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writing-makes-me-human · 1 year

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🌊Love And Guests: Part 2🌊

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Pairing: Aonung x reader

PART ONE: HERE, PART 3 HERE

Summary: You follow Aonung into the forest against your better judgement and things get pretty steamy quickly, while the tension runs high and your future together becomes a little bit more clear, to him anyhow.

Warnings: Mutual masturbation, mention of genitalia, heavy description of sex. mdni

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Hello again! As we all know, characters are aged up to about 19. Thank you so much for all the kind words you’ve all been sending me! My requests are open for AtWoW characters at the moment so feel free to hit me up! I work with and around all requests. Let me know if you want this to become a series or if you want other characters. AND If this NSFW piece is a bit much let me know and I’ll do some different things. xx

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You followed him in a steady pace, not allowing yourself to submit to your wants by running after him but unwilling to amble after him.

You broke ground into the deeper forest around you. You ducked through the trees and let out a small thanks to Eywa that you were finally free from the stress of looking over your shoulder, afraid that you would look back and all of your friends would be staring at you with abhorrent looks.

Even now, as you kept walking, eyes keeping a lookout, you could feel the spell Aonung had put on your biology, tugging at your navel. Here you were, bumbling about in the bush, trying to find him to do Eywa knows what and still all you could feel was excitement.

A twig snapped behind you, and you swiveled, breath caught in your chest as you heard some swearing and then the sound of water splashing.

Intrigued, you pulled back a branch, and your jaw dropped at what you saw.

Aonung was inside the freshwater bathing area, completely naked, hair loose from his man bun, letting the curly locks cascading down his shoulders.

He was still swearing as the cold water hit his body and took no notice of you gawking at him.His face was pulled into a painful expression with tingles of pleasure mixed into it. He was still aroused by the sounds of it and was begging for it to quit. Even in the cold water, he couldn't make himself go slack which was clearly irritating him to no end.

You decided you had your fill of being a creep and stepped out from behind the tree. A soft, affectionate smile returned to you as he looked up, beautiful eyes of swirling pain and dangerous rapture at your return before his face dropped.

He cleared his throat before letting his hands drift down to his nethers to cover himself, the confidence from before had worn off, and he was looking anywhere else but at you.

"Oh no, no, no, you can't be here, I know what I said, but you-you made my body- look, we can't mate yet, I have more training to do, and I am not ready for you", he pulled a particularly pained look as his eyes darted over to you for a second, taking in your body that was standing so tall and so dominantly with nothing around you for modesty.

You found it endearing the way he stuttered every couple of words, he was anxious, but the warrior was also strained as he tried to hold himself back from you.

He knew if he fucked you now he wouldn't be able to last ten seconds, let alone enough time to satisfy you.

"Relax, as cute as you are, I'm not here because I was jumping at the idea of mating with you in the bathing area", you teased, daring yourself to step forward more.

He quickly walked backward, slightly losing his footing on a rock in his mission to get as far away from your body as soon as possible.

You bent down and sat comfortably on the side of the small pond, permitting yourself to let your legs sleuth into the water and kick around a bit

The bathing area consisted of a pond the size of a mauri pod and a waterfall from where the water that trickled down the mountaintops could sustain the freshwater supply. It was a peaceful area, and if it wasn't for the excited boy in front of you, the chances are you would have dived in and had a swim for a minute or three.

"I can leave in a minute, I just wanted to make sure you were alright, I haven't ever seen you like this", you felt genuine concern for him, and while the dampness pressed against your loincloth was gathering in a pool, begging to be rubbed and given any amount of friction, you knew that Aonung's desperation was partly your fault.

He grumbled. Clearly, the honriness had his mind in ruins as he tried to find everyday words to say to you that weren't fueled with his usual sarcasm or shamefully filled with filthy words that downright begged you to come down and sit on his cock that was seeking you out with twitches for you he couldn't control.

"I've just been under a lot of pressure, is all, father has been saying it's time I found my mate, and my body's starting to catch up", he mumbled, feeling the pull at his groin as the normality of the words he was speaking was not exactly what he wanted to be doing with you right now.

You nodded, that stupid grin on your face as you shook. He could see the tease before you said it, and Aonung closed his eyes in preparation to block you out of his mind.

"So you're in a rut? You wanna fuck something?" You were smiling but it wasn't in a teasing way like he expected. It was almost entertainment crossed with interest.

He groaned, stepping back further from you, his back touching the cliff that the pathetic dribble of water fell from. The cool water fell over his shoulders and to the bottom of his waist, which did nothing to help your arousal that was starting to overhaul your mind with requests to latch onto him.

He didn't just want to fuck something. He wanted to fuck you for as long as he could until you were screaming out his name as you did in his fantasies. He wanted to make you drool and collapse like a pile of putty in his hands, but it seemed the roles had been reversed on him, and you were the one that had him in the palm of your hand.

"You think you're so funny", he hissed, his back shuddering a little at the coldness from the water running down his skin, forcing you to look away as his muscles tensed up and created more tension in your heart.

He watched you for a second before he felt a drop of his confidence return. You were just as embarrassed as he was, and while you didn't show it you must have at least been a tiny bit desirous of him.

"But you followed me, which means you're just as bad as I am", he grinned evilly, loving how you rolled your eyes.

He wondered if he could make you do that with his body, except your eyes wouldn't be so quick to find him again on that occasion. He would make sure they were rolled to the back of your head for hours.

"I was worried, I kinda felt bad. You looked like you were about to bend me over in front of everyone ", your hands found a piece of your hair, nervously twirling it in your hands.

He really shouldn't have been talking to you right now because while you were being compassionate and possibly working towards an apology, all he could see was your body.

His eyes locked in on your fingers twirling around your hair, and he found his thoughts drifting from listening to you to thinking about your fingers around him and his hands pulling your head up via your hair while you were still moaning in ecstasy.

"I don't think I can do this", he mumbled, eyes screwed shut as he tried again to will his cock to lay down, for the blood to move but it didn't. His member was standing straight up, and his juvenile craving for you was the cause.

His cock was nearly touching his stomach, and all he had done was smack your ass and have you mumble a few sweet nothing's in his ear. But here he was, already doing everything in his power that he could to stop himself from getting down on his hands and knees to beg you to sit on his face or for any sexual advance he could fuck his hand to later.

Your speech stopped as you started apologizing for deliberately edging him on in public with his friends, who had been not even out of eyesight, staring over at them. You let the words fall off as you could see he was still trying to breathe calmly, his ears were pointed back, and if he looked at you now, it would be a safe bet to place your last hair on your head that his pupils were taking up more space than his whites.

You were silent for a few seconds, trying not to let your lust overtake your actions and force you to jump in and swim over to him. You had to wait. He had asked you to. The desire was so connected to your mind that you hadn't even registered that he had wanted to mate with you, that he wanted to be bonded to you in the act of love for the rest of your lives. All you could think about was the space between your legs and the perfectly shaped piece between Aonung's that would make you see stars.

"Aonung?" Your voice was heavily filled with yearning, and as his eyes cracked open he couldn't do anything but suck in a breath as he saw you. A hard blush on your cheeks with your legs tightly clamped together.

He couldn't speak, he couldn't think, all he wanted was to touch you and have you touch him.You held eye contact, congratulating yourself on your bet as his eyes were, in fact blown out of proportion.

Aonun's hands over his dick didn't seem like enough anymore as he watched your eyes slowly fall from his face, down his front and below the water, following his trail of abs down to his hands. The way you stared was like you had x-ray vision, he could feel your warm gaze, and his cock quivered, making his body spasm unintentionally.

"Relax, okay? You don't have to mate with me, you can just make yourself feel good", you couldn't hold it back anymore. All the pictures of Aonung you had fantasized about kept popping up in your minds eye, and now you had him alone in the woods with nobody around in the middle of the day with your desire for release.

Your hand slowly picked itself up and steadily brushed over your stomach. Your eyes not leaving his own as your fingers slipped under the loin cloth and separated your folds, quickly finding your clit and rubbing it to allow yourself some severe euphoria.

He said your name in warning, but it didn't seem to compute because all your body let you think was, 'He's watching me', and with that, you threw your head back and moaned as quietly as you could, which didn't seem to be as quiet as you had hoped.

His back slid slightly down the cliff, eyes trained on you as all he could ever want to see was laid out before him for the taking. He couldn't and he wouldn't. He wasn't ready to be your mate yet, he had to learn more and become a good provider. He needed to be able to take care of you and he couldn't do that just now.

Your hand twitched, and that made a gasp fall from your lips. Your eyes that had once been looking towards the blue sky were now back down and looking at him. Your eyes were hooded while your mouth was slightly agape, little gasps and mewls being wailed out as you watched him simply observe you ride your hand in front of him.

He knew he shouldn't, but his dick was crying out now, and why should you be the only one to have any of the fun?

His hands dared to go lower, not taking a spare moment to look anywhere else but at your face, which was now holding back a particularly loud moan, your left leg coming up out of the water to give yourself a better angel.

You looked back down at him and smiled as you could see his hand coming too close around the base of his cock, making him breathe out a deep breath.

You smiled, letting your other hand untie your loincloth so he could get a good view of your pussy from his perspective. You threw the cloth to your side and went back to massaging between your legs.

He couldn't stop stroking now that he had started, all he wanted to do was cum so the humiliation could be over, but his cock disobeyed him. He wanted to cum at the same time as you, to fool himself into thinking this could somehow count as fucking you.

He emitted a groan of intense pleasure as his hand came to brush at his tip, and as the heavenly sound hit your ears, it made you gasp a whimper you didn't know you had the ability to make, only causing him to stutter.

"F-Fuck", he didn't swear often but now wasn't the time to show self-restraint about his language. It was either focused on not coming over to rip your hand away and replace it with his tongue or taking stock of what he was letting slip. He knew which he cared about more.

"Aonung", you couldn't help it anymore, he was watching you do something so private, and it was driving you mad.

His eyes roamed your body before they loaded in on your neither region. The slick that had been a small gathering before now leaked onto the ground beneath you and covered your hands in a clear film.

He couldn't stop, he pushed his dick through his hand, thrusting with all his might as he came closer and closer to finishing himself. He whimpered out your name, and your eyes locked in on one another in a silent agreement. You wanted to see the eyes of the other when you came.

As could be expected from his previous showmanship of torment, Aonung came first, pumping himself ragged with increasingly sloppy strokes before he shot his load between his fingers and into the water. His face, when he climaxed, was enough to send you over the edge, and you yelled his name so loud that your friends probably heard you from where they sat.

You collapsed on the ground beneath you, allowing your legs to sink into the water while your chest heaved.

You heard Aonung's breaths in front of you, and for a second, they synched with your own. You were both trying to calm down, but the heat between your legs was still burning brightly.It felt better, of course, but what would have felt even more impressive was any of his limbs inside of you, teasing at your clit with that stupid grin on his face saying he had won before you even began.

You sat up, jumping in surprise when you saw Aonung had silently made his way through the water and was now standing as close as you had been before he ran off. His eyes were hooded in lust like yours, and his lips were damp as he stared down at your middle. His face was even with your center. All it would take was one more step and a tilt of his head to drink from your legs. He agonized over that fact for several seconds.

You both kept trying to slow down and stop for breath, but with his body so close to your privates, you could feel the dangers of giving in and touching each other looming nearer and nearer.

"You know if you do that we can't go back, we won't stop", you managed to mutter, the words registered for Aonung, and he nodded, still not taking his eyes off your shining mound."I know" was all he said as he leaned closer, trying to inspect closer as your walls clenched around nothing, calling on him to connect his body to yours.

Your hand came down on his head, bringing him back to reality. He looked up at your pleased face and colorful checks, begging his body not to start its escapades all over again.

"I have to go, I'm sorry I can't be of more help", you gently cooeed, leaning down as you pushed a kiss on the top of his head while he nodded, pulling himself back.

"I'm gonna fuck you one day, and you're gonna be doing more than moaning my name", his words surprised you again, but you smiled, allowing an exhausted chuckle to escape your throat which tingled his brain.

"I'll hold you to it, I know you could do it", he smiled at your words before he leaped out of the water. His large hands came to land beside yours as he pulled himself up, his face on par with yours.

His lower half was still in the water, but his body was so close you could feel his lower abdomen rise and fall against your knee with every breath he took.

You blushed, going to pull back from the proximity, but before you could, he leaned in and kissed your cheek, proud of how you stuttered to find any words that fit the scenario.

"Run along, pretty girl, before you can’t resist mating with me", his arrogance had returned with vengence now that he didn't have his dick to worry about, and it only made you sigh with a hum.

"Just remember who saved who here", you prodded his chest, making him mock a painful expression so you would smile.

"If I remember correctly, I saved myself, you were over here doing nothing", he bragged with a proud smirk on his face, happy with himself as you raised your brow.

"Really? I didn't do anything", his breath caught in his throat as your hand that prodded him returned to his skin.

He tilted his head and watched as you dared to go lower, gently letting your fingertips travel to his v- line before you abruptly pulled away and shoved him down in the water, causing a splash that wet your feet as you laughed at his frustrated face.

"You'll have to find me later, make sure to say your full name, so I remember you, I do this a lot, you know", you teased down to him, eliciting a hiss from him which made you laugh triumphantly.

"You know that's not the truth, pretty girl, now use your manners your mother taught you and apologize to your future chief", the hiss had turned to a grin which made you nervous. What had he done?

"Why would I do that?" you asked, voice full of curiosity as he sunk his body further into the water.

"Or I keep these and build up a nice reputation for you so that I make sure you aren't doing this with anybody else", it was his chance to conquer the war as he held up your loincloth above his head, waving it around like it was a flag.

"Give those back, you moron!" You anxiously yelled as the picture of him shoving off the cloth to his friends materialized in your mind, even if you knew he wouldn't do that and would most likely just keep the pants for his own sick use.

"No! I like them, it matches my hair", he called, swimming away from you as he tried to keep them above water so they didn't get any wetter than they already were.

"Ah, I see someone was excited to come to see me", his infallible teasing had begun before you even left, and it made you want to strangle him.

"Two can play at your game!" You called out, twisting your body around on your heel. You quickly located his loincloth on the ground and held it up, which made him freeze.

"What do you think your mother would say if I went and returned this to her?" You called out, and his eyes dropped down to slits.

"You wouldn't", he scoffed, calling your bluff. He knew you were terrified of his mother.

"Oh, Ronal!" You called out in a singsong voice, not going very far as you still had your bare legs open to the elements.

"Alright, alright, fine!" He quickly stood up, exiting the water with his hands raised in surrender, one hand still gripped onto your brown loincloth.

You nodded happily, eyes avoiding looking down, and quickly snatched your pants from him, throwing his cloth to the ground as you pulled yours over your legs and retied it to your hip.

"I did that for your benefit, by the way, she would have interrogated you for weeks if you told her about us", he pulled his cloth over himself, covering as much as he could as not to flash you.

"Us?" You asked tenderly, eyes finding their way into his as he grinned.

"Well, of course, don't think I'd let you go after that little show, you're mine now", he didn't notice the way your face sparked up as he threw an arm over your shoulder, carefully steering you back to the training range and away from the pool.

"Now, how about I teach my girl how to spear-throw?" He quickly adapted to your new relationship, but you only elbowed his side.

"I have to go, lover boy, and you need to go explain to your friends why you left them high and dry", he grinned devilishly at that bit, but your stern glare told him to keep his mouth shut about the actual happenings between you two.

"Whatever you say, ma love", this time, he did notice your face flare up and called it out, but you shoved him off and took off, a hand pressed against the smile that was overtaking you.

He was going to be the death of you.

:𝗧𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁:

@luvlykrispy @shootingstarforever-blog1

#aonung x reader #ao'nung #ao'nung x reader #aonung x you #romance #x reader #awow x reader #awow imagines #avatar 2022 #avatar 2009 #avatar 2 #avatar way of water #aonung x y/n #smut #female reader

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tongue-like-a-razor · 1 year

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Less Talk | Part III

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

Summary: Jake can't stand Bradley's best friend. What's more, he's probably in love with her, which really pisses him off.

CW: mild angst, Hangman being a dick aka Hangman being himself, unresolved sexual tension, swearing, drinking

Part I | Part II | Masterlist

You’re watching Jake so grimly that he almost wants to give you a hug. But, the next moment, you let out a heated sigh and shake your head irritably. “God, Jake, nothing happened,” you say, as if he’s the one who’s shown up at your doorstep unannounced in the dead of night.

