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ronwestbreeze · 8 months

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you're gonna go far | 3

pairing: jake sully x neytiri x tsu'tey x fem!human! reader summary: a scientist arrives on pandora (unwillingly) a year after the exile of the rda. now she must deal with the likes of a clan leader, a great warrior, and a thanator rider. . . word count: 8.2k warnings: depictions of depression (not too explicit)

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The view of Pandora from the sky should’ve been amazing. Your heart should’ve leaped many times over as the Samson ship flew over many beautiful sights of nature. It should’ve finally occurred to you that you were on the planet of your dreams, that you were witnessing the life of Pandora, mask and all.

Instead, you just stared at the world as if you weren’t in your own body. Floating outside of it and looking down at yourself. It hurt that you practically didn’t recognize yourself anymore. And you wished you could blame it on your current circumstance but even before you were brought to Pandora, before your mother’s forest had withered away, you had always had this familiar feeling. This dislike of what you were becoming.

Bitter. Resentful. The child-like wonder, long gone. You hated what you saw. You hated how so easily you believed back then that your own mother would’ve abandoned you—forgotten you simply because she was on a different planet. How selfish could you have gotten?

You had been burying yourself in jealousy while your mother was already six feet below you.

In the corner of your eye, you spotted Jake flying next to the ship, on one of those winged creatures. You hadn’t noticed Norm, who sat across from you, watching your expression with a frown. You hadn’t realized he’d seen the dullness in your eyes, the exhaustion making you way older than you were. You weren’t even that old actually—but the world aged you. In a way, no one should have to experience.

“They’re called ikrans.” You dragged your eyes toward Norm who nodded his head toward the creature Jake was flying on. Both of you watched as he flew by and took to the front, leading the Samson ship. “It’s who the Na’vi bond with for life. And their way to get around. It’s a lot better than walking, I can tell you that.”

He chuckled a little while you nodded absentmindedly, barely taking in the information he was giving you.

“You’ll definitely appreciate the life here a lot more when you’re steering your avatar.” Norm added on after a pause.

Okay, he must’ve noticed your lack of interest at some point, right? Why was he so adamant to have a conversation with you? What exactly was he trying to accomplish?

Your mind spurred slowly as you finally watched him, both warily and with interest. Maybe you could take advantage of his talkative mood and gain some type of understanding here. Maybe it would help your mind focus on anything else at the moment. That always helped. Forcing your brain to hyper-fixate on something else besides your own psyche.

“Tell me about the war.” You finally said to him. Norm raised his brows, startled. “Clearly, I have no idea what exactly happened a year before I arrived. And DeVoe didn’t either, considering she thought she would win against the attack on our ship. Clearly, she forgot that a lot could happen during five years of cryosleep.”

With that, he nodded, “Yes, you’re right.” You watched his thoughtful expression turn to sorrow, as his gaze went back to the view below them.

A view you should’ve been looking at too. But for some reason, you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it. It hurt too much. It would only keep reminding you…

“There used to be this place called the Kelutral.” Norm began, finally, drawing your mind back to him. Refocusing your gaze on his grim features. “It was this big tree that the Omatikaya used to call their home until the RDA destroyed it for a bunch of unobtanium that was buried beneath the tree. Basically, the rich fucks took their home away and that caused the war that led us into exiling the RDA off this planet. Jake, who was considered an outsider before, helped reunite the other clans to defeat them, Toruk Makto. Because of this title, he was accepted into the Omatikaya, despite being a Sky Person as well.”

You watched him with a frown, taking in the brief, summarized story. “So what, should I become some great warrior to impress the natives too?”

“Couldn’t hurt.” Norm shrugged with half a joking smirk but winced right after. “Don’t know if there’s a lot to choose from though.”

You scowled, not really in the mood to match his playful response, “And Sully knows what it’s like to be an outsider yet acts like a total dickhead still? Some guy.”

Norm awkwardly scratched the back of his head, “Your arrival did kind of spook us, and it happening a year after the RDA were gone too—it was just bad timing, really, Doc. I’m sure once this all cools down then Jake will, I don’t know, get his head out of his own ass and finally get it. But right now, he’s just—they’re all scared. And I can’t necessarily blame him for that either.”

Somewhere, behind all this anger, grief, and exhaustion, there was some part of you that did understand it.

But rationality was hard to come by now. Being reasonable was far from your grasp—in fact, you kicked it away out of spite. Every bit of you just wanted to embrace this anger, embrace this frustration.

You did not ask to be put here. To you, at this moment in time, that was all that mattered.

You were wronged. You were kidnapped. You weren’t responsible for what the RDA had done here—nor what your mother had accomplished on this planet. None of it had anything to do with you.

And for a brief moment, this selfishness felt right. There was no self-hatred for what you felt here. Because you were right to be pissed off at your situation. And no one was going to make you feel bad for it.

Norm didn’t. He took to being neutral. Understanding your side and the natives—which was somewhat fair. At least he didn’t completely write you off as some sort of destructive lost cause.

At some point, Jake maneuvered from the front of the ship to the side of it, gesturing for the pilot to land. You braced yourself as the Samson lowered itself to the ground, the trees flying around you from the spinning blades of the ship.

Once the ship was securely on the ground, you followed Norm off the ship just as Jake landed his winged creature—ikran—in a tree a few feet away from you. After adjusting the exopack you wore—again—Jake landed on the ground and flicked his head in the direction straight head.

“This way.”

The forest was vast and big around you. Perhaps even a bit scary if not for the natural lighting of the plants—bioluminescence—surrounding you. If your mind wasn’t so distracted, you would’ve thought it was absolutely beautiful and ethereal. Unlike anything you had seen in your life.

As you walked, many small creatures flew around you. One of them was a flying lizard which glowed along with the forest. A kenten, you remembered them from your mother’s videos. It flew around you for a bit until it moved on. For a moment, you watched it until you couldn’t see it much anymore as it flew further and further away.

You tried to will some type of amazement. Some type of awe. But nothing came to you. Nothing at all. So, you moved forward, forcing yourself to forget the flying lizard and focus on what was ahead of you.

The clan’s new home must’ve been close by since Jake decided to make them walk the rest of the way to it. Norm was still beside you, also in human form which was slightly comforting. At least you wouldn’t be the only puny creature here.

When you began spotting huts in trees, that’s when you realized you must’ve arrived. The first few practically blended in with the nature of Pandora. But as Jake led you deeper, more huts began to appear, more visible as you walked by. Natives were out and about as well. Children, women, and men alike.

Now you really felt small. Almost pathetic. Being among the Na’vi constantly reminded you of this. Even the children sometimes towered over you. The smallest one that you passed had to have reached your shoulder, and she looked young. Seven years old at least.

Jake glanced over his shoulder at the two of you every now and then, making sure that you were keeping up and that he didn’t lose his eyes on you. He wasn’t the only one watching you keenly, some of the natives did as well. Making you feel both self-conscious of yourself and rather irritated. It was like they wanted you to snap at them.

Next to you, Norm whispered. “The Tsahik, Mo’at, is pretty wise. Basically, everyone looks to her as a spiritual leader. A spokesperson. Interpreting the will of their deity, Eywa.”

“So why does she need to see me?” You questioned as Jake led the both of you to a hut, stopping just at the entrance of it.

Jake looked at you—his face still unreadable—“Wait here.” And he ducked inside. Leaving both you and Norm outside.

The scientist shifted next to you, “Probably to determine whether or not Eywa has truly chosen you.”

“Chosen me?” You repeated incredulously.

“Well, Neytiri did say that those woodspirites—atokirina—were around you earlier.”

“So?”

Norm frowned exasperatedly, “To them that means something. Which means your odds might not be looking too bad now.”

At that, you rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the long curious looks sent your way by the natives. “You’re all more worried about my odds than me.”

He didn’t respond despite the question in his frown. You didn’t offer an explanation.

A minute or two later, Neytiri came out of the hut instead of Jake. She still held a thoughtful yet wary expression when looking down at you. “The Tsahik will see you now.”

Norm gave you a pat on your back, “Good luck.”

Again, not offering a response, you followed Neytiri into the hut, not before hearing Norm say behind you, “I’ll be out here if you need me—"

Inside the Tsahik’s hut, it was pretty spacious—probably because everything just looked much larger to you than it actually was. There were a lot of earthy materials—the air smelled of smoke, herbs, and spice of sorts. Unlike anything you’ve ever smelled on Earth.

A part of you expected this from a Na’vi shaman, so you didn’t observe too much of the space you were in.

Instead, you focused on your busy mind. Your walls going up to defend against any accusation attacks or insults that would be sent your way because of your species, because of your unwelcomed arrival here. Observing the unique hut wasn’t much of an option when your eyes settled on the woman at the center of it.

She was sitting on the ground, eyes focused on something in the wooden bowl she held in her four-fingered hand. She had yet to look up at you, but she didn’t tense at your presence. Not like how Jake did in the corner of your eye—whom you just now noticed standing near the entrance of the hut.

How you had missed his tall blue ass, you didn’t know.

Your mind had been too blurred and defensive as soon as you stepped in. Not realizing until then that you were standing in front of the Tsahik of the Omatikaya Clan.

Suddenly, you felt intimidated. Like the type of intimidation, you were sure you were supposed to feel while facing Jake. Only you didn’t with him.

But with her? No, there was something about her that exuded something far more powerful than some scary Marine. She hadn’t even said anything yet and you for some reason stiffened at the sight of her.

Mo’at turned her attention to you. “Come, sawtute. Sit.”

Cautiously, you came forward and sat where Mo’at pointed. Neytiri had come inside shortly after, taking the spot behind Mo’at. Watching you and her keenly. You realized while looking at both Na’vi women, how similar they were.

Jake was still standing near the entrance.

All eyes were on you.

And you truly realized then that you were alone. That, essentially, everyone was against you. The way each Na’vi eyed you carefully, as if watching for any sudden movements, the same as the first time you met both Jake and Neytiri at Hell’s Gate.

You realized that the only person who had been in your corner was gone.

It was you against Pandora.

Something suddenly pricked you, interrupting your bleak thoughts. Mo’at held a needle of sorts which was now red with your blood. You watched as she gave it a sniff and then a lick, something you would’ve cringed at if not for your and everyone else’s silent anticipation. All you could do was sit silently, spine straight and protected by steel.

Ready to fight for yourself because no one else would.

Mo’at then peered down at you, “You know who I am.”

You blinked at the question, “Norm told me, yes.”

She made a sound of content with your reply.

Another beat went by as she stared at you, “Tell me about your dying planet. Tell me why you have no interest in making our home yours like your clan.”

You stopped, staring at her in bleak surprise. That certainly wasn’t something you were prepared to answer. Again, you blinked and Mo’at stared at you expectantly.

Unsurely, you finally replied, “It’s like you said. It’s dying. I don’t know how much simpler that can get for you. Saving our home—it’s a naïve dream. That’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? Humans killed our own planet and now we want to claim another, just to fuck that one up too.”

Neytiri’s tail moved slightly behind her. In the corner of your eye, Jake stiffened—the only former human here who knew what you were talking about. Who understood what you meant, where you came from, and your position.

For some reason, that only made you angrier at him. For some reason, now he wanted to pretend that none of that happened. That you, just like the RDA, were just as bad. Without even trying to understand your side.

Mo’at raised a hand as if silencing your bitter thoughts. “I didn’t ask for ‘we’. I want to know why you aren’t following your clan’s ideas. What makes you different from the rest of those sky demons?”

Still confused and now annoyed, you respond anyway, “Because I have no interest in trying anymore.”

And you paused, remembering your mother’s songcord in the back of your pants pocket. You moved your gaze down to your hands, which were clutching your knees until your knuckles were practically shades lighter than your skin.

“Back on Earth, my mother—she believed in the hope that she could save it by starting small. Never mind the hundreds of years of wasted pollution or deforestation, she believed there was still a way to save it. So, she created the Amazon Project. There was still a small patch of land in Brazil left untouched. She took the opportunity to nurture and protect it. Since I was young, I’ve been working under her. Watching her succeed in her project. Until she passed it down to me. To care for it while she left for the Avatar Program. And I was happy to do it. I wanted to see my mother’s work flourish even if she wasn’t at my side. I did it to make her proud.”

Again, you paused, resisting the urge to reach for the songcord to distract your hands. Despite your trembling, your voice remained steady, “Five years later, RDA agents tell me she died a year into her stay there. Her forest is gone too. By fire. Deforestation. As all the others.”

Mo’at was quiet but thoughtful. Neytiri was staring at you still, her expression less wary, less—almost no severity left there. She was listening, closely. The way her ears twitched every now and then was a sure sign of it.

You couldn’t see Jake’s reaction, your gaze going back down to your hands again.

Until Mo’at finally spoke, “And now you are here. Yet you have no interest in following your clan’s path. Because you have, ‘given up’. Now I am told that we cannot escort you off this planet. So why should my people trust you to stay here—”

“I didn’t want to be here.” You were tired of saying it. Tired of fighting for your innocence here. Fighting for them to see that you too were wronged here. That you were the victim, not the monster in all of this mess.

If anyone was to blame, it was DeVoe.

But DeVoe was dead. And you were left fending for yourself.

And you were angry all over again.

“The RDA wanted me to come here and continue my mother’s work. I refused and they brought me here against my will. They tried to get me to buy into this bullshit lie that my mother wanted this, when really they were just desperate fuckers who wanted to get their hands on her work. I destroyed it. No one, not even me, could use it. And if you’re not happy with that explanation either, then do what you want with me—I don’t know how many times I have to say it. I’m not here to take anything. I’m not here to live among you and I’m not here for the Avatar Program—if killing me is all it takes for this shit to end then just get it over with already—”

You missed the way Neytiri frowned, confused by your words. You missed the way Jake winced and looked away from your smaller hunched figure. You missed the way Mo’at nearly chuckled at your words. Because it was always amusing how many didn’t realize how the Great Mother worked. Even when it happened in front of them.

The flaps of the hut entrance yanked open as two Na’vi figures stepped inside. One of them you recognized as the clan leader, Tsu’tey?—while the other was an older woman with a sling across her chest. And in that sling was a sleeping baby.

His eyes found you and his scowl worsened, “What is this?!”

“Tsu’tey,” Neytiri warned as she stood. She moved around Mo’at while saying something to him in their language.

He ignored her and looked to Mo’at, “Why is the demon here?! I already said it isn’t welcomed on our land!”

“I called her here, Olo’eyktan,” Mo’at responded simply, looking increasingly similar to Neytiri as a sort of warning appeared on her own lithe face.

Even Jake stepped forward, placing a hand on the male’s shoulder in an attempt to calm him down, “Just be calm. Mo’at—”

“We agreed the demon would be gone!” Tsu’tey snapped, now glaring at you again. You stared back impassively and for some reason that only seemed to piss him off. “And now you’ve shown her our home and endangered us all!”

Neytiri then hissed at him in their language. You watched both of them quietly go back and forth, Jake even adding input every now and then. Whatever it was they were saying, Tsu’tey didn’t look too happy about it.

“The atokirina has given us a sign.” Mo’at interrupted the three in English as she gestured to you. “Allow her to explain her intentions to the Olo’eyktan and then we can decide—”

“It is already decided.” Tsu’tey snarled. “She leaves—”

“There’s no ship we have that can send her back,” Jake informed calmly. He glanced toward you for a beat, something settling in his yellow gaze before looking back at the heated male. He continued whatever he said to try to persuade the chief in Na’vi. His use of the language wasn't as natural coming from him—which, you noted, showed he hadn’t been experienced in their language for long now.

Neytiri also grabbed and squeezed at Tsu’tey’s arm as she spoke, this time her words sounded a lot more clear instead of quick with a hiss like before. She too was trying to persuade him—or perhaps you weren’t reading their body language right. After all, you were practically the only one in the hut that didn’t speak the language. Who knew what they could’ve been saying about you—which was slightly irritating.

The nameless woman, whom you had forgotten was there until you spotted the vicious scowl she sent Jake. She was older, around the same age as Mo’at. Had to be. And she was holding that baby in her sling close to her chest, protectively almost. Like there was no way she would let the infant go, not even if someone dared to ask to hold it. Hell, you weren’t even sure if the baby even belonged to her.

But she did look eerily similar to Tsu’tey. Same scowl and all.

And the baby, despite the chaos, was still sound asleep.

There was a certain innocence at the sight. Something so pure about it.

“You claimed to have left the Sky People.” You tore your eyes away from the baby to find a restrained-looking Tsu’tey now peering down at you. “And that you do not want our home. Then what is it that you want, demon?”

Another question you weren’t prepared for. Frankly, you didn’t think they cared for what you personally wanted, even if they got over their fear of you destroying their home like the RDA had done.

Jake and Neytiri now stared at you expectantly. Neytiri’s gaze curious while Jake, as usual, was guarded.

Mo’at also watched you, keenly. Like she knew something you didn’t.

And the nameless woman continued glaring at you with pure and utter hatred.

“Since I can’t go back home. I don’t know.”

Maybe you’ll lay down next to your mother’s grave. Until you turn into a rock, keeping her company.

Tsu’tey scowled, his tail lashing behind him. “That’s not an answer.”

“Well, I don’t know what to fucking tell you. I just lost the one person I ever cared for—so yes, that’s my answer. I don’t know.” You never broke eye contact with him as you said this. Even when he leered at you for your response. There was a certain bite to your words, especially when you said, “God, it’s like you all haven’t fucking lost someone before. Sorry, if my grievance is such an inconvenience to you all.”

Jake winced at this while Neytiri lowered her head. Tsu’tey didn’t appear phased by the comment but his face noticeably grew more hostile, baring his teeth.

Unbeknownst to you, the nameless woman, Artsut, suddenly hissed in offense for her son, “Are you going to let that demon talk to you in such a way, son? You are Olo’eyktan! Put that alien in her place!”

“Be calm,” Jake warned her with a certain look that meant he was not in the mood for her and her unnecessary comments right now.

But of course, Artsut bit back, “You do not get to tell me to calm down, demon! This is your people! You brought her here, it is your fault for this!”

Jake scowled but swallowed his venomous response down his throat.

Because he knew she wasn’t wrong. His presence alone already made some of the natives uneasy. Toruk Makto or not. And he knew that it could draw more Sky People here one day, after pushing the RDA out. The inkling of vengeance they might take on him and the people never left Jake. Not even when he thought he was finally at peace.

“The Tsahik decides what to do next.” Neytiri reminded the woman with a stone look sent her way. “You do not interfere.”

She refrained from screwing her face into a scowl at the sight of Artsut holding Neteyam. But she could not deny her right to hold her grandson. Not even when it made her sick at times.

Instead of bringing attention to it, Neytiri pointed toward the entrance, “Leave. Take our son to bed. You are not needed here.”

Artsut scowled and looked at her son, “Tsu’tey! You let her dismiss me like this? Your own mother?”

