a bunch of other side-fics, a QUIZ, playlists and so much fanart.

it is the byler bible. did i mention theres a quiz?

thank you @campbyler you are loved. cant wait for chapter 11 omfggg

[hiddenwritingsintheworld]

Cruel Summer Ch. 6

Donations | Thoughts & Feelings | Cruel Summer Series | Chapter 5

As you both got settled in a cozy little booth, he reached across the table and surprised you by grabbing your hand. “Y/N…I,” he cleared his throat, “I have something I want to say and I want you to just listen to me before you say anything okay?” he said as you smiled and started to nod, “Ok-” “Okay good, because it's really important, and just know I’m taking a huge step here and it’s all so crazy I know, with your tour and me just divorced a few months ago and I just, I want you to understand that I will always be your friend no matter what-,” you laughed softly. “Uh, Chris...what are you trying to say?” you raised an eyebrow at him as he chuckled looking down at your hand in his. 

“I’d like to date you.” he said as your eyes widened. “What?” you asked softly before glancing around, “Chris, I want that too….” you sighed as he looked down. “There's a but coming isn't there?” he asked as you squeezed his hand. “Not the kind you’re thinking…me…my life, it’s a lot. I have a lot of people who control a lot in my life and I…I don’t want you thinking we will have any type of normalcy…I can definitely try and make things normal, but-,” he chuckled. “Y/N, I know this life is crazy, I completely understand that and accept it. I just…I want to try this, the whole, you and me thing.” he grinned as you did the same. “I want to try it too.” 

-6 Months Later-

The press took every opportunity they could to snag photos of you and Chris as the next few months passed. Neither of you released any statements yet, just letting everything that was new and exciting settle into a good rhythm. Anytime the two of you stepped out somewhere, the press was there to snap photos. You both would giggle at each other as it happened each time, but you didn’t mind. 

The headlines were comical and the fans seemed to go wild for it. A few speculated that you two were just doing this for publicity but you never felt happier to be honest. You were finishing getting ready for the last show before your break when Chris came up behind you and kissed your neck softly. “I’m excited for this break with you, I don’t know if he texted you or not, but Evans invited the crew out to his Rhode Island beach house to celebrate his engagement and I wanted to know if you wanted to go with me?” he smiled in the mirror at you. 

You looked up at him and smiled a little, “Uh no, he didn't text me but I’d love to go with you. That sounds like a lot of fun actually.” you grinned, kissing him softly. Chris grinned at you, as you turned and stood up, kissing him again. “Promise me after this last show tonight we can just disappear for a while?” you asked as he chuckled, “I assure you we will have nice, long days,” he bent down and kissed you gently, “and slow, romantic evenings.” he whispered against your lips as he pushed a hand into your hair, gripping gently as your hands slid from his stomach, around his hips to his back. “Mmmm why don’t we start on that slow romantic evening tonight? After the concert?” you whispered as he peppered kisses down your jaw and neck. “That was the plan.” he whispered as he nipped your ear softly. 

You giggled before the door opened to the dressing room and Megan appeared before she cleared her throat. “Sorry to interrupt, but we’re on in 10, time to get in the cart.” she told you. You grinned and bit your lip looking up at Chris. “I gotta go…but I'll see you out there.” you said as he grinned down at you. “I’ll be the one in the VIP Tent.” you laughed, “I’ll be in the pink lover suit on stage.” winking you pecked his lips once more before walking out the door. “Can I just admit that you two are PERFECT together?” She gushed as you laughed softly climbing into the cart. “Thank you, I think I know the perfect surprise songs to play tonight.” you beamed happily. 

Chris walked out to the VIP tent smiling and waving at fans, trading friendship bracelets with them and just having a great time interacting with them. “Thank you for treating her like the Queen she is!” a fan yelled in his direction. When he looked over at the girl who had yelled, she couldn’t have been older than 15, she was with a group of teenagers who were dressed like you. Different outfits from various music videos, a couple of them even had outfits that looked like yours you wore on stage during the concert. 

He smiled and waved at them all, the girl who had shouted raised her hands forming a heart at him before pulling off a friendship bracelet. Chris couldn’t help it, they were a bit away from the tent but he had a security guard walk with him as he walked over to the group, chatting with them for a moment as they gave him bracelets. “Would you mind giving this to Y/N? She’s my most favorite role model ever.” the girl spoke up. Chris looked down at the bracelet, she held out. “The beads are all different for the albums she’s put out and…we’ll she helped me out during a really bad time in my life and I just wanted to tell her thank you, even if she doesn’t know how much she helped me.” she said as Chris smiled and nodded. “I’ll make sure she gets it.” she nodded, taking the bracelet and pocketing it. 

Chris went back to the VIP area and couldn’t get thoughts of that girl from his mind, he felt inclined to do something nice for her. “Hey, I need to go backstage and talk to Megan,” he told the guards as the show started. They nodded and guided him back to speak to your manager. 

You were singing, dancing, happier than you ever felt before. You laughed between songs with the dancers, and felt like everything was perfect. That should have been your first clue on how the weekend was going to go at Evans beach house.

Tag List: @adriellej @auriel187 @patzammit @bval-1 (rest of tags are in comments)

[driversatellite]

cruel summer | r.c | part three

synopsis: after she had been left heartbroken by jj maybank, y/n had felt herself feeling withdrawn from everything around her, it seemed that nothing could make her feel better, except for maybe her best friend sarah’s older brother, rafe cameron. the two had a rivalry that began before either of them could remember but after her heart was broken y/n found herself enjoying rafe’s presence more and more, maybe he wasn’t who she thought he was.

rafe cameron x desi!reader  

part three: you know that I caught it

word count: 3.0k

a/n: hiii guys!!! thank you so so so much for all the love on this series, i appreciate it so much, like fr it means the world to me that you guys take time to read my silly little stories <3!!!! this story will be somewhat of a slow burn (not too slow burn i promise), but i promise it’ll be worth it! anyways i hope you enjoy this part!!!! (likes, comments, and reblogs are very much appreciate <3!!!)

series masterlist | main masterlist | last part | next part 

The sun was shining and Y/N couldn’t help but feel happy when she spotted a grinning Wheezie hanging out of the passenger side of Rafe’s truck waving wildly at her. She laughed to herself and tightened her grip on her beach bag as she made her way to the car. She had been looking forward to her and Wheezie’s beach day and she didn’t mind that Rafe would be joining them, ever since she had spilled her guts to him, he hadn’t been up to his usual antics. 

She slipped into the back seat and set her bag down and Wheezie turned around in her seat to converse more easily, “I’m so excited, I always ask Sarah to come read with me, but she doesn’t like reading.” 

Y/N laughed and nodded, her best friend didn’t particularly enjoy reading which is why she hadn’t been able to do a lot of reading in the past couple years. She was always with the pogues and they were always up to something, they didn’t have much down time, “I’m excited to, I brought two books.” 

Wheezie grinned and smiled and rambled about the books she had brought and Y/N just smiled and nodded along to the young girl, seeing Wheezie always made her happy. She had glanced over to Rafe a few times while Wheezie was distracted, but he hadn’t said anything since she got in the car, he seemed to be focused on driving. 

They ended up at the club and headed through the club to get to the private section of the beach that the club owned. It was nice and quiet and there were no rowdy tourons there, the perfect setting for a peaceful beach reading day. Y/N and Wheezie set up their reading spots, since they were at the club they grabbed a beach cabana that had three lounge cushioned lounge chairs and set down their towels and Y/N made sure to put sunscreen on herself, Wheezie, and Rafe, who was being uncharacteristically quiet. She didn’t question Rafe’s silence too much, she just thought maybe it was too early for him and left it at that, as the girls made themselves comfortable Rafe grabbed his surfboard and headed straight for the waves. 

It had been a few hours and Y/N had finished the first book she had brought, she was already half way through it when she started reading that day, but she still felt accomplished as she read the last page. She set the book down and stretched a bit before asking Wheezie if she wanted anything from the beach bar, Wheezie said she just wanted some fries and some lemonade and Y/N nodded before slipping on her sundress and heading to the beach bar. 

“Hi, can I get two ice waters, a lemonade, the arancini balls, and some fries?” She asked the attendant working the bar. The attendant nodded and let her know that it’d be a few minutes. She nodded and looked around the club, trying to spot any familiar faces, but didn’t seem to find anyone. It was still early, so maybe that was why, she then felt her phone buzz and glanced down to see Sarah texting her. She felt bad, she hadn’t told Sarah that she’d be hanging out with her siblings that day. She knew that Sarah was hanging out with pogues and if she knew that Y/N was spending the day reading with the other two Cameron siblings she’d drag her along with her and hanging around JJ and Rina was the last thing Y/N wanted to do. Everything was still too fresh for her. 

She sucked in a breath and opened Sarah’s message, as predicted it was asking her to reconsider and come with her to hang out with the pogues, she sighed and then typed out her response. 

y/n: sorry sar, i’m just super tired today, i’m spending the day at the club’s spa to rejuvenate

sarah: :( ok, rest up and feel better so you can come next time, everyone misses you

y/n: i miss them too, ttyl <3

As soon as she finished texting Sarah the attendant came back with the drinks and the fries and Y/N slipped her phone into her pocket and used both hands to carefully carry the tray of drinks and snacks back to the cabana. To her surprise Rafe was sitting on his lounge chair drying his hair as she approached and at the sound of the sand beneath her feet he looked up and sprung up and grabbed the tray from her hands and placed them down on the small table. 

“I could’ve done it.” Y/N said as she grabbed her water and settled into her lounge chair. 

Rafe shrugged and continued to dry his hair, “I know, but if you dropped it then I would have to go all the way there and get all new things and I didn’t want to take that chance.” 

She rolled her eyes and slipped her sunglasses back on and grabbed her next book, “Whatever Rafael.” 

She had decided that she was done depriving herself of romance novels, maybe they’d be able to mend her broken heart, which is why she decided to reread one of her comfort novels, as cheesy as it sounded, Pride and Prejudice, was one of her all time favorites. There was just something about the way Jane Austen wrote the novel that brought her to life, she truly loved the book. 

“You must allow me to tell you how much I ardently admire and love you.” 

Y/N whipped her head to look at Rafe who was staring at the cover of her book, “What?” Her eyebrows were furrowed in confusion as she stared at the boy quizzically. 

“It’s from the book.” Rafe said, nodding towards the book and Y/N had to hold in her gasp. She couldn’t believe that the Rafe Cameron was quoting Pride and Prejudice to her. 

“You’ve read Pride and Prejudice?” She questioned as she sat up and Rafe nodded. 

“Is it that hard to believe?” Rafe questioned. 

She shook her head, “No, I’m just surprised. I didn’t take you for a classic literature guy. Actually I didn’t even know you liked reading.” 

Rafe crossed his arms against his chest, “I never said I liked reading.” 

Y/N rolled her eyes, “Well, Pride and Prejudice was never one of the books we had to read in high school, so either you read it for fun or for something else, but definitely not for school.” 

Rafe just nodded, “Okay, maybe I did read it for fun.” 

“I knew it.” She grinned, she loved being right. 

“Can you guys be quiet, I’m trying to concentrate?” Wheezie whined from her lounge chair. Rafe just grinned but quieted down and Y/N went back to her book. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Rafe reach into his beach bag and pull out a book and settle into his lounge chair. Maybe Rafe Cameron wasn’t too bad. 

“We needed this.” Sarah sighed out as she relaxed into the salon chair and Y/N nodded. The girls--Sarah, Y/N, Kiara, and Cleo--were all at the nail salon getting mani pedis. Sarah had suggested it and all the girls agreed that they needed some time to relax and who could ever turn down a mani pedi. 

“It’s been so long since I’ve gotten my nails done. I missed the feeling.” Y/N said from her salon chair. They were currently getting their pedicure and their feet were being massaged in the hot water, this was the perfect way to end the week. 

“We missed you the other day y/ n/n, Sarah said you weren’t feeling well.” Kiara said and Y/N slightly frowned, she felt bad for ditching her friends, but she knew she couldn’t stomach another day with Rina being all over JJ. 

“Yeah, I don’t know, I guess I just needed some more rest. I had a relaxing day reading.” Y/N told them. 

Sarah eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “I thought you went to the club's spa?” 

Y/N’s eyes widened and she internally cursed, she had forgotten that she had told Sarah that, “Right, yeah, I went to the spa in the morning and then spent the rest of the day reading. Sorry all the days kinda blur together now.” 

Sarah nodded and Y/N could tell she had bought the lie and she relaxed. It was hard keeping secrets from Sarah, but she didn’t want to tell her that she had ditched her to hang out with her siblings, Sarah’d probably be pissed. It would be her secret for now, but she promised herself that she’d come clean to her soon. 

It was a couple weeks later and Y/N was currently lounging poolside at the club. Sarah had left her alone when she spotted John B, but Y/N didn’t complain that just meant she could focus on her book more. She had been reading a lot more now, she had also been spending a lot more time with Wheezie and Rafe whether it was at the ice cream parlor or at the beach and she couldn’t help but feel happier. 

She found herself smiling whenever she was with the oldest and youngest Cameron sibling. It wasn’t that she didn’t like spending time with Sarah anymore, she loved Sarah and she always would, but Sarah would always talk about the pogues and would--as much as Y/N hated it--always mention JJ. 

Apparently at their latest hangout, one that Y/N had opted out of going to, JJ hadn’t brought Rina and begged the girls to be nicer to her because according to him she hadn’t done anything wrong. JJ told them that yeah he felt really bad about how everything went down with Y/N, but their relationship just wasn’t working anymore and he just wanted to move on. The girls agreed to not ice the new couple out anymore and after Y/N’s insistence on being fine, they all agreed that things could go back to normal. And as much as Y/N had insisted that everything was fine, she couldn’t help but feel sad still, it just bothered her how fast JJ had moved on, he had begun dating Rina barely a week into them breaking up, but she didn’t bring that up to Sarah, who seemed much happier now that the friend group was back to “normal”. 

She was flipping to the next page of her book when a shadow loomed over and she looked up to see Rafe, “What are you doing here?” 

“Came to golf, I’m grabbing a drink before going out on the green.” Rafe told her and Y/N nodded and remembered what day it was. 

“Right, I forgot it’s a Sunday.” 

Rafe’s lips quirked slightly at Y/N’s comment but he ignored it, “So Wheezie wants me to take her to the mainland cause she needs a dress or some shit and Sarah and Rose are both busy and I’m probably not the right person for dress shopping, so do you want to come?” 

She nodded and smiled, “Aww, I’d love to come help Wheezie. Is she looking for midsummers dresses?” 

Rafe shrugged his shoulders, “I guess, you know how Rose is.” 

Y/N smiled, “Well, I’m happy to help, just let me know when.” 

Rafe told her that he’d text her the details before heading towards the bar and she settled back into her chair, she now had something to look forward to. She loved dress shopping but she especially loved midsummers dress shopping, there was something about summer formal dresses that just made her feel some sort of way. 

The next day Y/N was up bright and early and met the Cameron siblings in front of her house and they made their way to the mainland where all of their favorite boutiques were. 

Wheezie was excitedly talking about how she’d stayed up and spent the whole night on Pinterest scouring for the perfect dresses and Y/N smiled at her enthusiasm, “I’m so excited, I can’t wait to try on the dresses, midsummers is my favorite.” 

Y/N nodded along, “It’s my favorite too.” 

The car ride was filled with Wheezie’s rambling and Rafe and Y/N arguing over the music, but before they knew it, they had parked on mainstreet and hopped out of the car and headed into their first boutique. 

As soon as they got in the store Wheezie ran around grabbing dresses like a kid in a candy shop and Y/N beamed at how happy the young girl looked. She was casually looking for midsummers dresses, she hadn’t planned on starting now, but since she was already there, she thought it couldn’t hurt to look. She already had an idea of what she wanted in mind, she just hoped she’d be able to find it. 

“Are you looking for midsummers dresses too?” Rafe asked as he looked through the racks with her. 

“I mean since I’m here, I’ll look. It doesn’t hurt to start looking early.” She said as she flipped through the dresses, nothing she saw was drawing her eye or making her want to say “I need this dress”. 

“Midsummers is so easy for me, I just get a new suit and wear whatever Rose gets me.” Rafe said and Y/N rolled her eyes. It was always easier for the boys, but before she could make a comment, Wheezie called them over to the dressing room to watch her try on the dresses. 

The pair made their way to the dressing room where a small loveseat was positioned with a glass and gold side table that was set with a tray of small finger foods and two flutes of champagne. 

