#set vaguely in act three maybe?

[oflolth]

that is your great gift. but it's a curse as well. (I love all of your oc so hit me 💜)

" are you about to tell me something about great power and great responsibility working together to stab me in the eye? " her arms are crossed over her chest. they stand with their backs to one of the buildings they've built their camp around, and sen is looking out at their comrades, expression as bland and sharp as a handful of uncooked nettles.

her eyes linger most on jaheira. the lecture sen had received the night before - though to be fair, the decision to take it as a lecture and not support had been sen's. sen is stubbornly refusing to acknowledge - though she does know, on some level - that jaheira means to help, not to control. that her father wants the opposite.

but gods, she hates being told what to do. hates the bloody condescension.

" would you like to know who it was that gave me this gift? " she says, tone sickly sweet - there's something poisonous about it. " who it was who created me? would you like to know why jaheira can't stop fucking staring at me? "

( to be clear, jaheira is not staring at her. this is blatant projection. )

[employee052]

idk, crowsx3 design??? sdkjfh

the heads are all made of porcelain, and can rotate like that one horror short film with kevan brighting voicing in it

[nanaminokanojo]

MASTERLIST

After constantly meeting with Sukuna for several months, he invites you over to his place following an early dinner and you found out that he has a cat. It was grumpy just like him with black fluffy fur and luminous eyes that seemed to follow your every move with human-like intelligence as if it was judging you. It stayed close to its owner, slinking its body against his leg and later sitting on his lap like nobody's business as if to tell you, "He's mine. Fuck off."

It didn't like you.

At least the cat was clear about its feelings towards you. Its owner, you couldn't be too sure. You don't even know why he invites you out, his intentions as vague as how this whole thing between the two of you started. One day, you met through a common friend who was obviously setting the pair of you up, and when you thought you wouldn't see his face again – a fair assumption after he behaved rather rudely, saying he wasn't interested – he somehow got your number and eventually asked you out.

You chalked that up to him being apologetic after you called your friend out for subjecting you to Sukuna again, the choleric jerk that he is, but then promised on his mom's grave that he only gave your number to Sukuna and that was it. Everything he did was of his own volition, and you were torn about it. Maybe he found you attractive, just that he didn't like the idea of being set up. Maybe he wasn't really absolutely rude and wanted to make it up to you for giving you that impression. Who knows? You weren't that much interested, but you gave him a chance.

Well, he was attractive in an acquired taste kind of way, built impossibly tall and broad, hair in short, wavy tendrils that was the color of rosy dawn, rough around the edges, almost brutal in the way he says and does things. Strangely, you liked looking at him enough to actually spend time with him.

None of your speculations were proven. Ryomen Sukuna wasn't apologetic, not even remotely. He invited you to dinner, didn't put up much of a fight when you insisted to split the bill in half, and he wasn't overly polite either. He spoke in that same uncouth manner without putting up much of any pretense in front of you, not that you were offended. He's a potty mouth, you already knew that, but you'd rather have him speaking his mind in all honesty.

You didn't think he was all that attracted to you. Interested, probably, but that was difficult to decipher, too, at least the manner in which he found you interesting. Your so-called meetings were rather quiet with either of you refusing to say more about yourselves. It was torture for the first three times with your longest sentences to each other being three words long. You would say hello to each other, eat in silence with occasional comments about the food and then he would walk you to your car and bid each other good night. Everything felt forced and it was torture.

But to your surpise, he would invite you out again just when you thought there wouldn't be a repeat to whatever it was that you had going on. Why? You didn't know. Until it became a routine. And then you found yourself spending more time with him, mostly over meals on random days or just convenience store coffee when it's too late in the night to do anything. Both of you were busy after all.

Which brings you to your current situation. In his high-rise apartment that didn't look lived in. On a Saturday night. With his very possessive, very grumpy cat.

But you saw a very different side to Sukuna with his little pet. He didn't smile, he smirked. But with his cat, which he fondly called Ume, he did just that, gently scratching at its belly and talking silly with it. You sat there awkwardly, feeling like you've intruded on something private.

"You can pet her," Sukuna told you, making you go stiff on your spot when he looked at you as if you were an afterthought. He seems to be in a playful mood even prior to the whole cat scenario, smiling more, acting more gentlemanly, not that he wasn't on most times you spent together. It had you confused even if it had been going on for the last several times you've met with him. Or more precisely since that day you started saying more than three words to each other, conversing normally.

"I...don't think I should," you told him, eyes intent on the black fluff on his lap. Ume sat up as if it understood what you were talking about, eyes narrowing into slits from how they've been round and wide from its owner's attention.

Sukuna scooted closer to you, close enough for you to see cerise flecks in his dark irises. "You don't like cats?" He asked that question as if you were a walking red flag if you responded incorrectly according to his standards.

You shook your head. "No, it's not that. Ume doesn't seem to like me."

He looked at his cat then at you, brows furrowing. "Well, that's a problem," he deadpanned.

Was he fucking serious? You didn't want to delve into the intricacies of his statement as he continued to run his fingers through Ume's fur. But to say you were offended was an understatement, and you wanted nothing but to get the hell out of his house. So much for warming up to the idea of progress where your odd relationship was concerned.

Without thinking, you stood up from the couch, trying your best to keep your expressions neutral albeit taking herculean effort. "I think I should go."

Sukuna solemnly nodded, looking down and biting his lower lip, making you frown. He looked contrite, but you did see a ghost of a smile there, or perhaps you just imagined it. "I'll go get my keys."

"I can call a cab," you stated, your petulant mood seeping through your words, but he didn't wanna argue about that and insisted on driving you home. Why you didn't drive separately like you usually did was beyond you. What were you expecting anyway?

The drive had been quiet and you were annoyed that he was grinning, even letting out a chuckle here and there even if you were blatantly ignoring him. You just endured it until you arrived in front of your apartment complex.

But instead of getting out of his car, you just sat there. You glared at him when you saw how he was suppressing a smile as he reached over and undid your seat belt for you.

"What's so funny?" you demanded.

"You are."

Oh, okay. You scoffed. This was definitely the last time you were going out with him. You pursed your lips, trying to keep your frustration at bay. "I guess this is it."

Sukuna arched a brow at you, looking pissed yet oddly more charming that way. You hated that about him. "What?"

You rolled your eyes at him, not having any intention to lose to his temper. "I'm going. Bye –" You managed to open the door, but he reached out and closed it again, trapping you on your seat with his muscular arm.

"I don't think so, sweetheart," he stated, looking amused of all things.

"Sweet— Let me out."

"No."

You shrugged, lacking the energy to argue. "Go back to your cat, Sukuna."

He smirked at you then. "Are you jealous?"

"Offended is more like it."

Silence followed your words as you just watched Sukuna pushing his tongue against his cheek before chuckling again, his deep voice filling the car. "Damn, if I knew it would be this easy to see this side of you, I would have taken you home sooner."

You spun on your seat, shooting him a dirty look. "What?" You were beyond confounded. You wanted to reach out and smack him on the head, anything to release the sudden burst of emotions you didn't even imagine you would feel towards Sukuna in all those times since you've first met, let alone in a span of minutes and a few choice words.

"I don't get why you kept taking me out despite the fact that we couldn't fucking communicate properly with each other —"

"You agreed—"

"—and you think the fact that your cat hates me is a major problem?" you finally exploded. "And you're doing this on purpose, too!"

At that, he burst out laughing.

"It's not funny!"

He sighed, letting up on his mischief as he tried to reach out and touch you, but you slapped his hand away. "Come now. Don't be mad, sweetheart."

"I'm not your sweetheart."

Sukuna took your hand in his, placing it against his cheek. You flinched, feeling his warmth against your palm, but he didn't let you pull it back. "I'm sorry. I just couldn't help teasing you all this time."

"Trust me, you did more than that." You made a face at him.

"It's just so hard to get any reaction from you. You're too damn quiet and I can't get a read on you. I can't even tell if you like being with me or not."

You let up on the barb, your anger fizzling to slight annoyance at the thought that he was puzzling about your intentions towards him as much as you were about his.

Sukuna gave your hand a gentle squeeze. "At least now I can tell you care enough to be offended at the prospect of me rejecting you because my cat dislikes you." He then tucked your hair behind your ear. "I want to see more. See what makes you tick. See more beyond my precious arctic sprite."

You were flustered by his words, the possessive way he addressed you, making you squirm on your seat, but in a good way. "Well, you'll get more ice if your tactic to get to know me better is to piss me off."

Sukuna cupped your face with both hands. "Knowing what you don't like makes it easier for me to know the opposite."

"You're a jerk."

"I know, baby. But you don't dislike me, do you?"

It was your turn to keep a serious face as you looked away from him and said, "That depends on my dog."

He smirked at you. "You have a dog?"

"No."

"So..." He scratched placed his hand at the back of his neck and you understood it as embarrassment from small talk, belated after months of knowing each other. "Do you like cats or dogs?"

"Spiders."

Sukuna looked taken aback but he just nodded. "Cool."

Suddenly, and for the first time in front of him, you started snickering much to his astonishment. You were giving him more than he's asked for in one go, and it was overwhelming him in ways he didn't imagine.

And then you said, "I like cats, too."

Just then, he placed an arm at the back of your seat and leaned towards you. "There's something else I want to know whether you would like or dislike."

You turned your head towards him. "What's that?"

"This." He closed the remaining gap between you, his lips dipping to find yours in a kiss, albeit quick was enough to hot-wire your brain and for blood to rush under your cheeks. "So?"

"I don't –"

Kiss. "How about now?"

You're much to dazed to say anything.

Kiss. This time, he lingered a tad longer, moving to coax your lips to respond, but he pulled away much too quickly, grinning when you moved forward to chase his lips, your hands shooting out to hold him in place, savoring his warmth and the way he felt against you.

Safe to say you liked it. Very much.

A/N: This has been in my drafts for who-knows-how-long and I just found it again.

© ORIGINAL WORK BY nanaminokanojo. CHARACTERS ARE INSPIRED BY GEGE AKUTAMI’S “JUJUTSU KAISEN”. [20240601]

PHOTOS/IMAGES/GIF/FANART/ANY MEDIA CREDITS GO TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

[coffeeshopguest]

please i need stardew valley bachelors in a kinky gangbang with gender neutral or female farmer!

I loved this suggestion but please have mercy, I didn't know which ones you wanted so I did all 6 which was VERY difficult for me to incorporate so I made it sort of cheap in the end to save having to write a whole night of sex with them all 😭 pls enjoy! I'm sorry if it's a little shitty, I've never written or read group sex stuff 😭

The Bachelor's and the Farmer's Night

Word Count: 1569

Pairing: F!Reader x Sebastian, Harvey, Sam, Alex, Shane & Elliott

Warning: 18+, group sex, rope kink, handcuffs, swearing, unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, anal mention, oral mention, cum swallowing, light bdsm (choking, spanking), all of it is pretty vague and quickly mentioned except the fingering & vaginal sex

It was Sam's idea. Not that he was gonna openly parade that around to anyone at first. It started as a pathetic fantasy that he would get off on at night, thin walls making him cover his own mouth as he imagined the farmer laying on a bed, tied down, taking it from him and Sebastian over and over. He was ashamed to even incorporate his friend in a fantasy, but the idea of a threesome with the farmer and Sebastian was just...so fucking hot. The idea of watching her get fucked, then fucking her - Sam was a simple man and he nearly came on the spot every single time he imagined it. 

What's worse? He began incorporating the idea of Alex in the mix. He was friendly with Alex - and Sam had seen the farmer interacting with Alex a lot recently. Even throwing around a football with him the other day. Sam didn't immediately think anything of it, until he woke up sweating and hard, having dreamt the farmer and Alex going at it while Sam jacked off and waited for his turn patiently. Slowly, Sam began to think about...what if more people got involved? And oh, god. He finally let it slip to Sebastian. 

"What do you think of that new farmer?" Sam asked as he took a shot for one of the striped balls on the pool table. His voice was even, but his heart was racing a pathetic amount. 

Sebastian leaned on his stick, watching Sam's shot. "She's cute," Sebastian answered. The two made slow eye contact and Sam debated just leaving the whole conversation at that. But something about the way Sebastian stared him down made him crack. 

"Yeah, yeah, she is...uh- you like her?" 

Sebastian took a swig of his drink, nodded a little. "Sure," he said, "why?" 

"How...how do you like her?" Sam gently rested his stick down on the wall, watching his friend. "Like," he began, "sexually...or...?" 

Eyes widening a little, Sebastian tilted his head. "I- we don't usually talk about that kinda stuff," he dismissed, turning his attention to the pool table and ignoring Sam for a moment. 

Sam nodded slightly, before he finally whispered, "I know but I want to...uh..." he glanced around the Saloon to see if anyone was looking towards them. No one was. "I kinda want to...have...some group sex with them." 

Sebastian took a shot, perhaps out of shock, the cue ball launched across the table and sunk a striped ball. He stared down at the table. Quiet. "Just us three or?" 

"Uhm...I was thinking maybe Alex..." 

Sebastian raised his head up, hair falling over his left eye. "The farmer? Did you talk to her?"

 Sam shook his head and Sebastian slowly turned to the table where he'd set his drink aside, grabbing it and gently taking a sip. "Ask her. Tell me when you do."

"You...you're in?" 

Sebastian gave a short nod, and the two acted as though the conversation never even happened. 

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When presented with the idea, albeit from a terrified Sam, you agreed immediately. With a condition. You wanted Sam to invite Elliott, Shane, and Harvey. His eyes widened. 

"Six....you want six guys-" you nodded. Sam had to awkwardly adjust his pants, at the mere suggestion of that many guys fucking you he got hard. Just the idea of watching it was too much for him. "I- I'll see what they say." 

▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱

To Sam's shock, every single person agreed. He was expecting a sharp no from Shane, but he said yes without a second thought. Harvey stuttered out a "Oh...holy shit...uh- at the farm-?" and blushed madly. Elliott tried to maintain some sort of dignity but by the immediate bulge in his pants Sam guessed his answer before Elliott could recover words and agree. Alex tried to act disgusted at first. But then he mumbled a "can I bring handcuffs and rope?" (Sam asked "dude you live with your grandparents in a small town, why do you even have those?" and was met with a glare). 

So it was arranged, a day and time was set. The six made their way down to the farm, chatting quietly amongst themselves. Sam was hard basically half the day before this, eagerly awaiting the nighttime - when his fantasy would become reality. The farmer answered the door, smiling softly at the six men. "Boys, come on in," she smiled. Sam nearly choked, they were wearing a flannel, opened up, only a bra underneath. Fuck. Fucking christ. She was good at this. 

▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱

Upon being brought to the bedroom, Sam gently guided you to lay down, Harvey quickly mumbled "she needs a safe word-" and the rest agreed. Turning their attention to you. Six flushed, eager faces. You felt like prey laying in the bed, flannel opened to expose your bra. A safe word definitely was needed. As much as you wanted to take all six repeatedly you weren't entirely sure how much you could take before you were too used.

"Red light," you murmured out. "Yellow light means give me a break, but I want to keep going." 

And so it began. Sam quickly ripped off the flannel and tossed it aside, then tore the bra off and threw it aside, his hands wandered to your jeans, slowly unzipping them. Your panties exposed, he gently moved his hand down, rubbing softly against the wet spot. You bit your lip, about to moan. Quickly, Sam backed up, Sebastian took one side of the bed and Alex the other. Hands launched to your chest, as Sam gently finished pulling off your pants. A hand on each breast, gently running your ripples through their fingers, you began moaning out loud. Sam got off the bed. 

"Who wants to go first?" he asked, Elliott stepped forward. He gently undid his pants, erection springing out. He gently lined up. 

You bit your lip, before he backed away, "did...anyone bring lube?" Elliott's voice gently asked. It was Harvey who had, gently digging it out of his jacket pocket and handing it over. Elliott gently poured some into his hand, gliding it across your pussy causing you to moan out. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Sam, eagerly jacking off as he watched. Sebastian was still by your side, but his hands had left your body. Elliott gently shoved a finger in. "I'll start slow, you're about to have a hell of a night," he said reassuringly. 

You looked up into his eyes, nodding softly. He smiled, gently leaning down, placing a kiss on your forehead, before be pulled his finger out. "Did that hurt at all?" you shook your head, and he gently shoved two fingers in, letting your body adjust to the feeling, he slowly began pumping them in and out of you. All eyes were on you and you whimpered softly, meeting eyes with Shane who was still fully dressed. 

"Sha- shane-" you mumbled, gasping as Elliott's fingers expertly worked you. "Can- you- strip?" 

A hand gently laced around your neck, "use manners, baby, what do we say?" it was Sebastian's hand, tight grip but just light enough not to hurt. Elliott's fingers effortlessly kept time. 

"Please?" you whimpered, the hand left your neck and Shane slowly began to undo his belt. As soon as he was stripped, Elliott's hands left you, for only a second you had a miserable feeling of emptiness before Shane swapped with Elliott. 

He postioned himself, hands gently gripping your hips as he found where to line up. "Ready?" you nodded, and with one swift thrust he was in you. Lips found your neck, Shane was focused on fucking you. It was Harvey who had knelt beside you, hand gently gliding down your body to your tit's. Lips on your neck, sucking and leaving a hickey. 

Shane grunted, speeding up more. "Fuck- tight...gonna-" 

"Not in her," Sam whimpered, you had forgotten Sam was still here, in the corner of the events jacking off. "We can't all...not in her." 

To describe the events would be tiring and long and endless. They took turns, spilling themselves over your naked body, in your ass, in your mouth. Alex was partial to rough sex, Sam into watching, Harvey wanted to pleasure you however you asked, Shane was focused solely on his own quick finish, Sebastian wanted to tie you down with Alex's ropes when he fucked you and choke you out, Elliott was gentle and soft and sweet and placed kisses on your forehead as you took their dicks over and over and over. 

In the end, the sun rose when you guys finally ended the session. You had given several sessions of head. Taken fingers, fists, and dicks. Been tied down, choked, spanked, had your hair pulled. And each of them had asked for something the others hadn't. Sam begged to finish by jacking off onto your naked body. Sebastian wanted your lips wrapped around his cock when he finished. Alex, he was the one who dug out a condom so he could feel your pussy tighten around him as he came inside you. 

When the session ended, you simply told all of them. "We're doing this again." 

[yourmomsawh0r3]

Our little secret

pairing: tyler owen’s x F! reader

part 2 of the don’t let me go series

The house was quiet the next morning, sunlight filtering through the windows, casting soft shadows across the kitchen where Y/N sat, nursing a cup of coffee. Last night’s events played on a loop in her mind the fight, the tension, and the way Tyler had looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time. It was hard to shake. Even harder to pretend like it didn’t mean something.

She glanced at the clock, knowing Tyler would be over any minute. He always came by for breakfast after nights like this. Part of their routine. Just like old times, except now there was an undeniable shift between them.

Right on cue, the front door creaked open, and Tyler stepped inside, looking tired but with that same easy smile that made her heart flutter. “Morning,” he called out, his voice still low, as if not to wake B/N, who was probably still dead to the world upstairs.

“Morning,” Y/N replied, trying to sound casual as she poured him a cup of coffee. “How’s the battle wound?” she teased, gesturing to his bruised knuckles.

Tyler chuckled as he walked over, his fingers brushing hers when he took the cup. “Nothing I can’t handle. I’ve had worse.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I don’t remember you getting into that many fights.”

“Only when necessary,” he said, taking a sip. “Or when someone won’t take no for an answer.”

Y/N smiled into her mug, the tension from last night still lingering, but now there was a new layer a shared understanding that hadn’t been there before. She didn’t know what to do with it, or how to bring it up, but it was too big to ignore.

“So,” she started, setting her cup down. “About last night…”

Tyler looked up, his eyes meeting hers. “Yeah?”

Y/N shifted in her seat. “You, um, didn’t really have to do that. The guy was annoying, sure, but I could’ve handled it.”

His gaze softened, and he set his cup down beside hers. “I know you could’ve. But I didn’t like the way he was acting like he didn’t respect you.” He paused, his voice quieter now. “You deserve better than that.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her heart racing again, but before she could respond, the sound of footsteps thudded down the stairs. B/N appeared in the doorway, his face pale, clearly hungover.

“Man, I feel like crap,” B/N groaned, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.

Tyler leaned back in his chair, the tension between him and Y/N disappearing in an instant. “Well, that’s what you get for trying to drink everyone under the table.”

“Shut up,” B/N grumbled, flopping into the chair next to Y/N. “What happened last night? I vaguely remember you punching someone.”

Y/N shot Tyler a quick glance, her heart pounding, but Tyler was smooth as ever. “Yeah, some guy wouldn’t leave your sister alone. It got handled.”

B/N sighed, rubbing his temples. “I can’t leave you two alone for one night without something happening.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, trying to act like the same little sister who’d always bickered with her brother. “Maybe if you weren’t passed out upstairs, you could’ve helped.”

B/N smirked. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks for stepping in, Ty.”

Tyler shrugged, throwing a glance at Y/N before standing up to grab more coffee. “No problem. Just doing what I’ve always done.”

Y/N couldn’t help but feel the weight of his words. She glanced down at her hands, the familiar banter between the three of them making it easy to pretend like nothing had changed. But deep down, she knew it had. Tyler knew it, too.

As the morning wore on and B/N continued to recover from his hangover, Y/N caught Tyler’s eye again. There was something in his gaze that made her stomach flip like he was waiting for the right moment, like he had more to say.

Later, when B/N finally retreated upstairs to crash on the couch again, Tyler lingered in the kitchen, standing a little too close to Y/N. His voice was low as he said, “You never really answered me last night.”

Y/N turned to him, confused. “Answered you?”

Tyler’s lips curved into a small smile, his gaze holding hers steady. “I asked what you’d do if I was flirting with you.”

Her heart skipped a beat, remembering the moment that had almost been lost in the chaos. She swallowed, her voice quieter now. “And I said you had terrible timing.”

Tyler took a step closer, his hand brushing against hers again. “What about now?”

The air between them thickened, and Y/N could feel the tension building again, but this time, there was no B/N, no party, no interruptions. Just them.

“Now?” she echoed, her heart racing. “Maybe your timing’s a little better.”

Tyler’s smile widened, and for a second, it felt like everything was falling into place. “I’ve waited a long time, Y/N.”

“I know,” she whispered, taking a step closer herself, their hands brushing.

The space between them was almost gone now, the unspoken feelings that had lingered for years finally bubbling to the surface. Y/N could feel her heart pounding, knowing that the next step would change everything.

Tyler leaned in, his lips just inches from hers. “I’m not waiting anymore.”

And with that, the distance disappeared, and Tyler finally kissed her, slow and soft, like he had all the time in the world. Y/N melted into the kiss, her fingers curling into his shirt as everything around them faded away. In that moment, nothing else mattered just them, just this.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them breathless, Tyler pressed his forehead to hers, a grin tugging at his lips. “Worth the wait?”

Y/N smiled, her heart still racing. “Definitely.”

But before they could say anything else, they heard B/N groan from upstairs, his voice echoing through the house. “Tyler! I’m starving, man, where’s the food?”

Tyler chuckled, shaking his head. “Guess we’re back to reality.”

Y/N laughed, but even as they returned to the normalcy of their routine, she knew everything had changed. This was just the beginning, and for once, she wasn’t afraid to see where it would lead.

The summer sun beat down on the old brick building Y/N had set her sights on a space with a charm she could already picture transforming into her dream bakery. It wasn’t much now, just four walls and a dusty interior, but to Y/N, it was perfect. The kind of place she could build into something special.

Her family had rallied around her, excited to help bring her vision to life. Tyler, of course, had been the first to offer his hands. B/N had begrudgingly agreed, though Y/N knew he was secretly proud of her. Even her best friends, Leah and Yasmin, had jumped in, making the whole experience feel like an adventure.

