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padfootagain · 5 months ago

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Love in Verses (I)

Chapter 1 : ‘And that orange, it made me so happy, as ordinary things often do just lately’

Hi, everyone!!! I’m so glad to finally start posting this series! I know I’ve been talking about it for a while, and I thank all of you for being interested and even excited about it! I hope you won’t be disappointed!

The first chapters will set the plot into motion, of course, we need to get the story going!

I hope you like this series! Tell me what you think!

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Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 3502

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

The Orange

At lunchtime I bought a huge orange— The size of it made us all laugh. I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave— They got quarters and I had a half.

And that orange, it made me so happy, As ordinary things often do Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park. This is peace and contentment. It’s new.

The rest of the day was quite easy. I did all the jobs on my list And enjoyed them and had some time over. I love you. I’m glad I exist.

Wendy Cope, The Orange and Other Poems, 2023

There was sunshine upon the Liffey that morning. A scent of new beginnings in the air, a whisk of excitement in the breeze.

You took a deep breath before entering the college grounds. This was what you had worked so hard for, for so long…

You were finally working in a university, you were a researcher, you would be teaching to younger generations about your passion. And every time you thought about that truth, that new reality, your heart made a happy jump, and a grin formed on your lips.

You were there. At long last. You had a teaching position, you had money for your research, and you had this at Trinity College, no less.

For now, there were no students, the grounds were empty, filled with nothing but old stones, bending trees and sunlight. The year had not begun yet, it was still the early days of August, filled with warm weather, summer storms and a tinge of sun here and there. It seemed that your first day was one of those sunny, warm days that felt too much like vacation time to work. A good omen, if you had ever seen one. A good omen for your life that seemed to fall perfectly into place these days. Professionally, you were achieving your goal today, with this position in the best university in Ireland. Your family was proud, and so were you. And on a personal point of view, you were engaged, to be married to a successful man. You glimpsed at the diamond on your finger. You didn’t have a date for the wedding yet, but you were aiming for spring of the coming year. Frank had proposed during the summer, while you were on a trip for your vacation in Wales. You smiled at the memory. You were lucky this year, your life was perfect, or at least, successful. You were ticking all the right boxes. What else could you ask for?

You walked between the still frames of Edmund Burke and Oliver Goldsmith, stepping finally on the grounds of Trinity College. And you took a deep breath as you stepped into the entrance hall, crossing the building to reach the first courtyard hidden inside. You gathered your thoughts, tried to slow down your beating heart that was pounding with nerves and excitement.

You were to meet one of the fellows of your department, Professor O’Connell. You had never met the woman, but she seemed kind enough on the phone, if strict in her tone. You checked your watch, but you were still seven minutes early. At least, you would not make a bad first impression because you were late…

You hurried under the archway at the centre of the yard, glancing at the forbidden green grass on both sides, and the tall buildings that surrounded it. You tried to calm yourself, thinking that you were an assistant professor already, even if this was your first stable job, that you knew what you were doing, that the papers you had already published were proof of your academic success and your worth as a researcher. You could do this. You could do this…

You walked towards the English department with hesitant steps, trying to follow directions on the various signs scattered across the grounds. A fifty-something woman waved at you from afar though, she seemed to be waiting in front of a building. You smiled, hurried towards her, hoping that you were not mistaken and that she was, indeed, the woman you were looking for…

“Y/N Y/L/N?” she asked, and you nodded your head with a grin.

“Yes! Professor O’Connell, I assume?” you answered, offering her your open hand, which she took with a smile.

“Oh, Lydia is more than enough. How are you?”

“Grand… grand…”

“Welcome to Trinity, I guess. I’ll guide you for a quick visit of our building, and then leave you in the competent hands of our HR department for you to sign off some paperwork. Come on, I’ll show you around.”

She guided you across the large stone building in which you would be working from now on. You easily got lost in the maze of corridors, staircases and halls you were crossing. Still, she showed you the cafeteria in which you were introduced to a few of your new colleagues, some of the classrooms, and finally she guided you to the HR, where a middle-aged woman gave you some paperwork to sign.

Lydia was waiting outside, ready to guide you to your office. A new maze of corridors opened before your feet, but you said nothing, figured that you would eventually get used to it. You took a turn to the right to another corridor, headed straight for the door a few steps ahead. Wooden, with two plaques fixed on its surface.

Dr. Andrew Hozier-Byrne

Dr. Y/N Y/LN

Your heart skipped a few beats at the sight of your name there, engraved in copper.

“You’ll be sharing your office with another of our assistant professors,” Lydia explained. “Andrew arrived last year, he’s working mostly on 20th century literature… but I’ll let him talk your ears off about his research.”

She knocked, didn’t wait for a response before opening the door.

The office was tiny, to say the least, but it was enough for the two desks and chairs set there, a wardrobe and a few shelves. There was a poster of Johnny Cash on one of the empty spots on the white walls, and a large window facing the door, behind one of the desks. The other desk was set on the left-side of the room, a tinier window behind it.

A man was sitting in the chair behind the desk in front of the larger window, and he looked up as the door opened and Lydia walked in, you following close behind.

“Good morning, Andrew,” Lydia greeted her colleague with a smile. “This is Y/N, our new assistant professor, who’s going to share your office this year.”

Andrew’s eyebrows arched slightly, although he still gave you a warm but shy smile, standing in a hurry. You couldn’t help your surprise as he stood up, towering you with an intimidating height. He seemed to have long hair, that he had tied in a bun. You studied his features, something kind and gentle made his hazel eyes shine, a short beard coloured his cheeks. He readjusted his glasses, as he quickly stepped around his desk. He was wearing a black turtleneck and dark jeans, there was a brown jacket thrown on the back of his chair.

You looked up at him as his smile widened just a little, still polite but with an extra-touch of kindness now. His body was intimidating though, and the fact that he was handsome wasn’t helping. He bent to avoid the lamp that was hanging from the ceiling.

“Of course! Erm… hi, nice to meet you,” he greeted you, offering you his open palm, avoiding eye-contact. You weren’t expecting how soft his voice was, how quiet his tone sounded. If his height gave something intimidating to his appearance, his voice countered that feeling, and you immediately felt more at ease.

“Hi! It’s very nice to meet you too, Andrew!”

“Alright, I’ll leave you to settle,” said Lydia, addressing you. “My office is down the corridor, if you need anything. But I’m sure Andrew can help you with the rest. The HR gave you everything you needed to access a computer?”

“Yes, I’ve got everything.”

“Good. Settle this morning, we’ll have a talk about your research this afternoon. The meeting for the upcoming year and classes is set later this week, you’ll get all the information you need for your teaching then.”

“Alright, thank you so much.”

She gave you a bright smile, before walking out of the room.

You were left alone with Andrew, who gave you another shy smile, rubbing at his palms.

“Erm… right… obviously, there is a large selection of desks you can choose from in this room,” he joked, his tone still stern, and you noticed how he was biting the inside of his cheek.

But you laughed good-heartedly at his joke, and he raised his eyebrows at your reaction.

“Hmm… I guess I’ll take this beauty over there,” you said, dropping your bag on your desk.

“Good choice,” he nodded, fleeing your gaze again. “Erm… I’ve emptied a couple of shelves over there for you too, and made some room in the wardrobe as well.”

“Thank you,” you smiled up at him and caught his eyes again, noticed their pretty hazel shade.

You turned on your computer, looked through your papers for the password that had been given to you so you could log in.

“So… what’s your research about?” he asked, a little awkward, shifting his weight while burying his hands in his pockets.

You noticed how he was bending his head and shoulders a little, as if to look smaller than he was.

“I work on feminism and the use of the female gaze in literature, as opposed to the male gaze.”

He raised an eyebrow, and you noticed how his gaze lit up with interest.

“Oh… that’s so interesting!”

You were surprised by the earnestness in his tone. The academic world was a particularly misogynistic one, after all. Most men in your field were enemies rather than allies.

“Yeah… I… I think so too,” you smiled, cursing yourself for your naïve answer. “I mean… If I chose to work on that, it means that I’m interested in it, but…”

He chuckled, the sound as quiet as his voice. You were still surprised by it, by the contrast it offered to his intimidating stature.

“Totally, yeah…”

“What about you?”

“20th century literature… mostly modernism and contemporary poetry. So… Lots of Joyce, Woolfe, Heaney and the likes.”

“Nice! That sounds interesting.”

“I mean… I teach a lot about modernism, but my research is more focused on poetry, especially poets who are currently writing.”

“That’s pretty rare, to have scholars studying contemporary art, instead of… dead people.”

You both chuckled at that.

“Yeah… but I… I mean… I value a lot the political weight of art, so… I find it more interesting to study something that talks about our current problems, rather than the problems from… four centuries ago or something...”

“Can’t argue with that,” you nodded.

You exchanged a smile, noticed that Andrew was relaxing as well by now.

“Erm… I’ll let you settle down, but… tell me if you need anything. Oh, and…”

Andrew nodded towards an empty frame tugged away against the wall, in a corner of the room.

“There’s an empty spot on the wall, feel free to hang something you like in it. As long as it’s decent enough.”

“Oh… I will refrain from a poster of my naked celebrity crush then,” you joked, making Andrew laugh again.

“Please, refrain. Although, I will accept your latest pagan ritual to summon Chtulhu or something…”

He tensed again, bit the inside of his cheek, as if he regretted his joke, but you laughed, and he seemed a little surprised by it.

“Dully noted… so, I can bring my pentagrams at work?”

His smile widened.

“Feel free to do so. I can produce the goat for the sacrificial ritual, if you need.”

You chuckled again, and Andrew bent his head, but you noticed the way his shoulders relaxed.

“Right, sorry for the weird humour,” he apologised anyway, and walked back to his desk. “Tell me if you need help with anything. I have a couple of things to take care of, but I can show you around if you need.”

“Okay, thank you! Yeah, that would be grand! And no need to apologise, I have a rather dark humour too.”

You exchanged a smile, before both of you would focus on your computers. You managed to log into almost everything, started to create documents and files for your research, downloaded a few articles that you needed to read this week.

It was almost noon when Andrew looked up from his screen again.

“Erm… is everything alright for you?” asked Andrew, his voice still as quiet.

“Yeah… erm… I just can’t log into something.”

Andrew stood up, bent to avoid the lamp again.

“Can I take a look?” he asked softly, and he walked around your desk when you nodded.

He helped you log into the software you needed, showed you a couple of things that you would need to use often.

“Would you like to get lunch?” he asked you with a timid smile.

You answered with a bright smile.

“Yeah, sure!”

“Did you bring some food?”

“Erm… no…”

“That’s fine, no worries,” he chuckled at your sudden hesitation. “We have a cafeteria in our building, for the staff. But it’s more suited for a coffee break than anything else. You can’t buy food there, except for a few snacks from a vending machine. There’s an electric kettle, a coffee machine… there’s a microwave and fridge too, if you… like… want to bring your own food. But nothing to make proper food. We can go to the cafeteria on the campus, though.”

“Okay, that would be nice! Are you waiting for anyone else for lunch?”

But Andrew shook his head.

“Most people in the department are gone to a conference in Cork for three days,” he explained.

“How come you didn’t go?”

But Andrew merely shrugged.

“I wasn’t invited to be a speaker, and to be honest, it was mostly about subjects I’m not particularly interested in. Besides, someone had to stay behind to keep the new lecturer company,” he smiled with a tinge of mischief, and you liked the sight.

He waited for you to gather your things, and you walked together out of the building. Andrew showed you around the campus a little bit, mainly the library and a couple of buildings where you could be asked to teach. You followed him to the cafeteria as well.

“Do you eat here often?” you asked, as you took a look at the food that was available that day.

“When I can. It’s not bad. But students come here too, so you should come only if you can avoid the worst of the crowd. As this year hasn’t started yet, we’re in the clear for a few more weeks.”

You ordered a sandwich, while Andrew bought a salad, and you walked together to one of the many empty tables.

“Lydia told me it was your first job as a professor?” asked Andrew, before sipping on a glass of water.

“Yeah. I mean, I’ve obviously been teaching and working in research for a while, but it’s my first year since I got that title,” you answered with a smile.

“Have you talked about your classes with Lydia yet?”

“No, not too much. I should be able to create a couple of lectures based on my research, but for the more… general stuff, nothing.”

Andrew nodded.

“Yeah, you might inherit some of the classes no one really wants to do, as you’re the newbie.”

“Did it happen that way for you?”

Andrew nodded again, but shrugged right after, swallowing a mouthful of salad.

“I mean, you’ll stay in something you’re used to, don’t worry. But a lot of people are holding the classes they enjoy teaching. You’ll have a limited choice in your field.”

“Any class that you’re hoping to drop?”

“One of them is bound to religion and religious references. I should be able to pass it to someone else this year. We’re exchanging. I’ll get a class on Yeats instead, which is much more in my area of expertise… and interests.”

“Not a religious guy, are you?”

He chuckled.

“Not really, no.”

He didn’t elaborate on the subject, and you didn’t want to push him, happy enough that your colleague and office-roommate was talking to you and acting with benevolence.

“Where did you teach before Trinity?” you asked instead, changing subject.

“Cork for a while, but my partner works in Dublin so I really wanted to move back on the west coast. And then I had the opportunity to come to Trinity last year, when I got the rank of assistant professor, so I didn’t really hesitate. What about you?”

“I taught for a while in Belfast, and they offered me a job when I became assistant professor. But I really wanted to teach at Trinity, so I applied and… got the job! My fiancé is working about halfway between Belfast and Dublin anyway, so it didn’t change much on his side.”

Andrew nodded.

“Relationships can be tricky with academic jobs, especially with how few the teaching positions can be.”

“Yeah, that’s for sure.”

You had gotten a yoghurt for dessert, and Andrew some dry fruits. He handed you the packet, a questioning rise of his eyebrow as a silent enquiry. You smiled, opened your hand and he poured some fruits in your palm.

“Anyway, I hope you’ll get interesting classes, and especially that you can teach about your research. Aside from being interesting for you, I think it’s important to develop what you’re working on in our field.”

You smiled, and he seemed to notice, giving you an awkward smile of his own in exchange.

“Thanks. I think so too.”

“But I have a more important question to tackle.”

You raised a questioning eyebrow, inviting him to go on.

“What poster are you going to put in that empty frame?”

You couldn’t refrain a laugh.

“I have no idea,” you admitted.

“Well, think about it. The decoration of our office is at stake, that’s serious business.”

“Of course, of course. Definitely my number one priority.”

“Good, it should be. My Qi is very sensitive to that kind of stuff.”

You both laughed, and you felt yourself relax again.

You had a good feeling about Andrew, about your shared office, about your new job, about this whole life that was ahead of you.

The world was smiling to you, even the weather was on your side. What could possibly go wrong?

You were so excited to go home and tell everything to your fiancé. Frank got home before you did, you lingered a little longer than anticipated because you asked Andrew questions about how the university worked, the power dynamic in the department, the people you should avoid and those who were nice to talk to. And you wanted to tell Frank about Andrew too. You were so relieved that the colleague sharing your office was nice, kind even.

When you stepped inside, Frank was watching TV. He had ordered some takeaway, and was eating in front of a stupid show that was on, more focused on his phone than on the tv anyway. He jumped when you entered, put his phone away in a hurry.

“Hey, babe!” you greeted him with a grin, bending to kiss him as he sat on the couch.

“Hi! I ordered food for tonight,” he said, nodding towards the Indian food that was scattered across the coffee table.

“Nice!”

“You’re home late.”

You grinned, nodding your head.

“It went amazing!” you jumped up and down excitedly. “First, a senior professor, Lydia, came to pick me up and showed me around. She seems very strict, but nice as well. Apparently, as long as you do your job well, she’ll be on your side. I went to the HR to sign some papers, and…”

You noticed that Frank wasn’t paying too much attention anymore, so you rushed your explanation.

“Anyway, I’ve met a few colleagues, and especially Andrew! We’re sharing an office. He’s been of great help throughout the day, and he’s very sweet! Which is surprising given that he is quite literally a giant!”

“You’re sharing your office?”

“Yes!”

“With a guy?”

“Yes. His name is Andrew! He’s been teaching at Trinity for a year.”

You noticed the way Frank refrained from making a comment, knowing you would call him out for being jealous. You refrained a sigh.

“He lives near Dublin with his partner too. He’s specialised in poetry.”

Frank seemed to relax, and you struggled not to be annoyed by his reaction.

“It’s grand that your first day went fine, babe,” Frank gave you an earnest smile.

“I’m just so relieved that the guy sharing an office with me is not some… misogynistic gobshite. I mean, I don’t know Andrew very much, but he seemed to be more on the feminist side of the spectrum, so I’m sure we’ll be able to get along.”

“That’s nice.”

He didn’t ask any further question but he was still looking at you. You sat down next to him, and he handed you some food he had ordered for you. It wasn’t your favourite, but you liked it.

He opened his arm for you to settle against his shoulder, and you happily obliged. You thought about all the details you wanted to say, but knew would bore him. You chose another question instead.

“What are you watching?”

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #the hoziest #hozier x reader #hozier x you #hozier x y/n #hozier x fem!reader #hozier fanfiction #hozier professor!AU #hozier au #hozier fanfic #hozier series #hozier imagine #writing #fanfiction #fanfic

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s-ublimewrites · 4 months ago

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xanax (melissa schemmenti x f!reader)

synopsis: melissa needs a push to make a much-needed change in her life

words: 2.9k

warnings: swearing, mild angst (mel & reader argue), gary bashing, republicanism mention

note: i wrote part of this, didn't touch it for eight months, picked it back up, and now here we are: another fic where nothing actually happens between mel & r, but also everything happens. enjoy!

“Don’t go in there yet,” Janine stops you before you can enter the teacher’s lounge.

“Uh, why not?” You prepare to step around her and she blocks your path.

“Y/n, it’s tense in there right now,” she insists. She’s stress sweating, you notice.

Your brow furrows. “Janine, it’s the first day. It’s…” you check your watch, “7:04am. How is it already tense?”

Janine checks over her shoulder and lowers her voice slightly. “So, you know Gary? Melissa’s vending machine guy?”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Yeah, you know Gary. You are, in fact, acutely aware of Gary’s presence in Melissa’s life. Listen, you’re super happy for Melissa - she seems to like him, they just spent the summer in Jersey Shore together. You just think it’s kind of weird how he relates everything to vending machines. And you’re kinda wary of asking Melissa who he voted for in 2016. And 2020. And, okay, maybe seeing him kiss her goodbye in the break room makes you want to puke. Whatever.

“I’m familiar,” you say to Janine.

Her eyes flick to the cameras, then back to you. “Okay. Well. On the last day of their Jersey Shore trip, something happened. Melissa is pissed and Barbara totally knows why and I think they’re maybe mad at each other about it? Anyway it’s basically a war zone in there and you need to tread very carefully, Y/n.”

There’s genuine fear in Janine’s voice. Poor girl has definitely suffered the wrath of Melissa Schemmenti this morning.

“Do you know what happened?” you ask.

Janine shakes her head. “No, but Barb keeps shaking her head all disapprovingly and saying ‘Melissa Ann Schemmenti, just you wait until Y/n gets here,’ so…”

Her Barb impression is… pretty bad. You don’t comment on it.

“Ah,” you say, “so I’m the bomb-defusing robot you’re sending in so Melissa will stop being mean to everyone. I see.”

Somewhere during your time at Abbott, grumpy Melissa has become your responsibility. Not that you mind very much. You like being the only one that can get through to her when she’s like this; you like that everyone knows it, too.

“If rugs are Xanax for second graders,” Janine says, “you’re Xanax for Melissa. Good luck!”

Janine scurries off and you take a deep breath. Here goes nothing, you suppose.

It’s just Barb and Melissa in the lounge — you figure the palpable tension that hangs between them has scared everyone else off. They sit at different tables, decidedly not talking. Melissa’s face is buried in her phone, glasses on the end of her nose, and Barb stares at the yogurt that she’s stirring but not eating.

“Good morning,” you offer softly as you step into the room, trying to give an air of ‘I’m perfectly normal and don’t know anything about your potentially-failing relationship.’

Melissa’s eyes flick up from her phone, landing briefly on you before she returns to whatever is on her screen. Barb, though, snatches up her bag and her yogurt and is on her feet moving toward you.

“Maybe you can talk some sense into this one,” Barb says to you furiously. She keeps walking, heading right past you, and slams her yogurt into the trash before exiting the room. Somewhere in this time, the camera crew has the good sense to scram.

You look at Melissa. She looks back at you.

“What?” she all but spits - angry, sure, but also upset. Hurt by something. Someone. Your hatred for the vending machine guy is set in stone.

“C’mon, you don’t get to be mad at me - I literally just got here,” you remind Melissa and drop into the seat next to hers.

Melissa doesn’t say anything, but she looks at you with less loathing. It’s a good first step.

“You traumatized Janine,” you reattempt.

“A strong gust of wind could traumatize Janine,” Melissa mutters. She puts down her phone and finally looks at you, moving her glasses to sit atop her head. “Why? What’d she say t’ya?”

You remember Janine’s words — tread carefully. “Not much. Something about things being tense with you and Barb… Something about Gary.”

Melissa’s jaw sets and she looks at her lap and she doesn’t say anything.

“Did you fight?” your voice is gentle.

Melissa plays with her fingers and shakes her head. “No. Well, I don’t know. Kind of? I don’t know. Maybe.”

You stay quiet while she thinks about this (you didn’t intend for it to be such a difficult question, but you don’t say that).

“Not yet, I guess,” Melissa finally decides. “We haven’t fought yet.”

You nod, beginning to understand. “Does Gary know that you’re potentially going to be fighting?”

She shrugs. “Dunno if I wanna make it a thing.”

“So, there’s two things going on here? You’re mad at Gary for something, and Barb is mad at you?”

She nods. You nod. She suddenly becomes interested in her cuticles.

“Okay,” you retry, “which do you want to tackle first?”

“Neither.”

“Melissa.”

“Why dontcha just drop it?” Melissa snaps.

You don’t back down; rather, you give her a pointed look, and she sighs heavily — her international sign of realizing she was mean to you.

You try again. “So, Barb is mad at you.”

“Mhm.”

“Because of the Gary thing?”

“Mhm.”

“Did you fuck up, or did he?”

Melissa goes quiet again and you kick her under the table.

“Hey, I don’t care either way. You know I support women’s wrongs,” you do your best to keep your tone light.

This draws a half-smile out of her. “Him. Mostly. Then, kinda me… Kinda.”

It’s your turn to stare at her, because what the hell are you supposed to do with that?

She huffs out a sigh, averts her eyes, and her words come out in a rush: “He fucked up and did some stuff and Barb is mad that I haven’t dumped him yet, okay?”

You nod, trying to piece the information together. “So, you wanna give him another chance, but Barb doesn’t? That’s… not usually how this goes.”

“I’m old, alright?” Melissa breathes out, any trace of venom having left her words. Now, she just sounds exhausted.

“Hang on,” you hold up a hand to halt her train of thought, “what? First off, no you’re not. Second, what does your age have to do with anything?”

She looks at her lap. “I found someone who wants to settle down with me. I got divorced and wrote off love then found it again and I can’t afford to be throwin’ it away.”

Every once in a while, Melissa will let you see her frayed edges like this. They’re ragged and raw and tender and she trusts you to not probe more than necessary. It makes you feel… something. Something deep and warm that burns inside you like brandy and makes your hands tremble.

“But?” you coax gently, and she runs a hand down her face in something akin to defeat.

Melissa’s eyes flick to the door, and you know she’s making sure there’s no camera crew and no Janine.

“But somehow we got this far in without talkin’ about politics. I mean, I talk about it. All the time. And he nods, so I thought we were on the same page, but…”

Christ alive, I was right about the elections, you think, and clamp your mouth shut (it is so not the time for an I Told You So).

For the umpteenth time this morning, you choose your words with care. “I’ve never known Melissa Schemmenti to compromise her beliefs for anybody.”

And, well, there it is. You’ve said the thing that both Melissa and Barb knew you’d say, and she wouldn’t be able to fight you on it, because it’s you. Her Xanax.

She spends a moment chewing on her bottom lip, and her voice is low when she says, “I don’t wanna hav’ta start all over again.”

It occurs to you that this woman is deeply scared that she’s never going to be loved again.

You don’t know how to reassure her that you’re not going to let that happen.

Instead, you just say, “Yeah,” because what else is there to say?

After a beat, you add, “You also don’t wanna hav’ta date someone who thinks they’re putting litter boxes in classrooms for all the kids who identify as cats.”

Melissa huffs out a somewhat incredulous laugh and blinks away the tears that you weren’t planning on pointing out. She shakes her head like she’s clearing out cobwebs.

“I was hoping we could just ignore it. That it would be one of those things we don’t talk about,” Melissa tells you.

You look at her pointedly. “Right. Until he tries to tell you that unions strip you of your individual voice and makes you watch NewsMax after dinner every night. Melissa, you’d murder the man.”

The glare you receive in return only confirms what you both know: once again, Melissa is incapable of arguing with you, and she’s kinda peeved about it.

“Why d’ya gotta to be so…” she fishes for the appropriate word, “…right? It’s obnoxious.”

“It’s obnoxious that I know you?” You suppress a smirk.

“Yeah.”

“So you want me to let you keep dating a republican?”

Melissa crosses her arms over her chest. “Shut up.”

“You gotta dump him, babe. Before there’s a questionable campaign sign in your front lawn,” you stress, and she groans.

“Then who’s gonna take me to Ocean City and haul me back to the hotel room when I’m eight Manhattans deep and three g’s in the red?” She pouts.

Your eyebrow quirks up. “Is that your only qualifying factor? I can do that.”

The pout gives way to a small smirk. “So, I dump Gary and you take me to Ocean City? Is that the deal?”

You pause. Or… maybe ‘freeze’ is a more accurate word.

“I… guess?” you manage to get out.

Melissa considers this for a moment, head cocked to the side. “Not a bad incentive.”

How did we get here? you briefly wonder, and you push the thought aside.

“So you’re gonna leave him, then?” you try to keep your tone light, hoping to urge her back toward your main objective.

Melissa huffs, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. You wanna be my knight in shining armor. You’re not gettin’ me to Ocean City that easy, kid.” She smirks, but it’s tight. Almost forced.

“Hey, I’m just saying that if all it takes is some drinks on the boardwalk, I’m your gal,” you laugh softly, and she cracks a smile back.

For a brief moment you feel like you’ve successfully dodged the bullet; Melissa’s more relaxed now, some of the tension having left her shoulders. You just have to coax her a little bit further.

“I’m serious, Melissa. You deserve way better than a guy who…” is politically vomit-worthy “… doesn’t share your values, y’know? You don’t have to settle.”

That’s when something changes in the way she’s looking at you. The smirk disappears, her eyes narrow, and when she speaks her voice has cooled significantly.

“Settle?” Melissa repeats. “Who’s settlin’?”

It’s like the air thickens around the two of you. You try to backpedal, to shove the words back in your mouth and swallow them, but it’s too late. Melissa is putting those walls right back up.

“I don’t need you to swoop in and save me, Y/n,” her voice is sharp, intentionally chosen to carve out space between the two of you. “I’ve stuck it out through way worse than this, alright?”

You sit back in your chair a little and do your best to keep your voice even. “That doesn’t mean you have to-“

“I don’t have to do anything.” Melissa is already shaking her head, voice firm. “I didn’t ask for advice.”

Ouch. Okay, so, she’s kinda pissed. Usually your talks go a lot better than this, and you’re both laughing by now. Then again, usually the talks are about Ava’s inadequacies as a principal or some annoying parent. Not Melissa’s love life and sense of self-worth.

“Melissa,” you try to control the damage, “I’m not trying to-“

“I’m not some delicate little flower who can’t handle a little trouble. You know me,” Melissa leans forward. “I’ve dealt with way harder stuff than Gary screwin’ up a little. You don’t know half of what I’ve gone through, so don’t sit there and try to pretend that you do.”

Her words hit you square in the chest. You didn’t know what to expect coming back to work after not seeing Melissa all summer, but you didn’t imagine it would be like this.

Not that you imagined it often. Definitely not.

You had hoped nothing would be different between you, but she’s evidently putting you at arm’s length now.

“Melissa, I’m just saying,” you take a breath and try to regroup, “you deserve better than him.”

“Better than what?” Melissa shoots back, arms crossed securely in front of her chest. “Than a guy who wants to settle down with me? Yeah, he’s got some rough edges. So what? Who doesn’t?”

You make a mental note to unpack that sometime down the road.

“Rough edges?” your eyebrow raises. “Melissa, I’m just trying to make sure you’re happy and not… settling.”

You’re hyper-aware of your use of that word again, and so is she.

Melissa looks at the table and her jaw clenches. “Yeah, well, maybe you don’t get to decide what settlin’ looks like for me. We’re not on the same page with this, alright?”

In the tense beat of silence that passes between you both, you can feel her withdrawing further from you. The months you’ve spent apart have made it all too raw, too soon. She leans back, arms still crossed, face set in a stubborn scowl.

“I’ve been fine without your opinion all summer and I’ll be fine without it now.”

You sit back in your chair and try to not let the sigh you let out sound too irritated (or too hurt). This isn’t your first rodeo with Melissa, but still… Ouch.

“All I’m saying,” you start gingerly, “is that just because you can get through something, it doesn’t mean you should.”

Melissa’s eyes narrow again, but they’re softer this time. She’s listening — even if she doesn’t want to be.

“I know better than to try to tell you what you can or can’t do,” you continue, keeping your tone casual like you’re discussing the weather. “But I know you, Melissa. You don’t accept less than what you deserve. So if you’re ’sticking it out’ with Gary, there’s a reason, but I don’t think it’s the reason you think it is.”

Melissa doesn’t speak right away, just… stares, with this thoughtful expression. You let the silence hang between you, allowing your words to sink in.

“You dunno everything about me, Y/n,” she finally says, looking away from you, and her voice has lost some of its edge.

You offer a small smile. “I never said I did.”

Another beat of silence. You can see her chewing on your words, probably fighting the urge to make it an argument again. This is always the hardest part — getting her to let go of the fight without feeling like she’s losing.

“I just… I think you’re worth more than whatever this is,” you say carefully, making sure to keep your voice low. “And maybe it’s time you stop sticking it out just because you’re scared of what comes next.”

That does it. You see Melissa flinch, just barely, but it’s enough to know you’re getting through to her.

“I’m not scared,” she mutters, but it lacks any real conviction.

You don’t argue with her, just nod. “Yeah. I know.”

Melissa shifts in her chair, arms still crossed, but she’s less tense. She’s still mad, sure, and maybe she’s even still mad at you, but the fire behind it is dying down.

“You always gotta be so damn calm, dontcha?” she grumbles.

“One of us has to be,” you chuckle softly.

Melissa finally cracks the tiniest smile, her boot nudging you under the table. “Good. You’ll need that calm at the craps table.”

“You’re totally gonna hold me to Ocean City, aren’t you?”

She shrugs. “Gotta have somethin’ to look forward to since you’re makin’ me dump my usual company.”

“Hey, I’m not making you-“ you pause. “Oh. So… you’re gonna do it, then?”

