#six feet under and two hearts above

[untitled5071]

Chapter 4 is up, everybody! Sorry for the wait, but I hope this chapter makes up for it! Our boy is busting OUT and he's off to find his girl!

As always, PLEASE feel free to leave a comment or a tag and tell me what you think, and one shot requests are still open!

We're entering canon territory now, babey!

[pucksandpower]

Buns in the Oven

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: six times that someone finds out you and Charles are expecting

Pascale hums to herself as she plates the final dish for lunch — a lovely risotto she spent the morning preparing. Her son will be arriving any minute with his girlfriend. Pascale hopes the meal will help settle the nerves she’s noticed in you lately during your visits.

The doorbell rings and Pascale rushes to greet Charles and you at the door. “Welcome, welcome!” She pulls you both into an embrace. “Lunch is all ready, come to the dining room.”

You follow behind Charles, the aroma of the risotto already making your stomach turn. You try to keep your queasiness hidden as you take your seat at the table. Pascale notices your complexion is pale.

“Are you feeling alright, dear?” She asks with a furrowed brow. “You’re looking a bit green around the gills.”

You force a smile. “I’m okay, just not very hungry I suppose.” Your eyes go wide as Pascale heaps a generous serving onto your plate.

Charles squeezes your hand. “Come on, mon amour, Maman’s risotto is the best. You have to try some.”

You pick up your fork with shaky hands and manage a few bites under Pascale’s watchful gaze. But your stomach is quickly revolting, the rich food making you extremely nauseous.

“If you’ll excuse me ...” You abruptly push back from the table and rush down the hall to the bathroom, hand covering your mouth.

Pascale and Charles exchange a worried look as they hear you retch violently. After a few minutes, you re-emerge looking miserable.

“Oh dear, I knew you weren’t feeling well,” Pascale tuts, rising to her feet. “You just sit tight, I’m going to run out for a little bit. I’ll be right back.”

Without waiting for a response, she hurries out of the house. Pascale strides quickly down the street toward the pharmacy on the corner, her mind racing. She grabs a basket and makes a beeline for the family planning aisle, snatching up a few different brands of pregnancy tests. She pays and rushes back home, clutching the tests behind her back as she re-enters the dining room.

You and Charles have pushed your chairs together, his arm wrapped protectively around you as you lean into his chest with your eyes closed. The plates of risotto sit congealed and abandoned.

“You two look awfully cozy,” Pascale quips lightly. You startle upright and blink at her with bleary eyes. “Y/N, I left something for you in the bathroom. Go check it out, won’t you?”

You furrow your brow in confusion but rise and head for the hall bathroom. Pascale settles back at the table and takes a sip of her now-lukewarm tea, the picture of nonchalance. But out of the corner of her eye she watches Charles, who stares intently down the hall from where you disappeared.

Not ten seconds later you come barreling out, nearly bouncing off the doorframe with the pregnancy test boxes in hand.

“Ch-Charles!” You stammer, eyes wild. “Look!”

He flies out of his chair and towards you so fast it clatters to the floor. You both disappear into the bathroom, the door closing firmly behind you. Pascale smiles knowingly to herself and refills her teacup.

Several minutes pass in tense silence, the only sounds an occasional murmured exchange from the bathroom, volumes too hushed for Pascale to make out. Suddenly, a dull thump rings out and Pascale is on her feet in an instant.

“Charles? Y/N?” She calls, heart pounding as she rushes for the bathroom. “Are you both alright in there?”

When she reaches the bathroom, Pascale finds Charles crumpled unconscious on the tile floor. You kneel beside him, face stark white and completely motionless except for the shaking of the positive pregnancy test clutched in your hand.

“Oh my goodness!” Pascale drops to her knees beside you both. “Charles? Charles, wake up chérie!”

She gently taps his cheek until his eyelids flutter open. Charles blinks dazedly up at the two concerned faces hovering above him.

“Wh ... what happened?” He props himself up on his elbows, still looking dazed. His eyes go comically wide as they land on the test in your hand. “Y/N … are you ...”

You finally seem to emerge from your stupor. With trembling fingers, you turn the little plastic stick towards Pascale, revealing the two pink lines clearly indicating pregnancy.

“I … I’m pregnant,” you whisper, voice barely audible over the thundering of Pascale’s heart. A wide smile slowly spreads across her face as tears of joy spring to her eyes.

“My darling girl, come here!” Pascale pulls you both into her arms, squeezing you tightly as happy tears roll down her cheeks. “I’m going to be a grand-mère!”

***

Fred Vasseur strides briskly through the Ferrari motorhome, eyes scanning the room for Charles Leclerc. FP3 is about to begin and he wants to go over the strategy one more time before the session.

He catches sight of you sitting on a plush sofa, your son Jules playing contentedly at your feet with a handful of toy cars. A small smile tugs at Fred’s lips watching the rambunctious two-year-old animatedly providing his own race commentary.

As Fred nears, he notices the oversized bowl in your lap containing an … interesting snack choice. You dunk a dill pickle into the creamy peanut butter, taking an enormous bite and humming with apparent satisfaction. Fred’s brow furrows slightly at the peculiar combination.

“Bonjour Y/N,” he calls out warmly as he approaches. “I was just looking for Charles before FP3 begins. Have you seen him?”

You swallow thickly and look up with a start, as if just noticing Fred’s presence. There’s a brief pause before you seem to find your voice.

“Oh! Fred, hi,” you reply breathlessly. “Charles is — um, he’s down in the garage doing some final prep I believe. With the mechanics.”

“Merci.” Fred nods, eyes straying back to the snack dish with poorly disguised interest. “I don’t mean to pry, but … may I ask what it is exactly you’re eating there?”

A flush rises on your cheeks as you glance down at the pickles and peanut butter. “Just … satisfying a craving, I suppose,” you mutter, almost embarrassed.

Fred throws back his head with a rumbling laugh. “I see, I see. The way to a pregnant woman’s heart, no?”

The words are out in a jovial tease before he can think better of it. But almost as soon as they’ve left his lips, Fred notices the way your entire body tenses, pickle dropping from your slack fingers to the ground with a dull thunk. Jules looks up at the commotion, brow furrowed in childhood confusion.

Realization dawns across your features as your hand moves unconsciously to hover over your abdomen. A look of incredulity and wonder flits through your widened eyes.

Fred feels his heart stutter in his chest. “Y/N? Are you ...” He trails off, suddenly uncertain if he’s overstepped.

Your gaze snaps up to lock with his, mouth working soundlessly for a long moment. Fred waits with bated breath, muscles coiled tight with anxious anticipation.

Finally, you find your voice. “ I… I’m not sure,” you whisper hoarsely. “I didn’t think — but, the cravings ...”

Without warning, you’re on your feet, scooping up Jules and clutching him to your side with one arm. Fred instinctively reaches out to steady you, but you brush him off distractedly.

“I have to … I need to tell Charles,” you murmur, half to yourself as you lurch forward, nearly colliding with a chair in your haste.

“Y/N, wait!” Fred catches your elbow gently but firmly, halting your frantic movements. You turn wild eyes on him and he gentles his voice. “Deep breaths, ma chérie. Why don’t you sit back down for just a moment? You’re looking a bit peaky.”

You stare at him for a beat, chest heaving, before seeming to collect yourself somewhat. With visible effort, you force your shoulders to relax incrementally and draw a shuddering breath.

“No, it’s okay, I … I should go find Charles,” you decide, more composed this time though your grip remains vice-like around your son. “He needs to know. We can’t be sure, but ...”

You trail off, gnawing anxiously at your bottom lip. Fred searches your flushed face, wondering if he should say more or simply stay out of his driver’s personal affairs. But before he can decide, you’ve found your determination again.

“Thank you, Fred.” You flash him a tight smile and shift Jules higher onto your hip. “I’ll just … go track him down then.”

With that, you spin on your heel and hurry out of the hospitality tent in the direction of the team garage, leaving a bemused Fred to stare after your retreating form. He shakes his head slowly, a wry grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Well, it seems congratulations may be in order for the Leclercs,” he murmurs under his breath. “Again.”

Fred watches you disappear into the crowded paddock, a tiny part of him hoping you do end up being pregnant. Despite the extra challenges, there’s nothing quite like the look of joy and pride on Charles’ face whenever he speaks about his wife and child. Fred can already envision his star driver beaming like a spotlight if blessed with another baby.

A chuckle rumbles from his chest. Oh, to be a fly on the wall for that conversation. Somehow, Fred gets the sense Charles might be in need of a fainting couch again this time around.

***

Max lets out a loud whoop as he slams back his fourth — or is it fifth — shot of tequila. The pounding bass and flashing lights of the club have his blood thrumming with adrenaline despite the late hour. Singapore really knows how to rage after a race.

He swivels his head, surveying his surroundings with a lazy grin. Most of the other drivers seem to be just as enthusiastically embracing the raucous celebrations. Lando has his shirt recklessly unbuttoned to an obscene degree as he grinds shamelessly with some random group of club-goers. Pierre is presiding over an intensely competitive beer pong tournament at one of the VIP booths, eyes slightly unfocused.

Only a few meters away, Max spots the familiar silhouettes of Charles and you tucked away in a dimly lit corner. He throws back the dregs of his drink, grimacing at the burn, and stumbles in your direction with a mischievous smirk.

“Well, well!” He crows loudly as he approaches. “If it isn’t the reigning world champion getting cozy with his lady!”

You startle at Max’s boisterous presence, but quickly settle back against Charles with a warm smile tugging at your lips. The Monegasque driver, however, is far too wasted to register much beyond a bemused grunt of acknowledgment.

Max can’t help but snort at the besotted expression scrawled across his former title rival’s face. Charles has his arm wrapped possessively around your waist, head lolled back against the plush booth as he gazes at you with hopelessly unfocused eyes. You rest your hand tenderly upon his cheek, murmuring something inaudible against the throbbing bassline of the club music.

A waiter appears as if on cue, offering a tray laden with fresh cocktails that look suspiciously potent. Max opens his mouth to thank the server, only to impulsively snap it shut again as Charles’ hand darts out with impressive coordination for his state. The world champion snatches the entire tray before you can react, proceeding to methodically down every single glass in quick succession without further preamble.

You roll your eyes fondly, not even bothering to attempt retrieving your confiscated drink. When Charles finally resurfaces, gasping for air and looking totally glazed, you tuck an errant curl back from his forehead.

“Feel better, my darling disaster?” You tease.

Max realizes with some confusion that you haven’t touched a drop, watching on with that same gentle amusement. Charles lets out a indelicate belch and slings an arm around your shoulders, tugging you back against his chest.

“M’gonna need anutha ...” He slurs blearily. You emit a tinkling laugh that causes Max’s brow to furrow even further.

Suddenly, it all clicks into place. His eyes go wide, sweeping over your glowing features with a mixture of surprise and delight. No wonder you’re passing on the booze tonight.

“Wait just a second ...” Max takes a stumbling step closer, throwing out an accusatory finger that has you shying away in alarm. But the wide, delighted grin quickly morphs his features from confrontational to conspiratorial. “We’re gonna have another Leclerc in the mix soon, aren’t we?”

You freeze in Charles’ arms, exchanging a loaded look with your flushed husband. The giggling from earlier falls away as you bite your lip, seeming to hesitate before finally sighing in resignation. You glance back at Max with a sly smile.

“September 1st,” you confirm simply.

Max lets out a raucous bark of laughter, nearly doubling over as he clutches his stomach. September 1st … doing the quick mental calculation informs him the little bundle of joy was likely conceived right around ...

“Oh my god, no way!” He howls, tears of mirth leaking from the corners of his eyes. “The World Championship euphoria must have really gotten to you!”

Charles looks bewildered, mouth hanging slightly ajar. You shake your head despairingly, burying your face against your husband’s shoulder in a feeble attempt to contain your own giggles. Max just wheezes harder, undoubtedly disturbing every single neighboring party-goer with his undignified cackling. He braces his hands on his knees, trying in vain to catch his breath.

“I can’t … I can’t even begin!” He gasps between hysterics. “You couldn’t keep it in your pants for like, five measly minutes after winning in Abu Dhabi!”

Max can only shake his head gleefully, finally recovering enough to straighten and wipe his streaming eyes on his sleeve. Charles tugs you closer against his chest, swaying gently from side to side with a dopey smile.

“S’true though, isn’t it?” He mumbles, resting his cheek atop your head. “Made the mos’ of m’championship … glow.”

You try in vain to suppress your grin, smoothing your palms over the sculpted lines of your husband’s abdomen. Max is genuinely touched at the tender gesture, the undeniable depth of adoration written across both your expressions.

He suddenly feels tremendously sentimental, booze and euphoria swirling together in a giddy vortex of affection for his friends.

“Alright, alright,” Max waves them off in mock dismissal, clearing his throat loudly. “As nauseatingly in love as you two are, someone simply must balance out the team affiliations in this family.”

You and Charles both quirk matching skeptical eyebrows at him.

“Oh yes,” he nods resolutely. “Just as soon as this nephew or niece arrives, I’m going to start spoiling them absolutely rotten.”

The grins bloom across both your faces, Charles tightening his arms around you in a silent display of pride. Max glances down at the tender picture you make, feeling a profound swell of joy at having front row seats to his friend’s happiness.

Somehow, despite the alcohol and chaos swirling around the two of you, the little cocoon of perfect serenity and contentment you’ve so carefully cultivated remains completely untouched. It’s a rare oasis of tranquility in the middle of an otherwise chaotic life, and Max wouldn’t have it any other way.

Well … he wouldn’t exactly mind if a few more boisterous new additions gradually joined your ranks. Good thing he plans on being the very best enabler around. He just hopes the two of you aren’t hoping for more championship babies, because Max certainly won’t make winning any easier.

***

“I still can’t believe how big the kids are getting,” Arthur remarks with a warm smile, watching as Jules and Helene race miniature car models across the living room rug. Little Lucien toddles along in their wake, shrieking with delight whenever he gets close enough to swipe at one of the toys.

“Tell me about it,” Charles groans, slouching further into the plush sofa cushions. You laugh lightly beside him, one hand absently smoothing Lucien’s tousled curls as the toddler momentarily loses interest in the activity and plops down at your feet.

“You’re getting on a bit yourself there, old man,” Arthur teases his older brother. “Half life crisis and all that?”

Charles fires him a withering glare. “I’m only thirty two, you little shi-” He cuts himself off abruptly, clearing his throat as his gaze darts towards the children. You swat his chest in remonstration.

“Language!” You admonish. “We’ve talked about this.”

Chuckling, Arthur leans back and props his feet up on the battered ottoman. “Don’t worry Y/N, I’ll be sure to teach the little ones all the good swears when they get older.”

“You most certainly will not!” You shake your head vehemently. But the mock scowl quickly melts into a warm smile. “Honestly Arthur, what are we going to do with you?”

“Keep me around for the free childcare, obviously.”

The quip draws a bark of laughter from Charles. You roll your eyes fondly, gathering Lucien up into your lap for a cuddle as the toddler makes grabby hands. Arthur observes the scene with a contented smile — it’s so wonderful having his brother’s little family over to visit now that they’re all in Europe again.

“I have to say, you and Charles make some cute kid-”

Arthur’s affectionate teasing is abruptly cut off as a furry brown missile comes barreling through the open doorway. Bruno, Arthur’s three-year-old golden retriever, zips excitedly into the room with his tongue lolling out.

“Bruno, no!” Arthur calls out, but it’s too late.

The pup lets out a joyful bark and leaps straight up onto the sofa cushions. Arthur watches in dismay as Bruno tramples over Charles’ lap, nearly kicking his brother in a very sensitive area. Charles immediately shoves the dog away with a muffled curse.

But Bruno seems singularly uninterested in his distress. He makes a beeline for your side of the sofa and immediately nuzzles his way under your arm to plop his head insistently onto your abdomen. You startle slightly at the sudden weight in your lap, Lucien giggling and patting curiously at Bruno’s silky fur. The pup simply sighs contentedly and closes his eyes, fluffy tail thumping rhythmically against the cushions.

Arthur lets out a low whistle, watching in bewilderment as the usually hyperactive Bruno settles in to nap right against your midsection. The perplexed expressions on both your and Charles’ faces don’t escape his notice either. Charles half-heartedly tries to shove Bruno away once more, but the dog whines pitifully and refuses to be dislodged from his spot curled up in your lap.

“Bruno!” Arthur calls sternly, lurching up from his seat to attempt removing his pet himself. But something gives him pause just before he reaches the sofa.

Dogs are remarkably intuitive, after all. And there’s an old adage about them possessing a sort of sixth sense when it comes to picking up on certain … conditions.

Arthur’s eyes go comically wide as the pieces click into place in his mind. He settles back on his heels, scrutinizing you with newly narrowed focus.

“You know, they say dogs can sense that kind of thing before anyone else ...” he remarks slowly, gauging for a reaction.

You and Charles both freeze, eyes snapping up to regard Arthur as if he’s grown a second head. A strange, loaded silence seems to fill the room for a long, drawn-out moment. Arthur witnesses an entire conversation pass wordlessly between you with just a single cursory glance.

Jules and Helene remain obliviously absorbed in their game, but Lucien blinks up at his parents with a quizzical frown. You gingerly disentangle your youngest from Bruno’s embrace and deposit him back on the floor before scooting to the edge of the cushion.

“You don’t think ...” You murmur under your breath to Charles, hand drifting reflexively towards your abdomen. Arthur watches as his brother simply shrugs helplessly, mouth hanging slightly ajar.

“I … well, I mean … it would explain ...” Charles looks utterly dumbfounded for once. Arthur doesn’t think he’s ever seen his typically unflappable older brother so flustered.

Your eyes bore intensely into Charles’, searching for any hint of confirmation. As if on cue, the dog in question opens his eyes and blinks placidly around at the three adults regarding him with such rapt scrutiny. Bruno seems unbothered, merely lolling his tongue and nuzzling closer against your belly. For the second time today, Arthur witnesses that fleeting, wordless communication pass between you and Charles in a simple glance.

A slow, radiant smile spreads across both your faces near simultaneously. You look back down at Bruno with new, unbridled adoration, carding tender fingers through his thick fur. Charles releases a disbelieving huff of laughter under his breath as he reaches out to skate reverent palms over the subtle swell of your abdomen that Bruno seems so enamored with.

And just like that, all the wind goes out of Arthur’s sails.

“No way ...” he gapes, eyes darting between you both in awe. “You’re actually ... seriously?”

You and Charles share another loaded look — this time, both your expressions are absolutely lit with unmitigated joy and pride.

“We … haven’t confirmed it yet or anything,” Charles finally replies, voice barely above a rapt murmur. “But we haven’t not been trying.”

Your husband’s words seem to snap Arthur out of his stupor. He leaps up from the ottoman, unable to contain his own delirious grin as he practically bounces with exhilaration. A cheer builds up in his throat, only to be smothered at the last second when he remembers the little ones playing obliviously nearby. Arthur exhales it all on a harsh rush of air, practically vibrating with excitement.

“That’s … oh my god, you guys!” He has to resist the urge to reach out and envelop you both in a crushing embrace. “Another baby! I can’t believe it … Bruno, you clever little shi-uh, clever boy!”

Arthur drops to a crouch in front of the sofa, gently scratching behind Bruno’s ears. The dog thumps his tail happily, clearly preening under the praise for his remarkable intuition. Arthur glances back up at your mirthful expressions.

“I guess dogs really can sense that stuff, huh?” He shakes his head in wonder. “Maybe the two of us can start a betting ring and make some easy money.”

That finally breaks the spell. You both dissolve into peals of laughter, all the giddiness and disbelief seeming to finally crest over in a tidal wave of utter euphoria. Even the children pause their games to glance over curiously at the commotion.

Bruno seems to sense the occasion has reached a lull, lifting his head to give Arthur an expectant look. The dog rises and trots over to rest his chin in Arthur’s lap instead, bestowing an affectionate lick against his cheek as if to say ‘good job, Papa.’

Arthur chuckles, stroking the golden fur fondly.

“You really hit the jackpot this time around, didn’t you boy?” He murmurs just loud enough for Bruno’s keen ears to pick up. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves another little nugget joining the madhouse pretty soon … wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

***

“How about this one, Maman?” Jules calls out, holding up a slinky crimson gown that looks several sizes too small for you.

Charles shoots his eldest son a quelling look from where he lounges on the plush velour armchair, two-year-old Celine babbling happily on his lap. Jules immediately wilts, grinning sheepishly before returning the dress to the discard pile swiftly accumulating around the dressing room.

You let out a frustrated huff from behind the closed curtain, drawing Charles’ attention back to you. He sees your feet pace restlessly across the tiled floor as more rustling fabric sounds filter through.

“Y/N? Everything alright, mon cœur?” He calls out hesitantly. When you fail to respond, Charles frowns and shifts Celine higher on his knee.

“Perhaps we should try a different-”

The dressing room curtain abruptly whips open, cutting him off mid-sentence. You stand before the full-length mirror in a skintight silver sheath, tugging irritatedly at the fabric stretched taut across your midsection.

“I don’t understand!” You snap, sounding flustered to the point of tears. Your gaze finds Charles in the mirror, eyes pleading beseechingly. “None of these dresses are fitting properly at all. And I know I have the right sizes!”

Helene pipes up from the loveseat where she sits rifling through accessories. “Maybe you got a tummy bug, Maman? My pudge always comes and goes when I’m not feeling good.”

“Gee, thanks Lena,” you mutter dryly, fidgeting with another futile tug at the clinging metallic material.

Charles watches you intently, gaze traversing over your familiar silhouette with a considering frown. It’s certainly nothing to do with weight gain or bloat — if anything, you seem slightly more slender than usual, the ridges of your abdomen clearly defined by the unforgiving silver fabric. Any extra fullness seems concentrated lower, an almost imperceptible bump that Charles is intimately familiar with after four previous pregnancies.

His sharp inhalation draws your eyes back towards the mirror. He can see the question forming on your lips before you even have a chance to voice it. Charles simply holds up a hand, rising smoothly to his feet with Celine balanced on his hip.

The little girl babbles happily, making grabby hands towards the tower of cast-off dresses as Charles weaves through the sizable debris field. You turn to face him fully, fingers unconsciously picking at the shimmering hem in a rare show of self-consciousness.

“I … it doesn’t make any sense,” you mutter as Charles comes to a halt before you. “I checked all the sizing beforehand, like always. I know my body. I’ve been this size for ages, ever since Celine was born. So why won’t anything fit properly?”

He reaches out silently, hands encircling the soft give of your waist. You go rigid under his palms as Charles slowly drags them lower, fingertips skating over the soft swell of your lower abdomen. Your breath leaves you in a sharp exhale as your gazes lock meaningfully, his search clearly confirming those silent suspicions.

“How long?” His voice is low, instantly holding your attention.

You furrow your brow, mouth opening and closing uselessly. Then realization seems to dawn, your eyes going comically wide.

“Oh my god ...”

Charles nods slowly, his own mind whirring as it rapidly calculates. If his keen senses are correct — if what he’s feeling under his hands is truly what he suspects ...

“When was your last period, mon cœur?” He murmurs carefully, searching your face intently.

Your expression remains frozen in shock, features slack. Ever so slowly, almost imperceptibly, you begin shaking your head in bewilderment.

“Now that you mention it … I ...”

Charles watches the pieces click together as clear as day. The habitual cycle you’ve always tracked so meticulously, your uncanny ability to pinpoint the slightest shifts in your body’s rhythm — it all leads to the inevitable conclusion that he somehow arrived at before you. A conclusion rendered all the more definitive by the stupefied look stealing over your features.

“I don’t remember,” you finally whisper, eyes locked with his. “Oh god, Charles … no, it can’t be-”

“One more surprise,” Charles cuts in, chuckling disbelievingly under his breath. “How is it even possible we missed this? Another Lec-”

“Shhh!” You hastily press a hand over his lips, silencing the exclamation. Celine squirms petulantly against his chest, tangling her chubby fingers in his collar until Charles secures her more firmly in his hold.

Your free hand drifts distractedly between your bodies to rest against the telling protrusion, eyes becoming misty. Charles kisses your palm, feels the tremor racing through you.

“Maman? Papa?” Lucien’s little voice pipes up, high and quizzical. “Why you acting so weird?”

Neither of you seem to fully register the intrusion at first. You inhale a shuddering breath, casting Charles an utterly stricken look before reluctantly tearing your attention towards the children scattered around the boutique.

Helene has her head cocked skeptically, undoubtedly having picked up on the tension crackling through the room. Even Celine senses the shift in mood, falling uncharacteristically silent in the weighty pause. Only Jules seems to remain obliviously absorbed in his mobile game, earbuds firmly in place and shoulders hunched.

You give a tiny shake of your head, tightening your grip over Charles’ hand still splayed protectively across your abdomen. He takes the cue and proceeds to open his mouth — likely to formulate some vague reassurance for the children — only to find himself abruptly interrupted.

“You’re having another baby, aren’t you Maman?”

The words hang heavy in the air as every head whips around to locate the source. It’s Lucien — sweet, quiet little Lucien, staring up at the two of you with eyes far too astute for someone of such tender years.

Your hand slips from Charles’ mouth to muffle a gasp. His own jaw drops open in naked shock, gaze rapidly pinging between you and your preternaturally observant second son.

“Luce?” Helene’s eyes are like saucers as she regards her younger brother. “How did you ...”

But the boy merely shrugs, looking almost defensive as he plants his fists on his hips in an uncanny mirror of Charles’ habitual mannerisms when feeling confrontational.

“S’obvious,” he shrugs. “I remember when Celene was in Maman’s tummy. I know what a new baby belly looks like!”

Then Helene, lovely Helene, shakes off her own shock with an earsplitting shriek of unbridled joy.

“No way! Maman, you’re really — JULES! GET OFF YOUR DUMB PHONE!”

The curtain finally seems to drop from your frozen stupor. You startle hard, blinking rapidly as if reemerging from underwater. Your hand instinctively tightens over Charles’ where it cradles the telling curve, anchoring you both in the whiplash of revelation.

Meanwhile, Helene launches herself off the loveseat like a tiny cannon ball, howling out strings of excited gibberish at maximum volume. Jules’ head jerks up just in time to catch his sister’s barrage, flinching as she swats ineffectually at his earbud.

“Wha-” he sputters, batting away her hands in clear consternation before finally ripping out the headphone. “Hey! What’s gotten into you? And why’s everyone so freaked?”

Helene rounds on him, practically vibrating with glee. “Can’t you hear, loser? Maman’s having another baby!”

Jules does an actual doubletake, head whipping back towards you and Charles in shock. Lucien is nodding emphatically beside him, a serene little smile plastered across his face as his eyes flit between you.

“Told you so,” he murmurs sagely.

It’s the picture of pandemonium. The saleslady who had been assisting you suddenly appears, looking quite put out by the noisy disturbance echoing over her pristine shop floor. Charles can only imagine the picture they all make — you frozen in front of the dressing room mirror, his hand cradling your midriff as your children lose their collective minds around you.

When the woman opens her mouth, likely with the intent to scold them for the ruckus, Jules finally seems to find his voice.

“No way! Maman?” He whirls back to you, features awash with stunned wonder.

