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bookworm-with-coffee · 4 months

Text

The Greatest Heist of All. . .

(How they react to your pet - Slytherin Boys x Reader)

Plot; Niffler inspired crackfics

Pairings; Sebastian Sallow x Reader (Romantic), Ominis Gaunt x Reader (Romantic)

Warnings; jealousy, coarse language, floofity fluff

________________________________________

Sebastian Sallow

When Sebastian first laid eyes on that Niffler, he knew trouble would start. In rescuing creatures, you had come to love many of them, but none more than those greedy little—

The brunette fumed at the thought of them. Those cute little beady eyes had won you over that day you'd both gone walking in the woods for a picnic date. That's when you'd stumbled upon a den of Nifflers.

Of course, most ran away. But, one remained. One annoying little—

Unafraid and curious, the little creature had sniffled and shuffled closer to you both.

"Mind your pockets", Sebastian commented, your hand waving to dismiss his words without a care.

"Look at you!!", you'd cooed at the little one, your boyfriend hardly sharing your enthusiasm on the creature.

You admired the blue fur on his back, reaching keenly to pet the cheeky little thing before it practically clambered onto your lap and into your arms. Sebastian's eyes rolled as your arms engulfed the Niffler, stroking your hands along his smooth hairs.

Attention went from your date to your uninvited guest, and after some time, Sebastian grew impatient and perhaps, a bit jealous as well?

"Alright, great. You've pet it. Now, can we go?", he huffed, raising a brow.

You pouted up at your boyfriend, the Niffler eagerly accepting your affections, "I don't want to just leave him here".

"He's a wild animal", the brunette reasoned. "He has a family. He'll be fine". But, the Niffler also seemed to share your resolve, not wishing to leave your kind embrace.

"I think— I want to keep him".

Oh God. Oh no—

"Nifflers are little thieves!", Sebastian insisted. "Who wants a pet that could rob you blind??".

Kneeling by your side, your freckled partner laid a gentle hand on your back before sliding it down to hold your spare hand in his attempt to coax you away.

The Niffler saw Sebastian's possessive behaviour and recognised it as a similar behaviour to those of his own kind. Could it be that you were valuable? Not gold, but a treasure as yourself?? This would be his biggest win yet, if that were so.

Sebastian's brown hues drifted to the Niffler, whose attitude had become a bit more insistent. The creature's eyes met his own and without breaking contact, deliberately snuggled into your chest, even daring to lay a possessive paw by your shoulder as if to say, mine.

Oh, it was on.

In the weeks that followed, things grew worse.

Every time there was even a mention of Sebastian, your Niffler saw fit to jump into your lap or arms to draw your attention.

Sebastian was at breaking point. Each time he spoke with you, there was that miscreant stirring him up. He'd even taken to insisting that the thing was evil, to your amusement.

Once or twice, the brunette even went as far as to mouth, "I'm watching you!", from over your shoulder, making the signal with his hands when you weren't looking.

It was unbelievable. A Niffler participating in some form of torturous psychological warfare. And Sebastian wouldn't let him win. You were his.

Then, your owl came and the existential dread continued.

Sebastian,

Would you be so kind as to babysit my Niffler? You'd be doing me a HUGE favour, as I'm away for most of the day on Saturday and he'll be left with no supervision and company.

Love always,

(Y/n) ♡

Bloody thing can starve, was his first thought, finally inwardly relenting when he thought of the consequences. You'd hate him forever if he did that.

So, it was off to your home he'd have to go.

"You boys behave while I'm gone", you'd teasingly instructed with a pointed finger and Sebastian played it off with a forced smile.

"Don't rush", he shrugged, making sure to pull you into the most passionate kiss he could offer, hoping the Niffler would weep on the inside.

"Sebastian", you giggled against his lips, almost tempted to stay for a more intimate moment were it not for your plans. "I am coming back".

His forehead leant on your own, the Niffler forgotten whilst his hands drew imaginary patterns on your waist. "I'll be waiting with bated breath", the brunette whispered, pressing another kiss to the tip of your nose. "I love you".

"I love you too", you sighed, allowing only one more peck on the lips before your parting.

Until the Niffler scuttled to you, pulling on the fabric of your blouse from where he sat on a table. "Oh, Darling", you fawned, Sebastian resisting the urge to hurl. "I'd nearly forgotten you!!". Lifting the creature, you kissed the top of his head. "Mama will be back soon, okay? Behave for your Dad".

Oh, God. He really was going to be sick.

Giving a final wave of your hand, you were off and away, Sebastian's unimpressed glower falling onto the Niffler beside him. "I am not your Dad".

The Niffler seemed to chatter, something akin to mischievous laughter. And I'm not going to behave.

Some of the most horrible hours of Sebastian's life came to follow.

It was one incident after the other, resulting in a few smashed vases and a bruised ego for Sebastian.

"That's it!", he finally snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at the little creature. "I've had it!! Whatever, it is!!".

As if scolding a child, Sebastian continued, "(Y/n) may think you're adorable, but I know the truth, you conniving thief! You might have fooled her, but you don't fool me!! And if you think for one second that—".

"Sebastian?".

His face paled, hearing the voice of his love and the Niffler took his chance. The mischievous creature began to sniffle, as if it were crying, before faking a limp whilst walking to you.

"What happened??", you cried out, spying the shards of a broken vase by the bench, still not cleaned up because of one little Niffler. Your attention instantly diverted to your pet, seemingly in hurt. "What did you do, Sebastian?!".

"What did I do??", he repeated incredulously. "I didn't do anything to him! It was that damn creature running amok!!".

All the while, you were focused on the aforementioned miscreant, feeding into his lies and infuriating Sebastian further.

"He's evil, (Y/n)! That thing needs to go!!".

"That 'thing', is Jeffrey!", you shot back.

"Oh?? So, it has a name now??".

Your eyes bore into the brunette's, searching his darker hues in silent scrutiny for a moment before you spoke again.

"You're jealous".

Those words made him stiffen, silencing any comebacks he'd bottled inside.

"That's ridiculous", Sebastian offered, too weak to be an argument.

"You are!", your mouth fell open, drawing your boyfriend's brows together.

"I am not jealous!".

"By Merlin", you gasped, trying to restrain any laughter threatening to spill out. "You're jealous. Of a Niffler?? ".

"He gets in the way!", Sebastian yelled, harsher than intended. "You're always giving him your attention, I hardly get it anymore! He's also consciously trying to steal you from me, for whatever reason!".

"Steal me?", your brow rose, a few giggles slipping out before your expression softened. Your eyes shifted to Jeffrey, noting that he was uncharacteristically fine for a creature so 'hurt' and you stroked over his fur, placing him aside. "You'll be fine".

The Niffler watched as you approached Sebastian, bringing him into an embrace. Your fingers combed through the soft waves of his hair and down to the nape of his neck, allowing him to melt in your arms.

"Sebastian", you sighed, shaking your head only slightly. "You're right. My attention from you has been divided. And while Jeffrey's behaviour was far from innocent—". You pulled back, running your fingertips over his face, encouraging his eyes to meet yours. "— I will never be stolen away from you. No Human or Niffler can steal me from the one who matters most to me. There's only one Sebastian Sallow. And that's rarer than any treasure".

A smile finally returned to Sebastian's face, the gap closing between you both. Your lips met his, gentle and breezy, calming the fires of anger and jealousy that had once stoked within his heart.

"I'll make us a cup of tea", you whispered, tapping the brunette on his nose, leaving only the brightest of smiles in your wake as you brushed by.

Sebastian turned his attention to the little shit sitting on the nearby counter, his tongue darting out teasingly. "I win".

The Niffler's head seemed to dip, suddenly sad and deflated. A pang of guilt hit Sebastian in that moment and it made him relent to the small creature.

"Fine", he grumbled, unable to fight his growing smile. "I can't believe I'm doing this, but–". He offered his hand. "— friends?". Jeffrey sniffled, almost seeming to nod in agreement when he extended his paw. "Just don't push your luck".

♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡

Ominis Gaunt

The day Ominis met your pet Niffler was utterly magical.

You had lead him into your vivarium for the first time, introducing him to the array of magical creatures that were under your care.

Ominis got to feel the smooth and pristine feathers of a Joberknoll, the fluffy hairs of a Puffskein; and the beak of your Hippogriff, Highwing.

And then the cherry on top; your Niffler.

Nifflers were curious, but harmless creatures. They were notorious for stealing jewels, treasure, coins— anything that sparkled, really. With their affectionate nature and reputation for an adorable stature, it was not a mystery as to why you chose to keep the Niffler you rescued from poachers.

The blonde had always wanted to meet one of those cute little theives and in knowing this, you'd excitedly given him the opportunity.

"Where is he??", Ominis had asked, unable to mask the way his voice travelled an octave higher in his anticipation.

"This way!", he was able to hear the grin in your tone, widening his own as he eagerly allowed himself to be tugged along by the pale tips of his nimble fingers.

You'd gently helped the blonde to be seated on the soft grass, almost finding yourself mesmerised with how the sunlight struck his delicate features.

Whistling and clicking your fingers, there was a shuffling in the grass as something approached. It had startled Ominis only slightly, the new grip of your hand over his own settling him.

You guided his hand forward as you had done so before, his palm finally landing on something soft. A short gasp heaved from the blonde, his lashes fluttering at the new sensations beneath his skin.

There was the rapid rising and falling of the little creature's breaths as he sniffed over the new guest of the vivarium.

A smile carved its way onto Ominis' expression, hesitantly stroking over the little creature beneath his grasp. Your hand lead his over the Niffler's head and snuffling snout, a breathy laugh slipping from the blonde when the small breaths tickled his skin.

Long had he dreamed about this..

"Ominis, I'd like you to meet Sebastian", you laughed at the sudden quizzical look that dawned on your counterpart's expression.

"Sebastian?", Ominis echoed with a quirk of his brow. "You named your Niffler after our friend? ".

No, he wasn't jealous. Not at all.

"Only because he gets into so much trouble", you giggled. "He also has these adorable speckles on his fur around his face. Lilac fur with faded spots".

"Like freckles", he nodded in understanding, trying to fight the deflation dampening his initial excitement. "Does Sebastian know that you've named your 'child' after him?".

Ominis was sure that with the amount of time you'd spent with Sebastian on various escapades in the fifth year and the closeness you still shared now in your seventh, that the brunette had undoubtedly been the first to be shown the Room of Requirement and these lovely creatures.

Perhaps Sebastian was the better suitor for you??

"No, actually", your amused answer shocked Ominis. "I've never brought him here. He doesn't even know of this place".

"He doesn't?", the blonde's brows creased in a bout of confusion. "I thought he'd be the first to know of this place".

"What do you mean??".

Ominis' heart had begun to beat frantically within his chest whilst he'd attempted to play his jealousy and nerves off with a smile, as he often did when it came to your friendship with Sebastian.

"I— I just meant that you two are close", he replied with a tug of his shoulders. "I thought you might have been more inclined to show him over me, is all. I was only confused as to why it was the contrary".

In the few seconds of thoughtful silence that followed, you both had taken notice to the warmth of your hand that still lingered on his own, neither of you daring to separate them. Instead, your fingers slowly inched into the gaps between his own, hinting your intentions with your words,

"Do you not know?".

Ominis squeezed the digits threaded with his own like they were a life-raft, assuring you of his consent before your lips had taken his own in careful caresses.

Absolutely magical.

Or so he'd thought at the time, not realizing he'd just unknowingly declared war against a very protective Niffler.

Ominis dismissed it as paranoia at first, just shrugging off the seemingly possessive behaviour the little creature conveyed.

But, it had become apparent over the many weeks that it wasn't just his imagination playing tricks on him..

The Niffler was clearly jealous of your diverted attention. Ominis had figured that out rather quickly.

Just as the Niffler had figured out how to push his buttons. Like Sebastian.

Whenever you both had picnics in the vivarium or brought Ominis along to help in the care of your creatures, Sebastian lived up to his name.

The mischeievous miscreant always managed to get in the way, snatching Ominis' wand from his robes so that he wouldn't be able to find you or the other creatures before misplacing it to make it look as if it had dropped out by mistake.

You thought that's all it was, despite Ominis knowing and insisting otherwise.

Then, it was the Niffler napping on your lap whenever Ominis wanted to. And of course, you were a sucker for that adorable little shit. He could do no evil, apparently.

Holding hands? The Niffler went out of his way to pry the blonde's hand from yours, snuggling under yours to draw your attention; even going as far as to shove Ominis' hand away and preoccupy your palm with his paw.

Sitting together? Sebastian interfered with that too, worming his annoying little self between your bodies so that he could sit in the middle as a barrier to separate you both.

Whenever Ominis wanted time with you, Sebastian was always there. It was like the Niffler had been incarnated with a piece of his best friend's soul, always troublesome and always interfering.

Ominis finally hit breaking point when the little shit decided to make off not only with his wand, but with the handmade necklace he'd bought from Feldcroft in his most recent visit.

The blonde planned to give it to you as a gift, but even he should've known better than to have it in his pockets when visiting the vivarium to carry out a favour for you, his beloved.

Whilst you would be attending to family business today, he would care for your creatures. Something that was turning out to be a complete impossibility.

In Sebastian's mouth? Ominis' wand.

In his paws?? The necklace.

"Come back here, you little rat! Give those back, Sebastian!!", he cried out, only able to follow the scuttling in the grass and the jingling of the jewellery in the Niffler's greedy grasp.

Wheezing and panting, Ominis crawled and sprinted around, the Niffler releasing an occasional squeak whenever he got close. Until—

"Got you!", the blonde shouted, finding a grip on the Niffler that struggled desperately in his grasp.

It soon became clear that he was holding the little miscreant upside down, coins seeming to pour out of his marsupial-like pouch. His paws were still occupied with the necklace he'd stolen, whining in despair at the loss of his precious coins as they rained down to the floor.

"Serves you right!", Ominis seethed, breathless from his pursuit.

In a sense of victory, the blonde's lips curled into a grin, his fingertips running along the Niffler's belly. The creature chattered as if he were laughing, especially ticklish at the gentle prodding. More coins and jewels rained out as Ominis' fingers reached his sniffling snout.

Quickly snatching his wand back from the little creature's jaw, he boasted, "I win", before reaching for Sebastian's paws.

Ominis caught ahold of the necklace, but the Niffler's grip was like iron.

"Sebastian, give it to me", the blonde chided, tugging on the precious piece of jewellery. "Come on, Sebastian".

The Niffler struggled and resisted, never being more keen to possess anything in his life. Even the measly coins Ominis tried to trade couldn't compare to the necklace and he wasn't willing to break it.

"You stubborn mule! Fine!!", he snapped, huffing as he set Sebastian loose.

Dejected, the blonde sat himself down, soon recieving the company of your Puffskein as it nuzzled into his side. Despite his sadness, even he was unable to resist smiling at the affectionate creature.

Ominis reached over to pet the Puffskein, your mischievous Niffler watching from a distance. All of his lost coins were on the ground by the blonde's legs, but it wasn't them that drew Sebastian back.

It was the realisation that Ominis could love him just as much as you could. That his love was not a threat to the friendship you shared with your favourite pet.

Perhaps he'd tried stealing the wrong person??

Ominis seemed just as compassionate, if not moreso.

His attention soon became divided from the Puffskein when the cool and delicate metal of a necklace was dropped into his palm. The blonde almost couldn't believe it.

A Niffler?? Returning something shiny??

And then it clicked. It wasn't of value to him, but a ploy to sabotage your relationship with Ominis. Sebastian had felt threatened.

"Thank you", Ominis whispered, his lips curling out of amusement as the little creature began to shuffle around and pick up the coins that had dropped.

Perhaps Sebastian was more alike to his human counterpart than the blonde first realised? He has a heart of gold too, although it rarely shows.

And upon your return to the vivarium, you were delighted to find things resolved between your pet and boyfriend, knowing tensions and jealousy had been spiked between the two.

There, Ominis laid on the grass asleep, a freckled lilac Niffler upon his chest.

Your plan had worked..

The End. . .

___________________________________________

Hey readers!! ❤❤ I hope you all enjoyed these fics as much as I loved writing them!! As always, any and all feedback is welcome!

So, please - let me know how I went in writing for Sebastian and Ominis for the first time and how to improve, if I can! If you wished to be added to my taglist for this fandom or any others I write for, check out my masterlist and let me know what you'd like to be tagged in!

Thank you all for your support!! ❤❤❤

#ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #slytherin boys #ominis gaunt x mc #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt x you #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy ominis #ominis x mc #ominis x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian x mc #sebastian x reader #fanfiction #my writing #gifs not mine

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canaidliafail · 1 year

Text

Stay grounded

streamer Abby x streamer f!reader 🌿

[part 1 ]. [part 2]

Not proof read like at all. pure crap. Im just horny had an idea and wrote it down. enjoy tho~ MDI cause it will get explicit in later chapters

CW: college exams, weed

“fuck, give me a caption”

“I like tits”

“literally fuck you”

you mumbled and your friends laughed, enjoying your misery. You stared at the blank space below your post and pursed your lips in concentration. Eventually you started typing cringing at every word

“trying some new products ˖◛⁺ ⑅ ♡”

and pressed “post” on the photo tossing your phone on the other side of the couch defeated. Been a presence online sure had its fun but you were also filled with the existential dread that people knew you “existed”

150k people to be exact. not much but more than you ever expected to get from your hobby. You usually posted your figurine collection from the most recent games you streamed with the occasional over the top pic of you dolled up and in clothes styled to fit the game of the month which unsurprisingly always over performed in statistics.

you had been doing this for a good two years now give or take and it was a wild turn of events considering how quickly and well your career took off. You loved the financial comfort but hated how exposed you constantly felt.

“Don't you have a stream tonight?” your friend,june, asked and you shook your head rubbing your face and squeezing your eyes shut to hopefully get rid of the persistent ache

“No, I'm resting for the week. Told them I have exams or whatever”

she passed you the blunt and you took a few puffs in silence staring into space

“Mind if I put on some music?”

“no go ahead” you mumbled and went to the kitchen to make coffee as you heard the first notes of mr.kitty after dark play in the living room.

“We need to go on a trip somewhere”. June said and Cassie agreed

“trip? where?” you shouted loud enough to be heard across the halls

“I don't know man but like, leave this town for a bit. Remember how fun we had on our last trip ?”

you smiled. Italy was fun. England was insane and Germany was borderline a fever dream. all three unique and all three with a romantic disappointment that entertained your friend group for months and you had to admit you had been craving leaving your city for a while now. Had it not been for the fact that you were on your last semester at college you would be somewhere else every other week -without any romantic endeavors-

You made the quickest shittiest coffee and went back to the living room sitting on the floor “Once Im done with exams we can go anywhere you want” you promised. Your phone pinged the flash going on and off

“What the fuck”

“Im suing for optical damage”

they yelled and grabbed your phone tossing it your way and you all but laughed

“Sorry sorry my bad forgot to turn off flash alerts”

You tapped your screen and almost choked on your coffee fumbling to unlock your phone the lyrics blurring in the background until they became a numbing buzz

staygrounded69 just made a new post

you tapped the icon and saw the new photo. You couldn’t quite understand what it was about her but she had you hooked and entirely captivated. It wasn’t a crush but you always found yourself checking for new posts or streams.

Abby, known by her public name staygrounded was a gamer who streamed here and there. In a more a casual stream she eventually explained that her nickname was a jab by her friend when she asked for ideas and he said “staygrounded, get it? cause of your fear of heights?” and it just stuck by.

That wasn’t why she had blown up though. No it was due to her coming out as a lesbian and that fueled every female straight and not. She was after all, a tall muscular woman with beautiful blonde hair and a face with unique features that deserved appreciation in the form of oil paintings and perhaps a face seating

you shook your head trying not to let your mind fall too deep into hopeless thirsty thoughts and admired the new photo. a casual gym pic. Fuck she wasn’t even flexing her muscles or anything. she wore the baggiest grey sweatpants with a black hoodie and a black cap with her braided hair and the lower half of her face peaking through sitting on a bench casually

and yet you felt weak. you bit your lower lip and chewed on it a little

“Cotton????” your friends called out to you by your streamer nickname and snapped their fingers. you looked up feeling your cheeks heat up

“aaah did she post?”

“mhm” you nod excitedly and went back to looking at the photo. You tapped the share button and posted it on your story leaving a small note

“her <3”

not been shy of publicly “aPprEciAtiNg” her since she was hell of a popular figure and would for sure not see your reshare.you let out a sigh and june smirked

“what ails you my victorian maiden”

“I love women” you said dreamily and took a sip of your coffee

“Wish they loved you back” Cassie bit and you grabbed your pillow and went over to her “oh you’re dead” you barked and she laughed as you started playfully smothering her with the stuffed item.

“alright time for me to bounce” june said first and grabbed her things “my teacher will probably be up my ass for coming so late” she groaned and you looked at the time “yeah I need to also get going”

“sucks to suck. Ill go take a nap” Cassie said and grabbed her things.

you and June both had afternoon classes while Cassie was happily a drop out who did seasonal work and rested during winter. The two of you were very visibly jealous of her not having to deal with the pain of exams.

“Yeah yeah get over yourself” June said jabbing her at her sides and Cassie yelped running in front of her, June chasing her down the stairs and you being the last one to leave the apartment to lock the door.

•••

You were in class when it happened. Your week ended with a babging 3 hour lecture entirely dedicated to pattern making. You were ready to grab the scissors and stab yourself to end this. You friend also seemed to slowly wither away while your teacher remained as chipper as always

“Now regarding coats-“ she continued and you pushed your chair away from the desk softly getting up to grab fresh paper to start copying the notes she was starting to draw on the board

You spread it out on your desk and grabbed the ruler and pencil and started measuring a No.44 coat purposefully being slower than usual so that you wouldn’t have to do much work. Your brain was squeezed dry for the day and this class was always the most difficult

you grabbed your phone to take a picture of the finished measurements and pattern on the board to have it for later. You opened the camera and zoomed in ready to take a pic

staygrounded69 liked your story

came the first notification and you fumbled with your phone as it nearly fell off of your hands. You sat down on your chair and stared at the icon for a hard long minute not wanting to tap it and see just a fan account instead. You decided to stay delusional

staygrounded69 liked your post

a few minutes later came another few notifications and then that was it. You opened your page and tapped the username that led to her profile.

holy shit

it really was her

its fucking her

You breathed in quitting her page and tapping her username again still in disbelief. She saw your photos. She had specifically liked the ones with your face in.

“Refrain from using your phones in class” your teacher reminded you and you were snapped back into reality

right patterns

coats

you shoved your phone in your bag and tried to focus on the sheet in front of you. for the remaining half hour you faked working on the class assignment and pretending to draw lines and correct them and the second your professor dismissed you, you bolted out of the class and grabbed your phone and checked for any new notifications. There was none and you tried to ignore the soft pang of disappointment that filled your chest.

You did hope she would follow you back or something but that was ridiculous considering how famous she was and by your knowledge she only followed her friends the she hang out with outside her online careers which was a dreadfully low number of people meaning there was no reason for her to follow you

you called june “you won't believe what happened”

“Oh my god. Its about that hot beefy streamer isn’t it?”

