#I'm still holding out hope for high res

[western-woods]

Georgie Henley by Patch Studios (2023)

#georgie henley #the chronicles of narnia #chronicles of narnia #lucy pevensie #the spanish princess #flawlessbeautyqueens #thequeensofbeauty #breathtakingqueens #femaledaily #I'm still holding out hope for high res #ghenley

[b00kdiary]

Stay With Me | Rhysand

Rhysand x Reader

Rhysand reappears at the cabin four hours after he had gone on a mission- wounded and bleeding. Y/N has no choice but to help him, even if it means yanking out every ash arrow embedded in his wings by hand. But something Cassian once told her makes her re-think the line between pleasure and pain, and she will do anything to make it better for her High Lord.

‘Cassian said that the talon holds the most nerve endings, does that make it the most delicate to touch?’

Warnings: Mature themes (18+), swearing, body-image thoughts, blood and gore, and smut (Hint: Wing play)

MASTERLIST - 1 and 2

PART TWO

PART THREE

I couldn't stop pacing.

That's what I did when I was nervous, and on edge- I paced. Back and forth, back and forth, again and again, until I wore through the carpet and my entire body was thrumming with dread.

It had been four hours.

Four hours since Rhysand left to track those Hybern soldiers through the forest, hoping to be led back to their camp. For several weeks we've been dealing with Hybern forces infiltrating our land and yet we had no idea what they were planning.

It was the unknown that had made Rhysand go out tonight.

I had insisted I come, to help, to watch his back, something- but with the heavy snow and rain, he had been adamant that it would be easier to fly alone. Though I knew it was an excuse to keep me here, safe, and unharmed, while he was out there risking his life.

And now he was missing.

Four hours of silence and I was starting to feel violently sick with worry. I contemplated leaving the cabin, trekking on foot through the forest in search of him, but with the weather so furious and the fact he had been flying not walking, I knew it would be futile.

And Rhysand would kill me if he knew I had gone after him, especially when he had specifically instructed me to stay here.

"Stupid, arrogant High Lord," I cursed under my breath and despite the log fire crackling before me and the layers I wore, I still shivered from the brutal cut of the cold wind. My heart seized at the thought of Rhys out there in the brunt of it.

Hybern soldiers were ruthless and their hatred of the Night Court, of Rhysand was known. They could do anything to him; ash arrows, Faebane, dark magic, and Mother only knows what other weapons they have we don't know about.

"If he thinks I'm going to sit here like some kind of damsel," I scowl, my hands shaking as I yank on my discarded sword belt and daggers, "Then he is a bigger idiot than I thought possible."

I try and let my anger bubble over and overtake my fear as I make my way toward the heavy wood door, the sound of the whistling wind and perilous skies getting louder the closer I get to it. I'm trembling as I grip the handle, yanking it open with effort, the hinges stiff with the cold.

I stumble back a step at the sight of a tall male slumped against the door pane- blood pooled around his feet, stark against the white snow.

"Rhysand!"

All thoughts eddy from my head at the sight of him- his skin pale and dull, his midnight hair in disarray, his armour torn and filthy, and an agonised grimace lining his lips. A groan slips from him when my hands come to his chest, and my stomach turns at the warm blood that coats my palms.

"Cauldron, Rhys," I gasp, my throat closing as I stumble back into the cabin, his body weight half-leaning on me and every step he takes is slow and staggered, his face twisting as I guided him back with me. "What happened?"

"Hybern soldiers are assholes," Rhys grits out, a rough laugh slipping past his lips, but the sweet sound soon melts into a pained hiss when I turn so I can slam the door shut behind us- and I see why he's bleeding so goddamn much.

"Rhy- Rhys," I stutter, my fingers tightening into his suit, his muscles rippling under my touch, every breath he takes deeper and faster than the last. "The arrows, holy shit, there's so many-"

Five.

He had five arrows embedded into his back and wings.

"Really? I didn't notice," He grins, his heavy head lifting and those violet eyes meeting mine- though upon seeing the ire and worry on my face, that grin falters, "Hey, c'mon don't look at me like that, I'm alright-"

He sucks in a sharp breath of air, his eyes screwing shut when I begin to move back toward the sofa and I try not to let my body lock up when his hands fall to my waist and hips, long, ringed fingers digging into my flesh for leverage.

"Huh, I knew you wouldn't listen to me," He scoffs out a laugh, half-amused, half-breathless and my face burns with heat when he runs his hands idly down my sides, grazing pointedly over my sword belt and daggers. "You know it's an offence to disobey your High Lord, right?"

"Well since you're wounded and I'm the only one here to help," I grit out sardonically, ignoring how close his face is to mine as I guide his front down onto the sofa, careful not to touch his wings as I move behind him, "I'm sure you'll find a way to forgive me."

I frown at the amount of blood seeping out from his wounds, and I can feel how rigid his body is under my palms- he always was good at hiding his true emotions, masking his pain with an arrogant smile, or teasing words.

My breathing is shallow as I climb onto the sofa behind him, my soft thighs brushing his strong ones and my heart racing as I settle on my knees. His wings are limp on either side of him, one drooping down to the floor and the other sprawled over the cushions.

"You need to rip them out, darling," Rhys muses gently from under me and as if sensing my worry, his voice has lost all sense of humour. "No need to be gentle, I'm a big boy, I can take it."

"We both know you're a big Illyrian baby, Rhys," I tease, though my voice is strained and when he shifts his head sideways, looking over his wide shoulders at me, I see the small smile tilting his lips too.

I swallow the lump in my throat, shifting forward and placing a trembling hand on his back. To the arrow embedded at the junction of his wing and spine.

His hand slips back and curls around my thigh, fingers sprawling around the flesh and digging in as if he were bracing himself. The touch is distracting but I focus on my fingers wrapping around the arrow, a few inches from the entry point- and I hate how Rhysand's body flinches at the soft touch.

"Come on, darling," Rhysand sighs, his grip tightening around my thigh as I release a long breath, "Amren's going to kill me if I get any more blood on these cushions-"

I rip it out mid-sentence- and Rhysand's whole body jolts as I tear the arrow free from his flesh, a grunt of pain muffling into the leather beneath him.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I whimper, my hand clamping down and applying pressure on the wound, the arrow discarded on the floor beside us. Rhysand trembles under me, his jaw locked so tight I can hear his teeth gritting together, "Shit Rhys, I'm sorry."

"It's- it's okay, it's okay," He pants, and I watch his face from the side, seeing him get paler and paler. He squeezes against my thigh, once, twice, and his eyes blink open, those violet eyes dark. "Keep going darling, you're doing so good, keep-keep going for me."

I feel the familiar burn of tears in my eyes as I lean forward, my fingers slippery with blood and gore as I curl my hold around the second arrow, this one just barely stuck near the very bottom of the left wing.

Ash arrows were notoriously dangerous, known for splintering within the flesh, one wrong move and Rhys would have pieces of the wood stuck in his wings and those would be near impossible for me to remove on my own.

I grit my teeth and pull, swift and brazen, not giving him or me a second to think about it. Again, Rhysand grunts, body viscerally jumping but he seems to bear the pain better the second time, his thighs clenching around mine for support.

"Forget what I said, I was wrong," I clear my throat, trying to force some ease and comfort into my tone as I run my hand up the muscles of Rhysand's back and I feel relief when he sighs, his body melting into my touch. "You're not a big Illyrian baby, you're a tough, strong male."

"What finally convinced you? The very manly way my body is shaking right now?" He released a long exhale, his mouth tugging into a smile and I can't help but laugh when his eyes glance back to meet mine. "Or the groans that keep slipping out no matter how hard I try to contain them?"

I laugh softly, my blood-stained hands running across the planes of Rhysand’s shoulders and back, the pad of my thumbs and forefingers circling around the stiff muscles, trying to get him to relax. He sighs, and his hand pulls against my thigh coaxing me higher up his body, closer than before.

"Nothing wrong with being vocal, Rhys, I would have thought five hundred years of existence would have taught you that," I run my finger across the membrane of his wing, feeling the soft, leathery texture as I move to the next arrow. "Females love to hear how you feel."

"Cruel, wicked thing," Rhysand mumbled, his breath hitching at the tender touch I grazed over his wings, and it was a very different sound to before. "You're enjoying this, aren't you? Having me at your mercy."

I wrap my hand around the arrow stuck in the middle of his wing and his body tenses- knowing what was waiting. I frown, hating that he is in pain and unconsciously, my left hand moves to his other wing, and he gasps, eyes widening when I run the pad of my thumb over the talon at the tip- a spot I knew was sensitive.

I tear the arrow out of the right wing with one hand, while my other rakes down the curve of his left wing, my nails scratching softly against the tender flesh there. Rhysand groans, louder this time, and it's a sound that I feel through my body.

"Are you- are you trying to make it feel better, darling?" He asks quietly, his breaths loud in the silent room and his hand at my thigh caressing, his thumb swiping soothingly back and forth.

"Yes," I reply, equally as soft, and my heart is racing as I edge closer, my core and ass settling over one of his burning hot thighs. "Is it working?"

"Yes," He swallows, an audible sound and I see his Adam's apple bobble, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips as I reach for the fourth arrow. "Yes, it is, don't- don't stop." There's a slight tremor in his voice, a neediness that makes my head spin.

His body vibrates under me, but for a completely different reason now and it seems the more my idle hands wander curiously over the dancing veins and soft membranes of his wings, the less control he has over himself.

"Cassian said that the talon holds the most nerve endings, does that make it the most delicate to touch?" My voice is hoarse, and I ignore the sweat coating my skin and heat burning through me as I grab around the arrow, my shoulders bracing for the strength needed for this pull.

"Why are you and Cassian talking about the most sensitive parts of a male's wings?" He grits out, his thigh muscle tensing, and I feel it brush against my centre- wet and aching with need. A smile tugs at my lips at the darkness in his tone, that smile broadening when his wing twitches violently against my fingers.

"He also said that males can like having their wings touched during sex and that a brush against the right spot can make you climax, is that true?" His nails dig into my thigh at my whispered words, a moan slipping past his lips when I grip around the talon with a firm hold.

This time when I rip the arrow free, he doesn't feel the pain- too consumed and dizzy with pleasure.

"You're killing me, Y/N," Rhys chuckles, his body shaking with the laugh, a sound that travels through the air and over my skin like a phantom touch. I circle the heel of my palms into his shoulder blades, massaging out the tension and Rhys moans appreciatively, a low rumbling sound from deep in his chest.

"Only one left, Rhys," I say encouragingly, and he mutters incoherently in agreement as I lean forward, the last arrow embedded in his upper back- much deeper than the rest. I frown, rising onto my knees, already missing the strength and heat of his thigh between my legs. "This one's gone all the way through, I'm going to have to dig it out the other side."

"Just when I thought this couldn't get any more fun," Rhys jeers, his hand grazing along my thigh as I sit up as if needing my touch as reassurance.

My eyes narrow at his remark and suddenly the blood and the arrows and his pained face hold no bearing with me, the sympathy vanishes- replaced by the anger that had me ready to march out into a storm to look for him.

"That's what happens when you go chasing the enemy with no backup," I mutter stiffly, and this time when I grab the arrow, I don't give Rhys any satisfaction or comfort- no, I break the arrow in two with an easy snap of the wrist, dropping the fragmented piece to the floor with a clink.

He winces, and when I hover above him, his head turns to look at me, a sheepish smile on his handsome face.

"I take it you're still upset with me then, darling," Rhys muses and the ting of humour in his words makes me scowl, my touch no longer soft or soothing, my body no longer enjoying the hard, perfect feel of him.

“Turn around,” I order, dismissing him as I rise from him and onto my feet. His hand reaches for me, trying to grab me, a yearning in his touch, but I move away from him stiffly. “I need to dig out the arrow from the front.”

He purses his lips at my cold words, and I almost feel bad for him when he hisses in pain, his muscular, lean body so frail as he rolls onto his back, his sore wings moving slow and deliberately, barely able to lift higher than his shoulders before sagging back down again.

“Y/N,” Rhys sighs, a deep frown tugging at his lips as he drops his head against the armrest. I stare at him in silence, seeing him splayed out before me, chest rising and falling in harsh waves and those violet constellations unwavering upon me.

"You could have been killed, Rhysand," I grit out, and I hate the tears I feel prickling my eyes as I stare at him, at the blood coating my hands, and the sofa and the floor, the wound puncturing through his left pectoral. "If you don't trust me to have your back-"

"Don't say that, never say that" He rises faster than I can protest, and my hands shoot up to stop him, but he doesn't relent, his face harsh with discomfort but his eyes burn with determination as he sits up. "I trust you more than anyone, more than myself, don't ever think that Y/N."

"Alright, okay Rhys," I sigh, shaking my head and my hands are weak as I place them on his solid shoulders, trying to guide him to lay back down. His eyes never once leave mine and I can see the hurt in them- that I would even think such a thing. "I'm sorry, just lay down, you're still hurt."

His face tightens severely, and he looks so at odds with the male known for his easy smiles and bright stary eyes- but he obliges me as I guide him back down. His hands curve up my thighs and rest on my hips, and he doesn’t speak as he yanks me down, dragging me so that I straddle his waist.

“Rhys-“ I suck in a sharp breath when he settles me, forcing my weight to sit atop him, my thighs clamped around his hips, my core settled just under his belly button and his calloused hands kneading the flesh at my sides.

"I told you to stay here because I couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to you," He whispers, eyes unbearably soft, and his touch igniting something hot in me, "If they did something to you if you got hurt... I don't know what I would do, Y/N."

I swallow the lump in my throat, my heart hammering in my chest as I bring my hands forward to the front of his leathers, my fingers stumbling as I unbuckle the belts and slip off the buttons one by one, revealing the acres of tan skin and the dark whorls painted across his chest.

I gnaw on my cheek as I tug back the shirt, Rhysand silently watching every action, every breath I take, and my face falls at the wound leaking blood above his left pectoral, the arrowhead peeking through the gore.

“And what if something worse than this happened to you?" I whisper, my voice hoarse with emotion and when my eyes meet Rhysand’s again, his face tightens at the tears in my eyes, “What do you think I would do? How would I be able to live with it?"

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Rhysand swallows thickly and I watch as he grits his teeth, his body pulsing when I run my fingers over the wound, gauging how deep I have to feel, how best to remove the arrow in one piece.

“I need to dig it out with my fingers to get it to the surface first,” I clear my throat, ignoring the thick prolonged silence and taut tension between us, “It’s going to hurt, badly.”

“I know,” He locks his jaw, the strong angle sharp and I see the grim anticipation on his face when I move my index finger and thumb into position over the exit point. But without speaking, I move my body, lower, until my core settles over the front of his breeches- over his long, hard length.

“Y/N, you don’t have to-“ His breath hitches at the contact, his violet eyes widening and latching onto mine in surprise.

“I want to,” I whisper, need spreading through me at the feel of him under me, the smell of his arousal and mine wafting through the air, making me dizzy. “I’m trying to make it feel better, remember?”

I roll my hips, ever so slightly, and the electricity that shocks through my clit at the contact makes me gasp. Rhysand grunts, a low, heady sound, and the way he lifts his hips up to dig his cock into me is almost desperate.

“Cauldron,” He curses as I dig my fingers into his wound, the metal sharp and hot against my fingertips as I try and get leverage around it. His face twists but when I rock my hips again, dragging down his length, his pain dissolves into something carnal. “Cauldron, Y/N-“

“There we go,” I whisper, my fingers gripping around the arrowhead firmly, twisting it a few inches higher so that it protrudes out of his chest. I bite my lip to contain any sounds as I rut against him, my underwear and trousers soaked through, seeping into Rhysand’s slacks, making it easier to rub over his twitching length. “I’ve got it!”

He moans- the most erotic, lewd sound rumbles from him, low and loud, echoing through the room. I pant as he runs his hands over my body, over my thighs and hips and waist, kneading my stomach and love handles, before settling over my ass.

His nails carve crescent moons into the flesh as he palms me, the control he was so used to wielding in the bedroom not dwindling as he guided me back and forth faster and harder against him.

"This is the best pain I've ever felt, darling," Rhysand purrs, his voice like melted chocolate against my senses and the fire burning between my legs fans at his words. I lean forward, my breasts brushing his chest and my stomach settling against his- and I run my free hand over his sprawled wings.

"I'm going to pull it out now, yeah?" I mumble against his cheek, and I know his head is spinning, the pain and pleasure so at odds, so damning that his canines flash at me, his fingers bruising against my ass and his hips jolting up violently to meet mine.

“Do it, daring,” He commands, the role of the High Lord imprinted into him no matter the situation and almost as if it were programmed in me to obey, I kiss his cheek tenderly- and yank the arrowhead free in one go. “Shit, shit-“

I drag my centre over the tip of his cock, rolling my hips in fast, sharp strokes and Rhysand crumbles at the action- his eyes screw shut, his body stills like stone, and the filthiest, rawest cry tears from his lips, louder and fragmented when I rub at the tip of his talon with my palm.

I whimper at the feel of every hard inch of him cemented against me, the warmth of his hot seed leaking out and soaking his slacks, mixing our arousals, getting messier the more I rub against him.

“Y/N,” He moans my name into the crook of my neck, his teeth scraping against my pule point and his hands curling around my ass, forcing my hips to stop. Instead, he clamps my body flush to his, my tits pressed to his chest, my face buried in his soft hair, and I feel his cock pulsing and tremoring hard against me as he rides out his orgasm.

I feel Rhysand laugh roughly against my neck, the sound of his ragged breathing and the erratic rise and fall of his muscular chest against me making me sigh. His hands don’t loosen, in fact, they get tighter, guiding me until I’m laying flat, his arms wrapping over me and keeping me to his chest.

He was holding me like he didn’t want to let go.

There’s a long silence as I lay with him, our bodies melting together and his touch unrelenting upon me, holding onto my flesh for dear life, feeling me against him and sighing at the comfort. His breathing starts to deepen, turning heavy and I blink, shifting to move my weight off him.

“Don’t,” He grumbles, his arms drawing me back to his chest, a deep groan escaping him as he shifts so that my body slips between the gap of the sofa and his side. His eyes flutter closed again, and I watch his face ease into serenity as I lay my cheek against his shoulder.

“Stay with me.”

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

@mis-lil-red @hyemishii @assaultsofthought @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @satellitesunshine @queenofangrymoths @highlady-ofillyria @ladespedidas @magical-mischief-makers @lyracarvahall @ummmmmwat @eerievixen @bitchyinternetinfluencer @meritxellao @rachelnicolee @fanfictioniseverything @queen-of-arda @magdalenka @bunnymallowo @azzydaddy @fanboyluvr @maddithefangirl @jeannineee @fakelust @whatthefuckshappeningrn @honeycriess @cheneyq @brujitafantomatico

A/N:

Comment to be added to the tag-list >3

Should I make a part two??? part two here

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #rhysand #rhysand acotar #rhysand smut #rhysand x reader #rhysand x y/n #smut #azriel acotar #cassian acotar #acotar smut #plus size reader #sjmaas #rhysand x plus size reader #acotar fanfiction #fluff #rhys x reader #rhysand fanfic #sarah j maas

[neteyamsilly]

i will soften every edge, hold the world to its best | 4

summary ;; A father protects, that's what gives him meaning. Jake Sully has failed. PART 3 | PART 5 pairings ;; dad!jake sully x reader, mom!neytiri x reader, sully family x reader genre ;; pure angst and family feels notes / explanations ;; PLEASE READ AUTHOR NOTES. I explicitly said in the previous chapter I would NO LONGER BE TAKING TAG REQUESTS. You're just going to have to check my profile every now and then. I also will not be re-tagging the peeps I did in the last chapter’s replies, it’s just a lot 😭 I'm sorry for the inconvenience and thank you for your understanding! Now I present you, the long awaited angst and groveling of Jake. Enjoy! Please excuse my mistakes if you see any. Thank you so much for the lovely comments and support, I hope the angst hits the way you wanted it / was expecting HHHHH

It’ll shine better, Jake mused to himself, rotating the lumpy amber around in his fingers to better reflect the sunlight streaming in thin rays from the hands of the dense flora above, once I dip this in that polish oil. It’s not entirely unsalvageable. 

At least he hadn’t scraped too much in attempts to give it a rounder shape, the bug at its core you were gushing about to the point of waking him up at zero dark thirty was still intact. He had been summoned from his dreams to look at a cool rock. 

Jake couldn’t not gift it to you as something to be permanently worn after that.

The problem? He was ass at this. Always had been. No drop of craftsmanship in his bloodstream at all when the Na’vi were particularly fond of their ornaments and accessories, making it themselves, in fact. 

Songcords were put together from beads, bones and stones, virtuosity was a must intrinsically woven into everyday life, methodized and irreplaceable since it wasn’t as if mass production could ever be a thing in Pandora. Everything was handmade. 

Jake’s worst enemy beadwork was in their clothing, for example, even in braids — his maladroit at it may or may not be why he wore his hair in plain dreads now. 

He wasn’t an artist or a creator, his hands were more comfortable being fit around a gun or a knife than slipping effortlessly in the rhythm of weaving or the act of making. All his end results were dreadful enough to be bullied relentlessly by his kids — except for you, that is. You absolutely loved them for reasons your mother or none of your siblings could understand. 

Jake’s blundering conscience would melt at the sight of your eyes shining and the biggest smile almost splitting your head in half as if he had just handed you the world every single time he gifted you the newest of his clunky handiwork. He didn’t know why that made you the happiest. You’d been that way ever since you saw him carving and personally adding a bead to his songcord about how he got his firstborn daughter to utter her first word: dada. 

It was important to him, so, down it had gone into Jake’s life story; putting official significance to the moment he never wanted to forget in the same thread that carried the story of him becoming Toruk Makto, just beside Neteyam’s first word, which was also dadada. (Neytiri had Lo’ak’s mam, and Kiri’s perfectly articulated mommy.)

Ever since that day, you had made grabby hands at the bead all the time when he picked you up, teethed at it like a puppy trying to grab a toy, tried to rip it off to make it yours — anything, until Neytiri made you one, but no, you wanted it from dada. 

So dada started making you little trinkets. 

He didn’t know if it was a good or a bad thing you never grew out of receiving gifts from your dad he himself cringed at. Jake wasn’t one to complain, not when someone in this life would feel such enough joy to purify thousands of blighted souls upon receiving his ugly personal work. It made him happy, stroked his ego to high heavens that his sweetheart was doting on dada to see the imperfect as the most fascinating. 

That’s why he had taken on the daunting task of making a bead for you out of the amber you’d fixated on, rasp in one hand, sitting on a thick log that cut into the little stream he and his family were spending leisurely time that day, one leg pulled to himself and one feet in the water up to his ankle. Even though he had half an ear on his four children playing around in the shallow water of the creek, all the screams and squeals of joy felt weak compared to the contained huff of amusement that escaped from his mate who had come up to Jake while he was way too engrossed in his task. 

His eyes shifted to Neytiri, watching her hop on to the log in one agile move. “Don’t laugh.”

“I am not laughing,” Neytiri said, crouching to sit, her mouth twitched upwards as she looked at the amber in his hand.

“I have eyes, Neytiri, I literally see you laughing.” His face used to burn at her openly teasing about beadmaking, but his oldest daughter’s attentions had restored his bruised confidence over the years. The slander wasn’t taken lightly these days as Jake had proudly relabeled the odd shapes of his work as a creative choice. “Right to my face.”

“You’re mistaken.” 

Jake made his jaw drop, overacting his bafflement. “Wow, gaslighting? Really?”

Neytiri hit his arm lightly. In her terms, it was light, at least. “I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s something you shouldn’t do to your mate.” He turned his back to her, giving a look over his shoulder. “You’re abusing me. I’m being abused.”

“Baby.”

“No amount of pet names are gonna fix my broken heart.”

“No. You are a baby. I’m insulting you.” Neytiri hadn’t even laughed, but the uplifted timbre of that sentence sure did make Jake snicker in disbelief. “If you can’t take it, maybe you should leave beading to me.”

“I would say they are fashionably off,” he defended. You carried them with delight, so why shouldn’t Jake take more pride in his work? “And you said practice makes perfect years ago, I remember the exact words—”

“Years ago. You still haven’t gotten any better at it.” Neytiri was his biggest supporter and criticizer at the same time. “And you became a part of the clan back in the day in three months Jake. Never a more unbelievable thing to me than this.” 

“I’m trying alright?” He turned back to the bead, or, vaguely bead-shaped amber, if technical terms were involved. It still had a whole adventure to embark on until it could receive the noble title of a bead. “She likes what I make, at least.”

“It’s because she’s your daughter and anything you do is out of this world. Beauty in the most unlikely places. A child’s love is pure that way.” The unexpected hypnotism of poetry in that sentence alone pulled Jake’s gaze to Neytiri’s, and for a moment, he could physically feel his heart within his ribcage being squeezed, tethering on painful, but with a joyful tinge. “She doesn’t have standards yet.”

Well, that hurt. “Damn.”

“Damm!” A pair of small and branch-thin arms wrapped around his neck from behind, and something, or rather, someone, latched onto his back. “Rahh!” 

Jake should have been suspicious of how silent it had gotten halfway into his talk with Neytiri. Turns out, you had swam underneath the log to get out of his line of sight, climbing with the stealth of a bug to come up undetected. 

Well, mark Jake down as impressed, you weren’t able to do that without being spotted until today, this was another wonderful milestone for you — you had learned impressively, taking advantage of his distraction, avoiding making noise and using water to your advantage. Neytiri must have given you some pointers. 

And now he was wondering if his mate was in on this all along, purposefully disturbing his peace so their kids could see an opening to pounce on him.  

“Oof!” Your hold on him was something he could break out of any minute with how adorably strong you were exerting yourself to make it, but he wanted to play along more than anything. Jake was acting panicked, swinging his body left and right from the waist, but really, it was just a light warm-up exercise with the easiest deadlift possible. “I’m being ambushed!”

“I got you now, Toruk Makto!” You wrapped your legs around his torso, and he felt like this was just a piggyback ride with extra steps. “Watch this, mom!”

Oh, it’s on. 

Discreetly handing Neytiri the amber, Jake stood up, bringing you up with him and fighting a smile at your clipped squeak as the height became too much too quick, causing you to cling onto him stronger. He reached behind, and within seconds, he had you in his hands, holding you from the armpits and dangling you above the stream, your kicking legs beating the air, and he cackled like a villain threatening to fling the hero from atop of a skyscraper. 

“You got me? Please.” He loosened his grip the slightest amount to give you the illusion he would let go, and you stopped struggling to scream, catching his forearms. “A measly thing like you? Conquering me? I’ll show you why I’m the king of the skies! Here I come!”

Making sure you wouldn’t get hurt, Jake threw you into the water as gently as possible, but made the angle entertaining enough so you would go flying. He wasn’t sure who’d screeched the highest, your three siblings who had you spearheading this little operation with full trust in your capabilities, or you reacting like you were falling down from an ikran midair. Either way, he was enjoying bullying his kid a bit too much. 

Emerging from the stream and shaking the water off too akin to a wet dog, your first action was to shield your siblings, open arms and whole body and all. “Nete, run! Protect Lovak and Kiri, I’ll save you!”

Jake’s evil smile looming on his kids wavered at that. 

You had problems with some letters even at the big age of eight, two vowels next to each other in one word was one of them, along with the confusion of “f” and “b”, and sometimes “p” — it made for hilarious misunderstandings Jake had to fight to be a parent about instead of busting a lung from laughing. 

One of the many unforgettable events was deemed “The Fish Incident” between Jake, Max and Norm. He had been recording Neteyam’s first catch on his own to add it to the cute memory pile he and his mate would watch in the future after all their children eventually moved out to pursue their paths. You happened to be present that time, watching intently as your big brother shot a particularly giant yellow fish, eagerly jumping down to the pond to get it and showing it to the camera with a shy, yet proud grin on his face. 

“Good job, boy!” Jake had cheered. “Say I got that fish!”

Out of the camera’s frame and making little jumps on your toes, you’d blithely yelled. “Yeah, you got that bish!” 

The rest of the footage was shaky and out of focus, the microphone hadn’t picked up any sound but Jake’s uncontrollable laughter, kicked off by an exploding snort of shock. 

You and Neteyam had no idea why, but after he’d stopped recording with tears streaming down his face, wheezing because he couldn’t stop laughing, you’d joined to laugh and play with him regardless, mirroring his excitement. 

Later though, Jake had to actively make it so you wouldn’t have to say the words kitchen and pitch (and obviously, fish) out loud, at least, in front of Neytiri. He didn’t want to abstain from having a little fun himself, so under no circumstance was she allowed to find out and correct you. And he had it going strong for a while until it slipped when he was talking about a scientist friend over at Hell’s Gate called Richard and you repeated it as “Bitchard”. The word had somehow weaseled into your English lexicon as well, and Neytiri wasn’t illiterate enough to be oblivious to what you’d merrily blurted. 

Good old days. Jake sometimes missed hearing you curse innocently. Neytiri had to take that source of joy away from him. Discouragement and warnings would be given to his kids if they knowingly cussed, of course, Kiri calling Lo’ak penis face was something he’d immediately shot down, but this was harmless, he thought. He could have let you be blissfully unaware until the day you learned the meaning of the words, or gain consciousness of the articulation errors as you grew up and naturally fix it yourself. It was only a natural part of a child’s growth.  

But he had other entertainment. The obligatory consonant you had to sometimes add to two different neighboring vowels if it was too difficult for you to pronounce, for example. Your little brother was a victim to this. Thankfully, Lo’ak wasn’t bothered to be called Lovak by his older sister, somehow thinking of it as a nickname, but Jake could bet his ass the boy would use this as infinite ammo against you once both of you were older. He would of course forget how you always protected him in play fighting like right now, of course, maybe you would remember enough to accuse him of ungratefulness, and perhaps Lo’ak would declare he didn’t recall anything such as that. 

How bittersweet of a thing it was to drift into imaginations of how his kids would be like when they grew up. Like the stinging ache Jake always got when he was confronted with the sadness of losing his children forever one day — the need to put every minute with them in a bottle, and the feeling of time slipping through his fingers, the same old melancholy each time: when it first dawned on Jake that you’d successfully sneaked up on him just now, when Neteyam had captured his first fish all on his own without assistance, when Lo’ak showed him the knife he had successfully carved by himself to get his approval, and when Kiri had tended to a scratch wound of his better than her grandmother did with precocious wisdom on her face. 

Jake was making every moment count. Just like this one. 

“Nobody is safe from me, I’ll huff and I’ll puff and blow your house in!” He jumped down from the log with the grace and intimidation of a leopard who had been disturbed while eating up the tree he’d dragged his meal on, splashing water everywhere. “What will you do, o’ mighty hunter?”

You loved being called mighty hunter by him, he saw the sparkle in your eyes. 

“Noooo!” Kiri cried, pulling on both Lo’ak and Neteyam’s arms huddled behind you. “He’ll get us!”

Your thought process, completely spooked by Jake, was painfully visible. But surprisingly, you yelled, “Scatter!” with the experience of a rave addict who would take a forty and smash it on the ground as the police closed in on the party grounds. And his kids ran in different directions, like a group of cockroaches when someone approached them, they all ran in different directions. 