“Yes, oui!” Helene all but hollers, bouncing in place like an overstimulated jack russell. “Papa was feeling her tummy and everything!”

The shop girl’s gaze turns even more scandalized at the outburst, color staining her cheeks. Celine giggles, apparently finding the entire scenario terribly amusing. But you remain frozen, gaze drifting between the children and Charles with a silent plea clearly written across your face.

His own stupor finally breaks as he registers your wide-eyed helplessness. He has to smother the sudden, slightly hysterical urge to laugh at the torrential slew of emotions swirling through him.

Charles clears his throat loudly, plastering on his signature press smile as he turns towards the saleslady. “Perhaps we could have a brief moment to ourselves, mademoiselle?”

The woman sniffs dismissively, clearly fighting the urge to protest further. But the flicker of recognition in her eyes saves Charles from having to assert his identity. With a sharp tug at the hem of her blazer, she gives a curt nod and swans away toward the front of the boutique.

Once she’s disappeared from view, Charles strides back toward the curtained changing room, herding the children ahead of him and arranging them all amongst the plush armchairs in the small space. A muffled scuffle ensues as Helene scrambles to sit next to her father, elbowing aside a scowling Jules. Celine just babbles incessantly from her perch atop Charles’ knee.

You follow dazedly, sinking into the armchair opposite them all and emitting a great whoosh of breath. Your hand returns immediately to the subtle swell, fingers cradling the barely-there curve reverently.

Charles feels the unrestrained smile tugging at his lips. His family — complete and whole, yet growing by yet another little life soon to make their world even more vividly bright once again.

He gazes at the stunned expression still dominating your features and laughs, deep and full and utterly delighted. You seem to startle back into the present at the sound, meeting his awestruck eyes with a quickly growing smile of your own.

Soon enough, the storm of excited chatter resumes, with you taking the lead. Jules looks utterly shocked by the turn of events. Helene fires off a barrage of questions and squeals. Little Lucien sits with unshakable poise, absorbing it all with quiet pride.

And Charles can only laugh and wrap his arms around every beaming, noisy inch of you all — his beautiful family bound only to grow larger still over the coming months.

This is exactly where he belongs.

***

Jules can’t wipe the enormous grin from his face as he strolls into the familiar Ferrari garage alongside his race engineer. The potent scents of oil and petrol fill his nostrils, instantly transporting him back to the earliest days of running around this very same hallowed space as a wide-eyed child.

Only now, it’s his turn to climb into the iconic red car. The culmination of a lifelong dream pursued with almost maniacal singularity — one he had witnessed his own father live out with such tremendous passion year after year.

His gaze roams around the bustling team members, searching out the faces of his parents among the throng of mechanics and engineers. Jules finally spots the two of you huddled together towards the far side, his mother enveloped protectively in his father’s embrace as you both wave enthusiastically.

A wide smile splits Jules’ lips once more. He can’t resist the urge to press a quick kiss to his fiancée, Romee’s, cheek where she strolls alongside him, swathed in a scarlet maternity dress and positively glowing with eight months of pregnancy. She flushes prettily, one hand unconsciously drifting down to cradle the swell of her belly.

“Go get ’em, champ,” she murmurs warmly, squeezing his arm. “Baby Leclerc and I will be right here watching.”

Jules just nods, heart swelling fit to burst as he turns to face the gaggle of media crews setting up cameras nearby. His eyes linger on Romee for another loaded moment, committing the transcendent sight of her lovingly cradling their unborn child to memory.

He hardly has time to mentally steel himself before one of the Sky News correspondents is gesturing him over. Jules takes a fortifying breath and moves to join the woman, schooling his features into professionalism even as his stomach does delirious backflips.

“Jules Leclerc, you must be simply bursting with pride today,” the reporter begins without preamble as soon as her cameraman gives the signal. “Would’ve been hard to imagine this moment when following your father’s legendary footsteps around the paddock as a child, no?”

“You can say that again,” Jules chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “It definitely still hasn’t fully sunk in yet, I’ll admit. But it’s been my dream since before I could even walk, so you better believe I’m going to cherish every single second out on that track.”

He punctuates the statement with a decisive nod and flashes his signature megawatt smile — a move you always say must be hereditary. The reporter visibly softens under its full beam, casting a cursory look up and down before clearing her throat delicately.

“Well you certainly carry yourself with the same confidence as your father,” she lilts with the faintest of eyebrow waggles. “Speaking of family … I noticed your fiancée, Romee Verstappen, cheering you on from the sidelines as well. Must be another incredible source of pride to be starting your Formula 1 career with a new baby so imminently on the way?”

Jules feels the smile stretch even more impossibly wide at the mention of Romee and their child. His chest swells with unbridled joy and pride until he thinks it may crack open entirely.

“Absolutely, my girls are everything to me,” he affirms proudly, allowing his gaze to skate back towards Romee where she stands with his parents. “Having them here with me to experience such a monumental personal milestone … it’s really indescribably specia-”

The words abruptly die on his lips as Jules’ eyes snag on a sudden flurry of movement from your side of the gathered group. Your head is bent low, one hand clutched around your midriff as you make a beeline for the nearest trash can stationed ominously in the corner. His brows furrow in concern, body tensing reflexively even as his father is already darting after you with alarm clear on his features.

Jules doesn’t even realize when he starts moving, propelled by muscle memory to rush towards the commotion unfolding. All he can fixate on is the unmistakable sight of you hunched over the bin, retching violently into the receptacle as his father hovers anxiously behind you. Charles’ hand finds your hair, tenderly gathering the silky strands out of your face as his opposite palm glides questioningly down the length of your abdomen, coming to rest at your lower back.

The gesture is so painfully familiar, one Jules can vividly recall witnessing countless times in his childhood. All he can focus on is the way Charles’ fingers instinctively curve around the base of your stomach, palm gentle and reverent even now as you heave.

Something seems to click into place within Jules’ mind like tumblers in a lock. His breath leaves him in a painful wheeze, everything narrowing to the tunnel vision of you hunched so wretchedly, your distress the only palpable thing in his world.

“M-Maman?” He hears himself stammer out hoarsely.

You startle bodily at his voice, shoulders jolting rigidly. Jules can glimpse the tell-tale sheen of clammy perspiration beading across your brow and hairline as you continue to pant raggedly into the bin.

Just as soon as he arrives at your side, you’re drawing a tremulous breath and attempting to straighten, clearly aiming for nonchalance despite your haggard appearance. Charles’ palm doesn’t budge from where it rests so tellingly at the base of your belly, fingers still reverently curved.

“Jules, mon chou,” your voice wavers. You manage a wan smile even as color bleeds back into your ashen cheeks. “I’m alright, don’t worry-”

But he can’t help himself — his gaze remains riveted to Charles’ possessive palm still splayed across your abdomen. Suddenly, every innocuous little symptom Jules had decidedly overlooked the past few weeks comes slamming back into focus with disorienting clarity.

The perpetual fatigue you always hastened to dismiss over dinner visits. The periods of irritable moodiness that would overtake you without warning, followed swiftly by apologetic tears. And above all, the subtle thickening of your middle that each of his sisters gleefully attributed to too many of Pascale’s famous steak frites during your frequent family meals together.

Jules feels the world tilt dizzily around him, throat constricting with the realization as decades of old memories dredge up unbidden from the deepest recesses of his childhood.

How many times did he watch this exact scene from the outside looking in? His doting father peering down at his pregnant mother with such pride and unshakeable reverence in those early years of Jules’ life? All the subtle similarities, all the subconscious cues his brain must’ve been cataloging without his knowledge, suddenly dragged to the forefront of his mind.

“N-No ...” he sputters, voice scarcely audible even to his own ears over the pounding engulfing his skull. “She … you’re not …“

Charles’ eyes flick immediately to meet Jules’ shellshocked gaze, lips pressed into a grim line that’s nearly a grimace. Something indecipherable passes over his father’s features, though whether it’s disbelief or confirmation Jules can’t bring himself to discern.

Your attention remains mostly fixated on the bin as you try once more to control your breathing. But even from this side-profile view, Jules can make out the subtle disruption of your brow furrowing — the telltale crease of a wince flashing across your delicate mouth for just an instant before smoothing back into neutrality.

And it’s all he needs to see for the realization to cement itself.

Jules shakes his head in dazed incredulity, his equilibrium entirely shattered. All words seem to escape his grasp. He barely even registers the heavy clatter of something hitting the concrete mere inches from his feet.

When he finally wrenches his eyes away from you both, Jules makes out the fuzzy edges of several Sky News crew members hovering anxiously nearby, cameras and microphones trained on the unfolding scene with rapt attention.

One of the correspondents hovers at the outskirts of the scrum, dark eyes agape and face stricken with concern. Her lips move as if to call out to him, but Jules is already swaying dangerously, consciousness slipping rapidly through his fingers.

The muted whirlwind voices of his entire team shouting in alarm rings hollowly in his ears … his mother’s distressed cry an instant before his world pivots sideways and goes completely black.

“Mon bébé, no! Catch him, vite-”

***

Jules blinks slowly, the fluorescent garage lights swimming dizzily back into focus. His mouth feels stuffed full of cotton, pulse pounding an erratic rhythm against his temples. What on earth just happened?

“Jules? Can you hear me, darling?”

His mother’s concerned voice is the first thing to fully permeate the fog clouding his senses. He pries his eyelids open further to find your anxious face hovering inches from his own, deep creases etched around your eyes and mouth.

You lean back slightly as Jules struggles to sit upright, groaning at the persistent vertigo. His limbs feel leaden, but a steadying hand at his nape counters the dead weight bearing down on his neck.

“Easy there,” his father’s low tenor rumbles from behind. “Just take it slow.”

Jules allows Charles to guide him into a slumped sitting position against the wall, fighting against the whirling dizziness consuming his skull. A vaguely familiar face swims into his line of vision next — Romee, her beautiful features distorted with worry.

“Oh thank god,” she murmurs, palm finding his cheek and anchoring him further into the present. “You gave us all a heart attack, you moron!”

Jules blinks sluggishly, vaguely aware of the relief sweeping across Romee’s features as you and Charles crowd in as well. He swallows hard, mouth dry as a bone.

“What … happened?”

His voice comes out in a hoarse croak that doesn’t sound much like him at all. Even the minuscule effort of voicing those two words sends a prickly tremor ricocheting across his tender skull. A fresh wave of nausea assails him.

You crouch beside Romee, smoothing the damp hair back from Jules’ clammy brow without a second thought. But your hands are shaking faintly, he notices, and your cheeks seem unduly flushed.

Snatches of memory slowly begin filtering their way through the fog, sinking cold tendrils of realization into Jules’ gut. He squeezes his eyes shut, willing away the disorienting sight of the three of you clustered together for just a fraction of a second.

The split second of respite has everything coming rushing back in a torrent when he opens them again. You, hunched over the bin and retching pitifully. Charles fussing with evident concern, hands drifting across the unmistakable swell of your midsection with the deference of old habit.

All at once, the question slams back into Jules with the force of a physical blow, sending his head spinning anew. His eyes snap back open, mouth working in desperation as he tries to force out the words lodged in his throat.

“You ...” he rasps, gaze darting down towards your stomach before ripping back up to your faces. “She’s ...”

You and Charles exchange a loaded look, but Jules barely notices. He’s too busy following the subtle circuit of tension rippling through his parents’ expressions — a direct mirror of his own inner whiplash.

After all these years. With his father now forty-eight years old and you not far behind, and yet … here Jules sits, stunned speechless at the surreal possibility that-

“Y-You’re pregnant?” He finally chokes out in a strangled whisper. He knows he shouldn’t phrase it as a question, not really — the confirmation is basically written across every muted motion passing between you both.

And yet Jules’ brain still refuses to process the knowledge beyond a frantic sort of shock.

You let out a tiny sound at his words, almost involuntary — a helpless little exhale that seems to admit far more than any words could. Your eyes dance between Romee and Charles in a soundless plea.

Charles is the one to finally break the stifling silence, laying a tender palm on your back and meeting Jules’ owlish stare head-on.

“We, ah ...” He falters, clearing his throat gruffly as you drop your head in apparent fatigue. “Well, yes. Your mother is … with child again, it appears.”

The words seem to bypass Jules’ comprehension entirely, landing with all the force of a wispy feather brushing against his brain. He sucks in a sharp breath, cringing slightly at the sting of recycled, dry garage air searing his raw throat.

“But … how?” He sputters weakly, shaking his head as if to rattle his wits into some sort of coherent line. “I mean, when did this even … “

You make a choked sound in the back of your throat, quickly smothered against the sleeve of your jacket. Jules’ eyes flick reflexively to the subtle swell of your abdomen, so glaringly obvious now that the truth has been dragged into the light.

It’s strange, really — how he kept convincing himself it was simply the inevitable effects of middle-age slowing your metabolism over these past few months. Jules had attributed the gradual rounding of your figure to nothing but the natural passage of time.

He can’t even begin to estimate how far along you must be. Surely his keen eyes would’ve noticed the signs sooner otherwise? And yet … no one else seems to have picked up on the possibility at all until this very moment.

As always, Charles picks up on his inner turmoil without Jules needing to give it voice. His father reaches up to card gentle fingertips through Jules’ sweat-damp curls, expression perfectly placid.

“You know your mother and I have never exactly been … modest about our affections,” he murmurs with a wry twist of his lips. “So when a man and a woman love each other …”

Jules feels his cheeks heat furiously at the implication, mind grinding to a screeching halt at that level of transparency from his own father. You, too, look positively mortified — features drained of all color as you steadfastly avoid Romee’s avidly curious gaze.

“Oh god,” Jules chokes out, pitching forward to bury his face in his palms. His entire body thrums with unease, fresh waves of nausea clawing up his throat. “Please, I can’t — I don’t want to think about ...”

His father’s rich laughter cuts through the swell of discomfort rolling through Jules’ gut. He startles when Charles’ hand lands on his neck, solid and grounding.

“Breathe,” he soothes, a smile evident in his voice. “All this shock and outrage is completely unnecessary. Why shouldn’t your poor old man still experience the occasional joy of being a doting husband, hmm?”

“Oh my god, Papa!” Jules groans again, scandalized. But Charles merely chuckles harder, reaching down to haul Jules into a sitting position once more.

You remain hunched nearby, expression hopelessly torn between contrition and sheer amusement at the disastrous state of your firstborn. Even Romee is barely stifling her giggles, having clearly recovered from her earlier alarm to bask in the ridiculous diversion of his freakout.

“This is … I can’t even begin,” Jules wheezes, dropping his pounding head between his knees. “I’m going to have a sibling younger than my own baby! How is that even possible?”

Another ripple of chuckles sounds around him. Charles’ palm rubs comforting circles over his trembling shoulders — mock sympathetic, but still undeniably paternal in its anchoring warmth.

Then it’s Romee’s turn to smother a snort of indelicate laughter into her palm. “Honestly Jules, you’re acting just like a petulant little brat right now. I’d expect behavior like this from my little brothers, not a fully grown man about to become a father himself!”

That seems to finally shatter the tension engulfing the scene. You dissolve into a fit of giggles nearly as shameless as Romee’s, shoulders shaking with relief.

“Leave it to you to be the voice of reason,” the gratitude is clear in your tone. “I hope your child inherits your sensibility rather than-”

“Hey!” Jules protests weakly, raising his head just enough to cast you both an extremely feigned look of affront. “I’ll have you know I handle everything with the utmost sophistication ...”

Romee rolls her eyes exaggeratedly, drawing near enough to nudge his temple with her knee in a wordless reprimand. As she shifts, one hand trails down to cradle her own swollen abdomen — a gesture Jules swiftly mirrors without conscious thought, curving his palm around the slope of her belly.

His new sibling could very well be due soon after his own imminent parenthood. The realization nearly steals what little breath he has left. Jules’ vision blurs slightly, throat contracting as he blinks rapidly against the hot sting gathering in his eyes.

“Jules?” Romee murmurs, instantly concerned by his silence. “Schatje, whatever is the matter?”

“I … nothing, I just. ..” He huffs an incredulous breath, gaze darting reflexively back to the contrasting swells of your midsections. “It’s really happening, isn’t it?”

He’s helpless to do anything but drag you both into his arms, clutching tightly enough to convey the swell of emotion roaring through him.

You enfold him just as greedily, stroking his hair and murmuring soothing nothings. A second pair of arms snakes around his back, Romee asserting her own comforting presence with a gentle squeeze.

“I love you all so damn much,” Jules finally rasps when he can summon his voice once more. “More than you could ever know.”

A soft huff of delighted laughter sounds as you pull back just enough to look at him properly. Your eyes shimmer with unshed tears of your own, but it’s radiant joy that comes across your beautiful features most prominently.

“And we love you, darling,” you murmur, reaching up to swipe the lingering tracks from Jules’ cheekbones with tender pads of your thumbs.

“I really am so happy for you two,” he mumbles fervently into your hair, words nearly swallowed by the chaos of the surrounding garage. “Another little sibling to dote on … I can hardly believe how lucky I am.”

Perhaps it’s not so difficult to accept the greatest shock of all after witnessing the newest miracle taking shape within the growing roundness of your body.

He grins brilliantly, the last of his apprehension finally releasing in a giddy rush. “My baby brother or sister is going to be so spoiled, just you wait.”

[mapiforpresident]

Its Always Been You

alexia x reader

~~~

The stadium lights cast a soft glow over the pitch as you and Alexia jogged toward the center circle. Training had ended hours ago, but the two of you lingered, just like you had so many times before. The empty stands echoed with the faint sounds of your laughter as you passed the ball back and forth, the simplicity of it grounding you in a way few things could.

It had been this way for as long as you could remember. You and Alexia, side by side, growing up in the small fields of Mollet del Vallès, dreaming of someday making it big. You’d shared everything—trophies, heartbreaks, and countless late-night talks under the stars about life and love. But it wasn’t until this past year that you truly understood how much she meant to you.

"Still got it," Alexia teased, nudging the ball toward you with a grin.

"Always," you replied, stopping it effortlessly under your foot. "But you’re slowing down, old lady."

Alexia laughed, rolling her eyes. "I’m six months older than you. Don’t push your luck."

You smirked, but the familiar ease between you made your chest ache. You weren’t sure when it started—this shift in your feelings for her—but now it was undeniable. The way her laugh lit up your world. The way her eyes held yours a second too long. The way being around her felt like coming home.

“Remember when we were kids and used to stay out here until it was too dark to see the ball?” she asked, a wistful smile tugging at her lips.

You nodded. “Your mom would come yelling, telling us to get inside before we caught a cold.”

“She always thought you were the bad influence.”

“Me? You’re the one who insisted on practicing corners for hours,” you shot back.

Alexia shrugged, her smile turning softer. “Maybe. But look where we are now.”

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, everything stilled. Time, space, the years you’d spent as teammates, friends—everything came rushing back. You thought about all the people you’d dated, all the moments you’d tried to fill the void that only she could seem to occupy. It had taken you thirty years to realize it, but Alexia had been right there all along.

The silence stretched too long, so you nudged the ball toward her and said, “How about a little one-on-one? Let’s see if you’ve still got it.”

Alexia grinned, accepting the challenge. You both fell into the rhythm of the drill, laughter mixing with the sound of your feet pounding the turf. She was quick, as always, and for a second, you forgot about the feelings bubbling beneath the surface. You were just two players, pushing each other like you’d done your whole lives.

Then you lunged to steal the ball, and your foot caught hers. Alexia stumbled, and before you could stop your momentum, you fell on top of her.

“Lex! Are you okay?” you asked, heart pounding as you scrambled to brace yourself, your hands on either side of her head.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, laughing breathlessly. Her hands instinctively landed on your waist to steady you.

You looked down, your faces only inches apart, and froze. Her eyes met yours, wide and glinting under the lights. Time seemed to stand still. You could feel the rise and fall of her chest beneath you, her warmth radiating against you in the cool night air.

“Y/N…” she said softly, her voice almost trembling.

Before you even registered what you were doing, you leaned in. Your lips brushed hers, tentative at first, as if you were testing the waters. But the moment her mouth moved against yours, the hesitation melted away. You kissed her like she was the only thing tethering you to the earth, pouring years of unspoken emotions into that single moment.

When you finally pulled back, your heart was racing, and so was hers. Her cheeks were flushed, her gaze searching yours for something—reassurance, maybe, or an explanation.

“I—” you started, but Alexia’s hand moved to your cheek, her thumb brushing against your skin.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Just… was that real? Because I’ve been dreaming about it for a while.”

Your lips parted in surprise. “You have?”

Alexia nodded, her hand still resting on your face. “I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember. I just didn’t think you felt the same way.”

A shaky laugh escaped you, more disbelief than humor. “Are you kidding? Lex, you’ve been my whole world. I just— I didn’t realize it until recently.”

She smiled then, a slow, breathtaking smile that made your chest ache in the best way. “I guess we’ve been wasting a lot of time, huh?”

“Maybe,” you admitted. “But we’ve got forever now.”

She nodded, her forehead pressing against yours as she whispered, “Promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“Promise you’ll hold me close,” she murmured. “Don’t let me go.”

You smiled, leaning into her touch. “I promise.”

The two of you stayed there for what felt like hours, tangled together in the center circle under the Barcelona sky. For the first time in your life, everything felt exactly as it should.

~~~

requests are open especially for:

Patri x reader x Pina

Alexia x reader

Mapi x Ingrid x reader

Lena Oberdorf

[bigification]

Coach's Emergency Line

It was ten minutes until their big final was set to begin. Every player rushed through the locker room to get their gear on. College football was taken really seriously by their school, so the pressure was on.

"Ha anyone seen Coach! We've got ten minutes till it's go time." The team captain yelled out.

The room fell silent. No one had seen Coach since their last practice, and he was nowhere to be seen on the big day.

"Something's wrong, Coach prepared me for this situation." The captain said under his breath. "This is a code red team! We need to use Coach's Emergency Line." The chatter in the room immediately stopped as the words echoed around the room.

"But Coach said that for emergencies only." One player broke the silence.

"This is an emergency. He's not here for the big game, he would only miss this if something was really wrong." The captain explained.

"What do we do, we've never had a code red." Chimed from another player.

"Greg!" The captain said sternly.

All eyes pointed to the freshmen, making him sink in shyness. Up to this point he had been a bench warmer, seemingly chosen just to fill out the roster.

"I need you to use the emergency line." The captain approached Greg.

"W- why me?" Greg stuttered, feeling all the eyes in the room staring.

"Coach instructed me that it had to be you." He said in a serious tone.

"Oh... Ok." Greg smiled slightly, just happy to finally be of use to the team.

He sheepishly walked to the big red button in the corner of the locker room. "Emergency line" was displayed in bright yellow above the button. He flipped up the glass casing and slowly pressed the button down.

WOOOOO! WOOOOO!

An alarm sounded as a red light began to flash. Greg froze in place with his finger still holding the button down. A static shocked traveled up his finger and right into his heart. A grunt escaped from his lips as his heart stopped.

Suddenly his chest started to pulsate outward, slowly growing with each pulse. His flat chest quickly grew into two meaty pecs that strained against his tiny shirt. His abdomen narrowed into a v shape as muscle piled into his midsection. Although a layer of fat quickly covered his growing six pack, giving him a small belly. His torso started to grow taller as well, making his shirt ride up and revealing his slutty waist and pudgy belly.

Next his shoulder broadened as his traps grew into thick muscles, so much so that his shirt started to rip around his shoulders. His noodle-like arms started to pulsate, similar to his chest. Each pulse brought more and more muscle, his biceps became the size of footballs as veins surfaced all the way down his strong arms. Even his hands doubled in size with thick fingers, letting him easily grip a football with one hand.

His waist started to tremble and his legs began to shake. It wasn't long before his spandex pants were ripped to shreds. The entire team watched as his juicy ass bounced as it ripped through his pants. The rest of his pants ripped clean in half as his thighs thickened and his calves became large and defined. As his pants fell to the ground, his jockstrap started to struggle holding in his growing cock. Good thing he wouldn't be on the field today, because that jock is doing nothing to protect his now 8 inch dick. Even his feet busted out of his cleats, becoming a monstrous size 18.

His height further increased as his legs grew, leaving him at an intimidating 6"6. Finally his head began to change. It grew to match his massive stature. In the process, his jawline became sharp as a knife and his eyes became sleek and intimidating. His shoulder length hair fell out, leaving a short buzz cut as his hairline receded halfway up his head. Some of his hairs even started to turn grey, which in combination with his new wrinkles, aged him well into his forties. A five o'clock shadow quickly spread across his face as a mustache formed above his lip. The hair started to spread downward, covering his chest with a forest of hair, followed by his stomach. A pelt of hair covered his muscly back, then it spread down his arms and on his thick man hands. The hair created a jungle down his ass and spread a thick coat down his legs and to his feet.

By the time Greg, I mean Coach took his finger off the button, there was nothing left of the freshman. Just a 6"6 hulk of a man in a jock and a tiny shirt was left behind. Coach's hand lifted above the button and grabbed the ball cap that was now hanging conveniently in front of his. He quickly covered up his balding head and turned to face his team. He pulled on his jockstrap, trying to make it not press on his dick so hard. Then he smiled at his team as he just realized what had happened.

"Will someone get me some fucking clothes that fit me!" Coach belted in a deep gruff voice.

[munson-blurbs]

Hehe for since you asked for fluffy smut, what if reader has had a long day at work and Eddie maybe fixes a bubble bath and they take one together, but then it gets a lil frisky

Is this more smut than fluff? Yes. Am I apologizing for it? Nope.

Collab with @corroded-hellfire who is once again the only reason there's any fluff at all.

CW: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), roommate!Eddie, accidental boners, grinding, lots and lots of touching, mention of oral (f) WC: 1.9k

Home might have been a tiny, two-bedroom apartment that perched above the heart of Hawkins, but at the end of a long shift, it’s Heaven. 

You kick off your shoes; apparently they’re one of the most supportive brands, according to the other waitresses, but your feet still ache. 

The throbbing in your feet is nothing compared to the roaring pain that inflames your lower back. Just pressing the heel of your palms into it makes you wince and groan. 

“You okay?” Eddie calls from his room. You hear him fumbling to put away his guitar before you can even reply. 

The door swings open and he stands there, posture sagging when he sees how beaten down you look. Whatever makeup you had applied that afternoon had long faded, and the stains on your apron certainly added the finishing touch. 

Eddie, meanwhile, is refreshed—infuriatingly so. Today was his day off, and though he put in a lot of work the other six days of the week, you still yearned for the well-restedness that had him bounding over to you. 

“Bubble bath?” When you two had first moved in together, he used to try and talk to you about your day. He took it personally when you retreated to your room without glancing in his direction. But now he knew that you talk when you regain your energy. And there’s no shortage of gossip after eight hours at Benny’s. 

You nod, offering him as much of a grateful smile as you can muster. “That would be great.” You weren’t sure how you managed to find a great friend like Eddie, but you weren’t about to question it, either. 

None of the guys you’d actually dated had ever been so understanding. But Eddie…he managed to always know what you needed. 