“Yes yes it is!”

and you heard screaming on the other line till the mic peaked and muted her out entirely. You gave her a few moments of squealing till she was back on the line ready to question you

“spill. what happened? Did she see your story? did she reply to it?”

“alright no nothing that important but-“

“oh come onnnn”

“BUT!” you interrupted and she waited for you to continue

“but she liked two of my pictures. You know what this means? it means she went through my page and liked two of my pictures June!”

“Wow oh my she will propose to you. She is so in love oh god”

You kept hyping up each other’s delusions all the way to your bus station

“did she text you ? any other notifications?”

you pulled your phone away and checked your page.nothing new so far

“no nothing yet, oh my bus is here”

“alright keep me updated if anything happens”

you hung up and walked inside the vehicle and sat on a plastic seat daydreaming of every possible scenario between you and Abby. However the more you sat the more the high of the excitement wore off and the more you settled back into your usual sorrowful self

ok and? she liked your posts. hell she is probably a player and likes every cute girls posts

you thought and sank further into the seat drowning in the soft music playing from your headphones. you tapped your foot on beat and rested your head against the cold misty windows of the bus. You started lying to yourself pretending this didn’t affect you much and that you'd be over her by tomorrow

You walked back home and tossed your bag carelessly near the shoe rack while taking off your boots and coat in one go leaving them on the floor not caring to tidy up. You went to the sofa and turned on your ps4 feeling excited that you finally had a few hours to dedicate to yourself

You logged into assassin’s creed valhalla ready to continue. This was your third play through and the only game you refused to play on stream. You liked keeping it as a way to comfort yourself and disassociate. You were planning on eventually getting tge ¼ scale Eivor statue that cost the not so humble amount of 1,2k $. Until you were ready to commit to such an expense though you settled for seeing your favorite character in game and left the statue in your wishlist amongst the other figurines you wanted to get

in between enjoying the game you checked the time and remembered today was Abbys turn to stream. You hated to admit that you had purposely made a schedule around hers so that you wouldn’t miss any time she went live, good example being now. You unlocked your phone leaving her stream open waiting for it to start while simultaneously running around in the forest, leisurely exploring the areas in your game

“Hey everyone! Can you all hear me fine? musics not too loud?”

came abbys voice and you snapped your head to your phone looking at her. fuck she was wearing that grey sleevless tank-top again

“Todays stream will be more chill. thought we could just catch up and chat a bit. I ugh had a long day at the gym”

she continued in her usual timid tone. On first look you would never think a woman like her would be so damn shy but she was. Or maybe it was just the camera and audience that caused her to be a bit more chaotic. Its not like you knew what she really was like behind the lens.

“Oh hey Alice nice to see you again!” she said taking her time to greet most of the people viewing her

“Oh we have Nora and Manny in the chat too” she said with a soft laugh. Nora. Oh you knew Nora. Abby usually posted with two women. Both seemed to be friends with her but could equally be suspected to be her girlfriend. One was Nora. They went to the same gym together and often hung out on stream. The second one was Ellie. Another streamer who in the beginning had a very well known hatred towards Abby until one day they miraculously made up and started occasionally hanging out.

not that it mattered to you if either of them was dating Abby…

“Next games? hm..Im not sure. Any suggestions”

you hesitated. You were a silent watcher most days. actually you had never said a damn word other than a donation to her stream and when she called you by your username back then to thank you, you felt so embarrassed that you decided to be one of the lurkers in her stream. Must have been a year ago or so when no one knew you either so there wasn’t a big deal made out of your name being mentioned. You felt stupid for even considering that anyone knew you at all to care if you left a comment. Even in the slim chance that your audience overlapped no one would really bother making a big deal out of it

“Have you tried ac valhalla?” you looked at your comment again and again till deciding to press send and then wait

“yeah not sure about that one..” she seemed to be reading and expanding a bit on which games she considered giving it a go or not. You felt a bit of relief thinking your comment was lost in the sea of others and resumed your game only to pause it shortly after

“Cotton? heh, cute nickname…I haven’t tried any of the assassins creed games but Ill check it out” You heard and your hands started to shake in excitement your ears burning from the heat.

Its not like Abby had any unique accent but the way she said your nickname made you twirl your hair and giggle to yourself. You grabbed your phone again

“oh really? she is?” you heard abby say and you read the comments the excitement turning into plain horror and mortification when you saw people start to recognise you and tease you for recommending the game they had probably seen you continuously post on your stories for a year straight. You exited the stream in shame and gently put your phone on the coffee table continuing your game.

I will end it all for real

this was my last straw

By the time the embarrassment of this minor inconvenience wore off You were in the middle of finishing the Granterbridge arc when you decided to post another story with a short caption regarding the characters. Your phone slowly started going off with notifications with people responding to your story and being in a sour mood you decided to mute it and continue your game till you fell asleep on the couch. The only reason you woke up was because you actually had a really shitty sofa with the thinnest pillows that did nothing to shield you from the hard wooden planks beneath.

You groaned in pain and looked at the screen of your Tv. Your ps4 was on rest mode and at 4.00 am you couldn’t be bothered to do anything about that so you just grabbed your phone and walked to your bedroom quickly going through the unusually vast amount of notifications in case there was something from your friends that you had missed

you stopped in front of your bedroom door and rubbed your eyes. your mind was blank. it was 4.00 am

you read the notification again

staygrounded69: hi

••••

heres my ko-fi tip jar if you enjoy my work 🤍

#abby anderson x reader #abby x reader #abby anderson #tlou2 #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x y/n

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eastern-lights · 4 months

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Ok so we all know how amazing Baldur's Gate 3 is. I could talk for hours about everything it did perfectly.

But rn, I want to talk about what I think Dragon Age Inquisition did better. And this is not to judge which game is better overall, but what still makes DAI so special to me despite its flaws.

1. Voiced protagonist

Yeah, starting off controversial. I know some people prefer silent protagonists, but I just find myself wishing we could have a fully voiced Tav, even at the cost of fewer dialogue options. I'm sorry, but Tav's silent indifferent face just always breaks the immersion for me, especially when contrasted with the award-worthy acting and animation of the characters they're speaking with. In DAI (and DA2, although to a lesser degree) your character could be heavily customized, but they were always an actual person who fit in with the rest of the universe and flowed seamlessly with the story.

2. Mystery and dread.

BG3 is full of heavy, scary, traumatizing stuff hidden all over the place (or in plain sight). But it can always be explained in some way. There are dreadful things in Faerûn, but we always know what they are (mostly due to most of them having to have precisely given stats as the result of being based on DnD). We know what happens after death and what we can do to bring people back from it. The closest you get to truly dread-inducing mystery in BG3 is "Do Illithids have souls" and "where do illithids come from" and (at least in Act 1) "who is the Absolute".

In Dragon Age, the whole world is made of existential dread. What happens when you die? Dunno. Is God real? No idea and if He does, He hates you. What is the Blight? Are all darkspawn capable of independent thought? What is lyrium singing about? What happened to the titans? What happens when all of the Old Gods die? And this is just the Big Questions. There's a myriad of small things, small mysteries you encounter that just have no answers. Stuff that reminds me of those creepy Goldshire children forming a pentagram in World of Warcraft. While having an explanation for everything makes for deeper worldbuilding, a world full of mysteries without answers makes for a much scarier and, in some ways, exciting experience.

3. Group dynamic and party banter

I enjoyed the party banter in BG3. Hell, it had some of the funniest lines in game. But it didn't do enough to make the group dynamic feel any less Tav/Durge-centric. You hear the companions exchange banter, but you never get beyond stuff like "Karlach and Shadowheart both enjoy wine" and "Gale enjoys Lae'zel telling him about the Astral plane". The protagonist forms amazingly written relationships with each of the companions, but they never seem to have such a bond with one another. The closest we come to what I'd like to see is Karlach and Wyll's friendship, but even that's kind of shallow, I feel. The companions do comment on the others' personal quest, but it's always one sentence reaction, before going right back to being mostly indifferent. DA2 had the same issue, if to a greater extent (srsly, the companions had the same attitude about one another over the span of 10 years)

The banter in DAI was superb. It told a story. It had arcs. You could watch in real time as Solas and Dorian became friends over their shared magical nerd-dom. You could even take part in it, such as when telling Blackwall to stfu about jousting for a moment, or telling Sera that what you and Solas do in private is none of her business. You could see Dorian and Bull fall in love. You could watch Varric slowly chip away at Solas' worldview until he arguably came closer to changing his plans than Lavellan ever did. The relationships grow over the course of the story and by the time of Solas' betrayal, you're not just sad because he betrayed you, you're sad because he betrayed Varric, Dorian, Bull, Cassandra and everyone else. Because you saw how they cared about him, each in their own way.

There is nothing more heartbreaking than Varric's "Chuckles, what have you done?"

In BG3, the relationships are mostly left to your imagination, which has its perks, but still, the group dynamic feels more like a wheel with Tav at the centre rather than a web.

4. Having limits on the romance options

Let me start by stating what I am not saying: I am not saying that bi and pan people shouldn't be represented. Far from it. But I don't think making the whole group pan is the way to go about it. I can't help but feeling it is, in a way, pandering to players, making every single companion interested in them as long as they have a sufficiently high approval.

Making some companions explicitly bi, pan, gay or straight made for a more real experience. Getting rejected by Sera on the grounds of "We have a lot in common - we both like women" felt disappointing, yes, but also real. This also allowed the writers to make the characters' sexual/romantic preferences a part of their, well, character. We got Dorian's personal quest, which I think is great. Limiting Solas' options to just Lavellan allowed the writers to make it about him realizing that his people are not mere shadows. It allowed them to write the Vallaslin scene. None of this could have been done if he were romanceable to all races.

When you have diversity in romantic attraction among the companions, suddenly the pan and bi characters (in Bull and Josie respectively) feel like their orientation is part of who they are, rather than a game mechanic to prevent players from missing out on content.

#baldur's gate 3 #dragon age inquisition #this is all just my opinion #i am still salty that the devs didn't get more time to do DAI properly #imagine DAI made with the love care and time that BG3 had #we could have had another masterpiece

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prettynice8 · 6 months

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Kinkmas Day 2: Thigh Riding

Eren Jaeger x Male reader

This guy

Warnings?: thigh riding, kissing, again no sexy times, maybe ooc Eren but this is fan fic so calm down, you two are already boyfriends, Y/N is used along with love, dirty talk, after care yay

Word count: 939

It was just a normal day for you. Wake up, go back to bed for an hour or so, skip breakfast because you slept in and who has time for that, existential dread taking over because you don't remember if you had a dog that died or if it was all a dream, just girly things.

You had just gotten back from a pretty rough fight; you sustained no lasting injuries, but you obviously still had hard feelings about it. All you wanted to do was just stay home and sleep for hours on end but no, because someone had to ruin everything.

You were on the brink of sleep, your eyes feeling heavy, and your body was melting into the mattress, sleep nearly overtaking you. Until the fucking asshole you call a boyfriend loudly stomps into the house with his big ass boots and slams the door behind him.

You love Eren, you know you do, but my god if he doesn't learn how to walk into houses rightfully and respectfully you will kill him.

"Y/N, I'm home." He fucking screamed, his booming voice filling the entire house with noise. You can hear every single one of his heavy stomps as his large body busts through the house. The steps get louder and louder as he comes closer and closer to your room.

You're seconds from getting up passive aggressively telling him to leave before you have a bf at him before he comes into the room with that damn adorable smile on his face he has whenever he comes home to you.

Immediately when he notices your presence he climbs right under the covers with you, his arm wrapping around your waist in a loving grip. Even though he ruined your attempt into deep slumber you can't help but turn around so that your face is in his chest, grumbling while doing so.

"Something wrong dear?" He said in a much more calming voice than his scream before.

"You ruined my nappy time you fucking dick." You state the frustration in your voice very much so obvious.

"I'm sorry love." He apologized. You look up at him.

"You better be." You said.

"I am, I swear." He said, then the gears in his head start to turn as you see a very mischievous smirk on his face, "And I have the perfect way to prove it." You give him a questioning glance until your face is filled with sheer surprise as he lifts you up and onto his lap.

"I swear to fucking god Eren just let me go to sleep, I'm not fucking you right now." You declare a scowl on your face.

"I don't want you to fuck me, just going to make you feel good. You can go to bed right after I swear." he assures.

You silence yourself, just wanting this to be over so you can go back to blissful slumber. Your apathy quickly shifts, just like Eren right now as he's shifting your crotch on his thigh.

This sudden sexual act catches you completely off guard. When you try to make a noise of rebellion, connect his lips with yours. starting off as a stream of quick pecks they start to become longer and more sensual. He begins to stick his tongue into your, not even needing to fight for dominance with your own because you automatically give in, increasing the tightness in your pants even more.

The kiss on your lips then goes to your jaw, then to your neck where he stays, leaving mini love bites and sweet kisses all around. All the while still keeping up with hands on your hips moving back and forth on his thigh.

The chafing which you think would be awfully uncomfortable feels incredible as the thought of sleep completely disappears from your mind. The only thoughts now being of Eren's sweet lips on your neck and the thigh feeling your now completely hard dick.

Moans start pouring out of your mouth like music to Eren's ears as he increases the speed of which he's moving you, the musical-like noise getting even louder.

"Do you like that kind of love." Eren said, it's not even a question as he can hear your beautiful moans and feel your rock-hard member pressing into his thigh. He's enjoying this almost as much as you are.

"Jesus fucking Christ I could cum just from hearing you." He praised, the praise going totally over your head from the extreme joy you're feeling right now.

Your climax is so close that you can almost taste it as he continues his barrage of kisses on your neck and somehow picks up the tempo of his movements even more.

"l-I'm close," you said breathlessly. Hearing this Eren gives you a deep kiss, his tongue dominating yours as it moves all throughout your mouth, nearly making you come cum right then and there.

All you need is one more final slow and hard push before you're puddy in his hands. Climax finally hits you as Eren passionately kisses you through it. He pulls away so you can catch your breath. You gasp for air, head laying in his chest and his arm wrapped around you.

Only Eren Jaeger could make you cum with just his thigh. Once you've finished your orgasm Eren takes off your sticky cum covered clothes for you and puts on your pajamas.

Once you're all cleaned up Eren crawls into bed with you. Your over encompassing tiredness is finally taking over. Eren just looks at you peacefully before going resting himself with you wrapped in his arms.

THE END

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captainsophiestark · 8 months

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Witch's Intuition

Mason Lockwood x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2023!

Fandom: The Vampire Diaries

Day 2 Prompt: "Don't worry, I got you."

Summary: What if Mason Lockwood had somebody who cared about him when he came to town, somebody who could keep him from his canon fate? Alternatively, I really love Mason Lockwood and the show didn't do him justice, so I wanted to. Reader is described as a girl.

Word Count: 10,445 lmao

Category: Angst, fluff, humor

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I sighed and stared straight ahead, hands still gripped tight on the steering wheel as I tried to psych myself up to get out of the car and go inside.

Damon Salvatore, my best friend in the entire world despite my better judgement, had asked me to come to a barbecue that Jenna Sommers was hosting. Her connection to Damon was ridiculous and confusing, and the entire barbecue was just a front for Damon and our mutual friend Ric to try to get a feel for the newest supernatural creature in town. And he wanted me here to help.

Mason Lockwood, the newest supernatural in question, had apparently gone to high school with Jenna and had recently returned to Mystic Falls. Damon felt confident he was a werewolf. As a witch, I knew for sure he was a werewolf, but absolutely no part of me wanted to get involved in the supernatural drama by telling him.

I should've known staying out of it would be impossible as long as Damon Salvatore remained my best friend.

At the sound of a knock on my window, I jumped so hard my head hit the roof of my car. I whipped around to find the werewolf I'd been thinking about standing outside my door, looking at me with a grin as he gave a little wave. I mentally cursed myself, then shoved open my door and climbed out.

"Hey," he said, giving me a bright smile that made butterflies explode in my chest. "I didn't realize you were coming to this, too."

Mason and I had met about a week ago at the grill, when he'd come over to the pool table and called winner on my game. I won, and we quickly hit it off the bat over the course of our first game, enough so that we ended up playing two more. He still didn't know I was a witch, and we'd only hung out a handful of times so far, but I still found my heart racing when he looked at me like he was looking at me now.

"Damon dragged me," I replied. "Although, I actually am excited to get to know Jenna a little better. And... others, at this party."

"Others?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. The grin took on a more flirty edge, and I couldn't help my heart speeding up a bit.

"Yeah, others. Other than Ric. I already know him."

"Okay," laughed Mason, fully throwing his head back as we started heading for the house together. "And I guess 'others' doesn't apply to Elena or Caroline either?"

"No, I know them too. I've heard all about the high school angst and then some."

"Did you tell them how much better it gets after graduation?"

"Oh yeah, I covered all the existential dread and challenge of trying to figure out what the hell to do with the rest of our lives."

"Okay good. As long as they know."

Mason and I shared a smile as we reached the door and he opened it for me, motioning for me to go ahead. I smiled, and we held our eye contact a few beats too long to be casual. Damon was going to kill me when he got here.

We quickly found Jenna and Elena in the kitchen, and I chatted with Elena a bit while Mason and Jenna caught up. I'd only gotten to Mystic Falls a little after the Salvatores, having graduated from college three years ago. At first, I'd come back to try to track down and record witch history, since so much of it was based here. But it didn't take me long to get sucked into the bullshit Damon and Stefan had found themselves neck-deep in as soon as I arrived.

For the first time, with Mason, I didn't totally mind it.

Within a few minutes of arrival, Mason decided it was time to go hunting for shot glasses and alcohol. Jenna pointed him in the right direction, and then he turned to me with a lopsided smile that made my heart stop in my chest.

"Come help me?"

"Sure thing."

I followed Mason through the house, leaving Jenna and Elena in the kitchen while we waited for everybody else to show up. He ducked into a closet, and I hovered just outside.

"Let's see here... Jenna's trying to be a responsible adult nowadays, but I bet I can still find where she stashed her old shot glasses..."

"I've spent too long finding cool shot glasses that I like to ever shove them all away in a closet forever," I mused, leaning against the door frame. Mason chuckled.

"I know what you mean. I've got different ones with the patterns of every surfboard I've ever owned."

I nodded. "That's nice, but I've got you beat. I've got supernatural-themed ones. For witches and vampires and werewolves."

Mason paused his searching to turn around and give me an appraising look. I shrugged, giving him a sheepish smile. He shook his head, but to my relief, he was smiling too.

"I should've realized you knew, with you being Damon's friend," he said, turning around to continue searching.

"Hey, I'm a born and raised witch. I knew about the supernatural long before Damon Salvatore ever came into my life, and I recognized what you were before he did too. Vampires have shittier senses than witches."

Mason snorted a laugh, then, pausing his search and half glancing back at me again, asked, "Did you tell him about me?"

"No. Damon can be a little... dramatic. I had no interest in him starting up a fight with my new favorite pool opponent."

Mason nodded, and thankfully, I caught a small smile on his face again.

"...You use some of that magic to cheat at pool?"

"Ha! That's also a no. I'm just a better player than you."

"Or maybe I just let you win," he said, turning to hand me a nice bottle of vodka that he'd dug out of the closet, a grin on his face.

"We can pretend that's what happened if you really want. But we both know the truth."

He sighed, then turned back around to grab the shot glasses he'd finally managed to find, shaking them to show me triumphantly.

"I guess we're just gonna have to go back to the Grill soon so you can teach me your ways."

"...It's a date."

Mason grinned and shot me a wink, then led me back through the house to the kitchen to rejoin Jenna and Elena. Elena, understandably, left when we started doing shots, and it wasn't much longer before Ric and Damon showed up. Jenna hated Damon, and after a few moments, Damon made it clear he wasn't going to be particularly friendly to Mason. I tried to ease the tension, but clearly, this barbecue wasn't going to be as fun and relaxing as the first ten minutes had been.

It didn't help that, every time I shared a moment with Mason, judgement absolutely radiated off of Damon. Lucky for me, I'd had a few years of practice ignoring those looks from him.

He'd told me today was a fact-finding mission, after all. And I was finding facts that pointed me towards liking Mason.

"I'm just saying, it doesn't take that long to set up Guitar Hero-"

"I will leave the party, Jenna," teased Mason, shooting her a smile as he plopped down on a loveseat in the living room next to me. "What else do we have? And by that, I mean literally anything else."

Jenna chucked a pillow at him, which Mason leaned into me to duck. I cackled, continuing to ignore the hell out of Damon staring at me from across the room.

"How about charades?" asked Alaric, bravely standing between Jenna and Mason even as Mason grabbed another pillow and cocked his arm back to throw it. "Or pictionary?"

"Pictionary sounds good to me!" Damon chimed in with an eagerness that made me incredibly suspicious. "I'll go get the board."

Low and behold, a few rounds later, Damon was using it to make ridiculously obvious werewolf references at Mason. The one silver lining was that Mason was as irritated with him as me, so we bonded a little as we gave him deadpan answers for things like Dances With Wolves as a pictionary clue. Jenna, the only one in the room completely out of the loop, also helped immensely by criticizing Damon's art every chance she got. I loved him, but he absolutely deserved every dig. Besides, his ego could take it.

After many rounds of various party games (although not Guitar Hero, at least not yet), we made our way to the table in the kitchen for some dessert. Elena and Caroline had left, which just left the adults. If Damon hadn't been dragging Mason into a pissing contest, it would've been the perfect party.

Alas, instead, Damon decided to continue to poke the bear, so to speak.

"Mason! Why don't you start us off," Damon said, bringing the pie to the table with a silver serving knife and setting it down directly in front of Mason. I sighed and rolled my eyes.

Mason looked at Damon, then turned the pie until the knife faced away from him before grabbing a slice with his bare hands. Damon and Ric shared a triumphant look.

"What?" said Mason, a slight edge to his tone as he stared right back at Damon. "I apologize. I'm an animal."

I shook my head, turning my attention to Jenna instead of the two of them staring each other down as she joined us at the table.

"So Mason, you and Jenna never dated?" asked Ric, apparently trying to break the tension between Mason and Damon. A valiant effort, but knowing Damon, I doubted he'd succeed.

"She was always lost in Logan Fell-land," Mason replied. Jenna huffed a laugh.

"Oh, my first mistake. Mason was a catch. He had girls lining up."

"Really?" said Damon, that fake-friendly tone in his voice that I knew meant trouble. "Huh. I always pegged you for a lone wolf."

"I'm sure I wasn't half the lady killer you were," Mason shot back without missing a beat. I snorted into my drink, completely failing to keep a smile off my face. Mason cut his eyes to me, the edge in his own smile fading for the briefest of seconds, before he looked back at Damon and raised his glass in toast. "To new friends."

He and Damon didn't take their eyes off each other once as we all clinked glasses and cheersed. When Damon kept doing his stare-down and looked ready to keep it up for the duration of pie, I kicked him under the table as hard as I could. He turned to glare at me, but their stare down was broken, and with Jenna's increasingly tipsy help we managed to turn things back into a mostly-friendly barbecue.

