#specs x spot

[military-newsboys]

Davey: You seem like a reasonable person- Race: I'm not.

[sl-newsie]

Here’s some cheesy Newsies Valentine content! ❤️💕💙💜💗💛💖💞💚❣️💓🧡🤍🖤

[we-were-both-born-today]

The sequel to Papers, Post-It Notes, and Protests is here and completed!

This is a sequel to the Newsies College AU and here is the summary for this story:

It's senior year! David's nervous about taking his art credit, Jack is struggling with his internship, Race and Spot have growing pains while Spot starts grad school, and Specs has decided he's going to say something to Romeo about his crush; all while the threat of real life and graduation looms over them.

This has 12 chapters (11 full chapters and an epilogue) and is around 35K words! Every chapter is up on ao3 so you don't have to wait for the next chapter to be uploaded! I hope that if you read Papers, Post-it Notes, and Protests before you'll check this out and if you haven't ready either, please take a gander at my Newsies College AU series on ao3!

[moondirti]

jigsaws

— surgeon! simon riley x resident! reader

angst. anxiety. panic attacks. neurosurgical procedures. medical setting. mean simon. d/s undertones. 3.3k wc

There's a reason no one likes working with him.

Tough. Censorious, or hard to please – whispered wearily by nurses with permanent distaste etched into their crow's feet. He scathes anyone not accustomed to his abrasive exterior; a talus pile of whetted rocks, poised to flay you open should you take the plunge so confidently. Rubs your skin raw, brutally worms his way into your flesh, infamously bars rescue, allowing only saltwater to cradle your open wounds in the aftermath. Nothing about his criticism is comforting, not in the way an attending's support should be.

It sounds inflated. Excessive. Your intern year, you let the horror stories float you by as though they were nothing more than dust motes in an old room. To be expected, no? Hospital's are brutal for even the briefest of visitors, let alone a man who's worked here twenty years. In hindsight, you see that it's a type of discredit only the very fortunate can claim; inaugural residents and medical directors, those who do not have to deal with the virulent terror himself. You know better, now. Really.

Still, it feels as though you're being punished.

The air in the operating room is heavy. Clotted by a thick sense of unease. It's never like this, usually. Though the smell of burnt bone, blood, and remnant antiseptic is always a force to be reckoned with, you've gotten very good at shunning your nose for favour of your other senses. To tune into the vital monitor's beep, or the distinctions between this lump of amorphous tissue versus that lump of amorphous tissue. Reinterpreting them based on the plans you revised while scrubbing up, focused fingers around delicate tools prodding. Cutting.

Reliable perception is fine work. You've honed your personal ability the best you could.

The first lesson Dr. Riley teaches you, and rather gratuitously at that, is it takes just one person to throw it off kilter.

There's an impossible itch right where your mask hooks over your ears, latched nastily onto your scalp. Nothing you can address physically (sterility before comfort), though you're aware that its source isn't so easy as to scratch away. Figurative, then. An unwavering neg, pointed by a pair of cold eyes in your periphery. You're tempted to look up, throw off his stare with one of your own, but you think he wants you distracted.

So, you shift your weight and centre the electrocautery to another portion of abnormal growth. It comes apart like stale bread.

You haven't felt this micromanaged since medical school, when professors would loom over your shoulder and mark the clumsy way you sutured incisions shut. But where your grade had been on the line then, it's a person's life now. You seem to be the only one privy to that fact, or perhaps the one surgeon who cares.

Because Dr. Riley watches you over his wire-rimmed specs, grunting ambiguously under his breath like you can't hear him standing just a foot away. Maddening in that it's quiet, idle. To question it would be putting the burden of critique on yourself. To let it continue–

Sweat pools beneath your collar. The spotlights don't help, either, heat lamps on your roasting nerves, highlighting the wet sheen of your temple to whoever cares enough to notice (just him). Focus feels a vain pursuit, attention zeroing in and out of control. You're caught in the violent dance, swept away, water beneath your feet, between the operation and everything else. Everything else, like the ground that suddenly pushes too hard beneath you. The walls, stretching further and further away. There'd be nothing to catch you should you fall – a possibility that gains traction by the second, your vision spotting with exhaustion.

You almost lose it before a flash of green reels you back in.

It's instinctual. Entrenched response to a colour that only ever means one thing. Looking up at the neuronavigation, you watch as the silhouette of your apparatus veers dangerously close to the patient's motor cortex, highlighted in nausea-inducing neon for maximum visibility. Dr. Riley's presence darkens the space next to the screen, a point of singularity that consumes anything within its event horizon. Though it's the last thing you want to do, you coast a hesitant look over to him.

A surgical gown is meant to be ill-fitting. You find he fills the fabric in a manner antithetical to that design, shoulders stretching it tight across his neck, tree-trunk arms drawing tense pleats around his joints. Even his cap, wrapped smoothly around his forehead, ripples with every shift of his brow. Doubled-up gloves warped to the contours of his hands, thick fingers and knuckles. You watch the way they twitch, distorting the latex like a swift fish underwater, and swallow the stone lodged in your throat.

"I can't read your mind, Doctor." Your attending snaps when you take too long to elaborate. His voice is rough, a sucking chest wound in the sterile air of the OR – too raw, natural in a way these halls don't see. You squirm uncomfortably in the force majeure. "What's the hold up?"

"Um-" You pull away from the glioblastoma, your patient's head remaining tightly in place by a positioning frame. "I'm concerned about resecting this part. It's all wound up in healthy tissue, right up against the motor cortex. A wrong move could cause permanent damage."

Dr. Riley doesn't move. Instead, his blank stare flicks down to the surgical site, digesting the truth for himself. The anesthesiologist beside you holds her breath. You wish you had it in you to do the same, but your lungs already wheeze for oxygen as it is.

Somewhere, dim and timid in the recesses of your mind, it occurs to you that this isn't normal. No attending should actively foster an environment where help is punished, especially not while being paid a hefty salary to do exactly that. A dour attitude is one thing – everyone has their days – but you know nurses with greater burdens that boast smiles and little stickers on their ID badges, running on three hours sleep while dealing with bedpans and lewd comments all day. Your search for guidance, then, is certainly not the worst thing in the world.

(No matter how stern the look he gives you is.)

"You need to make a decision. Hesitation in the OR can be just as fatal."

Great load of good that does.

But it was to be expected. Pre-op, you sat down with him to discuss the acceptable margins, and got as much out of that conversation as you did this one. Review the imaging. You've been given the functional mapping for a reason. Never mind that it was standard procedure to check-in regardless; he handles you like you're a child playing dress-up, waving around tools too complex for your grubby hands to operate. Asking him anything is validating what he believes, like kindling wood into a roaring fire. Your mouth smacks to the taste of ash.

The discoloured mass growing off your patient's brain seems to glare back at you. Ugly, yellow, and stained in a coating of blood, severed from its sisters that now lay dead on an adjacent table. It kills you to let it stick, to progress to hemostasis with an increased risk of recurrence. Should this individual ever come in again, their pain would be on your hands – a real possibility you cannot reckon with, for all you know how devastating a toll it would have. The last time it happened, you promised yourself you would never allow it again.

(A mistake that even the greenest of medical students know not to make. Promises are null in this field. They'll blow out like bad tattoos, ink smudged under skin. Patients die, families grieve, doctor's bear the guilt – to fool anyone about it would be doing a greater disservice. Conciliation is not your job. It is not a duty you owe.

Not even to yourself.)

"I… I think we should stop here to avoid any potential issues." You resolve, lips pursed painfully tight. Your hands shake, bullet of emotion ricocheting within your ribs. Your nerves are shot, you tell yourself. It'll take time to compose them, time you don't have. Better to shelf this, then. You're doing the right thing by wrapping it neatly for another day, if that day should ever come.

Dr. Riley huffs.

Or, not.

"CUSA," He clips to the scrub nurse, who shakes as they place the tool into his impatient hand. It's all you can do to watch in horror as your attending commandeers your case, addressing the portion of concern with offensive expertise. The activity on the neuronavigation doesn't so much as blink as he emulsifies the target tissue, tumored cells dissociating from the surrounding matter like butter.

And it isn't a learning opportunity – hardly anything at all when he washes the area in saline solution, manoeuvre over as quickly as it started. Instead, your attention sticks to the casual disrespect he felt was necessary. Snubbing your insight like it was dirt beneath his shoes, too competent to even address your error with words. Humiliation rips like a wave up your neck, washing your ears and cheeks in balmy warmth. Underneath it all, settled like wet sand on the shore, you find that it is not your bruised ego that's left, but rather a wilder, darker thing.

Shame at having failed him.

(How obnoxiously redundant.)

"Think you can manage the duraplasty, Doctor?" Derision distorts his expression into something crueller than his usual indifference. You hate to think it suits him.

"Yes."

It's only an hour later that you're granted the chance to break down.

After wound closure, scrubbing out and postoperative discussions with the patient's family, you think you'd have moved on. Things like this happen – it's what necessitates post-graduate training in the first place – and you're certainly not irredeemable for having faltered on the line. At least, that's what the logic delineates. It mutters its assurances like dogma in your head, insisting that because it is rational, it is right. Any other day, you would be inclined to listen to it.

But that's the thing about being strung out beyond measure. The only sentiment with teeth, sharp and stubborn, is anguish. Indignity. Self-turned anger. You replay the scene like something new will come of it, a silver lining or a divot to pin the blame in anything but yourself. The scalp staples back into place, the dressings wrapped tight. The hibiclens soap lathers up to your elbows, your skin itchy as it dries. The family is thankful, little tears dotting their eyes. The storm passes, waters rippling into quiet calm. And still–

In the wake of it all, you're irrevocably changed. Raw.

There's a little closet for occasions like these. You're relieved to find it empty, void of anything but rusted buckets and mildewed mops. It's a welcome crowd, certainly, borderline claustrophobic compared to the wide floors of the OR, and you sink to the floors within the tight, comforting embrace. Immediately, hot tears spring to your eyes, rabbit heart racing along hollowed ribs. Emotion rushes your throat, tumultuous and messy, piling half-formed grievances on top of one another until they form an intricate, prodigious beast.

Impossible to tackle, worse to tame.

Could you have done anything different?

Is there a reason why he hates you?

Are you cut out for this?

Is this worth never getting a good night's rest?

Do you deserve any of the opportunities you've been given?

Would they be better off in the hands of someone more competent?

No answer claims any. Unresolved, they wriggle underneath your flesh, feeding on the muscle keeping you intact. Tunnelling through your marrow, soft matter fattening them up. You feel as though you're shifting to accommodate them, anatomy morphing into an ugly sack of dermis and maggots. True reflection of a degraded conceit.

The dark, at least, remains omnipresent. Clean against your skin, or purifying, in some odd way. If there is no witness to your misery, then perhaps you can pretend it doesn't exist. That it doesn't affect you as much as it does, or how you won't be thinking of it during every case to come–

A knock rattles you out of your reasoning.

"Hey." Kyle's voice is soft on the other side of the door.

You make your best effort to wipe the wetness from your cheeks, warbling a quiet come in to your chief resident. Fluorescent light intercedes on your little sanctum, spotlighting your crumpled frame. The pitying grimace that twists his face is enough indication that you did not do a good job at hiding your affliction. You must look pathetic.

"We missed you at lunch."

"Wasn't hungry." You sniff, taking his hand to pull yourself up.

"That bad, huh?"

"Worse than you could've prepared me for."

He snickers. It alleviates some of the weight off your chest, this. Conversation to remind yourself that there is more to the world than your angst.

(Only some.)

"It'll get easier, I promise. He's harsher on the juniors."

"I think that's not for you to say. Tell me, has there ever been a superior who didn't absolutely adore you?" Your voice sobers to a close resemblance of Laswell's. "Good work on the diagnosis, Dr. Garrick. I'll admit, I wouldn't have caught that myself."

The man in question lightly shoves your arm, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "Okay, hush. I get it. Still–"

"You don't have to do this, you know." You smile until it gets too much to sustain, then turn to gather your white coat from behind the front desk. The note of positivity his companionship brings is fickle. Appreciated, but not enough to balm the sore blisters of Dr. Riley's rebuff. That'll take the weekend, likely, holed up in your room with nothing but a cuppa and old How I Met Your Mother reruns. "I'm fine, really. I'd rather just continue about my rounds and forget he exists."

But Kyle sighs. Sighs, and bites his cheek in that same way he does when he has to deliver bad news to intakes.

You blanch. "Don't–"

"He came looking for you in the mess hall. Something about the report." The unsteady composure you've built within yourself immediately dissipates, as though it were nothing more than an absorbable stitch. "You know better than to skip out on post-op briefs."

Your voice is weak when you speak again. Breathless. "I'm sorry."

"I don't blame you, darl. But he wants to see you in his office, now." Kyle's face is sympathetic. It doesn't do you much good. "I'll cover your rounds in the meantime."

"Thanks."

And despite your true gratitude, the words ring as empty.

"Sit."

Like a marionette suspended on string, you do as you're told.

Dr. Riley's office is barren of any personal adornment, cast in the same austere template initially given to him. There's a leather couch tucked prim under the window, throw pillow flat on one end. A wire file organiser sits atop his desk, papers fighting for space between the flimsy bookmarks. Pens in a cup, a stapler by his keyboard. All ordinary, inconclusive belongings, that which you sift through like a ravenous creature, slobbering for clues at the life your attending leads.

Ironically, the one thing that offers any inference is an empty photo frame, faced towards the rest of the room, away from him.

You don't like the uncomfortable feeling it inflicts.

"The family." He levels a bored look to you, that which hardens the longer you take to address his ambiguous question. In the harsh lights of the operating room, his eyes looked nearly black. Now, sunlight paints a clearer picture. Taupe and sepia, flecks of various browns brightened by the pale blue underline of his mask. "Doctor."

Floundering, you search for the clouded memory of your discussion with the patient's relatives. It ripples, faintly, between your revels in self-pity. If you needed any censure of your disordered priorities, that is surely enough.

(Funny how he continues to criticise you, even unintentionally.)

"Good. Hopeful. I told them you managed to resect the entire thing, and detailed the plan going forward." It's as though your hands are compelled to move by electric shock, charged full of destructive energy. You rub your face, twiddle your thumbs, scratch the armrests of your chair; trying any measure to defuse the bomb you feel ticking beneath your chest. "They give their thanks."

All the while, he remains steady before you.

A moment of tense silence clears. "I just submitted the operation report." He says, derailing the conversation to what you suspect has always been its purpose. "I mentioned your inability to close the surgery."

You damn near choke on your spit. He notices, of course, and raises a challenging brow.

"I- I'm sorry, but that isn't what... I was perfectly able to complete it." Your protest carries none of the strength you will it to. As is always the case around him, you're made to sound like a defiant student, instead. Pouting and stomping your foot, inflating your strict sense of justice to an occasion that does not call for it.

"Oh?" You know you're not crazy for thinking that way, either. He speaks in faux conciliatory tones, brows knitting together as his argument waters down to one he thinks you can digest. "Would you rather I have said you refused, then?"

You shake your head, staring down at your lap. You really, really don't want to be here. Is it worth it, then? To stand your ground when the worst that will come of his misstatement is an inquiry from above? The strength has long since left you. Now, it is a matter of bloodletting. Leeching the struggle before it festers into something greater, a malady you cannot control.

"No."

"Make up your mind, Doctor." He hums, grabbing a protein bar from his drawer before standing. He doesn't have to round his desk to tower over you, but he does. Heat radiates off him in waves, blushing your neck so that when you look up at him, owlish, your face flares with stockpiled fervor.

You wonder if it could be read as desire.

"You know best." Shutting down has never been so disencumbering. Acquiescence, upending an ivory flag with the knowledge that you don't have to bleed any longer.

His lashes flutter. When you blink, they seem closer than they were before.

"That's right." Dr. Riley practically fucking purrs, chest rumbling thoughtfully at your chosen response. A pressure settles between your legs, bloating desperately into that bundle of nerves that inhibits all reason. "So next time, if you have a problem with the way I do things, you'll address it to me directly instead of snivelling like a bloody prat. That way, maybe I'll explain it to you, too."

A nod is not enough.

"Yes, Dr. Riley."

He cocks his head, fiddling with the wrapping in his hands. His fingers are scarred, brutish, though they tear the foil with all the precision in the world. Your acceptance does not feel nearly as final, expectation thickening the space between you. The title startles to your tongue, then. Novel. Unsure. You haven't called anyone it since secondary. You do not know whether he'll take to it kindly at all.

"Yes, sir."

But his eyes crinkle at the corners, pleased, and it more than fills the hole he harrowed out from you earlier. Your reaction to the approval should be documented, given a name and listed somewhere on the DSM-5.

(Nothing about it feels healthy.)

"Good." He pushes off the edge of his desk, tapping a knuckle to your chin. Instinctively, you open your mouth. The protein bar fits between your teeth, pasty and dry, but his pulse vibrates near your lips and–

You bite down anyway.

(But oh, does it feel good.)

[masterlist]

[jaylaxies]

INTO YOU

PAIRING: jay x fem!reader

GENRE/CW: smut, unprotected sex, slight gun play, mentions of smoking, usage of nicknames, fingering, pussy slapping, breeding, enemies to possible lovers.

SYNOPSIS: everyone knows that your families hate each other, being the biggest rivals in terms of business, however, you both don’t seem to care much about it.