He offers you one of his signature grins that always brighten your day and heads down the hall to the bathroom. You take off your name tag when the loud gush of the tub faucet reaches your ears and you barely have time to yank your socks off before Eddie’s back in your doorway. 

“Your spa awaits,” he says. “I would’ve prepared you some music but I don’t think any of my metal cassettes have the ambiance you’re looking for right now.”

You shake your head as you pass by him and step towards the bathroom door. 

“Not really,”  you agree. “I’ll let you know if I need it for some inspiration working out or welding or something.”

Eddie huffs a laugh and slips his hands into the back pockets of his black jeans.

“Wasn’t that Flashdance?”

“Yeah, but that music wasn’t my thing,” you admit with a shrug before you step into the bathroom. The door clicks behind you as it closes and you’re immediately shedding the stained, greasy uniform you’ve been dying to ditch all day. 

A trail of clothing is left in your wake as you step up to the tub, the bubbles fizzing and giving off a calming jasmine scent. Not wanting to scald your skin as the cherry on top of this already grueling day, you slip your hand into the water to test the temperature. It’s perfect. You don’t know how Eddie does it; he must have the magic touch. 

The water, the bubbles, the scent, it’s all too inviting. You lift one leg over the side of the tub and climb in, quickly bringing the other in as well. In your haste to start your relaxation, you slip a bit as you begin to sit down. Instinct has you catching yourself on the sides of the tub almost instantly, but it causes the collection of soap, shampoo, and conditioner bottles to tumble onto the floor in a large heap. You stare at the pile for a moment.

“Ah, I’ll deal with you later,” you decide under your breath and sink further down into the warmth waiting to heal you from your long day. 

The bubbles tickle your skin as they gradually make their way higher. They stop around your breasts and the warm water wraps itself around every achy muscle in your body. 

Suddenly, the bathroom door busts open, a frazzled Eddie charging in with wide, concerned eyes. He’s only in a Corroded Coffin t-shirt and boxers now, so maybe the loud bang woke him from a nap. 

“I-Is everything okay?” he asks as he eyes the pile of bottles on the floor.

“Oh yeah, I just knocked those over when I got in,” you explain. 

Eddie breathes a sigh of relief but the moment his eyes land on you, his body tenses up even worse than before. He’s clearly trying not to stare at you—especially your chest—but he’s failing miserably. You look down to find that your roommate has a pretty good view of the tops of your boobs. 

When you look back to Eddie, you get a pretty nice view yourself. Since he’s only wearing boxers on his lower half, his boner is quite evident. 

A smug sense of satisfaction settles over you, even seeing how uncomfortable Eddie seems to be at getting caught. But you’re not going to tease him or make him feel bad about anything. On the contrary, you’ve thought of yet another way he can help you relax. 

“Do you wanna join?” you purr. 

When Eddie looks your way you give him the most innocent, wide eyed look you can manage and flutter your lashes a few times. 

Worry blooms within you when he doesn’t immediately respond. 

Did I overstep? Is he completely freaked out? Oh my god, what if his boner was completely unrelated to me and I just assumed—

His voice, smaller than you’ve ever heard it, interrupts your thoughts. “Mhm, yeah. I mean, if that’s cool with you.”

You nod, watching as he peels off his shirt and tosses it aside, exposing the soft tendrils of hair across his chest. There’s a tattoo on one pec; you want him, need him closer so you can run your tongue over it. 

He sheds his boxers next. Though you knew he was big just from seeing the bulge behind the fabric, nothing prepared you to see him fully on display. The reddish-pink tip leaks pre-cum as the shaft bobs in desperate search for the warmth of a body. 

“Where should I…” He’s gained a bit of confidence from the way you stare unabashedly at his naked body, but he’s still hesitant to push his luck too far. 

Scooting forward, you gesture to the now empty space behind you. Nerves buzz throughout your naked body —now wet in more ways than one. 

Eddie swings a leg over the edge of the tub, getting his balance before bringing the other to join. The way he places his hands on your shoulders results in an electricity that you can only hope he feels as well. 

His lower body disappears beneath the bubbles and he lets out a relaxed groan. You lean back until your head rests on his chest, his considerable length pressing against your lower back. 

“Sweetheart,” he whispers. Whether he means to speak that softly or he can’t manage anything louder, you can’t be sure. “Be careful.”

“Careful?”

He nods, lips grazing the shell of your ear. He’s so close to you, and yet he’s still too far away. “You’re so fucking tempting like this.”

You shift slightly, enough to see the blush in his cheeks that you know isn’t from the steamy bath. “Maybe I want you to be tempted.”

One tattooed arm snakes around your waist, fingers trailing upwards and stopped just shy of your breasts. 

“Don’t tease me,” he begs. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

“I mean it.”

You take his hand and place it on your left breast. He whimpers, and you swear you could climax from the sound alone. 

Water sloshes around the tub as he hooks his legs around yours, gathering the stability he needs. 

“Fuck…” His hips move as he ruts up against you, desperate for relief. The way he pinches your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, starkly contrasts the gentle kisses he leaves on your shoulder blades. 

You want him. You need him. 

His other hand lays in the water and you guide it between your legs, now spread in anticipation of his touch. 

“There?” He asks as he finds your clit, rubbing it when you nod in the affirmative. 

Eddie increases his pace, fingers working in tandem to bring you pleasure. You arch your back, exposing your neck for him to bite and suck. 

“When we’re done,” he murmurs, “I want you splayed out on the bed for me. I need to see if your pussy is as pretty as I’ve imagined.”

His words awaken something within you. “Y-You imagine me…?” You start, unable to finish your sentence. 

Eddie nods. “Every time I jerk off, Sweetheart, I imagine being inside you. How you’d feel around my cock—mmph, fuck.”

“I picture you, too,” you confess. “Your fingers, or your cock, or—”

He raises a brow. “Or?”

“Or your mouth.” The admission spills from your lips. 

“Yeah? You want me to eat that pretty little pussy of yours?” Your own desire for him amps up his confidence. He’s impossibly and impressively hard, and you would do anything for him to stretch you out. 

You nod. “Please.”

“Okay, Sweetheart. Soon as we’re done here, yeah?” His breath hitches, his rutting becoming sloppier and needier as he nears orgasm. 

Bubbly waves crest over the side of the tub, drenching the bathmat and flooding the tile floor, but neither of you care. 

“Eds, little more, I’m gonna…” 

He follows your every order, your pussy clenching around nothing as he takes care of your clit. 

“Wanna make you feel good.” Eddie kisses your shoulder again. “Please let me make you feel good.”

You can only offer a moan as you come, chanting his name over and over. It’s a name you only ever dreamed about chanting so loudly; it was usually relegated to quiet whispers alone in your room. 

A new warmth, different from the bathwater, coats your lower back and drips down to your ass when Eddie finishes, the hand on your breast squeezing tight, pain and pleasure intermingling harmoniously. 

“Oh my god,” he pants. “That was…”

“Amazing.”

Eddie nods. “So fuckin’ amazing.” 

He lifts a bubble-covered hand to your chin, tilting it slightly so he can kiss you. His lips are soft but move with determination, his tongue sliding between yours. You let him in, your fingers playing with the wet tips of his hair. 

“Meant what I said about eating you out,” he mumbles into your mouth before stealing another kiss. 

Splayed out on the bed. His to ravish. The thought has you lunging for the towel hanging behind the door in an attempt to dry off. 

But when you stand, Eddie reaches out his hand and pulls you towards him, now eye-level with your pussy. “Knew she was perfect,” he says with a smirk. “Bet she tastes even better.”

The kiss he presses to your folds nearly buckled your knees. 

“You wanna find out?” He nods eagerly, and you giggle. “It might be a little lavender-y from the bath soap, though.”

Eddie shrugs. “Don’t care. Need you.”

And who are you to deny a man his needs?

--

[delaber]

Warrior/Worrier (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Summary: After a mission gone awry, Bucky finds himself on your doorstep in the middle of the night.

Words: 5.3K

Fluff, fluff and fluff and a lil bit of angst. Classic hurt/comfort and friends to lovers

Through the darkness, there's a knock on your bedroom door, so soft, so cautious, that if you hadn't already been half-awake, you're not sure you would've caught it.

Legs quickly swung over the side of your mattress, you stop and focus at a fixpoint in your moonlit room.

According to the big mission schedule hung in Steve's office, you should be the only one at the compound, so you cannot for the life in you figure out who would rap on your door at 3.30 in the morning, but it wasn't just something you'd imagined because there it is again. A knock, not much louder than before, but definitely there.

For a brief second, your foggy brain ponders that it's likely someone who's been sent to kill you in the dead of night, but before you've even reached for your bedside Beretta, rationality reminds you that they probably wouldn't have had the curtesy to knock first - and then it dawns on you.

"Nat," you sigh with a roll of your eyes and let your bare feet hit the floor while you rub the sleep from off your face. It's not the first time she's forgotten the lock combination to her room after post-mission drinks.

Slowly, you walk across the cold floorboards and over to the wooden door where you can hear ragged breathing from the other side of the wall. Hand lazily pulling the door open, you start talking before you've seen who's on the other side.

"It's only four digits and you're panic breathing?" you chuckle but is immediately taken aback when you're not met by Natasha but instead by your best friend. "...Buck?"

He's back from his mission a day earlier than you'd expected and you're just about to crack a witty comment on how you'd told him that Sam couldn't stand to be alone with him for more than thirty-six hours, but then you notice the state he's in.

His entire body is slumped over as he clutches his right arm tight to his chest, eyes droopy and blank, cheekbones dotted by freckles of soot and framed by thick strands of auburn hair caked in dried blood. "Doll," he breathes painfully and takes a step closer, looking only mildly relieved to see you.

"Buck!" you hiss in fear and grab both his cheeks, but his dirty face just drops further, and he can't even look at you though you're standing mere inches apart.

"I know it's late," he mumbles with his gaze downcast, "but can I come in?"

It's as if you don't hear him clearly enough to respond. His voice is under water and at the same time layers above you while you're far too concerned with every look of horror splashed across his handsome face, your hands frantically clutching his bloodied cheeks as you desperately search his eyes though he still won't look at you. "What happened? Where's all this blood coming from?"

"It's - it's not mine..." he croaks with a small shake of his head.

Fear ripples through your entire body one more time and you can barely speak as you imagine the worst possible scenario that might have caused Bucky to behave like this. "Is it... Sam?" you whimper with tears already burning in your eyes, fighting the urge to throw up.

"He's fine," Bucky quickly interrupts with a small nod, "I dropped him off at his girl's place twenty minutes ago," he croaks and finally looks up at you, his eyes more broken than you've ever seen them before. It makes your heart crack in two. "Sweetheart, can I please come in?"

"Oh god," you pant anxiously and reluctantly let your fingers slide off his cheeks as you step to the side and finally let him inside your bedroom. "Yes, yes of course you can come in."

Immediately, he's on your bed, his face buried in his vibranium hand as the pads of his fingers start rubbing circles over his dusty forehead.

"What happened?" you barely manage to croak as you sit down beside him and carefully place a hand on his rigid thigh. "Last time I heard from you, everything was going according to plan."

"I don't want to talk about it," he gulps and starts rubbing his face even more agitatedly, looking over at you with an apologetic look on his face. "- not right now... I just had to see you. I'm sorry I woke you up."

You grab his vibranium hand and bring it down to his lap to get him to stop his frantic movements and he immediately squeezes you tight, letting out another heart-breaking sob.

"It's okay, Buck. I'm glad you're here."

Over the last year, you've seen Bucky on his darkest days a handful of times, and he usually has the same look on his face, but this time, it's different. It's deeper. Despondent and morose, the anger that's usually posessing him om the bleaker days replaced by a different kind of sadness.

Something really bad must've happened...

"Do you wanna sleep in here tonight?" you ask, unsure how to tackle this the best way possible if you don't want him to shield himself off in his room the way he usually does when he's not feeling his best. He shouldn't be alone under any circumstances.

You're half expecting him to protest, but to your surprise he starts nodding, relieved. "Thank you," he whispers and squeezes your hand tight again.

You make an attempt at a comforting touch as you brush over the soot on his cheeks, making a strand of dirty hair dipped in dried blood fall from his forehead. "You want a shower? I can draw you a bath."

He nods again.

"Come on, love," you say quietly and watch as he gulps hard at the sound of the tender pet-name that you've been wanting to call him for months now but haven't had the guts to say out loud until it accidentally slips past your lips. Surprisingly, you're not even embarrassed by yourself. You suppose there are more important things to worry about than an accidental profession of love in a moment of gentle affection.

Bucky seems taken aback too, frozen, and full of wonder, but he shakes it off and lets you pull him to your small bathroom, accepting your fluffiest towel without a word as he continues staring at you.

"I'll be just outside, okay?" you say reassuringly as you turn on the water in your bathtub, making sure it's the right temperature before putting in the drain stopper.

He's still looking at you with huge eyes, flesh arm clutched to his chest while the fluffy white towel gently supports his elbow. You silently wonder if he's hurt but before you can ask him, he speaks.

"Can you... stay?" He asks quietly, biting his inner cheek, unsure if his request is too much.

Still, it's your turn to be taken aback. You and Bucky are close but not like that. 

"Stay?" you instinctively furrow your eyebrows, "while you shower?

He immediately clenches his jaw shut and shakes his head while small patches of pink appear on his cheeks underneath all the dirt. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"No, no it's okay," you quickly stand up from your position by the tub spout so you're once again levelled. "- I was just surprised, that's all," you want to smack yourself for making him doubt himself. "Of course I'll stay."

Ice blue irises slowly find yours while the rose tint of his lower lip is being pulled between his teeth. "Are you sure?" he hesitates while sucking in some air, "I don't want to make you uncomfortable..."

"You're not," you touch your hand to his sternum to underline your words and watches as the crease between his eyebrows slowly reduces as he gradually relaxes under your touch. You can't help but think that even through all the dust and the grime, he looks incredibly beautiful.

"Let me give you some privacy," you unwillingly let go of him and turn away so he can undress in peace.

From behind you, you can hear the ruffle of his tac pants being pushed down his legs before the belt buckle clangs loudly against the tiles of the floor. It's followed by a series of loud painful grunts and hisses a few seconds later.

"Are you okay?" you ask and turn your head to the side, careful not to look directly at him as to not break the trust he put in you when he asked you to stay. "Buck?"

"Yeah, sweetheart," he sighs in embarrassment behind you, "it's just... do you think you could... help me?"

You turn around slowly to find him standing in the middle of the bathroom still wearing his torn t-shirt and Kevlar vest, bare-legged in boxer shorts and black socks pulled high up on his calf while his pants are lying crumbled on the floor beside him. He's awkwardly shifting the weight between his two feet, still clutching his right arm tightly. "It's my elbow."

Immediately, you furrow your eyebrows and walk over to him, taking his right hand in yours. "Yeah, I meant to ask you earlier. What happened?"

He doesn't answer but just silently lets you examine the swelling and black-purple skin that's half-hidden underneath dust and blood.

"Shit," you breathe and hear him give out a sharp hiss when you turn his arm over so you can examine the other side, "Buck, I think your elbow's torn."

"Me too," he gulps, "- I heard it snap."

At the mere thought of the sound, a wave of nausea hits you square in the chest and your stomach starts to churn. You can feel the tang of acid push up on your tongue when you imagine the pain he must've been enduring - still is enduring - but you fight it relentlessly and eventually manage to swallow down the bile. You should be taking care of him, not the other way around.

"We should go down to the infirmary," you say and keep your gaze firmly placed on the purple bruising, so he doesn't notice your discomfort. "I know it probably won't take too long to heal with the serum and all but just to make su-"

"Sweetheart," he gulps from above you and it makes you stop mid-sentence. "Not tonight, okay? I just wanna stay here tonight."

You look up at him, about to protest, but the words quickly die in your throat when you notice the look he's wearing. He's begging. Anxious. Heavy-hearted.

"Okay," you reluctantly agree and carefully let go of his arm while he sends you a grateful look. "Come on, let me help you out of this," you say quietly in defeat and unstrap his vest beneath his ribs, pulling the Kevlar plates over his head while he groans loudly.

"Ah!" he hisses and clutches his elbow tight, squeezing his eyes shut when you try and pull his t-shirt over his head. "Fuck!"

"You good?"

"Mm-hmm" he hums displeased with lips pressed so tightly together they're forming a thin, white line. "Just get it over with."

You pull on the hem again so the dark fabric rides up his stomach, revealing scarred skin pulled tight over the bulging muscles you've spent so many warm summer days discreetly staring at. "Can you reach your arms just a little higher?" you ask and watch how his diaphragm heaves in small electric shocks when he cannot control the loud gasps that escape his throat.

"Fuck me!" He hisses and squeezes his eyes so tightly shut that his entire face pales. "Just rip the damn fabric off," he hisses angrily, "I can't extend my fucking arm."

"Are you sure you don't wanna get it checked out in the med wing?" You let go of his t-shirt and look him deep in the eye, hoping your concerned gaze can convince him that it'll be worth the trip just to get your jumping nerves under control.

"Just... get me out of this thing," he sighs in defeat. "Cut it open, I don't care."

Disinclined, you dive down in the drawer underneath your sink, pulling out a small flat-legged scissor that came with a roll of gauze you bought last year when you had a nasty wound that wouldn't stop bleeding. "Are you sure?" You look up at him as you put the blade underneath the hem of his t-shirt.

Through the fingers you have placed over his chest, you can feel how his pulse quickly falls again when your eyes meet.

"S'just a t-shirt," he mumbles quietly while nodding, "I'm sure..."

Though you want to stay in this position forever, you slowly look away from him and down at your hands as your hesitantly start cutting, careful not to pierce Bucky's flesh with the sharp scissors.

The blade runs through the fabric like a hot knife through butter and you can feel every tense muscle that the edge of the scissors encounters as they travel over his warm stomach and chest. It makes the blood roar in your ears as more and more skin is revealed underneath your fingertips.

Concentrated on not hurting him even more, you keep your gaze firmly placed on his heavily panting chest as you cut open the front of his black shirt and carefully peel the fabric off his bruised arm until he's standing in front of you in nothing but black boxers and socks, his left hand carefully reaching out for yours as if to comfort both of you.

You've seen him bare chested several times before, but it's never been in this close proximity, never been this intimate, just the two of you holding hands and looking each other deep in the eye as you silently try to assure the other that everything is going to be okay.

"So..." you clear your throat, embarrassed by the fact that you have to hold yourself back from leaning forwards, planting a small kiss on his dusty cheek. "- I take it you can shimmy your way out of those on your own, right?" You nod down towards his boxers and he blinks as if he's just woken up from a trance.

"Yeah," he nods and lets go of your hand while the pink patches make a reappearance on his face.

Slowly, you turn around facing the running spout in the tub to the soft sound of cotton hitting the floor behind you. Involuntarily, you give out a gulp and flusteredly grab the box of bath salts just to give your shaking hands something to do. You cannot believe that your extremely fuckable best friend is standing naked in your bathroom no more than two feet away, begging you to stay close to him.

Eyes still firmly placed on the water in the tub, you point over your shoulder to the rainfall shower in the opposite corner of the bathroom. "You wanna rinse off first?"

"I better," Bucky hesitates behind you. "Don't you think?"

"It'll be a much nicer bath if you do," you awkwardly clear your throat.

"Yeah, you're right," he sighs and turns on the shower, immediately stepping inside and closing the glass door behind him so you can finally breathe freely again.

Through the mirror above the sink, you can make out his naked silhouette behind the matte glass and how the tension in his shoulders first tenfolds and then completely disappears the minute the water turns warm and he relaxes. He lets his forehead fall forwards so it's pressed up against the cold tiles while the water runs over his defined shoulders and down his sculpted back, and you literally have to force your eyes away from him and the shape of his handsome torso.

With your gaze fixed firmly on the fuzzy bathmat at the foot of the shower, you hear the sound of your bath gel being opened, followed by a series of painful grunts as Bucky desperately tries to lather himself with the soap.

"Fuck," he mumbles quietly and before you've even voiced a single word of concern, he continues. "Sweetheart, I know it's a lot to ask..." he says a little louder, the embararssement still evident in his voice, "- but I'm gonna need a little help in here... it's - it's this damn elbow," he sighs, "I'm useless. Can you...?" his voice trails off and the question hangs thickly in the air between you.

He wants you to join him.

To wash him.

Take care of him.

The thought alone makes you nervous, you have to admit, but he needs your help and you're willing to do anything for him.

"Give me a minute," you gulp and strip down to your panties, pulling on the bra you wore earlier so you're not completely bare in there. Several times, you've dreamt of you and Bucky naked together, but not like this - never like this - and you'll be damned if the first time he sees you without a shred of clothes is because he needs help and not because he needs you.

With your pyjamas neatly folded on top of the toilet seat cover, you take a final look at yourself in the mirror, brushing your hair out of your eyes before nervously reaching for the shower door with shaking hands.

He's still standing with his chiselled back towards you, letting the water rinse over his dirty hair and down between his shoulder blades with a slightly pinkish hue. "I'm so sorry about this," he mumbles uncomfortably and hands you your loofah behind his back. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"Come on, Buck," you say as you dribble a little soap on the sponge, fighting the urge to let your gaze run all the way down to his thick thighs. "Don't beat yourself up, you know I'm always here for you."

"Still," he mumbles and goes silent as the loofah gently runs over his tense shoulders and traces down his spine.

The white soap bubbles work magic on his dirty skin and you make sure not to leave out a single square inch of his scarred backside as you wash him while fighting the urge to wrap your arms around his torso, telling him how glad you are that he not alone came home, but also that he came to you seeking help instead of barricading himself in his room. It seems significant that he's here, as if something's changed between you though you cannot put your finger on it.

Completely lost in thought, you accidentally run the loofah a little too vigorously over his right tricep, sending shockwaves down his broken bone and resulting in a painful hiss falling from his open mouth.

"Sorry," you mumble, and scrub down his lower back, this time more careful with your movements though there aren't any dirty or bloody spots left on either side of his spine. "There we go" you conclude quietly when you realise that the rinsing water has finally lost its pink and grimy hue. "Turn around," you ask and hope he cannot hear the nervousness straining your voice. No matter what, you're not looking down.

Bucky seems just as jittery about his compromising position as you do, and he slowly spins around, revealing pink cheeks and heaving pecs, his gaze glued to the ceiling as he looks as if he's ready to fling himself off the nearest cliff. "God, sweetheart," he mumbles and breathes hard, "I'm so sorry for all this."

"Bucky, come on - what'd I tell you?" you touch the loofah to his chest, careful not to look anywhere than at the sponge itself as it traces over his collar bones and down his handsome stomach.

He merely sighs and stands completely still while you rinse the crevices between the metal plates over his left clavicle, careful not to move his torso so much he hisses in pain again.

"...You're a good friend," he mumbles after a few focused minutes where you've carefully been scrubbing the gold-plated lines in the vibranium, "- I ever tell you that?"

"All the time," you smile genuinely for the first time since he knocked on your door earlier that evening. If there's one thing you can count on, it's that Bucky Barnes appreciates you more than anything.

"I mean it," he says, "never doubt that."

You look up into his eyes.

He looks so soft and innocent as he stands before you, face finally clean, wet hair sticking to his forehead while he professes his love for you. Even if it's just platonic, it makes your heart skip a beat.

"I know, Buck."

"Good," he nods and blinks a few times with heavy, wet lashes framing his cerulean eyes. The air between you is thicker than ever and for a brief moment, it looks as if he's about to lean in and kiss you, but you break the tension by looking away. You don't want to take advantage of his vulnerable state no matter how badly you want that kiss.

"You ready for the tub?" You ask him in a weirdly shaky voice.

He nods while an almost inaudible sigh escapes his lips. "Yeah," he says and turns off the water, quickly exiting the shower before you can take notice of the disappointment burning on his skin.

You dry your feet on the small fuzzy mat, carefully watching Bucky's naked backside as he tests the temperature in the tub by dipping his toe in the water before stepping over the porcelain edge, sitting himself down.

Immediately, he gives out a content sigh, and drapes right arm over his chest, supporting his broken elbow with vibranium fingers, and you finally deem the situation safe enough to approach him again.

"Want me to wash your hair?"

"Mmh" he hums with closed eyes, immediately more relaxed now that he's covered by water. "I don't deserve you."

You grab your shampoo bottle and push out a decent amount of liquid, pressing it to his warm scalp to the sound of an alleviated sigh falling from his lips as you carefully start massaging it into his roots.

"Does that feel good?" you ask through a smile.

"Yeah, sweetheart," he groans quietly, making the butterflies in your stomach flutter awake, "- feels amazing."

You're slowly lathering shampoo into his long hair, enjoying the feel of him underneath your fingertips, how his soft hair slips through your hands while also trying not to think too much about the kiss you robbed yourself of in the shower. You can hear how his breathing slowly steadies and you think that maybe he's in the early stages of sleep but then he unexpectedly heaves a deep breath -

"You know... I haven't been scared of death for a long time," he says so sudden, so seriously that you're immediately brought out of your trance as your every muscle freezes at his austere tone of voice. "I used to not care if I lived or died but... tonight didn't go as planned," he swallows thickly and you can see how his jaw tenses up as his voice becomes husky, "- they... had me."

"What?" you pant with mortification, your every skeletal muscle paralysed as your breathing picks up. You don't have to ask him who he's talking about.

"Sam and I, we were so sure of ourselves," he shakes his head with his gaze fixed on the wall straight ahead. "We thought had the perfect plan... I - I'm such an idiot, nothing ever runs smoothly with Hydra."

You can feel your heart thumping in your throat. "What happened?" You whisper.

"Sam was on the look-out while I got the hard drive," he mumbles, "it was so easy. It didn't even take me five minutes before I was heading back towards the safehouse," he gulps, "- of course it was an ambush. I should have realised the minute I set foot inside that building."

"You couldn't have known," you whimper softly and stroke his scalp, but he doesn't listen.

"- I thought I was..." the words drown in a heavy sigh, and he stares blankly into space while blinking the tears away.

"Buck," you whisper and can feel the pain radiating from every fibre of his entire being when you wrap your arms around his wet torso and hold him close to your chest.

"They took me to a room. Strapped me down," he takes a ragged breath, and you hold on to him even tighter, "I was sure that was it. I never thought I'd find myself home again."

"You're home now," you whisper and softly kiss his shoulder, hoping that he doesn't feel the tear that lands on top of his clavicle. "You're home now with me."

"I know, sweetheart," he leans into your hug with a sigh, "trust me, I know."

"Everything's gonna be alright, love," you whisper against him and stroke your hand over his hair, "it's you and me against the world, always."

"You and me," he quietly confirms and leans back into your chest with a deep breath.

You continue stroking him over the hair, hold on to him for dear life, not willing to let go as you feel him relax more and more in your arms until he starts snoring slightly, finally warm and safe in your embrace.

"Buck, come on," you instinctively kiss him right below his ear, "you're sleeping. Let's get you into bed."

"Sorry," he mumbles groggily and lets his head fall back against your shoulder. "m'just so fucking tired. Been up thirty-six hours..."

"We'll talk tomorrow," you kiss him again and unwillingly unwrap yourself from around his chest, standing up straight beside him. "I'm not going anywhere. Promise."