“Yeah,” Melissa nods with a sigh. “I guess I am.”

You just nod, and it seems like Melissa is really absorbing the fact that she’s about to be single again. She looks at the clock like it’s a ticking bomb.

“Guess I’ve got some time to figure out how I wanna do this,” she says, and you know she’s going to be an anxious mess until 3:30 rolls around.

“One thing at a time,” you offer a small, supportive smile, and she nods.

She chuckles softly, more tired than amused. “Right. Should probably focus on my thirty second- and third-graders first.”

Right. Teaching. The thing you’re here to do. You both stand up and start gathering your things. She doesn’t make for the door when you do, and you stop.

“It’s gonna be okay, Melissa,” you reassure her. “And you know where to find me if you need me.”

Melissa nods and takes a steadying breath. “We’ll talk later?” She sounds almost… hopeful.

“Of course,” you smile. “If I recall, we’ve got an Ocean City trip to plan.”

Melissa huffs out a small laugh and gives another nod. The tension seems to leave her frame slightly as she finally heads for the door. You follow behind her, knowing the hardest part of the day is yet to come. But maybe, you think, everything will turn out just fine.

#abbott elementary #abbott elementary fanfiction #melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti x reader #lisa ann walter #weirdly political for a fanfic #happy election szn i guess?#yes there will be a part two to this #eventually

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peeponastick · 1 year ago

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Touch My Soul, Pt. 1

Uchiha Itachi x fem!Reader

Word count: 1.6K

Rating: This will be a NSFW 18+ multi-part fic. Part 1 doesn't have any outright explicit content tho. Part 2 here

cw/tw: SPOILERS, mentions of sexual harassment (Hidan is a skeevy perv), emotional turmoil, angst?, sexual tension (but nothing actually happens sorry to edge y’all), major eye contact, like way too much eye contact reader and itachi are basically eye fucking each other 90% of the fic, dramatic asf I can't help myself im sorry

Idk what im doing This is my first time writing and really being on tumblr in general, please let me know if I missed any tags or if you have any advice!!

not canon at all (but SPOILERS!!!!) pls humor me, everyone in the Akatsuki is alive and led by Madara/Tobi

Synopsis: Madara, the elusive figurehead of the Akatsuki, is an ambitious yet paranoid man. That’s why he has you, as a security measure, given your secret jutsu that allows you to see into people’s souls to confirm their true intentions. When Itachi Uchiha shows up to join the Akatsuki, what will you see behind his obsidian eyes?

Exhausted. Another cross-country mission with pain in the ass Hidan was just what the doctor ordered for your repressed rage and depression living in basically a wet cave with the rest of these jerks. You tried your best, you really did, to not let any emotions slip through the cracks of your cold facade. Some of them had better qualities than others, but none of your fellow Akatsuki members were people you felt particularly amiable towards.

Most of them viewed you as Madara’s stone-cold right hand, his own personal weapon. He trusted you more than any other member, and that fact alone was enough to instill a certain kind of fear in the hearts of every other Akatsuki member. And you know what, good. The more you kept your distance, the better.

Though your body ached with fatigue upon returning to headquarters, your senses immediately picked up a foreign energy hanging in the air– a presence. Not ominous per se, but definitely a palpable and strong chakra signature.

Leaving Hidan’s perverted requests to join him for some “one-on-one post-mission relaxation time” behind, you made your way to Madara, the chakra getting stronger the closer you got.

There he was.

Your breath hitched as your eyes set on a statuesque man standing across from Madara, his tousled, raven-black hair draped around his stunning face and strong shoulders. A lifetime of stress and hardship left evidence of weariness across his features, and yet his eyes still sparkled with a fierce softness, framed by a set of beautiful, thick lashes.

He was so... pretty. Your eyes dropped down to his lips, then his chest downward as you began to drink him in, feeling flushed with an unfamiliar warm tingling the longer you studied him.

He glanced at you with his penetrating eyes, your cheeks burned at being caught in your lustful admiration. Without a doubt, it was Itachi Uchiha standing next to Madara, a solemn look spread across his delicate face.

You’d seen him in the bingo book before, but all the talk you had heard didn’t compare to standing in the same room as him. It was intriguing, though, for someone with such a reputation, and clearly such immense power, his energy didn’t feel threatening or overbearing to you.

Madara raised a hand to Itachi, finally pulling your gaze away from him, before walking over to you.

“I’m sure you’ve completed the tasks assigned to you, y/n, correct?” Madara asked rhetorically.

You had never failed him, it was important for you to maintain your position in his eyes. Your usual self would have made a sardonic remark about your disdain for working with Hidan again, how a pet rock would have been just as helpful with none of the sexual harassment. But, with the third party in the room, you simply nodded while maintaining your cold, detached demeanor.

“Good, I have another task for you then,” Madara commanded lowly in his deep, chilling voice, pointing his chin in Itachi’s direction.

“This is y/n,” Madara announced, gesturing in your direction as you followed him towards Itachi.

“She’ll just perform a little security check if you don’t mind, nothing personal. I am interested in your usefulness, but I just like to be sure of who I’m working with, I’m sure you can understand. After all, ‘clan killer’ doesn’t exactly have a trustworthy ring to it, now does it?” Madara taunted.

Itachi’s beautiful, brown eyes glinted with an undetectable emotion before connecting with yours, and again you began feeling the wave of heat washing over you.

What was this?! Some sort of jutsu he was using on you?? No.. my god, had it really been that long since you’d been attracted to someone?

Snapping out of your embarrassing realization about your pitiful sex life, you cleared your throat as you pulled yourself together to perform your special jutsu. Your specialty was energy and emotions– detecting, reading, transmuting. This made you very handy to Madara, after all, knowing what’s inside someone’s soul makes it much easier to manipulate them and offer them what they want to hear, in exchange for whatever Madara wants or needs.

Your secret jutsu was something you dreaded performing. You were incredibly sensitive and receptive to energy, so oftentimes it would leave you completely drained and horrified— seeing all of the vile things people have done, let happen to others, things people buried and hid deep within themselves. It was a lot to witness and take in, and have to maintain your icy demeanor on top of that, lest Madara begin to question you.

After weaving the hand signs, you hid the nerves buzzing in your body as you approached Itachi to place your hands on either side of his lean, muscular shoulders and touch your forehead to his. By the power of your jutsu, you were transported into Itachi’s soulscape, where you’d be able to confirm for Madara upon exiting, Itachi’s true intentions and trustworthiness as an Akatsuki member.

Given what you had heard about Itachi, you braced yourself upon entering his soulscape, but were totally unprepared for what you saw.

Time stopped as you and Itachi stood under an endless blue sky painted with magnificent rolling waves of white clouds. The sound of rushing water caught your attention as you looked behind you to notice you were standing several paces away from the edge of a breathtaking waterfall. The cascading water plummeted down the carved earth into pools of emerald green.

Peace. You felt peace standing in this supposed monster’s soul? Itachi stood silent, his eyes intensely watching you as you began to take in more of your surroundings. You’d never seen or felt anything like this, this energy was so.. pure.

Taking a moment to gather all the information flooding your senses, you turned to look at Itachi as tears pricked your eyes. Your heart broke as you began to fully understand and feel the weight of what he’d been through– what he’d been forced to do, and how much of a monster he believed he was because of it. You felt a gut-wrenching familiarity that ignited an inferno in your own soul, pulling you to him like a magnet and calling you to embrace him and never let go.

“Itachi, I-” you moved close to him, your mind racing as you tried to process the truth, “I’m so sorry, for everything you’ve been through.” You delicately placed a hand on his cheek while looking deep into his gorgeous eyes. His demeanor softened as the emotions overcame the both of you.

“Y-You know?” he hesitantly asked, almost too scared to believe you were seeing the real him and not judging or looking at him with disgust.

Your brows twinged with sadness as you nodded, “Everything,” you replied, tears streaming down your pink cheeks.

He placed his large, warm palm over your hand as he searched your eyes for confirmation that this was really real and happening to him. He had always been expected to take on insurmountable tasks, things that made him question morality itself, all alone.

And yet, here you were, seeing him, understanding him, accepting him for who he truly was and not what he had done. The burden of his past finally being shared by an open heart, something he never could’ve imagined he deserved.

You reassured his fears without words, both of you lost in each other’s all-consuming gaze. You had never met before, and yet it felt like your souls had known each other many lifetimes.

You were standing so close to him, the heat of his flushed skin radiated his intoxicating scent, smelling of old-growth forest and clean musk. Every nerve and fiber of your being was lit aflame as his eyes dropped down to your plump lips. His soulful eyes returned to yours as he moved his other hand to gently push a strand of your silky hair out of your face.

You were entranced by his beauty, slowly blinking as you held eye contact with him, fighting every urge to taste his lips that were mere inches away. He equally was mesmerized by your beauty, his eyes scanned all of your features, trying to take you all in and understand what this all meant, how you came to be the you standing here holding him.

“Who are you?” his deep, gravelly voice purred, a gentle smile lighting up his face.

Panic overtook you as reality came crashing down, remembering that Madara was waiting in the real world for your answer. Though time operated much differently in your jutsu, Madara would certainly become suspicious if things took too long.

You placed your hands on either side of Itachi’s face as you held him close, a frantic look in your eyes.

“We’re out of time. Come to my room tonight, I’ll explain everything.” You hurriedly released the jutsu, and collected yourself so you could resume your emotionless facade so as to not draw suspicion.

You turned to face Madara, immediately detecting his impatience, “He passed,” you confirmed, “Sorry for the delay, there was.. a lot there.”

Madara stood silent for a moment before releasing a booming laugh, “Yes, I suppose given our Itachi’s history there would be quite a lot to sift through, y/n.”

He turned to walk past Itachi and beckoned him to follow as he began to discuss his plans for the Akatsuki and, eventually, the world. You stood frozen, body still processing all of the huge waves of emotions you’d experienced in your jutsu. A pit of anxiety began to form deep in your stomach knowing this fated meeting with Itachi meant it was finally time to begin your plan. To take down Madara and the Akatsuki from within.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

If you read this far, thank you so much I appreciate you!! I hope you liked my first fic ♡ᵎᵎᵎ

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jgoddesstarot · 1 year ago

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Pick-A-Pile: Family Dynamics: How Does Your Future Spouse Interact With Their Family?

👑Check out my masterlist to see all of my pick-a-card readings😊

✨ Visit my shops at Ko-fi.com or J.Goddess Tarot✨

🔮Disclaimer: This reading is for entertainment purposes only. Tarot readings are based upon my intuitive interpretation of the cards and about possibilities based on your current energy. Energy is forever changing and nothing is set in stone. Always remember, you have your own free will to make whatever decision you feel is best.

🔮How I read: I use a mix of tarot cards, oracle cards, along with my intuitive abilities of claircognizance, clairaudience, and clairsentience.

🔮How this works: Close your eyes and take deep breaths, pick the pile you are most drawn to. If you aren’t drawn to any pile then that’s okay, these messages aren’t for you at this time.

Pile 1

Tarot Cards: Death, 7 of Pentacles, Knight of Pentacles, Ace of Pentacle, 4 of Swords

Hi my captivating Pile 1's, brace yourself for a tantalizing journey through the vibrant tapestry of your future lover's family dynamics. Ready for the revelations?

First, let's enter a realm of transformation—a space where old realities crumble, giving way to new horizons. Imagine a grand ancestral mansion shifting its walls and corridors, changing its very essence. Such is the profound metamorphosis that has molded your future spouse's family. This change—whether it's the winds of fortune turning or migrating to new shores—has profoundly infused their essence, shaping their familial ties with a blend of nostalgia and acceptance.

Journeying deeper, we find a lush garden where every tree and shrub has been meticulously nurtured over the years. Here, your lover emerges as the devoted gardener, their hands lovingly tending to the familial roots, ensuring that bonds flourish and thrive. They appreciate the slow dance of time, understanding that the most profound connections are nurtured patiently, season after season.

Now, amidst this verdant expanse, stands a sentinel—a knight in shining armor, steadfast and unyielding. This is your partner, the unwavering backbone of their family, always present in times of need. Their feet planted firmly on the ground, they bring pragmatism and reliability to family affairs, ensuring that everyone feels safe and cherished.

But, oh! The story doesn't end here. Amidst the lushness, there's an aura of newness—a gleam of golden opportunities. Your future love is the trailblazer, the one igniting fresh traditions, the beacon guiding their clan to embrace novelty, all while cherishing their rich legacy.

Yet, amidst all this hustle, there's a serene sanctuary—a quiet spot where time stands still. Here, your lover retreats, understanding the sacredness of rejuvenation. They champion the balance between fervent family engagements and soulful solace, ensuring harmony flows through every vein of their lineage.

In wrapping up our delicious saga, delectable Pile 1's, your future love emerges as a potent blend of resilience, dedication, practicality, innovation, and tranquility. They are the heartbeat of their family, a force of stability and renewal. As the threads of destiny intertwine, savor this glimpse into the rich familial tapestry that awaits you

Pile 2

Tarot Cards: Ace of Swords (in reverse), Knight of Wands, 10 of Wands, The Chariot, 5 of Cups

Hey my sultry Pile 2's, fasten your seatbelts as we embark on an exhilarating voyage into the heart and soul of your future beloved, especially the intricate dance of their family dynamics.

Picture a serene moonlit night, where a secretive veil cloaks the stars. Just like that mysterious night, your future partner possesses an art of concealment, especially when family matters arise. They are the silent guardians, preferring to shield their emotions in favor of preserving familial harmony, ensuring no storm disrupts the tranquil waters.

Yet, beneath this gentle facade, a tempest of fiery passion rages. Imagine a blazing phoenix, soaring high and fiercely guarding its realm. That's your future lover when their family's sanctity is at stake. They're a spirited protector, ready to leap into action, driven by a blazing heart that might occasionally prompt them to leap before they look. But rest assured, their intentions are as pure as gold.

But oh, how the universe plays its dualities! This fiery phoenix also carries the weight of the world on its wings. They're the anchor, the one who stands tall amidst family storms, absorbing every thunder and lightning, ensuring no harm befalls their kin. Sometimes it's a labor of love, and at others, a duty they can't escape.

Yet, against these raging storms and burdens, stands a fearless charioteer—your future spouse, taking the reins of their family chariot, navigating through life's tumultuous terrains with unyielding focus. Balancing passion and responsibility, they ensure their family sails smoothly towards their shared destiny.

Amidst these tales of courage and resilience, there's a chapter of heartache. A past that's seen shadows of loss or perhaps unmet expectations. But it's these very shadows that have molded them into the beacon of hope, teaching them to find the silver lining even in the cloudiest of skies.

Drawing our thrilling escapade to its end, my enticing Pile 2's, we unveil a partner enveloped in layers of fierce protection, fiery passion, unspoken sacrifices, unwavering determination, and the wisdom of their past. Their dance with family is both intense and tender, replete with challenges yet underscored by undying love. While these cards are but whispers of fate, always remember: Destiny is a two-player game. Embrace the anticipation and trust in the cosmic dance of love and life.

Pile 3

Tarot Cards: 6 of Swords, 3 of Cups (in reverse), Queen of Pentacles (in reverse), Page of Wands, Knight of Swords

Ah, my captivating Pile 3's, let's embark on a tantalizing journey through the tapestry of your future spouse's family dynamics.

Picture a sailboat gently cutting through stormy seas, setting its compass toward tranquil waters. Your future beloved, it appears, has masterfully navigated their way out of family tempests. They've journeyed from choppy family ties to calmer connections, gracefully steering clear of conflicts to safeguard their peace.

However, beneath this serenity lies a whispered melancholy, like a solitary bird against a dusky sky. There's a quiet space between them and their kin, a distance that feels more emotional than physical. Perhaps the sound of clinking glasses and laughter during family feasts doesn't resonate with the same fervor. Yet, remember, this silence is their protective shield, a sanctuary carved from lessons of yesteryears.

Now, think of a warm hearth, radiating comfort. Curiously, this warmth seems elusive when it comes to their familial ties. It's not that they lack a nurturing spirit; it's just that they've found it challenging to channel it within the family's confines, perhaps holding back from the traditional roles of providing and caregiving.

But ah, there's a twist in our tale! Envision a vibrant flame, dancing with wild abandon. That's the spirit of your future spouse—unyielding, passionate, and bursting with curiosity. Their bond with their family might deviate from the norm, but it's fueled by a desire for a fresh, innovative approach. They're the wildflowers amidst roses, standing out with their unique, fiery essence.

Imagine a swift falcon, diving decisively to its prey. That's your beloved when faced with family matters—direct, unhesitant, and quick to address concerns. They don't let issues fester, choosing instead to face them head-on.

Drawing our thrilling escapade to its end, my enticing Pile 3's, we unveil a future partner who's gracefully danced with family challenges, displaying resilience, wisdom, and a fiery individuality. Their family song might not fit the traditional tunes, but it's undeniably rich in character and depth. Let's savor the symphony of these cards and relish in the anticipation of what's to come. After all, every note and rhythm sketches a piece of the fascinating enigma that is your future spouse.

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#tarot community #tarot reading #jgoddess tarot #j goddess tarot #pick a pile #pick a card #tarot pick a card #pick a card reading #intuitive tarot reader #future spouse readings #bipoc tarot reader #bipoc #support bipoc #future spouse pick a pile #future spouse #future spouse pick a card #future spouse reading #family dynamics with future spouse

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dreamy-jaeger · 2 years ago

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I Know the End | Ch. 2

Zombie Apocalypse!Au, Older!Grumpy!Eren x Sunshine!Reader

Content: Reluctant traveling companions to lovers, Slight age gap, found family, eventual smut so Minors - DO NOT INTERACT.

Chapter Summary: As the night continues, everyone gets to know each other just a little bit more.

Masterlist

A/N: omg chapter 2 is here!!! idk if I’m going to be able to keep up with a weekly release so don’t get too comfortable hehehehe, but i had this chapter all ready to go so i thought, why not post it! I hope you enjoy!! I want to thank the beautiful wonderful fantastic @emepe for beta reading this (as she does for literally everything i write) she is a genius so if you haven’t already please check out her wonderful blog :)))

chapter 2

Eren’s P.O.V

The cabin was quiet. Not suspiciously quiet. But it was the first quiet afternoon that Eren had witnessed in years. These days you were lucky to go even one minute without hearing the horrors of this world. And now here Eren sat, getting whole hours filled with those sweet, silent minutes. Save the interruptions that were gifted from the crackling fire he had started up in the stone fireplace and the occasional creak of the floorboards that filtered in through the kitchen door, no doubt coming from the stranger that had infiltrated their refuge.

It was safe to say that Eren was reluctant to let this woman stay the night. Which was the nice way of putting how he felt about it. He was so close to ending her life. To rid himself of yet another burden. But something stirring deep in his stomach forced him to hold back. Maybe it was the idea of murdering a woman who did nothing more than help them. Or maybe it was the words she used. Or the way she felt under his arms…

Or maybe, he didn’t want to be stuck with her damn dog if he did kill her. Surely Gabby would’ve made him keep the thing, not wanting her to be without an owner. And no matter how many different endings to this encounter he had thought through, whether the woman stayed alive or not, he knew that the dog was now a nuisance in his life. At least for the time being. Confirmed by the way the dog sat up straight, posted in front of the door, her eyes trained on him from the other side of the room.

“Fucking creepy ass dog.” He muttered under his breath as he stared back from his spot on the couch. His arm outstretched on the back of the furniture, his knees spread, giving barely any room if someone had wanted to sit next to him.

“What was that?” Gabby asked, her eyes flicking up from the comic book in her hands, her legs dangling off the side of the plush armchair that she had perched on the moment that Eren gave her the signal that they were in the clear.

“Nothing.” Eren told her. The young girl narrowed her eyes at him. Surely knowing he had more to say about the situation they found themselves in. All these months together, from the moment he found her abandoned by her own group, she had found a way to read through the rough interior he had built up over the years. She opened her mouth to call him out on his bullshit, something she had a knack of doing, but before any snarky words could leave her lips the kitchen door swung open.

“Good news, Eleanor, these people had a dog.” Y/N grinned as she practically skipped into the living room, various cans collected in the crooks of her arms.

Ellie finally stopped her staring contest with Eren, bounding up to her owner and jumping at the sight of food.

“Nothing for humans unfortunately.” She told the rest of the room, setting the cans she collected onto the dining room table that sat in front of the window overlooking the meadow. “I think someone might’ve broken in through a window or something. Raided through this place and took all the good stuff”

“That’s fine.” Eren said, “We have our own rations.”

“Good, ‘cause Ellie doesn’t like to share.” She teased, turning towards the backpack she discarded by the front door, procuring a metal dog bowl from its confines. Eren rolled his eyes as Gabby snickered into the pages of her comic book.

A flash of silver glinted throughout the room, Y/N’s knife reflecting light gifted by the fire as she punctured the can of dog food. Scooping out the entirety of its contents, the sludge plopped into the bowl, sounding completely unappetizing to anyone who wasn’t a dog.

“Eat up, sweet girl.” Y/N cooed softly as she pushed the bowl closer to her companion, who dug into the food without hesitation. Eren didn’t even realize he was watching her until she spoke again. He quickly averted his gaze to the fire, not looking up until he felt her presence shift into the empty armchair that sat directly in front of the couch. He chanced another look at her. Luckily she was preoccupied with another can she must’ve gotten from her backpack, the label advertising the Sweetest Peach You’ll Ever Eat.

“Do you want some?”

Eren stared too long. She held up the can with a raised eyebrow, as if that was what caught his attention.

“No.” He said curtly, looking back at the fire.

“How about you?” The woman turned her attention towards the kid.

“Are those peaches?” Gabby sat up straight, her interest piqued. Comic forgotten as it slid to the floor.

“They sure are.” She laughed, “You interested?”

“Fuck yeah!” Gabby exclaimed, greedily snatching the can from Y/N’s outstretched hand. She didn’t bat an eye at Gabby’s abrasiveness. She simply laughed, sitting back in her seat as she watched the teenager indulge herself. Eren had to give her props. He definitely wasn’t as forgiving when he first met her.

“Don’t fucking swear.” Eren grunted towards the girl.

“Such a double standard.” She said through a mouthful of peaches, passing the can back to Y/N and rolling her eyes in the process. “And you know how I get around peaches.”

“You like them?” Y/N asked, interrupting any snide remark Eren had, tilting the can towards her lips so she could have a taste herself.

“They’re my favorite.” Gabby told her, crossing her legs beneath her, the leather surface of the chair squeaking as she did.

“Mine too.” Y/N smiled at the girl after she swallowed. “I have a couple of cans if you wanna take one.”

Gabby’s eyes lit up, her mouth opening to express some form of gratitude. Eren interrupted her before she could.

“Are you sure you wanna give up your supply like that?” He asked her, eyes narrowed. Y/N raised a shoulder in a half shrug.

“Why not?” She responded, “I have plenty where that came from. It’ll lighten my load.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Gabby piped up, seemingly remembering her manners in a matter of seconds and perhaps finding fault in her eagerness to take someone else’s rations from Eren’s question, “Food is a hot commodity these days.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Y/N assured her, “Besides with any luck I won’t have to worry about food for much longer.”

“What, are you planning some sort of suicide?” Eren deadpanned. Gabby’s jaw dropped, her eyes widening at him in disbelief. He didn’t notice her warning stare, his eyes trained on the woman in front of him.

“I was thinking murder-suicide.” The woman smirked without batting an eye, “Much more classy, don't you think?”

“She’s kidding.” Gabby laughed nervously as she noticed Eren’s jaw clench, and then in a hushed tone towards Y/N, “You’re kidding right?”

“I’d be dead if I weren’t, wouldn’t I?” She responded, nodding towards Eren’s hand, which hadn’t moved from the gun that sat on his waist the minute he had sat down. “I think your friend might have a sense of humor, after all.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Eren murmured, flexing his hand over his gun, making sure the woman noticed.

“Aren’t you just a ray of sunshine?” Y/N articulated, sarcasm dripping from her words.

“As opposed to your cynicism?” Eren retorted. “You know I’m surprised that you made it this far, with an attitude like that.”

“Oh and you survived on what?” Y/N questioned, “The stick up your ass?”

“Okay!” Gabby interrupted, jumping up from her seat, garnering the attention from everyone in the room before a full on shootout transpired in the small cabin, “Let’s change the subject.”

“Why won’t you be needing your food?” Gabby then asked, sitting back down on the chair, her feet planted properly on the floor this time, just in case she needed a quick getaway.

“It’s where I’m headed.” Y/N explained, “I heard there’s a safe zone in Shiganshina. They have food, walls… everything.”

“You really believe that?” Eren scoffed, crossing his arms, “Every government sanctioned safe zone was torn apart within a week of this starting. You’re not going to find anything.”

“That's the thing, it's not the government.” Y/N replied, making it a point to ignore the rudeness in his tone. “This one was made by people. People just like you or me. Remember what I told you? The best things that happen are when we come to work together. It’s the best chance of survival.”

“How do you know this place even exists?” It was Gabby’s turn to question her, though she had far less skepticism in her voice than her older counterpart. It even sounded like there was a hint of hope in her question.

“Word of mouth.” Y/N said, a tad too vaguely for Eren’s liking. She seemed to have noticed his disinclination when she continued on. “It’s not much to go off of but it’s better than just wandering around out there trying to find new ways not to die.”

Silence fell over the room at her unexpectedly morbid choice of words, a contradiction to the usual carefree demeanor that they had gotten used to during the short amount of time they had spent together. Y/N was the first to speak up again.

“I think that safe zone might be the only chance to actually have a future.” She said softly. “If you want to join me?”

Gabby looked at Eren, something flickering behind her eyes that gave him an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“We’ll take our chances.” He said simply, hoping that the finality of his words would end the conversation.

“You really want her to grow up like this?” Y/N asked, taking Eren by surprise. His eyebrows knitted together, letting the question hang in the air. He was a little pissed off that she was acting like she knew what was best for the kid, as if she had any right to put in her two-cents. But what ticked him off even more was that she might be onto something.

Sure, the two of them had made it this far. They were used to the lifestyle, coming and going and never truly having a place to call home. Surviving was second nature. And Eren seemed to have a certain knack for it. But even he knew that their luck would eventually run out. And he couldn’t keep both the girl and himself alive forever. Maybe this offer that was being handed to him so effortlessly, was something worth taking.

“Like I said, there's a future there for her.'' The woman spoke up, pulling Eren away from his thoughts. Then added, with a teasing tone, “And who knows, maybe there’s one for you too, old-timer.”

“Old-timer?” Eren scoffed through Gabby’s laughter that pierced the room. Though he was slightly grateful for the distraction from making any big decisions. “I’m not that much older than you.”

“I’d say you’re at least a decade older than me.” Y/N said, trying to hide her grin. “Give or take a few years.”

“I’m thirty-two.” Eren snapped, weirdly becoming defensive over his age. Something that he had never felt the need to do before. It was as though he needed to prove something to this woman, who was now staring at him with an amused expression.

Y/N clicked her tongue in feigned disappointment, “Four years off.”

“How old are you?” Gabby asked, clearly too lazy to do the math. Even if Eren had been taking the time to teach her throughout the quiet moments of their journey. Though, she did always hate when he forced her to answer complicated math questions while they traveled through the countryside. She would complain about why she would ever have the need to know multiplications when they should be focused on surviving. Eren always argued that it was best to keep a sharp mind.

“Twenty-six.” Eren answered for her.

“You must’ve been young when this whole thing started.” Gabby said, thoughtfully.

“I was eighteen.” Y/N shrugged, “Not as young as you were, I’m sure.”

“I was six.” Gabby confirmed, her voice small, her gaze finding its home on the toes of her boots.

Eren watched as Y/N’s eyes softened towards the young girl. It was obvious what she must have been thinking. That six was far too young for anyone to survive in this world. That there must be some unimaginable horrors that she must have seen for her to be alive today. A subject Eren knows all too much about since getting to know the girl. Though he found that all out by happenstance and context clues. He wasn’t the type of man to pry into someone else’s backstory. And it seemed that Y/N was the same way. Any question she might’ve had was kept to herself as she glanced over at Eren, their eyes meeting. An unspoken sense of understanding bouncing between their irises.

They were interrupted by the sound of Ellie’s claws clicking against the wooden floor.

“Finished eating?” Y/N said to her dog, reaching out her hand to pet her head as she expected Ellie to stop at her side. Strangely enough, the dog barely glanced her way, she just padded along, not stopping until she jumped on the couch, turned in a circle to find the most comfortable position and then slumped down with a huff next to Eren, who stiffened at the dog’s presence.

“Traitor.” Y/N scoffed, shaking her head. Though she seemed unsurprised when Ellie chose to sit by a stranger they just met rather than her.

“I think she likes you.” Gabby laughed.

“The feeling is not mutual.” Eren asserted, his voice low like he was being acquainted with his worst enemy. Both Y/N and Gabby laughed, not realizing he was serious. Or maybe they did and that’s what made it so funny.

“She’s always been like that.” Y/N told them, turning back to her forgotten peaches.

“Like what?”

“She finds the person who likes her the least in the room and then sticks to them like glue.” Y/N explained, “She was like that with my dad.”

“Your dad didn’t like her?”

Y/N’s lips turned up in a small smile. “Nah, he only pretended to hate her. Deep down I think he really loved her. He was secretly a big old softie. I think Ellie can sense stuff like that.”

“If you are insinuating that I’m a ‘softie’...”

“I don’t know, I think she might be onto something.” Gabby giggled.

“Don’t worry, I’m not insinuating anything.” Y/N said, lifting her hands up in reassurance, “Though the dog is never wrong…”

“Okay, I’m done with this.” Eren chided, standing up from his seat on the couch, Ellie’s head lifting up in curiosity as he did. “I’m going to check for potential points of entry. You two would be smart to find something useful to do.”

“Back to business.” Gabby grumbled, rolling her eyes as he crossed the floor. His heavy footfalls caused the cabin to creak and groan under his boots.

“I saw that.” Eren snapped before disappearing into one of the random doors that led to rooms unknown.

Y/N’s P.O.V

“Is he always like that?” Y/N asked, nodding her head to the door that Eren just left through. Gabby looked towards the direction in which she gestured, an indignant sigh escaping her lips.

“Pretty much.” Gabby responded, slumping in her seat, not at all taking Eren’s orders seriously.

“How can you deal with all that?” Y/N questioned, holding out the can of peaches towards the younger girl. Gabby looked at her apprehensively, as if she was unsure if she should take more of the woman's dinner.

“I’m full.” Y/N reassured, “You can finish them.”

“Well I wouldn’t want to waste any food.” Gabby rationalized, causing a chuckle to fall from Y/N’s lips as she eagerly grabbed the can from her. Wasting no time to tip the sweet fruit onto her tongue. Any decorum lost as she spoke through a full mouth, “And, don't get me wrong, there are some days where he annoys the hell out of me… but he’s a good guy.”

She swallowed at her food thickly. Y/N almost thought she was going to choke. But that wasn’t the case. Maybe it was just hard for the girl to admit. Which was proven to Y/N when Gabby’s demeanor shifted into something more serious.