Sloshing water all around to make it more terrifying, he got Kiri first, hauled her right over his shoulder when she made for Neytiri, thinking her mother could protect her, but no. Jake was inevitable. Lo’ak gave him a weak challenge trying to step around him, getting Jake to confuse his steps as if they were playing basketball, but this was his dad he was facing and not Spider, these tricks didn’t work on veterans, so now he was flush to Jake’s side, tail facing forward, carried like some strapless bag, it didn’t even put any strain on the man’s bicep. Neteyam was the last, hiding beneath the water level and holding his breath, but the little nose peeking out for air gave him away, and Jake had him up the other shoulder in seconds, the boy didn’t have enough time to run away even though he’d spied from underwater that Jake was coming for him. 

Three out of four. That left only his eldest daughter. 

You were nowhere to be seen. The delighted and struggling giggle-cries of the three kids in his arms and shoulders didn’t help at all to Jake taking his surroundings in with a keen ear, all senses attuned to spotting the stray. 

A rustle from above. 

“Attack him!” 

He didn’t have enough time to see just which branch of the trees cocooning the creek you had climbed on before all three in his arms turned on him, flailing around together in unison to get Jake to fall down and kneel, and it surprisingly worked, he couldn’t even recover between the blink of a time between them getting off the way and you jumping down on him. The height at which you did that knocked all air off his ribcage for a second as he tried to retain balance, and you took that chance to sit on his shoulders, your legs dangling from each one, grabbing onto two dreads on his head as if they were the tails of Toruk he once had held onto like leashes. 

Jake had to give this one to you, damn. When had you become a student of the art of strategizing? 

But, defeat was defeat. He had to play his part. “This can’t be!” He opened his arms, making it seem cartoonishly like he had been incapacitated. “I’ve been… bested?”

“That’s right!” The cockiness was dripping from you as you pulled on his dreads. “I’m Toruk Makto Makto now. The first of my name!”

Your siblings started cheering battle cries, repeating the word. 

Don’t laugh, he ordered himself. Toruk Makto Makto, what a title, oh Jesus Christ. 

“Alright, alright, you got me, mighty hunter.” 

“So I win?”

“Yes, you win.”

He was going to have two less dreads on his head if you kept pulling on them like this. “Hell yeah!” 

After hearing the declaration, his other children also joined in on the ‘Hell yeah!’ train. Jake supposed he could let this slide for now, you guys were too happy, he wouldn’t sully it. 

“You’re gonna rip my hair off, get down now.” You understood play time was over from his tone, and obeyed, hopping down his shoulders when he lowered you into the water, immediately attempting to rush to your siblings’ side to be celebrated, but Jake had something else in mind. “C’mere for a sec.”

He pulled you to the edge of the stream where water met grassy land, dipping his hand into the wet soil under your confused gaze and bringing his fingers up to trace a pattern on your face.

The reaction was instantaneous. You pulled back. “Ew, mud!”

“Hold on,” he gently warned, or rather, encouraged.

You let him continue whatever he was doing then, albeit not losing the laughable concern along the way. “What’s this?”

“Well, you’ve tamed Toruk Makto before an ikran. My mighty hunter should be painted accordingly, no?”

He pointed down and you followed it with your eyes. Seeing your reflection and the ‘V’ shape with a dot on your face in the water, you stopped yourself from touching it with the impulse control that kicked in at the last second, looking up at Jake, jumping up and down, unable to contain the energy, knowing exactly what he did just now. He’d recognized you as a prospective hunter candidate. “Thank you, dad!”

Jake could swear his insides liquidized at that. “Always, sweetheart.”

“Will you paint me like this when I finally get an ikran, too?”

“Of course I will.” He actually wanted to cup your cheeks and plant a little kiss at the adorable flat of your nose but the mud would be ruined, so he pet your braids instead. “As will your mother. It’s what family does.”

At the time, Jake didn’t have the slightest inkling that the paint would end up being your own blood. 

Neytiri’s bloody hands — your blood, his child, his child, his baby Jake’s entire day would stop at seeing one tear on her face — had been stroking your face, trying to hold on to you anywhere she could to soothe your flaming pain as you were squirming like a dying animal fighting for the next breath. His heart beating right behind his eyes in a massive pulsating headache, Jake was too desperate fighting his swelling panic with each noise that ripped from you to notice they had left the vague pattern of Iknimaya paint pattern in their wake. 

She did. 

And her following anguished, gasping shudder as her shaking hands hovered above your contorted face, tracing the air along the lines the blood had left on your face ended up hitting him right in the gut. He couldn’t dwell on it. He couldn’t let this random twisted sign sweep him into the roaring waterfall of torment, your life was on the line.  

Jake didn’t have any coherent memory of running back to the mouth of the cave from the family tent. One moment, he was back with his brain fried from thinking about Quaritch in the aftermath of an hour that had just taken twenty years from his lifespan, avoiding the inquisitive silence of his kids who hadn’t gone back to bed yet; and the other, Neytiri was screaming in the distance with terror worse than the anguish he’d heard her go through upon losing her father and her home. Jake had all but flown there, mind blank in swirling, spasming panic. 

Neytiri had told him he had a strong heart the first time they’d met. No fear. Even though Jake was aware he was being disliked strongly, this quality of his she had remarked on, honest to her soul. 

But she was wrong. 

That fearless fortress heart of his had begun to crumble the moment he learned of Neteyam’s existence. And with each and every new addition to their family, Jake had been rehabilitated on what fear truly was, like a baby learning a language. 

Losing. It was all about losing. 

He would wake up from terrorizing, choking nightmares with the sensation of his family being violently taken away from him when his children were in his arms, sleeping peacefully all along. He couldn’t stop it. It had spiraled out of control after the sky people came back, turning him into a paranoid, angry man who was ruled by fear. He worried for the safety of his family every day, obsessed over it — beneath the impenetrable iron mask of a leader his whole clan was leaning on, Jake was nothing more than a weak, emotionally crippled father who would lose it the more his children grew up to take reckless actions he made worse by the inability to govern his fear-curbed anger. He called it tough love. 

That tough love had resulted in this. Loss. Loss. Loss he had tried his damnedest to prevent. It was blood slipping through his fingers from a wound he had no way of stitching back together. 

The more he pushed to block the bullet entrance point, the more you fought Jake, making feral yowls that weakened into animalistic whimpers and throaty whines that all but ripped his heart off muscle by muscle, your hits and scratches didn’t faze him, but the noises. Eywa, the noises. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know you’re in pain, I know, I know, I’ll make it go away, please hold on, c’mon.” The droplets of sweat that had formed in the matter of seconds rolled down his face. You had begun to hyperventilate from the accelerating pain because of his efforts. “C’mon sweetheart. Breathe for me, breathe for dad, okay? You gotta breathe. Breathe!”

You were unhearing, lost in the overwhelming, blinding, deafening agony he couldn’t anchor or shield you from. The grunt of desperation that escaped his sore throat rattled his carbon fiber infused bones.  

Jake didn’t have time to think. His reason had flown out the mountains to be able to force one single word to form in his mindscape. He just knew he had to stop the bleeding, propelled by concentrated instinct. You were struggling too much for him to have a solid hold on you. Everything, too slippery. Too much blood. Too fucking much. The sickening smell of iron bit at his senses. 

(Was it the liver? The spleen? Pancreas? One of the major arteries? But Na’vi biology wasn’t the same as humans. Fuck.) 

Then, you were being restrained by a third party, Neytiri was too devastated to make that reasonable decision, and in his peripheral vision, he saw it was Neteyam who had sat down on your legs, restricting your movements with incredible strength. Jake couldn’t even bark at him to go away with how much Neteyam looked in control, a rock he and Neytiri both could draw strength from. Behind him, Lo’ak was a stone statue just standing there, frozen, his eyes not leaving your bloody abdomen. 

When you let out a yelp his heart could no longer stand, he yelled, “Bring a stretcher!” to nobody in particular, out of his goddamn mind. Lo’ak jumped at it, coming back to his senses, hesitating what to do for a second before he was off to god knows where. He had to take you to Norm’s, and then a doctor—

A tiny, trembling voice he couldn’t recognize as Neteyam’s reached his ears. “Dad…” 

The boy was looking at you, blown eyes shining with unshed tears, upper set of teeth sinking in his shaky bottom lip. 

You had gone slack in his arms. 

He hadn’t even seen the moment, didn’t stop putting pressure on the wound as the dread assaulted his body. And a biting shiver went down his spine before Jake also looked down on his eldest daughter. Your eyes weren’t closed all the way, halted gaze focused on something to the side, one tear rolling down your temple. 

“Don’t do this to me.” Jake couldn’t breathe as he shook his head, he was about to lose it, about to tumble down the edge he could never climb his way up from. In denial, he didn’t lift his hands, losing all strength in his upper body and gradually collapsing forward as his forehead found yours. “Don’t do this to me, sweetheart, not like this. Please, not like this.”

The last thing you were looking at was the ikran you’d gotten.

Jake didn’t feel that very ikran making its way to their side, flapping its wings, didn’t feel anything to react when a snoot reached down and ever-so-gently nudged you, like you were asleep and it was given the duty to wake you up in the morning that day. 

Your ikran nudged you once. Twice. Thrice. Each push was harsher than the other. 

You didn’t wake up. Your eyes didn’t get their light back. 

A paralyzing numbness took over Jake’s body, all his neuron ends stunted. The moon stopped spinning, time stopped moving, he ceased existing, all at the same time. 

A piercing ringing stabbed his ears, took away his hearing. He didn’t hear Neytiri scream louder than the ikran, you were ripped from his arms, and he couldn’t move to do anything about it, just staring into the distance, at nothing, bloodied palms facing upwards in his lap. 

It was Neteyam who tried to stop his wailing mother from going mad with grief, trying to get her to set down your body from her crushing embrace even though he couldn’t take his misty eyes off your body. It was Lo’ak, frantic in his run even though his panic-frozen face gave away nothing, who had rushed back with Mo’at and Kiri. It was Tuk who had thrown herself into his arms for a hug Jake wasn’t in his body to reciprocate, his seven year old child, in tears, comforting him when Jake, as the adult and the father, should have had his shit together and be the provider of comfort. 

Instead, all he could feel was the blood on his hands, one small part in his mind making him focus on that one amber with a bug inside he’d carved for you, years ago, now in your hair.

The tears didn’t come. His world was shattering all around him, but not one tear made it to the surface. 

Someone was talking to him, but Jake wasn’t there, experiencing the moment behind a thick veil of silencing glass. 

“Open her mouth, Jakesuli.”

He looked at the source of the muffled sound breaching the ringing in his ears, painfully empty and unfeeling. It was Mo’at. In her hand, a woodsprite gently floated in the air and landed before it repeated the motion again. It was as if his brains had been emptied from his skull. He didn’t understand. He didn’t see. Tuk was clinging to him, Neytiri doubled down in waves of cries in Neteyam’s arms. Jake wasn’t there. 

“Open her mouth so I can keep her spirit here longer,” Mo’at said. “Do it now. We do not have much time.”

And Jake could breathe again, his soul slinged back into his body, feeling returning to the tips of his fingers, kicking into action. 

He cradled your body from the cold ground you were lying on, bringing his shaky hand to your tightly shut jaw. Your body couldn’t have been experiencing rigor mortis, so you must have been clenching your teeth to the point of your jaw locking to fight the pain, and he was nearly blinded from the sheer strength with which he had to hold back from hugging you. But he eventually opened your jaw with a sickening pop that made him visibly grimace, and Mo’at guided the woodsprite to slip inside the cavity of your mouth.

The bioluminescent dots on your body began to flicker the moment your mouth was closed again. Jake gave a shuddering breath at the sign of life, hands unsure if he should continue to cover the wound again. 

“Eywa has allowed her to remain. For a while.”

“Oh Great Mother, thank you!” Neytiri took one of your hands, pressing it against her cheek and kissing it over and over again. “Thank you, thank you.”

“Bring her to my tent,” the Tsahik simply stated, and Jake didn’t even stop to consider how he should be taking you to the science guys, how they were probably going to say you needed a blood transfusion and surgery right after they got the necessary tests such as MRI and blood analysis out of the way. Kiri, sniffling weakly, took the crying Tuk away so Jake could carry you. He couldn’t comfort his girls the way he wanted to, couldn’t attend to Neytiri as their sons consoled her and got consoled in return in a tight hug together; he was on the move, heart about to beat out of his chest.  

He took you in his arms and clutched your unconscious and ashen blue body tightly to his chest, your head lolling in the crook of his arm, arriving to Mo’at’s tent faster than she did — and oh, how small you were compared to him, how fragile and vulnerable. The attitude made you appear bigger than you actually were, and Jake was reminded how you were still a child from how light his daughter was, like a fleeting bird. He’d forgotten. It had been forever since he last held you like this that he couldn’t bear to lay you down on the mat. If only he could hide you away within his ribcage, away from the pain and the suffering, forever.

“Everything in this world is borrowed,” she told him, an incense was burned, salves were prepared, tools he had no idea on what they were used were brought out. Plants, herbs. Jake stood there, helpless. “Even this child, Eywa has lent to you. She is borrowed from the bosom of our Great Mother, entrusted to you. Entrusted.” Your freckles were still flickering, and Tsahik’s tone, clipped. “I will converse with her. Ask if she plans to call her daughter back home today.”

Ice washed over Jake. “No, you gotta heal her, Mo’at, I can't lose m—”

“Everything in this world is borrowed. Each breath. Each heartbeat. All children. All gifts from Eywa.” Her eyes bore into him. “I can only ask.”

Neytiri pounced on him as soon as he stumbled out of the tent, beaten and spent despite not having one scratch on his body, upon Kiri’s entrance to assist her grandmother in tending to you. 

“Your fault!” He was violently pushed back, only able to take in the woman’s bloodied, wrathful face, tear tracks freshened with saltwater she couldn’t stop shedding. “This is your fault! I told you! I told you to fix this!”

Jake was aware other clan members were watching even if they weren’t out of their homes, he was Olo’eyktan, their leader, his pride would have taken this to their own tent had this been any other debate, but now, he couldn’t give a flying fuck. Bruising his back was the weight of a failed father instead of the ornamental piece of the clan leader, it was unbearable enough. She was right. There was nothing else to be said. His mate was right. 

“Mother, please,” Neteyam was right beside them in a flash, holding Neytiri back and shielding his father from her. His sunken eyes found Lo’ak and Tuk crouching at the edge of the tent, huddled together, the youngest having the crying hiccups as her older brother had an arm around her, himself looking traumatized enough. 

“Don’t, boy.” Jake put a hand on his stone-hard shoulder, moving him aside. Neteyam took one hard look at Neytiri half-circling his father in long strides, and decided it was best if he took care of his siblings instead even if he wasn’t told outright. He ushered Tuk and Lo’ak up and away, to the other side of the tent where they wouldn’t disturb their parents by staying in the field of vision. 

Jake should have been the one to take control, but Neteyam had stepped up for it — he was a kid, too, eldest child or not. What the fuck am I doing? 

In his tumultuous sorrow, every piece of the fortress Jake had put together was coming down, every decision re-evaluated, emotion overtaking what he once thought as logic. His fault. His fault. He had ruined his children, all of them. He had thought embracing the iron will of a war chief would allow him to be a strong father figure, but it had only alienated his family. 

You had died in his arms. 

Jake contained every storm in a box inside his body, Neytiri lived those storms, she was strong that way. He would take it. Her eyes were only seeing red at the moment, the grief and wrath of a wronged mother. “Yeah, it’s my fault,” he told her, something between a whisper and a sigh. His kids deserved to hear it. “I know.”

“She is dying because of you!” Jake couldn’t escape the truth by closing his eyes, but he did anyway, like an automatic body reflex against detecting something would be hitting him. He swallowed, his mouth was drier than a desert, no relief was found in the action. “My daughter! My child! Your child!” She pushed him again, hissing. Jake didn’t do anything to stop it. “All because you told her to go today—everything, everything… All because you didn’t reach out to her. She hid that.” A shiver shook her voice. “That… because of you. You! She thought you would be angry!”

Violent horror seized his heart, ears pinning back on his head, knuckles clenching so light blue they were almost white. “I would… I would never—how could I ever—?”

But it was in character, wasn’t it? Jake always getting angry over worry for his children. Going crazy because they could have gotten hurt. Fear grows into anger, worm eating away the bark of a tree into poisonous snake. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, chest rising and falling in big breaths, there was no air.  

“She said you hated her. Over and over again, she said you hated her. Not to call you because you would hate her for it, Jake!”

Bitter guilt and glacial shock rose from his stomach, choking him, his eyes looking at anywhere but Neytiri’s blazing golden eyes, to his children who sat together seemingly away from them but blatantly listening, to the tent flames were barely illuminating the shadows inside. His legs were weak. All that he had been breaching behind a wall to prioritize your safety flooded rancid to his mind. 

Jake got angry at you all the time that you’d expected it at your most vulnerable. That he would blame you, reprimand you for his enemy’s actions.

His memories were attacked by all sides. That you had gone off on your own for the Iknimaya everybody should have been there for, he should have painted your face personally for. That you have been hiding the bleeding out from the moment Jake had found you pinned down by the dead body of an avatar, from the moment you’d answered positively to the question of if you were hurt or not, with that rifle he’d thought you didn’t let go because of how the events had shaken you. He opened his mouth, a gaping fish, but no words came out, mute and voiceless. 

Hate you? Hate you? Hate his own child he would burn the whole world for?

His child. Suffering in silence when her nature was anything but silent. Afraid of her father when she was the most fearless of his kids when facing him.

You thought you weren’t loved.

“What have you done to our children? What has this family become? What are we if our children are too afraid to come to us in their darkest hours?” Neytiri was snarling, both fury and grief battling inside her, teeth gnashing so hard they could sharpen a knife. “What child does not seek her parents when she is hurt?” 

Unseeing, Jake couldn’t stand anymore, staggering towards a particularly large rock and sitting on it, he raised his hands to rub his face but stopped when he saw the blood. 

All yours. All his daughter’s who he had failed. Who had died in his arms thinking she was hated because Jake was a shit excuse of a father you couldn’t trust to say you were hurt that you would take the risk of dying so he wouldn’t find out. 

His daughter’s blood, on his hands. 

He put his elbows to his legs, crossing his wrists to lean his forehead on, yet unable to hide his shaking hands even if he managed to hide his face. Jake couldn’t comprehend any of this, crushed beneath the skyful of burning hot shame and the guilt dwarfing him — tears he couldn’t seem to shed found life in his eyes at him trying to blink away the memory of you clinging to your ikran at the flight home. You had been suffering the whole time and all he could think about was Quaritch when he should have been thinking of you.

“What child would rather hide her injury than let her father know?” It shocked his spine like lightning, and Jake visibly flinched, fists clenching and unclenching. “Explain this to me!” 

Shame. Shame. Shame. Jake was about to throw up, rocking back and forth.

He had nothing to say. Nothing could ever excuse this. He couldn’t wash away all your moments from this night, all a cursed film strip haunting his every breath accompanied by thorns that ripped apart his insides. 

“If she lives,” Neytiri said, pointing a curled hand at him, slowly, scarily calm, but shaking with mastered rage. If she lives destroyed Jake.  “We would be lucky if my mother doesn’t decide to perform Stxel’eveng as Tsahik!” 

Jake’s head shot up at the word, his arms dropping altogether and meeting his mate’s tortured stare. As Olo’eyktan, he had to be taught the traditions and ceremonies to the point of talking in his sleep from overlearning — this one was a long lost one the clan hadn’t performed for a long time, as the Omatikayan were faithful and loyal to Eywa and her teachings. 

Stxel’eveng was the shortened word for ‘Gifting of a Child’ — an adoption ceremony within Na’vi that didn’t even have the word ‘adopt’ in their vocabulary, simply because it was almost non-existent, most Na’vi didn’t even know the existence of such a tradition. If the parents were unable to care and provide for their child, mistreated on purpose or neglected them to the point of no return, they were to be publicly dishonored by the gifting of said child to another willing family. A knot would be formed between the three, one thread bound around the waist of the mother signifying the womb, one thread fastened to the queue of the father, and the final thread to the wrists of the child as if they were captive. The knot, then, would be severed by Tsahik to symbolize the dissolvement of the familial relations in Eywa’s eyes.

The biggest shame a Na’vi could bring upon their name. 

“No,” Jake muttered, his mind going blank yet again. Fuck the shame. Damn his name. He couldn’t lose you. It’s a stone in his throat he can’t swallow, whales on his tongue he can’t speak to save himself.

“Pray to Eywa it doesn’t happen. Because if I was Tsahik, I would do it.” Neytiri turned away from him, pushing the heel of her hands on her damp eyes. “I cannot bear this shame, Jake. I can barely breathe.”

He quivered like a baby leaf caught in a storm, a couple more tears rolling down his cheeks. “Neytiri…” 

“I lost my daughter today. She slipped from my fingers. I watched her die.” He lowered his head at her grief, vision swimming. “How am I a mother when I can't feel her pain? How am I worthy of being her mother when I saw my child’s pain and just sat there helpless? Why would the Great Mother ever want to send her back?” She just kept going, not having any mercy on Jake’s soul. “Where was I when she won against her ikran? Where was I when she had her first flight? Where was I to protect her from those demons?”

A father protects, that’s what gives him meaning.

Who was Jake Sully?

“Lo’ak, come back here!” 

Both of them turned just in time to see their youngest son running away from the back of the tent they’d been hiding, Neteyam following a couple steps before he stopped to look back, probably at his sister. 

“I’ll get him,” Jake said, soulless and absentminded. Neytiri didn’t respond, stalking back to Mo’at’s tent, just kneeling in front of the entrance, wrapping her hands and tail around her knees. Tuk turned the corner, scampering towards her and finding refuge in Neytiri immediately wrapping around her protectively. 

Jake wasn’t allowed to comfort his mate. 

But he could get to his children who needed it. Trust, Neytiri had said. Honesty. 

Walking up to Neteyam, he put a warm hand behind his rigid back, and felt the taut muscles relax underneath his touch, another wave of shame hitting at the inability to recall just when he had last comforted his boy. 

“Get Tuk. Go home. Rest.”

Neteyam turned to him, scandalized. “We will stay.”

“Neteyam—”

“Dad—sir, please. I can’t leave my sister.”

That sir was a splash of acid on his already weeping heart. 

It dawned on Jake that Neteyam was the one witnessing your moment of death. Death. A surge of nausea shot up from his esophagus, and he didn’t stop himself from hooking an arm around the boy, careful of using his hands not to get blood on the eldest, pulling him into a much awaited embrace. He hadn’t allowed him to be a kid.

“It’s okay, Neteyam,” he croaked. “She’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

Neteyam’s arms didn’t wrap around him, unfamiliar to the gesture — crumbling Jake’s already broken heart into dust, but he did shiver, fighting the tremble. He simply said, “I pray so.”

He was still trying to hold it together — for everybody’s sake. 

Jake felt the boy’s tears on his skin, and didn’t let him go when he tried to step back to wipe them, letting Neteyam cry silently as much as he wanted. He owed the boy that much, as his father. It was the least he could do. 

Jake would stitch this family back together. He had to.

Washing the blood off his hands had taken a while. Jake wasn’t let off easy, cursed by the remaining line of bloodied dirt in his nails. 

He found Lo’ak at where it all began. The mouth of the cave where your ikran was disturbing the other ones with restless chittering, reminding Jake of a wolf howling all night at the full moon. 

His youngest son was transfixed by the blood staining the ground. Just standing there, looking at it. Jake couldn’t protect him from the sight. Not anymore. He himself could barely stomach it.

“Is sister going to be taken away?” was the first thing he asked Jake, not looking at him still. 

Jake didn’t know if he meant death, or Stxel’eveng. 

“I pray not,” he told Lo’ak, honest for once. 

And like him, the boy wasn’t sentimental or emotional enough to bear his wounds to another, even to a family member, and fell silent. “It has Toruk’s colors,” he said instead, referring to your ikran’s red, orange, yellow and black patterns. Looking at the creature, Jake tried his hardest to stand up straight when he discerned all the blood coating its neck and back from the natural red color disguising it. “I wanted to fly with her.”

Pulling him into a side-hug, “I’m sorry, Lo’ak,” Jake admitted, causing him to finally break the trance he had on the blood. Speechless at his father, proud and strong, admitting he was wrong out loud and that he was being hugged when it wasn’t like his father at all to show them casual physical affection. Jake knew what must be going through his head, he would be thinking the same if his own father had ever taken responsibility for wrongdoings, as well.  “It’s my fault you didn’t get to.”

Lo’ak’s mouth was hanging low. “Dad…”

“But you will,” he said, determined and full of hope. He had to be. For his children. 

“You think so?”

“I pray so,” he quoted Neteyam. “Your sister is stubborn. She will pull through. Don’t lose faith in her.”

Lo’ak’s grip on his forearm was painful. 

“That ikran’s lost the half of its tail fins,” the boy sniffled, thickening his voice to hide the tears. “How did it get all the way here?”

It stung in Jake’s chest. The same way you’d hidden that injury. Your ikran was fueled only by the desire to get its rider to safety, it seemed. 

It would never fly again. 

Jake looked down at Lo’ak, only to be met with him avoiding his look, still concerned with hiding the tears. “Loyalty,” he said. “Devotion. Sometimes you don’t want to lose the things you love no matter what, that desperation gives you enough strength to push through any trial by fire. You would do anything. Anything.” 

And sometimes it was fear that did it, but he didn’t mention that to Lo’ak to not put salt on their family’s injury. Jake didn’t want to think about how terrified you must have been, or he would actually go insane. He didn’t want to think about the possibility of you not making it in the end. He had to keep going. He had to push forward. Be the father this family needed him to be. 

“Come on, boy,” he pulled Lo’ak gently. “Let’s go back.”

Your ikran whined at this pitifully. Jake tried not to think. He tried not to imagine what your reaction would be upon learning you would never fly together again, and had to put down this ikran that had been devoted endlessly to you if you wanted to get a new one. 

Jake didn’t think. Because if he did, he would actually go insane from the pain. 

Mo’at and Kiri emerged from the tent only in the morning, by which the whole family was cocooned in Jake’s embrace for the first time in years before the sky people had come back. They all had scrambled to get up, waiting with bated breath for one syllable of good news as Kiri slipped into Jake’s arms, one wink from falling asleep while standing. He kissed the girl’s head, soothing her, hoping this could be you eventually. He had been praying for it like a madman. 

“Eywa has accepted to bestow your daughter back to you, Jakesuli,” was the only answer Mo’at had for them, no word about your physical wellbeing. “But only if she accepts as well.” 

“I don’t understand.”

“You must go speak with her. At the Tree of Souls.”

taglist: @ihonestlydontknowwhattonamethis@alohastitch0626 @jackiehollanderr @lucciera @qvrcll @iloveavatar @velvtcherie @ssc7514 @goldenmoonbeam @neteyamforlife @itsluludoll @jakesullys-bitch @blubrryy @sully-stick-together @arminsgfloll @alice121804 @noname2246 @justthingzsblog @eywamygoddess @m-1234 @ellabellabus07 @hellok1ttycake @dakotali @bluefire12348 @abbersreads @yellooaaa @aimsro @octavias-next-meat-bite @nikqdn @nao-cchi @spicycloudsalad @yeosxxx @heybiatchz @winxschester @elegantkidfansoul @eichenhouseproperty @kakimakiloh @dueiosy @liyahsocorro @dimplesxx @tigresslily@n8ivatar @strnqer @lillybbyy @jakesullyssluttt @r3dc4ndy @myheartfollower @gcldtom @bunnyrose01 @aceofheartzzz @ghoulbli @slasherfcker505 @ducks118 @megsthings @graykageyama @gwolf92

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#dad!jake x daughter!reader #dad!jake sully x reader #jake sully x reader #jake sully x daughter!reader #dad!jake sully x daughter!reader #sully family x reader #mom!neytiri x reader #neteyam x sister!reader #neytiri x daughter!reader #lo'ak x sister!reader #kiri x sister!reader

[chrysalind]

last chance

pairing: kuroo tetsurou/reader wc: 860 tags: pre-relationship, fluff, high school setting (third year), bad flirting, kuroo is really trying

"What'd you get for number 8?" Kuroo asks as he leans over you.

"Umm," you tilt your head and the golden light of the late afternoon sun flickers across your cheek. "I think I put down 1868 to 1912."

"Wait, seriously?" He claps his hand on his forehead. That's five questions he's probably got wrong now, not to mention he'd barely finished writing his second essay, meaning the maximum possible grade he could get is...

"I hate history," he grumbles, trying to redirect his train of thought from its depressing destination. "I'm never taking it in university."

You sigh ruefully. "I feel the same way about chemistry. The moment I walked out of yesterday's exam, every piece of knowledge about thermodynamics just—" you wave your hand near your temple, "—vanished."

"Bet you're glad I gave you my notes though, right?"

The train doors slide open and a crowd of students from another school shuffle in. His legs brush against yours as he tries to make more room around him.

"Only because I gave you my English notes," you counter dryly, moving your bookbag onto your lap as a freckled teen slides into the seat beside you. The small plastic Keroppi charm on its side swings erratically against your thigh.

"A more than fair trade," he reasons. "Especially since I was getting the highest mark in chem, while you were just below Takaichi in English."

"Takaichi's mom is from New Zealand," you reply, with a roll of your eyes. "He's been practically fluent since he was born. Plus, your handwriting sucks, so you get points taken off for that."

Kuroo snorts, but has no choice but to concede. After all, he can barely read his own notebooks from last semester.

He watches as the Tokyo cityscape rushes past, still thrumming with life, even as the sun dips low in the sky. It's hard to imagine an afternoon where he won't be packed into the subway at this time, with his loosened Nekoma uniform tie around his collar, and your occasional company on the afternoons he's able to catch you at the school entrance.

His short spell of mourning is interrupted by the announcer as the train pulls into a familiar station. You both exit onto the platform and make a beeline towards the escalators.

"I'm not staying in Tokyo," he says, as you're halfway through the barriers.

Keroppi's face smacks against your zipper as you pause. "Oh?"

"I'm going to Osaka," he continues, weaving through the crowd. You fall into step beside him and there's a second in which Kuroo thinks he's vastly overestimated his importance in your life.

"That's..." He watches as a crease forms between your brows. "I thought you were going to Tokodai."

"Nah," he says, re-adjusting the strap of his bag. "I think it'd be good to gain some independence, you know?"

"Right," you say, tucking your Suica away. The sound of the city fills in the quiet that follows as you step out of the station.

Truthfully, Kuroo had been hoping for something—anything—more than the pensive silence that now settles between the two of you as you both walk the last few blocks of your high school era. But as you round the corner, the weight of the moment only grows heavier.

From his peripheral vision, he can tell you're sulking with your lips turned down in a pout that you probably aren't even aware of. And even though you've never admitted it to anyone, he's not oblivious to the way you can barely hold his gaze for more than two seconds, or how you linger at the intersection when you part ways.

"You know," he says, as you both stand before a crosswalk, "this is probably your last chance."

Your eyes flash up at him.

"What do you mean?"