He's looking up at you with puppy eyes, gaze slowly travelling down your body and up again as if he hadn't realised you were in your lingerie until that exact moment. "You look beautiful," he says quietly and you half-expect him to laugh it off, but his face stays serious.

"...Thanks," you croak while handing him the fluffy towel, not sure how to react to his sweet words. He's called you many things, but he's never downright called you beautiful before.

"I can take it from here, sweetheart," he nods slowly and steals one last glance down at your body, "you just go to bed. I'll be in in a minute."

"Okay," you whisper and peel yourself away from the tension between you by swiftly turning around, exiting the bathroom.

Back in your room, you barely have time to get out of your wet underwear and put on a fresh set of pyjamas, before a boxer-clad Bucky joins you on the bed.

"Are you still okay with me staying the night?" He asks, nervously.

"Of course I am," you answer immediately and find his vibranium hand underneath the covers, lacing your fingers between his as you scan his weary features. "See if you can get some sleep, okay? You need it," you brush a strand of wet hair away from his face and make sure he's fine by gently cupping his cheek before closing your eyes, hoping he's following your lead, doing the same.

The dark room goes completely quiet for a few minutes where the only audible sound is of your synchronised breathing.

You can feel yourself grow impossibly tired too as you lie there hand in hand with Bucky, and you're just about to succumb to sleep, when suddenly, his quiet whisper breaks the silence.

"I thought about you," he says softly, and it makes you open your eyes again.

You're staring straight into his handsome face, his beautiful blue eyes scanning over your features as he slowly clarifies.

"When they had me strapped down, I thought about you," he moves his fingers against the palm of your hand and completely engulfs you. "The thought of not seeing you again was..." the words die in his throat, and he looks as if he's seconds away from whimpering. "- Sweetheart, you make me so afraid of dying."

You breathe hard with quivering lips, huge eyes matching his as you let his confession sink in.

"I was so desperate to come home, I snapped the restraints in half. Snapped my own elbow along with them," he winces slightly at the painful memory that once again makes your stomach churn. "Sweetheart, I fought like hell. I don't think I've ever been so angry... I - I killed everyone I could get my hands on, I just had to see you again," he brings your hand to his soft lips and kisses the delicate pulse point of your wrist.

"Buck..." a slow whine escapes your throat as you try to blink away a stubborn tear that slowly starts rolling down the side of your nose.

"I love you," he whispers so softly against your thin skin that you almost don't hear. His eyes are closed and he looks relieved to be lying here with you, so you carefully pull his hand to your chest, placing his vibranium palm above your heavily beating heart.

"I love you too."

"Sweetheart," he whispers above you and moves his hand a little on top of your soft pyjamas while lightly shaking his head with a sigh. "No, you don't understand..." he gulps and searches your face, "I love you."

Your breath hitches in your throat.

"- I want more than this," he slowly admits. "I want to be more than your friend. I'm in love with you."

You squeeze his hand and move a little closer to him, scared that he'll stop confessing his love if you say something to throw him off track.

He holds on to you and can feel how your pulse starts racing underneath your pyjamas. "I hope I'm not scaring you off."

"No, no you're not," you say in a hoarse voice, "not at all. I - I think about you all the time."

"You do?" He breathes hard, clearly not believing what he's hearing.

"Yeah," you merely nod and move your head a little closer to him while he does the same. "I'm in love with you too, Buck. Have been for quite some time."

With a serious look, he moves his hand from off your chest and up to your face where he brushes a finger over the delicate features of your cheekbone and down to your jawline. "I'm gonna kiss you now," he warns in a whisper and waits for you to give him a nod before he reaches his head forwards, finally claiming your mouth with his lips.

His hand snakes down the length of your spine and you press your entire front up against his hard chest and stomach while he caresses the small of your back, slipping his soft tongue inside your mouth. "God," he moans and gently grabs hold of your hips, pulling you impossibly close to him. "You make me feel whole again," he whispers against your skin and kisses a small line from your earlobe and down to the base of your clavicle. "What do you say sweetheart?" he mumbles and nibbles at your skin, "can I take you out?"

"Yeah, Buck, you can take me out," you squeeze his hand, and he smiles for the first time that evening, setting everything inside of you aflame.

He's finally smiling and it's because of you.

"I wanna do it the old-fashioned way," he says, beaming, "bring you flowers. Take you dancing. Show you how you're supposed to be treated."

You can't help but chuckle at his soft innocence. "You're an old man," you brush him over his hair, "nobody goes dancing anymore."

"I'll teach you," he chuckles back but lets it turn into a sharp hiss when he accidentally moves his broken elbow.

"That sounds lovely," you admit with a smile, excited at the prospect of having his hands on your hips while he tells you what to do, "- though I'm afraid we'll have to get that elbow sorted first if you want to manoeuvre me around on the dancefloor. I know you don't see the point in going but... med wing tomorrow morning?"

"Okay," he rolls his eyes with a laugh that makes your stomach go all warm and fuzzy. "If it gets me to go dancing with you just an hour earlier, it's worth the trip... Will you go with me?"

"Yeah, I'll go with you," you kiss his hand, and he chuckles so warmly your stomach lights up again. "I'll go with you always."

[hwanchaesong]

Paradox (Enemies to Lovers) Preview

pairing: Nishimura Riki/Ni-ki X F!Reader

synopsis: Romance is poisonous, it slowly kills you with fantasies, it removes the freedom of thinking for oneself. Then again, you're not one to talk when you find yourself alone with the snake himself under the stars.

word count: tba

genre & warnings: angst, fluff, suggestive, warnings are tba

a/n: this is a teaser for the upcoming Enhypen: Tropes & Parallels series that i've been working on. i hope y'all look forward to it. please don't hesitate to tell me if you wanted to be added to the taglist. tysm 🩷

The deadly steel in your hand is as heavy as your breathing. One pull of the trigger and the mission that you have been preparing for all your life will finally come to an end.

All the suffering, the pain, the frustration, and the hell you've been put through will be paid by the demons themselves.

So, what's stopping you?

"I'm waiting." the rough voice halts your heart rate, muscles gone frigid while your eyes widened, seeing the man in the velvety sheets that was supposed to be asleep stood on his feet.

"Don't move, I won't hesitate to put a bullet through your skull." you warned, not once did you lower the gun in your sweaty palms, but you did took a step back when he tried to close the distance between you two.

He stayed right on his spot, until he sighed and dared to move in your direction despite your threats.

"I said-" you gasped, cutting your sentence short when he swiftly held your hand that is gripping the pistol, only then did you notice how much you were shaking yet his warm touch managed to stabilize you back on earth.

"I'm not an idiot. I knew what you were up to all along." he speaks, straightforward and firm but his gentle tone keeps on burning you, reminding you that he's much more than a revenge to you, "A random girl wouldn't come to me, Nishimura Riki, the heir of the underground, without any ulterior motives."

You managed to let out a scoff, "So you knew what you'll become of after tonight." you tried to sound emotionless, but your quivering lips betray you to no end.

His brown orbs stared right through your soul, and he gave you a light smile when he guided the muzzle right over his chest, the area where his heart beats peacefully. You slowly peered at him when he did the unexpected, the air in your lungs hitching when you saw how the moonlight bathe him in an ethereal glow.

"Remember when I told you that my fate rests in your hands." he whispers lowly, shivers running down your spine when you recollected the promises you both made while you're drowning in smoke and wine.

"Riki.."

One pull of the trigger, so close... you're so close in reaching your dreams. The herculean journey that you trudged alone, even when the soles of your feet were swollen and all your bones were broken beyond mending, the finale is nigh and only a single shot is needed for you to be finally free.

So, what the fuck is stopping you?

"I meant that." he digs the mouth of death deeper into his torso, his thumb caressing your knuckles, he leaned down and you swear you felt him leave a kiss on the crown of your head.

"If burying me six feet under will make you float above the skies then so be it."

taglist

@lilyuwon @ramenoil @itjengirl

[forever--darling]

iknimaya | neteyam x avatar!reader

summary: half a year later and it was finally time for you to make the trip to the hallelujah mountains and claim your ikran. one step closer to completing your training, you can't help but think about the future - specifically your future with neteyam. it's hard to get anywhere though with lo'ak trying to make plans of his own.

pairings: neteyam x avatar!reader

word count: 10.9k

warnings/notes: swearing, less enemies but not quite lovers, still very slow burn, a lot more angst to come -- fair warning, lo'ak x avatar!reader (one-sided), mutual secret pining, ikran flying, fluff

series masterlist | one of us: part four | requests are currently open for now

When a person becomes one of the people, or in other words, when they are born twice, the clan puts on a ceremony for them. It consists of dancing, feasting, and telling stories to one another — it’s all about connection. A connection between the people, their culture, and the new person who has become one of them. Kiri had been telling you about it nonstop, trying to install some confidence in you.

You would be covered in paint and stand before the clan asking them for their acceptance. The Olo’eyktan would approach you and in his eyes from Eywa, you would either be accepted or denied. If he accepts you, he will place his hands upon your shoulders, above your heart, and in turn, the rest of the clan would follow until they form a large circle around you. Interconnected as one, before Ewya. It’s there where you’d earn your place among the people, forever. 

That isn’t the final test that decides your place among the Omatikaya, but only the ceremony. The final test is the hardest thing asked of a person; a journey, filled with an act fueled by the need to prove oneself. A journey into the Hallelujah Mountains where the individual would walk among the floating island of banshees. The most dangerous creature to fly within the sky, aside from the great leonopteryx, the last shadow. You must look one in the eye and if it tries to kill you, it means you have been chosen as a rider.

After that, it's up to you. Live or die. Walk among the people forever or become an outsider. Stay or be exiled. It all comes down to that final test. After spending six months training, learning, and integrating your entire life onto the planet you had once only seen from a glass window, you were about to face the final test. It all came down to that moment after perfecting the language, understanding the orders of energy transfers under Eywa, practicing Tsaheylu, and consummating the skill of hunting. It all came down to sealing the bond with the second deadliest creature of the sky. 

It was the morning before you were set to make the trek toward the mountains with Neteyam, Jake, and a few other young Na’vi prospects looking to prove that they should be accepted among the clan as adults. Before the village, they were hoping to be seen and accepted by their parents and other adults alike that they were no longer incompetent children, but well-working individuals of society. You had more to prove than them and everyone knew it.

For you it was everything and that thought alone had you retreating into the forest just before sunrise, the foliage illuminating under your feet, as you found yourself among the only spot you could find peace to think. The river and the waterfall that Neteyam had shown you five months ago — the night you had called a truce to the immature behavior and sharp tension. 

From that night on, that place had become his spot and yours. Most of the time, the two of you went together at night. It was a place where you could talk, swim, and whisper to one another about the inevitable future that was approaching the both of you far too quickly. Where yours hung in the balance, unknown about what was to come, his was certain.

When you finished your training, he would be close to completing his own. If you did this, completed this, he would no longer be the Olo’eyktan in training but the future Olo’eyktan of the Omatikaya. He would work alongside Jake until one day the title would be bestowed on him when needed. He would no longer be seen as a boy but a man, and with that came making his bow from what was left of the wood of Home Tree, finishing a song bead for his songchord, and having a woman chosen for him. 

Neteyam would be old enough and prove himself to have the ability to choose a woman within the village. However, where it would be any other man’s choice, you quickly realized for the future Olo’eyktan the privilege would not be the same. He would need a Tsahik to lead alongside him and his choice couldn’t withstand being wrong. The clan could suffer and Mo’at and Neytiri would work in their power to prevent that from happening.

As soon as his training was over, they would look to Eywa and choose his mate. From that moment on, they would be engaged, and as soon as he turned eighteen he was expected to consummate their marriage and their courtship. But then eighteen came and went and he had pushed it off. He had just turned nineteen and there was chatter going around, that they were already praying and looking to Eywa to guide them to an answer, and suddenly you couldn’t bear it. 

It bothered you to no end, on top of the fear of not passing your final test. The thought of Neteyam being mated with another clan woman left the worst feeling in your stomach and made you so sick, but you shoved it down deep. So deep that no one else could possibly know about how you felt.

The very feelings that started to develop the first evening you met were later masked as dislike during that first month when you refused to listen to one another. It was seen as anger and hatred but after the night when he brought you here, to the river, that feeling still remained. The rage and the resentment were gone but the feelings deep within your stomach were still there, their grip tightly wrapped around your very being. 

You knew though that once, or rather if accepted, traditionally one day you would have been able to be matched with someone. Asked by Eywa to be someone’s mate for the rest of your life but even if accepted, not all wishes and traditions are granted to dream walkers. Neytiri had expressed to you multiple times that you would still be a dream walker, a soul belonging to two bodies after the ceremony. It wouldn’t be fair to be mated with someone during the day but separate from them at night. She had lived that life once and she wouldn’t wish that upon any of the young men of their village, let alone one of her sons, who both seemed to have a strong connection with you. Mo’at agreed and therefore forbade you from being promised or even mated to a man of the village unless you became fully Na’vi. 

That wouldn’t be happening anytime soon either because the more you wished to become full Na’vi, the more you began to separate from your former life. But Mo’at forbade that too. The transfer consisted of a ritual where the consciousness of a single being was transferred from one body to another. It had only been done twice and before that, no one knew for sure. After thousands of years, some things became more and more like folk tales. Out of those two rituals, only one survived. The one was Toruk Makto, Jake Sully.

With that case in point, Mo’at didn’t believe in your odds and she hadn’t asked Eywa enough about it to grant your request. It had been days ago when you had appeared in her hut, in a state of distress. After the whispers became louder about Neteyam’s future mate and the talk about your Iknimaya seemed to circulate the village. 

It all was getting to you, not to mention the more connected you felt to this body, your avatar the body, the less you connected to your own. The original body you had spent almost ninteen prior years in, seemed to be failing you the longer you stayed in the link pod and with the Omatikaya.

The truth was your immune system was shot and somehow months ago you had contracted a virus and from there, things began to spiral. You were taking care of yourself less; by this time, you had become far too weak. Norm and Max had been trying to treat you with everything they had but with their resources limited they could only do so much. It had become worse just a few days prior when you for the first time ever delivered a successful clean kill. The testament of whether you were ready to complete the final test. 

That night you had barely made it back to your own room by yourself as you had lost probably close to twenty pounds and had no strength left in your legs. Max had advised you or rather ordered you to take a few days off away from the link pod and lay in bed. You needed to rest and both he and Norm agreed that the strain on your body from the link process wasn’t helping you in the slightest, but you refused. You were too close, after so many long months, you were so close. 

Not to mention that in this body, in this form, you couldn’t feel it — the weakness, the limitations, the way you felt yourself losing all hope of a normal life. In this body, you weren’t that and you refused to give it all up to become that version of yourself when you were this close. You suspected that Jake knew, that Norm had gotten in contact with him and told him about your human state but he hadn’t brought it up to you yet. Instead, he communicated it through lingering stares and the sudden extra attention you seemed to be getting from both his wife and his daughters. 

On this day of all days though, that couldn’t have your attention, not when you were about to partake in the most important moment of your life. Sat at the edge of the river, you stared forward at the water, your arms wrapped tightly around your legs. Your chin leaned against your knees, deep in thought about all of the worst possible scenarios that occurred if you couldn’t do this. 

You heard him before you saw him, he approached you from behind, his footsteps quiet as he stepped past low-hanging foliage like so many times before. How did you know it was him? Because it always was.

“Y/N?” The sound of your name fell from his lips like woodsprites on skin, softly, gently as if he didn’t want to scare you away. He stood behind you for a moment, staring forward matching where you were looking almost in uncertainty at your quietness. “Hey, what are you doing? You do realize we have to start making our way towards the mountains in about an hour.” 

Silence was all he got in response as you continued to look forward at the water and the ripples that formed from a fish kissing the surface. His voice broke through your fears and worries with ease but it wasn’t enough to overpower them completely. You felt him sit next to you, close enough that his leg pressed against yours. He stared at the side of your face, those gold irises of his taking in every part of it and analyzing every one of your emotions. You felt his fingers brush against your skin as his hand delicately clasped around your forearm. 

As if broken from your spell, you turned towards him, eyes swimming with every doubt in your body, “What if I can’t do this, Neteyam?” 

“What?” his brows furrowed “How could you ask that?” 

“What if I can’t claim an Ikran? Is that it? I just don’t become one of the people and then your parents exile me? I once again am nothing but an outsider? I don’t think I can do that. A life where I am not here every day in the village, or running through the forest. I don’t think I could stand it.” 

He pulled you closer to him, a light chuckle falling from his lips, “Y/N. Woah, slow down.” 

“And not being able to see everyone; your sisters, or Lo’ak, or Jake. I mean I don’t think I could ever live with never seeing any of them again. Not seeing you again…”  

His hand tightened as if your words registered in his ears, the possibility of that flashing through his mind. He shook his head and focused instead on your widened eyes and how they refused to look away from him. “That won’t happen. You have this. We have trained for months and I know that—” 

“But what if—” 

“No, but anything, because you have this,” he said, tone solid, not bothering to let you finish your previous thought. A smile broke out across his lips then, “I thought you were tougher than this, Y/L/N.”

Usually, you would defy him, and argue with him but not like the two of you once did. Now those disagreements seemed to always be interlaced with teasing tones and sly smiles. You usually gave him a look filled with smugness just asking for him to try and regain control over you. This look on your face though didn’t appear anything like that though. Instead, you were deflated and falling apart at the seams. 

“Me too,” you agreed.

“Y/N—” he started but his voice died quickly as you spoke again. 

“If I do this, do you think the people will accept me?”

There was no hesitation on his part, “Of course, they will. Why would you ask me that?” 

You looked away from him, pulling your arm away and scooting closer toward the edge of the river, disconnecting from him completely. He felt the warmth from his side disappear altogether as he watched you dip your legs into the water, your head hung low staring at your reflection. 

“Pivlltxe’u (speak up)!” his voice was commanding of you then while he watched as you lifted your hands to look down at them. 

“I can hear them, you know. After all this time the whispers still follow me around. My alien blood. That I am in a false body. That I am nothing like you but still in every way like them — the enemies, the sky people,” you admitted with a furrow in your brows. 

Neteyam wasn’t quite sure what to say as even after the countless amount of nights the two of you had spent in that exact spot, you had never talked about something so serious. Something that was your past life, who you were, or what would be expected of you after this. Most of the time, you talked about him, and his future rather than your own. 

“My father was like you.” 

You laughed dryly, your hands dropping in your lap as your head lulled back slightly, “Jake Sully was not like me.” 

“Except that he was,” Neteyam argued, glancing down at his own hands. His four-fingered hands didn’t resemble his father’s or his two siblings but something that still was deeply a part of his family. 

“No,” you said, the harshness evident in your voice as your ears flattened back and your gaze fell back to your ten fingers, “Jake Sully was Toruk Makto. He led the clan to victory against the sky people. The very people who killed hundreds of innocent Omatikaya and refuse to leave this place in peace. He is not one of them.” 

“And neither are you.” 

He slid closer to you so that you could feel his warmth across your back and side. His chest pressed against your shoulder as he reached forward, his hand ghosting under yours. He took it and held it within his, the back of your hand pressed against his palm. 

“You know what I see when I look at these hands?” he asked, voice soft, eyes locked on the side of your face, “It’s not the sky people or aliens in false bodies as everyone else calls them. No, I see my dad coming here and falling in love with my mom. I see him becoming one of the people, leading them to victory, and being appointed Olo’eyktan. I see my sister being born and then my brother.” 

His breath slid across the side of your face, and you turned to look at him. The warmth of it then spread to your lips as he sat so close, stare already locked onto your own. Those gold eyes filled with specs of yellow and green haunted you at night every time you fell asleep; this was the first time you witnessed them so up close and personal in months. His gaze flickered down to your parted lips before darting back up to your eyes. You then felt his fingers curl around the back of your hand, slotting in between yours and intertwining them together. 

You looked down at them and that warm feeling inside of you began to spread, like wildfire all throughout your entire body. He smiled as he continued, “When I look at these hands, I see you.” 

Your own breath hitched in your throat and your eyes snapped back up to his, unsure if he really said those three words to you. Words you had been trying to earn from him for months. Though often used as a greeting, to some it meant so much more. It was said out of respect and in rare cases out of love. 

“You can do this,” he said and you swore your heart stopped then and there.

You felt as if any words got stripped from your tongue and yanked back into your throat. You could only stare at him in disbelief taking note of the kindness in his eyes and how gentle his voice was. Five months ago things were so different, the way he looked at you was so different. Even if he still lectured you once in a while or hated how you sometimes did run off with Lo’ak, he was different. Ever since that night in the very same spot where he apologized and opened up himself to you, he wasn’t the same Neteyam Te Suli Tsyeyk’itan. From then on it was like he promised himself and his people that he wouldn’t be that person again. It started with you. 

His hand tightened around yours, but before you could say anything else, the sound of footsteps and brush being pulled aside was heard. Your eyes broke away from Neteyam’s and he followed where your attention had drifted to.

Lo’ak stood just a few feet away, frozen at the sight of his brother’s hand tightly clasped around yours. When he noticed how close the two of you were sitting his hands tightened at his sides and his eyebrows raised almost in shock. You noticed the way a lump formed in his throat as his gold eyes, appearing so much like Neteyam’s, locked onto his older brother. 

It was almost as if they were having a silent conversation through their matched stares and rigid statues. Lo’ak shifted uncomfortably on his feet as he hadn’t seen the two of you like this. He thought he had known how the two of you felt about one another. His brother hated you and you couldn’t stand the attitude you got from the oldest Sully. You two never acted like this, let alone felt any certain way to justify why you sat so close, holding hands.

Suddenly, it felt like so much more than two people casually comforting one another. Because you and Neteyam were at each other’s throats for months, even if things weren’t entirely the same, the two of you never publicly acknowledged one another outside of lessons. Lo’ak wondered if it had all gone over his head. Were their stolen glances? Light touches anytime you walked by one another in the village? At night would Neteyam sneak out of their tent just to come to find you? 

He was overthinking it, evident in how his eyes flickered from you to his older brother and then down to your joined hands. But how could he not when he felt like he was getting slapped across the face?

Neteyam able to read his brother’s expression sighed and released your hand from his — almost as if it was the easiest thing in the world, almost like he needed to. You scooted back from him, putting more distance between the two of you as Lo’ak’s eyes zoned in on you, lips still parted in shock. 

“Uh what is going on? You two are friends now?” his voice was spiteful and you couldn’t help but let your mouth part in shock.

Neteyam’s eyebrows knitted together and he suddenly became annoyed with his brother’s attitude, “Lo’ak, don’t!” 

“What, I was just asking,” he rolled his eyes as he rubbed the back of his neck, “Dad says they’re ready. We should get going.” 

You felt yourself inhale, your breath hitching as Lo’ak nodded his head in the direction of the village, refusing to make eye contact with his older brother. You looked over at Neteyam despite Lo’ak’s glare on your back, needing his reassurance one last time. He nodded at you approvingly, another reminder that you had this. His words ring in your ears and it was like suddenly his opinion was the only one that mattered. That whatever happened, what he thought about you was all that mattered. 

Standing up, you approached Lo’ak as every moment of training seemed to flash before your eyes from beginning to end. It all led to this moment. Win or lose? That was up to you. He watched his brother stand too to follow the two of you as he wrapped his hand gently around your elbow.

You didn’t even question the touch from Lo’ak as over the course of the last six months he usually found some way to be touching you. Whether it was his palm on your lower back, legs brushing against one another during dinner, or his fingers trailing across the back of your hand while standing next to one another.

His physical touch had increased since you had gotten your avatar, but his flirting still remained the same. He was still the same Lo’ak you had met when you were a child and though Kiri had a lot to say about it, you constantly reminded her that things had not changed for either of you — especially for you. 

The two of you walked alongside one another with Neteyam trailing back just enough to hear your conversation but not enough to be right on your heels. Something else that had lessened too, his need to hover over you and Lo’ak. With you spending so much more time with Neteyam, there was less time to be with his siblings so when Lo’ak did manage to swoop you away or convince you to sneak off somewhere, Neteyam turned a blind eye to it.

A part of you ignored the way your stomach dropped every time he let you go even when Lo’ak was asking you to leave early during a lesson. Neteyam would stare over at his brother and simply shrug and then just like that, you were being swept away in the opposite direction. 

“You ready?” Lo’ak asked, his hand slipping down from your elbow to his side, but still close enough where you could feel his pinky bumping into yours. 

It was something that had surely caught Neteyam’s eye. The way Lo’ak’s hand so clearly matched yours and even with the two of you walking side by side, he knew that your hand fit perfectly into his younger brother’s — five fingers and all. Just as he had noticed the certain way his younger brother had been looking at you lately as well as constantly trying to get your attention.

It plagued Neteyam with the worst feeling he had yet to encounter, one that stuck to him worse than the rage he had once pushed down so far. The frustration he once held for you didn’t match the way he felt now watching the two of you interact. A green monster their father had called it when he told his sons about it a few years ago — jealousy. It was a feeling that masked all others and slowly drove you mad if you let it. 

“Yeah, I think so,” you replied softly, unable to look away from the forest before you as if you were taking it all in, in case it would be the last time. 

“You think?” Lo’ak raised a single brow, “Please tell me you are more sure than that.” 

Neteyam had heard the accusatory tone in his younger brother’s voice and he felt like scolding him for it as he noticed the way your ears twitched uneasily. What you needed right now was someone to reassure you not question you. 

“I am…” your voice trailed off, your hand pulling away from where it hung by your side next to Lo’ak’s. 

“Hey,” Lo’ak stopped, his hand grabbing your shoulder This made Neteyam pause too, a couple of feet behind the two of you. You glanced up at Lo’ak, hesitantly, gaze glancing from him and where the village sat just behind the tree line.  

Lo’ak squeezed your shoulder in his, a smile forming across his lips, “You’re going to be fine.” 

You nodded, but you seemed even less convinced now than you had been moments ago near the river, hand locked within Neteyam’s grasp. The older Sully boy cursed under his breath at his brother’s obliviousness, not able to read your feelings as easily as he could. He felt his whole body stiffen worse as he watched Lo’ak’s hand drift to your lower back and continue to guide you towards the village where their father was waiting with the other initiates. 

“My dad and Neteyam will be with you the whole time and lead you up the mountain, okay? Then I’ll meet you up there as soon as I can,” Lo’ak explained even though you hadn’t asked, already aware of how the process would go from Neteyam explaining it thoroughly the night before. 

“You’re not going with?” you asked, cautiously. 

Lo’ak smiled at the question as the three of you broke through the brush and back into the village, “I have to do some things for my mom but I’ll fly to you when I am done. I’ll be there by the time you guys reach the top.” 

You barely made a sound at his words, just continuing to walk through the village as a clear spectacle for everyone to look at. A show for them to whisper about and place bets on if you would manage to pass the final test or not. Their whispers were low and you folded into yourself as you observed the children pointing and the mumbling of the adults.

Lo’ak hadn’t spared a glance in your direction, but your frame relaxed briefly at the feeling of another person on your other side. It was Neteyam. He noticed the shift in your body language faster than anyone else. The way he walked overshadowed your figure slightly from others as if part of him wanted to protect you from everyone else and their loud mouths. 