“He’s kept me alive. Which is saying a lot since I annoy him most of the time too. I’m surprised he hasn’t ditched me.”

“You guys aren’t related?” Y/N asked, but she was pretty sure she already knew the answer.

“No.” She explained, and Y/N would have been fine if she stopped at that, she wouldn’t want to force the kid to talk about things that made her uncomfortable. But maybe something about the older woman had gotten Gabby to trust her, it took Y/N by surprise when she kept speaking.

“I was— I had… gotten separated from my group. I was alone for maybe a week or two when Eren found me in an abandoned warehouse. I didn’t have much food so I was practically dying of starvation, I couldn’t put up much of a fight. He could’ve killed me… or at least kept walking. But he decided to help.”

“You must not annoy him that much then.” Y/N offered. Gabby blew air out of her nose in silent laughter.

“Trust me I do.” Gabby said, “I make a point of it.”

Y/N laughed at that. “Good, it’ll keep him on his toes.”

A grin was shared between the two of them. A moment noticed where they had found a kindred soul. It was strange for Y/N. It had been a long time since she had made a friend. And she never would have expected that her first friend in years would be a teenage girl. But she could already tell that they would get along just fine. Maybe she could get along with Eren too, if this girl was his saving grace.

“It’s obvious that he cares about you a lot.” Y/N observed.

“Really?” Gabby asked, almost as if she didn’t believe it. Y/N wondered if she would even believe that he had a knife to her throat only a couple of hours before, in the name of her protection. She obviously wouldn’t disclose that information with the girl, knowing it might upset her. But Y/N couldn’t hold a grudge against Eren for his actions. She understood exactly what brought him to do it. Y/N nodded with a soft smile.

“Yeah.” Y/N replied, “I can tell he’s a good guy.”

“I was under the impression that you didn’t really like him.”

“I don’t.” Y/N admitted, “But like I said— the dog is never wrong.”

Eren’s P.O.V.

He had walked into a bathroom. Though it seemed his exit had ended with a dignified resolution (or a dramatic flourish as Gabby would put it), he felt foolish as he stood there, barely anywhere to move in the small tiled-room. The closer the walls were the bigger his ego felt. And Eren hated it.

But since he didn’t want to admit defeat and go back into the living room, he decided that there might be something useful in here. So he pushed away any frustration he felt from the previous conversation and pressed on.

The metal of the faucet lever was cold on his fingers as he flicked it on. Nothing came out. Which wasn’t a surprise, clean, drinkable water hadn’t been easy to come by during these times. But Eren still had hope that one day, in one of these abandoned houses, his luck would change. Looked like it wasn’t today.

Next was the cabinet behind the mirror, picked through from the looks of it, the only thing that was left were some stray cotton swabs. An annoyed sigh fell from his lips as he let the cabinet door swing shut, the mirror rattling a bit as it fell back into place. His eyes met his own in the reflection.

It’s been a long time since he observed his own features. Vanity was one thing that had to be quickly forgotten if you wanted to survive. He never cared much for his looks, but damn, he has seen some better days. Now it made sense why Y/N thought he was so much older. He looked so tired and… angry. And the few stray gray hairs that were strewn throughout his hair did not help. Nor did the five o'clock shadow. He ran a hand over his mouth, feeling the rough skin under his palm.

Eren examined himself for only a second longer, before shaking his head and crouching down to see if there was anything under the sink. There wasn’t much there either, save for some gauze (which he pocketed) and a box way in the back, tucked behind the piping.

When he pulled the box free from its hiding spot he found it was a box of tampons. Heat rushed to his cheeks as he thought of the mortifying situation of having to hand this over to Gabby. But he knew these were a gold mine for her. And if he had to be traveling with a teenage girl he might as well make the ride easier for him. Maybe he could find a way to sneak it into her backpack. The box found its home next to the gauze in his pocket.

As Eren stood to take one more glance around the room, a loud bang sounded out from the other side of the door. In one swift moment his gun was back in his hands, the door slamming against the wall from how quickly he exited the bathroom. His heart was beating loudly in his chest. Please let the kid be alive.

He expected to find blood, a body, or any other horrifying thing his mind could come up with. What he saw instead, was a mattress in the middle of the room, the furniture spread out, and the two girls huffing from exertion. Ellie was still on the couch, her tail thumping against the leather in a form of contentment.

“That thing was heavier than I expected.” Y/N said, placing her hands on her hips. Gabby nodded in agreement before flopping down on the mattress, her limbs sprawled out across the plush surface.

“What are you doing?” Eren asked, placing his gun back in its holster.

“Sleeping arrangements.” Gabby answered, propping herself up to look at Eren, “It was Y/N’s idea. She said it would be like a ‘slumber party.’”

“I used to do this with my friends freshman year of college— Well the only year of college…” Y/N trailed off, and a glimpse of who this woman was before this hell broke out flashed before Eren's eyes. He shifted awkwardly on his feet.

“Anyways, you get the picture.” Y/N waved off, “It’ll be fun.”

“Fun isn’t something we can afford these days.” Eren countered, stepping further into the room.

“Don’t worry, there’s something in it for you too.” She replied, that teasing tone hinting through her words once more. “You can keep an eye on her and the traitorous murderer you think that I am all at the same time. If that isn’t what you consider fun, then I got you pegged all wrong.”

Eren’s jaw clenched and unclenched as he stared at her. She held her ground as he did, her smile not once faltering.

“Fine.” He said gruffly, after a minute of chewing it over. Y/N’s smile shifted into a grin at his response, Gabby exhaled an excited ‘yes!’ from the bed.

“Then it’s settled.” She grinned, “I’ll get the rest of the blankets.”

“You do that.” Eren breathed, as he moved to find his spot back on the couch. He rubbed at his eyes, already exhausted from this woman’s added energy.

“Psst.” He heard from the floor. He moved his hand to look at Gabby. Though she must’ve thought her first attempt at garnering his attention fell flat, as a throw pillow came flying at his face. It bounced off his forearm, which he lifted in defense just in time.

“What?” He hissed.

“I like her.” She whispered. Eren paused, taking in the hopeful features of the teenager in front of him.

“Don’t get attached.” He said simply.

“Why not?” Gabby argued, still in her hushed tone. “She could make us stronger. Help us out, you know?”

Eren considered this. It was true, this woman seemed to know what she was doing when it came to surviving. And there was strength in numbers. But she would be another mouth to feed. Another person to keep alive. Plus her stupid dog.

“We’ll talk about it in the morning.” Eren decided, not wanting to go back and forth on the pros and cons list. “Get some sleep, kid.”

“Ugh, fine.” Gabby groaned, flopping back down on the mattress.

Their conversation had ended just in time as Y/N returned to the room, her arms stuffed with more pillows and blankets.

“I haven't slept in a real bed like this in months.” She told them as she dumped the blankets onto Gabby.

“I don’t think I ever slept in a bed like this.” Gabby responded, sitting up from under the pile, pillows falling pathetically onto the floor. “This thing is huge.”

“It’s a king. These people were probably rich.” Y/N agreed, lifting up one of the blankets, and kicking the rest of them onto the floor. Gabby took her cue and got up and watched as Y/N started making the bed. She flicked the edge of a sheet so it floated above their heads before fitting nicely over the mattress. As she did the same with the rest of the blankets, Gabby would help to make sure each one was spread evenly.

“What about you?” Y/N asked as they did so.

“What about me?” Eren replied, assuming she was talking to him by the way she nodded at him when she asked.

“When was the last time you slept in a bed like this?”

Eren looked down at the now nicely made bed, Gabby placing down the pillows at the top, everything looking so much more expensive than anything he had owned in his previous life.

“Never.” He answered honestly.

“Then you should try it out.” Y/N responded, her words seemingly genuine, “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Not a chance.” Eren scoffed. “I’ll keep watch.”

“You’re going to stay up all night?”

The look he gave her must have answered Y/N’s question. Her lips pursed in a thin line, almost like she was unhappy. But she didn’t argue with him, which came as a surprise. He was bizarrely grateful. It had been a long day and he didn’t have the energy. It seemed that she didn’t either.

“Is it alright if I share this with you?” She then asked Gabby. Eren opened his mouth to protest, still untrusting of this woman, but like always he was late to the punch.

“Of course.” Gabby answered, way more trusting than Eren ever would be. “This thing is huge, I’d feel bad if you’d have to sleep on the floor.”

“Thank you.” Y/N smiled at her, grabbing a pillow and placing it at the other end of the bed, apparently still considering the space that should be kept between strangers.

Those were the last words that were spoken for the night. Soon shoes were tugged off, heads were on pillows and the sounds of soft, steady breathing filtered into the room. Slowly but surely.

Eren’s eyes stayed wide open, his gaze fixed on the dying embers of the fire.

Eren was running. Razor sharp branches reached out from either side of him, cutting up the skin of his arms and legs. He heard the moans and groans grow louder and louder behind his back, knowing they were gaining on him. His heart was pounding in his ears, his legs were killing him. Somewhere through the growling and his panicked breathing he heard a voice, someone calling to him. Hope sparked deep in his stomach and he knew that if he could only get to where that voice was coming from, only then would he be safe. He reached a hand out. His foot caught on a root. He was falling to the ground and then—

He was awake. He startled up straight in his seat, a quilt slipping off of his chest as he did. His eyebrows knitted together in confusion at the fabric that was crumpled across his legs.

“Are you okay?”

It was Y/N. His eyes found her at the other end of the couch, her features illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through the windows, the fire now completely out. Her fingers smoothing over Ellie’s head which was resting in her lap. He put two and two together, realizing that she must have been the culprit behind the blanket. Huh.

Eren looked around the room, trying to catch his bearings. Snores emanated from the curled up figure on the bed he knew to be Gabby. Everything else was quiet. There was nothing coming.

“How long was I out?” He asked, ignoring her first question.

“I’m not sure.” Y/N shrugged, “You were asleep when I woke up. Decided to take over the watch since you were… preoccupied.”

“Did anything happen?”

“Nothing of note.” She responded. Eren let out a deep sigh, his body visibly relaxing into the couch. He let his head fall back against the edge of the furniture, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed at nothing.

“Bad dream?” Y/N inquired, shifting in her seat to face him. Ellie huffed, obviously annoyed at having to remove herself from her previous comfortable position. She curled up closer to Eren. Y/N didn’t seem to mind. And strangely neither did he.

He stole a look at her sideways. “Is it that obvious?”

“I doubt anyone’s having any good dreams these days.” She replied. He nodded in agreement.

“What was it about?”

Silence fell over the cabin once more as Eren contemplated her question. He was never really the type to indulge in these types of conversations, but she was here and she was asking, so why wouldn’t he? If only for tonight.

“The usual.” Eren sighed, “Running away from those horrible things… Not making it in time.”

It was Y/N’s turn to nod, only this time in understanding. “Yeah, that’s what woke me up too.”

“What was yours about?”

The subtle surprise that flitted across the girl's face matched how Eren felt when the words tumbled out of his lips. He wasn’t even sure if he really cared for the answer. But as he waited for her response it sort of felt like he did. Maybe it was something about what she had said earlier. He wanted to get to know her.

“It’s the same every night.” She said, her voice turning into a soft hush, “I lose her every single time.”

Eren watched as Y/N’s hand dropped onto her dog, her fingers intertwining through the black fur.

He knew those kinds of dreams all too well. If he doesn’t wake up before the initial fall, that’s when he realizes he’s all alone, surrounded by those monsters. He had failed. The one thing he promised her. He didn’t protect her.

His eyes rose up from her hand, meeting her irises. It was dark, so he couldn’t be sure, but he swore that her eyes were shining with unshed tears, reflected by the small bit of moonlight. The beating heart in his chest stirred in a way that made him slightly uncomfortable. He never knew how to deal with other people's emotions. Though the one thing he did know, was that behind those tears was genuine fear. Fear of loss. Fear of being left alone in this world. Fear of failure. It was the exact same feeling that hid behind his own teal eyes. It was what he saw in the mirror in that tiny bathroom. An epiphany hit him in the dark of the night.

He drew in a breath.