WC: 1.9k

WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni

A/N: hihi, loves! happy jay birth <3 i had to write something for my man cmon, i hope you guys will like it :3 (not proofread) all likes, comments, reblogs and feedbacks are highly appreciated! iloveyou all <33

Blinding chandelier lights, fancy gowns, fake laughs paired with endless supply of sparkly champagne. Countless camera flashes, and an even faker demeanor as the guests pose and show their best game. 

It was yet another weekend; yet another charity ball organized by someone so filthy rich, who didn’t mean to do any charity, but rather, put up a façade well enough simply to expand their business connections. 

You watched it unfold from afar, like always, judging everyone as you swirled the drink in the delicate glass which rested on your fingertips, looking for something , or rather, someone to appear and get this boring excuse of an event going. 

Your family was close with the Kims, meaning, you’d probably, just probably spend your night with no drama at all, not expecting the Kims to invite the family which is your so-called rival. 

So you decided to mingle along, putting on your sweetest smile as you strolled through the big ball room, the slit in your dress allowing the cold air to grace your legs in the otherwise warm room, until it didn’t. 

The warmth of a hand encasing your wrist was enough for you to stop, the scent itself was a giveaway of the identity of the one who stopped you in the middle of the crowded floor, a sly smile draping your face with his action. 

“Getting into a party without an invitation is rude, don’t you think?” You asked. 

He scoffed, which came out as a breathy laugh, “that is exactly why I made sure that Mr. Kim would deliver the invitation personally to me,” he clicked his tongue. 

You rolled your eyes, turning your head to the side, looking right into his dark eyes before giving him a once over, almost in a condescending manner as if you were judging his entire existence. 

He had another one of his proud smirks plastered on his face, specs perched on his strong, pointy nose, his lips the perfect shade of pinkish-red, resonating perfectly with his melanin. Clad in a black tuxedo, he stood there as if he was the most important man in the room. 

Park Jongseong. 

“That desperate for what? A party?” You clicked your tongue as a challenge. 

His hand only shifted from your wrist to your waist, pulling you closer to his chest effortlessly, earning a gasp out of you, “for a party, yes. You know it, princess.” 

That’s exactly when you heard a louder gasp as you pushed him away. Your mother dearest had spotted his mother in the crowd, both of them coming along to meet right where you were standing. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Your mom asked, trying to put on a fake smile so as to not alarm others. 

“We were invited, of course,” the lady spoke up, a sick smile on her face. 

“Or yet, begged Mr. Kim to be invited here,” you smiled back, looking at Jay right after, who was only amused. 

But none of your family members were amused as they scowled, “stay the fuck away from her,” your mother said, pulling you back from Jay. 

“Ask her to stay away from my son,” Mrs. Park spat, pulling Jay back. 

“Who even wants to be with him?” You scrutinized him again with a bored expression. 

“You do, princess,” he winked, making you scoff in disbelief as he said it in front of your mother. 

“Shut up!” Your mother said, having had enough. 

You both had the corner of your lips upturned by the time your mothers pulled you away, far from each other, his eyes shining as you bit your lip. 

Your mom was frustrated and it showed, especially when she reached out to your father, filling him in with the events of what happened a few minutes back. 

However, you didn’t care, simply getting away from your family as you started roaming around yet again, patting your thigh gently to feel your gun in its holster—something you kept for safety. 

Everyone around you did. 

The party didn’t feel as boring anymore, not when you got out of the main ballroom, opening the door towards the secluded balcony; which you were sure would be empty. 

And you were right. It was small, secluded, facing the grand gardens of the villa, two big vintage lamps keeping the balcony well illuminated as you took out the cigarette you had hidden in your pocket along with your heart shaped lighter. 

A dress with pockets? A blessing from the lords. 

Holding the stick between your glossed up lips, you flicked the lighter, bringing it closer to the cigarette as it burned, your eyes closing the second you inhaled the smoke, using your middle and index finger to hold it away as you leaned against the cold marble wall.  

Park Jongseong. 

Your wrist still burned from when he gripped it, your waist still feeling the warmth of his hand as your silk down did nothing to hide your figure. You found yourself thinking about him again, the proximity was enough for his scent to invade your senses. 

Your body became hyper aware as you found yourself close to the similar scent again. 

“Smoking is bad for your health, princess,” he spoke, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine. 

You smiled, not opening your eyes as you lifted your hand to take another puff of smoke, only for Jay to snatch it up, standing right in front of you, his free hand gripping your chin, your eyes opening to find his face inches away from you. 

“Getting too bold, are we now?” He asked. 

“Maybe,” you shrugged, challenging him. 

“Yeah. I don’t fuck you for one night and you turn into a fucking brat? Is that how you want it, princess? Want me to fuck some manners into you?” He came even closer, turning his head to take the cigarette between his lips, breathing the smoke in before he threw it away. 

Grabbing your chin harder, he tilted your head ever so slightly, causing you to gasp and open your mouth, dazed. 

He blew the smoke into your mouth and you inhaled it all in, blowing it out of your nose while not breaking eye contact, another shiver running down your body as his fingertips traced your thigh, inching upwards to where your holster was. 

“Jay—” you breathed out, biting your bottom lip. 

“Shh, princess. Who would even want me, right? I’ll show you exactly how much you need me,” he chuckled, his lips touching your ear. 

He was quick to get your gun out, your mind too blank as you were sandwiched between him and the wall. The cold muzzle of the gun was pressed against your inner thigh now. 

“Please,” you begged. 

“Please what?” He urged you to speak up, the slit of your dress allowing him to graze it up your thigh and near your panties which were starting to get wet. 

“I want—” you started and he only pressed the gun right on your clothed cunt, your eyes closing again, your body felt as if it was on fire, a low whine leaving your mouth. 

“Say it, princess,” he groaned, his lips near the corner of your mouth. 

“I want you, I—I need you,” you managed to speak up, your whimpers were enough for his cock to start hardening, even more now that his body was pressed against your. 

He moved the gun in slow circles, your wetness dripping down on it till it reached his hands, as you held on to his arm for support, not being able to stand straight. 

“See? It wasn’t too hard, was it?” He asked, pressing the gun right where your hole was, stuffing it in slightly through your panties, your whines turning into moans as he grabbed your jaw again, “never forget that you belong to me,” was all he said before pulling you in a deep, rushed kiss. 

His free hand held on to your wrist, curling his fingers around it hard, his teeth nibbling on your lips before he spit in your mouth, not wasting a second before he shoved his tongue in your mouth. 

You could barely breathe, whimpering out his name desperately, trying to move your hips to get even a fraction of more friction from the gun. 

“That’s it baby, keep making those noises for me, yeah?” He spoke in between the kisses, finally having had enough of the gun as he kept it aside. 

It didn’t take him a second to push your panties to the side, covering his fingers in your dripping juices as you bit back a moan, which didn’t last for long as he stuffed you full of his fingers, making you lose control of the last bit of your sanity. 

Your wetness was enough for his fingers to slide in easily, which wasn’t enough for Jay as he curled them inside you, “tell me who you belong to, princess?” 

“You—you.” Your eyes watered as you moaned it out, and he slapped your cunt right that second, your eyes rolling back at the pain which felt more like pleasure than anything else, your breathing hitched as he did so again before he stuffed three of his fingers into you again, fucking you deeper than ever while kissing your neck, harsh enough for it to bruise later. 

He had been going at it for minutes and yet it felt like mere seconds before he took his fingers out, licking them and turning you around, your cheek resting on the cold wall. 

As much as he wanted to tear your dress off, he didn’t do that, and you could feel your tears streaming down your face, frustrated as he stopped right before you were about to cum, your cunt clenching around nothing as you heard him undo his belt. 

You knew his cock was thick and veiny, but it still shocked you, especially when he lined up his cock to your entrance, rubbing his tip, soaking it with your wetness which dripped down your thighs. You could barely breathe anymore, especially when his cock slid right in with how wet you were, reaching the deepest spots in you, his big hand spanking your ass right as he bottomed out. 

Broken moans were all that your mouth could let out by now, along with his name, which you kept on repeating like a broken record. 

His thrusts were brutal, almost as if he was using you like a doll and you were simply taking it like you were meant to. 

It felt too good. 

“Such a good girl, you’re taking me so well.”

The way your pussy sucked him in was driving Jay crazy as he groaned near your ear, biting your shoulder right after, his balls slamming against your ass and he didn’t bother slowing down, not when you were clenching around him like that. 

He held you up, knowing that your legs couldn’t keep you up anymore, not when your mind was blank and you were crying, begging for release. 

“Cum for me, princess,” he whispered, pinching your nipples as you let out another moan, which sounded like a scream with how frustrated you were, his thrusts getting faster and faster. 

“I’ll fill you up good, yeah? Gonna keep my cum in your cunt?” He asked, his voice even deeper as he hit your g-spot. 

You nodded, letting out a broken yes in reply, which was all it took for your eyes to close again, your legs shaking as Jay filled you up the very second you came all around his cock, creaming it beautifully in the essence of your unadulterated pleasure. 

“You were right,” you breathed out, holding on to him. 

“Yeah?” He asked. 

“Yeah. I need you, always.” 

THANK YOU FOR READING!

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[alexa-fika]

Hello! Ok so can I request a whitebeard pirates x child reader?

Basically reader has this big fat crush on shanks and everytime that shanks visit the Moby dick reader would give shanks flowers, cards, and candies

Shanks also has this huge ego boost often making comments how he's reader favorite which anger the whitebeard pirates

Ace was so ready to strangle shanks but reader gets between them and there like "Stop fighting! if you keep this up I'll go with Mr shanks and his crew!"

Ace is heartbroken, thatch is sobbing on the floor, while everyone else is stunned LOL

-👻 anon

Puppy Love (Shanks x gn!child!reader x Whitebeard pirates)

Part two

A/N YALL GET YOUR GRILLS READY CAUSE I COOKED HERE, I loved making this im not really into crack fics so I wanted to keep it as real as possible but while still adding that spec of dramatics of it and I think I found the perfect balance

Reader here is replaced by Dokucha which stands for Reader in japanese

Dividers by @/saradika

At first, the Whitebeard pirates thought it was normal. Dokucha was quite the amicable child, after all, and it was not unheard of for them to give small gifts to guests who came on the ship.

The first time Dokucha had seen the red-haired Captain was when the yonko was visiting the Moby Dick on business. Upon spotting the man Dokucha was quick to sneak into the clinic and steal some candy to hand to him.

“Here, Mister Shanks,” they said shyly, handing the candy to said man

Shanks took the candy from the child and thanked them for it

“For me?”

They nodded, a faint red hue blooming on their face as they fidgeted, their upper body spinning back and forth to keep their nerves down

He chuckles softly, giving the kid a small smile and ruffling their head

"Thank you very much, kid," he said as he turned to leave

They squealed happily once he had stepped off the boat, the red hue now taking over their face entirely as they replayed the event on their heads

The Whitebeard Pirates looked on in confusion at the small kid who had grown so fond of the red-head captain

“Ne, is he coming over again?” Dokucha questioned, lying their head on the railing watching as the Red forced slowly sailed away

“Pops needs to discuss some more loose ends with him, so he will be back soon,” Jozu answers absentmindedly

“How soon?”

He looks at the little one before shrugging

“A couple days, maybe a week.”

“Why are you so curious, Dokucha?” Izou asks with a raised brow at the child’s sudden interest

“Nothing!” They said, grinning ear to ear as they went into the ship a skip to their step on their way

The pirates brushed it off as the kid simply being excited at the fact that someone out of their family was coming to visit; they were very wrong.

On the next visit, Dokucha had begged Vista to make some flowers for them and had even sneaked into the kitchen to steal some of the edible flowers to make a small bouquet.

“Here Mister Shanks”

“For me?” Shanks asked with a slight grin on his face as he took the small bouquet and gave the little one a thankful look

“Dokucha, did you make this?”

“Yeah, I made it for you,” they mutter shyly with a shrug

Shanks bends down to the child’s height

“Thank you very much; it looks like you worked hard to make it so pretty.” he takes one of the flowers and tucks it behind their ear

“Here, now you look pretty as well.”

Their face explodes with red at the gesture, a lovesick look on their face as they watch him go

The crewmates raise their eyebrows at this behavior; Ace is the first to speak up

“Hey, that idiot is trying to steal Dokucha!” mutters Ace as he elbows Marco

“That’s just how Dokucha is; you know how friendly they are,” he says with a grunt at the hit

“No, No, Ace is onto something here; he’s definitely up to something,” agrees Thatch

Marco rolls his eyes as he leaves the two to talk their conspiracy out

Turns out he should have heeded their words as he now felt the same feeling crawling up his skin as he watched his youngest sibling yet again approaching the man with another small gift, a small golden coin they had found on their last island

By now, Shanks had started expecting it, so when the kid approached them, a smirk appeared on his face

“What do you have for me today?” he said, scooping the small child up

“I found a pretty coin for Mister Shanks!”

He backs up slightly to look at the coin the child had raised

“You’re spoiling me here, kid. What has my favorite Whitebeard up to?”

They shrug

“I played with my brothers again.”

He chuckles softly

“You’re adorable; I might have to steal you; we need some of that energy in the red Force,”

Dokucha’s response was stopped as they both turned at a hot feeling enveloping them

“Red-haired Shanks,” Ace growls, a tight grin on his face as his fire flickered around him

“Don’t get me wrong, I'm still eternally grateful for you saving and taking care of my brother, but I won’t sit still and watch you steal Dokucha.”

“Would you be so kind as to put my dear sibling down?” Thatch says, a similar tight smile on his face as he swings around his kitchen knives

Marco stared at the confrontation unfolding before him, his eyes drilling into the opposing captain, waiting for the perfect moment to swoop in

“Stop! If you hurt Mister Shanks, I will be mad at you forever! And I will go on adventures with Mister Shanks!”

Thatch gasps at their words

“Dokucha…you are breaking my heart!” He said, grasping at his chest at the sight

“Ah, Thatch-nii!” They said, jumping off Shanks's hand and running to their brother

“Is you’re heart okay?! I’m sorry! I'm not mad at Thatch-Nii!” They cry

Thatch rushes forward to the kid, embracing them in a hug

“Don’t you go running off with anyone else, okay? I won’t allow it.”

“Is your heart okay, Thatch-nii?”

He chuckles

“Don’t worry, I‘m fine. I would just miss you too much if you were to leave.”

“That being said, you are not going with Shanks.”

Shanks chuckles at this, a sly smirk growing on his face

“I don’t know. I might just steal the little one.”

“You-

“Stop” A commanding voice booms

“Ace, stand down,” Whitebeard mutters

Ace’s flame flares more as his jaw tightens

“Fine…”

Whitebeard turns his sight to the Red-Haired captain

“Boy, stop taunting my commanders.”

Shanks raises his hand in a forfeiting motion

“Couldn’t help myself,” he chuckles

“Well then, are you done messing around?” Thatch asked after a moment of silence, scooping up the child and putting them on his hip

“I think it is time for me to take my leave,” sighs Shanks, a small smile growing as he says this

“Hey, kid, say hi to Luffy for me, will ya?” He said, glancing at Ace

Ace rolls his eyes at this but grumbles out an agreement his way, a similar smile on his face

Shanks nods at this and takes his leave, jumping back to the Red Force and preparing to set sail

Dokucha whines at this, struggling against Thatch’s hold to try to follow after the redhead

Thatch looks down at the child struggling against his grasp

“Don’t.” He said bluntly

Marco glances at the small struggle before sighing and crossing over, pulling the kid from Thatch to sit on the other side of his hip, nodding at the chef in assurance

Dokucha tries to take advantage of the handover to wiggle their way out of their grasp but is unable to escape their brothers’ firm hold

“There isn’t escaping, you little troublemaker; no use trying,”

“But I want to see Mister Shanks off!”

“I know, bud, but you can’t run off with every stranger you see,” he said, ruffling their hair

They pout

“But it’s a handsome stranger!”

“And what if they're bad people? They could steal you away, you know?”

“Mister Shanks can steal me any day,” they sighed with a dopey smile

He lets out a small chuckle

“Your something else, kid,” he says, giving their head a light pat

“No, Marco-nii, Shanks is something else! So handsome and strong!”

He scoffs at that

“What are we, invisible?” he grumbles, walking into the ship

Ace and Thatch watched them walk away, the latter looking up at his Captain

“Hey, old ma-

“You’re not going after him.”

Guys let’s be honest Dokucha is just voicing much of you are thinking, I think they are intrusive thoughts voiced out, honestly I keep re-reading and I keep laughing cause I just think of you guys doing that

Taglist:

@imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

[mayajadewrites]

clean freak

levi ackerman x fem! reader

synopsis: you're levi's housewife, but your cleaning skills have not been up to his standards lately.

warnings: smut, smut, and more smut. levi is kinda mean in this but oh well

reblogs and comments are always appreciated pls my love language is words of affirmation

His huffs could be heard from a mile away. He's officially off from the Scouts for the weekend, and he's finally visiting his wife after a month.

Day by day, watching his comrades die, slaughtering mindless titans, has gotten to him.

All he wants to do is come home to his good little wife, to have a house that's impeccably clean after a month of fighting for humanity.

Yet when he walks into his home, it's not clean. Well, Levi's version of clean.