Without looking away from you, Tsu’tey muttered, “Take Neteyam, mother. I will find you later.”

With a huff, Artsut raised her chin, sending you another glare as she said, “I hope you kill that demon where she sits. The Great Mother will forgive you if you at least get rid of one stain on our land.”

In the corner of your eye, the woman left finally, and whatever she had said clearly angered Neytiri and made Jake go quiet as he watched her leave with a solemn look.

“What will you do with her then, Olo’eyktan?” Mo’at questioned in English.

You still didn’t look away from Tsu’tey, almost like a silent challenge between the two of you.

Mo’at watched the both of you. All four of you.

Until someone cleared their throat.

At the sudden sound, all of you turned your attention to the hut entrance, finding Norm standing there looking just as puny as you.

“Dr. Reeds can stay at Hell’s Gate with the rest of us—she doesn’t have to be here if you don’t her here. And since she’s a scientist, Dr Patel can take her on. She’ll be out of the way.” Norm offered, carefully when he took in everyone’s different expressions. Including yours.

She’ll be out of the way.

“Thanks, Norm.” You snipped dryly.

He sent you a pointed look. You rolled your eyes but willed yourself to stay quiet. Mostly, because you didn’t care for all of this anymore. You said your peace and now you were done explaining yourself.

All you wanted to do now was sleep.

You almost missed Tsu’tey’s reply as your mind began to drift, “Away with her then. If I see the demon again, I will deal with it my way.”

There was a shudder through your body at the finality of the conversation. But you remained quiet, staring down at your hands, remnants of dirt still left on your fingernails and palms.

The world had gone too quiet, even when you halfheartedly watched everyone’s mouth move. Only for nothing to come out of it but soundless silence.

Eventually, you were allowed to follow Norm out of the hut and back into the village. Getting ready to leave for Hell’s Gate. At some point, you were floating outside of your body again.

Until Norm spoke next to you, “I think that went well. I’ll have to talk to Dr. Patel and arrange everything—but all in all, you’ll get situated just fine. Plus, you still have your avatar—hey are you okay?”

You barely heard his question or anything prior to that. Your knees buckled and your mask began to fog up from the hot tears rolling down your cheeks.

You weren’t wailing. You weren’t shouting. You just cried on the forest floor with quick breaths and a racing heart.

“Dr. Reeds?” Norm knelt down beside you. “Are you—what—”

You just shook your head and continued crying, clutching your shaky hands to your chest. Letting everything you held back in the hut slam into you like a tsunami wave. Overwhelming you. Disarming you and your walls.

“Okay,” Norm mumbled, looking around. Fortunately, you had made it far enough away from prying eyes. He then patted your back, “Okay—Okay, if it helps, I’m here for you. I won’t go anywhere, right? We’ll sit here until you’re ready, yeah?”

You didn’t get out of your bed for the first few days.

Norm showed you your new room after coming back from your visit with Mo’at. Since then, you stayed there.

Fortunately, no one came to get you. Norm only came around to drop off the food you barely ended up touching.

At some point, you realized that there was just no way you could get out of bed. Everything finally came crashing down. The anger still simmered with your situation, but at this point, there was nothing you could do about it. Even if you could go back, there was nothing waiting for you back at home.

Your mother’s songcord lied on the dresser next to the cot you slept on. Sometimes you’d stare at it and other times you’d get so angry at the sight of it that you’d throw it into one of the drawers. Leaving it there until you quietly panicked and took it back out again.

You hadn’t left the room. The world of Pandora was out there and yet you were here. You couldn’t move. Your body was stone.

And you were fine with being stone.

At least the skin would be harder to break this time.

“It is not your fault,” Tsu’tey said, pulling Jake out of his swimming thoughts—nearly drowning if not for a hand always latching onto him, keeping his body dangling above the waters.

When Jake tore his drifting gaze away from sharpening his arrow, his mate was sitting next to him, eyes soft but face set in a determined frown. As if Tsu’tey made a mission for himself. “I will not let you blame yourself for this. I do not care for my mother’s words and neither should you, tiyawn.”

In response, Jake offered a short nod, not entirely trusting himself to speak at the moment.

Guilt wasn’t a stranger to him. He would live with this until his body was buried somewhere on this planet. He would live with this guilt for the rest of his life.

For Grace. For Neytiri’s father. For Tommy.

Suppose all of this started with his twin brother. Suppose it always did.

“I will always be human,” Jake said to both himself and Tsu’tey, clutching the arrow tightly in his grasp. “That’s never going to change. And I gotta live with that.”

Tsu’tey took his hand—the one gripping the arrow—and squeezed it gently. “I know this. Neytiri knows this. Neteyam is half of you. And half of us. You have proven yourself, Jakesully. Long ago. We have not forgotten what you have done for us. What you’ve done for me.”

Jake winced and looked away.

It wasn’t selfless—saving Tsu’tey after the battle with the Sky People. He had only done it because he didn’t deserve the title. He didn’t want the title. If Tsu’tey lived, he would still be Olo’eyktan. And Jake would just be the Toruk Makto. Nothing more and nothing less.

It wasn’t selfless. It wasn’t.

There was one tablet in your room. At some point, you dragged yourself from the cot and grabbed it.

Turning it on, you searched the system for Joan Reeds.

Her video logs came up. The public ones at least. The ones you destroyed were private. Only for you to see in the end.

This video had to have been when she first arrived. Maybe a few days later.

“Log—um, wait, what day is it?” Already your mother looked frazzled as she searched around the public lab she was in. “Oh! Found it! Video log 10. Today, I got to run around in my avatar and gosh, it’s so jarring how small everyone is—or how small you are. I keep tripping over myself so Dr. Augustine has me putting in more work. Says I’m not useful if I’m always falling on my face. Jokes on her, I’m always falling on my face…I probably won’t be allowed outside of the Avatar Compound.”

Joan laughed at herself in the video. Your heart tugged at the twinkle in her eye as she kept going on and on about her week so far. You listened intently, ignoring the plate of food sitting on your dresser.

In another video, Joan steered off updates and instead took out a tablet. Showing the camera a picture of a forest.

Her forest. On Earth.

Joan was smiling brightly here, “This is the Amazon back on Earth. Or what’s left of it, still preserved under my daughter’s watch. I taught her everything she knows. My very own little shadow. You know when she was smaller, she always used to follow me around. And I mean all the time. Hence the nickname I gave her.” She paused, the smiling faltering a bit. “She doesn’t do it anymore—has a doctorate and everything. My baby’s all grown up. And so, so, talented.”

“Reeds, you’re supposed to be logging. Not crying over your baby photos again.” A voice said in the background.

Joan pouted, “I know, I know. Alright, here come the boring parts—”

“Reeds!”

“Kidding, kidding!”

The video stopped. She never did get to the boring parts.

You stared at the screen in silence. And then you replayed the video. A few more times that night.

Tsu’tey felt small whenever he went to see Mo’at.

Most times he was always accompanied by either Jake or Neytiri—sometimes both—or to bring a warrior who needed healing after a bad hunt.

But when it was just him, it was always different. It had been this way ever since he was young. She just always had this air of importance about her—royalty even. Sometimes—all the time—she was often regarded highly over the Olo’eyktan. Tsu’tey even saw her as the true ruler over the Omatikaya, even before he was named their chief.

It had gotten better, visiting her in his young adolescent years. However, that was only because of their shared grief and the loss of Sylwanin years before. It was easier to be around someone who understood. It was the same with Neytiri. The intimidation was lost because of this.

But now things have changed. Too many things.

After the war, after the battle with the Sky People, Tsu’tey didn’t remember the end result. He never saw them win. Not when he was shot down by one of the Sky People. All he remembered was falling from one of their flying ships and falling back into the arms of his home. Readily to embrace his impending death. Ready to greet Eywa.

He remembered Neytiri crying over his body. He remembered trying to make Jake the next Olo’eyktan. And then it was just darkness. Nothingness. For a moment he could’ve sworn he saw Sylwanin.

And then he woke up with Mo’at crouched over him, hard at work at his severe wounds. Wounds he was sure he would’ve died from. Should’ve died from.

Tsu’tey had lived through the war and came back with nightmares and aching scars in his wake. Sometimes wishing he had stayed asleep for good.

Then the pain would be gone. Then the strange tightness in his chest would go away. Then he wouldn’t have to keep experiencing his breath shortening and his heart racing every time the world spun just a little too much or he’d pulled himself—half a man—out of another one of his nightmares.

Then he wouldn’t have to suffer.

Then he would be at peace.

But a gentle hand always pulled him back. Lifting him out of the ocean. Keeping his head just above the waters, just enough that he could breathe.

Neteyam’s eyes held him in place and stopped his world from spinning.

The world got a little brighter because of his little boy. Because of his mates.

So, when Tsu’tey visited Mo’at on the day of one of his healing sessions, there was always something to keep his head floating above water.

Today it was Neytiri who had his hand against her cheek, running fingers down his arms softly as Mo’at massaged the healing wounds on his back and chest. Last night it was Jake, who hugged him tightly after waking up from one of his nightmares. The day before it had been Neteyam. And the day before that, it had been unintentionally you. His rage for the Sky People kept him grounded.

And tomorrow, he didn’t know what it would bring. He would just have to leave it to the Great Mother. And pray that she doesn’t want him to suffer.

Slowly, you began to eat again. And that was a start.

By the third week, you began doing little exercises in your room.

Push-ups. Sit-ups. Planks. Anything to make your mind start moving again.

It wasn’t perfect. You knew this. But you tried.

One day at a time.

Neytiri and grief were friends.

There was nothing difficult about her emotions or how she expressed herself. Neytiri felt everything. And she could not stop feeling. She could not stop understanding.

So she understood Tsu’tey when he changed after Sylwanin’s death. Neytiri had changed too.

She understood Jake when Grace had died in his arms. Her father had died in her arms too.

She did not want to understand Sky People. She did not want to feel sympathy for the people who stole everything from her. She did not wish to feel sympathy from those that stole her sister away and as if they weren’t greedy enough, took her father and her home from her as well.

And she was tired because of it. She just wanted peace. She just wanted to raise her children and be with her mates. She did not want to worry about those demons coming back and destroying her home, and her life again.

Neytiri was just so tired of it. Being stuck in this never-ending cycle of grief.

Was this the path the Great Mother wanted for her?

Was she just never meant to be happy?

“Hey.”

Neytiri perked up and turned to find Jake watching her curiously. She had forgotten where she was for a moment. In the forest with her bow and Jake. Ready to hunt.

“You here with me?” Jake asked, smiling at her.

And she returned the smile, her chest warm. “Yes.” She then gently smacked his arm, “Now focus. We need dinner for tonight.”

She was always standing at the edge of the cliff, the water staring back at her below. There was always a weight that she held onto, with such desperation. She wouldn’t dream of letting it go. She wouldn’t dream of letting them drown.

So she always held tight. She would be the tether.

The following week arrived. You managed to take a shower and finally leave your room.

Today you were just numb. And you would work with that.

Hell’s Gate was a vast place that you wanted to map out and fully explore. If this was the place you would be stationed/forced to stay at, then you needed to understand the layout.

You started at the administrative centers; passing the Operations Center and a few link rooms. Some people nodded to you in acknowledgment as you passed while others ignored your existence, being too focused on their work—which you didn’t mind.

Eventually, you made it to one of the bio labs. There, you found a few more people—which you assumed were scientists. You passed another link room—Norm mentioned these places a few times whenever he stopped by your room to try and pull you into a conversation.

You lingered there for a minute. Watching two people enter the link beds. By the time they were closed in, you moved on.

The Avatar Compound was of course the last place you visited. You ignored your mother’s old lab and sauntered toward the gardens.

There was a lot more browning than you saw before. Most of them were dead, others were on the verge of dying. It looked pathetic, really. How some of them stood limp. Nearly touching the ground.

You frowned at the sight, fingers twitching.

You moved on.

“Do you guys have a library here?”

Norm looked up at you, eyes alight with surprise at the sight of you, “Um, I don’t know anything about a library. What are you looking for exactly?”

You frowned, tucking the tablet from your room under your arm. “You worked with the former head of the Avatar Program, Grace Augustine. She has a book on the plant life here. I was wondering if this place has a copy lying around somewhere.”

“Light reading?” He asked with a raised brow.

You shrugged, “Something like that, yes.”

Norm nodded with a smile, “Well, like I said we don’t really have a library—but I actually have a copy of her book. I'm a big fan myself. I could lend it to you if you want.”

“I’d like that. Might be a while before I give it back though.”

He grinned, “I don’t mind. Knock yourself out! I’m just glad to see you walking around.” Norm sat back down at his computer with a sigh. “They’ve been sending warriors to check up on things but when I’ve been giving them the same updates, they kind of stopped coming around. So, it might be good for you—”

“Thank you, Spellman.” You nodded, as you started for the doorway leading out of the lab. “Send the book to my room whenever you can.”

Right now you were just floating out of your body. It was easier this way, you realized. And you would work with it.

The book was in your room the next day. You took it while holding your mother’s songcord and read through it. Front and back. You grabbed your tablet as you read the book again, taking notes this time around.

You organized the plants, you separated them into categories. Foods humans and Na’vi could eat. Plants that were meant for herbs and medicine. And plants to avoid altogether.

You read it for a third time to make sure you didn’t miss anything.

Finally, you went to the gardens. After examining which plants needed replacement—which was mostly the fruits and vegetables, food sources that they couldn’t afford to run out of. Hell’s Gate was living off rations, which were bound to be gone at some point. A harvesting garden would be useful.

So, you adjusted your exopack and got work.

You didn’t do too much the first day, just tore down the dead plants—which was practically the whole land of the garden. The plants themselves were big so it took most of the day. Those that could be saved were mushrooms. They hadn’t blossomed yet so you took care of it. Adding water, and new soil—you did this until the night came.

The next few days were planned accordingly. You found yourself busy foraging for fruits and vegetables in the forest surrounding the compound. Of course, you didn’t wander too far from the compound, making sure to keep track of every path you took.

It was quite big and overwhelming, the forest. Even some of the fruits you carried back were bigger than your own body. But you managed well enough to plant down some seeds. Which also took quite some time.

It wasn’t until you saw avatars running around your mind suddenly clicked.

“Spellman.” You ran up to him one day, catching him going into the bio lab. He turned as you stopped in front of him, “I have an avatar, right? How long does it take to get used to being in the body?”

Norm, who had been waiting for you to ask this very question, grinned. “Right this way, Doc.”

Frankly, it took a couple of days until you were finally used to being in your avatar body. Which unfortunately slowed your progress with the garden, but you managed in between breaks from training with the avatar body to continue planting more seeds as best as you could.

But once you could manage to stand on your own two feet in this new body, your process with your garden got a whole lot easier.

One of them was the fact that you didn’t have to wear those stupid masks anymore. Not having to worry about losing oxygen after a couple of hours was a huge plus.

Admittedly, it was strange at first. Suddenly being taller than humans, having a tail that sometimes moved without your knowledge, and then there was keeping both bodies healthy. That would be a challenge but you could deal.

After getting used to your new body, you continued tending to the garden which was making great progress. Except for the mushrooms. They just wouldn’t grow.

“Mmm.” You mumbled to yourself while tucking your tablet—a new one large enough for you to hold—under your arm. Maybe the roots were too old and weak. Maybe it was best to cut it down and start over again.

You went into the bush. The forest looked a lot different with brand-new maskless eyes. A lot more vibrant. A lot more real.

Eventually, you found the same mushrooms in the forest that were in your garden. Kneeling down, you grabbed your tablet. Studying and comparing it carefully.

Of course, the roots were a lot more greener than yours. Maybe it needed fresh soil. Or more moisture. These mushrooms were obviously different from the Earth ones, so you were a little out of your depth here. The book didn’t talk too much about mushrooms, unfortunately.

There was a quick shift in the corner of your vision—something you definitely wouldn’t have caught in your human body. Another plus with the avatar, better senses.

You looked up, your eyes locked with another pair of yellow ones.

A familiar face you hadn’t seen in a while.

Neytiri crouched down on the branch she was on, staring at you intensely.

You stood, “Come to spy on me yourself this time?”

A flicker of recognition flashed through her eyes, her head tilting as she analyzed your features. “You are the demon but different now. You are dreamwalker.”

You gave a single nod and took a moment to observe her carefully. Just as she was doing with you.

After a while, you turned away from her to focus back on the mushrooms. You knelt back down to get a better look at the roots again. The grass shifted after as a soft thud sounded next to you. A second later Neytiri’s feet appeared next to you.

“Why are you doing that?” She questioned.

“I am growing some mushrooms.” You replied simply. “Mine aren’t growing like they’re supposed to…” You then looked up at her curiously. Neytiri stared back at you with a small frown. A strange idea struck you then. “Can you look at the mushrooms back in my garden?”

Neytiri huffed, her tail swishing behind her.

You shrugged, “Or not. I’ll figure it out.”

After you secured the tablet under your arm again—you really should get yourself a bag at some point—you started back to the compound.

Surprisingly, Neytiri followed.

There weren’t a lot of avatars out today so it was practically just you and Neytiri. You found your mushrooms and knelt back down to the ground.

Behind you, you felt Neytiri looking at you. “You did all of this?”

You made a sound of confirmation without looking up from the mushrooms, “We can’t survive off just rations. Sure there’s a lot—meant for a lot—but it won’t last. Better start now than later.”

“And you intend to do it our way?”

“For the most part, yes.”

After a while, Neytiri knelt down next to you as you brought out your tablet to take notes. She tapped your arm, drawing your attention to her.

She then lowered your tablet and pointed to the semi-growing mushroom. “The sun is blocked. You need to move it. Or it won’t grow.”

You frowned. Huh, that was simple enough.

With a nod, you placed the tablet aside and dug up the roots. Neytiri watched as you moved the soil into a more sunny spot. And for the next few minutes, you planted it down with your hands. Once it was done, you looked to Neytiri expectantly.

She was studying your other plants. There wasn’t any annoyance on her face, which was a plus at least. You watched quietly as she poked and prodded at the plants until her eyes met yours. Her ears perked, her face became tight, and her tail curled behind her. She now looked both annoyed and—flustered?

You gestured to the mushrooms, “Anything else?”

Neytiri inched toward you and examined your work, “Yes. That is good.”

You nodded and stood, “Thank you for your help.” She blinked and nodded reluctantly. Then she departed.

It was progress. Your new garden. One day at a time.

Neytiri did not want to understand Sky People.

You were sad, she concluded.

While human, you had appeared dangerous, vicious-looking. Defenseless. But then again, she thought that of all humans.

In your false body, you were easier to read. Your words, as you spoke, still never matched your face. Low ears and tail. Dull, almost unfocused eyes.

Neytiri and grief were friends.

There was nothing difficult about her emotions or how she expressed herself. Neytiri felt everything. And she could not stop feeling. She could not stop understanding.