“We’ll go with you.”

~~~

A/N: omg!!! so he decided to tag along with Y/N (like we didn’t all see that coming 🙄) I hope you enjoyed this chapter!!! please don’t be afraid to message me too! I’d love to talk to you guys about this fic (or anything for that matter!) ILY ALL!!! (oh also i promise I’ll make a masterlist post for this soon i’m just very lazy)

Taglist: @large-juice @dududubebo @jaegersdiary (message me or comment if you want to be added!)

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p0orbaby · 2 years ago

Text

Psalm 41:9

Summary - Tony has suspicions about what happened that fateful night.

Warnings - Some medical talk, language, mentions of drugs and od

Authors note - not me taking months just to post a filler chapter…

Word count - 2k

Navigation | Series Masterlist | W.M Masterlist

The sky was a bruised purple. Dark waves slashed open by pink and blue and orange. It was both eerie and beautiful at once. Wanda pondered briefly, as she stared at the world outside through the window and past her own reflection, if it was an echo of her current situation.

Her friends had all but betrayed her trust. You had abandoned her. Yet she’s gained two precious children. The beings that made up for everything terrible happening right now. They’ve forced her to see that there’s light even at the end of the darkest tunnels.

Though life was rarely fair. Happiness was a luxury. She knew that now, turning to look at you. Beeping machines caging you in. She just needed to figure out if all the pain was worth it in the end. And it was a hard decision to make when the person she would choose to lean on in times like this was the product of her worries. A body hooked to medical devices. Still and pale and half the person you were the last time she saw you.

She sighed in defeat. Slowly sinking herself into the chair Tony gratefully vacated for her. Teary eyes scanning over you, chest heaving with irritation and guilt and everything else that came along with having your spouse in hospital.

Fuck.

How could you be so stupid? After all this time, to slip and have everything you've built together crumble before her eyes. Like a cliff edge disappearing into the choppy sea after years of holding on. Was that what you did? Held on. Grappled for so long you caved and followed what you desired. Corroded with time.

She thought therapy was helping. The two of you were in a good position. Things were healthy. Or so she was led to believe.

Perhaps she was the stupid one after all.

The fresh air helped him get clarity.

Deep breaths and pacing were the foundations of Tony Stark's relatively stable mind.

Wanda had come to see you so he thought best to give her some alone time. She looked tired. Understandable after giving birth. Angry from being told you’d overdosed. Disappointed. Alone.

It was a shock to everyone. Sure you’d had your problems. You’d been dealt a hard life, but Wanda and her patience had really turned you around. So to get a call from Natasha to say you’d been admitted for drugs was not something he’d have ever expected. Not anymore. Not at this point in your life.

Which is what didn’t sit right with him.

How it seemingly went from zero to sixty in one night.

He thought about what could’ve happened as he used the toe of his shoe to kick stray stones along the path of the hospital gardens. It couldn’t have been work stress because you were on leave. Strict Instructions from him and Maria to stay away from anything company related. You’d not fallen out with Wanda from what he knew. Or Natasha, Bucky or himself. You’d been to see Clint on the farm a few weeks back and he’d given sound reports. Therapy was going well. Nothing at all out of the ordinary.

His mind was drawing a blank. Tony Stark had finally been stumped. It unsettled him.

A sudden ringing from beside him made him jump. He wasn’t expecting any calls, opting to take a few days to spend with Peggy upstate. But alas, as the sun was setting and the sky turned to ink, Steve’s phone vibrated next to him as they both laid lazily on the couch.

He slipped from beneath his wife with an apologetic look, but she just waved him off with a wink, laying her head back down. “Hey Tony, what’s up?”

“Oh nothing much, scouting the hospital grounds, critiquing the canteen food. Terrible by the way, I wouldn’t recommend it. How’s your pit stop trip going? Peggy making you run around for her I hope”

“Fine, good. Tony, you know I like talking to you right? But now's not a good-“

“I know I’m sorry. I am, but it’s important. It’s about Y/N”

“Tony-“

“Y/N’s overdosed. She’s in hospital.

Before your start it’s nothing major, in theory. The doctors are keeping her under for observation”

“Shit. I’m sorry, I didn’t know”

Steve walked to the sliding back door and stepped out onto the patio. The small lake behind the garden fence glimmered in what little light the evening provided. The moon just about peaking through the curtains of velvet sky. Reflecting halos on the rippling water.

“No sweat. She’ll pull through. She always does”

“Well if there's anything I can do to help then don’t hesitate to ask”, Steve offered, chest tightening slightly at the thought of you in a hospital bed.

“There was one thing actually. You can say no, but I’d be really grateful if you could help me out”

By the tone of his friend's words, Steve knew that it wouldn’t be as simple as just picking him some fresh clothes or collecting Morgan up from school. He took a deep breath before letting Tony continue.

“No one can find her phone. We don’t know where she went last night. There’s nothing online about anything either”

Steve knew where Tony was going with this. All he could do was let out a sigh. Run his hand over his face. Lean against the railing of the terrace.

“Tone, I can’t go digging up information on a case that doesn’t exist. Police resources aren’t used like that”

“What if I make it a case? I can file a report about excessive drug activity in the city. Or I could go to the mayor…”

Just hearing his friend ramble on upset him. His plans wouldn’t go anywhere. Of course authorities knew about the drug problem. There’s just too much to do to stop it. And the mayor will just laugh in his face. Tell him to keep his nose out of places it doesn’t belong. Stark or not, he didn’t listen to anyone.

“Tony stop. Okay just, slow down, alright. I’ll help. But it has to be under wraps. No tv. No papers. Nothing. I’m not having a repeat of last time”

“Yes, thank you. No, I get it. I’ll be quiet, I swear. I just want you to find her phone and see where she was last night. Maybe find her on CCTV or something”

Steve’s eye caught something in his periphery. It was Peggy leaning against the frame of the sliding door in her robe. She must’ve overheard some of the conversation because the look on her face was one Steve hated. Disappointment. Worry.

“I promise. I won’t even tell Pepper. Well I might have to but she-“

“Goodnight Tony. I’ll talk to you soon” was all Steve said before he hung up. Flinging his phone onto the patio furniture with a bounce.

“Duty calls?” Peggy asked, reaching out for Steve’s hands to pull him back inside.

All Steve did was nod and wonder why he let himself get dragged into these situations.

Bucky was sitting on the edge of the bed when Natasha walked out of the bathroom, towel in hand, drying her hair from the shower.

“Everything alright?” She asked when she noticed him running his hands through his hair. Leaving an unruly mess in its wake.

“Tony’s asked Steve to help him find out some details about the night Y/N was admitted”. His voice was gravelly, laced with tiredness and something else she couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“That’s good isn’t it? That they’ve found something concrete enough to get the police involved”. Her back was turned to him as she placed her dirty clothes in the laundry basket and rummaged around her dresser for something to wear. But even facing away from him, she could feel the tension radiating from his broad frame behind her.

“No, they’ve not found anything. Steve’s doing it under the table”

His voice muffled slightly as she pulled one of his old T-shirts over her head. “Oh, right. Well if Steve has agreed then there must be some validity to it. All of this, with Y/N I mean, is out of the blue even with her history. Just last week she said-“

“Steve’s asked me if I can help him”. Natasha tried to make her shock as invisible as possible, but Bucky’s eyes met hers when she spun around and sucked in a harsh, involuntary breath.

“Buck”

“I know what you’re going to say, and I want to tell him I can’t. But it’s Steve, and he wouldn’t agree to do this for no reason. Y/N’s our friend, we have to help somehow”

“Not like this though Bucky. You can’t be starting all this again, you’ve just about gotten over what happened on deployment. And then we’ve got our own plans on top of that. Starting a family-“

“What the fuck am I supposed to do? Say no and have him do it alone?”

“Took the words right out of my mouth”

Bucky stood from where he was perched to pace around the room in frustration. “You know that’s not an option, Nat”

“And why not? Why can’t we just accept that what’s happened was a massive slip up? That Y/N needs medical help, people to support her. Not my husband playing vigilante to look for something that probably isn’t there”

“She’s our friend,” he countered.

“And you almost got killed the last time you followed someone into the firing line”

“That was different and you know it. How can you compare what happened out there with this? We’re not in some foreign desert, Natalia”

Bucky looked wild. An animal back into a corner.

Defenses raised and ready to pounce. She shouldn’t have mentioned the war, but she needs him to see that what he’s planning to do is dangerous. Stupid even. But now defusing the situation was probably her best bet.

“Bucky, please take some time to think about this. We’ll talk about it all properly tomorrow. Just, come to bed. Get some sleep, we’ve had a long day”

She reached an arm out towards him, palm facing upwards ready for him to take a hold of, but all he did was walk past her. Pushing her hand out of his path as he headed to the bedroom door.

“I’m going to sleep in the guest room” was all he said before the door clicked behind him. Leaving Natasha alone in the soft glow of the lamp on her nightstand.

“Is it done?”

The voice was tinny over the phone. Crackling and quite as if they were headed through a tunnel.

“Yeah, it’s done. Left her in the alley at the back of the building. Doubt anyone got to her in time”

A door slammed in the background. Footsteps tapping on what sounded to be a gravel path.

“Good. I’m presuming you want the rest of your payment?”

“Well, I didn’t just kill someone for free now did I? I can meet you at the same spot as last time”.

“Sarcasm doesn’t look good on you, my dear”.

keys turning in a lock. Hushed voices covered by a palm over the reviver. “We’ll give you a call in a few days. But it’ll be a drop off, meeting last time was risky”

“Sure, but if it’s not there, I’m not going to be very happy. I can’t stick around here for too long”

There was a scoff and a chuckle before they answered, “sweetheart, you’ll get it when we decide to give it to you”, then the line was dead. A monotone beep filled the room. Phone bouncing off the mattress on the floor as it’s thrown with a sigh.

The stars that blinked languidly over the city bore witness to the shattered shards of a dangerous puzzle.

Across the city, wife, brother, friends and foe, all vital parts in a game none of them knew they were playing.

While you laid there, dragging your way through the fog. Looking for a break in the clouds.

Taglist

General Taglist: @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @jromanoff @diaryoflife @xxromanoffxx @marrymemcgrath @smileyromanoff @rice-wiife @homiesexyall @wanda-is-my-joker @wackymcstupid @when-wolves-howl @sayah13 @lesbicentism

OTM Series Taglist: @lattayhottay16 @fxckmiup @laylasbunbunny @raqelacevedo @marvelogic @wandsgale @smromanoff @alwaysbimyself-blog @holiday-house-of-m @cherlenovix

W.M Taglist: @olsensnpm @anaaam @wandsmxmff

#one too many #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #mom!wanda #mom!wanda x reader #wanda maximoff angst #angst

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morgantheblue · 2 days ago

Text

City of Light: Domina. A Vampire the Masquerade Short Story.

Rating: R/M/18+

Minors DNI

CW: Blood, Dehumanization, BDSM, Discussions of Death, Lasombra attitudes toward Ghouls. Shadow-Play. Choking Dubcon. World of Darkness

This is the first part of a project I'm calling "City of Light." A Series of VtM short stories set in and around Paris in the year 2025. Some, like this first one, will be Horror. Some will be smutty. Some will be both. Some won't be either. I will endeavour to tag everything I can. But these stories will not be for everyone.

I will be posting these to Ao3 as well.

This first story features a Lasombra punishing one of her ghouls. It features heavy themes of dehumanisation, BDSM and also a scene involving rotten food. If any of that is too much for you, please move on.

City of Light: Domina

In which, a Lasombra punishes her Ghoul.

She looks down at the mud tracked in through the door. A tiny brown smear on the white marble, less than an inch from the mat. It is almost imperceptible. Almost. She sees it and her hands curl against her side. She turns her head, slowly. Her eyes track along the entry hall. The flicking tongues of flame that dance in their glass prisons cast strange shadows over everything, but she sees it, on hands and knees, scrubbing the floor with a black handle brush. She sees it’s naked arms shake with the effort of the task. She sees it shivering against the cold of her haven. She sees it keep its head bowed low. Obedient. Servile. Her eyes track back to the speck of mud. Imperfect.

It has no name; It lost the right to one years before. It has no face, its head is hidden behind a latex mask. It is locked with a heavy padlock at the back of its head. It has no voice unless she permits it. It toils in silence. It has only one mark of identification. An intricate number tattooed down the length of its naked back. It is number Three.

Her name is Flavia. But to Three, she is the Domina. And the Domina is displeased.

She relaxes her hands and takes a deep breath. She closes her eyes and feels the beast rouse, feels the gnawing unending hunger grow yet deeper. She feels the beast’s eyes in her mind. Feels its teeth at her ear. In her mind she almost sees it. A creature of shadow and blood snarling and snapping and, for now, forced back. The Beast retreats to the shadowy miasma at the edge of her soul.

She opens her eyes as her shadow convulses. It jitters. It fits. It bursts. She stands as still as stone as her erupting shadow curls into tendrils of inky black. She watches as the tendrils creep along the floor, she smiles as they climb lizard-like up the walls. She licks her lips as they slither forward. One after another the flames die. One after another the lights go out. Her eyes close again. When they reopen they are abyssal in depth and colour. She sees clearly. The darkness holds nothing from her.

She sees Three still scrubbing the floor. She wonders if it knows it has displeased the Domina. That its continued work is a feeble attempt to avoid what is to come. Or perhaps it is simply well trained. That it knows it has not been given the privilege of rest. She wonders how long it will scrub and clean and toil for her. She licks her lips and decides to test the theory another night.

The shadow tendrils retreat to her. Her eviscerated shade knits itself back together. She walks toward Three. Her footsteps ring on the marble, sharp and clear against the scraping of the brush. She stands two paces behind the naked Ghoul. She speaks.

“Stop.”

Its hands cease their work in an instant.

“Kneel”

It rises to its knees. It places its hands palm down on pale thighs. The brush between their parted legs.

She steps closer. She leans down over it. She whispers ice into its ear.

“Do you know why I snuffed out the lights, Three?”

“No, Domina” It said, in a voice louder and yet infinetly smaller than hers.

“In the dark I can hide your failure” She hisses. “You don’t even know you had failed me, do you?”

“No, Domina” It shakes as it speaks.

“Ignorance is no excuse, but don’t worry, you will learn.”

Before Three can reply, her arm wraps around its throat. Her elbow squeezes, she feels it go rigid. She hears it choke. She shushes, she coos. She fixes her black eyes on the bulging vein in its neck. It throbs against the skin.

She reaches down and picks up the brush. She turns it over in her hand, presses it against the smooth skin of Three’s stomach. The bristles are made of coarse hair, for scouring stains from the expensive marble. In Her hands they carve deep scratches that bubble with crimson rivulets. The scent hits her nose, she feels the beast lick its lips. Three shakes in her grasp.

“Stay still, or I’ll break your pretty neck.” She speaks with a voice as smooth as silk.

She squeezes with her elbow, it stops shaking. It locks up. She can smell its sweat, she can smell its blood as she drags the brush up toward its chest, slowly. Slowly. It lets out a strangled whimper, she runs her tongue over her teeth and feels the sharpness of her fangs. Her eyes fix on the bulging vein.

“I could feed, I could sink my fangs into you, drink deep of your blood. It would be so easy, so easy to drain you. Let those little thoughts slip away, let whatever remains of you fade into sweet oblivion…But even that would be too good for you. You failed me, tonight and before. That moment of perfect ecstasy will forever be beyond your reach, Three…”

“Please…Mercy…Mercy Domina…” It chokes out. Spittle runs down its mask, drips down onto the marble, pooling with the blood from its scratches.

“Mercy? I am Lasombra. I am the Abyss. Mercy is not a word I know…”

“Please” It gurgles pathetically.

She can hear it struggle for each breath. Struggle to stay still. Struggle not to cry out as the brush makes a carven mess of its torso. She presses deeper, blood weeps down its stomach, stains its skin. A canvas for the Domina. She lets the brush fall from her hands, it clatters to the floor.

What relief it brings is short lived, her fingers dig deep into the scratches. Sharp nails rake the Ghoul.

It can’t help itself. It Screams.

The Domina laughs.

She feels its warm blood coat her hand. She rips it back, crimson arcs into the dark, splatters on the ground with small, wet sounds. She releases her grip on it’s throat, but seizes its arm, drags it back.

It gasps, it whimpers, it squeezes its eyes shut. But there is no release. No freedom.

Not over. Not yet.

Her bloody hand traces a line down its bleeding torso, down to the crux of its legs. Dips between stained thighs. Stops.

She begins to laugh.

She raises her bloody hand to Three’s nose.

She lets them smell its blood.

She lets them smell its arousal.

“Was it the brush? The choking? The fear?”

Its words die in its throat. It just whimpers. She places a hand on its back, shoves it away from her and smirks as it cries out. She watches it whimper in the darkness. She stands over it and licks its shame from her hand.

The Beast purrs.

“Clean yourself up, then find me in the kitchen. You have twenty minutes. Do not disappoint me again.”

She walks away, tasting the blood on her lips. Stopping only once. Only when she hears two words, like the bleating of a sheep, in the darkness behind her.

“Yes, Domina…”

*********

The Domina places the apple amid the cornucopia of fruit in the bowl. It stands like the magnificent centerpiece of a gallery. It is surrounded by the bounty of her estate. They are the culmination of a decade of work. Tended to by loving, yet fearful hands. Her orchards and groves would make a Toreador blush given their beauty.

Apples and strawberries of beautiful ruby red, shining and ripe. Oranges that remind her of breakfasts in a life lived by another woman. Grapes that could make the finest vintages. Plums and peaches that make even her dead mouth water.

It almost makes her sad, knowing what she is about to do to them. Almost.

She stands, naked, in front of the counter. Her back to the door. She wants Three to see her as it enters. Wants it so see what she so often denies it. An eternal reminder. What it could have had, had it not fallen so short.

She hears the bell attached to the white door ring and allows herself a smirk. She hears two footsteps, a small gasp. A stop. She doesn’t turn to look.

“You may look, Three.”

“Thank you, Domina.”

She says nothing, picks up the bowl and turns. Three stands in the door, it is still naked save for its mask. Its body has been cleaned, its wounds no longer bleed, but the marks are clear. They will not fade for some time yet. Good. Let it wear them as a badge of shame. Let it remember the price of failure.

It doesn’t matter how small the failure is. How tiny the speck of dirt on their record. She has been tested just the same and she has excelled. She has gained all that she denies to her servants. There can be no second chances among the Magisters. Three and its companions will pay for their failure until she finally tires of them. It is lucky she finds scars beastly. It is lucky she does not decorate its face with more than a mask.

“Hands and knees.” She says and gestures with her head.

It obeys.

She snaps her fingers, points to a spot in front of her and watches it crawl. A half smile forms on her red-wine lips. It crawls toward her thinking what, she wonders? That all is forgiven? That she will treat it to the fruits of the estate? To the taste of her body? To pleasure? To bliss?

Foolish.

She holds the bowl out in front of her, fingers curled over the edges, brushing against the fruit. Moonlight spills through the windows, her shadow fractures into four. She smiles a smile so sweet it can rot teeth. She looks down, Three stares up. Its eyes visible through the mask. They are wet with fear, exhaustion, need. The teeth of its mouth zipper press into its trembling lips.

“Are you hungry?”

It nods.

“Your words, use them.” Ice edges her voice.

“Yes, Domina.”

She closes her eyes and once more the beast stirs, but this time she feels its gaze and nothing more. Her divided shadow splits yet further. It curls around her in thick ropes of darkness. She lets a sigh escape her lips and a shiver run up her spine. They crawl up her legs, they tickle. They tease. She feels a heat, she feels sparks across her deadened nerves. She lets the shadows play. She lets herself moan. She knows the torment it must bring, to watch and be denied.

She opens her eyes, they are black as the shadows embracing her. Her grin widens, widens, her mouth hangs open and her slick tongue plays over her bottom lip. The shadows slither and crawl down her arms. They dance over her fingers, they swarm over the bowl.

They touch the fruit.

She laughs.

Red fades to brown, orange rots to green. Skins shrivel, dry and crack open. Mold blooms The sickly sweet miasma of decay hangs in the air. She knows the scent and knows it well.

She places the bowl down, the beautiful display a rotten half-soup now. As her shadows pleasure her, she watches the hope die in Three’s eyes. She pushes the bowl toward them with her left foot.

“Eat” She orders.

It obeys.

It dips its head into the fetid soup. It slurps filth and chews rot. It chokes on mold and gags on decay. Its hands squeeze closed. She can smell when its nails break the skin. She places her foot on the back of its head, presses its head down into the bowl. Its cry is drowned out by the muck.

“You are a failure. You were a failure the day you said you’d never betray me. You’d never be strong enough to survive. You are a Ghoul. Your only job is to serve and survive on the refuse of your betters.”

She lets out another long moan as a shadow finds a deliciously sensitive spot.

“I’m sure you lie to yourself, you say this is for your own good. That you will be happy like this. Free from choice. Free from hunger. A fiction. You exist because I find you amusing, Three. But one day? One day I shall tire of you, and you will feed my orchards.”

She presses down further. It squeals like a stuck pig. She leans down. She can smell its fear, above the stench of decay and rot.

“You aren’t a pet, you aren’t a workhorse. You’re a toy. My Rose? She is something to be treasured. You? You are to be used then discarded. And if you fail me again? You’ll find out just how quickly toys can be broken.”

She lifts her foot from its head and steps back. She watches.

It keeps eating.

She smiles.

The shadows dance.

When the meal is done, it raises its head from the bowl, but it does not look at her.

“Thank you, Domina.”

“What for, Three?”

“For the meal and for the lesson. I won’t fail you again Domina.” Its voice is weak, nauseous.

“Yes you will. But you are welcome.”

Before she can speak again, the bell rings once more. She turns her gaze to the kitchen door. Another Ghoul stands there. She has no idea which one it is. It is also naked. Also masked. It clutches a sheet of paper in its hands. It shakes with fear.

“Domina, please forgive the intrusion…” It stops. Only now seeing the shadows pleasing its Domina.

“Continue.” She hisses.

“Your Rose, she sends a message, something terrible is happening in the city. Infernalism, Domina.”

She sighs. She snaps her fingers. She feels the shadows retreat. So it seems the City of Light had more on its plate than Thin Bloods and Hunters. She glares at the trembling Three, then at the Ghoul in the door.

“Have Five prepare my outfit, have Twelve bring the car. Lock this one in the Cage, then clean up the mess. And when I return? If I find a speck of filth anywhere in this house, you’ll all be punished.”

She steps past Three. She strides through the door.

Behind her, two voices echo the same words.

“Yes, Domina.”

#vtm #vampire the masquerade #smut #vampire smut #lasombra #vtm ghoul #cw: blood #cw: death #teratophillia #vampirism #vampire #morgan writes

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lilacmingi · 11 months ago

Text

ALICE IN WONDERLAND AU: JUNGKOOK’S ENDING

My works are 14+ ONLY. If you’re under 14 DO NOT interact with me or any of my works

Word count: 1,480

Pairing: White rabbit!Jungkook x fem reader

Note: There’s no taglist for the separate endings. If you haven’t read the series yet, you can find the intro here or find it on my masterlist which is linked at the end of the imagine

Every single one of them were amazing and beyond perfect, but your heart seemed to be pulled towards one of them in particular.

You thought back to when you saw Jungkook and how he was the first one you met even before falling down the rabbit hole and into Wonderland. Images of him ravishing your neck with kisses brought an intense heat to your cheeks as your eyes drifted over to him.

"You're all certain that you won't get angry?" You inquired before revealing your answer.

"We're sure." Taehyung smiled warmly. "Your happiness is all that matters to us."

"Go ahead. Pick one." Yoongi urged gently.

"I can see you already have someone in mind." Namjoon said. "So just say it."

You nodded and took in a deep breath. "I choose Jungkook."

Jungkook's face lit up and his bunny ears perked as soon as his name left your lips. Unable to contain his excitement, he ran up and embraced you in a night hug, momentarily lifting you off the ground.

"I love you, Y/n. I love you so much." He murmured while rocking the both of you back and forth.

"I love you too."

Lifting his head, he locked eyes with you, tugging your body closer to his.

"We're gonna be so happy together." He whispered as he inched closer to your lips.

As much as you wanted to kiss him, you knew there were six other people standing nearby.

Before you could stop Jungkook on your own, someone cleared their throat, causing him to pull away.

"Save that for the bunny cottage." It was Yoongi that spoke.

"Sorry." The tips of Jungkook's ears turned pink from embarrassment. "I got carried away."

"Well that settles it." Jin smiled warmly. "I suppose we should all go our separate ways."

"We all need to keep in touch." Jimin mentioned.

"I'm having a tea party tomorrow! You all should join." Taehyung piped up.

"You have a tea party every day. What's new?" Yoongi remarked.

"We can always find something else to do together. I promise we won't lose touch. I'll make sure of it." Hoseok assured.

"Me too." Jimin agreed.

"Alright. We should probably let these two get on down the road and stop holding them up." Namjoon said.

The boys pulled both you and Jungkook into an embrace, everyone saying their goodbyes and promising to meet up and stay in contact on a regular basis.

Giving a final wave to the group, you left Jin's castle and started making your way to your new home. Jungkook intertwined his fingers with yours, your feet shuffling along the cracked stone pathway that led away from the towering castle and out into the vast valley of Wonderland.

"You okay?" Jungkook tilted his head cutely.

"Yeah. Just nervous. This is a big change."

"You're happy though, right?"

"Yes. Very happy." You smiled. "It's a big change, but it's one that I'm looking forward to."

"Good. It shouldn't take us very long to get there."

"I'm so excited."

"Me too. I think you'll like it a lot."

A few minutes passed before you came upon a quaint cottage with blue bellflowers planted on either side of the front entrance and small clumps of moss growing on the roof making it look like a fairy cottage from a fantasy book. What you were seeing was nothing like what you had pictured.

Jungkook stepped forward and took it upon himself to open the door for you.

"After you, sweetheart."

The nickname made your heart thump as you kept your composure and stepped inside.

What you saw almost took your breath away. The interior was decorated cozily, setting a warm and comfortable atmosphere that made you feel right at home.

"Did you decorate this place yourself?" You asked, looking around at the small plants scattered about the living room area.

"I did." He grinned proudly.

"It's so beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as you." Jungkook's voice sounded from right beside your ear, his fingers brushing your hair back so he could trail kisses up your neck.

Your eyelids slid closed and you leaned back against him while simultaneously presenting more of your neck so he had more room to ravish you with his soft lips.

"I'm so lucky." He hummed as his hands slid around your waist.

Two weeks later

You stood at the stove flipping the last batch of pancakes, the warm scent wafting into the air and filling the small kitchen. A fond smile colored your features while you pulled cups and plates from the cabinets. You absolutely adored Jungkook's little cottage. It was cute, cozy, and the perfect size for the both of you to live in. The kitchen, though small, was equipped with all the necessities while taking up a minimal amount of space.

You rolled up the sleeves on Jungkook's shirt which you currently donned and plated the pancakes. The white dress shirt you wore fit him perfectly, though it was a little tight around the sleeves due to his massive biceps. However, the garment looked huge on you, the hem of it reaching your mid to upper thigh.

The faint sound of bare feet padding against the hardwood floors reached your ears moments before a pair of strong arms wrapped themselves around your waist.

"Good morning." A groggy Jungkook murmured, his morning voice sending a not-so-subtle shiver down your spine.

"Good morning, bun." You reached back to tousle his long hair which was no doubt a mess.

"You made pancakes? That's so sweet of you." He placed a kiss to your cheek.

"It's nothing." You fought back a smile, turning your head just enough to where Jungkook couldn't see you getting flustered.

His strong hands gripped your waist and spun you around to face him. It was then that you took notice of the fact that he didn't have a shirt on, leaving nothing to the imagination.

In the two weeks you had been living with Jungkook, seeing him shirtless wasn't an uncommon sight, but you still managed to get flustered every time you saw his exposed torso. It drove you crazy. His broad chest and tiny waist were always capturing your attention, drawing you in like a magnet.

When your eyes met Jungkook's, he smirked at you. It was then that you realized you were (very obviously) staring at his physique and you had been caught.

"Something catch your eye?" He inquired, quirking a sharp brow.

Your eyes avoided his which made him take your chin between his fingers, turning your gaze back to him. A mixture of desire and adoration swirled behind his darkening eyes.

"What are you staring at, beautiful?" He asked.

You responded with a meek, "Nothing."

"C'mon, darling. You can tell me. I am your boyfriend, after all." He spoke lowly, leaning in so close that you could feel his breath tickling your neck.

"You know what I was staring at." You responded.

He feigned innocence. "No I don't."

You swallowed.

"Why don't you show me?"

That cheeky little comment lit a fire in the pit of your stomach.

Two can play at that game.

Bringing your hand to his upper chest, you placed your palm onto his skin before slowly sliding it down the valley of his chest, one of his bunny ears twitching lightly in response. Your hand moved lower to his stomach, your fingertips trailing over his abs, causing his eyelids to flutter.

"I was staring at all this, big boy." You responded in a sultry tone.

That was all it took to make him snap.

He closed the gap between your faces and attacked your lips with his own, biting harshly at them before taking your bottom lip between his. Your hands flew up to his hair, grabbing handfuls of the long, inky strands, tugging on his locks every once in a while, eliciting small sighs and grunts from him.

Kisses with Jungkook were always dizzying and left you in a haze of bliss. The man was full of passion and never failed to remind you of that.

The tips of your fingers brushed against the base of his bunny ears, causing him to release a sigh into your mouth. Unable to keep them in one place for too long, your hands traveled down along his broad chest and across his torso, feeling every dip and curve of his toned body. In turn, he pressed you against the cabinets, caging your smaller form with his much larger one.

"Jungkook." You sighed out when your lips parted ways, your breaths coming out in shallow huffs.

"Mmm what?" He hummed, kissing you again.

"The pancakes are going to get cold."

"Why have pancakes when I have something sweeter right in front of me?" He murmured, latching his lips to yours once again.

You eventually got around to eating breakfast, just after a long and heated make out session.

Masterlist ᝰ

DO NOT steal, plagiarize, copy, repost, alter, or translate my works in any way

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x y/n #bts imagines #bts fanfic #bts x reader #kpop imagines #kpop fanfic

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violettduchess · 1 year ago

Note

Ikepri Walter X reader? Pretty please?

A/N: Ah anon....this was such a spark that set off a veritable forest fire of ideas. Thank you for the ask. I hope you enjoy the result!

I also want to thank everyone who voted in all my Walter polls. You guys decided Walter has black hair, gray eyes, is tall and slender and wears glasses 💜

I have not read translations of Gilbert's route so apologies if this diverges from canon.

Walter (the court physician of Obsidian) x Reader

"Der Anfang" is German for: the beginning

WC: ~2k

Everything feels strange here. The dark castle walls waver like shadows in the pale firelight of the sconces. The carpeting underfoot is thinner than in Rhodolite's elegant palace. You can feel the grooves between the stone flooring as you walk, chamberstick in hand. You realize now the meager light of your little flame won’t do much to combat the darkness that seems to linger in the corners of Obsidian but it feels better than being empty-handed.

All you are looking for is a place where you can step outside and breathe freely. Ever since your arrival here, ever since him, you’ve felt like your lungs are being held within an iron grasp, a fist that won’t let you get a breath deep enough to feel steady. And all that shallow breathing has you spinning as you tiptoe down a winding set of stairs, fingertips brushing the cold walls. At the bottom is a wooden door and relief floods you when you press down on the iron handle and it opens easily.

Freedom.

You’ve wandered outside from a smaller side tower that opens onto a narrow earthen path. If memory serves, this will take you to the herb garden. Thankfully, you no longer need your chamberstick. The full moon glows, gilding the world in soft, silver light. Kneeling, you set it down on a small bench at the beginning of the path and continue by moonlight. A glance over your shoulder shows you the castle, dark and imposing as it stretches its pointed towers towards the sky. Is he asleep? He’s said he doesn’t sleep much and the dark circle under his crimson eye attests to that. What would he do, if he knew you were wandering outside the castle alone? Your body contracts in a shudder. Nothing good.

He hasn’t harmed you…..and yet his smiles are sharp, so sharp it feels like they could slice you as easily as a bladed weapon. And his eye…..there is no light there. When you stare into the depth of all that red, it feels like you’re staring into an abyss.

Red like a warning.

Red like danger.

Red like blood.

You reach the iron gate of the herb garden and let yourself in. Maybe you’ll be able to find some chamomile or lavender. Something to help calm the mind, keep your nerves steady. It’s nightfall, yes, but that luminous moon is doing her best to guide you.

It’s when you take a turn down the dirt path that you notice another figure kneeling there. Hearing your approach, the man turns his head and his face is colored by surprise.

“What on earth are you doing out here, Fräulein?”

Walter, the court physician, wipes the dirt from his hands as he regards you, head tilted to one side. He’s a tall man, taller than Gilbert, with soft black curls which are just the slightest bit too long, brushing the starched collar of his white shirt, and intelligent gray eyes the color of mist when it rolls across hills and fields on a brisk autumn morning. They’re framed by round glasses which he has a habit of adjusting, even if they haven’t slipped down the bridge of his aquiline nose.

“I–I wanted to catch a breath of fresh air.”

“At this hour?”

“I could ask you the same question, doctor.”

He glances past you towards the garden gate, as if looking for something. Or maybe someone. His brow creases slightly and those gray eyes are a fog that obscures his thoughts, storm clouds that block the blue sky. Several seconds pass before he lets out a breath, his shoulders relaxing as he turns back to his herb gathering.

“Well, then you can make yourself useful." He gestures towards the plant he is currently kneeling in front of. “I’m gathering Agranise.”

You sink down beside him, looking at the many stalks of leafy green plants dotted with small red-yellow blossoms. The scent hits you now that you are near, something sweet yet bitter, like an orange just going foul.

“If I remember correctly, Agranise is extremely acrid. And poisonous if taken in large doses.” You glance at him and he nods in confirmation.

“Ja,” he murmurs as he reaches forward, carefully plucking the dark green leaves from their stems. “But in small doses, it is a considerable tool for pain management.”

You watch him at first, noting how careful his long fingers are, how exact, as he breaks each leaf as far down the stem as possible before putting them into a glass jar you had not noticed at first. It's nestled safely against the small wicker basket he’s brought along. Carefully you mimic his action, reaching for the plant and plucking a leaf free. You work in silence for several minutes, the only sound is the occasional rustle of foliage when the night breeze sweeps through the garden as if checking on you both.

It’s you who breaks the quiet.

“How sick is he?”

Maybe you shouldn’t ask. He may not even answer but there is no denying who you are gathering these potent herbs for. Walter’s hand stills for a moment just as his fingers clasp a leaf stem and you can feel the internal debate he has with himself as he considers your question.

“The care is…..palliative,” he finally answers. “He must drink his tonics and it keeps the worst of it at bay.”

You pause, sitting back on your heels as Walter leans forward. His profile reminds you of ancient busts you’ve encountered in museums, the ones of emperors and distant kings who ruled the lands before they were what they are today. He carries a quiet nobility to him, even if he isn’t titled. In the museums, you would spend a long time studying those sculptures, those faces, wondering what kind of people they really were, off the pages of history and in the flesh. You find yourself wanting to study Walter the same way.

Your gaze, so steady and patient, unnerves him and he clears his throat, turning away from you and your bright, intelligent eyes.

“Can nothing be done?” Your words are hushed, like moonlight filtered through a haze of fog.

He grows still again, his head tilting downwards. Part of him longs to unburden his heart, to scream into the night yes, yes there is but he won’t do it, stubborn man, he will not undergo the surgery that would save his very life. But he also knows his role as a part of the Obsidian court. And he knows Gilbert, knows the ease in which he snaps his fingers and ends a life he deems dishonest. Unworthy. Traitorous.

The doctor rises, a single elegant motion, setting the jar inside the basket and motioning for you to follow him. You do, down the ribboned dirt path until he comes to a corner of the garden that takes your breath away. Hundreds of white flowers, almost pearlescent in the moonlight, stretch up towards the sky. A sigh of wonder escapes you as you walk over, kneeling down to get a better look at them. Their petals are white, veined with glimmering silver, and the round center a soft, glowing lavender. The scent is as haunting as the sight of them, something darkly floral with a hint of a honey-like sweetness.