The house looks, homey - comfy even. He can see specs of dust on the table.

"Hi, honey." You emerge from the kitchen, wearing a dress that Levi hasn't seen you in yet.

His half-lidded eyes find yours as he takes off his shoes, sucking his teeth. "Tch."

You tilt your head, not knowing why your husband is so... tense. Usually when he comes home, he assaults your face with kisses and ends up on top of you.

"I made your favorite." You bring him a cup of his favorite tea - in his favorite cup. He glances at you, then the cup, before grabbing the top of it with his large hand.

"Are you just going to pretend your wife doesn't exist, Levi?" You say as you sit next to him at the table.

"Why is it that my house is a mess?"

"Your house?" You put down your own cup of tea. "OUR house is not a mess. You're here once a month - so I clean the way I like."

"That's not going to work for me." Levi crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes furrowed. "This is embarrassing."

"Embarrassing for who, exactly?" You mock his pose, mirroring his posture.

"Me. I would never let my house get like this."

"Funny, my boyfriend really likes it." You knew exactly how to push his buttons, and when to push them. His stone cold eyes darted to you - wandering up and down your body. "Oh, that makes you look at me finally?"

"Any man that likes a house like this has no taste." His eyes stay on you as he speaks lowly.

"That's very bold of you to say. You don't know, he could've tasted me."

His knuckles were turning white. Using jealousy against him was not your favorite, but he left you no choice.

"Are you done being an ungrateful dickhead?" You stand up, grabbing his cup to put it in the sink.

As you wash the dishes, you feel his large, calloused hands grip your waist harshly and pull you into his chest. You refuse to acknowledge what he's doing as you continue to wash the teacups.

His mouth found your neck, kissing gently before biting down, sucking on the sensitive spot. "Mm, you want to misbehave some more?"

Your head tilts to the side as he leaves his marks on you, but you're still scrubbing at the porcelain - ignoring him.

Levi hates being ignored.

"You're really gonna ignore your husband after he slaved away saving humanity?" He brought his right hand to your thigh, pushing your dress upwards as he squeezed the plush skin.

You refuse to acknowledge his digs, so you keep scrubbing the dishes to distract yourself from the heat pooling in your tummy.

"What an ungrateful brat I married." His mouth found a sensitive spot on your neck - where he can feel your pulse. His lips sucked, tongue swirling on the skin as he peered over your shoulder. "You can't even wash dishes right."

His hands gripped your hips, this fingers digging into your flesh as if he wanted to carve into you. His left hand stayed in place on your hip as his right hand dipped under your dress.

"Levi, I just cleaned the kitchen. Don't make a mess." You turn your head, slightly looking at him.

"You think this is clean?" His lips found your ear, his breath kissing it. "You think this is what your husband wants to come home to?"

You finally give in and turn around to face him. Even though he's on the shorter side, you're shorter than him. Gazing up into his steel grey, bluish eyes almost makes you forget why you're even arguing.

"I'm sorry I'm not a germaphobe like you who cleans every surface 5 times a day. I'm sure you can forgive your lovely wife, since she's holding your life together while you risk your life to kill titans."

His eyes turn almost predatory as he looks down at you, a smirk forming on one side of his face. You notice a new scar on his face, your hand almost magnetically going to the spot, rubbing your thumb along the skin.

The moment was soft, unlike the argument you have been having. He closed his eyes as you touched him, a deep breath leaving his lips.

Levi isn't one to apologize. Never was, and you were okay with it at this point. You know he's stressed and worried constantly about the future of the world, especially since the most important person to him, you, is in it.

Within a second Levi has you on the counter, his body in-between your legs as his mouth smashes against yours - your dainty hands cupping his face as he takes care of every inch of your mouth.

His hands pressed against the small of your back and your ass as he kissed you, soft moans leaving his mouth. "God, I missed you."

You smile at his words, he doesn't say things like that much, so you savor the moment. You drag your nails across his skin to his undercut, tracing shapes on the hair as your tongue slips into his mouth.

"Baby, I might come right here if we keep kissing." He pulled away, adjusting his pants slightly and you notice the bulge.

"A month without me, one kiss and you're already about to come in your pants?" You say in a teasing tone, pulling away from him.

"Tsch." His hands drag under your thighs, lifting you up and carrying to you to your shared bedroom. Luckily you remembered to make the bed, to which Levi silently appreciates.

His delicately lays you on the bed, making sure none of your hair pulls against your back as it splays across the sheets.

He's on top of you now, his stone eyes following your every move, every breath. Almost like he's studying you, not wanting to forget a single detail.

"Levi?" You interrupt his thoughts, your voice a half whisper.

"Sorry, I just..." His finger drags along your jawline, to your neck and then collarbone. "I missed you."

"I missed you." You lean into his touch, being gentle as you spot more scars on his hands. "Promise me something."

"Anything."

"Please come home to me. Even if our house isn't clean enough, even if you don't want to see me. Always come home."

Levi takes in your words, seemingly having his own conversation in his head as he watches your expressions.

"Always. I promise." He captures your lips in a searing kiss, his body snaking over you as his tongue invades your mouth.

Your hands find his hair, pulling on his inky locks as his lips move down your skin to your chest, gently removing your dress to reveal your undergarments.

Like a work of art, his hands gently grazed your soft skin, goosebumps forming soon after.

"You are so beautiful." He whispers, studying every inch of your skin as he unclips your bra seamlessly, throwing it to the side. His lips found the supple skin of your breast, leaving heated kisses as his hand made their way to your lace panties, his index finger hooking onto the side and pulling them down.

Your mouth gapes open as you feel his touches, anticipating the next feeling. He takes his large hands as spreads your legs, his thumb caressing your thigh. "Are you ready for me? It's been awhile."

You nod, watching him strip off his uniform, his forest green cloak cascading to the floor, almost poetically.

You're mesmerized by his physique every time - but like always, you notice new bruises and scars that are now a part of him. Which makes them a part of you.

Levi takes his middle digit, sliding it over your slit to feel your slick. His mouth curves into a smile as he feels you, letting his finger envelope in the wetness. "I can just slide right in." He whispers.

Your hands grip the sheets as you feel him align himself with you, his hands gently holding your hips as he angles you upwards. As you feel his fat tip enter you, a moan so loud your neighbors definitely heard it escaped your lips.

Levi's head went back, some of his hairs sticking to his forehead from sweat as he entered you. Just like he said, he slid in, and your body automatically started taking him.

"Such a good girl." He grunts, picking up his pace as he looks at you. "God, I missed this pussy. Thought about it every day."

He's being super vocal today, usually he's all grunts and moans before he reaches his high.

You nod, moaning his name as he hits every spot, your back arching as he pounds into you. Your hands reach for his neck, hoping he can hold you.

"My needy brat." He whispers, obliging to your request as he leans down, letting you wrap your arms around his neck. He starts thrusting into you at a different angle, immediately hitting the spot that makes you crumble.

"Oh, right there Levi." You moan, closing your eyes as you both develop a rhythm.

"Open your eyes. I want to watch you come undone." He looks down at you, his eyes almost menacing.

Your eyes shoot open, capturing his gaze as he continues to thrust into you, the sounds of your slapping skin filling the room. Your mouth gapes open as the coil in your tummy breaks, your climax waving over you.

"L-Levi, holy shit." He continues to pound into you through your high, his eyes still on you. He watched as you came on his cock, but it didn't stop him. Watching you get off, was making him close.

Your nails digged into his skin as he thrusted into you to the hilt, this movements becoming more sloppy - he's close.

You tangle your fingers in his silky hair, the strands wrapping around your fingertips as you kiss his ear - one of his most sensitive spots.

He groaned, his body pressing into you one last time as he moaned your name, pants following soon after.

You both lay on the bed, sweaty and completely satisfied. He rolls next to you, closing his eyes and taking a few breaths.

"Wash these sheets." He looked at you, pinching your nose between his thumb and index finger.

"Why, you don't want to dirty them some more?" You purred, turning onto your side to face him.

You continued to dirty the sheets all night, until Levi forgot what he was mad at in the first place.

[ruruumin]

race to your heart

₊˚ ᗢ itoshi rin x gn! reader.

⤷ inspired by my experiences playing wmmt, 3.1k words.

it is once in a blue moon that rin would agree to any of the blue lock boy’s shenanigans. they were always bringing up the most absurd ideas: whether it be buying all the popsicles at the local convenience store to win the prize (something he has done with ease) or going to the mall to buy new cleats, he found hismelf dragged. this time, he accompanied the rest of the team on their short trip to the arcade.

curtsey of nagi, they were able to find a local arcade that had very little people. surprisingly, there were hardly any kids. some middle-aged men stood over ancient machines and people in their early 20s playing with nostalgic smiles. while a few other guys left to play street fighter or other games, rin stayed around with the most rowdy group: isagi, bachira, nagi, and reo. the five of them decided to take up one corner of the arcade, settling on a game that nagi has been constantly raving about, wangan midnight maximum tune, a popular racing game.

bachira decided to sit out and just watch (an uncommon sight that had the rest of the group scratching their heads. apparently he wasn’t interested in racing games and just wanted to watch isagi). nagi and reo already had their own bana passports, a way of saving progress and upgrade cars in the game. this left rin and isago to sit down in their seats, swiping their cards and using guest accounts to play. 

isagi decided to choose one of the porsche that was displayed, reo had picked out a purple dodge viper for himself, and nagi was scrolling through his garage (trying to choose the slowest one for fairness). the white-haired man sat at the very left, with reo, rin, and isagi following the line up. 

the first game was truly something to behold. while bachira was off to the sidelines, cheering on isagi, nagi and reo were neck and neck with each other. rin’s eyes twitched in annoyance as every time he tried to make a smooth turn on the highway, isagi would crash into him, hitting the back of his car and effectively slowing him down. 

it would eventually end with nagi in first place, rin (miraculously) in second, reo in third, and isagi last. the purple-haired man would have been in second place had he not hit the center barrier in the tunnel, causing him extra time. midway through their game, someone had come up from behind rin’s chair, standing a few feet behind with their nose buried in their phone. dressed in a simple black hoodie and mask, it was clear they were waiting for him to give up his spot.

instead of giving a staredown as he always did, nagi was the first to speak up, turning his head around to reo as his eyes darkened. a look that he could only describe as impulsive and egotistic.

“reo. get out.”

“huh?”

“get out,” he says more carefully, “i want to race them.” pointing to the figure in the back.

wordlessly, reo gets out of his seat, choosing to stand beside nagi now as the person he’s been waiting for sits down. as if nothing happened, they pull out two cards, using the first to swipe for credits; 7249 CREDITS REMAINING, and the second to scan their bana passport.

rin taps the steering wheel, raising his eyebrow as the mysterious person goes through their garage. nagi looks strangely serious. this person must have been something else if his entire attitude did a complete 180. did they meet before? was this some kind of ongoing feud that happens in wangan midnight? rin wanted to leave already. 

regardless, instead of playing with his slowest car, nagi finally chooses the one he’s been using the most: a beautiful silver supra that had been max tuned. while isagi and rin chose any car they found interesting (with the latter choosing the skyline gt-r v-spec ii), the person beside him chose a midnight black, nissan fair lady 350z. so while not entirely fast on long stretches of road, it is a cutthroat killer amongst turns. 

the game starts on a very basic highway map. the moment the countdown had finished, rin and isagi were immediately left in the dust, a gap that spans more than 3000 meters showing up rather instantly. this left rin in a state of shock. he knew those bana passports were good but he never expected them to give the other person such a huge leg in a race. 

at this point, did he even have a chance to win?

this new player quickly outmaneuvers nagi’s best turns, keeping close to the railing to cut him off. weaving through the crowds of yellow pak man cars, they avoid nagi’s attempt at sliding next to them. the sounds of gears turning, pedals shifting, and the clicks and slams of their gearstick were enough for everyone to realize this match was leaning completely in this person’s favor.

finally when the game comes to an end, they turn to rin, tugging down their hood as they tilt their head to the side. this was their chance to see this strange, mysterious racer that beat them. everyone was on the edge of their seat, wondering what would come out of their mouth:

“why’cha play if you were gonna lose?” 

pure arrogance. 

✦

from that day on, rin decided to buy a bana passport. it wasn’t that he loved the game per se, and as much as he wanted to convince himself it was because of his own ego, it was little more than just that. he would frequent the arcade after practice, making sure to do so whenever nagi and the other boys are too tired to go anywhere afterward. he would rather die than be caught dead at an arcade trying to max-tune his car. 

he decided to stick with the skyline gt-r v-spec ii. not only because it was the first car he drove but he liked the way it felt. 

when he first started out, he was unaware of how much money had to be dumped into this game for you to consistently be able to tune your car. not that it was a problem, he was just flabbergasted at how much time passed. he spent all the credits he had on his card in a matter of minutes. he had to play through the story modes several times before he was even able to reach the next level of tuning. but despite of it all, it gave him a peace of mind that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

as he was practicing, he learned quickly about your name, hearing it whispered in the arcade. they would always point to one corner of the arcade, turning up their noses and leaving the other way, talking about how they’ll never get to win whenever you’re around. this would leave you playing alone with three empty machines beside you. but you never let that bother you, only continuing to swipe your card and play alone.

it only started to change when rin took the seat next to you, making up the excuse that the other two machines had loose steering wheels. as much as you wanted to say something about having a bana passport to race with you, he already pulled out his card and scanned it, immediately shutting you up. regardless, you hardly spared a glance at him, choosing to focus on your own screen rather than the cryptic soccer player suddenly wanting to sit beside you. locking in his car, the two of you play a few games together.

and while it always ends with your win, he’s beginning to learn more about you, like the habits you have as you drive, the way you flick the gearstick with the tip of your fingers, or the lifting of your foot every time you reach a tight corner. it goes as far as noting the times your lips would press tightly against each other, the pink tip of your tongue swiping across the edges. 

its cute—huh? he immediately turned off his brain, not wanting to entertain the idea that there was something about you that interested him. and it definitely wasn’t the way you concentrated on the game or how easily you beat everyone else around you. 

“you keep staring at me, is there something on my face?” 

“ah–erm, no, there isn’t.” 

there goes your first interaction with him. absolutely humiliated at himself, he closes his mouth, glaring at you to mask the way his heart leaps up in his throat.

✦

it felt like any other weekend. the sun was beating down on you as you entered through the doors, surprised to see rin already in his destinated seat. from the looks of it, he was already playing a few games before you came in. 

sliding into the seat beside him, you swipe your card, glancing up at him for a moment before tightening your grip on the steering wheel. if he could be described with one word, it would be owlish, because his focused eyes were blinking slowly. why was he so surprised to see you? tapping your bana passport on the side of the machine, you lean back into your seat, turning the wheel to select your favorite car.

from the corner of your eye, you can see that his skyline gt-r was max tuned, a feat that could only be accomplished if he came by regularly. 

in a rare conversation, rin speaks up: “why do you play alone?” 

you raise your eyebrow at the sudden question but think nothing of it. 

“no one else wants to play with me.” 

with the screen counting down from 3, you adjust your gear shift to the lower side. the raven-haired man taps his fingers against the steering wheel, fixing the weight of his foot to the pedal. soon, the race starts and you’re both speeding down the long strip of highway, weaving in and out of traffic.

its relatively quiet for a moment with nothing but the sound of your gear shift moving and the screeching of car tires. despite rin’s recent practices, there were still a lot of difficult sharp turns that had him scratching the back of his car. 

“is there a reason you only play this game?”

what’s with the sudden interview?

“...probably the same reason you play soccer,” even for a second, your eyes didn’t leave the brightly colored screen. your fingers had a tight wrap around the wheel. they moved in sync with the corners that were steadily approaching your view. “my brother and i played this game when we were younger. at the time, i barely knew anything about cars, so i chose the only one that i knew.” 

“that guy from tokyo drift likes to drive the fair lady too, i decided to use his car.” 

reaching a straightforward path, rin was able to catch up to you. the whizz of the engine pairs perfectly with the long stretches of road. it was music to both your ears. at the halfway point of your race, the two of you entered a beautiful mountainous field. autumn leaves cover the screen like an orange sea.

“i won my first race with that car.” stepping off the pedal, you hit the brakes once to adjust the direction of your car, “our hometown had a lot of small tournaments for wangan. decided after seeing my brother play that i wanted to be the best in the country.” 

rin found himself grinding his car against the road bumper, slowing down significantly for you to make a smooth turn inwards. it’s getting increasingly more difficult to see your weak spots. every time he finds himself close to you, every twist of the road pushes him even farther away. it still impresses him to see this kind of skill.

“it’s a pretty difficult feat, there are a lot of people who play this game in japan. regardless, it felt nice to dream big for once. we’d hop from arcade to arcade, attending tournaments that happen once in a blue moon, playing against other racers from every prefecture.” 

“how was that?” he asks, the two of you continuing onto an upwards highway. 

“i won, obviously.” 

having done so in the heart of tokyo, your shoulder was being vigorously pulled from side to side, your brother’s arm wrapped tightly around your neck as he smiled gleefully at the screen. there it was, your name in bright flashing lights, illuminated by a gold plate. your mouth was still left agape at your sudden victory. despite it being a small game with no significance in the real world, knowing that you were the best fueled you with indescribable confidence and joy.

flicking your gearstick, you make your way down a narrow curve, the tip of your car barely scraping against the railing. this effectively cut rin off from passing you on your right. “when he left for college, he stopped playing completely.” 