He as well as anyone else couldn’t deny how this day had proven to be a huge deal not just for every other Na’vi attempting it but because there was a dream walker among them attempting it too. It had been nearly nineteen years since the last dream walker climbed the Hallelujah Mountains and claimed his Ikran. The legend of Jake Sully was still talked about fondly by adults to their children as he was the first sky person to ever attempt it. As he went on to become Toruk Makto, those who had been too young to witness any of it at the time found their eyes forever focused on you — the next dream walker. The next sky person to try and live among them. 

Neteyam could see it on all of their faces; the excitement, the curiosity that came when they saw you. Sure there were other young Omatikaya hoping to claim their Iknimaya but all eyes were on you. Especially considering it wasn’t just a test for you, but a test for the man who had taught you everything you knew. It was a testament to the future Olo’eyktan and if he had the capability to lead his people. Evident in the way all of the gold eyes would drift from you to him and how close he was walking next to you. 

Now add in the fact that you were walking in between both of Toruk Makto’s sons, that sure also had an effect on people, noticeable in the way they would lower their hands to whisper to one another. He heard his name float in around his ears, accompanied by his younger brother’s. It was like adding that into consideration, you were shrinking further into his side.

As you approached the small group of young hunters just at the edge of the forest, you all found Jake standing proudly, speaking to all of them. Suddenly then as you stood just a few feet away, Lo’ak turned to you, his hand drifting down to yours. He squeezed it and wished you luck before he slipped away in the opposite direction towards his family’s tent. 

Jake turned on his heels to see you standing there with his oldest son and he had to withhold the smile that was threatening to form on his face; one of pride almost even though you hadn’t done anything to have earned it. His eyes flickered to Neteyam and then back to you as the other four hunters, all many years younger than you, stared at you in wonder. 

“You ready?” he asked, the same exact words Lo’ak had said only moments before and it brought on another wave of anxiety into your stomach. 

You opened your mouth, lips parted slightly as if you were going to respond but no words emerged as you could feel all of their eyes burning holes into you. Neteyam’s gold eyes looked from his father to you but noticing your expression, he leaned closer to you, his hand ghosting over your back as he caught Jake’s gaze. 

“She’s ready,” he said, without a question as his hand dropped from where it had hung in the air just over your shoulder blades. The warmth of it still ghosted across your skin though he hadn’t actually touched you.

Your fingers were digging into the ground above you, upper arms aching as you hung over the side of the mountain, feet barely hanging onto the side. Short of breath, you attempted to pull yourself up but grunted out of distress as your arms seemed to pop and ache at the attempt. You had felt weaker lately and you had a horrible suspicion why. Cursing under your breath, you glanced to your side, watching as each young hunter easily pulled themselves up. The nerves in your stomach increased again though Neteyam had spent the whole ride over on his direhorse, at your side sneaking you reassuring looks. It was like every few moments, his gold irises would drift back to you almost as if something about you guided him back. 

You had thought no one would have noticed the small interaction but it was clear Jake Sully, and Toruk Makto had. He had been stealing his own glances in your direction having once been in your position and he was not surprised to find you riding in silence, chewing a hole into the bottom of your lip. His look was just as protective as his son’s and the pressure of their lingering gazes felt heavy on your chest.

Not to mention, every time the Olo’eyktan looked over his shoulder, he found his son already looking at you. The corner of Jake’s mouth lifted curiously as he watched the interaction between the two of you. The stolen glances how you would nod over to the older boy to assure him that you were alright. It had completely shifted, almost like a 180 from how the two of you interacted five months prior. 

Just as you were about to try and swing your body up for the third time, a hand extended out to you. Neteyam stood on the edge, leaning forward, his arm out as any strong protector would. Jake watched closely as you shook your head at his son, eyes threatening him to back up and let you do this on your own. Neteyam sighed but took two steps back giving you a little more space. 

The ache at this point was barely tolerable as you felt the rock scratching into your knees and your side. Sucking in a deep breath, you tightened your core and pulled yourself up. Arms bent at a ninety-degree angle, you swung one leg up and stood up with ease, slightly out of breath. Jake nodded approvingly and Neteyam held his hands up in defeat. You had this. 

You followed the group across the floating mountain until you came across a waterfall, a small path hidden behind it that would lead to the other side. To the other side where all the Ikrans were, evident by the sounds of their flapping wings, and screeches. It made your ears twitch hesitantly as beads of sweat formed along your hairline.

You walked closely behind Jake, his tail flicking your leg as Neteyam stood behind you, his hand wrapping around your side to press along your hip as if to keep you from getting too close to the edge. You felt your breath hitch at the action but didn’t react to him, too nervous at the sight of the waterfall opening. Jake stopped right near the edge, looking over his shoulder to where you stood behind him 

“Y/N, you okay going first?” he asked, cautiously, lowering his voice as he reached out to take your shoulder in his hand. 

You nodded, but that didn’t feel like enough as you glanced past him to the crowd of creatures stalking around. All creatures with razor-sharp teeth and large claws. As your eyes met his again, there was a different look about you, “Yes.” 

He smiled, squeezing your shoulder. You felt Neteyam lean closer from behind you, his chest meeting your back as his hand shifted upwards from your hip to your chest, his fingers pressed along your collarbone. His mouth opened softly to speak but they closed at the sound of a screech from behind you all on the other side of the waterfall. All heads turned and within seconds, another person emerged. Lo’ak appeared, his riding headpiece pulled down across his forehead, eyes finding yours immediately. 

A grin occupied his face, “Hey, I told you I’d make it.” 

As he looked past you though, he found his father giving him an unimpressed look, eyes settled into a blank look. He clicked his tongue back as if telling his younger son not to interfere as nine out of the ten times he would probably do something to cost this for you.

Lo’ak held his hands up defensively as he wedged his way between the other hunters and his brother, “Got it. I’ll be good.” 

Sighing, you shifted your gaze back to Neteyam as his breath fanned across your face, “You can do this, okay? This you must feel inside. If it chooses you, move quickly just like we’ve practiced. You will have one chance.” 

His words absorbed into you, your attention shifting from him back to the mountain ledge before you. You scanned the area, the banshees' colors reverberating off your eyes, like a reflection upon glass. You took one last deep breath, puffing your chest out as you stepped by Jake out from behind the waterfall. Confidence filled your statue as the Toruk Makto called your name. 

Jake’s stare matched yours, flooded with determination interlaced with assurance, “Trust your instincts and trust your reflexes. Let your mind go blank and listen to your strong heart.” 

You smiled for a moment before it fell away, a tight line taking its place. With your rope in hand, you unraveled it, able to hear the shuffling of the group of people stepping out from behind the waterfall. All were eager to watch the prospect, the dream walker, the sky person take on their Iknimaya. With the rope interlaced between your fingers, you swung it around as you stalked forward, slowly, the edges of the rocks digging into the bottoms of your feet. 

Jake and Neteyam followed slowly as you stepped forward, eyes meeting each banshee you passed. A few flew off the large rock and with each one that disappeared from view, you felt the base of your stomach form into knots. The groups began to lessen as you moved forward near the edge of the mountain, saliva settling into the back of your throat.

None had shown an interest in killing you. None had shown an interest in your gold stare and sharp fangs. Not a single one could look you in the eye and bare its teeth. It was as if they could smell your alien blood, and see you as an unworthy rider, nothing like one of the Omatikaya. Your heart clenched as you slowly approached a third group of Ikrans. A bead of sweat slipped down from your forehead as you met all of their eyes, a small noise erupting from your throat resembling a yell. 

Three of them flew off, their tails practically stuck in between their legs. Your anxiety spiked again until you found one Ikran still standing in front of you, its head turning towards you as it noticed you out of the corner of its eye. Its large yellow eyes zoned in on your predatory stance. You felt your ears flatten for a moment as you took in the creature. The large creature seemed to have the widest wingspan you had yet to have seen on an Ikran. Its skin was dark blue, so dark, it was almost black, resembling the night sky with bright purple and neon green markings. 

“Shit,” you could hear Lo’ak from a few feet behind you as everyone else took in the Ikran’s large fangs and sharp talons. 

You stood there, eyes widening in shock, tail flicking wildly behind you as the sound filtered over to you of someone smacking Lo’ak across the head. It was Neteyam no doubt. Shuffling awkwardly on your heels, you swung the rope around in your hand as the creature’s claws scratched at the ground beneath it. Its jaws were razor sharp and you felt something spark in you as it leaned its head back and opened its mouth wide revealing them. The hiss that erupted in your ears snapped you out of your daze and you watched as it stood up on its hind legs, snarling nonstop. 

Tilting your head to the side, you felt all doubt, all fear be ripped free from your body. All that was left in its place was confidence in the form of adrenaline coursing through your veins. A small smirk formed across your face and Neteyam watched swelling with both pride and admiration, his eyes flicking back and forth from you to the beast before you. As the Ikran let out another loud screech, your ears flattened across your head, nose wrinkling as you revealed your fangs and hissed — a challenge you were displaying to the Ikran. 

“You gotta move, Y/N,” Jake said, lowly under his breath, but you heard it, as your entire body broke free from the hold the Ikran’s gaze had on it. 

“Let’s do this,” you mumbled, swinging the rope around in your hand as you stepped forward toward the Ikran. 

Just as you took another step forward, the creature jumped forward, its mouth opening revealing its teeth again. It chomped trying to get a hold of you but your reflexes were too fast. You dodged it by leaping to the side and swinging the rope over the Ikran’s snout. It yelled, the scream high pitched, as the rope wrapped completely around its jaw locking it shut. You swung a leg over the creature, wrapping yourself around its neck. Arms locked around its head you struggled as the Ikran began to panic. 

It stood upon its hind legs, wings flapping rapidly as its head thrashed back against you. Your grip kept slipping from around the Ikran, leaving strings of noises to slip from your mouth as it flapped around obnoxiously. Neteyam moved closer but still kept a reasonable distance between you and the beast. He hissed under his breath as he felt your window closing.

“Make the bond!” he yelled. 

With one arm banded across the Ikran’s snout, you groaned as you reached for its queue, all strength leaving your body slowly as you continued to battle the large animal. As you felt the smooth skin of the queue within your fingers, the Ikran growled and threw its head back. Connecting with your body, you felt your grip loosen from the animal and disappear completely.

A yell erupted from your throat as you bounced off the back of the Ikran and collided with the hard ground. Your side hit the harsh material with a thud and you hissed out in pain as you felt it scratch against your skin. Legs limply on the ground and chest heaving up and down, you peered up at the Ikran as it slowly turned around to face you. 

The rope was still tightly bound around its mouth but it was clear that your attempts had only pissed it off. It tried to break free from the constriction around its jaw but stopped for a moment when the cable didn’t snap. Its eyes found your frame on the ground, laying on your back, leaning upon your elbows. Body shaking, you were trying to catch your breath as the Ikran stalked forward, claws ripping holes into the ground. Remaining completely still, you peered up at it, eyes narrowed and a glare reflected across your face. This was the moment, the challenge at hand, the turning point of your entire life. 

Win or lose?

Live or die?

Lo’ak bounded forward, trying to get to you, but he was stopped by his brother throwing an arm across his chest. Neteyam’s eyes had never left you and though his heart was clenching within his chest, a greater feeling had appeared within him. One that felt as if it had been sent from Eywa. A reminder of your strength, your fierceness, and the warrior that had formed deep within your bones. A smirk formed on his face as he watched the intensity in your eyes increase. 

Your gold eyes hadn’t moved from the Ikran and as you looked deep into its black pupils, you saw your whole life flash across your eyes like a movie. Your father’s death. The great war, that convinced your mother to flee back to Earth. A newborn baby unable to travel within Cryo. A childhood stolen in replace of living in the confines of a lab. Spider’s resentment towards you. A human body you refused to accept as a reflection of who you were as a person. Arriving at the village, the constant judgments and fear sent your way from the villagers. The word alien being branded across your forehead.

It all had led to that moment and it all reflected back at you as you were able to see your reflection within the Ikran’s eyes. Smooth blue skin, gold eyes, white freckles, and a challenging curl to your lips. You, this was the real you. 

One of the people or an outsider?

Ears twitching, your stare became deadly as you pushed out another hiss from your throat, the sound igniting your whole body with all of the energy and trust you had left. Just as the Ikran bounded forward, lifting its body, claws glistening in the sunlight. You tucked and rolled to the side out of the way just as the beast slammed its feet down into the spot you initially had been.

Moving quickly, you jumped up upon a rock and leaped for the Ikran. With a huff, you grabbed onto the animal, hand locking around its queue. Your legs folded across the Ikran’s head, tucking it in closer to its body as the creature flopped down onto its side. With your shoulder digging into the ground, you yelled out in pain as you reached behind for your own queue. Tilting the Ikran’s queue upwards, you moved yours towards it and felt your whole body relax as the pink nerve endings finally connected. 

Chest still heaving up and down, your body collapsed for a moment as the Ikran’s pupils widened dilating. It convulsed again, as your hands wrapped tightly around the rope, “Stop!” 

The Ikran’s body fell limp, relaxing at your words, and within a matter of seconds, its breathing leveled out. Staring down at the creature, a smile appeared across your lips, as it stared back at you and you were able to feel the way your heartbeats moved in sync with one another. Its breath you could feel within your lungs and it relaxed under your touch.

Kneeling over the Ikran’s neck, you felt the dirt sticking to your legs as you reached for the rope locked around its jaw. It loosened and slowly the Ikran rose from the ground, stretching out its mouth. It purred underneath your palms as the Ikran slowly stood up, taking you with it. Your feet were lifted off the ground, and you settled back against the base of the creature’s back, readjusting your grip. 

Cheers were heard and as you looked up, you found the young hunters pumping their fists in the air and yelling your name. Jake was grinning from ear to ear, a look of pride swelling on his face. The same look both of his sons got when they completed their Iknimaya. Neteyam stood, shoulders pulled back, chest puffed out with the same look that his father displayed but somehow his tugged at your heart more. 

He stepped forward as if he was going to approach you, but he stopped as Lo’ak blew past him. A large smile occupied his face, but you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing over his shoulder to his brother instead.

“First flight seals the bond," Lo’ak let out a yell and in an instant, there was a flash of blue and green and his Ikran was landing right beside yours. He hopped on, connecting his queue to the animal, before flying off into the sky, “Y/N, come on.” 

You waited for a moment, stuck in a place where you weren’t sure where to go — almost as if your heart was split in half. Neteyam stood in the same spot, his eyes having never left yours and from where he stood he could practically feel the anticipation buzzing through your skin.

He wanted more than anything for it to be him — to be the one you would fly through the sky with on your first flight. After so many months of teaching you and spending endless nights under the trees by the river, he hoped it could be him. But at that moment it wasn’t; even though it was Lo’ak he couldn’t steal this experience from you. He wouldn’t, especially since he knew what it was like to be in your position. 

Even when a part of you wanted him to give you a reason to stay and wait for him and his Ikran, you also couldn’t deny how restless you felt there on that rock. He could see it on your face, clear as day, like how he had seemed to learn every other one of your mannerisms in the last half of the year. Biting onto your lower lip, you couldn’t stop the way your eyes had softened over time as you had gotten to know this young man, who somehow had snuck up behind you and stole your heart.

It was something you hadn’t fully realized until that moment when he smiled over at you, his fangs poking out just past his lips. It wasn’t until he looked up after his brother and nodded his head in the direction, clicking his tongue softly in the air as if he was giving you permission.

Curling your fingers, you brought your hand up near your forehead and extended it out towards him. I see you.

With that you called out to your Ikran, the word fly falling from the tip of your tongue. It took off into the sky, wings extended out to their full length, as it dove straight down off of the mountain. Neteyam ran forwards towards the edge and peered down into the clouds where you and your Ikran had disappeared. But then in a matter of seconds, the clouds broke apart and you appeared again. Soaring through the sky, he watched as the Ikran leveled out, the image of your last action leaving an imprint in his mind and a permanent smile on his face. 

Jake had been right once, in his video log. A direhorse was one thing but flying an Ikran, a person was made for this. You were made for this. With your feet perched along the Ikran’s sides, your hands clutched around its queues, giving quiet commands — it was as if you were at peace, completely free from the cage that your human body had turned into, free from the past that had plagued your memories, and the expectations that a dream walker held.

Feeling the wind on your face and the sun soaking into your skin, you were brought back to that first day with the avatar, when you first walked out of the lab. It felt just like this, able to take a deep breath without the need for an oxygen mask. It was a freedom and a privilege, just as this was.

As you looked around at the floating mountains, and the other banshees floating around you, you knew it then at that moment that you belonged there. You were a warrior, a rider, an Omatikaya, and in one way or another you were going to convince Mo’at of that and every other Na’vi. She was going to approve your request for the transfer ritual if it was the last thing you would ever do. 

You had heard him before you saw him. A yell and then an echo across the sky followed by a shadow above you. Looking up, you found Lo’ak smiling down at you, the same look in his eye that you knew filled yours. The look of an Omatikaya rider. He veered left and then swooped down, his Ikran bumping into yours lightly. You gasped, hands instinctively tightening around your Ikran’s queues as your balance shifted.

Looking back over to Lo’ak, you found him laughing, a devious expression the only way you could describe it on his face. Withholding your own smile, silently you advised your Ikran to lean to the right, straight into Lo’ak’s lane. Your Ikran’s wings bumped into his lightly causing him to bank off to avoid the two of you colliding. When he looked over at you, you couldn’t help but let your head lean back as your sweet laugh escaped your throat. 

You flew like that for a while, him casually bumping into you just to either get on your nerves or hear your laugh again. And somehow even though you wished Neteyam was still there to share that moment with you, you couldn’t help but indulge in the happiness you felt to be with Lo’ak — your long-time friend, the boy who had been flirting with you senselessly, but someone who would never once give up on you. He was loyal and even with your heart wishing for something else entirely, you knew it was a special moment to share with him. 

Hours had gone by and finally, as the sun began to fall from the sky, Lo’ak had gotten your attention. You thought maybe he would lead you home, back to the village, but instead, he nodded his head in another direction, back into the floating mountains. Even with your lack of direction, you knew it wasn’t the right way, but you followed him anyway. He landed on one that had seemed so random to you, but you followed, commanding your Ikran to land.

Listening, it came to a stop near his, and for a moment before you got down from the creature, you looked over to Lo’ak still sitting upon his, and the largest smile formed across your face. Giggling, you shook your head in utter disbelief at the events that had happened the last few hours that were real and now engraved within your memory and soul forever. A look of his own formed across his face as both of your laughter faded. 

He tilted his head to the side, something in his eyes completely different than anything you had seen before, a fondness of sorts, “Look at you, girl! You’re a natural already.” 

His gaze was soft, too soft, you knew that. You looked away suddenly dismounting from the Ikran, letting your queue disconnect for the first time in hours. Letting out a soft breath, Lo’ak followed suit and he approached you to find you already staring over the edge at the fast-setting sun. 

He chuckled, “This was where Neteyam and I both went when we each completed our Iknimaya. We flew for hours unable to convince one another to return home to the village. Even when he had completed his a few years before I did, he always flew like it was his first time — like we both could stay up here forever.” 

You slowly turned your head to face him, his words drawing you in. He smiled at the memory, “Then even after we had been flying for hours unend we would come here, to this spot, and watch the sunset, the evening eclipse. Shit, you should have seen how mad our mom used to get at us when we would return home after dark. It was scary, honestly.” 

“You still do that?” you asked suddenly, your own voice surprising you, “Fly together long after dark.” 

Lo’ak shook his head, his smile slipping from his face just as quickly as it had appeared, “No, at least not with Neteyam. For the last year or so, he's been too busy with training. His focus is entirely put on our father and the role of being the future Olo’eyktan. Dad has him on a tight schedule.” 

“But what about now? He is done training me. Shouldn't he have some extra time now?”

“No, because even if he won't be spending all day every day with you, he'll have other things to worry about. Olo'eyktan things with my father; raids, runs, lookouts, spotting.” 

You nodded, his words making you once again realize, that this was it. Neteyam had done his job and no longer would you be spending days with him in the forest learning the language, hunting, or about the energies of the world. No more nights sneaking off into the forest just to breathe, away from the pressures the adults presented. He had done what was asked of him — teach you the ways of the Omatikaya. 

“Yeah, I guess that would make sense,” you replied, unable to stop the ache that appeared in your chest or the need to pull on the tips of your fingers. 

He examined the expression on your face and the disappointment that seemed to flood your system. He couldn’t help his next statement from slipping out of his mouth. “Yeah, so it's a good thing my mom and grandmother are choosing his mate for him? Because I don't know if he would ever have the time to do it himself."

“Hm, the next Tsahik, right? It’s an important role and an important choice. That will be happening soon then?” 

“Yes, I think so, at least announced soon anyway. Mo'at has been looking for quite a while,” Lo’ak agreed, suddenly leaning closer to you as the thought once again plagued his mind of what he had overheard days ago. “Have you thought about it at all?” 

Your brows knitted together as his question filtered through your ears. Looking away from the eclipse, you matched his stare, a questioning look filling your eyes as an unsure chuckle rumbled within your throat, “Thought about what?” 

He was quiet then, eyes narrowing as they suddenly scanned your face, unsure if he should clarify what he had asked. Lo’ak turned to you fully, reaching out as if he was going to take your hands in his but then after a moment, they dropped back to his sides, a defeated sigh falling from his lips. 

“Are you asking me about—” 

“A mate?” he cut you off, “Yes.” 

“What?” You sputtered out, eyes widening suddenly as your stomach tightened at the sudden shift in conversation. “Lo’ak—” 

“I am asking you about whether or not you’ve thought about it,” he clarified, voice once again silencing yours as his bright eyes never seemed to leave yours, “You’re already eighteen and—” 

“Lo’ak, stop,” you said, lifting a hand and sure enough his voice fell silent with the rest of his thought driting away to the back of his mind. “You and I both know that I can’t be mated with anyone. It is wrong.” 

“But not impossible. You can. It’s just frowned upon.” 

Your mouth fell open agape, afraid of where he was going with the words he had so clearly admitted to you. The way he was looking at you as he said it left a feeling in your stomach, almost as if it was dread, twisting away at your insides.

Yes, it wasn’t impossible, but Neytiri had explicitly warned you how wrong it was and what kinds of problems it would cause. Especially, considering Mo’at had denied your request, it would be even worse if you mated with someone without any of their blessings, defying their direct set rules.

It also wasn't Lo’ak that came to mind when you put in the request. Sure a large part of you could always say you went to Mo'at for yourself, for the health you were currently lacking when you left the village at night and returned to the lab, but there was another reason — another person. It had never been and would never be Lo’ak.

“I mean it clearly has crossed your mind if you went and saw Mo’at. You asked her about the transfer ritual, right?” 

Eyes narrowing in his direction, you held your ground, body tensing as he revealed that he somehow had known. Known that you had gone to see the Tsahik and asked her about the consciousness transfer. He knew and suddenly a panic filled your body. What else could he have known? The reality is there's so much he doesn't know, so that plagued you with the question.

You shook your head, annoyance evident in your tone, “Lo’ak, how did you…” 

“I heard you,” he admitted without a moment of hesitation, “I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop but when I heard your voice with Mo’at I was curious. Then you mentioned the transfer ritual, and I couldn’t help myself but listen.” 

You exhaled, somewhat frustrated, a sudden notion to get back on your Ikran and escape back into the forest and to the village. Your body had already used up its stored energy for the day and you knew the night would be hell when you returned to your human body. But as annoyed as you were that he had heard the request you had put in with Mo’at, you were interested in why he had brought this up. Why he had chosen to mention it to you — let alone the part about mates?

“What are you trying to say?” 

He smirked then as if he had come up with the most brilliant plan but it only left your body feeling cold and slightly worried, “All I am trying to say is that you will become full Na’vi and that means you will be able to be chosen as someone’s mate.” 

“Lo’ak,” you warned suddenly, able to follow his thinking after having known him for so many years, “Please.” 

He ignored your quiet plea for him to be careful with his words as your eyes fluttered to a close. His hands taking a hold of your arms bought your gaze back to his. A small smile appeared on his lips, “What if we became mates? What if we chose each other?” 

A pin dropped as well as your stomach, as if you were back on your Ikran diving down within the sky, waiting for the air to shift. This didn’t feel like it was going to level out like the air or register in your ears anytime soon. You stared forward at him, scared to look away, scared to break the hope that filled his eyes. 

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I mean the idea is kind of all over the place, but think of it this way. My parents can’t choose my mate for me and you don’t have to deal with all of the assholes in the village that obviously aren’t good enough for you,” he explained, his hand drifting up to cup your face, “Plus, you want to stay, don’t you? No matter what happens you want to stay here with us, right? Like this, in this form?”

“Lo’ak.”

He was quiet for a moment, thumb softly bruising along your temple, gaze staring deep into yours. “We could be happy, Y/N. Just you and me.” 

You found yourself studying the ground, suddenly feeling sick and like a complete mess as your mind somehow wandered to the one person that seemed to never leave it. Neteyam, the future Olo’eyktan. The very man who would have his Tsahik chosen for him by Mo’at and Eywa herself. The very man who would have the perfect match — a woman who was strong, incredibly smart, and a gifted healer. A Tsahik that was selfless and would provide for her people. That wasn’t you. You knew it. Lo’ak knew it. He hadn’t brought up Neteyam again but the hesitancy in your eyes, the anxious thoughts that had slipped from your tongue, he knew was because of his older brother. His older brother who was already spoken for. 

“Lo’ak, where is this coming from?” you asked, hand reaching up to hold his wrist in your hand, a confused look on your face. 

He was hesitant to answer, seen in the way, his eyes shifted to the sky behind you. You made a displeased noise and his eyes found yours again, a smile forming because you knew him all too well after so many years.

“We have been friends for a long time now. For seven years I've always been used to it being us and Kiri and Spider. But somehow even with everyone, we found time just for us. I don’t know, I guess I just feel like I don’t see you as much as I used to.” 

“Yeah, well a couple of things are different now. Huge things,” You chuckled, hand reaching up to take his hand from your face, interlacing it in yours. 

His eyes followed your movement and stared down at your large blue hand that fit suddenly so perfectly in his compared to your human one that had always felt so awkward. He had never been great at communicating the hard stuff or admitting when something was bothering him, so you knew this was his way of saying that he missed you. With all of the sudden changes, he was struggling with accepting them. 

“I’m also not locked away in a lab anymore, I am here with you. Things are going to be different, Lo’ak but it doesn’t mean our friendship is going to change.” 

“I guess I just am not used to sharing you,” he admitted, a flush appearing on his face and it made you realize exactly who he was referring to. Neteyam. “What, outsider and outcast together, you don't want that?"

You sighed, his joke not pulling enough strings in your heart to change your initial apparent feelings. You knew what Lo'ak thought and you knew that he wasn’t going to willingly drop this without you taking the time to fully contemplate it even if his intentions weren’t romantic. You inhaled, the depth enough to reach your core, as his warmly coated stare seemed to engulf you whole.