He gives you a stony look that, unfortunately, you don’t see because you’re no longer watching him, so his efforts go completely unnoticed. “If nothing happened, then why are you here? Past midnight. Crying.” To his chagrin, the tone of his voice is far too vexed to emulate the indifferent attitude he means to preserve.

You lick your lips and sniffle. “We had a fight,” you say.

Jake stares at you impatiently, waiting for you to look back up. When you don’t, he says, “You fight with everybody.”

This makes you look. He’s dreadfully satisfied with peeving you – the only satisfaction you’ll likely ever give him. “It was a big one, obviously.”

Jake studies the expression on your face, trying to gauge whether or not you’re hiding something. “Where is he?” he asks, feeling like he needs to punch something. And soon.

You take a long time to respond – so long that Jake almost poses the question for a second time. “I don’t know,” you finally say.

“What do you mean you ‘don’t know’?”

You shrug, your lips beginning to tremble anew. “He just left.”

What Jake experiences at the sight of the fresh tears filling your eyes is abhorrent. The simultaneous desire to alleviate your pain and beat the living shit out of Mustang offsets his entire world in a way that puts your well-being at the top of his priority list. Hell, he doesn’t even have a priority list. You are it. And with this absurd notion weighing on the ever-growing vortex of his newly discovered emotions, he resolves to tell you just what he thinks of your idiotic boyfriend. “Well, he’s obviously a moron,” he says curtly.

You glance up at him again, less angry than before. “He’s a lot like you in that respect,” you say with a hint of a smile.

Jake scoffs and, before he can stop himself, says, “I would never walk out on you.”

You stare at him for a moment before lowering your gaze awkwardly.

Jake cringes, realizing that he could have said just about anything else and it would have been better. Moreover, in his attempt to rectify the situation, he blurts out this obnoxious tidbit: “You’d never let me hear the end of it.”

You roll your eyes but then you bite into your bottom lip and your eyebrows lift inward. You glance up at him woefully and say, “I’m not that bad, am I?”

Jake watches you carefully, wondering why you’d care what he might have to say on the matter. He tries to determine what his response might be before deciding if he’s going to be honest. On the one hand, you are that bad. On the other, when it comes to you, bad takes on an entirely different connotation. “You could be worse,” he responds vaguely.

You stare at him miserably. “You can’t stand me,” you remind him.

Jake nearly laughs; that’s how absurd he finds your statement. “Well, that’s more or less mutual, is it not?”

You nod slowly.

“In any case, it’s hardly relevant since I’m not your boyfriend.”

“But what does that say about me?” you ask. “I piss off everyone around me. You said it yourself, I just can’t shut up.”

“Why should you?” he says, his anger flaring despite his every effort to control it. His response seems to catch you off-guard because you blink up at him sharply. “I just mean, who cares if you piss someone off? That’s not a you problem,” he reasons, although he’s painfully aware of just how much he’s contradicting his every complaint where you’ve been concerned.

“Well, it’s kind of my problem if my boyfriend hates me,” you say, your mouth finally relaxing into the beginnings of a smile.

Jake cocks his head to the side and purses his lips. “I don’t know,” he says. “Sounds like you just need a new boyfriend.”

You scoff and turn away. The moment your back is to him, Jake shuts his eyes and passes a hand over his face with a silent sigh. He watches you travel the length of his living room and unplug a fan that isn’t turned on. “You shouldn’t keep your electric appliances plugged in when they aren’t in use,” you mutter absently. “You’re wasting energy.”

Jake rolls his eyes despite the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “How much energy does a table fan waste when it isn’t even on?”

You shrug, glancing over your shoulder. “How many electrical devices do you currently have plugged in that aren’t ‘even on’?” you ask, using air quotes to emphasize the final two words. “It adds up, thereby increasing your carbon footprint. Imagine everybody lived as carelessly as you do?”

Jake grins broadly. “The horror.”

You nod without the tiniest bit of amusement. “My thoughts exactly.”

Jake watches you resignedly, not at all surprised that you’ve found yet another reason to reproach him. “Are you hungry?” he asks.

You eye him suspiciously, as if you don’t quite trust that he won’t poison your food.

“We’ve got some leftovers,” he says, nodding toward the kitchen through the corridor. “Have you eaten?” You consider his offer at length as though he’s proposed a shotgun wedding rather than a pot roast. “Come on,” he says, waving you over as he makes his way into the hallway. “I can’t wait to hear what you have to say about my cooking.”

…

“This is surprisingly good,” you comment as Jake pours you a glass of wine.

Jake chuckles. “That might be the first nice thing you’ve ever said to me.”

You lick your lips and smile up at him as he takes a seat across from you at the table, popping the cap off a beer. “Your turn,” you say, wiggling your eyebrows.

Jake sneers and then guzzles half his bottle in one gulp. He sets the beer down to find you watching him expectantly.

“You can’t think of anything?” you ask incredulously.

Jake runs a hand across his chin, watching your smile widen at the thought of him having nothing decent to say about you. Ironically, he can’t think of a single thing that isn’t nice, which is truly agitating him. He racks his brain trying to come up with at least one negative quality because something about you drives him absolutely crazy.

You sigh, returning your attention to your plate. “It’s fine, Seresin,” you say. “Don’t think so hard, I know you aren’t accustomed to it.”

“That,” Jake says, leaning into the table as he points a finger in your direction. “That sharp sense of humor.”

You raise your eyebrows with a laugh. “Oh, you think I’m joking?” You tilt your head sympathetically, but your smile remains.

Jake meets your gaze with an affectionate smirk, silently listing off every other ‘nice’ thing about you, including, but not limited to, the sound of your laughter. He swallows uncomfortably when you don’t look away, unsettled by the unrest in the pit of his stomach that churns every time your eyes meet. He tries to regulate his breathing before it becomes apparent that you’re actively rattling him.

The creak of the front door interrupts the obscenely prolonged period of mutual eye fucking contact. You glance toward the corridor while Jake disconcertedly rubs his eyes.

“Y/N?” Bradley says, walking into the kitchen. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh.” You sigh, setting down your fork and reverting to your previously dejected state.

“Don’t tell me you guys had another fight,” Bradley says jadedly. He glances over at Jake with a grave expression which Jake means to completely ignore.

“He stormed out,” you say, sighing into your half-eaten plate. “I think I really ticked him off this time.”

Jake gives Bradley an unimpressed look when the latter starts thrusting his head around to indicate that Jake should add something to the conversation. Jake takes another gulp of his beer.

“He shouldn’t be taking off,” Bradley says when Jake remains silent. “I don’t care how angry he is.” He looks to Jake for approval.

Jake rolls his eyes. “Why are we still talking about this dumbass?”

Bradley eyes him pointedly. “Didn’t realize you’ve already discussed him,” he says, glancing between you and Jake.

You pick your fork back up and start stabbing at the meat on your plate.

“How was the rest of your evening, Rooster?” Jake asks, avoiding looking directly at him.

“Pretty good,” Bradley responds, and Jake can hear the glee in his tone without even seeing his ridiculous grin. “Yours?”

Jake aims a disdainful scowl in his direction. “Bradshaw,” he says. “You look tired.”

Bradley holds back a laugh and then turns to you. “Y/N, do you want to talk?”

You look up at your best friend with a weary smile. Your gaze slips to briefly glance at Jake before you shake your head at Bradley. “I think I’m good. Thanks.”

Bradley gives you a hug and heads for the stairs, pausing momentarily to throw Jake a final, cautionary look before heading to bed.

“I should go,” you say once Bradley leaves.

“You sure?” Jake asks. “You haven’t criticized my dishwashing skills yet. I bet I use too much water.”

You give him an amused look as you rise from your chair. “Recognizing the problem is the first step.”

He recognizes the problem alright; it’s standing right before him. “What’s the next step?”

“Well,” you say musingly. “In this case, I would say action.”

Jake nods, getting out of his seat. “I could use some of that, for sure.”

Your gaze lingers on him as you let out a soft laugh. You’re an entire table length away and yet he can feel the force of your presence as though you were pressed up against him.

“You could stick around,” he offers casually. “We could watch a movie or something.”

You continue studying him brazenly. “I’d probably ruin it for you.”

He laughs. “We could watch something I already don’t like.”

You smile back at him. “Haven’t you done that enough for one evening?”

Jake doesn’t altogether know how to respond without making it painfully obvious just how much he doesn’t not like you. “Yeah,” he says finally. “So, what’s another couple of hours?”

You’re watching him thoughtfully which makes him almost hopeful that you might agree to stay, but then you respond with, “Maybe another time.”

He nods, keeping his eyes trained on yours. “Another time,” he agrees. But as you head for the door, he decides to try another tactic. “Should you be driving after having that wine?” he asks.

You give him a flat look. “I had half a glass. If that.”

Jake shrugs slightly. “It was a big glass.”

You roll your eyes. “It’ll be fine, Seresin.” You reach for the doorknob.

“Wouldn’t it be nice if, for once, he came home, and you weren’t there?” he asks.

You look at him sharply. “He won’t be home for hours.”

Jake gestures at the open living room. “We have several fine couches. Take your pick.”

You sigh, evaluating his pitch. “No,” you say finally. “He’s already so mad at me. If I stay here, that’ll be the end of our relationship.”

This outcome sounds just dandy to Jake, but he can see the worry in your expression, so he pulls on the door and holds it open for you, following you out onto the porch to walk you to your car.

“Drive carefully,” he says once you’re seated, leaning down to peer into the car as you buckle your seatbelt.

You nod. “Thanks for dinner.”

“Thanks for the company,” he responds.

You chuckle. “Yeah, about that… sorry I imposed on your evening.”

“Yeah,” Jake agrees with a smirk. “That was kind of rude of you.” When you laugh, he adds. “No, but really, I don’t mind. Come over anytime.”

You gasp at him to simulate shock. “And subject you to my numerous opinions?”

Jake’s grin widens. “I’m getting used to tuning you out.”

“So, what exactly is it that you gain out of my company?” you ask with raised eyebrows as you start your engine.

Jake raps on the hood of your car a couple of times before responding. “I just don’t want to deprive you of my company.”

You snort. “That would be a tragedy.”

Jake lets himself admire your laugh for several seconds before straightening his back. “Have a good night, Y/N,” he says, and then he shuts your door.

You pull out of the driveway and stop your car on the side of the road. Jake watches curiously as you step out of the car. He approaches you slowly, his eyes drifting up and down your figure involuntarily. He blinks to reorient himself, exhaling sharply as he comes to stand before you. He slips his hands into his pockets to avoid the temptation of using them to pin you to your car and then running them along the curves of your body. You’re looking up at him with a sheepish expression, completely unaware of the turmoil he’s up against in this very moment. “What’s up?” he says sternly; employing exaggerated masculinity to help assuage his crippling desire to kiss you.

Instead of responding, however, you stretch up onto your tiptoes and wrap your arms around his neck. In his shock, it takes a second for Jake to loosen his rigid stance; to remember that his hands are still safely tucked into the pockets of his jeans. He draws them out slowly, holding them cautiously on either side of your body, wondering just how catastrophic it would be if he were to reciprocate the hug. “You really helped me tonight,” you say softly, your breath warming the crook of his neck.

He lets out a weak chuckle that dies the second it leaves his lips because, at that moment, you press your cheek into his shoulder. His hands close gingerly around you. He’s barely holding on, but you feel just right in his embrace. Like the dip in your waist belongs between the palms of his hands. “Glad to be of service,” he mutters, his voice a little rough as he attempts to process this turn of events.

You detach yourself from his grasp and give him a friendly smile. So friendly, it nearly kills him. “Maybe I can return the favor someday,” you say.

Jake stares at you, trying to come up with at least one favor you could do for him that isn’t sexual in nature and drawing a complete blank. “Maybe,” he says uneasily.

“Anyway,” you say. “Sleep well.”

You flash him one last smile before climbing back into your car while Jake takes several steps back, wondering how the fuck he’s going to sleep at all after having experienced that.

Read Part 4

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narcissosbythepool · 3 months

Text

More of pricegaz Rosie AU, in which Gaz and Price have a baby together. This fic is a companion piece to this wonderful art by Rowan. Price finally gets to meet newborn baby Rosanna !

Tags: established pricegaz, trans pregnancy (Gaz), mentioned c-section, extremely schmoopy parental feelings

John has been in scary situations before – life-threatening ones, truly abhorrent, desperate places.

Nothing so far has prepared him for 6 missed calls from Dorothy.

The moment they’re allowed to make contact with the outside world again, he dials her back immediately, praying the entire time that the dread turning his guts upside down is unwarranted.

“Please, please, please,” he mumbles into the receiver, until the call finally connects.

“John?”

“Is he alright?” are the first words out of his mouth. “Kyle, is he alright?” He sounds frantic even to his own ears.

“More or less,” Dotty says, and she sounds calm enough that John can at least catch his breath a little. “He called me over when he suddenly had strange pain, and we’re at the hospital now.”

Well, there goes his composure.

“And?”

“They’re prepping for an emergency c-section,” Dorothy says. “There is a chance that the baby’s going to end up entangled with the umbilical cord, and she’s a breech too, so we decided that it’s safest to cut her out now.”

John wonders if he’s going to black out. It feels like it.

“Alright,” he manages. “Are you with him?”

“Yeah, he’s here. I’ll give the phone to him.” She pauses. “He’s on some pretty strong painkillers already, though, so he’s a little loopy.”

“Thank you, Dorothy.”

There’s a rustling sound as Dorothy hands the phone to Kyle.

“Sweetheart?” John calls for his love and Kyle chuckles back – the sound is enough to soothe his wildly galloping heartbeat.

“It’s cute when you call me that,” Kyle tells him. The corner of John’s mouth lifts a little.

“You broken?”

“Nah,” Kyle replies. “Not really.”

“You alright then?”

“If an emergency surgery is alright, I guess.” There is a pause, and when Kyle continues he sounds a little slurred: “I wish you were here.”

“I know,” John says, “and I’m sorry. I’ll come as fast as I can, okay? I’ll make Nik break traffic laws.”

“Oh, he’ll like that,” Kyle chuckles again. “Crazy, huh? The baby coming out.”

“That’s one word for it.” John rubs a hand over his eyes. “Dotty is with you, alright? And when you wake up, I’ll be there. You’ll be…” He swallows. “You’ll be fine.”

“Mmh. You better be here then. I’ll kidnap the baby and disappear if you’re not.”

“Ah, threatening me already. I’ll do my best, but you’ll have to blame Nik if I’m late.”

“I’ll shave his head,” Kyle mumbles back and John finally cracks up.

“I’ll tell him to hurry, then.”

“I love you,” Kyle says, and what else can John reply:

“I’ll be there.”

Once he gets to the Gloucester Royal Hospital, he practically runs to the maternity ward nurse station.

“I’m here for Kyle Garrick,” he says, barely catching his breath. The nurse at the station raises her brows and then smiles.

“John Price?” she asks cheerily.

“Yes.”

“You’re the other father, then,” she says. “Good that you could make it. Kyle seems to be out of surgery by now, I’ll get someone to pick you up and take you to him.”

The short wait time while she flags down another nurse feels like standing on hot coals. John checks his phone again – Dotty hasn’t replied anything yet, but she also hasn’t called again so things can’t be going too badly. He walks back and forth, goes to wash his hands in the restroom, and then goes back to pace in front of the station.

“John?” he hears and perks up. A dark-skinned woman walks up to him with a smile. “I’m Najin, come this way.”

“Thank you— is he alright? I tried to get here as soon as I could—” John trails off, feeling vaguely ashamed.

“He did mention you were probably breaking a couple international air traffic laws to get here,” Najin chuckles. “He’s alright. The surgery went well and he’s expected to have a full recovery. Your daughter is also healthy.”

John nods and tries to remember how to breathe.

They walk down the hallway, until Najin slows down in front of one of the doors, which then opens and out steps Dorothy, about to leave the room.

“John!” she exclaims and then John has his arms full of Kyle’s sister as she jumps in his embrace. “You made it!”

“Thank you, Dotty,” is all John is able to choke out, squeezing her closer.

“Of course,” Dorothy says and pats his back, pulling back, and now that John can see her face properly, her eyes are a little bit puffy. “I’m going to get some coffee. Go meet your kid. She’s mad cute.”

“Alright,” John manages.

“Kyle fell asleep a while ago, poor guy’s knackered,” Dorothy addresses Najin, who nods, and she pats her on the shoulder as she walks off – John assumes they probably know each other, perhaps former coworkers or school friends. “See you soon.”