The two took a seat on the loveseat, the sofa was small, so they were practically touching and Y/N felt on edge at thought. She could feel the heat radiating off Rafe and she couldn’t help but like it, but she shook those thoughts away and tried to concentrate on anything but Rafe and how good he smelt. Thankfully for her Wheezie stepped out in her first dress, it was a navy dress that had white flowers scattered all over it, it was a cute dress.

“You look so beautiful Wheeze.” Y/N told her as Wheezie spun around and looked at herself in the mirror. 

“I like this one, it just looks super similar to the one I wore a couple years ago.” Wheezie remarked and Y/N thought back to what dress she was referring to. She was right, it was a bit too similar and Rose would not like that, so she suggested to try on the next one. Wheezie tried on the rest of the dresses at that boutique but nothing seemed to please her, so they were on to the next boutique. The same pattern happened at the next two boutiques, it seemed that nothing was good enough. 

They were at their final boutique of the day and Rafe and Y/N were seated on an even smaller loveseat, this time their thighs brushed against each other and Y/N felt her heart rate pick up, she didn’t understand why she was feeling this way. She once again shook those thoughts away and focused on Wheezie. This time she had picked out a few for her to try, she had picked out a beautiful sage green dress that she thought would be perfect, she just hoped Wheezie liked it. 

Wheezie came out in the first few dresses and nitpicked about each one of them and Y/N felt bad, she knew how stressful dress shopping for an event like midsummers was, “Why don’t you try on that sage green dress I picked out, I think it’d look great on you.” 

Wheezie nodded and went back into the dressing room and the attendant helped her put Y/N’s choice on and Wheezie felt a grin grow on her lips, Y/N had a good eye when it came to fashion. She came out of the dressing room with a wide grin on her face, “I love it! I’m obsessed. I think I want this one.” 

Y/N beamed at Wheezie’s happiness, “You look stunning in it Wheeze. You’ll be the Belle of the ball.” 

Wheezie just smiled and wrapped her arms around Y/N, “Thanks for doing this, I appreciate it so much.” 

Y/N smiled and wrapped her arms around Wheezie, “Of course, I’m happy to help.” 

They spent a few more minutes in the dressing room discussing alterations and the attendant took a few measurements and booked a fitting appointment. Wheezie slipped back into the dressing room and Rafe and Y/N made their way to the front so Rafe could pay for the dress. 

“Thanks for coming, Wheeze needed someone other than me to give their opinion.” Rafe thanked as he tapped his card to the card reader. 

“Of course, I’d do anything for Wheezie, plus I got a head start on looking for dresses.” Y/N told him. 

Rafe glanced around the boutique and then back to Y/N, “Did you want to try on anything?” 

She shook her head, “No, I don’t think I’ve seen anything that calls to me yet.” 

Rafe smiled, “Picky, picky, just like you used to be.” 

She shrugged, “What can I say, I like only the very best.” Rafe’s lips quirked up at her statement and he just shook his head and Y/N laughed as they waited for Wheezie to finish up in the dressing room. 

It wasn’t much later that Wheezie came out dress in hand. She handed the dress to the attendant at the cash register before the trio headed out. Wheezie mentioned being hungry and Rafe suggested that they grab something to eat before the drive back, which is how they found themselves sitting on the patio of a small Italian place. 

Rafe was laughing at something Wheezie had said and Y/N was watching him, she hadn’t noticed it before because she was so adamant on despising Rafe during their rivalry, but Rafe Cameron was beautiful and she couldn’t help but admire his beauty. 

---

[cannibalsforbreakfast]

Cruel Summer - Chapter 1

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: The "Eddie Munson is a speedway racer" high school AU no one asked for, but you're getting it anyways. Enemies to friends to lovers | No-Upsidedown AU | Fast cars, fast times | Reader moved from "the city" to Hawkins

Tags [will be updated as things progress]: swearing, underage drinking, dangerous driving, Jason sucks as usual, mentions of weed, light angst, misunderstandings, reader is afab, not sure if I'll have smut yet or not

A/N: Chapter 1 is already on Ao3 but here's the Tumblr version! New chapters will always be posted on Ao3 first, with a week or so delay to here.

CH1: 3,780w

-- -- --

“Hot summer streets and the pavements are burning, I sit around / Trying to smile, but the air is so heavy and dry”

If anyone had asked, you wouldn’t have said car racing was something you’d be interested in. Watching hunks of metal speeding around in circles always seemed pretty pointless to you. When combined with the auditory chaos of engines and screaming crowds, and nauseating smell of gasoline and burning rubber, it had never been high on your bucket list.

Then again, neither had moving to Hawkins, Indiana. And yet, here you were: stuck in small-town nowhere for (just, you hoped) the summer. But a summer practically felt like forever to you.

And so you were at the speedway car races with your cousin, Robin. Because apparently, she said, it would “be fun” and “social” and “lots of people went.” 

You supposed you should be lucky Robin was pretty chill about hanging out with you. After all, having your city-slicker cousin practically dumped on your doorstep without so much as a “by your leave” by your parents — who had gone off to “rediscover themselves” and hopefully salvage five years of impending divorce — probably wasn’t high on HER bucket list, either. She and her parents had been more than welcoming, sticking you and your five overstuffed suitcases in the spare room on the second floor, just next door to Robin, without hesitation and urging you to make yourself at home.

If you saw Robin and her parents exchange some pointed and pitying glances, well, you’d just try and ignore them. Because they were right. Your parents clearly didn’t care enough about you to take you with them on their wild second-honeymoon or whatever, so they’d abandoned you without looking back, saying they’d pick you up in a couple months before school started up again. They thought. Maybe homeschooling had been implied as a possibility if they happened to return a bit later than assumed from…Panama? Costa Rica? Whatever warm, probably tropical, place they’d gone to. Without their only daughter. 

Honestly, sometimes you just felt the truth of it in your bones when, at the height of their marital Cold War, they’d each called the other some variant of “frigid bitch.” Only the coldest of the cold would up and abandon their offspring like that, without any evident desire to really take responsibility for them ever again. If you just wandered off at the end of the summer, got a job waiting tables in the nearest big city, didn’t bother to send a forwarding address, you didn’t think they’d be too fussed. Depressing.

The frozen atmosphere at home had gone on so long, you’d practically adopted aloofness yourself as a survival mode. What you didn’t feel, couldn’t hurt. Didn’t help you with making any friends once you’d entered high school, but it kept anyone from really bothering you for three years. The summer before your senior year was supposed to be this golden eternity of afternoons at the pool, perfecting your tan, or giggling at the local mall while licking ice creams and debating who-liked-who-liked-who. 

Not wasting away in Hawkins, a town small enough you bet you could count all of the stoplights on one hand. 

You missed the city so much it ached . Missed the dizzying heights of the buildings towering above you, missed the way the very air seemed to thrum with an energy, a beat that got into your pulse and made you feel alive. Missed the hole-in-the-wall restaurants on every street and the used bookstores piled high with more volumes than you could read in a lifetime. Hawkins was…quaint, but inside you worried if you stayed here long enough it would drain the life out of you until you couldn’t make it anywhere else. 

Not that you’d say any of that to Robin, who was babbling cheerfully away at your side as you strolled up to the local speedway just out of town. She was wearing a loose striped men’s shirt with the cuffs rolled up and jeans, despite the lingering heat of the evening. Robin, you’d come to learn, was pretty much always babbling about something or another, a natural condition that tended to get even worse whenever she was flustered or nervous. Given your tendency to listen, rather than speak, you actually balanced each other out rather well. With her, surprisingly, you felt you could be…yourself…that little bit more. Felt a bit of that icy shell melt away. 

You tuned back in to hear her say, “We’re going to meet up with Steve, he’s gotten there early to stake us out a spot. You wouldn’t think it but it can get really crowded and picking the right spot out of the sun and the dust and on the right side of the track is, like, crucial to the enjoyment factor. Steve’s a boy, by the way. He’s not my boyfriend – well, he’s a boy who’s a friend, but we’re not like that, actually he’s more like an annoying brother. But he’s not annoying, I promise!”

You smiled to yourself as Robin rambled on. Truly, you found it more endearing than not. 

“I’m sure he’s nice,” you said, cutting in so Robin could actually take a full breath. She smiled back at you.

“Yeah, he’s great. But don’t tell him I said that, I swear his hair grows an inch every time someone says something nice about him.”

You smiled and promised that, of course, you wouldn’t breathe a word. 

The two of you step up to the bored-looking teenager taking tickets, and you passed over your paper stub, slightly sweaty from being clutched in your hand. Stepping through the entrance gate, you’re immediately assaulted with the smell of deep-fried foods mixed with beer, the raucous laughter of crowds of families and teens here for an evening out. A fine dust permeated the air, making your eyes water. The track, a packed dirt oval that was both bigger and smaller than you imagined, spread out before you, bordered by some haphazardly stacked rectangle bales of hay you assumed were there for the “safety” of the crowd, though they looked anything but. You imagined any car crashing into those at serious speed would take them out easily…as well as the onlookers setting up their camp chairs frighteningly close to the barrier. 

Across the track, a small elevated building rigged with wires and a mounted loudspeaker was clearly where the announcers were situated. Tinny commentary was blaring from the PA system, but it was almost impossible to hear above the general din. 

There were mullets and wife-beaters on display everywhere. As you looked around, you noted that everyone – and you mean everyone – seemed to be dressed in nothing more formal than jeans and a shirt. You hadn’t batted an eye when Robin left the house like that, because that’s what your cousin always wore. And she’d told you to dress casual but…

“Robin,” you asked, “am I overdressed?”

She’d been herding you along the track toward one end, but at your question she glanced over at you and winced, which you supposed was answer enough. 

“Robinnnnn,” you whined. 

“What?” she protested. “I said ‘casual,’ that’s what you came out in, so I figured it was fine!”

Up until you saw the sea of daisy dukes before you, you’d thought what you were wearing was casual. It certainly was back in the city. The simple, white-and-red polkadot dress you were wearing, cinched at the waist with a plain wide belt you’d dug out the bottom of your suitcase, cute frilly sleeves sitting just below your tanned shoulders, wouldn’t have been anything your classmates back home blinked at. You hadn’t even done your makeup, besides a swipe of lip gloss! But you were rapidly getting the sense you’d have to redefine your expectations here in Hawkins. And with the swirls of rust-colored dust almost constantly permeating the air, you could already tell white was a particularly bad choice.

Oh well, you’d just have to make the best of it. And get the dress in the wash sooner rather than later. 

“It’s alright, Robin,” you reassured your cousin, who’d been worrying at her lip while you thought. “It’s just a dress. Plus, it’s not like I’ll be in any of the cars,” you joked.

“Steve’ll probably have a blanket or something you can use anyways,” she said. “He’s a dad like that. Oh look, there he is. Steve! Steeeeve! Ugh, he isn’t listening. OI, DINGUS!”

Robin waved frantically at a boy a bit ahead of you, who’d staked out a pretty prime spot on the hillside around the middle of the straightaway, complete with camping chairs, picnic blanket and cooler of what you desperately hoped was something cold. Now this is what you’d imagined when Robin said “races.” And it was comfortingly far away from the hay barrier.

The boy – Steve – raked his hands through his already artfully disheveled mop of hair and rolled his eyes at Robin. 

“Could you shout any louder?” he grumbled. “Jesus, I think the whole crowd heard you.”

“Oh don’t be such a wuss. Hey, this is my cousin. She’s cool. Cousin, meet Steve. He’s a dweeb.”

“A dweeb with charm, also known as the best kind,” Steve said with a smile, reaching out to shake your hand. “I heard you’re in town for the summer. Welcome to Hawkins – guessing it’s a pretty big change from where you’re from.”

“Um, yeah, wasn’t sure what to expect, but it’s better than I thought. Lots of nice people,” you offered him a small smile in return, a bit taken aback by the easy way he folded you into the dynamic. 

“I’ll bet,” he agreed. “First time at a speedway?”

“First time at any kind of races,” you admitted. “I have no idea what’s going on.”

“Not much too it really,” Robin said around a mouthful of beer. Clearly, she’d helped herself to Steve’s stash, but by the way he just shook his head, you got the sense this was basically normal. He silently offered you a bottle, but you shook your head – maybe in a bit. Steve did seem nice, but you weren’t quite ready to be under the influence under someone new just yet. Robin kept talking: “Cars go zoom zoom, and the one that goes zoom zoom the fastest wins. We mostly just come here to support Eddie.”

You cocked your head. “Who’s Eddie?”

“Friend from school. He’s been working extra shifts all summer, which is why you haven’t met him yet. He works down at the local body shop, races on the side. We’ll point his car out when he’s up.”

You nodded, sure he’d be nice too, if Robin’s taste in friends so far was anything to go by. 

The three of you sat, chatting amiably for a few minutes, and you felt yourself relaxing into Robin and Steve’s easy, familiar banter. They traded well-worn jabs back and forth, but there’s no heat behind them. You settled yourself on the blanket between them, tucking your skirt beneath your legs and mostly enjoying the vibe, only chiming in when you had something to say, like when Steve started to say “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off” was supposedly underrated (he was wrong, and both you and Robin soundly told him so). 

As the sun finally started to go down – days were still long and hot, and all three of you were peevishly slapping at overly familiar mosquitos – the track lights finally flickered into life and it seemed like things were about to start. Robin let out a squeal, wiggling her knees in excitement. 

You were all ready for – you didn’t know, monster trucks or something? – when, to your surprise, the first line of cars that raced onto the track looked more like glorified go karts than anything else. Seeing your confusion, Steve leaned over and murmured, “They do the kiddie stuff first,” and you then saw that the drivers did seem awfully young. Fortunately they were wearing helmets.

The announcer counted down the start, and at the waving of the first green flag they tore around the track, kicking up immense clouds of gasoline-scented dust that settled over everything – your hair, your clothes, you could even see it coating the fine hairs on your arm. Gross. 

And these little kids were vicious. Not crashing directly into each other, but drifting aggressively around the turns and cutting each other off within what looked like inches to spare between bumpers. Everyone was cheering on individual numbers, and you, Steve and Robin got into it by picking your favorite car and rooting for them at the top of your lungs. After a few heats you felt your throat dry up, and gratefully accepted one of the cooling bottles of beer Steve offered. 

Beer with friends on a Friday night. Weirdly, this felt more like how you thought summer was supposed to go than you figured you’d get in Hawkins. Or anywhere. 

As the night wore on, the races of the small and mid-sized cars started to blur into each other, and you started idly wondering when you’d be able to go home. Well. To Robin’s home. 

“And nowwwww, the event you’ve all been waiting forrrrr!” shrilled the announcer.

From the back paddock where all the cars were parked, there came a grunty rumble. A vibration that made its way into your bones, your veins, the thump-thump of your heart. This was the rhythm you’d been missing, filling you up from the inside out. 

And then, the first line of proper-sized cars ripped their way onto the track, to a massive cheer from the crowd. But you weren’t even sure you could call them “cars.” Dinged, dented, and beaten back into shape, these were machines reduced to the essence of speed. Any extra baggage had clearly been ripped out – seats, radio, even the entire bottom half of the trunk was gone. What was left was the engines, the driver’s seat, and anything essential to make them go. 

They ran a few menacing laps around the track, jostling for position on the grid. 

“Look, there’s Eddie!” Robin pointed.

“Which one is he?” you asked.

“The black one, with the red bat on the hood.”

“Eddie’s always had a flair for the dramatic,” Steve clarified. 

Your eyes traced the black car as Eddie maneuvered it into the inside of the track, on the front row – “That’s a good position,” Steve clarified again. Unlike most of the other cars, which had paint jobs in varying states of peeling off, Eddie clearly kept his car freshly painted despite the risk of damage – it gleamed, pitch blank, with just the blood red of the bat leaping out of the design. From what you could see of Eddie, as he was mostly shielded by a helmet, he was also in all black. 

“I’m sensing a theme,” you muttered dryly. 

Like horses jostling for position, the cars – there must have been a dozen or so – revved their engines just behind the starting line. There was an agonizing moment of tension, where everyone stared at the red stoplight holding them in place. 

Then it winked green, the flag was waved, and the race began. 

You watched as Eddie’s car and the one on his right, painted a chipped red-white-and-blue roared to the front like bats of out hell. They gunned it down the straightaway before whipping into a drift around the curve that was so aggressive, their cars yawing onto two wheels so hard, your hands flew to your mouth to swallow a gasp despite yourself, sure they’d tip over or spin out. Magically Eddie’s car righted itself as he came out of the turn and he gunned it down the next straight, neck and neck with the other vehicle. 