Tyler stepped out of his truck, tossing Y/N a wink as he unloaded a set of tools. “So, where do you want me to start, boss?” he teased, his grin making her heart skip. He’d been doing that a lot lately little glances, quick winks, stolen touches when no one was looking.

Y/N tried to act casual, her face warm under the sunlight. “I think the heavy lifting’s going to be your job today,” she said, motioning toward the piles of old equipment and boxes that needed moving. “But try not to make it obvious, okay? We don’t want anyone catching on.”

Tyler’s smile widened as he moved closer, his voice lowering to a playful whisper. “You think I’d let anyone find out about us?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her. “Just be careful, okay?”

Tyler reached out, brushing a thumb across her cheek before pulling back, making it look like nothing had happened. “Careful’s my middle name.”

B/N walked up just in time to catch the last part, completely oblivious to the sparks flying between them. “Yeah, right,” he muttered, adjusting his hat. “Careful, my ass. You break more stuff than you fix.”

Tyler shot him a good-natured glare, hauling a box of supplies over his shoulder. “I’m not the one who dented his truck last week, am I?”

Y/N stifled a laugh as B/N grumbled under his breath, grabbing a box himself. The day was already off to a chaotic start, but for Y/N, there was something exciting about the hidden moments between her and Tyler. It made her dream even more exhilarating like they were sharing something no one else could see.

By mid-afternoon, the building was buzzing with activity. Leah and Yasmin arrived with snacks and plenty of energy, taking on painting duty while the guys handled the heavy work. Y/N stood by the counter that would soon be hers, watching as Tyler’s muscles flexed while he moved an old oven into the back room. Her eyes lingered a little too long, and when Tyler caught her looking, he smirked.

“Enjoying the view?” he asked, low enough that only she could hear.

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up as she turned back to the task at hand, pretending to be focused on measuring the countertop. “You wish,” she shot back, a playful grin tugging at her lips.

He brushed by her, close enough that their hands touched for just a second, sending a rush through her. They were good at this keeping things just beneath the surface, acting like nothing had changed when in reality, everything between them had shifted. Not even her best friends knew, and Y/N wasn’t sure when or how to tell them.

As the afternoon wore on, Y/N took a break with Leah and Yasmin, the three of them sitting on overturned crates, laughing about old memories. Tyler worked a few feet away, carefully navigating around them as he carried a ladder across the room.

Leah nudged Y/N. “He’s been around a lot lately, huh?”

Y/N froze for a second, but quickly masked it with a laugh. “Yeah, well, he’s B/N’s best friend. He’s always around.”

Yasmin smirked. “True, but it seems like he’s always around you more than B/N these days.”

Her heart raced, but she shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. “He’s just helping out. You know how Tyler is.. he can’t sit still for more than five minutes.”

Both girls nodded, clearly not suspicious. Yet. Y/N knew it was only a matter of time before someone caught on, but for now, the secret felt thrilling like something she and Tyler had all to themselves.

Later, as the sun started to set and everyone took a break for dinner, Y/N found herself back in the kitchen area, sorting through old supplies. Tyler came up behind her, his voice low so no one else could hear. “You’re really doing it, huh? Making this place yours.”

She turned to him, her heart swelling at the look in his eyes full of pride and something deeper, something she’d always wanted but had only recently begun to understand. “Yeah,” she said softly, her gaze meeting his. “It feels like a dream.”

Tyler smiled, stepping closer. “It’s gonna be more than that. I can see it.”

Y/N’s breath caught as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering a moment too long. The room was buzzing with conversation, but it felt like they were in their own little world.

“Thanks for all your help,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I couldn’t do this without you.”

He leaned in just a fraction, his eyes flicking down to her lips before snapping back up to her gaze. “You could,” he said softly. “But I wouldn’t let you.”

Before she could respond, B/N’s voice called from across the room, interrupting the moment. “Ty! You gonna help or just flirt all day?”

Tyler chuckled, stepping back, but not before giving her a look that made her heart race. “Duty calls,” he whispered, giving her a wink before turning back to the others.

As the day wound down and the group began packing up, Tyler lingered behind, helping Y/N lock up. The air was still, the dim glow of the streetlights casting long shadows across the floor. He leaned against the doorframe, watching her as she double-checked the locks, a quiet smile playing on his lips.

“So, when are you going to tell them?” Tyler asked, his voice low and teasing.

Y/N shrugged, a grin tugging at her lips as she turned to face him. “When the time’s right.”

Tyler smirked, pushing himself off the frame as he moved closer, his fingers brushing hers. “Or,” he murmured, his voice dropping to that husky tone that always made her heart skip, “we can keep this just between us for a little while longer.”

Y/N’s pulse quickened as she met his gaze, the secret between them feeling like an electric current. She nodded, her smile soft. “I think I like that idea.”

Without another word, Tyler slipped his hand into hers, leading her out to his truck, the cool evening air wrapping around them. The parking lot was quiet, and as they reached his truck, Tyler turned to her, his eyes glinting with something deeper.

“Hop up,” he said, his voice soft yet commanding as he motioned toward the tailgate.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, but with a playful grin, she let him help her up onto the tailgate. The metal was cool against her skin, but the warmth of Tyler’s presence kept her comfortable. He stepped between her legs, his large hands resting on her thighs as he pulled her closer.

For a moment, they just looked at each other, the air thick with anticipation. And then, Tyler’s lips crashed against hers. It wasn’t soft or slow it was full of heat and urgency, like he’d been holding back all day and couldn’t wait another second. His hands gripped her waist, pulling her flush against him, her legs instinctively wrapping around his hips as they kissed.

Y/N’s fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer as the kiss deepened. Tyler groaned into her mouth, his grip tightening on her hips as she moved against him, her body arching into his. She could feel the hard planes of his chest pressing against her, every inch of him warm and solid. The heat between them was overwhelming, the friction from where she ground her hips against his only making it worse.

Tyler’s hands slid down to her thighs, his fingers gripping her tighter as he pushed her hips closer to his, guiding her movements. His lips trailed down her jaw to her neck, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down her spine as he kissed the sensitive skin just below her ear. Y/N bit her lip to stifle a moan, her head tilting back to give him better access.

She let out a breathless laugh between kisses, her lips brushing his as she whispered, “I’ve been wanting to do that all day.”

Tyler pulled back just enough to look at her, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath. His eyes darkened with desire, but his smile was soft, almost tender. “You and me both,” he murmured, leaning in to steal one more kiss.

After what felt like hours but had only been minutes, Tyler finally helped her down from the tailgate. His hand found hers again, their fingers intertwining as they walked around to the passenger side of his truck. The warmth of his hand in hers sent a different kind of thrill through her one that was quieter, but no less powerful.

They climbed into the truck, and as soon as they were settled, Y/N scooted closer, resting her head on Tyler’s shoulder. He glanced down at her, his free hand resting on her thigh as he started the engine.

The ride home was quiet, the only sounds the hum of the truck and the steady rhythm of Y/N’s breathing as she snuggled closer to his side. Tyler’s thumb stroked her hand gently, his grip on her firm but comforting. Y/N smiled to herself, her heart full as she nestled into him, feeling completely at peace for the first time all day.

This feeling of being wrapped in Tyler’s warmth, of sneaking glances and stolen kisses felt like home. He was her home.

[carmenized-onions]

The Other Shoe | Consultation

logline; old wounds tend not to heal, if you don't let them. but, there is hot chocolate, and love. so perhaps that's enough.

[!!!] series history, this is the seventh; First, Second, Third, Fourth, Fifth, Sixth

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. Finally got Hozier on here. Don't know how that took me so long.

portion; 3.1k

possible allergies; two absolutely garbage mental states of people who are NOT over Mikey or the way they've been treated. Bunch of self-loathin, the whole lot.

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader (no pronouns!)

Took me a minute, new jobs goin' well though!! This one took a lot of stewing, lmao. Lot of staring and thinking. We'll talk after, but SO many alterations were made lmao.

It has been three weeks since you met Carmen in a freezer.

Six days since you were at his apartment. Ish.

Roughly forty-three weeks since the worst day of your life. Doesn’t feel like it.

In five days, you’ll have the second— Well, maybe third or fourth, worst day of your life.

But today is Monday, and you don’t know what’s coming yet.

It’s just after one in the morning, and you wake up to a phone call. Carmy. Yes, do not disturb was on. Yes, you’d set him on priority access— Which most people would find very cute and intimate, and it is— But he’s not the only one. It’s not a limited feature for people you want to kiss. There’s Syd, Richie, …Mikey…

Cause when is the right time to delete a dead friend’s contact info? It’s not right now. You know it’s not right now. And it probably won’t be tomorrow, either.

Phone call. You’re getting a phone call.

“Carm?”

“…”

You stir a little, bit, when there’s no reply, brain dehazing. “Carmy? Everything okay?”

You hear the beep of the phone call being ended. No way he butt-dialed you, right? You’re awake. You’re so awake. This feels all too familiar, and that's not a good thing. You immediately open your phone to text him, by the time you get to his contact, he’s already texted you. Actively texting you, in a rapid, manic succession.

‘fuck’

‘sorry’

‘you were supposed to be asleep’

Hm.

‘talking to a person hard right now?’

‘yes’

‘you’re so smart.’

‘easier to talk to robot you.’

‘wowwww’

It’s hard to write funny, right now. It’s hard to act like yourself, right now. You’re not sure how you’re doing it.

‘not what I meant’

‘I know. You’re you.’

‘you wanna send a voice message maybe?’

‘it’s fine. I’ll text.’

You give him time, you expect a paragraph since he’s taking so long, but instead you get,

‘can’t.’

‘carmen.’

‘I like you so much.’ Oh be still your stupid heart.

‘feeling is mutual.’

‘I can’t make my problems the only reason I talk to you’

Is that true? Fuck, that's kind of true, isn't it? But there's the puzzles! And there's been phone calls!

‘You talk to me for other reasons’

‘yeah. But it’s mostly problems’

‘with me.’

‘eh. Not really. Walk-in was you, toilet was Mikey, Nat had a baby, I’d consider the oven a shared problem of you and Syd’

‘oven was my fault’

He types for even longer this time. It’s hard not to interrupt him. When you start to type, he sends.

‘can I come over?’

‘I know it’s late’

‘I’ll come pick you up.’

‘no’

‘I’ll walk. I’ll be there in 20.’

‘it’s not a problem to pick you up.’ It's a problem if he doesn't let you pick him up.

‘I know.’

‘promise I just wanna walk. Get air.’

God, why are your fucking hands shaking he just wants to walk. He just wants to walk. Why can’t you bring yourself to believe people when they say that anymore?

Everything’s normal. It’s been a good six days for Carm, you know that it’s been a good six days. Everything's normal. You’ve kept a puzzle streak every morning, you’ve called him some nights, he’s called you some nights. He’s had a good week. He told you so. Everything's normal. You’ve vaguely flirted in that extremely sexual yet completely nonsensical way new situationships do, via text. People don’t do that when they’re on the brink of death, right? Everything's normal. Stop playing with your pendant. Relax. Put a shirt on. Stop being so fucking paranoid. Stop typing—!

‘can you do me a favour’

‘anything’

‘can you turn your location on for me’

‘not to be invasive. You can turn it off when you get here, I—’

Before you can even finish typing your explanation, let alone send it, he sends his location, trackable. He’s already walking.

‘be there in 18.’

You watch, with bated breath, his little contact photo bubble marching across Chicago to you. You make yourself mildly presentable and make hot chocolate on the stove—Gotta use milk, for Carmen— For when he comes to you, out of the cold. Because he’s going to come to you. He’s gonna be here. He’s gonna be here. You know that because you’ve been keeping your phone screen open and only look away to ensure you don’t pour milk on your stovetop and to blink.

He's here in eighteen minutes. You think if you had a stop watch going on, it’d be down to the millisecond. You open the door for him, before he can even knock. You watched his bubble walk up to your door. No point in waiting. You need to see him.

He’s breathing heavy. Held tight in his fist is a bundle of flowers— Importantly, not a bouquet, a bundle of flowers—Like, roots still on a few, visibly yanked out of the ground. Though seemingly from different gardens, since there's quite a variety. He looks at you, then down at the flowers, then back to you.

“I— I stole these.”

“Had a feeling.” You wave your hand for him to come inside, he does. “Are you okay?”

His steps falter, he seems downtrodden. You take the flowers, and then take his hand. He hesitates to speak, but he’s really trying to say fucking something. You squeeze his hand, it seems to help.

“I—” He swallows the spit caught in his throat. “I didn’t know— I— No. No, I did know— I knew the one place I had to come was, here. Had to go somewhere.”

You nod, you look over him. Silently doing a wellness check. You’re panicked. You’re so panicked. But he can’t know that. This is about him. You’re the one that takes care of people. He’s clean. He smells like Old Spice and you. He’s a little cold from the walk, he didn’t wear a jacket, but he’s warming up fast. He looks tired but not exhausted, which, for Carmy, is kind of as good as you’re going to get. He didn’t have the energy for a phone call, but he had the energy to come over and talk to your face; his social battery is wonky, but that’ll fix with time here. Is he hungry? That’s hard to tell on looks alone.

“You wanna talk about it, Bear?”

He nods, head down. Can’t look at you. You gently pull at his hand for him to follow you into the kitchen. “Made hot chocolate. You a marshmallow or whipped cream guy?”

His eyes are glassy, and his mood itself doesn’t change, but he does swiftly lift his head up to look at you with an incredulous, curious half smile. “You don’t do both?”

“I find it gets a lil’ busy. But I like the tiny marshmallows that come with the mix with whipped cream—”

“You gotta do actual cocoa.”

You roll your eyes. “I don’t like my hot chocolate to actually be rich. I want sweet.”

“You’re breaking my heart.”

“Good thing I’m a repairman, then.” You deadpan. He does actually seem to glow a little bit, at that. You repeat, hand full of flowers resting on your hip. “So both?”

“Both.”

He calms you down so easily, even when really, he was the oncoming stress— Or rather, your perceptions. He clears static for you, without effort. You nod, letting go of his hand— Slowly, withdrawing, like a silent promise that you will be back. You grab a paper towel and wrap the flowers in them, setting them down on the counter. You’ll plant them later. Honestly, kind of a better gift for you and your green thumb than a bouquet would be.

You turn to your oven to stir the pot of hot chocolate— Can’t have any fuckin’ clumps for Mr Michelin over here. Speaking of Michelin, he sidles up behind you and puts his head on your shoulder, hands hovering as if he’s going to hug your waist but simply cannot bring himself to.

He mumbles into your shoulder. “I lit my oven on fire.”

Ah. The oven was his fault. That's what he meant. When you pause and try to turn, that’s when he hugs you, holding you in place. “Please don’t look ‘t me.”

You take a deep breath, and continue to stir the pot. “Okay. I’m listening, not looking.”

“I did— I did it in my sleep. Not the first time. I think, I think they’re night terrors? But I don’t, don’t scream or nothin’— I don’t say shit actually. I don’t think.”

God, he’s insecure, even now, about how crazy you’ll think he is. Like telling your therapist everything that’s wrong with you except for the stuff that they might hospitalize you for. God, does he treat you like a fucking therapist? He’s awful. He’s awful for you. He’s awful for anyone. It doesn’t matter that you’re different— The common denominator is him. He’s a fucking piece of shit—

“I wake up screaming sometimes.” You reply, so softly. You feel his short nails dig into your sides just slightly for a second as he remembers where he is. He’s over your shoulder. No one’s over his. “Happens to the worst of us.”

You grab two mugs from the cupboard— Reaching with the arm he’s not leaning on. “Did you put it out or should I be calling my former C-F-D crew?”

“I put it out.” He notes your mugs. They’re mismatching. One is definitely handmade with messy floral patterns, the other a tourist trap Chicago mug.  They’re perfect. “I—I was cooking something, in my sleep— And then— Then the fire starts.”

You ladle the hot chocolate into the mugs— Usually you’d just pour it straight but you don’t want Carmen to watch you inevitably spill half of it on your counters. You nod, “Do you dream that you’re cooking?”

“K-Kinda? I’m not cooking, I’m the Head, the expediter— And, and my Exec is over my fucking shoulder and he’s— Just in my head.” He swallows, thinking of how to explain without explaining. “And then I wake up, and there’s a fire, and I watch it grow, and I think about what it would mean if I just let it, and how I’d want it to.”

“And then you put it out?”

“And then I put it out.”

“Do you wish you didn’t?”

“I don’t know. And it’s fucking with me. ‘Cause— ‘Cause things are really good right now.” You tense under him, and he knows it’s because you don’t believe him. “They are, they really really are. Sug bein’ away is… not easy, but, it’s, it’s okay—”

“Carm.” Your tone is so accusatory.

“It’s the same nightmare it used to be.” He doesn’t hesitate to correct as soon as you question it. He cannot lie to you. For one, you see right through him. For two, it’s you. You’d rather know he’s insane. For some reason. “It’s been hard. I— I know fuck all, about business, and, and we can’t afford to hire a fuckin’ replacement right now because we owe so much fucking money or the whole thing caves— But it’s— It’s been good.”

You grab a handful of mini marshmallows, splitting them between the two mugs. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He nods into your shoulder. “Everyone is… happy, right now. It’s not always fuckin’ breezy but— Everyone’s, everyone’s okay. And I have somethin’ I can actually be proud of, right now. And I have— I — You’re around. N’ that, that has been good. For everyone.”

You hum. Heart full, at that. You awkwardly shift to your fridge, waddling like a penguin instead of turning, as not to disturb Carmen, he chuckles against your shoulder. “You can tell me to fuck off, y’know.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want you to.” You hug his arm to you. This makes him squeeze just a little tighter. You pull out a half-empty can of Reddi-Wip, shaking it violently, as instructed. “Say when.”

You hover the can over the tourist mug, he shakes his head. “Other one.”

He wants the handmade one. Your fingerprints are grooved into the handle. You ignore how insane this makes you feel, and spray whipped cream into the handmade mug. You’re waiting for him to say when.

It’s getting to a concerningly tall pile, at this point. You feel him swallow. He finally says the quiet thought out loud.

“I think I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. Even in my sleep, I know it’s coming.”

You nod, you stop spraying. You think on it for a beat. You opt to be honest. “I am, too.” You nod. “I am, too.”

“What’d’you think it’s gonna be?”

You feel your neck flare red and hot, guilty. Horrifically guilty. Lifesaver. You spray whipped cream into your own mug. You don’t really want both whipped cream and marshmallows, but it’s a good way to disguise how shaky your hands are. You take a deep breath.

“Think you’re gonna realize I’m not as good as you think I am.”

He kind of, tugs at you, pulling you closer to him, as if to rebuke thee. “You’re very good, Tony.”

You just hum in reply, once again, the pile of whip cream grows— It sputters, and basically nothing is coming out, but you can’t bring yourself to move, so it continues to struggle. He lets you do this, for a moment, before softly, questioningly speaking your name.

You just hum, again. Everything’s fine. Everything’s normal. This isn’t even about you, this is about him. “I’m good.”

“You are.” He declares, like it’s law. He grabs the empty can from you hand and puts it on the counter, then turns you around to face him. You keep your head down, there’s every chance you throw up and die if you— “Look at me.”

“I know—” He does not give you the chance to excuse yourself, he grabs your chin, softly, but still, forces you to look at him.

“You’re very good.” Too much eye contact. Too close. Too sincere. Too much— “Too good, too good for anyone.”

Too good for him. You, of course, don’t think that. But that’s exactly why you’re too good. “I’m not gonna change my mind ‘bout that.”

“…Hope so.”

Carmen can see it, now. The way your jaw clenches, how you’re looking past him, not at him. The way you mirror how he imagines he looked in the walk-in, to you. He decides to take a page out of your book, and hugs you close. “Know so.”

Your chin hooks over his shoulder. You stare down the hall of your apartment, brain somewhere else. He stares over your shoulder at the hot chocolates, whipped cream slowly melting and overflowing onto the counters.

“You wanna talk about it?” He asks, and you can’t help but smile at the ridiculousness of it.

“I—It’s not—This about you, not me—”

“It’s both. It can be both.” The shared burden.

You sigh, putting your arms around his shoulders. “…I’ll talk about it eventually, I promise. Just not… Ready—Right now.” You’re not ready to risk him no longer liking you. You need a little more time to be selfishly avoidant. “Eventually, though.”

He nods. He gets it. He does it.

“How do you think the other shoe’s gonna drop? If it does?”

This was the exact question he didn’t want, but you answered it, kind of, and that means he has to answer it, kind of. He relaxes his hold on you. “Think you’re gonna see me when I’m— When I’m not me— When I’m— I’m like, like my fuckin’ family.”

When he’s angry. When he yells. When he’s mean. When his crises don’t take the form of hibernation. When he’s frightening.

“Think once you realize, you’ll leave, and it’ll all leave with you.”

When he said that everyone’s happy at The Bear, he knows it’s because you’re back in the atmosphere. You bring a lightness that he never could, that he always envied in his brother. He honestly needs to break something at The Bear to get you to come in soon, because it’s been two weeks since you made everyone coffee, and your presence is only finally starting to wain in power. He really needs to start paying himself so you can get on bar.

“I don’t love being yelled at, certainly.”

You know what acting like his family means. Mikey used to do it. When things got bad. And while you got better and better at being understanding, still never managed to keep yourself from tearing up. “But it’s nothing that would make me leave. Nothing that’s not worth it.”

Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ. His bad side, his anger, his violence, his teeth, the parts of his functionality that he hates, you consider worth dealing with, for the sake of the rest of him.

It reminds him, of a question that’s been on his mind for a while now. His chin digs into your shoulder, a little bit. He swallows.

“Do you really not think taking care of people is a lot of work?”

You frown, thinking about it. It is a lot of work. It’s exhausting work, rotten work, to take care of people.

“It is a lot of work.” You tilt your head, kiss his clothed shoulder. “But it’s just pure instinct, to do. “I care therefore I care, or somethin’.”

“What a poet.”

“Fuck off.”

You both laugh; then comfortable silence. He’s the first to break it. “You’re good.”

“We’re both good.” You pull back to look at him. Nothing has truly been resolved, and yet he looks more at peace. Thank, God. You’re doing a good job. You’re not failing again. “You wanna go drink these barely warm hot chocolates in my bed and pass out?”

“Please.”

Carmen never turns off his location, and he never will. He doesn't ask why you want it. He takes advantage of the whipped cream on your nose and the severe lack of napkins in your bedroom when he can. He replaces the Cubs jersey wearing bear in your arms, that night. He hopes he will forever, he's pretty sure he won't.

In five days, this Friday will be the worst Friday of your lives.

But neither of you know that yet. The painting is still not finished, he hasn’t yelled at anyone around you yet, Carmen still doesn’t know about the necklace you’ve tucked under your shirt every day for the past year.

The other shoe still hangs in the air; but not in your bed.

You pray it’s fall will not wake the bear.

FUCK bro.

It was tough writing in a way that was coherently incoherent. Like, neither of these two want to talk about their problems, so they are vague, but I know what the fuck is going on-- And hopefully you kindddaaa get what's going on?? There's still a little mystery I'm holding on for myself, hehehe. I'm very curious if anyone has theories by now tbh. What's this hidden part of Tony's life!!! They're usually so open!!! So what's this shit!!!

I cut out like a WHOLE 300 words of them doin' a smooch because it just made no fuckin' sense. They're both in emotional hell, couldn't force it, even if I wanted it. But there was the cuddlin' and nose kissin' in bed. So I think that's a good caveat.

But the most insane part of this chapter for me, and you'll see later, THIS chapter and the next,,,,, 3 chapters? Were all gonna be ONE. I know. Nuts. I was essentially gonna format it like all snippets of this one week, because as we know, Fridays gonna be the worst friday! But I realized like a quarter way through writing this one, that it simply couldn't just be a snippet. It needed to breath as it's own full thing. As did the next 3 chaps. I think they'll be a lot more digestable this way and also it won't force me to hole away for a fuckin month writing it without giving you a single morsel of content.