So she understood Tsu’tey when he changed after Sylwanin’s death. Neytiri had changed too.

She understood Jake when Grace had died in his arms. Her father had died in her arms too.

Unwillingly, she somehow began to understand you after the meeting with her mother. Humans were hard to read, so when she listened to your words, she also watched your face. And it was almost solemn and expressionless. Neytiri wondered if you were like Jake, locking your emotions up, not allowing yourself to feel.

Neytiri did not understand why they did that. Sky People and the way they dealt with their emotions were strange.

You were no different.

You were at the bottom of the ocean. Whatever hand tried to grasp for your body, it always slipped. And you just sunk deeper and deeper.

Until you were a forgotten shadow.

so, yes, this one is a little longer than the last two chapters, lol. i got a little carried away but i really wanted to take a look into the minds of both, jake, neytiri, and tsu'tey, just to gain a little sense as to why they act the way they do towards reader.

they are all very much soulmates. grieving in their own ways. i can't wait to write more of them.

let me know your thoughts! i love talking to y'all and reading your very kind comments!

taglist: @doggyteam2028 @slutforsmut4ever @lik0 @bigbootahjudy @innercreationflower @n7cje @celi-xxmoon @readerofallthingss @childofgod-05

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all-mirth-no-matter · 7 days

Text

Time After Time | Chapter Eighteen

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader, Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Summary: Tommy has an important question for Grace, Ada and Freddie get married, and someone else comes back from the dead

Warning: language

ao3 link | catch up on tumblr here

Chapter 18: Trouble

Will it come to pass, or will I pass the test? You know what they say, yeah the wicked get no rest. You can have my heart, any place, any time. Got so much to lose. Got so much to prove. God, don’t make me lose my mind. — Trouble, Cage The Elephant

“Do you like races?”

The way Tommy asked the question made your heart clench.

You sat in the back room of the pub, peeking through a small crack in the doorway as you tried to remind yourself, It’s not real. You were trying to unsuccessfully distract yourself with the inventory as you stayed out of the way.

But your eye caught the way Grace’s head tilted as she offered him her shy smile.

“Is it Cheltenham?” she asked sweetly. He hummed out a yes. “And you want to take me?”

The way she emphasized the last word made you want to roll your eyes.

You heard him clear his throat. “You’ll fit in. Prim, posh, like the rest of the rich girls who come in for these races.”

You couldn’t help but look down at your own outfit, so dingy next to her deep red sweater and bright blonde hair, not a soft curl out of place. Get it together, you chastised yourself, completely over the self-loathing streak you’d been in lately.

But the way Grace’s cheeks pinkened slightly at the compliment felt like twist of the knife already plunged into your psyche.

This had been Tommy’s plan, you tried to remind yourself. The night before, after he’d come over from his altercation with Billy Kimber in the pub, he’d explained how he’d persuade the new barmaid to accompany them.

You’d almost laughed at the way you had to remind him that he couldn’t just force someone to prostitute themselves out just because he said so. You had to remind yourself that in this period, with Tommy’s influence, he probably could. But you’d been successful in steering him away from that method.

And while his proposal still felt very daunting, he’d decided to go the more flattering route. Still, you didn’t like the idea of leading her on. Not just because of your own feelings, but because you didn’t like putting someone in potential danger. Even if Kimber had good intentions (which you severely doubted, even though you’d never met the man), it wasn’t fun being blindsided that way.

But Tommy had convinced you to ease her into it. Not to tell her something until there was something to tell. Again, you weren’t happy with it — but you’d come to learn how far Tommy was willing to bend on matters like these.

You heard coins dropping on the counter, Tommy’s voice pulling back to their exchange.

“Here, for the dress. Make it red.”

“I’ll need more than that.”

Tommy huffed out an amused breath before you heard another coin be placed on the table. “That’s three pounds.”

“And how much did you pay for the suit you’ll be wearing?”

“Oh, I don’t pay for suits.” You heard the clinking of glass as he collected the bottle of whiskey and glasses he’d asked for when he originally entered. Then he continued, “My suits are on the house, or the house burns down.”

“So you want me to go lookin’ like a flower girl?”

“What I want makes no difference. It’s not me you’re dressing up for.”

The sound of the snug window doors closed, and you felt yourself exhale, knowing the conversation between the pair had come to an end for now. A few seconds later, you heard the pub doors open and close, then the distinct sound of the snug doors close.

Tommy had a meeting — some men who’d reached out wanting to discuss some potential business.

After a few minutes, now back on the inventory, you got up and opened the door to the main room to check on something. You stopped when you noticed Grace leaning against the wall of the snug, her ear pressed against the window. She didn’t notice you, her concentration focused on overhearing whatever conversation was going on in the other room.

You were deciding whether you should stop her, or continue to observe to see what she was up to, when the sound of singing began to grow louder from inside the snug. The singing caused her to push away from the wall, but not before her eyes finally met yours. Her mouth dropped in surprise before snapping shut as she tried to busy herself, but you didn’t miss the slight panic behind her eyes of being caught. She grabbed a crate of bottles and hustled into the side room behind the bar.

“All right, boys,” Tommy boomed as he opened the doors and gestured for them to exit, “when I know who knows what about what, I’ll let you know.”

One of the men pushed the second man still singing out the pub door, and you caught the last bit of his song.

“—I long to see the boys of the old IRA!”

Tommy shook his head as he set the bottle on the counter.

“Pretty bold of them to sing that with the new Inspector running around,” you commented as you moved behind the counter, grabbing the paperwork you’d originally come out for.

He huffed out a chuckle, bringing the cigarette to his mouth. “They’re only rebels because they like the songs.”

You rose your brow, “Will they be back?”

“Nah,” he shook his head, blowing out smoke. “They’ll go back to the Black Swan in Sparkbrook. I have to go, but tonight,” he pointed at you as he walked backwards toward the door.

You nodded, a slight flush across your cheek at the bluntness of his comment. Only a few men sat in the far corners of the booth, but still, it wasn’t like Tommy was trying to be discreet.

It’d been two nights in a row now that Tommy had closed out the day in your apartment. Nothing scandalous had happened either time— he hadn’t even kissed you since you’d gone to the races. Not that you were necessarily opposed to things moving a bit further — but knowing your luck the minute the two of you did, the world would swallow up into itself to stop you.

The sound of Grace clearing her throat as she reemerged from the side room caused you to turn around.

“That wasn’t what it looked like,” she began, and you were surprised at her gumption to address her obvious snooping.

Your brow creased, “Really? You’re going to pretend like you weren't eavesdropping?”

“I was just— they were my countrymen,” she stumbled, her eyes looking down to her hands. “I got curious. I know I shouldn’t—”

“No,” you emphasized.

You could see her throat bobble. “I’ve never seen them before. I haven’t seen many Irishmen in this pub, really. It was a Republic song they were singing, wasn’t it?”

“I think so,” you answered, still skeptic but curious. “Tommy said they don’t normally drink here.”

“Oh,” she said, chancing a look back at you. “Did Mr. Shelby say where they do?”

“Tommy wasn’t exactly whispering just now, I assume you heard him say where,” you answered. Her eyes dropped quickly, her cheeks pink as she met your eyes again. Unsure what her angle here was, your curiosity piqued. “Are you interested?”

“I have no sympathies for them,” she said sharply, almost out of instinct. Her facial expressions shifted from disgusted to shameful, and then back to a forced neutral, as she must have realized her own tone too late.

But in the quick moment, there was pain behind her eyes that you couldn’t help but notice. You didn’t completely understand, but you knew enough to know that what was going on with the division of Ireland at the moment was delicate. Especially with the reputation the Inspector had brought with him. And based on the history you knew, it was only going to get worse.

“I didn’t mean to imply—“

“The keg is empty, I’m going to refill it,” she said instead, avoiding your gaze as she went into the inventory room.

“Grace.”

She stepped back into the doorway, her eyes still downcast. You waited for them to meet your eyes again before you continued.

“Just… be careful.”

Ada had disappeared. You nor Polly had heard from her since Freddie came back and proposed to her at the train station, ignoring Tommy’s request for them to flee the city.

So when a knock on your door startled you early in the morning, you were surprised to see the girl, who flew into your flat with a handful of white fabric.

“YN, you’ve got to help me.”

She threw everything in her hands to the bed as you asked if everything was okay.

Turning around, her grin answered that question for you. “I’m getting married this morning. You have to help me get ready. Please.”

Without another thought, you jump to start helping her. Her dress was beautiful white and ivory layered fabric that resembled very much what you imagined the women’s fashion was going to become. It was loose around her stomach, her baby bump finally prominent.

“Where are you gonna go after the ceremony?” you asked, helping her tie the back of her dress.

She sighed, “Nowhere.”

“But I thought Tommy—”

“Freddie won’t have it. He’s insistent we stay here for now at least,” she said, her previous bubbly mood falling.

“Well since you’re staying, are you sure you don’t Polly to be here now? I mean, it’s not every day you get married.”

She shook her head. “She’ll just try to stop me.”

“And you didn’t think I would?” you asked, half joking.

“I did.” Her answer surprised you. “I’m not an idiot, Y/N. I know that you and Tommy have been seein’ more of each other.”

“It’s all still pretty platonic,” you countered, fiddling with a piece of her jewelry. When she creased her brow at your use of phrase. You offered her a shrug. “We’ve kissed, but I just can’t tell what he wants. I don’t even know if it’s a good idea, I just… I can’t help myself.”

She gave you an empathetic smile, sitting with you on the bed as she took the jewelry out of your hand and replaced it with her own. “I may hate my brother right now, but I do love him. And I know him. I see glimpses of the boy he was before the war when he’s with you. Polly sees it too — we have a bet going on how long it’ll take before the two of you will make it official.”

Your mouth gaped at that, shaking your head. “I’m choosing to ignore that comment.”

She chuckled. “Don’t worry, we wouldn’t dare say anything to Tommy. He’s nearly as stubborn as I am.”

“Fine. But why then did you come here if you thought I was going to try and stop you?”

She paused, biting her lip before fastening her shoes. “Because you didn’t tell Tommy about Freddie. He was genuinely surprised when I told him. Honestly, I’d assumed you’d told him already—”

“I wouldn’t.”

“I know.” She offered you a smile before tilting her head. “And, I know you don’t normally like to talk about the deep things — at least, not with me — but… can I ask you, why?”

Ada hadn’t pried much into your life. It’d been one of the things you’d been more grateful for in your friendship.

Honestly, previously you had assumed she hadn’t pried because of her immaturity. She was very much a carefree, live-in-the-moment kind of girl, keeping most emotions and conversations at the surface level.

But the look on her face made you wonder if you hadn’t been giving the girl credit. Maybe she was all those things sometimes, but she really did surprise you on how sympathetic and slightly intuitive she could be when she wanted to. And maybe she’d always been aware of your aversions to personal prying this whole time.

You took her hand and offered her a sincere smile. “I moved around a lot growing up. I found it difficult to make friends, even through adulthood. When I first got here, you welcomed me in when I had no one. You helped me make the most of this life I found myself in and helped me miss my old life a little less. You welcomed me into your family and you were always there to remind me of a cheerier world. I’ll always be grateful to you.”

Ada pulled you into a hug. “I knew I made the right decision.”

You wiped away the small tear that’d rolled down your cheek as she pulled away, busing yourself with the final piece of the ensemble.

You stood up and began tying on her veil. It was so delicate and ornate, adorned with flowers around edge that matched the free spirit you’d always seen in your friend.

You stood her up and smoothed out her veil, then turned her to face you, your eyes scanning for any final touches. When you were done, you took a step back and covered your mouth, your smile bursting. Her own smile widened at your reaction, turning to appraise herself in your mirror.

“Oh Ada,” your heart was bursting, “you’re beautiful.”

She blushed, her grin wide and excitement infectious. Despite the circumstances of her fiance, you really were happy for Ada. As the first person who’d accepted you in this new world, you felt very protective and loyal to Ada.

It’d been why you kept her secret about Freddie from the rest of her family, and why you’d promised to wait and tell Polly until that afternoon, after you knew the ceremony was official.

While anxious, the matriarch had taken the news better than you expected. Though you guessed she was anticipating them getting married, what she hadn’t was Tommy’s deal with the Inspector to get Freddie out of the city.

Apparently, Polly’s attempt at ‘dealing with it peacefully’ hadn’t worked out the way she expected. Ada turned up at the Garrison flushed and out of breath, looking for either her brother or husband.

“They’re gonna kill each other,” she’d nearly cried when you grabbed her arm, stabilizing her as she bent forward.

“Ada, you need to calm down,” you tried to push the cup of water back into her hands. She breathed sharply as she rubbed her stomach. “This isn’t good for the baby.”

“I don’t care,” she said through a haggard breath. “I have to find them. I have to try—“

You followed her outside and kept up with her until Freddie emerged from the stairway of a canal bridge. She threw herself into him, and you urged him to take her home and make her rest. You watched from the side of the road as they crossed it.

“He’s going to ruin her life,” you heard Tommy’s deep voice behind you.

“You can’t keep doing that to her,” you said without turning around. You felt him move beside you, both of you still looking in the couple’s direction until they turned down an alleyway. “The stress isn’t good for the baby. She nearly passed out in the pub just now worried you two were going to kill each other—“

“I should have.”

“But you didn’t.”

He took a deep breath, “He loves her.”

Your eyes shifted over to finally look at him, his eyes still staring at the empty alleyway.

That was the first time he’d ever acknowledged their feelings for each other. You were convinced he thought Freddie was using Ada — hell, since they got back, you were tempted to start thinking that way too. It wasn’t a secret how dedicated he was to the communist party, and you knew most of the strikes around here were either spearheaded by Freddie himself, or encouraged by him. There were times you began to question what he loved more: Ada or his cause.

But time and time again, Ada assured you that their love was real and strong enough to combat even Tommy’s fire.

And now, it seemed, something had finally assured Tommy that Freddie wasn’t just in it for her last name.

“What convinced you?”

“When we were kids, Ada used to chase us around, shouting at us to slow down, to wait for her, to include her in our little games.” Tommy’s throat bobbled as you watched the reel move behind his eyes, lost in his childhood memories. “Freddie would always slow down. I never realized… or maybe I did.”

He blinked, breaking the trance he’d been in as he reached into his jacket and pulled out a cigarette. He ran it between his lips and lit it.

Blowing the smoke away, his eyes hardened.

”He asked about the guns,” he said, his voice low despite the relatively secluded spot. “You haven’t told Ada—“

“No,” you said firmly, not letting him finish his question.

He hummed approvingly. Another moment passed before he spoke again. “You never asked me why.”

Your brow creased as you tried to decipher what he meant.

“Freddie and me.” He blew out a puff of smoke. “I’ve seen you watch us, when we’ve been in the same rooms. You heard what he said in the pub the day Danny blew in. And I know Ada has told you how close we used to be. But you’ve never asked me why Freddie and I fell out.”

“You never offered,” you countered, meeting his eyes again. You crossed your arms, not sure what he was playing at with bringing this up now. When he brought the cigarette to his lips again, it was obvious he wanted you to continue. “I guess I just assumed you both returned from the war with different outlooks on the world. He doesn’t accept the powers-that-be and wants to change them.”

He hummed, blowing out his smoke. “And me?”

“Did you ever feel that way?” you found yourself asking, head tilted as you considered him. You hadn’t thought about it before, but it would have made sense. Freddie’s passions weren’t new, they were deep and rooted, and it would make sense for him to have been a member of the communist party either during the war or before. You were realizing now that there was a chance Tommy could have been entertaining the idea as well before he left.

The way Tommy’s lips tightened into a hard line and he lifted his chin told you enough. But surprisingly, he offered you a short answer. “Once. Before.”

“And now?” He didn’t answer that one. You took a deep breath as you continued. “Maybe you still don’t agree with the powers-that-be, but I don’t think it matters to you anymore. Freddie wants to change the world; you want to use it.”

“I won’t let ‘em put us back in the mud,” he said, his voice calloused as he stared forward. He swallowed, “I need a drink.”

Instead of walking toward the Garrison, where you knew Grace was closing up for the night, Tommy turned right, toward your apartment.

You felt your breath let out, not realizing you’d been tensed up since Ada had blown into the Garrison.

Catching up with Tommy, you decided to lighten the mood a little. “I’m gonna need to restock if you keep drinking all my whiskey,” you teased.

He let out a humored breath. “Well, next time you’re at the Garrison, just grab a bottle on me.”

You rolled your eyes, “Yeah Harry would love that.”

“Not up to Harry anymore what happens to the inventory.”

Tommy let out a puff of smoke as you turned back to face him before letting him into your flat.

“What do you mean?”

“I bought it.”

“What?—“ your brow creased as his words sunk in. “You bought the Garrison? Can you even do that?”

“I made Harry a very fair offer,” Tommy said plainly as he made himself comfortable in your flat. It was beginning to feel less strange to have company. “He’ll stay on for as long as he wants and still manage the place.”

You felt a pang of sadness for the former owner. Harry loved that place, and always had such pride for it and its patrons.

“But why?” You asked, starting to take your shoes off. Despite you traveling in time, there were still some little rituals that you just couldn’t shake. And taking your shoes off when you got home was one of them.

Tommy began to pour two glasses. “Arthur needs some direction.”

“A distraction, you mean.”

He rose his brow, but nodded. “Regardless. He needs to keep his head out of the bloody bottle and on the business. Besides, weren’t you the one who said we needed to find a way to pass the influx of money coming in from the shop?”

It’s true, you had raised that question to Tommy recently after the Monaghan Boy win. Not that you knew much more about money laundering than you’d learned from watching Breaking Bad. But it’d apparently been enough to pique Tommy’s interest and take you seriously.

Tommy was right though. What you’d been anticipating was finally coming to a head — Tommy was, for all intents and purposes, the head of the Shelby family and the Peaky Blinders. Arthur, who had been feeling the effects of his slow descent for the past couple months, was drowning his sorrows almost daily and picking a fight whenever he got the chance. You’d even begun watering down his drinks by the time he’d get to through half a bottle on nights when you were working in the pub and he was working his way to being sloshed.

“You’ll have to help him,” Tommy spoke up after you didn’t comment.

You breathed out a disbelieving laugh, “Like Arthur would ever listen to me.”

“You’ll have to make him,” he took a step toward you and offered you your drink. When you met his eyes, he smirked, “Like you did me.”

You rose your brow. “You want me to nearly push him in the Cut and play a get-to-know-you drinking game with him?”

His smirk turned into a small smile, “Maybe not exactly like you did with me. But you’ll talk to him. You’ll reason with him. He’ll come to accept it.”

“You’ve been promising he’d come to accept me for months now,” you countered.

“And he has, you just haven’t noticed.”

You shook your head, still not convinced and beginning to worry about how you’d get along with Arthur now that you’d be essentially working for him.

“You two and can discuss the Garrison’s future at the next family meetin’.”