The laps went by in what felt to you like seconds, a frenetic dance conducted at speed. With the razor-thin margins the two cars took the turns, you knew that if Eddie lost concentration for a nanosecond, he’d be out of the race. You blinked dust out of your eyes furiously, loath to miss a single second. Next to you, Robin and Steve were yelling – you were pretty sure Robin was just repeating profanities at this point – but you could hardly make yourself breathe normally, let alone cheer. 

There were only a few laps to go and the other car had stolen the lead from Eddie. Though Eddie was keeping the black monstrosity right on his tail, pushing himself right into the rear bumper to try and throw the other driver off. 

They made another sharp drift around a corner and, as they came off the curve, Eddie made his move, pushing the throttle to take his car around the outside of the red-and-white leader. He took the turn, hard, trying to get his nose in front of the other car’s, and this time you did let out a whimper of concern. Your heart thumped in time with the roar of the crowd, and when Eddie made it, slipping in front of his rival to cross the finish line first, you couldn’t help but sigh in relief. 

Steve and Robin were now jumping up and down and hugging each other, and you smiled at their infectious joy. 

The other cars coasted to a stop in the middle of the track while Eddie took his victory lap, waving the checkered flag from out the driver’s window. He must have spotted the two maniacs next to you, because the car rolled to a stop on the track in front of you, and Eddie stepped out from the car. 

You knew he drove like a devil, but you weren’t expecting him to look like a fallen angel. 

A strange shiver ran through you as you watched him pull off his black helmet. Long, dark curls spilled out, framing his sharp, sculpted face. Even with his bangs sweat-soaked and disheveled, he was capital H-O-T. Dark hair, dark eyes, with a plush mouth you knew was made for sin. He was everything your parents would have warned you away from, and everything you – or your body, at least – immediately wanted. 

“Be normal,” you thought to yourself. “This is Robin’s friend .”

Robin and Steve trotted down to the side of the track, and you trailed behind them, a little unsure. It was the last race of the evening, and with the entertainment over, the crowds were starting to melt away. It didn’t escape your notice that while all the other drivers were getting handshakes and back-slaps galore from their fellow racers and even some officials, no one had come over to congratulate the actual winner, Eddie, except for the three of you.

“Edieeeeee, you won!” Robin shrieked at her usual top-volume. “But also, ugh, you smell like fumes, ew no, don’t hug me.” She wiggled away from his playful attempt at a hug, wrinkling your nose. 

“Comes with the territory, Robin, you’re just gonna have to get used to it. You certainly don’t mind when I’m fixing your car for free, again . Hey, Steve, nice of the King to make an appearance.” The two boys traded fist bumps, Steve rolling his eyes at his high school nickname. You broke into a wide smile at their antics. 

Eddie’s eyes met yours, where you lingered behind, and he arched one eyebrow, his previously warm and open expression becoming more guarded, scanning you from the top of your windswept hair to the bottom of your now quite dusty flats. Your smile faded, and you resisted the urge to brush yourself off in the face of his gaze.

“Who’s this?” he asked. “Wasn’t aware we had a third cheerleader on the squad. Does little miss Dots like what she has to see so far?”

You find yourself bristling at his presumptuous tone. “I don’t quite take your meaning,” you respond stiffly. 

Eddie laughed, an open, easy sound you could have loved – except for the sharp edge to his voice. He straddled the hay bale, spreading his hands open. You tried not to look at how his black racing uniform stretched tight over his thighs. Really, you tried. 

“Come on, guys, this is a joke, right? Ha, ha, Eddie’s first race of the season, let’s get a cute little cupcake of a girl to come along, flirt a little, string lil ’ol Eddie along? Give the girl a ride to remember?”

He fixed his molten brown eyes on you. “Did someone put you up to it, Dots? Patrick? Jason? It’s the sort of shit thing Jason would do.”

By this point, both Steve and Robin were exchanging a confused glance that clearly conveyed their shared sense of, “uh, what?” But you knew exactly what. 

Eddie had taken one look at you – at your too-much dress, too-much smile, maybe something else you didn’t even know in your demeanor – and concluded that the only possible explanation for your presence was that you were a…paid escort? Hooker? Someone bribed to come watch his race and flutter your eyelashes at him, spread her legs?

You felt the usual protection of your ice queen reputation from back home freezing off any earlier warmth from your expression. 

“Someone clearly has a high opinion of himself. I’m not going to cream just because you’ve got half skills with half a car. Get over yourself. Robin,” you turn to your cousin, “I’m going back to the house.”

“It’s miles to the house,” Robin protested, nervous gaze flicking between you – fuming – and Eddie – nonchalantly picking at his cuticles, not sparing you another glance. 

“I’ll walk.” It was only a mile or so to Robin’s, and you didn’t want to spend a single second more in his company, friends with your cousin or not. Eddie’d done a spectacular job of reminding you why you usually didn’t do things that were “fun” or “social” or that “lots of people” went to. You didn’t need another asshole man in your life, your father was doing a bang-up job of that by himself. 

“I’d give you a ride, Dots, but as you can see,” Eddie gestured to the literally empty passenger seat in the stock car next to him, “I can’t.”

“Fuck you,” you hissed, whirling around and stomping off before reaching a hand up to swipe angrily at the tears pooling in the corners of your eyes. 

You heard Robin run after you. “She’s my cousin you MORON,” she called back to Eddie. When she caught up to you, you gave her a watery smile in thanks, and she reached over to squeeze your shoulders. 

New item for your summer bucket list: Never, ever see Eddie again.

-- -- --

Chapter 2

Lae's Masterlist

[hsgwrld-archive]

CRUEL SUMMER - JAKE SIM SMAU!

SYPNOSIS- You didn't really like your part-time job at the grocery store, primarily because of the people. But one thing caught your attention: a guy buying condoms and lube at 9 am. However, running into him after work was entirely unexpected.

GENRE - SMAU!! Fluff !! Angst in future! Brother best friend!au??? Weird humor

FEATURING - Ningning & Karina AESPA, more to be added!!

taglist- OPENED!

WARNING - Sexual jokes!!! Be aware!!!

SUMMER BREAK STARTING NOW

01- it’s 9 in the MORNING ?!

02.- WHEN I CATCH YOU RIKI

03- block! And report

04.- RESIGN PAPERS IS ON TABLE

[lewkwoodnco]

Cruel Summer (Part 1) - Lockwood x Reader

A/N: Based off of Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift. Can be read as a stand-alone fic or to a prequel to the august fic (which is a prequel to the alcott fic). This fic got rlllly long and I'm finishing up the second half of this right now. For this fic, reader shares the attic with Lucy. Enjoy!

chronological order: timeless cruel summer (pt 1, pt 2) august (tsitp version) the alcott

She woke up with a gasp, broken out of what was likely the deepest (if sweatiest - she had fallen asleep under a mountain of blankets) sleep in her life. She was normally a very light sleeper (part of her subconscious was almost always awake, taking note of everything until she woke up) so it was highly disorienting to wake up without knowing anything about what had happened for the past few hours. With everyone else off running errands, she had decided to take a little nap, that became a big nap, and she could just make out the fading dusk glowing in her window. That still didn’t answer the question of what had woken her up.

There it was again, that sharp rap that had yanked her awake. It was coming from the window, as if it was hailing. She stumbled over and pushed the window open with considerable effort, still groggy from the nap she so desperately wanted to return to. She squinted, barely making out the form of Lockwood standing outside in his coat, one hand full of pebbles and the other pulled back as he took aim. He straightened when he saw her face, waving to catch her attention, as if the street wasn’t empty and she wasn’t already looking right at him.

“Hi!”

“What?”

“You sound cheerful.”

She started to close the window. “Hey, hey! I was only kidding.”

“What do you want?” She hadn’t meant for that last part to come out that whiny, but her limited patience was already wearing thin. The dusk air was cool and pleasant and the soothing twilight was painting the grey buildings with this liquid lilac glow. A gentle breeze tickled her nose, and she decided that closing her eyes for a while wouldn’t hurt.

“I’ve locked myself out, left my keys on the mantle. Lucy and George won’t be back for ages. I was hoping you could…Y/N? Y/N?” He laughed. “Did you just fall asleep at the window?”

That jerked her awake, even though she was at the brink of slipping off again. The light was fading fast, making Lockwood’s silhouette even hazier, until she could only make out the glint of his polished rapier. The cooling dusk air combined with her high temperature from being bundled in those blankets made her feel feverish, and she blamed her sleep-addled brain for making Lockwood look so delectable in the dim light. In a way, she had been watching Lockwood like this for weeks now. Stealing glances and brushes in milliseconds during the day and dreaming of him and their cat-and-mouse game all night long; so disarming and wicked and forever out of her reach, a torturous yet addictive death. As if it was too electrifying to love directly, they turned to more Shakespearean adjacent ways of loving, from balconies and windows. She was brought back to the present by the rattling of Lockwood scattering the remaining pebbles.

“Sorry about that, by the way. And this, it’s not like me to forget my keys.”

“Are you kidding? I’m always waiting for you to be waiting below.” She quipped, pulling her face from the window as she imagined him rolling his eyes. She grabbed his keys on the way to the door, and sure enough, he was standing there with a half-smile, laughing as she made an exaggerated show of forcing his keys deep into his coat pocket. His breath hitched as she drew her hand out, which felt aflame and buzzing with static even with layers of clothing between them. The devil on her shoulder urged her to take the gamble of kissing him right there on their front doorstep.

But the light shifted, and the moment passed, and they slightly stepped away from each other as she awkwardly withdrew her hand.

“I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“How’d you guess?” She immediately felt stupid for asking that question when she had drifted off right in front of him (or two storeys above him) just now.

“You seem a little…sluggish. Like your thoughts are all over the place.” She nodded, choosing not to tell him how her haywire thoughts had nothing to do with sleeping and everything to do with him.

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

A couple of nights later, they were out on another job. She and Lockwood were in an alley, one not quite as rundown as they were expecting, waiting for a signal from George and Lucy, who were a few streets up ahead, to start chasing the Dark Spectre they were locking down on. It was taking so long that Lockwood had started fidgeting with the abandoned vending machine. Watching paint dry was more interesting than waiting around on a job while the acid of anxiety ate a hole through your stomach.

With a sudden crackle of electricity that made her jump, the vending machine creaked to life, its strained electrical hum sounding nearly deafening in the quiet of the night. Watching the exact moment the vending machine lit up Lockwood's body, giving it such a vitality that she nearly wasn't sure where the hum was coming from, enamoured her even more. As they both shielded their eyes, slowly blinking to adjust to the sudden brightness, she basked in this new wave of attraction, burning her wildly thumping heart.

It was almost unfair to be forced to stand there and watch him tap at the machine experimentally, entirely oblivious to the effect he was having on her. Lockwood was like a bad sunburn and the balm that healed it, a heat that melted her face off and the lemonade that cooled her down. It was cruel. It was a bizarre experience, to say the least, drinking stale pop in near pitch-black darkness to wash down the fear gripping their throats.

"You alright? Not too tired from all this waiting around?"

Waiting around for you, maybe. "No, I'm fine." I'm so cool, so totally normal about this, about you, about the faintly blue blinding light burning the side of your face, about the shadows on your face and in between your knuckles-

She heard rather than saw the hiss of the magnesium flare thrown up into the inky sky, quickly engulfed by darkness. They ran off almost instinctively, drinks abandoned, Lockwood's hands not long forgotten.

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

Sometimes, after a case Lockwood would cosy up in the library while everyone else went to bed. That wasn't news. What might have been news was how she sometimes crept down from the attic to join him. That was where she was right now, and Lockwood was asking if she really was alright, and it was all seeming a little hazy to her.

A few hours ago, she had slipped in a puddle of slush which unfortunately sent her tumbling down with her ribs landing on the edge of the curb with a stabbing pain. It knocked the wind out of her, but she didn't expect much from it beyond a nasty bruise, so she dusted herself off and kept running. Only after a bit of running she began to feel a painful prickling as well, and it must have shown on her face, if Lockwood's occasional suspicious glances were any indication. Later, once they were home, she realised the stabbing pain had come from some broken pieces of glass piercing her skin. With Lucy's help she had managed to get out most of the pieces, but she kept finding more as she tossed and turned in bed. Finally giving up, she had decided to join Lockwood in the library, foolishly not anticipating his interrogation.

"Well?" His tone was almost accusatory. "How bad was the fall?"

"I'm totally fine," she put on her best injured tone, which wasn't hard, given how restless picking out the fine glass had made her. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You know you can tell me anything, right?"

"Sure." There had been just a hint of playfulness in her voice, but Lockwood had picked up on it.

"I'm being serious, you know."

"So am I!"

"Are you?"

Lockwood stared at her sternly, and she returned the look. Two can play a game. He clearly didn't believe her flimsy smoothing over of the incident and she was painfully aware of that, but there was simply no other alternative.

How was she supposed to tell him that he only liked her because she was shiny and new? Whatever they had, this push-and-pull, it wasn't comforting or peaceful. It was nerve-wracking, nausea inducing, certainly not for the faint of heart. There simply was no room for tending to scrapes and bruises together, their relationship didn't allow for it. Hell, she'd die before seeming weak in front of him. And there was nothing wrong with that. She'd built up this rough, blunt exterior for their sparks to bounce off of before anyone got hurt. Sure, it didn't leave much time for the sparks to stick around, and it did create a tumultuous upheaval of emotions sometimes, but it was nothing she couldn't learn to live with.

And so she shook her head a final time, as Lockwood reluctantly returned to his tea and paper.

[askinkiskarma]

Cruel Summer | Chapter II: Before It Sinks In

Pairings: Neteyam x (f)Human!Reader

Word Count: 5.5k words

Warnings/notes: angst, allusions to/mentions of smut, friends-with-benefits, mutual pining, 18+ minors DNI

Synopsis: After the Sully kids get attacked by the newly found Recombinant Soldiers, Jake makes the tough decision to leave the Omatikaya. Neteyam is forced to say goodbye to you, to your relationship and to the life he always dreamed about.

A/N: So I decided to split what was originally supposed to be one chapter into two, and this way I get to make good use of the amazing song that @karma-is-a-cat-purringinmylap was amazing enough to turn me on to, that just happened to work like a glove (the first non TS song in my works!!!)! I think I will try sticking to shorter chapters, as I feel 10k chapter might be a a bit overwhelming overall. Now, did this chapter make me cry several times? Yes. Will it make you cry? I'm hoping you will tell me soon ;)

enjoy besties ily xoxo

: ̗̀➛ listen to Before It Sinks In here : ̗̀➛ masterlist (x) : ̗̀➛ series masterlist (x)

Suspended in the air, I hear myself breathing

Hanging by a thread, my heart is barely beating

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

Neteyam watched as you ran towards the lake that he wanted so badly to show you, he was practically buzzing by the time he got to Hell’s Gate. He found this little spot accidentally a few days ago while on a hunt, and it’s been on his mind ever since, exuberant at the thought of you in it, at the thought of your face splitting in a wide smile and your eyes widening taking it all in. He thought of the little squeal you would make as you saw the waterfall and way you’d jump off his back immediately and make your way without thinking of your clothes, or the mask, or anything else. The scene unfolding in front of him was exactly the way he pictured it, a testament to how long you’ve been in each other’s lives, how well he knew every facet of your being, like you were just an extension of his own self, like you were a complicated poem he’s dedicated his whole life deciphering and could now recite by heart, could now dissect it and appreciate it endlessly, to its full potential. 

You didn’t look back as you just hurriedly made your way to the edge of the water, taking off pieces of clothing as you did, until you were in a lace thong and bra, that Neteyam has seen multiple times before. He could see it every day, every minute of the day, it could be tattooed on his eyeballs and it would still not stop the way his mouth instantly filled with saliva and his head felt dizzy from all the blood travelling downwards. You were the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid his eyes on. Actually, beautiful did nothing to describe you. Beautiful had nothing on you. Neteyam wished he was more articulate at times like this, he wishes he would have read all the hundreds of books residing in the big library in Hell’s Gate where you loved to spend your time, in order to find the proper word to describe you. In order to validate his postulation that there was, in fact, not a single word in all of the English language, or Na’vi, for that matter, to encapsulate what you meant to him, how he viewed you. 

A splashing noise is all he heard as you jumped quietly in the water, and he followed suit, a little concerned when you wouldn’t resurface, until it dawned on him you could breathe underwater with the mask on. When you did resurface, you were standing right underneath the waterfall, the biggest smile in the world plastered on your face, and Neteyam couldn’t help his own that blossomed like how the flowers in the morning bloom did, like how his love for you did. 