You look up at Walter as he sinks down next to you.

“I’ve never seen these before. They’re stunning.”

He nods slowly and you notice how his gaze takes in the sight of them. His mouth is curved in a slight smile, his expression relaxed in appreciation.

“It’s called Night Ambrosia. They are incredibly rare. Although native to Obsidian, I believe this garden is the only place in the entire country where they still grow.”

Somehow his face is even more arresting than the flowers laid out before you.

“What happened to them?”

He sighs. “They are beautiful but they require vigilant care. They have very exacting needs, from soil acidity to light exposure to their water source.” He turns his head to meet your gaze. “It is tiring work to keep them alive. And for flowers that only bloom at night…..it is too much effort for most.”

“But you do it.” Your voice is hushed, something about the night and the garden and Walter’s soft, almost sad expression doesn’t allow you to speak above a whisper.

“Ja.” And he turns his head to glance at the castle, a dark outline against the quiet night. “Someone must.”

Gilbert.

Emotion tightens your throat like silken cords. He’s not just talking about the flowers, but about the prince he is so desperately working to keep alive. The one so many fear and would love nothing more than to see crushed underfoot, a flower petal under someone’s unrelenting bootheel. An image of Chevalier’s heavy navy and gold boots appears suddenly in your mind, sending a shudder like ice water down your spine.

“Are they poisonous?”, you ask, wondering just how far the metaphor between flower and prince goes.

In answer, Walter leans forward and gently plucks one with his bare hand. You notice a thin white scar that cuts across the top of it and wonder what happened. Maybe someday you’ll find the chance to ask.

And then he surprises you, turning and offering you the delicate blossom, the one that looks like moonlight’s kiss made real. For a moment, you are lost in the soft, almost unearthly silver of his eyes, suspended in a space where they are all you can see, a beauty so devastating it feels like it may break your heart.

You take the Night Ambrosia from him, your fingers brushing against his. His skin is warmer than you would have thought and for some reason that knowledge sends a pulse of something unexpected through you, a collision of awareness and sensation. He feels it too. He must. Because you look away at the same time, severing the thread of connection. He clears his throat, rising unsteadily to his feet as he wipes his trembling hands hurriedly on his black jacket.

Der Wolf beisst das Schaf um Kleinigkeit. The Wolf will find any reason to bite the Sheep.

Tonight has been a risk he should not take again. Not just for him, but for you as well.

“The hour is late, Fräulein. I believe it is best for us both to return to the castle.”

Your heart is rocking like a boat on the water, upheaved by a violent wind, but you manage to mask your fluster with a quick smile.

“Of course.” You start down the path but turn when he isn’t following you. “Doctor? Are you coming?”

He has knelt back down, busying himself by pretending to look through the various glass jars in his basket. “Go on. I need a moment to confirm I have gathered everything necessary.”

“Ah....well...then....good night.” Why is it hard for you to leave?

He waves a hand, not looking up. “Gute Nacht.”

You turn again, heading back to the castle, unaware of how Walter looks up when he loses the sound of your steps, his eyes following your back as you grow more and more distant, a figure shrinking into the darkness of night.

When you finally disappear from sight, he exhales slowly, removing his glasses to rub at his eyes, willing the unsettling feeling of interest to disappear. And somewhere in the back of his rational mind, knowing it won’t.

As for you.....you fall asleep that night with the lunar blossom on your nightstand, its argent petals echoing the afterglow of emotion your meeting with Walter has left across your heart.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @rhodoliteschaos @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @bubblexly @joiedecombat

#ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri walter #ikemen gilbert #ikepri gilbert #gilbert von obsidian #i need to tag gil because this isnt possible without him #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen fanfic #otome fanfiction #otome fanfic #violettwrites

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xxwitchylanexx · 3 months ago

Text

From the Keys to Your Heart

Rebirth Retold Chapter 6

The parade in Junon isn't until the end of the week so maybe a little side quest to Crow's Nest to kill the time.

This is my longest chapter yet, and you should reread chapter 7 cause the beginning has changed a bit to fit in this new chapter. Thanks everyone for reading! Feel free to comment and let me know what you liked, and if you feel like this fits our Cloud <3

Masterlist

Chapter 7

Side quest spoilers

*~*

Under Junon didn’t exactly embrace your group with open arms, but you’d take what you could get especially since the members were labeled as eco-terrorists. The mayor, a hardened woman from years being crushed under Shinra’s boot, turned a blind eye and pointed you in the direction of a cozy inn in the heart of the fishing town. You had your reservations: the glint in her stare were practically made of dollar signs, and how she sat at the entrance like she was waiting for them, not to mention the bounty on your companions heads could drastically increase the quality of life for her residents. But who were you to turn down her hospitality when the prospect of a real bed outweigh your reservations.

You were eager to walk along the uneven cement pathways, the stone was so worn down from decades of traffic that the path was nearly just gravel now, as you imagined what these houses, warehouses, and businesses looked like before they deteriorated to the crumbling patchwork structures they were now. The town was probably charming, maybe gentle, before Shinra installed gaudy support structures and the big steel plate above their heads, what once gave hope for a city metropolis now sucked the life and sunlight from the very heart of the under city. You could almost see it in your mind, cute vintage houses made of the finest dark wood, with olive shutters on the windows. Aesthetically pleasing open verandas that connected right to a shopkeeper’s house so they could run their mom n’ pop shop right outside their homes. An intricately designed harbor that really gave the town its spirit with top of the line boats to fish, after all Junon was known for its fishing.

Now those darling houses were patched with driftwood and corrugated tin, most houses had spiderweb cracks in more than half of the windows, and the shutters were long since abandoned. The shops were still open but the owners eyes were hollow and shaky on their feet, too weary from the day to day fight to keep breathing. The docks were in shambles, the planks throughout its entirety had more holes than wood and what was patched was half assed with whatever material they had on hand, but the most devastating aspect of Under Junon was the ships and the sea. Each vessel was anchored on the shore under Shinra’s order. The nets were moth eaten and moss grew along the sides where the boat met the water. The sea was polluted and greenish yellow particles floated within it, the air was smoggy and thick. Without their boats you assumed the people were going hungry. What once was a bustling port town was now the slums 2.0. Meanwhile Shinra turned a blind eye, the only ones hearing the townsfolk’s protests were the foot soldiers who operated the elevator.

You sat in the town square on the circular benches near the anchor they immortalized when they first founded Junon, it was the very first anchor they dropped on their first deep sea fishing voyage, that's what the plaque says anyway. Your inquiring eyes moved over to the colossal skeletal fossil of the towns greatest rival, The Terror of the Deep. Its maw hung open and its empty sockets bore into your own. Funny how their symbol of liberation, now foreshadowed their impending doom.

The sun had set beyond the horizon an hour or two ago. The others split apart to gather any potential info on where the guys in robes were going next or any details on the big event that Shinra was preparing for at the end of this week. You heard whispers, but nothing solid. However one thing seemed pretty clear from a rumor that everyone seemed to be repeating. Rufus Shinra was coming to town, and where the president goes the Turks follow.

A shrill scream pierced through the evening chill, and panic followed. “Help! Priscilla is in trouble!” You seen Cloud dart out of the inn, a hand firmly wrapped around the hilt of his sword. The others soon joined him in a circle, hovering over the narrow stone stairway that led to the docks. Please…. just don’t get involved… Your inner voice pleaded. Your head wasn’t in the game. Aerith’s teasing and Gabe’s implications weighed you down significantly. Your body was sore and tired from falling down a mine, sleeping on a rough rocky terrain, and riding chocoback for a whole day. Overall your head was foggy and sluggish, your edge was dulled and your instincts lagged behind.

But of course they were going to help, they always did, and despite every muscle in your body begging for relief, you hauled yourself off of the bench to follow them into danger.

*~* Who would’ve thought you’d save two people from drowning within two days, and why on this floating rock through space does no one else know CPR? You groaned, your shoulders slumping with the breath that left your body, as you stalked back up the stairs from the utter disaster of battle. You reeked of fish, and brine. Your clothes were wet from the slimy terror splashing in and out of the too warm sea. Your back ached from bending so far back that you almost fell over, all to avoid being smacked by a fish tail. You only wished you’d stabbed the overgrown goldfish harder. The only thing reigning in your fiery temper was the free room, all to yourself, with a shower and a laundry facility.

The inn was one of the only buildings that still held a calming warmth. You traced the pattern of the sage green wallpaper with a fingertip as you passed through the halls, taking time to admire the paintings of sea creatures cased in handcrafted golden frames.

You ascended the staircase to the next floor and rounded the corner at the top, walking right past a door that was left ajar thinking nothing of it before stopping in your tracks just past the frame as Cloud’s voice filtered past the doorway. His words were dry, almost emotionless, but if not for that underlying sadness you would’ve thought nothing of it and carried on.

“Was that another test?” You braced your weight alongside the wall, your palm brushing against the ridges and dips along the surface.

“What? No!” Tifa sputtered, her voice high and defensive, before heaving in defeat. “Why try to deny it. I guess it was. I’m sorry.” Your pulse quickened as the room remained silent the only thing to be heard was the rush of blood in your ears. You didn’t need to be inside to feel the thick tension that built between the two much like the twisting nausea that crawled inside your stomach. >Just how close are they?

Cloud huffed. “We’ll find time to talk, just the two of us. Figure things out.” Your nostrils flared, your esophagus began to burn as the bile worked its way up. This was none of your business.

Your feet carried you swiftly away from there, much like a mouse running from a cat, past the next door and stopped in front of the room designated to you. Your vision tunneled and your surrounding grew hazy as his voice replayed ‘just the two of us’ in your head. Your eyes stared blankly at the 203 on the doorplate. You could faintly hear your name being called, but you were unsure if it was real or just the quiet yearning of your heart that you were struggling to accept.

You closed your eyes and propped your head against the door, inhaling deeply to calm your rapid heart beat, and turned the handle of the door and slipped into the comfort of the rooms closed walls. Your lungs expanded freely without the eyes of your friends around, as you sagged against the door frame. It's none of your business. You reminded yourself as you tilted your head towards the ceiling letting your eyelids slide close.

You slowly peeled your eyes open to look around. This room was similar to the rest of the inn as far as wall style went, only this one was a rich red instead of earthy green. A queen bed, all done up in blankets of cream and tan, was pushed right up to the right side of the room. It was well lit with a square fixture on the ceiling overhead and a few table lamps. A round rug covered the wood and provided a layer of insulation from the cold creaking floor.

With a strangled groan you pushed yourself off the door and shrugged off your equipment, leaving it to fall haphazardly to the floor. Every muscle in your body burned as you lumbered over to the bed, your clumsy feet catching on the rug a few too many times. But every moment of pain was worth the relief you felt as your face nuzzled into the plush mattress and warmth flooded you as you buried yourself under the blankets.

Regardless of the pure exhaustion that plagued you, sleep had continued to evade you. Your head swam with the event of the day and thanks to Aerith’s little accusation yesterday you came to the conclusion this horrendous feeling must be jealousy, though if you admitted it you’d have to accept the fear and anger that’s welling inside you too. Gods you angry. Not at her, or Cloud, or Tifa, but yourself. How the hell did this happen? You don’t do feelings, and you certainly didn’t do romance. Seduction and infatuation, sure, but never love. It was a liability, a weakness, one could exploit if they wished. So where did it all go wrong?

It didn’t help that his room was right next to yours. Only the thin drywall between your two headboards separated you, and his thumped against the plaster rhythmically, his raspy grunts muffling through to keep your rapid thoughts circling the thought of him. Were those reps he was counting? Leave it to him to have a nightly workout.

You sighed, and mentally imagined as the conflicting emotions, the jealousy, the wishful thinking, the ghost of possible feelings, all the warmth and comfort, and pushed them all into a tiny metal chest at the deepest and darkest place that house all the other memories you kept locked away. You can’t be jealous because you don't care. You just needed to keep your distance and in a couple weeks you’ll be at the saucer and can put this whole fiasco to bed. A tiny murmur of sadness shined from the useless organ in your chest, which you quickly stamped down too. This will pass. After all you’ve gotten rather good at separating your mind from pain. You don't see how this was any different.

Once you did finally achieve the sweet release of unconsciousness you were submerged into the hideous atrocities of your childhood. Usually your subconscious could identify when you were reliving one, and change the course of the dream world, but after all of the challenges today- and yesterday- brought, your body and mind were just to exhausted. Your collective presence was pulled down into the sedation of lethargy.

It started back in the saucer. You had just won the last race, beating out the slimy asshole Chuck, and now you stood in the glamorous stables, a brush in hand and a treat in the other. It felt as if your head, or eyes, was vibrating as you ran the brush through your silver chocobo’s feathers. You heard sniffling, but kept your eyes on your bird. The last thing you wanted was to catch his attention. “No…please, stop…” Your pulse spiked, and blood ran white hot with fury. You set your brush down calmly, and assured the bird in front of you that everything would be okay.

But when you turned around to beat the shit out of the guy, you were suddenly clawing desperately at the gritty ground. Adrenaline flooded your brain as pure desperation clutched at your chest and constricted your airways. No… not here… Not again… Footsteps dug into the gravel and the ground under you vibrated. A group of men circled around you, four at least. The one closest to you gripped your ankle hard enough that it would bruise and began to drag you back into their makeshift circle. Tears fell rapidly, and your nose ran like crazy. You tried to focus on the taste of your own tears to distance yourself from the burning pain in your fingers as your nails cracked against the tiny pebbles and pieces of cement as you clawed at anything to get away.

You found that escaping was futile, so changed gears trying to kick frantically to open a chance to escape, all you needed was an ounce leverage. A small part of you just wanted to stop. Your lungs burned. Your fingers were bleeding. Your vision blurred. Your ears rang. Why fight it? There was no hope. You will die here.

A sick sadistic cackle seeped through the static. His gravelly voice, like an old muffler that rusted through where it should’ve connected to the carburetor, told the others to stop. You couldn’t make out his words, your consciousness was distorted like you were being held just beneath the surface of water, but his tone sparked fear in every fiber of your being. And like a match the embers of your resolve caught flame and blazed brightly once again. You kicked and screamed and scratched and even bit, as the other men shuffled around trying to grab whatever they could get their hands around to hold you down, but the moment you heard the clicking and shuffling of a belt coming undone you crumbled.

Your eyes filled with tears that refused to fall. Your mouth felt dry and your own cries, pleas, and begging sounded funny to your own ears. You searched for anyone, anything that might help. You knew hope was lost when your frantic gaze landed on the nosy middle aged woman in the window across the street. She held her silk curtains open with her fan, her cold impenetrable chocolate eyes watching you like it was the best entertainment she’d seen that night with no intent or sense of urgency to help.

Darkness pressed in on you until everything faded to nothing. Whether it be that you didn’t remember exactly what happened or if it was just so horrible that even your unconscious mind didn’t want to relive it, you would never know, but when you came to everything was red. No matter how many times you’ve relived this nightmare it always returns here. Your vision was streaked in crimson, bodies lay in piles around you. Some were intact, others were heavily injured, the rest were in pieces scattered around you. All of them in pools of their collected blood. Their eyes wide, still, and lifeless. Their expressions frozen as if they were screaming for their lives that never reached your cotton filled ears.

You caught an image of yourself in the rippling reflection in the puddle around your bare feet. You looked like an emissary of Odin himself. S/c skin smeared with blood, and every fiber of your awkwardly torn clothes soaked as well, and dripping down the planes of your thighs. Your sunken eyes were hollow, and lifeless beyond the flicker of wrath held within. Sobs convulsed through your tiny malnourished body and the rusted knife shook violently in your hand. A scream pierced your ear drums and everything began to shake violently. Pressure began to build and squeezed and—

You shot up from the mattress like you were struck with magic, gasping for a clear breath and clawing at the clothes that clung to your form. Loud knocking rattled the door, and a voice you weren’t entirely familiar with yelled at you from the other side. Your thoughts were far away when you stumbled to the door. You took a deep breath and collection your carefully collected facade before pulling the wretched door open. The ninja girl that you saved yesterday smiled widely at you, her lips moving a mile a minute but nothing reached your ears. You weren’t sure if you should consider her a bad omen or a breath of fresh air.

She barely gave you enough time to fix your hair and put your boots on before she herded you into Cloud’s room for weird introductions and strategy planning. Only to find out that the mayor did, in fact, rat you out. You couldn’t find it you to be angry with her though.

An engine roared to life just outside the inn, as Yuffie escaped out the rattling window. The obnoxious revving made your ears ring again and your head throb behind your eye. You’ve met some weird people while traveling with the gang but you never would’ve guessed Cloud had a biker stalker, and surprise surprise hes another soldier. You’ve been awake for all of an hour, and you were so weary you nearly said your goodbyes and parted there. If it wasn’t for that small masochistic part of you that was comforted by the chaos you would’ve been on the first chocobo home.

Once you all regrouped you discussed what you should do now. Shinra wouldn’t arrive until the end of the week when the parade was scheduled to begin. You had three days to kill, and it didn’t seem like a smart move to go topside until the day of. Barret and Cloud didn’t exactly blend into a crowd. So Barret sought out the mayor with a bone to pick as you kept to the back. You just felt so out of place. You didn’t belong with these people. Every piece of you just fought to stay upwards under the immense pressure.

Though here you were, listening as the mayor explained why she did it. She even gave him a portion of their bounty in exchange for the trouble, and the argument stopped there. She pulled her dry brown hair back into a tighter pony before returning her gloved hand to her hip. “Well, since you clearly didn’t have anything better to do, think I could out source you to work?” The mayor, Rhonda, spoke. Barrett nudged Cloud’s shoulder before shuffling in front of him. “The remainder of your bounty- I need it delivered to someone. I’ve already got a porter picked out too.” She whistled and a gray whippet dog came running before sitting back on his haunches at her feet. “This here’s Salmon. Since he’ll be the one making the drop, it’s your job to get him there safe.”

“Doesn’t seem like too much if a hassle, but… who exactly is this money for?” Barret rasped, crossing his arms over his chest.

“My son. Haven’t seen him in a spell, not since he left town… and never looked back. This gil is me washing my hands of him.” She mimicked hand washing to accentuate her point. “He’s a grown man. Can’t be clingin’ to his mom’s skirts- or her pocket book.”

“We’ll take the job, for a price.” Cloud said as he shifted his weight.

“Much obliged. Once you make it to the Crows nest, find Toby. He’ll make sure you get the reward. But if I find a single hair outta place on Sam, you won’t live to enjoy it. You keep my boy safe.” She said with a finger pointed at his chest. You scoffed, you hardly doubt that she would last a minute against Cloud, let alone you.

*~*

You decided that Barret was just a man made up of intense contradictions. He was loud, brash, quick to jump the gun, yet could be incredibly gentle, and cautious. He was as stubborn as he was loud and nearly six feet and four inches of hulking muscle. A walking intimidation, yet the first to go to bat for his people. His face, while moderately attractive, was made of sharp lines, and a strong jaw. His glare struck in many through the dark lenses of his shades, and his resting bitch face had people running for the hills. Not to mention the gargantuan canon grafted to his arm. He was both a fierce, loving, and protective father, and the paragon of terrorism- something Shinra monopolized on that.

So the scene unfolding just before you really struck a chord in you. You were never intimated by him personally, you had nerves of steel and skills to back you up, but to see all that muscle, all that bark, hunched over this white and grey mutt scratching behind an ear and cooing his promises to keep him safe with puckered lips like he was speaking to an actual child really dispelled all illusions of his tough guy persona.

“Don’t you worry. Any monster that wants to getcha is gonna have to go through me.” He gave one more scratch under the dogs chin then straightened out to his full height. Salmon, the dog, turned on his heels and scurried down the beaten and barren path that led away from the rotting stench of the sea town. You followed along at the back like a captured spy now held hostage.

There was no joy right now, your circumstances and inner mockery only intensified the emptiness that lingered, but you tried your hardest to focus on the changing terrain, the rocky footpaths slowly fading into something a little more green. There wasn’t much of point you discovered as the back of Tifa’s head beckoned your scrutiny. Every swish of her perfect brown hair ticked like a bomb under your skin just waiting for the clock to hit zero. Her motherly nature shined brightly and lessened Aerith’s concerns, and in that moment you wished you were more like her. Tifa could easily validate someone’s feelings while providing a soothing direction. You actually envied her ability to connect with people, something you struggled with, and it occurred to you that this may have been the first time you’ve ever viewed someone as competition, and the notion left you uncomfortable especially since you truly did enjoy Tifa’s company.

There was still hours of hiking left, and you didn’t want to stare daggers at her back for the remainder of it, so you picked up your pace and slipped between the two of them until you took up a place between the guys at the front. Out of sight out of mind, right? Thankfully for you, Barret was loud enough to drown them out, although being up here came with it’s own challenges. You tried to subdue the rapid thoughts that created the lingering weight that plagued your body, and resisted the deep seeded temptation to sneak a peak at the blonde man to your right. You kept telling yourself that this new stubborn obsession stemmed from curiosity, that’s why, no matter how many times you swiped away the words that formed behind your eyelids, the question always circled back to the forefront of your mind. Was Cloud and Tifa an item? A wistful sigh slipped past your bow shaped lips. You didn’t need to see him to know his eyes were on you, searching for a reason for your distress.

You saw his mouth open to say something out of your peripheral, but before he had a chance to voice his concern Barret was barking out a question, and his heavy gaze finally moved on both giving you a sense of relief and longing. “Hey, Cloud! Remind me, how old were you when you left home?” Fortunately, or maybe not, Barret’s inquiry also piqued your curiosity. You certainly didn’t need to know anymore about him, but the topic was a good distraction from the chaos brewing in your head.

“Fourteen.” He answered simply, his attention returning to the trail in front of you. “No, wait, it was spring so thirteen.”

Barret sucked his teeth a moment in thought. “Suppose that’s usual for small town boys like you. What’d your mom have to say?” As if you didn’t have enough problems rattling inside your skull, as the word mom hit your ears your heart squeezed painfully in your chest. You didn’t think about mothers a whole lot, specifically cause you didn’t really have one. Though now that you were thinking about it, it was hard not to wonder what his mother was like. She must have been a strong woman to have raised such a stubborn man. What would you have been like if your own mother had survived?

“Not much.” The words left his lips so casually as he shrugged. “Didn’t try to stop me- like you said nothing unusual about it. But…”

“But?” Barret badgered.

“Two-thousand gil. She offered me that. ‘Make a fresh start’.” You looked to your shoes to hide the yearning look on your face.

“Guess mom’s are the same, all over.” You scoffed inwardly. Yeah, if only that was true. The mother-like figure you had to endure was a far cry from a good role model. She hadn’t even provided the basic safety and shelter, at least not for free. In her eyes you were just a cash cow, and the debt you racked up just living with her was enough to keep you there forever if not for Sam.

“I turned the money down though. Didn’t need it. I was planning to enlist straight away.” You raised your head to sneak a glance at him for the first time since yesterday. The slant of his mouth inched upwards, a ghost of a smile, like he was recalling the memory. You wonder, did she worry about him? Was she sad to see him go? Was she lonely? It might be sick to wish someone to be sad, but for his sake you did. What kind of mother would she be if his absence didn’t bother her?

“But you still can’t help settin’ your price at two grand. Sentimental ain’t cha?” Barret wiggled his eyebrows at him, Cloud’s lack of response answered his question.

About two hours in your party approached the coast line, and your inner turmoil seemed to mellow out like the slow crashing waves against the rocky shoreline. You held your hand above your eyes as a make shift visor as you looked up at the scorching high noon sun. Something course rubbed along your calf had you casting your stormy e/c eyes down to the source. Red’s large golden eyes, albeit spotted with burning circles that swam as your eyes readjusted, peered up at you as his fur brushed lightly against your skin.

“Are you alright?” He asked, the timbre of his voice so smooth it did put your heart at ease, maybe a litter bittersweet but it was something nonetheless.

“Yeah.” You lowered a hand to ruffle the fur on his head. “I appreciate your concern, but I'm okay. I didn’t get much sleep.” Your gaze wavered from Red to Barret briefly as Barret belted on a “Okay, hear me out.” which usually meant trouble for the rest of you.

“What?” Cloud snapped, his patience for the hulking man nearly spent already. You cocked an eyebrow at Red as you gave him a toothy grin. You angled your head towards the men hoping that Red caught your drift. You sincerely enjoyed the banter and nitpicking between the two.

“Ya know how some parents stop their kids from leavin’ the nest? Claimin’ ‘it’s too soon’ or ‘they’re not ready’” Barret ranted waving his arms here and there to make a point. “Any excuse to keep them at home.”

“What about it?” The crease between Cloud’s eyes returned and his frown deepened.

“Loads of parents’re like that, but I told myself I’d be different.” His big meaty palm thumped at his chest right above his heart. “I’d never keep my little girl from flyin’! I don’t wanna clip her wings! I want ‘er to soar!” Both arms raised through the air, flapping childishly like a bird. Cloud scoffed with an exaggerated eye roll, the barely noticeable smirk not going unnoticed. Barret swirled around to get into his space. “I hear you scoffin’. You think I can’t do it?! You think I’ll keep er all to myself!”

Cloud stopped in his tracks and crossed his arms, his baby blues amusedly gazing over the hulking man. “Oh yeah.” You snickered.

“And that’s what scares me!” Barret erupted, his arms falling heavily to his sides. The two of them moving their feet once again. “As much as I wanna let ‘er fly, I dunno if I’ll be able to let go when the time comes! Maybe I’ll panic- get in her way, hold her down, all to keep her safe! Oh, Marlene! I wish you could be my baby girl forever!” You stared wide eyed at his hysterics. You couldn’t believe what you were looking at. Is he crying? You shot a look at Red to see if he was seeing this shit too. He heaved a heavy sigh, and shaking his head. He wasn’t nearly as entertained as you.

Soon the coast line faded and the path led you higher up hills, and up a rocky cliff past an old decaying boat, an old weather worn flag still lamely adorned the mast. The crumbling brittle ferns were replaced with lush leafy plants and full swaying trees the farther you got from Junon. It wasn't until you passed one of Chadley’s information towers that the gravel path ended and you came across patches of little yellow flowers. Each patch bloomed with different shades of yellow; some light like the sun, others deeper like the hues in Red’s eyes and your favorites were pale and light like the color of a Woodland chocobo or the spikes of his wild hair.

“Oh my sweet baby girl!” His cries took you by surprise, but the tears streaming down his cheeks really left you dumbfounded. This can’t be the same guy who blew up a reactor. It just can’t.

“What now?” Cloud snapped, his steady loss of patience over the day coming to it’s end.

“Your daddy… your silly daddy… he’s gonna…” Barret’s sobs were briefly interrupted as he sniffled wetly between deep shaky breaths. “He’s gonna fail you! Oh, I can’t let you go! I just can’t!”

“Barret, get your shit together!” Cloud snarled. “Marlene’s barely out of diapers. You got time!”

“Right, right. I’m just getting worked up over nothing! Yeah! She won’t be leaving me for awhile!” His sentence started a bit crestfallen before perking up towards the end.

That seemingly was the end of the conversation, but then a few minutes later as you were passing one of the beaten down chocobo rest stops you seen a wicked smirk form on Cloud’s face from the corner of your eye. “Then again…” He trailed off in a mocking tone. You couldn’t help but burst out laughing. Barret chastised him with a stern ‘Hey’ then the two of them turned to look at you as you doubled over in hysterics. It just caught you so off guard. You hadn’t seen Cloud really joke around, but this fucker was turning out to be a mischievous little shit just like Aerith.

You straightened up and took a deep breath to compose yourself. You reached out and pushed against Cloud’s arm with a wide smile on your face. “You’re such an ass!” His smile faltered as the light force made him take a step back before it changed into something more gentle, more intimate, and you quickly turned to Barret. He stood there frozen and quiet which you didn’t actually think was possible. The girls giggled along behind you, Aerith giving you a pat on the back and then you started moving again. “I wouldn’t worry Barret. After all you clearly know what’s best for her.”

“You mean it?” he asked. You nodded.

“Just look at now. You left her behind to keep her safe, even though I’m sure you’re missing her.”

“You’re right!”

“Also…” you snuck a glance over at Cloud before finishing your train of thought, “Just like Cloud’s mom when she offered him money, you can let her fly and still be the air under her wings. Support is everything.” You heard him sniffle again and you rolled your eyes. Gods he was so unexpectedly emotional. His steps thundered loud against the ground was your only warning to the crushing hug he enveloped you in.

He wrapped his arm around you from behind and squeezed you to his body, picking you up off your feet in the process. You squirmed in his embrace, kicking your feet trying to free yourself before you submitted to your fate. The girls came to your rescue, and tried to pull you free, each pulling on an arm. Aerith even tried to tickle him to get him to release you. When he finally set you down your eyes caught Cloud’s again. The gentle smile, and softened eyes made your chest warm and fluttery. You swallowed it down, and chalked it out to be lingering exhaustion, and stretched out your now sore back.

Salmon started barking from up ahead, and your hand dropped to the hilt along your back out of habit. You couldn’t see anything, but your ears trained on a rhythmic flapping sound, and the hairs on your arm stood up. “There!” You yelled. The others looked up and seen the giant winged fiends. Sandstorm Drakes. “Take cover!” You ducked behind a giant red tank as one of them cast aerora, and you cursed under your breath. You peeked over the metal tank as Cloud grabbed your arm and pulled you back down to cover. Heavy winds soared above you as your chest heaved with adrenaline.

“You okay?” He asked looking no worse for wear.

“Yeah.” You let the quiet settle you as you thought out a plan. You weren’t bad at aerial fighting, but in this instance you didn’t have any long range weapons. You could jump, but you doubted you get a good enough range to land any hits. If you could time it right to use the tank for height you should be able to reach. Cloud shifted besides you and another idea formed in your head as you registered the sound of his sword clanking against the metal tank. You did have materia. You gaze flicked to his, and a sly grin spread across your face. “I can give you an opening.” You could hear Barret screaming at the flying creatures as he shot at them and chime like music of Aerith’s magic hitting its mark. The screeching of the drakes continuously got louder and louder along with the increase pressure of the wind whipping around the battlefield ringing in your ears.

He gave a curt nod before jumping back out there. You creeped around the side of the tank and clutched at the bangle around your wrist concentrating on the green materia slotted into one of the chambers. The orb began to glow before you released the spell and aerora was cast on the closest drake. Its wings beat heavily against the current, but its protective aura faltered and disappeared. You jumped into the fray and scurried behind Aerith’s shield clutching your bangle as you prepared another spell.

A sharp cry pierced the sky as one fell to the ground with an echoing thump as Cloud pierced it in a upward arc. Your second spell landed much like the first however as it’s shield flickered out it became enraged and locked its eyes on Cloud’s falling form. It began to swoop and before you could fully think it through you raced across the land and jumped. Of course you wouldn’t reach its height on your own but as Cloud descended he held his blade flat on its side. As you gained height you planted your feet firmly onto the blade and pushed upwards giving yourself more momentum to gain altitude.

You pulled your sword free from its scabbard and angled back. As soon as the you were in range you plunged the sword into its chest. It’s screech pierced your ears and made them ring painfully the proximity disorienting you for a moment. You firmly brought one foot to its chest and kicked with all your strength to free your sword the movement adding an extra distance between you and the carcass. As fell you realized the fiend was following the same path down only a few feet beside you and there was no way to change direction or move out of the way before it crushed you. You sheathed the sword, the weapon only to cause more harm if you were land on it, and turned you body so you would land sideways. The impact will painful, but you’ll be able to roll away before the drake’s crushing weight would flatten you like a pancake.

Here it comes. You thought as you tucked your arms in before your body met the unforgiving ground. You bit your lip to contain the scream that died in your throat as your arm took the brunt of the impact. You rolled three times before coming to a halt.

You flopped your head back for a second to just process the pain shooting through your body, a warm heat radiating from your forearm. You took a few shaky breathes as the intensity faded. Nothing that a simple cure spell wouldn’t heal. You propped yourself back on the uninjured elbow to make sure everyone else was okay. Aerith dusted of the bottom of her dress, Tifa was messing with the straps of gloves, Barret was adding extra bullets to one of the fiends, Red sat back licking a paw, and Cloud was faced away from you slotting his sword back onto his back. Looks like no one else is hurt.

As the fiends broke down and return to the lifestream in ribbons of twirling luminescent greens you tuned in to the way the Planet welcomed them home. You always wondered why humans didn’t return to the planet the same way. Souls, yes, but the bodies are usually sent out to sea or buried, sometimes even cremated. You weren’t sure if other people could feel it the way you do, but it felt different when the two species returned. Fiends are warm and accepting of the change as if that was what they were born to do. Humans felt more complex, though it could be because you were the one to send them ‘home’. Some fought it, other times the strands felt empty or sad, or extremely angry, but no matter the emotion the lifestream was there to accept them, leaving their empty husks behind. You could only hope that people who leave this life to cross to the next, who died of natural causes, went more peacefully.

Does Aerith feel them too? It was a valid question. As a Cetra you imagined she could feel the lifestream better than you. Could she hear them?

The hand that was outstretched towards you came into focus as you blinked yourself back to reality. “You good?” Cloud asked as you took his gloved hand in your own.

As he pulled you to your feet a sharp pain blazed across your forearm. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from reacting though his blue eyes flicked down to the offending appendage. You huffed as you regained your footing cocking your good arm on your hip to mask the throbbing. Damn thing is probably broken. “Why does everyone keep asking me that today?”

“That wasn't an answer.” He shot back as he scratched at the back of his neck.

You huffed and poked his forehead with a finger. Your eyes narrowing as you studied him. “You’re to observant.” You spoke low and smooth, then retreated from where you wished to be.

Salmon barked down the road and if the windmills, and tattered fences were anything to go by you were close to Crow’s Nest.

*~*

Cloud followed after Toby into the wooden walls of Crow’s Nest and down the rocky trail that led into the fortress. Toby rambled on and on though it all went in one ear and out his other, you consumed every little thing that raced through his head right now. He’d taken his eyes off you for a second as seven of you entered and in that second you were gone, and if he was being honest he wasn’t sure if he’d find you again.