You rolled your eyes, half laughing at the comment. “The only reason Arthur invited me to the last one was to accuse me of influencing you. There’s no way he’d be cool with me coming to more—“

“He won’t have a choice.”

Your brow furrowed, “What does that mean?”

Tommy pulled your hand into his, causing you to stop pacing and stepped into you. The act surprised you, meeting his eyes again. They were soft, a small crease in the corners as he looked between your own, then to your lips.

“You’re mine, ‘member?” his deep voice vibrated against you as he reached up and ran his thumb across your cheek, then down to your chin. You got deja vu from that first night outside of your apartment building as he reminded you of the words you’d said to him Christmas Eve in his bed. “Well I’m yours. We’re in this together, ya?”

Your heart pounded at his words. Whatever hesitations or insecurities you’d been feeling were gone as Tommy held you against him, his eyes waiting for your response.

“Yeah,” you said easily, welcoming his lips to meet yours.

His kiss was soft, a gentle tug that showed no signs of being rushed, but savored. You hummed contently into it as you felt his lips smile against yours.

What was it about this man that made your brain go fuzzy and speech cease? Every time he brought his lips to yours, you felt like everything made sense. Like you weren’t standing in a room surrounded by puzzle pieces — but that the final piece was falling into place, even just for a moment. You laced your fingers through his hair, desperate to hold on to this feeling for as long as you could. Even if it was just a taste.

He pulled away slightly, his forehead rest against yours as you caught your breath. “Whatever we face, whether it’s Arthur or Ada—“

“Or Kimber or Campbell,” you added with a slight mocking mirth.

He breathed out a soft laugh and rolled his eyes. “Or whatever else might come our way — I know we can face it. Together.”

You lifted on your toes slightly to meet his lips again when a hard knock at your door caused you to jump.

You and Tommy looked to each other confused — no one aside from Tommy or Ada ever came to your apartment. A second knock prompted Tommy to take the lead in opening the door as you grabbed for your bag with Polly’s gun inside.

“Danny?” Tommy greeted opening the door wider for the formally dead man to come into your apartment.

Danny Owens gave you a shy smile and wave before offering Tommy a salute. “Danny Whizz-Bang reporting, sir.”

You dropped your bag, pointing at the man and looking between him and Tommy. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

Tommy nodded, “at ease. What are you doing here, Danny?”

“Charlie said to try here if you weren’t at your place,” he said before taking a seat. Tommy offered him the bottle of whiskey and he poured himself a drink.

“So no one is gonna explain the very alive friend of yours sitting at my kitchen table?” you asked, still unsure what was going on.

Tommy took a deep breath before running his hand through his hair. “It was a trick to fool the Italians. Danny’s been living in London, keeping an ear out. Apparently, there’s news he couldn’t wait on.”

“I was in a pub,” Danny began, gripping the edge of his hat in his hands. “It’s called the Mother Redcap, an Irish pub. I was talking to some old bloke about Birmingham. He said there’s been trouble. An IRA man shot. He said a lot, but the only bit I heard was that their high command think it’s the Peaky Blinders who shot him. I came up on the next boat to warn you.”

“I heard about that guy,” you said softly. “It was outside of the Black Swan. Was it one of the men you met with the other day?”

Tommy nodded.

You thought about the way Grace had eavesdropped on the men, and how she’d been so interested on where they were from. Your brain ticked that there was a connection there, but you brushed it aside on the grounds that you were just searching for something to be horribly wrong with her. While you believed she still had some kind of secret, you didn’t think she’d go as far as shooting someone.

You looked down at your own hands, a vision of blood covering them from your own dirty deeds, and knowing that anything was possible.

“Is it true?” Danny asked, pulling your attention back to the men in front of you.

“No,” Tommy answered, taking a deep breath. “But lies travel faster than the truth.” He thought for a moment before gesturing toward Danny. “Get a message to them. Tell them to send someone to parley. Tell them there’s been a misunderstanding and we don’t want any trouble.”

Danny swallowed the rest of his drink before rising. He saluted Tommy again, then gave you a slight bow. “I will do my duty, sir. Ma’am.”

He left before you could ask anything more. “Tommy, what the hell—“

“Just another thing to add to the list,” he said, shaking his head as he grabbed his own glass and threw it back. “Right now, our focus is on Kimber. And tomorrow is Cheltenham. We’ve gotta be ready.”

>> next chapter: coming soon << chapter masterlist

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #thomas Shelby x reader #tommy Shelby x oc #thomas Shelby x oc #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #time after time #mine #fanfic #fanfiction

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piratefishmama · 9 months

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Fake It 'Till You Make It | Part 7

“Are you sure we’re ready for this?” Eddie didn’t feel ready for it. Although they’d definitely spent the better half of the morning and a little of the afternoon getting used to kissing, something Eddie would remember for the rest of his life and maybe thank Dustin for at a later date, and maybe curse him a little for because Steve wouldn’t take it any further than kissing.

Dude had some impressive self-control. No handsy behaviour, no leading, didn’t even follow when Eddie tried subtly nudging it. They had a goal in mind, and he wasn’t getting side tracked for anything.

Eddie might have felt self-conscious about that, had he not kept feeling Steve’s grin against his lips whenever he tried, or those little warning nips which both told him to stay on track and fed the mischievous little gremlin that was his brain. He was growing his confidence!

Steve was helping him be confident!

“We’ve gotta be, sooner we get this over with, the better.” They were sat in his BMW in the Harrington driveway, engine off, psyching themselves up. Steve climbed out of the car,

Eddie following shortly after with a grumbled “Better for who exactly?”

Steve wished he had an answer for that. But the longer he sat with the idea that they had to reveal this ‘relationship’ to his parents, the more daunting it became. It’d be fine. He knew it’d be fine, the worst case scenario was that they wouldn’t like Eddie, okay no worst case scenario was that their behaviours had been performative in an attempt to call his bluff, but that was looking less and less likely.

They could just… not like him. Not think him good enough. Judge his clothes, his hair, his social class, they could be mean, out of touch rich people so easily. But at least if they got this over with quickly, he’d know if it’d work.

“…The plan I guess. If they don’t like you then—”

“Jobs off?” At least Eddie could say he’d gotten to make out with Steve Harrington, to approximately zero people because who could he brag about that with? It was a personal victory for himself.

“Mmhm... that’s ok right?” Slowly they made for the door.

“Sure, no harm no foul, I got to make-out with Steve Harrington and I’d get to go back to bed, I’m calling that a win.” He didn’t care if it went to Steve’s ego, and from the smile lighting up his face it did a little, he got to make out with Steve Harrington. “Let’s get this over with, Stevie.” He could handle a little rich person judgement if they didn’t like him.

His whole shtick was aiming for parents to not like him, he wasn’t made of glass. He could handle it. And as such, he gave Steve’s perfect ass a light smack because honestly when else was he going to get the chance to do that, and went off in front headed for the big, over the top red double door entry.

Steve, only momentarily stunned by the smack, shook himself out of it and jogged to catch up, hissing a harried “wait up, Eddie!” That only served to earn an over the shoulder grin from his ‘boyfriend’ before he was turning and walking backwards, amusement dimpling his cheeks and lighting up his face.

He really was attractive, wasn’t he? Not a thought Steve figured he’d be having at random but... it wasn’t unwelcome. Eddie was... pretty. Pretty and fun.

Maybe the kids were right, maybe Eddie was worth the effort to get to know.

So it wasn’t as much of a surprise as maybe it should have been that... he actually really hoped they would like him.

Wasn’t that an interesting thought?

“Okay just... be—”

“-haaaave? Be pleasant? Beeee polite?” Be anything but himsel—

“Yourself Eddie. Be yourself.” Oh. His surprised must have showed because instead of opening the front door, Steve paused and decided in a moment of sheer ‘fuck it’ cupped Eddie’s cheeks and just held his face. “Be yourself... you’re not unlikeable, you’re charming, and funny, and goofy, and they’re going to like you” God he hoped so. His thumb caressed the soft, warm cushion of Eddie’s cheeks taking in those big brown doe eyes so wide, full of surprise “so just be yourself, alright?”

“... Kiss for good luck?” Maybe it was just a bid to lessen the tension, the feelings bubbling within from being touched so gently, but it worked about as efficiently as a chocolate fireguard, because Steve kissed him.

It was soft, and chaste, quick so the neighbours wouldn’t see, but it chased any nerves Eddie might have had right out the metaphorical window. Didn’t help the feelings from erupting like goddamn Vesuvius but, the nerves vanished.

“It’s gonna be okay” it’d be okay. “Walk behind me alright? I’ll introduce you and we’ll riff from there” they were doing this. He was about to out himself to two complete wild card strangers in shitsville Indiana.

It’d be okay, it’d be okay. It’d be okay.

“Okay... promise me they’re not gonna turn on me, like... they can hate me but...” hurting him was... a real risk.

“Eddie... I’m with you. Okay? They turn on you... I’ve got you. I’ll keep you safe.”

“Even though they’re your parents?”

Steve tucked a stray curl behind Eddie’s ear and offered him a warm, comforting smile “I’ll side with you long before I side with them, I swear. They wanna get to you, they’d have to go through me.” He was both younger and stronger than his parents. They tried anything and he wouldn’t hesitate to get between them. “And trust me, they wouldn’t be able to.”

Steve may not have been known for winning fights but... he was still pretty damn big, could definitely overpower a couple of older rich people. “...Okay.” He’d be safe. Steve would protect him.

He could be brave.

Steve opened the door and stepped inside, Eddie following behind him trying not to think too hard about how the last time he’d been there it’d been at night and it’d been heaving with teenagers being stupid.

There’d been alcohol, he’d been selling drugs, it looked different during the day.

“Steven?! Is that you?!” Came a feminine voice from somewhere within. Steve seemed to know where though, because his hand found Eddie’s, lacing their fingers together to gently tug him in that direction until they reached the dining room door where Steve let him go to make himself known

“Yeah it’s me, is Dad home?” Eddie remained out of sight as instructed, feeling the nerves bubble in his gut again, kind of missed Steve’s hand around his, it felt nice.

“He’s in the living room with me, is something wrong?” She sounded pleasant, inquisitive, Eddie had never met Lynda Harrington, never seen her before in his life, not even photos as the house didn’t seem to have them.

The Harrington’s didn’t like clutter.

They could do this. They had their bare bones story, they were comfortable kissing, and apparently holding hands was easy too, definitely didn’t make his chest do a wibbly little thing. Didn’t make his chest do that at all. Steve had him wait just to the side of the doorway as he entered, definitely the bravest man Eddie had ever met in his entire goddamn life.

Didn’t know a single person capable of a more ballsy move than what Steve Harrington was about to do.

Even if the roles were reversed and he was telling Wayne about Steve it still wouldn’t be as ballsy! Steve was a catch, it’d be like the Jester had bagged the King. The other way round… Steve was clearly way out of his league.

“Nothing wrong, no. I uh… I wanted to talk to you about something.” Eddie leaned back against the wall, let the flat surface of it ground him as he listened. It’d be okay. He’d be okay. “You know how I’ve been… less than… enthused, about all the… ehem, potential people you’ve been trying to introduce me to?”

“How can we forget? Speaking of which, Heather, you know Heather, the Holloway’s daughter?” Eddie stuffed the bend of his thumb into his mouth to stop himself from making a noise, yeah, good luck with Heather, she was busy with Megan.

“Heh, yeah, yeah I know Heather, we got our life guard certification together, but she’s irrelevant, not—not irrelevant I don’t mean it like that” god what were their facial expressions like if Steve was stumbling so much “she’s… not—okay, heh, start over. The reason that I’ve been against all this is… well you know how I said I’m… I’m bisexual?” Eddie assumed at least one of them nodded during the brief pause “w-well, I’m… already seeing someone. And I have been for a few weeks now…”

“What?! Steven! Why didn’t you tell me, heavens now I have to cancel with—”

“With whom, mom?” Maybe Steve’s fears weren’t as unfounded as some might have thought them to be.

“…Nobody. Go on.”

“Well… I didn’t tell you, because… he… was nervous about being known, which y’know, fair, he doesn’t know you, it could be dangerous for him, frankly I didn’t even know you’d be totally okay with it, but—but with the week away coming up I was hoping that maybe… maybe you’d let me bring him with us?” There it was, the in, it was coming, he’d have to be seen soon. Breeeath, it’d be okay. He’d be okay.

“Oh!” Oh? What did oh mean? Was oh bad? Would oh be—

“Could we meet him first?” Masculine, Steve’s father. Holy shit. His dad. His dad. John Harrington. Fuck.

“Yeah! I uhm… he’s here actually. Uh… one second.” Steve dipped back out into the walk through where Eddie looked at him through wide, slightly panicked doe eyes. “Hey… it’s okay…” could have paid him millions, it wouldn’t erase the fright that seemed to settle into his bones when the time to shine arrived. He’d never had stage fright before. Maybe he should have given Greg, the kid playing Hamlet more of a break during that school production of Hamlet he’d flipped out just before. “Eddie… c’mere” he drew Eddie in, coaxed him away from that wall and drew him into his embrace. “It’s okay, I’m right here, it’s safe, nothing and no one is going to hurt you while I’m here, okay?”

“Steven, is he—” Steve turned his head to look back at his father in the doorway, Eddie just about visible in his arms, wide eyed and frankly freaking out just a little “Oh Steven…”

Part 9

#PirateWrites #FakeItTillYouMakeItFiclet #Steddie #No Upside Down AU #Fake Dating AU #Eddie's scared kitten mode: activated

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noctivague · 2 months

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PAC: What do you bring to the world?

Today I wanted to make an uplifting personality reading focusing on the positive things you personally bring to the world as well as your strengths and qualities.

I will also finish with an advice on how to share it or share it better with the world, depending on the pile.

Note: I always write down the cards I draw. a "+" indicates that these cards go together; a "/" shows as change of row/question.

Focus on the 4 pictures, pick the one that draws you in the most and go to your pile. It's possible that more than one pile resonates. This is a general reading meant for multiple people so not everything will resonates.

Always open to feedback :)

PILE 1

Cards: The Shadow + the Temple + 9 of Pentacles / The Great Goddess + Truth + Acceptance / Navigating by the Stars: Follow your bliss + Growing Pains

You are someone with a great understanding of the shadowier aspects of the mind, which doesn't only stop to an understanding of your own, but extend to the human psyche as well. You are not only in-tune with what most people don't want to see or accept, which requires courage and resilience, but you are also able to make flowers blossom from the dirt, so to speak.

You are in tune with your inner voice and live in abundance of all the lessons you've learned on your path. I see all these events you've been through and all the effort you've put into learning from them and growing as a human. They are like little pockets of truth you've collected throughout the years, little nuggets of gold that make your soul rich.

You anchor that into reality, making a temple out of what you've learned through pain about yourself and the world, and draw a lot of strength that others can feel without even knowing your past.

It's like, by going through your own personal hell, you've managed to shine bright and light up those around you.

Perhaps some of you are advisors or speaker of some kind who actively help others, and for some of you, it shows up in conversations with people you meet.

And your strengths and qualities reflect that! You are someone who is able to transcend whatever struggle they are going through in order to find some type of divine beauty from it. You can see both good and evil in yourself and in what is around you, and you can see the importance of both ends of the spectrum, letting yourself dance with those cycles and finding harmony in what most see as only chaos.

You also didn't let your heart close from what you've endured and instead gained a lot of empathy for other people's suffering.

You are also someone to whom authenticity is not only important, but a major part of their personality. You despise lying to yourself. Not saying that never happens, but you always end up correcting the trajectory at some point. You have strong core values that you've spent a long time modeling like a beautiful and ever changing work of art, born from your own work. You honor this quality in yourself and you encourage it in others.

You also embody the quality of acceptance. You know being in touch with your shadow means you're going to find things that are ugly, scary or violent, and you've learnt to see that without judging it. You are able to accept and release whatever comes to the surface, surrendering to the flow of life. As a result you are not someone who judges people harshly for their humanly flaws. Again not saying you don't condemn anyone ever, but you understand the shortcomings and the shortsightedness everyone has to deal with, because you went through it so many times yourself.

And as to what you can do to share that better with the world, well, first I feel like most of you are already doing that by just existing, but the advice I got was to listen to your spiritual guidance, whatever that means to you. There is this idea that you are guided on your path and that, perhaps, it is time to not simply look under, but look above. Trust that your effort are seen and that you will be shown the way to make your qualities of use for others beyond what is already happening.

The last card I drew says to keep walking on that self-healing path you are on, which is a life-long process as there are always layers and layers to dig and dig through. And by that I mean that you can go way beyond yourself, into the generational, the mythical. And I think that's the main takeaway. You are a Healer of Yourself, and by doing that, you're also healing others.

I'm still getting that some of you will be able sooner or later to share that wisdom in a more tangible way, perhaps as a writer or a counselor, a speaker or a carer, but, again, you don't need a specific job or activity to share your gifts because they radiate from you and can be received by the people in you touch in your daily life.

That it's for Pile 1! I just wanted to say that your energy is awesome and I feel very touched!! I wish you good luck on your path and I'm sending you a lot of love.

PILE 2

Cards: The Medallion + The Hunter + Ace of Wands / The Mystic + Spirit of the Tree + Magic / The One + The Shaman + Rebirth

As for what you embody in what you bring to the world, I see you someone who heavily involved with magic and/or the spiritual realms. Like, heads up but, I'm actually a bit floored because it is powerful but I'm not surprised knowing the type of people who follow me.

So yeah, the magical and the spiritual. But more precisely, you are upholding traditions from the past, working with something you've inherited (not necessarily by blood although it may be the case for some of you) from those who came before you. By practicing and taking action with these practices, you are keeping them alive, honoring them, and even perhaps working on transmitting them to those who will follow.

I see you one some type of mission (in an humble way) as in, you're focused on your path and moving fast toward that shining light you sense in the distance, like a glowing target that pushes you forward whether you are fully aware of what it is exactly or not. You are answering some type of call.

As for your strengths and qualities, you are someone who is really in tune with your dreams, and beyond that, the other realms. You feel the pulsation of both life and death in all things, can read the signs the world sends you, and can peek behind the veil. You may be a mystic, a seer, or a medium, or have strong affinities for this.

You are also no stranger to the mysteries of Nature and are able to gather knowledge from what is so different and alien from you. Again there is an idea of ancient wisdom that you are tapping into powerfully. It comes naturally to you because it's part of who you are. You are able to step back from the noise of the modern world to touch the wisdom that lies beneath the busy surface of the world. Most people don't even know it's here, but it is, and you see it.

Again, there is this idea that you see beyond human knowledge, and you are able to remember it because somehow, you understand that, and even though it is strange and alien, it's part of us, too.