Neteyam couldn’t remember his life before this. Before tangled bodies and insurmountable pleasures. He couldn’t remember who he had been, what used to occupy his mind and thoughts, what feelings, middling and insignificant, used to plague him before your being took over everything, over every second of every day, over every dream and nightmare, over the past, present and future. Neteyam knew he fucked up. Knew that he lied to you that day, when he told you he wouldn’t fall in love with you. Because he did, he fell like from a distance so far removed he could no longer see the ground. And yet, Neteyam knew the ground was there, and that gravity was pushing him towards it, and that whilst the fall was freeing and exhilarating now, while now it felt like flying, once it ended, it would crush all his bones, and his spirit, and his soul. 

“This might be the best thing you’ve ever shown me!” You were screaming loudly, trying to be heard above the booming noise of the waterfall crashing down in deafening roars, and he laughed at how enthusiastic you seemed, how wild and free. You’ve always been like that, Neteyam mused. You kept to yourself in the labs, and in the village, around the scientists and other people, around his mother and the clan - but when you were around people you loved, people you were comfortable with, you were uninhibited and unconfined to expectations, and fears and limitations, at liberty to be yourself, to shine brighter than any star in the sky. 

“What are you doing over there, Teyam? You know I don’t like to be kept waiting!” 

He shook his head, but said nothing as he removed his cummerbund and knife belt and dove in the warm water, swimming until he reached you. As soon as he did, your arms and legs encircled him like they always tended to, automatically and without thought. 

You looked in his eyes, and the glimmer in it made Neteyam’s mind freeze and go blank, made his heart thump in his chest and sweat pool on his skin, that was promptly washed away by the undulating water. 

“I want to kiss you.” Neteyam couldn’t help the words coming out of his mouth, a confession and a plea all in one, a futile one in the face of untouchable facts, such as the fact being without your mask will kill you.

You smiled and placed a soft hand on his face, tracing his lips gently, and he shuddered under the touch. “I want to kiss you, too.” 

“Thank you, Teyam. This is beautiful.”

“I’m glad you like it, ma Vol. As soon as I saw it, I knew I had to bring you here. It was the only thing on my mind, the thought of you and m-“ Neteyam realised his mouth was running faster than his mind could keep up, a rare occurrence in his life, but fairly common in your presence. 

Your eyes were wide and full of surprise, and fear started creeping on your face, unannounced and unwelcome, although not completely unexpected. He shouldn’t have said that. Every time things got a little too… intimate between the two of you, any time either of you pushed the boundaries that you both established, boundaries that you needed to abide by above all, it took a while to fall back into step, to get things back to normal, to mutually forget and pretend it never happened. He didn’t want that to happen again. Things were going great for you two, and he didn’t want to lose any time with you, any time he could be loving you instead, any time he could be making you writhe underneath him, any time at all. 

“I - I just meant… you know… I -“ 

Your slender fingers found his lips again and at the small pressure you put on them, he stopped talking. Your eyes softened and your surprised expression melted into one of muted happiness, of unspoken affection, of forbidden feelings. 

“I know.” 

You spent hours swimming and giggling, splashing water at each other, enjoying how, when both submerged, the difference between you didn’t seem that extreme, the discrepancy in your bodies and your heights nothing that couldn’t be promptly overcome. You talked until your lungs were running out of breath and your voices hoarse, just catching up and discussing everything that’s been going on since you hadn’t seen each other. 

Right behind a waterfall stood a layered rock formation, which happened to allow for perfect positioning so that, when sat on it, your and Neteyam’s faces were at the same level. You smirked as you slipped your finger in the band of his loincloth and tugged at it until he took the hint and got closer to you. He didn’t have time to protest you taking off your mask recklessly and smashing your lips against his, a kiss so passionate and deep, it pushed any rational thought out of his mind and replaced it with desire and a tingling ache, one that he knew too well, one that seemed ever-present around you. 

“Vol..” he tried to speak against your lips, but you just shook your head and deepened the kiss, pushing your tongue past his lips until it met his, entangling in a suave dance until you were panting and heaving against him. He tsked annoyed at your foolhardiness, and watched patiently while you fastened to mask on yourself again and took deep, settling breaths. 

“You take my breath away… get it?” You laughed and then laughed some more at how unamused he was. “Come on, it’s funny.”

“You putting your life in danger foolishly is not funny to me.” 

You smirked and shrugged indifferently. “Well, not everyone gets my sophisticated sense of humour.” 

“God, I hate this mask.” 

Neteyam knew how much you hated it. He hated it, too. He’d give anything to be able to kiss you freely, to caress your face, to feel your lips and your soft skin, to see your eyes reflecting the colours of the nature surrounding you instead of a piece of glass doing it instead. Fortunately, Neteyam always knew how to cheer you up. 

“Vol…” he started, voice so low and soft it was almost purring. His long fingers traced your beautiful body, and each freckle adorning it, until he reached your panties, that he skilfully pulled down your thighs, until you were hanging on to them by an ankle. “Just because you can’t kiss my lips, doesn’t mean I can’t kiss yours.” 

Neteyam watched as your upper body leaned backwards until your back hit the rock wall, pushing your head back and closing your eyes in anticipation. Your hand found its way to his hair, that you grasped tightly and pushed him down, and he laughed at your already needy and disheveled demeanour. “You know, Teyam? You’re definitely the bestest friend a girl could ever ask for.” 

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

I haven't fallen yet, but I feel it comin'

Tell me would it be too much to ask, if you break it to me gently

“What?” Neteyam could hardly believe his ears, could hardly believe that the words coming out of his dad’s mouth were his current reality, and not a nightmare his mind concocted to make him ill, to keep him awake until his eyes started burning in his skull. 

“We are leaving. Tomorrow.”

Neteyam watched in pain as Tuk cried silently and immediately felt the pang of fraternal instincts kick in, urging him to pick her up and hold her close in his arms, let her cry it out in the crook of his neck. 

“But why, daddy? I don’t want to leave.” 

His dad’s stiff posture melted at his daughter’s words, that he could never resist. His eyes softened and he sighed, taking his mother’s hand in his. 

“Because we are in danger, baby girl. We now know the humans brought Avatars with them, that they brought the best soldiers back to life to hunt and kill me. And they will stop at nothing to do it, including hurting you.”

The only thought spiralling violently in Neteyam’s mind, as usual, was you. His heart was pounding aggressively in his chest, the increased heart rate making his ears hurt and his head dizzy. What did this mean? How would leave? Just the family? What about you and Spider? You were family to him, and to the rest of the Sullys. Maybe not to his mother, but even she would never want anything bad to happen to you. If you did come, would you make it in another clan? Would they ever accept two humans as one of their own? The Omatikaya barely did, and you have been part of their lives for 19 years. What if you didn’t come? He couldn’t leave you. He couldn’t lose you. What was he supposed to do? 

No. No, he couldn’t leave. He wouldn’t leave. He wouldn’t leave you, he promised you, he promised himself. No matter what would ever happen in this life or the next, Neteyam knew you were the only constant he cared about, the only person he wanted to take with him and keep for the rest of time. He would tell his father no. For the first time in his life, Neteyam would tell his father no. 

“Kids, I can’t risk putting you in danger. I can’t risk putting the Omatikaya in danger once more, leading them to war. I have too much to lose.” His eyes flickered to his mother, that was sobbing silently by his side, but tried to keep it together for her family and be brave, have a strong heart. 

“We have too much to lose. If we go, we can keep them safe. The clan…” His father looked intently at his kids, eyes focused on Kiri and Neteyam. “…The humans.” 

The humans… 

Leaving would protect the humans. Leaving would protect you. 

I'm waking the next day, without you beside me

And who I hold on to today, tomorrow will just be a memory

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

You and Neteyam’s friendship had a lot of boundaries, for good measure. It was necessary when you were doing things normally reserved for couples, or mates, when you were doing things to each other that no one else would approve of, or understand. One of the rules of the game was that you wouldn’t sleep together. You used to, when you were younger, but that was when your relationship was platonic, back when things were… normal. Now, you thought sleeping together and cuddling would be too intimate, too inappropriate, and it would lead to feelings, feelings you were trying to avoid, feelings which might get in the way of the harmless fun you were having, feelings which might make everything… complicated. It was all just fun. Just fun. 

That being said, as it turns out, you were both really bad at following your own self-imposed rules, and so it didn’t take too long for you to break them all. 

Deep, satisfied pants were all that could be heard in the big recreation centre that Neteyam knew by heart by now. It was dark, his freckles the only light that reflected in your eyes, the only light you needed. 

“Well, we’re definitely getting better at that.” you said with a small chuckle. That might have been the understatement of the century, but you didn’t want to scare him by telling him that if it was up to you, you’d have him tied in this room with a chain only loose enough so that he could do this 24/7, but just tight enough so he’d never leave. 

You were laying with your head on his chest, as you always seemed to after a long and exhausting session. You loved the feel of his smooth, muscular body, that, despite your size difference, was somehow the most comfortable pillow you’ve ever slept on. 

“I’m exhausted. I feel like you and Lo’ak forget sometimes that me and Spider aren’t Na’vi, and yet you work us like we are.”

“Stop complaining, Vol. I need you to be strong and agile, ok? I need to know you’re safe and that you can take care of yourself despite this tiny frail body you possess.”

You raised an eyebrow and scoffed annoyedly, mumbling mostly to yourself. 

“Didn’t see you complain about my ‘tiny, frail body’ 20 minutes ago when you were fu-“ 

“Stop, Vol. You know what I mean. The humans are going to be back at some point, we both know that. And you spend too much time in this place, with your experiments and your books and your shows. I know you don’t like being in the village, and I know that my mother and the villagers give you a hard time sometimes, but at least when we go tracking, or hunting, or practicing, I want you there. I need to know you’re safe, ok?” 

He stopped talking, and he sighed deeply, tightening his grip on your body. When he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper, laced with intense emotion. 

“I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.” 

You nuzzled your face in his chest and mirrored his grip on you, smiling softly at his concern and his words, that ran shivers down your spine and fluttered butterfly wings in your stomach. 

“The worst thing that could ever happen to me is losing you, Teyam. Everything else, I will handle like the big girl I am.” 

He kissed the top of your head, and you stood like that for a while, enjoying the comfortable silence. The thought of this moment ending hurt you deeply, so much so, you couldn’t fathom it. So you decided not to. 

“Don’t go. You’re comfortable and I’m cold, and my room seems uninviting by comparison.” 

He chuckled imperceptibly. “You love your room, ma Vol. You’ve written songs about how much you love your bed.” 

“I love you, more.” 

He sighed once more, but pulled you closer and settled down for the night. “I love you most.” 

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

I would look back at all of this and wonder why I stayed in here

Just to watch you disappear

When Neteyam reached your room in the lab complex, his heart was in his throat and his knees were wobbly, and he was almost reminiscent of his Uniltaron and how the worm made him feel, like he wasn’t there anymore, not fully. Like he could see his body from outside itself, like his was mind watching everything unfold from a safe distance. His movements felt robotic and untethered, no thought outside of how was he supposed to do this? How was he supposed to leave you? How was he supposed to tell you that it’s over, that maybe you won’t lose him to another woman but you still will lose him nonetheless. Neteyam was trying to think which one was better. In a sea of two impossible choices, two unhappy endings, two roads reaching the same endpoint, which one was the lesser evil? And was there ever a third path? Was it ever possible, for you and him… a happy ending? 

He used to think so, used to hope so. Used to love the daydreams and nights picturing it, so clear and vivid in his mind, it was like it was all unfolding in front of his eyes. You, tall and blue, laughing like you always did, taking your Iknimaya. The two of you, riding from dusk til dawn, discovering secret coves and falling asleep on green moss, where he would be able to kiss you freely, where he would be able to link to your thoughts and feelings and know that this was it, his most formidable desire come alive. His family, your family, carefree and happy, full of kids' laughter and formidable first steps, full of joy and love, full of him and you. That's all he's ever wanted. A family with the woman he loved. Not the woman he was promised to, not whichever new one they'd have to find for him in the Metkayina, the woman he loved. The only one.

But now, as he was standing in this room, that he may never see again, listening to the shower that he knew you were currently in, the dream feels further away than it ever has, further each minute, until it was slowly fading from view, so dim and dwindling, until it was gone from his life, gone from his mind, forever. Until only hurt existed, only the gaping hole left behind by your absence, by all the shattered dreams and the shards of broken hearts, his own and the one he knew he'd break tonight.

The anxiety that burned every part of his body also made his tail jerk violently in every direction, and he was pulled out of his nightmare by the sound of trinkets getting thrown on the ground. 

“Shit.” 

Neteyam thought he’d have more time. Hoped that he could gather himself and his thoughts, hoped he would formulate a plan in the few minutes you would still be in the shower. He knew you would have heard it, so he knew he didn’t have that luxury anymore. He still didn’t know how he could ever make the words come out. How he could ever go through with this. 

As he kneeled on the floor to collect the broken vase that was now a fitting image of his soul, he heard the door to the bathroom open, but his eyes remained fixated on the task at hand, unable to look in your eyes, whose memory, whose incandescent beauty would haunt Neteyam for life. He tried to speak past the overbearing lump in his throat.

"Sorry. I wish I could control my tail better, but it's always an accident waiting to happen in these tight rooms."

The silence that befell the room was stifling and suffocating, and Neteyam felt the gaping hole enlarge, felt it taking over his entire chest, seeping into every ounce of his body, spreading like wildfire.

When you did speak, Neteyam almost wished you didn't. Because your voice did nothing to improve his condition, but worked as a perfect catalyst for further breakage, further pain. It was sad, and muted. It was disappointed. It was everything he never wanted your voice to be like when directed at him.

"Why are you here, Neteyam?"

"What do you mean why I am here? I can't be here?"

Neteyam spoke without thinking. He felt adrenaline taking over him, his body knowing he wouldn't be able to do this without the emboldenment given to him in this moment.

"You can, you just never are anymore."

“Vol… come on. You know it’s different now than it was in the village, in Hell’s gate. We’re going to get caught.”

“Yeah, well, we wouldn’t want to get caught. God forbid anybody knows you fuck me in your free time.” 

“Vol…”

Neteyam didn't understand why he was fighting you about something so trivial. It didn't matter. None of this mattered. None of this mattered, and yet, Neteyam felt compelled to speak his truth. No matter what form it came in.

“I know you’re upset about today. I’m sorry.”

“Why would I be upset about today? You did what you had to do. I mean, she’s going to be your mate soon, right? It’s her hands that should be healing you anyway, not mine. Those are going to scar, by the way.”

Neteyam hated to admit it, because he fancied himself a good person, a person who is respectful and caring and conscientious, but he couldn't have cared less about her if he tried. In fact, his engagement being broken might be the only silver lining in the sea of black dread. He only cared about you. In fact, the distance, and the tension, and the silence and the pain, it was too much. He needed to feel you. If this was his last day with you, he'd be damned if he spent it not feeling your body, and your warmth, not looking in your eyes.

You were so easy to manoeuvre on the bed, it would have been laughable under any other circumstances. Not tonight. When he got on top of you, and felt your bare thighs touching his, and your hand wrapped around his arm, and your eyes boring into his, he felt so much love it was overwhelming him, so sure, for the first time in his life, of that you were the only one he'd ever love, that he was irrevocably in love with you for the rest of time. So regretful of the time he could have spent loving you, and telling you, of the time he spent hiding, only to never get the chance of confessing, never get the chance to follow through on his promises.

“Stop. I know you are upset. I wish it could have been you. You know me, Vol. You know I wish it could have been you.” 

Your subtle head shaking made felt sharp bursts of pain shoot through him, like his queue was connected to an electrical socket.

“You should go, Neteyam. This isn’t right. You’re engaged to someone else. I watched her today, watched how worried she was about you, how desperate to help you, to take you away so it’s just the two of you. You’re going to mate with this girl any day now. There’s no room for me in your life anymore. Not like this, anyway.”

He sighed and got off from on top of you, no matter how loudly his mind was screaming otherwise. He wouldn't do anything you weren't comfortable with.

“The engagement is broken.” 

He wanted to stop. He could just stop and not say anything else. He could just end it there, and watch as your eyes widened in shock, then settled on a happy, relieved disposition that he saw so vividly in his mind's eye, it was almost as if was happening. He could just not go. He could stay, and love you, and make love to you, and keep you. It would be so easy. Nothing's ever been as easy as falling in love with you.

