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sungbeam · 3 months

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𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧

nonidol!choi san x gn!reader (no prns mentioned)

turns out your upstairs neighbor has a cat who adores climbing through your window — oh, and said neighbor is also fine as hell.

3.7k words, neighbors au (2 lovers), fluff, maybe like two swear words, drinking, lots of mentions of food

a/n: low-key just read this like ur watching the highlight reel of a romcom lol but @jaehunnyy for u 💖 i hope u like it :'))

It all started about seven months ago when a gorgeous Thai cat waltzed into your apartment via the open window. It was a late July afternoon, stifling hot and sticky, meaning you had your window opened and the mobile fan set up to blow cool air into the apartment.

You were, for once, not at work. Because the art museum you worked at downtown was currently undergoing reconstruction, you were stuck in your apartment trying (failing) to sell prints off your low-traffic Etsy shop while also trying (failing) to make popsicles.

“Why is this so complicated?” You grumbled aloud as you sat on top of your kitchen counter with your knees pulled beneath your chin. You scrolled down the recipe again on your laptop screen, nose wrinkled at the amount of convoluted steps listed. “Too fancy,” you decided, slamming your laptop lid closed.

Immediately, you hissed, lifting the lid to make sure you hadn't cracked the screen from closing it too hard. Thankfully, there were no cracks visible and you breathed out a sigh of relief. You could not afford a broken—

“Holy shit!” You nearly fell off the back of the island counter at the sight of a light gray cat with black tipped ears, paws, and tail seated on the floor before you.

The cat meowed an innocent greeting.

You pressed your hand to your hammering heart and shifted to get a grip on your position atop the counter. “How—? Where…?” Your eyes drifted to the open window.

Oh. Well, that would explain it.

You glanced back at the cat, who peered up at you once more. “Meow.”

Carefully, you climbed down from the counter as to not scare the creature with any sudden movements. “Hey, baby. Where did you come from, hm?” You cooed, extending your hand out as an offer to be sniffed.

The cat unfurled its tail out from around its body and crept toward your hand. With an experimental sniff, you were deemed safe, and the cat rubbed the side of its face affectionately against the back of your knuckles.

Your chest nearly exploded from the cute interaction. You lowered yourself to your knees, gently taking a peek at the silver charm attached around the collar. There you found the engraving of a star in the metal circle.

“I'm guessing this has something to do with your name?” You hummed, reaching up to scratch the feline behind the ears and head. At least you had an inkling that this little one belonged to someone. You just didn't know how to find out who they were.

“I guess you can hang out with me,” you sighed and stood up with your hands on your hips. You didn't mind the company, after all, and maybe this could be a point of inspiration.

About three hours later, the summer sun still hung relatively high in the sky and you were trying to figure out what to feed the cat when there came a sudden knock at your front door. Really, the “sudden knock” was a series of rushed, panicked DUDUDUDU sounds. You nearly jumped out of your skin for the second time in one afternoon, and even the cat seemed to leap.

Well, the cat only looked mildly annoyed that her nap was interrupted, but she seemed content to give a languid stretch and join you in seeing who was so alarmed at your door.

When you peered out the peephole, your eyes shot open.

There was a pretty man at your door.

You glanced down at the cat who looked back up at you. You mouthed to her, pointing at the door, ‘Do you know this guy?’

As expected, she did not answer. Lovely.

You weren't exactly in appropriate garb to see people. You had thrown on something cool enough to not make you melt like one of the popsicles you weren't able to make earlier, and enough to cover any necessary areas. You were sure your hair looked about as luxurious as a barn, and there wasn't a lick of cosmetics on your face.

It was fine, you told yourself. You probably weren't even going to see this guy ever again.

You opened the door. “Hello? Can I help you?” You asked through the chain linking the door shut.

The man flashed you a flustered, dimpled smile at you. His dark hair was damp, like he just came out of a shower, and he had on a muscle tee that was definitely doing its job, and a pair of basketball shorts. “Hi! So sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you've seen a Thai cat wandering around here about yea high—?”

“Meow.” The cat at your feet shoved her way between the gap you made with the door and out into the hallway.

Your eyes widened another smidge, until the man outside released a gasp of relief and bent down to scoop the feline up into his arms. You unlatched your door and opened it fully now, the man holding the cat to his face as if he was communicating with her telepathically.

“That's the cat, I'm guessing?” You mused.

He tucked her back into his arm and his smile became sheepish. “Yes, I am so sorry about her. I came back home from work and she wasn't in the apartment, but thank you for dealing with her for however long she was here.”

You waved off his concern with your hand, sending him a kind smile. “Don’t worry about it, really. She's adorable. What's her name, by the way?”

“Oh, this is Byeol,” he cooed, lifting Byeol's paw up to wave at you.

Swoon. Your smile widened as you waved back at them both. “Well, it was nice to meet you, both Byeol and…?”