You are also able to cultivate your own magic. You understand that you can't just receive without doing the work on yourself and cultivating your own power. You are not an empty vessel but a being full of stars in your own right. I have this image of someone who one day opened their eyes and saw the sunrise seemingly for the first time. As if those eyes themselves where born anew. You are able to dance between earth and the sky, embracing transformation and initiation.

As for the advice you received on sharing your strengths with the world, I was sort of expecting it but it's not so much about really sharing your knowledge with the world rather than being your own individual on your path and doing the things that are required by it. Idk if that makes sense it's quite abstract to understand so bear with me.

I got the Shaman. As you probably know it's a word that is mostly wrongly used and that can mean a bunch of things, like healer, sorcerer, oracle, warden of Nature, medium, spiritual advisor or religious leader. What I'm getting is that it's going to vary for all of you depending on the path you are on, but one thing is for sure, you are a very important link between the other-world and the human world and you can serve your community.

Perhaps because you can/will/are meant to embrace one of the roles I just mentioned, or because you are doing some type of work for the other-realms, again it will vary greatly depending on the person.

There is an inherent loneliness to this path. You may feel othered, marginalized, even crazy at times, because you exist in some type of hazy in-between, with one foot in our world and one foot in the Other.

The advice is to learn to accept and lean into that, and understand that you are not as alone as you think you are, even to your fellow humans.

We are all one, in some way. Made of so many buried facets, so many fallen stars. What you are experiencing is present in all of us, you are just able to anchor it in this world, which is not only important in and of itself, but also helps people around you help themselves, is what I'm getting.

As a final advice, because I felt like drawing one last card, I got Rebirth.

I'm going to keep this super open because this pile is made of various people, but there is something that needs to be reborn within you. Some type of transformation you need to go through to go further. You will need to leave something behind. Know that what you are right now is meant to shed and change because there is so much more to learn. Lean into what you know to see the next step, but be open to the unknown and its gifts.

That's it for this reading, very different from Pile 1 but I'm equally floored and a bit spooked because it was super powerful! Thank you for reading me, I hope this was useful to you and I send you a lot of love and wish you good luck on your journey!

PILE 3

Cards: 4 of Swords Rx + 10 of Pentacles + The Pilgrim + The Castle + The Threshold / 5 of Cups Rx + 8 of Wands Rx + Space, Time and Self + The Gifted Guide / Overwhelmed + Sorrow + the Moon (oracle) + Queen of Swords + 7 of Pentacles + The Forbidden Forest Rx

Driven is the most important word I'm getting from this reading.

It seems you are a builder and a pioneer of sorts, someone with the power to materialize your goals into the material plane, with the potential to establish long term material wealth and stable structures in the world. I'm also getting the word legacy, it's something that's important to you and you wish to accomplish in this lifetime. You might be an entrepreneur of some sorts or work in an area of Sciences, so legacy could be either about a business or wealth or advancing human knowledge in some way shape or form.

You don't sit around and wait, your are someone who don't remain stagnant but is always rising above and beyond to work towards your goals. You understand that your goals won't materialize without effort and you are committed to the task.

The way you go about life is focused on outside achievements, but that's the way you grow inside as well. The world is your laboratory where you explore ideas and see what can be birthed into the world.

You are someone who is not afraid to step into the unknown, to go towards uncharted territory, where others don't dare to go. It may seem like a lonely path for some, but for you, it is immensely fulfilling and is how you free yourself. You have your eyes set on the top of the mountain and nothing will stop you from reaching it.

You have no regard for the concept of fate and wish to keep your destiny into your own hands.

Your strengths and qualities are that you are aware of your faults and failures, of what you've lost in the past, and have learnt that no matter the setbacks, a new opportunity or idea can always arise and you can learn from your mistakes. You are full of energy and desire to move forward in a sort of restless way. It's like your burning with the energy of your will and the only way to master that fire is to remain as active as possible. Where others would have given up, you keep pushing, even if it hurts.

There is a strong message about knowing you are guided but not in a spiritual sense, and for two reasons:

One, you have trust in your own instinct and are guided by your interests and what pulls you in. You go with the flow and are able to follow effortlessly the dance of the cosmos, flowing from one cycle to the next, understanding that sometimes things can take more or less time (the idea of timing to be respected), or that you can zoom in and out your perspective on things (sometimes you need to see the big picture but sometimes you need to look into the details).

Second, you also understand the parts of unknown of your path, you don't feel like you need everything figured out and have trust that things will unveil when they need to. You listen to your environment and see patterns in the chaos that remain invisible to others and that's what guide your steps.

The advice on how to bring that more effectively into the world is pointing back to the reversed 5 of Cups and 8 of Wands, with Overwhelmed and Sorrow. It's very interesting because your strengths and quality are also sometimes reverted and things you struggle with, which is normal since we all have bad days and the very things that makes us ourselves can be our most violent pains.

In your low points, you have a tendency to bottle up your feelings, so focused that you are on your tasks, you ignore them until they spill. You don't really know how to handle your emotions and wait until they explode in your face to confront and feel them. It leaves you feeling lost and frustrated.

You have a highly individualistic mindset, which is not necessarily a bad thing, but in excess it makes you too tyrannical toward yourself. You may feel alone against the world at times, a lone star in a black sky, because you are so cut off from receptivity and external guidance.

Don't discard the parts of you that feel alien and strange as they have much to teach you. It's okay to stop for a moment on your path, you don't have to rush all the time. You need to be patient with your goals, like a gardener watching them grow in their own time. You can't go against the rhythms of Nature and the Universe, some things take time, and that include respecting your own rhythms.

You need to learn to set up boundaries within yourself. It can be hard to feel when you're going overboard so you need to carve out some time to deal with your inner struggles and let yourself time to rest. Perhaps these low points have a lot to do with exhaustion and lack of mental and emotional space, so be mindful of that and keep some time for nurturing yourself, not just your goals.

That's it for Pile 3! I hope this was useful to you and brought you interesting messages. I wish you good luck on your path.

PILE 4

Cards: The Orphan + The Animal + 3 of Swords Rx + Ace of Wands Rx + Bottled Up + Gloom / The Mirror + Energy + Space, Time and Self + Dark Night of the Soul / 9 of Pentacles Rx + The Empress + Gratitude + Let Go + Yin and Yang + Truth

You are someone who came into this world full of childlike wonder but something broke, making you carry a deep wound. May be mental or physical trauma, an accident or a disability. As a result, you gained a ferocious thirst for life, a wild energy, similar to the primal instinct of survival. It was either giving up or pushing through, life or death.

It seems your ability to act in this world got restrained and that you had to learn your way around that. Like your potential was bottled up which made you think that all was over. Complete loss of hope. You felt cut off from the world, cut off from life and society. Rendered unable to connect with the bustling world. It seemed like it wasn't a choice you wanted to make but had to.

When I started drawing your cards for strengths and qualities, I felt an immense wave of fatigue washing over me, and one of the cards I drew was about calling back your energy. So I think you are very well aware of your limitations and you had to learn to live with that, manage your limited resources to make something blossom regardless. If you're not already aware of it, it's something you're currently learning.

I feel called to describe the energy card to you: a woman is sitting in a back full of stars, from her left palm flow a stream of water filled with stars with a flower blossoming from it and her whole body. I really think that whatever you went through and are still dealing with, despite limiting you in some ways, cannot stop you from bringing something beautiful to the world. It will feed from your very pains, like flowers feeding off dirt. There is so much potential for Life and growth.

Also, you had to learn to reflect on yourself a lot and that brought you a admirable understanding of the human nature, a precious wisdom that could not have been yours had you not have the life you had. It sucks to write because fuck that, I'm angry with you and I don't get why it has to be that way sometimes for some people, but it's true. I'm also getting that some of you are writers or have a great ability to spell out your thoughts. Really, this wisdom you gained through pain gave you a greater understanding of life, one that most people cannot touch, and that can be a great treasure to share with the world.

You have a strong ability to bring a deeper understanding of the human experience to others, transcending the mundane to allow them to touch what is meaningful and precious about life, understanding themselves and the world more. From the simple moments to the greatest revenge taken against fate.

By experiencing extreme loss, you found hope and a desire to survive and overcome, and are able to share it with others. This card also has a book in it so idk if you're a writer or not but you should definitely consider it if that's not the case. I think you have a lot to share with the world which could help others. Your words are worthier than gold, because you know how hard it is to face monstrous events but you know that it's worth pushing through. We all face difficult times in our lives, some more than others, but it's not about who suffered the most, and you understand that. You can really make a difference, pile 4. Light the way for others with your words.

The advice cards are really beautiful and supporting.

I see you being encouraged to learn to find balance within yourself and aiming for success and abundance. Because you can and you will be able to bring gifts to this world. You heart is a fertile soil, and it is so strong. From dead matters, pain and wastes, we can sow seeds and harvest golden crops, feeding many. You can embody that.

Really, you can be a beacon of light to other, crowned in stars, adorned with roses. You need to let yourself hope a little further. Don't settle for the bare minimum, let go of your regrets and pessimistic mindset. You have so much to offer. Find beauty, love and pleasure in your everyday life. It might only be in some specific moments but it is still so important and will help you live with more ease. Find bliss hiding between the folds of time.

You also got a strong message about gratitude. It can be easy to look down on this word, thinking it's a way to keep yourself in your enclosure and not thrive for more, but in reality, it's very empowering. By being grateful for your gifts, you are actually recognizing them, learning to trust and value them, which will in turn give you the confidence to share it with the world. The wise know that there is so much power and grace in having a grateful mindset, it doesn't stop you in your tracks, on the contrary, it calls even more blessings in.

You hold both life and death, pain and pleasure, despair and hope within yourself. It's time to embrace it and learn that life is not one or the other but a balance of both. You have been tilting over one side too much and it's time to rectify the scale. The advice is to find power in an unexpected place within you. Something you have overlooked. Something that feels uncomfortable. Ask yourself what you are resisting. You will find great creative energy as a result of that inner work. It will bring you growth.

The final card is called Truth and is also connected to the Empress, which you got earlier. The words on the card are: " That which is true will always be enough". You had to learn some truth the hard way, don't discard it because you are afraid or in pain. Hold it tight. Honor your truth. Again you get a message of gratitude and abundance. You are on a path to wisdom and you will gain a lot from it. By liberating yourself, you will also free others. Don't be scared to share what you've learnt and will learn with integrity. You soul is so beautiful.

That's it for pile 4. I hope it was an useful reading. It definitely was insightful for me. I wish you good luck on your path and I give you a big hug!!

#pick a card #pick a pile #tarot reading #pac #pick a picture

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inkwolvesandcoffee · 2 months

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First Times (Poly Relationship w/ John & Ghost Headcanons)

I spent the morning exploring Hackney, which is rich in breweries. While wandering about, I got to thinking, what if…

John starts working at a brewery when he retires from the army?

OR!

He starts a micro brewery/pub with Simon, who retires around the same time.

🍺 The two men set to work immediately to acquire the proper licenses and a premise. Fortunately for the both of them, they’re quite handy and so know how to create a lovely, albeit very manly, space without too much interference from contractors. After all, why hire others for work you can do yourself?

🍺 Honestly, the business is a dream come true for John. Owning a micro brewery was his Plan B should things not work out with the army. However, it’s because of his former employment, he’s become a better business owner. It’s through the development of his leadership and risk-assessment skills he managed to secure the rank of captain.

🍺 For Simon, the brewery is an unexpected ambition, a new dream to follow. While he lets John do most of the marketing (because Simon can’t be arsed with social media… being social in general), he’s mostly pre-occupied with the creation of new and improvement of the already existing craft beers.

🍺 The business steadily grows as word gets about town. Soon, it’s not only the local Hackney residents who pop by, but also people from other boroughs.

🍺 Including you.

🍺 Come from Inner London, the people of the area find you somewhat of a posh puppy, a bit of a toff. It’s this view of you which makes them wonder what on Earth you’re doing in East London, this artsy and not as affluent part of the city.

🍺 Nevertheless, you’re a sight for sore eyes if you ask Simon, who’s your old neighbour back from the few years you lived in Manchester after moving there with your parents.

🍺 Though gruff and distant in the beginning, Simon gradually warmed up to you. Despite never opening up emotionally, you two did develop a strong amiable bond. Maybe because you were the only one to greet him on the street, to ask about his career after catching a glimpse of the dog tag around his neck, to welcome him back each time he was deployed.

🍺 To show sincere interest in him.

🍺 Your parents weren’t a fan of you socializing with the giant in the skull balaclava, but they never told you off for it since you two always seemed to have a good time. Moreover, they rarely saw you smile unless you were with him. So they let it slide, prioritizing your happiness over their prejudice.

🍺 It was only in the spring before you moved without telling him where to and he was deployed yet again, Simon realized he had feelings for you. Nonetheless, he put them aside or, rather, suppressed them until they numbed. He had nothing to offer, fifteen years your elder and terribly haunted.

🍺 So imagine his surprise and absolute delight when you stand in front of him, prettier than he can remember. “Been a while, hasn’t it?”

🍺 “Y/N,” it’s the only thing he can say, finally out loud after years of uttering it in silence.

🍺 “Who’s this fair lady?” John slides up next to Simon, arms crossed as he takes you in. His sea blue eyes darken when they meet yours. “How can we help, miss?”

🍺 The way he practically purrs the words sends a pleasant shiver down your spine. Yet, you conceal the effect he has on you behind a steady voice. “I saw the notice on the window, about the open position. Has it been filled in the meanwhile or can I still apply?”

🍺 “She’s a good one, John. Hardworking, trustworthy, kind. Fast learner too,” Simon says pensively.

🍺 “Got experience in the field?” John asks.

🍺 “Studied psychology, during which I mostly focused on the effect of marketing on the human psyche. Also run a food blog and Instagram”

🍺 “Thank Simon properly before you leave. I trust his judgment and seeing he knows you best, I’ll take his word for it.” He slaps his business partner on the shoulder. “Drop by tomorrow and we’ll discuss your contract. I’m looking forward to working with you…”

🍺 “Y/N.”

🍺 “Y/N...” John repeats thoughtfully. Then he hums and heads off.

🍺 Thus begins a series of firsts and connections as you settle down in Hackney.

🍺 Over the course of a few weeks, the locals come to see you as one of their own as you show them you simply aren’t some girl with rich parents, a spoiled princess, but a young woman trying to make a life for herself with her own hard-earned money via helping at the counter and striking up conversations.

🍺 John and you grow closer too. He admires and respects your eye for detail and aesthetics, though sometimes he feels a little awkward when you’re trying to direct him for the occasional TikTok. Nevertheless, it’s your creativity that keeps drawing him in, igniting the need to keep getting closer to you. What also helps is you bringing him coffee or reminding him to take breaks (both with a kiss on the cheek later down the line).

🍺 Loves to review the content you create together, especially when you’re in his lap while doing so.

🍺 On your mutual days off, John drags you all over London to visit bakeries and cafés. Never had you thought him a foodie, though it’s a pleasant discovery since there’s always something new to experience on the food scene. Moreover, he loves helping you out with your own blog, not just the one you created for the brewery.

🍺 These days, you’re teaching him photography and are taking baking classes together. Although, you might as well go on your own to the latter because he’s a terrible baker (unlike Simon, who’s self-taught and surprisingly good, like, sale-appropriate why-doesn’t-he-have-at-least-a-micro-bakery good).

🍺 Your bond with Simon mostly rekindles via being his guinea pig. He knows how brutally honest you can be in your feedback, which he thoroughly appreciates. Outside work, the two of you frequent bookshops, have picnics in the major parks in London, and visit the city’s oldest cemeteries. The latter is a bit of a morbid idea of a nice outing, but you appreciate the silence and romantic sense of decay in the air.

🍺 It isn’t long before you take up residence in the apartment the two men share, which leaves the other residents of the building wondering about your relationships to one another. Although, they can guess at the nature of it seeing the “noise” at night. As I said, lots of first including a relationship with two men older than you.

🍺 But aside from the plethora of sensual moments, there are also plenty of tender (and domestic) firsts. For example, Simon accompanies you to your first tattoo appointment. When, the next day, you’re struck by tattoo flu, he takes care of you. Of course John doesn’t force you to come to work nor Simon for that matter, who you clearly need at the moment (despite claiming otherwise). Henceforth, you’re both granted PTO until you’re back on your feet.

🍺 Speaking of the former-captain, John is your very first kiss. You and him went out for pizza (Simon preferring to stay home and read). On the way to Hackney Wick, beneath a bridge heavily decorated with graffiti and sheltering a few barges, he put his hands on your cheeks and crashed his lips into yours. He tasted of tobacco and white wine, laced with the sweetness of tomatoes and basil. That night, he made love to you.

🍺 Another first.

🍺 Simon prepared breakfast the next morning, serving food to ensure John and you wouldn’t succumb to exhaustion later in the day. Nor him, for that matter, because while he doesn’t get jealous and loves sharing you with his best friend, he sometimes wishes you wouldn’t go at it till early in the morning when the next day is an ordinary work day.

🍺 You’re there for them when either of them suffers from night terrors or combat stress. Simon is more prone to the former, whereas John is to the latter.

🍺 You accompany Simon to therapy too after he’s been diagnosed with PTSD. At first he didn’t want to go, refused it even, until he finally relented after another episode of flashbacks and coming to his senses while shaking in your arms.

🍺 Life with John and Simon isn’t always easy nor romantic.

🍺 But bloody hell, do they make it better.

#CoD #CoD x Reader #John Price #Ghost x Reader #Simon Riley #John Price x Reader #Simon Riley x Reader #Simon Ghost Riley #Captain John Price #Captain Jonathan Price #Captain John Price x Reader #Ghost CoD #CoD MW Ghost

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serialunaliver · 2 months

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I unironically don't think schizoid personality disorder should exist as a diagnosis. I mean i'm antipsych so I feel that way about more than one diagnosis lol but schizoid is just an example of someone's behavior being labeled disordered because they act "different". An anhedonic person does not have the same experience with solitude that most people do. This is because anhedonia is a deficit in hedonic function, or pleasure-seeking behavior. Anhedonia will cause a lack of interest in relationships not out of self sabotage but because of a lack of incentive to seek it. Anhedonia can certainly be a part of disorders on the schizophrenia spectrum and sudden social withdrawal can occur in early stages of psychosis, but a diagnosis based essentially on the impact of a single symptom makes no sense, as it's already tied to several different mental health conditions (anhedonia can also occur in depression without psychosis). Everyone has to make choices when it comes to behavior, but some people have no 'default' incentive. Socializing with anhedonia is like forcing yourself to drink when you're sick even though you're not thirsty. It's not a pleasurable experience so you need other incentives.

I have to wonder if the reason psychs are alarmed by my world is because of diagnoses like this (szpd includes having "a rich inner world"). Im always told this is something about me I need to get rid of or lessen. "You're in your world too much so you need antipsychotics to attend group therapy" just make the therapy more interesting 🙏

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silentmoths · 6 months

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A vampires guide to feeding from a hemophobic partner. Ft. Neuvillette

*Pokes head out of the shadows*

Well heya. S'been a while.