Leaving would protect the humans. Leaving would protect you. 

“Because I’m leaving. I’m leaving the Omatikaya, and so is my family.” 

Far beyond my reach is the future you promised

Now what I never even had, I have every reason to miss

"What did you just say?"

You heard him wrong. You must have heard him wrong. You wiped his tears off your face and sat up, feet dangling off the bed.

"Vol..."

"What did you say, Neteyam?"

You felt anger pick at you like you liked picking at your nails when anxiety took the better of you, and it hurt, and it burned, but anger was better than sadness, so you let it burn until you were ashes on the ground.

"My dad said we have to leave for the Metkayina clan. They're looking for him, trying to kill him. If we go, the clan will be safe. You will be safe."

"Are you kidding me right now? Please tell me it's one of those jokes like the ones Spider and Lo'ak love making that I don't get, but they find hilarious, for some reason. Please, Neteyam. Please."

You were begging, you realised. Outside of the intimacy of your bedroom and the cover of darkness, you never begged. You have never begged anyone for anything in your life. And there you were. Pathetic and weak. Begging a guy, the guy, to spare whatever was left of your heart with just a few words. All it took was a few words.

Neteyam wiped tears off his face and stood arrested in your room, arms limp by his side, like he couldn't move. Like you couldn't move.

"I'm not kidding, Vol. Trust me, I want nothing more than to be kidding. I want nothing more than for this to be a stupid, childish joke. But it's not. We are leaving tomorrow."

You were too stunned to speak, so you opted for the only other reaction your body seemed to be able to produce: laughter. You laughed. Loudly and obsessively, louder than you should have, louder than you ever have. It was so ridiculous, so ludicrous, it felt like the only appropriate reaction.

"This can't be real. This can't be happening."

Neteyam knelt by your side on the bed, and took your shoulders in his hands, urging you to look in his forlorn eyes, red and puffy, just like yours were.

“Vol, don’t you understand?! This is going to protect you. This way you get to be safe. I need to know that you are fucking safe, and if that means I go, then I go.” 

There it was again, the anger picking at your brain until it buried everything else, until it was the only thing.

“Oh, that is such bullshit! Stop acting like you would choose to stay regardless of your family’s choice, even if it kept me safe. You have never been able to choose for yourself, never done anything outside of what Jake ever said, what Neytiri said, what Mo’at said, no matter how bad a choice, no matter how much you didn’t want it. I’m supposed to believe that it would be different now why?"

“It would, Vol, because it’s you!” he shook you gently as he said that, eyes so intense, so serious - so truthful.

"So stay. Just fucking stay. Please."

“Even if I stay, I still have to mate with her, don’t you understand?”

You knew that he was right. There was no win for you. For either of you. This life was cruel, and it gave with one hand and took with both, always leaving you with less than what you started. You weren’t one to question the meaning of life or the fairness of the universe, but now, taking in the man you loved more than anything in the world, the man who you knew loved you, you wondered what was the point of it all? Why were you here? Was there really that much cruelty reserved just for you? Were you how humanity was paying for its horrible missteps on Pandora? Were you an experiment, a toy put on here just as a Voodoo doll for Eywa, and every time she pricked another needle in you, it would reflect back on Earth and on of the people banished back to it? It felt like that sometimes, and it definitively felt like that tonight.

"I can't believe this. I can't believe you."

It suddenly felt much like you exchanged moods in between you, his despondent, wretched one passed on to you and replaced with your anger, strong and unwieldy.

“God fucking damn it, Vol! Do you think I want any of this, do you think this is my choice, that this would ever be my choice?! I'm trying to protect you! I'm trying to make sure you are safe, that the clan is safe! What the hell do you want from me?!” 

He was angry and desperate, tears obvious in his eyes, as was the flush in his cheeks. Your eyes were leaking endless streams that you couldn’t push back, that you couldn’t remove from your cheeks in time before they were replenished, like they were begging to be seen and acknowledged, like the pain wouldn’t be denied - it wanted to be felt, and it didn’t care who it had to go through to do it. 

You felt emptiness envelop you like a shroud at the situation that settled in and had time to stew in your mind with each passing moment. It was over. All over. The dreaded ending, the wreck it would leave behind, it was greeting you like a warm friend, announcing its arrival. 

I'll just shut my eyes, forget that you were mine

How do you go from making one your home

And then just letting it all go

Your voice was numb and flat, quiet undulations with no emotion to give them any fluidity or any life. Your words were just a means to an end. 

“Nothing, Neteyam. I don’t want anything from you anymore.” 

You turned your back to him, unable to look at his skin on which traces of you still lingered, at his eyes in which you always saw the window to his soul, and your soul, the meaning of life and your future happiness encapsulated, his lips that traveled your body like a curious wanderer, finding Valhala in between your thighs, his hands which held your face and touched your hair, which pushed you closer to him or on him. A glance at any of these things and you would crumble, and you would shatter in a million pieces that no one knew well enough to put back together apart from him. You were a puzzle only he knew how to solve, and in his absence, you were all alone, and broken, left to mend your own cracks, knowing full well you’ll never be able to be put yourself back together quite the same way you were before. 

“Vol… please.”

“Leave, Neteyam. Just go. Just fucking go.”

Stay. Please. I love you. I’m so in love with you. Don’t leave me alone. I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to lose you. Please. Please. Please. 

The sound of the door sliding closed behind Neteyam was the last thing you heard before he was out of your life, leaving everything you had behind.

So I breathe and let you go

How do I breathe and let you go?

Taglist: @liluvtojineteyam @pinkpantheris @netemoon @fanboyluvr @bananafruityawne @liluvtojineteyam @zaddyneteyamlovergirl @netemoon

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

Title: cruel summer | chapter 5

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Pairing: No Outbreak!Joel Miller/Female Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI)

Read on AO3 | Masterlist | Join the tag list

Summary: Joel takes a contracting job renovating a master bedroom and bathroom while the homeowners are away for the summer on a cruise.

He wasn’t expecting their twenty-three year old daughter and the thoughts he’d have about her.

Author’s Note: Thank you for all the love on this fic and any others you may have read! Please consider leaving a comment if you enjoyed 💕 There will be one more chapter to this story.

Reminder that I’m open to requests, esp Joel because he’s the source of my brain rot right now. 🫠

Additional Warnings/Tags: explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), age gap (38M and 23F), oral (f receiving), pet names, dirty talk, ANGST not resolved in chapter (i hurt my own feelings with this one). Let me know if any are missing!

At the start of November, you ask Joel about coming with you to your parent’s house for Thanksgiving.

The question stops him in his tracks. It makes sense, the next logical progression of your relationship would be meeting friends and family, and you’ve already met his brother and daughter. In any other relationship, it would only be fair that he meets your parents soon.

The problem is he’s met your parents, just under different circumstances. And he doesn’t have much faith in them being particularly receptive to the news that their hired contractor got in bed with their daughter.

“You look worried,” you comment. You’re reclined on his couch with a book, one of his sweatshirts engulfing your frame. You set the book aside as he enters the room and sits beside you, moving your feet to his lap and squeezing your shin.

“I am worried. I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says gently. Your face drops and he feels his heart fracture at the sight.

“I don’t want to have to keep you a secret just to keep you,” you say, voice small. He gives you a tight smile.

“Just…give me a little more time, okay?” He leans over until his hands are planted in the cushions on either side of your head. He drops a kiss to your lips. Then another. And another.

The question is forgotten between the movement of your bodies.

________

The next time you ask is around Christmas. You’re lying in bed beside him, head resting on his chest, fingers drawing patterns over his bare skin.

“What do you think about coming to my parent’s Christmas Eve?” You ask quietly. If the hitch in his breath is any indication, you already prepare yourself for disappointment.

“I can’t, baby,” he says. “Goin’ to Tommy’s place that night.”

“Right,” you reply.

He doesn’t say anything more. Doesn’t offer an alternative. You recognize that it’s not fair of you to expect that as a response, but the hurt in your heart isn’t helping your sense of logic.

You just want to be completely open about your relationship, and your parents knowing about it is the last hurdle. Your best friend, Hannah, met him a couple months ago when he’d woken up at your apartment the morning after you’d screamed your confession of love at him in your hallway.

Things have been great since then. You spend the night at his place a couple times a week, trying to balance the visits with your study schedule. Together you take Sarah to the park or the zoo or back to the aquarium, spending the days wrapped around the little girl’s finger and the nights wrapped around each other.

But you want him in every facet of your life. You want him and his daughter and hell, even his brother, over for holidays with your family and you want them with you during big milestones like your graduation in the spring.

His breathing goes deep and slow beneath your head and you sigh, sinking into the disappointment.

________

To make up for not seeing you on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day, Joel makes plans with you on December 26. You arrive at his house late in the morning to find him making breakfast while Sarah stands on a kitchen chair beside him, mixing a bowl of pancake batter with intense focus. She nearly drops it in excitement when she hears you come in, shouting your name and scrambling from her perch.

Her arms wrap around your legs and her eyes zero in on the brightly wrapped box balanced in your arms as you try to set your overnight bag down.

“Who’s that for?” She asks. “Is it for me?”

“Sarah,” Joel admonishes, taking over her abandoned mixing. The little girl is unfazed.

“It just so happens to be for you,” you tell her, handing over the present. She squeals, ripping into the wrapping paper and pulling out a new Barbie doll, one who’s curly hair looks just like hers. She gasps.

“Daddy, it’s a Barbie! And look at her hair!” She exclaims, shaking the box in Joel’s face. His eyes meet yours over her head, full of gratitude.

“What do you say?” Joel prompts gently. Sarah wraps her arms around your legs again.

“Thank you,” she says sweetly. “Can you help me open it?”

“Of course. Could you get me your scissors?”

She bolts from the room and Joel crosses the kitchen to grasp your face in his palms, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips that makes your knees go weak.

“Now where’s my present?” He asks with a sly grin, earning him a smack on the chest.

“You can unwrap it later,” you tell him, wiggling your eyebrows. Sarah returns to the room, carefully holding her craft scissors with the blades down like she learned in school.

You help free the Barbie from her cardboard confinement and Sarah plays with her through breakfast, alternating bites of pancake and pretend conversation with her new favorite toy. Towards the end of breakfast, the front door opens and Tommy yells out his hello.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” he says to you with a wink. Joel glares at him. It’s been a running joke between you and Tommy the last couple of months.

“You’re gonna give yourself wrinkles glaring at your brother like that,” you tease.

Tommy’s come over to pick up Sarah because Joel has a whole day planned, starting with a trip to your favorite coffee shop.

“Get somethin’ hot, it’s cold where I’m takin’ you next,” Joel says while you’re in line, his hand around your hip to keep you pressed to his side.

________

The next stop Joel has planned for you is the ice skating rink. You mentioned briefly at the beginning of the month that you usually go every winter, digging the old pair of skates from your teenage years out from your closet for the occasion. Joel was lucky enough to find them the last time he’d stayed at your apartment, stashing them in the back of the truck for this moment. He holds the bag out to you and your face lights up.

“Joel! Seriously?” You ask, bouncing slightly in your seat.

“Yep. You ready to watch me fall on my ass?” He asks.

And fall on his ass he does. He grips the wall of the rink, inching along on shaky legs as you skate laps past him, the sound of your laughter making the suffering worth it.

You try to help him learn. He holds both your hands as you slowly skate backwards, his knees bent as he’s simply dragged along the ice. As soon as you let go of his hands, his feet slide out from under him and he goes tumbling down.

You stand over him, trying to hide a giggle behind your hand as he groans in pain, the cold seeping into his jeans.

“You think that’s funny, do you?” He asks with a grunt. “Help an old man up.”

“I will always lend a hand to a senior citizen in need,” you tease, holding a hand to him.

Once standing, Joel tugs you closer, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and looking down into your face. Christ, you’re so pretty, face all flushed and smile so wide it’s damn near blinding in its brightness.

“You ready for dinner yet?” He asks. You nod.

You try to pull away, but he keeps a tight hold around you. “Joel?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you just holding on to me so that you don’t fall?”

“Is it that obvious?” You laugh, ducking until you’ve escaped his arms. He stands still, arms out at his sides as he tries to maintain his balance. “You gonna help me here?”

Your grin is mischievous as you skate away from him, the sound of his cursing drowned out by your delighted laughter.

________

Joel makes a quick stop at his house so that you can change into the outfit you’d been instructed to bring for dinner, a light blue dress with a low neckline that hugged your curves down to your knees. You did your hair and makeup in his bathroom before slipping the dress on, stepping out to request his help with the zipper.

“Shit, baby, I might have to cancel the reservations if you’re goin’ to walk around lookin’ good enough to eat,” he says with a whistle. You raise an eyebrow at him.

“Then why don’t you?” You ask.

He blinks, staring at you with his mouth dropped open like he can’t believe you said that. But then his brain comes back online and he marches toward you, backing you up with the press of his body until your knees meet the edge of the mattress and he pushes you down gently.

He drops to his knees, hiking the dress up over your thighs until he’s exposed the lacy black panties you put on. He groans, looking up at you briefly before he turns his head and sinks his teeth into your inner thigh.

Your head drops back with a moan and you can feel his lips spread into a smile against your skin. His hands work to slide your panties down your thighs and off your legs, bunching them into a ball and stuffing them into his pocket.

“Dirty man,” you tease. He laughs, a dark low rumble that makes you impossibly wetter.

“Can’t help it when you look this good, sweetheart.”

There’s no more talking after that. He licks through your wet center, circling your clit with the flat of his tongue before sucking it into his mouth. Your back arches from the bed as you shout, fingers digging into his hair to pull him closer.

His tongue dips lower to explore inside your tight heat, his nose bumping your clit and his fingers pressed so tightly into your thighs you’re certain there will be bruises for you to admire in the morning.

“Joel,” you whimper, hips writhing beneath him. He releases his grip on one thigh to slide two fingers into you, curling them as he withdraws his hand and making you see stars.

He lifts his head, circling your clit with his thumb as he growls, “Come on, darlin’, wanna feel this pussy get drenched for me.”

With a shout of his name, your release washes over you, your legs tightening against his shoulders as you clench around his fingers. He works you through the waves of pleasure before slowly withdrawing his fingers.

Joel brings his fingers to his lips, sucking them into his mouth with a groan, eyes fluttering shut at the taste.

“Such a good girl, baby,” he says. You can’t help the little giggle that bubbles up.

“You gonna give me back my panties?” You ask.

“No chance in hell,” he replies with a wink.

________

Joel manages to get the two of you to the restaurant just in time for the reservation, despite the distraction of your sweet moans and delicious pussy.

He picked this restaurant because of two things. One, it had great reviews for their steak and he’s a sucker for a good hunk of meat. He’s a Texan man, after all.

Two, it was a bit more upscale and he wanted to treat you to something nice. He knows you’ve been disappointed that two holidays have come and gone now and he still hasn’t agreed to meet your parents and bring your relationship to the light. But he just can’t shake the feeling that telling them will pop this beautiful bubble that the two of you have created. This whole day has been as much of an apology as it has been a gift.

The restaurant is busy. Most of the tables are filled and there’s a private room that’s bustling with people as well. The hostess walks the two of you to a small table near the bar and he holds your chair out for you to take a seat. The table is set with a number of cutlery he’s not sure how to use on top of a pristine white tablecloth. There’s a candle and a small floral arrangement in the center, the flame throwing a pretty glow over your face.

“This is beautiful,” you comment once the hostess has stepped away with promises that your waiter will be there shortly. “Oh, they have duck!”

The waiter comes by with a wine list. Joel knows fuck all about wine, so he hands it to you, only for you to stare wide eyed at it.

“Joel, these prices are insane!” You hiss when the waiter steps away to let you make a choice. He grabs your hand.

“I mean this in the nicest way possible, baby, but I don’t give a fuck. Pick whatever you want,” he says. You still look uncertain.

When the waiter returns, he takes matters into his own hands, slipping the list from your hands. “My girl wants the duck. What’s the best white wine to pair with it.” He listens to the options and raises an eyebrow at you to pick one. He keeps the list captive so that you don’t base the choice off the dollar amount.

When the food arrives, you chat about anything and everything while you eat. When you’ve set your silverware down, insisting you can’t eat another bite, Joel reaches across the table for your hand, thumb circling the smooth skin of your palm. You give him the softest smile that makes his heart beat triple time.

“You have fun today?” He asks.

“The most fun,” you confirm. You’re about to say something else, but you’re cut off by a loud voice from the other side of the restaurant.