His attempts were not poorly identified, casted by his loyalty to you but his execution was suffocating you. Where he could be a consolation prize, you be only an entrapment for him. He deserved more than you. “Lo'ak wouldn’t you want to be mates with someone that you love though? I mean do you even feel that way about me?”

He ignored your question and somehow that was an answer in itself.

“Look, I am not worried about spending the rest of my life with someone I may not feel for as my parents do with each other. Because I know this, us — we could make it work. Do you know why I am so sure about that? Because we have been friends for so long and it wouldn’t be so bad. We could take care of each other, be just as we are now, and build a future for ourselves. And if that's what settling for a life with you, looks like, then I’ll take it,” he paused, voice lowering as a smile fell across his lips, “I would rather settle for that than go along with whoever my parents choose for me. Plus I want you to stay, Y/N.” 

His words hit you like a ton of bricks and suddenly just as you thought everything had become so clear, so free from the downfalls of life, reality hit you again. It shifted and all of your problems returned led by an entirety of new ones. Because there's always a choice that has to be made; choose other people, choose to make them happy, or choose yourself even if there is no assurance that it'll all work out for you. Do you decide to take that risk?

Staring in the face of that question, it felt as if thousands of arrows were coming straight for you, its toxicity was inevitable and it would pierce into you, refusing to ever be pulled free from your skin. Yet, everything he said was so true, so undeniably true, but it all left you feeling uneasy for one reason only, one person only.

It was supposed to be a moment of relief, a moment where you were swelling with pride as you had completed Iknimaya. You were hours away from your ceremony with the people. The most important day of your entire life and one you had been thinking about for years. An accomplishment that would be encased in the back of your mind, as you were only the second dream walker to have ever done it.

It was supposed to be your moment but now because of this eclipse, this mountain, this ride — your moment would remain bittersweet, overclouded by Lo’ak’s proposal. 

[marysdonuts]

Turning Tables

wants to be chased!Jeonghan x had enough of chasing!reader

Synopsis: requested in this two part ask

WC: 1.6K

Warnings: not much, making Jeonghan jealous, crack, implied oral (f)

a/n: both parts combined to one post. first half - your pov, second - Jeonghan's

masterlist / requests / taglist

Oh the almighty Jeonghan. Sent from above specifically to torture you. The popular guy who has six ladies lined up on each finger hoping to get their turn. Funny, easy on the eye but that personality? Ugh, you've seen better.

You made your interest in him more than clear, still.. to this day no definite answer. Only insufferable amount of teasing. You weren't one to play the game of push n' pull. It was getting on your nerves. Especially the constant flirting with anything that moved - just for sport. Or maybe not for sport per sé but to get you jealous. Making sure you saw him making move on somebody. There was even a moment when he jokingly almost kissed you only to pull away at the last moment, smug as hell. So full of himself.

Fuck it. Does he think he is the only one who has options? Isn't the last man on Earth for sure. The hell. Time to give him a taste of his own medicine.

//

And so you danced. You danced with every man who showed even drop of interest that night. Sending Jeonghan clear message - this is what you are missing by acting like a little bitch. Drowning one drink after another. Price? Didn't matter. They were paying.

When a friend of yours, equally as drunk, suggested to climb on the bar, you thought it an excellent idea. Both of you moving to the rhythm of some latino song with questionable, extremely toxic lyrics. Drink in hand, Great Gatsby style, you cheered the growing attendance at your feet. People going feral.

"I think you've had enough fun for today," Jeonghan's cold hand grasping your ankle "time to go home."

"Who are you to tell me if I had enough?" seemingly asking the audience a rhetorical question, crushing his fingers with your heel

"Your boyfriend~" squirming in pain

"My boyfriend?? Stop pissing me off Jeonghan. I had enough of your shit. It's not difficult to find somebody better than yo-"

Fuck, am I falling?

All the drinks from before picked the worst moment to take effect. Dizzy head, weak legs, heels plus slippery bar? Unfortunate combination. You were indeed about to hit the floor.

Next thing you know shawty got low low low - Music in the background mocking your life decisions

"Aaaaaaa" crashing down, drink spilled, body aching, pride hurt

"Actually.. It doesn't hurt that much? Guess this fat ass saved me once again." patting it lovingly

"Ugh huh, or it was someone's handsome ass that saved your fat ass" Noticing Jeonghan squished under you, also lovingly patting your bum in unison

"Yah!" jumping to your feet "Don't touch me you perver-!!!" intoxication not letting you fishing your sentence, making you wobble, once again ending up in Jeonghan's arms

"I would love to oblige, my lady," fixing strand of hair behind your ear "if only you weren't so desperate for my company." delighted smile painted on lips

This fucking bitch keeps playing with me!! You wanted to punch hole into his beautiful face. Body working faster than the mouth, clenched fist flew towards douchebag's face.

KAPOW!!!

Sadly, your fist was not at all clenched, flying much further from his face, finally landing on his chest. You weren't sure if his shirt was always this unbuttoned but what was staring at you currently - pair of *shiny* man-tiddies.

"wow" blinded by the sight

"Well, well, well," Jeonghan caressed your hand moving it over his heart "do you really want to know my feelings that much?" Mischievous eyes trying to meet the hazy ones.

"yea" gaze still kinda stuck on his tiddies

"In that case, let's go somewhere more private"

//

The first time Jeonghan kissed you was in backseat of taxi on the way to his apartment. It wasn't just a kiss. More like he was feeding off your growing excitement. Producing such obscene sounds the driver had to rise the radio volume.

//

Reaching the destination, the moment the door closed shut, you found yourself pinned against them. Jeonghan's urgent lips tracing the curve of your neck.

"You really made a number on me today, you know that?" sucking at the sensitive skin, leaving mark behind

"Oh? Allow me to laugh. The Jeonghan hot and bothered? Hard to believe." tauntingly, grasping the hair

"Tell me 'bout it..," defeated exhale tickling your ear "seeing you with all those men...didn't expect to feel like that. Made me want to jump every single one of them."

"Did it, now?" placing thumb on his bottom lip "little boy got upset when his toy was taken away?" full of irony

"I was never good at sharing" allowing the entire length of your finger feel the softness of his mouth, sucking it almost apologetically

"Forgive me?" Big brown eyes praying for redemption

Not sure if it was the residual alcohol but this time his words felt sincere. Seeing him sucking on your thumb like that, all docile and at your mercy..? Ufff, you were running too hot

"Want me to forgive you, huh, " making him sink to his knees under your authoritarian tone.

"you know what to do." parted legs offering not so subtle invitation to the sinner beneath you.

.

.

.

"At your service, my lady~"

Jeonghan's pov

Yes- he loved to tease you even after you confessed your feelings. He played games to make sure you were really up for the challenge. Testing your character and morals. Enjoyed torturing you a bit too much. However when it came to his feelings.. Jeonghan thought himself to be the only one worthy of your affections. He intended to show his interest soon enough, just wanted to frolic for a moment longer. Tragically that was exactly where he miscalculated.

And there you were, in all your glory, dancing with bunch of worthless peasants.

Jeonghan could literally feel the blood in his veins boiling. How dare they put their filthy, sweaty little hands on your holy vessel? Were they really so dense to think someone like YOU would be interested in them?

"Pathetic losers." Furiously gulping down his drink only to smash the glass on the floor. Making any bystander jump away in fear.

Tangible darkness emitting from Jeonghan's pitch black stare in direction of the unfortunate dude you were dancing with. Poor guy shivering, cold sweat running down his spine. He got the message and promptly took his leave.

"That's what I thought" Jeonghan scoffed, raking thru his hair

After not so subtly, striking terror into all the suitors, new drink in hand and in high spirits, he was watching your bar show. How your hair sparkled in the light, how you moved to the seductive latino rhythm - not a care in the world. He watched you cheer the crowd, queen in the castle.

"It's about time I made my move." few long steps, grasp on your ankle

"I think you've had enough fun for today," lifting his gaze, half entertained half worried you might come crashing down "time to go home."

"Who are you to tell me if I had enough?" the way you proudly pushed your chest out, the delicate curve of your décolleté, made it's way straight to his pants heart

"Your boyfriend~" damn, stepping on my fingers now? Guess I deserve that

"Aaaaaaa"

Jeonghan saw you falling in slow motion, drink spilled all over him, catching you at the last moment

"Actually.. It doesn't hurt that much? Guess this fat ass saved me once again."

"Ugh huh, or it was someone's handsome ass that saved your fat ass" rubbing your bum lovingly, it was very nice bum

"Yah!" jumping to your feet "Don't touch me you perver-!!!" There you were once again falling into his open arms. Jeonghan could hardly contain his enjoyment, pulling you closer

"I would love to oblige, my lady," fixing strand of hair behind your ear "if only you weren't so desperate for my company." delighted smile painted on lips

Angry palm flying in his direction made him chuckle. Such tiny hand managed to destroy four buttons on his shirt. He could see your eyes glued to the bare chest. Like what you see?

"Well, well, well, do you really want to know my feelings that much?"

"yea"

"In that case, let's go somewhere more private"

//

The moment taxi started moving all the repressed feelings came rushing to his head, famished animal, so so desperate, his lips on yours were searching for sustenance. You were so beautiful and his. After he's done with you tonight he will shout it to the whole world but right now he will at least let this old man behind the wheel know what's up.

He fucked up and was willing to do anything to make it up to you.

//

Once he had his hands on you he couldn't let go. Well, he could but didn't want to. Holding you so tight, no distance left between the two of you, it was almost unbearable. Every part screaming into the void of his aching heart.

He just wanted to make you feel good. To show you how much he really liked you. Spoil you rotten. Never let another guy touch an inch of your body.

"Forgive me?" Falling to his knees, just a sinner asking for redemption in front of your heavenly gates

"Want me to forgive you, huh," "you know what to do."

Oh, he knew

"At your service, my lady~" After finally receiving his absolution Jeonghan prayed more than dutifully

[linkspooky]

Ciel-Noel post

Revenge is bad, actually. Simple revenge in stories is boring and uninteresting and Kill Bill is a bad movie.

I dislike the idea of punitive justice in stories to begin with, at least in stories that don't look critically at it. However, I also think people often get punitive justice (a branch of moral philosophy) with the idea of narrative punishment (actions have consequences in stories). I'm not against narrative punishment at all, well-written stories should have direct consequences for all the important characters actions. If a character is a noble gas and no one reacts to their actions, then they are stagnant and unchanging. A character who is constantly reacting to other people, and provoking reactions in return, is a dynamic character.

Now that I've thoroughly buried the lead six feet under, let's get to the main event. Ciel and Noel is a tightly written tragedy in the horror genre. If you've ever watched a slasher movie before, horror operates on like, an extreme kind of narrative punishment. People always joke that if you have sex, or do drugs, or drink alcohol in a horror movie the slasher will kill you and yeah, that's basically it. Horror movies are relenting and unforgiving, you basically take one step out of line and get stabbed in the back for it. So, it's not at all surprising that in the same story where Ciel experiences a change of heart and goes from seeing Shiki not as a victim but another vampire to kill, to being willing to sacrifice everything to save him, Noel does not get saved. Doesn't that make Ciel a huge hypocrite going the extra mile to save her boyfriend, but putting a bullet in the head of the partner she's known for years to put her out of her misery? Why, yes. Yes it is. That's also the point.

Ciel (and Noel's) route in the Tsukihime remake are about two girls who are the victims of the same tragedy. One gets saved, one does not. One finds a person who will do anything to reach and redeem their humanity, the other does not. They both get worse and worse, but one is given a helping hand at their lowest point, and the other gets a bullet between the eyes. This is unfair, and cruel, and again the point. Nasu in the remake turned one of the routes with the happier ending into a bitter tragedy no matter which of the two endings you pick and it's great.

Nasu is a writer who understands the tools of storytelling and with Ciel and Noel, wrote a tightly constructed tragedy where both characters face a narrative punishment. Once again, narrative punishment means for every action the character takes in the story, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Characters don't get away scott free with anything. They reap what they sew. This gives the characters actions meaning, and feels like they are building towards an arc because there is an underlying point that the author is trying to make to us, by framing these characters actions in a certain light.

Nasu employs narrative punishment, sometimes even incredibly harsh narrative punishment (read every wrong choice in FSN where Shirou gets horribly maimed or just Shirou's life in general). However, Nasu does not believe in punitive justice. I mean, I made a joke about Oberon up above but like, Nasu literally wrote an entire FGO Lostbelt chapter showing how chaotic evil the fairies were, and then he still underlined it's wrong to punish people without a chance for redemption or atonement by making Oberon the final boss. Even Castoria who is an ultimate victim of the fairies who was locked in a barn and treated like an animal, and didn't even want to save them was still like "This is wrong, we should have given them some chance to redeem themselves."

That belief that punishment without the chance of redemption is wrong, is written into the core of Ciel and Noel's tragedy.

So anyway, let's get to the part where I start recapping the story with analysis so you guys have some frame of reference for what I'm talking about. Noel is a previous victim of Roa, a vampire that continually reincarnates by hijacking bodies. A victim of ROA slowly becomes possessed until the two personalities effectively merge, at which point Roa goes on a killing spree. This happened to Ciel in her french village, Ciel noticed intrusive thoughts of a voice in her head telling her to kill her family, kill her family, kill her family, and did her best to ignore and suppress them until she couldn't. She then tore out her parent's throats, and then went on a rampage only to be killed by arcueid a short while after. Not before killing basically everyone in the town except for Noel.

Ciel and Noel are the lone survivors of ROA's massacre, and both victims of ROA himself. Ciel and Noel are also the same person, so like, write that down. Are you taking notes? This is gonna be a long post you better be writing down bullet points. Big bullet point number one, Ciel and Noel are the same person this is going to be on the test later.

Is the massacre, and all the deaths that occurred Ciel's fault?

No, you'd think logically being possessed by someone else and only having your agency taking away from you would clear you from responsibility.

However, Ciel was taken in by the catholic church afterwards and they weren't having any of that forgiveness shit. Ciel after miraculously recovering from her death at Arcueid, no longer under Roa's possession, is killed repeatedly by the church, only to find she's immortal now. No matter how many times they try to torture her, or execute her to give her justice for the victims of the massacre it doesn't work. So, instead they eventually just recruit her to be a vampire hunter. Bla bla bla, metaphor for how punitive justice doesn't actually accomplish anything, bla bla bla, metaphor for how Ciel's way of redeeming herself by hunting down and punishing other vampires (which is also just revenge) doesn't work because there's no end to it, there's no forgiveness or absolution, it's just eternal suffering. Would a loving god who created the world and preaches about forgiveness really make a hell where all the really bad people get sent to, and never get any chance of redemption?

“A God who could make good children as easily a bad, yet preferred to make bad ones; who could have made every one of them happy, yet never made a single happy one; who made them prize their bitter life, yet stingily cut it short; who gave his angels eternal happiness unearned, yet required his other children to earn it; who gave is angels painless lives, yet cursed his other children with biting miseries and maladies of mind and body; who mouths justice, and invented hell--mouths mercy, and invented hell--mouths Golden Rules and forgiveness multiplied by seventy times seven, and invented hell; who mouths morals to other people, and has none himself; who frowns upon crimes, yet commits them all; who created man without invitation, then tries to shuffle the responsibility for man's acts upon man, instead of honorably placing it where it belongs, upon himself; and finally, with altogether divine obtuseness, invites his poor abused slave to worship him!” ― Mark Twain, The Mysterious Stranger

So, already we're touching on both justice, and also the hypocrisies of certain western religions, by Nasu demonstrating that justice without forgiveness accomplishes nothing. Ciel trying to redeem herself in the eyes of the church is truly the sisyphus pushing the boulder up the hill of redemption arcs, because there's no forgiveness, only hard labor for her sins. Ciel will just keep killing vampires to atone until she dies, but she can't die, so that boulder will keep rolling up that hill.

This is the underlying point of Ciel's entire arc, Ciel does not save anybody. She kills vampires. By killing vampires she hypothetically stops them from killing future victims, but that's not saving them. One of the most poignant things I've ever read from Nasu was from UBW where Shirou says more or less if there's a bank robber holding up a bank, and a cop comes in and shoots the robber through the chest, that might save all the hostages but the bank robber didn't get saved. You might say, well obviously, you can't save everyone. It makes sense that you'd save the innocent victims first. At which point I would say yes, I know, I have in fact consulted the ancient texts, UBW is my most replayed route.

However, Ciel and Noel's conflict gets that same point across because there are no innocent victims between the two of them. Ciel and Noel are both victimized, robbed of their agency, and go on to do terrible things, but one of them is saved and one is not. Noel isn't the bank robber in that metaphor, she's the hostage who was cooperating with the bank robber because the robber had a gun to her head, who the swat team decided to snipe through the window.

Noel is introduced as an entirely new character in the remake, she is the only other survivor of the massacre. While Ciel has memories of herself committing the crimes and feels guilt for that, Noel watched everyone die and was tortured for days on end by Roa in Ciel's body for their amusement (someone who was so insignificant to them, that Noel refers to herself as just one chip in a bag of chips Roa was snacking on. That's right, Noel is a cheeto in the grand scheme of things). There is one quote I love from John Dies at the End where John talks about how they're not chess pieces, they're not pieces on the board, they're so insigificant that they're just a cheeto sitting on the outside of the board. That's Noel, she's a cheeto.

The thing is Noel seems to be somewhat narratively aware of the fact that in the grand scheme of things she is a cheeto. Noel and Ciel are both victims of the massacre turned vampires, Ciel is a vampire killing machine and Noel sucks at it. Ciel despite being some rando apparently is born with enough magic circuits to make ancient magus families jealous, and on top of that is the only one who ever survived Roa's possession (and got immortality to boot). In every generation there is a chosen one, she alone will stand against the vampires and the demons and the forces of darkness. She is the slayer. So you've got Ciel the Vampire Slayer, and Noel who's just a cheeto. The cosmically ordained protagonist of reality, and just some guy. Noel has to basically beg and scrape to get by, no matter how hard she works she doesn't get stronger, she doesn't get any cool super powers from the night roa burned down her home town she just gets trauma. She also doesn't get a special boyfriend who will do anything to try to give her a normal life. This is illustrated in true tragic irony, by showing that Noel had a crush on a japanese foreign exchange student who's clearly meant to foil Shiki and he was basically the support she leaned on for the entirety of the tragedy, he dragged her away from danger multiple times, only to find out the reason he saved her was to use her as zombie bait so he could make his escape.

Here's where Noel starts to shine because in a typical narrative, Noel would be the more sympathetic character. People like rooting for the underdog. However, Nasu dares to be different by making Noel extremely difficult to empathize with. For one she's extremely predatory in the way she makes constant uncomfortable advances on Shiki the main character. She's also predatory in the sense she enjoys preying on things weaker than her. She says it line for line, weak people have to pick on those weaker than them. Noel goes after small fry vampires for revenge, and to vent her frustrations, however, she doesn't just kill them she rips them to pieces and tortures them in the most inhumane way possible until they're begging for death.

Why would anyone sympathize with the weak, predatory, pathetic noel who only ever makes excuses and blames others to run away from responsibility, over the stoic, strong ciel who is willing to hunt vampires forever to take responsibility for her actions.

Well here's the thing, *gestures for you to come closer, and then whispers in your ear* all the shit that Noel pulls, Ciel does that too. Ciel and Noel are either the same age, or around the same age, so if Noel is a predator for hitting on Shiki than so is Ciel. It's almost like something happened to them in their youths that stopped all their mental development rendering them both like mentally 16. Noel mercilessly slaughters vampires for revenge, and so does Ciel. She just does it offscreen. We don't know if she tortures them or anything, but remember when Ciel hunts Shiki, how she knows that Shiki is a helpless victim in all this and still goes out of her way to twist the knife, hurt him both physically and emotionally in every way possible before making the final blow.

The reason she acted that way during her and Shiki's confrontation isn't because she was stoically forcing herself to kill Shiki because that was the right thing to do, no she was projecting herself and her survivor's guilt for not killing herself before Roa went on his massacre all over Shiki. She was getting her revenge on a helpless victim because projecting on Shiki was a way for her to punish herself. Noel hates herself for being weak, Ciel hates herself for not being strong enough to slit her throat before everything happened (ergo being weak). They both deal with this self hatred by projecting that onto vampires, even vampires who were turned against their will (especially those ones tbh) and slaughtering them. They were both taken in by the church and taught to do that, so the church could get two child soldiers to send to die fighting vampreis. Ciel is Noel, and Noel is Ciel.

Not only does Noel project her past self and her weaknesses onto vampires, she projects herself onto Ciel. In that Noel really wants to be Ciel. Which is understandable, would you rather be, a girl who's only super power is... having an axe, or a girl with like seventeen million cool weapons, has more mana circuits than most mages, and is fucking immortal.

That's just the surface though, Noel is on like fifteen levels of projection with Ciel. Noel's identity is incredibly tied up in her complicated feelings towards Ciel, both because Ciel is the face of the person who committed every atrocity to Noel, but also because they are the two lone survivors of the same tragedy. Noel and Ciel both try to make themselves into tools for killing vampires to cope with their survivor's guilt, and their inability to conceive of themselves having a normal life after what they have been through. They also were both denied any chance at healing, because the church swept in and fashioned them into hunting dogs to sick on the vampires, and fight those vampires until they die. They are also both convinced that the church is right for doing this, and that deep down they either cannot have (Noel) or do not deserve (Ciel) normal lives while they both secretly pine for it anyway. Both of them are denied the chance for recovery, (because revenge does not heal), and Noel takes that one step further by deliberately driving a wedge into Ciel's recovery.

To quote you Comun, even though you're the one that sent this ask:

And Noel is a character inserted in Tsukihime to thwart Ciel's steady recovery. A constant reminder of what she lost and how the blood is in her hands. To cope with the sins Roa used her body for, Ciel chose to be the Holy Church's most professional extermination machine. Noel is the only survivor of her village because Elesia also died that night, being replaced with Ciel, who is fueled not by emotions but by a vampire kill count. And while Noel is a petty bitch at heart, she genuinely believes Ciel's post-trauma life choice and respects her capability to pull it off. There's no sabotage to their partnership not because Noel is afraid to defy someone a million times stronger than her, but because Noel wholeheartedly agrees with Ciel's choice to never recover and to pay blood for blood for the rest of her potentially eternal life. As long as Ciel stays Ciel, Noel's vengefulness is directed solely at Roa. But then Shiki enters Ciel's life bringing with him semblances of normal happiness. The murder machine began to regain emotions. And to Noel, that's a problem.

So part of this is you know, buying church propaganda. Ciel and Noel are both victims of the same church that does not heal or save people, and only doles out punishments on the guilty.

Part of this is an interesting twist that adds complexity to Noel's character, because like she could blame Ciel for the massacre like the church does, and like Ciel does herself, but as you point out Noel clearly wrestles with that. Noel feels a mix of envy for a twisted respect, one could even say love for Ciel's strength. Noel shows a much more nuanced reaction to Roa wearing Ciel's face and killing her entire family and torturing her for days on end, when she could take the church's approach, or even Ciel's approach towards Shiki. Noel even talks about at length how her and Ciel used to bond together by talking at night about how they were going to get revenge for everyone who died that day. Noel can't just see Ciel as the villain who took everything away from her, because they are the only two survivors of the massacre.

As you said there's no sabotage to their partnership, because despite Noel being the most petty bitch ever she never does anything to hurt or betray Ciel. The reason their partnership falls apart is entirely Ciel's fault. Sure, Noel was dancing on the edge of a cliff and not the most stable person to begin with, but it's Ciel's actions that push her off that cliff.

Not only does Noel drive thwart Ciel's recovery, she also makes Ciel look like a terrible person. Because, Ciel is a terrible person. In the same route where Shiki constantly lovebombs Ciel and constantly talks about all her good traits and what a hero she is, and Ciel gets several very cool action scenes making her look like a cool vampire slayer, we also witness to Noel's soul and heartcrushing downward spiral that is caused in part by Ciel kind of not really giving a shit about Noel's feelings. Noel's downfall could have been stopped at any point by Ciel simply lifting a finger, or just noticing her partner's obvious distres but instead what Ciel does is Noel completely out of the loop (like not telling Noel that she was waiting for Roa to reveal himself before attacking Shiki) .

Like, the scene where Noel turns into a vampire is directly caused by Ciel's actions. Noel reveals to Shiki that he's currently possessed by Roa. Ciel stands up for Shiki, in what we think is Ciel not wanting to believe that Shiki is possessed by Roa. However, what we learn instead is that Ciel only approached Shiki in the first place because she assumed he would be Roa's first target, and has been keeping by his side constantly waiting for Roa to appear so she can murk him.

So, all Ciel needed to do was TELL NOEL that she was playing the long game and ask Noel to wait a little longer before showing their hand, but apparently basic communication with her partner is too much effort for Ciel.

This leads into a scenario where not only does Noel think Ciel has broken their partnership (i mean she kinda has) but Ciel directly injures Noel pretty badly and leaves her alone. When Arach shows up to prey upon Noel, Noel can't even fight back by that point. Arach is the bus that hit Noel, but Ciel sure did throw Noel under that bus for no real reason.

I mean there is a story reason - it shows that Ciel may be an instrument of justice but she doesn't save people, in fact she does not give two figs about whether or not people are saved by her actions. Ciel obsessively hunting vampires, is not really that far off from Noel torturing vampires for her own sense of petty vengeance. However, Ciel hunts vampires offscreen so we as an audience don't see really the way, she treats the vampires she kills, but from the way she both foils Noel and also the sadistic way she draws out killing Shiki possessed by Roa as long as possible you can infer that she's not all too different from Noel. That's good actually, that Ciel seems like a good heroic person, but if you squint at her she's not much better than Noel, because like that's the entire point of her character the good, altruistic senpai never existed in the first place. All of Ciel's words about atonement and forgiveness are empty platitudes, just her regurgitating the words the church fed to her.

So finally to conclude, we have the culmination of the moebius strip, where Noel the apparent opposite of Ciel, slowly morphs into Ciel. Noel's flaws in a narrative sense led to her downfall, but let's be clear Noel had no fucking agency in her transformation into a vampire. She was hysterically begging for Arach not to do it. She was pinned and helpless to escape when it happened. It is Arach and Ciel's fault what happened to her.

Noel does make choices, but her choice amounts to not immediately killing herself the moment she became a vampire. She does take like 500 shots to become an ubervamp, but like, the story clearly states that once people become vampires their moralities and personalities are radically altered. So if that's a choice it's an influenced choice.

Therefore the only choice in that moment Noel is truly responsible for is not killing herself while she was still lucid. Irony upon ironies because that's exactly what she yells at vampires to do, bow down and let their heads be cut off by the executors. However, if Noel is guilty for not immediately offing herself, so is Ciel, so is Shiki. Both of these characters get saved while Noel gets old yeller'd. This is unfair and also, you guessed it, the point. Ciels revenge against vampires accomplishes nothing. Noel giving up her humanity for the shot at revenge against Ciel accomplishes nothing. It's almost like revenge doesn't heal, it just puts more pain and misery into the world. No one is saved by revenge.