He straightens up.

"Your last chance to admit that you're in love with me," he blurts. He had meant for it to come out a bit smoother, maybe aiming for a kind of teasing tone, but something had gone horribly wrong in the last second. Embarrassingly, he feels his own cheeks grow hot at the boldness of his declaration.

The crosswalk indicator changes, but you're both frozen in place.

You blink, looking absolutely bewildered, and he begins to fear that he's broken you.

And then an odd sound emerges from your mouth—a short snicker, followed by an open burst of laughter. Your giggle seems to carry over the noise of the traffic around you and Kuroo tries very hard not to die right then and there.

Instead, he forces himself to laugh along. How could he have miscalculated so bad?

He's sure he'll remember this moment for many sleepless nights ahead.

"Don't worry," you say later with the world's most bemused smile, as you near his building. "It's not my last chance."

Kuroo works up the courage to look you in the eye.

"After all, I still have our graduation ceremony."

#haikyuu x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou x reader #from: linde

[leilani-lily]

~Oh Deer~ (Chapter 1)

... So this idea for an Alastor x reader (kinda?) story popped in my brain, and has refused to leave me no matter how hard I try.

Have I written fanfiction recently? Hell no.

Do I even know how to write for an AroAce character? No but I'm gonna do my damndest to represent him properly (and also relying on outer sources so I'm not offending anyone).

Do I feel like a complete fool for being sucked back into the fanfiction world and re-entering with a freakin Hazbin Hotel fic? ABSOOOO-FREAKIN-LUTELY.

But here we are. The writing gods have spoken. And they have declared that I write this story out so my poor brain can focus on other things like work.

Figured I'd share so it's just not on my computer all lonely. Will be a slow burn so fair warning. Let's be real, the deer boi needs love. But not overly romantic love. Just, someone he ends up really caring about and becoming his favourite.

SYNOPSIS: AroAce! Alastor x Chef!Singer! Reader. The hotel is looking to hire a chef to prepare meals for the staff/guests. Somehow you're hired and you begin your new life. And somehow end up becoming close to a certain Radio Demon. Word Count: 1.8 K

Chapter 1 under the cut. Enjoy I guess? ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Ok, deep breaths y/n. Remember to smile.

You felt your lips curl up into a strained grin as if to fight off the nerves in your chest, your grip tightening on the flyer in your fist. This could go either two ways. One, you get the job and are able to live a life of somewhat normality. Or two, you get hung from the tippy top of the building by your own intestines. With your legs chopped off. And one of your arms sticking out of your ass.

Gotta love Hell and it’s creative subjects.

You shake your head out of those terrible thoughts, surely it wouldn’t be that bad?? When you saw the original broadcast on the 666 News, you couldn’t stop thinking how nice the Princess of Hell actually was. And building an entire hotel to help her subjects reform into something better was, perhaps a little optimistic in your opinion, but it made you admire her gumption and her love for her subjects.

So later when you found the flyer in search of a chef at the very same establishment the princess was hoping to fill… well, it somehow managed to get you all the way here. Standing at the doorsteps of the very lonely looking hotel on the hill. 

You had to admit it wasn’t the look you had imagined, but hey, this was Hell. You had seen worse. And everyone has to start somewhere. Including yourself, arm still poised ready to knock yet not yet making the motion.

You felt so stupid, you had been standing here for almost 10 minutes now just trying to get the courage to enter the damn building. You sigh to yourself and shake out the jitters. Alright, let’s just do this. Once again, you smile, puff out your chest and raise your arm high in the air, ready to strike with a newfound courage.

“Well folks, looks like the little lady is finally ready to take the leap! Will she follow through with her actions? Or will she choke and back out of the fight? Let’s tune in and find out~”

You felt your heart nearly leap out of your chest as you whip your head around to look behind you. A tall demon clad in red and ruby eyes stood behind you, a wickedly wide grin filling his face as he points what appears to be a microphone in your direction. You stare at it dumbly, then make eye contact with him again. He remains poised, half lidded eyes seeming to hold a sparkle of impish joy. His eyes flicker from you, to your raised arm, and back to you. After a embarrassingly long time of connecting the dots, you finally extend your arm closer to the door, never breaking focus on the demon behind you (you can't help but notice he raises his microphone even closer to you), and give the door a good solid knock.

“AND SHE’S DONE IT FOLKS, what a display!!” He pulls the microphone back to himself, as you continue to stare dumbfounded “The form, the elegance, it could almost make a grown Imp cry. Let's give her a hand people.” He begins to clap as a roar of applause plays from… somewhere.

You couldn’t tell if this guy was being sarcastic or genuine, but the whole absurdity of it all, plus the bundle of nerves you were feeling earlier, seemed to bubble up inside of you and you couldn't help a little snort escape. The red demon’s grin widened as he ceases his clapping, stepping closer to you as you continue to giggle.

“Ahhh now isn’t that better. A much nicer smile than the one you were faking earlier. Besides, there’s no need to be so shy my dear. This hotel is always happy to accept wayward demons looking for reformation!”

Upon hearing his words, you turn to face him and put your hands up “Oh nono, I’m not here to-”

“Ohoho~! and what’s this you have here?” Before you can finish your sentence, the tall demon ripped the flyer out of your hand and inspected it quickly, before turning back to you. His half-lidded gaze was now round with surprise, his grin becoming even wider (which you didn’t even think was possible).

“So THAT explains the nerves from before! And here I was just thinking you were a timid little thing. But a business woman! Now that I can admire.” He smiles at you almost impressed and leans in closer, your noses almost touching.

“Tell me my dear, can you make a good jambalaya? Or perhaps a hearty gumbo with cornbread on the side~?”

You were so flustered with the speed of everything happening (plus the close proximity of this demon you had just met certainly didn’t help). All you could manage was a jumbled “Uhh, well yes I-!”

“WONDERFULLLL~!" He straightens up again and you sigh with relief. “I’ll be sure to test you on such skills. But for now we should-”

The front doors of the hotel suddenly burst open and a short gray female stands before you, with long silvery hair and an eyepatch. She looks at you for a moment, before turning her gaze at the red demon and giving him a scowl.

“Alastor, what the HELL took you so long, you should’ve been back ages ago. And quit creeping out new potential clients.” Her gaze adverts back to you, expression softening ever so slightly, “Seriously, if he’s bothering you-” “Oh Vaggie my dear, no need to be so hostile. I was simply going over business with our newest chef!” he brings his long fingers up behind your shoulder and pulls you in close against his chest, making you yelp a moment before regaining composure. You could sense this so-called 'Vaggie' demon tense, eyes flickering between the two of you. You felt as if your brain was sputtering to catch up with the current conversation (he WORKS here??!)  before finally realizing what he had just called you. You sneak a look at him, and he gives you a quick wink before focusing back on the female before him. 

“Now be a doll and have Nifty tidy up one of the rooms, preferably one of a reasonable size and close to the kitchen. And call upon Charlie as well, she’ll DEFINITELY want to meet our newest addition!”

The female in front of you shot a glare at Alastor (you quickly noted these two did not seem to get along), but then flicked her gaze back at you. After a moment, she sighed and turned back into the building as she followed the male demon’s orders. You couldn’t help but notice how Alastor’s grip on you tightened ever so slightly as a chuckle escaped his lips, static humming ever so louder in amusement. He himself began to walk into the hotel, guiding you along with him.

"Now then. We’ll have to introduce you to everyone, as well as get you to fill in the proper paperwork, give you a proper tour of the place and-!”

“Wait wait,” you stop walking, causing him to halt. You notice a slight twitch in his eye and his hand squeezes you for a moment. He doesn’t like to be interrupted, duly noted. You take a breath.

“Sorry, uh for interrupting” That seemed to please him. “But does this mean… I got the job?? You don’t need a resume or a test or…?”

Alastor let out a guffaw of amusement “Why of course my dear! As long as you remain true to your word of being able to cook a good New Orleans dish, that’s all the proof I’ll need! There hasn’t been many a demon coming here interested in the job, so I say your timing couldn’t be more perfect!”

Well that was the easiest damn interview you’ve ever done. You felt yourself exhale a sigh of relief as you smile up to the tall demon. 

“Wow, that’s… that’s amazing, thank you so much.” He gave you a half lidded smirk, clearly enjoying being praised “So… does this make you my boss, Mr…?” 

You heard the sound of a record screech as his eyes widened in surprise. Hand finally leaving your shoulder and placing it on his own chest he began to laugh heartilly, a laugh track playing in the background. You stood there confused for a moment before he finally responded.

“Ohhh my goodness me, my mother would be rolling in her grave if she ever heard about this. How rude of me to be so forward without properly introducing myself!” One minute he was standing right beside you, and then the next he had sunken like a shadow into the floor, only to appear in front of you a few steps ahead. With grace and suave you didn’t realize he possessed, he gave a small hand flourish before bowing in front of you.

“I am Alastor, also known as the Radio Demon. I happen to be the Hotel’s Facility Manager, but you’ll find Miss Morningstar is the real ringleader around here,” You notice the corner of his lip twitch at that last remark, but you pay no mind to it. “If you ever have any questions or concerns, do not hesitate to reach out to me.” You smile and dip yourself in your own little curtsy as he straightens up.

“My name is y/n, and I’ll be sure to do my best to serve you and this hotel, sir.” Alastor seemed to hum with approval as he looks down at you. “I guess I just have one more question for you, if that’s alright.” 

“Why of course dear y/n, whatever would it be?”

“Well, I uh…” You feel yourself becoming flustered at the question, and the radio demon seemed to notice. Cocking a head to the side, he takes a step forward, opening his arms into a friendly gesture.

“Come now dearest, you can ask me anything! If we’re going to be working together, we have to be honest with each other~” You look up at him and sigh, knowing he was right. With a gulp you straighten your back and wear a serious expression.

“How long did you see me standing by the door?” 

Alastors face didn’t waver, it was hard to tell what was going on in his mind. Then his smile grew into what looked like an amused, smug expression before answering.

“The whole time.”

You groaned and felt your head slap against your hand, making Alastor burst into laughter yet again at your expense. He was there watching the entire time?? Satan’s Ass you felt like such an idiot. Was he waiting for you to move so he could get in the building?? The more you thought about it the more you wanted to sink into the floor and die, for a 2nd time. The radio demon wiped a stray tear from his eye.

“Ohhhh y/n, what a riot you are. I can already tell that this is going to be fun~”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

First chapter hoorayyy ♡〜٩( ˃▿˂ )۶〜♡ Not sure how often I'll be updating, hopefully soon as I'm currently inspired. Thanks for reading thus far!FIRST (You're here!) PREVIOUS (Doesn't exist ( • ᴗ - ) ✧) NEXT

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #oh deer #leilani-lily

[bettyfrommars]

I'm on Fire//older!biker!Eddie Munson x fem!artist!Reader//90's au//Part 9

🚨18+Only, mature themes, violence, mentions of violent past, angst, blackmail, stabbing (not reader), brass knuckles, biker!Eddie, biker!Steve, bleeding, mention of blood, longing, mutual pining, knife wielding, biker gang, threats, sexual tension, bandages, relationship drama, reader thinks she's been cheated on, fear of loss, eventual smut (not in this chapter) Word count: 9.4k

Summary: Most of part 9 takes place within the span of one evening, with the exception of a flashback to the previous day. While you're trying to get a hold of Eddie, hoping for an explanation, he decides to take matters into his own hands, and ends up taking on several members of a rival gang. In the aftermath, you rush to Eddie's aid, and at the end of the day, a familiar foe brings you comfort. Another ST character is brought into the fold, as well as mention of others soon to appear.

Series Masterlist

A/N: OOF, I had planned to bring some other ST characters into this chapter but this one got too busy, so I decided to save them for the next one. The new character Astrid was created by I'm on Fire fan and friend @texasblues and I hope I did her justice. You can read more on her and biker!Steve here I know a lot of you have been hoping for some soft Eddie and reader moments, and they are coming, I promise, along with our regularly scheduled smut. Also, I meant to get this out an hour ago but decided to re-write a scene at the last minute 🙃Love you all.

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I'm on Fire Part 9: Fade into You

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10:25 on Friday night, after the photos arrived

There came a soft knocking at your door, and then there was Katie’s voice, asking if you needed anything. You were about to answer, “yeah, a new life,” but you settled for a bland no thank you.

You were on the floor with your back against the bed, cheeks wet with tears, looking down at the phone in your lap. To the left of you was the stack of incriminating photos, but they were face down now on the beige carpet—you couldn’t look at them anymore. You’d already gone to the bathroom to dry heave a few times, but then you realized you wanted to give Eddie a chance to explain himself, but per usual, you couldn’t get a hold of him. You considered that he was at Wayne’s house, and you thought about getting that number from Robin, but even in your distressed state, you’d didn’t want any drama to possibly interrupt time with his uncle.

And so, you waited. You waited for Eddie to get the message you’d left on his machine and call you back and tell you that the photos weren’t real, that none of this was, that it had all been a bad dream that you’d wake up from any second now. “Good morning baby. You were screaming in your sleep like you were having a horrible nightmare.”

Wanting to torture yourself a bit more, you grabbed a photo off the top of the pile and turned it over: it was one of the ones with him and Erica, and it made you shiver. He barely had any clothes on. Had they just fucked and she was saying goodbye to him? She held his face as they kissed, and he had his hand on her stomach. There was another one of her inside his apartment, coming out of the hallway, smiling, while Eddie stood near his dresser. As damning as these were, you wondered why whoever took them hadn’t just snapped photos of them in the act? Eddie was a cautious guy and would most likely think to close the curtains for the fornication portion of the evening, but still—something felt off to you.

You told yourself it was just your foolhardy naivete and lack of self-respect that had you trying to make excuses for him, even now.

You tossed that photo to the side and picked up another, your eyes narrowing on the woman who had her arms around Eddie that same night he made you cum under the cherry blossoms. Her hair was a bright, candy red; she had it up in a high ponytail, and she had a tattoo on her upper arm. He was on the edge of his bed facing the window and she was on her knees behind him, arms crossed around his neck, hugging him from behind. She was really pretty, and she was smiling---so was Eddie, for that matter, like he wanted her to be hugging him; like he was happy she was there.

A sob hitched in your chest, wanting to die all over again, but then you continued to examine the photo as if you could think your way around the fact that he clearly had a woman he liked in his bed at an ungodly hour. The photos of him kissing Erica in the hallway made you sad too, but the ones with the red head made you sick, because he not only invited her in, but he wanted her there. He looked very relaxed and comfortable, like maybe they’d had a thing going for a while---like they were close---and that tore you up more than any quick kiss in a hallway with a groupie like Erica would.

There was also something off about the photos with the red head, but you couldn’t quite place it. He still had his leather on over that white t-shirt and he was turning to her as if in surprise? Maybe he hadn’t expected her to lunge across the bed and hug him like that? Your mind was racing on fumes at this point, and your internal tires had no more tread.

What would his excuse be? That the woman was just a friend? But then, why was she on his bed hugging him at 2 in the morning? Wearing a skimpy tank top and tiny shorts? Did she spend the night with him? In his bed??

You shifted your eyes to the phone, willing it to ring, and then, as another tear slid down your cheek, you clawed at the receiver and yanked it up to call his place again.

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

12:43am much earlier that morning

Eddie noticed a big rig parked in the lot when he got back from dropping you off, but it was over near the heavy equipment garages, and he figured one of the guys dropped it off, or it was waiting overnight to be repaired. Maybe it was one of the truckers he knew just pulling into the lot for a quick snooze? The semi truck was an expensive, privately owned red beauty with polished chrome, and it wasn’t carrying any freight. He looked around with caution, just in case, before entering through the garage space below his apartment and locking the door.

He appreciated having the top floor apartment all to himself, and living at work was on brand for him, but he hated having to come through the garage to get to his place; he yearned to smell something else besides motor oil and brake fluid right before bed. Thankfully, most of the car repairs and servicing happened across at the parking lot at the main garages, and the space below his apartment was used mostly for specialty work on custom build bikes. At the other side of the garage, across from the stairs, was a door that led to the clubhouse used by the Coffin Kings for meetings and socializing, and Eddie hadn’t been doing much of either. Not a single part of him missed his ex, but he did miss the house they’d shared together for less than a year before everything fell apart. There was a farm house out in the country that he had his eye on, and if it ever went up for sale, he’d be the first one in line, but until then—this half-assed studio above a garage would have to do.

He wondered if you ever thought about where you’d want to live. Did you prefer houses or apartments? Did you tend to move around a lot, or would you make Hawkins your home for a while? He wanted to ask you these things, but didn’t want you to feel like he was trying to interrogate or pressure you. His ex always accused him of trying to smother her and “dim her light” and the experience had made him extremely cautious about the words that came out of his mouth when he was around you. He didn’t want to get shouted at or told he was doing it wrong. In his heart, he knew that you were nothing like his ex, but the aftershocks of some traumas had a way of digging their heels in.

He flipped the round lock at the middle of the metal doorknob and hooked the security chain before heading for the stairs. That was when he cocked his head, noticing with a prickle on the back of his neck that the hallway light was on upstairs.

He never turned on that hallway light. Ever.

And then he heard footsteps up above in his apartment.

Goddamn, Eddie thought to himself, he was way too fucking exhausted for this, whatever it was. He just wanted to tug one out to the smell of you that still lingered on his shirt and then pass out, but no. His life was basically a circus, but with no really cute acrobatic animals to love on.

Was it Erica again? She didn’t have a key to his place though, and he couldn’t see her trying to break in, she might ruin her manicure.

With a heavy sigh, he put his palm on the handle of the knife sheathed at his hip and made his way up the steps, ears trained for any more movement from up above.

“Anyone here?” Eddie called out, hoping against hope that no one answered.

He got to the top of the stairs and waited, ears perked, listening to his own breathing, when all of a sudden:

“SURPRISE!”

Eddie’s knife came up with his hand reflexively, his back going flush against the wall at the top of the stairs, as a redheaded woman popped out of his apartment and into the hallway wearing a Michael Myers mask, brandishing a large kitchen knife.

“Oh, shit,” Eddie said on an exhale, lowering his weapon, his heart in his throat. “You crazy? I almost stabbed you.”

Max was laughing, wheezing, tongue pressing out between her teeth as she pulled the mask up and let it rest on the top of her head. “I wish you could’ve seen your face!” She crossed her arms at her stomach and bent over, winded in a laughing spasm. “Damn, that was so good. Did you shit yourself, Munson?”

“Ha. Ha. Ha.” Eddie pushed off the wall and crossed the distance on the wood floor in his heavy boots, wallet chain slapping against his jeans, and then gently took the kitchen knife from her before they exchanged a tight hug. He told her it was good to see her, and then, “how the hell did you get in here, Red?”

She pulled the mask off the top of her head as she followed him into the apartment. “You gave me a key, remember? 4 or 5 years ago, when Lucas and I broke up for a week and I needed a place to crash. That was before I had my rig.”

Oh sure, now he remembered. That was back when the apartment operated as a bit of a flop house for bikers who were too black out drunk to drive home, back when Eddie lived in Chicago for a stint. Lucas, who Max affectionately called “her old man”, was also a patched Coffin King member, but for the Indianapolis chapter. They weren’t married yet, even though Lucas had asked many times. Max had a bad taste in her mouth when it came to marriage, she felt like it was a curse, and so they compromised to be committed. They lived together, they had two dogs and a calico tabby cat that were their babies, and they were close enough that Eddie and Steve and Robin got to see them a couple times a year. Max had been an independent long-haul trucker for the past couple years; she loved the freedom and the power she had behind the wheel.

“Is that your new rig out there?” Eddie asked, unhooking his chain to put his wallet on the dresser.

Max put her fists on her hips, the mask still in one hand, and batted her eyes proudly. “Yep, that’s my new baby Big Red. She’s beautiful, right? Look---” she paused to pull her arm across her body to show Eddie her bicep. “---even had Steve put her in a tattoo for me.” Inked on her skin was her red rig surrounded by daisies. On the inside wrist of that same arm was the outline of a heart with the lettering: L.S + M.M. She was in a tank top and a pair of jean shorts, exposing the bursts of color from other tattoos on her ankle, thigh, and inner forearm. And of course, she had a lower back tattoo.

“You changed your hair,” Eddie said with a tip of his chin as he went around to sit on the bed facing the window to take his boots off. “I like it.”

“See, now,” she threw the mask on the sofa in front of the TV. “It only took you a few minutes to notice I changed the color. It took Lucas days.” It was a much more punk, bolder red than what she’d had her whole life, and so she was a little self-conscious about it, and it felt good to hear his compliment.

Eddie finished untying the first boot as he felt her crawl across the bed toward him, and before he knew it, she had her arms around him in a playful hug. “Eddiiiiiieeee I’ve missed youuuuuuu,” and then she swayed back and forth, taking his body with her.

He patted her arm, grinning; the kids always made him smile. Even though they weren’t kids anymore. Max was...what? 26 or 27 now? “I missed you, too, weirdo. You need to come around more often. Robin said she invited you two to the barbecue a few weeks back?”

She released him to jump off the bed and take a few steps over to plop down on the sofa with a bounce. “Ugh, I was taking a haul to Denver that weekend. I told Lucas to go, but he said he didn’t want to go without me, which is kinda sweet, I guess, but still.”

Eddie shrugged out of his leather with a cringe, his shoulder muscles aching, and then he got up to walk to the kitchen portion of the studio. “Beer? Soda?” He asked, rolling his neck.

She was flat on the sofa, so he couldn’t see her face. “You got any whiskey?”

As a matter of fact, he did, so he poured her a finger, and got himself a beer, and then went to sit in the old green armchair across from her that he had picked up at the Goodwill.

“So,” she sat up to take a sip of her drink with a clench of her teeth and a hiss, eyeballing him. “You gonna tell me who the girl is?”

Eddie looked dumbfounded. “Wait. What do you mean? How did you know?”

Max gestured to the collar of his shirt. “That’s not exactly your shade of red.”

He was still confused, but then he tucked his chin and pulled the front of his shirt out to see that there were two places where your lipstick had smudged, and a smile immediately jerked across his mouth.

“Oh, I know that look,” Max gave an open mouth grin, lifting her eyebrows a few times. “Hearts are gonna be breaking wide open all over the state tonight: Eddie Munson is in love.”

He tried to give her a stern look, but ended up falling miserably as he took a swig of his beer, unable to wipe the smile off of his face. “She’s...we’re just...it’s still new, but…”

Max cackled. “Eds! I need to know everything,” she coaxed, leaning forward. “Do not leave out a single detail.”

He cleared his throat and gave her the cliff notes version of his time with you, proudly showing off the painting you had done for him when he got to that point in the story. He left out the bits about Charlene, because Max was very protective, and he didn't want her to worry.

“Aw, dammit,” Max slapped her forehead. “You mean I would have met her if I’d gone to the barbecue? Now I really am bummed,” she took another sip of her whiskey. “Hey, did you hear about Suzie?”

Eddie cocked his head. “Dustin’s Suzie?”

“Yeah,” Max scratched her arm. “Dustin finally knocked her up. She’s due in a month I think? And they’re wanting to move home, back to Hawkins. Dustin’s mom hasn’t been doing good.”

Come to think of it, Steve had mentioned this to Eddie, but it must’ve slipped to the back of his brain somehow. Steve liked to talk on the phone a lot more than Eddie did, and the past year might as well have bee a few days long for how fast it had gone by.

“Steve’s pretty excited to be a Grandpa, I know that,” Eddie added, the long-standing joke being that Dustin was Steve’s other son: they even had matching nail bat tattoos on their shoulders.

They exchanged stories a bit longer, and then Max yawned.

“You want to take my bed?” Eddie asked. “I can sleep on the couch.”

“Hell no,” Max scoffed. “The bed in my rig is way more comfortable than that brick mattress.”

“Fair enough,” Eddie stood up to walk her out. “You want to get coffee in the morning, or?”

Max scooped up her Michael mask. “I don’t think I’ll have time, I gotta hit the road in a couple hours, actually. But we’ll make a plan to come visit in a few weeks? Maybe we can all get together when Dustin comes home? That would be nice.”

“That would be really nice,” Eddie said, sincerely, putting his boots back on to escort her down to the main door.

She was out of the building and on her way across the parking lot when she spun around. “Hey, tell that new girl of yours that if she breaks your heart, I’ll break her face.”

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

“I warned you.” Charlene said, a hiccup of laughter in her voice.

And then, the message continued. “If you don’t know already, that poor girl of yours just got her heart broken, what a shame. And now she has the proof that you’re nothing but a dimestore gigolo who isn’t capable of being faithful to anyone. Sleep well, lover.”

Eddie called your place first, but the line was busy. Every fiber of his being wanted to run over to see you and hold you and tell you that he was being set up. Would you even believe him? He couldn’t though; he couldn’t fathom letting her go on with this bullshit for a moment longer. The fear and anger he felt squeezed his heart like a vise as he scrambled to throw some clothes on, figuring he’d go to your place right after he was done with Charlene. He’d tell you everything: about her threats, how she was to blame for you losing your job. God, what if you ended up hating him anyway for being the reason you got fired? He’d have to risk it, he was done letting this bitch run his life.

The whole getting you fired thing was bad enough, but to actually hurt you? Make you cry?? Eddie saw red in the way he does when he’s about to rip someones throat out and send them to the morgue.

He hated this side of himself. He wasn’t proud of the thoughts he was having as he got dressed, slipping his knife into the leather sheath at his side and putting the brass knuckles in his pocket. Those weapons weren’t for Charlene; they were for the security she hired to be with her 24/7, and he was almost positive they’d have to be dealt with in order to get to her. There was a monster inside of him, deeply breed into his DNA---a cold blooded killer---and it was the tendencies of that monster that he had done his best to keep in shackles most of his life.

His father, Ray Munson, one of the Coffin Kings original founders, would’ve done horrible, unspeakable things to any man or woman who dared to threaten him or do half the things Charlene had done to Eddie. Ray Munson was a bad man. A scary man who made everyone he loved, including his young son, fear for their lives at times.

Looking back, Eddie was glad that Ray went to prison when he did and Wayne was able to raise him, because god only knew where he would be without the aid of a gentle, loving hand. In prison too, for drugs or murder? Dead? Wayne taught him patience, and how to channel his rage through boxing and long rides on his motorcycle; through work and duty and routine. He taught him never to lay hands on a woman.

Jaw muscles clenching, his entire body vibrating, a voice in Eddie’s head told him to call Steve; call someone. Bones? Thumper? Let someone know where he was going, and have them ride with him or wait for him. Let them know the address.

A voice in his gut screamed at him not to go over to her place alone, but he didn’t listen.

----------

After Eddie took off to go to Charlene’s the message numbers on the answering machine jumped from 1 to 6 in the dark of his apartment as you continued to call, fully justified in deserving some kind of explanation from him. The more he didn’t answer, the more it somehow confirmed his guilt, to the point that it was starting to really piss you off. To the point that you finally just screamed FUCK THIS aloud, slammed the phone down, and went to grab your jean jacket and keys, deciding to go find him. “I’m coming for you, Eddie Munson,” you said under your breath with a curse.

----------

As Eddie revved his bike and pulled up to the side gate at Charlene’s, flanked by thick trees, he was not shocked to find three of Lucifer’s Own, a rival biker gang, guarding the gate, almost as if they were waiting there for him, expecting him. 3 to 1 odds didn’t faze Eddie one bit, especially with the amount of adrenaline pumping through his body at the moment. He parked his chopper on the other side of the quiet street and walked across, heavy boots clapping the pavement, wallet chain slapping his thigh.

One of the guys, the shorter one with the thick head of black hair, black leather chaps, and an orange bandanna around his neck, made his way over to meet Eddie after a lone car passed between them.

His hand was up with his palm out. “Listen bro, I know we’ve got beef, but I like your uncle, so I’m gonna give you a chance to walk away.”

“I need to talk to Charlene,” Eddie said, continuing his trajectory forward.

“Bro, are you deaf? She doesn’t want to see y----”

But he couldn’t finish because Eddie cracked him in the jaw with a brass knuckle. He had exchanged his rings for the duster because it gave him more support and there was less of a chance of breaking his fingers or hand.

Knocked out, the guy sank to the ground like a wet rag, and Eddie stepped over his body, flexing his hands, ready for the next two. Both wearing their biker cuts, one was tall, young, and pale with a nose pushed flat against his face like it had been broken 8 times, and the other one was stocky with a gray beard.

The taller one started screaming and charged at Eddie, yanking a knife from inside his vest, arms flailing. Eddie dodged the first swing of the knife as it came, blocked the second attempt with his arm, chopped the kid in the throat, and then rocked him with an upper cut. The tall one stumbled back, bleeding, dazed, and he dropped his knife, so Eddie picked it up and threw it over his shoulder.

“I can take you, Munson,” the guy with the gray beard and the meaty hands said with a snort. The older members of the clubs were always tough, grisly old bastards who had seen and done a lot. He had one fist up to guard his face and the other held his knife, ready to swipe. Eddie slipped his knife out of its holster, twirled it around in his fingers a few times, and gave the guy a tilt of his chin. They engaged in a bit of a knife dance for a bit, both swiping and missing, while Eddie patiently waited until he was able to swing his long arm in a left hook to the side of the dudes head. While the guy was still stunned, Eddie jammed the tip of his knife in to his shoulder and the guy howled in pain, and then Eddie stomped his foot against the side of his knee to make him go down.

The only problem was, Eddie had lost sight of the first guy he’d knocked out, and that one was on his feet now, and hooking his arm around Eddie from behind to try and get him in a chokehold. Taken by surprise, Eddie reeled back, and the skinny kid got in a few swings at Eddie’s gut and face while the other guy held him; the guy punching had rings on and Eddie started to bleed, a cut opening on his cheek.

Eddie planted his feet and bent forward, sending the guy flying in the air over his head, crashing into the old guy who was trying to stand up.

That was when it happened: the tall kid, who was relentless as hell, pulled out a knife from his boot, and came in fast from the side to stab it into Eddie’s stomach.

Eddie grunted as it sank in, and then the kid yanked it out and Eddie’s hand flew to the spot at his side where blood was already wetting the webs of his fingers. The kid looked worried, not because he’d just stabbed someone, but because Eddie looked like he was about to murder him.

With a growl, Eddie tackled the kid to the pavement, and secured a bloody hand around his throat as he pounded his face into the ground over and over again until he turned the kid’s lights out. Eddie found his footing to stand up with a cringe and a hiss, feeling the warm wetness soak his shirt, knowing it was bad, but not wanting to look at it.

Eddie had to punch the older guy in the gut one more time before all three stopped their advances; two of them were unconscious and the older dude was on his ass trying not to puke.

The security camera above the gate was pointed right at him, and he knew that Charlene had watched the whole thing from the safety of her mansion. Eddie shook his head slowly back and forth, making eye contact with her through the lens, his chest heaving, his eyes going black. He pressed as hard as he could onto the wound, and limped over to the intercom.

He pushed the white button on the small black box and put his mouth to the speaker. “Charlene!”

He stepped back to look up, and the mechanical arm rotated the camera to meet his gaze. He screamed her name into the electronic eye so that she could see how deathly serious he was about his anger: she had never witnessed this side of him before.