Walking in he couldn’t help but notice the sturdy structure, safety was always his top priority. It was smart that they used the rough rocky mountain as part of their defense, he’ll give them that, but they needed a much gate and guard system. Then there was these sand bags piled up along the left wall, and he could only hope they weren’t there to hold up the wall— it wouldn’t surprise him though.

At the bottom Tifa and Aerith also broke off the main group to take a look around, and with some luck one of them would run into you. The gravel under his feet turned to smooth stone, albeit uneven, as he descended into the heart of the town. He paused to scan his surroundings, that’s what his excuse was anyway, but really he was searching for you. He relented before climbing up the stairs to the bar after Toby, Barret and Red close behind him.

He caught the gist of what Toby wanted. Fiends at the lighthouse, and Kyrie causing more trouble. He huffed and rolled his eyes, a hand landing on his hip in irritation. With Red’s nose and his annoyance directed at the wannabe merc they decided they should probably deal with this. They could set out in the morning, take care of it, then make their way back to Junon in time for the big event.

He didn’t spend another minute taking about it though, he was already down the stairs and looking for their lodging for the night. With that injury he thought that’d be the best place to start his search.

When that came up empty, checked out the cliffs that overlooked the sea. More often that not he’d run into you- on purpose, but he’d never admit that- on your own away from their make shift camp for the night basking in the quiet of nature. He liked to think it was the privacy you craved, much like himself, though when you were asked you said you just felt more relaxed under the open sky. But, now as he stared out and the sunset over the cliff side you were nowhere in sight.

He seen the flow of the skirt of Aerith’s dress before he heard her. “Looking for Y/n?” He turned to see her better at the pier just up the staircase next to him. Both of her hands were clasped behind her back as she swayed along with the wind, the wood creaking beneath her feet as she moved.

He didn’t hesitate, or grow embarrassed, this time. “Have you seen her?”

She skipped down the steps her smile growing in diameter as she stepped up to him. She opened her mouth to tease him, he was sure of it, before her brows wrinkled and a frown replaced her smile. “Now that you mention it, I haven’t seen her since we came in.”

“Right.” He nodded and mumbled a quick ‘Thanks’ before stalking off, with just a bit more gusto, to resume his search.

You’ve been acting strange since last night- no-before that. Whatever Gabe said to you was the beginning. You distanced yourself from everyone leading your chocobo behind the rest of them. You masked it with a charming smile and deflected questions, but he noticed. He always notices. The light didn’t reach your eyes as you joked around, and you didn’t even try to scold Barret for being obnoxious. He seen the way your movements were sluggish, how you stumbled on your feet as you hacked at the Terror of the Deep. He waved it off as exhaustion, so much has happened in just two days. Even he was wearing down. He hoped a good nights sleep was all you needed.

But you looked worse than just exhausted as you slumped over the door in the inn. All worry and doubt he felt from his conversation with Tifa disappeared when he seen you. You looked so defeated. The door the only thing keeping you on your feet as you stared vacantly at it. His chest tightened and he stumbled closer. He didn’t know what to do. Comforting people wasn’t exactly his specialty though when called out to you that seemed to help. His heart dropped to his stomach when you just shrugged him off and slipped inside your room leaving him to stare where you were just moments before. He warred with him self for a moment between knocking on your door or leaving you be, ultimately he turning back to his down and going inside with a slump in his shoulders. Had you even noticed that he called out to you?

He couldn’t sleep of course, not that he ever did anymore. Even the tiniest of sounds were enough to have him stirring, but last night he was filled with a restless energy. Every time he closed his eyes your crestfallen expression appeared. He tossed and turned for upwards of an hour before giving up, settling on some sit ups until his muscles ached and his eyelids drooped.

When the first rays of sunlight filtered in through his window everyone was herded into the room, and that’s when he started to think he’d done something wrong. You lingered in the back, you didn't offer any suggestions, you wouldn’t look in his direction at all. Every time he checked on you you had that same far off look glued onto your pretty face. He couldn’t think of anything he did to upset you, unless he creeped you out in the mines- and honestly he wouldn’t blame you. The timing just didn’t make sense though. You got along fine until you left the ranch. He spent most of the day agonizing over how to mend the situation, and frustrated that he was too awkward to know what to say.

Then out of nowhere you brightened up again, your laugh as breathtaking as the radiant smile on your face. Pride swelled in his chest and a heat rushed to his cheeks. He made you laugh. His heart still throbbed when he thought about the way your hand felt so warm against his upper arm as you pushed him playfully. He didn’t think you’d been listening to Barret’s nonsense either, yet there you comparing the knucklehead to his mom.

He really thought that would be the end of whatever was going on with you, but now he thinks he may have overstepped. He was just going to tell you your fighting was good as always or maybe something less lame when he held out his hand to help you up. But he saw it. Your lips pushed together in a thin line, your eyes slid shut, and if it weren't for his enhanced senses he would’ve missed the sharp breath that you sucked in. His eyes flicked down to your arm. Your arm tensed creating an unnatural shift of bone underneath the skin. He just stared dumbly at it. “Why does everyone keep asking me that today?” Playful tone and a clever deflection once again. Maybe he shouldn’t have pushed the issue. You clearly were hiding it from everyone, which made him irrationally angry. What you said next worried him. With a finger pressed to his forehead your whispered words cut sharply into him, “You’re too observant.” Your eyes cold and hardened, but he swears there was an underlying fear beneath the icy exterior and then he realized maybe you two weren’t that different.

You built this solid wall around yourself to keep everyone a safe distance around you never being aloud to cross the distance. You can’t get hurt if you never let anyone in but in reality you just cage yourself in. He did the same, only he used his broody nature and impassive strength. Until the plate fell he was able to do a job with no concern for the client, keeping a barrier between their problems and his feelings, now with this journey being so entwined with Sephiroth it was hard not care. Maybe that’s why he feels drawn to you. For the first time he wants be the one to reinforce your strengths. He was determined to reach you even if he had to break the damn doors down himself.

His hand threaded behind his neck up to scratch at his nape as he went re-climbed the steps to the bar taking two stairs at a time. He stalled at the top as a familiar remedy. The gentle and harmonious hum echoed through the open frame leading into the unfinished bar.

Melancholy and nostalgia filled him and constricted his chest like a vice. He ambled slowly to the wooden framing and settled himself against the smooth stone to watch the scene unfolding before him. He had expected Tifa to be the one playing this old song. Instead there you were. Sat straight on the black wooden bench your fingers gracefully pressing against the old piano keys creating the melody song he heard growing up in Nibelheim. The song took him back to his childhood bedroom listening intently to the girl, Tifa, next door practicing it at all hours of the day. You were the only one consuming his thoughts now, and what a vision you were. Your e/c irises were hidden behind closed eyelids. The smooth planes of your face looked relaxed, but dejected. His awestruck stare followed down the slope of your perfect button nose, and over the bow shape lines of your down-turned lips The low lighting from the lights strung above the both of your heads emphasized the highlight in your hair swayed back and forth around your bare shoulders in time with the glide of your fingers as you recalled each note meticulously from memory.

He glanced quickly around the bar finding nothing but empty seats around round tables. His legs brought him closer to you out of their own volition as if the very thought of you beckoned him closer. “Where’d you learn that?”

Your fingers faltered on the keys, and your body lurched in fear, a tiny squeak escaping your lips. Cute. “Son of a-” You took in a deep breath to calm yourself before the full weight of your glare was on him. “You’re the only one that has ever snuck up on me! Stop it!”

He laughed, the noise sounding odd to his own ears. “Sorry.” He scratched at his nape once again as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He propped Hardedge against the wall then closed the distance between you. He felt silly for lowering himself onto the narrow bench so slowly but he wanted to make sure you had no objections. The bench had just enough room to sit comfortably apart, but with a newfound sense of courage he slid closer to you, feigning ignorance to the available space, so the sides of your arms rest against one another. His pulse pounded in his ears and his hands grew clammy as they rested on his knees.

“I was at a ranch near Nibelheim. The owner’s daughter taught me the song.” You looked up at him with curious orbs. “You grew up in Nibelheim, right?” He nodded his head. “Tifa, too?”

His throat clenched at your inquiry. Nibelheim wasn’t something he usually talked about, the mere memories enough to dredge up a rapid river of intense emotions. Fear, hatred, devastation. He often found it to be a topic of great discomfort. It could've been the song that eased the wounds or possibly all the discussion of his mother this morning, but for the first time in a long time he wasn’t so hesitant to talk about home. “Yeah.”

You looked back down at your fingers that hovered over the keys. “You guys must’ve been close.” You mumbled.

He shrugged, “Not really.” He was hyper focused on the way your arm brushed against his as he readjusted. “I was… I’ve always been… like this.” Awkward, and unsociable. He wanted to say.

He hadn’t realized the difference in your height before now as he towered a head and half above you. His soft gaze falling down to your lips. It was enough that he’d have to lean down to—

“But, you guys seem really close now.” You peered back up at him through the loose strands of hair framing your face. He quickly turned his head to stare at the wall to hide the heat that was spreading under his skin.

“I guess…” His relationship with Tifa seemed to be rocky as of late, but he couldn’t deny she was important to him. “She’s like a sister.” His answered lamely as he turned his attention to the keys before him.

“Really?” The inclination of your voice pulled his eyes back to your own, the warm hue soothing the wave of anxious jitters he was experiencing. “I would’ve pegged you guys to be more than that.” You bumped the ball of your shoulder against his bicep.

“What? It’s not like that.” He quickly huffed. His reaction pulled another musical laugh from you, something he was slowly becoming addicted to he feared.

“If you say so.” You teased.

The tension in your body practically dissolved with his answer, and the sparkle in your eyes that he’d grown accustom to returned casting the once dull and emptiness back to the recesses from which they came. He relaxed and exhaled the bout of nerves that plagued him before he settled into the comfortable silence. You returned to playing the Nibelheim lullaby, the warmth of your arm rubbing against his taking precedence at the fore front of his mind, when he remembered why he was worried about you in the first place. He observed your facial expression at first looking for any signs of discomfort and when he saw none he moved his attention to the offending appendage. His frown deepened as he looked for any unnatural shift beneath your skin. It appeared to be fine. There was no bruising or swelling. Your movement was clean and precise. You must have snuck off to mend it in privacy, but even with healing materia it must be sore. “How’s your arm?”

Your e/c orbs narrowed slightly, your nostrils flaring as you exhaled sharply. He was actually beginning to like this side of you. You’ve been level headed and witty the entire time, along with being a good conversationalist and polite when speaking to anyone. So to see your temper flare and an attitude when this didn’t go your way was almost refreshing to him. Perhaps something was fundamentally wrong with him, or maybe a part of him took pleasure that he was the only one to see it. “Nothing materia couldn’t fix.”

He itched to press the issue further to see more of your fiery personality, but her erred on the side of caution. Your answer was satisfactory so he supposed he could drop it. He peeled his eyes from you, now slightly embarrassed he’d been staring for so long, and looked down to the keys on the old instrument. He let his own fingers slide over the naturals and pressing onto each note softly creating a different song he’d learned in Midgar. Your fingers slide off and landed in your lap. He could feel the way you gawked at him the weight of it nearly burning holes into the side of his head. He felt heat rush to the tips of his ears as you propped yourself up on an elbow to watch him.

“So Mr. Soldier, when on Gaia did you have the time to learn piano? Or was that part of your training too?”

He realized he never actually told anyone this, and the thought of sharing it with you made him feel exposed. Yet he wanted to share this piece of himself with you. “I got homesick… when i enlisted. I had a lot of time on my hands before I climbed the ranks.” Your bought your hands back to the ivory notes pressing down on a few to play a complementary part the song. The two of you sat together of upwards of an hour side by side playing a few different melodies you’d learned over the course of your travels.

You movements stilled and fingers hovered above the keyboard. You turned around, your back now facing the piano, and looked above to the sky through the holes in the ceiling. He too let the music die there and angled towards you. As you admired the sky he shamelessly stared at you. His chest tightening as his eyes trailed over the slope of your nose and glazing over the smooth strands of hair illuminated by the twinkling lights and rays of moonlight.

Your irises moved down to meet his own as a smile graced your lips. “Thank you.” You voice sounding smaller in comparison under the stars. “I feel lighter now.” His brows scrunched minutely as he briefly pondered your words. He didn’t have to chance to linger on the statement, though, your soft warm hand inched towards his. You gently laced your fingers through his and giving his a small squeeze before pulling away and standing up. With one more pat to his shoulder you walked towards the entrance. “Good night, soldier boy.”

He gazed up and the night sky hoping to find what you found so intoxicated by the moon, and he caught himself smiling. He didn’t know if your growing relationship was romantic or not, but he decided that he wasn’t going to shy away from it like he did with almost everyone. No, if he wanted to be the air under your wings then he too would bare his soul to you.

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piastrixpole · 3 months ago

Text

chapter 2

pairing: oscar piastri x carlos sainz

genre: written, love island au

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Just before what Oscar can visualise being a perfectly timed ad-break for the viewers back home, the type that will leave Lando slinging together an impressive variety of swear while Max sniggers fondly, he can vaguely hear the host of the show announcing to everyone already inside the villa "Please welcome, our next boy, Oscar!" He's been standing off to the side, out of sight of the girls and the main camera set-up. The sun seemingly growing in intensity, the heat rolling off the stone pathway beneath his feet. A producer with a headset leans in, giving him the final rundown for his entrance, like this is some sort of grand debut.

He feels the weight of it all pressing down on him—the cameras, the lights, the knowledge that millions of people are going to watch this moment unfold. The reality of it hits him again, hard. He's about to walk out there, meet the girls, make his choice, and lock himself into the reality TV ride he'd never planned to be a part of.

"You're up next, Oscar," the producer says, giving him a quick thumbs-up. "Just walk out, introduce yourself, and when they step forward, you'll pick one of the girls to couple up with."

It's a simple process really. Oscar nods, swallowing the nerves. He's been through it all before in the prep, but nothing really prepares you for the moment itself. His stomach flips, and he wonders for the hundredth time how he ended up here. Oh right, Lando.

The producer gestures him forward, and Oscar takes a deep breath, stepping into the light as the cameras start rolling.

"Alright, mate," he whispers to himself, trying to channel any sense of calm he can muster. "You've got this."

Without coming across as overly self assured, Oscar knows he's good looking. He's never been the guy who commands all the attention in a room, but he's aware of his appeal, however limited it may be. Decently tall, with a natural athleticism and that scruffy, boy-next-door vibe, he's heard enough compliments over the years to know he's not exactly hard on the eyes. But standing here now, in front of five stunning women who seem to have been plucked straight out of a fashion magazine, he feels strangely out of his depth.

Oscar steps into the villa courtyard, blinking against the brightness as his eyes quickly adjust. The sun is relentless, and he's immediately hyper-aware of the cameras, all trained on him. His heart thuds in his chest, nerves mixing with the surreal nature of the moment. The girls are lined up in front of him, standing side by side, each one radiating a confidence that's both intimidating and captivating.

“Girls, this is Oscar,” the host announces, his smile sharp and charming in a way that leaves Oscar unsettled. There’s something subtly menacing about the man’s aura—like he’s in on a joke that Oscar hasn’t yet caught onto. It’s disarming, and yet Oscar can’t deny the host’s appeal, like a Venus flytrap waiting to snap shut.

That’s Fernando Alonso for you. Only he could embody such a strange blend of charisma and threat with terrifying precision. Even Oscar, who barely dabbled in social media and wasn’t exactly the target demographic for reality TV, knew about Alonso’s legendary rise to fame on the early seasons of Love Island . The man had cultivated the role of national villain so well that people still loved to hate him. Or maybe they just loved him—until, of course, he encountered a tall Australian with a perpetually kicked-puppy expression. The pairing had seemed impossible at first, a disaster waiting to happen, yet somehow, it worked. Years later, they were one of the few couples from the show that had gone the distance, and now, Alonso was hosting the show that had built his empire.

Oscar shifts under the weight of Alonso’s gaze, suddenly all too aware of the cameras. He clears his throat, offering a tentative, “Hey mate.”

“Oscar, welcome to Love Island .” Alonso’s voice is smooth, almost too smooth. “As you can see, two of the girls have already coupled up—Maxine with George, and Alex with Carmen—but now it’s your turn. You can pick any of the girls who step forward for you.”

He tries not to look too stiff as he walks toward them, feeling the weight of both the girls' gazes and the eyes of his future audience back home. He can already imagine Lando and the lads in the pub, pint glasses in hand, laughing at his discomfort, probably giving a running commentary as he approaches the line-up.

Oscar swallows hard, his gaze sweeping over the girls lined up across from him. They look effortlessly stunning, each one a vision of confidence and beauty. It feels strange, almost wrong, to be standing here in front of them, waiting for someone to step forward. He’s not blind; he knows they’re all attractive. But standing here, knowing he’s being evaluated just as much as he’s doing the evaluating, makes the whole thing feel like some surreal dream he hasn’t quite woken up from.

His pulse quickens as he tries to gauge the situation. He’s been dreading this moment since the day Lando dropped the bombshell, but now that it’s here, he just hopes someone steps forward. Because the alternative—being left standing there like a fool on national television—would be the kind of humiliation that not even Lando could laugh off.

As Oscar’s eyes drift over the girls, it’s Maxine who catches his attention first. She stands at the far end of the line-up, an aura of quiet confidence enveloping her like a second skin. Unlike some of the others, who either fidget or smile with an open eagerness, Maxine remains composed, her expression a mix of cool indifference and amusement, as if she’s already several steps ahead of the situation. Her dirty blonde hair is pulled back loosely, strands framing her face in a way that feels deliberate, yet effortlessly undone, catching the sunlight in muted tones of gold and ash.

Maxine’s features are striking, sharp but undeniably captivating. There’s a subtlety to her beauty that isn’t loud but impossible to ignore once noticed—a strong jawline, high cheekbones that could cut glass, and eyes the colour of stormy skies, cool and assessing. She exudes a calculated calm, the kind of person who reads the room before she speaks, always thinking three moves ahead. And there, right at the centre of it all, is the septum piercing, a silver ring resting just beneath her nose, adding an edge to her otherwise serene expression. It’s the sort of detail that feels like a quiet rebellion, a marker of individuality in a world of cookie-cutter beauty.

Her body language tells a story of its own. Standing with one hip cocked, she seems entirely at ease, her muscular build evident in the lines of her arms and shoulders. Scattered across her tanned skin are small tattoos—delicate, but not insignificant—tiny flashes of black ink trailing down her forearms like whispered secrets. Oscar catches glimpses of them as his eyes trace over her: a constellation near her wrist, a minimalist dagger on her bicep, and something abstract curling around her elbow. Each piece feels intentional, as if they hold meanings only she understands.

Maxine’s wearing a black bikini, simple yet commanding in its own right, the dark fabric standing out starkly against her skin. There’s nothing overtly flashy about it—no frills or patterns—but somehow, it manages to elevate her presence even more. It frames her physique perfectly, accentuating the firm lines of her muscles, her athletic build unmistakable. She’s not the tallest girl, but there’s a strength in her posture, a kind of groundedness that makes her seem larger than life in this moment.

Charlotte stands in the middle of the line-up, a presence that feels both grounded and effortlessly radiant. Her caramel brown hair cascading in soft waves down to her shoulders, catching the light as it frames her face. There’s an undeniable warmth about her—like the first hint of sunlight after a long, cold winter. It’s not just in the way her gold-flecked green eyes sparkle when they meet his, but in the easy, almost glowing smile that she wears. The warmth she radiates is disarming, a welcoming glow that feels like the gentle warmth of sunlight on your skin.

There’s something about the way Charlotte carries herself, too. It’s relaxed, open, almost inviting, like she doesn’t feel the pressure of the cameras or the weight of the moment. She's on the shorter side, but carries herself with a confidence that makes her presence larger than her height would suggest. There’s nothing loud about her, yet she draws attention in an easy, natural way. Her toned body is the product of someone who cares for themselves without obsessing over perfection. There’s a certain strength in her frame, a gracefulness in the way she stands, relaxed yet poised, exuding the kind of energy that draws people in without needing to demand it.

Her red bikini contrasts sharply against her sun-kissed skin, the vibrant colour making her stand out even more among the group of girls. Small, delicate gold chains adorn her neck and wrists, catching the light as she moves. The jewellery is understated but elegant, like everything about her—intentional but never overdone. The slight glint of the gold against her skin seems almost reflective of her personality, bright and warm, but not overwhelming.

As she watches Oscar, her lips part slightly in a smile that’s both inviting and curious. There’s something playful in the way she tilts her head ever so slightly, eyeing him as though she’s sizing him up, but without any malice or judgment. It’s the kind of look that makes you feel like she’s already deciding whether you’re worth getting to know, and Oscar can’t help but feel the weight of her gaze.

Her smile broadens a little as their eyes meet, the sunlit warmth of her presence even more palpable now. She doesn’t seem nervous like some of the other girls, more curious and intrigued, like this moment isn’t overwhelming to her at all. There’s an openness in her posture, an easy confidence that suggests she’s comfortable in her own skin, content to see where the day takes her. She exudes a kind of groundedness that balances the inherent intensity of the situation—a rare calm that stands out among the nervous energy of the others.

Oscar feels a brief pang of discomfort under her gaze, not because it’s critical, but because it’s so genuinely interested. It’s as if Charlotte is the kind of person who, without saying a word, can make you feel seen. Her presence is soft, but there’s an undeniable brightness about her, a warmth that seems ready to envelop you if you’re lucky enough to be let in. Oscar can already tell that Charlotte, with her golden aura and curious eyes, is someone who might be harder to forget than he first expected. Oscar feels the weight of her gaze linger just a little longer, the connection momentary but enough to make him shift slightly on his feet. Charlotte, with her sun-like aura, seems both approachable and slightly elusive, like she could pull you into her warmth but might keep you guessing all the same.

Lily stands on the opposite end of the line-up to Maxine, her presence exuding a quiet confidence that feels both playful and composed. Her soft black hair cascades down in loose curls that frame her face and fall effortlessly over her shoulders, the kind of natural, textured look that invites attention without trying. The dark strands shine subtly under the light, catching a gentle gloss as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. She’s shorter than many of the other girls, but it adds to her charm—there’s a sprightliness about her that makes her feel nimble, light on her feet, like she’s never standing still for too long.

Her athletic build is toned and firm, her body speaking of strength and balance, but not in a way that feels too rigid. It’s more like the product of someone who finds joy in movement, who feels at home in their own skin. The sea-green bikini she’s wearing hugs her body just right, its cool tones contrasting against her warm, honey-toned skin, like the colour of ocean waves lapping gently against a golden shore. The bikini isn’t flashy, but there’s something about its understated simplicity that enhances her natural grace, making her stand out without the need for anything extravagant.

Her brown eyes, deep and rich, sparkle with a teasing light. There’s a playfulness there, a hint of mischief, like she’s always ready with a quick quip or a sly comment, but never in a way that crosses into immaturity. It’s the kind of energy that feels magnetic—she doesn’t take things too seriously, but there’s a sharpness in her gaze that suggests she’s always paying attention, always aware of what’s going on around her. She watches Oscar with those eyes now, curious but with a glint of challenge in them, like she’s sizing him up, but in a fun, almost flirtatious way.

Her lips curve into a small, knowing smile, not too wide, just enough to hint that she’s amused by all of this—the setting, the situation, maybe even by Oscar himself. The smile isn’t shy or timid; it’s the kind that’s carefully placed, as if she’s letting him in on a private joke only she knows. As their eyes meet, Oscar can feel the warmth of her gaze, but also the spark of something more, a subtle suggestion that Lily is the kind of girl who keeps you on your toes, who might playfully push your buttons just to see how you react.

There’s an ease to the way she carries herself, her posture relaxed but confident, like she’s not intimidated by the spectacle of it all. In fact, she seems to be enjoying it, leaning into the absurdity of the situation with a kind of light-hearted amusement. Her whole presence feels like a balancing act—playful but grounded, teasing but never cruel, the kind of person who could laugh with you, at you, but still make you feel at ease.

As Oscar watches her, he can sense that she’s not the type to fade into the background, even if her energy isn’t as loud as some of the others. There’s something refreshing about her; she doesn’t seem overly concerned with impressing anyone, but the confidence she carries and the hint of humour in her expression make it clear she doesn’t have to try. She’s someone who can pull you into her orbit without effort, and Oscar finds himself intrigued by the teasing mystery in her eyes, wondering what exactly she might have to say once the games begin.

Carmen stands tall, exuding a natural grace that makes her feel almost statuesque among the other girls. Her dark brown hair, thick and glossy, falls in soft waves that cascade over her sun kissed shoulders, catching the light in a way that brings out subtle shades of chestnut and mahogany beneath its surface. Her skin, a deep, warm bronze that speaks of long days under the Spanish sun, glows with a healthy vibrancy, the kind of complexion that doesn’t require enhancement—it simply is, effortlessly beautiful. Every inch of her seems to glisten with a sheen of confidence that radiates from within, like someone who knows exactly who she is and has made peace with that.

Her bikini is a deep, luxurious shade of plum, a colour that clings to her body with an understated elegance, as if designed specifically for her. The rich hue complements her bronze skin perfectly, creating a striking contrast that feels both bold and subdued at once. The fabric, though simple in its design, seems to drape over her curves with a natural ease, highlighting her toned figure without shouting for attention. Carmen doesn't need embellishment; her presence is enough to command the room. The quiet confidence in the way she carries herself draws you in—she doesn’t seek out the spotlight, yet it finds her anyway.

Her green eyes are sharp and discerning, their colour a vivid contrast against her darker features. They don’t dance with the playful energy of the others, nor do they glitter with excitement or interest as Oscar approaches. Instead, there’s a calm, almost distant quality to them, like she’s assessing the situation from a step removed. It’s not that she’s uninterested—there’s a respect in the way she watches him, a quiet acknowledgment of his presence—but it’s clear that Carmen is not here to be impressed. There’s something more grounded in the way she looks at him, as though she’s seen all of this before and isn’t easily swept up in the surface-level theatrics.

Standing near the middle of the group, Carmen is one of the taller girls, her long, toned limbs giving her an almost regal posture. She holds herself with a kind of maturity that separates her from the more youthful energy buzzing around her. Her body is strong, her muscles lean and defined, but there’s a softness to her as well, a natural curve that speaks to a life lived fully, without obsession over perfection. She is comfortable in her skin, a woman who knows her worth and doesn’t feel the need to prove it. Her confidence isn’t the kind that demands validation; it’s quiet, self-assured, like she’s made peace with herself and the world, and nothing here—least of all a reality show—will rattle that.

There’s a certain elegance in the way she stands, the way she moves, that suggests she’s accustomed to being noticed, but not necessarily for her beauty alone. There’s a depth to Carmen, something that feels more complex than just surface charm. She’s respectful, offering Oscar a polite nod as their eyes meet, but there’s no flirtation, no eager smile. Instead, her gaze holds steady, composed, like she’s letting him know that she’s here, but she won’t be offering more than what she deems necessary. If there’s any intrigue on her part, she’s careful to keep it hidden beneath the layers of calm self-possession.

Oscar can feel her presence even before their eyes meet, a subtle force that makes him aware of her without her needing to say a word. And when she does look at him, it’s with a measured gaze that, while not dismissive, doesn’t seek connection either. It’s almost as if she’s waiting to see what he brings to the table, knowing full well that she’s in control of her own fate.

Logan’s the final girl. Reminiscent of sunlight breaking through the clouds on an early summer morning. Her long, honey-blonde hair tumbles over her shoulders in soft waves, catching the light as if spun from golden thread. There's a natural ease to the way it moves, like it was meant to be tousled by sea breezes. She looks like she could have stepped straight out of a postcard—an all-American dream girl with a touch of the ocean about her, the embodiment of a Californian or Floridian summer.

Her blue eyes are the colour of a clear, open sky, sparkling with a brightness that speaks of optimism and an open heart. There’s something vulnerable about them, a softness that contrasts with the confidence radiating from some of the others. But beneath that quiet exterior, there’s a kindness, a warmth that draws people in without her even needing to say a word. Logan’s eyes are the kind you get lost in, not because they’re demanding attention, but because they hold so much depth—like a hidden world of thoughts and emotions she hasn’t fully shared yet.

Her skin is sun-kissed, dusted liberally with freckles that sweep across her cheeks and nose like the remnants of a long, playful day spent under the sun. It gives her a youthful, almost innocent look, one that hints at a carefree spirit, but there’s a certain nervous energy in the way she holds herself—like she’s trying to find her place in the middle of all this chaos. Her fingers fidget slightly with the seashell necklace resting against her collarbone, its tiny, white spirals an understated but personal touch. It’s the kind of necklace you’d imagine her collecting piece by piece during summers spent by the beach, a reminder of who she is and where she feels most at peace.

Her baby blue bikini clings to her skin with a soft, seamless fit, accentuating her athletic frame without feeling showy. It’s simple, unassuming, the same shade as the ocean on a calm day. It fits her perfectly, as if it’s part of her, a second skin that she wears with an effortless grace. Logan’s body is toned but not intimidatingly so—she has the lean, lithe build of someone who’s spent hours in the water, surfing or swimming, moving naturally with the rhythm of the waves. She looks like she belongs in the sea, like she could dive in at any moment and disappear into the depths, re-emerging with salt on her skin and sand between her toes.

There’s something undeniably inviting about Logan’s entire demeanour. She stands a little apart from the others, not out of arrogance, but perhaps out of a lingering uncertainty, like she’s not entirely sure where she fits in just yet. But despite that, there’s a friendliness to her, an openness that makes her approachable. The edges of her mouth curve into a soft, easy smile—one that seems more nervous than cocky but is no less genuine for it. She glances at Oscar as he steps forward, her eyes flicking up and down with a curiosity that’s free of judgment, more inquisitive than calculating.

Logan’s presence isn’t loud or demanding, but it’s there, quietly radiant, like the last golden rays of sunlight before the day slips into dusk. She’s the kind of person who seems both grounded and fragile at the same time, someone who navigates the world with a blend of optimism and underlying anxiety. There’s a slight tension in her posture, a hint of nervous energy she’s trying to keep under control, but it only adds to her charm. It makes her seem more real, more human in the midst of all the artificial glamour.

As she stands there, freckles catching the light, seashell necklace gently swaying with the rise and fall of her breath, Logan is a picture of calm beauty, laced with a quiet storm of emotions just beneath the surface. She’s radiant, yes—but also real, the kind of girl who doesn’t need to try to shine. She simply exists and does.

Oscar stands there, feeling his pulse quicken as the host, Fernando, shoots him a sly smile. “Alright, girls,” Fernando announces, his voice carrying across the villa with practiced ease. "If you’re interested in coupling up with Oscar, now’s your chance to step forward."

Oscar’s heart hammers in his chest. This was the moment—this was the part that had replayed in his head a hundred times in the days leading up to this. He braces himself, trying to stay calm, but the tension is unmistakable. For a split second, nothing happens, and then Charlotte moves. Her golden-green eyes flicker up at him, curious, and she flashes a beaming smile that instantly eases some of the pressure weighing on his chest. Charlotte carries herself with a warmth that feels like a breath of fresh air—she’s all sunshine and friendliness, like she’d make this whole experience less overwhelming. For a moment, he wonders if Charlotte’s steady, approachable nature is exactly what he needs right now.

Before he can fully process Charlotte’s choice, Maxine steps forward next. She doesn’t rush. She waits, watching the others, her cool gaze slipping over Oscar as if she’s already sizing him up. Then, with deliberate ease, she steps forward. There’s no hesitation, just a measured confidence that feels both natural and practiced. Her movements are smooth, almost feline, and as she meets Oscar’s eyes, there’s the slightest curve to her lips—an unspoken challenge, daring him to choose her. Maxine is the type who knows exactly what she wants, and she’s clearly decided that he fits that mould. He swallows, the intensity of her stare almost palpable, but there’s no denying her appeal. She could definitely keep me on my toes, he thinks, feeling a mix of admiration and apprehension.

And then, almost hesitantly, Logan steps forward. There’s a brief flicker of nervousness in her sparkling blue eyes, but it’s quickly replaced by a soft smile. She moves with a kind of quiet confidence, the seashell necklace around her neck swaying slightly with each step. Logan’s honey-blonde hair falls in loose waves around her face, and as she steps into the line-up with the other two girls, there’s something about her presence that feels more… natural. She’s radiant, yes, but there’s a softness to her, a vulnerability that mirrors the unease Oscar feels himself. It’s comforting, somehow. She’s just as nervous as I am, he thinks, feeling a strange sense of relief.

Oscar’s gaze drifts between the three of them—Maxine with her bold intensity, Charlotte with her warm, sunlike glow, and Logan with her quiet but genuine energy. His mind races, but he knows he needs to make a decision. Shifting his weight uncomfortably, he feels the weight of the decision press heavily on his shoulders. There’s far worse situations to be in. Three women—all stunning, all interested. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t prepared for this moment, but being here, under the intense sun with the world watching through countless camera lenses, it felt completely different. His heart thumped harder than he expected, a sudden awareness creeping in that whatever he said next would set the course for his time on the show.

Fernando stands there with that unsettling grin, like a predator enjoying its prey’s discomfort, and Oscar can’t help but feel the rising pressure. He glances at the girls, their faces each revealing a different expression—curiosity, confidence, a little playful challenge.

His mouth feels dry as he clears his throat, trying to push past the nerves. "Uh... wow," he mutters under his breath, his voice barely audible. He glances up again, taking in each of them—Logan, Charlotte, Maxine—and the decision weighs on him more heavily than he thought it would. "This is definitely tougher than I thought."

Fernando chuckles, clearly revelling in Oscar’s visible discomfort. "Take your time, Oscar. Who do you want to couple up with?"

Oscar lets out a slow breath, trying to gather his thoughts. Okay, think. Who do you want to spend your first days with? He flicks his gaze to each girl, weighing his options.