“San,” he answered. God, he was gorgeous. That smile… “And you are?”

“Yn.” You shook each other's hands in the dim hallway light.

“Nice to meet you, too, Yn.” He lit up, pointing up to the ceiling. “Hey, I'm pretty sure I'm your upstairs neighbor!”

You opened the door to your apartment wider so you could show him your open window. “Well, that would definitely explain how she got down onto my fire escape,” you chuckled.

He whistled lowly. “Man, cats are scary sometimes. I'll definitely try to keep an eye on whenever she's near my window now.” He ran the back of his knuckles down Byeol's spine. “I don't wanna take up any more of your time, but thanks again.”

“No worries! Have a nice night.”

“You too!”

San began walking back toward the stairs at the end of the hallway, and you were about to close the door when you thought you heard him chastising his cat in hushed tones. You laughed to yourself as you locked up your front door. You wouldn't mind if Byeol came traipsing down your fire escape again.

And she would. About three times a week when San had a later shift at the boxing gym he worked at (yes, a boxing gym… good lord). Byeol oftentimes expected you to have your window open, and if you didn't already have it open, she would sit out on the fire escape until you did.

Two months into the fire escape escapades, you gave up and left the window open just enough for her to squeeze through while you returned to work.

San would always come down to your apartment to retrieve her, and at some point, decided to swing by your apartment on his way up instead just to make sure she wasn't already here.

By month four when the days were shorter and the nights dragged longer and colder, you couldn't exactly keep the window open, lest you wanted to freeze your ass off in the safety of your apartment. Byeol would hop down the fire escape in the evenings when you were back so you could let her in, only for her owner to come barreling down the stairs, dimpled cheeks flushed and exasperated.

“I swear she likes you more than me,” he guffawed from where he stood out in the hallway as he always did. He shook his head as he watched the Thai feline waltz around his legs once, then circle back into your apartment. He arched a brow at her. “Look at her strutting. She knows exactly what she's doing.”

You swore there was a dash of red gracing his cheekbones now.

You bit your lip through a smile. “Well, you're welcome to come in. I was just about to eat dinner and I don't really think I can finish this roast chicken alone.”

“Ah, I don't really wanna impose,” he drawled, scratching the back of his neck and peering at you from beneath those lengthy lashes of his. He knew what he was doing—he had to know what he was doing. If Byeol could strut, then so could Choi San.

He promised to take you up on your offer as long as you let him run upstairs to grab a bottle of wine to contribute.

The last thing you expected to happen was to hear a knock on your window less than ten minutes later. You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound, folding over in laughter when you saw him waving to you on the other side with cold-bitten cheeks and a red-tipped nose. He clutched a bottle of red in one hand and gestured furiously to the window latch. “It's fucking freezing!”

“Okay, okay,” you grinned, walking over to let him inside. “Just so you know,” you said as Byeol welcomed her owner into your apartment, “usually it's just cats who come in this way.”

“Well, you might have to get used to a cat and a human coming in now,” he teased. San presented you the wine bottle with a flourish. “Milady, your beverage.”

“Why, thank you, good sir,” you jested and accepted the offering. “Make yourself at home!”

What you didn't expect was for such a statement to be taken so literally, and yet, you had no complaints.

Three months further along—making it seven in total since that first hot July day Byeol came in through the open window—you and San (and Byeol) were cooped up in your apartment as usual. It was a Friday night with dinner on the table, a TV show playing in the background, and a pair of wine glasses for the pair of you. Over the past few months, sharing a dinner together had become a weekly event wherein San would come in via window, and the two of you would have the evening together.

Sometimes it was just dinner, sometimes it was dinner and a movie, and sometimes it was even dinner, a movie, and drunk Pictionary. But every Friday night was yours and San's night.

Plus, he turned out to be a much better cook, so you definitely couldn't argue when he somehow wrestled his entire Le Creuset pot down the fire escape to feed you the most divine lobster mac 'n’ cheese you had ever tasted. (As if you'd ever had lobster mac 'n’ cheese before…)

“I feel like it would just be more convenient if I came up to your apartment instead,” you said with enthusiasm, your free arm flailing around as you melted dark chocolate on a double boiler upon the stove top. While San had the right side of the stove for his chicken and gnocchi soup, you had the left to prepare tonight's mousse for dessert. If San made dinner, you figured you could at least learn a thing or two about a dessert course.

He chuckled, “I mean, I'm not opposed if you ever get tired of hosting. I'm kind of a creature of habit though, which is why I don't mind coming down every week, but it's up to you, sweets.”

Oh, right. And the nickname. You couldn't even pinpoint when that started, but again, you weren't complaining.

“I don't mind hosting either,” you told him, “it's just that it's either you leave your super expensive cookware here or I go upstairs. I don't think Le Creuset has fire escape insurance.”