Najin walks him into the room, where John’s eyes first zero in on Kyle’s sleeping form. He wonders if the explosion of affection in his chest will ever go away – he hopes not. Kyle looks exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, and guilt worms its way in his thoughts again.

“Sir,” Najin reminds him, “this way.”

And then John lays his eyes on Rosanna Garrick Price.

He walks slowly to the see-through crib, where the smallest baby he’s ever seen sleeps soundly, snuffling in her sleep.

He can’t quite describe the emotion. It’s unlike anything he’s ever felt before.

“She’s…” he whispers, “small.”

“She is premature,” Najin smiles. “But she’ll start growing before you even notice.” She then touches his arm and says warmly: “Congratulations, you’re a father.”

That finally breaks the dam.

The first sob takes him nearly by surprise. The second less so – soon enough he’s bending over the crib, tears running down his cheeks as he tries to catch his breath. Najin’s smile widens and she rubs his arm in comfort.

“Can I hold her?” John manages between his hiccuping sobs.

“Of course,” Najin says, “do you want me to show you how?”

John nods – he knows how to hold babies, but his brain feels wiped clean as he stares down at his daughter. Najin helps the baby in his arms, making sure he’s supporting her neck, and then John suddenly finds his arms full of his child.

He’s always been good with his hands. They’re calloused from work, used to the weight of a gun or a knife, scarred from ropes and wires. Dependable, fast, swift.

He thought his hands had found their calling holding a weapon.

He’s never been so wrong.

A new purpose opens her eyes in his arms and squints up at him for a moment – and then she sighs and burrows closer to his chest.

This does not help with the tears.

Najin leaves his side to check up on Kyle. John is only vaguely aware of her moving, so fixated on little Rosie. He rocks her a little back and forth, staring at her in awed silence. He’s never really been a crier, he thinks absent-mindedly, but apparently once the tears started falling he can’t stop them now. Every time he looks at her face, his chest constricts with an emotion that he doesn’t know he has ever felt before.

Dear god, he has loved before. He loves Kyle more than he can count the stars in the sky, he loves his team, he’s loved people he has lost. He thought he knew the limits of it, until Kyle came into his life, and when he thought he had felt it all in full, here comes this little wonder and surprises him again.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he whispers to her, “I can tell already.”

Rosie merely huffs at him. He guesses he deserves it, disturbing her beauty sleep.

And oh, she is a beauty. She’s a bit wrinkly, as newborns are, her little face scrunched up as she concentrates on stealing his heart with every single breath, probably dreaming of her world domination once she wraps him around her tiny pinky finger.

“Sir?” Najin calls out to him.

John hums, acknowledging he’s heard her.

“Kyle will probably be asleep for a while, but nothing seems wrong here, so I’ll leave you two for now. If anything comes up, don’t hesitate to call on us.”

“Thank you,” John says, finally tearing his gaze from Rosanna to meet Najin’s wide grin. “Sorry for, uh…” He lets out a shuddering laugh. “The mess.”

“It’s alright,” Najin laughs. “Best part of the job. Have a nice evening, sir.”

“Thank you, again,” John replies earnestly, and Najin leaves with a friendly wave.

John looks down at Rosie again. Tears well up in his eyes once more and he can’t help but laugh.

“You’re probably the first girl to make me cry like this,” he chuckles and then sniffles, trying to gather himself. “Let’s go wait for your dad to wake up, alright?” He then pauses and frowns as a thought suddenly occurs.

“I didn’t introduce myself to you, did I?” He wipes her tiny cheek with the tip of his finger. “I’m your Da.” A smile breaks on his face again. “Nice to meet you, princess. Let’s hope you get your looks from your Dad and not me.” Another pause. “Don’t tell him I said that, alright?”

Rosanna’s nose twitches in agreement.

John sits on Kyle’s bed, careful not to jostle either him or Rosanna. He looks over to his sleeping partner.

What is he going to say? There is no gratitude, no apology, no atonement or glory great enough. Kyle has given him everything. There is nothing without him. He is nothing without him. How does one express that? How can he ever express how he feels right now, how Kyle has turned his world upside down with this blessing? There are no words for this – perhaps there are poets who could speak it into being, but all John knows is that there is a fire inside him that won’t go out.

So he waits, holds little Rosie in his arms and waits.

At some point the sheets rustle as Kyle shifts, and John gets to watch his lashes flutter as he fights his way to wakefulness.

“Hey,” John whispers. Kyle cracks an eye open.

“Hi,” he replies, voice raspy. “You made it.”

For a moment John wonders how to speak it into being, this feeling that surges inside him like a rising tide.

Before he can come up with a reply, Rosie wiggles in his arms. He looks down at her and—

“Bloody hell, I haven’t stopped crying since I saw her,” John chokes out. “Every time I look at her, I just…”

“Break open all over again? Yeah,” Kyle chuckles, and as John turns back to him with tears streaming down his cheeks, Kyle’s smile has widened to a proud grin.

“I love you,” is what comes out of John’s mouth, and Kyle’s expression slacks to one of surprise – and it is rare that he’s able to drag the words out of his mouth, but there simply is nothing else to say. “I love you, alright? I am nothing without you, and I’m so proud of you.” He leans in carefully to press a soft kiss on Kyle’s forehead, trying not to jostle Rosie too much, and when he pulls back, Kyle brings his hand to John’s cheek to wipe away his tears. John leans into the touch, closing his eyes for just a second.

“You better be,” Kyle says, and his voice is so soothing, as exhausted as he sounds. “I did that all by myself.”

John kisses his palm.

“That you did.”

END

#pricegaz #rosie garrick price #kyle gaz garrick #john price #call of duty #narcissosbythepool #rosie au

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butchhamlet · 1 year

Text

some reasons you should watch abigail thorn’s “the prince”

i mean, reasons beyond “it’s about trans women in a shakespeare multiverse and abigail thorn plays hotspur.” because--do you need more? but i have more to say, so i’m going to say it.

1. the exploration of the conflation of death and transition. i think trans people are in the habit of pushing back against the idea that transition is any sort of metaphorical death, because so many cis people say shit about feeling like they’ve lost a son/daughter/brother/sister/niece/nephew/gendered acquaintance/etc. but in truth, taking the plunge in deciding to transition, or deciding even to be honest with yourself about your transness, can look and feel a lot like a death, even if it’s a death that’s necessary for a rebirth (something thorn & other trans writers have touched on before). i can’t cite specific parts because spoilers but just trust me that this does a lot with that that made me want to put my head in my hands and scream

2. the interaction with manhood in the history plays. the henriad is incredibly concerned with what it means to be a man the right way--richard ii’s effeminacy assayed against bolingbroke’s stubborn strength; hotspur’s yearning for glory and love of war tied to his destructive masculinity and abhorrence of the feminine; hal’s gendernonconformity through use of language more often than weapons; henry v’s presentation of the english as a virile “band of brothers” identified in contrast to the foppish french dandies. the way this play examines gender--womanhood, manhood, masculinity, femininity, structural misogyny--is fucking delicious in that context, particularly in that the play turns hotspur’s obsession with masculine glory into something of a defense mechanism, as hotspur strives to be the person northumberland and worcester and kate percy expect. (ALSO THE COSTUMING. AND THE SWORD. AND THE DOUBLE-CASTING. AND THE SYMBOLISMS. FABULOUS.)

3. interaction with 1H4 in general. the way thorn cut up this play and rearranged it. i couldn’t go two minutes without turning to my friend and hissing, “this is a line from the real play! except in context it doesn’t go here!” and then gasping over how shifting the context, length, or speaker of speeches brought new aspects of both works to light. ALSO? SO MANY SPEECHES/SCENES IN SHAKESPEAREAN VERSE THAT WERE NOT IN THE ORIGINAL PLAY AT ALL. WHICH MEANS THIS WOMAN WAS JUST WRITING RAW IAMBIC PENTAMETER. LIKE, CONVINCING ELIZABETHAN-ERA IAMBIC PENTAMETER. WHAT. (also also! you don’t have to be a shakespeare nerd to enjoy this play, but if you like iambic pentameter jokes, boy howdy have i got good news for you!)

4. that said, it’s accessible to non-shakespeare-superfans, too! if you don’t know much about the histories, or if you struggle to comprehend shakespeare, don’t fear! the play is doing more than just riffing on shakespeare. it’s at least 50% modern speech, and the switches from one dialect to another tend to come at the most destabilizing and thus hilarious (or gutting) moments. there’s one particular modern-language-paraphrase of a specific 1H4 speech that i haven’t stopped thinking about since i saw it, because it’s the perfect balance of comedic and agonizing.

5. trans people. not just transgender shakespeare characters, but also modern-day trans women! i love that we get both original trans characters and shakespearean characters hit with the transgenderification beam, and i love how many trans people there are; it allows for a more thorough exploration of identity, and also so many good fucking jokes.

6. prince hal is gay for real. not sure i need to say much else about this

7. who doesn’t want to listen to abigail thorn recite shakespeare? not even just 1H4! but i shan’t say more, because oh, baby, that one’s gotta hit organically.

you can read more about it here if you’re not yet convinced, but come on. if you like shakespeare, or if you like art about gender and transness and narratives and confinement and freedom, or, hell, if you like seeing women with swords, i literally don’t know what to tell you i don’t know why you’re still reading this go watch the prince come on now

#max.txt #the prince #abigail thorn #henry iv #henriad #bottom bless thee thou art trans #no she is not sponsoring me. but should she like to--#god this play is so fucking good y;'all. im fucking crazy. im fucking insane. im bonkers in yonkers

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guide-to-world-domination · 1 year

Note

I just saw your post about BAMF Spider and like.,.,., BRO!!!! It’s so good!!! Do you have any idea what everyone’s reaction would be?? Or his time in captivity now (going with the scenario he does get captured)??? Is Quaritch going to be proud of BAMF son??? I’m sorry I need to know more

Thanks for the feedback! I was just thinking about adding to this, so this came at the perfect time. I think everyone’s reaction oscillate between outrage about how stupid Spider was by doing this and how how shocked that he was even capable of doing this.

Jake doesn’t not know how to respond, apart from in a very concerned (yet angry) fatherly way. He absolutely doesn’t understand why Spider needs to do this & as Jake is from earth, naturally, the very idea of anyone becoming a child soldier is abhorrent. With all the emotions, Spider’s logic as to why he’s doing this (“This is my home, If I have an opportunity to defend it I will fight every time”) doesn’t get through to him and he ends up dismissing Spider’s beliefs and wants because “he’s just a kid”. Spider eventually gets fed up with this behaviour and decides that since Jake doesn’t want to treat him like he isn’t a perfectly capable combatant, He won’t treat Jake like he’s a General.

SIDE NOTE: Can we all take a moment to realise that Jake had no business leading a long-term campaign against an invading force much stronger than anything Pandora has faced. At best, he should be an advisor or strategist. This man won one fight with the RDA, and that’s only because a Literal God decided to step in. There is a reason he is a corporal - he doesn’t have mindset or skills required to lead a large army against an enemy like the RDA, over the course of what likely will a decade or more. So far, we have seen no attempts to gain intelligence from Bridgehead, develop new and improve existing techniques for eliminating RDA forces (i.e. new weapons & tactics) or even any development in utilising Electronic warfare against the enemy. Rant over.

Neytiri. Is a complicated story. Yes, she is outraged by Spider’s decision for the same reasons as Jake. However, She rationalises by the ‘demon blood’ argument, that this is how Spider will destroy the People by becoming like his father. She denies being at fault for pushing Spider down this path in the first place, reasoning that he didn’t need to become a murderer - he just needed to leave the People alone. She believes the tattoos and Viking braid to be a way to mock the People, which almost causes a fight after they return to High Camp but Jake is there to stop his mate from doing something stupid. Which was good, because Spider was very much ready to throw hands down and fight Neytiri. He could never forgive what she said, and now she wants to attack him over the identity he has come into on his own - yeah, that would end in Neytiri being KO’d. Spider honestly doesn’t care for what she has to say to him, since he doesn’t really care for her opinion since it often revolves around insulting him in some way.

The Sully Kids are very clearly worried for spider but still think it’s cool that He is fighting for his homeland. they wish that they spent more time with him and socialised with him more over the last few months, but they simply didn’t want to aggravate their mother. Looking back on it, they deeply regret not hanging out with him more, because now they can’t really recognise the Spider that they knew in him. Kiri is slightly more upset than the others, because she knows that he is pulling away from Eywa - she can feel it. She begs for Spider to abandon all of this and to rejoin them, reassuring him that her mother will be better towards him. Spider doesn’t believe it though. He likes this version of him - it’s something he was developed and he now feels comfortable as the person he is now. He tells Kiri this much, which prompts Neteyam, Lo’ak & Tuk to step in and try to convince him to give it all up. Spider just walks off, because he can’t possibly handle the sting of this betrayal. He can’t hate his friends for not understanding him, but this is who he is and they will need to accept that.

Norm is absolutely against it. He shuffles between lecturing spider, shouting at him for being so completely stupid & grounding spider from his privileges (access to the workshop, the armoury and gun range, his scorpion, etc. ). Norm has zero grounds to do any of this, because he hasn’t been caring for spider as soon as Max took on that responsibility full time. Before Spider can loose his cool, Max steps in and for the first time in years for Max, He begins cussing out Norm and screaming that Norm has no right to tell Spider what to do and that if he ever starts screaming at his boy again, he will [Blanked out, due to the unspeakable things and threats my mind just conjured up at the thought of Max threatening somebody]. Norm is speechless, his jaw is on the flaw. He has never heard Max swear or act violent in their time knowing each other, so Norm flounders for at least enough time for Max to take Spider away to somewhere safe.

Just as another thing, This would be the first time that Max outright declares Spider his Son. Everybody knew it by this point, but since there was no reason to state something everyone knew (or at least the scientists), it was never said. It was only spoken and declared between Max and Spider when they were together.

Mo’at deserves her own post. I’m putting it in the works to write - so bare with me, please.

In terms of Spider being captured, he does not. When the recom’s show up, Quaritch cannot believe that this is his son. He was worried that his son would look some hippy but this is frankly worse. A tatted up, heavily scarred, blonde-haired white boy, covered in all black fatigues and strapped with three different weapons was not what he had in mind - and he did not like it. When Jake and Neytiri come to the rescue, Spider took that as an opportunity to distract the recoms and start mowing them down with their own guns. He refused to have Neytiri of all people save him. He was only her because Lo’ak invited him and Spider only accept because he knew that Lo’ak was going to get everyone killed so he should tag along to stop him before that happens. Quaritch is in complete awe about how terrifying his son is (“That boy is a true Quaritch right there!”), but he has to retreat because he will in fact die and if what his son is shouting at him - he will die very slowly.

This is an incredibly long post for me to right, but I thoroughly enjoyed it. If anybody wants to send in more asks, I will gladly answer them. However, I’m exhausted from a long day of work and writing so I’m gonna nap for a bit.

Yours,

A uni student with consistently low levels of sleep

#avatar #miles socorro #spider socorro #atwow #atwow spider #kiri avatar #neteyam #recom quaritch #max patel #norm spellman #jake sully #neytiri #lo’ak sully #recoms #avatar recoms #please enjoy #the product of my very unmedicated and exhausted mind #hope you like <3 #Freedom Fighter!Spider AU

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maagicmushies · 6 months

Text

Naruto is a bad ninja. That's like baby’s first Naruto criticism. This is supposed to be a manga about ninja, yet its main character is a loudmouth clad in bright orange who has never even heard of the word subtlety. There are even large stretches of the manga where he is one of the weakest main characters, so he’s even failing at the manga’s specific definition of a ninja. He is just horrible at it. But one thing that I never hear a lot of people mention is that Naruto is a bad ninja by design, he needs to be.

The Land of Waves Arc serves two main functions. The first is easing the reader or viewer into the world of shinobi on a very “scientific” level. You learn what chakra is, what the three main types of jutsu are, what chakra control is, how ninja rank works, what kekkei genkai is and so on and so forth. Everything that would be in a textbook to be studied by entry level ninja is in this arc. The second function is a look into the world of shinobi on a more “ideological” level in the second half. Ninja take on jobs, but rarely do they take on jobs for other ninja. They mainly take on jobs for local feudal lords or crime lords who wish to use these strengths for political purposes. In this way, Naruto’s ninja are sorta like mercenaries. Ninja are expected to kill the people who they have culture and shared experiences with for the sake of people who really couldn't care less about them. Their intelligence is their most valued aspect and emotions can compromise that so a trained ninja can’t even cry. As Zabuza says, a ninja is just a tool to be used by their employer and anyone who cannot do that, is a bad ninja.