What's brought this on? it started as a minor shitpost to @crystalflygeo's musings on vampire Neuv, and her mentionings of hemophobia- you know what it'll be easier to show yall.

So thats it. an elaborate shitpost.

Neuvillete x F! Reader. NSFW. Smut, general vampire goodness, Neuvillete being a fkn routine bitch because lets face it, he is.

Neuvillete could feel it. The…the pull, the desire, the need…the hunger.

The chief justice sighs as he pours over his paperwork. He would have to tell you tonight.

“Be beloved…I am hungry.” He tells you over dinner. Whilst he did not need to eat, He always made sure to prepare and join you for your evening meals…a routine one might say, he simply enjoyed spending time with his love, any spare moments he could get.

“Is that why you made steak for me tonight?” you question, knowing well his penchant for making you more Iron-rich dishes before he himself needed to feed.

Neuvillette nods solemnly, it was for your health after all; he would be remiss if he took and took only for you to become deficient. He doesn’t miss it, the sudden draining of colour from your face, or the increase in your heartbeat.

You were nervous, you always got nervous on feeding nights, and Neuvillette desperately wishes he could give you more time, but his hunger was a fickle thing, sometimes he could go weeks without needing to feed, others it was just a few days, it all hinged on how heavy his workload was. Yet he feels like more warning might be worse, because it would only psyche out his poor darling. Despite your absolute phobia of the very sight of blood, you insisted he feed off of you and you alone, an arrangement he happily complied with.

After all, whose blood better to nourish him than his darling’s?

He was always very organised when it came to this, anything for your comfort after all. After dinner and a bath, you find yourself gently tugged to bed with him, soft, nimble fingers gently massaging over your clammy skin. Sometimes you hated how afraid you were of this process, even though it had happened many many times now, without issue. You trusted Neuvillette.

You trusted the way he spoke to you, the way he held you so gently in his arms, in the way his lips slowly travel the expanse of your throat. His murmuring compliments and praise as he slips behind you, your back pressing against his chest. Considering what he was, he always felt so…warm and inviting, welcoming, despite your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

He always starts with a kiss. Most vampires prefer the side of the throat…it’s generally seen as an easier extraction point…and yet Neuvillette does not, not after discovering your aversion to blood; he instead chooses the nape, not as easy, and a little longer to extract his fill from, but this way, you never had to see a drop, and he could hold you close. “Are you ready, my darling?” At your nod, he hums, thanking you quietly before sinking his fangs in, using the light scarring from the times he’d done this before as a guide.

Your blood tastes like the finest ambrosia to him, like the first sips of water after being stranded in the desert for weeks. If he never tasted another person’s blood again in his life, and only had yours, he would die a happy man.

He rumbles softly as you whimper, it stung, of course it did, even he understood that this was not a comfortable process. His arms cross over your chest, lovingly holding you close and steady, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles into your exposed shoulders.

He drinks and comforts until he’s had his full, until he can feel the warmth in his cheeks return. He watches and listens to you, always keeping a constant eye on your condition, he would never ever forgive himself if he overindulged and made you suffer for it. The next part is a rather rigorous and rushed process. His fangs retract and one of his hands quickly reaches for a disinfecting wipe, the moment he pulls his lips away, he presses the wipe over the wound, cleaning it up as he coo’s softly at you.

“You did well, my darling, it’s over now…let me take care of you.” he whispers in your ear, tone thick with love and joy. He feels much better now, and it was his turn to make you feel better.

He cleans and dresses the wound with careful hands, as he cleans you up, he tries his best to clean himself up, any errant droplet of your blood on his lips is licked away. “Rest a moment my sweet, I will be right back.” He whispers to you before vanishing into the bathroom to brush his teeth and rinse his mouth. Not exactly a necessity, but if it helped abate your fears in any way? He’d do it. You’re still a little shaky when he returns, but now that he’s sure that there is nothing, no sign of blood anywhere, you couldn’t see your wound, and he didn’t smell of it, he can finally descend to pull you into his strong, yet gentle arms, so he can pepper kisses along your face and whisper sweet nothings in your ear.

He’ll ask you what you want as a treat, it could be ice cream, it could be a slice of the sixteen-slice a day cake, he didn’t care how late it was, he would procure it no matter what. Anything for his darling.

This was, is and always will be, the usual routine.

However, one day, your dear Iudex, has another idea.

It starts, as all feeding evenings tend to. He cooks you a hearty, iron-rich meal, he warns you. Everything follows the usual, until you’re clean and showered, skin soft and silky from the fancy shower products he always insisted on keeping for you. (He had his own, but he was partial to body products that contained little scents.)

You sit in bed, awaiting your husband, and are taken aback when he walks in totally naked. His slim, yet sculpted physique on full display for you, pale skin unmarred by any scar or scratch, perfect in every way. “N-Neuvie?” you stammer as he crawls along the bed towards you, his gaze…sweet, yet predatory. “I thought-” “Oh my love, make no mistake, I will be feeding tonight…I just thought I’d try something…new to keep your thoughts from straying, hm?” Just what had you gotten yourself into?

Soon enough, you find yourself, face and chest pressed into the pillows your husband absolutely ploughs into you from behind, your cries muffled by the silken sheet, his hands pressing over yours, his fingers tangling between your own. You were trapped, well and truly trapped; you can't even recall the last time he’d destroyed your pussy like this.

You hear his growl from above you, and you moan for it. It wasn’t often Neuvillette lost control like this, but when he did? It was its own form of ecstasy.

You’re so caught in pleasure, you never once felt the prick of his fangs, the only indicator of a change was the way his hands moved to press your chest into the bed further, holding your top half still whilst he continues to thrust into your sopping cunt like it was the last thing he’d ever do. You orgasm with a scream of his name before falling limp, fuzzy and barely-conscious against the sheets, only able to moan weakly when his hips snap forward, burying his cock as deep into you as it can before he cums, filling you with his hot seed.

That’s when you expect him to bite, when you’re in this soft, gauzy space of post orgasm. Yet he simply quietly tends to you, you feel the usual dressing gently press over the back of your neck and you blink in confusion.

“N-neuvie-” you whimper, his response is to gently take your hand and press a kiss to your knuckles.

“It’s all over, my love. You did so well, you didn’t even notice.”

“W-wha..?”

You watch as he slowly rolls you over onto your back, giving your aggrieved spine a break after all that bending and arching. He reaches for the pitcher of water by the bedside, pouring you a glass first and helping you take small sips, before he takes a glass for himself, it wasn't quite his teeth-brushing routine, but for once, he didn’t feel it wholly necessary.

You’re shocked, you really hadn’t felt it, there wasn't any pain.. “So.” He practically purrs as he leans over you to rub his nose against yours “what does my darling beloved want as her reward?” He asks, shifting some of his silky white hair from his face.

“C-could we…do it like this more often?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. This was so…out of the ordinary for him, to change up the routine…so you figure you might as well change up the reward.

He tilts his head at you before chuckling, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips as his hands move down to your back, massaging at the sore spots and making you groan appreciatively.

“I think that can be arranged.”

Taglist: @stygianoir@meimeimeirin@ainescribe@dustofthedailylife@rjssierjrie@crystalflygeo@asoulsreverie@zomzomb1e@moraxsthrone@mysnowmanandmebaby@inlustris-is-slowly-dying@pvbbyb0y

#Silentmoth writes #man that tag has some dust on it now #Genshin Neuvillette #Neuvilette x reader #Neuvilette x reader smut #moths moots #its crys!!

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commonlyme · 6 months

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You wake up in a delirious haze, wondering what happened and why there are holes in your memory. Last night is a blur, but you can remember one thing. You ate, a lot. The soft gut that had slowly grown pooling in your lap, your tits heavy and sore. Your skin itchy and taut making way for new stretchmarks. When the binding to your hands became apparent, fear washed over a tsunami and flooded your psyche. You were wanting to take a shower because of the residue left over from last night's feast and all of the jostling from your recent realization let a stifled burp escape your plump lips. Thinking everything would be ok in the end, you relax and give up trying to escape your bindings. It wasn't worth it anyway, it kept making you jiggle! Even after you stopped, that pudgy gut continued to wobble. Your fat double chin quivered as the homegrown bingo wings that hung where there were once muscles undulated. As soon as you realized you were hungry, you heard your front door open and froze. Hunger always seemed to pervade now, and it only took you noticing that fact to gorge yourself. The fearful invader approached ever closer smelling of a sweet vanilla. They seemed familiar, and as they put their hand onto your rounded gut, you couldn't help but feel *odd*. . .

As this is happening your rotund tummy let out an audible groan of hunger, "I guess it's time for you to eat hog". It starts out innocent enough, being fed bite after bite of food. The portions do increase, yes, but it feels so comfortable, so caring, so *safe*. You get secure enough to speak up and communicate, "I'm full, do you think we could stop? I've already had so much. . ." That was a mistake, as the mysterious stranger stops feeding you and stands up in a slow deliberate fashion. "The pig thinks they can speak up, huh? You're a fucking fatty who can't control themselves around food. Look at this gut, it's massive. You have stretchmarks about everywhere I can see. Hell, everyone knows what a greedy glutton you are, and I'll make sure you're NEVER anything else." They grab the beginning belly hang and shake your fat belly like it's a sac of melted marshmallows. The rest of your body follows suit and being unable to control the wobble of your body, you whimper. You know you've let go recently, you used to be so small. You used to work out and be healthy. You used to be able to fit nice clothes. You used to be able to control yourself, but you had a dark secret. You *wanted* this. You know you shouldn't feel this way, but it reignites your hunger and makes you feel as *odd* as before. The intruder gets up after feeding you everything there and goes into the kitchen. The sound of the blender whirring to life is heard and begins to drive you wild. You can't wait, and let out a little burp from unsettling what already rests in your greedy gut. When they come back, they're carrying the entire the pitcher and hold it under your nose. It's so rich and creamy smelling, you know it's going to destroy your waistline. "I see the look in your eyes so I know you want it. Before you glut yourself I'll go ahead and enlighten you on what's in here. I've put Mass Gainer in here, heavy cream, ice cream, sugar, chocolate syrup, and a few boost shakes I had to up the calories." You can't imagine drinking it all since you're already so full from everything they've made you eat, but you have no choice. They tilt your head back and slowly pour it down your throat. Not all of it makes it into your greedy maw, and it runs off the sides of your mouth, and you can feel the cold liquid trail down your chest and belly. It's getting everywhere at this point, but you can't stop to clean up. You have about a third of it left and your tummy is so stretched out. Your stretchmarks itch and you can feel new ones forming. You squeeze your eyes shut and force the rest down into your engorged body and before you know it it's done. "Good job piggy, you did a really job tonight." You give a strained smile as you try to respond, but they stop you. "It's ok baby, we really pushed you today." They undo your bindings and release your hands. That poor tummy can finally get the rubs it deserves, and a couple small burps force their way through your cream covered lips. "Guess that means you've got some more room in there, but we'll worry about that later. Let's get you comfortable." They help you up and y'all head to the bedroom. It was a slow, laborious waddle to the room assisted by your partner. Now cuddling together in the bed with your partner giving your strained tummy the rubs it so needs, you can't help but to think about how excited you are to do this again tomorrow. . .

#feedee encouragement #feederist #feedee feeder #feederism kink #stuffed feedee

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netherfeildren · 5 months

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The Cassandra Complex : Interlude : Tartarus

Series Masterlist

(Din Djarin x F!Reader)

Content Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence; Torture; Murder; Blood and gore; Self harm; Suicidal ideations; Depression; Unreliable narrator; Alcohol and drug use; Overall very dark themes

A/N: The chapter is what the tags warn. Please, heed them carefully. Short because it's only an interlude, but the next chapter is almost done!

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 3.5K

Read on AO3

INTERLUDE : TARTARUS

Can you eat winter? […] Can you live six months inside a frozen pear? […] Can you punctuate yourself in silence?

Anne Carson, Plainwater: Essays and Poetry

You are captured at the start of the cold season.

The first man you ever killed had been old. Weathered and beaten down by the galaxy and life, and forgotten or absconded to a decrepit and abandoned planet. Once thriving and rich, it had been bled dry and starved by the Empire, and now remained to stand only as a reminder to others as what not to be, a warning of how you’d end up if you did not submit.

Your master had hunted him for months, a mania about the search that was mouth slicked ravenous and vicious. Something sick about the way he’d obsessed about the man, murmuring his name over and over again at all hours until you were sure you knew the vowels and consonants of it better than your own. You’d never discovered the root of the obsession, the reason for the killing, and when you’d finally found him, he was not at all what you’d expected; brittle boned, white of hair, skin soft and folded over so that it sagged and drooped around his frame, seeming to hang around him out of mere sheer habit.

You’d swept into his mind, pilfered and pillaged and violated it; his past, his whole life, his family, cradled in the blink of your eye. You’d pulled his joints from their sockets, his fingernails from their beds, and his eyes from their cavities. You’d taken him apart piece by little piece, a slow going saturation of pain until little remained of the creature. Until the final piece you’d pulled from him was his breath, his very life, swallowed and settled heavy into your own soul.

You had been very young when you’d killed him, a girl of only seven years old.

You’d once heard that stars are made of a different matter than the four worldly elements – a quintessence – that also happens to be what the human psyche is made of. Which is why man’s spirit corresponds to the stars. You’d swallowed so many souls thinking they might be stars during that time. Perhaps, in an attempt to take some light within you, infuse yourself in the goodness of another’s quintessence. Young and naive and untried. You’d learned eventually how wrong you were. The damage you’d unknowingly wrought upon yourself. And when you remember it all now, the unending reaping, you think: I was young once, and you wish you could cling to that child, beg her to forgive you, beg her to run earlier.

Perhaps, that had been the beginning of the end, and everything after that had been nothing more than one eternally futile battle towards inevitable failure.

For some idiotic reason, you return to Corellia after you part ways with him. Idiotic or desperate, who can really tell, but without a doubt, bitter and angry and devastated. Filled with a keen missing and a fury and an outrage that he’d left you, that you’d allowed yourself to be left. That you’d pushed him away. That really, the destruction of everything was your fault. The day it had suddenly hit you that you’d destroyed everything for nothing, that you’d destroyed the two of you for no real reason at all except for petty and inconsequential fear, had been a monumental sort of devastation. You’d not been able to make it out of your dingy rented bed for days afterwards. And so you’d chosen to believe that this was the end of destiny, rather than the beginning of what had always been fated to you. For choosing to believe that you’d destroyed it yourself was better than the truth, that he had never really been meant to be yours in the first place. And if it were anything else, you’d finish it, destroy it to completion. It if was something less, you’d smash it like a rock, tear it as if it were a piece of parchment, but it is not, for it is your heart, your very heart, your memory.

The only thing left.

While you’d been with him you’d thought that you were healing, that you were healed. That you’d been made whole in his image. That after everything, after so much darkness, one single silver flame to illuminate the night would shine a light on your newfound completeness. But you’d realized, later, when it was too late, how wrong you’d been to think so. Love does not mend the torn seams back into rightness – it fractures the whole thing wide open, splits you down the middle.

And you’re so full of the most poisoned sort of regrets, a living, breathing, fire filled thing that seemed to exhume you from your own misery and would not let you exist peacefully in the deathlessness you’d have chosen for yourself. But it was impossible to go backwards now. Like any unloved thing, you’d not been sure if you really existed until he’d put his hands on you, and now, to have been forced to return to that half life, to be forced to exist in the purgatory of his aftermath – it was fury inducing, rage awakening.

All my hurts hurt worse now, and there is no escape and no reprieve, and it always feels as if the sky seems to peer down on me in a strange and pitiful way. How did that feel? It asks. I’m sorry I caused harm, I reply.

Time no longer exists, and so all you know is that it’s been an unknowable amount of nothing since you’d last seen him.

You ache all the time, try and forget, can’t help but remember

You’d always known exactly how it would play out. Step by step the course your life would take – the Force guided you, and yet, you were still lost. You were still confused. You’d known that he would leave, you’d always known. Just as you’d known you would be the reason he left. You’d waited for it, and yet, when the moment arrived for him to go, you were shocked. And hurt. You were hurt that he would leave you even though you had pushed him away, even though you had always expected it to happen, even though you were the perpetrator of your own abandoning and had always known that you would be.

And so, perhaps, you’d continued to return to Corellia despite knowing it was dangerous for you there, that there were whispers of a dark creature scurrying along the planet’s underbelly, that they’d seen your face all that time ago and rumors still abounded. But it had been the last place you’d found each other, and so some idealistic, stupidly desperate part of you thought that, perhaps, fate would look upon you kindly once again. That dark red thread of fate woven into action one more time, ringing taut with purpose and destiny.

Perhaps, you return looking for a fight or a beating or some form of punishment, certain that you’d find it in that cesspool of vice and crime and corruption. In that place that knows what sort of creature you pretend not to be.

Eventually, however, you get more than you’d bargained for. Or maybe, precisely what you’d wanted.

You’re betrayed by a slippery little Twi’lek. One who’d pretended at being interested in some easy, fun drinking and debauchery. One who you were not aware had awaited the return of a prize such as you for a long, long time. One who’d held the image of your face and your power in the cradle of her mind, ravenous for the moment when she’d finally be afforded a taste and a pay out.

If you could not lose yourself in anything else, him, or even something worse – the dark called to you again so often now, it frightened you – then you’d lose yourself in a bottle, a game of Sabacc, even, on occasion, or when things were particularly dire, a little bit of Spice, just to take the edge off. To make you forget. The smell of the past is everywhere, the smell of too many illusions, too many truths, and you try and resist all the time, you feel yourself actively resisting. But you lie in the awareness of it so often, in the miserable hold of rented beds where no comfort and no warmth is ever to be found on so many nights, that at any moment something terrible could happen. It’s not gone, that coldness inside of you. It’s not gone, the dark side, and it calls to you louder now that he is absent.

You consider yourself in new and strange lights now. A miasma of girl and power and tragedy and myth, always, always the myth of you. You are aware of yourself, of that myth, in so many lights.

Violence has changed me; my body has grown cold. Now there is only mind, cautious and dim, with the sense it is being twisted. I have never loved being alive, and it is difficult to remember that I should.

Din has changed me; my heart is half stone, half devoured. The sun has gone away, tucked inside of him, and I am always cold now, and even though I can't see it anymore, him, it’s comforting to know he’s still out there, somewhere. That the sun still exists.

And so, in need of credits, the Twi’lek finds it easier to sell you off to the highest bidder when she first captures you – that being a league of fanatics who had, at the height of the Empire, venerated the Sith as lords – Gods even – who bent the knee to the dark side in hopes of a power greater than they even really knew the truth of.