As the night went on, I found myself getting a new best friend in Jenna, with each joke she made and wink she shot in my direction when I sat particularly close to Mason. We moved back into the living room, sprawling on the couches with another round of beers. Jenna was much, much tipsier than I was, but I was having enough fun that I decided to lean into it more than I actually felt it. We cackled together as she told high school stories about Mason, then cheered like maniacs together when she finally pulled out Guitar Hero, against the protests of Mason and Ric.

"Alright, I'm gonna need another drink if we're really doing that," Mason sighed, a smile on his face all the same. He stood and headed into the kitchen, where I knew Damon was. I wanted to ignore it and get my literal groove on with Jenna, but I couldn't. I stood with a sigh and moved to follow him.

"Go get him girl!" Jenna called after me with a little 'whoop'! I whipped around, face burning, but she just grinned at me and winked. I shook my head, but found myself grinning back as I turned and left the room.

By the time I got to the kitchen, I could already hear Damon and Mason talking. Rather than interrupting to immediately change the topic or insert myself into the conversation, however, I decided to listen in. That way I could gauge just how hostile Damon and Mason were being to each other, and react accordingly.

"Come on, man, you don't think I know what this barbecue is about?" came Mason's voice.

"How do you know about me?" Damon, demanding, any of the fake-friendliness gone. "Your brother was completely clueless."

"It doesn't matter. I'm not your enemy, Damon."

"You tried to kill my brother." I fought back a scoff. That was a stretch, and we both knew it.

"That was a mistake."

"Really?"

"There was confusion. I couldn't chain myself up in time." Their voices had started coming closer, but I stayed put. "I have no control once I shift."

"What, no obedience school?"

"I'm serious. Let's not spark some age-old feud that doesn't apply to us."

"You expect me to believe that you're in Mystic Falls planting peace trees?"

"I lost my brother. My nephew lost his father. I'm here for my family."

And with that, I'd heard all I needed to hear. Damon, my best friend, as usual, was the aggressor. Thankfully, this time, it sounded like Mason might've made an argument that convinced him. We had bigger problems than one generally chill werewolf, after all.

I left, returning to Jenna and Ric and Guitar Hero. She smiled at me, clearly thinking I'd had a conversation with Mason I hadn't really had, and I leaned into it as she passed me a plastic guitar. Mason returned to the room a few moments later, followed by Damon. I ignored them both as I pretended to shred, and to both their credit, they cheered me on.

The rest of the party was a blast, with Mason much more relaxed after his conversation with Damon and Damon finally dropping all the stupid wolf jokes. Jenna and I acted ridiculous and had the time of our lives doing it, and whenever I wasn't shredding the imaginary guitar, Mason and I leaned against each other, laughing and talking the night away.

Finally, once I'd sobered up more and the sun had long-since gone down, and Jenna and I had finished half the songs on Guitar Hero, we wound up the party and all headed home. Damon stayed a moment longer to talk with Ric, so after giving Jenna a goodbye hug, I headed for my car without him. To my delight, Mason came with me, walking me to my car.

"You know, you're a little too good at Guitar Hero, I think," he said, bumping his shoulder into mine as we walked. I chuckled.

"And you're a little too ridiculously set against that game," I teased back. "What's the matter, you don't like fun?"

"I don't like watching Jenna butchering Black Sabbath. Watching you was... a little more fun."

I paused as we reached my car, smiling up at Mason with a glowing feeling in my chest. He smiled back at me, leaning against the front panel of my car.

"It was great getting to know you better tonight," I said, smiling at him and stalling the moment I'd actually have to leave. He grinned at me.

"You too. And I'd love to keep getting to know you better. Maybe at Volunteer Day tomorrow?"

"I was already planning on going, but it'll be much more fun with you there."

"Great." He flashed me a heart-stopping smile. "It's a date."

I was practically floating as I drove away, replaying the end of the night with Mason in my mind over and over again. The last time I'd felt anything like what I was starting to feel now... well, it hadn't ended well. I'd gotten Damon as a best friend out of it, which was a net positive no matter how much he annoyed me sometimes, but everything else had been an absolute nightmare. For the first time in three years, I found myself wanting to risk the heartache and get close to somebody in a non-friendship way again.

I'd been staying with Stefan and Damon since I got to town, and I expected a long lecture about 'flirting with the enemy' from Damon when I got home. But, blissfully, the house was empty. I wandered upstairs and fell into bed, thoughts of seeing Mason tomorrow letting me drift off with a smile on my face.

I should've known nothing in this town, in this world of supernaturals, could ever go that smoothly.

****************

The next morning, I woke up bright and early, unusually excited about Volunteer Day. A certain werewolf definitely had something to do with that, but thankfully, neither of the Salvatores was around on my way out to grill me about the grin on my face.

I'd gotten Mason's number last night, so I quickly shot off a text saying I was making a pre-volunteering coffee run and asking if he wanted anything. I took my time heading to my favorite coffee place, and the line was long enough that I waited at least ten minutes, but I didn't hear anything back from Mason.

I tried not to let it get to me as I ordered my usual, then an iced latte for Mason. Hopefully he would like it, and if he didn't, then at least it wouldn't go to waste, since I was always down for an iced latte.

I ended up arriving a little late to the event, but I wasn't complaining too much, since it meant I missed Carol Lockwood's speech. I scanned the crowd for Mason, then smiled when I noticed him under a newly-built picnic awning. Instead of smiling back, he looked away like he'd barely noticed me, continuing his conversation with Sheriff Forbes. I frowned.

I caught up to him walking away from the picnic awning, not too far into the newer part of the park that we were supposed to be fixing up today before its official opening. He walked quickly, and was apparently pretending not to notice me.

"Hey. Hey, Mason!"

He stopped and turned around with a frustrated sigh, his hands on his hips. The coffees lowered in my hands a little, and part of me suddenly wanted to run back the way I'd come from.

"What do you want?" he asked, none of the warmth or flirtiness from yesterday in his voice.

"I... brought you a coffee..." I said, holding it out to him slowly. He just stared at it. "Is something wrong?"

He huffed a humorless laugh. "That has to be a joke, right?"

"No, actually, it's not," I said, my temper flaring. "You're acting like a dick and I have no idea why, so-"

"You have no idea why?" He looked at me like he absolutely didn't believe me, and I just stared right back as I shook my head. Slowly, the anger fell from his face, to a more cautious confusion. "You don't know where your best friend, who you live with, went last night? Or what he did?"

"Oh God," I shook my head and dropped Mason's gaze, muttering to the leaves more than to him. "I knew I should've been worried when he didn't come home last night. Why can't he ever be out late for normal reasons?"

I sighed, shaking myself out of my thoughts and steeling my resolve as I looked at Mason again. The anger, at least, had gone from his face.

"I have no idea where Damon went or what he did last night," I said. "But... I feel like I should start by offering an apology on his behalf anyway? Maybe in the form of this iced latte I brought?"

Mason huffed a laugh and looked into the tree line, but I caught a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The relief washing through my body almost took me to my knees.

"Yeah, alright," he finally said, taking a few steps closer and taking the latte from me. He looked me up and down as he sipped it, holding my gaze for a few long moments afterwards. I didn't look away once. "Damon stabbed me with a silver knife last night."

My eyes went wide, and a second later, dropped to Mason's chest to scan for any lingering sign of injury. Thankfully, he seemed to be fine.

"I thought... I thought you guys made peace last night?" I finally asked, meeting Mason's eyes again once I was satisfied he was healthy.

"I thought so too. But apparently Damon doesn't want peace. Stefan started the morning out with a little extra threat today, too, to try to keep me from getting revenge."

I sighed heavily, closing my eyes and shaking my head. I could feel a headache coming on.

"I'm so sorry, Mason," I said. "Ugh, I wish you would've told me when it happened. Or that Damon would've mentioned his stupid little plan, or Ric-"

"Why? You think the Salvatores would listen to you telling them not to come after me? You think Damon would listen to that?"

"Damon is... well, he's a lot of things. But if I talk to him, he'll back off."

Mason raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I don't understand how you're friends with him. Except maybe a dangerous level of delusion. He doesn't care about anybody but his own agenda. I've barely known him a day and I can already see that."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, debating my options. I had some very good reasons for trusting Damon as much as I did, but I wasn't totally sure I wanted to get into them, especially not with someone I'd only recently met. But that someone was starting to become important to me. I sighed, then knocked back the rest of my iced coffee. Decision made.

"Alright, listen. I don't owe you an explanation or a justification of my relationship with Damon. But... I like you. A lot. So I want you to know, so you can maybe understand."

Mason nodded, his expression thankfully more curious and open than anything else. We moved a few more feet away from the rest of the volunteer activities happening behind us to sit on a bench together, and I tried not to let our proximity and touching knees distract me.

"Okay, so, in college... I dated this guy."

"Don't tell me it was Damon."

I made a face. "Uck! Never."

"Okay, good," Mason laughed. "Sorry, I promise that'll be my one and only interruption.

"Honestly, it's probably better that we got that cleared up right away. I love him very much, but I would absolutely never date him."

"Good."

Mason held my eyes for an extra second, a little bit of that flirty behavior returning, and I felt heat rising to my cheeks. I cleared my throat and tried to refocus.

"Anyway, I dated this guy for a while. He wasn't Damon, but he was a vampire. I'm a witch, as you know, and I was raised knowing about my powers and everything else, so I knew a good amount about the supernatural world. I actually had class with him—his name was Andy—my freshman year, and we sat next to each other. I clocked him as a vampire immediately, and I don't think he was used to that.

"I wasn't sure about him at first, what with the whole vampire thing, but... we saw each other a lot. Same classes, all that. He was always nice, and funny, and when he eventually asked me out, I said yes.

"I'll skip to the important part, but basically, we dated for three years. By the time we were graduating, I'd fallen head over heels in love. I knew what he was, I knew the thought of 'together forever' brought a lot of problems we'd have to work through, including whether I could stand to stop being a witch and whether I could live with the curse of immortality. But... I knew we'd figure it out, together. I was convinced he was the love of my life."

I took a deep, shaky breath, trying to brace myself for what came next. This was only the second or third time I'd gone through it in the few years since it'd happened. Mason, to his credit, stayed quiet, letting me take my time.

"Right around graduation, when we were supposed to be doing ridiculous Senior Week activities and getting rid of the last of our assignments, taking pictures and getting ready to walk... all the supernatural drama and danger you can imagine came crashing down on our heads. Brought to our doorstep by Andy."

I shook my head, angry at myself as much as at Andy as the memories replayed, as vivid as the day they'd happened.

"He'd gotten involved in some ridiculous scheme with some other vampires, trying to prove some lore was real or something, and they needed a powerful witch. Without asking, Andy had volunteered me. When I didn't want to help, he threatened me, and left me to the wolves—no pun intended, sorry—left me to the vampires when they tried to force me to help. Damon stepped in and stopped them.

"Don't get me wrong, I know it was a completely selfish move," I said, finally looking at Mason again. His eyebrows were furrowed, and he moved a little closer, stopping just short of putting us shoulder to shoulder. "He wanted to stop the plan and the ritual and the spell, it had nothing to do with helping me. But once Andy and everyone around us was dead... I just fell apart. Damon, for all he acts the bad guy, didn't ditch me. I've asked him a couple times and he always brushes it off like it was nothing, but... he saved me in more ways than one that night. Since then, we've had each others' backs. It's kind of a weird friendship, but he's put his own life on the line to protect me more than once since then. I've done the same. I trust him completely, for the things where it really counts."

Mason sighed through his nose, looking away from me finally to stare at the ground. I watched him, watched his eyes dart around as he thought, until he met my eyes again.

"I get it. The people that pick you up and carry you through stuff like that... it's a special kind of bond. If you have that with Damon... I get it." We held eye contact for a few more moments, a wordless heaviness passing between us, and then Mason grinned. "So, what you're saying is I count as the important stuff for you?"

I bit my lip and looked away, fighting a smile and quickly losing to it.

"I... yeah, I guess I am saying that."

Mason and I laughed and worked together for a while longer on our various cleanup duties, until he told me he needed to go do trash duty in the woods, since the Sheriff had asked him to. I gave him my empty latte cup as a start, watching him with a smile as he walked away.

I tried to busy myself with volunteer work, the thing I'd actually come here for today, to keep my mind from running wild about Mason. I only half-succeeded. I hadn't felt anything close to this for somebody since Andy, and it scared me and thrilled me at the same time. The needle pinged back and forth between the two, but when Mason came back out of the woods looking rumpled, guilty, and glancing over his shoulder, it jumped all the way to scared.

"Mason?" I called, hurrying over to him. He shook his head, trying to duck past me again, but when I put a hand on his arm he stopped. "What happened?"

"Y/N..."

"Mason, what happened?" I pulled my attention from him, quickly scanning the gathered volunteers and then doing it again. Damon and Stefan were nowhere to be found. "What happened?"

Mason met my eyes and hesitated. Then, finally, "They tried to kill me. In the woods. They surrounded me, and Damon told me he'd give me a running head start before they ripped my heart out of my chest."

Immediately, my eyes darted to the woods behind Mason, scanning for my best friend. Ready to stop him. Until Mason continued.

"They're not coming back."

My eyes snapped to his again. "Explain."

"I told the Sheriff what they were. She's taking care of it."

I sprang back from Mason like touching him had burned me. He winced, but didn't do anything else.

"Are you kidding me? After everything I told you, everything we talked about?"

"I didn't have a whole lot of choice, between them and death. Besides, I told the Sheriff before I talked to you."

"Mason, you should have told to me! I would've talked to them, I would've made sure they didn't go after you if I knew it was such a pressing thing! We could've figured out the issue with the Sheriff together! What were you thinking?"

"I'm sorry. But it was kill or be killed-"

"This! This is why I hate this supernatural shit!" My voice had risen to a yell, but I didn't care. We were far enough away from everyone that they probably still couldn't hear me. And what did it matter, anyway? The Council already knew. "This is why nobody ever finds any lasting peace or happiness in this stupid, ridiculous world. Everyone is so fixated on revenge and killing anyone they feel even remotely threatened by. If you'd come to me, I could've kept you safe. Instead, you might've just gotten my best friend killed."

My voice broke on the last word, and I pushed past Mason and started for the woods before he could catch me crying. Unfortunately, he caught my arm before I could get away and turned me to face him, immediately dropping his grip when I tried to pull away.

"I am sorry. I really am. But I didn't know they would follow me into the woods. And they were ready to kill me. When I saw the Sheriff's people over Stefan's shoulder, it seemed like my only way out. I'm sorry."

I took a deep breath, giving him a curt nod before turning again and taking off into the woods, hoping against hope I could get to Damon and Stefan before it was too late. Things had gotten so out of hand, so fast. All I could do was focus on putting out one fire at a time, and hope we all came out of this alive.

I started at the Lockwood cellar, but found it empty. The floor had fresh blood on it, though, and with a little magic I traced Damon and Stefan back to the Salvatore Boarding House. That felt like a good sign.

I pulled into the driveway and sprang out of my car, slamming the door to the house open. I could see Caroline passed out on the couch, which didn't entirely make me feel better as I sprinted up to Damon's room.

I slammed the door open without bothering to knock, only to come face to face with my best friend, unharmed, shirtless, and staring at me like I was insane.

"Don't you ever knock?" he demanded, sounding exasperated as he pulled his shirt over his head. A hysterical laugh bubbled out of me, and I rushed over to hug him.

"You're one to talk," I shot back, wrapping him tighter in my embrace as I did. After a second, his arms came around me too and squeezed back.

"What's wrong?" he asked. I shook my head.

"I thought... I thought you might be dead."

"Well, I'm not." Slowly, gently, he pulled away. He grabbed my arms, looking intently into my eyes for a few long moments. "I'm not. Alright?"

I nodded, the adrenaline fading and leaving exhaustion in its place. I plopped down on his bed as he moved to shut the door.

"Can't have you getting me all sappy in public and ruining my reputation," he explained. I huffed a laugh, but quickly sobered as he sat next to me. I watched him, neither of us speaking for a minute, until he raised an eyebrow. "So... was that it, or...?"

"You can't go after Mason anymore."

"What?" he cried, shooting up and glaring at me. "What the hell are you talking about? He tried to kill me today. The Sheriff is in our basement right now while we wait for the vervain to work through her system because he exposed us. That mutt is dead."

"No. Damon, no," I said, standing too as I spoke. A strange calm had washed over me, and I met Damon's wild eyes with it. "Not Mason."

"Oh, gross. Really? Him?" He raised his eyebrows and narrowed his eyes at me. "Besides being a werewolf, he's a surfer. Are you serious?"

"Damon, come on. Just let it go. Just this once, end the cycle of revenge. You stabbed him, Stefan threatened him, he exposed you to the Sheriff, you tried to kill him, he tried to kill you. You're even, sort of. Just let this one go."

"How about, instead... I kill him?" The inappropriate brightness in his tone usually just made me roll my eyes or sigh while still sort of endearing him to me, but not this time.

"No! Damon, I'm not joking! This isn't some stupid thing where you can just turn around and break promises and it's fine! I never draw a line in the sand, but I am this time! I haven't felt anything close to this, not once, since Andy. And I am not going through anything like that again! You were right the first time. I'm glad you killed Andy, you saved me doing it. But I don't ever want to live through that again. This time is different, he's different. And I know I haven't technically known him very long, but just... please. Not Mason."

Damon held my stare for a few long, long moments, assessing. I stared right back, leaving every single thing I felt clear as day on my face, an open book for him to read. Finally, he sighed and rolled his eyes, in that exaggerated way he did whenever he gave in.

"Fine. I promise I won't kill Mason."

"Or try to kill Mason?"

"Yes, alright? If you're that convinced he's different... then fine. This one's different."

I flung myself forward and wrapped my arms tight around his middle before he could stop me. He grunted and grumbled, but hugged me back after a second anyway.

"Thanks, Day."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just get out of here and get some sleep before someone catches me hugging you, alright?"

I pulled back with a grin. "Deal. Softie."

Damon narrowed his eyes at me, but I just cackled and bounced out of the room. It had been a long, stressful day, but things were looking up. Tomorrow, I'd talk to Mason. And this time would be different.

I passed out in bed as soon as my head hit the pillow. Today had been a long, emotional day, and I still had a few supernaturals to talk to tomorrow, since Stefan needed to be looped in too. I'd need all the rest I could get.

I got up the next morning a little later than I'd planned to, then dressed quickly to head over to the Lockwood's. I was helping set up for the upcoming masquerade ball, and I needed to talk to Mason. After getting coffee, of course.

As I headed down the stairs, I heard voices from the living room. I listened more closely as I approached, and I heard Damon say something like "this changes things" before they stopped at my arrival. I found Damon and Jeremy both looking at me like I'd interrupted something.

"Good morning..." I said, slowly reaching to retrieve my keys as I stared at them both suspiciously.

"Good morning," said Damon, flashing me a smile that didn't reach his eyes as Jeremy gave me a little nod.

"Everything okay in here...?"

"Completely."

I narrowed my eyes, glancing from Damon to Jeremy, then finally sighed.

"Alright, I have places to be and not enough willpower to involve myself in whatever this is. Just... don't do anything over the top stupid, alright?"

Both boys just gave little signs of acknowledgement as I slowly backed towards the door. I kept waiting for one of them to break, or for some obvious thing to jump out and catch my attention, but nothing came. I reached the door and finally turned my back on both of them, just hoping I wouldn't regret it.

I never got a moment of peace in Mystic Falls. Witch history and best friend or not, I might need to ditch this place sooner rather than later. Damon could come visit me somewhere with less supernatural drama.

This time, I only got one iced latte at the coffee shop before heading to the Lockwood's. As soon as I parked my car, I started scanning for Stefan, so I could talk to him and get him on the same page as Damon. The last thing I needed was the calmer Salvatore brother ruining the progress I'd made.

Thankfully, it didn't take me long to find him, or to convince him to leave Mason alone. He'd apparently only gotten on the same page as Damon about killing Mason after Mason had made a few threats of his own, and he said if I believed peace was still an option (especially one that I could sell Damon on), then he'd be happy to support me.

That left me with one last supernatural to work things out with. I had to do a few laps of the venue to find Mason, even though it was sort of his house. I finally managed to track him down outside, by a big pond a little distance away from the rest of everyone. He gave me a small smile when he saw me coming.

"What? No coffee for me today?"

"Coffee is only for people who haven't tried to kill my friends in the last twenty-four hours." The smile immediately dropped off Mason's face, his whole demeanor sobering.

"Look, Y/N-"

"Lucky for you, that timer expires tomorrow," I continued. "So... if we get roped into a third volunteer thing in three days, you can count on coffee for that."

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth again, this time a little more cautious.

"Does that mean we're okay?"

I took a deep breath, then nodded.

"As I'm sure you've noticed, Damon and Stefan are alive. I've talked to both of them. They both agreed to drop it. The three of you have done a bunch of mutual threatening and murder-attempting in the past forty-eight hours, and Damon understands that this is one of those important things he can't just brush off. They're willing to make peace, and actually mean it, from now on. For me. Can you do the same?"

Mason frowned and looked away, his eyes scanning the grass, pond, trees, and everything else while he thought. He shook his head, presumably to himself, then finally met my eyes again. He squared his shoulders, and through all of the emotions I'd experienced from him since I'd met him, he'd never been this serious.

"Yeah. Yeah, I can do the same. I don't want to get killed by a vampire, or get mixed up in trying so hard to kill one, let alone two. If they back off, for real... I'm happy to do the same."

I smiled, not as bright and full of joy as the first few times Mason and I had spent time together, but just a little ray of hope shining through after the storm I'd just weathered.

"Thank you."

He nodded, then that easy smile that had gotten a special place in my heart so quickly returned.

"So... this masquerade stuff, there's a ton of people here to help with it. Do you want to go for a walk instead?"

"I'd love that."

We took our time doing a full lap around the pond at turtle-speed, laughing and talking the entire time. We eventually did rejoin the rest of the workforce, but I didn't mind it as much as I thought I would. We sorted masks and hung decorations together, which made it better. Mason even gave me a better introduction to his nephew, Tyler, who I'd only vaguely known before.

"Hey, pay attention," teased Mason, nudging me with his shoulder as we stood together, untangling a frankly ridiculous amount of lights with Tyler's help.

"I can't," I whined. "I'm falling asleep at the wheel. One coffee isn't even close to enough caffeine to wake me up."

"I could go on a coffee run," he suggested. I turned to him with wide eyes and an exaggerated gasp.

"You would be my hero forever."

He laughed. "Alright, alright, I'm on it. I'll take any excuse to get away from these lights. Ty, you want anything?"

"Sure. Black coffee."

"Alright. I'll be back in a few."

I smiled after him as he jogged up the lawn, only looking away when he finally disappeared from sight. As I turned back to the lights, I found Tyler staring at me with a raised eyebrow. I cleared my throat.

"You really like him, don't you?"

I sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, I really do."

Tyler nodded, first to me then to himself, as he returned to working on the lights. I watched him for a minute, then continued.

"I know we don't actually know each other that well, so this might be over the line, but... I can tell he really cares about you. He talks about you a lot. I think he'd walk through fire for you. And I think he'd want you to know that."