“Joel Miller!” The voice calls. He looks up.

Right into your father’s smiling face.

________

Joel goes tense all over, the grip on your hand tightening as his eyes flick between you and your father approaching from behind you. You stare at Joel with wide eyes, unsure of what to do. If the earth opening up and swallowing you whole were an option, you’d gladly take it.

He stands as your dad reaches the edge of the table, shaking his hand with a strained smile.

“How have you been, Miller? The wife loves that bathroom, sometimes she’ll just stand in the doorway and stare at it lovingly,” he jokes.

“That’s great. That she loves it. Uh, I’ve been great,” he replies. He runs a hand nervously through his hair.

“I don’t want to interrupt your date—,” your dad starts, turning towards you. His smile immediately drops. Your name leaves his lips in surprise. “What are you doing here?” He asks. You bite your lip, unsure of how to respond, but as your dad’s eyes go between your surprised expression and Joel’s guilty one, his brain seems to make the connection. He turns to Joel.

“Joel. Why is my daughter here?” He asks, voice quietly controlled in the same way it is when he’s asking you something he already knows the answer to.

Joel straightens, throwing his shoulders back and keeping his head high as he looks your dad in the eye. “Because she’s my date.”

Your dad pinches the bridge of his nose. “What the fuck do you mean, she’s your date? She’s twenty-three!” He snaps.

“Dad—“

“No, I don’t want to hear anything from you right now.” You feel his words like a slap. “What is this, Miller? Spent all that time in my house and thought you could take advantage of my daughter?”

“Dad! ” You snap. “He didn’t take advantage of me, I’m an adult .”

“You’re still a kid,” your dad snaps back. “And he’s a goddamn adult who should have fuckin’ known better.”

“Dad, please. Stop. We can talk about this later, ” you plead desperately. Your dad gives you both one last derisive look before turning on his heel and storming off, heading into the private event room. “Shit. Fuck. His fucking company Christmas dinner. And it had to be here?!”

Joel stares blankly after your dad’s retreating figure. You place a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Joel?” You ask quietly.

“How about you go out to the truck and I’ll take care of the bill,” he says, eyes looking everywhere but at you. You swallow nervously.

“Why don’t we at least finish dinner?”

He snaps your name, making you flinch. “Please. Just…listen to me, alright? I’ll be out in a minute.”

You gather your purse and make your way out to the parking lot, fighting back tears with each step.

________

After paying the bill, Joel slips inside the private room, eyes scanning for your father. He finds him at a back corner table, head down as he types on his phone.

Joel approaches and takes the seat beside him. When your father looks up, his face drops from welcoming to downright frosty.

“Sir,” Joel starts. He swallows around the lump in his throat. “I just want you to know that I love your daughter. More than anythin’. This isn’t some sick game of me tryin’ to get my rocks off with some girl younger than me. It’s…she’s the best thing that’s happened to me since my own daughter was born. And I’d do anythin’ for her.”

The man doesn’t respond, but Joel sees the tick of his jaw.

“I just thought you should know,” Joel finishes. He waits a beat for the other man to respond. When he doesn’t, Joel stands with a sigh, heading to the truck with a nervous heart.

________

Joel’s quiet on the ride home. He keeps both hands on the wheel and the spot on your thigh where he usually rests his palm is especially cold.

You don’t know what to say. That whole scene in the restaurant was an absolute disaster, one that you were hoping could be avoided by telling your dad about your relationship, but Joel hadn’t been ready. There’s a bitter taste in your mouth, an “I told you so” threatening to escape your lips as you stare out the window.

When Joel pulls to a stop, it takes you a moment to realize that he’s outside of your apartment and not his house. Turning to face him, he’s staring out the windshield with his jaw clenched tight. He doesn’t look at you.

“Joel?” You ask. You hate how tiny your voice sounds. “Can…can we please talk? About this?”

His eyes slip shut and he rests his head back against the headrest with a sigh. “I’m not sure what there is to talk about, sweetheart.”

The tears burn as they slide down your cheeks. “Please?”

He turns his head to look at you. “Please what?”

“Please don’t shut me out again,” you beg, leaning forward to wrap your arms around his, resting your head against his shoulder as you shut your eyes tightly against the tears. You can feel him turn and press his lips to the crown of your head.

“Baby…I just need some time, okay? I love you, I swear it, but I just gotta take a breather and think about everythin’, okay?”

You can feel your heart fracture in your chest, your stomach aching as you try to come up with a reply.

“Don’t cry,” Joel whispers. He unbuckles his seatbelt. “Come on, baby, let’s get you inside.” You shake your head against his shoulder. “You’re breakin’ my heart.”

“You’re breaking mine, Joel!” You snap.

He doesn’t reply, and silence has never been quite as loud as this before.

You sit up straight, swiping at the tear stains on your cheeks before shoving the passenger door open. Before slamming it shut, you take one last look at him.

“I love you, Joel Miller. I hope you find it in you to not be a fucking coward and love me back,” you tell him before slamming the door shut.

A fresh wave of tears cascades down your cheeks as you let yourself into your apartment, collapsing against the door as soon as you have it shut.

________

In the truck, Joel sends a text to Tommy letting him know he’ll be home soon and that he can bring Sarah back over if she’s still awake.

He opens the chat thread with you, fingers hovering over the keyboard. He has so much to say, he doesn’t know where to start. He settles on one sentence.

I love you. I’ll fix this.

He opens a new chat thread and finds a contact he hasn’t used since the summer.

Can we talk?

Tag list: @huffle-punk @telepathay @johnwatsn @hopelessromantic727 @caatheeriinee07 @leeeesahhh @whereasport @pedr0swh0r3 @yellingloudly @dragon-of-winterfell @mydailyhyperfixations @liati2000 @endlessthxxghts @fake-bleach @thedeadsingwithdirtintheirmouths @letsgroovetonighttt @ghostofjoharvelle @cutesyscreenname

[roosterbruiser]

𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 — 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍

—𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐃. —𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 𝟖.𝟓𝐊 —𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 —𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐀𝐊𝐒, 𝐌𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟐𝐍𝐃, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

“Whose is it, birdie?” Bradley asks, eyes wide. "It's all over--whose blood is that?"

He hasn’t moved his hands from your warm and sticky face--he’s still cupping your cheeks, face contorted in anguish as his eyes pour into yours. 

You drop the ax and the shotgun on the ground--they make a dull thump, one you can feel in the soles of your feet and in your pulsing head. There’s a lump in your throat so obstructive, so thick and overwhelming, that you can’t speak. 

All you can do, as Rooster looks down at you while the swallows begin to swoop from roof to roof and the irises emit their sweet scent, is cry.

How can you explain to Rooster, who’s held it together this entire time, that you can’t hold it together right now because of what you just witnessed? How are you going to explain to him that you had the person cornered--that you could’ve shot him--and you didn’t because Paul needed help? And even then, even when you abandoned your firing position to help Paul, it was all fruitless because Paul is dead and his body is in the woods all on its lonesome. 

“Birdie,” Rooster mutters. He smooths a hand through your hair, dirty with lake water and leaves and blood, and shakes his head softly. “Who’s bleeding?” 

“Paul,” you finally choke, shaking your head. He thumbs your tears, but it’s for naught. “It--it was Paul’s.” 

It was Paul’s. 

Rooster looks you up and down--the blood is all over you. Up to your ankles and covering your shoes, all over your shins, dried up your legs, staining your poor dungarees again. 

“Oh, baby,” he whispers to you. His bottom lip trembles. “Is he…?” 

You nod--just barely. 

Rooster doesn’t ask any more questions. 

You think, suddenly and very clearly, that you’re not sure how much fight you have left in you. You’re not sure how much longer you can keep doing this. 

Mable was right. There is no way out. You will bathe in your own blood and be torn limb by limb as the depths of Hell calls for you. There is no way out. 

If you let go, if you give in, if you wait to die--then what will happen? Everyone else will die. No one else is as good a shot as you. No one else is willing to trek through the woods. No one else can suture a gash or staunch a wound or cauterize a limb.

So, you have to push forward. It’s a decision that is made with haste.Very swiftly, you realize you’re not going to lose your head now. You’re not going to break down again. You’re gonna keep going--you have to keep going. 

“He…he said he’s back,” you whisper to Rooster, wiping your own cheeks now. “He said…he told me to--to run away. I didn’t think he was--I didn’t listen to him. He said that he’s back--he’s back, he’s back. I don’t know what he…”

You don’t rest your head on Rooster’s chest and you don’t lessen the burden of that lump in your throat. You’re in shock, you know--which is why the tears running down your face are involuntary.

“Who?” Rooster presses, eyebrows furrowed. 

“I don’t know,” you whisper. Your head is spinning. “I don’t know.” 

Only a moment before Rooster is going to pull you to him, only a moment before you’re going to ask him if he found anything in the woods, the walkie deep in your pocket comes to life. 

“Gale!” Phoenix sobs through it. “Gale! Are you there? Oh, God--Gale, please!” 

Scrambling to grab the walkie, Rooster leans down and takes the ax in his hands. It’s with his heart in a cold, cold puddle that he sees that it’s the ax from the mess hall. D.G. He says nothing to you, just holds onto the handle tight. 

“I’m--I’m here,” you answer Phoenix, shuffling to grab the shotgun. You start for the bus barn, wiping your face clean of tears. 

“It--it’s Bob,” Phoenix sobs. “I think he’s--I think he’s--!” 

“I’m coming,” you tell her. “I’m coming.” 

Phoenix, who’s trying desperately to blot the cold sweat from Bob’s face as Coyote sends all the children to the back of the bus, doesn’t feel relieved by your answer. She thought she would--if not to just know that you’re alive then simply because she won’t have to be alone with Bob anymore. Help will be on the way. Bob will be okay. 

“I’m so--fuck, I’m so cold,” Bob whispers to her, lips quivering. “Can you start the fire?”

Phoenix’s tongue is dry. 

“Bob, we’re on the bus,” she says, voice thin and flat. “There’s no fireplace.”

He’s confused. He’s been confused for a few hours now. Phoenix knows this is the infection--that it must be spreading. But still, she desperately runs her palms up and down his arms to try and get some friction. This cold that Bob feels, though--it’s not one she can fix. It’s not even one a fire could fix. 

She pulls the walkie to her mouth again, breathing heavily. 

“Gale, quick! Please!” 

“I’m on my way,” you say back. 

You don’t say I’m going as fast as I can, but I’m so tired. I’m so scared. I want to give up. I’m only coming because it’s you and it’s Bob and it’s Coyote and the campers. But that’s it, that’s all. I want to lie down. But it’s what you’re thinking. 

And you’re by yourself suddenly as Rooster falls behind you, taking a glance at the perimeter of camp just in case Jake shows his face. He doesn’t fall in step with you again--he’s going to stay out here and guard. You think maybe it’s because Bradley isn’t brave enough to see it up close--Bob hurt, infected, writhing. 

And, really, you don’t blame him. 

You’d rather be anywhere else. 

The sun is warm on your back. The blood is itchy on your skin. You’re running as fast you can, limping with tired, your temples throbbing. Your heart thumps in your ears.

At any moment, an ax could come whizzing out from the woods. There could be a hiding place just yonder, far enough away that you never see it coming. You could hear its noise, fast and sharp like a whip, and then that could be the end. An ax to the head, to the back, to the legs, and you’re down. A peculiar sensation prickles your spine, torments the swollen muscles in your legs and arms: you could die at any moment. Right here, at Camp Arcadia, on the gravel just outside the bus barn. No one could do a thing about it either. 

Oh, God, you think. Where are you?

When you step onto the bus, you know. 

It is quiet--so very quiet. No one knows what to say to a dying man and that is what Bob is. None of the campers are whispering and none of the counselors are rustling. Phoenix is sitting in the front seat with Bob over her lap, sobbing as Bob blinks up at her, only barely conscious. Coyote is kneeled beside them, his lip being sawed in half by his own teeth as he tries to keep from crying. 

The smell comes first--that distinct perfume, so familiar and pungent with musk. It’s the rot, you know. It’s the body shutting down, the organs giving in, the skin infected. But to you, it just smells like death. The two of you are thick as thieves. 

And then, when you look at Bob and everyone else looks at you to save the day, saliva gathers underneath your tongue and your lashes begin to quiver. Pennies settle beneath your tongue. 

“I’m here,” you whisper, your throat burning. “I’m here now.” 

Phoenix doesn’t understand why you’re not rushing to Bob’s aid. She doesn’t understand why you’re not suturing or cleaning or wrapping or whatever else the fuck you’re suppoosed to do to save him. You should be ordering everyone around, saving Bob. You should be stony right now--but your face is soft and wet.

“Help him,” she cries. “Get over here--help him! Help him, he’s dying!”

Coyote knows when he looks at you. The sun is just barely puncturing the bus barn, just barely lighting the side of your face. You’re covered in blood, limply holding the shotgun, looking down at Bob with an agonized sense of forbearance. You cannot save him. Nobody can--he is too far gone. Coyote bows his head and that is when the tears come.

“Phe,” Coyote whispers. He sets a hand on her elbow. She jerks away from him, looking at him as if he’s just burned her. Her eyes are wild with grief. “Phe, there’s nothing--!” 

“--Fuck you,” Phoenix spits at Coyote, her face split in half by anguish. She’s never felt this way before--she’s never felt this mind-splitting, chest-numbing pain. But it’s suddenly drowning her and she feels that no one is throwing her a life preserver. You’re all watching her flounder. “Please…please…” 

Slowly, you kneel beside Coyote. Everything smells like sweat and dust, but this close to Bob, you are practically rubbing noses with death. You can see the freckles on its cheeks. 

You carefully place your hand on Bob’s leg. He looks down at you, pale as white-sand and shaking. Cold sweat covers his face, stains his shirt. His eyes are focused, but untrained. 

“Bob,” you whisper. “We’re here.”

That’s about all you can say to him. Not just hold on, we’ll fix you up. Not only another minute, it’s okay, it’s alright. Not help is on the way. You’re going to make it.

He’s so cold--so, so cold. And he’s been cold since he went out into the night, since he was struck. He’s known, from the very beginning, that he’s dying. He just didn’t know how to tell anyone else. And he knew everyone else was too afraid to tell him. 

 But when you say that--we’re here--something grows warm in Bob. He’s been in and out of fitful dreams, sometimes dreaming about his father’s fingers on the strings of a guitar and sometimes dreaming about his less than stellar date with Michelle Johnson. It’s peculiar--he never thought dying would be so slow, so tedious. 

“Payback and Fanboy haven’t walkied,” Coyote whispers to you. The only recognition you show is a slow blink. “Maybe they’re close.” 

“Maybe,” you whisper back.

The both of you know that it wouldn’t matter, anyhow. By the time the tree is moved, by the time the brigade is here if they’re coming, Bob will be gone.  

Reaching up, you take Phoenix’s hand. She looks at you, brown eyes wide with horror, and almost pulls away. But then Bob, with the last bit of his strength, puts his hand over hers, too. 

“Thank you,” he tells Phoenix. She looks down at him, shaking her head with her eyes wide. He doesn’t break their gaze, lips trembling. “You’re my best friend.” 

“Stop that,” Phoenix demands softly. “Cut it out, Bob! You’re fine!” 

“I’m dying,” he whispers. He swallows hard. His throat is so very dry. “I didn’t know how to…how to tell you.” 

Phoenix sobs. 

“No,” she whispers. She blinks hard, shaking her head. “Bob, I can’t--please, please, please…” 

Leaning down, she holds Bob’s body against hers. He blinks a few times, the sunlight coming over his face just barely. It’s good to feel warm, he thinks. 

“I know…I know you hate Cutting Crew,” Bob starts. With the last bit of his strength, he smiles. It’s a barely-there, strained thing. But it’s there. “But they wrote our song, huh?” 

It takes a moment for everyone to register what Bob’s saying. For a second, you think he’s delirious. But then Coyote chokes out a loud laugh, a few stray tears running down his face. 

Phoenix looks up, puzzled, and then it dawns on her. 

(I Just) Died In Your Arms. Cutting Crew. She groans every time it comes on the radio just before tuning to another station. She’s literally left coffee shops over the song. Bob knows this. But now it’s the song that will make her think of Bob because he’s willed it so. It’s the song that will remind her of this exact instance--sitting on the bus, terrified, dirty, holding her best friend as he dies. 

“Bob,” Coyote laughs. He’s about to say that he’s a sly, sly dog. That he’s got the jokes. But just the sound of his name falling off his lips is enough to halt Coyote. That is the last time he will ever call Bob’s name and have Bob answer to it. “I…I love you, man.” 