“he said he had no time and that i was wasting my life away.” 

do you want to go to round 1? you asked, tapping away at a steam deck you had in your hands, mashing buttons together. sitting on the couch with nothing more but a hoodie and shorts, your laid-back clothes contrasted your older brother’s tidy suit, a gift from your mother when he started applying to jobs. 

you’re still playing that stupid game? grow up already. he loomed over you, staring down with a glare sharp enough to cut down even the thickest of trees. you’ve done nothing for yourself since i left for college. the only thing i heard from mom was that you were going off to the arcade just to play games by yourself. shouldn’t you be thinking about what you want to do in your life? 

you let out a loud huff, out of all people, why are you lecturing me? i just asked you if you wanted to play a game together, like old times. does spending time with me not matter anymore? you just got home too so let’s go.

bouncing to your feet, you quickly made your way towards your brother, raising your hand in a high five that he turned his nose towards. having pressed your lips together, the air grows tense and heavy. why wasn’t he joining you this time? did spending time in college change him this much? your brother sighed when he saw your downturned reaction.

it’s not about spending time with you because you don’t do anything but go to the arcade. and because of that i’m starting to think: maybe i shouldn’t have taught you that game, your brother pulled back his hair, shaking his head in disappointment and grief, then you would actually be good at something else other than video games.

you might be the best now, but you’re nothing in the end.

rin’s car kept close to your tail, bumping into it when you found yourself weaving through tightly packed yellow cars. the pak man logo was beginning to bleed into your eyes at this point. 

“how did you… get over it?” your brother, he means. he can’t say it out loud. he thinks if he did, it might come out wrong. or that perhaps he’ll say too much that's too personal. regardless of what the reason was, it made his lips dry and his tongue feeling a little cold. 

“i like this game.” 

your answer was clear and concise because really, it was as simple as that. although you were hurt by your older brother, resenting him for the last few years of your life, at the end of the day, what kept you going was your love. that's what separates you from rin. the difference that he was looking for was right here, staring at his face with an open paw. it was unlike the hatred that brewed within him. it didn’t bear the same fangs as he did.

soccer to him was a battlefield. a fight to the death. anything outside of it was just a waste of time. friends, family, what good is it if it's not for soccer?  this kind of thinking had led to him feeling more lonely than he would have liked. and while you were alone by choice, you looked happy. you were comfortable in the silence you led because deep down, you knew who you were. 

you liked playing games because it made you feel happy. could rin say the same about soccer? does he love it? does he enjoy playing it? when he thinks about it, the only thing that comes up is his hatred towards sae and how good it’d feel to beat him at his own game. there wasn’t much to love about soccer itself other than his desire to beat sae. 

did he even want to win the world cup at this point?

unknown to his inner conflict, you hold your breath, watching the screen blare with a warning: 308 KM LEFT! DON’T GET CAUGHT! rin is only a few meters behind you. enough to catch up to you if he was able to make the proper moves to do so. 

“but...even if this small time thing won’t last forever,” from the corner of his eye, there was a faint smile loosely hanging onto your lips, “this game made me happy.” 

and with that, you end the race in first place, rin following only three seconds behind you. as much as he wants to be annoyed with himself at another loss, he was a little speechless. aside from sae, what made him love soccer the way he does now? 

the things you said were beginning to turn gears in his head. he should be enjoying soccer. even if everyone else thinks it might be a lukewarm dream, it makes him happy to think about what could come, it gives him reason in his life. 

“do you want to play again?” you ask, pointing to his steering wheel.

“oh,” rin breaks out of his trance, fumbling with his card, “yeah. we can do one more round.” 

the only person in the entire world who can reduce him to a bumbling idiot is you, the same person he’s been trying to beat in a racing game for the past month and a half. god, he felt stupid (about you).

“what were you thinking about?”

swiping your card against the reader, the two of you start another match. this time, you decide to race on a simple highway map. you would consider it one of your favorites. it’s easy and familiar and you like seeing the night sky above you as you drive forward.

“i guess i was going to ask you to come to my soccer game,” his words come out softer than he wanted them to be, “if you want to. i won’t be sad if you don’t show up.” he added that last part to convince himself more than you. 

a laugh escapes, “you’re a funny guy, rin-rin.” 

“shut up, don’t call me rin-rin.” 

[mayhemories]

Neteyam x readers kids to lovers eventually, before WOTW bc I carnt handle his death

Eywa, A Sign

Ohhh it kills me, I love this boy. He died for what? Pandora Jesus better resurrects him next time, or I will have words with Mr Cameron. Not sure if I did your request justice, hope I did <3 

Pairing: Neteyam Sully x Reader (James Cameron’s Avatar) 

Requested: Yes | No

Warnings: None? Just straight fluff. Reader is an orphan trope/parental death. Mentions of death. 

Words: 1.58k

Author’s Notes: Neteyam is roughly 18/19 here, Reader is 18, Lo’ak and Kiri are 17, and my girl Tuk is still the same. Set before Way of the Water. 

Please note that the reader utilises she/her pronouns. If you’d prefer male or gender-neutral pronouns in fic I’m more than happy to repost a male or gn version of the story, otherwise include any pronoun preferences in the request box!

Read below the cut

Many Na’vi died following Toruk Macto. Either due to the impact of the battlefield violence or, their wounds upon return to their clan. Your parents, two brave Omatikaya warriors, died at the hands of the Sky People during a routine raid on supply shipments. 

Jake and Neytiri were quick to take you under their care, love and protection. Practically becoming one of their own. Being a few months younger than Neteyam and a year older than the twins, Kiri and Lo’ak, you slipped right in.

Jake was never afraid to reprimand you like you were his own, either. Like the time you were twelve, Lo’ak eleven:

“Now what did I tell you two?” Jake had you and Lo’ak lined up against the wall of the clan stronghold, sprung by the Olo’eyktan from the moment you came sneaking back in after curfew. 

“Don’t be in the forest after eclipse-” You and Lo’ak mumbled under your breaths, knowing that Jake wouldn’t let up.

“Yes! That’s right, don’t be in the forest after eclipse!” he said, exasperated, holding his hands above his head, dragging them down across his face. “And where were you two knuckleheads?” His face was annoyed, though his eyes were soft. We were his kids, god forbid anything happened to us. 

“Look dad (y/n) had nothing to do with it, it was all me-” Lo’ak started, but you finished,

“Sir, Lo’ak didn’t want to go, I wanted to go.” You and Lo’ak shared a small smile, he was your brother, through and through. 

Jake shook his head, hands on hips. 

“Go, go, both of you. Wash up.” He was stern, but as you two skxawngs ran past him you saw the gentle smile lay on his lips. 

As you got older you noticed Jake becoming harder and harder on his boys. For whatever reason Lo’ak almost gave up on pleasing Jake, felt like he could never be enough for him, a spec of dust compared to Neteyam’s glittering gold. Maybe that was why, why he was so impulsive and reckless, consistently. Any attention being good attention for Lo’ak. Regardless of his intentions, you liked that about him. He encourages your sense of adventure like a brother should, was always there to catch you when you fall. Neteyam and Lo’ak were different sides of the same coin, both living to please Jake in one way or another. Jake saw himself in Lo’ak and that scared him, you knew that,

But Neteyam…shit, Neteyam. 

You always saw Neteyam differently. As kids, he felt too cool for you to be around. This developed over time as you, yourself developed. As you felt awkward and out of place in your body, tail giving away every thought and feeling, Neteyam got taller, got broader, got sweeter. As an awkward teenager, your little soft spot evolved into a full-blown crush. You kept it under wraps sure, Lo’ak teasing you here and there but he never thought anything serious of it. Shit, you tried not to think anything of it. He was the future Olo’eyktan, he was the future of the clan. 

Now, freshly eighteen you were considered a woman: A relatively fierce Ikran rider, bow made from wood of the tree to replace the Hometree that was lost to the Sky People, a hunter. You surpassed any ritual trail of clan-life easily, save for one. Save for probably the most important one. 

Finding a mate. 

So, here you were, kneeling on the beautiful deep green moss surrounding the base of the Tree of Voices. The tree was glowing purple, fading to a light pink and back again, streaks of white travelled up and down the tendril of the tree, where you’ve made the bond. The hum of the ancestors created a white noise in you mind, helping to create a true vision. Praying to Eywa always gave you a sense of calm, like all anxieties were being blown right through your body, energy settling itself back into the world. 

“My dear All-Mother Eywa, I come to you now for guidance, for advice.” You started, clamping your eyes shut to encourage any kind of vision, so that you may see into the realm beyond that of physical sight. 

Neteyam knew it was wrong, to listen to your private prayers with Eywa. But he did not make a move to leave his advantageous spot, hidden amongst trees and rocks, he could watch you freely. His whole life felt like it revolved around you, and your alluring presence, strong heart, strong mind. 

Neteyam officially became a man the year prior, it was expected of him as the future clan leader to have already chosen a woman. And, in some ways he had. It had always been you, it was always you. Neteyam loved you, and it was never as a sister as Lo’ak has. When you were children you would play family. Neteyam was the dad, you the mum, Kiri and Lo’ak the kids. Neteyam knew from a young age that he didn’t want to play family with anyone else. 

He assumed Neytiri always knew, too. She never pressured him in claiming a mate, or even talking about it. Jake, well he was less switched on when it came to Neteyam’s shy nature. He was always pestering Neteyam about it-

Jake had flown Neteyam and himself to a floating mountain so that him and his first born son could speak freely: “Look, I’m not even saying you have to mate straight away! But at least court someone Neteyam, you’re the future of this clan-” Jake started, but for the first and last time in his life, Neteyam cut his father off.

“I am waiting for (y/n)!” Neteyam yelled, holding the bridge of his nose, anticipating that Jake would come back with a raised voice as he most often did. It did not come. Instead Jake closed the distance between him and his son, wrapping his arms around his beautiful baby boy, who wasn’t a baby anymore. Neteyam loosened, wrapping his still lanky arms around his father. With his chin resting on Neteyam’s head, Jake chuckled:

“Well then, wait for her as long as you need.” 

“I love her.” Neteyam admitted quietly. 

“I know you do, kid.” 

Neteyam shook the memory from his mind, and focused back on your kneeling, praying figure in front of him. 

“My mother Eywa, what am I to do?” You felt exasperated, lost. “I… I am afraid that the one I love does not love me Eywa.” 

Neteyam’s chest tightened, although he always knew it was a possibility that you may not want him, he tried his hardest swaying anyone else’s decision in the matter. The glares he had sent to all the young na’vi during their teen years, and at your own ceremony of womanhood, Neteyam made it clear with growls and possessive hovering that he was waiting for you. Although, maybe he could’ve made it clearer to you. 

“Great Eywa please, please show me a sign that Neteyam and I will be named mates.” you whispered, scared to admit his name in the scenario, aloud. 

Neteyam felt like he could vomit. He slowly approached you, kneeling beside you, as if he were beginning to pray, himself.

You could feel his heat, his being as he sat down, you didn’t need to open your eyes to confirm. Besides that, you could feel all the blood drain from your body and rush back up to your cheeks and ears. Clearing your throat, you decided that this was a good a sign as any. 

“Neteyam” You opened your eyes, his beautiful warm honey ones already locked on your face, “how much of that did you hear?” 

Neteyam hung his head in shame, shaking some of his braids from their resting places, blood rushing to his cheeks. 

“I am so sorry, I know I shouldn’t have listened to your private words spoken with Eywa.” Neteyam spoke softly, like he always did with you. “But I could not help it, especially knowing you have not chosen a mate yet.” Neteyam spoke around a lump in his throat, “I needed to know why.” 

Your mind was rushing a million miles per minute. But fake bravado was something that Lo’ak taught you, and something you could hide behind.

“You know, you haven’t chosen anyone either. My ceremony was last week, yours was last year.” You said, catching his eye again, with a slight smile on your lips. Neteyam laughed. Shit, you loved that sound. You could die happy now, hearing his laugh. 

“I have chosen,” your stomach dropped at his words, though sensing your anxiety Neteyam wove one of his hands with yours, and pinned you to the spot with his warm eyes. “I just had to wait a year for her to choose me too.” 

And all at once it felt like Eywa had breathed life into you, and Neteyam. Like your soul was made of milk and honey and you were going to flow on forever. 

You kissed him, your hands cupped his beautiful face, his slender fingers settling on your waist, nestling between beads and cloth. 

He came out of the kiss laughing, needing air. You let out a laugh too, keeping your foreheads together. 

“I see you.” You whispered, still scared that if you speak too loud this dream will dissipate into the colours of Pandora’s jungle, floating away from you entirely. 

“I have only ever seen you,” Neteyam said, smiling. His silver freckles set alight from the glow of the Tree of Voices. 

Happiness was simple.

[heartysworld]

Love across the finish line// OP81

Oscar Piastri x Reader

W. C: 2.5k

This one is a request!

MASTERLIST

It was during the small hours of the night when the Piastri family home echoed with celebratory screams and sounds of glasses clinging against each other. Earlier, the same day, some inexplicable force had made you cancel your plans for the next day and join your boyfriend's family to watch Oscar's race in Hungary. Now, hours later, you were jumping around Oscar's sisters and his parents as they hugged each other, celebrating their boy's maiden win in Formula 1.

You couldn't help but tear up as memories from years ago flooded your mind. Little specs from when you and Oscar would talk about different dreams you wished to achieve one day. They all changed and varied as the years went by. However, for Oscar, once of those dreams never changed - reach F1, win a race, and become world champion. There he was now, a decade later, having achieved two out of three of those, making you prouder than ever.

As you watched the trophy ceremony, you admired Oscar's smile, it being one of the brightest you've ever seen. Despite what happened during the last minutes of the race, he was up there in P1 as the winner. A gentle tap on your shoulder pulled you out of your thoughts. Looking up from your spot on the couch, you were met with Nicole's beaming smile.

"Honey, come take a picture of me. Can't let that moment pass without one!" She said, handing you her phone as she made her way towards the TV on the wall, waiting for the cameras to show Oscar again.

" Girls, I am happy to say we will not be attending our 6am pilates session. This calls for a celebration!" Oscar's mom said, earning a laugh from everyone.

You waited a few hours for all the commotion to pass alongside all of Oscar's post-race interviews and media obligations before you tried calling him. It took a while, and you were ready to hang up before your boyfriend's beaming face popped up on your screen, making your heart melt for the hundredth time in the past couple of hours.

"Oscar! You did it, love! I'm so happy for you! Oh my goodness, I still can't believe this happened!" You shouted, now in the confines of your own apartment where you wouldn’t be disturbing anyone. " I'm so proud of you, baby! I never doubted your talent and determination to do this!"

"Thank you, baby! I still can't believe this happened. Oh, how I wish you were here." Oscar said, a tired smile nestling on his face.

" I wish I could've been there as well, baby, but you know how it is. Duty calls in hour of the day and corners of the world." You said, earning a chuckle from the tired man on your screen.

" I'll try to come home for a few days before Belgium, love. I need to see you as soon as possible. " Oscar said, his smile faltering a bit.

" I'll be waiting for you, baby, keeping warm hugs and kisses from when you arrive." You said, trying to lighten up the mood.

" I don't know what I'd do without you, love. I miss you so much, but I think I've got to get going. Celebratory dinner is impending. I'll try to call you again as soon as we're done!" Oscar said, blowing a kiss in your direction.

" And don't forget to ring your mom! Or she'll lock you out of the house the next time you try to come back home!" You added, returning hus gesture.

" At least I'll get to spend more time with you in your place then! I love you, I have to go now! " He said, you could tell he was in a rush now.

" Love you too, bye!" You said before hanging up and laying down on your couch. While your boyfriend celebrated his first win, you were in desperate need of a nap before the Piastri family rings your doorbell in a couple of hours to go celebrate Oscar's win as well.

You didn't expect to be woken up in the early hours of Tuesday morning, but alas, it happened. As you rubbed away the sleepiness from your eyes, you made your way to the entrance of your apartment, not even bothering to use the peephole first before swinging the door open.

At the threshold of your apartment stood your boyfriend, a goofy smile on his lips ,a suitcase in one hand, and a bouquet of white roses in the other.

" Surprise!" He said sheepishly, opening his arms to welcome your tired form.

"Baby..." You mumbled as your head found its way to the crock of Oscar's neck, your arms enveloping his waist as you pulled him in for a hug. " Don't think I'm not enjoying this, but...it's 6am in the morning."

" I couldn't wait longer to see you. I needed you in my arms, badly." Oscar said before placing a gentle kiss on the side of your head.

You lifted your head from its comfortable position, heading directly for his lips.

" I love you so much." You whispered, smiling gently as you looked him directly in the eyes.

Your tired ones were met with Oscar's, which were bubbling with love and excitement from the past few days' events.

" These are for you." Oscar said as your attention fell on the white roses he held in his left hand.

" Thank you, baby. They're beautiful, just like my Formula 1 race winning boyfriend. " You grinned as you accepted the flowers, their gentle fragrance touching your senses immediately. " You are the one who won a race, and still you are giving me flowers." You said, making him laugh

"Well, I had to make sure you knew how much I love and appreciate you," he replied, his eyes twinkling with affection.