Tyler glanced up at me, jaw tight, but he nodded all the same. He muttered a "thanks", and then we went back to our work, mostly in silence except for long strings of expletives for this Gordian Knot of a light string.

The glowing happiness in my chest kept me going without the coffee for a while, until I started to notice just how long it had been since Mason left. Tyler had moved on due to frustration with the lights, and now stood across the lawn, but Mason was nowhere to be found. Even if the line had been out the door, he should've been back by now.

I scanned the crowd again, looking for a few specific people and only finding one of them. Stefan was still here, but Damon and Jeremy were conspicuously missing. I started walking to Stefan, picking up the pace when I noticed Bonnie missing too.

"Stefan," I said, my heartbeat pounding in my ears as I tried to keep my panic under control. "Where is Damon?"

"Listen, you have to stay calm, alright-?"

"No, not alright! Where is Damon? Or, actually, no. Where is Mason?"

"He's dating Katherine. Bonnie touched him, and she had a vision about him. He's got the moonstone, and he's with her. He's been lying to all of us. Things have changed since this morning."

"Things have- fuck. That's exactly what Damon was saying to Jeremy this morning," I shook my head, mentally kicking myself for not putting the pieces together faster. "Where are they, Stefan?"

"Did you not hear me? He's working with the enemy-"

"Stefan Salvatore. I will ask you one more time, and then it'll be my turn to cross some fucking lines. Where. Are. They."

Stefan watched me for a moment, considering. Then, finally, he said, "They're at the boarding house."

I barely waited for him to finish his answer before I took off running. My lungs burned as I raced through the people swarming around Lockwood Manor, towards where I'd left my car. Apparently, Damon had decided that Bonnie's vision of Mason and Katherine, whatever else it meant, gave him a pass to change the rules. To break the promise he made to me last night. Which meant, if I didn't move fast enough, I might never see Mason again.

I flung myself into the driver's seat of my car, then took off for the Salvatore Boarding House. I barely managed to stay on the right side of 'safe driver', and made it there in record time. I screeched to a stop in front of the house, and as soon as I stepped out of my car, I heard Mason scream from inside. My heart dropped to my feet as I raced forward, flung the door open, and rushed inside.

I could see Damon hovering over someone, presumably Mason, in a chair with it's back to me. Jeremy hovered off to the side, looking horrified but refusing to do something or leave. I shoved past Jeremy roughly, flinging out my arms and using a burst of magic to send Damon flying into the nearest wall and away from Mason.

"What is WRONG with you?" I cried, raging at Damon, feeling an anger like I'd never felt towards my best friend before. "Did everything we talked about mean nothing to you? I know you have some crazy need to do everything the violent way, and I've never let it get to me before, but you've also never backstabbed me before! How could you do this to me?"

"You don't understand-"

"I understand perfectly."

With one last shove of my magic at Damon, I whirled around to look at Mason. He was bound to a chair from the dining room, covered in his own blood, a hopeless, broken look in his eyes. I tried not to break with him as I dropped to my knees and started working to untie him.

"It's okay, it's okay," I said, talking to keep myself calm as much as to keep Mason calm. "Don't worry, I got you."

Mason didn't respond, and I spared a glance up at him to see him watching me, his face contorted in pain. I did my best to speed up, but it was harder to work the ropes and chains with how badly my hands were shaking.

"He's in love with Katherine," came Damon's voice from behind me. There was no fight or victory in his words, and I still trusted him enough to leave my back to him, even as I ignored him. "He told me himself before you came in. He doesn't love you, he loves her. Like every other poor sucker she's brainwashed and ditched over the years."

I huffed a breath through my nose as I finally managed to remove the last of Mason's restraints, then stood to face Damon. He was still a good distance away, not threatening, just watching. Posture relaxed, face pressed into a concerned frown. Jeremy stood over his shoulder, watching us like a tennis match.

"Is that supposed to make me willing to let you torture and kill him?"

Damon shrugged, an insufferable look that I knew very, very well crossing his face.

"This isn't a joke, Damon. Just because you get some new information doesn't mean everything we talked about last night ceases to be important. You should have talked to me. Like a rational person! Not done... this," my voice broke a little on the final word as I pictured Mason again, those empty eyes that had been so full of light and joy before. "Tell me something. If I hadn't shown up... were you going to kill him?"

Damon looked away, and I had my answer. I snorted, then turned to help Mason stand, slinging one of his arms over my shoulder. He was incredibly heavy, and he wasn't strong enough to be much help either, but I could manage.

"I would've been doing him a favor," Damon finally said, calling after me as I helped Mason limp towards the door. "I've been where he is. I know what it's like to be lost in Katherine land. There's no hope for him."

I just raised my middle finger back at him as we continued to the door. I didn't look back as the front door shut behind me and I loaded Mason into the passenger seat of my car, then climbed into the driver's seat. I started the engine, but just kept staring straight ahead, a thousand different thoughts and noises racing around in my mind all at once. I tried to focus on one, to process things slowly, but I couldn't. So, I forced all of it out, instead keeping my eyes locked on the road ahead and pretending nothing else existed. I could do that, just long enough to get out of here.

Mason didn't speak, move, or make a sound for the entire drive back to the Lockwood house. It wasn't the safest place for him, but I didn't know where else to take him. I stayed silent, too, focusing entirely on trying to fight the wave of everything threatening to crash over me in the middle of evening traffic.

Thankfully, when we got back to the Lockwood house, all the volunteers had gone. I helped Mason out of the car, then continued to be his crutch as we limped through the front door. He broke his silence long enough to point me towards his room, and I helped him up the stairs and through the door. As gently as possible, I helped him ease down on the bed. His super-healing would fix the physical injuries fairly quickly all things considered, but Damon had spent the afternoon torturing him. That wasn't as easy to get past.

"Are you okay?" I finally asked. I knew it was a stupid question, especially with everything else floating around in my head, but I needed to know what he'd say. To gauge how close he might be to okay.

Mason sighed and ran a hand through his hair, refusing to meet my eyes.

"I'm fine. Or at least... I guess I will be."

I nodded. "I'm glad." And I meant it.

Mason huffed another heavy, heavy sigh, then finally looked up at me.

"Thank you. For saving me."

"Yeah, of course. I... I'm sorry I was wrong. That Damon went right back to... that."

Mason waved me off, rubbing the back of his neck and staring holes in the carpet. The silence hung between us, and I took a shuffling step backwards before deciding I couldn't leave without a few answers, even if Mason clearly felt like shit.

"Is it true?" I asked, still hovering by the doorway. Mason flinched, and I knew he knew what I meant, but I continued anyway. "What Damon and Stefan said... are you with Katherine?"

Mason grimaced and ducked his head, not meeting my eyes. I took a few more steps across the room towards him.

"Mason. Please answer me."

He huffed a hollow laugh, then looked up at me, pain written all over his face.

"I'm sorry."

I shook my head. This time, it was my turn for the hollow laugh.

"I'm so, so sorry. I was trying to help her. I... I love her. Or at least, I did... I thought she loved me too..."

"Katherine doesn't love anybody," I spat, my voice full of venom. "I watched Damon wrestle with that realization for a few years. Did she ever tell you? She played him and Stefan against each other, dated and toyed with them both in 1864. Escaped from being trapped with twenty-six other vampires and never looked back, all while she let Damon chase after her, knowing full well he was trying to find a way to save her from a trap she wasn't in. For almost a hundred and fifty years. She's ditched and killed and betrayed everyone she's ever been with, Mason. Think about that long and hard before you really decide to stick with her."

With that, I turned on my heel, the first tears starting to fall as I wrenched the door open. It slammed closed again before I could get through it, and I turned to find Mason standing before me, one arm extended to keep the door shut. He looked torn and pained, even more so when he noticed the tears I failed to hold back.

"I need you to know... it was real. I wasn't... faking it, or whatever, all those times we hung out. I... really do like you." I scoffed, but he continued before I could tell him off. "It's just... Kath was there for me after I triggered my curse. My friend kept coming at me, trying to beat me up because he thought I was sleeping with his girlfriend, which I wasn't. I pushed him too hard, and he fell, and... and he died. I killed him. That same night was the first night I transformed. Kath was there for me then, and for every minute after. She's... my Damon."

"Ha!" I shouted, shoving Mason's chest and pushing him back with all the force I could muster. He stumbled back more than a few steps, apparently still weak from whatever Damon had done. "Don't you ever, ever compare them. Damon sucks, and does bad things that hurt the people he cares about. Don't think I don't know that. But the difference is, he actually has people he cares about.

"And before you go running back to Katherine, after I saved your life, you should really think Mason: Katherine wants the moonstone. You got her the moonstone. If she knew you could get it for her, then what might she have done to make you want to get it for her?"

Mason shook his head, slowly at first and then faster and faster.

"No. No, she can't compel me. I know she can't."

"Sure. But I bet she could compel your friend. I mean, did you ever figure out why he thought you'd gone after his girlfriend? Or why he wouldn't listen to you or to reason, just came at you until you were forced to defend yourself? The best way to make you do her dirty work for her was to give you a vested interest in getting the moonstone. What better way than a ray of hope to try to break your new curse?"

Mason sat down hard on his bed, head in his hands and shaking. I opened the door again, never taking my eyes off of Mason, my heart shattering in my chest.

"Think long and hard about the truth and who you can actually trust, Mason. Following Katherine will only lead you down a road of pain and death."

With that, I turned on my heel and walked out of the room. This time, nobody stopped me. And I didn't look back.

I got in my car and drove, no destination in mind, trying to process. I'd been falling for Mason, hard, and he'd betrayed me. Damon, who I'd always been able to count on, had done the same. Everything had come crumbling down in less than an hour.

I didn't go back home, to the Salvatore house, until sunrise the next morning. I'd stayed out all night, wandering aimlessly with my car, driving around and slowly working through everything. And when I walked through the doors of the boarding house again, I'd found a new clarity.

"Hey." Damon stood in the hallway, arms crossed and looking concerned. I gave him a weak smile.

"Hey."

"...Everything okay?"

"No. No it's not. You crossed a line, Damon, and even if you never crossed it again... the supernatural drama just doesn't stop. So I'm done with it."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm leaving. I'm leaving Mystic Falls, and everything that comes with vampires and werewolves and even witches, before it destroys me. It's not worth it. I booked a flight to San Diego on my phone a few hours ago."

Damon tried to convince me to stay, but I wasn't hearing it. I'd made up my mind, and now, I wasn't changing it. He hovered as I packed my bags, my anger still simmering but fading now that I'd spent time processing. By a little after noon, I was ready to go.

"Are you sure I can't convince you to stay?" Damon finally asked as I stood on the threshold of the house, my bags already loaded into the car.

"I'm sure. I meant what I said, Day, I'm done with this stuff. But I'll make you a deal."

"...And what kind of deal would that be?"

"Don't kill Mason, and you're welcome to visit me any time."

Damon scowled. "All that, and you're still protecting him?"

I shrugged. "I'm over it, all the death. And I think Mason might be having a wakeup call of his own now. Just... please, Damon. Consider this a second chance. Don't kill Mason. Or torture him, or hurt him. No matter what you learn, or how the circumstances change. He's off limits."

Damon just looked at me for a long, long moment before finally nodding, slowly.

"Fine. And if he asks where you went?"

"You can tell him. I don't think he's gonna chase me all the way to San Diego, especially not if he's still hung up on Katherine like you said he is. And like I said... feel free to come visit. Or call whenever."

Damon nodded once, lips pursed in a tight line. I gave him a smile and a little salute before turning and climbing into my car. I took one last breath to steel myself, then turned the key and left Mystic Falls in the dust behind me.

****************

Two and a Half Months Later

I smiled from the porch of my new house (really closer to a shack) on the beach as I sipped my morning coffee. Watching the waves crash over the shore in the early morning light had become my routine, and I swear my blood pressure had dropped beyond belief as a result.

I hadn't had any supernatural visitors yet, but I knew it'd only be a matter of time. Despite everything, I hoped it would be Damon. There were a lot of things I didn't miss about living in the same sphere as him every day, but it had been nice to be so close to my best friend, even if he was a jackass a lot of the time.

Once the sun was a little higher in the sky and my mug was empty, I went back into the kitchen. The house had a thousand projects, and I'd only just started on the first one or two. I'd been doing those mostly by myself too, with little magical help, and it was nice. I could feel a little bit more of myself in this place with every change I made.

I set my mug in the sink and started to grab eggs out of the fridge when I heard a knock on the door. I wandered over to open it, then stopped dead when I saw who was on the other side.

Mason Lockwood. Iced latte in hand and a sheepish grin on his face.

"Hey," he said, holding out the coffee as a sort of offering. "I, uh... I hope it's okay that I'm here. Damon told me where you'd moved to, and I figured he'd never tell me if it wasn't alright with you. Even then. Honestly, I half expected to open this door and find an axe murderer or a random old man."

Despite myself, I snorted a laugh, and a small smile tugged its way onto my face. I reached out and took the coffee.

"It's good to see you," I said, and meant it. "I'm glad you're okay. Honestly, I think Damon probably sent you here as proof that he didn't kill you. I told him that was a condition of him being invited into my house."

This time, a small smile made its way onto Mason's face. We just looked at each other for a few minutes, hopeful smiles and an electric energy snaking between us, until I finally cleared my throat and took a half-step to the side.

"Do you... want to come in?"

Mason smiled, somehow still looking slightly pained.

"I... can't." I raised an eyebrow, and he rushed to continue. "I'd love to, for the record. It's just... I might've dragged Tyler out of Mystic Falls with me. And he might be waiting in the car."

For the first time, I glanced over Mason's shoulder to see Tyler sitting in the front seat of Mason's Bronco, arms crossed as he pointedly didn't look at us. I laughed.

"That's why it took me so long to get here," Mason continued. "You were right about Katherine. About everything, really. When I ditched her... she compelled a friend of Tyler's to get him to trigger the curse. Like she did to me."

My eyes widened in horror, and I took a step forward to rest my hand on Mason's arm before glancing over his shoulder again.

"Oh my God. Is he okay?"

Mason shrugged. "As okay as he can be. We're figuring it out. But I needed to stay to make sure he was okay, and that Katherine and the other supernaturals didn't get him killed. A lot went down after you left, but... we made it. So did Damon and Stefan. But we needed to get out, so I convinced Carol to let me take Ty for a little while."

I nodded. "I'm glad you did. Do you guys have a place to stay?"

"Yeah. I actually got a place down the beach from here," he said, blushing a little as he glanced away and rubbed at the back of his neck. "We just got into town, and I might've dragged Tyler here first without warning."

I laughed, then stepped fully out of my house, shutting the door behind me. Mason smiled, and my heart raced at our newfound proximity. I decided to let that impulse win and leaned up to give him a soft kiss on the cheek.

Mason looked shocked as I pulled away, then grinned a wolfish grin (pun intended) as he swept me into his arms and kissed me, for real. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back, hard, completely indulging for a few long seconds before pulling back.

"Tyler's in the car," I said. I was a little breathless and smiling like an idiot, an expression Mason shared.

"He's fine, I left the window cracked."

My laugh was muffled as Mason leaned in and kissed me again, but this time I pulled away fairly quickly.

"I love that you're making vague dog jokes now, but I really don't want him to have to just sit there while we make out on my porch. Let me help you guys get settled in your new place, and then maybe we can go on a real date tonight?"

Mason beamed at me, pulling me close to his side and resting his forehead against mine.

"Sounds like a plan."

He gave me one last peck on the lips, then took my hand and tugged me down the stairs after him. I laughed, feeling freer and lighter than I had in a long time, as I opened the back door of his car and Mason hopped back in the driver's seat.

"Hey Tyler," I chirped. "It's nice to see you again."

"Yeah. Hi."

I caught Mason's eye in the rear view mirror, fighting and almost failing to hold back a laugh. His blue eyes sparkled like the ocean on a beautiful, clear day, and somehow I just knew we were at the start of something special and wonderful. Call it a witch's intuition, but I felt good about what the future held for me and Mason in San Diego.

****************

TVD Taglist: @elenavampire21

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filthforfriends · 5 months

Text

Chapter 19: Northern Lights

Author's Note

Word count: 8.2k

Read the rest here!

Operating on autopilot, you brush your teeth while a sense of existential dread settles just under your sternum. It's heavy, asphyxiating. Today was gonna be hard. Largely because you weren’t allowed to have a hard day since it’d been Damiano that had a crisis: relapse. He needed your support and you’re pondering the extent of this responsibility when the drug test on the back of the toilet catches your eye. Somehow, you’d forgotten about it.

Negative for everything. Except marijuana, which Dami had already disclosed. Overwhelmed, you slide down to the floor with your back against the wall. You didn’t feel anything. Not relief, nor anger. Not even disappointment. Stranger than numbness was the urge to cry when your eyes won’t even tear up. Standing upright then spitting out the foamy toothpaste, you stare at your reflection. Cry. If you’re gonna do it, do it. Because after this you need to be strong. So cry. Fucking cry. The tears don’t come. Your dry eyes burn, and despite sleeping relatively well, you look drained of life force.

In the name of coping mechanisms, you devote an extra five minutes to a makeup look that always makes you feel put together and pretty. Today it comes off as clownish. The blush is too intense and the eye shadow garish. There isn’t enough time to take it off and start again so you avoid looking in the mirror and shift focus to getting dressed. One thing at a time. Pairing this mantra with caffeine will likely be the only force propelling you through today. One thing at a time still feels like more than you could handle, but not functioning wasn’t an option, either. Your chest tightens.

“Hey, goodmorning.” Damiano’s voice startles you. He typically got up around when you left for work.

“Shit! What time is it?”

“It’s 8:07, don’t worry.” Dami harshly clears his throat twice, trying to get rid of his gravelly morning voice. It's almost an accurate replication of normalcy, except he won’t look at you. Damiano begins making espresso and his eyes briefly dart in your direction.

“What do you want for breakfast?” The moment’s cognitive dissonance is truly formidable.

“I –” Obviously he was trying to make last night up to you. Should you accept? Do you even want to?

“I – no! No. You – we’re not just gonna skip to this part.” He looks so fucking wounded, a kind of woundedness that can only be achieved when you’re not expecting the pain. Only visible for a second, then he hides it. Still, you’re in agony.

“You – I need…I – don’t do that! Don’t make that fucking face at me. It’s been less than 12 hours and we were sleeping most of them. How can you reasonably expect me to have processed last night in less than 12 hours?”

“You’re right, it's not fair. I guess that I –”

“If you know it's not fair then why are you so fucking destroyed over it!? I can’t –” You stare out the window, thanking whatever cosmic entity may be that you can’t cry right now.

“I’m sorry.”

“No!” Your voice comes out high pitched and guttural in anguish. “No, don’t –” You stamp your foot. It was a childhood habit that you loathed, but still made an appearance in moments of emotionally charged exasperation.

“I’m sorry. I was just, I was just…” He trails off, staring at the floor. You stomp across the apartment and briefly strangle him in a hug. Dami is so surprised that by the time he embraces in return, you’re pulling away, keeping your gaze fixed on the chipped corner of the kitchen cabinets. Because meeting his eyes up close, even for a millisecond, might be more than you can bear. With a large step back, you attempt verbal communication.

“Don’t apologize for having an emotional reaction.”

“I’m sorry for relapsing.”

“That you can apologize for.” Next you stare at the catch all basket by the door and feel your face heat up. “I just can’t take you looking so devastated over me not wanting to play house right now.” Had you not demanded last night that he disclose the hardship of Substance Abuse Disorder to you? This morning he does so for all of two nanoseconds and you react like this.

“No, I’m sorry. I take it back.” Of what you can see out of the corner of your eye, Dami’s expression is perplexed.

“You take what back?”

“That reaction. I want to know what you’re genuinely feeling right now. I want to support you through this.” You steel yourself before meeting his eyes, but Dami is, again, intent on staring at the ground. He presses his lips together while rapidly shaking his head.

“What?”

“You shouldn’t be, ugh…” Damiano sighs heavily. In the background, the water boils audibly. He returns to his task of making espresso while crafting a sentence. One hand is braced against the counter. It's the same hand that caressed the bare skin of your stomach last night. What the fuck had you been thinking? Even while disparaging yourself, you can feel how sturdy and reassuring and loving Damiano’s body was as it lay behind you. He couldn’t have pulled you any closer without undressing. And it felt so natural.

“You shouldn’t be consoling me. I’m the only one that should be apologizing, even if you’re angry, if you yell at me, whatever. And you don’t, ugh…” Dami uses the hand not bracing to gesticulate. “Supporting me through relapse doesn’t mean not being pissed at me. I – that reaction,“ he points towards the bathroom, “was perfectly fine. It was fine. I just wasn’t sure how to acknowledge what happened and be like ‘oh, hey! Sorry I relapsed. Can I make you breakfast? Not in I’m-making-amends-through-this-gesture-and-if-you-accept-I-will-expect-it-to-count-towards-my-forgiveness kinda way, but in a I’m-up-and-want-to-do-something-nice- for-you kind of way.” You take a beat to think and settle on meeting him in the middle.

“I will take an omelet and a double, please.”

“Okay.” He sighs in relief and sort of smiles. Also inhaling deeply for the first time since probably yesterday, you return your focus to getting ready. When selecting a pair of shoes, the safe at the bottom of the closet is a reminder to give Dami back his phone and keys. The memory of the night before comes crashing down; his suicidal ideation, how tortured he was by self-hatred. You end up on all fours, studying the scratched floor of your closet while weathering this rat’s nest of emotions.

You’d let Dami back into your life knowing relapse was inevitable and deciding it was an inevitability you were prepared for. However, he’d been so even keel since coming home that it made yesterday jarring as a reality check.

“Hey, um,” he knocks on your bedroom door, tone uncertain.

“Come in.” You don’t feel short of breath until your voice comes out as such. Dami slowly opens the door, holding your plate and espresso.

“You okay?”

“Just getting your stuff out of the safe.”

“Oh.” Awkwardly, he steps out of the room and turns his back. You’re so caught up that, on the first try, you enter in the wrong code. The safe beeps abrasively and a small light at the top of the keypad flashes red. On the second try you make a point not to be frantic and get it right.

“Okay, here you go.” The metal door of the safe slams shut. Your nervous system is so fried that you jump, heartbeat skipping.

“Right.” Damiano swivels, both hands occupied with your breakfast just as both of your own hands are occupied with his belongings. In disjointed gestures you try to exchange the items before realizing it's physically impossible.

“Let's set it on the dining room table.”

“Right, yes. Good idea.” You cringe at the silence following Damiano putting the dishes down. “Um…okay, so now you will be late if you don’t leave soon, actually,” he calls from the kitchen.

“Shit!” You pull on your most well-worn pair of boots. Even scurrying around the apartment, they omit a sophisticated click each time the sole collides with the flooring. Upon making it to the door, you look back to see Dami sitting at the table and eating. In front of your empty chair is the untouched omelet and full cup of espresso he’d so tenderly made for you. The scene was reminiscent of a date night. As if he’d cooked dinner for two, then been stood up. So Damiano was left to eventually eat his meal all alone, after accepting you wouldn’t show. Cold food and wondering what he’d done wrong.