One of the most genius things about this arc is that almost every named ninja we see ends up breaking a vital rule of the ninja code. Haku and Sasuke sacrifice their lives for loved ones, compromising their mission in the process while Sakura, Naruto and Zabuza are reduced to blubbering crying messes by the end. They all failed at being ninja because to be a ninja is to cast away your humanity, something that isn’t really possible. By the end of the first arc, the series has planted the idea that being a ninja isn’t something to be desired. Ninjutsu and throwing stars are cool, but this ideal of a “real” ninja is so cynical and cold that anyone who could pull it off perfectly would be as miserable as they are abhorrent. Trust me, we’ll get back into that. The arc ends with Naruto deciding that he’ll find his own ninja way. A way to be a ninja that is not synonymous with pain and cruelty.

Following the Land of Waves we go to the Chunin Exams, the stock tournament arc of the series. One thing that sets Naruto’s tournament arc apart from a more standard one is that winning isn’t the primary goal. Anyone who has watched the show or read the manga might say “Of course winning isn’t the primary goal, Shikamaru lost, yet was the only Konoha genin to promote”, but becoming Chunin isn’t even the main goal of the Chunin exams. The main goal of the Chunin Exams is to show off a nation’s talent, both as an advertisement to would-be employers and as a flex to rival villages to show what they have in store for them if they try to start a war. It was created as a form of deterrence, a ninja equivalent to broadcasting a video of your nation’s rocket capabilities. Ironically, this “mock war” ends up turning into a real war as Orochimaru uses it as a smoke screen for his real invasion. Naruto comes into the exams pretty unprepared as a fighter, but very prepared emotionally. He speaks to the demons inside of Neji and Gaara, desperately wanting to ease the pain that they’re going through. He can’t stand the idea of losing them, just like he lost haku so he talks to them like they’re people and not weapons and it resonates. The two would end up becoming lifelong friends with Naruto as a result and it had jack shit to do with his skill as a ninja. He succeeded with them because he was a person to them.

The Search for Tsunade arc is not too important for this analysis, but does introduce an idea that will become important later where Jiraiya purports that a real ninja is “one who endures”. This isn’t just fancy waffling but how the literal kanji for the word “ninja” can be broken down. That’s why, in Jiraiya’s eyes, being a ninja is not about being the most efficient or knowing the most jutsu. It’s about never giving up even when everyone else wants you to. It is what he has done his entire life and what he teaches Naruto to do. However, this is far from the only interpretation of “one who endures”. Sasuke’s flashbacks of how he remembers Itachi is massively important to our understanding of ninja because Itachi is the perfect ninja. Remember that “One Who Endures” thing? Yeah, Itachi takes that to the extreme because he thinks that it is a viable path for a shinobi to be hated by all. If that lets them do their job to the best of their ability, so be it. That’s why he handles the Uchiha coup like he does. He becomes hated by his entire village, the entire world and hated most of all by the person he loved the most. But Itachi got his job done. He did it so well that no one ever knew he was doing a job at all.

If Itachi is what lies at the end of all shinobi, if all of them got to be "perfect", we’d have entire clans and communities getting slaughtered by well meaning people just wishing to prolong the existence of the village by a couple of years. Itachi’s partner Kisame has a very similar backstory. In fact, you could argue that all of the Akatsuki are perfect shinobi. All young prodigies who were allowed to exercise cruelty because that’s what their job called for and simply got cut off by the people who weren’t able to handle the monsters that they created. It’s no coincidence that this group of ninja who were all able to be better ninja at the cost of their humanity all show some form of body horror or inhumanity in their design.

This pertains most to Sasori, one of the main villains of the Kazekage Rescue Arc. Sasori was clearly traumatized but no one in the sand cared because he was able to channel that trauma into his incredible skill with puppet ninjutsu. And then when he became more and more broken over time, creating human puppets and assassinating Kazekage, they tried to act as if they had no hand in that. However, just like Zabuza and Gaara before him, Sasori could not fully discard his humanity. He tried to replace so much of his human body with puppetry but he was never able to get rid of his heart, poetically. The same goes for Sai in the next arc, who has been trained from birth to kill off all individuality. Even before his big turn, Sai constantly laments over the fact that despite trying so hard, he can never get anyone to truly like him. It’s natural that as humans we crave connection and want to love. The more you try to act like this is a lie, the more you end up like a Sai. And no one likes Sai.

A similarly unlikable character would be Kakashi during the events of Kakashi Gaiden. Another ninja capable of putting the job above all his personal connections and he constantly disrespects his friends and own father. Sakumo Hatake was incredibly strong, but far from the perfect ninja I’ve been describing. He decided to abandon a mission partway, which saved his allies but inconvenienced his employer. The derision he faced was enough for him to commit suicide. In Kakashi’s eyes, his father was a coward, but to Kakashi’s best friend Obito? Sakumo was a hero. He might have been a bad ninja, but if caring about people you love makes you a bad ninja, then good ninja do not need to exist. Obito holds this opinion not as a villain, but as a rather heroic child with shocking similarities to Naruto. When he later fights Naruto, Naruto ends up appealing to Obito by empathizing with his beliefs about the ninja world. It sucks! His best friend’s life was ruined by a “perfect” ninja, he spent his entire life being hated and used because the ninja code for Jinchuriki was to roll them out as weapons during war time and then shamefully hide them during peacetime. Naruto knows why Obito would want to tear it down because he also wants to. They just have differing methods of how to.

The same goes for Sasuke when he rises up to become the final villain of the series. Sasuke recognizes the poison on the ninja world, what it does to people like him, his brother his best friend, Hashirama and Madara, every ninja in existence. That is why he wishes to forge a new path, killing off the ruling class and uniting all against him. It’s essentially what Itachi did, but on a global scale. Sasuke’s plan is bad and fails because it relies on embracing a ninja truth and the antithesis of the series - severing one’s bonds. Every single arc time and time again we come to learn that this idea of “severing bonds” does not work, it cannot work. The pit of loneliness you’re left in will kill you or warp you to a point where you’re no longer human. Naruto’s answer is forming an unbreakable bond between all people. Disrespecting and blurring the artificial line between class, between village, between civilian and ninja. The Great Naruto Bridge from the Land of Waves is a little cheesy, but emblematic of his final role in the story. Through his kindness he becomes able to link all together and he didn’t do this by being a good ninja. He did it by being a pretty bad one.

#long post #mucho texto #naruto #naruto analysis #i could probably spend ages talking about what it means to be a ninja in naruto #and how every character interprets that differently #a character like itachi weaponizes deception to influence the world around him #but the same could be said about a character like sakura who frequently lies to naruto under the guise of protecting him #and as much as people want to act like that's a sakura exclusive flaw it isnt #its just what ninja are pushed to do #emotions are just another tool to be used in this system

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rustyregion · 4 months

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NOTHING CAN SAVE US

Hey, do you guys remember that one time Miraculous did something decent?

Look, I don’t want to be mean but ffs, the Shattered Dreams AU is abhorrently bitter when it comes to how it treats its characters that I’ve just decided to do a bunch of mental gymnastics and completely modify how the personalities work in the multiverse’s own rules because I want to look at this AU with anything other than confusion. Also, before anything, just because I don’t like it doesn’t mean everyone else can’t, this is my opinion

I’m extremely pissed at Nightmare’s portrayal here, because it not only makes him incredibly inconsistent, but it also makes passive Nightmare seem like more of an ass than the original corrupted fucking Nightmare. All this just because you need him to change teams. Making Passive and Corrupted the same being while simultaneously keeping the relationship with Dream pretty much the same (ergo, being the best brothers ever and later being mortal enemies on only one end) is ridiculously damaging to how Nightmare is as a whole because my guy cannot learn a lesson until his brother essentially kills his sanity for him. Also if you gave that much of a shit about Dream from day 1 then why the hell were you trying to kill him until the second apple incident?

So,, since we’re taking extremely dark tropes here I decided that I want Shattered to act childish and make him believe that damaging everything he has been protecting until now is the only way for Nightmare to like him. The whole inconsistency with the apples I would fix by doing the exact same as the original, but Dream eats a golden apple instead. We literally have no information (specially back then) about what the inverse apple incident would look like,, so just say the golden apples had the same goddamn effect but with positivity and make Shattered a personality that’s not your average emo classmate from middle school. To fix Nightmare you have to rewrite the entire timeline, so just leave him like that but make him a redemption arc or just let everyone know the hypocritical cunt he is idk. Anything but make him revert back to square 1 with no consequences please

I’m done talking about this multiverse and I really don’t want anyone to hate on the creator of it, because this was obviously not made with malicious intentions. That being said, it also doesn’t make it immune to criticism. Nothing is,not even me, but criticism isn’t equal to hatedumping and honestly, if you have any arguments in favor of this multiverse PLEASE let me know because I really want to like it. (Plus most of the problems I have with it comes from the fanon Nightmare not the AU itself but whatever)

Dreamtale belongs to JokuBlog

Shattered Dreams MV belongs to Galacii-Gallery (I think?)

The original scene is from Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and ChatNoir (Shadybug Special)

#dreamtale #dream sans #underverse #fanart #nightmare sans #undertale alternate universe #undertale #underverse fanart #utmv #shattered dream

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gretavanlace · 2 years

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Cabin in the Woods 11

Jake Kiszka x reader

Part One

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, language, alcohol, fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk, oral sex, etc

*The long awaited sequel...you guys love this Jake so much it’s a little nerve racking, I pray this is at least somewhere close to what you hoped for. Love you all so very, very much ❤️😚

“What’s up with you and Jake?” Josh asks, metaphorically cornering you the second he gets you alone in the kitchen.

Unscrewing the cap off a half-empty bottle of tequila, you peer down at it. “What is this? Why can’t you guys just drink Jose Cuervo like everybody else?”

“Jake likes Olmeca.” he shrugs, holding his glass out for a splash. “Stop trying to change the subject.”

Sammy might be the closest to you, but Josh is far more observant and ever in tune with those around him, especially those he loves. You knew he’d be a problem from the moment you and Jake, tangled together on the couch in the dark, had decided to keep whatever was happening between the two of you, exactly that— between the two of you.

You fill his glass. Get him wasted and talk him in circles seems like an efficient way to go. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You two seem a little less...” he ponders silently for a beat. “A little less like you could joyfully murder each other.”

A genuine laugh rings out of you, causing a pretty grin to stretch across his face. “Joyful murder, huh?”

Now he’s laughing too. “Yeah, you look at him like you want to mow him down with your car.”

A gasp of feigned shock escapes you dramatically. ‘I would never! He might dent the hood!”

Josh raises his brow. “What if I let you use my truck?”

“I wouldn’t be caught dead behind the wheel of that thing, even if it did mean I’d get to run Jake over.”

He starts to defend his vehicle’s honor, but Jake saunters into the room. “Planning my demise, Princess? That isn’t very nice...and with my brother, no less.”

You throw him an abhorrent glare, much like you normally would, but it takes considerable effort. What you would rather do, is tell Josh to fuck off out of the kitchen so that you could drop to your knees and worship him.

He looks incredible, as he always does. Barefoot, with his worn, cuffed jeans and unbuttoned, ridiculously wrinkled shirt.

This seems like the perfect angle to throw a jab. Gotta put on the show and play the game, right? “So did you crumple all your clothes into little balls before you packed, or is this mentally deranged homeless man vibe just a happy accident?”

He smooths a hand down his shirt and grabs your glass off the counter, knocking back a generous swallow of tequila as easily as one would water. He looks you up and down before responding. “Happy accident, I suppose. And you? Is ‘the princess with a stick up her ass’ look one you had to work hard to achieve?”

“Fuck you.” you snap, feeling a little stung, though you know the drill.

He lets out a smug chuckle before finishing off your drink. “Maybe some other time, doll. I promised to wipe the floor with Sam in a game of chess.” His hand juts forward, indicating he’d like a refill. You comply, and watch him amble lazily out of the kitchen with your glass in tow.

Josh grabs a clean low ball and prepares you a fresh drink. The problem is, he does so quietly. Never a good sign.

Once your first sip is burning its way down to your belly, Josh leans forward, elbows on the counter, chin in hand. “Yeah, you know I’m not buying that shit, right?”

“What shit?” you roll your eyes and begin rummaging through the array of snacks scattered about to save from looking him in the eye. Upon their return this morning, Josh and Sam had toted in enough food and liquor to sustain a small army.

“I know you very well, love. And Jakey and I practically share a brain. You’re going to have to try harder than that.”

“Josh,” you offer him the can of cashews you’ve decided on, and he crams his hand inside. “I honestly think you’ve finally lost your mind. I hate to break the news, but I still can’t stand your asshole brother, same as always.”

He moves straight past your defensive tone and speaks around a mouthful. “Did something happen with you two last night?”

Sammy’s voice booms from the living room, shouting for the delivery of booze, unknowingly rescuing you. So, you grab the first couple of bottles your hands happen to land on and scurry away from Josh and his incessant line of questioning.

Hours later, Sammy is lounging on the couch with his head in your lap, pretending not to pout over three lost games of chess, while Jake stares down at the board in concentration, with Josh, clearly the more worthy opponent, now across from him.

“Hey...” Sam reaches up, handing you his empty, sweating glass. You sit it aside on the end table and pet his hair. “Did that guy ever call you? The one you met at that bar the other night?”

“Why? Jealous?” you tease him, but is it Sammy you’re actually talking to? Or are you really asking Jake underneath it all? He doesn’t react, just continues to blink down at his pieces, with the pad of one finger balanced upon the tip of his bishop, but something tells you that he’s listening intently.

“Jealous of what?” Sammy tilts his head up and flashes that famous Kiszka smirk. “I know you love me best. I just think he seemed like a good dude, and he was obviously really into you. Did he call?”

“Yeah, he called.”

Jake takes a gulp of his drink, whiskey now, and bangs it down just a little too hard. “Speaking of calling people.” he says, focus shifting from the game to his twin. “You know who I’m thinking about calling? Jess.”

Josh tilts his head in thought, mentally sifting through Jake’s many conquests no doubt. His face brightens a bit once he thinks he has it figured out. “Turquoise jewelry?”

“Mhmm.” Jake nods, finally sliding his bishop diagonally.

You pray Sam can’t feel the way your body has tensed up, nor the annoyance that must be radiating in waves off of you for as fierce as it feels.

“Why?” Josh sounds slightly annoyed as well and you love him for it. It feels like he’s taking your side, even though he has no clue there are even sides to be had. Not for sure, anyway.

“I don’t know.” Jake leans back in his chair, legs splayed wide like he owns the entire world and everything in it. “Mostly because she had a mouth like a hoover.”

“Oh that’s really fucking charming, Jake.” it bites out of you before you have a chance to control your tone, leaving the venom in your words beyond evident, and it seems out of place. You’ve never been shy, and being this close to a group of rowdy guys for so long has left you with extremely thick skin...normally.

Josh’s face immediately shifts into one of self-satisfied discovery, your reaction having proven his suspicions. At least in his eyes.

For Jake’s part, he flings an arm over the back of his chair and turns in his seat to get a better look at you. “What’s the problem, princess? Do you have something against me getting my dick sucked? Don’t be a cock block.”

“Jake.” Josh says softly, trying to get him to stop.

You shouldn’t feel this angry. So you slept together once? It isn’t like that stakes your claim over him. “I don’t really give a shit what you do. I just don’t care to listen to you talk about what you do with your dick.”

He holds your stare as a smile, arrogant and sexy, plays on his lips. “You sure about that, doll?”

“Sometimes,” Sammy sighs, rising to his feet to get a refill. “I think you two should just fuck and get it over with. God, shut up. You’re ruining my buzz.”

This merely serves to widen Jake’s grin, and he looks so gorgeous, watching you with your little secret dancing in his eyes, that you have to look away.

“You want?” Sam holds up a liquor bottle after spilling some into his glass beside you.

“No, I think I’m going to go to bed.” you stand as Sammy begins to protest. He hates when a party starts to break up.

“Don’t do that.” Jake sounds uncharacteristically remorseful. “I’ll play nice.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Jake. I’m just tired.” you stride past, placing a goodnight kiss on the top of Josh’s head as you pass. “You couldn’t run me out of a room if you tried. I’m very adept at ignoring you...it’s easy to do with someone who matters so little.”