He went back to the intercom and pushed the button again. “I’ll come here every night and beat all of your security guards bloody if I have to. I won’t let you hurt her anymore.”

Warm, viscous blood oozed between his fingers and he new he had to get somewhere else before he got lightheaded on his bike and crashed. It was a good thing Charlene decided to hide because he would’ve put his hands around her throat and never stopped squeezing until she was dust.

One more push on the button, leaving a bloody fingerprint this time. “If you want a war, Charlene, you fucking got it.”

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

Eddie wasn’t at his apartment. His bike was gone and the windows in his place were dark, and you wandered in circles for a bit in the parking lot, letting out a few good, frustrated screams, before getting back in your car. You had the music on listening to Something I can never have by Nine Inch Nails, and a strange force compelled you to start aimlessly driving around to places you thought Eddie might be. You checked down around the Velvet Hammer again, over at The Hideout, and then up over the hill where he took the scenic route on his bike, and then wound back around to the road that let to Munson’s Garage again. You’d camp out in his doorway if you had too; you weren’t going to let him ignore you.

But then, with a catch in your breath, you saw him: one car ahead of you, he pulled out from a stop sign. You’d know that long hair and big chrome bike anywhere. The car at the stop in front of you took too long to go and you honked, frustrated that you would lose him. After another stop, you came up behind him, noticing that he swayed a little on the bike, almost losing control for a second, which was not like Eddie; him and that bike were like one entity. He took a country back road, and you kept at a safe distance, wondering why he was going so slow. You noticed after a while that he wasn’t heading for the garage—you weren’t sure where he was going until you recognized the familiar street signs from the neighborhood Steve and Robin lived in.

You turned your head lights off a few cars away, as he parked the bike crooked, and then he fell.

He just went right down flat, one half of his body on their lawn, and the other half still on the sidewalk.

“Eddie!” You yelled, slamming your car door. You were running now, panic lighting a fire in your veins. Something was very, very wrong.

You skidded to your knees once you got close to him, clutching at his big shoulders to try and roll him over.

“Eddie, Eddie? Baby? Are you okay? Eddie!” You turned him over so that his head flopped into your lap, and then you gasped at how pale his skin was. Pieces of his hair clung to a bleeding gash on his cheek, and as your hand went lower, you felt his blood-soaked shirt that not immediately visible at night in his dark clothing, and you caught the scent of a coppery tang.

There were no lights on in their house, but you didn’t think you could carry Eddie all by yourself, and you didn’t want to leave him alone to go and find a phone. “STEVE! ROBIN! HELP!” You checked his face just as his eyes fluttered open to look at you, his lips sticky as he said your name.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” you assured him, stoking hair back from his wet, clammy forehead, rocking him ever so softly. You sniffed back tears, “you’re gonna be okay, baby, I’m here. I’m here, baby, you’re doing good. Look at me.”

One of the lights snapped on in the house. “CALL AN AMBULANCE!” You screamed to whoever had just woken up. Across the street, someone else turned their lights on as well.

Eddie’s bloody hand grabbed your arm weakly as he struggled to talk, his voice a scratchy whisper. “No...no hospital,” he begged.

You stroked his hair and kept talking to him and by then, Robin and Steve were racing toward you from the house.

“Fuckfuckfuck fuck...Eddie! Man, what happened?” Steve bleated as he scanned Eddie’s body, his eyes blowing wide when he noticed the wound. “Was is the Reapers? The Villains? I’ll go fucking ape shit on their asses!” He exchanged a dire look with Robin that made you choke on your saliva and tears all at once. Steve took his shirt off and ordered for you to press it against the wound as hard as you could to help stop the bleeding.

The last thing Eddie saw before he blacked out completely was your face, and he was so out of it, that if he had been able to speak, he would’ve told you that he loved you before it was too late.

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

A woman they called Astrid showed up at the house not 20 minutes later; she was the only person Eddie and Steve trusted for such an occasion. Robin had to calm you down from mild hysterics though, while you washed Eddie’s blood off your hands in the sink, because you were worried that if they didn’t get him to the hospital that he would die. Eddie was on the sofa atop several blankets, drifting in and out of consciousness, white as a sheet. You had helped Steve bandage up his side as much as possible, but he had already lost so much blood.

Robin grabbed your shoulders, shaking you gently. “Listen, Astrid will take care of him, okay? We trust her. The boys have known her for a long time, she’s a healer. She patches up boys at the fights all the time.”

“Robin!” You whispered curtly, your bloodshot eyes filling with tears. “He needs medical attention, not lavender oil and a vinegar douche!”

You immediately apologized for raising your voice at her, but she understood.

When Astrid stepped in the front door on a sandalwood breeze, you instantly felt calmed by the confidence she exuded. She had long, black hair and honey-cinnamon skin, with dark almond eyes that seemed to hold knowledge that was somehow ancient. She had a freshly scrubbed, dewy look about her with minimal makeup, and she seemed to be a few years older than the boys; either in years or wisdom or both. She wore a long, flowing black dress with red stitching, a cream shawl, and a necklace with a sigil around her throat. She had a medical bag with her that looked like it was from the 1940’s, and Oliver ran out to hug her when she arrived, pushing his tiny face into her skirt. Steve hugged her too, and they exchanged a kiss on the mouth before everyone got out of her way so she could get to work figuring out what she was dealing with.

The whole group exhaled a ragged breath after she cleaned the wound announced that the knife only pierced his side and it hadn’t grazed any organs. He’d need stitches though, and apparently Astrid had the tools and the skill for all that. She had a whole chest full of tinctures and natural salves, as well as a stash of modern medicines like pain killers and antibiotics.

Robin used her eyes to plead with you to distract Oliver with some art projects as she did her best to corral him back to his room, and you were happy to oblige, but you kept coming out every so often to pace the living room to check on Eddie, who was as comfortable as he could be in a morphine haze. You let Katie know what was going on and she asked if she could help, so Astrid requested some extra gauze and bandages. Robin fell into Katie’s arms the second she stepped in the sliding glass door holding grocery bags, wearing cut-off jean shorts and one of Robin’s Sleater-Kinney t-shirts. Robin let go of a few sobs into her shoulder that she’d been holding in for Oliver’s sake.

At one point you came out to get a glass of water because Ollie was finally tucked in bed with droopy eyes and asking for Robin to read him a story, and you caught sight of Steve kissing the back of Astrid’s head and stroking her hair while she tended to Eddie’s cheek wound. He hovered near her every chance he got, and you wondered what was going on there.

“They’ve been close since Steve was a kid,” Robin whispered an answer to your thoughts from behind you in the kitchen, referring to Astrid and Steve. “Her mom and Wayne used to have a thing back in the day.”

----------

Steve was in the kitchen making coffee by the time Astrid packed her things up to leave. His worn Levi’s were cuffed at his heavy, black boots, and he had on a white t-shirt that was so thin, you could see the landscape of his tattooed skin underneath. The adrenaline of the evening was wearing off and everyone’s eyes were drooping, feet dragging.

“I’m going to close my eyes for an hour or two before I have to go to work,” Robin announced, standing up from the kitchen table. She turned to Katie and held her hand out, “come be my big spoon?”

You’d been waiting for hours to be able to touch Eddie and be close to him again, and you finally had your chance now that he was out of the woods, but just then, Astrid came around to greet you, her dark eyes bright and curious as they met yours.

“You must be the one,” she offered, her full lips pressing together in a dimpled smile. “The one who will heal his heart.”

You were about to greet her in a normal way, so her words took you off guard and made you stutter a bit. “Do I...have we met before?”

The two of you exchanged a handshake, and introduced yourselves. Astrid’s hands were soft but surprisingly strong.

“In dreams, perhaps,” she answered, as if it were a common place to meet people. There was a unique, ornate red ruby ring on her right ring finger. “But, also, Steve told me about you.”

“Oh,” you lowered your head shyly, honored that you’d be mentioned to such a trusted family friend. “Well, I’m pretty fond of all of them. They’re growing on me.”

Astrid came in close, searching your eyes with a soft lift of her mouth, holding her medical bag in front of her with both hands. “Be gentle with this one...he’s been waiting a long time for you. He’s thick-headed, but his heart has nothing but the best intentions.”

You didn’t have to ask to know she was talking about Eddie. You wondered what Astrid saw in her crystal ball about why he had lied to you and disrespected you in regards to the photo evidence of him being player of the year. You were struggling to find good intentions there. Alas, this was not the time or the place for your ego or hurt feelings; you would be grateful to Astrid for the rest of your life after how tirelessly she had worked to take care of Eddie, and you told her that.

Steve was waiting a few yards away at the mouth of the kitchen to walk Astrid out to her truck. You watched as he intertwined his fingers with hers and kissed her, holding her close as they walked, whispering words of affection in her ear.

Fade into You by Mazzy Star played low from the radio mounted under one of the cabinets in the kitchen as you were finally able to make your way across the living room to Eddie. Even though you were feeling a lot better about his prognosis than you had when you first found him, it was still hard to see the bandages and gauze wrapped around his belly. Astrid left some antibiotics and pain meds with instructions, and advised that he’d be in and out of sleep and a bit groggy for a while. He needed supervision to make sure he wasn’t getting a fever, and to keep the wound clean, but if he didn’t improve, a hospital would be necessary.

He had fresh linens beneath him, and the blood had been diligently sponged away from his skin. There was also a big sheet of painters plastic at the very bottom of the blankets to protect the couch and carpet. You stood above him for a few seconds to take it all in: his dark, wavy hair was fanned out over the Star Wars pillow case, and his mouth hung open a bit, lips slightly dry, eyelids closed, but you could see his eyeballs dancing on the inside as if he were in the middle of a lucid dream.

The area under his eye above where his cheek had been cut was all bruised, there were a couple stitches in his cheek, and your gaze trailed down the dark tattoos along his strong chest, arms, and stomach, landing on the bandaged area where the knife wound was on the left side, above his hip, cut into a large dragon tattoo with a spade tail that whipped out over his bellybutton. You knelt down and hovered your hand over the bandages, feeling the heat emanating from it as his body worked over time to repair the damage.

You watched his chest move up and down with each breath, and that was comforting to you, helping you to remember with each inhale that he was still with you. Some of his fingers were taped up; his knuckles red with bits of skin torn off. You leaned your stomach against the couch and took hold of his hand that was closest to you, pulling it to your mouth. You planted tender kisses onto each knuckle, and then to the tip of each fingertip. You had your eyes closed, holding the back of his hand to your cheek, when you felt his fingers reflexively clamp down onto yours, and you looked up to see that his eyes were open, just barely, long dark eyelashes fluttering.

“Baby?” He muttered, voice scratchy, lips barely moving. “You…okay?”

You swallowed hard smiled at him, and it was a smile removed of any pain or doubt or sadness; it was just pure happiness to hear his voice.

“I’m okay, Eddie,” you reassured him, even though you were unwilling to return the use of a pet name. “Don’t you worry about me, I just need you back on your feet.”

He looked like he was using every ounce of his strength to speak, his voice nothing but a rasp. “Baby...I’m sorry. I didn’t---”

You softly shushed him and stroked his jawline with your thumb as you held his hand. “It’s okay, it’s okay...shushhhh...just get better for me, that’s all I want. We’ll talk about it all later.”

Truly, things were not okay. But, there would be a time and a place to deal with all of that, and you were a patient woman. The saddest thing, the thing that twisted in your gut like stage fright, was the fact that—no matter how much you cared about this man, no matter how right it felt with him, there was no way you could be with someone you didn’t trust. Even if he confessed to whatever he did with those women and came clean, there would always be the lie—the lie would always exist, and you could forgive, but you would never forget.

His eyes drifted closed again, and in less than a minute, you felt his hand go limp in your grasp as his breathing returned to that of someone entering a deep sleep cycle. You stretched his arm carefully across his body, and sat there on your knees looking at him for a bit longer before you got to your feet.

When Steve got back from saying his goodbyes to Astrid, you asked him if he needed you to stay for a couple hours and look after Eddie so that he could take a nap. Steve was wide awake, though, and was about to have his fourth cup of coffee, and he asked when your shift at the Hammer was.

“Four,” you told him, checking the clock in the kitchen. “I should go check on my cat and eat something.”

Steve gave your outfit a look over his coffee cup. “And shower and change your clothes, maybe.”

You looked down, startled for some reason to see dried blood on your shirt and thigh of your jeans. You had washed your hands several times, but there was still remnants of Eddie’s blood in the moons around your cuticles and the crook of your elbow.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you shrugged. “I think some of the bar patrons would kind of dig this look, actually.”

Steve snort-laughed at that, lip pulling up to expose his pearly whites with the exception of one gold incisor.

“But really,” you continued. “I can come by before work? Just call me if you need anything?”

Steve licked coffee from his lips. “Robin only works a few hours at the hotel, and Astrid will be checking in on him later. You go do your thing. You’ve done a lot already,” Steve tilted his head up on the inhale appraising you down the end of his nose. “Alls I can say is, Eddie’s a lucky man to have you in his corner.”

You bit your cheek and squeezed the defined muscles of his forearm in silent thanks as you walked by him.

“Oh, shit, wait,” Steve called to you, patting the pockets of his jeans as he turned to you with a look of concentration on his face. “That reminds me, some dude was asking about you at the bar yesterday. He left his card for you.”

“Oh?” Your mind raced trying to imagine who that could’ve been while Steve plucked the business card out of his back pocket.

“Yeah, he said you waited on him the other day. Older guy, sick blue eyes, like a comic book character.” Steve continued as he looked at the card and then passed it to you. “He said he bought a painting from you once and he wanted to commission another one.”

You stared at the card without breathing for a bit as your brain connected the man who had tipped you a hundred dollar bill with the name...John Gregson…

Was this really happening? Was he Charlene’s husband? Surely, that was too much of a coincidence. Maybe he was a brother-in-law or an entirely different family altogether. You didn’t know of any other wealthy Gregson’s in town, though, come to think of it.

“I figured you could use the cash, dude looked like he was loaded,” Steve continued, but you were having an out of body experience as you connected the dots.

Steve lowered his head to try and meet your gaze. “Is he cool? Or should I crack his head in next time I see him?”

You snapped out of it and shook your head. “No, this is great, Steve, you’re the best,” you held the card up. “I really appreciate this, you did good. Thank you.”

You didn’t want the chance of losing the card, so you stuck it in your bra as you took one final look at Eddie before exiting out the sliding door.

-----------

After his afternoon tennis match, John Gregson sat poolside under a yellow and white striped umbrella in his swim trunks while he read the paper. He’d hoped to enjoy some time alone, but it wasn’t long before he heard the clip-clop of Charlene’s heels on the cement as she approached him from the pool house. She had on a one-piece gold swimsuit that was low in the chest and high on the hips under a blue silk Kimono, and a wide brim straw hat. He did not acknowledge her when she sat down and continued to read his paper as he held it out in front of him.

A member of their staff followed Charlene to the table and she told them she wanted Perrier with lime as she brought out a nail file and started to work on her claws.

“Have you decided what you’re going to put in that big empty space on the wall in the den? It looks dreadful as it is.”

John licked his thumb and turned the page. “I do have something in mind, as a matter of fact. I’m having a piece of art commissioned for that space.”

Charlene stopped filing, her eyes darting up from her fingers. “When were you going to tell me about this?”

He finally turned so that her face was reflected in the mirror surface of his aviator sunglasses. “I’m telling you about it right now, Charlene.”

She put her nail file down on the table and sat back in her chair. “Which gallery are you commissioning it from? Because I promised Judith that I’d---”

“I’m not purchasing it from a gallery,” he interrupted, taking a sip of his iced coffee.

After 25 years together, what they had at that point was strictly a marriage of convenience. Convenient because Charlene would never make it on her own, and convenient for John because he had been nothing but a goofy, pussy-drunk kid when he married her, and hadn’t even considered a prenuptial agreement.

“Well,” Charlene intoned as a member of their staff brought her Perrier with ice in a glass and a straw. They poured it for her and it crackled in the glass. “I’d like to know what is going in there since I’ll be forced to look at it every day.”

“You rarely go into the den, Char,” he returned with a sigh, eyes scanning the pages.

John knew about Charlene’s other lovers and boyfriends; of course he knew, he wasn’t stupid. But it never bothered him because that meant he could do whatever he wanted, too, and he hadn’t had sex with Charlene in almost 5 years.

“You don’t have to be such an asshole about this, John,” Charlene hissed across the table at him while she slipped her over-sized sunglasses on. “It’s just that I’m a big deal in the art community, and I think I should know who my husband is buying artwork from. I don’t want you to embarrass me.”

Calmly, John took another sip of his coffee. “I’ll tell you about it once she agrees to do it.”

“Cancel the commission, don’t go through with it. I’ll buy us a piece from---”

John slammed his fist down on the table, causing everything on the surface to jump, and two empty glasses fell and shattered. “Charlene! I don’t want to hear another word,” he pulled his sunglasses down his nose so that she could see his cold blue eyes, and he pointed a finger at her with each syllable to emphasize his point. “Do you understand me? Not one more goddamn word.”

Charlene’s eyes bulged behind her sunglasses.

“Telephone call for you, Mrs. Gregson,” a member of the staff interrupted, handing her a Motorolla flip phone with a big antennae.

“Yes?” Charlene frowned at John as she took the phone. Her face lit up when she realized who it was on the other end. She got to her feet, knocking her chair over, and didn’t stop to pick it up as she walked away.

She kept her voice low as she headed toward the rose garden, one hand on her hip. “I guess you got my message,” she paused while the man on the other end said a few things. “I have another job for you.”

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

You weren’t able to fit a tiny snooze in that day before work because your mind wouldn’t stop racing. You got in the car only to realize you had put eye shadow and mascara on one eye, but not the other, so, you had to go back in and fix that. When Katie got home, she let you know that Eddie had been up to use the restroom and he didn’t have a fever, which was all fantastic news.

Also, she said that he had been asking about you.

“He was still tired and drugged up, but every time he opened his eyes, he’d ask where you were and if you were okay,” Katie told you. Of course, you and Katie were still both under the impression that Eddie was a lying, cheating scoundrel, and so you were taking his yearning for you with a bittersweet grain of salt.

“Did you ask Robin about it? The other women, I mean?”

“Sorry, babes, I didn’t have time. She was running late and had to leave in a hurry. I’ll ask her if she knows anything tonight, though.”

“It’s not a big deal,” you said, but also—it was a very big deal. “As soon as we know that Eddie is completely on the mend, I’ll have a talk with him. I mean, the evidence is pretty damning, but he still deserves a chance to explain himself.”

Katie leaned over and put her elbows on the kitchen island, resting her chin on her fists. “Does any man deserve it?”

You threw your bag over your shoulder as you headed for the door. “Eddie does. I hope so, anyway.”

--------

Shana was behind the bar that night, and Steve would be bouncing later, and you felt comforted by the promise of friendly faces a midst feeling emotionally put through the ringer and perpetually on the verge of tears. You were mad at Eddie and still hurt, but also worried sick about him. The thought of losing him put you in a very dark head space. The song Tonight Tonight by The Smashing Pumpkins came on the jukebox and you thought you were going to drop a tray of drinks and start sobbing right there in the middle of the happy hour rush. The secondhand smoke was especially thick that night as you coughed into your arm and cleaned out the ashtrays at the bar.

You were chugging a Pepsi in the back room, telling one of the dancers how tired you were, and she very kindly offered you a line of blow, but you declined. On your way back out from your break, you spotted none other than Erika coming in the front door, and you cursed, taking a sharp inhale of breath, continuing on with your work, planning to ignore her for however long she was staying.

To your horror, she made eye contact with you, and she didn’t look like she was happy to see you, either, but still, she started walking over to the hallway where you were. She had on a pink glitter dress, a faux diamond studded choker, and clear, stiletto heels. She was with two other girls who were dressed similar, and you watched her wave them away to get a table.

God, you rolled your eyes internally, you did not want to be dealing with this right now. What was Erika coming over to do? Gloat? To remind you that she would always get a piece of Eddie, no matter how many promises he made you?

In a huff, you grabbed your tray and bolted to move around her, but she stepped in your way.

“I heard that Eddie got hurt. Is he gonna be alright?” She asked.

Dead ass? Really? You didn’t owe her any Eddie news. “I’m working, Erika, please get out of my way.”

“Listen, girlie,” Erika touched your arm, and you looked down at her hand as if it were covered in feces, and recoiled. “I know we don’t like each other, but there’s something I need to tell you. It’s really been fucking with me, because I do care about Eddie, no matter what you think.” She liked to jut her chin out from side to side for emphasis as she talked.

What was this bitch on about? Telling you how much she cared about Eddie? Was she for real?

You swallowed, trying to keep your composure in front of the other customers. “Erika, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll get out of my face right now, I’m serious.”

She clucked her tongue and lifted her hands in surrender, letting you move passed her, but then she said: “Eddie was set up, okay?”

You froze; your entire body prickling with goose flesh.

Cautiously, you met her eyes again, a tremble on your parted lips, an ocean crashing in your ears.

“Did you get some photos of me at Eddie’s place?” she crossed her arms at her chest. “Yeah, well, he didn’t want me there, okay? Some guy paid me to go up to his apartment and force myself on him. Some scary lady named Charlene set it all up.”

You were listening, but you were also fading away.

“You gotta understand, I was mad at Eddie when I agreed to do it, but he’s always been good to me, and I wish I could take it back,” she continued.

Swaying on your feet, your vision became a pinwheel of color as you listened to her words, and then blackness closed in around your peripheral vision until it exploded in an electric burst. The next thing you knew, you were falling, and you hoped that the ground caught you before you tumbled in a free fall into outer space.

Part 10

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Thank you so much for those of you who have made it this far in the series, y'all make this world a joy to create, and I can't wait to see what it next for us ❤️

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my tagged lovelies:@mmunson86 @tenthmoon @notsobubblybaby @truffleshuffle12 @aysheashea @etherealglimmer @manicmagicmayhem @dream-a-little-nightmare @hellv1ra @ms1oftheboys @bexreadstoomuch @emxcast @lma1986 @kurdtbean @miarosso @falling-solar-system @seventhlevelofhell @whatwedontdointheshadows @corrodedcoffincumslut @lofaewrites @nope-thanks @stylesxmunson @ireidsmut @tlclick73 @lilpostatobean2 @hideoutside @munsons-mayhem28 @eddiemunson95 @micheledawn1975 @dandelionnfluff @sidthedollface2 @leilalaufeyson02 @kelsiegrin @layla-loves-ed @unfocused81

#eddie munson series #older eddie munson #bikereddiemunson #eddiemunsonfic #90s au #steve harrington #bikersteve #eddie munson smut #i'm on fire #eddie munson x fem reader #fem reader

[kairiscorner]

“promise me you won't change. — kento nanami x reader”

summary: after catching up with you, 10 years after you two first met, nanami feels all weirdly sentimental and... he wishes you can stay as happy as you are, now, even if he isn't the reason why you stayed as amazing, as friendly and optimistic as you were back then in high school. word count: 2,008 (i got carried away) genre: angst.

he stares into his glass full of sake, the ripples in the drink fanning out as he does nothing but hold the drink. he doesn't feel thirsty, but his mouth is dry; he hasn't felt this way in a while, at least not this strongly. you look over at him and scoot a little closer. "hey, you okay, nanami?" you ask him, hoping he didn't feel too sleepy that he can't go home on his own. his eyelids are hooded and slowly blinks, though he doesn't look drunk, in fact, he hasn't even drank the sake—he's just... kind of out of it. you have no idea what nanami's been up to for the past 10 years, and uncharacteristically of you, you don't ask him right away. you hesitate and drift the conversation to small talk, which you're very aware he still hates.

he's always been the reserved fellow, he'd answer you in a blunt, straightforward way, he would spare as much details about himself as he could, which made it all the more harder for you to connect with him. nanami's golden brown eyes shifted to see you staring at him, with him raising his eyebrows and exhaling as he leaned back on the couch. "...i'm fine." he mumbles out as he lifts the glass to his thin lips.

he looks like a corpse, a ghost even—he's alive, but he's not... living.

you couldn't feel any more pity for him, though you felt guilty for feeling that way because, what did you know about him? you re-enter his life by accident 10 years after high school, and all of a sudden, you seem to care about him enough to take him to a local bar and hope he drinks at least so you don't feel any more crappy about the awkward situation you two are in tonight. you nod without even looking at him and down your drink, sighing as you drank it all in one gulp, wiping away the drops of your drink that was left on your lips. you call for a waiter to get you two more drinks, while nanami ends up staring at you now, and takes in all that'd changed about you. you looked more mature, that was a given; it seemed adulthood didn't plague you as much as it did for him, it was a miracle you even recognized him when you encountered him at that bakery one day. it was his haircut that made you recognize him, strangely enough; the 7:3 ratio was distinguishable in your eyes no matter how nanami styled it.

nanami broke the silence that lingered for a few minutes after the waiter got you two more drinks. "why did you... invite me out tonight?" he asked you with a fatigue in his tone, he was undoubtedly tired from nearly everything, everything, it seemed, except for you. he didn't feel as forced to go with you, it felt like a splash of cool water was thrown in his face when you pulled him out of his daily routine and offered to catch up with him over some drinks at a local bar.

you let out a soft sigh as you lower your glass and looked at him with a gentle smile on your bright face. nanami could never forget that smile, it stuck with him and was buried deep in the recesses of the back of his mind ever since those 10 years had passed—you shone the whole room with that smile, it was contagious; and nanami felt his face getting warmer, not because of the sting of the alcohol, but because of how genuine you seemed to him. "to be honest... i haven't the slightest clue either why i invited you." you admitted shyly, chuckling lowly to yourself as you shook your glass in a circular motion, laughing a little at the irony of it all.

"i guess... i just wanted to see how much things have changed." you uttered softly, and those words struck chords in nanami's heart; chords that played a familiar melody that resounded back to his adolescence with you, one of the only people who really made his time in high school worthwhile and less like hell. "and i can tell, you haven't changed, nanamin. yeah you, uh... kinda look like you could be a dad or someone's uncle now, but... you're still the same kento nanami i knew from high school; the same serious, stern boy who struggled having fun and had a thing for bread. i'm glad you're still you, nanamin; but you're... kinda refined now. is that weird to say?" you ask him, chuckling as the drunkenness settles in, with you taking another sip from your drink as nanami feels his cheeks flush at your words.

you don't even notice his blush, and even if you did, you'd've brushed it off as a flush of drunkenness—but it's not.

nanami leans forward a little and folds his arms over the table, ignoring the weird stickiness of it and brings his small brown eyes up to look at you, who's been staring at him the whole time in a slight, drunk daze.

"...i'm glad you didn't change, either." he mumbles, slowly rubbing at his eyes after he said that, sighing deeply. why did he say that? who was he to say that? after years of not reaching out to you, sweeping under the rug the fact you two were friends, very close friends in fact—forgetting your name sometimes when you both swore to each other to come through for the other if either of you were ever in trouble...

...it probably was to be expected, adolescents never know what real trouble is in the adult world; the awful mundanity of every day life was a subtle trouble that became permanent, with neither of you being able to save the other from it, or the traumas of what transpired in your high school years.

you laughed aloud and set you drink down, oh that laugh of yours... nanami could listen to you laugh all day and night, and he'd never get sick of it—he'd only wanna make you laugh even more, even if it was the stupidest thing to ever laugh at for someone in the right state of mind.

"you're glad i'm still sweet and naive?" you jokingly asked him with a snicker, emptying out your glass as nanami shook his head, maintaining eye contact with you. "not that... i mean... you're still so bright. so eager, so friendly. you're still you." he muttered, feeling a weird heaviness plaguing his heart. it wasn't a curse grabbing onto his chest right now, it was more like an intangible one, a purely emotional one that was his alone—it was a melancholic longing for someone who was right in front of him, you.

"you're... still the person i love. and i wish... you won't ever get hurt again, even if... i can't save you all the time. i want to, though, but..." he mumbled out, with you not hearing since you were already getting a lot more drunk. nanami didn't hope for you to hear it, at least partially—if anything... he hopes you wouldn't change, but not because he confided in your drunk self that he's still in love with you, his closest friend and ally that he regrets never meeting up with, wasting those 10 years without you in his life.

as you call for a waiter to come over and refill your glass, nanami takes your glass away from you, much to your disdain, pays the bill, and helps you up carefully as he takes you out of the bar, calling a cab for the two of you so he could help take you and your drunken self home.

during the cab ride, nanami made sure to keep you warm, to let you rest against him to feel comfortable, and to hold you a little whenever the cab drove over a pothole. he looked at you with such soft eyes as you dozed off, with him brushing the hair away from your face, berating himself for taking this long to see you again when you... you had the courage to talk to him, after all this time.

"...i have the feeling that saving you once won't make up for the 10 years i've spent without you. i want... to be yours." he whispered as he adjusted his coat on you, making up in his mind that he's letting you keep it, no questions asked. nanami managed to get you to your home, he paid attention when you told him where you lived by, should he ever visit you, as you put it. nanami would love to visit you, but... he's scared. he's scared that his first visit may be his last; and that might be too pessimistic of him, but realistically speaking, now that he's revisiting the world of jujutsu sorcery and has a new responsibility over the students at jujutsu high...

...it's not far off that he might never be able to visit you again, that tonight might be your last night together—nobody knows.

you drunkenly told nanami where you kept your spare key, after almost half an hour of you telling him he looks like he skipped 20 years of his life over those 10 years of you two not meeting. nanami sat you down on the couch and made sure you were comfy; surely, you could take care of yourself in the morning. nanami didn't need to overstep any boundaries here—entering your apartment while you were drunk, even to help you in, was already too much in his opinion; he didn't want to invade any more of your privacy.

"wait... aren't you... gonna say good bye?" you mumbled out in a slurred voice, calling out to nanami before he closed the door to your apartment to lock it from the outside, uncertain if he'll ever come back again. his brown eyes dart over to you, stirring over by the couch, groaning and grumbling for him to bid you goodbye. you were always like that, asking him for a farewell every time before you two parted—another thing he regret not giving you before 10 years had passed without ever seeing you until now.

he clutched the doorknob tightly, not wanting to say goodbye; but he owed you this much, more, even. "...good bye." he uttered, as if he felt cuts all over his body when he muttered those two words. you giggled and waved your hand at him with a lopsided grin on your face, telling him, "bye-bye!" as he closed the door and locked it, putting your spare key back where it was.

nanami inhaled the cold evening air and walked down the stairs of your apartment, despite every voice in his mind urging him to go back and to keep you company for the night—to stay with you until morning, care for you if you're hungover, and tell you when you're sober, when you can remember everything, that he loves you.

...but even if he loves you, he can't stay.

he is the same, the same kento nanami; he, who never stayed.

he, who could never stay.

he, who loves you dearly, but can never stay long enough to let you know that.

he, who could never live with himself if you got attached to him again... only to lose him once more, permanently.

if he could at least have things in his life go the way he wants it, for once... he hopes that if he leaves again, permanently or not... you'll live your life in peace, even without him.

"forget me, and be happy... the two things in life i ask for, and won't ever ask for anything more." he mutters to himself as a single tear rolled down his chiseled cheek, and fell down on the ground beneath his feet; a memento of him, which like him... would never be able to stay.