Dami isn’t reading into the moment at all. His down-turned eyes are preoccupied with his phone, but his words from last night are still fresher than a wound needing stitches. The phrase “do you a favor and throw myself off the roof” is running through your head on repeat, even when you try to direct your thoughts elsewhere. In fact, Damiano was standing almost exactly where you are now when he’d said it.

“Are you gonna be okay?” Your voice comes out frail and shaking, so much so that Dami’s head snaps up.

“Yeah, sweetheart, I’ll be fine.” Sweetheart. He misses the slip-up because he’s preoccupied by concern, setting his fork down to examine you. “I’m just gonna treat it like any other day: eat this, work out, go to treatment.” Unable to feel your face, but aware that this is an appropriate time to nod, you consciously perform the gesture. “I mean, obviously, I don’t feel good right now, but I’ll be okay. A lot of rehab was focused on getting back on the wagon, so to speak.”

“‘Kay.”

“Like, I hate myself right now, but I’m not gonna throw my sobriety away and go on a bender or something. Because I know that ultimately I’ll end up feeling so much shittier. Try not to worry.” He smiles in good humor: knowing, gentle, calm. “I’m sure you will anyways, but you don’t need to.” The difference in Damiano’s temperament since devoting himself to treatment is suddenly so evident. His chest isn’t puffed out with bravado, speaking from the perspective that he’s less fallible than your typical mortal. He’s not manic, you realize.

“You’re sure?” Dami’s conciliatory expression is brimming with empathy.

“Yes, my love,” he placates, then catches himself. “Erm – y/n, sorry. Basically, I…I’ve examined my behavior a lot. Not just in the sense of hurting people, but also – I’m totally springing this on you, so I’ll skip to the point. As a person, I am done behaving that way, okay? So you’ll go to work; I’ll go to therapy where they’ll probably treat me like a pipe bomb. Then we’ll complain about how shitty our days were while eating takeout.” After the alarming way he’d spoken last night, it was a relief to hear Damiano genuinely sound like himself. The steady, resilient version of himself that predated addiction and the omnipresent hysteria.

You’d been holding out for it, gazing into the sky every night as if searching for the Northern Lights. Damiano acting like the man you fell in love with again – despite the incognizance with which he did so – was worthy of exactly this display. Opulent shades of violet and greens so electric they become yellow hurtling across a midnight canvas with the abandon of a child first learning to dance.

“Are you okay?” You’re about to say yes, out of habit, then realize that you could choose honesty over politeness and admit that the answer is no. But what’s the result? Being late for work and, in the process, interrupting Damiano’s routine. He needed the control and predictability his schedule offered, now more than ever. Allowing him to expend even an ounce of this precious resilience on comforting you was downright irresponsible. Dangerous, even, because you had no idea how much tranquility the day’s events would require.

But it wasn’t that simple. Concealing your emotions had previously fueled communication failures which contributed to breaking up. Logically, mending things meant doing the opposite. Damiano’s simple question left you to choose between his sobriety and your relationship. The choice was obvious. You’d made it before. It was the exact choice presented to you at the time of the breakup. An event from which you feel so far removed, that it might have happened in a past life. Simultaneously, in this moment, the pain is fresh enough to sting, as if it was merely yesterday that your heart was mercilessly cleaved in two. You want to scream, out loud, how the fuck did we end up here again?

“Y/n?” He cocks his head then his eyebrows furrow. You remind yourself that Damiao is not your boyfriend. You cannot expect him to provide the level of comfort and support a primary partner would. If you needed it, then too fucking bad, you’d have to get it elsewhere. This was a decision you made, a boundary you’d set. Because a stronger version of the fragile girl quivering by the front door knew that Damiano solely focusing on his own wellbeing was necessary for his sobriety. So you try to pull it together and decide on reaching out to Sam during lunch break. They had the wisdom of someone twice their age with the inner serenity to match.

“Hey.” Damiano stands upright, rounding the corner of the table. The sound of the chair legs against the floor makes you flinch, breaking your train of thought. Holding a hand out, you stop Dami from approaching.

“I feel guilty for not having time to eat the breakfast that you made me. I really don’t want to start out today with you feeling rejected or lonely and end up reaching for substances to cope.”

“I don’t feel rejected and just the thought of liquor makes me nauseous, right now.”

“Liquor…you know liquor isn’t the only thing I’m worried about.”

“Well, frankly, the other stuff is a lot harder to get, especially if you’re not willing to poison yourself. It's also fucking expensive in Rome, so I’d have to be carrying around a fuck ton of cash and look." Damiano picks his wallet up from the table and opens it. The only currency that falls out are some coins and a two dollar bill Victoria gave him for good luck. “The fuck am I gonna get with this?” He holds it up, almost grinning until he examines your features and realizes that this has been the opposite of reassuring. Dami immediately picks up on turmoil brewing beneath the surface, but little does he know that it’s more like a cataclysm.

“You’re thinking about it.” It's a struggle to force the words out, like your body doesn’t want them to be true.

“Last night I was, yeah.” He admits it quietly, but his whole demeanor changes. Dami felt triumphant a moment ago, for not using drugs, not giving himself the means to acquire drugs. Instead of validating his achievement, you’d disregarded his triumph and replaced it with a profound feeling of defeat. It was quite literally the worst thing you could have done.

“And I know it – that I, um…” Dami sighs, nervously switching his weight back forth. “God damn it. So last night was one of my lowest moments and I really, really fucking wish you weren’t there to see it because it's not representative of who I am or how I feel. What I – baby, those were just thoughts. They were just thoughts, I promise.” His voice is so fond that your heart hurts. “I don’t ever plan on acting on them. I’m not gonna hurt myself. I know I really scared you when I said –”

“Mm mm!” You gesture for him to stop talking while squeezing your eyes shut and turning away. The urge to cry creates pressure in your throat, but the tears won’t come. So it feels like you might choke or be sick.

“Take a deep breath,” Damiano coaches after falling silent for a moment. You comply, grounding yourself via powerful inhales through your nose, exhaling out of your mouth. It was adjacent to a breathing technique you’d learned in yoga. The feeling mostly passes.

“Okay. I can’t talk about this right now.”

“Of course.”

“I want to talk about it. I will talk about it. I just need…”

“Time to process.” He finishes your thought after observing several seconds of you staring at the ceiling, searching for the right words.

“Yes. All I want in the entire world right now is for you to focus on yourself. Get stable, do things that make you happy. Don’t worry about me.”

“...okay.” Damiano scrunches his nose up while slowly turning away, as if he’s biting back the words he’d like to say.

“Okay.” You pick up your keys and double check that you haven’t forgotten your phone. “So, I’ll see you –”

“I am worried. About you, I am worried.” The silence hangs over your heads like a noose. “You’ve got so much going on internally that I can’t read you. We’ve been together for so long that it’s really unsettling.” You’re at a loss for how to respond. “You used to be so forthright with me. Like absolutely transparent until…until things started going downhill.” Dami shoves his hands in his pockets, shoulders raised in a defensive gesture. “And I want to take things at your speed. I want to fucking – to be transparent with you. But you, you…” He sighs heavily and relaxes, turning his gaze towards the window where morning light is seeping in.

“What?”

“I know we said we would wait until things weren’t so in flux, which –” he laughs bitterly.. “Which, god damn, I somehow made worse last night.” Damiano’s eyes return to the floor, where the big toe of his right foot is nervously tracing the seams. “I think, for my sanity, we need to look at the R.A.S. again and really talk.” R.A.S. is an abbreviation for what has been dubbed the Relationship Anarchist Smorgosboard – essentially a map of all possible relationship components. Often, polyamorous folks – yourselves included – used it as a tool to precisely define everyone’s desires and expectations. For you and Dami, the topic of non-monogamy actually resulted from discussions about relationship anarchy. So the request isn’t the issue. It's productive and healthy, even considering the metric ton of emotional labor. The strain with which Dami says “for my sanity” however, makes you nervous.

“Yeah, okay, uh…”

“Fuck me,” he groans, rubbing his face harshly. “Maybe I don’t wanna do this now. After yesterday I – you’re not gonna – I just destroyed all fucking progress!”

“I, I…I don’t know how I feel, Damia. But, obviously we don’t have to have this big heavy talk if you’re not ready for it.”

“That's not what I’m saying,” he snaps. Your left hand starts to shake at the agitation in his voice. If he gets upset, it’ll interrupt the routine keeping him intact. What will he use to deescalate then?

“Have you taken your meds?”

“Y/n, I –” Dami’s tone is venomous and biting, but he stops himself from lashing out mid-sentence. He goes into the bathroom and takes his lithium, hands gripping onto the edge of the counter as he swallows painfully. He takes a second to manage his anger, meaning that exactly what you were trying to avoid is happening. He’s burning through that precious resilience for your sake. Each second that you watch the sharp outline of his clenched jaw, you wonder if this was the moment that Damiano dips into reserves that he needed for later in the day.

What if he drinks again? Or worse, uses coke? Heroin? What if he goes on a bender then we don’t talk again for three months? What if he OD’s and permanently damages himself? What if he dies? It will be my fault. What if the resilience that could have prevented it is being used up this very second, right before my eyes? What if I’m signing his death sentence with my mere presence?

“The reason I want to renegotiate isn’t really because I need to renegotiate.” Damiano speaks while still standing in the bathroom. Out of something adjacent to survival instincts, your mind has plunged you into disassociation. He may sound steadfast, but his voice barely cuts through the mental fog.

“It’s more that I want to clarify exactly where the boundaries are. So I know what I can ask because…” Dami pauses to rinse his face. The sound of water landing on the porcelain is eerily distorted from the disassociation. “Sometimes we are so connected. Like last night, not just when we were cuddling, but when you were genuinely pissed at me. I could feel your anger. You let me feel it, but then this morning you’re so far away. I don’t know what planet you’re on and we were never like that before, ever. Even at the very end, you were more present than you sometimes are now. I’m not trying to criticize you, I’m really not, but…” You force your eyes to focus when Dami goes quiet. He’s just brushing his teeth. He’s okay.

“But I just want you to let me in and I don’t know if I can ask that as a nesting partner. Even when you’re submitting, there's like 15% you’re holding back. And I get that it's a trust issue, but when we were on the bed,” the faucet is running again. The sound is still detached from reality. “With just a vibrator between us, you let me in completely and it was amazing. Not just because of the sex! There’s other moments where we’re intimate emotionally and then this wall just comes up. It's so sudden that I don’t think you’re doing it intentionally. But I don’t know, you tell me.” Silence. Your chest hurts. “Sorry that I’m making you late for work.” Work? The anxiety of obligation yanks from inside your ribcage. Work!

You try to get a grip on reality, but have to compromise for a grip on the countertop. As soon as you begin coming back into your body, the necessity for air is overwhelming. But you can’t breathe and you’re so fucking dizzy that you can’t even focus on sustaining the most basic of bodily functions. So you try to grab the countertop again and miss again.

“Y/n?” He knows you wouldn’t just leave, unannounced. So Dami pauses his morning routine to check if you’re out of ear shot or giving him the silent treatment. Upon seeing your blanched face and restricted breathing, he feels like a dumbass for not considering the obvious third option: panic attack.

“Hey, you’re okay. You’re okay, baby.” Damiano throws distinctions between boyfriend and nesting partner to the wind while taking you into his embrace. “You’re gonna be fine, piccola mia. Come here. C’mere, baby.” He hugs you loosely, but the arms around your middle are snug as Dami pulls you onto his lap, perched on the edge of the couch. For a few seconds the dissociation lingers and you don’t have control of your limbs. What follows is much worse. There's deep, intrusive stabbing pains in your chest as you fight for air.

“You can breathe, baby. You can breathe, your body just forgot how for a second.” His tone is so calm and even, having perfected this skill over the years.

“Can’t.” Your ironclad grip on your purse finally fails and the sound of its contents hitting the floor then scattering is so that loud you shudder. “Can’t!”

“Yes, you can, piccola mia.” Finally, you regain control of your limbs, wrapping your arms around Dami while pressing your face against his shoulder. This isn’t close enough, so you turn chest to chest and wrap your legs around him too. He gives you just enough space to readjust, no communication necessary since Dami predicted this reaction. Panic attacks made you clingy when they made others claustrophobic.

“My little koala bear,” he coos. For a moment, it feels like someone’s lodged a dagger in your lungs and you cry out, intending to say his name. But, for days, you were forced to constantly implement life or death boundaries when doing so is in direct conflict with your very nature. The resulting strain morphed into blinding fear that, in holding power, you’d destroy what you loved most. What you needed as an animal, amongst a world constantly delivering over-stimulating levels of novel information. So the name – or more accurately the plea – that comes out, at 8:31 AM, is his honorific.

“Did you say ‘Daddy?’” He barely misses a beat. You nod, all the color returning to your cheeks as a blush. “Awe, do you need Daddy to help you calm down? Well, I’m right here, topolina.” He runs a hand up your spine and under your hair to firmly grasp the back of your neck. It wasn’t restricting anything, the gesture was about control. Specifically, to indicate that you had none.

“Listen to me.” His tone of voice makes you shiver. It’s just as firm as the grasp of his warm, muscular hand. “No, keep breathing. I didn’t tell you to hold your breath.” You gasp for air, hyperventilating. Damiano tsks, tucking your hair back so he can put his mouth directly to the shell of your ear. “Piccola mia, listen to me.” He dips into a baritone while whispering, breath fluttering against your eardrum. “Feel this?” Dami squeezes the back of your neck. “Mine. I decide how you breathe.”

Oxygen. It's the first and last thing most humans have control of and he just rips that away, wholesale. Your mind is so relieved that it finally lets you cry, feel. Dami softens, slowly rocking back and forth, the same way you soothe a cholicky baby.

“Daddy’s here. Daddy’s here.” He repeats the phrase in a sing-song voice between counting the pace of your breath out loud. “We’re gonna start with four. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four.”

“Daddy,” you croak, twisting the fabric of his shirt around your fingers. It's an ugly sound, revealing just how desperate you feel. Desperate to do right by him. Desperate to keep him sober, even though you know that, ultimately, it was out of your control. But it couldn’t be out of control because you couldn’t lose him again now that you’d remembered how much you needed him. Now that you stopped subsisting on scraps in the form of memories. During the split, it had been heartbreaking to recall the dysfunctionality. Even more heartbreaking, however, were reminders of a joy more potent than you’d ever felt in your adult life.

“Daddy, I…” need you. I’m ready to admit that you are an essential piece to the ever changing puzzle that is my life. But you can’t get the words out before the urge to sob takes over, so end up omitting a wounded whine, like when you trip over an excited dog and accidentally step on its tail.

“Oh, piccolo mia,” he laments. Apparently the noise was just as painful to hear as it was to make. You tighten your legs around Dami’s hips, knowing full well it's probably too much. He throws caution to the wind and pulls up the back of your blouse, untucking it from your pants. His hand is clammy from nerves when it touches your back.

“I’m right here. Daddy is right here, giving you all his attention. And the only thing you need to do is breathe with me.” With the movement of Dami’s hand on your skin, you begin falling into his rhythm. There's no penalty when you choke up or make a mistake. Damiano rubs circles on your back at the exact same pace with which he counts. You’re grateful that he knows not to set it on your butt or flank today. Once you’re calmer, he moves up to six counts, then eight.

“I love you.” It’s the first thing you say when the eight counts feel manageable. “I – I need you.”

“You need me?” Dami is so pleased that his voice sounds like a warm blanket. He readjusts the position so your eyes can meet. Realizing this moment has to end, you begin clawing your way to the surface. The further you are out of subspace, the less his leaving will hurt. Damiano’s face visibly falls.

“There. You just did it. You were totally present with me then you put a wall up.”

“Don’t let go of my neck!” The words are so rushed they’re barely discernible.

“Topolina, I will never discipline you like that.” Your bottom lip trembles, but you keep your eyes on him because it's grounding. “I will never ever be callous with my sweetest Little Girl.” His words and the earnestness which accompanies them unlock a vault in your mind. It’s so well concealed that you’d hidden it from yourself, and for good reason, apparently. Every notable memory of submission to Dami comes rushing back, all at once. The hand on your neck shifts, almost negligible.

“Not ready!”

“And I’m not letting go,” he responds in his softest voice, overflowing with affection. “I’m just kissing your forehead, silly goose.” Damiano uses his grip to pull you a couple centimeters closer and tilt your head down. “Mwah! Mwah, mwah. See?” He makes theatrical noises as his lips meet your skin. It's an effort to make this stressful moment lighthearted, but your hands continue clenching the fabric of his t-shirt. When Dami moves to kiss your cheeks, he ends up wiping a couple stray tears away. You hadn’t felt them fall.

“Undo your fists. I’m not going anywhere.” Uncurling your hands takes some effort. You splay them across Damiano’s back to feel his heartbeat. Again, you’re stuck between states: being Little and functional adulthood. Correction: calling what you could reasonably achieve today “functional” was probably too generous.

“I can see you fighting it so hard, topolina. You don’t have to. I’m right here.” He thinks you’re battling subspace because of all the times you’d coped with sub-drop alone during the breakup. It’s certainly a factor, but more worrying is the fact that your brain is sabotaging both your mornings. It didn’t feel like a safe time to slip into submission.

“I – work! Gotta, gotta…” You couldn’t afford to become non-verbal.

“No.” Both his tone and expression were stern. “What you’re going to do is allow yourself to be 100% present with me for a few more minutes. Non-negotiable.”

“I can breathe though.”

“You’re so afraid you’re trembling,” he deadpans. Even with faltering interoception, you can sense that it’s true.

“Why’d my brain just, just…”

“It's adrenaline.” What you’d intended to ask is why in the fresh hell did my brain launch me into headspace. Damiano wraps an arm around your lower back and pulls you flush against his body, so close your noses are touching. “I need you to feel how steady I am.” For a second, the shaking gets worse as your emotions intensify, but then it lessens. With your entire being, you wanted to believe that Dami was steady, that today’s events couldn’t compromise his sobriety. His gaze is so intense that you’re both drawn in and fighting the urge to look away.

“I am okay. You are okay. Our relationship is okay. And you can get back to reality without putting five football fields of space between us. That’s what I’ve been doing a piss poor job of communicating all morning.” Embarrassed for reacting so drastically, you nod, then try to avert your eyes. Damiano doesn’t allow that. He grabs your chin and uses it to turn your face back in his direction. For a second, the urge to fawn almost takes over completely.

“Now there she is,” he coos. “There’s my perfect Little Girl.” Your cunt throbs so you collapse forward with a dramatic groan.

“Why you gotta say the sexiest shit when I’m trying to pull myself together?!” Damiano breaks character and laughs right in your ear, so loud that it organically brings you to the surface.

“Okay, okay. Scene over?”

“Mhm.” He begins taking his hand away which earns an agonized whine. Dami freezes.

“Scene not over?”

“No, it’s just…sudden.” You sit up which turns out to be a horrible idea because your gaze falls to Dami’s lips. Your logical mind knows not to kiss him right now. But your submissive side wants to give him everything you have and more, especially since a hand on the back of your neck is exactly the gesture he’d use to pull you in for a makeout. So you stare at his lips again before consciously tearing your eyes away.

“This is doing wonders for my ego, watching you fight the urge to kiss me.” That earns him an eye roll. “Oh, the sass is back! So we’re feeling better then.”

“Yeah.” You look at the floor and this time he doesn’t stop you.

“Okay, I’m actually gonna take my hand away.” You brace for it, but the air is still cold and bitter against your neck. Plus, what feels like the weight of the world resumes its resting place on your shoulders. Damiano moves his hand up a few inches, onto the back of your head instead of taking it away from the area entirely. He watches for subdrop, eyes pained after seeing how crestfallen you are. Needing a respite from the intensity of this unexpected moment, you decide to let work know that you’re going to be late. The tears in your voice are recent enough to pull off a very convincing performance about your sick grandfather being in the hospital with a mystery illness.

The veteran secretary who answers the phone finds your project manager right away. She offers to give you the whole morning off, visibly piquing Dami’s interest. Based on his expression, he expects you to take it, and if not for coinciding with his treatment schedule, you would. Instead, you promise to be there within an hour.

“You didn’t want the morning off?”

“I think that we’ll both do better keeping our schedules today.” He considers this for a moment then accepts it. Dami sets both palms on your mid-thigh to indicate that this was now an adult interaction between equals.

“We need to have a tough conversation or two…or five.” He tries to make you smile, but your stomach flips instead. “Obviously not right this moment, but we both need to find space in the next couple days. It’s time.”

“You’re right. I know it, I’m just, well, scared, as per usual.”

“Yeah, me too.” You look up in surprise. Damiano was the most courageous person you knew. He was the one to call it, even though it was obvious to both of you that avoiding a discussion for any longer would be counterproductive.

“Scared about what?” He looks at you wide-eyed and sputters while gesturing to the door. “Damia, I told you not to promise me perfection because I knew it wasn’t realistic. My expectation is that you try your absolute best to stay sober and when relapse happens, you fight like hell. And I don’t want to impede your ability to do that by making you spend all your inner resources on me.” Anxiety concealed as exasperation creeps into your voice. “Which is why I didn’t take the morning off. Because I didn’t want to interrupt your routine, when that routine helps you be sober. I didn’t want to create a demand for emotional labor, when –”

“What, by having emotions?” he interrupts sharply.

“I – yeah. You’re used to having these peaceful quiet mornings and I just…”

“Existed? Experienced things? Was a human being with needs?”

“Yes, but I – I mean, yeah because I – You, you’re still at risk of like, like…It's more important! Your sobriety is more important.”

“Than your emotions?” He narrows his eyes as if that's an unhinged beleif.

“Yes! It's more important than my emotions. It's more important than me. It's more important than everything!”

“No!”

“Yes!” You push his hands away and stand up, pacing to the other side of the living room.

“I am the only one that can prioritize my sobriety above all else, and I do! Despite last night, I fucking do! My sobriety can’t be your priority.”

“Why?” you snap and whip around, shooting daggers with your eyes.

“Because it's my life.”

“Ditto. I can prioritize whatever I want.”

“You have to prioritize yourself. You can’t live for somebody else!”

“Prioritizing your sobriety is living for myself because I would never be okay if you died from an overdose and you fucking know that. So I’m not sure why we’re fighting about this.”

“Because only I can keep myself sober,” he implores.

“I fucking know that!!” you screech through gritted teeth. It's a fact that haunts all my waking hours and several of my slumbering ones. “I don’t live in some fairytale land where I control your decisions. Nor do I want to, whatsoever. But I can make your sobriety easier, so I’m damn well going, too. Today of all days!”

“It's not your responsibility!” He stands up and gestures in frustration.

“Did I say it was!?” Doubt starts to creep in as to why Damiano is hellbent on whatever point he’s making.

“You’re –”

“Am I annoying you when I try to help with your sobriety? Is that what it is?”

“Wha – no. No.” His tone changes completely, all the wind gone from his sails.

“Fuck,” you sigh and bite the inside of your lip. “Sorry, I just did that thing where I get insecure and you have to be nice to me instead of having your feelings.”