"You're too sweet," you murmured, leaning in to kiss him again. The kiss deepened, filled with all the longing and love that had built up during your time apart. When you finally pulled away, you rested your forehead against his, one of your hands now caressing the base of his neck, makjng him yawn at the soft touches. "But we should really get some sleep. You must be exhausted."

Oscar chuckled softly. "I am, but I just wanted to be with you. Let's go to bed."

You nodded, taking his hand and leading him inside. The bouquet found its place in a vase on the kitchen counter before you both headed to the bedroom. Oscar dropped his suitcase at the door, and you climbed into bed, finding solace in each other's arms. As you drifted off to sleep, Oscar whispered, "I love you," and you knew that no matter the distance or time apart, your love for each other would always prevail.

The next morning, the two of you were awoken by the soft light filtering through the curtains. You stretched lazily, turning to find Oscar already watching you with a content smile.

"Good morning, love," he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from your face before one of his hands cupped your cheek gently.

"Good morning," you replied, smiling back. "I still can't believe you're here."

"Believe it," he said, pulling you towards him for a quick kiss. "But we should probably get up. I think my mom will kill me if she finds out I'm back and we didn't go visit her."

You laughed, nodding. "Yes, we don't want that. Let's get ready and head over."

After a quick shower and breakfast, you both made your way to Oscar's childhood home. The door swung open to reveal Nicole, who immediately pulled Oscar into a tight hug.

"You didn't call me after your win!" she scolded, but her eyes were full of pride and joy.

"I know, mom, I'm sorry," Oscar replied, hugging her back. "but I called the most important person first." he added, glancing at you with a cheeky grin.

Nicole laughed, shaking her head. "Well, I guess I can forgive you for that. Come on in, both of you. We have so much to celebrate!"

The day was spent in a joyous celebration with Oscar's family. Stories were shared, laughter echoed through the house, and the pride everyone felt for Oscar was palpable. As the evening drew to a close, you found a quiet moment with Oscar in the garden.

"Thank you for being here," he said, pulling you close. "I couldn't have done this without your support."

"You would have done it regardless, but I'm glad I could be here for you, even if "here" means on the other side of the world." you replied, resting your head on his shoulder as you felt Oscar chuckle at your response.

Oscar pressed a kiss to your temple. "I love you so much."

"I love you too, Oscar."

A few weeks later, the buzz in the paddock was different. You and Oscar made your way through the crowd. You had finally found a possible way to you to travel for a while and spend time with Oscar while still managing your workload.

As you walked past a group of journalists, one of them called out, "Oscar, what's your secret to staying so calm under pressure these days?"

Oscar smiled, glancing at you before replying, "I've got the best support system in the world. That makes all the difference."

He said as he lifted up your joint hands for everyone to see.

You squeezed his hand, heart swelling with pride and love. Together, you faced the world, knowing that no matter what challenges came your way, you would always have each other.

And as the race weekend continued, you couldn't help but smile at the whispered conversations around the paddock, all noting the same thing—Oscar Piastri was happier than ever, and it was all thanks to the love and support you shared.

The end of the race saw Oscar once again on the podium, and as he looked out into the crowd, his eyes found yours. He lifted the trophy high, dedicating hus success to you with a simple, heartfelt gesture that spoke volumes. It was a new chapter in both your lives, filled with love, triumphs, and the unbreakable bond you shared.

MASTERLIST

[military-newsboys]

Jack: Your smile? It makes my day. Davey: Your happiness? I live for that. Crutchie: A room? Fucking get one.

[sl-newsie]

I luv Spot so much ❤️

[fallingfor-fics]

Business Ethics- Melissa Schemmenti x Reader

Pairing: Melissa Schemmenti x fem! IT employee

Word count: 4.3k

Warnings: none, drinking, angst, implied smut. flirting

Summary: Melissa finds out you're getting fired and doesnt know how to tell you but eventually word gets out.

You had worked at Abbott for about 3 years now in the IT department and loved your job with a passion. You had skills with computers and didn't mind using those to make some good money, not to mention you got to work with good people. They never gave a shitty attitude or were sexist pigs like other places you worked. Not to mention thanks to this job you met your girlfriend Melissa. Her being a teacher here worked out well, but you haven't got around to telling anyone yet because you don't want to worry about gossip, and of course the HR issues. You were currently on your way to the break room because someone had called about the wifi not working in there. It usually is just an issue on their end, but you don't mind since it's an easy fix and you get to stop and chat with some of the other staff for a bit. You are an angel in about half of the staff's eyes since you seem to magically fix all their tech issues with projectors and what not. The other half never paid mind to you but were always friendly. 

“Hey! Got a call about Wifi?” you say walking in and Barb sticks up her hand with a finger pointed to signal you over. 

“Yeah Facebook isn't loading and it's really ruining my relaxing lunch.” she scoffed and you smiled walking over.

“May I?” you ask, gesturing to her phone and she hands it to you. You peek above her phone to spot the empty seat beside her. She notices and stares at you intensely. 

“She’s not here yet, I think she ran off campus for food today.” Barb answers and you look at her with a faux confused face.

“Um..” you pause and clear your throat before sitting up straight and handing her phone back, “You were on the guest Wifi.” you said before turning to leave. 

You are met with Melissa's bright eyes and large smirk as she looks you up and down. “Hey Wall-E what brings you to these parts?” Melissa mocks at you as she moves past to sit down.

You roll your eyes at the name she chose today, usually she goes for Specs, Droid, or Short Circuit. You turn to face her and she smiles when your eyes meet, you can tell she enjoys teasing you like this in front of everyone and you hold back your own smile. Before you can answer you get a call from another teacher to help with their computer and so you bite your tongue and walk away. Once you are gone Barb lets out a large breath. 

“Oh my god I thought I was gonna go crazy.” Barb gasps

“What? How come?” Melissa asks, confused. Barbra leans in close to whisper. 

“Ok Ava told me this earlier and you can not tell anyone, especially Y/n,” she started and Melissa nodded for her to continue “according to Ava since they have to make some departmental cuts, the superintendent said they are going to have to let Y/n go” She sits back up and looks around to make sure no one heard. 

Melissa leans up slowly with shock over her face. She feels her stomach drop and she begins to already grow guilty for having this knowledge. 

“That's crazy.” Melissa mutters with a clear upset. 

“I know and who knows what this means for the other staff and oh I feel so bad for the girl but ya know last one in first one out..” Barbra keeps rambling on but Melissa tunes her out as she thinks about you. She gets up without a word and rushes to Avas office. She knew the superintendent, Jamie, was still on campus and likely to be talking with Ava so she took this as her opportunity.

She doesn't bother knocking and just opens Ava’s door, standing in front of her desk with a tight lip and furrowed brow.

“What now Schemmenti? Did you really have to disturb my meeting?” Ava says annoyed.

“You're firing Y/n?” she says with attitude and Ava sighs, setting her magazine down.

“Um, Yes we are letting her go.” Jaime says calmly with a sympathetic smile, not allowing Ava to speak.

“But why? She has been here for three years and she has been helping us out so much she doesn't deserve this.” Melissa said with anger in her throat, she tried her best to stay calm and not yell, but she felt so much for you she couldn't not say anything.

“I don't want to Ms.Schemmenti but with where we are at it was either her or one of our Food Service Directors and that department is a complete mess so we couldn't afford to lose one of them.” Jaime says trying to reason with her by providing her excuses

“Bullshit.” Melissa scoffs

“Look I don't like this anymore than you do but at the end of the day it has nothing to do with you so just let it go Ms. Schemmenti. Understood?” Ava was now standing to level with Melissa and Melissa's arms were crossed as she shook her head and clenched her jaw. 

“And you can't tell her Melissa, it's not your place and if I find out that you even mentioned the possibility to her-” Ava began trying to sympathize before Jamie cuts her off

“We will have to ask you to resign.” Jaime finished and both Melissa and Ava’s  eyes went wide. 

“You can't fire me for telling her.” Melissa scoffed, Ava looked down. 

“We have a long list of new teachers that want to work here Ms. Schemmenti, so it wouldn't be an issue.” Jaime smirked and Melissa held back the words that were prying to pour from her mouth and just stormed out. 

--

Later that day you and Melissa were hanging out at her place and watching some random Judge show and after some comfortable silence, Melissa spoke softly and with a rather monotone voice. 

“If you had bad news about a coworker but you couldn't tell them or you may get fired, would you risk that or just ya know mind your own business?” She muttered and you scrunched your brows.

“Hmm, that's a good question. Normally I'd mind my own business, but..” You paused looking up at her from your place on her shoulder, “I think it also depends on how close you are with them you know?” you finish and then look back at the TV. 

“Yeah, good point.” she sighs as she chews on her cheek with furrowed brows.

--

You haven't seen Melissa all week and she was being super dry in text and it was beginning to worry you, she did this every now and then and it usually meant she was dealing with some personal or family stuff, but it hasn't happened in a while since she was getting really good at communicating these things to you. You finally decided to corner her during the lunch hour and see what was going on. 

You spotted her walking down the hall as you left another classroom and you walked faster to catch up. 

“Melissa, hey can I uh, talk to you?” you asked softly and she stopped to look at you. She fidgeted and looked at her watch as if she was in a hurry, but eventually nodded.

“Yeah sure.”

You looked around before grabbing her hand and leading her to one of the far stairwells you often met up in since it hardly got used. You waited for the door to shut before sitting on one of the steps.

“Mel, what's been going on? I haven't seen you all week.” you asked softly and she sighed her hands coming to cover her face in frustration before they ran through her hair and she started pacing slowly. 

“I know and I'm sorry.” she muttered, not looking at you. 

“Is it something between you and your family, or work, or.. Us?” you hesitated with the last topic and she shook her head. You stood up and grabbed her hips to get her to stop pacing and face you. You pushed her to lean against the wall behind her and she sighed. 

“I have to tell you something but if anyone finds out i'll get fired.” she said plainly.

You laughed, thinking she was joking. “Mel, come on, don't be dramatic.” 

“I wish I was Y/n but I'm serious, and it's been tearing me up all week long and I didnt think I could hold it in if I was around you.” she smiled and your own smile faded as you looked between her eyes. 

“Just tell me it's fine, I won't say anything!” you said sincerely and she nodded.

“Ok, um, I was told that due to lack of resources and financial issues, they are going to…fire some people.” she said with a worried tone and sympathetic but slightly awkward smile. Melissa did plan on telling you but she saw your worried gaze and panicked, skipping around the truth. 

“What? You’re kidding me! How do you know this? Do we know who yet?” you asked with furrowed brows.

“Um Barb told me and I got it confirmed by Ava and Jamie, but we don't know who or how many.” she stated plainly.

“Oh my gosh, I mean i'm sure we will be fine, it’ll be the last one in the first one out.” you said looking down as you shook your head. 

Melissa looked at you and felt her chest tighten, she felt panic wash over her again and pushed herself off the wall.

“Well I got to go back to class hon.” She chirped, walking over to stand in front of you. 

“Yeah I should head back too. Ill see you later tonight?” you asked and she moved her hands to your hips. 

“Umm it's maybe on tonight, I have papers to grade and stuff. Ill see you tomorrow night though, for drinks with the others yeah?” she said with a cheery tone as she lifted your chin to look at her. 

“Yeah.” 

“Great, and I’ll pick you up so you don't have to drive.” she smiled and leaned in for a kiss. You kissed her softly and slowly, you hands moving to slide into the back pockets of her jeans, her hands roamed down to your hips again to grasp them firmly and you pushed into the kiss harder. Finally you pulled away to get air and your cheeks flushed a deep red. 

“Fuck Schemmenti. Bring that energy tomorrow night.” You whispered out of breath, your eyes looking into her with heavy lids. She laughed and pulled away, kissing your cheek and leaving.

--

The group that was going to the bar consisted of Barbara, Melissa, Ava, Jacob, and Janine, and of course yourself. Gregory opted out so he could come pick the others up when we were all ready to leave. You were finishing your makeup as you waited for Melissa to get here, excitement to go out with everyone filled your chest, the only downside was having to act just friendly with Melissa after having some drinks. You were fine if you took it slow and paced yourself, but one too many cocktails and Melissa turns into a lone flame, dancing in the air before your eyes, illuminating your whole face and making it devilishly hot. She draws you in and you can't feel satisfaction or peace until you have her around you. Melissa loves this about you obviously, and nine times out of ten she gives you what you want. 

So tonight you were sticking to beer. Or at least that's what you told yourself.

You heard a car door and quickly headed downstairs, grabbing your purse and locking the door behind you. You were wearing casual yet flattering clothes, ones that accentuated your features and wouldn't make you overheat. 

“Hey baby.” Melissa smiled as she got out of the car and opened your door. 

“Hi love.” you said, giving her a peck before getting into the passenger seat. She shut the door and walked around to get back in. You changed the station as she did so and when she got back in she looked at you, your face gazing out the window. 

“Night just started and you’re already being a brat.” her tone was low and sarcastic and you couldn't help the grin that spread on your face.

“I don't know what you’re talking about.” you said slyly and she scoffed, pulling out of the driveway and heading to the bar. It wasn't far from her house thankfully, and you were able to get decent parking. The first hour went by fast, and Ava had made everyone do a shot when they got there, so you made sure to be careful. You all just talked and gossiped for most of the night, watching drunk people do karaoke at the front of the bar. You looked over and saw a pool table and got excited, you nudged Melissa and she looked over. 

“Maybe we can sneak away for a round or two?” you said looking at her, she turned to look at you, her face dangerously close to yours. 

“Damn already? I thought you were pacing yourself.” she smirked and you rolled your eyes.

“Of pool.” you remarked and she tilted her head with a teasing glance.

“Mhm. Lead the way.” she said and you got up, going to the bar to get you and Melissa another beer, and then heading to the table, Melissa took the cold bottle from your hand, her fingers brushing yours and you smiled at her. 

“Watch it.” She just shrugged in response and you grabbed a stick, handing her one after she finished setting it up. You moved aside and let her break and she looked at you with a spine chilling smirk. You watched as she bent over, your eyes tracing over her back and around the curve of her ass, her fingers delicately placed around the stick as she moved it back and forth. You took a sip to cool you down, and looked away. You looked over at the group and they were still in a deep gossip session. You looked back and Melissa was lining up for another shot and you laughed. 

“How many did you get in on the break?” you questioned and she looked up at you after hitting another and making it in.

“Two.” she moved to stand in front of you, lining up her next shot, she bent down slowly and you looked in  disbelief, looking around to see if anyone noticed, she pressed her ass into your center and right as she went to hit the ball you gripped her hips, your thumbs sliding up her shirt slightly so they could press into her skin with force, she tensed up and let out a small gasp and it caused her to miss the shot. She stood up quickly and looked at you. 

“So that's how we are going to play huh?” you smiled and walked to take a shot. You got two in before you were getting ready for your next and Melissa started to fidget with her heel, she stood across from you, her hand on the side of the table. She leaned down slightly, fixing the non existent issue and causing her cleavage to be directly in your eyeline. You looked into her eyes that were dark and secretive. You couldn't help your eyes dipping back down to her perfect breasts and you rolled your eyes, taking the shot and standing back up before the ball even made it halfway to the pocket. Of course to no one's surprise, you missed, and you went to sip your drink while Melissa took her next turn.

Eventually it was down to Melissa and you both one away from the 8 ball, you had both continued playing dirty and Melissa just happened to be better at doing that, and with assets like hers it's easier to do. Melissa paused to drink her beer as she prepared for her turn. You quickly went to the bartender and ordered two shots, heading back over to Melissa. She looked at you and raised a brow. 

“Thanks hon but I probably shouldn't drink anymore.” she said kindly and you downed one of the shots as you looked at her. Your eyes were determined and full of admiration and a hunger to win. 

“Wasn’t for you.” you said with a smile as you did the other one. She looked at you confused and you walked over to her. 

“Now, if you win, you will get to deal with future drunk me however you’d like.” you said smiling. Her jaw slacked and she looked over your face.

“And if you win?” she asked with a curious smile.

“I'm going to go home alone, and get myself off. And if you talk me through it you may get a few selfies.” you muttered softly and she felt her muscles tense up at the thought. As hot as that would be, she loves when you are drunk and needy, she doesn't want to miss out on this. 

“And we are playing clean from here on.” you added and she agreed, walking to line up her shot. You watched as you sipped your drink, the drinks finally catching up to you and your legs suddenly felt weak. You stayed standing and focused your vision on Melissa, your blood rising in temperature as your eyes looked over her. 

“That look is not playing clean.” she muttered, not looking away from the ball. You didn't say anything and she took her shot. The force of her strong arm caused a loud pop to be heard and it made your core twitch and your legs push together. She made the shot and you scoffed. Her hazey eyes met yours with a cocky smirk and you looked away, when you looked over Barbara was heading towards you and you straightened up. Melissa noticed and she smiled. 

“Hey Barb, what's up?” Melissa asked and she sat down at the high table next to us.

“Jacob and Ava are getting into it about some stupid show.” she sighed and you laughed 

“Wow you left Janine alone over there?” you looked over and she was sinking into the booth sitting between the other two.

“Mm. How's your game?” she asked and Melissa's smiled widened. 

“I'm winning of course.” she didn't hesitate to state and you rolled your eyes.

“Just go on already, Schemmenti.” She looked at you with a daring eye and you laughed. 

“I'm gonna go to the bathroom, Barb, take my shot for me.” she said, handing her stick to the woman before disappearing. You sat in shock and Barb looked at you. 