Drugged and cuffed after you’d been too stupid or uncaring to even try and defend yourself, you let them take you. You let them take you. You remember that first night in the hole in the ground you’d sentenced yourself to, before she’d left you to your fate with your captors, arm broken, bone jutting grotesquely from your skin, she’d looked down at you from her great height as you lay limp and ready for more breaking on the dirty ground of the cell deep in that Tartarean pit, brow split open and drooling crimson, glassy eyes wide and unseeing, filled only with the memories of gleaming metal, she’d called you a monster with the greatest of contempt and hatred in her eyes. And you’d laughed and laughed and laughed at the reality of you now, sanity gone away, only a little bit, only a little bit; after all, there had always been more madness than goodness anyways.

And you’d wanted to cry: I am not a monster! I am not a monster! But you knew she would not believe you.

This is only what you deserve, creature. Spit from her mouth like venom. You think of the Thalassian crone, all that time ago, or only yesterday: How does it feel to be nothing? She was kinder to you than you know this will be, and for a brief moment you pretend to miss her, fantasize with the idea of him coming to save you once again.

You’d wanted to lie and say that you were not a monster any longer, that you’d changed, that you were better, different, but that would have been a lie, for at your core you knew there would always live within you something of a slightly monstrous countenance, no matter what you did or made of yourself. And what you wanted to say, even more than that, was that perhaps a monster was not such a terrible thing to be. Perhaps, if you’d ever been given the chance, you could have served as a shelter and a warning, all at once, for a family you’d never been allowed to have. Perhaps, if you’d ever been given the opportunity to have been that, nothing much else would have really mattered.

You want to tell her his name. To let it serve as proof of the only goodness that has ever lived inside of you. But you do not. And you let them keep you for far too long, lying in that dark, damp hell, letting them hurt you.

She returns often, the pretty, purple Twi’lek with the sharp teeth. She takes Din’s earrings from you, that first day, and if you’d still had tongue and teeth and voice to thank her for the chance to look upon them, you would have.

They pull your skin from your bones and your bones from your skin, over and over again, and you try and lie that you don’t know what you did to deserve this, but you do. You do know. You remember the old man, the very first one, you think of all the countless others after him, the flash of shrieking beskar. You remember every single crime and sin and face and scream. Every scream, but loudest of all, your own.

You exist only in thousands of agonies.

And they’re creative in their torture and punishment, caring in the imagination of it. They burn the flesh from your bones only so that the Force can heal you back to strength. Slowly, excruciatingly, keeping you drugged and chained, diminishing your connection to yourself. Beaten and flogged and savaged over and over again. You think, or you tell yourself, that you feel little of it, or none at all.

More than anything, you feel so acutely how little it all matters.

Why have you done this to yourself? You’re sure you should ask. I don’t know. What is this all about? Be honest. Anger. Are you angry? Yes. You already knew this.

Perhaps, your mind has finally broken and fragmented in a real and irrevocable way. Perhaps, this is finally destiny finding itself.

You lie in the dark and let it hold you as it did when you were a child, alone and enslaved. You watch the water snake through the cracks of the stone walls, and you are so small, and suddenly, there’s a hole in your cheek and you heal and heal and tear apart again; taste the outside air with your newly grown tongue, and the blood that pools in your mouth reminds you that you’re still alive and made of nothing but regret.

You hold one single comfort like a newly blooming flower in your mind, the only thing that remains: We were together once. I forget the rest, before, now, it no longer matters. We were together once.

For an interminable age, you allow yourself to be poked and prodded, cut and flayed, experimented on – the silly notion these cultists hold that perhaps they could harness your power for themselves, bottle it. Hurt, you allow yourself to be hurt for too long. They never break you beyond repair, but they get very close, many times, and sometimes, you hope it’ll be too much, it needs to be too much just once, and then it could, perhaps, all end.

Your bones ache and wounds open where the too sharp edges of you abrade against the too hard stone, and you relish in the healing and reopening, relish in the suffering. You remind yourself that you chose this, that you continue to actively choose this, that all your choices are yours now, even the losses, and you caress that secret piece of you in the furthest, darkest recess of your mind, your lifeline, and it feels so good to finally be in control of the things that hurt you. Even if it is a false sense of control, even if it’s all only a reality of your mind's own making.

And sometimes, when the delirium has sunk its fangs in you entirely, and you almost don’t know who you are, you think: surely he’ll come to get me. He doesn’t know you’re here. Surely I didn’t fall in love with him just for this. He doesn’t know you’re here. If he knew, he’d come, he would, he would.

Two years is a very long time to be away from a thing you need so much.

I no longer care what sound it makes when I am silenced.

Two years is a very long time to forget.

If I die, it is not this life I will miss, it is him I will miss.

But an even longer time to remember.

How to forget? How to forget? How to forget?

Eventually, you lose yourself, and the brightness of torture becomes the brightness of night, and you’re gone within it.

You consider yourself: the myth, the archetype, the soul, me, me, the Cassandra, the Cassandra.

[Scream] [Scream] [Scream] [Scream]

Din.

You cling to him through the night, through the brightness, through the nothing. You dream of his hands and his hair and the vividness of him. You dream of that pure, golden heart. You dream of beskar and space and being loved.

You dream of being loved.

You do not choose the way you live. You do not live; you are not allowed to die.

You don’t know how long you allow yourself to be held within this womb of punishment, but you know that it is a very long time.

And then one day, unbidden and unexpected: one moment, you’re hungry, a strange and cold and gnawing hunger like something you’ve never felt before. A hunger of the soul. Your mind, so hazy that sometimes you don’t know if you remember your own name, that at certain instances the only image you can recall is the gleam of beskar – you smell vetiver and sweat and blaster smoke and the leather oil of his gloves. You hear his voice. The feeling of his hand in yours the second before you wake, and for a single moment before your eyes open, you’re somewhere else besides this damp Tartarus you’ve condemned yourself to, somewhere green and alive with him.

The third time you meet: You blink, and it’s all darkness and steel bars, and then, a dim light far in the distance? No. A blade of silver beskar.

He’s here. Near.

She had said to you once, your now made sweet Twi’lek: You’re going to die here. Surely, not soon. But one day, we’ll pull your life from you. Once we’ve pulled everything else, taken all we can, we’ll take your life too. And then you’ll be nothing, erased from memory, erased from myth. Nothing at all forever.

You’d taken her words with consideration. You felt strongly that you could not die any longer in any way that truly mattered. If nothing more, than for the memory of him, the memory of that togetherness could never be taken from you, it would always exist and could never be killed, and so what more mattered after that? Nothing really. They could take your life, your power, but they could not take Din, they could not take the myth of what the two of you had created together.

And always the myth, always the myth. You understand now, after an age in something worse than darkness, that you are yourself the creation of myth, and myth is indestructible.

She is made sweet and venerating in the end, and she dies so beautifully, your Twi’lek, and in the singular instant before you pull her heart from her chest, you recall her words from before, how like the Thalassian she’d seemed, nothing at all forever, and you tell her the second truth you’ve now come to understand more surely than anything else: “Only a Sith deals in absolutes, and I am no longer a Sith.”

You free yourself from the cruel and unforgiving hands of the dark for the second time in your life.

You’d thought once that you’d never again let yourself be captured, never again enslaved, and to have let yourself end up here like this of your own volition, your own wanton stupidity and miserable desire for punishment, this is the lowest a creature has fallen in a millenia, surely, and he’s on the same planet as you now, and you’re filled with the sudden blinding terror that he’d somehow know you’re here. That he’d find you. And that he should see you like this, brought so low and so broken, it would be worse than anything, any pain or suffering or torture you could have ever endured.

And so you call to that dormant tether you’d held this entire time, to the Force, to yourself, and you kill your captors. All of them. In one fell swoop. Without much of even a single thought on your part. And you thank her, when you pull his stolen, blood splattered earrings from her ears, for teaching you so much, for reminding you that power without conscience is a terrible thing, and that you know this better than anyone. And you walk out into the cold and dark night, silent and obscure as a shadow can be, even more so, if possible, prepared to make your unnoticed escape from him.

But of course, he finds you anyway.

Chapter IX

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miwsolovely · 25 days

Text

—PRIDE

pairing: task force 141 x fem!black!reader

series masterlist taglist next

summary: You’re not fragile. You’re not.

contains: military inaccuracies, Dissociation, mentions + references to past trauma, torture, reader gets triggered a lot in this chapter :(, hurt w comfort, mentions of kidnapping, panic attack ( with comfort )

wc: 4.9k

a/n: ugh this feels rushed :(

a/n 2: sorry for the wait,, ( unedited )

“I told you, step by step, what to do.” The weight of a knife, the weight of the world, feeling very similar at this moment.

All you can do is stare at the floor. Wishing you could see your reflection but at the same time wanting to see it burn.

You wanted to see what had become of you. What he made of you. Wanted to see pitch black iron slowly encrust your heart. Protecting it. Hiding it.

However you wanted to see it burn at the same time. Wanted to show him that he isn’t what defines you. Wanted to show him how far your pride could take you. Until it ultimately breaks you.

Until he breaks you.

“What,” A stinging pain erupts from across your face. “Not gonna answer me sweetcheeks?”

You cough, red staining your lips, your body, your soul.

He scoffs and then as if he remembered something, starts playing with the long crowbar in his hands, tossing it from hand to hand with a giddy smile on his face.

You hack out another dry cough, cringing at the sound and at the metallic taste it left in your mouth. You raise your head to look at him in the eyes. Every muscle twitching and burning in the process.

He squats down to meet your level, your eyes following his every move as you try to scrutinize his actions.

“You know I love you right?” His smile. His God awful smile leads you into a field of roses. But his eyes lead you into the hands of death.

You spit at his feet. The crowbar sings as it hits your head.

***

“You don’t like hospitals do you?”

You blink and try to clear out the fog that encases your mind. Trying to escape the feeling of the knives against your skin, the fist, the crowbar—

“No, huh?” She answers for you. Sophia, you remember, was the woman you were supposed to get cleared by in order to go on missions on this team instead of sitting at a desk. You needed to prove them wrong. No matter how much you resented being on this team. On a team again.

Today marks two months that you’ve been on this base. So far you have no reason to stay, no purpose, all because of a psych eval that was shoved down your throat.

You scold yourself. “No purpose.” What about the man with the overgrown, albeit beautiful, mohawk? The man with the chocolate skin that shined when kissed by the sun?

They were nice. Treated you with a kindness that was only ever expressed by three people: Vera, your Mom, and your sweet Ma. They barely knew you, didn’t say more than two sentences when you were shoved down their throats, and added to their team. You are an intruder. An intruder on something that was beautiful and intimate.

You saw the way they looked at each other. Pinched yourself behind closed doors whenever you felt something green and snapping coil in your stomach, when you found your cheeks getting hot, when you felt your heart skipping a beat or two. For the two Sergeants at least.

The Captain and the Lieutenant however, they were as dark and secretive as their eyes.

Your expression hardens. “Never did.” Never liked them because it leaves a trail. A scent for a well trained dog to sniff out and find you. Kill you and let the birds eat at your flesh, killing you ten times over.

“Well then, today’s not your lucky day, ‘m not finished.” She says. You can see the sass dripping from her mouth, straining her lips and words with a golden ichor, much like the rich ichor of his own sass, his own words, falling, falling, and coloring everything gold. A gold that decays and reveals ugly things, ugly intentions.

You peer at her through your lashes, you look around the room, a room that looks comforting, looks welcoming, but everything has its secrets, you shift where you are, finding the seat you’re in uncomfortable from sitting there too long, your thighs going numb. Spreading, spreading like a disease, his disease his love—

“Are you even payin’ attention?” She stands there, in front of you with her hands on her wide hips, blonde brows furrowed and her pink lips pulled into a deep frown. “Because if you can’t pass a psych eval, then I’d say you’re not ready.”

You huff out a laugh at that, an amused smile pulling at your lips. She stares at you as if offended. “Somethin’ funny?”

You stare at her through half lidded eyes, crossing your arms on your chest. “None of us are ready doll. Not a single one.” You say. “And yet you still see us running into war with our heads shoved up our asses.”

She turns pink at the term of endearment you used for her.

“Well that—that don’t mean ‘m jus’ gonna let you go! I have to evaluate you. . .”

You freeze at her accent revealing itself. It’s something rooted, something deep and southern, like his.

You think it comes out whenever she feels a strong emotion.

Like hate. His hate. His—

“I need to go.”

***

The girl in your reflection wails. Scratching, pleading, yelling, to let her out. Let her take control, let her so she can protect the both of you.

Your breathing comes out ragged, and you claw and fumble with your door until it opens, slamming it and locking the door. You stay there for a second, turning so your forehead rests against the wood, wishing the door was cold, not filled with this burning heat that dug into your skin.

You turn and limp to the bathroom, you wrestle with the door knob and you fight the feeling of your legs giving out. You wished they would too, wished the world would split open and swallow you whole, close and take all your problems away. All your pain and sorrow and—

A knock. Then a voice. “You alright, love?”

Your breathing is harsh and you’re sure whoever is behind the door to your room, Gaz, can hear it.

You try to breathe calmly. You rest your shaking arms on the sink and pray for the cold ceramic to ground you. You twist the faucet all the way to the right and cup the freezing water in your hands.

The girl in this reflection is screaming. Pleading, demanding, for what, you can’t figure out, but your head is pounding, your heart is racing, and water is still pouring out of the faucet.

Get your shit together.

Remember what Vera taught you. In for four, hold for seven, and out for eight.

Four, seven, eight, four, seven eight, four, seven—

“Angel?”

Your breathing took a pause. Angel.

Angel, is the name spoken with a type of special emotion you can’t put your finger on by the two Sergeants. Something that calms you, and something you won’t admit aloud. However it’s Angel, the same name spoken with a hostility that’s rooted in the Captain and his Lieutenant’s voice, that pushes you to build your walls higher.

You stand there, hunched over the sink with the water in your hands escaping through the gaps between your hands like sand in an hourglass; running out of time.

The girl in this reflection fades away, distorted by the ripples in the water caused by the tears that escaped your eyes.

You bring your cupped hands to your face and splash the cold water on your face. You keep your hands on your face, covering your eyes for a moment because you’re not ready to face the world just yet.

After a minute, you blink to clear the blurriness in your eyes and feel for the towel you remember setting on the counter. Bringing it up to your face and wiping away the water that sits there, wishing to wipe away all your problems as easy as that.

You walk out of the bathroom after setting the towel where you found it, not ready to look at the woman you know looks at you with a hostility that matches the Lieutenant’s in the mirror yet.

Through all the noise, both in your head and in the real world, the world that scares you to no end, the world that hates you, you hear Gaz’s soft voice asking if he can come in.

Now, in front of the door to your room, you hesitate opening it. Scared of what he’ll say to you when you open it, if you open it. You’re a Colonel. You’re supposed to be strong and unwavering in everything you do. Why are you scared of what he’ll say to you when he sees your red rimmed eyes? Your pale face? Your shaking hands?

“You’re not enough.” He’d say. “You’re never going to be enough.”

You open the door.

Gaz looks up at you, and it surprises you because he doesn’t look at you with the pity or disdain you thought you’d see in his eyes, but with a soft smile gracing his lips and his honeyed voice asking if you wanted to talk.

He wants to talk. Why?

You ignore his question and ask him yours in turn. “Can I help you, Sergeant?”

He shakes his head slightly, the smile on his face stays. “No, just wanted to talk to you.”

He’s looking deep into your eyes. As if past the red rimmed and glossed over eyes, he can see the torn little girl you are inside curled up into fetal position, scared out of her mind.

You’ve been here two months.

Two months fourteen days and thirteen hours. And you’re moving to the side to allow him entrance.

He walks in your room and turns to face you, using the motion of turning in a half circle to inspect it without you suspecting him of doing so. You still caught on.

The room you're currently in is not really yours, it's a room. Not yours because save for the bag of clothes positioned in front of the closet, the room was barren. The bed was made and left without wrinkles, the nightstand was left untouched and is starting to collect dust, the prison grey walls reflecting your prison mind. Lonely, grey, and bleak.

You stare at him, at Gaz, with cautious and questioning eyes before motioning to the bed with your arm.

"You can sit."

He smiles that small, never ending and perfect smile of his showcasing the moons imbedded in his cheeks, and turns his back towards you to sit on the bed next to the pillows.

Why did he turn his back to you?

You shift where you stand.

Doesn't he know not to turn your back to someone you don't trust?

You meet his gaze with hesitance laced in your actions when you move to your nightstand to take a seat at the chair placed delicately in front of it, sitting down on the old chair that's seen better days, you face the man in your. . . in the room.

You keep your hands in your lap and fiddle with the hem of your sweater. Nervousness seeping you're your skin and bones and sending a chill through your body. "You wanted to talk—"

"Call me Kyle."

You pause.

Of course you knew his name. Knew it and remembered it when you read his file, said it in your mind a billion times without knowing, you knew all their names. But names were for friends, they were for lovers. You aren’t either of those. Callsigns are for strangers. They’re for long nights hunkered down in God knows where fighting Good knows who. They’re so that everything stays secret.

“What do you want to talk about?” You ask again. Ignoring his request to call him by his name and swatting away the small part of your brain begging you call him by his name.

He pauses for a moment, caramel eyes melting and revealing good things, good intentions.

“Would you like to have lunch with me?” He asks. His hands, you notice, are unscathed, clean, save for the little white line disrupting the chocolate of his skin. How you wish for hands like that. Clean, soft hands that you’d wish to melt in.

“Just you?” You murmured, trying to sound, fragile. Your eyes probably gave you away however. Vera always told you that.

“Me and Soap if you’d like.” He answers, looking down at his hands and intertwining them.

Him and Soap, Gaz and Soap, Kyle and Johnny.

You breathe in and you swear you can taste the caramel of his eyes. “Okay.” You whisper.

***

“When you said “Task Force,” You said, mimicking quotations in the air with two fingers. “Thought you meant it was some place quiet, a Task Force that barely gets any missions. But no, I find myself in the hands of the largest and most well known special ops team known to man.”

Kate Laswell, your mom, lets out a laugh at that. She finishes signing whatever paperwork she needed to at her desk and leans back in her chair.

“Oh really now?” She asks with a lift of her brow and a smile curling a side of her lips. “And how will you accomplish what you want in life behind the walls of a “quiet” Task Force?”

You sigh, irritated. Your eyes narrow and your eyebrows furrow deep. For a moment, you almost forget it’s your mom you’re talking to. “And what, you expect me to stay on this team? You didn’t see how hostile they treated me.”

Your mom remains nonchalant while she speaks. “You sure you’re my daughter? Last time you complained was when you were eight.” She says. “And you’re right, I didn’t.” You watch as she stands up and walks to a cabinet adjacent to her desk, pulling out an expensive bottle of whiskey and pouring herself a fair amount in a glass cup. “Felt it through the door when I walked out.” She said as she took a sip, winking at you when she met your eyes from the top of her glass.