“You're not wrong about that.” You felt his hand gently brush against your waist as he slipped past you to get to the spice cabinet on your left. “Behind you,” he murmured by your ear before grabbing the jar of Himalayan salt (also his) and returning to his station behind his pot.

You couldn't deny the pitter-patter of your heart around him either. Things were coming to a point that you didn't know how to label. But perhaps that was the beauty of everything slipping into place. You carried on, “I think I've seen your apartment once, and that was when Byeol wouldn't stop meowing until I followed you guys.” You laughed to yourself at the memory. That had been an interesting night.

“If it's any consolation, your apartment has much more life in it than mine.”

“That's a lie,” you said pointedly. “Yours is just more meticulous.”

He snorted. “Meticulous. Might as well be as barren as a clinic.”

You passed him a glance. “I offered to paint your walls…”

San beamed back at you, dimples creating divots in the apples of his cheeks. “And I never said no! But—I do think that it should be something the both of us do together.”

Your brows creased as you took the chocolate off the stove to fold into the other mixture you'd set aside. “You wanna paint with me?”

“Yeah,” he said, almost bashfully. “I think it'd be a fun bonding and learning experience. And it would be cool to see you in your element, besides when you're drunk.”

The latter comment had you turning away to laugh. “Fair enough.”

When dinner was ready to be dined, and the mousse was freezing in the fridge, you and San sat at the kitchen island with your matching bowls of hot soup and glasses of lemon water for the night. Neither of you had remembered to buy wine for the week (surprisingly), but one week without alcohol wouldn't hurt.

The two of you clinked your glasses together, toasting to another week survived.

You took a sip, then spooned the soup into your mouth, wiggling around on your stool in a little happy dance as the flavors did their own dance on your tongue.

San smiled around his own bite. He swallowed, then said, “You know, I always know I did well when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“That cute little dance,” he chuckled. “I’m glad it tastes good, is what I'm saying, sweets.”

Your skin warmed, and you managed to convince yourself it was the soup or the heater or something and not the beautiful man beside you. “Then get used to the happy jig, because everything you cook tastes divine. You should be a chef, San.”

“I could've,” he shrugged, “but I kind of like this little life.” He gestured to you with his spoon, a twinkle in his eyes. “Don't you?”

For a moment, you let the smile slowly unfurl onto your lips. You lifted your own spoon in agreement. “You're right. It's a lovely, little life.”

Now that you were in agreement, you fell into a comfortable silence as you both enjoyed your dinner in one another's presence. Byeol was hunched over her own bowl of food just by the foot of your stool, against the adjacent side of the island. You'd gone out and bought her a pair of food and water bowls, as well as her preferred food. San had been touched by the gesture, and Byeol most definitely appreciated it.

San wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Oh, by the way, next week.”

You hummed. “What about it?”

“Are you doing anything?”

You perked up, eyebrows lifting to your hairline. “Why do you ask?” It was usually unsaid by now that Friday nights were set aside for the two of you to share an evening, which was why you were confused by his question.

And then he explained, “It's Valentine's Day, so I just wanted to make sure I didn't interrupt or assume anything.” He'd said it so casually and easily that you nearly missed the slight nervousness in his voice, or the minor intonation of hope. “I mean,” he fumbled, “if you do have something planned, then it's no worries, really. There are plenty of other weeks—”

You shook your head, finishing off your water after having scraped your bowl clean. “I'm not doing anything,” you said. “Well, besides what we usually do.” You chuckled to yourself, “To be honest, Valentine's Day completely slipped my mind this year.”

And if you were truly being honest with yourself, every Friday felt like Valent—no. You shouldn't think like that. It would only make things worse about how you felt for him now. Plus, these past few months with San felt far too casual, too domestic, to be like Valentine's Day. Was Valentine's Day not for grand gestures and romance? This wasn't grand… though, you could probably argue about the romantic part…

“No, I feel the same way,” he nodded. “My friend Wooyoung just asked today if I was up to go to a single's party, which was why I suddenly remembered.”

Ah. “Oh, are you planning on going?” Wine sounded pretty good right about now.

He grimaced. “Probably not. I—I was kind of hoping you wanted to still do dinner next week—but, like, it doesn't have to mean anything besides how it usually is. If that's what you're comfortable with.”

It doesn't have to mean anything besides how it usually is. What if you wanted it to mean more than how it usually was? There was nothing inherently wrong with how it usually was, but you couldn't deny that a part of you yearned for more. That part of you imagined what it was like if San didn't have to come see you via fire escape, and he was always in the same space as you.

There was a pause as you wrestled with your own conscience about how or if you were going to admit it to him.

He pressed his lips together. “I've made you uncomfortable.”

“No, you haven't made me uncomfortable,” you assured him swiftly. “I just…” You sighed, pressing a hand to your forehead then returning it to your lap. “Of course, I would love to have dinner with you next week, but I’d like it to mean something else—if you are comfortable with that.”

You watched as that beautiful smile you'd come to grow more fond of blossom onto his face. “I'd be more than comfortable with that—I’d be really happy with that, actually.”