“That’s not what just happened.”

“Seems…” You’re about to say that it seems like Damiano has to bottle up his feelings instead of getting to resolve them. And that it felt like he started to avoid fights with you pre-breakup, since you’d get all pathetic like this. Dami was so empathetic and didn’t want to deal with your occasional bouts of middle school level self-confidence, which became more numerous as things fell apart. It was the only bit of jealousy, in terms of his other partners, that had staying power: confidence. Glowing, radiant, unshakable, sexy confidence. The opposite of your insecurity, which was so powerful that it could totally warp your sense of reality, as it probably was now.

“There! That! Tell me, just fucking tell me.” Damiano’s pointing at you, so you look down at yourself, startled. “It started with you hiding your anger from me, but it's become this. Like you won’t take a single step without considering how it might impact my sobriety. You edit out everything that could possibly trigger...I don’t even know what! Like, I’ve started playing a guessing game where I try to think of anything you could plausibly say in a situation that would jeopardize my sobriety. And besides that last night, there was never anything I couldn’t handle.”

“I…” your brain feels like sludge. “A second ago was just classic insecurity, but generally…yeah. Yeah, I’ve been walking on eggshells a lot, if I’m honest.” Dami sighs in relief and approaches.

“You hold me down. You keep me sane. Not just sunshine you, but scatterbrained, insecure, anxious you. Keeps-an-extra-pair-of-pants-in-her-car-since-she-always-spills-her-coffee-driving you. Veterinarian in a past life, too competitive for board game nights, can’t stick to the grocery list, maker of near disaster via spontaneous hugs in the kitchen at the least opportune moment you. Scowls at men, but smiles at every child, and they always smile back. Picks the restaurant, but can’t pick what to order, then insists on tipping too much at bad service. All music is dancing music, borderline delusional optimist, empathy for the socially invisible, never finishes a book before starting another because she hates endings. Believes in love instead of god because she can find something to love in everyone she meets. Everyone has beauty and purpose and fascinating complexity.”

“Dami…”

“Calls me out on my bullshit when all the others are too intimidated. Remembers who I am when I forget. Understands my art when the public doesn’t, but believes that anyone can be an artist. Believes that the world is full of magic, in the form of human possible connection.” Damiano backs you against a wall, bodies barely brushing. “I could keep going,” he whispers. “You don’t have to try. Just be.”

“But I want to be sure that I’m not jeopardizing your sobriety.”

“On the off chance that moment ever comes, I will tell you. I won’t let you compromise my sobriety.” Some of that weight lifts. “The way things were when we broke up, they’re never going to be that way again. I am prioritizing my sobriety and I've got a small army of physicians helping me. You don’t need to prioritize my sobriety anymore.” He sets a hand on your ribcage, still speaking in a whisper. The moment is extremely intimate. “It's taken care of, my love. It's time for you to be taken care of. And I know we’re gonna have this same conversation again and that's okay.”

You loosely wrap your arms around Dami, to keep him close and extend the moment. Just based on your body language, he can tell that you’ve finally internalized what he’s been trying to say.

“I’ve been anxious about coming home and you’re gone.”

“Not going to happen. No surprises, no disappearing acts.”

“Okay.” You cast your eyes anywhere by his face. Damiano takes your jaw in his hand, coaxing you to look at him, but not demanding it as he did minutes ago. You take a couple seconds to corral your emotions first, since you can’t gauge if your reaction is gonna be more tears, hyperventilating, smiles, giddiness, or feeling lovesick. He sees this effort and presses your body into the wall using his own.

“Let me in,” he demands. You stop intentionally directing your features into an expression and wait for thoughts to come up organically. Except they don’t, so you try to recall how this worked when transparency was your first instinct with Damiano. Unfortunately, the only thing discernable is your sense of smell informing you that Dami is delicious. You’d braced for the stench of booze coming from his pores this morning, but it's not because he barely drank. So he still smells like home, plus a tiny bit sweaty from getting too hot in his sleep. That was only perceptible up close though. His skin would be salty if you licked it. You can also tell that he brushed his teeth while you were getting dressed, but that should be obvious. He wouldn’t have gotten in your space like this otherwise.

So the urge to kiss him returns with a vengeance. You attempt to see around the obstacle to identify something of your innermost thoughts. What do I feel? How do I feel? Horny, obviously, which wasn’t exactly news. More like your resting state. It’s as if your mind is a shaken snow globe. So you’re squinting your eyes to see the miniature winter wonderland below. But all you can perceive is the mental permafrost that is wanting to ride Damiano until you collapse and this fucking blizzard obscuring your vision.

“Y/n –”

“I genuinely can’t figure out what I’m thinking. I’m trying, I swear.”

“Can I take a guess?” he smiles. “You’re horny.” After the initial embarrassment, you get flustered, consider hiding it, decide not to, and end up aroused. Damiano’s gaze devouring your blush certainly inspires confidence, as well.

“Actually it was way more specific than that, but sure.” You can see the progression of Dami’s emotions: aroused, realizing your transparency, excitement, even more aroused.

“Why do you torture me?” He boxes you in with his arms and uses his pelvis to keep you pinned against the wall. When his cock twitches you smirk and raise an eyebrow, but a more serious answer crosses your mind. “Tell me, tell me,” Damiano chants.

“I don’t want to jerk you around, with the physicality stuff. Because on a couple days it’s been…I wake up feeling really steady and so do you. Then I come home and you’re reading a book on the couch and you’ve done all the laundry and I just want to fucking…slip my panties off and grind on the crotch of your jeans while we makeout until I’m sore. And then maybe you – anyways, then some –

“No, no. Finish that thought first.”.

“Your tongue can be really, really gentle,” you admit, feeling a tiny bit perverse. “Soft, soothing, so when I’m sore it's – it's, um, nice.”

“What’s my tongue doing?” He leans down and speaks directly into your ear again.

“You go down on me.” Your voice starts to climb in pitch from the anticipation.

“Right there on the couch?”

“Mhm.”

“We don’t even make it to the bedroom?”

“I, um – It’s just in my head.”

“But just in your head, we don’t make it off the couch.” His lips barely brush your neck. Was it an accident?

“No.”

“Why? Cause you’re too desperate?”

“Hng, I –” He boldly nips at the base of your neck.

“This okay?” he murmurs. As Dami speaks, his breath hits the spot of saliva his mouth left on your skin and you’re so keyed up that it evokes a full body shiver.

“Mhm!”

“So are you desperate because you need to cum? Or desperate because you got carried humping me since you were too horny to stop yourself?” Somehow, one of the arms that had been around Dami’s waist is now clutching his shoulders as he licks your neck. You don’t remember it happening.

“What…was I just talking, um –” Thankfully, Dami raises face to look at you which makes thinking easier.

“Anyways, then some.”

“Huh?”

“That's how your next thought started: ‘anyways, then some.’”

“Oh, um…then, I don’t know, maybe I have a bad anxiety day or I talk to my therapist or something reminds me of a painful memory and I don’t want sexual touch.”

“But do you always want physical touch of some kind, like cuddling?”

“Well, I came climbing into bed with you last night, didn’t I?” He smiles wide and looks over the couch for a moment.

“Yeah, that's true…and very good to know. If all days are good physical touch days, you are about to get very sick of me.” Now you’re both smiling like fools and the gravitational pull of chemistry has your noses nearly brushing while Dami slips an arm between the wall and the small of your back. It occurs to you that this is the same move he made in the shower, when encouraging you to grind against his leg.

“I just don’t want you to feel rejected or misled if you touch me in a certain way and I’m not into it, even though I was yesterday. Because it's so momentous since we were broken up for a while.”

“Well, you can just tell me that and I’ll understand.” You nod, but the fact that it isn’t so simple occurs to you. Damiano sees it and raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, I forgot how fucking inconvenient this mind reading thing is but –” he bursts into joyful laughter, head thrown back. You rest your other arm on Dami’s shoulder as well. In return, he pulls you body to body, resting his other hand on the top of your ass with a watchful expression. It’s exactly the point you were making.

“Obviously, I wasn’t feeling like jumping your bones today. The way you placed your hands over there,” you nod towards the couch, “I really appreciated, because it was exactly the right thing. Like it was so conscientious and considerate and nurturing,” even saying the word made your pussy throb, “that I’m pretty sure it turned me on. So fuck if I know how this works!” Again, Dami is filled with boisterous laughter that's infectious. As you giggle along, you wonder if he was right about just letting your organic connection do its thing. “My brain was like ‘Wow. He’s so nuanced about doing this in exactly the way I need. He’s so respectful about the fact that this is totally non-sexual for me that it's making me wet. Oh, wait.’”

“Okay. So sex is never a –”

“Sexual contact,” you clarify. “I still don’t feel ready for proper love making, I’m sorry.” Dami’s face is the most offended it's been all morning.

“Sorry? What do you mean ‘sorry?’”

“I know, I know,” you brush him off with an eye roll.

“For fucks sake, don’t apologize. Why would –”

“Stop, you’re so dramatic!” You jostle Damiano while speaking and he almost delivers a retort before changing course in an effort to make you laugh. Effusive, he gasps and brings a hand to his sternum in scandal.

“Who, me? Dramatic?? Never!” You’re filled with a yearning that originates in your mind, but starts in your cunt. This time you don’t fight it off as it travels upwards to envelope you. “I would –”

“Kiss me,” you interrupt, so giddy that you’re bouncing on the balls of your feet. Caught off guard, Dami stops speaking. “Kiss me, kiss mmm –”

Notes: It's a good one! Thank you for waiting for this update and for reading this fic. I hope the holiday season is at least bearable for y'all. And if its not, me and my Masterlist are here for you!

-XOXO Eden

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inconspicious-random-thoughts · 2 months

Note

You know what I think would be interesting about Charlie and Alastor's dynamic? It would be in how they influence each other going forward. Alastor is slowly pushing Charlie to becoming a more assertive and inspirational princess as part of his plans to "pull all of the strings" and get out of his deal. Under his tutelage, Charlie will become much more willing to use her abilities in defense of the Hotel and her loved ones, potentially developing something of a ruthless streak as the threats to the Hotel continue to pile up. I also imagine she will start using his philosophy about using smiles to project power and confidence to hide her personal pain and growing trauma (which knowing this show will no doubt be a lot) to the point of becoming self-destructive and somewhat isolated from her inner circle, potentially even Vaggie to avoid weighing them down with her burdens (which would be ironic since it would be similar to how Vaggie hid her past as an Exorcist out of guilt and fear of her girlfriends rejection). Taking a level in badass in exchange for a drawn-out mental break down.

As for Charlie's influence on Alastor, Charlie's compassion is already rubbing off on him enough for the Overlord to risk his life fighting Adam and the Exorcists for them, something that he found so out of character that he had a villainous breakdown over this realization. While resistant to this growth of character at first in the name of preserving his dreaded reputation, Alastor will slowly becoming less withdrawn and more willing to engage with the crew even when doing so doesn't help his goals, even becoming less antagonistic towards Husk and Lucifer who in turn will actually enjoy his company to a degree. He will remain a ruthless bastard committed to his personal goals, and likely won't be redeeming himself anytime soon, but he'll still become a member of the family all the same. Whether this will resolve his existential crisis or drive him even more mad I can't say right now.

Good to hear from you again,

I been meaning to respond quicker but apparently I'm not allowed to sit and think for more then three minutes at a time. :( So my thoughts/ respond may seem disjointed as I was writing small bit at a time.

To be honestly, I haven't really consider Alastor influence on Charlie beside the standard of nudging her in the direction towards his own agenda. You are correct, now that it's pointed to me. He would have a great influence on her beyond the manipulation. TBH his manipulation might not as nefarious as we think (I still think it because of his contractor) but it can be just that he made to guide her to reach her full potential and power. Which would still align with his own goals with breaking his deal of his soul.

We already see Charlie being influence and episode 7 after they made their deal and Alastor told her about the power of a smile. She took that advice. When Vaggie was made aware of the deal, and Alastor suggestion of meeting his friend to gain numbers she agreed with "What was that about smiling?"

Charlie will become much more willing to use her abilities in defense of the Hotel and her loved ones, potentially developing something of a ruthless streak as the threats to the Hotel continue to pile up.

I wonder why she so hesitate to use her powers in the first place. Like, would she even need Alastor if she simply just use it to begin with? To fix her own hotel? There must be a reason for it. Its either, she cant control it as she doesnt practice it, or it effects her morals/personality, or just the general fear of innocents being caught in the crossfire. It could be all three. But her powers probably tie in more to option two as we only see her demonic powers come out when she upset/annoyed/angry.

Maybe why she so chipper is because as child she more likely threw a tantrum or possible from her teenage ansty emo phase lol...I hope because of her emo phase because emo goth Charlie is entertaining...and hurt so many people from it when her powers manifested in anger and lost control. After that, she swore to herself to always be chipper. So in a way she always used a smile as a mask. But after Alastor, she learn that she can do a lot more with a smile. If this is a backstory that happen, I can see her following Alastor guidance much more easily as she start to see that they may be similar in some ways.

Charlie will definitely become more confident with her powers in season two after the battle. We saw her stop Adam punch. We know she blames herself for everything. Sir Pentious death, Alastor being wounded when it comes to light, Dazzle death, Vaggie taking a bit of a beating from Lute to protect Charlie. She is stronger then all of them, but here they are or harmed as they attempt to protect her. She may take this as a lesson to just just suck up any reservation about using her power to prevent more of her friends from getting hurt when she could have easily stopped it before. I wouldn't say she become ruthless, or at least consciously. Alastor ruthless and wants to be. Charlie "ruthless" is she momentarily lost herself, overwhelmed by the influence of her power.

Charlie seeking Alastor mentorship over guidance from her father would be possibly Alstor has a great sense of self control and discipline then Lucifer. Lucifer would also be too gentle that it be too dismantling. Lucifer training is, swim wings, training wheels, or end up doing things for her to save her the trouble, while Alastor would be blunt and throw Charlie in headfirst to learn. You know Alastor the type that throws a kid in to learn to swim or push someone off a cliff to learn to fly. Everyone in the hotel, when giving advice or bring up issues, tip toes around charlie feelings about thing. Alastor doesn't. Alastor doesn't factor feelings into decisions. He does, calculate how people would react because of feelings, but the issues themselves he does factor them in. Which may be another reason why she would seek his advice.

I also imagine she will start using his philosophy about using smiles to project power and confidence to hide her personal pain and growing trauma (which knowing this show will no doubt be a lot) to the point of becoming self-destructive and somewhat isolated from her inner circle, potentially even Vaggie to avoid weighing them down with her burdens (which would be ironic since it would be similar to how Vaggie hid her past as an Exorcist out of guilt and fear of her girlfriends rejection).

There be definitely be something she'll hide from Vaggie, I just don't know what. Lack of ideas currently, I'll go with keeping Alastor injury a secret or he used their deal for something but has to keep quiet. Or Charlie undergoing demonic power training under Alastor guidance-which Vaggie would hate so much. Vaggie is super suspicious and frustrated by this. Vaggie feels like she failing Charlie somehow, but forcing herself to trust and give Charlie her space while trying to support her while keeping her in the dark.

I am so looking forward to whatever direction the creator will take Alastor. But I am hoping and looking forward of Alastor growing and eventually accepting the soft spot he has for the hotel and its people.

There's something I been thinking about a lot, it was the night before the battle when we witness Alastor and Niffty share a moment.

That was the real Alastor and his thoughts and feelings. His facade was dropped there. Think about it, With Rosie, we saw him relax and generally be happy. But he still had to put up a front, and a mask. He has to act like the overlord that he is. He had to be confident to ensure everything moves forwards as plan. So, as much as he less acting when he around Rosie, he still has halls and acting in some parts. But why would he need to put up a mask there with Niffty? He not going to confine to Niffty of all his plans and agenda, But he also didn't need to put up as much of an appearance in a near private, quiet moment, alone with Niffty, . What he spoke there was 100% honestly. He admitted he enjoying his time there and and like the idea of continuing it.

The other real moment he had was his break down. Grappling with the idea he nearly died. Even as mortals we know we can die any given moment, yet act invincible despite the facts. Now imagine, being immortal soul and a powerful one with near complete control....Dieing seem so improbable yet...here Alastor, freaking out that that near improbable thing nearly became true. Now on top of that, greatly injured and cane broke in two which will have consequences. All because of...he grew to care and want to protect the hotel (outside of a possible forced to by contract)

Alastor will slowly becoming less withdrawn

I think he will be more withdrawn and reclusive...at first anyways. He will want to hide his wound but also distance himself from developing more feelings for the hotel that nearly gave his life for. He be more cruel and ruthless to make up for growing soft, gain distance from the hotel as well make the radio demon feared again, especially if the video gets leaked. He going to be alone. Not willing or wanting anyone in.

The last 10minutes showed the little factions.

The vees.

Charlie and co/hotel including her father

Emily/Sera/Sir Pentious (Tho I think there be tension between Sera and Emily)

Lute and Lilith

Alastor was alone. (break down) But align himself with the hotel but hes not with the hotel. Its like when a group of adventures pick up someone because they are heading in the same direction. They will provide aid to each other but their missions are different. Alastor going to provide aid to the Hotel but he going to be too seclutive to appear that he needs any himself. Nor will he show or admit it unless he absolutely force too.

The thing is, being alone will end poorly for him. Just like how the battle went. The hotel fought together and more or less, made it out. Alastor fought alone with his pride and ego and he lost. lost badly.

So Alastor will be alone until he backed into a corner and just about to lose badly once more but Charlie and co will come to his aid. Quite possibly when he thought he possible burnt that bridge from something or betrayal that happen a little earlier.

That's when he accepts them that's beyond territorial and contract obligations. They saw him at his weaken and vulnerable and not took advantage of it. Despite everything. He'll finally learn to accept them because they already proven time and time again that they accepted and care for him. His walls will slowly start chipping away. Unfortunately he still hiding things so he can't full embrace the idea...but it a start.

He still going to be the Radio demon, generally being a prick and Alastor hiding behind a mask, but we get to witness Alastor slipping it off occasionally.

What would be fun is the idea of Charlie rubbing of Alastor, is that perhaps Alastor against his instincts and to his surprise....showed compassion. It be to Vox of all people. Shocking them both. Vox ending whatever Vees had plan that surely would not bode well for the hotel because of it. That Vox and Alastor end up having a truce and possible rekindle their old friendship.

Tho, I be laughing if Alastor showed compassion for once because Charlie got in his head, only for it to backfire terribly. Then Alastor grumbling that he was a fool to show mercy.

*Alastor limping away after killing the sinner who took advantage of Alastor showing mercy for once while clutching a gaping hole in chest. "It's important to show compassion she said," Alastor scoffs before poorly imitating Charlies voice. "It doesn't hurt to show some kindness!" Alastor laughs mirthlessly and winces from the sharp pain it caused. "Well, tell that to the gaping hole in my chest!!!!"

But in the case, Charlie did need to train her demonic power, I can see how Charlie end up influencing Alastor while he trying to mentor her. Not just the growing fondness hell have for her as his protege. But they probably end up having topics of discussions that arises as she trains. Alastor obviously mocks her point of views, but her words will sink into mind unconsciously. And those words will whisper at him, showing their disapproval at what depravity he trying to act out. Frustrating him that she getting to him

HE may even not go through the acts, not wanting to disappointed Charlie if she was to find out.

Or surprisingly more, maybe after training, Charlie able to control her powers outside of anger. We only see her demonic powers when shes mad. But Alastor witness, Charlie is noticeably stronger when she fighting for something she loves and care for. Which may leave a door open to a path for Alastor to consider to follow.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel theory #hazbin hotel headcanon #alastor the radio demon #hazbin thoughts #hazbin theory #hazbin charlie #hazbin hotel charlie #charlie morningstar

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sturniolo-rat · 2 months

Text

Too Sweet: Prologue

Matthew Sturniolo X Reader

A/N: I did a poll to see if y’all wanted this but I already had it written so it was a trick question 😌😌😌💕

Contains: literally nothing, no smut no fluff just story

TW: alcohol abuse?, drunk driving, existential dread

Matt is an optimistic do gooder on his way to Redwood University to start his masters degree. He’s far from home but he feels like the world is at his fingertips.

Cricket is a high school drop out going nowhere fast. She’s deeply unhappy with her job as a bartender at a tavern frequented by Dungeons and Dragons larpers.

They can’t help but feel drawn to each other, but is he too sweet for her?

This is what they were doing the morning of the day they met.

Y/N’s Pov

It’s 8 am on a Tuesday. I take a shot of fireball in preparation for my 12 hour shift at The Enchanted Mushroom Tavern and Inn. It is a belief commonly held that taverns and inns only exist in dungeons and dragons. This is false, as all well loved imaginary things come to life with time. That’s a fancy way of saying this place was built for people who LARP and I have to pretend I’m a medieval bar wench.

I squeeze myself into my costume that consists of an off white shirt with puffy off the shoulder sleeves, a mossy green skirt with a tattered and uneven hem, and a brown corset over top that I will note is Elizabethan and not medieval. The woefully inaccurate uniform isn’t the worst part of the job though. While at work my name is no longer Y/N it’s Petronella Epworth the fucking third and I wear the dumbass name tag to prove it.

“Let’s go, Phoebe!” I yell from our living room. I’ve never been a patient woman. Not even when we were kids. We met in kindergarten when she was hesitant going down the big slide at the park and I decided she was taking too long and pushed her. I’m bitch but I’m an insanely efficient, hardworking bitch that gets what she wants.

“Give me a minute!” She’s been working at the Tavern with me for a year and a half, and I’m always 15 minutes early for work. Because we carpool, she is always 15 minutes early for work, which has given her a reputation of reliability that she does not deserve. Phoebe has a few redeeming qualities to make up for her flakiness. When I need her, and she actually shows up, she’s unreasonably nurturing. One time, when I got sick after I dropped out of high school, she played hooky and stayed in my family’s trailer to take care of me. She brought ingredients for homemade soup and blankets. Nice blankets, too, the fleece ones that go on sale around Christmas time. The book she stole from her mother’s collection to read to me was the highlight of my week. It was called “My Alpha Mate.” The main character was an omega, and her love interest was an alpha. I think they were like werewolves or something. It was extremely smutty.

“I’ll just wait in the car, then!” There’s a loud thud as I close the front door. My van is objectively shitty. It’s a 1998 Nissan Quest that I’ve named Ted. I do, however, feel that if you’re 24 and own a van, you ought to be either a mother or a hippie with that cool Volkswagon. My vehicle doesn’t match me at all, but at least he carts around all the shit I own that doesn’t fit in my apartment. While I wait in the driver’s seat, I take a swig from the flask I keep in the car—fireball, of course, always fireball. I take a long look at myself in my rearview mirror and wonder what I’m doing with my life.

Matt’s Pov

It’s 8 am on a Tuesday and the sun is shining down on me through the sunroof of my car. My phone vibrates in my pocket and I already know it’s one of my brothers.