🍞 tags !! @rohansdisciple @meeom @patchi-chi

#kento nanami #nanami kento #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami x you #kento nanami x y/n #kento nanami angst #kento nanami fanfic #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #jujutsu kaisen nanami #nanami fanfiction #jjk nanami #jujutsu nanami #nanami kento fanfic #nanami kento x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen scenarios #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction

[flying-nightwing]

If I May (pt. 1)

Fuck it, Pride & Prejudice AU

This was hastily written while I was up in my feelings after re-re-re(x5) watching the movie (2005) because I needed a Mr. Darcy-esque Jason fic or i would have died. This is therefore extremely self indulgent. I'm also very rusty so forgive me if some parts aren't smooth. Expect a part 2 soon. And as always, enjoy!

Pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader

Word count: 3705

Warnings: none

Summary: You are a merchant's daughter who's trying to live a decent life, even if it means forsaking your own happiness. However, one short meeting with a stranger on a balcony sets you on another path, and you're not sure how to feel about it.

Gold light, marble floors. 

Violin, harpsichord, laughter. 

Sapphire eyes and mahogany hair, a blur of diamonds and pearls. A hundred feet dancing and twirling to the melody, the rustle of fabrics moving along with them to create colors and shapes out of a dream.

A night that seemed to never end. 

Your corset was too tight. You curtsied your partner as the music came to an end, excusing yourself for a moment. You had to get out of that crowd, to get away from the man in front of you. You made your way toward the balcony, your pushing becoming less and less ceremonious as you went. Your breathing was shallow yet couldn't be fast enough as gloved hands rose in indignation at your less than ladylike behaviour. 

Hadn't you reached the glass door when you did, you believed you would have cried. The sudden cool air allowed you to take a deep breath as you threw yourself forward, holding your hands out on the rail to catch yourself. You closed your eyes and took a moment to gather yourself, then turned around and gently closed the door, effectively muffling the new song that started with a roaring cheer from the crowd. 

Slowly, you returned to the rail and guided your stare to the night. The sky was clear and the stars were bright, but it didn't ease your mind like it always did. 

It was all wrong. 

Everything was wrong.

Your father passing away, your step brother giving you an ultimatum to marry this season or join the Sisters, as he had no intention to keep you on his newly inherited estate, your mother who was still sickly and bed ridden. 

You weren't poor by any means, but you weren't a part of the high society either. Your status was decent, and your name was respected enough to earn a good match. But with your father's unexpected passing and your step brother's petulance, you came with a bed ridden old woman to take with you, and that displeased many of the potential marriage candidates for you. 

So when one began courting you with the full knowledge of your situation, as in, knowing your mother would move with you to his estate, you didn't resist. You reciprocated the courting, and danced with the man at every ball, and walked with him in the gardens. He wasn't particularly beautiful, he was a bit on the older side, and his interest appeared to be lying in the fact that he had resigned himself to settle, to marry the least ugly woman with the least trouble following her. 

But he was also from decent money, with a respectable name and estate, and he most likely wouldn't treat you badly, which is more than you could have hoped for in such short notice. 

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You practically jumped out of your skin at the voice coming from behind you. With a shriek of terror, you slapped a hand on your chest and spun around, your eyes stopping on the stranger that seemingly appeared out of thi  air on the balcony with you. He held up his hands in front of him while his mouth curved in a cryptical smirk.

“Easy there, forgive me for scaring you” He spoke as he slowly stepped forward. As he came closer and into the light, you took in his features. His voice had been low and smooth, perfectly fitting his strong jaw and black hair, you decided. He was quite young, around your age if you had to guess, but his ocean blue eyes reflected a wisdom well past his age. They were hypnotic, you also concluded as you forced yourself to look away before drowning in them. You cleared your throat. “Running away from the party?”

You blinked rapidly at his words as they brought you back to Earth. “Well, just–Not running away, it's a lovely ball–”

Your mouth kept going on its own. You had no idea who that man was, or what was his relation with the family who hosted the ball. You didn't want to accidentally insult him.

You felt your face heat up when you noticed the amusement dancing in his eyes, or the smile he was trying to hold back. Luckily, he spoke before you could babble anymore. 

“It's fine, I was running away from it too” He supplied as he went to stand by the rail beside you, no doubt aware of your eyes on him. “Dreadful affairs”

You let out a quiet breath, glad you wouldn’t be judged for wanting a break. “I don’t find them to be so bad… Usually”

His scoff was half hearted. “Some pretty boy broke your heart?”

You knew he was saying this as a joke, his relaxed posture and humorous tone said as much. Still, it stung a nerve you didn’t even know was sensitive. It reminded you that you’d never get to experience the regular courting, the regular game of yes-no-maybe the other girls your age would go through. You were aware it was a strange thing to wish for–drama and heartbreaks that is–but simply knowing you were robbed of it made you sad. 

He definitely noticed your shift of attitude, because his good mood dropped into concern. “Wait, some pretty boy did break your heart?”

You shook your head. “No, no not that” You hesitated before speaking, but he patiently waited for you to do so, so you went for it. After all, you had never seen this mysterious, handsome man before, and you’d probably never see him again. You took a deep breath and turned to face the stars. “My father died in the winter. My mom has been sick for a year now. And when my step brother inherited the estate, he told me that I had until the end of the season to marry and take my mother with me”

He frowned. “My condolences” He said, eyeing you carefully. “But I believe someone looking like you shouldn’t have trouble finding a good husband”

You laughed humorlessly. “You’d think that, wouldn’t you” You mumbled as you glanced up for a second. He seemed confused. “I am on the lower side of my social class. My step brother will not give a dime for the wedding. I come tied with a sick mother. I could be the most beautiful thing in the world and I would still be a prospect for desperate men and old widowers”

He waited for a moment before speaking. “And you know this because you have one, don’t you?”

You nodded slowly. 

“I’m sorry”

“What for?” You tilted your head. “You’ve had no part in it”

His eyes found you and you glanced back, looking at his partially shadowed face. For a moment you could let yourself daydream that he was the one who’d propose to you in the upcoming weeks, that he would bring you in his kingdom far away from your step brother and this miserable marriage that would await for you. But then, you had to return to reality and forget your little fantasy. This man wasn’t yours to claim. 

“I’m sorry that you won’t be able to live your life the way you desire” He said, seeming more genuine than anyone you’ve ever met. “Everybody deserves a chance at happiness. I hope you may still find it despite of everything”

You tore your eyes from him as your vision blurred, as you did not want to let the stranger see your tears. You hastily wiped them off, and when you looked to where he stood again, he was gone. You glanced around, searching for any trace that he hadn’t just in your imagination, but the stranger was nowhere to be seen. You blinked, returning your eyes to the stars for a minute. You recomposed yourself and smothered your dress, then returned to the ball. 

—

“I still can’t believe we got an invite” You said as the carriage crossed a stone bridge. The sun was going down and the countryside looked positively marvelous.

Your step brother scoffed at your words, like they were a ridiculous claim. “Of course we did. The Duke obviously recognizes the importance of my business. Now that I’m in charge, I have made much better decisions than the old man, and it’s blooming like never before. In no time, I’ll become a proper lord, a baron. Or even a viscount”

You bit your tongue not to answer that it was your father who built the business, your father who made the right decisions years ago, your father that allowed him to reap the fruit of his labour. “I’m sure he does, and I’m sure you will”

“By the way” He eyed you cryptically, ignoring your lack of enthusiasm. “Has Mr. Degras shown signs he would propose soon?”

You opted to look outside instead of meeting his eyes. “Yes. The marriage is pretty much certain, as he is not courting anyone else and neither am I. But I think he’ll wait until just past midseason to actually propose, not to suggest anything untoward about the whole affair”

He hummed, disinterested. “Yes, well, the sooner the wedding, the better. Wouldn’t you say?”

“I would” Your reply came mechanically. You did not especially look forward to your marriage, but moving far, far away from the man in front of you did sound appealing right at this moment. 

“Good” 

The scenery quickly changed and you couldn’t be bothered to listen to your brother ramble about his business. A manor greater than anything you’ve seen before appeared through the neatly trimmed trees of the property, and you gasped at the sight. There were many other carriages, all much more grand than yours. 

No sooner than later, you pulled to the entrance. A valet opened the carriage door, and your step brother all but pushed you back on the seat to get out first. With a muffled oof, you pulled yourself straight again and followed your step brother out. The valet offered a hand and an apologetic glance, helping you step down on the gravel. You returned a smile to him, following your step brother from afar.

If the outside was grandiose, then the inside of the manor was totally mind blowing. You couldn’t help but gawk in awe at the details on the structure, and the intricate decoration. YOu barely noticed the crowd chattering along the foyer. You however began questioning the reason for your invite the more you explored the manor. It didn’t take an idiot to see that the people around you were draped in visibly more expensive fabrics, and their behaviour was distinct from the ones you were used to. Your suspicions that you hardly belonged there were only confirmed when you stepped in the grand ballroom, where literally none of the other families of your status were present at all.

Then, you saw it. Or rather, you saw him.

The Duke was standing proudly at the front of the room. His black and yellow-gold coat striking out from the crowd, but not as much as his sharp features. But he wasn’t what caught your attention, probably unlike anybody else present. It was the stoic face of his tallest child beside him, head high and shoulders square, glance forward and unmoving. On his dark red coat were multiple military decorations, and on his face, multiple scars the night’s darkness did not reveal the first and last time you met. 

Your jaw involuntarily hung open at the realization. The handsome stranger you laid all your afflictions upon just a few weeks earlier was in fact the son of the most powerful individual in the country that wasn’t a King. You felt your neck and chest heat up in embarrassment at the only thought of airing out your problems to someone like him. You knew the stories of his military service, the alleged torture and the constant brushes with death, everybody in the country had heard them. Your struggles in comparison were jest, and you felt like a whiny child to have complained about them to him specifically. 

His watchful eyes then settled onto you, betraying absolutely no feeling of recognition whatsoever, and you’d believe he didn’t recognize you at all if it hadn’t been for the slight tilt of his head, acknowledging your presence. You blinked and looked anywhere but to him, then blended in the crowd. Even then, you felt like you couldn’t if you tried. You felt gazes and whispers falling upon you, wondering who you were and what you were even doing in such a ball. No matter where you went, you couldn’t escape them. 

You finally decided on joining the dancers, believing it would help shift the attention off of you. You danced one song, then another with gentlemen that didn’t stand out to you; which was preferable for you. Unfortunately, your peace didn’t last very long. Because when you looked up to your next partner for the third dance, you came face to face with a distinct black and gold who was already bowing before you could escape. Your spine went rigid as your wide eyes met his steady ones, and before you could blink, a pleasant smile wrote over his previously stern expression. You didn’t know which one terrified you the most

The music began and he bowed to you, and you hurried to return a curtsy. You felt practically everyone stare on you as you took the first steps of the dance, carefully spinning around each other. He was the first to speak.

“I must apologize for my son’s poor manners” He said, and your eyebrows raised in half panic. What did he mean by– “He was the one to insist on inviting you and grace us with your lovely presence. He should have been the one to dance with you the first moment you stepped on the floor, but unfortunately, he is rather… stubborn, I’m afraid”

You did not know how to answer this, your jaw going up and down without any sound coming out. A small frown came over his brow, but it wasn’t deep enough to cover the light amusement of his features. 

“Ah” He replied, a knowing sparkle in his eyes. “He did not tell you about it, did he?”

“I knew nothing of the sort” You confirmed in a small voice. “4I am truly sorry to intrude, I know I am not part of the nobility–”

“Please, do not apologize” He gently cut you off. “You were invited, were you not? Therefore no intrusion whatsoever was committed. And between you and I,” He paused, leaning a bit forward as the dance steps brought you respectfully close. “I would be willing to bet your specific presence is much more wanted than anyone else's here tonight”

There you went, speechless once again. The dance finished, and with a respectful bow, the Duke parted ways with you to return to the front of the room, where a figure in red was definitely missing. You looked around the room, but didn't find your stranger anywhere. That until, you went to step away from the floor and collided with a strong, red coated chest. Your eyes followed the buttons up to find his jaw clenched hard and his eyes still fixated on a point beyond your shoulder. 

Mechanically, his hand lifted up. “May I have the next dance?”

You looked around you as a hush fell over the room, and you deducted it was a rare occurrence for the young lord to dance if everybody was staring at you in disbelief. Not wanting to cause more of a scene, you managed to find your voice. “You may”

Carefully, you placed your hand in his and let him guide you back to the middle of the room. His bow to you was stiff and uncomfortable, but his steps were light and precise, practiced and repeated until it became a second nature. Yet, his expression was displaying something far from ease. 

“For someone who thinks balls are dreadful, I must point out that twice i’ve met you, and twice it was at a ball”

A tiny scoff shook his shoulders, but not his stoic expression. “Both times out of absolute obligation, I assure you”

“You were more chatty last time” 

“Merely an effect of a glass too many of red wine”

That was no way to speak to someone of his status, but he didn’t seem to have any intention to correct you.

“I didn’t know it was you”

He knew well what you meant. I didn’t know it was you that night. “That’s because I chose not to tell you”

“You must think this is hilarious” You muttered against your will, but it just had to come out. There was a rage suddenly boiling inside of you and it came up too quickly for you to effectively rein it back. “Having a merchant’s daughter spill her insignificant secrets to you, then invite her to a ball she very clearly doesn’t belong to, showing her everything she’ll be missing, then making sure everyone notices it too. Poor deluded girl gets a pity dance with the Duke and his son. Are you entertained enough, my lord? Or should I trip and humiliate myself just a little bit more?”

His eyes widened a little bit more with every word, leaving him with a frightened and wounded expression one would find on a scolded child. In this precise moment, neither the smooth, mysterious stranger on the balcony nor the stoic soldier was staring back at you. You almost didn’t notice when the song ended, but you didn’t miss your opportunity to storm away, pushing past the crowd and trying your best to ignore their whispers on your way out. 

After a few flights of stairs, you finally found a way out in the gardens. The fresh air was like a breath of relief, and the soothing cool of the air was welcomed on your skin. You walked until you found a pond and sat on the bench, glaring at the reflection of the moonlight in the water. You spiralled deep in your thoughts, until you heard your name being called in an unfamiliar voice.

You jumped onto your feet and spun around, coming face to face with an elegantly dressed woman, her blonde hair beautifully cascading down her shoulders. You recognized her as one of the figures standing beside the Duke at the front of the room, but she didn’t have the air of arrogance you’d have expected her to bear. Instead, she seemed kind and confident, the type of person one wouldn’t mind sitting down with for tea and a good conversation. She smiled at your apparent wariness.

“May I sit with you?”

You nodded, then remembered she was probably also outranking you. “Yes, of course you may” 

You waited until she rounded the bench and sat down to sit back. For a few minutes, she didn’t talk, she just observed you. 

“You’re sure as pretty as I believed you’d be”

You blinked in surprise. Out of everything you believed she’d say, this was definitely not it. “... Thank you?”

Her smile widened, but she didn’t add anything on the matter. Instead, she jumped into the topic she was probably here for in the first place. “He upset you, didn’t he?”

Your eyes snapped forward and your back straightened. “Did he tell you to come and make it worse?”

Instead of being insulted at your dry rebuttal, she simply laughed and brushed her hand. “Not at all, the poor fool’s probably still standing frozen where you left him. Listen, I came after you to check up on you. He’ll be fine, but I wanted to see if you were”

Your eyes reluctantly found hers again. “Why?”

She sighed. “With all his lack of tact, Jason meant well. All he said to us is that you told him you enjoyed balls, and that you deserved a night for yourself. Neither I or the Duke knows anything beyond that. He might have been clumsy in handling it, but rest assured, mocking you was the last of his intention”

You heard all of what she said, but somehow, your brain got caught on one specific word. One specific name. “So, his name is Jason”

She tilted her head to the side. “You didn’t know?”

You shook your head. “We heard the stories, but nobody could agree on the right name” 

“Oh well, he is going to be pissed that I robbed him of his grand introduction, that’s certain” 

You couldn’t help but chuckle along with her at the absolute ridiculousness of your situation. You liked her, you decided, but just as your handsome stranger–no, Jason–you didn’t hope to get attached. Then, something came up in your head, making you frown.

“How do you know my name?” You asked. “In fact, how did anyone know my name? I never told him”

She smiled at you again, the glint in her eyes telling you there was a secret you definitely didn’t know about dangling about your head. Come to think of it, it was the same as the one you had observed in both the Duke and his son’s eyes. “The Duke has his way”

“Okay?”

She shook her head and changed the subject. “Do you want to know a secret?”

Your eyes narrowed. “... Sure”

She leaned forward. “You were the only person who received an invite for tonight” She revealed, and before you could call out her lie, she beat you to it. “I swear it’s true. Everybody you saw tonight just assumed they were invited, because of their own vanity and self-importance. You, on the other hand, are the only person that was actually wanted here. Do with that information as you may, but please, don’t be too harsh on Jason. He really did mean well”

You nodded slowly, watching as she stood up. “Well, this has been a pleasure”

“Likewise” You mumbled back, staring at her expectantly. 

“Stephanie” She filled in. “Stephanie Brown”

“Have a nice evening, miss Brown”

“Oh, I will” She grinned wolfishly. “Good night”

“You… too…” You watched as she walked away, leaving you to ponder this last conversation alone in the gardens.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #batfam #pride & prejudice au #regency au #jason todd fic #jason todd imagine

[spicyspiders]

Hii! I really love the soap x ghost x male reader fic you made! I kept on re-reading it! Im quite shy to ask but is it okay to make a part 2 of it? And can you add dumbification? its okay if you wont make one im totally okay with it! Byee have a lovely day/night!

I'm glad you liked it. This isn't really a part two, it's kinda just a small blurb of another threesome, but I hope you still like it.

You don’t know the moment when it truly hits you and your mind goes entirely blank, but when it does, it hits you hard. One second you were trying to suck down as much of Ghost’s cock as you could while pleasure shot through your body by Soap’s aggressive thrusts, and the next Ghost’s cock is leaving your mouth. 

When he pulls out, you chase after it as best you could with the tight grip Soap has on your hips, and you hear a dark chuckle somewhere above you. 

“You would have sucked on it until you passed out, wouldn’t you?” Ghost asked. He placed a hand in your hair and gripped the strands tightly so he could angle your head up. With his other hand that he had wrapped around the base of his cock, he rubbed the head around your lips. The mess of sweat, spit, and precome all combined into a flavor that had you darting your tongue out for more. 

You couldn’t even give a reply with words, you only nodded your head vigorously. 

“Easy, sergeant,” Ghost said in a commanding tone. The sound of it made you clench down on the cock driving in and out of you. From behind you, it made Soap let out a moan, one that you answered by letting out one of your own. 

“What’s the problem?” Soap asked, sounding out of breath. He stopped in his harsh thrusting to instead bottom out and grind his hips in a slow circle. Your body was soaked in sweat, but Soap kept his fingers clamped down tightly on your hips so he could hold you in place. 

“He needs to be able to walk tomorrow,” Ghost said, he sounded annoyed, like he had already told Soap this before. 

“He’ll be fine,” Soap reassured Ghost before he leaned down, covering your back with his chest, “won’t you?” He breathed in your ear.

When you turned your head to press your lips to his, Soap ground another slow circle in your body. When the head of his cock hit your prostate, you let out a moan, changing the kiss. It went from a lock of lips to something messier that had you clenching your hands into the sheets. When his tongue met yours, you each moaned into each other’s mouths. 

You let out a loud noise of protest when the kiss ended, but you clamped your mouth shut when Ghost turned his commanding tone on you, “enough,” he said, tightening his grip on your hair. 

You let out a whimper of pain high in your throat. The tears that Ghost brought forward with his cock down your throat fell free. 

At the sight and sound, his hand relaxed and then went down to your cheek, his thumb wiping away some of the tears. “We’ve really fucked you stupid, haven’t we?” He asked, observing how your body shook under the pleasure Soap was giving you as he started up his harsh thrusts again. 

You never got the chance to answer his question though, soon after he asked, he was guiding his cock back to your mouth and sank back inside of your wet heat when you opened your mouth obediently.

#x male reader #x male reader smut #ghost x male reader smut #ghost x male reader #simon riley x male reader smut #simon riley x male reader #soap x male reader smut #soap x male reader #johnny mactavish x male reader smut #johnny mactavish x male reader

[fivestar-outlaw]

New Horizons (Park Seonghwa) (Ch. 3)

Chapter 3: Scorpions

Pairing: Park Seonghwa x Fem!Reader

Words: 3.5K+

Warning(s): insecurities and discussion of insecurities, angst, someone's rude to MC :( (None of the guys), slight hurt/comfort, dumbdumbs in love but dont realize each others feelings

A/N: Here is chapter 3. I think this one is the second hardest to write (The fourth chapter is kicking my ass rn). I'm not sure how I am feeling about this chapter? I had like three/four different ideas for it. Sooo I did a 'spin the wheel' and went with what it landed on for this lol. I feel like this is the weakest chapter but it has some charm. Regardless, I hope you all enjoy <3

Reader is implied to be living in the US bc uh TIMEZONES ARE FUCKY and i didnt realize how reliant i was on mine (PST) when looking up KST

Summary: Attempting an all-nighter while playing Animal Crossing alongside your bias, you didn't expect your turnip prices to be such a high amount... nor did you expect Park Seonghwa to actually accept your offer to sell his turnips on your island.

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"I can't tell her, Woo." Seonghwa sighed.

Wooyoung nearly ripped out his hair at the very similar phrase he has heard you tell him before. The others all groaned as they lounged around in the recording room, 10 minutes before they needed to start recording and re-recording lines for their last song on the next album.

It was now February, two months since Seonghwa figured out his feelings towards you that night you fell asleep on video call. He immediately told Wooyoung the next day he had been right and ever since then, the younger has been trying to push Hwa into confessing. He even tried assuring the older male that you most likely returned his feelings without giving away you told Wooyoung you developed a crush on Hwa just a few days before Hwa told him.

Woo's mind thought back to his conversation with you a week ago.

"I don't think he likes me like that, Woo. No matter how much you tell me." He heard you say with a dejected tone through the call. He had snuck away on his own during practice, having the choreography down before the others. "I mean, I met him as a fan. I don't want him to think I offered him to sell turnips for this outcome."

"I don't think he assumes any ulterior motives, (Y/N)." He said softly. "He speaks fondly of you."

"And that's another thing. He is Seonghwa. He is the super kind, very lovable, handsome, and talented guy who loves to mimic his villagers, build Legos, and is an all around great person. It's hard not to fall in love with him... and then there is me. The average looking, college student working at the local bookstore. I feel so inadequate-"

"Hey. Don't speak like that about yourself." He scolded, his tone and facial expression serious. "You are amazing. You are beautiful. You've been a great friend and we all deeply appreciate and love you."

"Sorry." You sigh. "I just... I want to believe you, but it's hard, you know?"

"I get it, I do. Just... keep thinking on it, okay?" Wooyoung smiled sadly. He could see the self-doubt was still eating at you and his words didn't fully penetrate the self-conscious wall you built up. He just hoped you'd keep holding out long enough for him to try and push Seonghwa into confessing.

"Okay, why not then?" Yuhno asked, exasperated.

"It's clear she only views me as a friend. And I am fine with that."

"You don't know that for sure, hyung." San offered a kind smile.

"Are you guys sure (Y/N) likes me like that?" Hwa gave them each a pointed look. Everyone tried arguing that it was clear to them you did, though the only one who knew for sure was Wooyoung. "I... I truly come to appreciate her and every time we speak I feel like I am falling further and further for her. She is sweet, funny, gorgeous, and I feel my heart is always about to burst when talking with her..."

"He's a love sick puppy." Yeosang teased, making everyone chuckle. The eldest's face adorned a bright blush but he made no attempt argue against the notion.

"It's adorable seeing you crush so hard on someone, hyung." Mingi cooed.

"Why not try and talk to her now? It should be..." Hongjoong looked at the time, seeing that it was nearly 10am for them. "... about 6pm for her. Try gauging her feelings for you and bring up wanting her to visit next month for her spring break."

"I don't know..." The eldest unlocked his phone and had your contact pulled up. Wooyoung immediately moved spots and sat next to Seonghwa.

"Seonghwa-hyung, just go for it. We are all here cheering you on." Jongho smiled softly and the others nodded in agreement.

"And its not like your confessing now either. We've told you the signs, now watch for them." Wooyoung added. The others decided to join in on the call, hoping to catch anything that gave away you had feelings for their friend.

Seonghwa took in a deep breath before slowly exhaling as he pressed the call button. He felt two large hands on both shoulders pat him and give a firm squeeze as he slowly extended his arm to make sure everyone could be visible to some extent. He felt anxiety building up with each ring, waiting anxiously for you to pick up.

They all smile when you finally pick up. You were sitting at your desk, adding what looked like the finishing touches of your makeup on your face. You looked at the camera with a small smile before you looked down, picking up a tube of lipstick.

"Hello boys. Usually you text me before you start a call. What's going on?" You ask, eyes flickering to the phone again before you focus on your hand mirror.

Seonghwa felt Wooyoung nudge him off camera. "I wanted to check in on you, (Y/N), and they all decided to join me."

"Aw, really?" Your face seemingly brightened at the fact and the eldest could feel Jongho on his left excitedly tap his leg.

"Compliment her, Hwa." Hongjoong hissed into his ear, a toothy grin was on his face as an attempt to mask any suspicion.

"Did one of you say something?"

"O-oh it must of cut out." Seonghwa nervously chuckled. "I said you look amazing. Is there a special occasion going on?"

You got a bit bashful and smiled, though everyone could tell it didn't fully reach your eyes. "I got asked out on a date."

Seonghwa felt like he was punched in the gut.

But his face remained soft with a smile.

"Really? Who is the person?" He asked, his voice steady.

The others eyed him in concern but did their best to mask it while on video.

"His name is Charlie. He is in my English course this semester. We worked on some in-class assignments together a few times before he asked me out today."

"I'm happy to hear. Well, we better get going. We are about get to recording." Hongjoong could pick up some shakiness in Hwa's voice. "Have fun and please periodically message me, just to give me peace of kind on your safety."

"Thank you, Seonghwa, and I will." You gave them a wave goodbye before hanging up the phone.

It was silent in the room. Seonghwa slowly lowered his arm, resting his phone and hands in his laps. The smile he had dropped just as slowly as he took in a deep, trembling breath.

"Hwa, are you okay?" Hongjoong hesitated, placing his hand on his friends shoulder.

"Yes. I'm fine, Joong." He asserted, getting up from the couch.

"Are you sure?" San asked.

Languidly, the eldest turned to face the rest. Their breaths caught in their throats. His eyes were full of tears, his lips were quivering as he still maintained his smile.

"I told you guys I am just a friend to her. And I will be fine with that." He sniffled, one tear rolling down his cheek. He hastily wiped his cheek with the back of his hand. "Please, lets drop it and get work done today."

"Of course, hyung." Yuhno spoke with a comforting voice and stood up, wrapping an arm around the older males shoulders. "Lets grab some waters together." Carefully, the taller of the two led Hwa out of the room. The second the door closed, everyone exhaled.

"Maybe...Maybe we were wrong." Jongho mumbled.

"No we weren't." Wooyoung insisted, pulling out his phone.

"Wooyoung-" San tried to speak but the younger male kept talking.

"We weren't! (Y/N) told me herself she likes Seongwa!" The others watched as he called you, pressing speakerphone.

The phone rung a few times when they hear the line click.

"It's just me, (Y/N)." Woo gave the others a look to be quiet. "What was that? What do you mean date?"

"Exactly that, Youngie." You sighed, your voice sounding as if it lacked any confidence.

"But you like Seonghwa... You love him."

"... I do." The others in the room looked at each other in shock, their eyes wide.

"Then why did you agree to the date, (Y/N)?"

There was a moment of tense silence before you spoke again, starting your sentence off with a sniffle.

"Because I can't logically believe he likes me the same way. He just see's me as a friend and I just feel so inadequate to be on any level with him." You faltered. "I don't have any particular feelings for Charlie but I... I just wanted to try to get over loving Hwa."

"(Y/N)..."

"I need to get going Woo. I'll... message you tomorrow." Before he could say anything more you hung up.

The room was just as tense as before. No one knew what to say. Wooyoung pressed his lips tightly together as he kept his own tears at bay. When they heard the door open everyone else started getting up and getting ready to start recording. Seonghwa looked to have calmed down. Wooyoung refused to look at his oldest hyung until he could calm down.

---

After the video call with Ateez and the call with Wooyoung, you decided to try to to push any negative thought aside and finish getting ready. You put together a outfit that wasn't too fancy but still looked nice. You styled your hair the way you liked most for things like this. Overall, despite the heavy heart, you felt cute. You left your place with an Uber, figuring you may have something alcoholic to drink, with enough time to get to the restaurant on time, sending a message to Seonghwa letting him know you were heading there...

You glanced at the clock on your phone for the umpteenth time. It had been an hour since your uber dropped you off at the restaurant, 50 minutes since you were sat down at a table, and 35 minutes since that sinking feeling in your gut that you had been stood up started kicking in.

You sighed dejectedly as you finished paying for the meal you ordered. You may have been stood up but you weren't going to let that stop you from a nice meal. Luckily your waitress was kind and nobody paid you much mind. You felt that any pity sent your way would make you feel worse.

You slowly walked outside the restaurant, your phone out as you get ready to order another uber, when you heard loud cackling. Your head turned to the left and just a few cars down in the parking lot was Charlie in a car full of people. They were all laughing and looking at you.

It felt like a bucket of ice water was poured over you.

Ignoring them and the button to confirm the uber, you started walking in the direction of your apartment. You needed to get away. You could feel your chest tightening with humiliation and panic.

"Oh come on, (Y/N). It was a joke!" You heard Charlie yell but you just kept walking. You heard the car roar with life and could hear from their rolled down window various jokes directed at you.

They all cackled and decided that was enough teasing. Charlie then nearly squealed his tires as he drove away. The tears you kept at bay finally spilled over. You hiccupped as you glanced down at your phone. It was 8pm for you, which meant it would be around noon for him.

You didn't think, really. You just knew you needed to hear his low toned, comforting voice. You opened your phone and immediately dialed Seonghwa, pressing your cell to your ear as you walked back to your place. You felt pathetic but you knew you needed to speak to someone or else you would be a sobbing mess if you were left to stew.

---

It was lunch time in the canteen area at KQ when Seonghwa heard his phone ring. His brows furrowed when he saw your name on the screen. He finished his last bite and quickly wiped off any possible crumbs on his hands with a napkin.

"Didn't she leave for her date like an hour ago?" Mingi tilted his head, everyone else had a confused look.

Seonghwa pressed the green answer button and raised his phone to his ear.

"(Y/N)?" His voice with smooth and low. "You're calling me so soon-"

"Seonghwa..." He heard your voice trembling, making him freeze. His face must of gave away to the others something was wrong, as they stared at him intently.

"Hold on, (Y/N). Let me go somewhere private." He quickly got up fron his seat and wasted no time getting into the hallway where there were less people. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"

"I-I got stood up." You sniffled.