Anyways, tell me what the fuck you THOUGHT!! I'm excited to hear thoughts, hopefully all good ones~~~

Next Part

[sp0o0kylights]

Adopt a Jock Part One / Part Two / Part Three PART FOUR YOU ARE HERE Part five 

As always I own my entire soul to  @chalkysgarbagefire

Steve didn't show up to lunch that Monday. 

This was a problem, because Gareth and Eddie had carefully prepared the entirety of Hellfire to help make Steve play a D&D one-shot. 

(Well, mostly Eddie--and he'd left out the parts about how the entire goal was to acclimate Harrington to hugs and high fives. 

Gareth assumed that was a more careful conversation they'd all have later, outside of school grounds.) 

"Eds, if you jiggle your legs any harder the table is going to take flight." Gareth complained, scooting away before he got jabbed in the gut. 

"Where is he!?" Eddie muttered, glancing at his watch for what had to be the twenty-fifth time. “Are we sure he showed up to class this morning?" 

Stewart, the only person to share a class with Harrington, gave their leader an exasperated look. "Yes, I’m sure." 

He flicked his spoon, pointing it towards Eddie. "And yes he looked fine, yes, everything seemed normal, no I don't know why he's not here and no, no one fucking abducted him, or threatened him, or any of the other crazy excuses you keep coming up with!” 

Eddie’s frown deepened as Gareth and Grant traded concerned glances. 

"Maybe he just didn't want to sit with us today." Jeff remarked, approaching the topic with the same care a technician had when approaching a live bomb. 

Gareth thought it was a smart move, considering Eddie looked like he was about to rocket into the ceiling. 

"He's sat with us everyday, why would he change now?"  Eddie argued. 

"Maybe there's a basketball thing happening. Or he's saying hi to his jock buddies." Gareth tried, using the same cautious tone Jeff had. 

"We’re his friends!" Eddie snapped, looking two seconds away from losing his shit entirely.

 Almost unconsciously, Gareth and Jeff both raised a hand almost to try and help calm him.

Like he was a wild horse and they were the preteen girls in the movies determined to establish a bond before he killed their grandpa or some shit. 

This was what happened when one deviated from a predetermined Munson-made plan. Not that Steve had known that of course, but then, he wasn’t exactly catching the fallout, was he?

‘I am making Harrington buy lunch after this.’ Gareth thought, as Eddie returned to bouncing both his legs almost frantically. ‘From someplace expensive.’ 

"Maybe Hargrove ate him."  Grant suggested, as if the very thought of Billy Hargrove wouldn’t set Eddie off on a rampage. 

"I could see it." Stewart agreed. "Dude has cannibal vibes." 

"Not. Helping." Jeff hissed, his palm still in the air and hovering vaguely over Eddie’s shoulder. 

Sure enough, Eddie’s entire body tensed at the mere mention of Hawkin High’s new King. "That’s it. We’re going to find him.” 

“Have fun.” Tiff said, waving him off. 

Eddie glared. “We’re all going.” He practically spat.

With a put upon sigh, Tiff set her food down. "You really want to spend the rest of our lunch period stalking around the hallways looking for Harrington?" 

Eddie gripped the edge of the table so hard his knuckles went white. 

"Yes Tiff, I do." He said, a manic gleam in his eyes. 

He shoved up from the table, striking the kind of pose he often used during his rants. “This is a break in a pattern of behavior. A veer from an established path! This is the very first sign in every horror movie that something is wrong!” 

He went to put his foot up on the edge of the table, like a pirate captain looking to the seas ahead, but instead missed it entirely and fell forward. 

Eddie flailed for a moment, before managing to catch himself on the edge of the table. Instantly he began acting like he’d intended to fall like that from the start. 

“I refuse to let any of us behave like idiotic, stupid, horror movie characters.” He finished dramatically, hair hanging in his face. 

“You’ve been watching that Sherlock Holmes show again, haven’t you?.” Jeff asked him flatly. 

“Among other things.” Gareth muttered, because as usual, he was the one who’d been watching said shows and movies with Eddie.

Not that it bothered him any, just that it meant he got to watch his best friend adopt new behaviors in real time. 

Eddie flew back up, flinging his hair out of his face with a dramatic toss of his head. 

“Come on my Watson’s! Let’s go find Harrington. I have a one-shot to pitch dammit!” Eddie outright yelled, flinging his arm skyward once again. 

He got several startled glances in the cafeteria for it, but as used to Eddie as they all were, no one bothered to say anything to him. 

“Why the fuck would we all be Watson?” Stewart muttered as he stood. 

“I agree. Obviously, I’d be Watson.” Gareth said, also getting to his feet. “You’d be Mrs. Hudson.” 

“Oh fuck you, I would at least be the other crazy smart dude.” 

“Mycroft or Moriarty?”

“Mycroft.” Grant and Jeff chanted as one, the both of them putting their food away. 

“Not one of you is any Sherlock Holmes character. Except maybe the dog.” Tiff cut in with an eye roll as she finally gave in and stood herself. "Now come on, let's go take Eddie for a walk." 

Said metalhead flipped her the bird, but otherwise didn't protest. 

(Probably because this wasn't the first time they'd had to do laps with Eddie.) 

xXx

"Maybe he just went home." Gareth said reasonably some fifteen or so minutes later. 

They'd made their way through the school, Eddie obnoxiously bursting through all the bathroom doors to loudly (and embarrassingly) yell for Steve.

They hadn't seen hide nor perfectly shaped hair of their wayward jock, and none of them were looking forward to trapezing around the outside of the school to hunt for him.

Thankfully, they didn't have to. 

"Wait.” Tiffany asked, as they passed by the small little hallway leading to the art and photography rooms. “Is that Steve?"

Immediately all heads turned towards the direction she had pointed in. 

"I think so?" Jeff guessed, eyeing the guy standing in the hallway down from them. 

Gareth squinted, trying to get a better look. "Looks like." He agreed. "Also looks like Tiff was right, he is hanging out with other people." 

Eddie tensed at that. A true feat, Gareth thought, because he was already wound so tight he looked in danger of snapping in half. 

 "Fucking useless." Tiff muttered. 

Louder, she said; "Let's try that again. Isn't that our idiot jock with his ex-girlfriend and the guy she supposedly cheated on him with?" 

The lot of them watched as Steve stood in one of his classic defensive positions (arms tucked into his sides, back rigid and chin down, like he was about to perform some kind of football tackle.) 

Nancy Wheeler faced him, her own chin raised and her arms crossed like she was about to give the lecture of a lifetime. 

In between them stood Jonathan Byers, though he was angled more towards his girlfriend than Steve. The guy practically radiated discomfort but seemed to be managing. 

Even if his shoulders were practically above his ears.  

It didn't exactly look like a two on one situation, but then it didn't not look like it either. 

"Shit." Gareth said, which summed up the situation rather nicely. 

"Should we go save him?" Grant asked, concerned. 

Not one person moved.

 Instead, all eyes went to their fearless leader--who was uncharacteristically silent. 

Gareth took in the narrowed, frantic-turned-furious look upon his friend's face and wondered vaguely if he was going to have to stop a murder today.

Possibly two, depending on Byer’s involvement. 

"Defensive position boys!" Tiffany called out, breaking the spell with sheer volume as she made the decision for them. "Eddie, you with us or not?" 

Brave words for her, considering Gareth knew damn well that Tiff was often more bark than bite. 

Thankfully, it worked. 

"Right!" Eddie barked, jerking in place as he came back to himself. "Our Stevie needs us, men and Tiff!" 

He pointed forwards, like a war general leading a charge. "Hellfire, move out!" 

Fanning out into a triangle behind their club president, the lot of them followed as Eddie marched forward. 

"You know I didn't mean it like that." Nancy was saying, and even though Gareth didn't know her he could tell she was frustrated. 

 "You have people you can talk to. You have m--" she cut herself off when Eddie strode up next to Steve. 

Then blinked rapidly, reminding Gareth of a startled cocker spaniel when the rest of Hellfire fanned out around Harrington like wolves guarding their young. 

(Or brightly colored and very angry ducks, but wolves sounded cooler. 

Plus the last time he'd said something like this aloud; Grant had loudly informed him it was actually Muskox that made protective circles, Stewart brought up that triceratops were cooler, Jeff decided they should be bees and Tiffany had gone off on a tangent about badly done animal behavioral studies.) 

"I daresay I agree!" Eddie said, taking a dramatic leap forward and startling Steve and Byers both. 

That alone was a cause to worry--Gareth couldn't recall a single time Steve wasn't hyper-aware of his surroundings enough to get properly lost in it. 

At least lost enough that he missed an entire group of people approaching. 

"Steve is more than welcome to talk to people! His people." Eddie leaned forward a touch, the smirk on his face the one he used when he was playing up his role as the town's satanist cult leader. 

To her credit, Nancy recovered remarkably fast. "I take it you believe that's you?" 

Eddie reared back, like a cobra rising to strike. "Why Nancy Wheeler, Stevie here is an adult and can choose who he wants to talk to.”

He turned, one hand over his heart and the other held out to Steve. " Ain’t that right, big boy?”

Nancy and Byers both just stared. 

Gareth couldn’t blame them, he was staring too. 

Apparently deciding Eddie was too ridiculous to deal with, Nancy returned instead to talking to Steve--who, Gareth noted with more than his fair share of pride, looked a bit more grounded now that Hellfire had arrived. 

“I understand that we’re in a weird place right now, but you have to  know I still care about you, right?” Nancy bit her lip, clearly unhappy to have an audience but plowing ahead anyway. 

"I'm fine, Nance.” Steve told her, voice steady, but growing flat. 

 He was shutting down--shutting her out, if not everyone out. Gareth knew, if only because he’d watched Harrington do it to them more than once. 

(Knew because he himself had shut downs just like this. Eddie and Nancy were the kind of people who got loud in their anger, demanding people see and face them. 

Gareth on the other hand, even with his more explosive temper, often ended up more like Steve when faced with breakdowns with people he cared about. He didn’t want to hurt them. To say the wrong thing, to lash out when someone was just trying to help.

It was safer to shut up, back away and put some distance between yourself and whoever had pissed you off.) 

Either Nancy wasn’t aware of that or was too deep into her own emotions to see it, because she took a half step forward. “I know you’re not fine. I know you, Steve.” 

“Not anymore you don’t.” Steve responded, and Gareth wondered if he realized he was leaning away from her--and towards Eddie. 

Considering the way Wheeler’s eyes bounced between them, he knew she definitely had. 

Quite possible Byers too, from how he had to stop himself from pulling Nancy away. 

“I’ve been working hard to become someone else.” Steve added. “So you don’t have to feel responsible for me. I’m not your problem anymore.”  He spoke without malice, just with the pure emptiness of someone who completely believed everything he said. 

“Steve-” Nancy protested, but Eddie cut her off. 

"You heard him." He said, peacocking his little social win in a way only Eddie could. "Now if you don't mind, I have extremely important things to discuss and you have cut drastically into my time." 

He flicked his fingers in a shoo gesture, one that made Nancy's eyes spark in a way that quite frankly, terrified Gareth. 

"Fine." She grit out through clenched teeth. "You know I’m always available to talk, Steve." 

She strode off, passing Steve and the rest of Hellfire without a glance backwards. 

"Sorry man." Jonathan muttered apologetically to Steve as he passed, following after his girlfriend. 

Steve waved him off. 

"Well she's just a delight." Jeff muttered, once Nancy was well out of hearing range. 

Steve's entire chest heaved in a sigh, swaying slightly backwards as if the entire confrontation had physically drained him. 

"She's trying to help.” Steve muttered softly, scrubbing a hand down his face. “She's just...coming at it wrong." 

He turned, seeming to finally notice that all of Hellfire was there. "What are you all doing out here anyway?" 

"Rescuing you." Grant informed him. 

"From Nancy and Jonathan?"  Steve said in disbelief. 

Like Byers hadn't supposedly kicked his ass already. Nevermind the moping Wheeler had caused. 

(The entire school had witnessed the moping. 

It was, after all, part of what had drawn Eddie to Steve.) 

"Yes." Tiff replied bluntly. “Also if she corners you like that again, I will make it my personal mission in life to top all her test scores.” 

"I--okay." Steve blinked rapidly, clearly unsure of how to process that.

“Not that I needed rescuing,” He continued after a moment, staring at the whole group. “But why were you looking for me in the first place?” 

His voice was slowly recovering, coming out of that weird flatness it had scrunched itself into. It was an excellent sign, a sign of trust, and Gareth leapt to keep it before someone could say something stupid and fuck it up. 

"Eddie needed you to pitch his next one shot idea and couldn't wait for you to show up." Gareth admitted. “We decided to hunt you down since you were missing lunch.” 

“Oh.” Steve blinked again, and though it’d be concerning on anyone else, the guy just looked like a lost puppy. “I’m sorry man.”

“It's alright Stevie. I just thought you'd totally ditched us.” Eddie sniffed dramatically, looking like he was going to wing an arm around Steve’s shoulder but thought better of it. “No biggie.” 

He pouted, and made absolutely sure Steve could see him do it. 

“Is this you trying to get more of my M&M brownies?” Steve asked after a moment. 

“Oh my dear, sweet, athletic friend. Not at all. Instead, you are going to play the one shot I worked so hard on.” Eddie bounced his shoulder into him as he spoke.  

 It was a weird little compromise the two of them seemed to have, since Gareth had regularly witnessed Eddie ping-ponging off Steve’s shoulders. “Let us break your tabletop cherry.” 

“Or what?” Steve asked, the tiniest bit of humor peaking through. 

Eddie stared at him, abruptly still and completely serious. “I will cry, Steven. Loudly.” 

It brought a small smile to Steve’s face.

“Fine. I’ll play your dumb dweeb game.” He said, and couldn’t seem to stop the smile from overtaking his face when Eddie threw his arms in the air and cheered. 

“Come on, I’m pretty sure the bell rang forever ago.” Jeff said, as they began to venture out back to the main hallway. 

(“Hey guys?” Steve asked, right before they all split up to go to their various classes. “Thanks. For the save.”

Eddie positively beamed. “Anytime, Steve. Anytime.”) 

xXx 

“Hey Gareth?” Steve asked a few days later, joining Gareth in the library during his free period. 

(Gareth himself was skipping, because if he had to listen to yet another lesson on the Crucible he was going to declare himself a satan worshiping witch and demand to be hanged.) 

Gareth hummed to show he heard, as he carefully took stock of the loot he’d gotten from their last game. Eddie had been pretty good about it for once, and he wanted to look things over before the one shot. 

“Can I ask kind of a weird question?” Steve rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. 

“Shoot, Stevie.” Gareth replied, finally comfortable enough to use the main nickname Eddie had nailed the poor guy with. 

“Did Eddie give me a character with bad eyesight or “night vision” or whatever, because he thinks I have bad eyesight?” Steve’s fingers made sassy little air quotations around “night vision” because he knew damn well it wasn’t called that and didn’t want to get chewed out. 

It was appreciated, even if it was cheeky as shit. 

Gareth stopped writing. “Why’d you think that?” 

“He just keeps acting like I’m my character.” Steve replied with a shrug. “Like all that stuff we planned  about how my character gets around and relies on the group since he can’t see that great in the daylight? He does it for me too.” 

“It’s Eddie, he’s eccentric.” Gareth struggled to keep a straight face, trying not to give the game away. 

Laughing would absolutely clue Steve in to the fact that Eddie was doing it on purpose. 

“He just keeps telling me before he touches me. Outside of the game.” Steve continued, utterly baffled. 

Of course, Eddie was doing far more than that, in order to keep up the appearance that he was just being a weirdo who was too into his game. (Instead of trying to alert Steve to the fact he was going to lean on him, hug him, or do any other thing involving skin to skin contact that usually made Harrington panic.)

“If you don’t like it you should tell him,” Gareth said. He knew it was the better option, encouraging Steve to communicate. They could come up with something else if this was too weird (as frankly, many of Eddie’s plans could be. 

Bless the guy but he had a habit of going for the dramatic over the practical.) 

“No!” Steve protested, far too quickly. 

He cleared his throat with a cough, and continued in a much calmer voice, “No, I don’t wanna ruin his fun or anything.” 

As far as excuses go for letting something happen it was a weak one, but Gareth wasn’t going to call him on it. If Steve wanted to hide behind Eddie and his “fun”  then Gareth would happily pretend to buy it. 

Would buy whatever excuse Steve needed, to help make the guy feel more comfortable and like himself than the still often vacant ghost that hung around now. 

“Just wanted to know if he actually thought my eyesight sucked.” Steve finished in a mumble. 

“Well you did trip over the curb that one time.” Gareth teased playfully, and shot a grin at Harrington when that awkward look of his melted into something more offended. 

“I was walking backwards!” Steve defended, his normal, almost bitchy tone returning. 

“Uh-huh. And what about when you almost ate shit over that garbage can and Eddie had to save you?” Gareth taunted. 

He grinned, watching as a blush overtook the older boys face, Steve glancing away frantically and--

Oh. 

Oh!

'Oh-ho, ho, ho!' Gareth thought with absolute glee. The entire fucking school knew what Steve looked like when he had a crush, (Steve himself had made sure of that with Nancy) and Gareth recognized the beginning of it happening all over again.

Steve Harrington had a crush.

On Eddie.

Gareth could work with this.

“You know….” He  paused, grin turning sly as a sudden idea came to him. “If you want to mess with Eddie a little bit I have an idea.” 

Steve stared at him, confused. “Why would we want to mess with him?” 

Gareth leaned forward. “Because pranks are fun, Harrington. Legend has it you even used to do them.”  

Steve still didn't look convinced, but the nice thing about a man like Steve was that all Gareth had to appeal to was his sense of adventure. 

“Now." He clapped his hands together in a move that had very much been stolen years ago from Eddie. "How good are your acting skills?

Meant to post this yesterday but I got surprise laid off last week and that pushed me back a bit, sorries! Absolutely related, I have a Ko-Fi now lmao. It’s https://ko-fi.com/sp0o0kyghosthost 

Unemployment should go through just fine so I don’t really think I need to full panic but hey if you wanna throw me a dollar and yell “Dance writer dance!” I’ll do a lil tippy-tap jig. 

[artficlly]

smog & spirits: a drink with deceit (mini-series)

Marvel 1920s Gangster/Peaky Blinders Inspired Fantasy AU

gangsterboss!bucky x witch!reader

Bucky Barnes, the leader of Sootstone's Smog Boys, needs a favour. A nasty curse has been cast on him, and he needs a witch to help him break it.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, fem reader, physical violence, heavy angst, wound description, threats, catcalling, cults and religion mentioned, criminals & crime, 1920s street gangs, witchcraft, drinking, smoking, vaguely british setting??, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 6.2k

A/N: hello guess who is back!! this is very angsty, promise there will be more bucky in the next chapter just gotta set up the drama! much love <33 sorry for any typos - not proof read.

taglist: @nash-dara @sebastians-love

main masterlist | series masterlist

Three days after Becca Barnes's visit, the bodies of thirty-six Penance Boys were found in the streets. 

You hadn’t seen the bodies yourself, but the whispers that slithered through The Warrens painted a picture too horrific to ignore. The rumours spoke of a scene ripped straight from a penny dreadful. Maybe even worse than the stories that circulated, but in your heart, you knew the violence to be true. The bodies, each one marred by countless lashes, were barely recognisable. Their flesh was shredded, every inch of skin scarred beyond recognition. They were scattered across the Warrens like grotesque trophies. Some were dumped in the filthy, stagnant waters of the port, their bodies bloated and twisted. Others swung lifelessly from lamp-posts in the streets, their necks bent at unnatural angles. Several were displayed in the Smokestack District, mangled offerings laid out before the factories, and then there were the bodies hidden in the winding alleys, tucked into the shadows like forgotten, discarded trash, left to rot under the ever-thickening smog. It was all rather theatrical, a meticulously planned out act. One of the bodies, clutched tightly in a bloodstained fist, held a crumpled note. Smeared with copper, the words read: "Do you confess?"

You couldn’t help but remember Bucky’s words from that dreaded night.

Massacre.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that you had stitched up thirty-six lashes, even though the flesh had been so ravaged, the wounds mashed together until they bled into one, an indistinguishable mess. The thought lingered in your mind, haunting you no matter how much you tried to push it away. Each memory of those nights felt like a needle driven deeper, not just into his skin but into yours as well. You had done what you thought was best, what you had to do to survive, but the consequences and marks were there for both of you to wear.

The letter you found on your doorstep that same day was no surprise. Becca’s warning had loomed over you, leaving little room for doubt. You hadn’t even bothered to open the envelope; instead, you had tossed it into the fireplace without a second thought, the flames licking at the paper until it was reduced to ash. It seemed Becca was fierce when protecting her brother, and you didn’t intend to test that determination. She had been clear—stay away from him, leave him alone. She had outright said it; the bitterness in her voice made the message unmistakable: I know a threat when I see one.

You spent the next three days simmering on her words, turning them over in your mind, weighing them against the memory of your hands working on Bucky’s back. Healing him—an act you never should’ve performed. Magic meant for destruction wasn’t meant to mend wounds, and you had known that. But you had done it anyway, given into his demands. He couldn’t have been entirely in his right mind… not with the wounds, the loss of blood. Is that why he had left? Did clarity finally strike him as he lay beside you in your rickety bed? Your magic wasn’t meant for healing. Those scars would remind him of what you had done, of what you were. It had been a mistake, yet it had also been a choice.

You were bitter in a sick and twisted way. You were furious. Part of you wanted to hold him accountable for his absence—no thank you, no goodbye, just an empty space where his presence had been. You had spent the better part of a week tending to him, feeling something unspoken between the two of you, a quiet understanding that hinted at more. But once the job was done, once he had healed, it was as if he had disappeared into the shadows of the Warrens, leaving you to deal with the mess of your emotions.

Maybe it had just left you to confront your own loneliness. 

In those long, quiet moments in your home, you wondered if that was what he did best—leave. He had walked away without a word, without even a flicker of care. What about Bucky Barnes made you long for something you couldn’t quite name? Something that had you clinging to the fragments of him despite the warning signs you knew to be true?

You were fed up with yourself, with his pull on you, even after all that had happened. You were unsure if it was your heart or your cunt that was the culprit, but either way, your head knew one or both were the traitors keeping you eating from of his hand like the good little witch he had primed you to be. You had let him hurt you, and yet, part of you wanted to run toward him again, to go against Becca’s threats. The way he had looked at you and leaned into your touch—there was something there. Something more than just business. You could feel it. But the other part of you? The brighter part—the one that had always kept you alive in a city like Blackstone—wanted to just wash your hands of it all, to disappear.

And maybe that was the answer: You could leave.

The countryside called to you, with its quiet spaces and the promise of a life that didn’t involve constant vigilance and constant fear. Witches were always in high demand in such isolated places. You could have been a travelling act, banishing curses and hauntings, keeping your head down and movements quick. The law wouldn’t bother someone who was as transient as the wind. The Smog Boys wouldn’t have had the time or resources to track you. You could disappear. It was possible.

But it wasn’t just about Bucky. It was about your mother. Michael. The countless, nameless others. You had stayed because you had a game of your own to play, a plan for revenge that had been set in motion long before the Smog Boys ever darkened your doorstep. If anything, they had complicated the situation. That display in the Pony Club… that raw power within you…you were sure it hadn’t gone unnoticed. 

—

Just beyond the Smokestack District, across the filthy, winding expanse of the Sootline River, lay the Grimrow District. Its streets resembled the Warrens: cramped rows of lower-class housing, grimy industrial factories, decrepit shops, and weathered churches that seemed to sag under the weight of sin and soot. Yet, for all their similarities, the two districts held a defining difference. While the Warrens belonged to the Smog Boys, Grimrow was claimed by the Iron Rats.