We’re triplets and have never been apart for more than 3 days at a time. When I was getting my bachelors degree they got an apartment two blocks away from my dorm. Chris and Nick never went to college and started a clothing brand called Fresh Love and a chapstick brand called Space Camp. Safe to say my lips are well moisturized. I’m actually wearing gray Fresh Love sweatpants right now. They’re very comfortable and perfect for long drives. I’m embarking on a 10 hour road trip to my new apartment near Redwood University where I will be studying for the next 5 years. My brothers think I’m absolutely insane for moving this far away from home.

“Chris, you know I hate answering the phone while I’m driving.” He does this on purpose to piss me off, but when I get into an accident because he divided my attention, he’s going to be sorry.

“Dude, did you know Red U’s mascot is a booby.”

“Yes, I did.” I most certainly did not know that.

Nick chimes in because, of course, Nick is there too. They’re never far apart. “Okay, but, listen to me when I say this, Matt, it’s a blue-footed booby at Red U.” He puts emphasis on blue and red. “Doesn’t that bother you? It bothers us!”

“Why on earth would that bother me? I’m not going for the sports anyway.” It bothers me a great deal. I can’t believe I have to rep the Redwood blue-footed boobies. This will surely tarnish the Sturniolo family name.

“Shut up!” says Chris. “I know it bothers you, and that’s why you have to turn that car around immediately and come back home.”

“Chrissy, I love you and Nick the most, but I have to go. I’ve got a scholarship and a once-in-a-lifetime internship.” Red U is home to one of the most prestigious research labs in America, and I have an internship there. It’s the whole reason I applied to the university; the scholarship was just an added bonus—the perks of being a straight-A student.

He groans, “I know. We know you’re going to go out and do great things.”

We’re just gonna miss our little Mattmallow,” adds Nick in that weird baby voice people use sometimes. My heart sinks at the use of my childhood nickname.

“I’m gonna miss you guys too.” More than I’ve missed anyone ever.

“Alright, man. I’m gonna leave you alone. I know you hate talking and driving,” Nick says, and I know he’s feeling a little uncomfortable.

“Love you, guys.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

The line goes dead and I know I should feel some sort of sadness but really I just feel loved. I am deeply loved, my future is bright, and I feel like today is an omen.

Masterlist

Taglist

@wurlibydominicfike @yourmumscar69 @69isabella69 @mattsturniolosgf @mrsmiagreer since you guys liked the Too Sweet poll post

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sunderlust · 2 years

Text

this is me trying ii (rooster x reader)

masterlist part 1 | part 2 | part 3 pairing: bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x reader synopsis: bradley bradshaw is the bane of your existence on north island - you finally got a chance to tell him off for giving you a hard time, but the guilt is weighing down on you and making it harder for you to deal with your ongoing existential crisis. maybe all it takes is a volleyball game and a heart to heart to make you see clearly... (read p1 first i'm begging you) warnings: explicit language, mentions of alcohol consumption, later explicit sexual activity, lots of existential dread, volleyball shenanigans, hiking, hangman no use of y/n, one small mention of suicidal thoughts near the very end note: seasonsbloom and gretagerwigsmuse - i love u both forever i dedicate everything to you both. also full disclaimer I don't know anything about volleyball or the sunset cliffs hiking trail lol. wc: 9k (holy fucking shit sorry y'all I just may'd)

The first thing you feel Thursday night is relief - ever since you moved to this stupid city, the weight of holding back all your anger and annoyance with Bradley had returned in full force. After your fight with him, you feel a fifty-ton weight lift from your shoulders; you can breathe for the first time in two weeks.

“I told Bradley off,” you tell Cam and Cher casually after dinner. They both share a weird look, waiting for you to elaborate. “He’s been giving me a hard time at Java. Coming in with ridiculous orders and mocking me and tipping large amounts just to make fun of me. And he thinks he can tell me it’s just teasing between friends?! Since when were we friends?”

On Friday morning, when 6:30 rolls around with Bradley being a no-show, you feel unease settle over you. It’s minuscule - it feels like you’re carrying an obese cat on your shoulders - but it’s noticeable. And as the day goes on, you start to mull over yesterday’s debacle, wondering if you were a little too harsh.

You waste your weekend thinking about it more, replaying your words, recalling every single detail. Each time you restart the memory, your stomach sinks lower when you see Bradley’s crestfallen and shocked expression. The obese cat grows bigger, and your anxiety makes you feel smaller.

On Sunday night, you groan and collapse on the loveseat in Cam’s living room with a languid sigh. Cher’s lounging on the L-shaped couch reading on her iPad, while Cam’s puttering around in the kitchen.

“I don’t know how much more water I can tread, guys.” you groan and bury your face into a soft velvet throw pillow.

“Can I be frank with you?” Cher asks, switching her tablet off and setting it aside.

“Always,” you nod as best as you can, voice muffled by the fabric.

“You need another outlet.”

You lift your head from the velvet. “What kind of outlet can I find on this stupid island? No offense,” you add. “I thought I could get by doing nothing, but I finished all of the Stranger Kids show and a bunch of Academy Award winners that I’ve missed and I almost got sucked into something called Bridgerton-”

“You need a physical outlet,” Cher interrupts, smiling comfortingly.

You sigh again. “Years at a desk job have completely wrecked my ankles too much for me to go on long morning jogs again. Like, if I did a deep squat right now, my heels are going to lift so high I’ll tip over like a fucking cow. And I know you told me to do yoga with Cam, but I’m not sure I can bring myself to get up at 5 AM on a Saturday - I need to sleep in on the weekends.”

Cam comes in and plops themself down in their favorite armchair facing the TV. “I wasn’t going to suggest yoga again. But my friend Natasha from class asked if I knew anyone who played volleyball, and you were the first person to come to mind. They’re playing tomorrow evening.”

You gape at them. “I haven’t played in years. I think the last time I touched a volleyball was at a company team retreat a few years back, and I was just a spectator tossing it back to the cutie from the web team.”

“The cutie from GUI,” Cher dreamily breathes out, laughing as she dodges the throw pillow you launch at her face.

“Come on!” Cam implores. “You were great at intramural volleyball back in undergrad! And it’s just casual, they need someone to even out the teams so no one sits out. They’ll buy you drinks afterward - guaranteed.”

You mull over the idea in your mind. Who in their sound mind would NOT want to meet a bunch of strangers and fumble through a sport they haven’t played in years?

Although, you would love to be able to get out of the house and into the sunshine again without feeling the overwhelming anxiety of doing things on your own. A week ago, you’d bookmarked the Sunset Cliffs Natural Park over on Point Loma, west of North Island. But hiking on your own felt too intimidating, and you hadn’t gotten around to asking Cher and Cam to join.

Maybe this was another saving grace - another opportunity falling into your lap to do something new and push yourself out of your comfort zone. A chance to do something meaningful, to make friends outside of Cam and Cher so you could stop mooching off of them and draining their energy. Because as much as you knew they loved you and were happy to host you, there was still that small part of you that insisted they were counting down the days for you to leave.

Worst case? You fumble the ball and never have to see these people again. Best case? Maybe you make some friends, burn some energy, and potentially google hot people on the beach, bumping and setting the ball in slow motion like they’re on Baywatch.

Yeah, that last point is rather convincing.

“Alright,” you sigh. “If anything, I’ll spike the ball and pretend it’s Bradshaw’s face.”

Cam and Cher share another weird look.

At 6 PM, you pull into the parking lot for the Hard Deck and immediately spot a gaggle of tall, muscled guys setting up the sand volleyball court boundaries out on the beach. The light of the late afternoon sun glistens off their tanned skin and sends your nerves into a frenzy; you don’t know how you’ll be able to play a casual game of volleyball with the likes of these people.

“Hey! Cam’s friend, right? It’s so great to meet you!” Natasha calls out as you approach her and her SUV. She immediately goes in for a hug, which makes you feel both giddy and incredibly shy as you return it - it feels like it’s been a while since you’ve tried to make a new friend.

“Hi, Natasha, it’s so nice to meet you! Thanks for inviting me, it’s so nice to do something other than Netflix and chill with myself in the evening,” you cringe at yourself. Why the fuck did you say that to another person?

But Natasha shakes her head with a huge, understanding smile. “It’s no biggie - we’ve all just been playing pool over at the Hard Deck and Bob suggested maybe we get some sunlight for once. It’ll be great to work off some tension after work - sorry in advance if anyone’s particularly intense here,” she laughs.

“Oh, what do you all do?” you ask, eyeing one tall, dark-skinned man and how his muscles ripple as he handles a volleyball between two large palms.

“We’re Navy - all of us are pilots,” Natasha says.

Your stomach plummets. Oh fuck. If these guys are all coworkers AND in the Navy AND pilots - well, you didn’t need your stupid engineering degree to do the math. There’s a high probability that someone’s about to make his presence known-

“Yo, Phoenix!” a husky, familiar voice calls out behind you. “Yale said he wouldn’t be able to make it, so we’ll probably have to...” his voice trails off as he recognizes you.

You pause, meeting his gaze through your sunglasses. “Hi, Bradley,” you say, deciding to at least be the bigger person and not outright ignore him.

He doesn’t seem to share the same sentiment, nodding once your way before redirecting his attention back to Phoenix. “I guess we’re even on teams then. I’ll go help set things up.”

You feel a twinge of something in your chest - almost feeling hurt that he was still so upset with you. But you dismiss it as quickly as it came - you have nothing to feel bad about and apparently, neither does Bradley as he jogs away towards the group around the newly set up court. Natasha looks on with a curious expression before picking up an extra volleyball and leading you to where the rest of the group is.

Bradley doesn’t even look at you. He’s off to the side, tossing a volleyball between both his hands idly and conversing with a man in glasses.

A taller, dark-skinned man approaches the two of you with a broad smile, giving Natasha a high five and you a friendly nod. She’s still explaining the game setup to you. “We’ll have two teams of five, we might switch things around here and there and we might be dicks to each other, but I promise we’ll keep you out of the line of fire. Just look the other way if I start acting like a sore loser.”

“Natasha, I’m not sure if Cam’s mentioned, but my competitiveness in IM volleyball got me ejected from a game after I slammed the ball into another guy’s face. No worries.”

She and the other man laugh, and he reaches a hand out to shake yours. You introduce yourself to him, and he does the same. “Reuben - but call me Payback. And I’m not sure if she’s mentioned, but she goes by Phoenix.”

You’re confused. “Phoenix?”

“It’s her callsign,” he replies as if that explains everything.

“Callsign?” you repeat, looking between the two of them.

“Yeah, it’s like a unique identifier for each of us. We get it assigned to us by our class, usually when we do something stupid in boot camp,” Nat- or, Phoenix explains to you.

“Can’t I just call you all by your real name? Instead of nicknames?”

“Callsigns,” Payback corrects. “And honestly, you could. But it’ll catch us off guard. I mean, if you called out ‘Reuben’ mid-game, I’d probably book it to the ocean because my gut instinct will be telling me that my ex has finally tracked me down to get back the NSYNC CD I stole from her.”

“Poor girl,” you muse, and he laughs.

“Come on, we’ll introduce you to everyone and you’ll have everyone’s sign down in no time! We’ll only be using those so you’ll get confused if you don’t know them.”

He and Phoenix walk you over to a tall, blond Adonis. Like the others, he’s shirtless, tanned, and muscled. You wonder if he could crack walnuts with his biceps. “This is Jake, or ‘Bagman’-”

“Hangman,” the Ken doll says, rubbing the stubble along his jawline which is tightly clenched as he surveys the game being set up. He looks over at you briefly to nod once. “Nice to meet you.”

“Don’t mind him,” Phoenix tells you with an eye roll. “He’s hung up on his girl, but she’s not talking to him.”

You nod, only half paying attention now that you’ve caught sight of Bradley making his way over to your gaggle of three. You can’t read his expression thanks to the trusty Ray Bans he’s wearing, but his strut is as cocky as ever.

“Hangman has a girl?” Payback asks just as Bradley reaches earshot.

“Oh yeah, Penny’s tutor friend? Hangman spilled a mojito on her after Dogfight the other day. Poor girl looked terrified.” Bradley teases and smacks Hangman on the back. The others laugh along at a stoic-faced Hangman whose cheeks have slightly flushed.

“You pilots really seem to have a knack for tormenting innocent women,” you blurt out, narrowing your eyes at the three boys. Bradley’s eyebrows furrow right back.

“Guess we do,” he says shortly.

Phoenix shifts her eyes between the two of you before clearing her throat. “This is Bradley - I suppose you already know. We call him Rooster.”

“Rooster? That’s your callsign?” you ask, incredulously.

“Yeah! Because he looks out for his own,” Payback says in a high-pitched, almost mocking tone. He couples his words with a sharp pinch to Bradley’s cheek, and he abruptly smacks Payback’s hands away.

At long last, Hangman breaks his silence with a loud bark of laughter. “Hold on, do you two know each other?” Hangman asks, a grin replacing his scowl. “Why so tense, Bradshaw? Did she give you the slip in the wee hours of the morning?”

“Shut up,” Rooster threatens at the same time that you say, “We were at UVA together.”

You blink, feeling slightly hurt for a second before realizing he definitely wouldn’t care enough to tell his Navy buddies about his old college friend who hypothetically got dropped from her hotshot engineering job and was now in Fightertown. You try your best to swallow the lump that still appears in your throat.

A beat of silence follows. “Apparently, we’re arch nemeses,” Bradley says bitterly, and you’re pretty sure you catch him rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses.

You narrow your eyes. “Always so dramatic, huh, Bradley?”

“Me? I’m being dramatic? You’re the one who said it! This is some real pot-meet-kettle crap, Buttercup.”

“Buttercup?” Phoenix deadpans, looking at you sympathetically. You beat Bradley to answer.

“It’s a stupid joke he’s kept going for fifteen years because Bradley’s quite skilled at never letting things go!” you spit out.

“Oh, don’t we know it?” Hangman says under his breath before Bradley can retort, then swiftly catches a volleyball from someone over by the court. He crooks one finger in your direction. “We’ll have to call you Buttercup - both because it might piss off Rooster over here, and because I didn’t catch your name.”

“Jake,” Bradley says warningly, but Hangman’s jogged away before he can get another word out.

Stupid Rooster. And even stupider Hangman.

Volleyball starts easy enough once you’re introduced to the rest of the team. Phoenix keeps you on her team along with Fanboy, an intimidatingly handsome man who goes by Coyote, and a really sweet, round-faced man wearing glasses named Bob. Bradley sticks to the other side, trying hard not to look annoyed with Hangman ordering his teammates around.

“So you’re Bradley’s friend? Ow!” Coyote starts to ask, but Phoenix cuts him off by elbowing him in the side.

“No, she’s my friend. I met her through someone from yoga.” She gives him a hard look. “That’s right, I know people outside of you creeps.”

Coyote furrows his brow. “When do you have the time to go to yoga? And do they have any open spots? Preferably a mat right behind you, Phoe- Jesus!” Coyote rubs the back of his head where Bob’s initial practice serve had landed.

“Sorry!” he calls out, but you can see the curve of a smile on his face as he turns away from Coyote’s glare. You like Bob.

Once everyone’s in position, Bob makes the first serve - this time a perfect one that arcs the ball over the net and into Payback’s waiting hands. He bumps it over the net, and the game continues.

The sun beats down on you as you play into the evening. You try your hardest not to ogle the guys around you - or Natasha, for that matter - and it’s relatively easy once you start focusing on the game. But unexplainably, every single time Bradley leaps up to spike the ball, you feel a jolt of excitement at the sight of his abs clenching and his bicep muscles rippling in slow motion. It’s all tan skin and toned calves and bulging biceps and-

Your train of thought is interrupted by Bob calling out “Buttercup, eyes up!”

You swiftly bounce back into motion, bumping the ball over to Phoenix, who slams the ball over the net. Close one. And that’s another thing - you’ve adjusted shockingly well to your honorary callsign as every one of your teammates decides to use it, even Natasha a few times (you only feel slightly betrayed at that).

They reshuffle the groups every game and somewhere along the line, Bradley’s suddenly on your team. You resign yourself to staying as far away from him as possible and let him take the front line and you linger towards the back, and for the most part, your team works like a well-oiled machine.

You’re surprised at how well Bradley can predict your next move, always positioning himself in the perfect spot to catch your set and spike it over the net. It’s like years of verbal sparring somehow prepared you for this moment to absolutely annihilate Hangman’s team together at volleyball. After one particularly spectacular play, you lock eyes with him and marvel at how in sync the two of you are. Mindlessly, you offer him a double thumbs up.

Jesus Christ, you’re a dork, you think to yourself before Bradley enthusiastically throws up a goofy thumbs up in return.

After Coyote’s attempt to save the ball ended with him diving and skidding into the sand, the opposing team wins the game point. “Alright, I think I’m gonna call it,” he says loudly and stands up to brush the sand off his knees.

You look up and finally realize just how much time has passed. The sun’s making its way down the horizon, and the sky has transformed into a beautiful spectrum of orange and pink hues scattered across the wide expanse. The Hard Deck behind you is already lit with colorful LEDs, and the parking lot is a few cars fuller as more locals make their way in for evening drinks.

Natasha, who had already relocated to the other team earlier, raises both hands in the air. “I’m still down for a game or two! Bob?”

“You guys go ahead,” Bob says, wiping at his glasses. “I gotta rinse the sand off these, I can’t see shit.” As he makes his way back to the cars, he holds his hand out for you to slap your palm into for a quick low five. A couple of other pilots agree to make their way in for drinks, except Hangman.

“I’m game.” - “I’ll play.” you and Bradley both say at the same time, then eye each other curiously. He’s finally removed his sunglasses and you observe how his light brown eyes shine in the evening light. Somehow, his mustache has bits of sand stuck into it from his many dives to the ground.

You know you’re not much better off - you’ll be scraping sand out from your scalp for days after this.

“I’ll play with Phoenix,” Hangman proclaims, and tosses a ball over to Bradley. “Losers can serve this time.”

Everyone else rolls their eyes. “You uh... You want to start?” Bradley turns to you, idly tossing the ball in the air. “I mean, serve?”

You nod your head and he passes it to you to begin the game. Somehow, you and Bradley work even better as a team of two without the extra people to keep track of. Neither of you even has to call out your next move - both just instinctively making way for the other when Nat or Hangman sends the ball barrelling over the net. It’s easy, effortless, something you never really felt with Bradley until you opened yourself up to working together with him.

“Heads up!” Bradley calls out and passes the ball to you, setting you up for a nice spike that wins you the game. “Nice one, Buttercup!”

After celebrating your victory with Rooster with an awkward high five that you can still feel vibrating in your right hand, you make your way back up to the Hard Deck. Natasha is toweling off sand near her car and she holds out a water bottle as you approach, which you accept gratefully.

“Thanks for coming. I know it was late notice, but the guys really liked you,” she grins as you chug half of the water in record time.

“I had a great time!” you tell her and screw the cap back on. “I really can’t express enough how much I appreciate the invite and getting to know you all. You all are so welcoming - i-it just means a lot to me, being new here and all.”

She’s quiet for a moment, then looks at you with what you can best describe as a guilty expression. “I’ve gotta be honest because I feel bad about hiding things. Cam and I may have conspired to bring you here to make nice with Bradley.”

Your heart sinks. “What?” you ask numbly,

She slams the trunk of her SUV shut before responding. “Hear me out - Cam’s a really good friend. I met them back when I was at TOP GUN for the first time. And now we’ve been catching up over yoga and they told me about your whole thing with Rooster - I mean, Bradley - from your college days. And I thought it was funny, honestly, it doesn’t come as a surprise to me that he was a little shit back then.

“But I know something happened between the two of you last week,” she says, and you stiffen. “Because Bradley’s going through some rough shit with this mission, but he was worse than usual last Thursday. And I wasn’t sure what could’ve caused it - I thought it was the same shit with our instructor or something. But then he got super wasted back at base and was just moping around about some Buttercup or whatever and I put together the bits and pieces. Long story short, this mission is so fucking crucial. It’s life or death, and we need the best of the best to be on their A-game, and that especially includes Rooster.

“Plus, Cam thinks you should let bygones be bygones for the sake of your journey - which I don’t know many details about and I’m not going to pry, but I trust them. So yeah, I suggested volleyball to the team, and conveniently, Yale wasn’t able to make it so I offered to have you sub in, and here we are now,” she finishes quickly, still looking nervous.

You breathe in heavily, leaning against her car and mulling over her words. “I don’t... I’m not sure what I can do with him.”

“For what it’s worth, you two seemed to make a really good team near the end there. Maybe you can go smooth things over with him now,” she gestures to where Bradley is currently sitting on one of the wooden beach chairs in the sand.

You settle an unimpressed look on her and she hastily corrects herself. “Like - not that you’ve done anything wrong to smooth things over. Just... Look, I think he just feels really bad about it - as he should! - but he’s definitely too embarrassed to approach you, let alone apologize out of the blue for how things went down. And maybe if you just go over there, he’ll feel comfortable enough to tell you what he said to me Friday night.”

“What did he say Friday night?” you quirk an eyebrow.

She sighs. “I’d love to tell you, girl, but it’s not my place. Just talk to him?”

You nod, crossing your arms. “I’m not entirely thrilled that you and Cam tried to be all sneaky,” Natasha has the decency to look a little ashamed. “But I understand why. And I mean... At this point, I’m tired of being in this weird limbo with him.”

She nods in understanding. “No matter what happens, it’ll be okay. I owe you a mint g&t afterward!”

“Sounds great. Wait, how do you know I drink-” you start, but Phoenix is already walking towards the Hard Deck with a sly grin on her face.

“Good luck, Buttercup!” she calls out before disappearing around the corner of the building.

You sigh again and shoot a glance over to where Bradley’s still sitting, still staring at the sky changing colors over the horizon. It’s now or never, you think, then silently berate yourself for thinking something so cliche. Taking another deep breath, you make your way across the beach to the unoccupied chair under the umbrella.

“Hey,” you come up behind him, wavering to see if he’s going to dismiss you or let him join him.

He looks up, and you try to ignore the weird feeling in your stomach when his warm, chocolate eyes meet your nervous gaze. Why isn’t he being a regular douche and wearing his sunglasses? “Hi, Buttercup.”

You shuffle your feet around slightly, shifting your eyes around to avoid that weird feeling again. Maybe you’re just hungry. “Mind if I join you?”

He extends a hand out to gesture toward the empty chair to his right. “By all means.”

You mumble a quick “thanks” and plop down in the seat next to him. A few minutes of silence pass between the two of you - to pass the time, you look up at the multi-colored umbrella above you and count how many different colored stripes there are.

You’re at four reds when Bradley breaks the silence. “‘Bane of your existence', huh?” he says with a crooked smile. “What is this, Bridgerton?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Sorry?”

“Bridgerton on Netflix? Season 2? Anthony and Kate?”

You look over at him with an incredulous look. “You’ve seen that entire show?” you deadpan.

He stretches his legs out, brushing some sand from his knees absentmindedly. “I mean... Yeah. Love me some Shonda. No Grey’s for me though - couldn’t get past season 2.”

You snort, looking over at him. “I don’t think I’ve managed to finish a show at all in the last five years. My job was always... Well, either way, I just finished Stranger Things on Saturday. Bridgerton might be next.”