Maxine. She's the bold one, sharp and confident, with her calculated demeanour and piercing eyes that seem to size up everyone in the room. There’s something undeniably striking about her—like she’s used to getting what she wants and won’t hesitate to take control of any situation. She’s magnetic in her own way, but there’s also an intensity to her that makes Oscar pause. It’s a bit intimidating, if he’s honest. Would she be too much for him to handle? Or maybe exactly what he needs to snap out of his comfort zone? He considers her for a moment, feeling the weight of her gaze on him, but something holds him back from fully leaning toward her.

His eyes slide over to Charlotte. She stands with a playful spark in her eyes, a teasing lightness to the way she holds herself that makes Oscar feel like being with her might actually be… fun. There’s a casual warmth to her that isn’t forced, and he gets the sense that she could help him navigate this whole situation without making it more awkward than it already is. But as much as he likes her easy-going energy, something inside him hesitates. Would their dynamic have enough depth? He wasn’t sure yet.

And then there’s Logan. She’s looking at him with those ocean-blue eyes, her long, honey-blonde hair catching the light like it was made to be in front of the camera. There’s something softer about her compared to the others, more open but with that slight undercurrent of anxiety, like she’s not entirely sure how she ended up here either. There’s a relatability to her nervous energy that resonates with him, and something about that quiet vulnerability draws him in. He can see a kind of kindness in her that he hadn’t noticed before. Logan doesn’t try too hard, doesn’t need to—her beauty is natural, effortless, and there's a warmth that makes him feel a little more grounded.

She seems real, he thinks, and that’s important. Logan’s smile is nervous but genuine, and something in him eases when he meets her eyes.

Oscar takes a deep breath, forcing himself to stop overthinking. It’s a game, after all, but one with real emotions at stake. He glances at Logan once more, her freckled face glowing softly under the sun, and the decision suddenly feels clear.

"I’m going to couple up with…" He pauses, casting one last look at the girls. His gaze settles on Logan. "Logan."

A soft smile spreads across her face, and Oscar feels a weight lift from his chest as she steps forward to meet him. The tension in the air shifts slightly, and for the first time since this whole ordeal began, he feels like maybe—just maybe—things might work out alright.

The host claps his hands together, “Logan it is! Congratulations guys, we have a new couple - Oscar and Logan.”

Oscar grins sheepishly at Logan as they stand side by side, and while the cameras are still rolling, he lets himself breathe a little easier. For now, at least, one decision’s been made, and it doesn’t feel like the worst one he could’ve picked.

As the other girls step back into line, Oscar turns to Logan, a soft smile on his lips. She’s still standing beside him, her blue eyes sparkling with a mix of nerves and excitement. The other girls are chatting quietly, but it feels like the world has narrowed down to just the two of them for a brief moment.

“Hey,” he whispers, his voice low, trying to be subtle. “Nice to meet you.”

Logan’s smile widens slightly, and she tucks a strand of her honey-blonde hair behind her ear. “You too,” she whispers back, her voice soft but warm. “Guess we’re in this together now.”

Oscar chuckles lightly, feeling a small sense of relief wash over him. “Looks like it.”

Before they can say much more, Fernando steps forward again, drawing everyone’s attention back to him. “Alright, folks, we’ve still got two more boys to meet,” he announces with his signature smirk. “Let’s bring them out.”

Oscar and Logan exchange a glance as the air in the villa seems to shift, the tension rising once again as the first of the final two boys is introduced.

The villa doors swing open, and in walks Pierre, his tousled brown hair perfectly styled, his face carrying that unmistakable French charm. He strides confidently, scanning the girls lined up before him. His eyes land on Charlotte even before she steps forward for him, and after a brief moment of deliberation, he steps forward with a grin.

“Charlotte,” he says smoothly, his voice carrying a soft accent. “I’d like to couple up with you.”

Charlotte beams, clearly pleased with the attention, and steps forward to join Pierre. Oscar watches as they move to stand together, their energy already easy and natural, a comfortable pairing. He glances at Logan, who catches his eye again and raises an eyebrow, her expression playfully curious about what’s to come.

Fernando barely gives them a moment to settle before announcing, “And now, for the final boy… Daniel!”

The doors open again, and in walks Daniel with a swagger that screams confidence, his broad grin and easy-going nature immediately drawing attention. His eyes sweep over the group, lingering on Maxine. Oscar notices George tense slightly, but Daniel doesn’t hesitate.

“Maxine,” Daniel calls, flashing her a playful smile. “I’m stealing you.”

Maxine’s lips curl into a sly smile, and without hesitation, she steps forward, leaving George behind. There’s an almost predatory grace to her movements as she joins Daniel’s side. George, for his part, looks momentarily deflated but quickly pulls himself together.

Fernando steps back in, his voice calm but teasing. “Well, George, that means you’re coupled up with Lily.”

Lily steps forward with a playful wink toward George, trying to ease the awkwardness of the situation. George offers her a small smile in return, doing his best to hide his disappointment. The pairing isn’t ideal, but Oscar can see Lily’s laid-back, teasing nature helping to soften the blow.

As the new couples fall into place, Oscar glances down at Logan once more, and she meets his gaze with a soft smile. It feels like everything’s shifted in a matter of minutes, the dynamics between the group already changing. But as Logan stands beside him, Oscar feels a flicker of something new—a quiet relief, like maybe, just maybe, they’ll be alright together.

Fernando surveys the newly formed couples, a satisfied grin stretching across his face. “Alright, everyone, this marks the end of our coupling ceremony!” His voice carries the kind of energy that makes it impossible not to feel excited, and he glances at each couple, letting the weight of the moment settle in. “Now that you’re all paired up, it’s time for you to get to know each other a little better.”

He gestures grandly to the villa. “Enjoy the sun, the drinks, and of course, each other’s company! You’ll be living together, and who knows—some of you might even find love. Or at the very least, a good time!” His wink sends a ripple of laughter through the group, easing some of the initial tension.

As Fernando steps back, signalling his departure, Oscar can’t shake the sudden realization that sinks into his bones: there’s no going back now. He’s in it, fully immersed, and all he can do is ride the wave until he’s either voted out or finds a way to navigate this strange new world.

He glances at Logan, who’s watching him with an encouraging smile, her blue eyes sparkling with a mixture of excitement and curiosity. Maybe, just maybe, this won’t be so bad after all.

#f1 fic #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fic #formula 1 fanfic #loveisland!au #carcar #carcar fic #abby's writing

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buckysgrace · 1 year ago

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3. Passionate As Sin

Part three to Every Little Thing! :)

Gator Tillman x oc

“What are we doing?” Daphne questioned as she walked leaned against the counter, trying to figure out why everyone was bustling about. She’d overslept a lot longer than she’d meant to, but she’d been up in the early hours of the morning thinking of Gator. Her fingers didn’t feel the same, didn’t hit the right spots that he did. She felt guilty, but it was like she couldn’t stop.

“Fish fry,” Noelle said as she wrinkled her nose up, apparently still not keen about meat, “They caught a lot of fish yesterday.” She said as she shook her head, looking irritated suddenly. Daphne paused, glancing at the phone that was resting at the end of the counter.

“Are we doing it here?” Daphne asked in confusion, feeling an itch growing in her fingers as she inched her way closer to the discarded phone. She was too embarrassed to ask anyone for what she needed, knowing that it would bring up an assortment of questions and a ton of teasing.

“Tillman’s,” Noelle answered simply, “What color am I wearing for your wedding again?” She asked offhandedly as she put her kindle down on the table. Daphne glanced away from the phone, surprised at the sudden question.

“Green,” Daphne said softly, “I think. I don’t know, I'm still trying to figure it out.” She admitted truthfully, feeling like nothing in her wedding was set in stone other than the date. Every time she thought about the wedding she was filled with dread, but she just continued to procrastinate. Hugh didn’t seem to care either. She wondered how badly he wanted this wedding, supposing that he had to care a little bit as he had proposed. They hadn’t even discussed marriage before he popped the question.

“I can tell,” Noelle said slowly, pointedly as her lips curled into an amused grin, “I don’t suppose there’s a reason for that?” She asked slowly, fishing for information just like everyone else. Daphne remained stoic as she gave her sister a slow blink.

“No other reason than my terrible habit of putting everything off at the last minute.” She mumbled, thinking that her procrastinating was fairly bad. Nobody even seemed too surprised at her lie, as forgetting to tell everyone that she had a trip coming up was something that she really would do.

She waited until Noelle left the room, before she gripped her their mothers phone and quickly unlocked it. It was always the same. 10455, the month that each of her kids were born. She leaned against the counter as she scrolled through Ruby’s contacts, sighing at the messy way none of them were sorted by names. She had an unhealthy obsession with emojis.

She finally found the one with the alligators, her heart beating rapidly as she clicked on it. She breathed out softly, a small smile creeping onto her lips as she realized Gator had never changed his number. She wondered if there was a reason, or if it was just out of habit.

She quickly typed it into her phone, her heart beat vibrating against her insides before she discreetly pocketed her phone again. There was nothing wrong with what she’d done. Her and Gator were friends, she was allowed to have his number.

She took a long second, debating with herself before she finally found the courage to type him out a short message. She shook her head before she deleted it, biting down on her thumb before she started again.

She sighed, dropping her head into her hands as she couldn’t understand why this had to be so hard. She knew Gator most of her life, she didn’t want to feel so awkward around him now. Even if there could be something else hidden deep down. She shook that thought away, knowing there wasn’t allowed to be anything else hidden. She was with Hugh.

Did you fix your tags yet?

She smiled as she read the message on her screen, her heart skipping roughly inside of her chest as her eyes scanned over the message a few times. It was simple, but it still made her giddy.

She put her phone away, chewing on her bottom lip before she headed upstairs to the bathroom she shared with Noelle. She turned the shower on, waiting for it to get hot as she planned on looking her nicest tonight. She wasn��t necessarily doing it for Gator, she was allowed to look nice if she was seeing people she hadn’t seen for a while.

She scrubbed herself clean, the shame growing smaller and smaller as she thought more about looking nice than removing the scent of Gator from her skin. She hated how badly she wanted to taste his tongue against hers again, how she wanted to breathe in the bay rum that he sprayed over his body.

She wrapped her hair up in one towel, using the other to cover her body before she headed up towards her room. Her feet slightly slipped against the wooden floors, still wet from stepping out of the shower.

She pulled out one of her new skirts, a neat white that was covered in light purple flowers and ended underneath her knees. She figured she’d need something to hide the bruises from last night. She pulled out a white sleeveless shirt. It dipped down just enough and left her abdomen slightly exposed. She figured Bruce would be a little opposed to the style, but she was a grown woman now. She sat both down on the bed before she removed her towels and began to brush through her hair. The bottom of her hair was always a little bit more difficult to brush through, due to the bleach.

Daphne paused as she let her partially damp hair rest on her shoulders. She looked in the mirror, running her hands through the straight strands until it was positioned in a way she liked. She thought for another second before she opened the piece of paper that had the stickers for her license plates.

She hoped she wouldn’t ruin the sticky adhesive, but she took the risk as she peeled the green stickers off and placed them over her hardened nipples. She could feel her cheeks burning as the scandalous feeling filled her.

She gripped her phone as she stood in front of the mirror, trying out a few different poses until she found one that she was happy with. She inhaled deeply, trying to ignore the nerves that had settled over her as she took the picture.

She attached the picture, staring at it one last time as she tried to make sense of her actions. She couldn’t believe herself, felt disgusted at the way her body trembled as she wondered how Gator would react once he saw it.

Just have to attach them ;)

//////////////////

“This is very strange.” Hugh mumbled to her in the backseat. She turned towards him curiously, wiggling her boots back onto her feet as the ranch came into view.

“What?” She asked him curiously, trying to gain sense of what he was speaking about. She had left her phone behind at the house, shut down as she was too nervous to even see how Gator had responded to her message.

“That you claim these Tillman’s live so close, yet you have to drive there to get to their house.” He said in confusion as he glanced out the window. She looked at the little scar that was forming on his cheek, feeling bad that he had gotten snagged in such a way.

“It’s a hefty walk.” She agreed slowly, hiding the fact that Gator used to make trips at night to see her. She clasped her fingers over her lap as she rested her hands over her abdomen. She could feel her stomach twisting with nerves, hoping that she didn’t see Gator but then also praying that he would be there at the same time.

“America is odd.” Hugh decided at last, whispering a little softer so Bruce wouldn’t hear him from the front seat. Daphne laughed softly as she gave his hand a soft squeeze. She waited to feel some sort of spark, some sort of jolt. She felt nothing.

She peered out the window, watching the way the smoke was pouring into the air from behind the house. She chewed on her bottom lip, feeling a little anxious as they pulled into the driveway. She couldn’t tell if the vast amount of people were good or bad. Perhaps it would be easier to disappear with Gator.

She shook that thought away, reminding herself that she shouldn’t imagine those scenarios. Especially with Hugh sitting so close to her. She unbuckled her seatbelt, lingering for just a second before she pushed the door open and hopped out.

It was still early as she settled into the house with Hugh, following behind her parents as her palms grew sweatier and sweatier. She felt on edge, kept expecting to see Gator peeking around each corner as she helped set things up in the kitchen.

Hours passed before people finally began to arrive, the sun slowly lowering so the air wasn’t so hot and unbearable. She still lingered in the cool house, hoping that she may eventually see Gator emerging from his room until she realized there was no point in waiting.

She felt like she was getting passed back and forth again, recounting her engagement story and showing off the ring that Hugh had bought for her. She was growing tired of saying the same thing over again, of smiling too tightly and acting like it was a great thing. She feared that everyone could see right through her.

She couldn’t imagine how she’d handle her actual engagement party. She didn’t want one, but Bruce insisted on doing so. It didn’t seem necessary in her opinion, but Bruce had sent her a look that kept her from saying anything else.

She glanced around, watching as people conversed as she fell into her own little world. She felt like an outsider for the first time, but that was her own fault. She didn’t know them the way that she used to. She’d left, she’d changed and so had everyone else.

She stood on her tippy toes, rocking in her boots softly as she tried to search for the familiar face she was hunting for. She felt disappointed, not seeing the pair of brown eyes that she was desperate to catch. She figured that maybe he was working, that he wouldn’t be here at all. Perhaps that was for the best.

“You know,” Daphne said softly as she looked at the twin girls in front of her, “I’m a twin too. That’s my brother.” She said sweetly as she pointed over towards Oliver who was entertaining Hugh with something funny he’d said. All of her siblings had the same features, except for August who favored their father. Many times when they were younger, Noelle was mistaken for a triplet for how much smaller she was at the time.

“Ollie.” Maude spoke up slowly, still looking shy as she held one of her shoulders up to her cheek. Daphne grinned at her, still shocked at how big they had grown in the past few years. She thought of how Gator had been less than pleased to find out he would no longer be an only child, but slowly grew to like it. She wondered how he acted around them now.

“Mhm,” Daphne said as she nodded her head, “I used to babysit you both when you were really little.” She told them quickly, thinking of the rare nights that Roy would take Karen out. She liked those nights, however. Usually she was allowed to spend the night in one of the guest rooms, even though she’d find herself in Gator’s bed a few hours later.

“You did?” Maude looked at her with wide eyes, her lips parting like she couldn’t believe what Daphne was saying. Daphne suddenly wished she had pictures to prove that she had known them for a long, long time.

“Well I’m going to need some flower girls,” Daphne said playfully as she looked between Jessica and Maude, “Do you know anyone who might want to do it?” She asked them, feigning a serious look as she knitted her eyebrows together. She tapped her finger against her chin, pretending to be deep in thought.

“Yeah!” Maude spoke up as she twisted her dress back and forth. She brought her thumb up to her mouth, looking at Daphne shyly before she turned away again. “Oh you do?” She questioned them teasingly, “Who?” She asked as she bent over to meet them at eye level. Both of the twins giggled before they looked back at one another. She thought of the way her and Oliver used to look at each other in a similar manner, like they could speak their own language.

“Me and Maude,” Jessica giggled as she rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet, “I like flowers.” She said with a nod of her head, like she was trying to convince Daphne that it should be them.

“Oh my,” Daphne grinned as she looked between the two of them again, “I’m so glad that I found you then.” She told them excitedly, happy that she was getting somewhere with the twins. She had been so excited when they were born. She’d always wanted a baby brother or sister.

“You want two flower girls?” Hugh asked her a few minutes later, once the twins had gripped each other’s hands and raced away. She nodded her head, thinking it would be cute to watch the two of them skip down the aisle.

“Yes,” Daphne said softly, “I can’t ask just one.” She told him quickly, furrowing her eyebrows as she looked at Hugh seriously. She had shared a flower girl position with Noelle once at their uncle's second marriage.

“Just pick your favorite.” Hugh said, shrugging his shoulders like it was easy. She looked at him stunned, about to tell him how horrible that was when she noticed the grin that was forming on his lips. She shook her head a second later, unsure of how she fell for his trick.

“Hugh,” She pushed at his arm, her eyes wide as she hooked at him in disbelief, “That’s horrible.” She said, joining in with his laughter. It hit her like a punch, the comfortable feeling that reminded her of why she had picked him in the first place. She could feel her gut twisting so tightly in guilt that she felt like it was hard to breathe.

She excused herself a minute later, walking inside of the quiet house as she tried to stall her nerves from becoming too much. Her throat was burning, raw as she tried to take a deep breath. She was beginning to regret the picture she sent, wondering if there was some magic way to unsend it before he saw it.

She found the desire to scrub her hands in the sink, hoping somehow that the soap and burning water would wash away the fresh guilt that was settling inside of her. She patted them dry a second later, staring at the ring that occupied her finger. She twisted it around softly, feeling like she’d lost part of herself.

“That was a nice picture you took earlier,” Gator mumbled as he stepped behind her, pressing his large hands against her waist as he inhaled deeply, “You looked sexy.” He whispered as he bit down on her earlobe.

“Don’t you policemen need proof?” She questioned him softly, teasing him as she tried to play off her own actions. Her body felt warm, but she was unsure if that had to do with how close he was to her or with how her own lust filled her body.

“I don’t think you sent it for proof.” He replied as he gave her flesh a soft squeeze. She chewed on her bottom lip, feeling a soft sigh leave her lips as his hands traveled further up her body. He brought his lips down against the curve of her neck, dragging his lips slowly as he breathed in the scent of her.

“Gator, we can’t right now,” She told him briskly, whispering in case anyone was lingering around, “Someone could see.” She replied weakly as he cupped his hands over her boobs and gave her a soft squeeze. She sighed, resting against his body as his teeth grazed over her neck.

“Is that bad or something?” He chuckled against her skin, peppering soft kisses up to her cheek again. She closed her eyes softly, soaking against his warmth for another second before she was pushing him away.

“I’m getting married.” She reminded him softly as she tried to find the strength to drop his hands completely. She paused, admiring how long and nimble his fingers were as she situated their palms together.

“But you’re not married yet.” He shot back, his eyebrows slightly cocked as he gazed for her reaction. She sighed softly as she shook her head, wishing his words could be that simple. “What’s that got to do with anything?” She asked him seriously, knowing that she was supposed to be loyal while she was in a relationship with someone regardless if she had a ring or not. His lips curled up softly, looking at her in amusement.

He took another step forward, dropping her hands as he took a hold of her waist again. She felt her breath stall in her chest, freezing as she admired the warmth that radiated off of him. She had a strong urge to fall to her knees again.

“It’s not a crime then,” He replied gently as he rubbed his fingers up and down her slender curves, “You haven’t signed your life away yet.” He said a second later, smirking as he looked quite proud of his statement.

“I can’t just-,” She paused for a second, ensuring no one was around as she spoke up quietly, “I can’t cheat on him.” She said quickly, feeling a burning sensation traveling through her body. She puffed out her cheeks softly, feeling ashamed as she admitted what they had done out loud.

“You already have.” He cocked an eyebrow, his eyes traveling over her features in enjoyment as if he really thought that she had forgotten that. She breathed in deeply through her nostrils, shaking her head as she felt her jittery nerves rising.

“I can’t do it again.” She replied back, her cheeks burning as she knew how hypocritical she sounded right now. She felt like she was in a constant state of being awake and then asleep. It was hard. She liked dreaming of Gator and what they could’ve been.

“You didn’t miss me?” He asked simply, looking like he really wasn’t sure about what her answer would be. She paused, in complete disbelief that he would even question such a thing. She had missed him more than the stars missed the moon when the sun was out.

“I missed you,” She said softly with a nod of her head, “But we were just friends. Remember?” She reminded him softly, wondering if he was picking up on his words that she was throwing back at him. He tilted his head, a smile creeping onto his lips.

“Doesn’t feel like it,” He replied huskily, “You keep ignoring me for some reason. You worried about something?” He questioned her, digging around a little deeper. She raised her eyebrows at him, her fingers lightly beginning to tap against her thighs.

“What would I be worried about?” She challenged him, sticking her chin up a bit to get a better look at him. His eyebrows raised with hers, a soft chuckle leaving his lips before he shook his head. He tapped the bottom of his first against the counter, like he was trying to think of the right way to phrase his answer.

“I don’t know,” He puckered his lips out as he spoke, “Maybe this guy isn’t who you thought you wanted.” She stared at him for a moment, her eyes tracing over the marks on his face. She felt her walls lowering a bit, knowing that Hugh really wasn’t the one that she pictured marrying. But he cared for her, he wanted to marry her. That was the difference between him and Gator.

“You’re ridiculous,” She said quickly, shaking away reminiscence that may have lingered in her features, “Stop bringing him up.” She replied softly, feeling like she should defend Hugh. He was kind. He hadn’t done anything bad to her, ever.

“Why?” He took a step closer, his eyes flickering over her features slowly, “You didn’t seem to care about him when you sent that picture.” He pointed out as he brought his fingers against her midriff. She felt her breath catch in her throat as warmth spread through her body. She chewed on her bottom lip, ignoring the goosebumps that formed as he traced his finger around her belly button.

“Maybe I was just testing you,” She responded slowly, her eyes latched to his lips as he slowly exhaled, “Trying to see if you were a gentleman or not.” She shrugged her shoulders softly, trying to build the restraint to pull away from him.

He moved even closer, stealing the air from her lungs as he inhaled deeply. She could feel her heart racing inside of her chest, beating to his same rhythm as the air between them grew hot. She flicked her eyes across his warm brown eyes, then slowly trailed them down to his pink lips. She stared for a moment, opening her mouth to find some sort of protest.

He dipped his head down further, hesitating like he was waiting for her to push him away. She tilted her mouth up just as eagerly, her fingertips twitching as she desperately wanted to wrap her arms around his shoulders.

She inhaled the smell of watermelon on his tongue, hoping that she’d taste it against her mouth. She felt her eyes flutter shut as his bottom lip dragged against her mouth slowly. She moved her lips in response, savoring the slow way their mouths met.

He kissed her passionately, roughly as he pressed her up against the counter. She gripped him just as tightly as he hiked up one of her legs and pressed up against him. She felt like horny teenagers again, sneaking around and kissing whenever they could.

He rutted his hips into hers slowly, drawing a moan from her mouth as she gripped a hold of his shoulders tightly. His tongue dipped into her mouth, licking away the pleasant melodies as he pulled her closer.

She dug her fingertips into her skin, not caring at the way her lungs were burning as she rubbed her tongue against his. He licked languidly at her mouth, his large hands cupping her ass as she pressed up against him more frantically. She pulled at the loops of his jeans, fully intent on letting him take her on the hard kitchen tiles.

“Gator?” Daphne panicked, pushing him away quickly. She could feel how wide her eyes were as the panic spread through her. Jessica walked into the room, a gleeful smile on her face as she approached, “You said you’d bounce us on the trampoline.” She pouted her lips out as she gripped his hand, oblivious between what had happened between the two adults.

“Not now,” He said quickly as he glanced back towards Daphne. She busied herself in the fridge, pretending to find something, “I’m busy.” He said a second later, trying to gently shoo her away.

“But you promised,” She whined as she tugged on his hand, “You can’t break a promise!” She squeaked out, looking like she was horrified by Gator's answer. Daphne paused as she scanned the full shelves, suddenly feeling sick to her stomach.

“You shouldn’t break your promises,” Daphne said softly as she pulled a can of Coke from the fridge, “You’ll make a habit of it.” She responded slowly, catching his eye for a moment. She wondered if he was thinking of the same thing as she passed him, heading back towards Hugh.

She felt Gator’s eyes on her the rest of the night as she tried to busy herself by settling next to Hugh. She tried to pay attention to his stories, to keep him up to date on the family gossip but her mind kept wandering. She knew she had started digging herself into a deeper hole. She was beginning to sink deeper, unable to tell the difference from the top and the bottom.

“Daphne, look,” Maude giggled as she threw fistfuls of grass onto the ground, “It’s like what a flower girl does!” She exclaimed happily before she threw another fistful into the air. Daphne crossed her legs on the picnic table she sat situated on, her heart beating roughly as Gator approached with the twins.

All of them had slightly reddened cheeks, their hair disheveled and slightly static from rolling around the trampoline one too many times. She pulled her fist up to her cheek, hiding her smile as Gator lazily placed one of his legs through the bench. He paused before he pulled Jessica up, letting her rest on his lap before he passed his can of Mountain Dew to her.

“You’re already so good at it,” Daphne gushed, turning her attention away from Gator before she could meet his eye again, “We’ll have to pick out a pretty dress together.” She told Maude, a little excited as she took a hold of Daphne’s hand, bearing a bright smile.

“I wanna be a cake girl,” Jessica declared as she pressed her finger against Gator’s nose, pushing it hard until he pulled away, “I can throw cake.” She giggled as she leaned against him, clearly in awe of her older brother. Gator shook his head, but his eyes sparked amusement like Jessica had given him some sort of idea.

“Mhm, what kind of cake?” Daphne asked, “We need suggestions.” She asked as she crossed her arms over the table. She let her eyes draw back towards Gator, her heart thumping harshly in her chest as she watched the careful way he pulled Jessica’s hair out of her eyes.

“I think we should have a peanut butter cake,” Hugh said lightly. Gator wrinkled his eyebrows together as he snorted, shaking his head, “What?” He looked over offended, like he was angry with the way Gator was treating him. Daphne shifted in the wooden chair, trying to decide the best way to handle the situation.

“Daphne hates peanut butter.” Gator replied quickly as he pointed towards Daphne, motioning to the way her nose was curled up in distaste. She quickly shook her head, trying to rid her features of any evidence of her being against it.

“I don’t hate it,” She said softly so she wouldn’t hurt Hugh’s feelings, although she knew for certain she had mentioned it more than once, “I just don’t care for it.” She said as she shrugged her shoulders, trying to make it as casual as she could.

“You’re allergic to peanuts.” Gator replied dryly as he pulled his drink up to his lips. He held eye contact with her, like he was daring her to say otherwise. She let out a nervous laugh, glancing towards Hugh’s wide eyes as she tried to talk control of the situation again.

“Yeah, but sometimes it’s worth a trip to the hospital,” She said as she scratched the back of her neck, “Gator likes to draw too. He does really well.” She said a second later, trying to build a connection between the two guys. Their art styles were vastly different, however. Hugh used bright oils that settled into a happier picture. Gator’s were darker, usually sketches that were always done in black and white.

“Yeah?” Gator asked, sounding a little bored as he tilted his head away so the twins couldn’t reach his vape, “I heard you do that more for a job than a hobby.” He replied, grabbing both of the twins hands with his one so he could take a hit from his vape. Daphne breathed in softly, enjoying the watermelon taste that floated over towards her.

“I do what I love.” Hugh said simply, his eyes narrowing softly as he watched Gator. Daphne paused as she glanced between the two of them, hoping that she hadn’t made the situation worse. She didn’t necessarily want them as friends, but figured it would be easier for her if Hugh at least knew him.

“Right,” Gator said slowly, “I’m afraid you won’t find many jobs for that around here.” He said as he pocketed his vape again, giving each of the girls a stern look as they tried to reach into his pocket.

“There’s not much out here at all.” Hugh replied, his eyebrows raised softly as he looked forward unimpressed. She breathed out of her nose, trying to not get irritated. She knew that Hugh wasn’t used to being somewhere so small, so spacious. But she loved her hometown. He had been the one to ultimately decide that they should move back anyways.

“You’ll get used to it,” Daphne smiled as she squeezed his bicep, “It won’t take that long.” She reassured him as she nodded her head, glancing back towards where Gator was watching her. She drank in his deep brown eyes, noting the golden halo they gave out as the sunlight dipped against him. She rubbed her palms against her thighs, wondering if his stomach flipped the same way hers did when he looked at her.

She doubted it. She tried not to think about how she already knew what he thought about her. It was the reason they were so distant now, why she was worried to let him back into her life. She knew it wasn’t smart to start fooling around with him again, but he was like a drug. She couldn’t give him up, no matter how hard she tried.

She distracted herself back into the kitchen a little later, feeling the need to get away from everyone else as she kept beating herself up over her own thoughts. She knew she was being dumb, being irrational. She just couldn’t keep her mind from racing, her heart from aching.

She was still left with the memory of his skin against her own, the way his lips would brush against the crook of her neck and how he’d whisper the most filthy things into her ear as he rutted his long fingers into her. She breathed in deeply, feeling a rush pouring in between her legs.

“What did you bring back for me?” Gator asked, looking at her curiously as she bit into her blackened marshmallow. She paused, quickly licking the stickiness from her lips and swallowed quickly. She winced, furrowing her eyebrows together as the food hit her stomach hard. She looked towards him, forcing up a smile.

“I didn’t,” She said at last, “I figured you wouldn’t be interested in anything I brought back.” She admitted a second later. It wasn’t necessarily the truth. She hadn’t really sought out gifts to bring back to him. At first, she had been too bitter and angry. Once those feelings had chipped away she was too hurt, no longer wanting to make her heart ache anymore.

“Well you’re wrong,” He replied back as he leaned against the counter, “There’s one thing I want.” He drew out slowly as his eyes flickered across her features. She stalled for a moment, her heart racing roughly in her chest as she tried to remind herself that he had probably said this to plenty of women.

“Marshmallow?” She asked softly, offering it out to him instead of asking him what he wanted. She feared that if he flirted with her in just the right way she’d give up everything again. His features knitted up in confusion as he glanced down at the marshmallow, then back up to her.

He took it from her, quickly discarding it in the sink to her surprise. She opened her mouth to protest, to shout about how she’d finally gotten her marshmallow to the perfect consistency when he brought her gooey covered fingers up to his lips.

He licked it away from her fingers, swirling his tongue between her digits as he sucked away the sticky white material. She gulped, pressing down on his tongue softly as he wrapped his long fingers around her wrist. He moved his warm eyes down towards her, holding eye contact as he slowly dragged his tongue across her fingers.

He released her then, a light trail of spit connecting between his lips and her fingertips as she tried to find the courage to breathe. His eyes felt too warm, too intense as she felt a rush forming between her legs.

“Ya know,” He leaned forward, looking quite smug at her reaction, “If you keep your window open tonight, I might just pay you a visit.” He suggested slyly. She parted her lips as a flush spread over her body. She was tempted, itching to take up his offer. She wasn’t sure that she could face the repercussions of what would happen next.

She leaned in a little closer, examining the flush that spread over his cheeks as she spoke lowly, “Goodnight, Gator.” She denied him softly, enjoying the sweet scent that rolled off of his tongue before she slowly pulled away. She gave his wrist a light squeeze, smiling breezily as she left him on his own.

#Gator Tillman #Gator Tillman x oc #Gator Tillman smut #Gator x Daphne #Every Little Thing #Gator #Fargo season 5

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ryverbind · 1 year ago

Text

Faceless Fixation (Sal Fisher): Viper of Fear [16]

I'm crouched behind the one piece of protection I was able to find in this abyss of unspoken horrors. This battle ground of malice and revenge.

My heart pounds against my ribcage, a war drum thrumming within my own body. My chest is splattered with the lost hopes and dreams of my enemies. My veins are filled with the icy bite of fear-- fear that strikes with the accuracy of a viper.

This is a wasteland. What once was is nothing anymore. The ground beneath me held up opportunity mere minutes ago, all for it to be stripped away in a moments notice. And it's all my fault.

The surface beyond my safe space is riddled with the neon blood of my foe. Synthetic shotgun shells cover the floor, acting as hell's very own field of bones. The desert scene that earlier reflected a symbol of goals I never thought I'd achieve now mimics Vlad the Impaler's wet dream.

I take a shaky breath, adrenaline pumping through every millimeter of my being as I listen to the war waging behind me. I don't spare even a simple glance over the box I'm hiding behind. This box is the stone that Arthur's sword once resided in-- this bitch will never break as long as I believe in it.

My fingers flex around the weapon in my arms, my muscles tense and my mind alert. If I'm not on edge at all times right now, I'll get caught. And getting caught means death. All hell has broken loose amidst the cloud of contentment that blinded me just minutes ago. I should have know that karma and revenge go hand-in-hand. They're best friends. They are a repeated process and know each other good and well.

I acted on revenge, and karma was quick to collect my debt.

"You've been hit by..." my heart stops upon hearing that deep, sultry, amused voice. He's having the time of his life, relishing in the screams of his victims. "You've been struck by..." I hear the barrel of his gun snap, releasing a plague of venom upon the person at his mercy. And the sufferer bellows in agony, spreading their unfortunate and horrific fate to me. I sympathize, my heart skipping a beat. I'm trapped in the clutches of hesitance, of terror. I squeeze my eyes shut. "A smooooth Larry Johnson!"

I swallow thickly, a guilty grin quirking my lips. Everyone's fair game to Larry right now. We aren't his friends at the moment, we're pawns in his chaotic chess game.

I set my gun on my knee, wiping my clammy palm against my chest. My hand comes up sticky though, so I look down at it, grimacing at my neon orange skin. I chew on my bottom lip, contemplating the memory of how I became covered in paint.

The issue with my win against Sal earlier is that I expected him to silently fume over his loss. I wasn't prepared for him to throw paintballs into his mag and pelt me with three almost immediately. I was too confident. Overzealous. And... I guess I had it coming.

I can't wipe the image of that moment out of my head, when I finally looked up at Sal to see him stalking over to me with a fire in his pretty blue eyes. As soon as our gazes clashed, he launched into fighting position with his gun up, aimed at me, and at the ready. His finger slammed on the trigger with no regret, effectively slathering me in the ugliest colors I've ever seen. What's worse is that he came at me short-range, so my gut and chest are throbbing in pain. Probably have some bruising, but hey, that's game. This is war.

What I want to know is how the hell Sal and Larry know how to work a paint ball gun. I underestimated my enemies.

First rule of gaming and life: never, under any circumstances, underestimate the enemy. And for fucks sake, double tap! Don't be like me, apparently.