You slump on the chair you’re sitting in, resting your elbows on your knees and your hands on your face.

“So, what? I’m gonna be stuck on this team till he’s dead?” You say, rubbing your temples to calm the headache you feel throbbing in your head.

Kate walks back to her desk and leans on it, facing you. “No, you’re gonna stay on this team even after you kill him.”

You feel your heart stop beating against your chest, your lungs pausing mid inhale, your fingers moistening with sweat coming from your brow.

You hear ringing in your ears. Screaming. It’s the girl in your reflection, the mirror; she’s screaming. You lift your head from your hands and stare at her through the corner of your eye.

“What?”

Your mom sighs and walks to stand in front of you, leaning on her desk.

“What I’m about to tell you,” She starts, looking at you with hard eyes. “Is something that needs to stay in this room you hear me?”

Your fingers twitch and you find yourself nodding.

She sighs and rubs her head as if she’s fighting s headache right now. She looks stressed. “I heard talk about the Shadow Company kidnapping a scientist.”

Your brows furrow. “A scientist?” You asked. Where is she going with this?

She nods in response to you. “A scientist. His name is Dr. Kelly Berkman. American, mid to late forties, three kids and a wife—”

“Mom.”

“He’s, he’s the CEO of The White Lotus.”

You sit there, confused out of your mind as to why she would be telling you this. The White Lotus is a relatively small company that makes vaccines. Why would he kidnap an innocent man?

Kate stands there, watching you, pleading for you to connect the dots.

When your eyes widen and hands fall limp on your legs, her eyes shine bright with sadness.

You suck in a breath and will it to be your last. “He’s making a bioweapon.”

- please do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my works to other platforms !

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siriusleee · 11 months

Text

adamantine chains | part 6

"Amor et melle et felle est fecundissimus." "What does that mean?" "Love is rich with both honey and venom." "I suppose that is true." Or which in König finds you broken in the mountains. A (brief) retelling of Cupid and Psyche. König | Reader tags: incredibly unprotected sexs, mdni, unprotected sex. that is a foreshadow. first chapter | previous chapter

You think that you might still be sleeping when König pulls you closer in your sleep, fingers entangled in your shirt. You push against him just slightly enough to get room to breathe, but he doesn't let you. He pulls you up to kiss you, slow and languid.

Your fingers sneak up under his shirt; he tastes like the sweet liquor he was drinking earlier. He rolls the two of you over, pressing you into the mattress. He pulls away, trailing his nose to your ear; he bites down ever so gently on your earlobe, tongue reaching out to trail where he just bit. His breath is warm against your skin as he whispers, quiet enough that you can barely hear.

"Es tut mir leid, meine Liebe. Ich verdiene dich nicht."

You want to ask what he's sorry for, what he's talking about, but you can't because he's trailing down your body at the same time he pushes your shirt - his shirt really - up around your hips; his fingers catch on the edge of your underwear. You lift your hips just enough to help him, but he doesn't pull them down.

He pushes them to the side and circles your clit once with his thumb. You whine, high-pitched, and try to press yourself down closer to him; his free arm sneaks under your thigh to grab your hips and hold you down.

He doesn't tease you long before his mouth is on you. You try to arch against him, but his hands hold you hard against the mattress. In the early morning light filtering around the blackout curtains, you can tell something is different. König holds you down tighter than he has ever before - there's a desperation in the way he touches you, the way his tongue laps at you - like a man starved.

He doesn't pull until the mattress beneath you is wet; you can feel yourself dripping. You think, for half a second, that he's going to come up and fuck you, the way he likes to, but instead, he eases two fingers into you. You clench around him, a silent plea for him to move to do something. He stays there, fingers still inside of you until you rock your hips. Before you can tell him to stop he slips a third finger in. You've never been stretched out like this.

You keen as you rock your hips, the stretch enough to make your mind empty. König doesn't say anything, pressing a kiss to your hip bone before biting down. You can hear how wet you are, and feel yourself drip down König's wrist. König pushes your knees up to your chest and you hear him speaking, you don't know if he's talking to you or to himself.

"So schön. Und meins."

You're begging König, fingers gripping the sheets as you roll through each orgasm until you're nearly in tears.

"König please, please-"

"Please what Taube?" König's voice is rough and low; it reverberates through you.

You stutter, not sure what you want, just that you want and you want him.

"Tell me, Taube. Or I will not do it."

You know he's being cruel for the night before so you do what he wants, a way to say sorry for crossing his boundary. So you give in to him.

"Please come fuck me König, please."

When he moves his fingers from your cunt, you feel empty. He trails his hands up your body, pushing your shirt off of you. He bites at you: your nipple, your collar bone, your neck before he pauses.

You can see him in the light that filters into the room; the sight of him, face wet with your slick, the first time you've ever seen it makes you claw for him, fingernails digging into his bicep. He pushes your hands away, holding them above you in one of his hands. He traces your lips with his other.

"Open up."

He speaks in command, and you listen, opening your mouth enough for his thumb to slip in. You taste yourself on him, your tongue swirling around the tip of his thumb. When he pulls it away, he lifts the rest of his other fingers to his own mouth, to lick the taste of you off of them.

"You remember," he says, positioning himself between your thighs, and pulling your panties to the side, "how I said I was going to ruin you for everyone that tries to come after me?"

You nod, hips bucking at him, but he doesn't move.

"Answer me, Taube."

"Yes, König! I remember; please, please-"

He spreads your knees farther apart with his own; the stretch in your hips burns.

"Have I? Will you ever want anyone else?"

You're held in place by his gaze, by his words that weigh heavily on you.

"Tell me Taube. Honestly."

"Yes, König, you've ruined me for anyone, for everyone; König please!"

His free hand cups your face, tilting your head back so that he can lick a stripe up your neck before he whispers in your ear.

"I am going to fuck you Taube; do not worry. Tell me you love me."

Tell me you love me.

Your heart stutters; in all the months you've been with König, neither of you has said it. König's fingers tighten just incrementally on your neck turning you so that you're looking into his eyes.

"Tell me, Taube. Please."

His voice is desperate; his eyes dark and wild. when you say it, it's true.

"I love you König."

He slides one arm beneath your thigh, pulling it up to your chest before sinking into you. He stretches you out, and he clenches around him, fingers clawing at his back. König buries his face in your neck, biting down on your shoulder - you think for half a second that any other time it would be painful, but now it makes you wetter.

König pushes your other knee to your chest, sliding in deeper than he's ever been before. You press your hands into his chest, slick with sweat as he slams into you at a frenetic pace.

"You are mine, forever Taube. Do not forget it." He slams into you again, leaning down so that your knees are hooked on his shoulders; you come around him, tears in the corner of your eyes.

When König finishes, you can feel his cock pulse inside of you, and he doesn't stop fucking you until he comes twice and you are limp beneath him. You can't move when he pulls out, his long fingers pulling your underwear back into place.

His hands, soft and warm on you, pulls the blanket over the two of you and turn you around so that your back is pressed into his chest.

"Go back to sleep Taube."

And you do.

When you wake up, König is gone. You expect for him to be in the living room, or out back, but he is gone. On the counter is folded-up piece of paper underneath a coffee cup. You pull it out and unfold it against the countertop.

Taube,

There was an emergency at work. I will be home as soon as possible. Please help Oma with her garden since I will not be able to.

I love you,

König

Your fingers trace over his name before you crumple the letter in your hand, remember what he said the day before when you asked what he did for a living.

"I am in the Special Forces. I cannot say anything more than that, Taube. Please do not ask."

A heavy pit of worry settles in your stomach; you don't let it linger there before you push yourself away from the countertop. You take the letter and tuck it into your top dresser drawer. You try not to think about what König could be doing; was he really gone for work or did you fracture your relationship yesterday by pulling his mask up?

You get dressed slowly; you know Oma rises early and is probably sitting on the stoop and waiting on you or König to show up to help.

Your hands reach for the keys to König's car where he always puts them in a bowl beside the front door, but it's empty. The keys lay on the side of the bowl; you think that when König came home last night he must have been drunker than you thought he was if he couldn't make the bowl.

You don't bother to lock the door behind you.

#konig smut #konig x you #konig mw2 #konig x reader #konig #könig smut #könig x you #könig call of duty #könig mw2 #könig x reader #könig modern warfare #könig x oc #call of duty #cod #my fics

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fluentmoviequoter · 2 months

Text

Best (Fake) Boyfriend

Requested Here!

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!reader

Summary: When you receive unwanted attention at a fancy restaurant, a handsome SWAT sergeant pretends to be your boyfriend to help you.

Warnings: pushy man is pushy and mean. Deacon is perfect and pretty. reader isn't rich (not necessarily poor, just usually unable to afford the vacation she's on). lots of fluff!! there's also a Psych reference and if you find it, we should be friends

Word Count: 2.0k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

Masterlist Directory | Deacon Kay Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“It’ll be fun!” your best friend insists.

“I don’t know,” you reply.

“It’s just a weekend. This is the hottest resort in LA and we’re never going to be able to afford it again. Besides, it’s an Uber ride away, if you hate it after the first night, just go home. We wouldn’t hold that against you, swear.”

Closing your eyes, you nod. The small group of friends surrounding you cheers. After they force you to pack a bag, you find yourself in the back of an Uber driving through Beverly Hills.

“How did you get a room here again?” you ask.

“I got an insane discount voucher when I went to the grand opening of that new organic restaurant in Santa Monica!”

“And we’re just spending a weekend in the resort? Swimming, relaxing,” you trail off, unsure if you believe the lack of ulterior motives.

“Yeah,” your best friend answers, “plus rich men from the Hills.”

The Uber driver rolls his eyes, and you can’t blame him... not at all.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Save a whole school full of evacuees and you get a dinner reservation at a Beverly Hills resort,” Street muses. “I knew there was a reason I liked this gig.”

“You do know that place will be crawling with rich, single women,” Hicks begins.

“Yeah, we do,” Tan and Street cheer together.

“And badge bunnies,” Hicks finishes.

Street shrugs, and Deacon and Hondo shake their heads.

“Do we have to attend?” Deacon asks.

“Why? Got better plans?” Street asks.

“A night in the hills isn’t everyone’s idea of a fun time, playboy,” Hondo answers. Deacon nods his agreement.

“Yes, you have to go. Mayor’s going to be there tonight, too. Every week like clockwork,” Hicks answers.

“Hey, Deac,” Street calls as they walk out. “What’s the real problem?”

“Just seems like a materialistic, money-based approximation of the worth of the lives we saved,” Deacon answers. “The mayor’s office just implied all those lives are worth approximately $650.”

“Those meals are over $125 each?” Luca gapes. “Sorry, I know that’s not the point.”

“It’s not the first or last time we’ll receive a monetary thank you, but at some point it becomes more about the reward after the job than the job itself,” Deacon adds.

“Maybe we’ll be there for a reason,” Luca offers. “But I get what you’re saying. We are focused on the job, and that’s all we can control.”

“Then I guess we should clean up. Places like that frown upon dirt covered tactical uniforms."

"Their loss; this is my best look,” Street jokes.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Um, I can’t afford to look at this menu,” you say, pushing it back onto the table. “Maybe I should go find a diner or something.”

“It’s included,” your best friend whispers. “But we’re trying to play the part, so sit up and feel as good as you look in that outfit.”

Sighing, you straighten your shoulders, picking up the outrageously priced menu again and trying not to let your shock show. Indeed, you’ll never live like this again, but you’re not sure you’d want to even if you could.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Would it be wrong for me to say there’s one for each of us?” Street asks, glancing over his menu.

“Yes,” Deacon, Hondo, and Luca reply in unison.

“They’re women, not suits, Street,” Deacon adds.

“Think I could land one?” Street asks.

“Playboy,” Hondo sighs. “You don’t have enough game for half of one of those women, kid.”

“Really? ‘Cause the one in the blue’s lookin’ over here.”

“Probably at Deacon,” Luca says, keeping his eyes on the menu.

“Right,” Deacon agrees sarcastically. “I- honestly, I don't know what's in most of these foods, so one of you order for me.”

He sets his menu down, his gaze wandering to the table of women Street was talking about. One of them catches his attention, and when the four other women get up, giggling as they walk toward the bathroom, he decides he’s looking at a kindred soul.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Mind if I sit here for just a moment? My friends are running late, and the reservation is under another name,” a man explains, smiling as he looks at you.

“Uh, I don’t think-“

“Thanks,” he says, cutting you off as he sits beside you.

“My friends are coming right back,” you state. “So, you should find somewhere else to wait.”

“Sounds like you have time to kill, and I do, too. What’s your name?”

You don’t answer, fiddling with the bottom of the tablecloth as you watch the doorway for your friends to return.

“I can’t imagine someone ditching you.”

The man leans into your peripheral vision, and you turn your head away. When his hand brushes against your covered hip, you stand quickly.

“I told you that I didn’t want to talk, so you should find your way to your own table before I come back,” you say lowly before walking to the balcony entrance.

✯✯✯✯✯

Deacon tunes out his teammates as he watches a man sit beside you. Your obvious discomfort makes him eager to help. He stops at the thought that one uninvited man in your personal space is likely more than enough.

“Deac?” Hondo asks. “Oh,” he adds when he looks at what is so worthy of Deacon’s attention.

“Didn’t think he still had it in him,” Luca whispers to Hondo.

Deacon stands suddenly, his attention on your back as you walk onto the balcony. Hondo notices that the man beside you looks angry, and when he jostles the table in his haste to follow you, he knows why Deacon is so invested.

“Go help her out, Deac, we got your back,” Hondo says.

Deacon nods wordlessly, buttoning his blazer as he follows in your footsteps. His team looks on, sure that Deacon has control of the situation but is prepared to jump in if the situation calls for it.

“Deacon comes back with her glued to his side or that starry far-away look in his eye,” Luca announces. “Trust me.”

“My money’s on the first one. You see how she relaxed the moment her friends left? She’s just like him,” Tan points out.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Looks like you found your way to my table, too,” the man says behind you.

When you turn to face him, you step back. His jaw is tight, and his eyes look darker than they did inside.

“Change your mind about spending time with me, girlie?”

With your side to the door, you notice someone walk out, but don’t expect an arm to circle your waist a moment later.

“Hey, babe,” the man says. “What’s going on? Came back to the table and you were gone.”

Looking up at him, you sigh at the sight of his large, kind eyes. Trusting him, you relax against his side, raising a hand to press against his sternum.

“Sorry, handsome. This guy was waiting for his friends,” you explain.

“You need help finding your table or somethin’? This is a nice place, I’m sure they can help with that.”

The man clenches his fists at his side, looking between you and the man holding you to his side.

“Or do you need a different kind of help?”

The hand on your hip tightens, his touch still gentle as his voice drops. He’s defending you, angry for you, and though you don’t know why, you’re grateful.

“No, I’m good. Your ‘babe’ here might want to learn some manners, though.”

You press your hand against your guy’s chest when he tries to follow the man inside. Whispering your name to distract him, you sigh when his attention returns to you.

“I’m Deacon,” he replies. “Sorry for grabbing you.”

“Don’t apologize. Thank you. I don’t know what I was thinking walking out here alone.”

Your hand is still spread over his chest, his arm around your waist, and his hand rubbing soft circles on your hip. You know the moment has to end, but your desperation to draw it out outweighs your logic.

“Well, thank you, Deacon. You’re a great boyfriend; I’m sure there’s a very happy woman somewhere.”

Deacon’s hand moves to your waist as you move back, and he quickly raises the other to stop you.

“There is no happy woman,” he responds. “I just- how often do you have to deal with stuff like that?”

“Not very often. Most guys get the idea, even if it takes a few tries. Never had to be saved like this before.”

Deacon sighs, disappointed either in you or the situation. You hope it’s the situation, and Deacon can practically read your mind.

“I’m a SWAT sergeant, and we have to watch for crossfire,” he begins.

You nod with furrowed brows, confused as to where this is going.

“I just will never understand how some men are so okay with not caring how many women they hurt in pursuing their own… whatever it is they’re looking for.”

“How? How is there no lucky woman?” you ask softly. “Between the kindness and the poetic speeches, you’re just begging to get snatched up.”

Deacon drops his chin, shaking his head as he smiles.

“Why’d you follow me?” you ask.

“You were uncomfortable. I noticed you before he sat down, and then when you stood up so fast I couldn’t just sit there. Especially when he followed you.”

“Then you can tell I don’t fit in here.”

“I can,” Deacon agrees before whispering, “because I don’t either.”

“Could you maybe ditch your friends?” you ask. “Let me call you handsome for a while longer?”

“You seem a bit too pleased to have a fake boyfriend who only came out here to scare somebody off.”

“Because my fake boyfriend is better than any real one I’ve ever had.”

Deacon smiles, pulling you against him. “I have to stay for dinner, it’s a work thing. But if you’re still up for pet names later, and tomorrow, and for a good, long while, I think we can work something out.”

“I will be.”

“Have your phone?”

You pull your phone from your pocket, unlock it, and hand it to him. He keeps one hand on your side as he adds his contact, sending himself a text with your name. After he returns your phone, he sighs.

“The moment’s over?” you ask.

“The moment is on hold,” Deacon corrects.

“Enjoy your work dinner. I’m going to go have a free dinner and listen to my friends pretend they belong here.”

“Feel free to sit at my table if you need a break. I’m sure they’re talking about you already. Trying to decide if I’ll actually act on my feelings or just come back in alone and puppy-like.”

You smile, slowly separating yourself from Deacon. Walking in first, he holds the door for you, and you brush your knuckles against his hand before returning to your table. As you sit, your eyes stray to Deacon and never leave.

✯✯✯✯✯

“That little hand thing counts, right?” Tan asks.

“Counts for what?” Deacon inquires as he sits.

“I thought you’d come back with your arm around her.”

“We’re, uh, we’re gonna keep talking later.”

“Atta boy, Deac!” Luca cheers.

“Why didn’t you invite her over?” Hondo asks. “This may be a work thing, but that doesn’t mean it has to be boring.”

“I did. If she gets tired of her friends, she’ll be over.”

“Yeah,” you interject, pausing at the corner of their table. “I’m tired of my friends and your table seems like a better fit.”

Street, Luca, and Tan rush to pull a chair over for you, arguing over who gets the credit. You laugh at their antics as Deacon tells you everyone’s names.

“Nice to meet you. And thanks for letting me crash your dinner,” you say.

“So, what do you think of our Deacon here?” Luca asks, smiling kindly.

“I think he’s great,” you answer honestly. Turning toward him, you whisper, “And handsome.”

“Are pet names our thing now?” he asks.

“Hey, you started it, babe.”

Deacon dips his chin before his eyes rise to yours, and you think ‘beautiful’ might be a better fit for him. Luckily, he promised plenty of time to try all the pet names you can think of.

#david deacon kay x reader #david kay x reader #deacon kay x reader #david deacon kay #deacon kay #requests #fem!reader #swat cbs

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