Bob smiles. 

“I love you, too, man,” Bob whispers. “Don’t tell Phoenix.” 

And then Bob is looking at you. You with your eyes heavy with tears and your face a calm and placid sea. He doesn’t know how you’ve done it--he doesn’t know how you haven’t given up yet. But he knows that he loves you for it. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper to Bob, tears pouring down your face. You sniffle and sigh. “I’m really, really sorry Bob. More sorry than I’ve ever been.”

He knows what you’re apologizing for: not saving him. 

“No hard feelings,” he whispers to you. Another meek smile tugs on his lips. “You did good.”

You did good. 

Choking on your grief, you can hardly stand to look at him anymore. You can hardly stand kneeling here, breathing in all this death. But you know this is where you’re supposed to be. 

Just as Phoenix is about to sob again, a meager voice finds place in the stale air around everyone. 

“Can I pray for you, Mister Bob?” Mable asks softly. There are tears in her eyes as she blinks at everyone. “If that’s okay…”

You glance at Phoenix, who looks like she never wants to see Mable Brandt’s face ever again in her long, long life without Bob. Bob was born Godless and will die Godless. But then Bob is nodding. 

“That’d be swell, kid,” he whispers. A shuddering breath falls from his lips. “Make it out to Bob Dylan, would ya?” 

Mable sniffles. She rests her hands on your shoulders because you, out of everyone here, are the only one that can hold her up. And you let her hold you--even close your eyes and feel the heat of her body against you and fall into a dreamless, sleepless state. 

“Dear Heavenly Dylan,” Mable starts. Bob lets out a quiet laugh--a weezy, tired thing. It is the last time he will ever laugh. “Please take Mister Bob’s pain away--he’s been in an awful lot of it since the attack and I think he’s tired now. He’s a real nice guy--he never yelled at me or anyone else. I don’t think it’s very fair that he’s got so many boo-boo’s.”

No one speaks as Mable continues praying, everyone’s head slightly bowed and eyes drifted shut. Everyone’s face is wet with tears that are shining in the yellow light. 

“And we know that you’ll have a place for him when he gets to where he’s going, alright? So, make sure it’s nice and clean. And make sure there’s aspirin there because Mister Bob doesn’t feel so hot right now. But most of all--keep him safe on his way. Miss Nightingale and Miss Phoenix did the best they could. It’s your turn now.” 

An overwhelming sense of peace finds Bob. His fingers are numb--he wonders, strangely, if they’re already dead. Maybe when you die, it’s piece by piece, a little at a time. And maybe his fingers went first.

“I’m scared,” Phoenix whispers to Bob, looking down at his pale cheeks. “I can’t…I can’t never see you again.”  

He takes a deep breath. His lungs are warm, very warm. 

“I’ve been here the whole time,” he whispers to her. “You’ll manage.”

He’s accepted this. This is okay. He is looking up at his best friend in the world and it is the last thing his eyes will ever see. And he thinks, with a sudden swell of pride, that he did good. She’s really the cream of the crop--the best friend he could have asked for.

Something flickers behind his eyes, bright yellow and aquamarine and jet black--memories. They flutter past his vision, clear and crisp, like he’s pulling the little plastic lever on a viewfinder of his own life. 

The smell of his mama’s hotcakes on late Sunday mornings, Bob sleepy and syrupy and reaching for more butter despite his mother’s tutting. Lazing around the pool with his kid brother, Neil Young humming on the radio as his daddy grills. Sitting in the movie theater during Star Wars, too engrossed in the movie to realize that Lisa Patterson is making googly eyes at him. Finally kissing Michelle Johnson at the roller rink, her tight curls gleaming beneath the disco ball, her skin shining blue and pink. Reading Kurt Vonnegut in his car before class, holding in tears when the profoundness struck him over the head like a brick. Holding hands with Phoenix during games of Red Rover, their mouths wide open, their hairlines dotted with sweat. Swimming in the lake after tipsy bonfires, bobbing his head beneath the water, listening to the muted sound of you squealing when Jake pulls you up on his shoulders. His toes in cold, cold mud. His face against the warm, warm sun. The first snow of the year blanketing the front lawn. His dorm room, which always smells like crayons for some reason. His best friends pedaling down the street, swerving at cars and whooping and hollering, switching gears up the big hill on Freemont. His daddy taking his mama’s hands and dancing her around the wrapping-paper covered living room, her new necklace gleaming on her throat like a personal star on a silver chain. Holding his baby cousin for the first time, breath caught in his throat and arms stiff because he’s never held anything so tiny. Cutting his knees on concrete. Hitting his head on that shelf in the living room. Learning how to change a tire. Driving down his street for the first time. Playing his guitar in his room, shutting his eyes, and quietly whispering Bob Dylan songs.

He can hear it now--Bob Dylan is playing. And it isn’t him singing and it isn’t him playing the guitar. He doesn’t know where it’s coming from or why it’s so loud, so clear, so sudden. But there it is--clear as the day is blue. It’s like there’s a private concert just for Bob and he’s in the front row, the sun warm on his face and shoulders, his arms raised in ecstasy. 

That long black cloud is comin' down

I feel I'm knockin' on heaven's door

He always wanted to be front row at a Bob Dylan concert. He was saving up to take him and Phoenix. 

Funny how life works that way, he thinks. 

Oh, well. So it goes.

“Please, if you could make it easy, we would all really appreciate it. And in Bob Dylan’s name we pray…amen.”  

And then, with a final shuddering breath, Bob Floyd dies in his best friend’s arms on a disjunct bus on the worst Thursday of anyone’s life. He was the newest counselor at Camp Arcadia. This was only his second summer. 

“Bob?” Phoenix asks. Panic shoots up and grabs onto her ears, tugging hard. His lips are parted, his eyes are open. He is not moving. “Bob! Wake up! Wake the fuck up!” 

Mable leans down to your ear. You’re so thoroughly covered in blood that you look like something that crawled out of a horror film--she can make out the tracks of your tears as the salt cuts through the gore on your cheeks. It’s an image that will stay with her for the rest of her life, one she’ll doodle inside book covers and on the backs of restaurant napkins. She’s so young now that when she’s older, she’ll wonder if her juvenile mind was exaggerating just how gory you look. But it is not an exaggeration at all. 

“You have to fight it,” she whispers in your ear. Her cut begins to bleed. “It’s here.”

When you look up, your eyes fluttering open again after seemingly being pasted shut, you see another dead body. Your second this morning. There is less blood and more sunlight, but it is still there right before you. 

As if a mortar has suddenly gone off beside your cheek, your ears are hollowed out and ringing. You can see Phoenix screaming, can see her patting Bob’s cheeks, but you can’t hear her shrill tone or the lifeless thumps on his skin. Coyote touches your shoulder and you think maybe he’s saying something to you, but you don’t look at him. 

Vision beginning to vignette, you stand slowly. And then you turn and walk all the way off the bus, the blood on your shoes matted with dirt and grime. You take a few stumbling steps, the gun clenched tightly in your hands. Then you open the doors, let the sunlight in. If someone was running full-speed at you, intent on cutting you down, you wouldn’t hear it. And you think you wouldn’t fight it either. 

The only way you know you’re on the ground is when the gravel slices your knees open. It is not from brute strength that you have fallen--no one has hit you. It is because you are drained. Entirely, completely, wholly drained. 

Bradley finds you only a few moments later. 

You’re on your hands and knees just outside the bus barn, clutching the gravel with the gun laid out just beside you. Your back bows, curved like the neck of a preening swan, and you suddenly heave. Vomit spews across the rocks--all stomach acid. 

Oh, he realizes. Bob’s dead. 

He stops where he is, only a few paces from you, and watches all of your humanness from afar. Surely you’ve seen dead bodies before in your line of work--in fact, he knows you have--but maybe you’ve never seen it this close. And it has never, ever been a friend. That must be what’s different about this one, he thinks. That’s it. That must be it. 

And then he watches you stop. You suddenly swallow hard and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, eyebrows furrowed and lips trembling. Then you fight to your feet, wobbling and quivering, leaning over once more to grab the gun and hold it to your body. 

As if you knew he was there the entire time, you look at Bradley. He can see it from where he is, dazed and heartbroken and lovesick: there is fight in your eyes. It is dim, it is full, it is small, it is hazy--but it’s there, gleaming in the early morning light.

You have to fight it. It’s here. 

“We have to find him,” you tell Bradley. Your voice is ragged and thin. You swallow hard, shaking your head. “No one else is dying today, alright?” 

Bradley nods at you, dumbfounded and grief-stricken. His throat is tight. 

“Alright,” he answers. He takes a deep breath, fills his lungs.“Birdie, I…I think I might have an idea.” 

♀

“What do you mean?” Coyote asks. “You two are gonna just…play music? And get him to come? Like…a dog or something?” 

“So he knows where we are,” Bradley defends, his voice hard and serious. “We’re not, like, whistling for him.” 

“And you think that’ll make him come?” Coyote asks, brow perched. 

He glances at you. You’re not looking at him. 

“He’ll come. He’ll come if he knows Gale’s there.” 

Coyote opens his mouth to argue, but then you quietly add, “What other option do we have? I can’t…I’m not strong enough to go back out in the woods.”

“I could go,” Coyote offers. 

You shake your head.

“I’m the good shot,” you whisper. And all that responsibility weighs down on you again. “It would have to be me. And you’re hurt.”

Coyote knows you’re right. He carefully touches the back of his head, wincing when the gash stings beneath his fingers.

Phoenix’s eyes are on the floor. Her throat hurts too bad to say anything. She won’t look up at you and Bradley as you stand outside the bus with Coyote, relaying the plan. 

“And when he--if he comes, then what?” Coyote asks. He swallows hard, his head pulsing. “You’re gonna…?” 

“Wait. For help,” you whisper. 

Coyote looks at your face--still covered in blood, but stained with a detached sort of anger. You’re resolute and morose all wrapped up in bloody dungarees. 

“Back to square one, then, huh?” He asks softly. 

“What’s the alternative?” Bradley counters. “Killing him?” 

“No one else is dying today,” you say matter-of-factly. You look at the two men, who are looking at you already with their mouths flat and their chests heaving. “I mean it, alright? No one else.” 

“Alright,” Coyote answers. “So, Phoenix and I should just hang around? Wait?” 

You nod. Coyote shudders at the thought of just waiting. 

“We’ll come get you when it’s…” you start, trailing off with your brows furrowed. 

“Over. We’ll come get you when it’s over,” Bradley answers. “Don’t open the doors for anyone but us, okay?” 

“Yeah,” Coyote answers. He takes a long, deep breath. His head hurts. “Okay. Are you sure you don’t want me to help? Strength in numbers, right?” 

You glance at Phoenix. She’s still holding Bob. Though now that the tears have stopped, she’s completely quiet. You fear, suddenly and completely, that she’ll never speak again. 

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Stay here with her.” 

Glancing up at the bus, you see all the campers already looking at you. Knives in their little hands, fear in their little teary eyes. Their faces are almost begging, you think. 

Fight it. Fight it. Fight it. 

Toes numb with panic, you look back at Coyote. He’s already looking at you. 

“Don’t let anyone in,” you say again. You think of last night when something tried to get into the mess hall--just how close they came. “And if they do get in…corner them. Get them.”

Coyote nods firmly. You can count on him. He can count on you. The two of you have never bullshitted each other before. 

“I will,” he says. “I’ll die fighting if I have to. No one’s touching those kids.” 

Die fighting. How silly that phrase seemed before, when you’d throw it around at random. And now there’s two dead bodies and three missing counselors at Camp Arcadia. You hope you don’t die fighting like Paul, like Bob. But it would be a valiant way to go. 

“Let’s go,” Bradley says, throwing an arm around your shoulders. You’re rigid underneath his hands--it stains him, wounds him. But he doesn’t punish you for it. How could he? “We’ll be right back.” 

Coyote swallows hard. His heart is pounding. 

“Don’t say that,” Coyote pleads. “Haven’t you ever seen a horror movie? Ever?” 

“This is real life,” Bradley argues. “Not some story.” 

But it was a story--before, at the bonfire. 

Damien and the Devil. Six counselors, one nurse. Slashed. Dead, gone, buried, away. 

Saying nothing more, you turn on your heel. 

It’s time to end this.

The walk back to the mess hall is very quiet. Underneath the bright yellow sun and the clear blue sky, you and Bradley say almost nothing to each other. You’re holding the gun, trying to keep your heart from beating out of your chest. He’s holding the ax, the one that killed Paul, and the other one he took into the woods with him. He’s glancing around the perimeter to make sure nothing’s sneaking up on the two of you. 

You’re stumbling slightly when you step--Bradley isn’t sure if it’s because you’re tired or if it’s because of the gashes on your knees or if it’s because of your shock. He does know you’re in shock--that you’ve been in shock since you tumbled out of the woods covered in Paul’s blood. You look shell-shocked, but brave. Like you know the bomb is about to drop, but you’re ready to arm yourself against whatever’s coming even if it’s for naught. Do svidaniya.

Ears still ringing, stomach still churning, you feel like the walk is too quick. Suddenly you aren't outside anymore--you’re in the mess hall in all its disarray, walking towards the kitchen with the intent of grabbing more ammunition. 

Bradley’s closing the buckshot-broken doors, brows furrowed as he examines the shots. Shit. You really did it. Something in his belly feels better knowing that you’ll shoot. You’ll pull the trigger. 

As soon as you’re through the kitchen doors, your heart stops. There on the dingy tiles is what remains of Bob’s blood--it’s smeared, dried, browned. But you can still see where he laid. And just beside the bucket, which is still full of bloody water, are Bob’s broken glasses. 

Leaning down, legs shaking, you pick the glasses up and hold them up to your face. They’re broken--the glass is cracked and the frames are bent. 

But it’s okay. He doesn’t need them anymore. 

“Oh, Bob,” you whisper. You grip the glasses hard. Tipping your head forward, you let the metal fall against your closed mouth. A sob ripples through you. “I’m so sorry.”

“Gale?” Rooster calls. He turns--sees your form frozen in the doorway, kneeling with your head bent. Starting for you, he swallows hard. “Birdie?” 

His presence behind you is warm and solid, like standing against a water heater. His chest just barely grazes your back. It brings you back a little bit--his steady and even breaths. You can count them--you can count on them. They’re there, steady, as you look down at Bob’s glasses. 

Rooster, his jaw squared, sighs gently. 

He tugs under your armpits until you’re standing on your feet again.

“Are you…are you, like, alright?” 

Dumb question, he thinks. Jesus. Dumb, dumb question.

Shaking your head, you let your eyes fall shut. 

“I’m numb,” you whisper. “I can’t…I don’t think I can…I can’t feel anything at all.”

A pang of pain radiates in Rooster’s chest. You’re so quiet, so drawn into yourself. Maybe this is your surrender. Maybe this is when you give up. Maybe this is when you call it a day and lay down and just wait for the end to come. Rooster can’t have that.

“Can you feel this?” Rooster asks. 

And you’re about to crane your neck to look at him, about to ask him what he’s doing, when the very softest of kisses lands just below your left ear. 

Oh. You can feel that. His warm lips, full of blood and live cells and made up of skin, send a shiver down your spine. 

“Yes,” you mutter. “I can.” 

Another kiss--this time in the middle of your neck. Rooster can still faintly smell jasmine on your skin. It makes him ache all over. 

“That?” He whispers. 

You nod, choked up. 

And then he’s very carefully brushing your hair off your shoulders, pushing it aside so he can see your throat and the curve of your jaw. It’s covered in blood, flaking off whenever it’s disturbed. He doesn’t care.

He kisses a trail down the back of your neck, his own eyes fluttered shut in just a moment of peace. And your body is growing softer beneath him--so soft that when he reaches around and pulls the gun from your hands, you don’t fight it. You just let your head fall to the side, eyes flickering shut. 

His palms splay on your hips. He holds you tight, pulls you until your back is flush against his chest. And your mind is buzzing and your body is growing warmer and warmer, but you cannot deny the pleasure of this encounter. This is the most human you’ve felt since all of this began, since you jumped out of bed naked when Phoenix came into your cabin. 

And even though you’re suddenly crying, even though you’re gripping his hands, you know that you need this to keep moving forward. You cannot fight if you feel like there’s nothing left to fight for--maybe the faces of the campers, stained with fear, aren’t enough for you. Maybe seeing Phoenix holding Bob still isn’t enough for you. Maybe you need this--to be touched and held. To be reminded that you can feel still. To be reminded that when this is over, there will be life to live and sex to have and jobs to hate and cars to drive and stars to gaze upon. 