You’ve gone too far, even you can admit that...but the flash of pain in his eyes is gone in an instant, only to be replaced with something unreadable, so you swallow the apology that had been readying itself on your tongue, and leave them to drunken chess.

The weight of his body dipping the mattress as he climbs onto the bed is what wakes you. The room is bathed in darkness, but you’d recognize the scent of Maker’s Mark, tobacco and that underlying warm woodsy trace, anywhere. “Jake!” you hiss. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Hush up, princess.” he climbs over you until you’re forehead to forehead. “They’re both asleep.”

“Hush up?” you poke fun at his innocent choice of words. Very unlike Jake.

“Would you prefer it if I just shut you up myself instead?” His hand, warm and calloused, wraps around your throat.

A tiny sound shakes out of you as your eyes adjust to the dark and his face takes shape in the moonlight. He looks like a sinful deity hovering above you, so fucking beautiful and lovely.

“Did you mean what you said?” he whispers, ghosting his lips over your cheekbone. “That I don’t matter to you?”

He relaxes his hold on your neck to allow your answer. “You know I didn’t, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it. I wanted to take it back.”

Gentle kisses are now being dropped lightly upon your cheeks “So take it back now.”

“Okay...” you nod, already beginning to writhe beneath him. “I take it back.”

“That’s my good girl.” he grinds his half-hard cock against you in reward. When he lifts up to once again hover above you, you mourn the pressure with a little whine.

“Why’d you feel the need to be so mean to me, kitten?” there’s that ego drenched tone that makes you want to fuck his cock right off. “Was it thinking about her sucking me off? Were you jealous?”

You nod as he licks at your bottom lip delicately. “I don’t want to think about your cock in someone else’s mouth.”

“No?” he coaxes softly.

“No. Do you want to picture me on my knees for someone else?” You’re pressing your luck. Maybe purposely.

A low, feral noise growls out of him and a chill races up your spine. “That mouth is too pretty for any cock but mine. A pretty cock for a pretty mouth, right princess? Isn’t that what you said? That you’ve never seen one so pretty?”

“And that I’d wear a picture of it around my neck in a locket.” You remind him, lifting your hips to chase some friction.

He takes pity on you and presses you down into the mattress with his hips, rocking them slowly between your legs. “Keep it up with that shit and I’m gonna hold you to it.”

“Are you really going to call her?” You’re certain he isn’t, but you need to hear him say it. With his hands running lightly up your nightshirt, and his mouth spoiling your neck, and his cock thrusting against you, you need to hear him say it.

“No, baby.” he suddenly sounds so soft. “I’m not going to call her. What are you going to do if he calls you again? Are you gonna let him take you out?”

You shake your head and bite your lip to keep from smiling. So that’s why he brought her up. Of course it is.

“Well, don’t you look pleased with yourself?” he smiles down at you. “Trouble maker.”

He slides his clothed cock against your equally covered cunt a little faster, exhaling shakily into your hair. “Can I touch you? Or are you saving it all for him?” he’s teasing you, but you hate the thought of it all the same.

“I don’t want anyone else’s hands on me, Jake.” you confess, though it’s probably far too soon to voice something like that aloud. “No one else has ever touched me the way you did last night. No one has ever made me feel like that good. Not even close.”

He hums in approval. “You want me to touch you like that again? Right now?”

“Yes.” you whisper, reaching up to sink your fingers into his tangled locks.

“Yeah?” he nuzzles the tip of his nose against your own. “Does my pretty little doll want to cum?”

Tugging his hair in frustration, you whimper his name pathetically. “Jake, please.”

More kisses are bestowed along your cheek. “Do you think they know?” he asks conversationally, if only to drag you along a little further.

You answer him, though what you really want to do is order him to shut up and do something already. “I think Josh figured it out.”

“I think so too. He’s a nosy shit, isn’t he?”

“Are we gonna have a chat about your brother right now?” your hands fall from his hair to his hips, pulling on them to force more pressure where you need him the most. “I’m pretty kinky, but this is too much.”

He laughs too loudly for the quiet bathing the cabin and then dips down, kissing you deeply. You sigh blissfully when his tongue sweeps over your own. He smiles into the kiss at the sound, and it makes your heart palpitate wildly. “You’re pretty kinky?” he asks when he pulls away slowly, sounding pleasantly surprised.

Your face colors with heat, but you adore the sex dripping approval you hear in his question. “Maybe. Are you?”

A wolfish leer appears on his gorgeous face as, at last, he lifts up to make room for his hand, which is now slipping into your panties. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

The plan was to answer him, it really was, but his fingers circle over your clit to say hello, and all concrete thought flees your mind for a moment.

“You gotta stay quiet, doll.” he shushes when a high-pitched moan of relief shakes out of you.

You feel scolded, though his words were gentle “I’m sorry.”

He keeps his eyes burning into yours in the dark as his fingers push inside you. “Don’t apologize. I’d give anything to let you be as loud as you need to be. You sound so fucking pretty, I’ve been thinking about it all day. Had to make myself cum twice just to be able to function.”

“Fuck.” you spread your legs wider beneath him and roll your hips into his hand when he grinds the heel of his palm into your clit. “You did?”

“You like that?” he curls his fingers and finds your sweet spot effortlessly. “Dirty girl.”

“Don’t do that.” you pant, taking hold of his wrist frantically.

He comes to a standstill and searches your face. “Don’t do what, baby? What’s wrong?”

“Don’t curl your fingers...” you clarify, still tugging on his wrist and forearm. “I can’t stay quiet if you touch me there. It feels too good.”

That rumbling growl rolls out of his throat again, and instantly his fingers are back to working away inside of you. “Fuck it. I don’t care anymore. I wanna make you feel good...wanna make my pretty little doll cum and cum and cum.”

“Yeah...” you nod in feverish agreement as a moan tears out of your chest, floating into his ear. “Fuck, Jake...right there. Don’t stop, please, baby, please.”

“I know where you want it, princess.” his fiery gaze flickers from between your legs where he’s been watching himself work you, back up to your face. “I’m gonna get you there, you don’t have to beg.”

“So close.” you sound so embarrassingly whiny, you barely recognize your own voice. “So fucking close.”

“Come on, doll.” He sounds breathless, almost as if he wants it more than you do. “Do it for me. I want it so bad, baby...give it to me.”

His desperation to watch you get off pushes you off the tightrope you’ve been navigating and his name is a chorus as you let go around his fingers. Vaguely, aware of his words of soothing encouragement, you run your hands through his hair once again to hold on for dear life, but nothing he is murmuring to you makes sense.

At last, it starts to drift towards a hazy afterglow, but he decides that isn’t the direction in which he would like for things to go. He just keeps going, no matter how urgently you try to escape his fingers, they just keep going.

“Jake...” his name is a choked cry.

“Shh,” he leans in and sucks a trail of warmth up your neck, only to rasp into your ear. “Be still, baby. I’ve got you.”

You try so hard for him, but your body refuses to cooperate, so he splays his free palm out over your stomach and pins you down against the bed as his fingers continue to fuck into you. “You gonna cum again for me, princess? Gonna be a good girl make a mess of my hand with this gorgeous cunt?” his brow knits together in desire, as if he’s getting himself off right alongside you. “One more time? Right on my fingers? Can I have it, baby?”

He just sounds so needy for it, and he gets nothing out of this aside from watching you come apart. “Yeah?” your voice is thready and soft, but you manage a teasing lilt. “You want it that bad?”

He nods urgently with his bottom lip tucked deliciously between his teeth.

Riding his hand a little faster, you press on. “What do I get in return if I give it to you?”

“Come on, princess.” It rings out harshly, like a demand, but there’s a pleading look in his eyes that gives him away. “Give it to me. You can have whatever you want.”

There’s only one thing you want. You’ve thought of little else since he made mention of her mouth earlier. Your palms squeeze down on his shoulders for stability as his fingers fuck into so perfectly you think you might scream. “I want you to cum in my mouth.” You beg, desperation edging it’s way into your words...you’re just so fucking close.

“Fuck...” he sounds like he’s in pain, but in the prettiest way. Gritty and breathy. “I tell you that you can have anything you want and you ask me to cum in that soft, pink mouth of yours? Is that what you want, doll? You wanna taste me?”

“Yes. I want it...” your eyes squeeze shut, but you instantly miss him and force them back open. “I want you to feed it to me. I want to feel it on my tongue, warm and wet...wanna swallow you. I want it inside of me, so every cell in my body knows you and wants you, all the time, everywhere.”

His eyes widen a flicker and then narrow with lust so intense it steals the breath from your panting lungs. “I have never, ever, wanted anything as badly as I want you, princess. Even now, with you right here beneath me, my fingers buried inside you, with your cunt all tightened up and fluttering around my skin...it isn’t enough, I still just fucking want you.”

His confession stretches the white hot band searing and tightening in your belly to its breaking point. “Don’t stop, Jake. I’m gonna...” you stutter out a hitching cry when he presses and curls even harder, as if beckoning your release closer to him.

“That’s it, baby...” he nods against your forehead. “That’s my good little girl...you look so pretty, you sound like music. You’re my very favorite song. You just relax and let me take you there.”

You do as he says and sink down against the mattress bonelessly. “There you go, sweet girl.” His praise arches your back, you could live the rest of your life solely in search of new ways to please him. “Just breathe, love. Just feel for me. You deserve to feel this good, all the time, every day. You’re my pretty princess, and I’m gonna take such good care of you.”

It flutters through you gently, but it’s so perfect you forget to miss that frantic feeling. It’s warm, and slow, and all consuming, and you want to live right here in this moment with him forever, as he watches down over you with rapt, awestruck attention, taking it all in. “Jake...” you hardly make a sound.

“I know, princess. I know.” His spare hand brushes the hair out of your face as the other fucks you through it. “That feels good, doesn’t it?”

A small nod is all you feel able to handle as you gaze up at his glowing face. He’s dark eyed and rosy cheeked, biting at his lower lip again, licking over it each time he releases it from the clamp of his teeth.

Working you through it gently, his eyes hold on to yours unwaveringly. They are so striking, golden brown and flecked with light...and the way he’s looking at you, it makes you want to ask him what he’s thinking. If only you could make your lips move.

The only thing you can focus on through the pink fog of bliss he has created in your head is his face, his eyes and the unbridled longing and awe you find there. They make you feel beautiful, and adored, and safe. Desired and wanted.

When it becomes too much, you reach down and circle your fingers around his wrist.

“Well, wasn’t that the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen?” he hums with a tender smile tugging his lips into a mouth-watering pout.

“I’m so sleepy now.” You whisper, feeling drained in the most perfectly warm, blurry way.

His thumb brushes over your lips affectionately. “Go to sleep, princess. I’ll stay with you.”

It makes you feel even softer than before, though you wouldn’t have thought that possible. The fact that you can feel how badly he needs you-- his cock, hard and pulsing, twitching and throbbing against your thigh. Yet here he is, telling you to go to sleep. That he’ll curl up beside you and suffer through it if it means you’ll have what you need. It seems so very unlike him, but now you know, it’s exactly like him.

You also know, rest is the very last thing you want in this moment. You grab him by the shirt, your fingers clutching the same wrinkled linen you had made fun of hours earlier. Did he even try to sleep? Or did he simply lie there, waiting for his brothers to pass out so he could sneak into your bed?

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead, Jakey.” You yank him in close enough to lap delicately at his lips. “You gonna give it up? Or am I gonna have to take it?”

His eyes catch the moonlight deviously. “Watch that mouth of yours, princess. You remember what I think about doing to you when you won’t shut up, don’t you?”

You return that devious energy of his and arch an eyebrow. “Up against a wall?”

“Yeah, baby...” He jerks you up into his arms and off of the bed so roughly, a shocked gasp sounds out of you. “...up against a wall.”

He holds you in his arms like he never wants to let go and then slams you into the wall that separates your room from Sammy’s. Was that intentional? You’ve always been more ‘Sam’s’ girl, even if it’s never been anything but platonic. The thought of him feeling territorial over you makes you ache with heat as you struggle to reclaim the wind he’s knocked out of you.

The sound of him fumbling with his belt as he pins you to the wall is all it takes for you to whine a needy, “Hurry.”

He hitches your thigh up over his hip and clutches at your throat with his left hand. “This was about shutting you up, kitten. Remember? Pull your fucking panties to the side.”

In record time, you’ve hooked your fingers into the soaked lace to bare yourself to him, and he’s lining himself up with something very close to a whimper crawling up out of his chest.

The cry that escapes you when he slams inside could shake the rafters, and definitely could wake the dead, let alone the sleeping...but it barely registers, you’re so lost in him.

“Yeah?” he taunts, sounding much less in control as he’s pretending to be as he rips your shirt over your head, pinning up with his weight “You like that, princess? Did you miss my cock?”

“Fuck, Jake...” your hands have woven their way into his hair again. It looks so tangled all the time, but it feels soft as satin. “Missed it so much. I wanna cum on your pretty cock again. Will you make me?”

Your legs wrap around his waist as he begins fucking into you savagely in response. “I’ll make you, baby.” he sounds choked and gorgeous. “You know I’ll fucking make you. Then what, where do you want me?”

With a snap of your wrist, you yank his head back by the hair, tilting his face up to yours. “I told you where I want you. Right in my mouth.” He groans wickedly and presents his tongue, an invitation for you to lick it, as you’re holding him in place and he can’t reach you. It’s so pretty, so pink, and it reminds you of all the sinful things he did to you with it last night.

When you suck it into your mouth his rhythm falters inside you, but he gathers himself quickly and pulls away. “Keep your fucking shit up and I’ll cum right now. Behave, baby...unless you’ve decided you’d rather have my cum in this pretty cunt instead of down your throat.”

“Tell me it’s pretty again.” you beg. Closer and closer with every thrust of his hips, every word, every moan he can’t manage to stifle.

“It is, princess.” he sounds gentle, in contrast with the absolutely brutal snaps of his thick cock inside you. “So fucking pretty, and soft, and wet, and fucking tight...you have the sweetest little pussy, don’t you? Thank you for letting me fuck it.”

“Thank you?” you’re stunned and so turned on your vision goes hazy.

“Yeah.” he nods, pressing his cheek into your palm which is now cupping his face. “Why shouldn’t I thank you? You’re fucking perfect.”

Without warning, you’re cumming hard around him. Clenching and squeezing like you want to keep him tucked up inside you for the rest of your life. Tugging his hair with one hand and pounding a fist into his shoulder over and over with the other as you futilely fight to stay quiet.

“There it is.” he croons, babying you with the softness of his praise. “That’s my girl. That’s my pretty little doll. Fuck, you feel so good. You tell me when you’re ready for it...I’m close, babe...c’mon.”

Rather than trying to cling to your orgasm as you normally would, you actively attempt to fight your way out of the fog in favor of being on your knees for him. “Now, Jake...” your voice sounds fucked out and strained. “I’m ready for it. I want it. Please.”

He drops your thigh and jerks himself back to pull out of you, watching like he’s a blind man who has seen for the first time as you drop down before him.

“This is more than just fucking, you know?” he asks with a confidence that tells you he already knows you feel it too.

“I know.” you agree. He nods with a tiny smile and your focus lowers.

You think for a flash about wrapping your hand around the thick base of him, but quickly decide you’d rather him fuck it into your mouth all on his own. He seems to understand this, and suddenly, your mouth is full of him. Flooded with the taste of yourself glistening all over his cock, and the underlying subtlety of him.

“Not gonna last.” he chokes.

You nod around him, gazing up at him like the god he is, and he slides in deeply, gritting his teeth when you gag lightly around his length. A hiss of a breath sucks in through his teeth, evoking from you a vibrating hum around him that sets him off.

The smallest, “Oh fuck, baby...fuck!” sighs out of him as he begins to jerk wildly in your mouth, pumping his release, hot and perfect, against the back of your throat as you greedily swallow him down. He is your new favorite taste and you want it on your tongue every fucking day.

With a final push of his hips, he buries himself in your throat until your nose brushes the soft skin of his belly, and then he gently pulls you back, staring down at you like you’ve stolen his soul, or at the very least, his heart.

“C’mere.” he strokes your face and guides you to your feet until you’re face to face. And there you stay for a while, pressed against the wall, with the weight of his body grounding you, staring at each other, sinking into the quiet little world, that is this quiet little bedroom, in this quiet little cabin in the woods.