Noel is fridged for Ciel's arc, and neither Ciel nor Shiki ultimately save her even though she's not all that responsible for her own downfall. This is not the narrative playing good victim and bad victim. If anything it makes Ciel look way worse as a person. The narrative even goes out of its way to say that both Ciel and Noel have a right to their revenge and in a situation like this the winner wasn't determined by who was right but who's stronger. Ciel has no moral high ground she just happens to be stronger, that's it. She doesn't take the higher road with Noel even after Shiki went to such great length to try to reach her emotionally and tell her she was still human, no Ciel makes no attempt to talk to Noel or take a third route she just murks her.

Noel is my favorite character for this route probably second favoeite overall behind Kohaku and I one hundred percent agree with fridging her, because it makes Ciel's character a hundred times better by giving her consequences for her flaws. It's one thing for Ciel to break down crying about how much she hates herself for being a cold merciless machine. It's another thing to have this demonstrated by Ciel letting her partner fall to the wayside by just not giving a shit about anyone's feelings or anything except for her personal quest against vampires.

Noel is a victim of the cycle of revenge, a pointless and harmful cycle. In a story that's thoroughly anti revenge as evidenced in the true end of hisuis route where Kohaku having achieved absolute perfect revenge and having her plan gone entirely right, takes a knife and gouges out her own heart with it. If that's not on the nose I don't know what is.

Its poignant comun that you told me that Nasu stated there's no good ending to Ciel's routes just a normal and a true because a good ending would have saved Noel. It might look like Ciel got off scott free but if you look at it, by killing Noel and denying Noel the chance at salvation Ciel damns herself too. Ciel has not escaped the cycle in the true ending, she's still hunting vampires at the behest of the church the only real change is she has a boyfriend now. I'd compare it to the ending of UBW vs Heavens Feel. In one Shirou has Rin's support but it's implied he'll eventually leave Rin anyway and become Archer, he just won't regret saving people as Archer did. He has not escaped the self destructive cycle. Whereas in Heaven's Feel, Shiro dies and is reborn and has to you know live as a person from now on.

Ciel did not end the cycle, she perpetuated it by killing Noel. You don't end the cycle of revenge with more revenge. Since Ciel did not end it she's still trapped in the cycle herself, and she still has support in the form of Shiki but the cycle will probably consume her the way it eventually consumed Shirou. She even broke out what was essentially the UBW with black keys when fighting against Vlov. It's just like that one post on Twitter said every few years or so someone reinvent the unlimited blade works!

[peppermintquartz]

The second time Tommy meets Philip and Margaret is not under the best of circumstances.

Maddie is wrecked with worry, Jee is confused about why her daddy can't sleep at home and why her Uncle Buck isn't here, and Tommy himself is approximately three broken Kit-Kat bars from completely snapping.

So when the Buckley parents show up at the hospital, Tommy is not in the best of moods.

"Why are you here?" Margaret says when she sees him, instead of asking "How's my son?"

"Because I'm waiting for the outcome of the surgery," Tommy says, pretty curtly, but after fourteen hours following a full shift he is about to keel over. He's seated right now, having no further energy to pace, with his elbows on his knees, his head aching from the fluorescent lights and endless activity all around him, and his heart steeled against the worst possible outcome. "I mean, it's certainly not for the ambience."

"Maddie called and told us that Howard and Evan were in the building when it collapsed," Philip says before Margaret can react to the sarcasm. "We wanted to be here for Maddie."

"For Maddie, of course it's for her," Tommy says, and he is so beyond sick with worry that he can't force aside the irritation nor hide it with civility. "She's gone home with Jee-yun. I promised to keep her updated. If you're looking for her, I suggest doing so tomorrow morning when she's had hopefully at least an hour of sleep."

Margaret glances at the light above the operating theater doors and wrings her hands. "How long has it been? I can't bear this."

Tommy doesn't even look at his watch anymore. "Fourteen hours, thereabouts. Howie's just come out two hours ago."

A whole building. A three-storey building. Howie was on the top floor, so he was freed from the rubble first. Evan was on the ground floor. The 217 and the 124 had been on the scene, Tommy flying five casualties from the wreck directly to hospital, one of whom was his friend. All the while he had to internally battle the screaming need to claw apart the debris, with his bare hands if necessary, to get his Evan out of there.

Philip hugs Margaret. "He'll survive. He's always done so, since he was a kid. You know how it is with him. Scrapes and cuts and falls. He'll come out of this without trouble."

"I can't bear waiting here," Margaret whispers again. "You know I don't like..." She shuts her eyes and shakes her head.

"I know, I know it feels like it's Daniel inside, but it isn't."

And Tommy loses it.

Logically, he knows that Philip is merely trying to reassure his wife. Logically, he knows that they are trying; the mere fact that they are in hospital to check on Evan and Howie is a statement that they are trying.

Every other part of Tommy, however, explodes with incandescent rage.

"Daniel? Daniel?! Evan's in there, fighting for his life, and you can't even focus on that?" he spits out. "The only reason why I am even talking to you is because you made Evan. You brought him to this world. And you don't deserve him. Every day I see how much he loves, how openly and how bravely he loves, and to know that you both treated him the way you did... And now you come here, to the hospital, and you talk about being here for Maddie and, and thinking about Daniel, instead of your son who could've died today!"

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Tommy realizes that he's on his feet, his fists clenched, towering over two older persons who are shrinking away from his six foot two frame. Suddenly drained, Tommy licks his dry lips.

"Go see Howie," he says in a low voice. "You probably can't go in yet, but find out what you can to tell Maddie."

Philip clears his throat. "You'll let us know when Evan is out?"

"I'll call Maddie." Tommy sits again and stares at the wall opposite. Green. Dull, lifeless, bland hospital green. He hears the Buckleys walk away. "Philip, wait."

"Yes?"

"Sorry about the outburst. Also, you're supposed to call him Buck. Remember that."

Philip sighs again. "Of course. We'll see you later, when Ev- Buck is out of surgery."

[untitled5071]

And finally, the happy ending they both deserve.

Here it is everyone, the final chapter of Six Feet Under! Sorry this post is a little late, I've had a lot going on recently. But I hope you enjoy this last installment of our re-telling saga, I loved writing it!

Thank you so so much to everyone who's stuck around for this fic, I hope you like where I took it and all I added. Let me know your thoughts if you want, I'd love to hear them! And don't forget, you can find the rules to the fanart exchange pinned to my blog, and you have until 6/14/24 to let me know if you're interested!

[lale-txt]

❈ driving around at night ↳ w/ Gojo, Choso, Higuruma & Shiu

a/n: reader is gn! i don't know about you, but i love the feeling of being in the car with a friend or a lover when it's late at night, and your favorite song is playing, and the night feels like it'll never stop...

word count: 1.1k

❦ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

Gojo doesn’t drive, even though he’d be great at it, he never saw the need to learn it since he can literally teleport or call poor Ichiji if he needs to be somewhere

that’s why he prefers to be your personal passenger princess on your nightly drives around town

and he comes prepared–the perfect playlist depending on the mood, a bag full of your favorite snacks in his lap which he’ll unwrap for you and put them directly in your mouth (after taking a giant bite himself), and he’ll never fall asleep during the ride, keeping you entertained nonstop 

you don’t remember when it started, but it became some kind of ritual for you two after returning from a mission to just drive around without a set destination

some nights you just sit in comfortable silence and let the bright city lights pass by, some nights you’re both giggling and talking nonstop in your seats, talking about everything and nothing

Gojo likes it when you take his hand while driving, even if only for a brief moment, and he likes it even more to rest his own hand on your thigh, careful not to distract you too much but enough to let you know he’s here and wants to be close to you always

he’ll smile to himself when you hum along to a song he picked or when you glance over to him from time to time; he doesn’t need his Six Eyes to tell how much love you carry for him in your heart

you take away Gojo’s loneliness so easily, making him forget the burden he shoulders all the time, even if only for a moment; but it’s enough, you’re enough

it’s like loving him comes easy to you, and if there’s one thing Gojo will protect, it’s you, always you

❦ 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎

the ring of his bike bell announces his arrival, and he’ll stand there waiting for you under a streetlight, the sweetest, biggest grin on his face and a tiny bouquet of handpicked flowers held out for you 

when Choso saw a couple share a bike the other day, he immediately wanted to try this with you too

except that he didn’t exactly know how to ride a bike in the first place

you offered to teach him, but he declined; this was something he had to face by himself (he asked Yuji for help who, of course, couldn’t deny his brother the favor)

before you sit down behind him on the bicycle rack, Choso sweeps you off your feet, plastering your face with tiny little kisses like an overexcited puppy; he is just always so happy to see you and he was really looking forward to this date

he even brought a pillow for you, so you can sit comfortably while you ride the bike through the empty streets together

Choso will be a little quiet at first, focused on keeping the balance and riding safely, and trying not to think too much about how your arms are wrapped around his waist and how close you are to him right now, your breath tickling his neck a little and his heart beating so loud

only when you reach the canal and can see the starlit sky above your heads, the tension will leave his body a bit, in awe of nature and your presence 

you stop to sit by the water a little, making up constellations of your own, giggling and laughing while huddled together, the heat of his body oozing into yours

❦ 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐀

maybe you’ve worked overtime on a case together, maybe you both sneaked away from an overwhelming office party; either way you both take a deep inhale as you step out into the night air as you walk to the parking lot together

Higuruma grabs the two helmets stored under the seat of his scooter and helps you put on yours, then tightens his own

once you sit down together, he makes sure that you hold on tight to him, your arms wrapped around his middle and your chin either resting on his shoulder or your head pressed against his back

you can’t see it, but he’s smiling so sweetly; this was always his favorite part of the day, just you and him driving into the night 

Higuruma always takes you to some spots he thinks you will like; sometimes the closest beach, sometimes a bit outside of the city where you can see the stars perfectly at night, and sometimes just to a 7/11 at the other end of town, just so you can try out the seasonal ice cream and soda flavors 

his scooter may be a bit old with a few concerning sounds here and there, but as long as it carries you two towards tiny adventures, Higuruma wouldn’t dream of getting rid of it 

after all, your kisses taste the sweetest at night, when it feels like the world has stopped spinning just for you two, as if you’re the only humans left in this world, carrying all the love in your hearts 

and even though morning always comes, the night will always be yours together with the breeze in your hair when you drive towards wherever the moon guides you

❦ 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐔

if you had to describe the smell of the inside of Shiu’s car, it would probably be expensive

it’s mostly the lingering scent of his cologne and the smell of cigarettes that’s enveloping you like a veil; warm and earthy, bringing a calmness you only feel when you’re with him 

it became a habit of the two of you, driving around town at night, with no destination set, just the two of you in the car

Shiu’s hand would rest on your knee or your thigh the whole time, the other on the steering wheel, his eyes focused on the road, but occasionally he’ll steal a glance at you, his lips curving into the softest smile

there’s always a cigarette dangling from his lips, sometimes passed back and forth between you if you’re in the mood for one

Shiu will ask you to grab a lighter for him out of the glove compartment and lean in for you to light his cigarette for him, since both of his hands are already occupied (and he loves any excuse to be closer to you)

“but gimme a kiss first, darling,” he’ll mumble at a red light, shutting his eyes for a moment when your lips brush against his

occasionally you’ll end up at his place after hours of driving around, but if he has to leave early the next day for an important client, he’ll drive you home and walk you to the door to make sure you get inside safely–and to steal one last good night kiss from your lips

[apollyonsdarksecrets]

The Suppressants

Alpha!Joel Miller X Omega!Afab!Reader

Summary: What do you do when you run out of heat suppressants? You turn to the only person who can possibly get you more medication; even if it means airing your biggest secret. But when Joel doesn’t have what you need you must travel together to meet another dealer. Surely you’ll get more medicine score your heat starts… right?

Warnings: post-apocalyptic world. A/B/O alternative universe, (A/B/O dynamics including: Scenting, Marking, Knotting, Heats) age gap (Reader is 26, Joel is late 40s), reader has been on suppressant most of her life, Joel teaches reader about guns, parental lost (not depicted on page), future smut, he falls first, angst(?), let me know if I missed anything for this part!

A/N: what? Who? Apollyon didn’t disappear off the face of the earth after all?! Yes, hello, I live! I’ve been working on 7 different WIPs and this is the first one I finally finished!!! 🤣 All I can think about is a nice, warm, rough Alpha Joel lately and so here you go!

Part One, Part two vvv (tumbler is acting so weird with this story and not letting me link the parts together!))

https://www.tumblr.com/apollyonsdarksecrets/766831444801863680/the-suppressants-alpha-joel-miller-x

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Staring at the scratched orange bottle in your hands you suck in an uneven breath.

Eleven little green pills rattle in their plastic container, signifying that your time to find help has dwindled down to a little over a week.

You closer your eyes, tapping the bottle against your forehead as you come to your forced conclusion. You know what you have to do, you know that there is no longer another option. No one else to turn to.

It’s the panic seizing your heart that makes it feel impossible to ask.

The secret you harbored, that these little pills kept under control, would have to come to light, if rumors hadn’t already spread. The thought alone makes your empty stomach lurch with nausea.

You hadn’t been neglectful. No. You had tried desperately to find more medication before time ran out. You had gone to six different shady dealers. Six different people who all worked for the same boss.

It was inevitable he would find out one way or the other. Maybe it would be best coming from you.

Steeling yourself, you hold your breath, forcing your brain to focus on the slow burn building in your lungs, until you are no longer trembling. Only then do you let loose a deep sigh.

You go for the brown messenger bag you keep by the door, slinging it on the kitchen counter before stuffing the main pocket with ration cards. the slips of paper crinkle loudly, taunting you even, as if they know they came from selling your furniture. As if they knew you had to stoop so low that all you have to your name is a mattress and torn up blankets.

Next is a thick brick of bakers chocolate, a gift from your elderly neighbor after you had fixed her small space heater. You examine the brick, no expiration or best by date can be found before you shove it into the side pouch. All you can hope for is that it isn’t too far gone.

You frown, the bag still half empty, and you glance around your kitchen to see if there is anything else to be added. To make what you are about to ask for a bit more reasonable. Coming up empty handed you snatch the bag and leave.

Your destination is only two floors above you, and you wonder if he can sense something is coming his way, as you start down the hall, like the crackle of a close storm in the air.

The nauseous feeling grows stronger as you recite the scripture you’ve created in your mind of what to say. But your legs feel as though you’ve been shackled with heavy balls and chains, making your feet drag over the dirty, curling carpet of the hall.

It would be a lie if you said you hadn’t thought of turning tail and hiding. Of slinking off to some hidden, far away place where hopefully none of your problems would attract consequences. The only thing that is stopping you is the thought of your mother.

You can practically see the shame that would have dimmed her blue eyes, the curl of her lip as she realized her daughter was nothing more than a coward.

Less of an Omega and more of a pussy-cat.

You take the stairs up, up, up, slowly; hand gripping the railing so hard your skin is white across your knuckles. You rationalize your predicament in the back of your mind, arguing that you never thought you would live to see the day your medication would run out. That every day you survived after the loss of your mother was a gift, having been so cruelly hindered by your own biology. Having to depend of medication just to survive the only true horror of the world ending. Humans.

Too soon you are ascending the next set of steps, finding yourself standing in front of a faded green door, the imprint of the long missing metal numbers your only indication you are at the right place.

That you are at his door.

The man on the other side is the only reason you had made it thus far, you should feel confident that he will help, that he would accept the truth without faulting you or your mother for never trusting him enough to bare it. But then again…

You stare at the door, your chest tightening, turning your breath into shallow pants. Your limbs suddenly feel numb, the tips of your fingers tingling and it spreads through your palms and up your arms. Trying to swallow against your dry throat you lift your knuckles to the door, forcing your body to go through with the motion. The wood sounds hallow under the weight of your fist, your eyes growing marginally larger, as if you hadn’t full expected to make contact.

Before you can decide to turn and run, or stay rooted to your spot, the choice is made for you.

Joel Miller, with his ever watchful gaze and scowling features, is suddenly towering over you from what feels like the top of the door frame. His deep brown eyes lighten, the pinch between his brow softening as he realizes who’s at his door. Checking the hallway his rigid posture relaxes, leaning his shoulder into the frame. “What brings ya here, darlin’?”

Unexpected tears well up in your eyes at the innocent question, and you’re helpless to stop them as they roll down your cheeks. Before you know it you’re sobbing, throwing your hands into the air with defeat as you try and fail to form words around the constricting sobs.

Joel’s eyes go wide, a chorus of emotions pelting him at your sudden display of emotion. Having known you for so long to be a level headed woman, every warning bell is going off for Joel as he stiffens, reaching for you. “Woah, woah, honey what is the-“

You shake your head, cutting him off as you push past into his apartment. You sling your bag around to your front, fighting with the buckles. Joel shuts the door quickly with another backwards glance, watching bewildered as you struggle with your shaking hands.

“I-I have all of this, and I know-know that this is how people pay you.” You manage to get out, flipping your bag over and dumping the cards onto the table. His eyebrows shoot to his curling hairline, watching the different colored slips spill across the wood, some floating to the floor. You struggle with something else in your bag, yanking and tugging and he steps forward to possibly offer you help when you snap. “God damnit!” Finally ripping the chocolate free, you slam it down, the brick cracking in half audibly. “Chocolate… everyone loves chocolate… I just…” When you turn to look at him with such wild, desperate eyes Joel can only think that the worst has happened. “I need your help.”

Joel steps closer, his hands raised like your some skittish animal ready to dart. “Darlin’. Let’s calm down, you know you ain’t gotta do all of this. Just tell me what it is you need.” And he’s right, you’ve never had to pay him for anything, an agreement made when your mom and Joel worked together all those years ago.

Her knowledge of pharmaceuticals mixed with his innate abilities to smuggle any kind of contraband into the QZ made them the best business partners. Your mother had given him her knowledge willingly as long as he agreed to her terms; use what you can to help those around you, and should anything happen to her, watch over her only daughter.

A fresh wave of pained tears rush forward, letting Joel close the distance between you. He grips your shoulders, rubbing soothing circles into your tense muscles as you wrap your arms around yourself, trying to hold onto any semblance of your dignity. “It’s bad… That… That’s why I brought all of this.”

His heart starts to thunder in his chest, your words spiking his own anxiety. ‘Please don’t be pregnant. Please don’t be-‘

“I need heat suppressants. I only have eleven left before I run out completely.”

Joel pulls back like you had suddenly slapped him, shock and denial playing across his features. “You… What?” He doesn’t mean to sound so harsh, running a hand through his greying hair when you flinch. You don’t answer him, instead turning your eyes to the dirt stricken floor below your feet. Joel paces away, turning back to inspect you, his eyes tracing over your smaller figure. He’d known your mother was an Omega, but seeing as you had given off no smell or any signs he chalked it up to you having struck gold and been born a Beta. Never once did it cross his mind that you were on suppressants.

Passing a hand over his face, he turns away, afraid to witness the devastation about to wreck your face. “I don’t have any.”

Your insides lurch, the nausea from earlier hitting you like a punch to the gut, making you grip the back of a kitchen chair. “What?” You squeak, face turning pale as you stare at the side of Joel’s face. “Joel, please… Please I have all of this, there has to be someone! If I go into heat every Alpha in the QZ will be after me like I’m- I’m some kind of prize!” And in a sick, demented way, you’re telling the truth.

Omega numbers were already dropping before the start of the outbreak, causing Alpha’s who couldn’t control their instincts to become possessive, and unruly. That same reason is why there are so few Omegas to count now, most new Alphas becoming rogue with the need to mate, leaving those of us left in constant fear.

“Please,” You whisper brokenly, pressing your hands to your chest. “Everyone said you were who I needed to go to. There has to be something.”

Joel cusses under his breath, turning to look at you and the sight alone is enough to break his heart, hearing you plead is only driving a stake through it. “Look… It’s a bit of a long shot but there is someone I know. It may take me a few days to get in touch with him but if he does have any suppressants it’ll be about a weeks journey.”

“You… You mean leave the QZ?” You haven’t stepped foot outside of these metal walls since you were brought here as a young teenager, nearly 13 years ago. The thought alone is enough to make you want to back out, throw in the towel and hide somewhere where no one can find you. Joel sees your hesitation and splays his hands.

“Yes, but you know I’ve been out there hundreds of times now. I know this route like the back of my hand. If you don’t come with me there will be no way for you to get the medication in time for your…” Joel trails off, a soft rosy color surfacing on his tan cheeks. “You’re gonna have to come with me.”

You glance away, gnawing on your lower lip. With a curt nod you agree, knowing that there isn’t another choice.

*~*~*~*~*~*

It takes two agonizing days before Joel is showing up at your door, telling you he’s heard from a Beta named Mark; the dealer you’ll be meeting with. With Joel is a well worn map, the paper soft under your fingers as Joel shows you exactly the route he and you will be taking to the next town just north of here. You listen to him intensely as you both lean against the kitchen counter, mentally noting everything he tells you as he explains what dangers you could potentially face.

Next is for him to show you what needs to be packed. Joel notices the furniture and other necessities your apartment lacks as he goes through your cupboards and then your clothes, all of it explaining how you had secured so many ration cards.

After Joel is sure you’re packed to the extent that you can carry, he takes the next few hours before night fall to teach you the ends and outs of the pistol you’ll be carrying. He shows you how to dismantle it, then how to build it back, explaining each part in detail as you watch in fascination how nimbly his large hands move over the small parts. Once everything is in place, he spins the unloaded gun around, holding out the handle.

Though you’ve been around enforcers the majority of your life, you knew very little about guns. Your mother had kept you away from the more violent parts of the QZ, her high statues ensuring you had more mundane jobs on your rolls. All of that being said the first thing that comes to mind when you think pistols is the only movie you had in your apartment. You spin around, pointing the barrel at the little white refrigerator with one hand cocked sideways. The same way you’d seen Samuel L. Jackson’s character do in the movie Pulp Fiction.

“What the fuck do you think you are doing?” Joel snaps incredulously, stepping up behind you.

“What? I’ve only seen Pulp Fiction, this is how they do it.” You argue back, dropping your arm to your side as you turn to look up at Joel.

He glares down at you before he steps closer, his chest pressing against your back. “You ain’t no Sam Jackson, woman, now pay attention.” His hand grips your wrist and he guides you to bring the gun back up. You try to pay attention, you truly do, as he instructs you on where to place your palms on the hilt, how your fingers should over lap the others and squeeze; but the heat radiating off of his body makes it nearly impossible. Joel curls around you slightly to get to your level, holding your hands steady between his own, and everywhere that his skin touches yours sends electricity crackling across every nerve.

If he feels even a fraction of what you do, he hides it well as you turn your head to look. You trace the outline of his face, the small sun spots across his Castilian nose, down to the frown of his lips; completely forgetting what he is showing you. His eyes flicker to yours, hardened with concentration , “You never put yer finger on the trigger unless you are absolutely certain yer ready to shoot.” His voice is rough and firm, searching your eyes as you dip your head in agreement. “Good girl. Now, pay attention.”

It’s easier said than done as his hands correct your shoulders, his boot nudging your feet apart to widen your stance, or when he finally steeps away how you can feel his gaze burning into your flesh. You try to hold the gun steady, aiming down the sights at the litter of ABC magnets that adorn your fridge but your arms begin to shake from the weight.

“This feels wrong.”

“You’ll get use to it.” Joel mutters with a shrug as you hand the gun over. “When we get far enough away we’ll find an area where we wont draw too much attention to ourselves, and you can practice.”

You nod, fallowing Joel’s lead as he takes a seat on the once grey carpet, watching how he loads the magazine. You pick at a stray thread on your jeans, watching how his fingers move. After a few moments of silence you shift around. “Thank you… for doing all of this.”

Joel sighs through his nose, looking over at you, trying to peek at your down turned face. “I just wish you’d a come to me sooner.” You rest your cheek on your knee, eyebrows pinching in the center. “You use to come to me for a lot, I know this is well… Different, but it don’t change the fact that it’s just me.”

“It’s just,” You suck in a deep breath, “I’ve been asking around for a few months now… It was just the thought of coming to you directly was… embarrassing? I thought that if you knew I was an Omega you would start to treat me differently… I don’t want that.” You pull the strings free before rolling it into a little ball and flicking it somewhere across the room.

Joel is silent for a moment, rolling a bullet back and forth across his palm. “Sure it ain’t got something to do with me being an Alpha?” The question is weighted, and even though you don’t say anything he can see the blush spreading across your cheeks. He stretches his leg out, nudging your calf with the toe of his boot. “Hey. It’s alright. I understand, I ain’t blind to how things are now. I wont treat you no differently than I have before, darlin’. Swear it.”

You glance up at him, the smallest of smiles playing across his lips as you stare at each other in the dim light of your living room. You nod once.

*~*~*~*~*~*

It had been extremely unnerving how easily the two of you had slipped from between the metal walls under the blanket of a starless sky. How the patrolling officers didn’t so much as catch a glimpse of your slinking forms as you dashed across the bare field for the crop of trees. Even though your body is riddled with anxiety, you can’t help but marvel at life outside of the city. You can take your first full breath of air, no longer chocking under the overpowering stench of human and trash.

When you both slow in a clearing you are able to look up and see the blue-black sky beginning to change colors as dawn crept in. There’s no haze, no smog, or dust. Just the sun painting the leaves in beautiful shades of golds, purples, and reds. You close your eyes, letting the light warm your face as you take it all in, your shoulders relaxing, your chest no longer feeling taught.

And Joel is there, watching you from a short distance away as your skin is cast in a thousand shades of morning. You’re glowing, and for a brief moment Joel wonders how you would have thrived in a normal world; a better world.

“It’s so beautiful out here.” Your voice floats across the space between you, soft so as not to disturb the birds waking. He startles slightly, knowing he’s been caught staring at you and he adverts his eyes to the sky. He’s seen it a million times, his mind and body roughened by the losses he’s endured; the brunt of the world chipping away at him. He knows the dangers, the risks, the things that lurk just out of sight; but… as he stares at the sky, then back to you, the amazement playing across your face…

“Yeah… it sure is.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

“Now, just squeeze the trigger.”

You suck in a deep breath, arms tensing as you exhale, flinching when you pull the trigger. The pistol kicks back, jarring your joints and sending pain through your wrists. The bullet wizzes well off to the side of the can set on the old wooden post.

Your lips tug down, turning to look at Joel so he can correct where you went wrong. He smiles at the pout you throw his way, pulling away from the tree he has been leaning against.

“Good try. Let’s give it another go. This time keep your wrists locked, you need to hold through the kick. You need to get use to the sound and the feel of it, otherwise you’re gonna flinch and miss each time.”

You follow his instructions, digging your heels into the earth as you aim. The soup can catches the light, almost mocking you as you squeeze the trigger once more and miss.

“It doesn’t feel right.” You complain, switching the safety off and shoving the gun back into the holster on your hip. Joel scoffs and you roll your eyes, lifting your empty hand and pretending to shoot the same way Jules does in the movie.

Joel laughs, scooping his bag and riffle off the ground. “I’m telling you, ya ain’t gonna shoot nothing like that. Will only manage to break your wrist.”

“And what if I do?” You snip, turning to face him your glare unmatched to his own.