Like most rival factions in Blackstone, the Iron Rats and the Smog Boys maintained an uneasy truce—a brittle thread of peace stretched taut between their territories. The fragile truce held as long as each stayed within their respective borders. But to call it harmony would be a misstep. It was more of a begrudging tolerance, simmering hostility kept in check by necessity, not respect.

You would never typically risk crossing the Sootline. But tonight, your frustration had driven you to the brink of recklessness. The boundary, marked by the Sootline River’s churning filth and the crumbling bridge spanning its breadth, seemed less a warning and more an invitation to tempt fate. Maybe it was exhaustion from yourself, the relentless weight of the Warrens, and the invisible chains tethering you to its grime-soaked alleys.

You needed a drink. One poured by someone else’s hand in a place that didn’t reek of your desperation and solitude. The sight of your miserable flat had become unbearable, its four walls closing in tighter with each passing hour. And then there were the Smog Boys, whose ever-watchful eyes you had grown weary of evading. Maybe slipping away into Iron Rats territory would give you some reprieve. Maybe they’d let their guard down if they thought you had vanished entirely—an act of rebellion against the summons you had so pointedly ignored.

But the summons wasn’t something you could forget. Bucky’s call to a family meeting had been the last thing you’d expected, even if Becca had warned you in the days prior. It gnawed at you, questioning why he suddenly considered you significant enough to include. Family. What a strange, hollow word coming from him.

You didn’t trust it. The invitation felt like bait in a carefully laid trap. Why invite you into the fold now, after leaving without a word of thanks or farewell? Why disappear, only to pull you closer the very next day? It reeked of manipulation, and you couldn’t help but think it was somehow connected to the Penance Boys and the gruesome spectacle their deaths had created. The pit in your stomach told you it wasn’t a coincidence. You couldn’t deny your own hand in the sequence of events, no matter how indirect. If you hadn’t healed him, hadn’t used your forbidden magic to save him, would he have bled out on the floor of your home? Would his story have ended there, spilling his blood into the cracks of your rotting floorboards? And, in some twisted, alternate reality, would you now be living in a Bucky Barnes-free world?

The thought clawed at you, leaving a strange ache in its wake. As much as you despised the tangled mess of emotions that tethered you to him, the idea of his absence hollowed something out of you. That pit of dread opened wide, devouring any attempt to convince yourself that you’d be better off without him.

Bucky was a wound you couldn’t help but pick at—a scar you couldn’t stop tracing with trembling fingers.

The air of Grimrow reeked of industry—smoke, oil, and sweat mingling into a nauseating miasma. You passed groups of factory workers slumped on steps, nursing bottles of something too potent to be legal, and street vendors hawking stale bread or pilfered wares.

A bar came into view just as you sensed them: footsteps too close and laughter too loud, their presence evident in the silence they carried with them through the narrow streets. Three men trailed behind you, their voices brash and oily as they jeered.

“Oi, sweetheart! Where’ya off to in such a hurry?”

“Yeah, don’t be shy. Give us a smile, eh?”

You kept walking, your stride steady, your face unreadable. Reacting would only embolden them.

“She’s got an attitude, that one,” another mocked. “Maybe we should teach ‘er some manners.”

You turned a corner, hoping they’d lose interest, but their footsteps quickened. One of them closed the distance, and you felt his fingers graze your sleeve.

“You’ve got a death wish, ‘aven’t ya?” a new voice rang out, sharp and unwavering.

The three men halted as a woman stepped out of the shadows. She was tall and composed, her auburn hair curling at her shoulders, and her eyes sharp enough to cut glass. Her tone wasn’t loud, but it carried weight, each word like a warning.

The man closest to you sneered. “What’s it to you, love?”

“You’re botherin’ my friend.” she said, stepping forward.

Her words made you pause, but you didn’t correct her.

“You’ve got no business ‘ere,” the man growled, though the uncertainty in his voice betrayed him. 

“And you do?,” she replied coolly. “Say, do’ya ‘ave friends in high places? ‘Cause I do. One word from me, and they’ll hunt you down. They ain’t the type you go lookin’ to make enemies with, that’s for sure, love.”

One of the men muttered something under his breath, probably the same question you had on your mind. Who were these friends in high places? Certainly wasn’t the Smog Boys. You had never heard or seen such a woman slinking around. She had a fierceness to rival Natasha, a sharp-tongue like Becca. The men hesitated, exchanged glances, then slunk away with grumbled curses, their bravado evaporating like steam.

She was with the Iron Rats, perhaps. 

Or something worse.

The woman turned to you, the sharpness in her expression softening into something sly and amused. “You’re welcome.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

A tense pause washed over the two of you, the auburn assessing you with one swoop of her sharp eyes. You wondered if she was searching for a concealed weapon, assessing if you had the strength to take down a grown man with your hands alone. It was a fruitless pursuit, as the chaos inside of you was invisible. 

But you had a sneaking suspicion the woman before you were also more than she let on, maybe something more like yourself, hiding in plain sight.

“You’re far from home.” She commented. There was a drawl to her words, a subtle accent foreign to Sootstone and Grimrow—one higher class, or perhaps from beyond the city walls in the countryside. “Dangerous for a woman of the Smog to be over the river.”

“And how would you know where I keep my home?” You test.

“You reek of it. The Warrens.” Her lips pulled into a honed smile. “I don’t blame ya, lookin’ for a change of scenery.”

You narrow your eyes.

“Let me buy you a drink.” You offer.

The woman grins. “I thought you’d never ask.”

—

The bar was exactly as you’d expected—a dark, smoky hole-in-the-wall with warped wooden tables, a cracked mirror behind the bar, and the faint smell of spilt beer and sweat clinging to the air. It was neither welcoming nor hostile, merely indifferent to the chaos of the outside world. You stepped inside, the noise of murmured conversations and clinking glasses briefly pausing as heads turned to size you up. They saw the woman with you, her confident stride and sharp gaze, and immediately lost interest.

The two of you weaved between tables, stepping over uneven floorboards and discarded peanuts. Wanda—as the auburn-haired woman had introduced herself—walked as though she belonged there, her boots clicking against the wood in a steady rhythm. You tried to match her nonchalance but felt out of place, the weight of the room’s gaze lingering even after it had turned away.

You slid into a corner table, its surface scarred with knife marks and initials dug deep into the wood. Wanda eased into the chair opposite you, draping one arm over the backrest and stretching her legs out beneath the table, completely at ease. She watched the room with a faint, amused smile, as though everything she saw confirmed something she already knew.

The bartender approached, a burly man with greying stubble and a perpetual scowl. Without asking, he set down two glasses of amber liquid and muttered something about payment later. You nodded, and he disappeared as quickly as he’d come.

You eyed the drink warily before lifting it, catching a faint whiff of cheap whiskey. Wanda, meanwhile, raised hers without hesitation, swirling the liquid in her glass with an air of appreciation. “Grimrow’s charm ‘asn’t changed much,” she remarked, her tone light, almost teasing.

“You’ve been here before?” you asked, leaning back against your chair.

“Once or twice,” she admitted, taking a slow sip. “Though it was a little... less grim the last time.” She chuckled, her eyes flicking back to yours. “Still, it has its appeal. Don’t ya think?”

“Depends on what you call appealin’,” you said, glancing around at the dimly lit room. “I guess it’s got character if nothin’ else.”

“Character,” she echoed, raising her glass as though in a toast. “A generous way to put it.”

You couldn’t help but smirk, though your guard stayed firmly in place. Wanda’s ease felt calculated, her words chosen with care. 

“So,” she said, tilting her head slightly as she studied you. “Do ya always bring strangers to such charmin’ establishments, or am I special?”

“Strangers?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t seem like much of a stranger, not with the way you act like you own the place.”

She laughed, a low, melodic sound that drew a few fleeting glances from nearby tables. “I’ve been accused of worse.”

You took a sip of your drink, the burn of the whiskey grounding you. “What’s worse than that?”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Wanda said, her smile playful. “But enough about me. You’re the real mystery here. Someone like you, runnin’ around Grimrow? You’ve got to ‘ave a story.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly, unsure if the comment was meant as a compliment or a probe. You got the sense the woman was lying, or atleast hiding something. “Maybe I’m just passin’ through,” you said evenly.

“Maybe,” she allowed, though the look in her eyes suggested she didn’t believe you. “Or maybe there’s more to it.”

Her words hung in the air for a moment before she shifted in her seat, leaning forward slightly. “What about you, though?” you asked, deflecting. “What’s a woman like you doin’ in Grimrow?”

The question landed with a faint ripple of tension, but Wanda didn’t flinch. Instead, her smile widened, and she reclined back into her seat, looking at you as though she’d been waiting for you to ask. “A woman like me? Now, what does that mean?”

“You don’t exactly blend in,” you replied, motioning to the sharp lines of her coat, the expensive leather of her boots. “You’re not Iron Rat, and you’re definitely not factory folk. So, what are you?”

Wanda smirked, swirling her drink. “Observant, aren’t ya? Let’s just say I don’t stay in one place too long. Too many people eager to stick their noses where they don’t belong.”

“People like me?” you challenged, leaning forward slightly.

“Maybe,” she said, her tone light but her gaze sharp. “Though you’re not like the others I’ve met. Most witches these days—” She caught herself.

You forced your expression to remain neutral. “Most witches? That’s a strange thing to say.” You continued, feigning nonchalance. “And what about you? You don’t seem entirely ordinary yourself.”

Wanda chuckled, taking a slow sip of her drink. “You could say I have a... talent for recognisin’ my own kind.”

Your suspicion hardened into certainty, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of camaraderie. But something about her tone, her carefully chosen words, kept you wary.

“Let’s just say I’ve been around,” Wanda said, her voice smooth. “Blackstone is full of people. Some are content to lay low, keep their heads down. Others... well, others are harder to ignore.”

You narrowed your eyes at her words, your grip tightening around your glass. “And which category do I fall into, exactly?”

Wanda tilted her head, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “Oh, definitely the latter. You’re not exactly the lay-low type, are you? Not with the kind of power you carry.”

The statement caught you off guard, though you did your best not to show it. Power. She said it like it was obvious, like she could see it written across your skin. You leaned back slightly, studying her. “Is that your skill? Recognisin’ power in others?”

“Somewhat,” Wanda replied, her tone light as if this were a game. She swirled her glass idly, her eyes flicking to yours with a spark of something unreadable. “It’s all about readin’ the chaos, innit? The aura of a person, an object. Every thread leads back to somethin’.”

Your brow furrowed. “So you see power in the chaos? You read it like... energy?”

“Exactly,” she said, flashing a quick smile. “I imagine it’s much like spottin’ a spirit tethered to an anchor—recognisin’ the energy surroundin’ it.”

There it was—a slip. A thread tugged loose. Your breath caught for a split second, your instincts sharpening like a blade. “I never said I was a spirit-raiser,” you pointed out, your voice colder now, every word deliberate.

Her smile faltered, just a fraction, but it was enough to confirm what you already suspected. “I believe ya did,” she countered lightly, though there was a tightness in her tone, a tension she couldn’t quite hide. Her fingers tightened around her glass, the faintest tremor betraying her rising panic.

“No,” you said, leaning forward now, your gaze boring into hers. “I didn’t.”

Her laughter was forced, brittle. “It must’ve been ‘n assumption—”

“Who’re you?” you cut her off, your voice sharp and unyielding, like a blade striking metal. Already, you were shifting back in your seat, the air between you charged with suspicion.

Wanda sighed sharply through her nose, placing her glass on the table more forcefully than necessary. “I’ve already told you,” she said, her voice cool but her expression uneasy. “My name’s Wanda. I read auras. That’s all.”

“This meetin’, it isn’t a coincidence, is it?” Your words came quickly, your pulse thrumming in your ears. “How long ‘ave you been followin’ me?”

The question hit like a hammer, and for the first time, Wanda hesitated. Her gaze dropped to the amber liquid in her glass, the faint clink of ice filling the silence. When she spoke, her voice was soft, almost hesitant. “I know more than ya think,” she admitted, swirling her drink in a futile attempt at distraction. “I know you’re... different. Special.”

The room seemed to narrow around you, her words settling over your chest like a weight. Your heart was pounding, though you weren’t sure if it was from anger or fear. “Special,” you repeated flatly, your voice thick with disbelief. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Wanda didn’t answer immediately, her eyes still fixed on her glass. When she finally looked up, there was something raw in her gaze, something that made your stomach twist. “You’re not wrong. It isn’t just a coincidence that we ‘ave crossed paths,” she said, her tone almost gentle. 

You stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor, but Wanda reached out, her hand wrapping around your wrist. “Wait,” she said, her voice urgent. “Just listen to me.”

“Why should I?” you snapped, yanking your arm free. 

“The Church of Light is your home.”

The name struck you like a thunderclap, the world tilting briefly, nauseatingly. You stared at her, uncomprehending, the name echoing in your mind. “The Church,” you said, your voice hollow. “You’re with them.”

“Father Leofric—he sees your potential. He won’t harm you. He wants to guide you.” Wanda urged, though her voice lacked conviction.

“Guide me,” you repeated, your voice cutting through the haze of the bar like a blade. Disbelief curled each syllable into a sneer. “Like they guided my mother? Like they tried to use her?”

Wanda’s face tightened, her carefully composed mask slipping. Rage flickered behind her eyes, barely restrained. “Your mother, the traitor. Are ya gonna follow in her footsteps? Run from ya destiny, Light-bringer?”

The name hit you like a blow to the chest. Your breath faltered, and you stumbled back a step, gripping the table's edge for balance. The entity's voice in the Pony Club whispered fresh in your memory, unshakable.

I know what you are.

Spirit-raiser… diviner… light-bringer.

It had felt abstract then, something distant and strange. But now, spoken aloud by Wanda in this grimy bar, it solidified into a terrifying reality.

“Don’t call me that,” you managed to hiss, but the tremor in your voice betrayed you.

Wanda stood now, her chair scraping harshly against the floor. Her composure cracked, and her anger bubbled over like a storm breaking. 

“You don’t understand what you’re carryin’,” she snapped, her voice rising with an edge of desperation. “You don’t know how to control or use it! Do you know how ungrateful you are? Holdin’ onto such power? It’s wasted potential, wasted on you. Do you think the Smog Boys will protect you? Do you think Bucky Barnes will? Pathetic.”

The mention of Bucky’s name stung, the scorn in Wanda’s voice twisting the knife already lodged in your gut. It wasn’t just how she said it, dripping with mockery—it was the storm it unleashed within you. Bucky Barnes was a thorn lodged deep in your side, one you couldn’t seem to dislodge, no matter how hard you tried. You opened your mouth to snap back, but a sudden hush stopped you short.

The bar had gone eerily silent. Every pair of eyes in the room was on you, the tension thick as smoke. Even the bartender had paused mid-motion, his expression slack-jawed. Wanda’s words hung heavy in the air, especially one name: Smog Boys.

Your heart dropped. Of course, this was Iron Rat territory. Of course, the wrong ears would be listening.

Fear clawed at your chest, and you didn’t wait for them to act. You shoved past Wanda, her protests drowned out by your pulse pounding and stormed out into the smog-filled streets. 

Your thoughts spiralled as you made your way down the winding streets. This night was a mistake. This entire saga was a mistake.

You should have disappeared into the countryside when you had the chance. But you had stayed. And why? Because of Bucky Barnes? Because you had let yourself believe, for one stupid, vulnerable moment, that the man behind the brutality might see you as something more than a pawn?

Wanda’s mocking voice echoed in your ears. “Do you think the Smog Boys will protect you? Do you think Bucky Barnes will? Pathetic.”

Maybe she was right. Maybe you were pathetic for clinging to the small moments of connection you thought you had shared with him. That flicker of warmth you thought you saw in his eyes? It had been a lie, or worse, a cruel trick to keep you in line.

Your thoughts raced, fear and anger warring within you. The Church of Light, your mother, the Smog Boys—your mother's burdens follow you more closely than you first realised. You were tired of running and being a pawn in everyone else’s game. It was a noose tightening around your neck. All this time, you’d thought you were free of it, that her choices wouldn’t define you. But now, it was clear.

They already had.

—

From the moment you’d left the bar, you knew they were following you. You felt it in the weight of their stares, in the scuff of boots behind you, in the way the streets seemed to close in tighter.

The Iron Rats weren’t subtle. They wanted you to know they were there.

You quickened your pace, ducking into side streets and weaving through narrow alleys, but the sound of their pursuit only grew louder. Panic clawed at your throat as you turned corner after corner, the labyrinth of Grimrow offering no sanctuary.

Ahead, the bridge over the Sootline loomed, its iron framework a skeletal silhouette against the hazy glow of gas lamps. Crossing it would bring you into Smog Boys territory, and though the idea of safety under Bucky’s rule left a bitter taste in your mouth, it was better than what awaited you here.

As you bolted across, the bridge groaned under your weight, its boards slick with soot and damp. The stench of the river below was overwhelming, a mix of rotting debris and chemicals that clung to the air. But you didn’t stop. When you reached the other side, you noticed the boundary. It wasn't marked by signs but by a change in the atmosphere—an unspoken rule. Here, the Iron Rats shouldn’t follow. Here, you were supposed to be safe.

But tonight, the rules didn’t seem to matter.

A shout rang out behind you, followed by the thunder of boots on the bridge. They were coming.

You didn’t have time to think, only to run, your breath ragged and your chest aching. The smog was thicker here, wrapping around you like a suffocatingly familiar embrace, but you pushed through, darting into an alley.

You didn’t see the fist until it collided with your jaw.

The impact sent you sprawling, your back slamming into the filthy cobblestones. Stars danced in your vision; before you could recover, they were on you.

Rough hands yanked you upright, shoving you against the alley wall. The cold stone bit into your back, but the pain was nothing compared to the fear twisting in your gut.

“What’d we‘ave ‘ere?” One of them sneered, “Little Smog Whore, all alone.”

“Thought crossin’ the bridge would save’ya?” another mocked, his breath hot and reeking of alcohol. “Not tonight.”

The first punch landed in your stomach, forcing the air from your lungs into a choking gasp. You doubled over, but they didn’t give you a chance to recover. Another blow, this time to your ribs, sent you crumpled to the ground.

The cobblestones were cold and slick beneath you as you curled in on yourself, arms instinctively wrapping around your head. It didn’t matter. They kicked and stomped, their boots a relentless assault. Pain exploded in your side as something cracked—your ribs, maybe more.

You tried to scream, but the sound caught in your throat lost in the chaos of their laughter. One jeered, his voice distant and distorted, like you were underwater. You pressed your face to the filthy ground, the grit cutting into your skin as you tried to will yourself away from this moment. But the pain kept you rooted.

And through it all, your thoughts betrayed you.

Bucky Barnes. The Church of Light. Your mother.

Wanda’s words rang in your ears repeatedly: “Do you think the Smog Boys will protect you? Do you think Bucky Barnes will? Pathetic.”

Maybe she was right. Maybe you were pathetic for staying, believing you could survive here, and thinking someone like Bucky might care. You should have fled the moment your mother passed. Staying in The Warrens had pushed fate to its limits and now you were suffering the consequences. 

The laughter stopped abruptly, replaced by the sound of shouting—new voices, deep and commanding.

“Fuckin’ Smog Boys,” one of the Iron Rats hissed.

Boots scrambled on cobblestones as your attackers scattered, the echoes of their retreating footsteps fading into the smog. You didn’t move. Not when the Smog Boys’ shadows passed over you, chasing the clatter of shoes further down the alley, the Iron Rats racing at break-neck speeds back to the Sootline.

You forced yourself to sit up, the movement sending a fresh wave of agony through your body. You dragged yourself upright with much effort, leaning heavily against the wall for support. The smog swallowed you as you stumbled away.

By the time you reached your home, the world was spinning, a disorienting blur of pain and exhaustion. Every step was a struggle, every breath shallow and sharp. Your ribs screamed with every movement, the fractured bones grinding against each other, each step sending a jagged edge of agony slicing through your chest. The dull throb in your face from the Iron Rat’s punch had blossomed into a searing ache, and the taste of blood lingered on your tongue. 

Your trembling hands fumbled with the door latch, and for a moment, you thought you wouldn’t even manage that. When the door finally creaked open, you didn’t feel relief. Just the weight of the smog following you in, curling around your battered body like an unwanted embrace.

The room was dark and cold, the air thick with the musty scent of soot and old wood. You didn’t bother lighting a lamp. Your knees buckled before you made it to the bed. Instead, you collapsed onto the floor in front of the fireplace, your body folding in on itself like a broken marionette. The sharp jolt of the impact stole what little breath you had left, and you stayed there, gasping, too weak to even cry.

A thin blanket was within arm’s reach, and you dragged it over yourself, your fingers clumsy and stiff. It wasn’t warm—barely large enough to cover you—but it was enough to cocoon yourself in, enough to pretend for a fleeting moment that you were safe. The fireplace was nothing but a blackened shell, its faint embers flickering. You stared at them anyway, your vision blurred.

The smog clung to your clothes and skin, thick and choking, settling in your lungs with every laboured breath. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care. There was something strangely comforting in its suffocating presence as if it was all left of you now—a swirling, toxic reminder that you belonged to this broken city, and it to you.

Pain radiated through your body in waves. You were too broken to think about the wounds that needed tending, too shattered to consider the risk of infection or what damage had been done to your ribs. 

What a fool you’d been.

The tears finally came then, hot and bitter, spilling silently down your cheeks. You buried your face in the blanket, biting down on the fabric to stifle the sobs that threatened to shake your fragile body apart.

You wanted to move, feed the fire, and bring warmth and light back into the room. But you couldn’t.

Instead, you curled tighter into yourself, surrendering to the darkness. If you closed your eyes, you could almost pretend the smog wasn’t filling your lungs, almost pretend the world hadn’t left you broken and bleeding on the floor.

But no amount of pretending could quiet the truth. You were alone, and the city had won.

—

The morning light filtered through the grimy window, faint and cold. The air still smelled of smoke and smog, clinging to every surface of your home. You hadn't moved from your spot by the dying fire. Your body felt foreign—too heavy, too broken. The ache in your ribs was constant. You hadn't had the strength to tend to yourself, let alone address the mess of bruises and blood that painted your skin.

The floorboards creaked underfoot, and then the door to your tiny flat was pushed open with a sharp squeal. It didn’t take long for the familiar sound of shoes against the creaky set of stairs to echo up the hall.

“Spirit-raiser.” A voice sliced through the stillness, a low growl of irritation. Natasha. “You missed your summons; Barnes has got me playin’ messenger again. Better be a good reason.”

You remained silent, unable to summon the energy to respond. Of course, Bucky would send Natasha to do his dirty work, too proud to face you himself. The blanket was wrapped around you tightly, your face hidden from her view. You could feel her eyes on you, the judgment heavy in the air. Her boots scraped against the floor as she moved further into the room.

“Spirit-raiser.” Natasha's call was sharp, accusatory, “Your wards were down; what were you expectin’? Barnes to turn up and just forgive you for missin’ the meetin’?”

She gave a scornful snort. “That’s not how any of this works, I thought you’d know that by now, witch.”

The silence stretched long, the weight of her disdain unbearable. Finally, after a moment that felt like an eternity, you slowly turned your head. Just enough for her to see the state you were in—your bruised face and the bloodied split in your swollen bottom lip.

Natasha’s gaze flickered over your form, and the contempt was gone for a moment, replaced by something colder, harder. Her jaw tightened as she took in the sight. She didn’t rush to help you, but you could tell by how her eyebrow twitched that she was taken aback.

"Who did this?" she asked, her voice flat but cold.

You looked away, avoiding her gaze. "Why would you care?"

Her lips twisted into a thin line. She took a step closer, her posture rigid. "You know why."

The world felt heavy around you, each breath a struggle. You didn't want to acknowledge that she only cared because of who you were to Bucky, not due to any worry for your well-being. Bucky’s pet fucking witch, injured. How would they banish the skeletons from their closet without their witch, chains, leash and all?