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#greta van fleet #greta van fleet smut #greta van smut #greta van fleet fic #greta van fic #greta van fleet fan fiction #fanfic #jake gvf #jake kiszka imagine #jake kiszka smut #gvf fic #jake kiszka #gvf #gvf x reader

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softquietsteadylove · 5 months

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So I just watched the vow and obviously I can’t stop thinking about Thenamesh in that context so here is my prompt for you — Thena somehow loses her memories and with it goes the memory of her marriage to Gil, but he helps her slowly and patiently remember their love 🥺

"Hey."

Thena jumped, whirling around to look at the doorway. Once again, guilt rose up in her throat as Gil held up his hand and made that terribly sad expression he had on most of the time.

"S-Sorry, sorry, I, uh-" he gulped in the middle of his sentence, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He kept doing that, perhaps to make himself seem less...broad. "I promised I would stop doing that, too."

No, it was unfair to him to make him knock on every door within his own home. She was the one who was jumpy and easily startled. The doctors said they didn't know how quickly it would or wouldn't fade. There wasn't much her doctors could promise her--them.

She had been in the hospital after the 'episode' for some time, anyway. As they explained it, it was a bleed in her brain, a stroke in not so many words. She had forgotten years of her life in a flash, lashed out in fear and confusion, even hurt Gil in the process.

He still had the scar on his arm from her attacking him. And yet he'd been the perfect husband through all of this, utterly and completely. If only she could remember him.

She thought maybe she would at least remember meeting him, knowing him in some way. But no, it was a stranger sitting beside her bed, cradling her hand between his, crying for her to be okay again. And she had done nothing but hurt him since.

Gil said that wasn't true.

He had been nothing but supportive from the moment she awoke. The doctors told them that her memories were fragile, and might never return in their entirety. He was a stranger to his own wife. Surely anyone would need to go through their own grieving process for their life in that way.

But Gil had looked at her far kinder than any stranger. He had given her the space she needed, understood that she didn't like people at the best of times, let alone when she was vulnerable. He did things like bring her changes of clothes, food that wasn't abhorrent, sit in her room with her while she tried to relax enough to sleep.

She did feel safe with him.

Safe enough to finally leave the hospital. They had done the physical therapy, the rehabilitative therapy, just about everything else. There was no more reason to keep her there, with exception to the gap in her memories.

"I left you some stuff I thought you might," he paused, gesturing from afar to the dresser by the guest bed, "like. I-I know you don't remember it, I just...I dunno."

"No, it-" she also choked on her words, nervous about what to say to him, "it's sweet, Gil. Thank you."

He smiled, just a little; he did every time she called him Gil.

She clutched at the shirt she was unpacking. He had brought her pajamas to sleep in while she was in the hospital, but they hadn't seemed right. And she had eventually deduced that they were indeed purchased brand new. What she had decided to sleep in more comfortably was an old shirt of his that had been shoved into a bag brought to her. "Come in."

He did so, shuffling into the guest room in their shared home awkwardly.

Her brows furrowed, even though it made her head throb. "You shouldn't have to be invited into a room in your own home."

He looked at her, his brown eyes so rich and soulful. But he smiled, "our home. And you need a space that's yours. Time to get used to...things."

Get used to him, he meant. And she hated that he was completely correct. She felt safe around him, but she didn't know this man (this sweet, kind, beautiful man).

"You decorated this room, anyway," he chuckled, looking around at the cream coloured walls and generic frames hung around the space. He clung to the walls, giving her a wide berth. "I wanted to turn it into an office or a place for a pool table or something."

Thena looked at the bed and then at him. "Wouldn't fit much else with that in here."

His smile lightened faintly. "You said that then, too."

She smiled as well, setting down her trusty shirt.

"And you were right, as always," he added, chuckling again. He arrived at the dresser, poking at some of the little things he had apparently brought and left out for her. "Kari crashes here sometimes."

Thena's eyes sparked at the mention of her. Gil looked both elated and wounded; they both wished she could have that level of recognition for anything that had to do with him.

Silence fell over them, and Gil looked down at his feet again. He was going to leave her to settle in, but she stepped closer to him, eager for more time with his company. She looked down at the dresser. "I remember this."

He smiled, picking up the little wooden cheetah and handing it to her with heartbreaking delicacy. "You love this thing."

"From when Kari went to Kenya for three whole months," Thena tilted her head at the little carving. She truly did value it. For all her insistence that Makkari was the trinket lover, not herself, apparently this little cat had called to her so clearly that she just had to bring it back to Thena.

Gil reached for something else, "what about this?"

She looked at the lovely little shell, but she didn't remember it. She stared and stared at it though, hoping she would. She just didn't want to admit to Gil that it didn't strike a single chord within her.

"It's okay," he whispered, forgiving her for something neither of them could control.

"Tell me about it?" she practically begged before he could take it back from her. Her palm tightened around the tiny little shell. It was so small and precious, she already felt protective over it.

He was obviously surprised, but she held his eyes. His face really betrayed everything he was feeling. She watched his expression melt as he whispered, "okay."

"Well," he started, moving them to both sit on the end of the bed. "You and I met...on the beach."

"The beach?" she balked before telling herself not to interrupt his very important story.

"I know," he chuckled, though. "You hate the beach."

He did know everything about her.

"But you were there painting, or collecting seashells, or looking for clay or something," he shrugged, the memory faded but precious for him. "I saw you at the end of the beach, kind of away from everyone. You obviously weren't looking for company but...I just wanted to exchange even one word with you."

"I jogged over, asked you if I could help you find something. You didn't talk to me at first, but I asked, and asked, and eventually you told me you were looking for a shell. And I mean it was probably just to shut me up," he added, making them both laugh. "But I said I'd help you look. Boy, the look you gave me--I'd still be dead and buried under that sand."

She offered a sheepish smile, but that was as much a lovingly remembered detail as the rest, for him.

"I found this," he tapped the shell in her hand. "I handed it to you and said, 'hey, you match!'. You gave me that look again, but I could tell you thought I was kinda cute."

She pursed her lips at that, but she had to admit that this man called her husband was undeniably charming. She could see herself very reluctantly admitting that he might not have been so bad.

"I saw you again a few times," he recounted, a different, dreamier, distant smile on his face. "Eventually you were out there with an easel, and I got to see you painting. You let me see it in progress and everything."

Perhaps she was already quite infatuated with him then, because she would rather fight to the death than allow something in progress to be viewed while she was working on it.

"I looked at your easel," he grinned at her, "and you had this shell sitting on the corner, like a good luck charm or something."

Thena felt herself blush faintly. It was a different her in the story, but she felt for that Thena's embarrassing secret being discovered.

"I asked you if you wanted to join me for dinner," Gil whispered, closing her hand around the little shell for safe keeping. "You said you didn't want to dine with me while I was all sweaty and in my jogging stuff."

Thena laughed. That certainly sounded like her (uncharming, unfunny her).

"I said okay, meet me here at sunset," he made a challenging face at her, and she could imagine how handsome it might seem in the right light. "You did and, well...history, right?"

History she wanted to remember.

Thena looked at Gil, sitting close to her, so warm and so solid. He was comfortable, she knew that much. She was no expert on physical closeness, but the times she had been in Gil's proximity via sharing an umbrella or letting him help her out of bed were nice. He had a gentle, calming presence.

He swallowed, his eyes flicking all over her face. She didn't even realise she had been leaning in until he moved his head quickly, stretching up so he could press his lips to her forehead. "You should rest, sweetheart. It's been a big day."

She felt both relieved and disappointed. The shell was still in her hand as he stood slowly, leaving her seated on the end of the bed.

He paused at the doorway again, lit softly by the lamp beside the bed. "You're welcome to anything, 'course--I mean everything, absolutely. But if you - I dunno - need help finding something or whatever...just wake me, okay?"

She already felt lonely at the thought of being in this room all by herself. And that was after weeks of being in the hospital, desperately wishing to be left alone. She nodded.

"'Kay," he smiled again, but it was back to being sad. He patted the wall, "night, Thena. I'll leave breakfast for you before I go to work."

He left gently, closing the door behind him, nothing if not a gentleman. To his own wife, in his own home. Thena flopped backwards on the bed, still holding onto her beloved little shell. She had been so desperate to have some time to herself in the hospital--really think about who she was and what her life was like.

But there was something undeniably lonely about the times when she was without him. Every time he came home for clothes or to shower or had to go to work, she had to admit, she was terribly bored without him.

Would it be terribly inappropriate to ask to sneak into bed with her own husband?

#Thenamesh AU #thank you for the ask!!!#I've changed a few little details I hope you don't mind #but I really like how this came out!#a little bit angsty #but listen #Gil is not the average romcom man okay?#yes he wants his wife back and for her to remember their life #but he hears that Thena doesn't know him #and it hurts him deeply #but he KNOWS his wife #if she doesn't know him she doesn't trust him #she's scared and alone in a hospital with a stranger all the time #so he puts a little distance between them #he brings her things from home #pulls the curtain around her bed and says he'll stand guard while she changes #he hovers while the doctors are checking her because she doesn't like to be touched #she's still Thena #his Thena #meanwhile Thena is like I do no know this man]#but he seems...nice #he's charming and sweet and he's so kind and g e n t l e #he got the guest room all set up for her #ever since she picked his shirt to sleep in he's started spraying his shirts with his cologne for her so they'll smell like him #he swaps out their pillows so she can smell his aftershave and he can smell her shampoo #pining but when you're already married #also Thena asks him if he'll take off his wedding ring secretly hoping he won't #he's visibly appalled by the question #that night Thena greets him after he comes home from work with a terribly awkward hug #she cringes at herself but he's practically crying from happiness

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rafent · 3 months

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✦ 𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐏𝐀𝐔𝐏𝐄𝐑 ✧

* dancer mastery drabble ( fell xenologue spoilers )

Because Rafal hadn’t the shoes, because Rafal hadn’t the lessons, because Rafal wasn't like them, he was not desired at the sides of the other children, unneeded to join their vainglorious black forms on the front lines. When it was learned that he could not transform, that his greatest talents sat only in raising Corrupted and casting a few nasty spells, his role was decided. Grouped with all the other nobody-sons and nobody-daughters of Sombron per expectation.

"There's a survivor here, failure. Clean it up."

". . .I was getting to him. You don't have to tell me."

Rafal stuck his stiletto into a gurgling throat, abhorrently practiced.

There was no satisfaction in picking up after the clutter of older, stronger siblings and their war paths imperfectly paved. Bodies half-ended, half-sundered, or crushed below the waist and not around the head, vitals and organs missed. Still breathing. In all such ways, Failures performed as expected, hunched to the thankless grunt work of ending foes that were mortally wounded. Snipping threads and draining veins on the battlefield in order to avail quicker of their Corrupted transformations.

Humans, Divine Dragons, and even other Fell Dragons. The distinction of the reaping act didn't matter. Even if Rafal should die he would be reanimated, too. As beasts did not squander the nutrients of their prey from brain to bone, for the Fell kind there was no waste in this either. His dagger moved again, vertical, sometimes horizontal from ear-to-ear. The skin yielding, his dreams flowering in the spilled red.

Imperishable labor for the brood it was, but Rafal wanted for more. Rafal was destined for more. He believed this, even as his unmoving feet and stationary hands turned blue from indolence where backlights failed to reach. Unable to taste combat, action, stage, applause though he yearned endlessly for that spotlight too. That connection, that praise, that dragonstone of his wildest dreams.

That dance.

...

“The sight of your form burns my eyes.” . . .what do you mean you can’t transform?

“You’d step all over my toes!” —the way that you are, it isn’t like the rest of us.

“You’re off-rhythm.” failure. failure. failure.

For centuries, Rafal watched and watched only. A danseur in unending reserve seated behind the tape of action - a wanting fell son, a lacking failed son. None would make allowances for a creature of dearth; of such freakish, loathsome eccentricity as a Fell Dragon more human than dragon, more weak than strong. Born different than the rest of them and made for different things, too.

I can’t with you, he traced his lament over the mound that marked another child who had succeeded only in his failure. Not with Nil, gone too soon,

. . .but perhaps, just perhaps, with her.

So it was. So it could not help but be. Engraved by his inadequacy felt as old as primeval time, his want so equally measured, the least of Sombron's children wanted it the greatest. To move as all sons and daughters of Fell Dragons did dauntlessly, born and killed and made and unmade to do. When the time came, he knew the steps of the routine like he'd learned them himself. Those cues of the symphony for every day he’d listened through the walls, the chest-rattling breath and wingbeats that had what was - should have been - his. The mortal duel between halves, consoled only by one spelled superior over the other.

Revanche tethered to one hand, the other raised for balance like an empty chalice filled only by Nel’s hand, her blood, his heart, his jealousy, he sought to imitate what he had seen even as one question surfaced. Was it the dance he wanted for or the partner he dreamed would make him whole?

He knew the answer but still his feet dragged to position; unquestioning of the motions. Hovered aloft the ground on crossed strings too tangled, unable to undo, left only to deepen, and only to do.

Because Rafal had the shoes now. Scales white and pink and brimming - pearlescent fangs like batons shaved from moonlight, wings to guide the devil's spins, lightning breath spilling operatic from fortified jaws. Stronger, better, bigger than anyone who would ever come before and after him.

Because Rafal had the lessons now. A twin at last to perfect his rhythm, beat, and pirouette. Emblems, seven in their array, used, tapped into, and cast aside like the husks of soft treats to feed this final masquerade. Brothers and sisters all graduated from a bloodstained stage he'd curated now only for two.

Because Rafal would dance now.

“At last, Father. . .I have finally succeeded.”

#◜ ₊ — 𝓡 ˚ ₊ 𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ╱ drabble.#to no one's surprise the xenologue pre-canon is REALLY something else :'^)#rafal's unique experiences (also: nil) as a marginalized failure of gradlon society is a vast part of why he is the way he is #i had the vaguest outline of how i wanted this drabble to go #all i knew is that i wanted to incorporate 'shoes and lessons' no matter what. Absolutely Non Negotiable imagery

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greenandhazy · 1 year

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I am getting like seriously obsessed with the idea of an AU in which Meng Yao, Wei Ying, and Xue Yang meet as children and grow up to be sworn brothers/an Abhorrent Triad (not sold on that exact adjective but w/e)

Wei Ying doesn’t get found/adopted by the Jiang clan, but a nice older boy who lives in a brothel helps him hide there when he’s scared of a dog and they become friends. Meng Yao doesn’t have much food to share, but he does what he can, and he does have books and that’s worth just as much. A few years later Wei Ying stumbles across a boy who has been walking for days trying to track down Chang Ci’an, despite the fact that he’s practically delirious from the pain of an injured hand. Meng Shi is ailing by that point and maybe Meng Yao is reluctant to take on another brother, but Wei Ying brings Xue Yang inside just to give him cool water and bandages at least and Meng Shi insists they help, and Xue Yang is already nursing a vicious streak that becomes really useful as the brothel becomes more of a hostile place to live.

A few years later, Meng Yao goes to Jinlintai. Gets thrown out of Jinlintai. But Wei Ying and Xue Yang are there to say fuck the Jin, we’re your family, and they swear it in an informal little ceremony in the cheapest room of the only inn they can afford. They go to the Nie. At some point, Jiang Fengmian comes across Wei Ying, realizes who he is, and insists on sponsoring his education with the Lan. Xue Yang is already kind of resentful because being a minor vassal for the Nie does NOT suit his temperament, so not being able to accompany Wei Ying is the last straw and he runs away. Neither of his brothers see him again until he’s slaughtered the Chang Clan—although I think this version of Xue Yang, where he has some family he can rely on from an early age, softens him just enough that he is a little more discriminating. He leaves the children alive, at least, and when he’s captured, his silver-tongued Da-ge can make an argument that he was enforcing some kind of justice.

Not enough to convince Nie Mingjue, but enough that Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan (who accompany the group to Qinghe this time because they’re obvi not letting this criminal’s brothers have absolute custody of him) are somewhat swayed. The three brothers end up escaping together—I’m going to say Wei Ying still ends up in the Wen indoctrination camp because he still managed to piss of Wen Chao, but I can’t decide if it makes more sense for Meng Yao to remain as the Wen spy or for Xue Yang to get that job? 🤔 Anyway ONE of them takes it, but regardless Meng Yao also is like “war is coming, that means civilian casualties, that means famine” and sets up like a proto-watchtower system with the help of XXC, SL, and other rogue cultivators.

Wei Ying still turns to demonic cultivation. Xue Yang still turns to demonic cultivation. By the end of the war, the major clans are still calling for their heads but they’re heroes and no amount of propaganda is going to convince the common people that the Abhorrent Triad deserves death, not after they saved so many of the lives that the major clans didn’t seem to care about.