"What?"

"I sat there for an hour looking like a fool. And then... And then I went to leave and I saw him outside in his car with his friends." Seonghwa could feel his blood start to boil with anger. "They laughed at me. They made fun of me." He could hear you take in a shuddering breath.

"Where are you now?"

"I'm walking home..."

"How long until you get back?"

"Maybe... Maybe 10 or 15 more minutes?"

"Stay on the phone with okay? I want to make sure you get home safe." He needed to take deep breaths to stay calm. In the corner of his eye he saw the others leave the canteen, though they stayed back, giving him and you some privacy.

"I just don't get what I did wrong to-"

"You did nothing wrong, (Y/N). Don't start blaming yourself for some asshole's behavior." He glanced to his friends, feel a pinch of confidence. "You are a wonderful person. It's his loss."

There was silence for a moment.

"Did I interrupt work?" You asked in a small voice.

"No, I was just finishing lunch. Did you eat?"

"I had something small after I realized he wasn't showing up." Hwa felt some relief when he heard your voice getting steady. "I'll probably have some ice cream when I get home."

"It better not be mint chocolate chip." He joked and smiled when he heard you giggle. "You really did look amazing, by the way. You should send me and the group chat any selfies if you took any. I'm sure the others would like to see the full look."

"Really?" Your voice was meek.

"I would never lie to you... You truly look beautiful. You always do."

"Thank you, Hwa. I really needed to hear that, especially from you." He could hear your voice tremble again.

"Don't start crying because of me, jagiya." He gently teased, the petname slipping out seamlessly.

"Where are the others?"

"They are watching me down the hallway I'm in." He looked over and saw that they were still there. Wooyoung, San, and Jongho kept their eyes on him while the others were looking at their phones, occasionally looking back at the eldest.

"Am I keeping-"

"I want to be talking with you. They can all wait." Seonghwa huffed, which pulled a giggle from you. He was glad he was able to get you to cheer up, even if it was a miniscule amount. "They are very concerned for you though."

"You can tell them what happened. Woo will bug me when he can until I tell him."

"He is good at that isn't he?"

"Too good." You snort.

There was another moment of silence before Hwa spoke again.

"How close are you to home?"

"Uh..." You pause. "I'm pretty close. I'm passing the park thats nearby. I'll probably be there in two minutes."

"Good." He hummed. "I'm glad you called me."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Besides enjoying the sound of your voice, I am glad you felt comfortable enough during this vulnerable time to reach out to me. It warms my heart."

"I'm glad you answered."

"For you? Always. Well, unless I am on stage or Joong is lecturing us." He couldn't help but beam when he got you to laugh again.

"I see my apartment. I'm walking up to the door now." Hwa heard your keys jingle in your hand. "I'll let you go now. Thank you for everything, Hwa."

"It wasn't a problem at all. I'll check in on you when I have the time okay?"

"You don't have to." He faintly heard you unlocking the door and then heard the door close.

"I want to." He smiled. "Get comfortable, have that ice cream, and smile for me okay, (Y/N)? I'll talk to you soon. Have a goodnight in case you fall asleep."

"Have a good rest of your day, Hwa." There was a lingering pause before you ended the call.

Seonghwa let out a deep sigh, his face dropping into a scowl as he pocketed his phone. The rest of Ateez took that as a sign to approach him. They nearly froze when they saw the angry look on his face.

"I'm going to need one of you to stop me from buying plane tickets right now." Hwa muttered.

"What happened?"

"Why are you so upset?"

"Is (Y/N) okay?"

Were questions all asked at the same time.

"Let's get back to the recording studio first." Hongjoong offered. It took a lot of restraint for them to not run down the hallways.

The second that door closed to the studio, everyone turned to look at Seonghwa, who still looked pissed off. He sat down on the couch staring past the glass that viewed the recording booth. He needed to take a moment to calm himself down.

"Did something happen to our dear (Y/N)?" Wooyoung sat next to the older male, looking at him with desperate eyes.

"She called me crying, saying her date stood her up." Seonghwa finally spoke. Everyone let out shocked noises and some curses. "That's not even the worst of it. She said he and his friends were waiting for her to come outside to make fun of her."

Wooyoung pulled out his cellphone. "I'm buying you and I plane tickets."

"Count me in, I want to beat that guys ass for making her upset." San sat on the other side of Seonghwa.

Hongjoong quickly snatched Wooyoung's phone.

"Hey-!"

"You won't be making a spontaneous trip to her place and you all are definitely not going off to fight this guy." He said, using his captain voice.

"Come on, hyung. It'll be worth it." Jongho tried bargaining but quickly stopped at the look he got from their leader.

"Seonghwa." Seonghwa's attention was on Hongjoong's face after he called his name. "You already did most of your recording today. Unless you want to hang out with those who still need to record and need to re-record, or do some choreography practice with Yuhno, you should head back to the dorm and spend some time with (Y/N)."

"Thank you, Joong." Seonghwa smiled and gathered his belongings.

"We want to spend time with her too." Wooyoung whined.

"Too bad. You're assisting Yuhno after you re-record your lines." The eldest male smiled at his friends playful banter as he left the room.

He quickly fished out his cell and called you as he walked down the hallway. He was heading to his managers office to get home. He wasn't entirely sure if he had the confidence to confess right now, nor did he want to spring on a confession to you after the night you had... but he wanted to let you know he would be there for you. That he would never let you feel less than or alone. That stupid guy lost his chance and Hwa wanted to be the one treasure you. He was going to confess and tonight would be the start to his plan to do so.

"Seonghwa?" Your voice sounded confused when you quickly answered.

"Hongjoong is giving me the rest of the day off. Do you want to watch a movie with me? Or we can play Animal Crossing? Whatever you want, I want to do it with you." He took in a deep breath. "I'll even pick up mint chocolate chip ice cream and we can eat it together."

You laughed. "Sure, I would love that."

There was a pause in the conversation. Seonghwa was now waiting in front of the manager's office.

"I have a question for you, (Y/N)." He wanted to wait for later to ask his question but Seonghwa felt he had the confidence to ask now.

"What is it?"

"You said you took time off work for your spring break next month, right?"

"Yes, I have the Friday before that week off to Monday after it. Why do you ask?"

"Come visit me." He was shocked he got it out.

"What?"

"Come to Korea and visit me. I'll help pay for the flight and you can stay with us at the dorm. Is the issue with your passport?"

"My passport is fine." You sighed and took a moment before speaking again. "Are you sure, Hwa? Are the others okay with that? What about-"

"Everything will be fine. The others, our manager, and I have already discussed this in length and will probably want to discuss with you later."

"Well..." You didn't speak, which had Seonghwa feeling rejection would soon follow. "I would love to."

"...Is this a yes?"

"Yes it is." You chuckled. "I've been actually thinking of planning a visit after I graduate in May, but honestly, the sooner the better."

"Make sure to message the others about this, they'll be so happy." He smiled, unable to hide his excitement. "I am about to leave the office here soon. I will call you when I am back at the dorm."

"Get back safely."

"Of course. I will talk to you soon."

"And- Fuck!" You swore loudly.

"Is something wrong?" Worry seeped into his veins at how your voice sounded.

"I got stung by scorpion while island hopping."

Taglist: @stopeatread@hee0soo@pocketjoong-reads@seonghwaddict@tridkeys

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[little-pondhead]

The Folly of Men -

Chapter 3: #228B22

AO3 - MASTERPOST

[GENERAL TW: Swearing, lukewarm violence, lots of POV changes, and mild body horror.]

-

Damian was still being watched. The summer storm had well and passed, but the eyes he felt on the back of his neck were persistent, following him no matter where he went. He drove himself mad, tearing his room and the rest of Wayne Manor apart for bugs, asked Oracle to scan the city while he patrolled, and even pulled in a favor with some magic users to ensure he wasn't being haunted. Nothing! It was concerning his family, but Damian didn't care. He kept himself surrounded by others at all times whenever he left the house. Something was out there, ready for him to be truly alone. He didn't want to give them the opportunity.

The day came when he was assigned to patrol with Orphan since Batman was with the League but was separated due to the Riddler's schemes. They had solved the riddle already, thankfully, but Damian was intercepted while on his way to their meet-up point.

Pru, a former League assassin, caught his attention from one of Gotham's rooftops, and he swung down to meet her.

“Assassin,” was his only greeting. Damian was not a fool. No matter what had happened between Pru and Drake, she was still dangerous. He drew his sword easily and pointed it at her neck, reminding her that he was still a threat as well.

Pru didn’t look too happy to see him either. “Don’t give me that shit, Robin,” she snarled. “I’m just here to pass on a message.”

“I believe you are loyal to my brother, not me,” Robin hissed. “Why should I believe anything that comes out of your mouth?”

“Because it’s important!” Pru looked frustrated. “Eth Alth'eban is on lockdown, and I barely managed to get out. I can’t get in touch with Red Robin; every time I try, something happens and messages are re-routed or destroyed. Lightning strikes on the communication towers in Antarctica, the encrypted server that runs through Bolivia crashed from a fucking hurricane, even the goddamn carrier pigeon got drawn off course from high winds in Brazil! Do you have any idea how erratic the past two weeks have been? It’s like something is out to get me!”

“So why come to me? You’re in Gotham now.” He pointed out.

Pru threw her hands up, exasperated. “Because Nightwing told me Red Robin is out of the country to help with flooding in Qatar! Apparently, there’s a fucking tropical storm hitting it for the first time ever! You’re the one who really needs to hear this, anyway, so I gave up and found you. It seems Gotham won’t let me leave until I say my piece.”

Damian considered the situation. Pru really did look like she’d been through hell and back. She looked furious at something, and her clothes were still damp from rain. Except it hadn’t rained in Gotham for a while. Not since…the summer storm. The back of his neck tingled again, and he glanced around. Clouds were closing in. Fuck.

He sheathed his sword. Pieces from this puzzle were starting to fall into place, but he needed more information. “Say what you must,” he nodded to Pru while tapping his comms to alert Oracle to the conversation. He also activated his emergency tracker, hoping Orphan or Nightwing would find him in time. Their conversation would end quickly once the woman relayed her message, and Damian wasn't about to force Pru to stay because he was nervous about being alone.

“Finally,” Pru sighed and sat heavily on the rooftop, not minding the glass that dug into her hands and thighs. “Your grandfather has a new Heir.”

Damian blinked, pausing. He wasn’t quite expecting that.

“I only knew about this early because they killed my inside man in the medical department. I got a hold of his notes, and it looks like they were in the middle of treating an unknown entity, and the files all referred to it as the ‘Demon's Heir.’ I'm not Red, so I can't be sure, but the records don't start in a way that would suggest they made a test tube baby or another clone."

"And it is not my cousin they are treating? Perhaps grandfather has changed his mind and declared Mara his ideal Heir."

Pru stared at Gotham's roiling clouds, looking frustrated. She didn't seem to notice anything strange about them. "No. Mara al Ghul was in Kuwait until recently. She and the others from the Demon's Fist were doing something on orders from Mother Soul. It's above my pay grade, so I can't tell you much more than that other than they left suddenly without finishing their business. I'll take a guess that Mother Soul will be pissed about that. I do know that the medical records were updated two days ago to reflect a stab wound to the entity's chest. Their name was also updated: Phantom."

Damian considered Pru's words. He turned the clues over in his mind like stones, carefully examining anything that might hint at deceit. She was telling the truth, unfortunately. "So someone named Phantom has claimed the role of Demon's Heir, and my cousin most likely heard this news first and abandoned her post to attack the usurper," he summarized. "And my grandfather has closed off his city for one reason or another, presumably to either train or protect Phantom. Am I correct?"

Pru nodded. "That's pretty much it, birdie. Whatcha gonna do about it?"

He ignored the jab. "I will consider my options," he said stiffly. "Now that you've served your purpose, leave Gotham immediately." Orphan, where are you?

The former assassin laughed and hauled herself to her feet, brushing off the glass and dirt that stuck to her clothes. "I'll consider it. I've been running around for weeks; Red Robin won't mind if I crash at his, will he?"

"He will."

"Tough shit. See you around!" Pru jumped off the rooftop and into the alley below, not giving a shit about potential muggers as she waltzed into the night.

He was alone.

Damian watched her go before tapping his comms again. “Did you hear everything?” He asked Oracle, but no reply came except static. He expected this but cursed anyway. Thunder started to rumble overhead; he felt it deep in his bones. Whispers of electricity started crawling along the rooftop, following wires and coming dangerously close to touching him. He was forced to back into a corner on the rooftop and hoped his rubber-insulated boots were enough to prevent a shock. The feeling from earlier was stronger than ever. Someone was watching him. They knew he was finally alone. Obviously, Orphan nor Nightwing would get there in time, so Damian would have to deal with this himself.

He turned in a circle, straining his eyes to see through the cloud cover. He still couldn’t pinpoint their location, but he knew they were up there. “Reveal yourself!” He barked, hand on his weapon.

A moment passed. The air pressure changed, making his ears pop uncomfortably. His eyes were trained on the sky as rain started to fall. The clouds above the city gathered wildly, swirling together and reaching down toward him. The bolts of electricity that crawled over the rooftop raced together and rose up to meet it, becoming large bolts of lightning that could do real harm to the city if even one got loose. He stepped back into the corner even further, watching the mass of storm clouds finally get low enough to spread out across the building like a thick fog, revealing a figure in the vague shape of a man.

Great. Of course, it was something magical. He'd be having words with the magic users from earlier.

The man wasn’t touching the ground. In fact, Damian could hardly make out his legs as his broad form blurred from the wind, snatching bits of his green body away. Smaller rain clouds encircled his waist like a belt, and his hair looked more like jagged horns sitting against his brow. While he wore a well-loved weather vest and thick gloves, the rain around them would have soaked the man through by now. But he was perfectly dry. Damian was a little envious.

The man was smiling at him, but not the kind of smile that welcomed him into the conversation. No, this man of clouds and lightning was holding himself like someone was forcing him to be there. His red eyes looked like a swirling red cyclone, and his overall air was disinterested and tired.

Damian flinched as the man opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out except drawn-out screeches and clicks. It sounded like thunder was crashing right next to his ear or a tree getting struck by lightning. He didn't like it. The man frowned, realizing Damian couldn't understand him, and cleared his throat to try again.

“Hello, little Robin,” the man eventually tried, this time in Arabic. His voice was…strange. It sounded like he was gasping with every word, and the thundering sound was still there, muted and layered under the greeting. "I'm sorry, I forgot the people of this world are not natural speakers of the Realm's language."

“I am not little,” Damian snarled, likewise in Arabic.

“Of course not,” the man waved his hand. “A ghost’s size does not determine their power. I greet you nonetheless, little Robin.”

Damian had a feeling that speaking with this man was going to be infuriating. “Who are you?” He demanded. “And why are you in Gotham City?”

“You may call me the Navigator,” the man bowed a little, stiff in his back like he wasn’t used to the action. The Navigator, it seemed, was used to being in power. But by bowing to Damian, he showed his reluctant submission right off the bat, hoping to appease him and have a civil conversation. “And I believe you have a hunch as to why I’m here. You noticed me pretty quickly, after all.”

“So you are the one who’s been stalking me.”

“In plainer terms, yes.”

“I presume you’re the one who’s been messing with Pru as well?”

“You would presume correctly,” The Navigator's face scrunched and swirled like he was making a face of disgust. “I would rather have sent my sylphs to do it, but the Scepter insisted I do this part myself.”

More new information. If Damian remembered, sylphs were elemental wind spirits. So the Navigator was either a spirit himself or someone who could control them. But he said ‘ghost’ earlier. How did that fit in? He didn't look like the undead Damian knew of.

And ‘the Scepter’ was said with an inflection that suggested it was a name. Scepters were symbols of royalty, but Damian didn’t know anyone who actually used one or went by that name. It was no title he’d ever heard of. Whoever they were, they had to be more powerful than the Navigator if they had truly sent him after Robin.

“Aye, I can hear your brain working from here, little Robin.” The Navigator rolled his eyes, stretching the tiny cyclones. “You three are so similar that I’ll never find peace.”

“I don’t quite follow. State your business quickly; I’m losing my patience.”

The Navigator waved his hand, summoning a tablet out of nowhere. He tapped on it a few times clumsily, like he wasn't used to holding it, and then tossed it to Damian. The boy caught it easily and examined the thing. It looked like a normal tablet, similar to the ones Drake made and sold. It had a shield logo stamped on the back with Egyptian hieroglyphs engraved around the edge. It was warm to the touch, and Damian felt a little tingle as he turned it over in his hands. This was filled with magic.

The screen was made from something other than normal glass, that much he could tell as he scrolled away, trying his best to absorb the information quickly while keeping an eye on the stranger. It was a contract, he realized. The contract had been written on papyrus and then scanned in digitally. Half of it was written in a language he recognized but couldn't read. The other half contained details on limitations for the Navigator and instructions he was to follow regarding 'ghostlings,' 'The Guardian,' and...Damian Thomas al Ghul-Wayne.

Damian paled beneath the mask. His full name was in this contract. This was about him. The magical being before him knew who he was. He sped through the pages faster, frantically looking for answers.

...And as stated previously, the Navigator, Ancient of Storms, will grant Damian Thomas al Ghul-Wayne his blessing. This blessing will last the entirety of Damian's natural life until death returns him to the Realms. Upon completing the blessing, the Navigator will dispatch one guard to watch over Damian until the Scepter returns* but will not interfere with him personally.

During this period, the Guardian will fulfill the contract between the Gardener, Ancient of Growth, and one Ra's al Ghul. *The Scepter will enter The Guardian's time loop, and therefore, the Navigator may return to the Realms once the time loop is closed again. The runaway ghostlings will be promptly returned to their Lairs and Haunts in the correct dimensions.

As one last note, the Navigator will also refrain from fucking around with The Sword and The Shield unless he wants to find out what they can do. (I'm serious, too. The Shadow is busy, but I'll still find out if you try something, and I will kick your ass with no hesitation. The other two will be more than willing to punt your ass into Soup Time, as well.)

Upon completing this assignment, I release you from your bind, Ancient of Storms. Return to your Lair and rest with your sylphs. Thank you for your service.

Upon signing, all parties agree to abide by this contract until its terms are met. May the End take our souls if it is ever broken.

The Navigator, Ancient of Storms

Jasmine Nightingale, the Guardian's Scepter

At the bottom, under the signatures, Damian spotted a smaller note addressed to him.

Damian al Ghul, I look forward to our first meeting. Don't forget to bring your sword!

"You," he breathed heavily, glancing up at the mass of clouds. "Explain. What on earth is this?"

The Navigator cocked his head a little too far to the left. "I thought it was pretty self-explanatory," he said in a bored tone. "I was essentially sent on a ravenger hunt to find you and some escaped ghostlings. You shall receive my blessing whether I like it or not, and then I'll leave you to return to my Lair. Hopefully, I'll never have to grace these rotten clouds again!"

"It's 'scavenger hunt.'"

"Huh?"

"Never mind. You are useless at explaining. What is this 'Ancient of Storms' title you have? What are these Realms this contract speaks of? Why must you give me a blessing?"

"Ughhh," the Navigator rolled in the air, groaning. "I'm the embodiment of storms, isn't that obvious? I'd rather deal with Plasmius now than talk with a naive ghostling like you. What kind of ghostling speaks like this anyway? It's rude! I've been practicing my manners; the least you can do is humor me. At least Phantom can figure shit out on his own; I don't have to explain anything to him."

"Phantom?" The name caught Damian's attention. "You know Phantom? Who is he? What does he want with my grandfather?"

"Dunno, little Robin. That's between the Scepter and the Gardener. They had a contract in place decades before your grandfather was even born. And since I'm not allowed near Phantom for a while, all I know is that he's been handed over to Ra's al Ghul for a chance at recovery. He was involved in an incident recently. I don't know the details, but he's hurt so badly it's turning the Realms upside down. That's why I was sent away; I thrive off chaos."

"So, again, you are useless," Damian snarled. He turned away, which, in hindsight, was a stupid move, but he was so angry at the lack of answers that he didn't care. He buried himself back into the tablet, scanning through the contract again, looking for anything useful. Everything seemed so organized, yet the information he wanted felt just out of reach.

He vaguely heard the Navigator mutter in surprise. Something about freaky time visions being too accurate before a blinding white hot pain spread across his body. He dropped the tablet, falling to his knees. It felt like lightning was crawling under his skin, burning him from the inside out. He was distantly aware that he was screaming but didn't know how to stop it. Then the pain was gone in the next instant, and he was left collapsed on the roof, eyes screwed shut as shudders racked his body. He smelled burning flesh. A misty touch brushed away his damp bangs, cooling his brow.

"Yup, I'm pretty sure he's still alive," the Navigator murmured. "Well done, little Robin. Perhaps the Scepter knew what she was talking about when she said you could house my power. Either way, I've said my piece. The rest is up to you. Goodbye, and I hope to never see you again. Feel free to pass on those ghost rabies to the Gardener if you ever see him, though."

And with a rumble of thunder, the presence of the spirit disappeared, taking with him the gentle rain and green storm clouds. Damian lay on that roof for what felt like ages, staring into nothing and dazed from the pain. Nightwing eventually found him, however, with Orphan not far behind.

"Baby Bat!" His elder brother cried, sliding to a stop beside him and gathering Damian in his arms. Cass hovered next to them, unsure of what to do.

"Baba," he croaked in return. "The tablet..."

"Don't worry about that," Nightwing pushed his bangs back, just like the Navigator had. "Are you okay? You're shaking; Oracle lost contact with you over an hour ago and you never showed up to the rendezvous spot. What happened?"

Damian tried to tell him. A being made of storms came by, looking for me by name. He wanted to say. He cut off my comms and shared a contract with me. Then he struck me with lightning and left. We need to bring the tablet back to the Cave for analysis.

But his throat was too dry, and Damian's mind was in too much pain to form the words. As he curled up in Nightwing's arms, all he could mumble was the word 'baba' again and drop his head to the side. Nightwing cursed, instructed Orphan to grab the tablet, and swiftly made the trip back to the Cave with a sense of urgency. Damian groaned the whole way. His body was tender, and every jostle sent tiny shocks through his nerves.

He must have passed out at some point because he remembered skirting around Crime Alley one moment and Alfred checking his vitals the next. The butler gave him a gentle look and dabbed his forehead with a cool cloth. "Where's-" he tried to ask.

"Quiet, Master Damian. Master Dick will be here in a moment." Alfred soothed. Damian dropped it and settled back into the medical bed. When had he taken his clothes off? How long was he out?

A few minutes later, his siblings got the message that he'd awoken and stormed the med bay. "Baby Bat!" Cried Dick, sliding into the room and bolting to Damian's side. "Are you okay? Do you remember us?"

"Yes, baba." Damian croaked. Alfred held a glass of water to his lips, and he sipped carefully to soothe the burn in his throat.

"Dickie told me you got one hell of a shock," Jason, the second eldest, stood in the doorway, arms crossed and staring at them. Cass hung from his side, overwhelmed with anxiety. Steph was shuffling an exhausted Duke into one of the other medical beds, simply so the boy could feel included but still get some rest.

"I did," Damian confessed. Dick gripped his hand tightly, helping him sit up better. "I've been feeling a presence stalk me over the past few weeks, and tonight, I was finally confronted when Cain and I were separated." He left out the part with Pru for now but relayed everything the Navigator had told him, including the details he'd seen on the contract.

Everyone stayed silent as he spoke, but Dick looked like he was ready to bite someone by the end of the story.

"I'm calling everyone back to the Cave," he decided. "This is a Code Addams."

Jason shook his head immediately. "I'm all for punching storm cryptids," he said. "But you know this doesn't fall under Bruce's emergency plans."

"He's right, Dick," Steph frowned. She sat on the other side of Damian's bed, playing with his fingers lightly, and he didn't have the energy to move her. "We can put out a warning, but this sounds like League business to me. Most of us won't really be any help when it comes to al Ghul family drama."

"It's not 'drama,' Brown. Grandfather has taken a new, unknown Heir that has connections to several powerful entities if I'm not mistaken."

Steph nodded. "Yeah! Drama! And if that freaky storm demon shows up again, then we're even less equipped to deal with it. B's not even here right now to help, so we're on our own for this one."

"I'll even send Babs a copy of the contract; she'll probably be able to find something we can't." Jason started tapping away at his phone with one hand, updating the BatKids group chat on the situation and unloading the work onto Barbara.

Dick looked devastated. "But-"

"Hey, Dami?" Duke groaned, cutting everyone off. He was tangled in the thin sheets of the bed now, squinting at the youngest Wayne like he was staring at the sun. "I was kind of half-listening, but you said something about the lightning strike being a blessing, right?"

"Correct."

"Okay, um. Are you aware you glow now? Well, glow more than you used to?"

"...I was not aware. What do you see?"

Duke shuffled and threw an arm over his eyes. The lights of the med bay were giving him a migraine, but he refused to leave now. "You used to just look like a lamp. Now, you look like a bolt of lightning," he said. "There's electricity following your nerves. And your eyes are glowing green—just like Jason's when he's mad. Whatever you got hit with, it's definitely doing something to your body. I just don't know what."

Everyone paused at that.

"Well shit," Jason eventually broke the silence, bringing Cass even closer like a teddy bear. "Looks like we should get a hold of Talia and Bruce, at minimum. Demon Brat, you should probably go to Eth Alth'eban if you want answers."

Damian thumped his head against his thin pillow. "Fuck."

"Potty mouth!"

-

Danny was starting to get tired of waking up sore.

At least he recognized the room. It was the same one as before and actually decorated like a patient's room, not an underground bunker with his own blood splattered on the walls. He groaned, trying to shift his body. How much was he missing? His lungs were back, obviously. They felt raw in his chest. His vocal chords were also half-baked, but speaking wasn't really an issue right now.

What mattered was his pounding headache and the fire beneath his skin. He had started to sweat in his sleep, which is something he'd never done ever since he had died. Danny tried to glance down at this chest. (Had someone slipped his bones back into place?) The bandages were professional work but pulled away easily when he tugged on them. He hissed as they caught on fresh scabs and drew tiny amounts of blood.

His torso was a fucking mess. Danny was underground for ages, he knew. The GIW treated him like an immortal lab rat by tearing open his body every day to poke around and take samples. It was a miracle they didn't find his broken core, which was hidden deep behind his heart.

The cuts on his torso were being held together by surgical staples; no doubt any stitches or glue dissolved when in contact with his blood. His skin was flushed, puckered, and oozed green. The stab wound was fresher and looked nastier than what Lunch Lady could cook up. It was probably infected. He most likely would have scars even as a ghost. Frostbite once told him that wounds to the soul were the hardest to heal, and Danny didn't see himself getting over this anytime soon.

He laid his head back, staring at the smooth ceiling. A whine built in his throat. Why did everything have to hurt? He just wanted to go home.

But where was home?

His home was gone.

He had nothing to return to.

His parents pretty much disowned him the moment they sold him to the GIW.

The whine turned into a quiet sob, and he let himself sit there and shake. All he had ever done was try to be a good son to his parents, a good friend to Sam and Tucker, and a good brother to Dani and Jazz. Why did it have to be up to him to save others? Sure, it was kind of fun, but the stress of protecting both humans and ghosts got to Danny fast. The others didn't understand. No one understood. And now they never will because Danny was gone and had no home.

And there was that heavy pain again. His core became impossibly cold, uncomfortable against his human heart. It was pulling at his skin and at his bones. He gasped and cried, balling up the bandages in his fist. Was his chest caving in? His core felt like it was trying to turn him inside out and tear him apart.

Why was no one there to help him? Why wasn't he good enough to be saved? Was it because he couldn't save that little girl? Were his failures finally catching up to him? He'll do better, he promises...

Desiree must have heard his silent pleas. The door to his room opened, and a single man entered. It took a moment to recognize him through his tears, but Danny eventually saw that he was the same man who had soothed him to sleep previously.

"Ra's al Ghul," Danny managed. The man nodded to him, coming closer to stare at Danny while he writhed on the bed.

"You are having another panic attack."

"C-can't-"

"The doctors say you have lungs once more. Use them."

"It hurts-"

"Then let it hurt," Ra's didn't look away from Danny. He was cold but not disgusted. He expected Danny to be strong enough to handle this himself. "You are my Heir now; either embrace the pain or let go of what torments you. Become stronger."

"I can't!" Danny sobbed. His shoulders shook with the effort it took to speak. "They'll come back-"

Ra's firmly said, "They shall not."

"You don't know that! I'll be cut up again!"

"You are not from this world, Phantom. Whatever torments you cannot follow."

The words slowly sunk into his brain. The weight was lifted off his chest for a moment. Another world? He wasn't in his home dimension? The GIW didn't exist here? His parents weren't waiting around the corner with a bone saw and handcuffs?

That was great, but that also meant he truly was alone now.

There was no way for him to find his way back, was there?

The pressure from his core lessened, and his body stopped trying to eat itself. His chest expanded again, allowing him to breathe properly through choked sobs and broken groans. He clenched his teeth, trying to stop the tears. He really was useless.

"You are not useless, Phantom." Ra's had a hard light in his eyes. "As mentioned before, you are an al Ghul now, one of my grandsons, no matter what you were previously. You are very valuable to the League now, and I refuse to let you go."

Danny sniffed. "I can't offer you much," he said. "I remember that Undergrowth promised you power and knowledge, but I'm practically a high school dropout, and I'm so weak I can barely lift my head."

"So you shall regain your strength. I have lived a long time, grandson, and I shall live even longer. Your recovery will be swift when compared to the erosion of time."

"Mr. al Ghul..." Danny said defeatedly. His throat felt thick from all the crying. "I couldn't even keep my town safe. All I'm good for is killing kings and pissing people off. I don't want to bring you that kind of shame."

Ra did not show any signs of his satisfaction with Danny's words, but Danny could taste it in the air. "So you were a warrior, yes?"

"I-uh, sort of? I'm a ghost, and I died two years ago. Ghosts fight for every reason and no reason. I kinda had to learn on my feet or risk getting Ended."

"A warrior who cannot die. A man who has the will to act." Ra's appraised him like a prized cow. "Yes, I shall be able to use you, child. The al Ghul legacy shall never die out if you become the Demon's Head. Phantom al Ghul is a...fitting name, I suppose."

Danny wrinkled his nose. "I don't know what half of that means, but okay. And my name isn't really Phantom; that's just my title and hero name. My real name is Danny."

"Then, Daniel-"

"Danny!"

"Daniel, now that your tears have stopped, let me call for refreshments and fresh bandages. We must discuss the Gardener's contract and your usefulness in great detail."

Danny sighed. He was calmer, but now he had to do an Ancient's magic paperwork? He'd rather let his core swallow him whole.

At least someone needed him again.

-

The group followed Jazz’s decision without a second thought and stepped through the giant portal alongside her. Luckily, it led right to the edge of the In-Between, where Clockwork and a few others resided in their individual spaces. Jazz yelped as she realized there was no solid surface to land on and flipped around in the air uncontrollably. Sam and Tucker had the same fate. All of them kind of bobbed around like ducks in the water before Danielle sighed, gathered them all up with some rope from Tucker’s pack, and hauled them along in the vague direction of Clockwork’s tower.