"It doesn't matter," you muttered, a forced shrug, which was then followed by a wince. The words tasted bitter, but they were all you had left to cling to.

"Of course, it matters," Natasha pressed, her voice growing sharper. "Who did it? Who the fuck did this to you? If it’s those Penance Boys again I swear to the gods—"

You couldn’t bring yourself to answer. You didn’t want to. You couldn’t stand the thought of going back, of being dragged back into the suffocating web of the Smog Boys.

"I don't want anything to do with that family," you finally whispered, your voice hoarse. You clutched the blanket tighter as if that would shield you from her questions, from everything else.

Natasha's lips curled in a sneer, a harsh laugh escaping her throat. She knew exactly what family you were referring to—the Barnes. "It's a little too late for that now, isn't it?" Her eyes were cold, assessing. “You think you can just walk away from this?”

The words stung, cutting deeper than you thought they could. 

"You know I didn’t have a choice." Your voice cracked, and you barely recognised it as your own.

Natasha’s expression softened for a brief moment, a flicker of understanding crossing her face before it hardened again. “I know,” she said flatly, her eyes narrowing as she studied you.

You wanted to scream. In a vulnerable, fucked up way, you wanted to tell her everything—the truth, the pain, the defeat, about Wanda and the Church, about your confliction and entanglement with the Barnes siblings—but all that came out was a shaky breath.

She stood over you for a moment longer. Then, without another word, Natasha turned on her heel and walked toward the door. She didn’t offer help, didn’t offer comfort. She didn’t need to. 

She had said all that she wanted to say.

PART SIX

[the-universal-sun]

fiddleford being gentle with little stan when he first finds him after ford goes through the portal? maybe he comes to yell at ford and finds stan with a burned shoulder trying to work through being little to get his brother back? ❤️

Hey guys and the anon who requested this, I’m so sorry it’s so late, life got away from me, has been hectic, and I wanted to really put my focus into writing this request. If there are any missing “I” in a word, deeply apologies, my keyboard “i” cover broke halfway through writing this. There are some mentions of infections and medical treatment for Stan’s burn, just to warn you if any of that skeeves you out! If this seems way better than my previous work, it’s because I took about a week to write it! I really hope you enjoy this piece, and I hope the anon who requested it is still here! Please let me know if I've captured your vision!!!  

As always, I’m open for helpful advice on my writing/execution!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     “Ford! Stanford Pines you come out here right now! I demand we talk!” Fiddleford H. McGucket was mad. Fuming. Pissed beyond all belief. He had just remembered some snippets of the portal incident and he knows his old partner (and little) was still working on it for that devil! He needs to make that man see some sense. Thankfully, Stanford hadn’t changed his locks or the passcode to the basement, so he’s able to stop down three flights of stairs to the bottom floor of the lab to confront him.

     “Stanford! I know you can hear me! Come out here right-now?” He stops short at the sight before him. The portal is broken down, machinery and wiring everywhere, broken and sparking. That’s not what makes him stop, no, it’s the figure in front of the control center. He looks…he looks ragged, haggard, even. His hair long and greasy, his skin looks dirty and sweaty, and he looks almost exactly like Stanford. Except gruffer. It hasn’t been that long since Fiddleford has seen his old partner, has it? He can’t have changed this much in just a few months. It’s when he gets a glimpse at the hands that it clicks in his mind. That’s not Stanford. He tries to think rationally before he freaks out and starts attacking the stranger, he’s gotten arrested for that a couple times already. He looks like Stanford, just rounder and greasier and with five fingers instead of six…He vaguely remembers a discussion him and Stanford had back in college, they were celebrating finishing their first set of finals with some well earned and homemade Hooch courtesy of you-know-who when the man had started muttering and was on the verge of sobbing about a “Lee”, and when FIddleford asked who that was, all Stanford could manage to get out before passing out was “M’ Twin”. And they never spoke of that incident again, Fiddleford putting that memory on a backburner until now. 

     So this must be that Lee fella, Stanford’s twin. Something must have happened if he’s here in that state and Stanford is nowhere to be seen. Something bad. This fills him with panic instead of anger, worry for his Bookworm his friend overpowering his negative emotions towards him. He walks quickly towards Lee, his steps slowing down as he gets the full view of this man, his ears picking up his intelligible muttering. He looks more than greasy and unwashed, he looks sick. He can see gauze on his shoulder, stained with pink and a different color, one he can’t quite make out in the poor lighting of the lab, but it twists his stomach nonetheless.

     “H-hey, Lee? Um-what happ-are you okay? Is F-Ford-” Fiddleford doesn’t quite know what to say to this man, who looks both so much like Ford but so different. Who looks sick. He makes the mistake of putting his hand on the man’s shoulder, flinching back as he turns around violently with a fist raised promising a world of pain. Fiddleford shrinks into himself with a small and terrified squeal. Lee stumbles back, though, eyes glossy and distant, the defensive act just muscle memory at this point. He seems like he’s about to slide against the console and fall, soFiddleford reaches out to help steady him, thankful for all the pig wrangling and calf birthing he’s had to do in his life back on the farm, Lee is heavier than Ford was is. He gets a better look at Lee’s face and feels his own pale, blood rapidly draining and leaving him feeling cold. Whatever injury he has on his shoulder has to be inflected, the man is burning up and sweating something fierce, low and intelligible mumbles spilling from his mouth, his bangs sticking to his forehead, the slight smell of sickness wafting over him. They’re both lucky Ford was able to synthesize and stock high grade antibiotics in case they ever needed them, because he needs them, that or a hospital, and he doesn’t know anything about Ford’s twin, not even enough to explain what had happened to him. 

     Propping Lee up against the console and making sure he wouldn’t fall, he quickly managed to run to a storage room to the right, temperature controlled to keep cool. He finds the medical supplies very diminished, but most of the antibiotics were there. Both worrying and relieving him. Ford had gotten injured so much to deplete their medical supplies this much? They were essentially prepared for an apocalypse. But the relief is that Ford never needed these hospital grade antibiotics, only to be used for serious infection. He collects the medicine, bandages, and any other thing he can think of, putting them in an empty first aid bag and slinging it around his shoulder, making his way back to Lee as fast as he could manage. Fiddleford hauls him up and leans him against his side, stumbling his way to the elevator that he could never bring himself to trust. He has to now, he can’t carry this man up all the flights of stairs that lead into the house. 

     Fiddleford breathes in deeply, glancing over at Lee from the corner of his eye, releasing his breath when he sees he’d hardly even registered change in surroundings or the fact that he had moved, his eyes gazing distantly down onto the floor. Fiddleford resolutely moves him into the open elevator, propping him against the wall and quickly pressing the buttons needed to bring them back up to the main part of the house. Lee stumbles as the elevator moves, an almost frightened whimper escaping him as the elevator creaks and groans, chugging slowly along, his hands finally moving on their own to grasp onto Fiddleford in a move that puts the skinny man almost in front of him. Something deep inside him tightened at the sight; Lee looked more like a lost child than a grown man. "Stay with me, Lee," Fiddleford murmured, his voice steadier than he felt. "We’re gonna get you sorted out. Just hang in there, okay?" A low whimper escaped Lee's lips, eliciting a rush of empathy from Fiddleford. It was clear that Stanford's twin had been through an ordeal far beyond what he could comprehend. The least he could do was ensure that Lee would be safe for the time being. 

     As the elevator doors dinged open, Fiddleford slowly moved with Lee out into the dark room, just registering how cold it was-is the heating even on? Was the bill paid or was all the power just directed to that damn portal room? Fiddleford glanced around, his mind racing. “I need to get you to a bathroom and a bed,” he decided. He gently helped Lee step out of the elevator, the man leaning heavily against him. He maneuvered him toward the stairs, taking them one step at a time and going very slowly, Fiddleford may be tall but Lee was bulkier than he was, he didn’t want to risk Lee toppling over and falling down the stairs, injuring both himself further and the one currently helping him walk. They stumble their way upstairs, Fiddleford having to haul Lee up again when he started to slump too closely to the side, and towards the extra bathroom on the second floor-Fiddleford remembers this one having better lighting and not being as cramped as the downstairs bathroom. He gently deposits Lee on the toilet, worrying about his lack of response to the movements and light being turned on-at least the power still works up here-ever present. Setting the first aid bag on the coffee table, he knelt beside Lee, anxiety gnawing at him. “Okay… let’s see what we’re dealin’ with here.” Fiddleford pulled back the gauze on Lee’s shoulder, and his breath caught in his throat. The shoulder was inflamed, swollen with an angry red hue, the bandaging far too stained for comfort. He can’t even tell what was burned into his shoulder from how bad it was. Lee’s eyes fluttered open slightly, revealing a hint of recognition. 

     “Wha—who…” Lee’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper, and he couldn’t manage to say full words. Fiddleford didn’t know how much he knew about Ford’s work, meaning he doesn’t know if Lee even knows about him, but, with how out of it he is he figures some small trickery shouldn’t be too bad, people tend to respond better to help by people they know, or well, are told they know.

     “It’s just me, Lee, your good ol’ pal, Fidds. You remember, right? We’re great friends, you n’ I.” He holds his breath as Lee just nods along, the fever and infection ravaging his body obviously making it difficult to properly think back on his words. 

     “For…” Lee trails off, his word soft and incomplete, but Fiddleford knows what he was trying to say and felt a pang of heartbreak at the mention of Stanford.

      “He’s… he’s not here right now. But I’m gonna take care of you, alright? Just focus on me.” He carefully began cleaning the wound, glancing up to gauge Lee’s reaction. Lee sniffled, biting his lip, but didn’t pull away, his eyes still hazy and glazed over. Fiddleford doesn’t think he’ll be lucid for a while now. Each moment that passed seemed to drag on, filled with Lee’s fragile breaths and the quiet sounds of their surroundings. What was supposed to be a simple act of care felt monumental. Fiddleford bandaged the injury carefully, relying on the knowledge they had accumulated over the years. “You’re gonna be alright, Lee. Just gotta get the antibiotics into ya, and you’ll start feeling better in no time.” He goes and pulls out the bottles of antibiotics, some IV fluids to help with Lee’s obvious dehydration, and the collapsible IV pole that he’d made-maybe a bit overkill for the time but it was perfect for now. He rounds Lee, finding his eyes already on him. “Heya, Lee, can I see your arm? I need ta’ give ya’ some antibiotics to help with your infection.” But the man made no movement or noise indicating he understood what Fiddleford was saying. He took his arm in gentle hands, swabbing and cleaning the inner elbow before inserting the butterfly needle-hushing Lee when he made strangled whimpering noises, seeing a glimmer of tears come to his eyes. He pats Lee’s head, unconsciously cooing to him as he leans his head into Fiddleford’s touches, a soft sigh and hum passing through his lips.

     “Let’s getcha up now, need to get you in some clothes, though m’ afraid no shirts for a little while, you need as little as possible on that burn o’ yours.” Fiddleford stood up, stumbling in surprise as Lee’s hand grasped his, standing up with him and still staring, more clarity in his eyes, but still nothing indicative of being fully present. Fiddleford took a steadying breath, trying to calm the rising tide of worry threatening to overwhelm him. As they shuffled into the small, dimly lit hallway, Lee's gaze began to clear a bit, though it still flickered with confusion and fear. Fiddleford was grateful for the flicker of awareness and desperately hoped that Lee would be able to grasp even a thread of comfort in this chaos. “C’mon, Lee. Let’s get you settled, alright?” he murmured. The soft squeeze of Lee’s hand around his reassured him that the man could understand him to an extent, enough for his body to respond, at the very least. He makes his way to an open door, peering inside to see if it was acceptable enough for Lee to sleep in. It seems that this was the room he was staying in, though, if the clothes thrown about and rustled blankets on a small bed were of any indication. Steadily, they hobble into the room, Fiddleford holding Lee’s hand and steadying him as they walk, keeping an eye on the IV to make sure it doesn’t get snagged or trip over anything. He sets Lee down on the edge of the bed, making sure he won’t fall over, before searching around the room for some soft and hopefully clean pants, only finding some faded sweats. They didn’t seem too filthy, so Fiddleford deemed them as okay for now and turned around before stopping dead center, eyes assessing the scene before him. Lee had, from somewhere, grabbed a teddy bear-one with a remarkable similarity to Stanford-and was grasping it tightly, his body hunching over to bury his face in the soft cloth. He could see the slight trembling in Lee’s shoulders as he held the toy, hiding behind its plush form. An epiphany struck Fiddleford…it’s possible that Ford and Lee were more similar than just in looks. 

     “Hey, buddy,” Fiddleford spoke softly, moving closer, careful not to startle Lee. “That’s a nice bear you’ve got there…” as he came closer, he saw a blanket strewn on the bed behind Lee, a large quilt with what looked to be some crudely sewn Teddy Bears on it. Fiddleford’s heart ached at the sight of Lee clutching the teddy bear, drawn into its warmth and softness as he huddled over it, the blanket behind him just solidifying his thoughts. The plush creature and quilt seemed to offer a sense of security amid all this chaos and confusion. He knelt beside the bed, keeping his voice soft and calm. “Hey there, Lee. Let’s get ya’ some pants, alright? Just something comfortable for now.” Lee remained silent, his gaze still fixed on the bear. Fiddleford moved quickly to the small dresser, pulling out the faded sweats he had spotted earlier. He returned to Lee, who hadn't shifted from his position, burying his face against the bear's plush fur. “Hang tight, ‘right?” Fiddleford said, moving in front of Lee. He carefully helped him remove the old, dirty pants, mindful of Lee’s discomfort. With each movement, he offered gentle reassurances, softening the air with his presence. “We’re almost done.” He knows the other man can’t understand him, not fully, but Fiddleford knows from experience that talking to a kid or someone in this mindset can help keep them calm, and calm is what Lee needs right now. 

     “How’s about we lay back down now, okay?  Rest yer’ head on that pillow and just breathe in, ‘kay? Some quiet time.” Lee absentmindedly nodded, his grip on the bear tightening momentarily before loosening again. He leaned back, still looking dazed and feverish, but more comfortable now that he was semi-clean and dressed with fluid running into him. Fiddleford decided to remain quiet for a little while, too, letting the soft sounds of the house settle around them. The air was a little chilly, but Fiddleford figured they could tackle that issue soon enough. He slowly brings his hand towards Lee’s head, watching for any signs of flinching or cowering before he lowers it and softly begins to stroke his hair, cooing softly as Lee’s eye fluttered closed, his head leaning into the hand gently caressing him, soft murmurs escaping his lips. Fiddleford, with one practiced hand, pulls the blankets over Lee, the thinner ones first, the thicker comforter that was piled on the floor, and finally, Lee’s well-loved quilt, tucking them around the gentle creature before him, keeping his IV arms out of most of the layers besides to top quilt.

     Fiddleford's heart warmed at the sight of Lee nestled under the blankets, the calming rhythm of his breathing creating a peaceful atmosphere in the room, he felt a swell of protective instinct for the man beside him. “Just like that, Lee. Nice n’ comfy n’ cozy,” he murmured softly, continuing to thread his fingers through Lee’s hair, taking care to avoid any tug on the IV line. Lee seemed to lean further into Fiddleford’s touch, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he began to relax into the layers of warmth wrapped around him. As Fiddleford settled into a rhythm, the gentle motion of his hand seemed to draw Lee deeper into a state of comfort-deeper into his headspace if Lee’s soft chewing of the bear’s ear before Fiddleford removed it was anything to go by. The world around them faded into the background, the cold chill of the air outside kept at bay by the cocoon of blankets. The sound of breathing filled the room—the steady rise and fall of Lee’s chest mixed with Fiddleford’s quieter, more measured breaths.

     “Y’know, I used to do this for your brother, too,” Fiddleford’s voice cut through the silence, “When he felt younger-smaller-the world feeling too big for him. I was there to help him and take care of him. I wouldn’t mind being that person for you, neither. I don’t know what happened with our Ford, but I hope you’ll tell me.” Fiddleford breathes into the silence, just staring at Lee, who’s dozing off surrounded by his teddy and warmth of the blankets. “I want to take care of you, I’ve missed takin’ care of someone, actually. N’ I have more than enough room in my heart to add another person.” Lee made a soft, indistinct noise, his eyes still closed, as if he somehow understood the intent behind Fiddleford's words. Fiddleford smiled softly, hoping that the weight of his sincerity could reach Lee’s subconscious, anchoring him in a sea of uncertainty.

     Closing his eyes for just a moment, Fiddleford let the sounds of the house mingle with Lee's breathing, the gentle cadences a soft lullaby. He found his own fatigue creeping in, but he fought it off for the sake of his friend. Lee needed someone to hold firm and steady in this chaotic world, and he was more than willing to take on that role. After some time, Fiddleford felt the room grow quieter—Lee's breathing became more even, deeper. He risked glancing at Lee's face, noticing the way his features had relaxed under the quilt, the tension that had gripped him slowly dissipating as he found solace in sleep. There was something reassuring about seeing him at peace like this, a small flicker of hope sparking in Fiddleford’s heart.

     “Just keep resting,” Fiddleford whispered, pulling gently at the edges of the blankets around Lee, tucking him in a bit more snugly. “I’ll be here.” The rest of the night was full of soft snuffles and easy sighs, this little corner-their little corner-of the world tucked away for a few hours, peace falling around them

[silverzoomies]

Cunning Linguist

pietro maximoff x reader smut

warnings: cunnilingus, porn with (slight) plot, blow jobs, dissociative identity disorder, dissociation, existential crisis, smut, shameless smut, halloween, canon divergence

word count: 3,990

a/n: i meant to finish this ages ago. but i always overthink shit. i rewrote this several times, and it still doesn't feel worth posting. oh well !! just meaningless filth - same old story, different clothing. i wanted to play with the concept of pietro as an alter in ralph's head. again. lol

he's a little ooc here. but i'm blaming the brain fog. i'm running on three hours of sleep every night. fuck it, we ball. also, not including a tag list because tumblr's system kinda sucks for it. sorry !!

Pietro recalled the moment his consciousness came to light.

Agnes waved her spooky hands in his face, as though she were taunting him. She muttered incantations under her breath. The words of which Pietro didn’t recognize as English. After implanting sentimental memories in his mind - based on stories of Wanda’s childhood - she sent him off on his own. Like letting a dog loose, free to roam. 

Pietro’s mission? Find Wanda, have a gabfest or two, extract information. Or something along those lines. Pietro hadn’t paid much attention while Agnes yapped about it. Why focus on that, when the mystery of his own sentience piqued his interest instead?

He was given an easy enough job to do. No problem-o. Pietro had a talent for pestering people til’ they cracked. That’s what Agnes told him, anyway. He wasn’t too sure why she wanted him to play undercover rat. It had something to do with magic. Pietro knew that much. There was some kinda witch-on-witch rivalry in the works. But unfortunately for Agnes - and maybe fortunately for Wanda - she might have to take a raincheck on her duel of the sorceresses.  

Pietro could be a bit of a dipshit. Was he stupid? Not so much. He had brains where it counted. He could be crafty. Even sneaky. But his expert level slyness didn’t make him any less of an idiot. Pietro couldn’t refute that factoid about himself. Around Wanda, he forgot how to function like a normal person. Which he blamed on the fact that he wasn’t a normal person. Being brutally honest with himself; Pietro technically wasn’t even a person at all.

More like a conceptual incarnation of human sentience, really. Simple enough.

No ifs, ands, or buts about it, though - Pietro carried the irksome flaws of a human. Often, he acted thoughtless when he didn’t mean to. Without filtering himself first, Pietro unapologetically spoke his mind. He’d drop fourth-wall breaking quips here or there. Sometimes, his careless habits made for entertaining slip ups. Perfect for sitcom shenanigans. Other times, his blunders resulted in pain. Lotsa pain.

Halloween night, Pietro found himself whisked away by a forceful wave. Conjured by Wanda’s potent magic. The same power Agnes wanted her wiggly witch fingers on. After going aerial in a wild whoosh, Pietro got up close and friendly with some Halloween decorations. But, hey, what’re a few broken bones between pseudo siblings, eh?

Wanda sure had a helluva temper. She quickly banished Pietro from ever setting foot in her house again. Talk about a major bummer. Pietro suffered a huge loss on that front. One part because he’d have no choice but to crash with Agnes again. Ninety nine parts because he’d miss his troublemaking nephews. Those fun, lil scamps.

Tough luck, Quickie. Try and do better next time.

Honestly, he’d prefer if there wasn’t a next time.  If Agnes wanted to make small talk so bad, she could do it on her own. Calling it quits for the night, Pietro wandered off to a Westview bar. To his surprise, he found the place still in operation. And despite Pietro’s memories - vague imagery of Busch beer cans crushed under his fist - he hadn’t had a beer since his consciousness manifested. Shit. Did he even like beer? Whether he cared for it or not, a subconscious instinct drew him to it.

He assumed that instinct was none other than Ralph himself. The poor dude wanted to drown his terror in alcohol. And after all the twisted shit Agnes put Ralph through; who was Pietro to deny him one of life's simplest pleasures?

The mellow atmosphere of the bar oozed Halloween spirit. Kinda unnecessary, in retrospect. Considering Wanda never stopped by for a drink. Why bother sprucing the place up with her wispy magic, if it never saw any use?

The bartender’s clever quips reminded Pietro of Cheers. Another totally bonkers concept. Pietro had memories of watching Cheers, sure. But he couldn’t decipher if they were Ralph’s or not. For all Pietro knew, they might be a part of the ‘dead brother’ package deal. False memories, meant to give Wanda someone to relate to. Making him liable to tear down her defenses when she least expected it. 

But why did Pietro get the sense he was more of a Frasier guy anyway?

Sitting at the bar on a rickety stool, Pietro spun around to satiate his boredom. He cradled a beer, inhaling all of it in a single beat. Superspeed really did have its ups and downs. Consider quick consumption a positive. As far as negatives go…well…inebriation was completely unattainable. Sucks for Ralph. As Pietro flagged down the bartender for another beer, he tuned his ears to a radio broadcast. On a shelf amidst dollar store Halloween decor; a radio droned old fashioned tales of wicked witches. Subtle.

Outside interference interrupted the broadcast. Voices intermingled between buzzes of static. Whispering soft, but panicked mantras of 'Wanda? Wanda, are you there?' Pietro narrowed his beady eyes. His ignorance of the world outside Westview should’ve stayed intact. But whatever the reason, he knew exactly where those voices came from. Why he carried such knowledge was anyone’s guess. Maybe Agnes let too much her own insight slip into his psyche. Whoopsies. Oh well. Shrugging, Pietro flagged down the bartender for another beer. Deja vu.

Bored outta his mind, his thoughts explored elsewhere.

Pietro dreamt of something a little more down to earth. He remembered a cutie-pie neighbor new to Westview. A ‘next door’ kinda type, with a quirky sorta charm. They had no idea why they were in the city to begin with. Pietro knew these details, only because he gathered the what’s what on just about every person in town. It took him all of two seconds to do so. Zip around. Observe. Make mental notes. Report back to Agnes. Spill the deets.

Anyway, about you…

Call it a crush, loneliness, or even instinctive lust; whatever the case, Pietro thought you were cute as could be. You didn’t remember how you got to Westview, or where you even came from. One day, you woke up in town, and found yourself wearing unfamiliar clothes. Threads evocative of decades long past. But hey, it happens to the best of us. Pietro was well-acquainted with feelings of confusion and alienation. That mingled sense of being both lost, and born anew.

For crying out loud, he was the very materialization of sapient awareness itself. Agnes forbade him from that knowledge as well. But again, Pietro credited his oopsies and ding-dongs to her shoddy miracle work.

Whenever you questioned the reality around you, the world only stifled you into silence. The everyday citizens of Westview seemed so content with life as it was. Acting as if you had nothing to worry about. Wanda’s sitcom setup was nothing beyond sunshine, rainbows, and television tropes. But Pietro could see the unspoken terror hidden deep in their eyes. The truth Wanda kept hush hush.