“I won't lie, Y/n, I had a lot of beverages tonight.” she smiled walking over to the table, you smiled in response hoping this would give you an advantage.

“That's okay, me too.” you laughed, the drinks were really hitting you now and time seemed to slow down as you waited. You could hear the people talking loudly over the music, and the colorful lights made everything glow.

“Yeah I don't blame you, I would in your situation. It really is just awful.” she said looking for the best place to shoot from. You furrowed your brows in confusion and looked over at her. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, your words slightly slurred.

“Well you know with the whole letting you go, situation.” she looked up at you and the loud noises along with drinks in your system caused you to have a harder time piecing it together. She noticed and pushed her own brows together.

“Wait, Melissa didn't tell you? Woah I was sure she would have.” she said shocked and you shook your head.

“Melissa?” you said at the mention of her name and Barbara nodded. 

“Yeah Ava said they had to let you go.” she said as she took the shot. You watched as she missed and you stepped back. “Damn I missed.” 

“When did you tell her?” you asked and she paused to think.

“Hmm like two weeks ago.” she said as she set the stick down. Behind her you saw Melissa walking over, she came into focus and you saw her face turn down, surely a reaction to your own stoic and melancholy expression. Your brows tight together and your eyes full of confusion. She walked closer and you sighed. 

“Two weeks you knew and you didn't tell me.” you muttered and Melissa immediately realized what happened. Barbara looked at you both, confused and unsure if her suspicions were correct. She muttered and apology to Melissa and walked back to the group. You didn't say anything else and just grabbed your purse and walked away, you paused at the others to let them know you were leaving cause you didn't feel well, and headed out the door. Melissa grabbed her own belongings and hurried to close out the tab, she told the others she was driving you home, and hurried out after you. You had already started your journey down the street, your feet hurt and your legs were slightly numb from the cold night air nipping at them. Your vision was slightly delayed, but overall you were conscious enough to make it home at a decent time. You finally realized why you were walking away and you sighed. You realized Melissa had not only not told you but had the chance and lied instead. You loved your job so hearing this information stung. Learning your girlfriend that you met here, knew before you though, that hurt worse. 

“Y/n, baby please let me drive you.” she shouted after you and you shook your head. 

“I need to clear my thoughts. I'll be fine.” you said and you heard her heels stop clicking. You figured she gave up with your stubborn attitude and went back. No more than a minute later, she was pulled up driving next to you as you walked. 

“Sweetie, I'm sorry, please get in the car and then we can talk about it.” she said, genuine sorrow and worry laced in her tone which led you to look up at her.

“I dont want to fucking talk Melissa.” you said with your voice raised, walking ahead once more. 

“Get in the car.” she demanded with a flat tone that intimidated you to your bones. You ignored her and she stopped the car, you stopped walking and looked over and she raised an eyebrow at you. “Just let me get you home safe and ill give you all the space you want.” she said softly and the amount of care that seeped out of her words made your heart flutter and you walked over and got in the car. After a few moments of silence you sighed. 

“Did you talk to anyone else?” you asked and she nodded.

“After I found out I went to Ava’s office and she was with Jamie and they told me there was nothing they could do. Trust me when I say I tried baby. Then they said I would get replaced if I told you. You nodded in shock and chewed on your lip before starting back up.

“God I mean did you tell them to cut someone else? To fire fucking Gary or something?” you asked and she nodded. 

“Yes baby I tried but they said they had no other choice.” her brows pushed together as she rubbed your thigh in comfort. 

“Fuck.” you muttered looking down and running a hand through your hair. “What the hell am I going to do, I mean finding a new job isn't hard but leaving my friends and you. Not to mention I'll have to go work at another bro-ey tech department.” you rolled your eyes and she sighed.

“I know hon, I'm sorry. I will help you find a new position and I'm sure we have time to find a good fit.” she tried her best to comfort you but you were so angry that Ava allowed this to happen and you knew you would either snap or start crying so you just turned and looked out the window.

“And you… why didn't you just tell me?” you muttered with judgment and her mouth turned down in guilt. 

“I don't know. I just panicked.” she said softly and you nodded, accepting her reasoning and deciding to just forget about it for tonight. You got to your house and insisted she didn't need to walk you to the door, so you grabbed your things and looked at her with an awkward smile. 

“I guess ill maybe, see you at work on Monday.” you joked and she just stared at you with sympathy, you kissed her cheek and she kissed yours before you got out and headed inside. 

After you got inside you immediately showered and got ready for bed, you finally checked your phone as you turned on your TV and sat on your plush comforter. There were messages from Melissa, one letting you know she made it home, and one apologizing again. As you read them she texted again asking if you were mad and you pondered for a moment. You sat up and flipped to your camera, sitting against the pillows, you held your arm out, your thighs up to your mouth in frame, wearing a sheer burgundy panty set. You looked at it before sending it along with ‘we are okay’ and then you put your phone on silent, and went to sleep. Leaving Melissa with nothing but the photo of you.

--

this was a quick little one I hope yall like these angsty fics sorry about no smut

please send int requests yall!! and feel free to ask for other characters and ill lyk if I write for em.

[bubybubsters]

No Yes (T. Nott x reader)

a/n: @thatdammchickennugget jinxed july

prompt: "I can't say 'no' to you.'

THIS IS THE FLUFF VERSION

FIND THE ANGST VERSION HERE (only if you want to cry)

"Shut up," Pansy hissed from the front of your 7 person group.

A grumble of annoyance and various sarcastic comments were her only response. You could see her scowl and smiled despite the look in her eyes.

The lot of you had snuck onto hogwarts grounds and were now peeking out of the forbidden forest. "Guys, sprint towards the lake in 10 seconds," you mumbled, effectively shutting everyone up.

"Set... Go!"

You burst out the bushes dragging your boyfriend, Theodore Nott, with you. The two of you ran for the lake, trying not to laugh at the insanity of what you were doing.

The moment you reached the lake you started on protective spells that would block you from being spotted or heard. Draco stood to your left, copying your movements and carefully weaving the two of your spells together.

Blaise and Mattheo started setting up 4 couples tents (even though Lorenzo was on his own) and Theo started pulling out food. The second you were done you went to help him but he grabbed your hand and led you away.

"Theo!" You whisper chastising him softly.

"Shh bella, just wanted a moment with you." He presses kisses to your neck, making you arch into his body.

"We really shouldn't-" he cuts you off with a soft bite on your pressure point.

You give in, letting him leave marks along your collarbones.

"I'm gonna do something special for you." He grumbles. "I'm going to make you fall in love with me all over again."

Later that night, you're sitting on the edge of the lake, legs dangling in the cool water.

"Hey principessa." Theo sits next to you, now bare-chested and with a bottle of wine in hand.

"Swim with me?" He asks, smiling sweetly at you.

"Of course," you roll your eyes, "You should know by now, I can't say 'no' to you!"

Theo's eyes light up, brighter than ever, and as if in response, the world becomes more vibrant. Sounds seem more full, touches more whole. You decide you love this new world.

That night, everything seems to pass in a blur; you and Theo exchanging kisses in the dark, trading sips of wine. Theo carrying you out of the water and peppering you with kisses before slipping you into your sleeping bag and wrapping his arms around you.

As your breathing evens out you remember hearing softly spoken words that really do cause you to fall in love with Theo all over again.

"I love you, forever, even when we're gone and only specs in the ground. I will love you, bend to your every whim, make all your dreams come true. I promise you that."

That night is the second time you fall asleep with a smile on your face (the first being after your first date with Theo.)

The next day came and you woke up to a charming boyfriend and a picnic basket. The two of you sat outside and laughed at Draco trying to charm his girlfriend into diving off a cliff with him. He ended up being pushed off and screaming like the blonde baby he is.

That day was the best day of your life (or so you thought at the time).

A year and a half later, on your anniversary to Theo.

Your smile at the milky way, eyes tracking the stars across the night sky. Oh how you loved them, the constellations, the glowing nebulas, and mostly, the glistening moon.

"Theo!" You turn and your voice dies off as you gawk at the sight before you. Your boyfriend, on one knee, ring in hand, smirking at you.

"Theo..." you murmur in complete awe.

He smiles at you, watercolor eyes shining. "Y/n, will you do me the extreme honor, of marrying me?"

"Yes!" The word is ripped out of your lips. You fall to your knees, wrapping your arms around your now fiancé. "Yes, yes, yes, of course I'll marry you! I can't say 'no' to you, remember?

That day becomes your favorite day in the whole world.

thank you @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

[leviathanleva]

Daisy

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader [DARK FIC]

Description: Cooper Howard was not a kind man, he cared for nobody, but himself. Then he found you, a lost little dove, barefoot and crying, torn dress and big innocent eyes staring at him like he was a hero. He knew you’d be a burden, he knew you couldn’t survive in the wasteland, he was doing you a favor.

But he couldn’t pull the fucking trigger...

........................

[MDNI, Mention of Suicide, Smoking, Non-consensual Choking, Alcohol Consumption]

[6.6k words] 🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

Chapter 9 "The Glass"

Good things never lasted.

You were going to get a bitter reminder of that little fact by the end of the day and looking back, you wished you’d just died the night before when you were happy.

Cooper had left before sunrise, rasped a few commands to stay put and that he wouldn’t be long, to talk to Mitzi if you needed anything and put it on his tab. You’d been too drowsy to consider the anomaly, him leaving you to your leisure, out of his sight for more than a few moments. Your answer had been barely coherent, muffled into the pillow as your body lay squished between the mattress and the ghoul. Sloppy palms had given your plushy hips a few squeezes, a brash peck or two to your shoulder and he was gone.

You awoke properly a few hours later, late into the morning. The bleary memories flooded back, but the warm sunlight and the clinking and buzz of life stirring from the main floor kept the dread from sinking too deep.

He’d be back, you weren’t abandoned, the leathery bandolier discarded on the couch said as much, it eased your uncertainty the moment you’d spotted it behind a curtain of messy hair. And until then, Mitzi would be your consolation. Harmless naivety had you imagining serving customers and clearing up tables while indulging in idle chatter together, counting caps and scribbling orders while immersed in a lighthearted repartee.  

After a prolonged yawn and a thorough stretch that earned a few satisfying pops from your back, you slid from beneath the heavy, woolen comforter. Your boots are neatly set on the floor beside the foot of the bed, tights stuffed inside one of them while your socks occupy the other; you fiddle with them, pull them on, and tie them securely.

A peculiar, but not unfamiliar symphony catches your attention and you peek out the window curiously. The huddled, snoozing brahmin from last night are now serenely moping around the front yard, grazing at the scarce weeds that sprout around the vegetable garden or sunbathing on the powdery ground. There’s a person tending the plants, clad in a large straw hat and baggy clothes, ankles deep in mud and with an empty bucket on their hip along with a pair of rusty sheers.

Fingers comb through your hair and pat it down to a barely presentable state before you rub the sleep out of your eyes and roll the stiffness out of your shoulders. Standing, you shake the numbness off and tap the tip of your shoes into the floor to set them in place.

The smell of coffee lingers, sharp and bitter, it leads you through the mouldering corridor and down the creaky stairs, into the bar. The music still plays and the shadowy figures are now nothing more than brooding travelers nurturing either a hangover or sleeplessness. Daytime is less kind to the appearance of the guesthouse, specs of dust can be spotted in the brash sunrays flooding through the windows, the time-touched signs on every bit of furniture are obvious now. The omnicity and furtiveness have vanished, all is mundane and regular; the cigarette smog yet persists, rivaled only by the stench of old grease being reheated to prepare the breakfast items from the menu.

“Cooper’s runt.”

Your head snaps to the bar and there stands a beefy woman who would easily beat most if not all her clientele in arm wrestling. A stick-and-poke tattoo of a cupid is proudly displayed on her shoulder, a mane of curly black hair is tied back into a low ponytail, beady eyes are eating you up like a snack and you instinctively straighten out some of the less defined creases in your dress.

“Uh…Good morning?” you bear an uneasy smile, hoping that her comment was one of bluntness and not hostility.

The gold in her mouth glints as she beckons you closer with a canine grin.

“Indeed a good mornin’. Not a single raider got cooked on the fence yesterday and m’ dogs didn’t stir all night!” leaving the pile of caps for later, she rests an elbow on the counter and extends a hand to you. “I’m guessing Mitzie was too hyper to give me a proper introduction. Happens sometimes when unfamiliar faces stop by, don’t mind ‘er.” you shake her hand with hesitancy and pull away too hastily for someone who’s trying to mask their intimidation. She scoffs at your skittish nature. “M’ name’s Monique, owner of this fine establishment.”

As if on cue with you sitting on one of the bar stools, a strikingly large hound pokes its head from behind the mass of stained coffee cups yet to be cleared for washing and greets you with a bellowing bark. You start with a choked cry and recoil as the furless beast strains forward with a twitching snout, eager to give you a good sniff.

“Jesus Christ!”

“Bucky, down!” Monique is quick to scold the dog and its once perked ears lower, the energetic whining, however, doesn’t waver. “What I tell you ‘bout scaring customers? You ain’t a pup no more.”

She pushes down on his massive head until he’s out of sight, but the visually grotesque mutt is far from discouraged. Carrying the heart of a Labrador, he’s set to complete his innocent mission of establishing a new friendship and add it to his vast collection.

You hear the patter of clawed paws and soon he reappears, having circled the counter and now eagerly sat beside your chair, beaming up at you while his curious nose pokes at the side of your thigh. Your first instinct is to stiffen, Bucky isn’t the only mongrel you’ve seen, but the rest had all been rabid and out for blood, driven mad by both homelessness and radiation.

“He don’t bite.”

You vaguely register his owner’s quip, attention glued to the shiny slobber being happily spread over your tights.

There are dogs like Cujo and dogs like Lassie and your caution was founded, but it was doing Bucky a disservice. Poor bud was pleading for a pat and a good belly rub. Gathering enough courage to still the shakiness of your fingers, you plant them gently over the pooch’s wrinkled forehead and let them rest there to see his reaction. He’s delighted, the stump of a tail on his butt almost vibrating when you reach to scratch behind his chewed-up ear.

“Good pup.” you mirror his doggy grin, lovingly assaulting him with both hands now and he’s happily melting against your leg, snout stuffed into your dress and dampening it with open mouthed, hot huffs. “He’s lovely.”

“Of course!” Monique shrugs with a prideful snort. “I trained ‘em.” she’s back to counting yesterday’s profit while comparing separate piles to the list of orders.

Once Bucky has melted into a satisfied puddle on the floor you’re left to awkwardly eye the place while mulling over what to say next or if you should at all. Without Cooper standing between you and the world, it became difficult to find your courage and be your own entity. You’d never been apart, you’d grown co-dependent and not only on his marvelous gunslinging but on his presence as a whole. Starting from him being your only means of familiarity and safety, to you clinging to him now as your single source of comfort. You relied on him for everything. If that bit of info had been obscured before, pushed to the back of your mind due to bigger problems needing solving, now it was blatantly obvious.

 The bartender was no danger, she was great albeit a little rough around the edges, and her pet being this friendly spoke more than words ever could. Still, a mental barrier prevented your voice from showing. You were mute and bolted to the stool until an event requiring a change happened.

“So you here to chat or can I getcha anything?”

Monique, the absolute angel of a woman, had finished up her daily counting of caps and was expectantly staring you down. You doubted she was aware of her kind act, but were grateful regardless because if she hadn’t spoken up you never would have, not for a while at least.

“Is there coffee?” you perk up at the offer, display the sweetest smile you can make up, and drown the dreary train of thought that had been on its way to ruin your day.

“Mitzie! Cup o’ coffee for Doe Eyes!” she leans back to holler at the kitchen door, then turns to you. “Ten caps.”

You had a nickname already, how quaint.

“Actually, can you put it on C –”

“– I’ll pay.” your second favorite ghoul steps out of the kitchen with a tray in hand and you were expecting her to be just as cheery as the previous night if not more, but she’s anything but. “You can make it up to me with a good chat, yeah?”

She’s looking at you with incomprehensible unease which sparks worry in your gut. There’s a weight to her movements, something fowl plaguing her that can’t be blamed on just lack of sleep, but by her droopy eyes, you can tell that’s also a factor.

“…Sure?” is all you manage before she sits beside you and pushes the steaming mug towards you.

“Ma, I’m sorry. Can you please serve breakfast for me? I’ll take over after this, just…” she doesn’t finish, the rest of the words between her and Monique are exchanged non-verbally and the stout woman flares up.

You expect her to say something by the way her jaw tightens and her beady eyes narrow, she doesn’t. Instead, she spares you a glance that lingers too long for it to be anything but disheartening and leaves. You follow her until she’s out of sight, made anxious by their queer exchange and vaguely acknowledging the unbearably scalding cup of coffee in your hands.

“Right…Before I say anything I want you to at least consider my words, okay?” there’s an urgency to her voice, she’s drumming her fingers over the counter, and her baby blues turned ghostly grey are glued to you to make sure your attention is solely centered on her. “This isn’t just me spouting shit to scare you off or stir trouble.”

It’s unnerving, Mitzie’s shift of character is turning your friendliness into apprehensiveness. You’d be empathetic to her perturbed state, but all emotion is overwhelmed by the incessant foreboding forming a lump in your throat.