Hand-waving the end of the war a bit because I’m not sure exactly how the Nie/Jiang relationships with WY and MY would change things, but. Imagining Xue Yang having a full screaming meltdown when Wei Ying dies, Meng Yao can just barely keep him from jumping over the cliff to catch him. Meng Yao asks Lan Xichen to promise that if they’re going to be executed, they kill Xue Yang first, because Xue Yang is practically catatonic and he can’t bear to leave his didi alone, even for a few minutes, not after all of this.

ANYWAYYYYY. I think the class and family politics of these three characters makes for a fascinating contrast and I would like it to have even more angst and love and the particular angst that comes from loving others more than you love yourself thnx bye.

#totally cql-verse because the ages are easier lol #wei wuxian #jin guangyao #xue yang #the untamed #(I imagine wwx and xy still get their courtesy names)#(from their da-ge)#(but meng yao refuses to consider one. out of pure spite.)#I posted this on twitter but I have like 2 followers and no one cared lmao #so tumblr gets it too #yingyangyao

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dadsbongos · 2 years

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1988 VAMPIRE ORGY TOUR

6.4 K words

warnings - abhorrent fashion in some parts, eddie smokes indoors (very selfish), 2nd gentlemen prefer blondes reference in 2 weeks

summary - While on tour with Corroded Coffin, Eddie can’t help but notice that at every stop - from Indianapolis to San Diego - he happens to run into you.

SPRINGFIELD, ILLINOIS

The streets aren’t so crowded outside Chicago, or so late at night. That makes it easier to spot your car - specifically, to note that your car, in particular, had been tailing Eddie and his van for the past three stops. You’re in the lot directly beside his. Your ‘77 Ford Bronco with a cherry red body and eggshell white roof is only a mere few feet from his battered, musty van with scratched black paint. He hates to assume you’re tailing intentionally, especially because for you to be tailing in that car would make you a rather dull tool in his hypothetical shed.

So he just looks away as his van’s tank fills with gas.

Through tinted windows, he can make out the drooling, lax faces of his bandmates slobbering over his seats as they sleep. Though every now and again, Gareth startles awake and rubs his eyes before sitting up - then he slowly nods off again and the cycle restarts.

Aside from him, and you, the gas station is barren. Also excluding, of course, the baggy-eyed, exhausted teenager behind the counter inside the station.

Eddie likes Hawkins more than Springfield. He likes the feeling of small-town isolation and the way he could see a sky full of stars at eight o’clock and how he knew everybody. The people in Springfield feel about the same as they do in Hawkins, though. Maybe that’s his own lack of sonder, though.

Springfield is about an hour and a half out of Hannibal. Closer to Columbia, Missouri, than the Ross Motel without making the death wish, sleep-deprived drive all the way to actual Columbia.

Through the reflection in the window Jeff snores against, he sees you staring. Usually, he feels comfortable brushing off stares and raised brows because - c’mon - he can see himself, but now it feels different.

Maybe it’s because your eyes feel more curious than scornful. Maybe it’s because he’s noticed you at Corroded Coffin’s every stop since Indianapolis. Maybe it’s because he sees the Joan Jett cassette stuffed in the band of your flowy, flower power era skirt.

You’re like something out of a sitcom - the episode where the oldest kid finally comes back from college with a friend that the parents hate.

He briefly wonders if you’re a hippie - then he sees the comically oversized Megadeth shirt slung lazily over your shoulders. It’s bizarre, two worlds clashing, the free love and the bitterly rejected. He’s tempted to ask if you know what you’re wearing, he decides against it because even he can see how obnoxious that is.

Instead, he lets his eyes catch yours in the reflection and grins when your gaze darts away. You scratch your neck, almost bashful, as your head snaps down to where you hold the gasoline nozzle to your tank.

Eddie hates that feeling when approaching someone for the first time. That tense, stiff air and the unwavering sensation of judgmental eyes on him even when he should know he isn’t being watched. He hates the overbearingness of it all, so he pushes forward as though it isn’t there.

“Do I have something in my hair?” you jump at his voice, entirely startled, “‘Cuz, you know, I was rolling down some of the hills they have here, and it was amazing. Don’t have anything like it in Indiana.”

But you’d know that’s not entirely true. And based on the faint recognition in his eyes, you assume the man before you knows that you know.

“No, I just- “ you laugh hollowly, more unnerved than anything and Eddie hates nothing more than being the cause of distress. He waits for you to return the gas pump to order before speaking,

“I’m fucking with you, it’s fine,” Eddie’s eyes fall to your neon yellow and burnt orange license plate and he finds that he recognizes even that, “Not a lot of people out here look like me.”

“Lots of people- “ you pause, shaking your head sharply, “People could, in theory, look like you, but none of them dress like you.”

“Critical clarification. I could say the same about,” he gestures vaguely at your conflicting outfit, “what you have going on.”

“A friend’s,” you pull at the Megadeth shirt’s loose, faded material, “all respect to the band, though. I could never play on a stage.”

Eddie wants to lean against your car, it feels like he should - like it’d be more comfortable. And to be fair to him, it would be more comfortable, but you two aren’t familiar despite the fact that he’s seen you and you’ve seen him through two states now.

“I hate to assume things,” Eddie watches your hands, almost entranced as you twist a thin gold ring around your middle finger, “asses and whatnot, but you aren’t a groupie or anything, are you?”

You pause, a small, though shocked “Ah!” leaving your lips. Eddie regrets it until you laugh, the release of fear and adrenaline.

He feels sick knowing he causes that reaction. He hates the look of fear people give, though in this scenario he should be more understanding - it’s half past midnight and you’re alone and he’s got three other men in his van.

“No,” you finally deny, rolling your eyes in a theatrical way he’s definitely seen off a sitcom, “I think we’re just going the same way, friend.”

You smile thinly, tilting your head.

“Well, where’re you going,” he copies your move, “friend?”

“Where are you going?” as if you can sense the cliche ‘I asked you first’ debate on his cherry lips, you continue, “Why don’t we say it at the same time?”

Your voice has the faintest tang to it. Like you weren’t quite born in the South, but ran with someone who was long enough for it to soak through your throat. He thinks he likes it, and that’s confusing because he’s never really liked the way someone speaks before.

Nonetheless, he agrees, and in sync, you both spit the same state, “California.”

Of course.

“Plan on making it big out there?”

Your shrug, shy, shier than when you had explained the plan to your diary at home, “Something like that,” he raises his brows, a clear prod to ‘go on’, “I wanna be a big time actress. Or a billboard girl, like Angelyne.”

It feels like you should be ashamed of that answer, and on some level, you are - only when you say it to others, though. When you can be judged and looked down on for such a vapid dream, but it’s your dream and you hate feeling ashamed.

“My band has a deal there,” Eddie doesn’t feel like he judges you. His eyes don’t wander or widen nor do his lips frown or grimace, “to record our next album.”

“I see,” you lean on your Bronco’s bright body, and the way your fingers dance on the metal seem to invite him to do the same. But he doesn’t like assuming, so he only moves closer, just a little, “You staying in California?”

“No, probably going back to Hawkins,” you nod curtly, assuring, and he’s earnestly surprised that you even knew Hawkins existed (it isn’t exactly an eye-catcher on maps, you know?), “Maybe Texas. See if they’ll put me in the next Chainsaw Massacre as a celebrity death.”

“Hmm,” you feel hot under Eddie’s bambi eyes, something so separate from your typical experience with men that it’s refreshing and exhilarating at once, “Maybe,” you drawl the vowels, and Eddie’s hooked, “I’d love to see you get killed on screen one day…”

“Eddie Munson.”

“I’d love to see you get killed on screen one day, Eddie Munson.”

He nods, mindless under your voice in a way he’d be embarrassed of if he particularly cared, and pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, “I’d love it more if we could get killed on screen together,” he holds the open carton out in question and you shake your head. Eddie holds up a cigarette as if in cheers, “To your acting dreams.”

You hold up an invisible drink and imagine a clink as you knock knuckles with Eddie, “And to your rock music.”

“Metal.”

“Metal music.”

“I hate to cut it short,” Eddie puts the cigarette between his lips and you detest the undeniable pull it all has on your gaze, “but I’ve gotta get the kiddies to bed.”

“I should get on, too,” you wave him off as he walks, “Hope to see you again, Munson!”

“It’d be a cruel world if you didn’t!”

Something tells you he means it as a joke, but you don’t exactly think that’s so untrue.

COLUMBIA, MISSOURI

The neon lights of Ralph’s Diner haven’t even begun reflecting off the shiny checkerboard tile when Eddie strolls inside. His hands deep in his loose-fitting, faded, stripey blue and brown pajama pants' pockets and a Dio shirt torn at the collar covering his tattoos.

Eddie’s favorite three stooges are still bumbling around the motel room, half asleep and unwilling to rise so early following the show they had last night. Their venue may have been smaller than what, well, Dio could pull - but it was still intense. Intense in the best way, though. A way that secured to them all that there was a future in their music.

Ever the frontman, Eddie was sent out to scour a table for breakfast, as if any throng of regular citizens would be in a diner with no lights on.

He spots the silhouette of one irregular citizen, though. In a corner booth, swamped in the bright red leather and illuminated by street lights that wait impatiently for the sun to rise.

6:30 is unforgiving to Missouri, judging by the sky slowly inking red. Like blood in water, it mixes, but God does it take unbearably long.

Eddie gets a better view of the irregular citizen when he’s seated at a table on the floor. Jeff hates booths, they make his skin itch and Grant isn’t complaining when he doesn’t have to deal with leather that sticks and peels.

The person by the window yawns and lets their head press to the cold glass. Plaid pink pajama pants that look freshly washed and a lime green tank top without a single hole or stain decorate their person. When they turn at a waitress’ arrival, he realizes that his irregular citizen is you.

A steaming cup of coffee is drowned in creamer and sugar and you blow gently as you stir. He watches you smile and give thanks and poke at a waffle that he assumes is less appetizing than its picture on the menu (which is confirmed when he takes a peek at the laminated piece himself).

It’s like spotting the same person over and over again at a grocery store. There’s the idea to say something - because you both know this isn’t the first time you’ve seen each other, but it feels strange to approach. You’re strangers. You barely know each other’s names.

But you wave when you see him and Eddie can spot three stumbling figures in the doorway. So he relents his position on the yellow cushioned chair and makes his way over.

“We meet again,” you gesture to the seat across from you and he’s silently thankful.

“We do,” he takes two sugars for himself and holds them in a curled fist, “Something really bugged me about the other day.”

“Oh?” you sip from your coffee and he pretends to not know that it’s way too hot for your lips, “What would that be?”

“Why’re you going to California alone?” he can feel his friends watching from their table, but he’s scared to look away, terrified at the thought that you may disappear, “Acting, but what made you want to take the plunge?”

You pause, cup of dirt water coffee frozen inches from your lips, you add more sugar while gathering your thoughts. How do you explain this? Where do you even start?

“I saw a billboard advertising this Gentlemen Prefer Blondes reshowing when I lived in Hawkins as a kid, and I was remembering that at my office gig in Indianapolis,” you gesture to him as if he wouldn’t remember seeing you at the Indianapolis Tea Room stop, “So instead of going home, I got food and drove to - you know - Champaign and started my venture.”

A book summary’s worth of events. There’s rising action and exposition that he’s missing, but that’s a severe overstep for what you two currently are. Which is strangers that keep running into each other during a grocery trip.

You left because of your parents, and that was hard.

It was hard to leave them behind because there were good times. Times where dinner was quiet and times where they wouldn’t stop asking about your day and times when your dad was shoving a clunky camera in your face to “never forget this moment!” and times where you were tucked securely into bed with kisses on both cheeks.

But ultimately, they weren’t good for you, and with nothing and nobody keeping you in Indiana - you took the terrifying path to California.

“What about you? What was your shove, Munson?”

Because you’d rather die than get into the fatty meats of how your parents drove you away.

“We’re on tour to make money,” Eddie laughs, suddenly feeling very ridiculous, “The - uh,” he laughs again, but it seems to shake, nervous. He looks away from you, “Vampire Orgy Tour. For our titular album. Vampire Orgy.”

“Vampire Orgy,” you parrot, grinning, “Interesting.”

“Yeah,” he knocks on the smooth, varnished wood of your table and stands from the booth. Red leather sticks and peels to exposed skin through holes in his striped pants, “at risk of embarrassing myself further, I’m just gonna sit down and hope you forget that when you’re more awake.”

“I won’t,” you promise, “See you around, Munson.”

Heat rushes his cheeks. He feels like there should be more resistance in his flustered state, like he shouldn’t be so easy to please. But he is, and that’s how he’s always been.

So he just waves and meanders back to his spot among Corroded Coffin. They poke and prod and you watch for all of two seconds before deciding to finally eat a waffle that’s most certainly cold by now. If it wasn’t when it came out.

Eddie has never been embarrassed about anything related to Corroded Coffin, and he’s not necessarily embarrassed now, but it’s as if someone came up to a risqué painting before it was finished. Without the whole picture, or what he imagines is a fuller picture than what he explained, you must be judging him (though the much more realistic part of him doubts that you even actually care).

You leave before he does, and he’d be lying by saying he didn’t watch your Bronco speed away from the diner.

KANSAS CITY, MISSOURI

He didn’t plan on seeing you again after last night. When you both turned via automatic response to the sound of another person’s motel keyring jingling and spotted each other. It was a quick wave, smile, and “goodnight” before you two parted ways.

Eddie, of course, was treated to a crock of teasing and shoving from his dear friends before passing out cold on the stained, lumpy mattress on the left side of the room.

But the next morning, he’s awoken by knocking on the door, and through bleary - fresh morning vision, he spots you on the other end of the peephole.

You fidget on the doorstep, staring just off to the side - at the burgundy frame.

Eddie opens the door just enough for the ripped jeans and plain phthalo green shirt he couldn’t bring himself to change out of to be exposed. He squeezes his eyes shut, blinking himself out of his haze, in the face of his long-awaited Missouri sunrise, “Good to know you’re still tailing us.”

“I’m not tailing,” you roll your eyes, fingers knotting. Your lips press and that’s when he notices that they’re painted plum, “I just- “ he looks back to your eyes when you sigh, “I’m sure you’re busy but do you wanna go to Annie’s Santa Fe?” you make the tiniest gesture of peeking over his shoulder, “Just you. No offense to the others.”

Eddie ducks inside his room and if it weren’t for the fact he left the door open, you would’ve assumed he was rejecting you. Suppose that makes you the ass, though, because he comes back shoving a black leather wallet in his pocket.

He steps out and locks the door, keys jingling and cracking the serene, silent morning.

“Can you even get breakfast at Annie’s?”

You shrug, leading Eddie towards the barren, grass-patched curbside opposite a faded yellow Annie’s Santa Fe, “No idea, but it’s close.”

He’ll make it work.

You two cross the road together, mere inches away from committing and holding hands. Eddie’s knuckles brush yours and you feel something electric there, you blame it on the romcoms your mom would watch when you were a kid.

No way you'd be so foolish to think this is something other than a crazy story in five years. Right?

Eddie moves in a way akin to childish galloping, just to get in front of you and creak open the finger-printed glass door. He bows grandly as he holds it, a small "m'lady" whispering past his lips. He looks up at you through his lashes and you giggle like the leading lady in a handmaiden's forbidden romance.

God, what a crazy story it'll be in five years.

WICHITA, KANSAS

Eddie’s paying a sweet $1.10 for cigarettes at the local CO-OP, the counter he slides his two dollars across is eggshell white and freshly polished, it shines nicely with the red rim. The bell ding-dongs as automatic doors behind him slide open, he can hear them skid in the gritty slots and the sound makes his whole body tense.

Boot heels click on the slushie and cola stained tiles. He’s enticed to turn, just to eliminate the idea that perhaps a cowboy had popped in behind him.

But as he glances into the rounded corner mirror to his right, he sees you. Gogo boots and sunset-dyed sundress. You look out of time, like Marty McFly from that new(ish) movie Dustin forced him to rent. You’ve got one hand picking out a bloated, colorful plastic bag of marshmallows with the other manhandling a jug of sweet tea by its neck.

Eddie moves when the CO-OP clerk clears her throat, thick and something from a school nurse’s nightmares. He grins big and wide, waiting just off to the side as you approach.

Before you can reach into the dip of your dress’ cleavage for cash, Eddie is handing over a five-dollar bill, “Allow me, Edie Sedgwick.”

You roll your eyes, “She didn’t even wear dresses like this.”