Larry very thankfully moves away from me, probably laying his mayhem upon Ash somewhere else in this tumultuous room.

No one has found me yet, and it's already been about a full five minutes since the metaphorical shit hit the fan. I guess physical shit too, seeing as we've completely wrecked this photoshoot set. I kind of feel bad for The Faces; no one's ever going to give them this opportunity again.

I hear Todd yelp somewhere in the distance and my body stiffens up automatically. I can't afford to feel false security in such a dangerous situation. This box of props isn't my savior, nor will it ever be. I have to be prepared no matter what.

I feel a brush against my leg, so I whip my head to the side half expecting a threat and half expecting me to just have been stupid and hit the wall. Preparation can work or it can backfire, but it's better than walking through the unknown.

But seeing Sal crouched beside me makes me want to bolt into the crossfire that Larry's creating.

And Sal hasn't noticed me yet either. He's simply hiding from Larry too, trying to escape the fiend his step-brother has become. His gun is propped on his knee, his finger hovering over the trigger in fear of being found. His sapphire colored hair is stringy from sweat, sticking to his neck and prosthetic. Dots of neon green and orange are littered along the long strands, his fringe much the same. He pants heavily, probably from bolting across the room as quickly as he could. His chest rises and falls quickly, the action attracting my gaze. And then his eyes that map out the battle ground behind the box we're both hidden behind-- his cerulean gaze that swallows me whole no matter when or how I get to see them. And those beautiful, veiny, bruised hands of his that handle the weapon in his arms like he has the strength and confidence of all the mightiest men in this world.

He glances down at his gun, using his hand to swipe a patch of neon green off of his black gun. But when he looks down, he also spots my boot.

I gulp, the viper of fear sinking its venomous fangs into my skin. It was only a matter of time-- I should have snuck away while he was still distracted. But as I said, karma and revenge work hand-in-hand.

Sal's head snaps up, shocked gaze meeting my own. As soon as he realizes who he's looking at, the emotion in his eyes flips completely, turning into a horrendous glare. And there's nothing I can really do but wait for him to probably shoot me again. It's better than risking an onslaught from Larry-- I'm actually scared of him. Kinda relieved that Ash and Todd have to face him instead of me.

"Bitch," Sal bites out quietly, trying to make sure that Larry doesn't find him. "Fuck you."

My lips quirk into some kind of sneer and grin. If this is all he'll do then maybe it's time to repeat the karma-revenge process. I'm about ready to get back at him for bruising my ribs earlier. "Yea," I whisper back harshly, "I bet you want to."

Sal's piercing eyes narrow and a wave of impending doom and ferocity carves away at my insides. I can feel the sting of murderous intent like flames licking at my skin. Maybe I need to reevaluate my life choices.

He doesn't say a word-- doesn't drone about how much he hates me or how I'm nothing compared to him. He just lifts one hand from his gun and slams it into my throat, his fingers gripping my skin tightly and robbing me of fresh air.

I choke on the sudden pressure on my airways, leaning forward to try and relieve myself even if just a bit, but Sal doesn't let up. He only yanks me closer to him. It's almost embarrassing that he knows what turns me into putty in his hands-- we've only been doing this for two days. But it seems that anger and aggression is his go-to when it comes to me, whether he truly feels it or he's just trying to wrap me around his finger.

I swallow, taking quick and raspy breaths as I look into his eyes that are mere centimeters away from mine. His bright blue irises hold so much intrigue, so much contempt. Every shade of blue, every fleck of golden stardust in his gaze resents me. I'm borderline obsessed with the way he hates me at this point. It's such a strong emotion, to be loathed so deeply by anyone at all. It isn't love, but I don't need love.

Maybe this is why I didn't move when I realized he was next to me. Because I craved to fall victim to the indignation that constantly radiates between us. He just hates me so good.

I wrap my hand around his wrist, tears starting to form in my eyes as I do my best to hold his gaze. I won't bend to him-- that would be too easy. Nothing about this is easy, and it shouldn't be. He and I both know it.

"You don't want to fuck me," he says condescendingly, raspy voice full of veiled fascination. He hides most of it with his anger, but I know he enjoys the way I react. It's painfully obvious. "You couldn't handle me."

I snort as best as I can with my airways blocked off, a little smile pulling at my lips. Is he really trying to scare me? He should know by now that trying to freak me out only makes me want to show him how wrong he is. "Wanna bet?" I challenge with a scratchy, barely audible voice.

His eyes glance over my face, soaking up the position he has me in appreciatively. "I'll rip you apart," he warns, pretty gaze snapping up to meet mine again.

"Wasn't that always the plan?"

Sal takes a slow, deep breath before cocking his head to the side in an admonishing way. Then he drops his hand and a rush of air abuses my lungs. I choke on the oxygen invading my body and scoot away from him as quickly as possible. He looks away from me, peeking over the top of the box. "If it wasn't the plan before, then it is now. Someone needs to set you straight."

Oh, that's nice. So when are we fucking? "I don't want to be set straight," I scoff, taking the opportunity to glance around the side of the box too. Larry's been pulled aside by the photographers. And holy fuck, it looks like a neon tornado tore up this entire room. We're in so much trouble. "I want to be reminded of why I want this to begin with."

"No," Sal bites out. "You just need to fucking go to therapy. Bratty bitch-- I'll scare you out of this stupid BDSM fantasy you have."

I turn my head to him, eyes wide. Did he really just blindly read me and guess correctly? "How fucking dare you?" I seethe quietly. "Who are you to tell me I need to go to therapy? What does that say about you, huh? Hypocritical cunt."

Sal looks down at me in return, gaze as wrathful and irritated as usual when it comes to me. "Only delusional people like you think they want to be tied up and fucked into stupidity. But since you won't stop lying to yourself like a dumbass, I'll just have to be a good Samaritan and show you, I fucking guess."

"Ah, yea," I hum, feigning disappointment while excitement rushes through me. "Such a shame that you have to go out of your way to fuck me hard enough that I lose the last few braincells I have left." Sal rolls his eyes, letting out an exasperated breath. "You're such a hypocrite. You're judging me for being a freak when you're one too," I continue.

"Because it fits me. I've been a freak from the start, why not make it into something I can actually utilize?" He counters, voice still laced with agitation that only continues to grow.

"So no one else can have the same desires that you do? Are you really gatekeeping your sexuality right now?" I hiss at him, adjusting my stance to face him-- anything to be more intimidating than I already am. He's such an asshole involving absolutely everything. Who does he think he is? The bouncer of BDSM? Be fucking for real.

"Only you would take a warning as gatekeeping." Sal runs his paint-covered hand over his prosthetic, realizing too late that his face is slathered in neon. This only fuels his obvious vexation. He grumbles quietly to himself before saying. "You're such a simpleminded moron. Think with your head instead of your pussy. I mean, really think."

Rage suffocates me like I'm swimming in a sea of way-too-fluffy bunnies. I might be attracted to him in a way that's so down horrendous it makes me question myself sometimes, but that does absolutely nothing to distract me from how awful his personality actually is. I've never wanted to punch someone the way I want to punch him. Every single second I spend with him-- sucking him off or arguing with him-- fills me with some of the most potent emotions I've ever had the displeasure of experiencing in my entire life.

"Sal," I say calmly, turning away from him to watch as Larry turns around and starts calling out all of us. His gun has been revoked. "I say this honestly, and for your own good," I tell the man beside me. I could pistol-whip his ass right now. I'm so pissed. "I think I'll be the one to rip you apart."

That makes him laugh humorlessly, but I don't dare look down to see it happen. If I see him right now, my boot is going to be somewhere on him and it's going to hurt. "I'd like to see you try," he rasps out.

I scrunch my face up, trying to control the anger that radiates off of me in toxic waves. I'm innocent in all of this. Someone needs to set him straight. Not me.

"Try to wipe my handprint off your neck," Sal mumbles, standing up and walking around the box. "If anyone gets any ideas, I'm blaming you."

Asshole. I sneer at his back as he walks over to Larry. I bend down, swiping at my neck and only being able to smear the paint since it's starting to dry. But whatever-- if someone thinks it's a handprint, I'll just pass it off as my own.

"Yea, man," Larry says as I finally start to make my way over to him and Sal. "They aren't pressing charges because they got good pics out of the whole mess, but they are kicking us out. So..." Larry says in a serious tone, one that I don't hear all too often. He almost seems a little timid. "Ash got to talk with them while they stripped me of my fun stick. Thank God she's the bargainer because I would've landed us in jail." Emo buff daddy snorts, trying to smoosh down a little smirk.

So we're given a good reprimanding. I hate this part of getting into trouble because I always feel bad. Mainly since I'm usually the one who was the bad influence and started everything. Some things just never change and Ash can attest to that.

So many times in my life, I've done things that have landed me in situations where I definitely could have gotten a juvenile record. I've just been lucky all this time-- I need to stay lucky because I don't qualify for juvie anymore.

There was one time my band buddies and I had the bright idea to carve out the batter head of a school-owned bass drum and trick this asshole kid into crawling into it. Duck-taped him to it in record time and also got caught immediately. We were going to roll him outside of the building. This paint-ball situation reminds me of that time. It's literally almost the same situation-- defacing property, basically.

I need to stop doing this to myself.

The Faces and I do the walk of shame out of The Venetian, catching a taxi over to Excalibur since they apparently have these giant sword-shaped daiquiris and we all need a drink after what just went down. The one downside is that we're all in tactical gear and covered in neon paint. But, whatever. It's Vegas.

We all stand in line at the daiquiri stand, waiting for our turn to order. It's pretty cool in here, set up like a castle with life size chess pieces lining the front walkway. Not to mention, male strippers are taking pictures with old ladies beside us and, holy hell, no matter the time or day that is just a glorious sight to behold.

Ash and I stand beside each other, giggling over the horny old ladies beside us when a group of people walk around the corner. They're all dressed in old, medieval clothing. All men. Kings, in fact. I think back to what Ash told me earlier about there being jousting tournaments in this casino. I didn't think they dressed up though-- they all look so cool.

But then there's a straggler-- a man dressed as some kind of dark, medieval knight. His hair is long and curly and he has face make-up on. Black around his eyes. He's hot as fuck and Ash and I both quiet down while he walks by, strutting like he owns the place. He's tall as hell too. Larry's height.

The group of actors crawl into line behind us. I lick my lips, trying to get a glimpse of the dark knight, but Sal's stupid head is in my way.

Ash leans over, whispering not-so-quietly to me. "Did you see that hunk of walking fucking sex? Damn," she says, voice starstruck and eyes filled with hearts. "Men don't affect me all that often but imagine if I could sneak him into bed."

I suck in a breath, standing on my tiptoes to look between Todd and Sal's heads. All I can see is the right side of the knight's face, but that alone is satisfying to me. "I'd sleep on the couch so long as at least one of us got to get with that. He's beautiful," I admit, sending Ash a sideways glance. She giggles, nodding her head in agreement.

"Who's got you two twitterpated?" Larry asks, winking at me when I look over. Good use of new vocabulary, Lar.

I nod to the men behind Larry. "If you look behind us, there's an actor dressed as an emo knight, so to speak. He's pretty hot," I tell him.

I could slap men. They live off of one singular, shared braincell. I'll even include Todd in this statement because all three guys turn so hard that anyone else would think they'd all snapped their necks. Keep in mind, all of these actors are just a couple feet behind us so the staring is painfully obvious.

Ash and I fold in on ourselves, turning to face the daiquiri stand and grumbling to each other about how stupid they all are. Oh, this is terrible. So bad, in fact, that I'm blushing profusely. Yuck.

Sal's the first to speak, shamelessly saying, "Fuck. He's hot as shit."

"I'm not into guys," Larry says, "But he is pretty."

Todd hums in agreement, deciding to stay quiet since he has a boyfriend, of course.

"Just pretty?" Sal hisses, clearly offended by Larry's response to the knight. "Ash is right. That's walking sex."

Apparently I have to compete with men now too for a fuck. I can't tell if that's a tad disappointing or fascinating.

"Then go get his number or something if you're so shocked by my taste in sex partners," Larry hums. "You're the eternal rizz master. You get any woman and man you set your eyes on. Might as well bag the dark knight."

"Stop it with the Batman references, Larry," Todd says, giggling shortly after.

Larry groans. "Come on! Stop hating on the game, Todd. That was a perfect opportunity."

I hope this line moves quicker. The longer they talk right in front of the topic of discussion, the more horrified I feel. Ash isn't any better either. She's chewing on her bottom lip, face red as a beet as she finally gets an opportunity to run up to the counter and order us all a daiquiri.

The five of us start walking past the group of actors with giant daiquiri swords hanging around our necks. It's almost comical having to do the walk of shame again, but I'm more terrified of the fact that this poor man probably knows that we were all fawning over him.

We're almost out of dodge but someone calls out to The Faces. We all simultaneously turn, quaking like leaves on dead tress because that definitely came from the group of actors.

And there's Mr. Emo Knight, walking toward us in all his glory with an excited little grin on his handsome face.

I'm going to vomit.

He walks up to Sal and Larry and shakes their hands, sharing quick introductions. Then the knight looks past them and at Ash, Todd, and me. My heart skips a beat in childlike elation when his gaze lingers on me.

"Oh, hey," he says in a surprised tone. "VioletViolence! I've seen pictures of you online for the past couple days. You're even prettier in person."

My entire body tenses up with excitement and I struggle to hold back the huge smile that wants to rip my face apart. This is phenomenal. Good job, y/n. I don't know what I did to deserve the compliment, but I'm glad I did it.

"Oh, thanks!" I tell him. In a stroke of confidence, I say, "You're pretty, too."

I want to rip up the floorboards and make a shrine for this guy when a light blush paints his cheeks. To think that I've done absolutely nothing but stand for a picture and he's already blushing over a compliment from me. That's incredibly encouraging.

"Thank you," he says bashfully, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "Could I get a picture with all of you? If you don't mind, of course."

"We don't mind at all," Sal jumps in to say, already moving closer. "You look cool as hell, man."

I narrow my eyes at Sally Face. How do I read this play? Is he jealous or is he trying to steal this guy from me? I can't tell.

"Thanks," the knight says, scooting in beside Sal so we can all take a picture with him. One of the other actors does the honors, snapping a few quick photos.

We separate after a moment and Sal breaks the silence by saying, "We should grab a drink so you can tell me about those tournaments. I was thinking about trying out some new things and maybe horses are the way to go."

It's almost fool proof. So good that I choke on the sip of strawberry daiquiri that's halfway down my throat. Larry wasn't kidding. Obviously I'm unfortunate proof of it, but Sal really can pull anyone he wants.

"Ah, I wish I could," the knight says a bit awkwardly. "We have another tournament coming up in about fifteen minutes though."

Oh, that's a burn. I wince over the rejection simply because it's so obvious that the knight is lying. If they had another tournament, they wouldn't be buying heaps of alcohol.

I chew on the inside of my cheek as Ash's eyes go wide. Larry turns around to face Ash, Todd and I while trying to hold back a laugh, his face perfectly mimicking the red shade of his daiquiri. Todd wiggles his nose, sniffing quietly. That's funny to see-- he's trying to hold back his reaction too.

Sal's lucky he wears a prosthetic because it can hide anything he's feeling. That is, as long as he's able to keep his emotions out of his eyes.

"Yea, that's no problem!" Sal responds, shaking off the rejection like a pro. "You guys have a good night."

Larry's already snickering as we continue our walk out of Excalibur, and as soon as we cross the threshold of the front door, he and Todd burst into uncontrollable laughter.

"That was bad, bro," Larry cackles, ruffling Sal's hair. The bluenette shoves his step-brother away from him in response, sending him a pair of aggravated eyes.

"It was worth a try," Sal grumbles. "Hop off my dick. It's not the first time I've been shot down and it won't be the last. No pun intended."

I don't quite understand what the no-pun part is about, but the entire group gasps through giggles that they desperately try to squash down into the depths of their soul.

"The worst part about him rejecting you was that he would've absolutely gone out with Vi. He was so into her," Todd says after a moment, trying to deflect Sal's most recent comment.

"He only called her pretty. Doesn't mean he wants to dick her down or anything," Sal says in response. Poor guy, he's so jealous that I pulled the hot knight.

We're all walking side-by-side along the entrance to Excalibur, making our way down to the strip instead of catching another taxi. It's evening, fun city lights are on as the sky darkens, and we need to pick up dinner. Not to mention, we have loads of alcohol so why not make our trip back to Caesar's palace eventful?

I tip my head forward to get a glimpse of Sal-- more importantly, to meet his gaze so he can see my smug expression. I want nothing more than to bask in his rejection.

I see the side of his prosthetic instead-- the bottom half of it is lifted slightly as he sips from his transparent pink straw. It's likely stained from the strawberry daiquiri he has in his hands. His pale, scarred jaw and chin are visible to me, but dark from the shadow of night and his prosthetic. No matter how little I see, I still feel a fluttering in my chest because this is the most I've ever seen of his face. It gives me some kind of theoretical rush-- sets me into a daydream.

His lips are probably tinted red from his drink. His tongue must taste like an inebriating mix of vodka and artificial strawberries. And the shape of his lips, if his teeth are straight or crooked, what kind of nose he has, the curve of his eyebrows. What it would be like to taste him, to feel him in ways that I haven't yet. I could go on forever.

But I shouldn't go on because wanting more from a man who's only willing to give me the bare minimum is setting me up for disaster. He told me himself that I shouldn't expect anything from him. One thing he's failed to do is lie to me, so I'll take his word for it and consider Sal-centered expectations to be detrimental.

This entire time, I haven't wondered about what he looks like beneath his prosthetic-- not even once. It's like a delayed reaction; now I'm overcome with this horrifying yearning to rip the hunk of plaster off of his face and get a glimpse of the real thing. I was fine literally two hours ago, so what's changed? It's not because he's been kind to me because he hasn't shown any emotion that could resemble kindness at all.

Maybe it's the fact that I'm leaving Las Vegas tomorrow and my brain is just subconsciously reminding me of my dwindling time here.

"So anyway, since Sal's butt-hurt," Larry says, interrupting the silence that had overtaken the group. And it was never truly quiet, just felt like it. Cars were still zooming beneath the walkways under our feet, people were still bustling about, music still swelled in the air around us-- but we were all caught up in our own heads. "Let's play a game. Vi is the victim since we virtually still know nothing about her."

I swallow, leaning back so that Sal is out of my view before he can turn to look at me with those evil eyes of his. I don't need to be pining after him anyway-- this is just a nice agreement he and I have. That's all this will ever amount to and that's perfectly fine. No strings, no attachments. Just casual sex, hopefully. If we ever fucking get there.

I turn my attention to Larry. "There isn't much to know," I murmur. I have to be worried about this, not Sal. Larry's trying to quiz me because he thinks this is our first time meeting. I have to be careful. "What kind of game do you want to play?"

Larry slurps his daiquiri loudly, gaining the attention of a few people around us. "Got any weird kinks? Guilty pleasures? Fun scars? Creepy interests?"

My eyebrows raise of their own accord. I'm not sure if these questions are an opportunity for him to relate and feel better about his own odd interests, but I'm a little shocked. Where do I start and what do I keep to myself?

"Um, no weird kinks that I know of--" I start to say, but Ash holds a hand up to my face and slaps her palm against my mouth.

"Liar," she proudly yells. "You are such a degradee."

Heat envelops my entire body. Why did she have to say anything? Keep it in the fucking bag or something-- anything.

"Come on, Ash," Todd huffs. Oh, thank you, sweet angel. If anyone has my back, of course it would be Todd. "We already know Vi's into degradation."

My gaze snaps to Todd and my mouth falls open. So much for trust.

The situation is hilarious, honestly, but also mildly concerning. Am I so submissive that I wordlessly scream it to everyone? Since when have I become this people-pleasing monster?

I choke on an embarrassed laugh, staring at my feet as we walk. My cheeks are flaming and I really just want Thanos to snap his fucking fingers right now.

"Fuck all of you," I sniffle, eyeing my giggly friends. I can't be mad-- this is all in good fun. Still can't wait to get back to the hotel and disappear until I have to leave tomorrow though... "And Larry, the best I've got for you is that I got my finger stuck in the lock of my classroom door in fifth grade," I proclaim bashfully leaning over and holding up my hand.

Larry's eyes light up, much like a cat's pupils dilate when they're focused. He grabs my hand and exams it. "Which finger?" he asks, all focused and adorable as he takes a quick sip from his daiquiri.

"This one," I chirp, lifting my middle finger with no shame.

Larry's smile drops immediately. Then his eyes slowly lift to meet mine, absolute numbness in their chocolatey depths. The nonchalance in his pretty gaze makes a little shiver trickle down my spine. It's both scary and entrancing-- he's just... he's hot...

Larry pinches his lips together then yanks me toward him. My eyes mimic saucers when I trip over my own feet before stumbling into the behemoth of a man. My weight slamming into him pushes him into Sal who snaps at both of us, but I couldn't care less about him when I'm trying not to peel cement with my fucking teeth.

Larry stabilizes us, holding himself up with Sal-- who's still grumbling-- and grabbing onto my waist to keep me upright.

I take a breath, gripping onto Larry's thick biceps for dear life. And you know what? I hold onto the moment (his biceps) for a good couple seconds and appreciate it because at least I have an excuse to touch the build that this man has going on.

So after a second of squeezing this poor mans arms and pretending that I'm recovering instead of literally copping a feel, I furrow my brows and look up at emo buff daddy. He's grinning down at me nervously.

"I swear I just wanted to intimidate you a bit," he snickers, finally releasing me from his hold.

I say a silent, solemn farewell to Larry's arms then huff. "By throwing us into oncoming traffic?" I snort. "That's not intimidation. That's a literal trip to the pearly gates, my brother in Christ."

Larry looks off to the side, upside down smile on his faces as he hides his hands in his pockets. He knows he's guilty.

"But... do you actually have a cool scar then?" Larry asks after a moment, finally falling into step with the rest of us who walk the strip.

I purse my lips. "Not really. I have scars, just not cool ones," I admit. If I've ever gotten a cut or gash, it's always healed pretty quickly. Most of my childhood scars faded years ago and the ones that stayed have no interesting meaning. "Do you?" I ask, leaning forward to send him a smile. I'm able to see Sal again, but he looks aggravated now. Daiquiri dangling from his fingers as he looks out at the city.

I lick my lips before looking back up at Larry. Ignore the brooding little bitch, y/n.

"Um," Larry trails off, sucking on the straw of his daiquiri in an almost suggestive way. Even Todd looks over to raise an eyebrow. "Me and Sal have matching scars."

My eyebrows raise. That's interesting. "What, was it like a brothers pact?" I giggle.

Sal looks over now, his eyes meeting mine. He looks angry though, much angrier than he did just seconds ago. Something tells me this is a story that he never wanted out for prying ears. That makes it all the more intriguing.

"No, it was actually pretty stupid," Larry swipes at his nose and looks off to the side. "Sal hates this story so much because it landed both of us in the hospital."

Hm, hospital tales with The Faces. Sal's reaction was fishy up until Larry mentioned that it was just a stupid little thing in general. I'm a little desperate at this point-- I need to know more. "Tell me about it," I chirp, looking out at the city lights around us. We're walking up to The Venetian now. I have some strange feeling that we're all going to try to sneak past this building pretty quickly after what happened earlier-- especially since we're still in paint-covered tactical gear.

"Hold on," Ash jumps into the conversation, pointing at an Irish Pub a little further down the street. "We're grabbing dinner there. Take out. All the same order. No if's, and's, or but's. I'm ready to get home." She leans over and snatches Todd's wrist. "And fruit roll-up is coming with me."

I watch Larry turn his attention to Ash. "Just as long as you get me some kind of alcohol," he says, grinning all the while. He's going to get so slammed.

Larry is an odd specimen. Of course, we all know that, but he has this kind of aura about him that's so different from the rest of The Faces. He's such a welcoming person-- you look at him and want to trust him with everything. But it's also incredibly obvious that he's devious and chaotic to the core. He'll keep everyone's secrets safe, but he'd probably commit homicide too, I think.

Larry turns to me as Ash rushes ahead of us. There's this gleam in his eyes that screams excitement and focus.

"So I'm gonna spare you the confusing details because Nockfell is just... in a state of sin constantly. You'd be so lost if I told you why exactly this happened," the man waves me off, smacking his lips and looking off to the side. I look up at him with raised eyebrows, patiently waiting. If I'm being honest though, I want to know the confusing details. What was going on in Nockfell?

"Larry, can you not?" Sal bites out. "You tell this story constantly. Just give it a rest. Not everyone wants to talk about scars."

"Sir," Larry scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. He looks down at Sal beside him, giving the blue-haired gremlin a 'try-me-bitch' look. "You can go and be insecure somewhere else because I fucking love telling this story. And Vi wants to hear about it, obviously." He turns to me and grins, showing off his sweet, little gap-toothed smile. "Look at that precious face. It's so eager." Larry grips onto my masked cheeks and drags me toward him.

My heart jumps into my throat when Mr. Metal-Head himself winks at me before dipping his head down to kiss the nose of mask. I can't feel his lips, but just the fact that he's so close to me and showing me this type of care through physical touch makes my cheeks heat up. Makes my fingers go numb. Makes my thoughts race out of my body, skittering along the pavement in excitement-- all with love hearts littered about them. If romantic love were a thing between him and I, things would be much different right now. But this feels more like... I'm a princess and he's my devoted, caring knight. Instead of kissing my hand, he brought his feelings to the very tip of my nose.

This is twitterpated.

Sal and Larry start bickering as soon as the little peck is done and over with. While they do their step-brother thing, I mull over Larry's small token of affection. That kiss meant so much even though our skin never touched. Did Sal feel the same way even though our lips were still separated by his prosthetic? Did he feel like he was cared for, loved? Was he high off the prospect of someone actually wanting to kiss him, innocently or lovingly, just like I am right now?

I almost feel bad. To have all of that mental opportunity ripped away from him the moment it was revealed that I was VioletViolence. Sal must have felt terrible. Maybe... maybe he's actually justified in hating me.

"So anyway," Larry grips my shoulder, making me flinch in surprise. I turn my gaze up to him, meeting Sal's frustrated, glaring blue eyes for just a moment in the process. I'm going to think about how bad I must have made him feel all the time now.

"Sal and I were running, right." Larry leans forward, swiping his hand horizontally before us. I follow his pretty hand that's littered with patchwork tattoos. "Midnight, pitch black outside." Larry tilts his head, pinches his lips to exemplify these points. I simply nod. "Nockfell has this giant forest that's super thick, 'kay, thicker than your juicy thighs, in fact." His eyes snap to me and I have to turn away while my mind runs rampant again. I can't stand Larry, but in the best way.

"Before you get to the forest though," he continues. "There's this old fence that's lined with barbed wire. My guess is to protect old farms from predators and whatever. But Sal and I were young and thought we could simultaneously clear this six foot fence like fuckin' track stars." Oh. I kind of get where this is going-- they were idiots, basically. This story also lines up perfectly well with what Sal told me earlier. I'm incredibly relieved to hear that his scar story was true. This also means that I have no unnecessary stress regarding him and his well-being. Not that I should worry about that to begin with.

"So next thing you know, Sal and I are hooked by our calfs and ankles on the top of this fence. Ripped us up. We couldn't get free, so we were just kinda hanging upside down on this fence for like thirty minutes until Henry came to pick us up." Larry breaks off into scattered giggles while trying to finish the story, meanwhile my stomach threatens to leap out of my body. I feel sick.

"Larry, shut up," Sal mumbles again. "You don't have to give so much detail."

He's so fucking guilty and it shows.

"Come on, bro," Larry chortles, giving Sal a light shove. "It was so stupid, I still laugh about it every time. Look," the man turns back to me and stops walking. He bends down and grabs the edge of his black cargo pants. He yanks them up over his knee and shows off this gnarly, jagged scar on the back of his calf. It's a couple inches long for sure-- must have been deep. "Sal's is on his ankle. We were actually pretty worried he might have sliced his tendon. I remember screaming and yelling at him about how he would never walk again," Larry snickers, pushing his pant leg back down.

I gulp, forcing a smile onto my face. I don't have it in me to laugh at the story. Not when I know that Sal lied to my face about the scars on his thigh earlier.

I'm battling myself. Sal and I aren't close-- he doesn't have to tell me at all if he wants. His mental health and his scars are his business, not mine. It's my fault for feeling so torn up about it. I feel like it's my job to save everyone, but I forget that not everyone wants saving. That, and I just can't save everyone in general.

I don't have a God complex, I just have this unbeatable savior complex that I'm still at war with to this day. I need to get over myself-- not everyone is going to trust me with their secrets. Not everyone needs me. Not everyone will like me. Literally, this tracks with Sal and I's timeline. And besides, if he's ever having mental struggles, I'm sure he trusts Larry, Todd, and Ash enough to seek them if he needs help. I don't have to worry.

I catch Ash rushing toward us with her arms full and Todd trailing behind her with a bag full of God knows what.

"That's a silly story," I finally speak up, smiling up at Larry who gives me this devious little grin. I really just need to ignore the conversation I had with Sal earlier. It was never my business in the first place. "I don't have any cool scars, but I did have something similar happen." I shrug, patting the side of my hip. "Got a fish hook stuck in my side. Pulled it out on my own because I was afraid to get in trouble."

I'll actually never forget the day I yoinked my dads fishing pole with the intention of developing my rad fishing skills all to accidentally yoink myself in the end. I'm just lucky the hook was unused prior to getting stabbed into me. The story is mainly to help me forget about Larry's right now though.

"Perfect timing," Larry whispers excitedly. He crosses over to stand in front of me and my brows furrow in confusion. "I can finally get on my knees for you."

"Nope," I spit out immediately, taking a step away. I'm too insecure and timid for that-- his sweet nose kiss was more than enough. This man needs to have mercy on my hopelessly romantic and decrepit soul.

Larry rolls his eyes. "Fine. But I do want to see. Plus, it's an excuse to finally see your tattoo."

I purse my lips. That's risky. I'll have to lift up the edge of my bra strap for that and I'm a little nervous about being so open.

Ash pops up beside me though. "I just bought, like, thirty jello shots. You fuckers better start throwing some back while I throw this ass back and get laid by a pretty bitch." These words come out in one breath and Ash never breaks her nonchalant facade as she holds a bag out to me.

"Can I be the pretty bitch?" I ask with a smile, sidetracked as I look into the bag to find a plethora of multi-colored plastic containers full of alcoholic jello.

"I thought that was the plan from the start, beautiful," Ash purrs, stealing my attention. I glance up at her, noting the playful little gleam in her bright green eyes and the smirk playing on her full, glossy lips.

I swallow thickly, frowning at how easily I end up falling into these traps that my friends set out. They're too attractive.

"Give me one of those," I murmur, fishing out a handful of shots from the bag to distract myself, and hopefully everyone else, from how shy I've suddenly gotten over a little bit of Ash's shameless and effective flirting.

"Yea, share-- but fuck off, Ash," Larry sneers. "Vi's mine. Stay away." He grabs both of my shoulders and walks me a step closer to his chest. I cannot be fucking doing this right now. I feel like I'm snorting coke just from being stuck between two of the hottest people I know-- and I've never even done drugs.

I open the top of an orange flavored jello shot then very quickly down the contents. Sal's hiding behind Larry right now, but I'm still able to see half of him. And he watches me go through all five stages of grief as soon as the flavor settles on my tongue.

I swallow quickly then choke on the leftovers, making the most disgusted face possible. It burns, and it tastes awful. So not worth it. That was a good reminder as to why I shouldn't consume alcohol in the first place.

"Ash," I splutter, traumatized and betrayed. "These are terrible. I'm sorry but... it's bad. Try one," I say, popping the lid off another and shoving it toward her. This one's green.

Ash doesn't say a word, just wraps her pretty fingers around the container and takes the shot like a pro. She doesn't even flinch. All she does is contemplate it for a moment then shrug at me "Tastes like alcohol."

I roll my eyes. At least she doesn't care all that much-- the shots won't go to waste.

I turn to Larry, intent on finally pulling up my shirt for him as we start preparing to walk again. But when he finally enters my field of vision, his arms having left my shoulders a few moments ago, I notice five empty containers stacked in his palm. If pregaming was a person, it would be Larry.

I blink at the man, then look up to see him quite literally tonguing a very clearly empty container. I don't know what more he's looking to get out of it, but at least he has some good work ethic.

Larry catches my eyes and pauses, tongue buried in the plastic like he's looking for water after going days without it. It's pretty comical.

He quickly pulls the plastic away from his face and swipes his hand along his mouth. I press my lips together to hold back giggles.

"Here," I say, lifting the edge of my shirt and bringing it up to right under my armpit before I can think harder about it. The one shot I had isn't even enough to give me a buzz, but assuming it'll have some kind of affect on me later gives me false confidence. I'll walk this fear off like a pro.

I lean over to look at my side, noting the small and uneven crescent shaped scar right under my ribs. Then I grab the very edge of my bra strap and move it, revealing the top half of my tattoo so everyone can get a good look at everything if they so wish.

Larry bends over, hands on his knees as he inspects my bare side. "Nice to know we officially aren't being catfished," he murmurs, eyes glancing over every inch of my skin. He's way too close.

I gape down at him. "Did you really think I was someone else all this time?" I ask, swallowing down that statement when I realize how much of a hypocrite I am. Because I am someone else.

Now that I'm leaving tomorrow, I just suddenly feel so guilty for tricking and deceiving everyone.

I run my tongue along the surface of my teeth, looking at anything but Larry as he lightly rubs his fingertips over the words engraved into my skin. His touch tickles, but I try not to pay any mind to it-- especially when Sal's eyes are glued to my waist from a couple feet away too. He watches me shamelessly, all while I fall apart on the inside.

"You're bruised here, Vi," Larry murmurs to himself, pressing on another part of my skin that makes me wince. It's sore, for sure. I try to see if Sal has some kind of reaction because we all know it's his fault.

His bright eyes look emotionless from over here. The splashes of neon orange and green on his black tactical gear brings out the cerulean color of his hair and the midnight blue of his irises. He's so pretty in such a unique way. Watching him look at me feels like I'm gazing at something forbidden, like I'm not supposed to catch him with his focus directed at me. It feels secretive.

But all of him feels like this one, giant secret that I'm not supposed to figure out. His prosthetic, his scars, his life story. I don't know any of it and I shouldn't. My brain is hardwired to understand things that confuse me, and Sal really confuses me. He also really pisses me off, but there has to be some kind of reason as to why he's so angry with me to begin with.

I have so much I want to figure out and so little time, so little trust. So little self-confidence. Things are fine right now-- Sally Face is silent, Todd is too. Larry is running his fingers over my skin and Ash is resting her chin on my shoulder, watching Larry. I should be enjoying my time. So why am I regretting my decisions and worrying about someone who couldn't care less about me?

_______

A/N::::::: HIIIIIII sorry it's been so long babies... college :(

i have soooo so much planned for this story right now. i've been writing a lot, i just have to write in short spurts because i also have so much school work to get done. i miss getting to write for hours soooo freaking much!!

fair warning, next chapter is smutty again >:) i'm excited. I'M ALWAYS EXCITED TO WRITE FOR YOU GUYS AHHHH

anyway, i love and miss everyone so much, so deeply!! have a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening/night <3333

p.s. emo casino knight is actually a real person but we're not gonna talk about that hehe....

#sal fisher #sally face #larry johnson #ash campbell #todd morrison #travis phelps #enemies to lovers #sally face fandom #sally face fanfiction #fanfic

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