Just thinking about it was enough to give Pietro the heebie jeebies. And if his intuition was anything to go by - it never proved him wrong yet - you had a bad feeling about Westview too. Way to go! You caught on even quicker than he did. Which was kinda nuts, if he thought about it. Wasn’t he supposed to be the fastest at everything? ‘Cuz speed was his middle name or something. Or…well, it wasn’t. But it could be. Who’s to stop him from seizing his own destiny at this point?

Pietro Speed Maximoff.

Eh, maybe not.

In Westview, you had no friends or family. And much like Pietro, on Halloween night; you found yourself at the bar. He caught your curious gaze from down the counter. You were dolled up in a scanty, witch's dress, leaving Pietro to wonder why witches were such a recurring theme in his life. Looking too much like a manchild goober, he spun around a few more times in his seat. His sneakers kicked against the stool’s railing. No matter what, he couldn’t sit still. He thought he might be embarrassing himself. But his antics appeared to make you smile even brighter.

Tilting your head, you shot him a look of familiarity.

You weren’t familiar with him, though. But there was a chance you saw him appearing and disappearing around town. During his impromptu stake outs, more than likely.

Bringing your drink to the seam of your lips, you stifled a playful giggle. It was obvious you were gawking at his costume. Arching a brow, Pietro grinned into the rim of his beer bottle. To be fair, he looked supremely ridiculous. The blue tights under his cut-off jean shorts rode up in the crotch a little too much. He dipped his head, staring at the frayed edges of his shorts. Yeah. It was clear he did the job cutting them himself. A hasty one too. Since he was too eager to pull pranks with his nephews.

Damn. Pietro missed those kids like hell already.

The dirty blond hair/ear-things atop his head bounced every time he knocked his neck back. As Pietro downed yet another beer, he lost track of how many he drank. A dribble of it plummeted into silver. Creating a sheen against the lightning bolt duct taped diagonally down his shirt. Pietro sighed and pursed his lips. 

His outfit was an all blue ensemble. Garnished with a spritz of silver here or there. Quicksilver. His hero name, apparently. Pietro knew he’d never live up to it.

A bit of friendly conversation later, and the air between the two of you shifted. Your playful look morphed into something a little wanton, the more Pietro acted in silly ways. Holy shit. Seriously? He hoped he wasn't misreading your signals. Because really, your attraction was too good to be true. If you honestly wanted him, where should he proceed from here? How much freedom had Agnes even allowed him? And furthermore - if Wanda’s happy, dream town ran on a curated schedule; what if credits rolled just as the two of you finally got handsy?

Maybe sitcom rules didn’t apply to conscious manifestations of witch hocus pocus? Wishful thinking on his part.

Outside the bar - in an alleyway too uncannily clean, like a set straight out of Hollywood - Pietro beckoned you in with kisses. Technically, he played the role of Agnes’s deadbeat husband. And if that were the case, did kissing you count as cheating? Shit…was Pietro committing adultery right now?? In the midst of macking on your sweet lips, he pressed a palm to the wall next to your head. Pietro pretended to do so for balance, as he devoured you with his mouth and tongue. 

But unbeknownst to you, he cracked an eye open. Just to double check for a wedding band.

Nothing there to prove he ever got hitched. Go figure.

You giggled coyly into his lips, letting a soft moan ease through your teeth. Bringing your hands up to the hair/ear-things on his head, you toyed with them. Your pretty voice teased him, as you played with his hair in gentle strokes of your thumbs.

“Ooooh…such a good boy, huh? Fast too.” You cooed, the same way one might praise a puppy.

Oh. Fuck yeah. To hell with sitcom tropes and bogus wives. Agnes scared the ever-loving shit out of Pietro anyway. He had no semblance of a domestic connection to her. Not that she gave much of a damn herself. With how often she threw insults his way. Agnes always used Ralph as her little punching bag, before hijacking his body for her own gain.

No wonder your simple praises got his proverbial tail wagging.

A chuckle hummed in the back of his throat, as Pietro purred into your lips, “Speed’s kinda my middle name, y’know?”

You snorted one of the dorkiest laughs he’d heard since cognisant birth. And with a sudden spark of primal urgency; Pietro felt something else spring into transcendence down below. 

Sifting through Ralph’s sidelined psyche, Pietro came to realize how much of a recluse he was. The guy never seemed to get out much. In fact, Agnes might’ve even been his first partner. If one could classify her as such. So, really, Pietro was doing him a major favor. If Ralph knew he planned on using their body for some frisky fun - on an otherwise lonely Hallow’s eve - surely, he’d give his brain roomie some thanks.

Pietro’s hands were vascular like a wired-up machine, clad in arm-warmer paws. Grabbing hard onto your curvy hips with them, he pulled you in closer. He sought the friction of your crotch against his. And after some seriously sloppy making out, Pietro dropped you an invite to his place.

Or…Agnes’s place.

Uh…or…was it technically Ralph’s? Shit, this sitcom roleplay sure gave way to some mental gymnastics.

You didn’t expect Pietro to zip you off at superspeed. Moving abruptly fast, he brought you straight to his disaster of a man cave. Laying you back on the futon, he gave you little time to adjust over the blankets. The wrinkled fabrics reeked of pot, in desperate need of a wash. You got as comfy as you could on the skunky sheets. Blinking your needy gaze up at him, you tugged his white belt, pulling the band undone. Pietro grinned lazily, colliding his swollen lips into yours. His primal instincts left him wreckless with want. 

Burying his tongue in the cavern of your mouth, he brought with him the flavor of cheap booze. As you tasted him, you moaned, shucking his dumb jorts down his hips. A sizable swelling twitched in his tights, squirming under muted blue. Your eyes bulged in their sockets, cartoonishly wide. The way you whirled your tongue across your lip gave off a vibe of animalistic hunger. As though you were eager for an all dick dinner. With Pietro as the appetizer.

And the main course. And the dessert. He hoped you'd rate him five stars.

Restaurant metaphors aside; this was the very first test of his capabilities as a lover, after all. If he couldn’t live up to his superhero name, maybe he could make a name for himself in other ways.

Pietro Speed Maximoff. Quicksilver. Cunning Linguist.

But first…he really should satiate your hunger.

One, generous tug downward, and Pietro’s - or Ralph’s - slightly above average length sprang out. Bouncing in your face in mesmerizing oscillation, his cock appeared pulsating and roused. Thick veins weaved like threads through his shaft, akin to his vascular hands. His balls bulged in his tights, his jorts hanging halfway down his thighs. Pietro took his blistering cock in hand. Aching for the kind of stimulation Ralph never got, his desire painted him so flush and ruby red. 

Since you looked so delighted at the sight before you; Pietro gave his cock a few strokes. He played with himself for your viewing pleasure. And as his firm grip tugged his shaft, the world pulled suddenly back. It was as though Pietro viewed life through a third person perspective. Metaphorical cameras fixed their lenses on the two of you, in an all too human position of closeness. 

The weight of a cock in Pietro’s hand felt both familiar, yet weirdly foreign. Combine that with the sight of another living, breathing body below him; and his nerves buzzed uncomfortably. Frenzied in such a way that matched the quick pulsing of his heart. Focusing instead on your fluttering eyes, Pietro weaned himself out of dissociation. Your hands braced his hips, thumbs circling the fabric of his tights. The gentle gesture brought chills throughout his body. Inching forward, you teased his bobbing cock with a flick of your tongue.

Wet heat grounded him in reality. Upon racing to the forefront of his own mind; Pietro’s breath hitched with a husky groan. He held your head, massaging his fingers in your soft hair. Cute mewls spilled from your lips as you flitted your eyes shut. Swirling your tongue over his cock’s puffy head, you lapped any tearful pearls of precum. His thickness sank between your plush lips, and Pietro’s own lips parted for breath.

Of all things to happen on Halloween night, getting his dick sucked wasn’t on the docket.

Not that Pietro had any reason to complain. This? Wicked awesome. Ralph was really missing out.

You drew lazily back just to lap his balls over his tights, staining fabric with slick saliva. Rolling the tip of your tongue up the underside of his dick, you giggled in that dorkish way again. Pietro’s teeth pulled his lip as he tilted his head back. His dick twitched, throbbing while the heat of your mouth embraced him fully. He moaned, smiling wide enough to show off his dimples. You pumped his cock at the base, teasing his veins with your tongue.

Pietro’s brows turned inward. You suckled his head like you longed to guzzle anything he could give. He sank his fingers deeper through your hair, holding on tightly as he rutted his hips. With each slam of his weeping tip into your throat; he hoarsely grunted. You really did try your best, just for him. Even as tears spilled down your cheeks and your lips began to swell. Plush and puffy, circling his slick length. Pietro kicked up the speed at which he rutted.

Fighting his instincts, he was cautious enough not to choke you. Or, he wanted to be cautious. He braced his hands on both sides of your tear stained face, his arm warmer paws soft against your cheeks. Sinking his dick even deeper between your lips, he accidentally went balls deep. The wet fabric of his tights smothered your chin. You sputtered on his cock, which made your throat wring him so tight. As your tongue curled, sliding under the thrum of his veins; Pietro cursed. Playful chuckles and shameful apologies fell from his lips.

Bitter heat coated your tongue in sweltering jets, thick and explosive down your throat. Pietro’s groin twisted in a blossoming surge of pleasure. And as he ruptured your esophagus with his sticky load, he found himself that much more grounded. As if such a bombastic nut somehow tethered him to reality - securing Pietro from any further derealization. 

Righteous. His first big O since Agnes blessed him with the gift of consciousness. Significantly more electrifying than any sad, jerk sesh Ralph had in the past. And since you so humbly took him like a champ - giving Pietro a most euphoric experience; he saw it fit to return the favor ASAP.

Neither Pietro - nor Ralph, it seemed - had any experience toying around with partners. But he did have a vague knowledge of how to do so. Thanks to the backlog of not-so-safe-for-work memories deep in his subconscious. Raunchy porn, mostly. Magazines. Tapes. Jesus, Ralph…why’s there so much dirty stuff in there, huh? Lots and lots of it. Pietro would have to do his own research later.

He gave you no time to prep for his oncoming nose dive. Perched on your knees, coughing and clearing your throat - you found yourself abruptly resting on your elbows. Your upper back pressed into the futon. Pietro lifted your hips, using his strength to hike your thighs over his broad shoulders. As you parted your swollen lips to protest, blinking your reddened eyes; Pietro pulled your panties to the side. He kept the soaked lace pinned under a thick thumb. Burying his lips in your cunt, he lapped up your honeyed heat.

A sudden addiction, triggered by something carnal, overtook him instantly. Pietro became hooked on your fragrant flavor, swirling your cute bud in high-speed circles. He worked your stiff clit like a microscopic joystick, flicking wet heat in a spastic whirlwind. Alternating between drawing patterns, and sucking your precious pearl hard. Pietro so easily made you squeal - even without any prior experience - until you scratched your fingernails deep into Ralph’s sheets. Kissing your cunt, he let his thirst take over, and dove deeper.

The tune of his name melting through your moans made him wish the night would last forever. A small fraction of him hoped Ralph would never take over again. If consciousness offered rewards this scrumptious, Pietro wanted to stay sentient into eternity. Not to be selfish or whatever, but he almost considered playing minion for Agnes again - if only to secure the lifespan of his psyche.

Your supple, pussy lips parted as he wormed his tongue through your slick walls. Smooth, bumpy heat squeezed the fuzzy ridges of his tongue. In milliseconds, your fluttery love gushed over his taste buds and leaked down his chin. Tears teased the edges of your eyes. You cried whines of sugary bliss. Pietro’s thumb kept your panties pinned, his other hand locked around your thigh.

He smirked into your pussy, deep chuckles burning hot on your mound. And since the position wasn’t exactly the most comfortable; he allowed you some reprieve. Pushing you past your breaking point at light speed, Pietro bashed the sopping slickness of his tongue into your clit. You trembled, shuddering through powerful waves of orgasmic intensity. White-hot flashes of light flooded your vision. Under Pietro’s zippy tongue, your sweet pussy quivered.

Totes mcgoats. If he learned anything tonight - aside from the obvious lessons in subtlety; Pietro now understood why the everyday man lost his doggone marbles over puss.

After your first release, he eased your tired body into the futon. Your back met cozy blankets, engulfed in that skunk weed scent. Before you relaxed, he edged you even longer, drawing out your pleasurable suffering. Pietro sank his fingers deep into your heat, pumping the length of them inside you. His digits curled perfectly, finding every spongy spot that made your core burst with a desire to cum again. His tongue teased your swollen nub until you grabbed at his hair. You mussed the funny looking ear things atop his head, pressing your palm into his forehead to try and push him back.

You begged him to stop. Pleading in disoriented whimpers, your noises went straight to his limp dick. A few more hot, wrathful waves of pleasure later - he finally stopped. Only after your cunt erupted in one more, wet burst. You leaked like a fountain into his lips, soaking his chin, even making a mess of his makeshift costume. More than worth it. Pietro sat up on the futon, admiring his handiwork. He wiped his mouth with one of his arm warmer paws. Your mouth fell agape as your lungs begged for air. More tears sparkled on your flushed cheeks, mirroring the twinkle of your pussy. Pretty as a rose in a rainshower.

With your sluggish arms, you gestured for Pietro to climb over you. And once he did, you pulled him into a lazy kiss without a single care. You paid no mind to the taste of your sweetness on his lips, or the scent of your musk on his chin. Sleepily blinking, you bravely asked if you could stay the night. Too tuckered out to even consider a long walk back home.

Pietro could just as easily speed you over to your place. But even at the risk of his not-wife catching him in bed with someone else - he felt too adverse to loneliness. Besides...your company brought him more delight than he ever expected of anyone. Settling into the futon, he popped on Ralph’s old TV set.

Cheers was on. Pietro snickered to himself, rolling his dark eyes.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, snuggled up against Pietro’s strong form. He’d changed clothes at some point in the night, finally foregoing the tights. Oh, and he lended you one of Ralph’s shirts too. A Grateful Dead t-shirt, of which you were very grateful. Hah, “You don’t like Cheers?”

Pietro shrugged, sipping a beer. A Busch beer. He scowled at the taste, curling his lip.

“Eh. More of a Frasier kinda guy.”

[justaghostingon]

When Your Brother Thinks You’re Being Cheated On: How Not to Introduce your third

A 3zun crack au

Jin Guangyao, Lan xichen, and Nie Mingjue have recently become a triad, finally taking their sworn brotherhood to the next level after many talks, tears, confessions, and scheming of a one Lan xichen to get both his boyfriends to be boyfriends together

Guangshuan is also dead far earlier than in canon under mysterious circumstances, which greatly helped the three come together and absolutely was not a bonding expierience for the three

They’re pretty happy, however this realtionship is still new, and with politics being as it is, (wei wuxian being out there in his burial mounds scarinf everyone by existing and stressing out lan zhan, jin zixuan a new sect leader and expecting a child soon, and nie mingjue suffering baxia’s backlash) they’re trying to keep it on the down low until things stablize a bit

What they forget to take into account, are there brothers

Lan xichen is probably the most innocent in this, he fully believes he’s told lan zhan, he talks about his lovers all the time! Surelly lan zhan was listening?

Lan zhan was not listening. He was brooding over wei wuxian.

He is vaguely that lan xichen liked nie mingjue from way back when they were kids, and hasn’t thought it changed, since lan’s can only love once. It’s their families curse after all. So when lan xichen talks about a-yao this, a-yao that, lan zhan thinks its just friendship talk (like what wei ying used to do to him in cloud recesses) and tunes it out.

Jin Guangyao has an excuse. His position in the jin clan is destabilized by the shift in leadership. The last thing he wants is for jin zixuan to think he can’t do his job because he’s also kissing the leaders of two rival sects.

Jin zixuan for his part, does not see the other sects as rivals to beat like his father did. He’s not thinking much of anything except that he’s really drowning in work, and both Jiang Yanli and Jin Guangyao are lifelines.

Jiang Yanli he can show his gratitude by being the best husband he can be. But jin Guangyao? How can he get his brother to stop being awkward and take a break, (and maybe be closer like everyone else is with their siblings?)

Then jin zixuan catches the heart eyes that jin guangyao throws lan xichen at a sect conference, so much warmer than how he acts towards his other sworn brother, with all that bickering (flirting).

So jun zixuan tries to set up jin guangyao and lan xichen, giving every excuse for one to visit the other, and ample alone time when they do. He’s rewarded once by coming in a room wirh out knocking to see them holding hands.

Jin guangyao pulls his hand away, but its too late, jin zixuan saw it, his mission is complete!

Nie Mingjue is the only one who was no excuse. His brother asks him about his love life all the time. He wants to know!!!

But nie mingjue does not want a meddling sibling in his buisness, and anytime it comes up he gets so embarrassed he can’t speak, so he shuts him out.

Nie huaisang has to use his own brain, and so wjen he spots nie mingjue blushing and braiding a flower into jin guangyao’s hair, he realizes his answer. Nie mingjue has finally acted on his old feelings for meng yao, now his awful father isn’t here to keep them aprart.

All three brothers are thrilled. Until….

Lan zhan finds out first. He’s walking in the cloud recesses, when he sees two people making out. One in a now familiar green, and one in …yellow.

Nie mingjue is making out with jin guangyao in the cloud recesses, right under his brother’s nose! The nerve!

Lan zhan is frozen solid for a good five minutes, just watching in horror, before he turns and storms away, determined to save his brother from such a faithless match.

Jin guangyao and nie mingjue were absolutely doing it on purpose. They caught a glimpse of lan zhan’s white robes and handsome appearance out of the corner of their eye and thinking he was lan xichen, decided to give him a show. When they weren’t hit with a solid body joining their embrace they realized something was wrong, it wasn’t xichen, but lan wangji. They both feel very embarrassed and do not want to bring it up to lan xichen that they ruined his brother’s innocent with the sight of their kissing.

Lan wangji meanwhile tries to tell his brother, but his brother won’t hear a word against nie mingjue, (and lan zhan’s phrasing was also really vague, stuff like: “nie mingjue is a bad man, and jin guangyao is a snake in the bunny feild” but give him a break, he was traumatized)

Lan’s only love once, lan zhan justifies to himself, its gonna take more than words to convince him.

So he goes to the only person he can think of in times of crisis, wei wuxian.

Wei wuxian isn’t very close to those three, he thought nie mingjue was a better man than that, but then again, all the sects did turn a blind eye to the wen prison camps, so what does he know? No. He’s only mad about this because lan zhan came to him so obviously upset, and wei wuxian can never resist an upset lan zhan.

So he works day and night, (while lan zhan gets covered in blankets by the wens and hugs a-yaun for comfort) to create a talisman that can capture an event in the instant it happens, like a painting!

(Its a camera, he invented a camera)

He then starts marketting them to the common people under a psydonim, so it will be a trusted device by the time news reaches the cloud recesses.

He then gives it to lan zhan and instructs him to get a photo of nie mingjue cheating to show to his brother as proof.

Lan zhan accepts with the gravity of a man going to war, and prepares to stalk his brother’s boyfriend.

Meanwhile, nie huaisang is in for the shock of his life at the next sect conference, when he sees thr flowers he had sent to jin guangyao’s rooms on his brothers behalf, were instead decorating the rooms of a blushing lan xichen, who said “someone very special gave them to me.”

This may seem an innocent gesture of regifting, but nie huaisang smells a rat. You don’t regift a lovers gift to another person, u certainly don’t leave the other person blushing and saying it was from someone “very special”

Clearly jin guangyao is two-timing poor nie mingjue! But don’t worry! Nie huaisang has the perfect plan! First he’ll expose jin guangyao for the liar he is, then he’ll have both nie mingjue and lan xichen rebound with each other, effectively ensuring their happieness while punishing the guilty party! (Lan xichen can’t know. He’s to good to cheat, and he loves nie mingjue to much,” nie huaisang thinks, missing the obvious)

His plans however, face problems from the start. He first tries to expose jin guangyao as having a failed relationship before with qin su, to show to his brother jin guangyao’s track record isn’t great. But when he finds the actual reason “the mother told them both they were siblings, since she was no longer afraid of jin guangshan’s retribution since he was dead” it doesn’t help him at all! If anything it makes jiggy look even more honorable for covering it up and makinf it look like it was because he wasn’t good enough.

Then he tries to expose him as a liar in koi tower, lots of corruption there! But his every step is thwarted by some unknown force, one even he can’t out think

His only hope lies in the new talisman on the market that allows you to capture images. Surely if he catches jin guangyao in the act, that will be wnouggh to prove him unfaithful (even if it will prob take a few more steps to convince da-ge that lan xichen didn’t know actually and is s good choice for rebound)

The person who is thwartinf nie huaisang is in fact jin zixuan, mostly by all the back breaking work he’s done to weed out corruption, tiredness, and trying to keep jin guangyao to simpler, easy to do jobs.

See, jin zixuan saw lan xichen kiss nie mingjue on the cheek a couple weeks back, and even though he’s not certain if its actually cheating or lan xichen and a-yao broke up and lan xichen moved on far to quickly, he knows it must be taking a toll on jin guangyao

Not that jin guangyao is showing any signs, but that’s just the mask he’s always wearing. If Jin zixuan wants to see the real him, he needs to prove he can be someone he can trust.

So he starts giving jin guangyao simpler tasks to do, paired with babysitting the new born jin ling, things that keep him away from all the husle of court politics that put him into contact with his ex and his ex’s new man.

Jiang yanli is more than happy to help, talking about her own brothers to remind jiggy he has one too, and having tea with him while he holds jin ling.

Jiggy is glad for time with jin ling, but he likes doing things! He has to fight tooth and nail to get jin zixuan to let him help with the one month ceremony, and is far to busy with that to do any scheming of any kind

Everything comes to a head at jin ling’s one month celebration, where nie huaisang tries to publicly expose jin guangyao by working pictures of him with lan xichen into the slide show (yet another wei wuxian invention, he’s really on fire with these)

He then points out the obvious by “accident” and tries to reassure mingju there’s no way lan xichen would ever betray him like that

Lan zhan (who has brought wei wuxian for moral aupport) sees this and panics, showing his pictures (which he originally wanted to give to his brother in private) to prove his brother’s innocence and that its the other way around, actually.

To which jin zixuan angrilly stands up and points out how nie mingjue and lan xichen were the one’s who left jin guangyao and he’s not going to stand for anyone insulting his brother actually, and this is his psrty so they better back off or get out.

“Your here for formalities sake, we could easily have this with just the jins and the jiangs!”

“Anf me!” Goes wei wuxian

“And the wei sect!” Goes jin zixuan, accidentally acknowledging wei wuxian’s group of outcasts as legitimate and thus changing the course of history

It is at this point when 3zun realize the jig is up. In their attempt to keep quiet for politics, they made everything even worse.

They stand up and point out that no, no one is cheating, and yes, they are all together, all THREE of them, and that is not going to change anytime soon, and also could they have those photos? Lan xichen’s starting a scrap book.

See this is why i don’t tell you things, goes jin guangyao to jin zixuan, (secretly pleased he’d be willing to go against two sects for him)

“What the f- goes on in your head?” Goes nie mingjue to nie huaisang

“Brother i told you this ages ago,” goes a very disappointed lan xichen

“Lan’d can love more than one person?” Lan zhan says, eyes wide and uncompeehending “do i have to love more than one?”

“Don’y worry about it lan zhan,” goes wei wuxian. “You can love exactly how you want too.” Lam zhan looks at him with wide eyes, makes three leaps of logic, a d assumes this is wei wuxian acknowledging lan zhan’s feelings and giving him permission to court him.

Thus 3zun live happily ever after, having learned that communication really is key when you have three very over-protective brothers.