This, right here, is proof of that. 

“Hold me,” you whisper, suddenly desperate. “Hold me, please.” 

You cannot remember the last time you asked someone to hold you. Rigidity sometimes feels like your natural state. Steeling yourself against death, against blood and hurt and pain. And now you’re so soft as Rooster wraps his arms around you. 

He holds you so tight that all the air leaves your lungs. 

You’re stuck still, breath stilted, lungs empty. 

Yes, you think. This is how tightly I need to be held. 

Rooster buries his nose in your neck. He can feel the tears dripping down your cheeks as they land in his hair and he only holds you tighter. He can feel that he’s squeezing the life out of you, but for some reason, he knows you want it like that. 

“I’ve got you,” he mutters to you. “I won’t let you go.”

But just as quickly as you found comfort in his arms, in his heat, against his pumping heart and hot skin, you become uneasy. It’s the thought of seeing his dead body, it’s him calling you hysterical, it’s the spit flinging out of his mouth as he called Jake the killer, it’s his naked body you left behind to find Bob. 

All of it comes at once, slaps your face until your cheeks are raw.

Wriggling your way out of his grip, you take a half-step away from him and grab the shotgun again. Rooster, slightly stunned, watches you with his mouth ajar. 

“Set the music up,” you whisper. You sniffle. “I’m gonna reload and…and get in position.” 

Jake’s trudging back towards camp, openly weeping. He hasn’t openly wept since his toddlerhood, he thinks. But he is right now: shoulders shaking, spine curving, snot dripping, tears pouring open-mouthed weeping. There’s bile covering the front of his shirt and blood on his hands, which is why he won’t look down, which is why he’s stumbling.

He’s been walking all night long--ducking behind trees, stumbling over jagged roots. He’s so tired that his bones feel brittle. He’s so thoroughly exhausted that he’s stumbling towards the mess hall now, even though he knows it’s a trap, even though he knows this might be his final location. 

Kate Bush is playing over the loudspeaker--it was loud enough for him to hear where he was just before in a puddle of blood, vomiting and swatting away swarming flies. Through his heaving, through his tears, he knew immediately that he had to go to where you were calling him from.  

Do you wanna feel how it feels? 

You must be there. You must be the one calling out to him. He wonders if maybe it’s a call for help. But no--it must be a trap. Maybe Bradley swayed you. Maybe everyone swayed you. Maybe you want him dead. Maybe, as soon as his feet cross the threshold, you’re going to shoot him in the chest. He wouldn’t be angry with you. But, boy--would he miss you if he died. 

But all he wants, as his stuttering footsteps grow nearer and nearer to the mess hall, is to keep you safe. And if you’re with him--if you’re even near him--you aren’t safe. 

Limping, he approaches the doors to the mess hall. They’re closed, but damaged. You already shot through them, Jake sees. And there’s blood dotting the doors--so much of it that he knows you must’ve really got ‘em. 

Atta girl, he thinks. 

“Jake?” Your voice comes from inside, echoing in the empty mess hall. “Is that…is that you?” 

Instead of answering, he opens the door. 

You

It's you and me

And there you are. Standing a few paces ahead of him, holding the shotgun like you’ve held it a million times before, eyes narrowed and focused on him. You’re covered in blood, even your heavy eyelids, and sniffling as you cry quietly. But even through your tears, you’re strong. He can see the fight still tugging on the ends of your hair and straining in your wobbling thighs. 

Bradley is just behind you, armed with an ax, sneering at Jake. 

“Don’t you come any closer,” Bradley demands. He rears back so the ax is in position to swing down at any given moment. “I mean it, you fuck!” 

Jake stumbles slightly as he steps into the mess hall. 

“Jake,” you whisper, shaking your head. Your throat aches with grief. “Where have you been?” 

I'd make a deal with God

And I'd get Him to swap our places

It all comes rushing back to him, a wave of grief and exhaustion and derangement. Taking a shuddering breath, he tries to communicate with you, his words coming out like a fluttering and distant bird that flies right over your head.

“Get away from him,” he whispers. 

You furrow your brows, straining to hear him over Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God).

“He’s got a weapon,” Bradley whispers to you. His heart is pounding. “Gale, he’s got an ax.” 

Fingers numb with panic, with pain, you shake your head at Jake.

You don't wanna hurt me (yeah, yeah, yo)

“Where did you get that?” You demand quietly, nodding to the ax in Jake’s hand. 

Jake glances down at the ax. He got this just a few miles outside of camp. He pried it out of Fanboy’s hands--his cold, dead hands. And then he promptly spewed vomit onto the rocks just beside his body and Payback’s. He found them, their bodies hacked, lying together. They never left each other’s sides. Not for one moment. 

“I…” Jake whispers. He swallows, head pounding. “Get away from Bradley. Please, baby, please get away from him.” 

The hairs on the back of your neck prickle your skin as they raise. 

“Can it,” Bradley spits. You don’t have to see him to know how angry Bradley is right now, sneering and snarling at Jake. “You--you fucking son of a bitch! Bob is dead! You fucking killed Bob!” 

“Stop,” you beg softly, the gun shaking in your unsteady grasp. “Jake, just…just put the ax down, alright? And then we can talk.” 

“Talk? Fuck that,” Bradley yells. “He killed Bob!” 

“You did,” Jake utters. “You killed him, Rooster.” 

Is there so much hate for the ones we love?

You hear him loud and clear as if he’s just whispered in your ear. Heart pounding, you shake your head. Fuck. Fuck.  

“He’s lying,” Bradley laughs bitterly. “You fuck--you stupid fuck! You really think she’s gonna fall for that? You think she’s gonna believe you? You destroyed the fucking cabin and went AWOL and then people started dying!” 

But Jake isn’t responding to Bradley. He’s just staring at you, cowering where he stands, defeated and terrified. His shirt is ripped and his hair is messy and there’s blood underneath his fingernails. 

“Just drop the ax,” you tell him. “I don’t want to--I’m not gonna hurt you. We’re not going to hurt each other, right? Just drop it.” 

It's you and me

Jake drops it--it clatters onto the floor unceremoniously. Your lungs deflate. 

“Nightingale,” Jake whispers. His eyes are pouring into yours, red-rimmed and wide. “You have to get away from him, baby. He’s gonna hurt you.” 

Panic is pulsing in your chest now. You’re desperately clinging to reality right now--even though you’re not sure what that is. 

“He’s trying to confuse you,” Bradley whispers. “Don’t let him.”

“Gale,” Jake begs, sobbing. He steps closer to you. You reposition your fingers so they’re not sitting on the trigger anymore. “Please…please…just get away from him! Please!” 

Eyes wide, you watch as he stumbles closer. Bradley is grunting behind you, rearing the ax up further and further. 

“Don’t you fucking touch her,” Bradley sneers. “I mean it, man! Stay the fuck away!” 

“Jake,” you whisper. “Please. Please just stay where you are.” 

“Where’d you even get the ax?” Bradley asks. His voice echoes. 

Jake is still looking into your eyes, openly weeping. Bile dribbles down his chin. 

“They’re dead,” he whispers. “I--oh, God, they’re dead. I found ‘em. I found them together.” 

Be runnin' up that road

Be runnin' up that hill

You immediately know that he means Fanboy and Payback. They’re dead. They’re gone. They haven’t been answering the walkie calls. They’re not close to town at all--they’re just dead. 

A sharp and punctuated sob ripples through your entire body. Goddammit.

“Who?” Bradley demands. “Who the fuck are you--?” 

“--You know what you did,” Jake whispers to Bradley. Suddenly, Jake isn’t deflated. He’s almost close enough to reach out and touch you. Your finger isn’t on the trigger. His chest puffs up and his shoulders roll back. He can protect you. He can do that. “Don’t you fucking touch her, man. Don’t you fucking ax her like you axed them! You--you fucking got ‘em when they were sleeping, didn’t you? You’re a fucking coward.” 

Eyes wide, you begin to beg Jake to move back. 

“It’s you,” Bradley spits. “You’re the fucking killer! 

Oh, come on, baby (yeah)

Oh, come on, darlin' (yo)

“Enough,” you try desperately. “We’re gonna sit here and-and wait for Mav and Penny to come get us, alright? All of us!” But they’re not listening to you. Jake is staring at Bradley and Bradley is staring at Jake. “No one else is dying, okay?” 

“Who else is dead?” Jake asks. “Who else did he kill?” 

Your mind is racing. You don’t know what’s happening. You don’t know who’s telling the truth. All you know right now is that Jake seems earnest and Bradley seems angry and the truth is lying somewhere between them in no-man’s-land. 

“You know damn well Paul is dead,” Bradley sneers. You see it--Jake’s shock. Thoroughly, in your bones, you can tell that no, Jake did not know that. Your spine tingles. “You fucking killed him! And you cut Mable, didn’t you? Snuck out while Gale was sleeping, right? You coward.” 

Swallowing hard, Jake looks at you. His face is very serious, very anguished. 

Oh, come on, angel

Come on, come on, darlin'

“Don’t let him confuse you,” Jake begs. He’s desperate, shaking his head at you. “I’m still me. I’d never--you know that I’d never--!” 

“--You’re sick,” Bradley screams. His voice booms, drowns out the music. “You’re worshiping the same twisted demon Gwyar did, aren’t you? Or is it that--that you’re worshiping Gwyar? Him and his fucking ax and his sick fucking game! Feeding on everyone’s fear, scaring the tar out of everyone! Or is it that you’re cutting down anyone that gets too close to Gale? Huh? Is that it? You sick fuck!” 

Furrowing his brows, Jake looks at you. And you know that he doesn’t know what Bradley is talking about at all. 

You’re getting lightheaded. 

“Gale,” Jake whispers. It’s a desperate, desperate plea. “Get away from him, baby. Please, please, please. I won’t even--I won’t even touch you. Just get away from him. Point the gun at him.”

And here it is: you’re getting ripped apart. You didn’t even make it to the end of summer. 

But then Jake is falling to his knees, sobs tearing him to bits, looking up at you like a depraved and despaired. It’s horrific--having Jake there before you.  

“If you’ve ever done anything in your life, listen to me right now,” Jake sobs. “Please, Gale--get the fuck away from him. I’m not the killer, baby--Bradley is. You’re not safe!”

Your fingers are shaking. 

And if I only could

I'd make a deal with God

And I'd get Him to swap our places

“Enough,” you try. “Please, Jake--Bradley! Just stop!” 

Head swarmed, you look at Jake with wide eyes. 

“Maybe you’re possessed,” Bradley says, laughing humorlessly. “Maybe you couldn’t help yourself. You were drawn to it…you found the ax ‘cause it called for you, didn’t it?” 

Bradley’s chest is hot with rage. He wants to get Jake away from you--now.

And then Jake isn’t just on his knees before you, he’s throwing himself forward and against your legs. But your feet are planted so firmly that you don’t shake, you don’t fall. He isn’t trying to knock you over--he’s just hugging himself against your thighs, burying his face in the bottom of your belly and looking up at you. 

“I’d never hurt anyone,” Jake pleads with you. “You know that…baby, you know that. I don’t even know what he’s talking about! I don’t know who Gwyar is! I’m so confused…Gale, please…we have to get away from him!” 

“Get the fuck away from--!” 

“Stop!” You cry desperately. Jake is holding you so tight that you can’t breathe. “Stop it!” 

But they’re not listening to you. 

I'd be runnin' up that road

Be runnin' up that hill

“It isn’t me!” Jake sobs. “We have to get away from here!” 

“You fuck,” Bradley continues. “It took your blood! It wanted you! Sliced your hand when you were chopping that tree down!” 

The song ends. 

Your hearing goes out--fuzzy and fading. Every muscle beneath your sizzling skin is locked in place. A noose of fear wraps itself around your neck and tightens, tightens until you cannot breathe at all. Your lungs are stunted at a deep exhale. And you can’t close your eyes for even a millisecond to blink. Sulfur floods your nostrils--abundantly clear and thick in the air.

Jake stares up at you, horrified. He watches, in real time, as the realization dawns on you.

He was telling the truth. Bradley is the killer. 

“Bradley…” you whisper, voice quivering. Just barely, you turn your head. And Bradley is behind you, still looking like himself but ugly with rage and red with anger. “You cut your hand on the ax.” 

At first, his face contorts in confusion. He stutters, mouth parted. Brows furrowed, he attempts to say something. But his tongue is dry. But when he sees the fear in your eyes and hears Jake’s sobs, he knows the jig is up. He just gave himself away. 

You watch, in utter terror, as his face drops completely. And for the first time, as you stare at him, you see it: the pure, unadulterated evil. It’s there in the black in his pupils. The flecks of gold in his amber eyes are faded, gone. His smile is wide and broad, but it isn’t the smile you saw at the beginning of the summer. It is wicked--dry and nefarious. 

“Damn,” he says, sighing. He beams at you wickedly. So wicked that your arms go limp, the gun falling onto the floor. Good. He’s got you where he wants you. “I was doing so well, too.”

Lips open wide in shock, two stray tears fall down your face. 

And it is not a moment later that he brings the ax down.

Jake, with all the gall and gumption of the soldier his father wanted him to be, acts fast. So fast that he doesn’t even think--he just does.

“Gale!”

Closing your eyes, you accept it at once. You will die at the hand of Bradley--he’s killing you and you don’t know why other than he’s sick. And you’re already covered in blood, you already saw two dead bodies today. People are dying. You’re going to be another one to add to the pile. Your body will be covered with a sheet and your father will identify you with tears in his eyes and he will wonder why and you will die not knowing why. 

When you hit the ground, head slamming against the hardwood floors and neck cracking, you’re waiting for the pain to come. The first hit, the first hack. You’re waiting for release. 

But instead, you just feel heavy--something is brushing your nose because it is so close to you. And when you open your eyes, you’re staring into Jake’s. His eyes are wide in shock, his mouth, too. 

For a moment, you’re not sure what’s happened. Then you hear the strangled moan he releases, the barely-there and quiet thing. A steady stream of blood floods out from his parted lips and into your mouth. 

“Jake?” You whimper, terror flooding your body until you’re cold with it. 

And he’s so heavy on top of you and so warm--deadweight. And the warmth, it isn’t just his body heat. No, no…it is a wet and slick warmth. It is his blood that is leaking from his body and onto yours. 

Choking out a sob, your spit red with his blood spewing onto his face, you try desperately to move your arms. He has you pinned--and he’s so heavy that you can’t move. 

“My, my, my…” Bradley laughs. He leans down, wraps his hands around the handle of the ax and steadies himself by pressing his foot on Jake’s back, and rips the ax from his back. Jake coughs--blood spews across your face and you whimper aloud, stunned. Bradley totes the ax over his shoulder like it is as friendly and unassuming as his guitar. “Sacrificing his life. Now, that’s love, huh?” 

Jake can’t feel anything. Not the gash on his back or the blood he’s losing. He can’t feel your body beneath him or the sobs ripping through your shocked form. He can’t feel any of it. He’s just looking at your face, his mouth wide open and gaping, and praying that Bradley will go. 

“Jake,” you sob again. You can’t breathe. You can’t move. “Jake! Jake!” 

If Jake could speak, he’d tell you that he loves you and that he’s sorry he can’t do more. But he can’t, so he just slowly lowers his head until it falls into your neck. He stops moving.

Bradley watches from above you. He rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck, sighs deeply. It feels good to be out in the open like this--no more lying, no more sneaking around. Just him, just you, just Jake. And he’s about to finish off the two of you and head to the bus barn. He’ll finish what was started thirty years ago--almost to the date, that sly dog. 

“Jake,” you keep whispering, shocked, stunned, horrified. Your body vibrates with panic. You don’t care about Bradley hovering over you. You care about Jake and the way his green eyes are losing the color, the way his cheeks are becoming pale. He can do nothing but stare at you, his vision beginning to blacken around the edges. “Jake, I…” 

And then Bradley kicks the shotgun--it slides across the floor and clatters against the wall. As if you weren’t already defenseless. You look up, quivering, and Bradley grins down at you. 

“I’m more of an ax guy myself,” he says, smiling. He leans down, settling the ax beside him. And then he strokes your hair back from your face, relishing in the horror that crosses your features. “Don’t wig out yet, baby. Let’s chat before I book it to the bus barn, huh? I can spare a few minutes for my best girl.”

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄:

BOB BE LIKE:

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒:

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