For a space called Long Now, it didn't take very long to reach the tower, even with Dani hauling along three passengers. Everyone was pretty quiet during the ride, still processing what they had seen in the underground facility. It was a little strange. None of them felt disgust or fear at Danny's actions, but anger and sadness at what he was forced to endure. Not once did they consider abandoning him, even though others might have shied away from his monstrous outburst.

Jazz wondered what Clockwork could possibly say to them that would make the whole thing better. She just wanted to see Danny. She wanted to sit down with him and watch shitty kid's movies while they huddled under that one big quilt her parents had. The one that was gifted to them as a wedding gift and the one they added to when something important happened. She felt horrible thinking about it now.

Jazz would probably never see that quilt again. And if she did, she would probably burn it.

"We're here," Dani quietly announced, untethering the group from her body as they touched Clockwork's island. Long Now was a special place even in the In-Between. The tower's foundations were in varying stages of decay, and much like its owner, the building warped from looking good as new to 'about to fall over' kind of old right before their eyes. Everything felt so fragile.

They entered the lower entrance, climbing a spiral staircase past rows and rows of clocks lining the walls. Everything was ticking out of sync, which usually annoyed Jazz to no end. Right now, she couldn't care less.

Reaching the top had a lack of fanfare. One minute they were passing the biggest fucking grandfather clock they'd ever seen, and the next, they were in Clockwork's main room at the top of the tower, facing the old ghost himself.

Clockwork didn't even look at them. He seemed exhausted.

"We're here," Jazz announced. "Tell us what you know."

"No greetings, Jasmine? I thought you raised Danny to have manners, so where are yours?"

"Locked behind the walls of Fentonworks. Tell us what you know, Clockwork, or I'll break everything here." She snarled. It wasn't an empty threat, and everyone knew it.

"Please, Clockwork," Tucker added. "We saw your message. Where's Danny?"

Dani started crying into Sam's shoulder. "Where's my brother?" The ghost girl sobbed. "I want to see Danny!"

Clockwork sighed. He was aging rapidly, growing wrinkles as they watched. "Daniel is safe, for now. I hid him in another world. However, the flow of time has changed. New paths are being forged. If things continue as they are, Daniel will become something worse than Dan."

Danielle muffled another sob.

"Daniel did something I did not expect while having his rampage in Yellowstone. It will take a delicate hand to make sure his actions do not cause him to go down the wrong path."

"What did he do?"

Clockwork looked them each in the eye. His eyes were glassy and blank, like the face of a new watch, but his sincerity was enough to reach them. "He sealed off the Realms."

Tucker choked. "I'm sorry, he wHAT??"

"Daniel, in his explosion of sudden power, sealed off the Infinite Realms from your home world's influence. Only the power of an Ancient can break that barrier now. The only portal still open is the one located in Fentonworks, protected by the strongest shield your mortal world has to offer. Vortex had to be sent out to collect ghostlings who didn't return in time. By sealing off the Realms, Daniel effectively declared they were under his protection and claimed the title 'Guardian' since only Guardians have the right to seal off worlds."

Jazz's mind was spinning. "He...sealed off our world. Did he do it on purpose?"

Clockwork shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not. This was a decision made by Fate alone. He was simply the strongest power source available that was also willing to defend the Realms to his End. The Realms responded in kind and claimed him as Guardian. That is a title and a burden he will share forever."

"Oh, god..." Jazz sat heavily on the floor, reeling from the shock. Dani left Sam's shoulder and crumpled into her lap, still crying. Tucker and Sam also offered each other comfort, leaning on each other as Clockwork's words sunk in. "So, what happens to him? Where is he now? What future do we have to avoid?"

Clockwork waved his staff, summoning a few large clocks with reflective surfaces. The clockfaces glitched and changed to show different pictures of Danny, all doing various things at different stages in his life. One had Danny laughing with a group of strangers. Another had him shaking hands with a green-skinned man. A third was him sitting in a hospital bed, getting stabbed in the chest. They cycled through different pictures and videos, and it was hard to look away.

"This is the future we must avoid." Clockwork motioned to the smallest clock, which showed a furious Danny screaming into the vacuum of space, tears pouring down his face. A large rip into the Realms tore open from his Wail, and the stars surrounding him started to get sucked in.

"If this future comes true, Daniel will destroy not only your home world but the Realms as a whole," The Ancient explained. "Because of his new link to the Realms, no one will be able to take the title of Guardian from him. He will become a destroyer and tear apart every universe and every timeline. Everything will just...End."

"That's horrible," Sam whispered. "What's the tipping point?"

Again, Clockwork looked them deep in their eyes. "Your betrayals."

"WHAT??" Danielle screeched, whipping around.

"You betray him by dying, Danielle. You melt in his arms and ask why he didn't save you. Samantha, you betray him by leaving him. Your home world is never unsealed and you can't stand not being able to see your grandmother again. Tucker, you betray him by lying to him. You say you're on his side but end up stabbing him in the back for a 'good cause.' Jasmine, you betray him by acting just like your parents." Jazz felt tears prick her eyes, but Clockwork kept going. "You see the monster he has become and can't look past it. The four of you betraying him would be his last straw, and Daniel would rather tear apart the universe than be reminded of you four ever again. And so he does."

Sam protested, "We would never!"

"You wouldn't." Clockwork agreed. "But you can, and in some ways, you already have. That is how time works. If you do not want to bring about this end, you must actively fight against this destiny like Daniel has fought against Dan."

Tucker whipped out his PDA, already taking notes. "What's the game plan, then? I would rather eat Dash's underwear than stab Danny in the back. If I have to throw hands with an evil version of myself from the future, I'm willing to do that, too."

Clockwork smiled at them for the first time since their arrival. "That was the right response," he told Tucker. "You're already taking a step away from that future. But for the best ending for everyone, all four of you will need to connect with the Realms as well."

"But we don't have the same power that Danny does."

"No, but your will is just as strong as his. Prove to the Realms that you're willing to fight, protect, and love just as much as Daniel. Become his support. Do it right, follow in his footsteps, and the Realms shall accept you with open arms. You will be bound together as a family for eternity."

The four looked at each other. Jazz gently wiped away the remainder of Dani's tears as they pondered over the ghost's words. Connecting with the Realms would probably mean giving up some amount of their humanity, especially if it truly was a forever thing. They might follow in Danny's footsteps a little too closely-but for their friend and brother? They would do anything.

"Fuck eternity!"

"Tell us what to do."

"We'll always be there for Danny."

"I don't plan on eating any underwear, but I will fight evil me if that's what it takes."

Clockwork shriveled up, folding in on himself several times before unfolding into a child, like a phoenix (but without the fire). He looked less exhausted now, less like the promise of the End was no longer hovering over his shoulder. "Become the Guardian's Shadow, Danielle. Take up his mantle while he is away and keep the peace in his stead. Be the Guardian's Sword, Samantha. Be at the front of each fight and kill when he cannot. The Guardian's Shield will be you, Tucker. Your wish to protect those around you will come true, and you will gain the power to shield them from harm. And Jasmine-"

Jazz held her breath.

"You will have the most difficult job. You will be the Guardian's Scepter. His symbol of power. You will work behind the scenes to stage events that shall work in his favor no matter what."

She released her breath, surprised. "A scepter? Like the symbol of royalty? But wasn't the position of King given to another?"

"In sorts. Daniel helped elect a council to rule the Realms and refused to be a part of it. However, you shall be his Scepter, only wielded in times of need. You will take the dark and harsher jobs that shouldn't be brought to life. You will pull the strings to ensure the timelines stay together, and he never strays from the path."

"How would I do that?"

"You need to become my apprentice."

-

After Jason's statement about coming to see Ra's in person, the whole Batfamily blew up. Words were said in person and over text, and Damian was too exhausted at the time to get a word in edgewise, so let Jason argue for him. Eventually, Bruce had to take a moment away from his League duties and settle the matter over a conference call. After debating, he allowed Damian to return to the League of Assassins, provided Dick went with him. The man was already on a leave of absence from his job to cover for Batman, and he could keep a level head when dealing with the Demon's Head.

So off they went as soon as Alfred gave Damian the all-clear. Strangely enough, he had no side effects from being struck by fucking lightning. Well, almost none. He did feel flush every once in a while, and his veins burned like there was liquid battery acid in them, but other than that, he was fine! No, he didn't need another cold press, Alfred! It was only a few hours by plane; he'd be fine!

And honestly, with the news that Eth Alth’eban was on lockdown, Damian thought it would be harder to enter the city. Undetected, at least. Sadly, they were found out immediately and had a group waiting for them as they touched down. As soon as he stepped off the Batplane onto the private airstrip in Yemen, he was quickly surrounded by the 'welcoming' entourage of assassins. They took his bags, herding him toward a black car as Dick jogged to keep up with them. Damian was glad they didn't do a pat-down in their rush; he'd hidden the tablet under his clothes just for this purpose.

"Hey!" his brother shouted. "How did you guys even know we were here?"

"This is a League matter, Nightwing." The head of the group, a one-eyed man named after the god Balor, whom Damian recognized as part of his grandfather's elite, barely turned to look at Grayson and dismissed him entirely.

“No, this is a family matter,” Dick leaned against the door of the car, preventing Balor from opening it and shoving Damian in. They stared at each other long and hard.

“You are not an al Ghul.”

“Damian was nearly killed by a storm demon and told there was a new Heir who is somehow connected to said storm demon. I’m not leaving him alone.”

Balor considered the options before him, glancing at Damian. His one good eye assessed him. The boy simply raised a brow. “I’d prefer it if my baba came with us.”

The assassin’s face twitched, which was the equivalent of a snort of disgust, but gave in to Dick’s demands and herded them both into the car. Two more assassins slid in on either side of them while Balor took the passenger seat. The driver barely glanced at the airport security as they drove the vehicle off the tarmac and into the middle of the desert.

The drive felt long. Damian held a stoic face whenever Balor looked at him and refused to engage in any conversation with Dick. Even when the AC was turned off, everyone started sweating, and his brother was threatening to sing show tunes until they turned it back on.

He ended up singing, of course. Damian just zoned out as his brother started warbling through the entire soundtrack of Hairspray. Truly, the man had questionable taste. For their credit, the assassins made it through the entire performance of Hairspray and halfway through High School Musical before the driver slowly leaned over, never taking their eyes off the desert landscape, and flicked the AC back on to blast. They lasted longer than Bruce would have.

Dick still finished the High School Musical soundtrack despite getting what he wanted. No one ever said he did things half-assed.

Finally, Damian spotted the maze of canyons that housed the Assassin City, Eth Alth’eban. Damian wasn’t sure if his elder brother had ever been there before, but the tight hold he had on his hand suggested that Dick either had very complicated memories of the place or was anxious about being in enemy territory. He wasn’t really interested in asking.

As they approached, the main gate was large and imposing. The sun was high in the sky now and beat down on them to reflect all the minute details that had been carved into the gates. They were gorgeous pieces of work, ones that Ra’s was no doubt very proud of. Guards were there to welcome them, examining the vehicle from top to bottom to ensure nothing strange was being brought in from the outside world. Damian glared at his brother when the man leaned forward to take the attention off of him and the hidden tablet, loudly asking the outside guards when they could go in yet.

One of them narrowed their eyes at Dick. “An extra?” They hissed in Arabic. “This was not approved by the Demon’s Head.”

Balor jerked a thumb at Damian. “His choice,” he responded simply. “The Bats are never alone. The Head is aware of this." Since when? They never called ahead. Damian felt the burn of lighting in his veins again. He caught Balor's eye in the rearview mirror and realized that the man's eye color was much lighter than it was supposed to be. It was shifting between gray and blue, like a cloud, and stared at him with unusual intensity.

Fuck. Of course, the secret guard that was mentioned in the contract. It must have gone into effect when the Navigator returned to wherever he came from. How did he know they would end up in the Eth Alth'eban?

Whatever was said next, Damian missed, but eventually, the gates opened, and the car was let through. Dick was quiet once more, staring at the lush city, probably trying to figure out how to do a backflip off the tall buildings. They headed straight for the palace that was past the training grounds. Most people were taking a noon daybreak, so the grounds were empty when the car pulled up next to the designated drop-off point.

Balor motioned for the group to leave the car, and the two assassins tugged on Dick’s arm painfully, practically dragging him along and not allowing any room for him to wander off. Damian wasn’t touched, but he was no less shuffled in the same direction. They went up the steps, through hallways lined with servants and fountains, following a path Damian recognized easily. They were headed to the medical wing.

His mind raced. Was he ready to meet this ‘Phantom’ fellow? Would he insist on fighting to the death to prove his worth? Had his mother gotten his message and made it here before him? So many questions ran through his head, yet this was not the time to ask them. Damian bit his tongue and instead played the part of the perfect al Ghul. Silent, deadly, and proud.

Balor was leading the way. He studied the older man's back carefully, looking for any other inconsistencies in his behavior. There were none, except for a single cloud symbol stamped into his neck that shimmered the same color as Vortex. Did this mean he was possessed? Was he another one of the Navigator's blessed? Did Damian also have the same symbol? No one else seemed to notice the mark, so Damian put it in the back of his mind. He'd have Dick check his neck later, just in case.

They'd reached the end of the medical wing now, where Damian knew the rooms were sealed off for quarantined patients.

Indeed, a pair of guards stood in front of the extra set of doors. Balor nodded to the guards and pushed through without stopping. The quarantined corridor was short, with only six rooms, three on each side. Five were marked with a little green flag by the door, indicating their vacancy. The sixth, the farthest on the left, had a little red flag displayed. Damian pushed his way to the front of the group and beelined for the door. This was it. Soon, he'd have some answers.

His grandfather opened the door before he could knock. The al Ghuls looked at each other, noting how much had changed since they had last seen each other. His grandfather looked…well. He was healthy, and there were no visible injuries. His clothes were immaculate but simpler than his usual ornate robes. It felt like Ra's was dressed for a close social visit, not for taking over the world and planning murder.

"Damian," His grandfather was as short as ever, however. "You are late."

"Good to see you too, old man," Dick snarked. Ra's ignored him, waving a hand to Balor, who promptly shut the door again before Dick could walk through after Damian. The two were to wait in the hallway, apparently.

Damian moved further past his grandfather, forgoing the greeting. His eyes were glued to the hospital bed. Draped in rich blankets and wrapped in soft cotton bandages, a boy around his age was sitting up and staring at him with green eyes similar to his own. He was holding a glass of Lazarus water, raised to his lips like he was about to drink it. Honestly, if it wasn't for his incredibly pale skin and wispy white hair, the boy could have been his-

"Holy shit, we look exactly the same!" The boy lowered the glass, staring at Damian in wonder. His voice was double-layered, like the Navigator's, and it grated on Damian's mind with the sounds of screaming and creaking ice. "Are you Mr. al Ghul's other grandson? This is so freaky!"

Ah, so this was Phantom.

-

#dpxdc #pondhead writes #the folly of men fic #no beta we die like danny #long post #really long post #I asked myself how many titles i can give people and my hands took that as a challenge #the reason undergrowth and vortex go by those weird ass names is because the words for their name don't exist in the dc world #add that to ghost speech and basically it's easier to give themselves a title over the centuries #clockwork is just dramatic

[seventeenpins]

take me higher

pairing: Lucien Flores x F!Reader

word count: 1.6k

summary: You run into an ex at a party. You never learn.

content/warnings: weed use, dubcon (if you want? read it however you prefer), Lucien's a selfish lover and a fuckboy, shotgunning, fellatio, getting too high, a complicated and undefined relationship

a/n: Turns out I am not immune to Lucien Flores. Wanted to make him hot, but a fuckboy asshole, and definitely a mistake. Whenever The Uninvited is released, I cannot wait to see how off or on the mark we've been for these characterisations lmao. This was written quickly, now i'm posting and bouncing for a few hrs. Hope there are no major errors 😅

If you're honest, you can't remember how you ended up here.

You remember the party. Some of the party? And you went--somewhere. You're not sure, but you think you were on his lap for a while, but your limbs went away. Maybe you slid down? Now you're on the floor. This is probably the floor.

Your head is foggy, and peeling open your eyelids takes more effort than it should, but when you hear the bubbling of a bong, you turn your head lazily to look at him.

Lucien.

Fucking Lucien.

"Open that pretty mouth," he runs his thumb over your lips and presses it just between your teeth, making a satisfied mmm. "Love lookin' at those gorgeous lips."

His hand traces along your jaw, holding you now by the back of your head. Your lips are guided to forward and you forget where you are for a moment. You expect to feel flesh. Instead, when your mouth presses against something, it's cool glass. The bong. You had heard bong noises. By muscle memory, you reach forward as if to light it. Then you realise, it's already been lit and filled, the chamber already swirling with thick white smoke.

It's a ridiculous bong. Bright and gaudy, just like his ridiculous silk shirt. The piece is probably hand-blown. Artisan crafted. Almost certainly cost a fortune.

You want it.

Maybe, depending on however long your relationship lasts this time, you can get him to buy you one. Or you can just steal his.

Without any more direction, you start the inhale, trying to keep the breath smooth.

"That's it, now. Take it slow. Just a little more-"

You clear it.

Just as you're about to exhale- "Good girl. Hold it there, baby. Don't you dare let it out yet."

He leans himself down and pulls you up. Parts his lips, your mouths so close they're almost touching.

"Let it go-" he commands, and you do, breathing the smoke out and into his mouth.

He holds the smoke for a moment himself. Then blows it back out, letting it waft up into the atmosphere.

Or, towards the ceiling?

You're actually not sure if you're inside or out.

"One more, baby, you can do one more for me," he coos as he prods the end of the lighter into the bowl, packs the greens again, re-ignites.

You don't know how many hits you've had. It feels like you've been smoking for hours. Your limbs are all gooey and loose, your head dense and unfocused. You can tell your heart's racing, but it's kind of a comfort. A consistent tattoo that you can ground yourself with.

You're dazed, happy, pliable.

"Open up," he orders, and you comply, pressing your lips against the mouthpiece again.

This hit is a little harsher, closer to the end of the bowl.

You try to do it right, try to breathe out slowly and gently, let the smoke pass right into his mouth. Instead, you erupt in a fit of coughs and you feel a hand on your back, rubbing up and down in gentle circles.

"Oh, you poor thing," he says, and you can hear the grin in his voice. "That hit too rough for you?"

You can feel tears in your eyes from the tickle that's still in your throat. Then, a thumb brushes them away.

"I remember you right, though, you always did like it a little rough, didn't you?"

You want to respond, want to say something to him, but instead you just nod.

"Poor girl, so stupid she can't even talk," he mocks, "That's okay baby, we don't wanna make that throat too sore, do we? Ain't been used enough to tap out already, huh?"

It takes effort, but you shake your head in agreement.

"Are you tired, sweetheart? You can rest your head, if you need. Just for a minute."

You're not sure if you move, or if he pulls you, but now you're closer to him, tilting forward, resting your head on-

What are you resting your head on?

Oh.

Oh.

Your head is in his lap, his cock hard in his pants.

Any dry mouth you'd been feeling a moment ago disappears. You start salivating.

Unthinking, you press your tongue hard against the inside of your cheek. Given the way he groans, he definitely felt that.

You do it again, tentative, testing.

"Shit, baby-," his breaths sound more like shudders and you love how pathetic he sounds. "Need your mouth on me right fuckin' now."

You rock back and give him space as his hands work furiously at his fly, unbuttoning the waistband and pulling the zipper down with a satisfying swish. Hitches up his hips. Pulls his pants off.

He isn't wearing any underwear. Then you remember it's Lucien; it would've been more surprising if he had been.

He's still got his silk shirt, but it's open now. His chest is exposed, delicate chains glinting against his freckled collarbone.

His cock is heavy, thick against your cheek.

"Open up, baby, put that mouth on me."

You pull yourself up, still foggy, and run a wide lick along his length, ending at his tip. He's salty, musky, delicious. You've missed how he tastes. It's like coming home.

He seems to feel the same way.

"Missed that sweet mouth on me, baby," he groans, and holds himself by the base, smacking his cock head against your lips.

Slick has striped across your mouth and you dart your tongue out to lick your lips clean. He growls, watching you. Takes you by the back of the head again, guiding your open mouth to stretch around his fat length.

"That's it," he praises, rocking his hips, forcing you to take him deeper, "Look at you all stuffed full of me."

You start to gag but he pulls back, just the littlest bit. "Know you can do better than that," he admonishes, "Better try again."

He adjusts his angle just a little and starts thrusting into your open mouth again. The angle is better.

"Good girl," he breathes, letting each word be punctuated with a thrust, "My good- fucking- girl-"

You're able to take him to the base, throat full, nose pressed against the coarse hair between his thighs.

Mmmm. His thighs.

You can feel yourself drifting, losing focus. You're encased in him.

His thighs.

Soft and hairy and buttery-smooth, you stroke your fingertips along the insides of his thighs and let him fuck up into your throat.

Does he have a skincare routine for his thighs? You wish your thighs felt like his. Fuck.

A sharp smack lands on your cheek.

"Stay with me now," he tells you, "Back to work."

You realise you'd been slacking, your mouth still filled with cock, but he's not in your throat anymore. You're not doing your best work. You can do better.

You grab onto his hips and, to his surprise, set a new pace.

It's punishing.

Tears start spilling from your eyes, running down your cheeks and landing on his thighs.

You blow him like it's the only thing you were made to do. You want your mouth to be the best hole. Better than your pussy. Better than your asshole.

A mind-blowing hole that he'll want to use again and again.

A hole he won't leave.

You feel his balls start to tighten as he gets closer, and you keep moving on him, bobbing up and down, fucking his length with your throat so fucking expertly you should get a dick-sucking medal.

"I'm nearly there, baby," he gasps out, "Wanna cum on those pretty lil tits."

He pulls you off of him and yanks down your top. It's a blouse, one of your favourites, actually.

It's about to get stained.

You don't stop him.

He strokes himself once, twice- then lets go. He shakes, moans. Cum splatters across your tits, along your neck, a few spatters landing along your jaw and chin.

Lucien steps back to admire his work. The almost-pearlescent sheen of his spend glistening across you.

"Even better than I remembered," he smiles, and kisses you, not bothered to avoid the cum on your face.

The high has started to fade, just a little.

He pulls his pants back on. Buttons his shirt. Cards a hand through his hair.

"Better get cleaned up before you head back in," he grins, "Don't want everyone to know what we got up to, huh?"

You're still foggy, but you shake your head.

Lucien disappears. You wait for a minute, hoping he might come back with a washcloth for you.

He doesn't emerge.

You find a place to clean yourself.

You're in the garage, you realise. Must have been this whole time. But facing the open door, towards the trees and the night.

There's a sink and a towel near the door to the house. Hoping desperately that no one will try to come through the door, you wipe his cum off of your chest.

The blouse is stained, but there's a jacket on the chair you were near. You shrug it on.

The party, you discover, is still in full swing.

The head fog, the daze, the confusion, it's hard to cut through, but when you find everyone else, you see Lucien, drink in hand, flirting with a pretty young thing over in the corner.

He turns ever so slightly, catches your eye, and winks.

You realise how fucking wet you are, head swimming, panties drenched, and you hate how easy this is for him. That he can just walk away. Doesn't feel any need to satisfy you the way you always want to satisfy him.

He's a mistake you know you'll make again.

Time to leave, you decide. You call a lyft. Find a mirror to make yourself somewhat presentable.

You exit through the garage. His bong still there.

You take it with you on your way out.

#the uninvited #lucien flores x you #lucien flores #lucien flores x reader

[secret-sturniolo]

under the stars - matt sturniolo

summary - it's y/n and Matt's 1 year anniversary, and she can't wait to see what Matt has planned...

warnings - angsty beginning but a fluffy ending, one kiss

a/n - thank you so much for all the love on my first fic "Hot Tub"! i'm so glad you guys liked it, and i am so excited to keep writing!

When I woke up to my alarm this morning, I felt super groggy, and my first instinct was to hit snooze and go back to sleep. That is, until I remembered what day it was. Matt and I have been dating for one year today! I immediately checked for any messages from Matt, but I didn't see any. That's strange I thought, but I figured he had something planned and he wanted to surprise me, so I didn't think much of it. Instead, I decided to get ready for the day so I would be prepared for when Matt told me what he had planned.

I started with my makeup, doing a simple, natural look like Matt always liked. Then I picked out a baby blue crop top, (Matt's favorite color), a pair of high waisted jeans, and I planned to wear my white Air Force 1's. Then I put on my silver necklace with 2 small hearts intertwined, which had been a gift from Matt for Valentine's Day. When I was done getting ready, I checked my phone again, but still nothing from Matt. I'm not going to lie, I felt my heart sink a little, but I decided to call him. Maybe he's just sleeping still I thought as I clicked on Matt's contact. I let it ring all the way through, but there was no answer. I began to get a little worried, so I decided to text Chris and Nick.

Hey, are you guys with Matt, he's not answering his phone? 1:32pm

I waited for a response, but still nothing. My heart began to sink even deeper, my hands shaky and thoughts racing. How could he forget? Hot tears began to roll down my face as I lost all hope, smearing my freshly done makeup down my cheeks. I decided to stop trying, figuring that he obviously didn't want to talk to me. Feeling heartbroken, I took off my carefully planned outfit and changed into sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt, and crawled back under my blankets. I guess I'm ending up going back to sleep anyways I thought. The tears slowly turned into wracking sobs, until finally I was so exhausted that I could no longer keep my eyes open, and I fell into a deep slumber.

When I awoke, I couldn't immediately tell whether it was morning or night. I rolled over to check my phone, and the time read 8:57pm. I didn't mean to sleep that long I thought, as I began looking at my unread notifications.

hey babe, im so sorry but everything will make sense soon 8:46pm

im picking you up in an hour, wear something cozy :) 8:48pm

I stared at the screen, frozen in place as I re-read the texts. So he didn't forget? I quickly text back okay :) love you and I get out of bed once again to get ready. As I look in the bathroom mirror, I can see that my mascara is no longer on my lashes, but instead smeared around my eyes and cheeks. I gently wipe the old makeup off, but decide to leave my face bare rather than reapply more makeup. I leave my sweatpants on, and swap out my baggy tee for a better fitting hoodie, remembering how Matt told me to dress comfortably. Finally, I put the heart necklace back on, pausing to hold the hearts between the fingers as I wonder what could possibly have taken Matt all day. I remember how Matt thinks I look extra cute with braids in my hair, and I decide to put two dutch braids into my dirty blonde hair. Just as I was finishing up, I heard a knock at my front door, and I immediately knew who it was.

I ran to open the door, and just as I thought, Matt was standing there with a smile on his face, looking as handsome as ever. I jumped into his arms, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne.

"Matt, I thought you forgot!" I say, slightly exasperated.

"I know, I'm so sorry sweetheart." he says, holding me tighter. "I could never forget this day. I just had to make sure that my plans were perfect for you."

Smirking slightly, I ask him, "What do you have planned?"

"Get in the car, and you'll find out." Matt tells me, grabbing my hand and pulling me out the door.

The ride was about 20 minutes. The whole time, Matt had his left hand on the wheel, and the other was tightly gripping mine, our hands resting on the center console. As the night sky got darker, I admired the stars in the sky. I had always loved them, and I had told Matt multiple times before about my dream of going stargazing one day.

"Matt, look at the stars, aren't they beautiful?" I said, turning to look at him. Matt just giggled in return.

When we reached our destination at the top of a hill, Matt put the car in park and motioned for me to get out and follow him. Once again, he grabbed onto my hand, waiting for me to notice what he had set up. When I saw it, my jaw dropped in awe.

Firstly, Matt had set up a circle of small lanterns, each one giving off just the right amount of light. At the center of the circle, there was a luscious pink blanket big enough for two people, along with two matching pillows at one end of the blanket. At the other end, he had set up a bottle of sparkling juice with two glasses, and an assortment of some of mine and his favorite snacks. It was so perfect, better than I ever could have imagined. All of the stress from earlier in the day melted away, as I turned to look at Matt.

"I hope you like it, I know I upset you earlier but-"

I quickly cut him off with a short, but passionate kiss that said everything that words couldn't.

"Matt, this is perfect! You know I've always wanted to do this!" I buried my head in his shoulder as he laughed and squeezed me back.

"C'mon, let's go lay down." Matt guided us into the circle of light, and we laid side by side, my head on his chest.

"What, am I a better pillow than the one I got you?" he teased.

"The pillow is great, but you're even better." I replied.

As we looked up into the sky, we took turns pointing out the constellations that we could see, just simply being in the moment with each other's company. I couldn't imagine a better way to spend our anniversary, or a more perfect perfect person to spend it with.

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets imagine #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #fluff #angst #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #fanfic #nick sturniolo #imagine #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo imagine

[bearsbeetsbeskar]

Somebody to Heal, Somebody to Hold

(Joel Miller x dispensary! reader)

Chapter 2: Silver Haze

Chapter 1 here || Chapter 3 here || Main Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x dispensary! reader, AU (no outbreak) Word count: 5.6K Rating: 18+ minors DNI, will be changed to explicit in future chapters (slow burn, eventual smut), swearing, explicit discussions of drug use, age gap (reader is early 20s and Joel is late 40s) Summary: Joel can't rely on pills anymore for his back pain, so his doctor prescribes him medicinal marijuana. But he's not happy about it. A/N: PEEPAW IS FINALLY GETTING HIGH Y'ALL. 🍃 🔥 💨

This chapter was fun to write and I'm really pleased with how it turned out. Thank to you anyone who has expressed interest in this silly little story and wants to see more. I doubt my writing capabilities pretty much every single day on this site, and often wonder if it's worth it to keep writing, but I still wanted to indulge in this story. Mostly, cause I'm selfish and would throw myself in front of a moving vehicle if it meant getting to smoke weed with Pedro, and more specifically our grumpy texan gentleman, Mr. Joel Miller. An enormous thank you to @iamasaddie for beta'ing, and your constant words of encouragement when I start to doubt myself in the slightest, you are my heartbeat ❤️

Hope y'all enjoy, please comment, reblog and let me know what you think! 😇

It’s been less than a day. 18 hours to be exact, since he came home from the dispensary with his illicit, but also legal drugs. The bag filled with the package of joints sits in the middle of his kitchen table. He eyed it as he leaned up against the counter drinking his coffee, and while he ate his breakfast at the table in contemplative silence that morning. 

This shouldn’t be such a big deal. He’s a grown man for crying out loud. He can buy drugs if he wants to. Not that he necessarily wanted to. Purchasing medicinal marijuana was the furthest thing from Joel’s mind when he ran through possible options of dealing with his pain problems. Really, he is just surprised with himself that he actually went through with the doctor’s suggestion. 

He doesn’t know if he should feel relieved, or guilty, or a little curious. Maybe all of the above. 

He wished he could have someone to talk to who has personally tried it before. Aside from Doctor Barclay, he didn’t really have anyone at all. His buddies would probably either: A) tell him he just needed to sleep off the pain, drink something heavy to knock himself out or work through the pain- which, if he’s being honest with himself, is precisely what he would have done if not for that sharp twinge in his back that makes him want to curl up in the fetal position. Or B) they would try to get him to take something stronger and undoubtedly more illicit. He doesn’t know how, hell he doesn’t wanna know how, but some of his buddies manage to get their hands on cocaine or acid. Sometimes they don’t even bother till they get off the jobsite after a long day, often snorting up or popping pills in their truck and then driving to a shitty dive bar they plan on occupying for the rest of the night. 