[teyums]

His Secret Admirer (Part Two) - Neteyam x fem na’vi reader

part one | part three | part four |bonus chapter

wc: 4.6k

a/n: I’m so sorry this took so long y’all, I had such bad writers block trying to figure out which direction I wanted to push this story in. This honeslty isn’t as good as I wanted to be but maybe I’m being too hard on myself. This is the first multiple part fanfic I’ve written in almost seven years. 😅

contains: angst, some language

“~~~” resembles a time skip or change of POV

Neteyam sat silently on the floor of his family’s tent, his elbows against his knees and his head held between his hands while he listened to his mother chastise him for what felt like the thousandth time today. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t tried to keep you out as long as possible, constantly bringing up new topics so the conversation wouldn’t fall off. He never meant for you to stay out past your curfew, but he got so wrapped up in spending time with you that he didn’t want it to end.

“Where were you?” Neytiri seethed, pushing his head to the side with two fingers while her son ignored her. “Do you know how many times we called for you? What is the point of having this if you do not listen?” She hissed, motioning to the necklace he wore that contained a small walkie-talkie.

He bit his lip to keep himself from saying anything out of anger, his arms now crossed in front of him while he tried his hardest to tune out her incessant interrogation. He vaguely remembered shutting it off, not wanting him or you to hear it and bring the two of you back to real life. “I was out, mother.” He mumbled.

She scoffed with antipathy, turning away from him and flicking her hand into the air with annoyance, seemingly tagging Jake into the conversation before she did something she would regret.

Jake sighed, looking down at his son with a puzzlement. “Out where? Can you at least tell us what you were doing? It isn’t like you to stay out this late, son.”

Neteyam had enough of being watched like a hawk for his entire life. When he would try to go out and have fun just like Lo’ak would do, it was an issue. He stood to his feet suddenly, his voice raised and laced with frustration. “I was with a girl, okay? Is that what the two of you want to hear? If I tell you this will you guys finally leave me alone about this whole mate thing?” He yelled, his shoulder brushing against his father’s as he stormed past him and into his room.

Jake noticed Neytiri’s eye twitch with aggravation, her mouth slightly ajar with stupefy as she watched this unusual display from her eldest son. She had never seen him act out in such away, let alone disrespect his father, this was unknown to them. When she stepped to follow him, Jake grabbed her arm and slowly shook his head, silently telling her to leave him be.

Neteyam felt no matter what he did, his parents would find an issue. For years Jake wouldn’t let him act on his feelings towards you, constantly telling him that girls were not his main priority but he would let Lo’ak run around and pursue whatever girl he pleased. And now, they’re pressuring him to find a mate at the same time multiple men have noticed and already expressed their interest towards you. He couldn’t blame them, you had developed into such an alluring woman. There was just something about you that he couldn’t shake. Your beauty stunned him, you had changed so much over the years that when he would see you prance around the village with Kiri he couldn’t even gather the courage to approach you. He had no chance competing with Ta’olu, he saw the way he looked at you, he heard the way he spoke about you during the hunting party meetings. All the years he had been gone from your life, it seemed like Ta’olu had conveniently stepped right in to take his place.

And if he were being honest, Neteyam resented his parents for putting him in this position. He didn’t want any of the other girls they were trying to set him up with, the mere thought of mating with someone he wasn’t truly in love with sent shivers through his spine and not the good kind. Not the kind you gave him, anyway.

But every time he tried to tell to them about you, about the girl he was actually in love with, he was shot down before he could even say your name. Something about “status” in the clan, and them knowing who would make the best Tsahik to stand beside him.

Bullshit.

“You got to choose who you wanted to mate with, why can I not do the same?” He would yell at his parents, but his words would constantly fall on deaf ears.

The eldest Sully boy barely knew what a crush was. He felt his entire existence boiled down to being the protector of his younger siblings and the future clan leader- what his parents wanted him to be. He hadn’t known what it felt like to be in love until the night he laid eyes on you. He passed it off as inviting you to be his friend, but deep down he knew it was more than that, Lo’ak and Kiri included. The day he was told he could no longer spend time with you split his heart into two. But all it took was two painfully short hours in your presence to mend it back together again.

~~~

Sleep had been the last thing on your mind the past two days. You spent both nights tossing and turning- all you could think about was him. A reoccurring image of Neteyam’s sweet smile flashed behind your eyelids every time they closed, the memory of his voice causing them to open despite your attempts to keep them glued shut. The brief time you two had spent together, and how special it felt after years of being reduced to rushed conversations and short glances. You groaned, sliding both your hands down your face and letting your fingers drag across your lips. You had no idea what you were going to do. But what you did know was that night was one of the best nights of your entire life and barely anything happened. You felt like a little girl again and your crush was returning with a vengance.

You thought about what your mom had said, that you should make your move and let him know how you feel. That following morning, you begged her to teach you all that she knew about being a healer and the two of you got started immediately. You figured if you wanted to be Neteyam’s mate, you had to possess skills that would serve useful to an olo’eyktan. Although, you wish you had gotten into this sooner, because now that you were older the lessons were long and grueling to make up for lost time. You had no idea mixing up a bunch of herbs with a stick required this much thinking.

“[Y/n]?” Your mother’s voice brought you back to Pandora and you turned your eyes to meet a disapproving stare.

“I’m sorry, Ma.” You sighed, shaking your head and sitting up straight now to give her your undivided attention. “I can focus, I promise.” You nodded reassuringly, in which she returned with an unconvinced grunt. You didn’t blame her.

God, this was going to be a long process.

You thanked the spirits when the lesson finally came to an end, standing up and dramatically cradling your back with your hands to stretch it.

“You will have to get used to this if you want to learn the ways of a healer.” Your mother said in response to your display, picking up the materials that laid spread out on the mat of your hut and tucking them away into their designated areas. When you had asked her to start teaching you all that she knew, she was more than overjoyed. She had actively been trying to get you to learn the medicinal ways of your clan, almost like she was playing matchmaker from the start.

Feeling bad for wanting to escape so soon, you instead decided to walk around the house readjusting the most random objects, feigning interest in the same rug that had been there for years. You stood with your hands held in front of you, rocking back and forth from the tips of your toes to the backs of your heels as you avoided her gaze with an awkward whistle.

“Yes, you may go now.”

A smile big enough to almost split your jaw worked its way onto your face and you gathered your things at the speed of light, trying your hardest not to look so excited when you made your way out of your home.

Now that the lesson was over, all you could focus on were the plans you had made with Kiri for the day.  The two of you were to venture into the forest in search for small materials that could be crafted into beads for bracelets or necklaces. While you had never really been very interested in healing work, you loved to make jewelry and were a damn good seamstress. You alone had sewn together many Na’vi’s hunting attire.

You loved hanging out with someone who felt connected to nature just as much as you did. Nobody had really figured out just how connected Kiri was to Eywa, but just from watching how she carried herself you knew it was much stronger than any of the others- maybe even stronger than Tsahik.

The village was bustling with na’vi and very lively today, the simple sight of it all warmed your heart. You watched as preparations began to unfold for the clan’s annual Festival of Lights, a celebration in thanks to the spirits for a bountiful hunting season. It was your favorite time of year and everyone seemed much happier the days leading up to it- especially Neteyam. This was one of the rare times of the year he could actually relax and enjoy himself, free from all duties and allowed to simply live his life the way he wanted for a few days.

Or so you thought.

You decided that you would craft a gorgeous necklace for Neteyam with the rare marbles you hoped you’d find near one of the fresh water springs, and what better time to give it to him than during the festival tomorrow? You knew you couldn’t express your feelings to him without an offering. If a Na’vi woman favors a Na’vi male for her mate but has not been suggested to him by his parents or the man himself, she must present her love with an offering in which he can accept or decline. The clan was very big on arranged courtship, which made admitting your feelings so much more of a big deal and ten times scarier.

As you paced through the path to the Sully’s quarters you greeted the elders that passed you and smiled at the small children who were busy entertaining themselves with a friendly game of tag.  Before you knew it, you were in front of the hut that housed a big chunk of your childhood memories. You pulled back one of the curtains with your hand, poking your head through as to not barge in and waving at Kiri who sat criss cross on the floor while dicing up some fruits.

“[Y/n]! Come in, come in!” A welcoming grin made its way onto her face as she waved you inside the home, quickly standing up to discard her task embrace you in a hug that rocked you back and forth. “It’s been too long.”

You hugged her back and laughed at her exaggeration, pulling back from the hug slightly to roll your eyes at her. “It’s been a week, Kiri.” You quipped.

She held onto your forearms with her five-fingered hands, an overly serious look taking over her expression. “Yes, a week too long my sister!”

“[Y/N]!” A squealing Tuk came running out from the other room, her short braids bouncing with almost as much energy as the little girl they belonged to. She squeezed herself between you and Kiri, hugging your legs with so much force you nearly stumbled and beaming up at you.

“Hi TukTuk.” You chuckled at her excitement, stroking her braids affectionately. “I swear, it’s like every time I come over here you’re so much bigger than last!”

Tuk was like the younger sibling you never had, and even though she annoyed the absolute hell out of her siblings you loved having her around you, her constant optimism was refreshing.

The little girl accepted your compliment with a toothy grin, piping up to change the subject. “Neteyam told me to tell you he said hello! Can you date my brother already so I can have two sisters?” She questioned eagerly, jumping up and down on her toes.

Your eyes almost popped out of your head hearing the words that came out of her mouth. You blushed profusely, not knowing what to say and instantly looking at Kiri for help who was already hunched over in a fit of laughter. “Kiri!” You whisper shouted, watching her straighten up instantly.

She wiped a potential tear from her eye, clearing her throat and gently pulling her little sister from your legs. “Alright Tuk. [Y/n] and I have some activities to do so why don’t you go down to the village and find Mama, hm?” Kiri suggested, resulting in the little girl shrugging her shoulders and skipping off with contentment as if she hadn’t tried to blow your life up right where you stood.

Kiri gave you a suspecting glance and a teasing smile, using her fingers to poke at your sides while you tried to get your face back to its usual shade of blue.

“Don’t you dare.” You held a hand up in her face before she could begin terrorizing you, turning on your heels and grabbing her wrist to lead her out of the hut.

~~~

“Kiri, stop taking all the pretty ones! The least you could do is save some for me, this was my idea you know.” You scoffed, watching her scoop up a handful of small, gorgeous multi-colored marbles you had finally found after almost an hour of looking and dump them into her satchel. She shook her head and snickered at you, taking half the amount she collected for herself and dropping them into your bag which contained other materials that could be crafted into beads.

“Thank you.” You smiled, laughing when she stuck her tongue out at you just like her younger sister.

“Yeah, yeah.” The snarky girl crouched down to continue her search, waving you off with a hand while she sifted through the soil beneath your feet to find more. “Why do you need these again? I haven’t seen you make jewelry in ages, last time I asked for a necklace you said you didn’t make them anymore.” She queried.

You tightly pressed your lips together and nervously rubbed your arm with your opposing hand, shrugging off her question as if it hadn’t caused your brain to try and come up with fifty different answers that were far from the truth. “No reason, just wanted to make some things for my mother. Her birthday is coming up, wanted to give her something really special.”

Kiri narrowed her eyes at you, rising up so the both of you were eye level. God, you knew her connection with Eywa was absolutely insane, but since when did she have the power to hear someone else’s thoughts too?

“You’re lying. Her birthday was almost three months ago.” She spoke, putting her hands on her hips and tilting her head at you with a smirk. “So, do you want to tell me the truth, or are we gonna sit here and act like you didn’t just forgot your own mother’s birthday?”

You let out a short huff, bringing your hand up to the bridge of your nose and pinching it. Of course she saw right through your excuse, you knew better than to lie to Pandora Jesus- at least that’s what Lo’ak used to call her. You would never say that to her face, though. Unless for some odd reason you were craving a mouthful of dirt for lunch. “Fine,” you started, looking away while you spoke and lowering your voice. “It’s for your brother.” You mumbled, the two of you deciding to start on your walk back to the village while the conversation proceeded.

“No way! Neteyam?!” She gasped dramatically, holding her hand up to her mouth as she attempted to look shocked. Your mouth fell open once realizing she was forging her surprised expression.

“Wait… you knew the whole time?” You gulped.

The look on your face made the slender girl titter with satisfaction. “No shit, both me and Lo’ak. Hell, you damn near drool every time you look at the man!” She sneered.

You groaned and threw your hands up in the air, more out of embarrassment than anything else. This was the first person you had told about your crush on Neteyam other than your mother, you truly thought no one else knew. To see her not even the least bit surprised made you wonder who else had caught on.

The two of you decided to start on your walk back to the village while your conversation proceeded. “Does he know?”

“Oh, of course not.” Kiri responded almost immediately, raising her arm to pluck a fruit from the tree above you. “You know my brother is oblivious to girls. He’s probably the most sought out in the village, yet he still finds it difficult to believe when someone likes him. He does talk about you quite a bit though.” She shrugged, taking a bite out of her newly acquired snack.

“Really?” Your ears perked up and the giddy smile on your face didn’t seem to help to hide the newfound hope brewing inside your chest. You ducked your head under low hanging branches, jogging a little to keep up with Kiri’s fast strides once you realized you were falling behind. “Well? What does he say?”

You could almost see the smile on her face from the back of her head, probably because you could hear it through her voice. “He said he misses hanging out with you, wants to do it more often. I believe that’s why he hasn’t chosen a mate, because once he does, the two of you won’t be able to spend time alone like that anymore.” The thought of your time being cut short for the second time right after the two of you had found each other again was enough to make you panic.

“I heard my parents talking last night. They’re wondering why he hasn’t picked yet.” She suddenly stopped walking and turned to face you, her hands grabbing yours with an encouraging smile. “So I may have put in a good word or two. After all, I think you’re a much better fit for him than any of the other girls.”

You finally felt as if everything was piecing itself together, your nerves began to melt away just like your heart did at Kiri’s words. Your gaze fell to the floor when you felt your face heat up like campfire and your tail began to swish with delight. “So, what I’m hearing is there’s still time?” You asked, sounding much more optimistic than you had intended.

Kiri’s eyes left your own and looked past your head, the corners of her mouth twitching into a mischevious grin when she seemingly spotted something you hadn’t. “I don’t know,” she started, grabbing your shoulders to turn you around. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

Before you could even process the words that came out of her mouth, you were pushed forward with so much force that you stumbled out of the trees and into Neteyam’s line of sight. By the time you whipped your head around to hiss at Kiri, she was already gone.

You nervously turned back around, laughing to yourself at the stoic expression he carried around everywhere he went. You couldn’t help but feel starstruck every time you saw him, it was like your mind pictured him moving in slow motion simply to taunt you. He looked incredibly different from the years prior and you definitely were not complaining. And even though he hadn’t wanted to talk about it, it was pretty obvious how truly extensive and challenging his training must be. His arms had developed broad, toned muscles and you wondered if his abs would sound hollow had you knocked on them. You quickly straightened up when the solemn look on his face replaced itself with a bright smile once he picked your face out from the others.

You cleared your throat and tried to regain your composure as much as possible while he approached you, giving him a sweet smile in return and meeting him halfway.

“Hi.” You mentally cringed as soon as you heard the greeting your brain decided to choose. But lucky for you, his smile only got bigger. You could speak complete gibberish and he would sit and listen like he understood.

“Hey… How are you doing? With, you know.” He motioned down to your foot.

You tilted your head at him in confusion and it took you a few seconds to realize what he was referring to. Once it finally clicked, your cheeks flushed a bright red, remembering the predicament your injury had gotten the two of you into. “Oh! This old thing? Pshh.” You babbled like an idiot, looking around to try and focus on anything other than the handsome face in front of you.

He laughed at your display, the air around the two of you settling while you both tried to think of the words to say next.

“So I-“ Two voices overlapped as you guys opened your mouths to speak at the exact same time, making the both of you burst into a fit of laughter. You covered your mouth to hide your grin, shaking your head at him rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“You first.” He smiled.

You nodded your head and swallowed your pride, building up the courage for your request. “I really enjoyed flying with you on your Ikran the other night. And I was wondering if… maybe we could do it again sometime?” You questioned reluctantly, not entirely sure of what his answer would be. You figured spending some more time with Neteyam to prepare yourself for tomorrow would do your nerves some good.

“You’re not afraid anymore?” Much to your surprise he actually looked interested, his eyebrow raising along with the pitch of his voice. He couldn’t believe someone who had previously shown so much fear wanted to do the exact thing they were frightened of, again. Ikran rides were very exciting though, so really he was having a hard time believing you wanted to do it with him, again.

“No, I’m not.” You turned your head to the side a bit as you blushed. “But only because the mighty warrior helped me overcome my fear.” You teased.

Watching Neteyam trip and stumble over his words was like being able to come face to face with a Palulukan and not die. So in other words, extremely rare and not a common sight. He took your hand in his and looked down at you, hoping the loud beating of his heart would answer your question since his voice was having trouble staying steady in your presence. Your cheeks were sore now from how hard you were smiling.

“I would love-“

Just as he was about to agree to your proposal, an ear-bleeding voice made the both of you wince.

“Nete-yammm!” You watched as Eyiti waved her arm above her head like a madwoman and damn near sprinted in you and his direction. You cursed to yourself and rolled your eyes, which Neteyam did not happen to miss. Little did you know, he felt the exact same way about her as you did. Once she approached the two of you she batted her lashes at him and you swear you almost threw up in your mouth. Her eyes shot down to your intertwined fingers, the both of you begrudgingly releasing the other. You felt the urge to tighten your grip, but you knew it wasn’t a good look for the olo’eyktan’s son to be seen displaying public affection with a woman who had not yet been suggested to him.

She cleared her throat with satisfaction, completely disregarding your presence and continuing to eyefuck him. “Are you busy, ‘Teyam?”

The sound of her voice using the nickname you had reserved for him was enough to make your eye convulse as you felt irritation overwhelm your previously good mood. You dipped your head to the side a bit to catch her gaze, waving a hand in front of her face to break the trance she was in. “Uh, hello?” You spoke up, tilting your head to the side with a tight lipped smile once she glared at you. “Yeah, hi. It seems you’re missing a few letters there. You know, the ’N’ and the ‘E’.” Neteyam looked at you with an astounded expression, and even you were surprised at the fact that you managed to speak up. If you weren’t mistaken, you heard the slightest chuckle from him too.

“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes and you felt a hint of accomplishment from ruffling her feathers a bit, only for her to turn her attention back towards him. “You promised you’d finish organizing preparations with my parents to be my date for the festival, remember?” She spoke, her hand now finding its way to stroke his arm.

Hearing those words come from her of all people felt like a knife driving right through your chest. You looked to Neteyam with disbelief clouding your eyes, hoping for something, anything to let you know that what she had just said wasn’t true. He only shut his eyes for a brief moment, opening his mouth to speak but a deep exhale followed instead of words like you expected. Her mouth curved into a sinister grin only you could notice. After dealing with her for so many years, you knew she would hide her true intentions behind fraudulent innocence.

You felt betrayed and you hated yourself for it. The two of you weren’t even together, you hadn’t even been suggested to him. You scolded yourself for even thinking the few hours the two of you spent together after years apart meant anything more than a friendly catch up to him.

He shifted his gaze to you, the look on his face more than apologetic. “I’m sorry, [Y/n]. I can explain this…” His voice was filled with remorse but his heart yearned to say more. There was something more than an explanation dancing behind his eyes, but you were much too embarrassed to look at him and discover it. He desperately felt the need to rectify the situation but you simply shook your head and took a step back.

You crossed your arms over your chest, feeling exposed all of a sudden and not caring if you had failed to look unbothered. It was impossible to hide how you truly felt from him, your efforts would have been futile regardless of how hard you tried. “It’s fine, go.” You stopped your voice from cracking, daring not to look at him while you felt his stare only grow stronger.

You felt his fingers brush against your forearm as he reached for you, resulting in you raising your arms slightly to avoid his grasp. “I hope the two of you have fun.” You choked out, excusing yourself before you became subject to further humiliation. You heard his voice call out for you but there was no way you could turn back to face him, the tears you had made such an effort to keep unshed were now threatening to spill over.

You kept your head down as you walked, nearly falling back onto your bottom when your body came in contact with a ridiculously hard surface.

“I’m- I’m sorry. I should have been watching where I was going.” You blinked away your tears, looking up to see none other than Ta’olu staring down at you.

The tall male peered at you with a confident smile, amusement written all over his face, not at all minding that you had used him as an anchor to not fall over. “No worries, I was actually coming to find you.”

You cocked your head to the side with interest. You weren’t entirely sure why he would have been looking for you, seeing as the last time you had asked him to hang out he ditched you for some random girl he had met the day before. “Okay… what’s up?” You cleared your throat, trying to set aside what had just happened a minute ago.

His stance shifted slightly and he grabbed hold of your hand, the interaction not being nearly as enjoyable as it was with Neteyam. His hand on yours was enough to make you want to crawl into a hole and hibernate for the rest of the year. His gruff voice snapped you out of your thoughts, his question being exactly what you feared.

“Would you be my date for the festival tomorrow?”

a/n:Isn’t Eyiti just the worst? And who the hell is this Ta’olu dude? 🙈*mischievous laughter* I’m so sorry for leaving y’all on a cliff hanger but I had to end this chapter here! I wonder what’s gonna go down in part 3 🤔 I’m sorry if i missed your tag! I wrote them down but when I entered it in some of them wouldn’t pop up 💔

Please like + reblog if you can it’s much appreciated 💞

tag list ⬇️

@eringaitskill @bwormie @fanboyluvr @ssc7514 @meivap @afro-hispwriter @hello1kittyz @melsunshine @katsukiswrld @mcdonaldsplayground @itscheybaby @neenieweenie @babyvinnie @msjae @laylasbunbunny @epicy0n @dreamersbelieveinus @elegantzippercashshoe

[sufrimientilia]

The Director

humiliation | dehumanization | conditioning @augusnippets Day 16

cw: medical/lab setting, subject whumpee, captivity, see above

The operating theater was dim and quiet, free of machines and stainless metal trays and the buzz of nurses poking at every part of him. Maybe that was a good sign.

Although the observation deck overhead was dimly lit up as well. That definitely wasn’t.

He had been forced into some cushy padded chair. The researcher fussing over him was a vaguely familiar and unwelcome face by now, and most of the time she didn’t even bother speaking directly to him. “Director. I have been looking forward to showing you the progress we’ve made with this study. I think you’ll be… quite impressed.”

She was squeaky today, talking up to one big reflective wall. Like she had something to prove.

He pulled at his restraints. “Really chose your star student for this one, huh?”

“You’re aware of my efforts to achieve a state of neuroplasticity for our behavioral conditioning program,” the researcher continued unfettered, propping a halo-shaped machine right over his head. “Through exhaustive trials, I’ve finally achieved an inducible state of docility and submission. Each brain reacts so differently, but we are particularly proud of Subject 3B-167. He has taken to the induction very well.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” He started fighting even harder. The padded cuffs always had such a distinct way of cutting into his wrists and ankles, raw and ragged even under layers of gauze. “I haven’t taken to shit! All you do is drug me and cut me open and act like a fuckin’ cu—”

The machine gave one shrill little tone and lit up with a ring of blue light. Every part of him locked up like it was electricity, a single lightning strike through every muscle, clenching and stretching his skin gaunt. It lasted only as long as the beep, and then he just went slack— limp and lifeless, eyes glazed, mouth dropping open under the blue haze.

“Initial findings are promising: we’re seeing a consistent reduction in resistance, with the subject entering a compliant state in under three seconds.” She flicked her fingers in front of his eyes. He didn’t even twitch. “His reactivity varies, but most cognitive faculties are effectively shut down.”