“Good,” you said softly, unable to bite your own smile away. “Then dinner next week, it is.”

There was something fundamentally different about this next Friday night compared to the others. Specifically, the context by which you and San went into the Friday evening of Valentine's Day was completely different. The apartment was aglow with the same warmth as it usually boasted, but there was a bouquet of blood red roses in a glass vase on the kitchen counter beside a bottle of red wine.

San was at the stove, finishing off the last bit for dinner before it needed to simmer for a good thirty minutes. You were in the living room portion of your apartment, flipping through the vinyl records to play before you pulled one out and set it up. As you moved the needle onto the record, you placed the empty cover back into its slot and turned toward the kitchen.

You froze in your spot, skin warming at the sight of San leaning over the island counter with an adoring look in his eyes as he watched you. “What?” You laughed, subconsciously adjusting the sleeve of your blouse.

“Nothing,” he smiled. “You're just—you’re gorgeous.”

You were sure if your face didn't give it away, there must have at least been hearts floating around your head. “You cannot just say that,” you chided weakly as you walked over to where he was, your expression growing shy.

His smile widened and he rounded the counter to stand in front of you, your back pressed against the edge of the counter. “I can, too,” he teased. He stepped back once and held his arms out, fingers flicking toward him to beckon you forward. “C'mere. Can you dance?”

“Some.” Your eyebrows arched upward as you stepped forward and took his hands in yours. “Dancing and romancing, Choi San? What magic do you hope to enchant me with tonight?” You joked, moving your left hand to his shoulder.

“Perhaps magic that will leave your window open for me on nights other than Fridays,” he said sheepishly as the two of you began to sway to the music waltzing out from the record player. “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your fire escape—”

You let out a laugh, ducking your head toward your chests. He did the same, an embarrassed grin coming onto his face as his nose nudged against yours.

“That was god awful,” he winced in apology.

“It was,” you agreed teasingly, “but I'll let it slide because you're cute.”

He shot you a bright smile. “Oh? So I'm cute? I guess that makes two of us.”

You weren't really sure at what point you realized you had fallen for this man. It was sometime between the Himalayan salt lectures and the dancing like an old married couple in your kitchen, maybe. You thought about the day he showed up at your door panicking about a missing cat, and to a future where you might have found yourself in his living room painting murals on his walls. Or perhaps… not his living room, but both of yours.

As you danced with your chests pressed together, hearts beating rapidly in sync, you gazed into those beautiful, dark brown irises of his and sank further and further into those feelings. They were gradually making themselves a home in your chest.

“What're you thinking about, sweets?” He murmured as you tucked your head against his shoulder and the arm he had around your waist rubbed the small of your back.

The smell of his cologne made you inhale deeply. You could get used to this—his smell, the feel of his body under your fingertips, his presence intertwined with yours taking up space in the best possible way. “I'm thinking that Byeol is a good matchmaker.”

His chuckle rumbled through him and softly into your ear. “You're definitely right about that.”

a/n: pls remember to reblog and comment if u enjoyed!

atz m.list

permanent taglist: @flwoie @vatterie @seomisaho @hqrana @ja4hyvn @outrologist @rikizm @tinkerbell460 @meosjinn @hyunjaespresent-deobi @stayarmytinyzenmoa-l @floatingpluto @gyulfriend @jaehunnyy @shakalakaboomboo @soonyoungblr @justanotherkpopstanlol @kangfication @pxppxrminty @fluorescentloves @haechansbbg @jaerisdiction @super-btstrash-posts @jundundun @http-gyu @mvvnsseul @mars101 @kflixnet

#kflixnet #ateez x reader #choi san x reader #san x reader #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez fluff #choi san fluff #choi san imagines #choi san scenarios #choi san drabble #ateez drabbles #ateez oneshot #choi san oneshot #ateez fanfic

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hanihazeljade · 3 months

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Skill Issue

Jason was away when Tim got de-aged. Now, it his turned to be the victim of the incarnation of Janet, Timothy.

pt.2 of Disgustingly Green

(CW: Manipulation, swearing)

Tim avoided the kid that kept on insulting him. He doesn't even apologise to him! Mr. Wayne is so dumb that he doesn't even reprimand that kid and instead he reprimand Tim instead. It is giving Sephora kids vibe.

Tim was now actively avoidinh the living room where the telly is. He likes watching news but the kid was always there petting his cat. And Tim is allergic to cats, that is what his mom told him when he ask for one, so he is glad to have the huge library of the Waynes to himself.

They have a huge collection of non-fiction books and Tim loves it. He was already in fifth book in his weeks of being here! His house never had this types of books, it's just his textbook and the ancient manuscript that his parents like to bring back to their digs. Having this was really heaven.