Nope. He didn’t need that. He felt like enough of a delinquent already. He stops drumming his fingers on the table and sighs, tilting his head to the side contemplatively. 

“Ah fuck it”

He grabs the bag and reaches into it, pulling out the carton with the pre-rolls, leaving the receipt in the bag. The label reads ‘Back Forty’s Moonberry’ in an almost psychedelic font, with deep purple letters. Turning the little box over in his hand, he squints at the description on the back.

“Back Forty’s Moonberry Rolls are powerful hybrid cross pre-rolls that offer big hits of flavour and an even burn. A nice, mellow and sweet way to start and/or finish your day, relaxation is guaranteed with these. Packed with a re-sealable film to ensure freshness after multiple sessions or on-the-go. Take a trip and relax with the Back Forty.”

“Take a trip and relax?” Joel huffed. That kind of trip sounded anything but relaxing. Anxiety starts to claw its way up his throat. 

What if something happened? What if he reacted badly to the weed or ended up taking more than he should? There were no specific instructions. What if it just didn’t fucking work in general? 

The doctor's words rang loudly in his head. He knew this was an option, an ‘alternate method’ as Dr. Barclay so delicately put it. But if this didn’t make the pain go away and he couldn’t take more prescription medication, what then? 

He leaned back in seat and groaned, staring up at the ceiling. He could try one. Just one. But if it tasted like shit or he didn’t like it, then what? He didn’t want to be stuck with the whole pack and he doubted there was much of a return policy on opened products at the dispensary, seeing as the merchandise was already consumed. 

Before his thoughts could snowball any further he snatched the carton of joints and shoved it back in the bag. “Fuck this,” he grumbled, grabbing his coat off the back of his chair as he made his way to the front door, the tiny plastic bag clutched in his other hand. 

—------------------------------------------------------

It didn’t take long for Joel to reach the dispensary. When he pulled into the parking lot, he turned off the ignition and sat in his truck for a minute. One minute turned to five minutes as he bit his lip, his left hand still firmly holding onto the plastic bag. He felt like he was forgetting something.  Reaching into his coat pocket absentmindedly he felt his wallet and his phone. Digging into the other pocket he paused as he felt his fingers run over a small tactile shape. He pulled it out and held it upright in his palm. The free lighter you gave him. 

He rolled it over in his hand, looking at the store name printed on shiny cheap plastic, his thumb running over the rounded edges. He flicked the lighter once, and with a crisp snap, a small flame erupted, burning brightly. 

His mind drifts to you. You were kind and patient with him, despite probably thinking he was a creep or some kind of fucking narc with how awkward he was. He feels heat rise to his cheeks as he recalls your soft eyes and warm, inviting demeanour. Maybe it's possible you were working again today. If that was the case he could just go in, explain to you that there was a mixup and return the pre-rolls, then buy a bottle of Tylenol on the way home, and wash it down a handful with a double whiskey, sealing his fate. 

Fuck the weed. Fuck the back pain. Fuck the cholesterol. End of story.

His palm curls around the lighter as he steels himself and gets out of the car, still holding onto the plastic bag.  He strides through the front door and is surprised to see the check in desk is empty, with only the '18+ ONLY PERMITTED ENTRY' sign on the desk. 

At this point, he would be content to just drop the bag off at the register and head back out with his pride still in tow. Forget getting a refund. 

“Hey! Back so soon?”

He looks up as he walks through the second set of doors into the shop and slows in his tracks as he sees you. 

“Joel, right?” 

You’re fixing a display case off to the side. He can’t help but let his gaze wander down your body. When he came in yesterday you were standing behind the register so all he could really see was the nondescript black t-shirt you wore with the dispensary logo over the chest. 

Today you’re wearing the same shirt with plain black leggings that hug the curve of your hips and your ass. Nothing special, but still Joel feels his mouth go dry and the blood starts to rush south in his body.

He pauses and squints slightly. Wait, you remembered his name?

“Uh yeah. How’d you-” 

“Photographic memory, thanks to being the doorman.” You reply simply.

You head back behind the register and lean your forearms on the counter, flashing him a dazzling smile. “So, what can I help you with today? Looking for more pre-rolls? Some edibles?”

At this point you could sell him anything and he would buy it, with the smile you’re giving him. Hell, you could give him 15 more of those cheap tiny lighters and he would happily take them. Maybe he doesn’t really need to return the pre-rolls, he could always just leave them.

You spot the small bag clutched in his hand before he can hide it and raise your eyebrows at him. 

“Actually, I uh,” he pauses, “I wanted to return these, if that’s okay.” He places the bag on the counter and pulls his hand back quickly, as if it burned him, his eyes flitting to yours before looking away again.

“Oh sure, no problem.” You pull out the unopened pack of joints and the receipt. “Were you not a fan of these, or did you maybe want to try something else?” 

“Uhm, just wasn’t a fan of them, didn’t think I’d like them..” He mumbles and shoves his hands in his coat pocket.

You’re in the middle of reversing the transaction at the register when your finger hovers over the keyboard, mid-type. “Didn’t like them? It looks like you didn’t try them though,” you quirk a brow at him and tilt your head to the side. “How do you know you don’t like them if you didn’t try them?” 

“Well I, uh-” he frowns as he tries to think of a response.

Christ. He’s not getting out of this without swallowing his pride and admitting the truth. His anxiety hits him full force, and you must see him start to backpedal cause you speak up again.

“Hey it’s okay, you can always try something else. How do you feel about edibles? Or drinks?” 

No. He just wants to forget that this entire situation happened.

“No, no it’s okay,” he vehemently shakes his head and starts to back away from the counter, “I’ll just look into some other options.” Even as he straightens his back and starts to retreat, he feels that nagging pinch shoot up his spine and he clenches his jaw.

“Joel, have you never smoked before? It’s okay if you haven’t” You’re looking up at him intently with those bright eyes, concern etched into your features.

Well, there’s no way out now.

He sighs in defeat and looks down at the ground. “No, I haven’t. Guess that much is obvious,” he remarks as he puts his hands on his hips, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“That’s completely normal, trust me” you reassure him as you lean closer over the counter, planting your palms on either side of you.

He snorts. “Yeah right.”

“It’s true! Before you came in the other day I cashed out a kid who looked like he was barely legal. He came in looking like a deer in headlights. We get customers every day who have never consumed marijuana a day in their life, not just potheads.”

He eyes you warily, still biting the inside of his cheek.

“It’s not a big deal Joel really. Is… Is there anything you’re worried about happening?”

He’ll have to tell you now. Tell you that he’s really just a big middle-aged wimp who’s too afraid to get stoned and deal with his pain problems. 

“I.. I’ve just never tried it before, that’s all,” he shrugs plainly, “I don’t know what to expect. I mean, I know you said it’ll help with the pain and all, help me be more relaxed but I’m just worried I’ll get addicted or overdose, or somethin’ will happen…” 

“Jesus,” he runs his hand over his face, “it’s fucking stupid.”

“No, no it’s not.” You cut him off before he continues. “Those are perfectly reasonable things to think about, if you’ve never smoked before. Many people worry the same thing.”

“First of all, it is possible to get addicted,” you explain cautiously, “But you would have to be consuming it nearly every day, all day before it reaches a point where you can’t function without it. And that usually happens with strains that are high in THC, the psychoactive stuff that gets you high.”

“But,” you emphasize upon seeing him tense up, “these pre-rolls you purchased are pretty low in THC, so it’s very unlikely you would get addicted, even if you smoked 'em everyday. You don’t have to worry about that.” At that he relaxes and shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“Secondly, it is not possible to overdose on weed. Not even the strongest weed. I mean, I’m no fucking scientist and they haven’t conducted any studies on it or anything, but there have been no reported overdose deaths due to marijuana consumption,” You wink at him.

He huffs out an exhale, giving you a hint of a smile. “That makes it a bit better.”

“If you’re still really worried about it, I could show you if you want. To smoke that is,” you add on quickly. “I know it’s nerve wracking to try it on your own for the first time, and it can be better if you’re with someone, y’know, just in case something happens or you don’t like it.” 

“Really?" He looks at you expectantly with rounded eyes. "You’d do that?”

“Yeah, I get off my shift here at 5 so I could do it after?” You bite your lip and look up at him bashfully. He tracks the movement, watching your tongue peek out to soothe your bottom lip.

“Sure, that’d be great. Where should we meet?”

“We could always go to a park or something nearby. But even though weed is legalized, I feel weird smoking it in public places around families and young kids and stuff. And you’d have to drive home afterwards, which is not a good idea.” You scrunch your brows and bite your lip again as you try to think of other spots. 

Joel tries to ignore how cute you look with your brows pulled together like that. He also tries to ignore the way his pulse kicks up as he watches you bite your lip, imagining other scenarios that could cause you to bite your lips like that again.

“Uhm, you could come to my place?” Immediately he sees the hesitation wash across your face and realizes how that sounds as soon as the request leaves his mouth. You aren’t stupid. He’s a complete stranger to you. 

“Sorry. I mean,” he backtracks. “It’s just me and my daughter at home, although she’s away at college right now. My neighbors aren’t particularly nosy but they’re usually not home either. We can go on the back patio, it’s covered and I got tables and chairs and stuff. ”

And stuff. Jesus. 

It’s like he’s 18 years old again, with marbles in his mouth, unable to form a coherent sentence. 

Something about mentioning Sarah seems to put your mind at ease as he sees your shoulders lower as you shift your weight from one hip to the other. You chuckle and give him a smirk.

“That sounds good. I can meet you there, does 5:30 work?”

“Yeah, yeah that works. Thanks.” He ducks his head and gives you a small smile.

“Alright well I’ll see you then.”

He turns to leave before you call him again, holding the small plastic bag up. “You’ll still need these, otherwise we won’t get very far,” you wink at him.

“Right. Yeah that would help,” he chuckles and runs a hand through his hair. “I’ll see you then.” He grabs the bag from you and gives you one last smile before he heads out the store.  

—------------------------------------------------------------

Surprisingly, Joel didn’t live that far, probably a 12 minute drive from the dispensary. That didn’t mean that you took your time though, going the speed limit and dragging out the drive as it dawned on you how weird this scenario was.

He was a customer. And he was way older than you. Something that should have bothered you more than it actually did, which is to say not that much at all. It just made you hopelessly more attracted to him.

As much as he seemed sweet from the two interactions you had, plus the unmistakable way you caught his gaze raking over your body, the rational part of your brain still questioned what you were doing. He didn’t live alone, not technically. You were surprised to learn he had a daughter, but he also didn’t mention having a wife or a girlfriend. Not that it was any of your business. Nevertheless, you tucked that piece of information into the back of your mind as you pulled up to his place. 

He had a nice, modest house, at least from what you could tell when he answered the front door with a soft smile. He led you around to the back to the surprisingly large backyard, but what impressed you the most was the wooden deck which featured a nice patio set, complete with overflowing planters, a cute coffee table, and outdoor string lights that were hung up overhead.

You noticed some plastic butterfly fairy lights hanging off of a few deck posts and railings, their colors faded after years of weathering. Running your fingers along the molded ornaments you looked at him and smiled, “nice touch.”

He smirked, shaking his head. “My daughter, Sarah, insisted on putting them up as soon as we finished the deck a couple years ago.”

“You built this?” You look around incredulously. “It’s really nice. Like straight out of a Home Depot catalog.”

At that he puffs out his chest slightly and shoves his hands in his pocket. “Eh, I don't know about that. When I’m not working a job and got spare time, I try to do stuff around the house. This was a quick project one summer,” he shrugs noncommittally. 

“A quick project? You built a whole new part of your house Joel,” you raise your eyebrows at him as you sit down on the couch. Still, he brushes off the compliments and asks you if you want anything to drink. Moments later, you’re both sitting on the couch, two glasses of water and the pre rolls on the coffee table, along with the lighter and a small ashtray you brought. Another small cheap item from the dispensary with the logo on it, that no one would likely notice had gone missing.

He shuffles beside you momentarily. You can feel his nerves creeping back as he fidgets and leans forward, resting his arms on his knees. 

God he’s so .. big. You can feel the couch cushion dip underneath his weight beside you. His shoulders dwarf the space between you. It doesn’t help that with him being this close you can faintly smell him. The lingering scent of sandalwood, and a sharpness to whatever body wash he uses swirls together in a heady concoction that has your brain short circuiting. 

You already knew he was attractive from the moment he walked into the dispensary. But now, getting a chance to drink him in, you’re incredibly flustered. His deep brown eyes are easy enough to get lost in, as are his high cheekbones, aquiline nose, and strong jaw. A jaw peppered with gray stubble and a few sparse patches, that he’s currently tensing as he looks down in front of him. Your gaze follows his to the opened package of joints that are sitting on the coffee table in front of you.

“So what do we, uhm, where do we start?” He looks from the stuff on the table to you.

“Well, there’s really only one step with these pre rolls, you just light 'em up and inhale, and let the relaxation kick in.”

“Seems easy enough,” he gives you a small smirk.

Reaching forward, you pluck one of the slim joints off the table and you grab the lighter as well. The free lighter you gave him. 

“Have you ever smoked a cigarette before?” You hold the joint between your index and middle finger, turning to look at him.

He scrunches his face slightly and his brows furrow. “Yeah, long time ago though, not since college. Back when this stuff was still illegal anyway.”

You can’t really imagine young Joel in college. He must have been handsome. That much you were willing to bet money on.

“So basically the Woodstock, hippie, peace and love era?” you ask him with a smirk.

“Now, I may be old but I ain’t that fuckin senile” he squints his eyes at you, but there’s a small smile pulling at the side of his mouth. You bite your lip and smile at him.

“Well, not much has changed since then. You light it, and start to inhale as the flame catches and the weed starts burning. Don’t inhale too much but try to hold that smoke in your chest for a couple seconds, don’t exhale right away. The longer you hold in your breath, the quicker your body absorbs the cannabinoids in the weed.”

He looks at you intently as you explain it to him, but you can still see a bit of confusion on his face, so you elaborate.

“Cannabinoids meaning the THC and CBD, the stuff that cause you to feel relaxed and high”

He nods and you place the joint between your lips, raising your hand to light it, as you inhale deeply, the faint crackling sound of the paper and herb burning. The smoke slowly fills your lungs as they expand, and you let your eyes go heavy as you savor the earthy, fruity taste of the herb as it burns. 

You pull the joint away and let your mouth fall slightly open, holding some smoke in your chest as the rest of it falls out of your mouth in an opaque cloud, curling out into random tendrils before it disperses in the air. Exhaling, you turn to Joel and reach your hand out, offer the joint.

He blinks at you a few times. There’s something in his gaze, something heated that you catch, before they refocus and he looks down at the joint in between your fingers. You can see him hesitate again as he stares at the joint.

You duck your head slightly to meet his eyesight. 

“Hey, you can take as much or as little as you’d like Joel. Start off with a small pull and see how it feels.” You say, not pressing him any further than that, as thin wisps of smoke curl upwards between you two from the joint. 

He looks at you again, his eyes are big and round, like the cutest fucking puppy dog ever. The crease between his eyebrows disappears, as does the frown that seemed permanently etched on his face. It’s almost like he’s asking you for permission. You tilt your chin upwards slightly in encouragement and smile.

“Alright.” He takes the joint from you, mimicking how you held it, bringing it to his lips and looking at you as he inhales.  His eyes squint and he frowns slightly as he pulls from it, his broad chest puffing out a bit, the embers at the lit end of the joint glowing. He heeds your instructions, holding the smoke in his chest for a few seconds before exhaling, and you nod in approval. 

Fuck. 

You expected that maybe that he would wrinkle his face in disgust right away, or start coughing obscenely the moment the smoke entered his lungs. The usual things that beginner smokers do. 

But what you’re definitely not expecting is how fucking attractive Joel looks while smoking. Or rather, how attractive he makes smoking look. Either way you’re mesmerized by the way he casually holds the joint between his thick index and middle fingers, the way the smoke pours out from between his lips. Even the way he turns his head away from you so that he doesn’t exhale in your direction. He smokes like he’s done it multiple times before. 

You snap yourself out of your daze when he raises his eyebrows at you, his hand stretched out to you offering the joint. Narrowing your gaze at him, you take it from his hand, your fingers, brushing against his.

“You smoke like a veteran Joel. Are you sure this is your first time?” Eyeing him suspiciously, you bring the joint to your lips and pull from it again, this time holding the smoke in for a bit longer, allowing it to fill your lungs.

You can feel the moment that the high starts to creep up on you. The moment that the THC starts to permeate your bloodstream. Everything slows down, flooding your system with a hazy warmth and lightness. Your head is a bit light and you feel your body begin to buzz, as if every part of you is vibrating with mellow energy while you exhale. 

Joel makes the sign of the cross over his chest and leans back, settling into the couch. 

“I promise darlin, first time.” He replies in that warm fucking Southern drawl.

Darlin. 

God. The word slips out of his mouth like molasses, caressing your skin, as you feel your body heat up ever so slightly. You wet your lips, the dryness of cotton mouth hitting you with full force as you watch Joel spread his legs, the further he reclines back and relaxes into his seat.

The downright thirst you’re experiencing for this man however is something else entirely.  It must be the Indica. Just the weed, nothing else.

You sit back into the couch as well and pass the joint back to him. “Well, in that case I’m honored to have taken your weed virginity Joel Miller.” Pressing your hand to your heart, you give him a cheeky grin and bow your head.

At that remark his eyes widen and he actually does start coughing harshly mid-inhale, sputtering and hunching over as he shoves the joint back into your hands. You anticipated he would have coughed up a lung anyways with it being his first time but you can’t help the laugh that you let out at his misery.

“Oh shit! Sorry man, are you okay?” The concern in your voice is genuine but you’re still giggling as he gathers himself, slamming his fist against his chest a few times while his coughs die down. He grabs his glass of water off the table and takes a few sips, still breathing a bit heavy as his lungs try to suck in more air.

When he opens his mouth to speak, you’re caught off guard by how husky and deep his voice sounds. Deeper and more raspy than it usually is. 

“Jesus, I’ve been called many things before but being a weed virgin, that’s a first.” He chuckles softly and looks at you. “Besides, I bet you say that to everyone who smokes with you for their first time.”

You shake your head with a small smile as you take another toke from the joint. “Actuallyyyy,” you drag out the ‘y’ as you glance up at him from under your lashes, “you’re the first one.” As if admitting that to him is some kind of secret that you’re embarrassed to share. 

His eyebrows scrunch together again in disbelief. “No fucking way, c’mon”

“I’m serious." You giggle through your words and draw a cross over your heart, mimicking him. "None of my other friends smoke, the only other stoners I know are my co-workers.”  

“Plus, I know it can be a big deal, trying it for the first time, and ideally people want to smoke with someone they trust, whom they know they’re gonna have a good experience with. So I’m grateful you let me share that with you.” 

You try to ignore the way your pulse quickens as Joel’s gaze softens while looking at you. You clear your throat and look down at the lighter in your hand, picking at the plastic label.

“I should be the one thanking you. For your patience, and showing me the ropes with this stuff.” He gestures to all the paraphernalia on the table in front of you both and sighs. “I wasn’t keen on trying marijuana. Regardless of whether it was ‘medicinal’ or not.” He huffs as he makes the little air quotes with his hands.

“When my doctor suggested it for my back pain, I was about ready to get up and walk out of the office, but he also made it pretty clear there weren’t many other options.  Had to swallow my pride and give it a go. So thank you,” he leans into you a bit with his shoulder, giving you a playful shove, “For making this a good first experience for me.”

He gives you a sheepish smile.  Your body begins to heat up at his close proximity. 

“Anytime, Joel. Really.” You angle your upper body towards him and look up at him. Your gaze flicks from his deep amber eyes, down to his lips, and back up to his eyes again.  You almost miss how his eyes track yours, dipping down to your lips for a millisecond before he blinks.

Jesus. You need to get a grip. 

“Uhm, how do you feel right now?” You switch the subject in an attempt to shut your cavewoman brain off. 

He pauses for a minute and he looks off to the side like he’s running an internal diagnostic scan. That crease in his brow deepens slightly before his expression softens and he looks back at you with wide eyes. “I actually feel pretty good. A little out of it but pretty relaxed.”

“And the back pain?” You tilt your head at him.

He shifts a bit in his seat and leans forward, straightening and stretching his spine, twisting from side to side, gauging the movement. A baffled expression crosses his face. Actually, flabbergasted might be a better word to describe it.

“Holy shit,” he mutters, “barely any pain at all,” he laughs in disbelief as he looks at you with bright eyes. 

“That’s amazing Joel! I’m glad it could help” You beam up at him, still mindlessly puffing away at the joint. You slowly let the cloud of smoke fall out of your mouth, as it spills out you start to inhale the opaque cloud through your nose again. 

Joel’s smile falls faintly, and his expression morphs into fascination as he watches the smoke disappearing up into your nose. His eyes are rounded. Like a child who just watched a magician pull a coin out of their ear.

“That’s fancy,” he murmurs.

“Huh?” You exhale the rest of the smoke in a large plume towards the ceiling, and look back at him. “Oh. What? This?” You mimic the action again, pulling from the joint and allowing the smoke from your mouth to disperse into the air, as you inhale it again through your nose. 

“It’s a French inhale, nothing fancy. More of a force of habit,” you chuckle dryly. “I don’t even realize I’m doing it half the time, but it was the first trick I learned.” 

You look at him sideways but he’s still watching you. The fascination is gone, replaced by a darker expression. Hunger. 

Was that weird? Does he think you’re pretentious for trying to look cool in front of him?

“Tricks eh?” He repeats after you and tilts his head slightly.  All of a sudden you feel like prey, under his predatory gaze. As if he’s assessing you, sizing you up, about to devour you. You feel your throat start to go dry, and this time you doubt you can blame it on having  cotton mouth. 

“That’s pretty cool. Can you do any others?” He asks.

Aside from the French inhale, there’s really only two others that you can do. The ghost and doing the classic O’s or rings. 

“Uhm, a few others yeah but I’m not that great at them.” You blink a few times and look down at your hands.

“Now that I’ll call bullshit on,” he quips.  He relaxes into the couch, draping one arm over the back while spreading his legs wide, his other hand in his lap. 

His gaze pierces yours as he murmurs. “C’mon. Show me.” 

You’d hardly call it peer pressure but the way his voice gets even deeper and he takes up more space with his position, convinces you.

Resistance is futile at this point. He could ask you to do anything in that fucking tone of voice and you would do it. 

You exhale shakily as if you’re about to put on the biggest fucking performance of your lifetime. 

For whatever reason, you want him to be impressed by you. Fascinated by you. So you steel yourself and hold his gaze as you take another pull from the joint as it starts to burn out.

Holding the smoke in your mouth, you slowly tilt your head back and pout your lips slightly, making an O shape with your mouth, pushing the smoke out in brief pauses. The first few that come out are a bit small and wonky, but as you keep going, the rings of smoke become thicker, forming perfect O’s that float upwards, dissipating into the air. 

You exhale the rest of the smoke out in a rush, stubbing the joint in the ashtray. “I’m a bit rusty. It took a while to teach myself how to do them.” 

You add that part onto the end, to stroke your own ego mostly, but also because you selfishly want to elicit more praise from him. Which he willingly gives you.

“Don’t seem that rusty to me at all darlin’. That’s pretty damn cool.” He rubs his jaw with his thumb and index finger, brushing his thumb over his bottom lip. 

“You’ll have to teach me some tricks, some other time.” His hungry expression falters as he gives you a genuine smile, not before it’s interrupted by the quietest rumbling sound. His eyes widen slightly before he clears his throat and starts fidgeting a bit more, flexing and flexing the hand in his lap. 

You hum and grin at him deviously.

“Hmmm, it sounds like the munchies have kicked in at this point.” You return the playful shove but he barely moves an inch, his broad shoulder feeling like a solid wall. “You hungry?”

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #tlou fanfiction #joel miller #petition to GET THAT OLD MAN HIGH #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x f!reader #the last of us #pedro pascal character fanfiction

[refractical]

reading the screenplay, i’ve noticed that when lawrence feels powerless or cornered in reaction to adam’s actions or words, he lashes out specifically by targeting adam’s vulnerabilities.

adam explains he wanted to become a vet but was discouraged by the school requirements, and in fact reveals he never finished high school (not explicit, only implied, right before he pivots to a distraction and talks about the corpse not having future prospects, to crack a joke), but lawrence does try to comfort him by telling him "it's never too late" to instill a bit of hope in adam. and then he becomes suspicious of adam's avoidant fidgeting with the photo over the edge of the tub, he feels powerless and he re-asserts that power by targeting a vulnerability. he picks on adam's intelligence. he calls him stupid.

similarly (and, although this is strictly part of solving this puzzle, i'm sure lawrence does experience some sympathy here), lawrence decides to ask adam why the tape referenced adam wanting to die. he asks him why he felt suicidal. adam once again seems reluctant to explicitly explain himself. instead, he continues using implication to avoid directly addressing his vulnerability, which is almost like painting a target around the big, soft, weak spot in the center of his references to his sensitivities, something that lawrence zeros in on each time he lashes out at adam. once again, adam tells lawrence he feels worthless (in so many words) and lawrence, angry about what he's learned about adam's covert documentation of his infidelity, calls him worthless (in so many words). a gutterfeeder, a bottomfeeder.

when he's cornered, lawrence resorts to wounding him, perhaps because he wants to have control over the situation and he wants adam to know he's in control.

and of course adam wants for larry to be the calm one, the one who knows what he's doing (because he sure isn't), he wants him to get both of them out. even despite adam's own outbursts. when he says, "fuck thinking, don't you wanna scream?!" it's almost like he's testing how stable lawrence is. this guy he knows he was tasked with stalking and photographing, who has a stern and calm and resolute demeanor, something he's already latched onto ("despite himself, lawrence's stern, even tone has the effect of settling adam a little," "are you alright?" "are you injured?" "what's your name?"). something adam is aware enough of to protect when he hides the hostage photo of larry's wife and daughter. not only because he still holds suspicion of lawrence's role in this ordeal or his motives, but because he can't lose that stability lawrence provides him.

the way that these two trust and distrust, the way that their codependency relies on a dynamic of protecting and soothing, it just drives me fucking insane.

#saw 2004 #adam faulkner stanheight #adam stanheight #lawrence gordon #saw #chainshipping #i mean not to sound like a fakedeep tumblrina poet but they actually genuinely are so fig and wasp to me #both of them

[thesweetnessofspring]

Catching Fire wish fulfillment. Katniss is fed up with getting no affection from Peeta during training; she finds a way to get close to him anyway. Rated T.

It started with Peeta throwing away Haymitch's liquor and the shock that he didn't move to comfort me with his arms or lips. Nothing from him, who before had been so attentive when I needed someone to protect me from nightmares or a hand to hold.

After a few days Haymitch and I agree to join Peeta in his training, yet he doesn't smile and hug me at my decision. He doesn't even give me a high-five. Instead, he starts laying out his fitness plans for the three of us, written out on paper and handed to me the long way with no chance for our fingers to brush. In the evening as we review the games, the first night I sit next to him on the couch, hoping he might lean back and put an arm around me, but he leans forward and takes copious notes in small, neat handwriting. From then on, he sits in the armchair.

The final straw is when I stumble in a run, tweaking my ankle around, and he doesn't even touch me then. My ankle is still weak and I'm not sure if I re-injured it. He kneels down by me, asking me questions about what happened and how bad it feels, then he says he'll get my mother to check it and to wait where I am. My mother says it's fine and helps me up to walk it off, but I'm pissed at Peeta for not being the one to help me. Before he would have carried me to her, or at least helped me up himself.

If we only have a few months left together, I don't want to waste one moment of it.

This morning while Peeta tasks me to work on crunches, he's pushing an angry, red-faced Haymitch to do five full push-ups, but Haymitch can barely get out two.

"Come on, Haymitch!" Peeta shouts at him. "It's five push-ups!"

"Shut up, boy." Haymitch stands and wipes his hands on his sweatpants.

"It's only twenty-two other tributes we have to face!" Peeta yells and makes jabbing gestures toward the ground with his pointer finger. "Do the fucking push-ups!"

"He can't do them," I snap at Peeta and sit up fully from my ab exercises. "Move on."

"Move on? You think the Careers will just move on if it comes to hand-to-hand combat?" Peeta asks. "You're the ones who told me physical strength is an asset in the arena last year, so start working on it and taking this thing seriously!"

"You're the only one not leaving his comfort zone here Peeta," I say. "Our entire regime just looks like what you had to do for wrestling. You're not out here losing breath and puking like Haymitch, you don't know what it's like."

Peeta considers this, taken aback. "Fine. You're right. Right now I can do 100 push-ups at once. I'll give you 125. If I do, Haymitch, you're following the damn regime."

"I don't have to do a damn thing," Haymitch says, sitting down on his front porch step.

But Peeta's in the push-up position and he starts to piston them out like it's nothing. He counts under his breath, the numbers climbing higher and he hardly slows down. Around 75 they become a bit more measured, but still consistent. They hardly slow at 100 and I'm mad again, because obviously Peeta undersold how much he can actually do.

And so, I get up and when his arms straighten at 104, I lay across his back. My head rests between his shoulders blades and I hang on by looping my arms around his, my hands on his pecs. My left leg dangles a little awkwardly off of his thigh as his prosthetic doesn't give me much to hold to.

"Katniss...what are...you doing?" he asks, pausing for the first time and struggling to get the words out.

"Making it fair," I say. My cheek is damp with his sweat, and I feel it seeping through my clothes along the rest of my body.

"How is this—?"

"You're not even trembling yet," I say. "You undersold how many you can do. Now you have to finish the next 21 with me on top of you."

Haymitch starts laughing and Peeta gives a frustrated grunt, but keeps going, this time much slower. I savor the heat from him, the swell of hard muscles under my hands, and even the smell of him. This is a position I'd never found myself in with Peeta before, and I make note of how he feels against me, from his broad shoulders to his thick thighs. Everything around me is simply Peeta.

He's so solid and strong, carrying me on his back despite how he now quivers ever so slightly with the strain of the previous hundred push-ups and now my added weight. Yet I know he'll make the 125 push-ups, because when Peeta makes his mind up about something, there's no way he's not achieving it.

Which is why I fear that I'll be the one making it out of the arena without him this year.

I squeeze onto Peeta tighter. He shakes through the last few push-ups and I wish he'd keep going so that I could stay close to him just a little bit longer. And he indulges me with one more push-up. 126.

His arms straighten and then he lowers to the ground one last time, and I have no reason to be so close to him still. I force myself to peel away from his body, which for the past year, has meant my protection.

"There you go," Peeta pants as he rolls over onto his back, stomach moving up and down rapidly. "Now do all your damn push-ups."

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #thg fanfiction #wrote 1300 for my wip and rewarded myself by writing this little thing that's been in my head for a few weeks #katniss wants kisses