She flicked off the blue light. The subject jerked and shuddered hard, blinking like it was just an odd muscle spasm. And then he kept on fighting without skipping another beat, not realizing the gap in his efforts. “—cunt! You stupid cunt! What are you trying to—ghh-”

The light flicked on and he slumped under its glow. She pushed his head back against the headrest. “I’ve tested this across various states of consciousness, but the results are especially intriguing when the subject is under duress. It seems the stress amplifies the effectiveness of the trigger. We can achieve total behavioral suppression.”

She dimmed the light until it turned off. This time he took longer to snap out of it, blinking hard before pulling in a sharp breath. He exchanged her observant stare with a confused one before finally lifting his head. He looked around. “What… What the hell’s going on?”

“Repeated therapies make the subject highly suggestible and seems to affect memory retention. He doesn’t even remember most of the procedures.” She sounded amused here. “Each reset wipes the slate clean.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, lady?”

The blue ring. His pupils blew wide. His neck kept landing at an uncomfortable, awkward angle, and the researcher shoved his head back before he could drool all over himself. “His defiance is only a facade now. Gone in an instant.”

When the light shut off, it took a long moment for him to regain his bearings. His brow hardened— frustration, maybe, like everything was too slow to follow. “Why ‘m I…” He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. He glared up at the researcher. “Just get it over with or lemme go, why are y—”

The blue light flicked on. Every part of him surrendered to the misty glow, eyes rolling upwards to give the halo a blank stare. “It feels good to obey,” the researcher said, following the same compliance protocols. “Resistance fades; obedience remains.”

Next time the light turned off, he barely woke up. He stayed slumped against the padded chair, dazed and confused, blinking owlishly at the dark ring hovering above him. “What ‘re you… doing…”

“Subject 3B-167. Follow my finger closely.” His gaze tracked a slow horizontal. Up and down. “Very good. Noted for compliance.”

“Wha’?” He weakly pulled at the restraints. “Mm not, n’no…”

A twilight haze of blue. His gaze roamed along the arc of it, enraptured and lost, paralyzed all over by the usual mantras. A subject’s identity is in their obedience. Obedience is his natural state. He exists to obey. Obey, obey, obey.

Eventually, the light dimmed all the way and the subject was still a drooling mess. He didn’t snap out of it, not even with enough prodding and pushing. He just mumbled out an incoherent string of sound and stared at the empty ring.

“From here we would move on to hypnotic conditioning. I find the subjects tend to be incredibly receptive in this state,” the researcher said, standing proudly next to her mindless subject like he was some pretty prototype. “My next phase will involve refining the protocols to ensure long-term compliance without the need for constant reinforcement. It will take time, but we're on a good track."

The microphone from the other side of the glass finally sparked to life, and it was with the greatest approval to be had from The Director: “Keep going. I want to see more.”

[thekrakenlolz]

Start up Fic - Ellie Williams x Reader

part 2

Summary: You switch dorms at your boarding school after you and your girlfriend go through a messy break up and you no longer can handle being roommates with her. Only your new one is a different kind of problem

a/n: I wrote the first chapter only to realize I have no idea what comes next. So here's my plan: if y'all like the set up, you can give me suggestions for what you want to happen next. I basically just laid down the base. So you can read it if you want and see if you have any ideas. But just as a warning, I'm not gonna write smut without a plot, I'm not about that life. I have a vague idea of what I can put next but it's very cliche and overdone sooooo yeah, thanx in advance<3

Also, English is my third language so expect bad grammar

°_*-°_*-°_*-°_*-°_*-°_*-°_*-°_*-°_*-°_*-

Your eyes wandered over the walls as you walked along them. The paint was starting to flake off, revealing the concrete underneath. Your school was old. Like old, old. Like Victorian ages old. Something most of your friends scoffed over, but you personally liked. You thought it gave it character. Of course a little bit of a touch up wouldn't hurt, but bathroom doors that are actually still attached to the stall hinges were overrated anyways.

You were following Miss Jenkins, your housemother, hunched over as you were balancing three of your bags on your back. Uncomfortable, yes, but you were trying to minimize the amount of trips you had to make to move all your shit over to your new dorm. Anything to avoid seeing Samira more than absolutely fucking necessary.

"Here we are" Miss Jenkins sighed, stopping in front of one of the gray doors. It took everything in you not to roll your eyes. You were still pissed that you had to put in 4 requests over the duration of 2 months before they finally assigned you a new room, but now she was acting like she was doing you a huge favor. Like taking 15 minutes out of her day was so much to ask for. But you kept it down, thanking her again before opening the door and stepping in.

The lengthy process of actually getting a new room gave you plenty of time to stress over who your new roommate would be. This girl, however, didn't even come to mind. You weren't even sure what her name was, your social circle and her's didn't interact much. E-something? Or was it L?

Mystery girl was sitting at her desk, headphones in, and carefully shading out something in her notebook. You noticed she had tucked her left leg under her, a bad habit you also possessed. She didn't register your presence, her eyes still fixed on the paper. You threw your bags next to your bed, which finally caught her attention. "Oh fuck" she jumped up from the desk and hurried over to your bed, picking up the stuff she dumped on it. "Hello to you too" you mused.

Sweatshirts, textbooks and pencils started flying over onto her bed. "I'm sorry, I thought I had until Sunday to get my shit off your side" She explained, tossing a hairbrush across the small room. You watched it hit the wall and fall down onto her Zelda themed sheets. Cute, you noted. "No worries, take your time, I still have stuff to move over"

So you were back in the hallway, slowly but surely making your way back to your old dorm and with that, to Samira. Now that you were by yourself, you took the time to think about your new roommate. You still didn't know her name but one thing was for certain: she was incredible looking.

Her thick straight auburn hair cut off above the shoulders and her cheeks were densely dotted with freckles. She was very toned, especially in the arms. She was probably in the lacrosse team.

You did notice she was more on the masculine side, so might maybe even be gay. You full stopped, forcing yourself to remember, that's exactly the type of shit that got you in your current situation in the first place. No fucking your roommate, dude, we talked about this.

--------

You took a moment to collect yourself before entering your old room. You drew a breath in, scanning the ugly grey door that separated you and her. 12B the lettering read, touched up with some sharpie. You reached for the knob.

She was sitting at her desk, scrolling on her phone and demonstratively ignoring your presence. You bit down on the inside of your cheek. This wasn't what you expected. Somehow you preferred another stupid fight over this new silence.

You stacked two backpacks on one arm and three bags on the other. The weight made your walk out rather inelegant. You stopped in the doorway. "Goodbye Sami."

You could practically feel her hesitate.

"Bye."

[quinnysnursery]

when the party's over,, move-in day・₊✧

summary : the triplets (and nate) move into their dorms! meet some new friends and nate's a worry-wart (rightfully so)

warning/extra tid-bits : crying, explicit language, i think that's all?

word count : 2,318

divider credit : umm i found all the photos on pinterest :3 (pointy & leafy thing from @saradika-graphics)

a/n : FIRST PIECE OF WTPO LITERATURE RAAAAA (not proof read, i'm just a girl!)

“Alright,” Jimmy let out a stereotypical “dad-groan” as he stood up straight, cracking his back. “That should be it.” He said, clapping his hands together as he examined the dorm room he’d helped his youngest son and Nathan set up.

Mary Lou had decided to help Matt and Nick, since it was clear that Matt was overly anxious about move-in day and so was Nick- though he’d never admit it- which meant he’d be extra snippy with Matt…a recipe for disaster. 

“Thanks Mr.S, it looks good!” Nate smiled, admiring the work the three of them had gotten done. “Home sweet home, right Chris?” He smiled, nudging Chris’ shoulder. Chris laughed softly, “Not for long, rush week starts tomorrow.” The youngest triplet replied. Heart set on moving into the Kappa Nu house.

Jimmy smiled fondly, he’d been a part of the well-known fraternity when he attended NESE. Chris (and Matt and Nick, if they weren’t so stubborn) would be legacy. “Just remember to be yourself, don’t go getting expelled trying to impress the president.” Jimmy reminded his son, pulling him into a side-hug. 

Chris nodded, rolling his eyes. “I know, I know.” He grumbled, tired of being told the same thing repeatedly.

 “Oh wow!” An unfamiliar chirpy voice came from the doorway, startling the two younger boys. Chris unintentionally reached for Nate, quickly scolding himself. He couldn’t do that, not here- at least not now.

The dorm RA was standing in the doorframe of Nate and Chris’ door. The youngest triplet vaguely remembered meeting him when touring the school last year. 

Larri. His name didn’t match his vibe, nor his looks at all. It was an old man's name and well, Larri was maybe 21 at the oldest.

“You're giving the room across from you a run for their money.” Larri joked, earning a deep chuckle from Jimmy. “Those are actually my other sons.” He explained, earning a shocked expression from Larri. “All three of your sons go here?!” He asked excitedly, Jimmy nodded- pushing Chris in front of him, away from the safety of Nate. 

“Triplets.” Jimmy smiled proudly, Larri’s head whipped to Matt and Nick’s dorm- confirming what he’d just been told. 

“I’m…woah.” He breathed, eyes filled with amazement- Chris wondered if it was just a show Larri put on for the parents during move-in day. 

“Well, it’ll be nice having some siblings on this floor. NESE doesn’t see siblings often.” Larri hummed before pointing to Chris’ nightlight that Nate had just plugged in moments prior. “Is that bulb LED?” He asked, eyes flickering between both freshmen.

“Uhm…” Nate thought back to when he’d bought it for Chris a few Christmases ago. Did the box say LED? Or CFL? What was the difference? Why did it even matter?

“If it’s not LED then I’ll have to ask you guys to unplug it when you aren’t around.” Larri explained, “Dumb fire hazard rule.” He added- earning a furrowed brow from Jimmy. 

“I mean! Very cool and safe fire hazard rule.” Larri corrected himself, earning a laugh from Chris. Larri was funny, even if it was just an act for move-in day. “Will do.” Nate said, unplugging the nightlight and tossing it into a drawer. Chris stopped himself from whining about it. 

He was a freshman in college, he could survive without seeing his night light plugged in. 

Larri bid his goodbyes after that, and not long after did Mary Lou and Jimmy offer to take the boys out to eat before officially leaving them on their own.

“Mom, don't cry.” Nick laughed softly, as Mary Lou pulled all her boys into another hug. “You know she can’t help it.” Jimmy scolded gently, hugging his boys as well. Nate included.

Mary Lou pulled away, tears in her eyes. “You four look out for each other, yeah?” She said, wavering a finger in their faces. “Nick, go to bed at a decent time.” She started, earning a playful eye roll from her eldest. “Matt,” Mary Lou placed her hands on Matt’s shoulders. “Remember to take breaks studying, yeah?” The middle triplet smiled softly, nodding. “Yeah, ‘kay mom.” 

Mary Lou let out a loving sigh as she turned to face her youngest son, her last child. “Chris, don’t forget to wash your socks.” Chris couldn’t help but laugh, pulling his mom into one more hug, “I won’t, promise.”. 

The triplets mom turned towards Nate, who’d been right next to each one of her boys nearly their entire life. “You look after my boys, okay?” She asked, earning a firm “Yes ma’am.” from Nate. 

After a few more teary hugs, the triplets and Nate watched as their parents got into their car before driving off campus.

“Just us now.” Nick sighed, turning around and beginning to walk back to his dorm. Nate, Matt and Chris all glanced at each other before following the oldest triplet. “What now?” Chris asked- trying to hide the looming feeling of anxiety. 

“I’m going to the library!” Matt smiled excitedly, pulling out his student ID with a toothy grin. “The library?” Nate asked, furrowing his brow. “Yeah! NESE holds the world record for the biggest college library!” The brunette smiled, earning a stifled laugh from his younger brother- “You are such a nerd.” Chris poked, frowning as Nate elbowed him in the side. 

Matt rolled his eyes, flipping Chris off playfully as he split off from the group. “What about you Nick?” Nate asked, subconsciously making sure Chris was walking in front of him.

“I wanted to finish editing those photos I took at our going-away party.” Nick said as they all entered the elevator, pressing the 4th floor button. Nate nodded, glancing at Chris with concerned eyes. 

‘Ding!’

Nick quickly exited the elevator, rummaging in his pockets for his dorm room keys. Nate did the same, saying bye to Nick before he and Chris slipped into their dorm.

It wasn’t a huge room by any means, but due to NESE only accepting the very best of applicants- it was bigger than an average dorm. Enough room for both Chris and Nate to spread their arms out and still not feel claustrophobic. 

“You good? Feeling little?” Nate asked the youngest triplet as Chris flopped onto his bed- letting out a deep sigh. Chris quickly shook his head, “What? No, I’m good.” He defended, crossing his arms over his chest as he scowled at Nate.

Nate’s brow quirked upwards, “It’s fine if you are Chris, it’s been a long day.” The shorter boy sympathized. He didn’t want to push regression onto Chris, but it didn’t take a genius to realize that today was stressful and stressful days typically led the boy to regression.

“I’m fine, Nate.” Chris grouched, turning to face the wall. Nate’s shoulders slumped as he sat on his own bed and grabbed his phone from his pocket- opening tiktok and beginning his doom scrolling. 

Matt clutched a leather-bound book to his chest, gulping an anxious knot down as he searched for an unoccupied table in the library. For NESE holding the world record for biggest library, you’d think that would be an easy task- Sadly for Matt, it was not.

“You can sit here.” A confident voice spoke to the right of him, Matt turned and his eyes landed on a tall girl with braids and a tan boy with fluffy black-ish hair.

The boy’s eyes were fixated on a laptop screen, Matt couldn’t see what was playing though. But the girl with braids had a few textbooks and notes sprawled out around her. “We don’t bite.” She joked, the brunette man let out a breathy laugh as he sat across from her and the dark-haired boy. 

Matt kept to himself for a few moments, eyes scanning the words on book’s parchment- flipping through the pages. It was a book on BPD and how it affected the brain. Matt was only a few pages in, but the author was doing a good job at not demonizing the mental illness.

The library was just as beautiful as the pictures on google showed, the high ceilings and shelves that required multiple rolling ladders- a general golden glow in the air that made Matt feel like a student at Hogwarts.

It wasn’t until Matt heard a low whine followed by some whispering that he looked up from his book. He was met with the sight of the tan boy whispering into the girl with braids ear- she scooted the laptop over a smidge before typing in something and pressing the spacebar. 

“There.” She smiled, rubbing the boy's shoulder before turning to return to her book- that’s when she caught Matt’s eyes.

“Sorry!” Matt’s face flushed with embarrassment as he forced his gaze downwards, praying she didn’t hate him. There was a painful silence for a few moments before the girl spoke again, “What’re you reading?” She asked, closing the current textbook she was reading out of.

Matt blinked up, his brain taking a moment to register the question he’d been asked. “Oh uhm, ‘s just a book on BPD.” He shrugged, picking up the book to show her the cover. The girl nodded, “I’m Quen.” She smiled- reaching her hand over the table.

Matt stammered over his name for a moment, quickly shaking her hand. ‘Good going, you’re making a fool of yourself.’ His brain told him- he did his best to push it down.

“Let me guess…psych major?” Quen smirked, earning a quiet laugh from Matt as he nodded. “Yeah…what about you?” He asked, making a mental note of the page he was on before closing the book. “Business, it sucks.” She sighed, waving a hand over the mountains of textbooks she had sprawled out.

Matt nodded- understanding, his dad had been a business major. His eyes flickered over to the tan boy sitting next to Quen, “His lucky ass has a film scholarship.” She joked. Matt had to cover his mouth to stop his laughter. 

“You a freshman? I haven’t ever seen you around.” Quen commented, earning a nod from Matt. “Yeah, just moved in today.” He explained, already smiling at the thought of telling Nick how he’d managed to make a new friend.

Quen nodded- beginning to pack up some of her things. “Are you gonna rush on monday?” She asked, Matt quickly shook his head. “My brother is, but ‘s not really my scene.” He explained, recalling the various times Chris told him just how lame he was for not wanting to be in a frat.

“It’s awesome! Parties every weekend, brotherhood-” “Chris you already have brothers.” “Shut up!”

 Quen thought for a moment before speaking, “Triplets?” She asked, causing Matt to stop. How did she know that? “...Yeah?” 

Quen nodded, “Larri told me, we hang out a lot.” She explained as she zipped up her lavender Fjallraven backpack before reaching over the boy in front of her and taking the laptop from him- much to his dismay.

“Quen!” He whined, pulling off his headphones. His face blushed a light shade of pink as he finally recognized Matt was sitting across from him. Quen realized this, motioning to Matt and the boy.

“Matt, Ben. Ben, Matt.” She introduced as she stuffed the laptop Ben had been using into the corresponding compartment of her bag. Matt smiled, offering Ben a small wave.

Ben’s lips quirked upwards into a smile before Quen informed him they had to go if they were going to catch dinner with Larri and Tara. 

“Bye Matt, good meeting you! Hope your brother gets into KN.” Quen smiled before grabbing hold of Ben’s hand and leading him out of the library. Matt sighed, leaning back in the wooden chair- did he just make a friend?

The next day, Chris (surprisingly) woke up before Nate. Which was good, because that meant Chris could spend as long as he wanted choosing the perfect outfit for meeting the brothers of Kappa Nu for the first time.

He knew if Nate had been awake he’d tell Chris to just “be himself!” but his brain stopped accepting that advice the moment he saw the Kappa Nu house in person during his first ever tour of the school.

Chris would do anything- or be anyone- he had to to get inside that house. 

The youngest triplet opened the drawers of the shared dresser he and Nate helped Jimmy set up yesterday, his eyes landing on his beloved night light that Nate had thoughtlessly shoved into the drawer after the RA asked him to unplug it.

A small frown formed without Chris’ permission, causing him to slam the drawer shut out of frustration. It was a nightlight. He was being ridiculous.

“...Chris?” Nate croaked, sitting up slightly in his bed. Chris turned to look at his friend, feeling bad he’d woke the shorter boy up.

“...’s 6 am, go to bed.” Nate murmured, laying back down and burying his face in his pillow. Chris rolled his eyes, continuing to search the dresser drawers for a specific pair of jeans. Suddenly, Nate shot back up- eyes full of concern that only a caregiver could have.

“Are you little? Do you need something, bud?” Nate asked, “No!” Chris argued back. Nate sighed, raising his hands in defense. “Then what’re you doing up?” The shorter boy asked, now fully awake. 

“Pickin’ out clothes. Gotta make a good first impression.” Chris explained, smiling as he finally found the perfect pair of baggy jeans. Nate nodded silently, legs dangling off the raised bed. 

“Just be yourself, they’ll love you.” Nate smiled, hopping off the bed and placing a comforting hand on Chris’ shoulder. Chris shrugged his hand off, grabbing his shower caddy and starting towards the door. Nate watched sadly as his best friend slipped out the room. It was clear that Chris would do whatever it took to get into Kappa Nu, and that terrified Nate.

taglist !! :

@mattssturnz @littlestar44 @graceslittlecorner @zivall

@hrtz4alex2211 @bimbob1tch @sturnsxplr-25 @cherry-red-heart

@pr3ttyf4wn @frlinbruh @jazminepetit-homme @raynaaxx

@tyummyz @starri-nightss @cyberskulzzz @nicksbestie

@urfavbestiee @nicksloverrr  @ducklingsandlambs

this one-shot is apart of my agere frat/college au! find more info on it, here!

[ghcstao3]

Ghost goes to the bar to drink to Soap's memory where he finds... Soap? Only he is there to drink in the memory of Ghost. Neither of them have any idea of how and why, but they aren't protesting. It's nice to see a familiar face as they mourn together.

cw for unhealthy coping mechanisms

it’s also just kind of. sad 🧍‍♀️my fault for writing memory loss

-

Ghost knows it isn’t a healthy decision but it’s… about the only way he can stand thinking about it. Thinking about Soap.

Because really, drinking is a barrier. It’s said it removes inhibitions, and sure, that’s true—but it also provides a filter for his grief whether or not he runs his tongue, and that obstacle before a feeling such as mourning is all he needs. It’s all Ghost craves, in a sense.

There’s no world worth existing in peace without Soap.

As per a new and frowned-upon routine by Price, Ghost seeks out a new bar or pub to drown nagging thoughts and lingering memories until it’s time to go home and fail to fall asleep sober yet again. Ghost isn’t proud of himself in the slightest, knows he’s ruining everything Soap had rekindled in him, but it’s too late to care.

He’s alone again. He’s nothing more than the shell of a man again.

But then, maybe three or four drinks in (Ghost doesn’t know, he’s long since stopped counting during his outings), someone slips into the stool beside him and flags down the bartender. This isn’t a major revelation or anything, it’s just… strange. No one has ever dared be in close proximity with Ghost in his time mourning.

Ghost can’t find it in himself to care, though. Not until this new person speaks, and it feels as if the haze of alcohol over Ghost’s mind evaporates in an instant.

He snaps his gaze to the man beside him, wondering if he’d just been imagining things, but no—it’s Soap, somehow. The very man Ghost came here to forget. To remember.

Before Ghost gets the chance to say something, Soap seems to catch his eye and turns to face him. He offers a bright smile, though it’s nothing quite as blinding as it had once been.

Soap’s grown out his beard and his skin’s a little sallow, and not to mention the grisly scar at his temple—but it’s still Soap. Certainly not healthy, but… alive.

“What brings you here, handsome?” Soap is asking, gently nudging Ghost’s shoulder.

Ghost wants to scoff. He wants to both tease and scold Soap for flirting with him just as Ghost is only learning that Soap isn’t dead, but he doesn’t.

Instead, Ghost treads warily. He plays into whatever game this is supposed to be.

“I’m grieving,” Ghost tells him flatly.

“Oh.” Soap’s face falls. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Ghost shrugs, though his heart is in his throat. Is this some kind of a joke?

The bartender delivers Soap’s drink, and Soap doesn’t offer more than a nod of acknowledgement.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Soap says, slowly tracing the rim of his glass, “I’m… also grieving.”

At this, Ghost cocks an eyebrow. Something feels… off, about what Soap is saying, but inebriated, Ghost just can’t quite put a finger on it.

“…well, maybe grieving is the wrong word,” Soap mumbles. “I don’t… I don’t know if he’s dead, but I—I don’t remember him. I don’t remember him, but I know he was important to me, so… it only feels right.”

And isn’t that bitter.

Here Ghost mourns a man he loved, and when he learns said man is still alive—he doesn’t even remember Ghost.

But Ghost has already dug his grave. He’s already miserable. So all he can do is torture himself further.

“Tell me about him,” Ghost suggests. “What you think you know.”

Soap looks at him in a way that hurts, but Ghost listens anyway when he begins talking. When he begins recounting the tiniest details, vague memories that seem too foggy to have been truly lived by himself. Soap orders a second drink at some point, and Ghost his fourth (or fifth).

That’s when Soap suddenly cuts himself off, completely angling himself toward Ghost. Ghost acts like he doesn’t notice Soap almost reaching out to set a hand on his forearm.

“—you know what… you look really familiar.” Soap is frowning, brows furrowed like he’s trying to piece something together. “Have we met before?”

And because Ghost is a cruel man, he just shakes his head. Offers nothing more than a curt, “No, we haven’t.”

Soap sighs, almost disappointed. “Well, in that case—I’m John.”

Ghost peers down at the hand Soap holds out to be shaken, but he can’t budge from his spot to hold it. He’s almost… afraid of the touch, like the contact might reveal to him that Soap isn’t really here at all.

Soap gets the hint eventually, though he isn’t at all deterred. Especially not when Ghost supplies him, “Simon.”

“Simon,” Soap echoes, expression drifting far away for just a moment. Nearly reminiscing. “I like that.”

Ghost huffs, something that could be interpreted as a laugh by a certain someone, once upon a time.

Soap clinks his glass against Ghost’s before downing the rest of his drink. He bumps Ghost with his elbow, teasing.

“To mourning,” Soap explains.

Ghost nods. Hums, “To mourning indeed, Johnny.”

He pretends not to notice the curious look that crosses Soap’s face at the use of the nickname.

Ghost already has more than enough to process first.