He is in the page 86 when someone enter the library. He looked over to see if it's the kid or if it's Mr. Butler. But to his surprise it's neither. It is a tall man with a weird white hair strip. Even though he knows it's rude to stare at someone, he stared at the weird man and the weird man stare back at him. It is not a contest but something in Tim has the feeling of "if you look away, you lose" and Tim hates losing.

The weird man breaks the stare first making Tim proud of himself.

"You are too little for an eight-year old, Replacement." The weird man said.

Replacement? Who? Him? Timothy? The audacity to call him a replacement? If Timothy replace him and he might be not good enough then.

Tim smiled, "And you look a lot like a skunk but you don't hear me complain, right?" he said, then he sniffed the air, "And also you smell like one."

"What the fuck, Replacement?"

"Language, Mr. Butler doesn't like swearing." Tim said as he went back to his book.

"Ah nuh uh, this is my place, Replacement."

"I don't see your name anywhere here, Mr. Weird Man." Tim said but not breaking his eye contact on his book.

"I will count to three and if you don't het your ass out of here, I swear to God, Replacement."

"You kept on calling me "Replacement", maybe if you use your little brain of yours, you might find a conclusion that if an eight-year old can replace your big body, you might have a skill issue, but hey, that might be too much for your little brain." Tim shrugged.

"One."

"Try me."

"Two."

"..."

"Three." and with three, Tim's body got flown across the room. Tim was shocked, he can see the weird man smug face, but he can make it to his favour. He pushed out his tears out of his eyes and loudly wailed. Mr. Butler hate to see him sad, he doesn't know why but he can put it in his advantage.

And within 15 seconds of his wailing, Mr. Butler appeared, looking for the boy that was still laying on the floor, cheeks are red and his arms are a little bit bruised. Mr. Butler look at the weird man with a neautral face.

"Alfred, I swear it doesn't what it looks like." The weird man defended himself but Tim is not gonna give him a chance and shouted, "He threw me!" and he wailed even louder, his knees are even now hurting.

"I thought I raised you better than this, Master Jason." Mr. Butler just shook his head, "Come on, Master Timothy. Let me patch you up."

"Carry me, please?" Timothy looks at Mr. Butler with his wide eyes still filled with tears and his lips are wobbling as he put his hands up. And with no words, Mr. Butler carried him with ease. Timothy snuggled at the old man's neck, he sniffled a little and gave the weird man a middle finger, it's bad but the shocked face of the weird man is satisfying.

++++++++++

"That is a goblin, Bruce." Jason said as he watched Replacement cling to his not so legal adoptive father.

"Kids are just honest, Jason. Dick too said a lot of harsh words back when he was eight." Bruce defended Timothy as Timothy keep on touching Bruce face by gently smacking it then giggling.

"Yeah, sure. Kids are mean, we already established that, I mean have you seen Damian?" Jason snorted, "But that goblin is a lot worse than Damian and that says a lot."

"We know, Little Wing. The first time this Tim meet Damian, he managed to made Damian cry." Dick said as he spawned out of nowhere. "But he was just a cutie little thing, aren't you?" Dick cooed to Timothy and Timothy giggled.

"Okay, first of all, where the hell you come from and second, that kid made the demon cry?" Jason was shocked, the kid did made the impossible. He didn't think Al Ghuls actually can cry and that little shit actually did.

"Yes, with that incident, Damian has become more elusive to Tim. The manor has been the most peace it had since." Bruce said as he keeps Tim stay still to his arms. "And also Jason, Roy's daughter is the same age as Tim right now, right?"

#tim drake #fanfic #bruce wayne #chaotic tim drake #unhinged tim drake #de aged tim drake #jason todd #dcu

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starvine · 1 year

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☾ ⋆* kiss it better

pairing: neteyam sully x fem!omaticaya reader

genre: fluff, angst

synopsis: all you wanted to do was serve your people. however, when you get injured, your mission is cut short. neteyam insists upon patching you up and decides to explain his concerns for your well-being and future together.

warnings: battle stuff, guns, blood, battle injuries, medical jargon, stitches, minor swearing (?), allusions to mating/sex ig, aged-up neteyam

word count: 7.9k

notes: IT’S HERE! i’m very excited to have started writing again, and although i’m very casual about when i write, i hope to be somewhat consistent lol. enjoy this for now, i have more planned for the future! i hope you all enjoy, pls reblog/comment/etc if you feel so inclined <33

The air was tense today, thick with disciplined focus as you keep your ears alert for any incoming airships. Reeking of smoke and burning metal, a scent that is foreign and unpleasant to your nose, you remain aware of everything and anything. Gray clouds billowing and a pungent smell that cling to the back of your throat like a hand with a vice grip—nothing was natural.

Tilting your forehead forward, you hope your visor, decorated with teeth and interwoven pieces, will shield your eyes from the wind. You hold your bow tightly, the wood smooth against your fingers as you use your other hand to guide your ikran swiftly through the air.

“Calm, calm,” you soothe her, tapping your fingers along her strong neck.