“I don’t know another woman from the ‘60s,” he leans forward, pushing the cash just out of your reach when you try grabbing it to return to him.

The clerk, bored and ready to watch you both leave, snatches Eddie’s money as you huff in protest.

“Audrey Hepburn,” you blurt, “She was, like, the woman from the ‘60s.”

“Well, my mom liked Edie. So,” he shrugs dramatically, waltzing to the door and standing at the sensor.

He feels like he should wait, so he does, for no particular reason other than that he doesn’t want the last time he sees you to be through a gas station window. If he were honest to his core, he doesn’t know if he’s willing to see a ‘last time’ in the near future.

“Were you named after her?” you stop immediately outside the doors and you’re Carrie’d red in neon sign lights.

“What?” Eddie follows you to the farthest wheel stop, he groans embarrassingly loud as he bends to sit beside you on the CO-OP’s ledge.

“Edie. Eddie.”

Eddie shakes his head and peels his carton’s plastic before plucking out a cigarette and balancing it between his lips, “Nah. Full name’s Edward,” you gag and he smacks your arm with the carton, “I’m named after my grandpa.”

“Well that explains Edward.”

“Oh,” you shake your head, prying at the puckered edge of your marshmallow bag, “I don’t smoke.”

“At all?”

“At all.”

“Hm.”

You narrow your lashes at the man and he simply ignites the cherry tip of his cigarette, “Hell’s that mean?”

“You look like a hippie.”

“Wow,” you hold out the open bag of sweets for him, “and you still talk to me? You could be the messiah, Edward.”

He sighs, big and loud before taking a marshmallow for himself, “Stop. I regret saying anything.”

You just laugh, and he doesn’t find himself particularly minding.

After a spark of silence, you speak again, “You ever wonder what it’s like to slow dance with your boyfriend? Like, late at night,” you scoot a little closer on the ledge as a chill billows through your thin dress, “I bet it’d be nice. Cozy.”

He could say a lot of things. Heartwarming to some, embarrassing to him, hard to watch for most. So he just elbows you in the ribs, “Stay away from my boyfriend.”

You guffaw, offended, and swat his arm, “Don’t tease me.”

Eddie gasps, histrionic shock, and steals yet another marshmallow, “I would never.”

DENVER, COLORADO

Eddie feels disgusting. Stiff, sticking clothes and swampy skin that mats his bangs to his forehead. It’s freshly post-show, clock ticking ever closer to the agreed time that Corroded Coffin would set out again. One of the many negatives to being a smaller band with no signed contract yet, most of the tour tribulations are set on them. The price of being a starving artist.

At least the AC in Weaver’s Gas is running as though this Colorado autumn is an Arizona summer. The lights here feel more clinical. Neons that flash and cast halos dot the outside, but interior light bulbs are white and eye-wateringly bright.

Eddie tips his head back in front of the opened fridge door to the soda selection.

Then there’s the faintest pressure on his shoulder, sticking particularly because of his tank top. Eddie jumps slightly when a voice follows,

“If you had to fight a clone of yourself, how would you defeat it?”

It’s your voice, though, and maybe he should be alarmed by how at ease you have him already.

Eddie’s eyes are still closed to the gentle cool of the soda fridge, “Go for the balls. He’d never see it coming.”

He feels the breath of your laughter on his neck and it’s sickening how much he likes it.

“You feel sweaty, by the way,” Eddie turns just in time to see you wiping your chin overdramatically.

“Just got done with a show,” he jerks his head towards the wall painted with ‘BUY 1 GET 1’ in thick black letters as if you’ll spot a venue there, “Should’ve been there.”

“Should’ve,” you snap your fingers and huff in pointed disappointment, “If only I knew…”

“Corroded Coffin.”

“Corroded Coffin- " you laugh, slapping a hand over your mouth, “Sorry! It’s not funny, I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“Sure,” he lets the fridge door slam shut behind him, “Sure.”

“No, really, it’s badass. Honestly.”

“‘Cuz that face says ‘badass’,” he points right at you and you swat his hand away.

“Sorry I missed it, though, looks like it would’ve been fun,” you nudge Eddie’s arm with your elbow, “Someone had to wash dishes for cash.”

“You had a job, that’s insane,” Eddie digs into his pocket and pulls out that tattered, black leather wallet that you now see has a hole in the bottom corner, “Here.”

A folded, crumpled dollar prods your arm and you don’t get the chance to refuse it before he sticks it into your front pocket with a bright, awkward grin.

“I don’t need your money,” he refuses the bill when you attempt to return it.

“Just take it, maybe I’ll let you buy me dinner next time we see each other.”

“You better, actually. I don’t wanna hold onto this for long.”

“Then take me somewhere nice!” he’s already walking out of the store as he calls back to you.

You nod, holding up your hands in the shape of a heart as the sliding automatic doors begin squealing shut with Eddie on the other side.

DURANGO, COLORADO

The Dillon Motel is sand beige with blue jay door frames. Eddie is bone tired, hands clung to the steering wheel as Gareth snores against the passenger window, Grant and Jeff equally as loud in the back seats. The clock reads a quarter past eight in the morning and Eddie, honest to his very core, cannot help the full-body groan that slips through him.

But when he looks up at the collection of doors, he sees you. That Megadeth shirt from Springfield is hanging off you again, a highlighter-vomit green pair of pajama shorts underneath and he sees you walking towards a vending machine with a cash-balled fist.

You’re quick on your way towards a cola-stocked paradise, slowing when you pass a boy, not older than ten, sitting behind the cardboard counter of a lemonade stand. Crayon and marker litter the surface of his small business, but the sloppiness doesn’t deter you even slightly. Instead, you wave and he can see the way your lips move to say ‘hi’.

You pause when the little boy mimes throwing a rope around you, pulling you towards the stand. You play along and he watches you spend the bills loose in your hand on lemonade.

It softens as much as it terrifies him because now he realizes that he doesn’t want California to be the last stop he sees you at. Not at all.

RICHFIELD, UTAH

Eddie has to be in Beaver by tonight and it's currently eleven in the morning. Should be manageable, but it most certainly won’t stop him or his friends from complaining. Tour is hell when you’re not on stage.

Tour is especially hell when he doesn’t get those precious passes with you. Mere minutes usually wasted, but that’s more than enough.

A distant bell sings and a door shuts clambers and Eddie’s looking up as he puts gas into his dear van. You’re walking to that cherry red ‘77 Bronco with a jug of sweet tea, wrangled by its plastic neck, when he calls to you.

He’s a little too tired to make the walk over, and you seem to be the same.

Pausing at your door, half in and half on the ledge, you wave before dropping your tea onto the passenger seat. You make the shape of a heart with your hands and Eddie returns half of it, other hand occupied with filling his gas tank.

He can hear you giggle. It hurts to watch you get in the car without hearing your actual voice. He doesn’t try to think about why it hurts, though, that would be too real.

When he hates to imagine that the last way he’ll see is possibly not even you. It’s through the tinted back window of your ‘77 Ford Bronco.

RENO, NEVADA

For years, Wayne has been talking about going to Las Vegas, so Eddie took careful - and persistent - effort for the Nevada stop on their classy Vampire Orgy tour to not be in Vegas. No matter how much Gareth bitched about it.

And no matter how much Eddie himself sort of wishes he was in a Las Vegas bar rather than Reno, he still insisted. Not that Reno isn’t lovely, there’s just a lot of talk about Las Vegas that he wants to put to his personal test.

But you’re in Reno, so it’s all worth it.

“You missed another big deal, babe, I’m telling you.”

God, he hates how he talks sometimes.

“Aw,” you pout, though it seems entirely genuine, “I’m sorry. I was totally free today, too, I didn’t know you were playing.”

“Hey, no worries,” he leans back against the burnt sienna countertop, “Maybe next time, yeah?”

“Hopefully,” you add.

Eddie finally gestures to the crown of daisies strung around your head, “And I see you’re having trouble with your hippie allegations.”

You shake your head but relent, putting up a peace sign, “A couple girls that reeked of weed gave it to me.”

“And you just took it?”

“Yep.”

He tuts, twisting his lips into something akin to cynicism, “You seem nice, but I think you’re susceptible to falling into a cult.”

“Hm,” you lean a little closer when a man who stumbles with his steps comes a touch too close, “Yeah. I should find someone strong-minded and leader-like that I can rely on to take care of me.”

“We can do it together,” Eddie has to press his lips to smother the smile that crawls over him, “No, seriously, though. You’re pretty metal for traveling the country by yourself. Like a little Osbourne.”

You tilt your head, adjust the ring of daisies on your head, and shrug, “No clue what you’re talking about.”

“Osbourne? As in Ozzy Osbourne as in Black Sabbath.”

“Yeah, I know the band, but what about it?”

“He bit a bat’s head off!” Eddie’s eyes get wide and he looks seconds away from full chortle when you gasp.

“On stage?!” you lean forward, unadulterated shock and awe.

“Yeah!” you almost hate the way that you love his bambi eyes, nearly sickened by how much you wish California wasn’t his last post, “January 20th, 1982, princess. He bit the head off of a bat on stage.”

“Oh my God, and that’s who you think of me as?” you cross your arms, appearing offended.

“You’re both very cool, yes,” he just laughs at your apparent disturbance, “You two are not exactly alike, is that better?”

You pause for a moment, genuinely considering, “Yeah. I just don’t wanna bite bats’ heads.”

“You don’t have to, sweets, I’m just saying it’s badass.”

“I’m badass?” you glance down at yourself, then back to him, “Really?”

“Fuck yeah,” Eddie wishes this night could drag on. He wishes he didn’t have to go, “Maybe more badass than Ozzy Osbourne.”

You squint at him, then shake your head, and in sync, you both speak as Whitney Houston’s I Wanna Dance with Somebody fades out overhead,

“As if.”

FRESNO, CALIFORNIA

The stars are less visible above California neons and street lamps than they are in Indiana, that bugs both of you to some extent but you knew what you were walking into coming to the Eureka state. Eddie doesn’t seem to fit into the jorts and scrunchies and leg warmers of California Average Joe-ness, but he almost appears to thrive on that.

The stars are even less visible inside Rae’s Kitchen.

Gareth, Jeff, and Grant have long left. Since Eddie first sat down with you almost thirty minutes ago, in fact.

You’re finally treating him to dinner with that twenty. Still crumpled but now there’s a brand new tear at the corner that you had to tape together by a dim, flickering lantern in a motel room.

You like Eddie. A lot. He’s different from anybody else, and you don’t say that in the way you heard people say in those romcoms from your deepest childhood memories. From Indiana to California, Hawkins to Indianapolis to Fresno, there is nobody like Eddie.

And that scares you. The idea that when you two part, you will never get this sort of experience - this sort of heart-thrumming time - again.

“Our last stop,” he pauses to sip from his milkshake, overly sweet and only slightly nauseating, “is in San Diego. Then we’re signing.”

“San Diego,” you chew through your food, a slow nod, “I’m meeting a friend there for housing while I audition.”

“You already have a role lined up?” he raises his brows, eager and so excitably different from all your family and friends when you spoke about this, “Wow, sweets, that’s pretty big.”

“It’s just a commercial,” you wave off his cartoonish hope for you, “Not even a guarantee, I’m only up because my friend works with the director a lot.”

“Still,” he pops a fry into his mouth, gesturing with his hands as if you’ll see the rest of his thoughts in the air, “Mark Hamill and John Travolta. Commercials. That kid Drew Barrymore - also started with commercials before E.T.”

“That ‘kid’ was also born to famous parents. And I don’t even know who those other two are,” at his haughty glare you drop the fib, “I don’t know them well.”

“But you can’t deny they got huge parts. So, don’t downplay your commercial.”

“If I even get it.”

“You’ll get it,” it stuns you how confidently he speaks, “They’d be a fool to not take you.”

Otherwise, he may be the fool for becoming so captivated so soon.

But then it comes to that hatred again, that hatred of the soon coming fact that he won’t see you as often. If ever.

But he doesn’t want to hold you back. You two aren’t even together, for God’s sake.

“Good luck on your endeavors, princess,” he lifts his milkshake while digging a carton of cigarettes from Kansas from his pocket and flipping it open.

You clink your glass to his with a “good luck on your endeavors, Munson” but wrinkle your nose when he offers you a cigarette, “You’re gonna make the booth stink,” he raises a brow, preparing to put away the carton entirely, “Well.”

He pauses.

“I’ll give it a try.”

“Wow, you cross seven states and already go to the dark side? You think you know a person.”

“Shush, I said try, I’m not buying them every day.”

Eddie lights the cigarette and takes a drag before passing it to you. He puts care into angle his face away from yours before he exhales.

You inhale, shaky, and cough when the fumes hit your lungs. You bang on your chest, holding out the cigarette by its butt like the very thing is about to explode if it’s near.

He really hates the idea of never seeing you again. So he doesn’t think about it as he takes the cigarette and talks you through your coughing fit.

[FUCK TUMBLRDOTCOM PICTURE LIMITS]

SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA

It's dark, crimson overheads are the only way he can see slivers of the crowd, but in that darkness - through those bloody splices - is a surprise. Hands in the shape of a heart.

Something thick and sweet like frosting curls inside him. Or like the gentle purr of his beloved stray cats at the trailer park.

He imagines this is how rockstars feel - the ones with their name in lights and crowded by people outside the venues and asked to sign arms and stomachs and chests and foreheads - this must be the type of scorching heart and hot blood they have. This entire experience of actually touring has been amazing, even the late nights and sick days, but this must be the best night of it all.

Because the hands move and your face comes into a slight of apple hue and you’re smiling up at him so sweetly. You don’t know any of the lyrics, but you look like you’re having fun.

After the show, you wind up backstage with Eddie.

You’re following Eddie’s hands along his guitar, he guides you faithfully - your back to his chest - and he’s desperate to prolong this night for as long as you’ll let him. He just doesn’t want to think about what follows this. The restless nights and horrific worries about what could have been and how you’re the one that got away. He almost feels pathetic.

“I should get going soon.”

Oh, God.

“Early morning?”

“I still have to move my things into my friend’s spare room,” you step away and he lays his guitar down gently, “Didn’t get the chance before I had to come see you.”

He thinks he likes you because of how transparent you’ve been. How considerate. That’s what draws him to people, but your willingness to let him be around and even initiate your meetings must’ve been what hooked him. He’s unused to that attention and care, and now he - as soon and embarrassing as it may be - can’t imagine receiving such attention and care from anyone else.

Now, he most certainly feels pathetic.

“You need a ride?”

“I drove here.”

It’s quiet. Tense. Neither of you wants the other to go.

Eddie crosses his arms, gnawing his bottom lip nervously, “Are you staying up here? In San Diego?”

“Yeah,” you hug one arm to your side, scratching your forearm in what he guesses is a ploy to keep your hand busy, “Are you?”

“No.”

You press your lips, eyes straying to your shoes. You hate the idea. You don’t want to keep him back, though. It’s complicated with his band involved. You two aren’t even together, you can’t ask him to stay.

Together, at once, you both say, “Okay.”

You both force out a laugh. Something quick and painful.

There’s so much more you both want to say, but it feels pointless. And you feel foolish for wanting him to say something. You feel foolish for wanting him to ask you to stay with him.

But Eddie is used to feeling foolish.

“Is there…” he shakes his head, not looking at you - his words are shaky and uncertain, “any way you would leave California? For a little.”

“Maybe,” you lean so that Eddie’s forced to lock eyes with you, you smile, “if I had a famous rockstar that I could play off of. Be the playboy girlfriend that girls look at in magazines and call pretty,” he matches your grin and you nudge his mud-caked sneaker with your shoe to tease, “Maybe.”

He most certainly feels like you’re talking about him, but he hates to assume. Asses and whatnot.

You roll your eyes, “You know. Like you.”

Eddie makes a show of his relieved sigh, placing a hand over his heart and tossing his head back, “I didn’t wanna assume. So, would you- “ his eyes flip away for a moment, “would you go back to Hawkins?”

“I would. As long as you can make it fun.”

“I’m not known around there for being a bore.”

“Good,” you reach out and take one of his hands, squeezing, “I’d stay in Hawkins for a little while. As long as you promise to take me to California, too.”

“Of course,” he almost looks offended, “How could I not? You’re gonna be a big deal here, baby.”

For someone who claims to hate assumptions, he sure is comfortable with pet names.

Not that you’re complaining.

“I’ll take you to your audition tomorrow,” his eyes linger on your lips, then your eyes, “If you’ll let me.”

“I’d love you to.”

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