“It’s pretty good.” He bounces his head in a nod, looking back out at the horizon. Another few beats of silence pass, and you struggle to find the exact words you want to say. But it seems like Natasha was right about him after all because Bradley beats you to the punch before you can open your mouth. “Listen, I just... I feel terrible about what happened in college. And I know I was all petty and mean earlier today and I don’t want to just make excuses for my actions. Shit, I want to keep myself accountable but I never could have imagined I was making you feel that way in college. And especially here, you know?”

You chew your lower lip and tightly grip the armrests of the chair nervously. “I just... I shouldn’t have blown up at you on Thursday-”

He’s shaking his head. “No, no, I totally deserved that-”

“I just got so angry-”

“As you should be-”

“And things have just been so hard lately-”

“I’m really sorry about that, I had no business trying to pry-”

“Jesus Christ, let me finish, Bradley!” you interrupt loudly. He shrinks back and you rub your temples warily.

“That’s what she said,” he mumbles and you look at him incredulously.

A burst of laughter falls from your lips. “Are you twelve?” you ask through a giggle and he breaks out into a wide smile.

“I’m sorry. I’ll let you speak. My lips are sealed,” he mimes sealing them with an imaginary key and then throwing it behind him. Your eyes linger over the small crinkles by his eyes as he’s smiling, and you quickly snap them back to the sand in front of you, choosing your next words carefully.

“I guess... Well, first things first you should know that I quit my job.”

Bradley looks shocked. "What?! At Java-"

"No, not Java Roasters. I mean my job in Raleigh," you huff out and lean all the way back so that your head rests against the wood. His eyes are trained on you, unblinking.

“Why?” he asks.

"I quit... because I hated it. I hated the daily minutia of logging onto a computer and attending stupid morning meetings and reporting my stupid project progress and pretending my work is meaningful- I just... I couldn't do it anymore.”

Bradley’s gaze is still focused solely on you. It feels less intense now, less nerve-wracking than it’s ever felt before. Like there’s no judgment or threat of mocking, just Bradley listening like you’re telling him the most riveting tale and not the story of how everything is falling apart. He hums, encouraging you to continue.

“I remember the moment I made the decision so clearly. Like on my way back from work, driving down I-40 and I couldn’t imagine living the rest of my life that way like a... Like a blur. I don’t even recall the last time I picked up a book for fun or got into a tv show or followed one of my passions.”

You pause to take a breath, feeling the returning lump in your throat become increasingly hard to swallow as you realize just how vulnerable you’re becoming. “So I quit. Called up all my friends and Camila was the only one to offer me something that wasn’t another job in the field that literally burned me out. So I’m here now. Just a failure, but at least I didn’t get fired,” you joke, turning away to wipe the one tear that’s fallen down your right cheek.

“Hey, it’s fine, it’s okay,” you hear Bradley say and suddenly his hand is there - open-faced on your left armrest, not touching you in the slightest. An invitation. A peace offering. A symbol of support. You hesitate for a moment before grasping his hand with your left, squeezing lightly. He continues, “Nothing about this tells me you’re a failure. I never even thought that word was in your vocabulary.”

“You know, you learn something new every day,” you reply through a soggy giggle. He chuckles and squeezes his hand twice. “I don’t know. Back in undergrad, I thought this was what I wanted. Working for a big-shot company with cutting-edge tech. Then I just got pigeonholed into doing the same thing over and over again, and the work was rarely that stimulating.

“Anyways,” you continue. “I guess I just wanted to explain myself and why I’m here now. And Cam says I’ve been holding onto the past for too long, so I guess that’s why everything just all came out last Thursday. I’m sorry - you didn’t deserve me yelling at you like that.”

Bradley’s been attentive, nodding throughout your spiel and holding onto your hand tightly. When you gesture for him to say his piece, he clears his throat and removes his hand from your grasp. You ignore how cold your fingers feel now and shove them under your thigh.

“I never knew there was a different side to our... relationship. I always figured it was friendly competition like we were just pushing each other. And honestly, I think it got me through some of my gen eds because I studied so hard into the night trying to impress you-”

“Impress me?” you ask, partly from shock. “Why?”

He shrugs. “I dunno. You were smart and so sincere about school and it was always so inspiring, I wanted to do the same. Maybe you’d think I was... cool. I guess” You let his words sit in the air, looking back on every single interaction with him from undergrad that you can remember.

Because you can’t remember him being malicious, or him being cruel or mean. If you took off your Petty Goggles™, you can see that maybe he never meant to talk to you in a mocking, demeaning way. Maybe.

“I’m sorry,” Bradley goes on. “I never meant to give you a hard time in college. I wish I saw how my teasing affected you earlier and I wish I was observant enough to realize you never played along, you always just sort of... took it. That’s not fair to you at all. And I wish I hadn't been so obnoxious and fallen back into old habits this past week. I’m just really sorry. And moving forward I’d like to be more self-aware.”

You nod, cracking a half smile. “You were pretty fucking obnoxious. Caramel in matcha sounds terrible.”

“It’s incredible,” he defends. “And just for the record, I finished every single drink you made for me. You’re doing amazing as a barista so far, sweetheart.”

The two of you laugh, and you feel so much lighter. At this moment, you think that maybe you and Bradley could be friendly - at least, you definitely could leave the past in the past and get a fresh start just like you were hoping to do when you came to North Island. Let go of this stuff with Bradley and get to know him for who he is.

“Listen... If you’re willing, I-I’d like to have a fresh start?” he says, and he stumbles over the words clumsily, like he’s rehearsed them like he’s hoping you won’t turn him down.

You smile. “Yeah. I think I’d like that, Bradley.”

Bradley beams at you - oh fuck, there’s that weird nauseating feeling in your gut - and you hesitantly smile right back. “Let’s head back inside. I’ll get you a drink,” he starts to stand.

You narrow your eyes playfully. “Thought you wanted me to cover the next drink? You know, with my big STEMinist paycheck?”

He closes his eyes, breathes in deeply, and turns his head up to the sky before exhaling with a pained smile. “I’m quite a jackass, aren’t I?”

You roll your eyes and laugh before turning around and making your way through the cool sand. Your heart feels full - ten sizes bigger. “You seem like a good guy now, Bradshaw.”

“Listen, Buttercup,” Bradley said at post-volleyball drinks, right as he was getting up to leave for the night. “I know you’re an organized girl and you like to keep things up to date - which is why I must inform you that whatever number you have under my name in your phone is most definitely out of date.”

“I’d honestly be impressed if you still had the same number fifteen years later,” you laughed.

“Yeah, yeah, well if you want to reach out to me for any reason, here you go,” he slides over a bar napkin with hastily scribbled digits on it. “Just - save me under my real name? Not like ‘Satan’s Spawn’ or ‘My Worst Nightmare’.”

“Both are accurate,” you say, pulling out your phone. “I believe I had you under ‘El Diablo’ back then.”

“The devil- Oh REAL clever.”

Over the next few days, you find yourself texting Bradley more often than you ever thought you would - which to be fair is a low bar, seeing as you never thought you’d even reply to one of his texts. It’s sporadic since you know he’s busy preparing for a mission of some sort on base (he and Natasha didn’t elaborate much more on it during drinks) but he makes an effort to keep the conversation going throughout the day and into the late hours of the night when his replies are longer and more frequent.

He invites you out to the Hard Deck on Wednesday evening, and you stay to talk late into the night until last call, talking about what you both have done since graduating and gossiping about old college friends. You’re both careful not to discuss what happened during college, your plans, or Bradley’s upcoming dangerous mission - for now, it’s just casual comfortable conversation. You’re becoming friends.

Somehow, you finally feel at peace with being right where you are - just working at the coffee shop and being friends with Bradley and doing things other than catching up on tv shows. You shoot out emails to your old favorite professors and former colleagues, asking for guidance on what you can do next in your career, and for the first time, you feel hopeful about your future.

You’ve advanced from treading water to doing a nice, comfortable backstroke. And it feels like it’ll be clear skies for some time.

Saturday evening at around 5 PM, after you’ve listened to a motivational podcast and finished chores and your weekly laundry, your phone lights up with a call from Lieutenant Gallo.

“Buttercup!” he sings out as soon as you answer. “What are you doing right now?”

“Um,” you eye your empty kitchen sink, the spotless floors, and the crumb-free kitchen countertops. “Nothing. Just finished my laundry and some other chores.”

“Oh perfect! I’m pulling up at your house in two minutes.”

“I- what? Who gave you my address?”

“Nat, who got it from Cam. You can yell at them later! Just change into something comfortable and wear tennis shoes.” He hangs up.

Ten minutes later, you’re seated in the front seat of Bradley’s Ford Bronco. As soon as you slid into the vehicle, he shoved a paper bag towards you and an iced coffee from Starbucks (“Sorry for the betrayal, sweetheart, if only Java wasn’t closed on the weekends”).

“Pulling out all the stops, huh?” you asked, breaking off a piece of a blueberry scone and popping it into your mouth.

“Well, you’ll need your energy,” he says vaguely and smiles at you through the side of his sunglasses.

While you finish off your drink, you survey your enemy-turned-friend in the driver’s seat. Bradley’s right elbow is propped up on the middle console, his left hand extended to grip the steering wheel at the twelve o’clock position. The black, sleeveless athletic top is painfully well-fitted and accentuates his stupid muscles. Your eyes catch the way his bicep tenses when he maneuvers a left turn, the way the cords in his forearm clench when he takes a sip of his caramel matcha monstrosity. There’s some old song from the ‘80s playing at low volume on the radio, and your gaze travels to how his long fingers tap out the beat on the console.

He’s so fucking pretty. And suddenly you’re going through your mental Rolodex of conversation starters, going through all the possible cool things you could say because holy fuck do you want to try and impress him right now. Or make him smile or laugh or maybe reach over and grab your hand again like he did on the beach

“Sorry, my A/C’s busted,” he interrupts your train of thought. He’d rolled the windows down earlier for which you were grateful - despite it being late afternoon, it was still incredibly hot.

“Eh, it’s better for the environment to roll the windows down,” you reply. “I mean - to a certain extent. Like I heard at higher speeds it’s not super fuel efficient because it causes more drag for the car and- well, I’m sure you know about that, being a pilot and all. Never-”

“No no, keep going,” he says and you swear his mustache quirks up with his smile. “It’s not like I’m rolling down the windows in a F/A-18. I like hearing you STEMsplain it, Buttercup.”

“Shut up,” you feel the heat rushing to your cheeks that must have something to do with the sun. You can’t be this nervous around a guy who almost fainted during his first keg stand. “So can you at least tell me where we are?”

He heaves out a dramatic sigh. “Well, right now, we’re in San Diego-”

“Bradley, I swear I’ll jump out of this car-” you threaten through a laugh.

“We’ll be there in two minutes, Buttercup, jeez! We’re near Point Loma, though, and that’s all I’ll tell you.”

Three minutes later, Bradley drives past a sign reading Sunset Cliffs Natural Park - and your heartbeat quickens.

You didn’t even think he heard you offhandedly mentioning your plan to check out the short trail up near here but not wanting to go alone. Your long-winded spiel had been interrupted on Monday by Jake loudly calling you two over to watch his winning 9-ball move (he’d missed the pocket entirely, but that’s beside the point).

Bradley pulling out all the stops today just makes it difficult to hate him, impossible to be annoyed with how he was before because you can tell he’s trying so hard to make it up to you and be a better friend. You resolve to do the same for him some time - maybe you’ll attempt to craft the matcha monstrosity after all.

“I got water and sunscreen in the back - it’s just like an hour to hike but I know you said you wanted to try something new here, so...” he seems a little nervous now, not meeting your eyes and busying himself with what’s in the back trunk.

“Thanks, Bradley,” you tell him, and the smile he sends your way finally makes you understand just what Andrew Garfield was waxing poetic about with the shot of espresso nonsense.

The two of you don’t chat much - mainly because the crashing waves of the Pacific Ocean drown out anything that isn’t a loud shout, but the silence is comfortable between the two. He lets you lead the way, following behind you and pointing out rocks that might trip you up.

After reaching the turnaround point of the trail, you both settle on a large, flat rock to watch the water over the horizon, the waves forming from far out and crashing onto the side of the cliffs. It’s far too early to see any sunset views, but the sun is still warming your faces and the wind is breezy enough to cool you down without blowing sand into your eyes. It’s quieter here, and you settle into talking about anything and everything, just as you always have this past week.

After an extended beat of silence, you muster up the courage to broach a subject that’s been plaguing your mind. "So what's up with you and your mission instructor?” you hesitantly ask. “Phoenix told me you guys have some beef. Like, really slow-roasted beef. Worse than your shit with pretty boy-"

"Oh my god," Bradley scrubs a hand over his face. "Please don't call Hangman a pretty boy. At the very least, not to his face. He'll never let me hear the end of it."

You giggle and shove his shoulder playfully in response. You don’t push the topic again, instead waiting for him to either accept the ball in his court or just lob a different conversation topic back at you.

"He pulled my papers to the naval academy," Bradley says quietly. "Set me back four years."

“Oh...” you trail off, not sure what to say. “Why would he do that?”

Bradley inhales deeply and shrugs his broad shoulders. “I always knew him as Uncle Pete - or Maverick. He flew with my dad - Goose - and they were really close friends. My mom joked about feeling like a third wheel at times and honestly, I can understand how from what I remember,” he huffs out a laugh, and you smile slightly.

“I was four when my dad died. It was during some training exercise, their plane got caught in a jet stream and they had to eject. Maverick got out fine, my dad-” he cuts off, turning his head away to look at the ocean again.

Feeling the deja vu hit, you hold your hand out, palm facing up. “You don’t have to go into the details,” you say as softly as you can above the sound of the wind and the waves.

When he looks over, the pain in his eyes makes a pit form in your stomach, which is only slightly alleviated by him slipping his large, warm hand into your outstretched one. “No, no, it’s just... It’s been a while since I talked about it. And I’ve just been so angry in class and during training these past few weeks. I don’t know why he’d want to hold me back from making my dad proud. But I just can’t let go of it.”

You squeeze his hand once, letting his words sink in, giving him time to empty all his thoughts. If there’s one thing you’ve learned about listening and supporting people, it’s that you don’t always have to have a response. It’s just about being there.

“I think he just... He didn’t think I could do it,” he goes on. “Or be as good as my dad. And neither he nor my mom wanted me to go into the Navy, but I wanted to for my dad. For Goose.”

A minute passes of silence. He squeezes your hand once, and you take it as a sign to reply. “For what it’s worth, I think he’d be really damn proud of you.”

He shakes his head with a sad smile. “I don’t know. Sometimes I watch how Mav flies and think about how different we are. He’s fast, spontaneous, and reckless to a point. And my dad loved flying with him. I’m cautious - Jake’s already given me a hard time for being too slow. I don’t... I think my dad would’ve wanted me to stop holding back.”

You nod, focusing on the way his hand feels in yours, the way his thumb has started absentmindedly rubbing circles over your knuckle. “I mean...” you start. “I don’t think your dad would be disappointed with the way you fly, Bradley. You’re the best of the best, like, Natasha told me how you’re all in the top 1% and you were all called back for this crazy mission and that’s such a big accomplishment in and of itself. But...” you trail off.

He squeezes twice for you to continue. “But I think he wouldn’t want to see you holding this grudge against Maverick. And I know I’m the last person who should be telling you to let go of the past... But honestly, ever since our fresh start, I’ve felt so relieved, and hopeful, you know? And it’s absolutely not the same thing, I know. Mav betrayed you, and I mean, I was just mad you were better than me-”

He scoffs. “It was more than that, Buttercup. Don’t downplay your struggles-”

You wave your free hand. “Regardless! I just mean to say... If this mission really is life or death like you said, then maybe the two of you need to talk it out. Have a fresh start. Just like we did - minus the hand holding, though,” you joke, holding up your joined hands slightly.

He smiles softly, squeezing once, sending your heart into a frenzy. “Thanks. I really appreciate your input and I’ll think about it, Buttercup. Really. And for what it’s worth, I’m glad we’re on a fresh start.”

The comfortable silence returns, and you turn your gaze back to the ocean, which isn’t as pretty as you remember it being. Even with the sun getting lower, casting rays that reflect brilliantly off the surface of the water, the sight still isn’t as breathtaking as the man next to you.

“Sorry I’m still calling you Buttercup, by the way,” he breaks the silence. “I’ll stop - I mean it’ll take a while to switch over, but...”

You shrug. “I’m getting used to it, honestly. If you called me by my real name, I might have a stroke.”

“Wouldn’t want that to happen,” Bradley laughs, eyes crinkling ever so sweetly, and just then you realize that the nauseous feeling plaguing you this whole week is butterflies. In your stomach. Just like the Miley Cyrus song.

Sweet niblets.

Tuesday finds you in the middle of another rom-com binge night - you’re on your third glass of ranch water (courtesy of some girl Brittany from Instagram) and your second throwback film of the night (Mean Girls) just for the comfort it provides. You hadn’t heard from Bradley yet - apparently, something happened during yesterday’s training and some Naval officer had passed away.

It’s been rough for him with the mission coming up next week - you’re happy to give him some space.

Your phone starts buzzing between your ass and the couch, and you pull it out to see another call from Lieutenant Gallo. “Hey, Lieutenant,” you smile slightly, swirling the contents of your drink in the glass idly. “How are you feeling? How was the funeral?”

Bradley’s driving - you can hear the hum of the vehicle over the phone and the Bronco’s turn signal. “It was fine,” he says, finally, sounding distant - and not just because he’s put you on speaker.

“You okay?” You fold your legs underneath you and pause the TV, devoting your undivided attention to him. “You can talk to me.”

He’s still silent. Then, he says your name - your real name. Your stomach drops immediately like you just hit some turbulence, and you set your drink down on a coaster and wait for him to continue. “I don’t know. It just reminded me of how terrible this job can be. Losing someone like that. I mean, no one knew just how sick Admiral Kazansky was, but…. Fuck. It’s brutal here. And Phoenix and Bob both had to punch out,” you gasp softly, “...they stayed for overnight observation and they’re fine now, but it’s terrifying.”

You nod, even though he can’t see you. “I’m glad they’re okay. I know that must be terrifying, Bradley,” you say. “Are you... Are you just more worried about the mission now?”

A heavy sigh. “Yeah. Something like that.” Another turn signal click - your heartbeat is somehow outpacing it. “Listen…” he says your real name again. Your smartwatch is going to think you’re going into cardiac arrest. “I know… I appreciate our becoming friends now. You’ve gotta know that. I just need to warn you about this mission… it’s gonna be fucking brutal. And you know, after we get back - if we get back, sorry to put it that way - it just never ends… it’s onto the next thing. I might get shipped out to Manama or somewhere, I’m not sure. And I just wanted to warn you, because I don’t know how long you’re going to be stuck here for-“

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You say after a sharp intake of breath. His words strike deep into your heart, unearthing feelings of hopelessness you thought you were just starting to bury.

“I mean… look, I just know I’m headed out after this mission if I get back. And until you figure things out you’re staying here, right? I mean you said it yourself, you’re not sure what your next step is going to be.”

You nod again, thinking back to your breathing exercises, thinking back to your hike with Bradley, thinking back to the smell of sunscreen on his skin, the sound of the waves, the weight of his hand in yours. Your efforts are for naught though, as tears still find a way to roll down your cheeks in fat droplets - like the rain on the day you decided to just quit once and for all. The biggest fucking mistake of your life, maybe. “Yeah, I guess,” you croak out.

Bradley’s silent on the line for a second. “I just wanted to… fuck, I don’t know. I just wanted to be straightforward with you. Because I really appreciate your friendship. I wish we could’ve managed the niceties fifteen years ago,” he chuckles dryly. You feel something shift inside you at his phrasing - you’re annoyed at his leisurely tone. He knows exactly why things were the way they were in undergrad. “I just don’t want to keep you waiting here for me.”

That’s the final nail in the coffin. The cruel, painful reminder that your path ahead is terribly foggy, completely uncertain. To hear Bradley speak about it so matter-of-factly, as if he too is expecting nothing more from you but to stay in this guest house for the rest of eternity. It’s honestly starting to sound like a good idea.

You eye your open laptop where you had pulled up info about Stanford University’s Masters and Ph.D. programs in Computer Science. A dozen tabs are open - programs for schools all across the world, YouTube videos of people outlining how they got into research and University teaching, and a very reassuring post on Reddit titled “How old is too old to attend grad school?”

Your heart sinks at the prospect of trying and failing again. At the realization that Bradley called just to informally shift things over to an awkward long-distance acquaintanceship. At the heartbreaking, anxious thought that maybe Bradley can sense you’re just not cut out to take yet another giant step in your career. That you’ll be here for a while. So you close your laptop with your free hand and squeeze your eyes shut.

“Right,” you say, keeping your voice as even as possible and wiping your wet cheeks with your shirt. “I get it. I just- yeah. Yeah, I don’t know how long I’ll be here. You’re right.”

Bradley sucks in air through his teeth. “I shouldn’t have said it like that. I didn’t mean-“

“No, no! It’s fine!” You cut him off. “You’re right. As always, you’re right. I um… Fuck. I gotta go, I think.”

“Buttercup-“ he tries, but somehow it fuels a fire you didn’t even know was spreading through your body. All of your anxieties and fears of failure take a backseat to the burning anger in your chest and throat. You find yourself indescribably incensed with him - who the fuck does he think he is? Trying to warn you about staying in this city for too long? Pretending to be concerned about your future?

“Don’t fucking call me that!” You say sharply. “I’m not your buttercup, or your sweetheart, or whatever else you come up with. You know my fucking name, and apparently, you know my plans too! You just have me all figured out, don’t you, Bradshaw? Lieutenant Bradshaw, top 1% of all naval pilots - you know what? Good for you, Bradley. I’m glad you have it all figured out and you’re going off on some awesome adventure right after this with your awesome and talented flight buddies.” Oh god, you’re dangerously close to repeating Janis Ian’s angry monologue from Mean Girls.

“They’re not adventures, hon-“

“You can fuck off, Bradshaw. I’ll try my best not to wither away here in Fightertown with no fucking opportunities for me whatsoever, working that fucking barista job trying to make sense of all the fucking ways you can make a macchiato because that’s all I can fucking manage! And you know what - for as long as I’ve hated this job, from just the three weeks I’ve been here that is truly only a modicum of my whole life, I’ve been trying to convince myself that there’s nothing wrong with treading water and waiting for your next move. But if you’re so worried I’m gonna waste my life waiting for you then I’ll make it easy for you, Bradshaw: I’m not waiting for anyone but my damn self. I’m gonna give myself time and patience because I fucking deserve that after practically killing myself trying to get a degree I might never use again. So thanks for your concern jackass - but you can shove it. I see even after fifteen years you haven’t lost your penchant for making me feel small!”

“Wait, what-“ you jab your finger at the end call button, effectively cutting Bradley Bradshaw out of your life once again.

~happy ending for these bbs coming in part 3 ~

#rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #topgun maverick #top gun maverick fanfiction #mine #tw suicide mention

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