You’re anxious today. Not because of the imminent arrival of the Sky People, their ships ready to fire metal bullets at you at any second; you’ve dealt with that many times before. No, the reason you’re nervous is because of Neteyam.

Today is Neteyam’s first day participating in the raid—well, his first raid on the ground with his father’s permission—rather than being a part of the aerial surveillance team. You tried to insist that you should accompany him, but, due to his wishes, you remained in the air beside his mother.

“Do you see anything yet?” Neytiri’s voice asks over the intercom.

Bringing your fingers to your throat to press the responding button, you reply, “Nothing yet.”

“I’m going to fly down to help gather some of the gear. You stay here,” she orders, raising her bow to signal that she and her ikran were descending.

“Let us know if you spot any bogeys. We’ve got some heavy-duty gear and need as much time as possible,” Jake informs you over the intercom.

“Roger that, sir,” you say, steering your ikran closer to where the enemy would most likely be approaching.

Ears twitching back and forth, you attempt to pick up the whir of an aircraft amongst the orders commanded, the creaks and minor explosions occurring from the Meg-Lev train your people have intercepted, and the wind blowing past you. You hope that maybe you could track a scent, sniffing the air a couple of times to no avail. It’s all smoke and metal. The skies were calm, except for your ikran’s screeching, however, they couldn’t be for long. There was no way those demons would allow your people to escape that easily.

“Hey,” Neteyam breathes over the intercom, a slight huff of your name. You could hear the smile on his face. “How’re things looking up there?”

“What happened to using my code name?” you question, peering over your ikran in an attempt to find him along the ground. “I’ll tell you if I see anything. I know how to do my job, you know.”

“Just double checking,”

You scoff, guiding your ikran to the right. “Maybe you should focus on gathering all of the gear instead,”

“Oh, really? Maybe you should-”

Suddenly, your ears flex forward, focused on the faint whirring of something mechanical and man-made; something that was not naturally occurring within your world.

“Airships spotted! Everyone, move!” you shout over the intercom. You yelp out into the open air, pumping your bow in tandem with the three shouts you release to alert your fellow brothers and sisters in battle.

Just as people begin clambering for their ikrans and direhorses, the two Scorpions start firing. The relentless pop of military guns fills your ears, causing your tail to swish frantically and your ears to perk forward.

Using a high pitch, you signal for your ikran to dive, swooping up and under the two fighter pilots.

“Do not engage! I repeat, do not engage! I want minimal casualties today,” Jake commands over the intercom, the background full of shouts and grunts.

“Jake, I’ve got to take out these two airships. They’re already taking down ikrans,” you spoke, peering up at the airships as you stealthily soar below.

Just then, Neteyam responds.

“No! Listen to my father, do not engage. I can lead the people to safety,”

“There won’t be any people to lead if I don’t take these airships down.”

Neteyam groans your name in warning, the sound of shouts heard from all around. “Would you listen for once?”

Jake barks your name, frustrated and frantic. “Get out of there! Get back to the High Camp!” he orders. You begin mapping out the plan of your attack. “That is a direct order!”

“I’m sorry, Jake,” you respond, ignoring all that comes after.

Your ikran shoots straight up into the air, coming close to the tail-end of the Scorpion gunship. You arch over the top of the gunship, upside down and looping over to the front side. The sun high in the sky and its beams creating a glare on the glass makes it difficult for you to spot the pilot. Upon finding his location, you draw the string of your bow taught, ready to fire.

“Incoming! Enemy on-”

You shriek upon release. The arrow flies straight through the glass, nailing your target right in the chest.

The gunship begins to tilt forward, preparing for its decline. As a hunter and warrior, it was your duty to pay respects to the creatures you killed in order to sustain the way of life. Kneeling over them, declaring your thanks, and wishing for their safe return to rest amongst the Great Mother was a sacred practice. However, as the gunship crashed and blew up in flames, hot and angry, you felt no thanks or remorse. They did not deserve to rest peacefully, and they didn’t even deserve to die on the Great Mother’s sacred soil. Their spirits deserved to walk alone, isolated and cold from the warm glow of the afterlife.

“You skxawng! What the hell are you doing?” Neteyam screams.

Looking around, you see the green back of his ikran, its rider perched on top with no visible concerns except for the fury etched on his face.

“I got this! It’s just one more,” you insist, positioning an arrow on your bow, eyeing the last gunship.

“May the Great Mother help you when I knock-” and with that, he’s easily ignored.

The wind whips past you, high and soft, almost like a whisper from Eywa that she too felt the tensions of battle. You would do anything to soothe her pain. She could not endure the suffering of this war much longer.

Tightening your grip on your ikran, her blues providing a stark contrast to the grayness of the military equipment, you attack from the rear yet again. Guns firing, you duck, placing yourself as flat as you can get against her back. However, once you approach the opening of the ship, where all of the massive guns were placed, you sit up, firing quickly.