“What?” you blurt while nervously tracing the edge of the cup. Shifting more comfortably into your stool, you lower until you’re nearly lying on the bar with ears strained and a whirring mind. “Mitzie, what’s going – ”

 “ – Promise me.”

There is nothing subtle about the way you’re etching closer to her, anyone with one good eye would spot the direness in your conversation. What you wished for was to know why there were such macabre undertones to her speech. A night had passed since you’d last seen each other. What could have possibly happened for her to look as though she was about to attend a funeral?

With the way she’s positioned, body directly facing you and her head slightly rolled to the side, she can easily switch from watching you to checking the entrance of the guesthouse. She does just that, gaze darting back and forth and waiting for something, anticipating. It’s nerve-wracking, makes your stomach coil.

What the hell is going on?

“I…Sure, okay. I promise.” you answer, obliging her in the hopes that it eases some of her worries. “What’s going on?”

She nudges you to drink before your coffee gets cold, then combats your question with her own.

“How long have you known Cooper?”

“Couple months…Why?” your best efforts to keep an even, soft tone fail and your reply comes out curt and snappy.

“What do you know about him?” she gives you no room to breathe, fires another inquiry even with your apparent skepticism towards the conversation.

The music and simmering liveliness are drowned out by the steadily increasing beat of your heart. Your surroundings fade, blocked from your peripherals until it’s only you, Mitzie and Bucky as he soundly snoozes in your feet. You envy him and his ignorance.

Her question does more damage than intended.

Truthfully, you know nothing of your short-tempered companion, you wouldn’t even know his name if it hadn’t been for the slip-up in Tillburry. You’d based his adamance of keeping you uninformed on his lack of trust, but by the incredulous way Mitzie had asked, you began doubting that excuse. You’d traversed enough land and shared countless nights huddled together, sharing a meal, sharing everything, watching each other’s backs. Surely by now, you’d earned the right to know at least his age, yet he’d revealed nothing to you. You light up the conniving musing with the scalding heat of your drink and let simmer away as you respond.

“I mean…Not much, but –”

“– Fucking typical…” she snarls, doesn’t let you finish, already knowing the answer, her gaunt features turn malignant, and the grimace she bears is bone-chilling. Mitzie checks the horizon beyond the freshly wiped windows, shifts uncomfortably, as if ladened by her uniform, and continues with urgency. “Listen to me, I know his words probably outweigh mine, I mean, we’re not really friends you and I. And you don’t have to believe me…but for your own sake I hope you do.”

She’s gesturing down with her hand, palms spread and visible to soothe your hastily dissipating patience. Your prickliness doesn’t wane and the more she tries to tame it while spouting gibberish the worse it gets. You cross both legs and arms, barricading your tumultuous heart from the trepidatious babbling and letting go of the politeness keeping the bubbling vulgar words out of your vocabulary.

To hell with manners and formalities if you were going to be interrogated without being given a reason why.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“He’s not a good man.” she whispers while cupping her mouth and it’s low, but with enough certainty for you to hear perfectly. “Cooper. He’s bad…real fucking bad.”

“You aren’t telling me anything new.” you shake your head with a series of blinks, unmoved. Her deciding to sit you down and work you up for a serious conversation to tell you this while Cooper is away instead of simplifying it to a passing comment while she’s working is more of a surprise than the information itself.

Was this fiasco truly about the bounty hunter’s moral compass? Really?

“You don’t get it…” she clasps a hand over her forehead with a pained expression and a groan, then lets it slide down to rub her eyes. “He doesn’t care about anybody. He sure as fuck doesn’t care about you. You just can’t see it yet.”

“That’s a bit presumptuous, isn’t it?” you deflect with a half-frown. “I mean, sure. He’s not great, but he’s been patient with me, he’s a good friend. He’s kept me alive so far when he could have left me behind plenty of times.”

“Yeah? Good friend?” there’s mockery hanging off every word, then Mitzie pauses as if debating whether she should say more. For a moment she’s mournful, regretful that she’s burdened with ripping apart the delusion you’ve lived in thus far. “So did he tell you he has a family?”

The world stops, you falter.

“What?”

To behold a human break from the utterance of so few words is a sad imagery.

“Told me one night when he was high off his ass.” her words cut deep, slice through your cool demeanor until you’re left bare before the raw turmoil that beats you down until you’re physically doubling over. She grips your hand as a reminder that she’s still there and not hurting you out of spite. “A daughter and a wife. He’s looking for them, Honeybee. He isn’t making friends with you, he’s using you.”

You look at her hand over yours. It reminds you of his.

“That’s not…”

Unlike her who is high on alert and jumping at every creak or shuffle, you’re far away. Ripped out of your body as her truths knock on your skull and try to sink it, you’re scrambling to regain feeling in your legs, fighting to remember how to move your lips to form a coherent sentence. Heat rises from the bowels of your stomach to the peak of your neck, nips at your ears until you’re conscious of their existence, and submerged in an almost deafening screeching.

“His daughter’s name is Janey. Ask em yourself if you don’t believe me.”

Searing pinches assault your scalp, you scratch them away, but more appear and you’re left pulling at fistfuls of hair to ease some of the pulsing tension rendering your vision doubled. You have to grip the counter before you tumble off the chair, any sign of balance or proper motor function is gone, overshadowed by that screaming that’s tormenting your hearing and making your teeth ache.

A daughter…a wife…

You’d had your tongue ravaging the mouth of someone’s husband. What the actual fuck. You would have let him take you if he’d so wished.

Cooper falls in your eyes then, his pedestal – desecrated, his value – diminished. You hoped the love would die, that your affection would flee just as fast as the shame had settled. But it doesn’t, he’d made damn sure you’d stay a loyal bitch, had worked your cogs from the start until you were enamored.

You felt disgusting, wanted to crawl out of your skin.

“Mitzie…” sullen, destroyed, humiliated, still you defend him, still you fight against the stinging reality that burrows into your flesh and writhes until you’re close to hurling. Still, you try to keep the halo above his head from completely cracking while gathering the pieces of your scattered mind, alone, of course, because you know he’d never do what you do for him. “That’s none of my business, neither yours.”

Preserving his reputation while yours crumbles away, pathetic. Have you no self-respect? No. Not when it comes to him.

“Yes it is!” she exclaims, spills too much too brashly in her frustration. “I saw you through the keyhole…last night.”

Her vigor fades at the repulsion plastered on your face. You rip away from her, refusing all contact except that of your hardened eyes burning into hers for answers.

“You were spying on us?”

The bridge she’d built between you was burnt, the gates to your impressionable mind shut before her. The trust she’d earned was stomped and left to rot. That single jumble of a confession thrown in the hopes of convincing you further tore apart any ounce of tolerance you had left.

With a slack jaw, she watches your lids close over guttural anguish and your mouth twitch into a thin line as you hold back the bitter betrayal from surfacing.

“Enough…”

Your voice is unrecognizable.

Fuck her. Fuck him! Fuck everything…

You should have never stopped at this damnable place.

“Wait…Wait, please, wait, wait, wait.” she clings to your arm before you’ve walked too far, baby blues dashing around random spots in search of a proper expression. “I was scared for you.” she confesses over hoarseness due to either a dry throat or uncontrollable emotions. She’s shaking you, desperate to make you understand and giving no fucks about how stupid the pair of you look or how much attention she draws. “You can’t trust him, please listen to me! He’s leading you to slaughter!”

“I don’t trust rats.”

Glistening with stifled tears at the absolute hatred in your snarl, Mitzie loosens her hold and her head dips. Too kind to push her away and leave, too hurt to accept her accusations as the truth, you’re stuck in a limbo of numbness and hollow pain. You’d urge her to cry if she’s so riled up, would have lent a shoulder and cried with her. But there is only so much a person can take.

Blow after blow, you’re left too stunted to express anything despite everything inside you twisting.

“There’s…a place.” she murmurs while tugging you to the stairs where shadows reign to hide both of you from curious onlookers and save you the trouble. “It’s half a day away from here. Super Duper Mart. It’s…It’s an organ harvesting business.”

“I’m not…Get to the fucking point.” you command, but your tone wavers and your mouth shuts before an unsolicited sob escapes.

“Please, let me go…Please…I can’t anymore…”

“Ghouls need a certain substance to stay sane. All of us do. Super Duper Mart sells it. Usually, we sell a kidney to get a few vials, it grows back in a day or two. Or a ton of caps, but not a lot of people can afford that.” she swallows something vile, and rearranges her next words in a way that doesn’t outright spit at everything you’ve known to be your existence so far, your false reality. “Or, we sell someone else’s organs.”

You shudder, lean against the railing before your knees give out, and suck in a shaky breath as the ice licks your spine raw.

“Please don’t…”

“Let me live a lie. Let me die happy.”

“He only stops here when he’s going there.”

“Mitzie.” your warning falls on deaf ears.

“You’re a product, not a person.” she chokes you with harsh facts, steers the reins of your sanity towards a meltdown and it doesn’t take long for your mouth to drip with blood from biting open wounds into your bottom lip. “Not to him.” she catches you when you wobble, blows at your face because you’ve turned ghostly pale. “You need to get the hell out of whatever shit he’s gotten you into. Leave before it’s too late.”

“Where the hell am I supposed to go? I don’t know shit about surviving alone…I depend on him for everything.” you croak and taste bile on your tongue.

“You could stay here…” she mumbles, salving over the gashes she caused. “Could always use another pair of hands, if you’re willing to pay for your supper in labor.” she pats your head, brushes the hair to expose dead eyes staring right through her, but that doesn’t stop her from playing hero. “I talked with ma already, and Cooper isn’t stupid, he wouldn’t pull a gun here. Just tell him you don’t wanna travel with him anymore when he’s back. Or I can do it, I don’t mind.” she’s so kind, a sweet deformed woman, a sisterly guide trying to save you from the jaws of the reaper. “You have a choice. You have a chance. Please…”

But you don’t want her. You want him.

You wave a deathly calm hand and draw an end to her verbal molestation. Whisked away by the last burst of energy available, your back greets her as you ascend the stairs, leave her and everything she’s thrown at you behind. Trapped into the premises of your head, you forget speech and hearing as she meagerly calls to you for an answer.

Uncaring for your mental limitations as she is, Mitzie doesn’t pursue. Maybe it’s best you contemplate your next actions in solitude.

Tear-stained vision leads you to the safety of your room before you crumble to the floor, looming over the toilet as you lurch spit and air. You wish to be rid of this entire experience, throw up everything you’ve heard and said.

Nothing comes out.

The ringing subsides along with all worldly sensations just a moment later as you lie limp inside the bathroom with eyes rolled into the back of your head. Darkness has consumed both thought and feeling, lulling you into still nothingness. Steady breaths cast a sheet of vapor over the cool tiles.

Woe is you, weak, pathetic thing, dreaming of adventure and independence, freedom and love. Here is your independence now, your freedom, your love, your pleas were answered. Take them. You’ve wanted them for so long… Take them now.

It’s the scratching that pulls you out of unconsciousness. Fingers twitch to life first, then your senses return albeit groggy and dull. You’ve no interest in company, but the single needy whine amidst the determined scraping makes you overturn that decision.

With no recollection of when you’d fainted or for how long, you’re whimpering and nurturing a heavy migraine.

Bucky, your savior, lets himself in happily when you manage to crawl to the door and open it. The mere sight of him, so glad to see you again and wagging that stump of a tail, draws the last straw of your composure. You claw at him until he’s sitting between your legs, resting a slobbering snout against your shoulder as you weep into his thick neck, possessed by ugly sobs that shake your entire being.

He snaps his jaws a few times, a gentle brute, as you hug him close and suffocate in despair and loathing until you’re spent. He stays with you when you stand on wonky feet and pop a Rad-X before taking a shower that lasts long enough to count for two. Ever loyal and eager, you bathe him as well while he tries to bite the water current.

A clean boy, the goodest of boys, the crutch to your broken self. He licks the droplets off your calves as you let your dress dry you off and don’t bother to towel your hair.

Nobody told you drinking on an empty stomach is a death sentence, but you’re desperate to quiet down your wounded soul and racing imagination so the outcome would have been the same. The bourbon is sweet against your throat, doesn’t burn one but this time and Bucky is a warm, soft pillow to your floating head once it becomes too heavy for your shoulders to bear. Tucked into the couch and comforted by nasal puffs as your companion drifts in and out of sleep, you’re too exhausted to keep crying but the dry, infrequent sobs persist.

An eternity passes before the dog’s ears perk up and you’re woefully unprepared for the discussion that is to come.

The light from the corridor is blinding. The ghoul is standing at the door, a dark silhouette whose shadow stretches far into the room and almost reaches you. A hand comes up to shield your eyes as you groan.

“Well, well, well.” he sneers and switches the lamp on for you to see the demeaning smirk. His expression as a whole is not kind, Bucky, the wonderful boy, is currently in his spot and Cooper isn’t one for sharing. “See you’ve replaced me already.” he gestures towards the exit, holding the door open, and spits a harsh command. “Get!”

You don’t want to be left alone with this man, preferring to leave along with the dog and it shows by the anxiety burdening your features. The alcohol lingers still, makes your limbs feel like stone as you sit up and rub at your reddened, puffy lids.

Your pulse is already picking up speed when he slumps in the chair opposite to you and lights a cigarette before tilting his head back. The question is readied on the tip of your tongue and you’re irritated because it’s so damnably difficult to voice it. You press an attentive hand to your neck to encourage something to come out while the other sinks into your thigh until the flesh changes color.

“Are you gonna sell me, Mister?” you shoot in between plans on how to approach the matter and let loose a curt breath, relieved that it’s out of your system.

The casual swaying of his knee stops.

He straightens up, abandoning his nonchalant posture to give you a good once-over with the smoke secured between his lips.

You’re an unmistakably macabre sight even under the weak glare of the dying lightbulb. Bloodshot orbs nestled into a saggy face, sucked-in lips framing a ghost of a frown, he couldn’t see how contorted your body was from behind the table, but by the hung shoulders and lowered neck it’s obvious the rest of you isn’t pretty.

There’s a great amount of bourbon missing when he decides to pour himself a glass midway through his examination.

But all those factors can’t compete with the title you’d used to address him.

Mister.

You hadn’t used that since you’d learned his name and it was the first red flag he’d picked up, a warning that something was terribly amiss, that something vital had occurred while he’d been gone and now it’s his turn to have a taste of it.

“I’ve entertained the thought.” he scoffs through a meager smirk. You give him a look that washes away all hues of jokingness, the tiny hint of concern he displays would have been comforting, but you’ve been disturbed to where his crumbs of affection are useless. His hat is tipped to one side, guarding his shifting expression as he asks: “Was goin’ on, Darlin’?”

You want to scream. Yell all that you’ve been told and beg him to assure you none of it is true because, for God’s sake, he’d kissed you the night before and now you know he has a family waiting for him somewhere. You want Mitzie to be the villain who’s causing mischief for the sake of it because he’s your hero and he’s supposed to save the day. Deep down, you know your wishes will go unanswered and maybe that’s why you don’t completely break down before him.

He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve anything.

“Are you going to sell me?” you repeat with more force and less uncertainty, fueling yourself with enough malice to keep you from backing out of the confrontation. You won’t falter, you refuse.

“Who you been talkin’ to?”

He’s evasive and it’s tugging at your nerves. Despite your desperation for answers, you decide to at least respond properly, you’re weakhearted unlike him, you’re prone to show sympathy.

“Mitzie.” a hand comes up to rub away the goosebumps on your upper arm and your gaze steers away from his. You’re not keen on putting Mitzie in the spotlight, but you’d rather be truthful, maybe it will push him towards reciprocating. Guilt sprouts in your chest before you curtly remind yourself that you’re not the bad guy here. “She told me a few things…”

His apprehensive visage turns vicious, lanky limbs become taut, and his clothes squeak in strain as he settles into a less open posture. If he’d had any intent on taking down walls to let you in, it had died by the utterance of that name. His lips are pulled back in a nasty snarl.

“Should’a stuffed a bullet down ‘er throat long time ago.”

It’s an insult to you and your intelligence, he’s painted you as gullible while dismissing Mitzie’s credibility without even giving a reason. He doesn’t need to defend his stance, either you believe him or you don’t and you have for the longest time, but when so much information has been thrown at your face regarding him and he can’t even refute the claims, you’re left second-guessing.

“You’d rather kill her than answer my question?” you’re revolted at his savage revelation and it shows in the twisted way your tone lowers. But you're empathetic even to the undeserving and watching him lash out like a cornered animal causes you to soften. “You know I’d trust your word over anyone else’s.” your attempt at reaching past the acidic, gruff exterior he’s hidden behind fails, he’s not interested in being vulnerable or deepening your bond, he’d rather stay a feral simpleton. Another insult, another stab at what you’d thought was a connection in the making. You swallow through a tight gullet, pained beyond belief. “You’re despicable.”

“Watch yer mouth, Missy.” he spits back.

He dares to scold you when he’s in the center of the dilemma. He demands respect when he’s the cause of the anguish poisoning your once hallowed spirit. He’s the problem and he has the audacity to treat you like a misbehaving child.

Angry tears weigh on your lashes, you grit your teeth to strangle a sob that threatens to rob you of all the authority and composure you’ve built.

“You never answered my question.”

The lamp flickers in an ominous prediction of his next words.