“You won’t.” He replies more firmly, crossing his arms over his chest as you step closer, raising your chin in defiance.

“What if I do though? Huh?” You poke his arm, a smile growing as you see the frustration rising in his face.

“Fine. You get something like that and you get to say a one liner. Alright?”

He has to look away as your grin grows to an infectious smile. “Deal.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

Over the next several days you both trek through deserted roads and isolated woods, slowly working your way towards the safe house. The trip was filled with things you never imagined, trees growing straight through the road, houses and building over run with ivy vines with critters living amongst them. Even though the cause of it all was so horrendous you couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty of it all.

Though you were moving slower than Joel was use to, he felt like it was worth it, watching how you came to life. You asked every question that popped into your head without hesitation, and he found himself enjoying answering you, recalling how the world used to work. It didn’t occur to him how easy he would find it, opening up to you, talking about this or that. He just knew that he hadn’t found peace like this in a long time with another person.

The sun is peaking high over the tree tops, making it easy to see all around in the sparsely wooded area you have stopped at for lunch. You’re lying on your stomach, head resting on your folded arm as you swish your hand through a small creek, watching how the water swirls around your palm and passes through your fingers. It’s cold and soothing, your thoughts racing away, wondering what it must be like to swim in lakes, or see the ocean for the first time. Feats you’re sure you will never accomplish, but dreams you can have as you close your eyes.

Joel can’t force himself to look away from you, you’ve captivated him completely. He knows he should stop it, kill the thought before it leads him down a path he can’t change. But it’s instinctual, every Omega brings it out in an Alpha. That sense of home. Maybe it was because he’d never spent much time with you over the years, your mother keeping you away.

But the longer Joel was around you, watching, listening, talking. He could feel it, the calmness that even a drug couldn’t smoother, of an Omegas presence…

Coughing slightly he stands from the stump he’s been perched on, “We need to get moving if we want to make it before night fall.” When you turn to look at him over your shoulder he curses wildly in his mind. Your face is soft and your eyes warm as you nod, and he knows he’s doomed.

*~*~*~*~*~*

The light, joyful feeling you had through most of your trip abandons you entirely the moment the small town comes into view. A deep sense of wrong and sorrow settles into your bones as you step foot onto the streets, surrounded by haggard, foreboding buildings that remind you of monsters from old story books; ready to spring at any moment.

Riffle in hand, Joel shifts entirely before your eyes. His shoulders are tight, head on a swivel as he surveys the surrounding areas. Each step is thought out three moves ahead, a practice skill you admire as you follow behind, covering him from the back. You carry the pistol just how he has shown you, finger resting away from the trigger, your grip firm on the handle. But you wonder what good it will do should something, or someone, appear.

Fear and anxiety is a sticky concoction making it impossible to do anything but breath as you travel farther into the heart of the city.

A few more desolate streets over and Joel abruptly stops, holding his hand out for you to do the same. Your heart kicks into double time, your gaze frantically shifting from one spot to the next trying to see what he does as he draws his riffle up, looking through the scope.

You wait, body tensing preparing to hear his gun go off, before he lowers it once more. “Alright. Ya see that blue building over there?”

You look down the street and nod at the simple one story home, smaller than the rest of the houses on this street. “Teal, but yes.”

Joel gives you a sideways look that heats your cheeks. “Well the teal house is it. It’s supposed to be locked up, but that doesn’t mean a thing. You will follow me and do exactly as I do, stay quiet, and keep your eyes open. Do I make myself clear?”

Joel holds your stare as you nod, your throat working as you swallow. “Yes, okay.”

Making it across the street on quick feet Joel ascends the steps of the dilapidated white porch as you scan the streets. A moment later Joel is back, a small silver key in hand. He leads you around the house, making sure each window and the back door are firmly locked and boarded over before heading back to the front door. Once standing in a deserted living room Joel instructs you to stay by the door as he ventures deeper into the small house, his foot steps nearly indecipherable as you wait tersely, your fingers shaking around your gun.

You visibly relax when he comes out of the hallway, gun slung over his shoulder. You drop your pack to the floor, sitting down hard beside it with a sigh. “How long do you think it will be until Mark gets here?”

“Mmm… Hard to say, probably in the morning. He’s got a day longer trip than we had. How many pills ya got?” Joel leans against the window seal, squinting through the slats of wood as the sun sets in the horizon.

“Uh, just one more after tonight.” No matter how good natured you’d been there is still anxiety festering in your blood, bespite being at the halfway mark there is still so much that can go wrong from here. “Did he… did he say how much he was bringing?”

“‘Bout three months worth.”

You know that it is probably all he could get his hands on, but the dread of having to do this all over again weighs heavily on your chest.

“What did he ask for them?” You glance at your pack where the ration cards are all shoved into the side pocket, knowing that it can’t nearly be enough.

“I’ve got a gun I don’t use.” Joel comes over, groaning as he sits down next to you, happily taking the water bottle you offer.

“That… That is kind of a lot though… isn’t it?” Guilt eats away at you and Joel can hear it in your voice. He catches your eye, and there’s something in the depths of his that makes a warmth spread through your veins, soothing your worries, if only slightly.

“Ain’t too much for you.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

The sounds of birds echo through the empty living room with the first break of dawn, the light filling the space casting everything in its amber glow. You shuffle in your sleeping bag, groaning softly at the slight ache in your hip. The floor was unforgiving, and you wondered how Joel faired through the night.

Joel.

Your eyes fly open and you jolt up right. The room smells of dust and mildew, underneath it all the faintest smell of Joel’s scent. It should be stronger. Why isn’t it stronger? Your heart begins to thunder as you scramble out of your bag, panic setting into your bones. Where could he be? What happened to him?

You grab for your bag, ripping the zipper open to grab your gun when suddenly the front door opens. You nearly scream, falling back on your ass only to find Joel standing in the door way. Three dead rabbits clutched in one hand, his riffle slung over his back.

“You okay?” He steps in, closing and locking the door as you gape up at him.

“Where did you go? Why didn’t you tell me?” You demand as he walks over to the small fireplace, tossing the rabbits onto the floor with a wet thud.

Joel’s eyebrows knit together, a slight smirk playing on his lips as he turns away, placing his gun against the wall. “I woke you up, said I was going for food and you answered me, darlin’.”

Heat creeps up the back of your neck, your ears turning red as you stutter. “What?”

He turns, his smile growing and growing as he folds his arms across his chest. “You said, ‘Alright. Be safe.’ Ain’t my fault you fell back to sleep.” Sheepishly you glance away, taking a deep breath before you answer. Not only has Joel brought in the smell of the dirt and earth, the smell of drying blood and wet fur; but his sent encompasses it all. It soothes your panic, settles your racing heart beat and your shoulders slouch as your muscles relax.

“I’m sorry… Maybe next time make sure I’m really awake before you walk out…”

His boots thump against the floor as he walks over, he leans down, ruffling your hair with a big hand. “You worried about me, honey?” The heat leeches its way into your cheeks, embarrassed and feeling silly about the entire thing, you shrug. Joel chuckles, straightening up as he shucks off his jacket and throws it onto his sleeping bag.

“Come on now. I’ll teach you how to skin a critter while we wait. Sound good?”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

For all of my other stories, please refer to:

The Complete Collection: Apollyons Master List

XOXO

[hiddendreamsstuff]

Content: time called, intentional overdose, compressions, defibrillations, intubation, devastated lover.

I found you in the tub with an empty bottle on the side. Your head has slid down the side of the tub and your nose is just above the water. Your hair floats around you. I don’t know if you expected me home or not- but here I am, finding you in this state. Terror washes over me.

My initial panic quickly dissolves into action… I call 911 immediately and give them the address. I pull the drain on the tub and I lay the towel out. I put my leg in the water, shoe and all, as I reach under your arms and hug you in towards me pulling you over the edge of the tub. I would have fallen over if not for the rubber of my shoe catching me, but my phone falls into the water with 911 still on the line, as I step out and lay you down to the ground. Your perfect body is completely still and I freeze again watching as your unmoving breasts gaze back at me.

Again, I am pulled to action and find myself on my knees with my ear just above your breast, my cheek on the soft skin and breast tissue itself. It is no surprise that I hear nothing, but my terror increases. “How long have you been like this?” I think to myself, my own breathing quickening. I quickly override my fear and move to your mouth and open it while lifting your neck; with my other hand I pinch your nose and seal my lips onto yours before blowing in. It does not seem you have ingested water as the breath makes your chest rise and fall, but your wet body is glistening under the harsh lights of the bathroom.

Now the moment I have been dreading…. I straddle you and place the my heels of my hands between your nipples and push down hard on your sternum. I immediately feel your ribs bend and crack. I let out a whimper, but push myself to keep going. “One two three four five six seven eight nine ten…” I count outloud trying to keep my mind focused on the movement and not the panic.

Tears stream down my face as I continue compressions followed by more exhalations into your lungs, your chest rising into mine as I do so. I put my ear to your naked chest just to be sure there is no pulse, as if that was not obvious already. “Nothing… nothing… fuck!” I whisper. I continue pressing deeply into your chest pumping your heart, your stomach rising into my own pelvis. I realize I have no other tools to save you; the ambulance is supposed to be on its way, my phone still in the tub I can’t tell how long I have even been doing this…. “Come on baby…” I scream out loud, but think to myself “how could you do this to me?”

I continue this process for what seems like forever until I hear the sirens followed by the front door being banged in. I don't stop, even though ever muscle in my body is burning and my heart is pounding. As I am breathing into you again, a medic pushes me out of the way and puts an ambu bag on you while a woman starts pumping your chest hard and fast. It is only out of shear exhaustion that I let them take over- I dont have the strength to fight them... I fall backwards into the side of the tub at your feet and let out a blood curdling scream, which does not phase your rescuers at all.

Your body is under their control now as they begin hooking you up to the monitor with leads and they assess your airway. They quickly decide to intubate you because you have been down for at least 15 minutes, which really means I have been working on you for 15 minutes prior to their arrival... who knows how long you have really been unconscious...

The woman continues pumping until the man takes a plastic hook and places it down your throat followed by a tube. He yells, "I'm in" and the woman begins pumping again. Another medic is monitoring your heart rate on the screen. They yell out for the woman to stop compressions for a pulse check. "Not shockable. Continue compressions," they say.

The medic notices the bottle on the floor and starts to question me about how much you took. All I can do is shake my head that I don't know. "How long was she down before you called?" I shake my head again. I am totally useless now that I have stopped working on you. The medic shakes their head, "Lets try some Narcan...," they say as they take a syringe out of the bag.

The woman never stops pumping and I am mesmerized by the continuous up and down motion of the compressions. . I watch your breasts cave in towards each other with intrigue. I barely notice the man who is bagging you at this point, but see your chest inflate occasionally. Nothing feels real right now.

After the medic inserts the syringe in your arm, followed by another they say, "epi is in, narcan is in- continue compressions for 30 seconds and we will do a pulse check and switch positions". Compressions are paused and the man and woman switch places. "Okay, we have a shockable rhythm. Going to shock her at 200j!" The medic takes the paddles and places them on your chest. "CLEAR!" Your chest jumps jump off the ground, your tiny breasts peaks of a mountain.... you fall back to the ground. "Nothing, shocking at 300! CLEAR!" Again, I watch your torso shoot up to the sky and fall back down. "Nothing continue compressions!" The man takes over and forces your chest into the ground even harder, crushing your chest and my soul at the same time.

I whimper and cry quietly as I watch. The team continues this routine for another fifteen minutes after the first round of shocks. They shock you two more sets of times, give numerous syringes of drugs, and endless compressions before the medic says "We have been working on her for 20 minutes and there were 15 before that. She has been a-systole for 8. We have shocked her 5 times at 360 and she is maxed out on drugs. Her total down time is unknown" says the medic... The others stare at them unsure what to say as I continue to be motionless in the corner of the room. "I think we have to call it" says the woman as she compresses your chest, having switched back to her initial position. She stops pumping and slowly pulls her hands back across your chest, her fingers brushing your nipples which are hard and erect from the cold air.

"No! NO! YOU CAN'T STOP!" I scream as I jump up and put my hands on your chest and start pushing down violently. The woman places her hand on my hand and says softly, "She is gone baby. I'm so sorry" as I continue pumping for a moment. I then collapse onto you, my head on your chest; my tears drop onto your breast and roll down the side. A police officer who I did not even notice had arrived tries to pull me off of you, but the woman stops him. "Let her be for now" she says as she strokes my hair from above....

[spikedfearn]

I Said Just a Little Bit, Then I Got a Taste of It

Chapter IV

bjorn x fem!reader

summary: After being transferred to another sector of Jackson's Star you reluctantly befriend a ragtag group of people with the exception of one cocky asshole who knows just how to get under your skin.

On the surface, you hate each other, but after experiencing a particularly harrowing event together, the two of you grow closer than anyone else could ever imagine.

a/n: alright, the moment you've all been waiting for, it's nothing but smut from start to finish!! I took a mini-break to write something else but I plan on getting chapter v, maybe even vi out before I post part ii of let's make love!! this fic is gonna be around 8-9 chapters if I follow the outline I have laid out so we're at the halfway point now (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) also—always remember to wrap it up girlies!!

warnings: secret friends with benefits, enemies to lovers, angst, alcohol/drug use, nsfw, non-linear narrative, trauma bonding, resolved sexual tension, praise kink (both ways), oral (giving), loss of virginity, dirty talk

tags: @asvtrials @urfavhanna @orangebeauty @3arthtoeden @barnes70stark (comment if you wanna be notified when a new chapter drops)

wc: 2.8k

Masterlist Next Chapter

If this really is the end, maybe this isn't such a bad way to go out—making out with someone as hot as Bjorn. 

It's been awhile since you've kissed anyone, more than a little out of practice, not that Bjorn seems to mind, slipping his tongue in your mouth, overwhelming it. 

Your fingers thread through the sweaty tangle of his hair, dislodging some of the loose sediment and debris that had showered you both earlier, your other palm sliding up the side of his neck to cradle him just below the jaw, the slick, wet noise of your tongues meeting echoing through the limited space. 

This is the last thing you ever expected to happen, apart from the cave-in, swapping spit with your sworn enemy while you await your inevitable demise. Always assumed if anything were to go down between you two it would be homicide, with you in cuffs and Bjorn six feet under. 

In reality you are much, much further down below LV-410's surface, spending your last few moments alive with the last person you wanted to spend them with. At least, that's how you felt prior to you and Bjorn's little heart-to-heart, able to come to an understanding that whittled the strain down to almost nothing.  

Bjorn's hand drifts from where it's cradling your cheek down and over your grimy t-shirt, yanking the hem free from the cinched waistband of your standard-issued cargo pants it's tucked into. Slips it underneath the ratty fabric to touch your bare skin, skimming the flat of his calloused palm over your stomach up to the underwire of your bra, flirting along the edge. 

He slips his hand under that too, cupping the entirety of your breast, the dry rub of his thumb over your nipple hurting just right. 

“Bjorn,” you whine, watching him pull back, a string of saliva stretching between your lips, the lighting casting orange shadows to dance across his face, eyes heavy-lidded and narrow, “please.”

Immediately obliging, he rucks your cotton tee and bra up and over your collarbones so your tits are out, arms coming up to cover yourself on reflex when he stops you, pinning your wrists in the dirt above your head with one hand. 

“Don’t go shy on me now, princess, we've only jus’ started," except—it’s Bjorn's turn to go shy, cheeks turning an uncharacteristic shade of pink as he looks down and away, voice a little insecure when he whispers, “jus’—tell me if it feels good or not.” 

Then he's diving forward to close the distance between your body and his, the broad stroke of his tongue over your nipple making you writhe beneath him. 

What he lacks in experience he makes up for in enthusiasm, sucking with a fervor that has you feeling hot all over before he's switching to the other side, replacing his mouth with his hand to fondle your heaving, wet breast at the same time. There's a saying that passion is an extension of hatred.

“Oh—fuck,” you whimper, almost having forgotten how euphoric it feels to have someone else touch you so intimately, “so good. You sure you've never done this before?”

That seems to spur him on, gaining more confidence as he continues working over your chest, blowing warm air over the cool wetness of your nipples, starting to soak through your underwear as a result and you haven't even gone that far. Yet. 

“God if only ya’ could see urself right now,” Bjorn groans, low and breathy, “Lookin’ like a propa’ wet dream.” 

Bjorn lets your wrists go to rip both of your shirts off, pulling him down into another filthy, wet kiss, lifting your shoulders off the ground long enough to unhook your bra for you, swallowing each other's moans. 

You're aware that you're running on borrowed time, the shaky rumble of the tunnel you're hooking up in providing a morbid reminder. Breaking the kiss, you lightly push back against his naked chest when he tries to chase after you, sharing winded breaths between your barely separated lips. 

“Easy now,” you chuckle, tucking a sweaty curl behind his ear, over the little frowny face he has tattooed there,“you still wanna lose your v-card, don't you?” 

The nod he offers you is quick, eager—definitely virginal, turning you on more than you thought it would. There's just something insanely hot knowing you're the first to touch him like this, the only one so far to witness him desperate for more. 

“On your back,” you tell him, naturally taking charge, cutting him off right before he can interject, “now be a good boy and listen. Can you do that for me?” 

You watch the rapid flutter of his lashes at the pet name, the whites of his eyes showing as his pupils roll back into his head like he just came from that alone. Well—who would've figured Bjorn to have a praise kink; deciding to file that away, planning on weaponizing it to your complete advantage.

“Oh—did you like that? Me calling you a good boy,” you purr, reveling in the breathy moan he gives back in response, feeling a little powerful as he follows your instruction, sprawling out without any push back. “There you go, just like that. Look at you taking direction so well.”

Kissing down his chest and over the thin happy trail disappearing into his pants, you feel him shiver in anticipation. You pull the metal prong on his belt, unfastening the leather until the strap is lying on either side of his hips, hands a little shaky. 

You're just as nervous as he is, wanting it to be good for his first—and last—time, opening his zipper, the gold teeth revealing the tented fabric of his briefs as you yank it all the way down, damp from pre-come. He's looking forward to this just as much as you are. 

“I’m gonna go down on you,” you explain, Bjorn drawing a ragged intake of breath into his lungs hearing that, assuming neither of you have lube on you, “need you nice and wet, then you're gonna get me nice and wet if we're gonna make this happen. Okay?” 

A smirk stretches across his lips as his chin raises, a fraction of that familiar cockiness returning, finding it more attractive than you normally would, “Oh? Gonna gag on it, princess?” 

“I can't believe I'm seriously about to put your dick in my mouth,” you grumble, choosing to keep up the illusion of irritation, if only to slightly detach yourself from the situation you've found yourself in, from the exceedingly foreign flicker of your heart.  

You unsheath his cock from the unbuttoned fly of his underwear, eyes going wide when you finally lay eyes on him. Fuck. He's big. Of course he is, his grossly misplaced confidence making a lot more sense now. 

“Droolin’ already, love?” He laughs, loosely steepling his fingers together behind his head, face rearranging into something incredibly smug. 

Rather than saying anything you let a fat glob of spit fall from your mouth to make the slide easier, working your way up from base to tip, mixing your saliva with his pre-come, fueled by the continuous stream of moans he's feeding you. 

Your mouth closes around him, the few strands of hair that had come loose from your ponytail framing your face, hollowing your cheeks to pay special attention to his head, the bitter taste of salt spreading out across your tongue.

Bjorn's sensitive, you can immediately tell, judging by how responsive he is to everything you're doing, swearing a litany of curses under his breath as your tongue massages the underside of his cock, swirling around it, babbling things like, “fuck—jus’ like tha,’ ur a fuckin’ pro a’this, holy shit” and, “m’ gonna come if ya’ keep this up, princess.” 

You pull off with an audible wet pop, shushing Bjorn when he starts to whine at the loss, “now, now. Can't have you coming too soon, can we? Not when we haven't even gotten to the best part.”

He gets the hint to sit up after tugging on his wrist, chest heaving and flushed down to his navel like he just ran a marathon. You didn't think it was possible for Bjorn to look this devastatingly attractive but he's once again proven you wrong, not that you mind at all in this case.   

“Alright,” you say, getting on your knees to rip your pants and underwear down and off your legs, shuddering under the weight of his lustfully heedy gaze, staring at your soaking wet core as he licks his lips nice and slow. “My turn.”

Drawing his wrist to your mouth, you wrap your tongue around two of his dirty fingers up to the last knuckle so you can suck them clean, get them ready, “gonna teach you how to open me up, get me nice and stretched for your cock. Would you like that?” You check, words a bit muffled with your mouth preoccupied.  

Bjorn groans watching you, hastily nodding his approval, following the path your tongue takes as you curl it around and splice between, finding satisfaction in how much he's enjoying your little show. Which is brand new for you, never having gotten this turned on by giving your bed partner pleasure. 

Once you've deemed them sufficiently wet enough you lead his fingers down between your thighs, sliding between your folds, lashes fluttering at the contact, “ur fuckin’ drippin,’ princess. Allat’ jus’ fo’ me?” 

You don't even have it in you to deny it, whimpering “yes,” as the first finger goes in with ease, pushing and pulling his wrist to steadily fuck it in and out of you, twisting and telling him to curl it upward, hitting your g-spot dead on. 

“God that's—you're doing so good, such a good boy,” Bjorn diving forward and shoving his tongue down your throat in another desperate, filthy kiss, pumping his finger faster, repeatedly brushing over the same spot you told him about that has your thighs trembling and your eyes rolling. He's certainly a quick learner. 

His second finger joins the first upon your instruction, scissoring them apart to stretch you wide open, foreheads leaning against each other while you both watch them disappear inside you, fragmented breathing and occasional moans punctuating the shared air between you. 

It doesn't take long before you're pulling his fingers out, licking them clean to get him even more riled up, jaw getting tight as he grits his teeth, looking like he wants to devour you whole, causing heat to coil through you. Fuck, you've never wanted anyone more. 

“So howdya’ wanna do this?” He asks, reclining back, keeping himself propped up on his elbows so he can stare up at you appreciatively. 

Your answer is immediate, having already thought about it earlier, crawling over his body to straddle his hips and hover just above him, “gonna ride you.” 

You figure it'll be the best position to do it in, will give you complete control, being able to set the pace and angle while Bjorn can just lie there and reap all the benefits.  

He smirks hearing your answer, cocking his head sideways as his eyebrows raise, arches disappearing underneath his bangs, “fuckin’ knew ya’ wanted ta’ sit on it.” 

“Bjorn,” you scold, pushing squarely against the abdominal muscle in his solar plexus until he's lying flat on his back again, “be a good boy and shut up.”

That does the trick, moaning a “kay” as you get ready to sink down, feeling the blunt pressure of his head against your entrance when you realize something important—he isn't wearing any protection.  How did you almost overlook something like that? The arousal must be clouding whatever critical thinking skills you're still working with.

Wait,” you pause, grabbing his attention, listening to him whine in annoyance at you to “not be a fuckin’ cocktease,” lightly slapping his chest in retaliation, “do you have any condoms on you?” 

“Huh?” He blinks, moony-eyed, mirroring your dumbfounded expression, clearly also thinking with the wrong head, “nah, why would I?” 

“Damn it,” you groan, considering backing out of the whole thing, not sure if you really want to let him hit it raw. You've never let anyone fuck you without one, the only contraceptive Jackson's Star has to offer—is even willing to offer, their attempt to force a baby boom with how incredibly low the colony’s population currently is. “Why not?” 

“Well sorry ta’ say I don't jus’ carry rubbas’ on me babes, neva’ saw tha’ point since I wasn't gettin’ none ‘nyway. Besides—da’ we even really need one?”

“You're joking, right?” You give him an incredulous look, thighs starting to tremble from how long you've been holding yourself up, “I don't want a UTI, fucking in a mineshaft is already reckless enough.”

That and you're definitely not looking to get knocked up, especially by Bjorn of all people, preferably by no one at all. You just can't imagine subjecting a baby to such a miserably hopeless situation like the one you're doomed to die in. 

“Well tha’ won't really matta’ when we're squashed like a coupla’ bugs, now willit?’” he challenges, feeling your resolve waver, hating to admit that Bjorn’s been making solid points throughout the night. 

He's right. It won't matter, none of it does, not in the long run when your bodies are inevitably being dug out from under the rocks and support beams waiting to topple over onto you. 

So—you make up your mind and sink all the way down, only stopping once you're fully seated in his lap, listening to the drawn out groan that escapes him when he's bottomed out. 

“Shit,” he whines, eyes momentarily closing while he adjusts to the tight, wet heat hugging his cock, “ya’ feel fuckin' incredible princess.” 

You place both hands on his chest to keep you stable as you start to move, lifting all the way up to the tip before dropping back down, your shared moans echoing off the walls around you. 

His hands come up to squeeze your thighs hard enough to bruise, aiding you in the slick slide with his shirt balled up and pillowed beneath his head. You don't remember it ever feeling this good—this mind-blowing, your bodies molding together like they were made for each other. 

The wet slap of skin fills the air, angling your hips to repeatedly hit your g-spot again, your orgasm building quick, reaching down to massage your clit in time with your bouncing. 

Bjorn plants both feet on the dirt to fuck up into you harder, head falling back as your eyes close, slapping your hand out of the way to replace it with his own, “fuck. This is betta’ than I coulda imagined, takin’ ma' cock so well. Gonna come soon.”  

His arm circles your waist then, pulling you on top of him, taking the reins to thrust inside of you at his own erratic pace, moaning filthy shit into your ear like, “love tha’ way ya’ moan fo’ me,” and “ur such a plesha’ ta’ use.”

He sucks a hickey into your neck, your chest sliding up and down his from the force of his hips, signaling he's about to bust with a low grunt, offering to pull out and aim it at you somewhere instead. 

But it doesn't matter, right? Hearing an ominous grinding coming from the rubble behind you, blocking off the path leading to the tunnel’s entryway—the final collapse. 

So you shake your head no, begging him to come inside you, to consummate your relationship and make you his just before the end. And he does, sliding in deep as he moans your name and releases everything he has to offer, milking you into an orgasm of your own, sucking a matching hickey into his clavicle. 

Listening to the thump of his rabbiting heartbeat as your breathing starts returning to normal, you feel him press a kiss to your temple in a silent thank you. You want him to hold you, to keep you close and give you the illusion of safety as everything unavoidably collapses around you. 

Except—nothing ends up collapsing,  realizing the grinding you heard is the sound of drilling, excavating through the rock and splintered wood to get to you, sharing a bewildered look with Bjorn when you both recognize it. You're not dying like you both thought, you're being saved. 

Both of you barely manage to get dressed just as a sudden stream of headlamps flood through the hole that's been made, just big enough to accomodate one body at a time, your pupils going small under the bright white lights.

A small group of miners are crouched there, instructing both of you to quickly crawl to the other side towards them before everything ultimately comes down, rendering their little rescue mission futile.

You let Bjorn go first, still rooted to the spot, completely shell shocked as you watch him squeeze his way through with the help of some hands being extended out to him, not once glancing back your way.

You're gonna live to see another day. You just had unprotected sex with Bjorn and now you have no choice but to deal with the aftermath that tomorrow will inevitably bring.