The scream and weak grunt you heard confirms that it was a successful hit. Loading your bow with another arrow, you soar underneath the aircraft, looping around until you have the high ground. Securing your aim, your fingers release the string until the arrow flies straight into one of the Scorpion's propellers. A small explosion soon turned into a large one, the ship dipping to its left and falling from its dominant space in the sky to the dirt.

However, so were you.

You must’ve underestimated how close you were to the ship, your eagerness to protect your people and the Great Mother clouded your judgment.

The sound and burst of light, as well as the force, must’ve spooked your companion as she, too, seemed to have lost her place in the sky. She tumbles towards the ground, shrieks and roars released into the open air. Jaw clenched, you tried to convince her to gain control to no avail.

“Come on!” you shout, knuckles turning a pale blue with the tight grip you had.

As you neared the ground, panic began to set in. Your ears lay flat against your head in an attempt to not become overwhelmed by the wind, you tried to think quickly.

You could stay with your ikran, but you would both get injured; you could also disconnect from her and leap from the group, in hopes of only injuring yourself.

Deciding on the latter, you had one plea for the Great Mother:

“Please don’t let Neteyam kill me.”

Disconnecting your kuru, you leap the rest of the way to the ground, the shock of the force of your fall causing you to fall instead of landing perfectly on your feet. The ship crashes a couple of yards in front of you, the force of the blast propelling you forward.

Rolling and skidding along the dirt, pieces of gravel and discarded glass and metal tear at your skin. Red begins to bubble up along the surface, the violent opposite of your blue skin.

Tumbling down a hill, you lose your grip on your bow, the wood being left behind in your trail. The burning sensation of your flesh being scraped away keeps you alert, blindly clutching at anything to break your fall.

Eventually, you slow to a stop, landing on your stomach with a mouthful of dirt. Spitting and coughing up the soil, you take a minute to catch your breath. With a slight raise of your head, you look at the ship as the flames crackle and cause a film of sweat to break out on your skin. That hunk of metal was truly ugly against the backdrop of the forest.

You begin to slowly sit up, a sharp pain coming from your side. A cut, not deep enough to need stitches, slowly oozes blood down your left rib, crimson staining the skin. It looks swollen, screaming to be disinfected immediately. Reaching behind you to check for any more severe wounds, you arch away from your nimble fingers just upon a light graze. The heat from the explosion must’ve irritated the skin, causing soreness and slight bubbling in some places.

Minor scrapes along your knees and elbows from what you could see and feel, makes you thank Eywa for her protection and the benign wounds. Stumbling onto your feet, you catch sight of something unnatural.

A small piece of metal protrudes from the side of your thigh, embedded into the flesh. Staring at the shrapnel, you’re reminded that your world doesn’t just belong to you anymore. Even if the Sky People were to disappear and return back to their planet, the scientists would remain here. Their clunky gear and massive structures would continue to reside amongst the nature of Pandora.

Something about that notion makes your heart sink.

You lightly touch the silvery metal, trying to gauge how deep the foreign object must be. It felt stiff and unwilling to relent to your touch, confirming that it was not something you could brush off. Taking a step forward, a broad, aching pain festers throughout your leg. It hurt less if you put less pressure on the limb, however, that would be hard to do on your journey back to the High Camp.

Picking up your bow from the ground, arrows broken and scattered around, you slowly mount your ikran, muttering expletives to yourself at the pain that dwelled throughout your entire body.

Neteyam was surely going to kill you.

Upon your arrival, after an arduous flight back home, you slowly slid off your companion onto the uneven rock. Blood oozed out from around the metal, the object having dug deeper into the surface the more you moved. With one hand clutching your rib and another trying to steady the object, you hoped to stumble into a healing area before you were noticed by a Sully.

Turns out, you’re not as stealthy as you thought.

“She’s back! She’s back!” a high-pitched cheer sounded, a small girl bouncing towards you. Tuk’s big grin slowly faded into a look of concern and worry as she sized up your injuries. “Mom! Kiri! She’s hurt!”

The younger girl prances over to you, lifting your arms and examining your body from front to back. You feel the small girl brush against your tail, which was agitatedly flicking back and forth.

With a sigh of your name, you see Tuk’s mother and elder sister approach you, war paint still decorating Neytiri’s face in vibrant greens and yellows. She gasps upon spotting the dirt, blood, and bruising that has blossomed across your skin, tucking a stray hair behind your ear as her eyes fill with worry.

“We must get her to grandmother,” Kiri announces to her mother, clutching your upper arm as softly as she could without hurting you.

“There’s no need. I can do it myself,” you try to assure her, taking a fumbling limp forward.

“There is a piece of metal sticking out of your leg.”

You glance down, almost as if you hadn’t noticed it at all before. It was a futile attempt, especially as you used your fingers to brace the object, preventing it from moving too much. “There is?”