“And what if I do?” detached, cold; not a human, but a creature made of melted skin and unfathomable disregard for other beings speaks to you. A spiteful, ugly man who you’d grown to cherish so passionately is throwing bile at you because he’s not the misunderstood morally grey Superman you’d hoped for, he’s just a pile of shit and the best you could do is walk away. He’s terrible and he lets you know by continuing to belittle you and all the love you’d shown him. “Gonna snap outta your teenage dotin’ ‘nd see me the way I am?” with a cruel smile, he shrugs. “Told you I’m rotten, Sweetheart. Didn’t listen, did ya?”

You don’t regret what slips off your tongue next.

He deserves all the despair you’ve felt, the betrayal. You’ve long since drowned in hopelessness, submerged in scenarios of how you’ll go on without him as chances were – he’d probably leave after all this, his persona was unmasked, he had no reason to stick around anymore. He should at least be ashamed of his actions, but to do that one needs to have a conscience and so far he’s not shown signs of any.

You don’t mean to stoop to his level, but his ridicule is just that contagious.

“Janey?��� a palpable pause, so thick with dread. You don’t leave it there; you plunge the knife deeper. “Is that really your daughter’s name?”

He’s on you in an instant.

Having lunged out of his chair, he’s squeezing your throat so ferociously you choke. He’s ready to kill and by the way his pupils shrink, he just might.

Demonic above you, forcing you down onto the sofa, he looks like he’ll rip you apart.

“Never say that name again. Ever!”

He’s a nightmare. His devastating grimace will forever stay burned into your memory. But for once you’re ready to fight back and you do so with vigorous hatred.

“Don’t touch me you fucking freak!”

You manage to slide your knees between your bodies and kick him with all your might. For the first time, your actions have an effect, he stumbles back, nearly knocks the table over. You’d thrown him off with such force it surprises both of you. Delicate things can also be fierce. But were you delicate? Not anymore, not like before. The wasteland had taken its toll on you, he had as well. Stripping you of all your beauty, now you were just like the rest of them – cruel, gross, burdened, haunted.

“Don’t ever touch me you manipulative, disgusting, vile – ” you jut a shaky finger at him, longing to berate him all night, but your voice cracks and you shut your mouth as if he hadn’t already seen how shattered you are.

You suck in a tattered breath and stand. The barrel of his pistol points at you as you lean closer, he cocks it without hesitation, but you don’t flinch, instead grabbing for the matches and box of cigarettes he’d left next to his now spilled drink. Maneuvering sluggishly, you sit on the windowsill, facing away as he audibly plops back in the chair and slams his glass into the table before pouring another batch of bourbon. Like drowning in alcohol could fix all this shit…

Typical for him, you’re not surprised.

Never in your life have you lit a match, but you’d rather waste his entire box than ask him for help. You pinch a smoke between your lips, your first and hopefully last, strike the match and it flares to life.

Bitter and chalky, leaves your tongue dry and your head light, a physical manifestation of death, you like the taste and the suffocating fumes that circle your nose despite the open window. You’re supposed to cough and recoil, throw it away because it’s suicide wrapped in paper, instead, you look back and toss the two little boxes to their owner, hoping to hit him.

The night is cold, the chill is pleasant against your skin, it sweeps away a part of the haze you’d been engrossed in during the day.

“You never told me you had a family.” it’s more of a shared thought than a statement; you stare up at the sky, dangling one bare foot into the air until the steady breeze numbs your toes. “Never told me you were looking for them.” your battle zest dissipates as you continue mumbling out the decrepit sorrowful melody of your heart. “Never told me fucking anything…”

“My family ain’t none o’ your concern.” comes a hiss from behind you to deter your scornful moping. You scoff at that, shake your head at your stupid, unwavering faith in him rather than his reply.

You’re still trying to find a spec of goodness after all this, it’s laughable.

“I thought we were friends…or…or partners.” you toss the cigarette bud when the flame scalds your fingers, let the smoke exit your lungs through a heave. “You’re supposed to share with me!” hands obscure your face from the world as you suffer through a few sobs and swallow mouthfuls of tears. “I care for you so much…I’d do anything for you. But you’re just – ”

He’s cruel though, whether screaming and kicking or on your knees crying, it makes no difference to him. He doesn’t care. Did he ever?

“We ain’t no friends.” he states it as the fact it is. “We ain’t nothin’.”

“You’re right…” you nod, giggle even as you wipe your cheeks dry. “Friends don’t sell each other for organ harvesting.”

You never heard the new batch of vials clinking in his coat pocket, didn’t see the freshly stitched scar in the middle of his back, where his kidney used to be. How were you supposed to know when he never told you anything?

So it comes as a surprise when he throws the spare glass and it shatters next to your head and makes you wince. His sudden burst of anger is a mystery and it’s his own fault.

For once he’d been good, for once he’d put someone else before himself and this is what he got.

 “You know what’s really pathetic?” you let go of a bitter laugh, wet and putrid, but it’s shortlived, you return to curling up and mumbling because he doesn’t deserve to know how precious he is to you, but you want to let it all out and be done with this. “The only reason why I’d be sad if you sold me is that I’d be away from you.”

“Don’t fuckin’ say that…”

A blip of something other than rage or mock, but he’s too late to the party. You’ve already dedicated to demolishing all that he’s poisoned with his touch, all his self-control and stoicism.

“I’d rather die by your hand than be taken away.” you glimpse down at the shards scattered next to your thigh to find your reflection in much the same state - broken. “I’m a coward, I guess. I never wanted this life…but I’m too scared to end it myself.”

Crack

Crack

The glass shatters in his hand, the only reminder left of the paradise from the night before, he’d broken both of them, first yours, then his. The pieces spread, deftly falling to the floor as the bourbon drips from the edge of the table.

 “Good night, Mister.”

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Chapter 10 >>>

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[fanwarriorfictions]

Help Me, Help You - Part One

Fenrys x F!Reader

Summary- In his search for the missing member of the cadre, Fenrys stumbles upon Vaughan’s little sister, who is also searching for her brother. They strike a deal, and set of to find the slippery male.

Warnings- tiny bit of angst if you squint

Based on this ask

Series Masterlist

Part One

There was a cat following him.

It had been for several days now, ever since he’d shown up in the small village just north of Verese. He wouldn’t have paid the creature any mind if it hadn’t been for the keen eyes that tracked his every step to the small inn that first night. And again, when it showed up that morning as soon as Fenrys stepped into the village market.

Fenrys had been searching for Vaughan for months now, since the end of the war, since he’d driven Goldryn into Maeve’s black heart and watched as Aelin burned her to ash, since her death hadn’t fixed any of the broken pieces of him.

He’d set off soon after that, to look for the final member of the cadre, to offer him a place in Terrasen, to distract his mind from the memories.

In the time Fenrys had searched, he’d only been able to find small signs that the male even existed. Picking rumors from towns and villages, but Vaughan was smart, he didn’t leave a trail if he could get away with it.

Sometimes Fenrys would follow a lead only to hit a dead end, turning back to find that the male had went the complete opposite direction.

He’d heard rumors of a to large osprey flying north from Wendlyn’s capital. So he’d followed them to this tiny little spec of a village. Full of humans who were to hesitant or downright to terrified to speak to him, even when Fenrys flashed his charming smile.

Though he understood that the effect was diminished by the scars that now adorned one side of his face. His eye just barely spared from the damage.

He’d refused to heal the wounds, had refused to tell anyone why he’d let them scar, only telling Aelin once that he wanted to remember. She hadn’t pried, he almost wished she had.

The only thing that didn’t seem to mind the scars in this village was the damned cat. It simply watched him as he struck out with every single vendor in the market, those keen eyes examining him from head to toe. Day after day, it watched.

Now, Fenrys openly glares back at the creature, larger than a usual house cat, more like one of the forest cats that hunted in Oakwald, the dark grey and white fur perfect for blending into the shadows, striking at prey fast and disappearing even quicker.

The cat simply stares back, its head tilting in that predatory way, like he was nothing more than a mouse it had marked for dinner.

“I don’t suppose you’ve seen the bastard I’m looking for?”

The poor woman at the spice stand beside Fenrys balks at him, eyes wide and scared as he talked to the cat. Gods, he was talking to a damned cat. He was surely going crazy, maybe he should give up on this useless search and go back to Terrasen.

Fenrys smiles at the woman, his mask of cool charm in place, “Sorry, you wouldn’t happen to have seen a large bird flying through here have you?”

That’s all that charm was nowadays, a mask. It felt like a preformance, and Fenrys was the poor fool forced to act.

He could scent her fear but the woman opened her mouth, voice pitched, “I have actually.”

The cat seemed to perk from its spot on the window seat across from them.

Fenrys raised a brow at the creature, turning back to the woman, “Did you see where he was headed?”

“He was flying north,” the woman swallows nervously, “I thought it odd considering winter is already setting in up near the port. It didn’t stick around long.”

The first real clue he’d gotten in the week he’d been there, and it would seem the male was well on his way. Hopefully he wasn’t already on a damned boat back across the ocean.

“Thank you.” Fenrys pulls a few gold pieces from his pocket, watching the woman’s eyes go wide as he sets them on the counter between them.

He turns, finding that cat still watching him, almost expectantly, “Are you coming?”

Unsurprisingly, the cat follows him as he walks back to the run down inn, keeping a healthy distance between them.

He left it on the street in front of the inn, climbing the rickety steps that groaned beneath his weight. The tiny room feels claustrophobic, the bed barely big enough to hold him, the only light is the sun through a single window and a candle he’d scavenged from the bar room on the first floor.

Fenrys didn’t have much to pack, just a few clothes and his weapons. He didn’t even bother to close the door behind him, he’d be out in less than a minute.

“Are you leaving?”

He whirled towards the voice, dagger poised to strike. Fenrys found a beautiful female, familiar keen eyes watching him with curiosity, like she had for the past week. The damned cat, he was almost annoyed with himself for not realizing she was fae.

“Tired of watching from a far?” Fenrys asks, giving the female a lazy smirk.

He keeps that dagger level with her throat, laying the charm on thick to hide the way his heart had leapt in his chest. Not many could sneak up on him, he never let his guard down, especially now.

Her eyes still have a feline look to them, a shine in the light that left Fenrys feeling uneasy.

She steps further into the room, like she didn’t care about that blade aimed for her throat, “Are you going to find him?”

“Find who?”

That glare is near lethal and Fenrys feels his invisible hackles raise, ready to fight.

“Don’t play dumb with me, pup.”

“So you know who I am,” he states, a scarred brow raised, “How do you know who I’m looking for?”

“Because I’ve been looking for him too,” she says, arms crossing over her chest. “Now that your bitch of a Queen is dead, he’s finally free to come home.”

Even after her death, very few fae, especially this close to Doranelle, were brave enough to speak against Maeve. Even the ones who’d fought with them against her and Erawan’s forces, she was like a ghost, still haunting them all.

“I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but he’s been a free male for months now. I doubt your dear Vaughan is coming home to you.” Fenrys can’t help the smirk that came to his lips as he looks her up and down, “Which is a mistake on his part.”

The look of disgust on her face is near comical, “I’m not some desperate old flame.”

He raises a brow, “Sorry to assume. If not a vengeful past lover, then who are you?”

“His sister,” she snarls.

Fenrys felt like the carpet was pulled out from beneath his feet. The shock is enough to have him lowering his dagger.

“He has a sister?”

He didn’t see much resemblance, Vaughan was an imposing male, tall, nearly as tall as Lorcan with dark hair and eyes, and he was quiet, rarely speaking more than he had to, never joining in on celebrations or nights spent at pubs.

Now that Fenrys thought about it, he didn’t know all that much about the male, beside his time in Maeve’s cadre. An excellent warrior, they’d fought side by side many times, had fought for Mistward. He’d been blood sworn to the valg queen long before Connall and Fenrys had taken their oaths. Other than that, Vaughan was a mystery.

“I’m not surprised my brother never told you of me.” The female perches on the edge of the small wooden desk by the door, “Vaughan is an over protective bastard when he cares enough to show his face.”

There’s an edge to her voice, she was very angry at her brother, and he could understand why. The elusive male could have gone home at any time, yet he was still traveling the world.

He’d traced him through Erilea, and all the way across the ocean back to Wendlyn, yet not Doranelle. He’d kept his distance from the fae cities, like he was hiding from something, maybe someone.

Fenrys examines the female, just as she examines the tiny room around them, her eyes flitting over his weapons with little interest. She holds herself with feline grace, like her other form lingered in this one. No wonder she was able to sneak up on him without a sound.

“What’s your name?” Fenrys asks.

She’s clad in form fitting leathers, similar to the suit Aelin had worn in her time as an assassin. Fenrys, a full blooded fae male, noted that she was absolutely gorgeous, the type of female that would have males and females alike crawling for her.

Maybe in another life, before the events in the past year, Fenrys would have crawled for her too.

“Y/n,” she says simply, turning that gaze back on him, “And I already know who you are.”

“I hope your brother only told you the good stories,” he grins.

She gives him an unimpressed look, “He told me enough.”

Given his own reputation, Fenrys wasn’t really surprised by the lack luster response. He wasn’t the type many would want their sisters around.

“Ouch.” Fenrys raises a hand to his heart, pouting, “That bad-“

“I’m not here for small talk,” she interrupts, pushing off that desk, “You’ve been asking around for my brother for months now, why?”

The room was truly to small, the few steps she takes places her directly in front of him. She’s either really brave, or incredibly stupid to put herself in easy striking distance.

“Straight to the point,” Fenrys nods, “I like that, it’s quite refreshing.”

Her glare could set him ablaze, “Do you know where he’s going? Why he hasn’t come home?”

“You’ve been following me around,” he shrugs, “I’m sure you know as much as I do at this point. Which is a whole lot of nothing.”

“Why are you looking for him?” She asks again, “From what I hear you’re serving a new queen, is Aelin Galathynius so desperate to fill her court with Maeve’s old one?”

Fenrys can’t stop the flare of anger. The condescending tone, the obvious distaste of his queen, his friend.

“She wishes to offer him the same courtesy she offered me and mine,” he snarls, closing that small gap between them.

Fenrys wasn’t as tall and foreboding as Lorcan or even Rowan, but he wasn’t small by any means. Y/n had to crane her neck back to keep her glare locked on his own. She somehow makes it seem like she’s looking down her nose at him.

“And what’s that?” She asks, rolling her eyes at him, “A blood oath or death?”

“A better world,” Fenrys snaps, “It’s his choice if he wants to join her court, there’s no consequence if he doesn’t, simply an offer.”

She hums, “Isn’t that amicable.”

Fenrys took a deep breath through his nose, forcing himself to calm down, “Was there something you wanted, kitty cat? Or are you just here for the view?”

The nickname has its desired effect, she bristles, and Fenrys mockingly smirks at her. That seems to get under her skin even more.

“I have a proposition,” she grounds out, “I think we can help each other.”

“Oh?” Fenrys lets his smirk turn into a lazy grin, that mask of male arrogance, “How so?”

“My brother isn’t an idiot,” she hisses, taking a large step away from him, a look of pure disgust on her face, “He’s no doubt heard of you asking around for him, just like I did. You’ll never catch up to him.”

Fenrys keeps his distance, “Oh really? And you think you can? If you could, you wouldn’t be here asking me for help.”

He turns back to his bag, throwing the last few shirts into it before slinging the leather pack over his shoulder. She stands directly in the doorway, blocking his only exit out of the room.

“Now if you’ll excuse me.” He nods to the open hall behind her, “I should-“

“He’s leaving for the southern continent,” Y/n interrupts, “Their was a naval ship sent by King Glaston himself, a gift for the Khagan, it left a few days ago, and I’m willing to bet my brother is stowed away on it.”

That’s exactly what Fenrys had been nervous of. And of course he was going to the southern continent, the massive expanse of land where the male could quite literally go anywhere.

Fenrys raises a brow at her, “If you know where he’s going, why ask for my help at all?”

Her eyes shift, just barely, and it’s enough to tell Fenrys that she’s nervous.

“You know my brother,” she says, “You were his friend-”

“In the loosest sense of the word,” Fenrys cuts in.

He raises his hands in mock surrender when she glares at his interruption. After a moment, the scathing heat leaves her eyes and she sighs.

“I haven’t seen my brother in nearly two decades, the last time we saw each other.” She stops, frowning down at the ground, “You aren’t the only one he’s trying to shake off his tail.”

Sibling fights, Fenrys feels his heart squeeze painfully in his chest, he knew those all to well.

Onyx eyes, blankly staring at him, the life bleeding out of them onto the floor.

“We have a common goal.” Her voice brings him back to the present, “If we work together, we may be able to find him, and we both get what we want.”

Y/n sticks her hand out between them. Fenrys sees the smallest waver in her, the shaking she tries to hide. Behind the glares and grace, was simply a girl, desperate to find her brother, to make amends.

And maybe it was that, the fact that Fenrys would never have that chance, that made him take her hand in his.

“Help me, Help you.” Fenrys shakes her hand once, noting how incredibly soft her palms are compared to his calloused one, “You’ve got a deal.”

And when she smiles, Fenrys find it in him to smile back.

“So when do we leave?” Y/n asks.

Fenrys gestures towards the hall behind her, “Right now, kitten.”

“Don’t call me that,” she hisses.

And Fenrys laughs, and for the first time in many many months, it feels almost genuine.