“Damn, bro!” Lo’ak exclaims, waltzing up beside you and trying his best to not laugh at your given failure. “Looks like someone got their ass handed to them by some Sky People,”

Hissing at him, you weakly push at his chest to show him that you weren’t interested in his jokes right now.

“Lo’ak!” his mother scolds, hitting him upside the head.

“What?! What I’d do?!”

Then, the two people you desperately wanted to avoid came into view: Neteyam and his father. Jake had a stern, militant look on his face—a facade that seemed to follow him everywhere he went. Neteyam’s face was set into a deep frown, a look that was a delicate cross between his mother’s and father’s disappointed faces.

“Well, would you look at the time? Looks like I better start tending to-” you attempt to walk away, only to be kept in place by Neytiri’s firm hand on your shoulder. It’s not like you’d be able to escape them as quickly or swiftly as you would typically be able to. You–apparently–had a piece of metal sticking out of your leg.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Jake scolds still dressed head to toe in his fusion of Omaticaya and Sky military gear. “Disobeying direct orders? That isn’t something I expected from you.”

Casting your eyes downwards, you hope your flat ears and limp tail would get you out of this scolding quicker than it would’ve if he was scolding Neteyam or Lo’ak. Typically, avoiding his gaze would show that you felt regret—which, in this case, you didn’t really—and he’d let you move on. However, it’s hard to keep your eyes fixed on the ground when someone gets into your line of view.

Neteyam crouches down, face coming into view as if he’s trying to catch your fake performance. Instead, he places two hands, worn and calloused from all of the years of fighting and defending his people, onto your cheeks. He tilts your face upwards so he can view you from his natural height, allowing him to view each scrape and bruise in proper lighting. His lips twitch into a grimace, thumbs grazing over a small cut that must be on your cheek because, although there’s a faint sting, there’s no leaking blood.

Now, everyone knew about you and Neteyam. It’s not like it was kept a secret. Wherever you went, he followed; whatever he was doing, you were right there beside him. In the years to come, you would become his mate and that was an unspoken decision between you and him. Well, there was also an unspoken rule between Neteyam and the rest of the boys his age to not even glance at you, or else he’d have their tails. However, no matter how much people smiled softly whenever you’d exchange fond glances or spare looks when you two ran off alone, it wasn’t like you publicly displayed much physical affection. Nonetheless in front of his parents.

He unloops your visor from behind your ears, handing it to his brother without his gaze leaving your face. As soon as his hands leave you, they return just as quickly. His fingers smooth over your face, confirming that you’re breathing and here in front of him—something he’s very grateful for. Your stupidity—not so much.

“You’re such a skxawng,” he chides, tilting your face towards his.

“Yeah, yeah whatever. It’s not like I’m the one who took down—not one—but two whole- ow!” you yelp, stumbling forward towards the young man.

Tuk looks at you guiltily, one finger outstretched as if she was prodding at something.

Kiri steps forward, pushing Tuktirey out of the way in order to re-examine your back.

“We should take her to grandmother,” she insists, “now.”

You roll your eyes, trying to continue with your act of not being nearly as injured as you appear, but the longer you stand, the more it becomes not true. As the adrenaline wears off, the soreness and incessant throbbing grow throughout your muscles and bones. Your rib and leg are still oozing blood, warm and tacky against your skin. Neteyam loops an arm around you, careful to avoid the blisters and welts that decorate various places on your back.

His free hand reaches for the hand that hangs limply over his shoulder, intertwining your fingers and giving them a light squeeze. “It’ll all be okay,”

“Yeah, I know. Just ‘cause I’m walking a bit funny doesn’t mean I’m dying,”

You could say that then, but you sure as hell can’t say that now.

If there was one thing about Mo’at, it was that she couldn’t care less if her remedies stung like a bitch as long as they cured you thoroughly. So now, as she smears a paste along your back—the sensation as bitter and frigid as the Northernmost part of any mountain—that bites at your skin, you kind of wish you were dead. Or at least knocked out.

This isn’t even the worst of it.

Once the stinging fades more into a relaxing cool, Mo’at instructs you to lean backward so she can assess your torso. The older woman crouches next to you, hands hovering over the wound as if Eywa was sending her a direct message on the best way to heal you. Neteyam sits on the other side of you, clutching your hand with a grip that seems more like it’s to reassure him than you, his other hand brushing your hair away from your face.

Neytiri stays close to her mother, observing or advising what she believes to be the next course of action—just as a tsakarem should do. Kiri stays by your feet, grinding and mashing up various plants and syrups that could be used to aid with disinfecting your wounds. Lo’ak and his father stay near the door, ready to leave if someone else should need assistance with anything to do with the war effort. However, as everyone stays well within their place, performing their necessary task, Tuk couldn’t seem to sit still.

“Is she going to need stitches?” Tuk asks, peering over her eldest brother.

Neteyam removes his hand from your hair, slightly readjusting the younger’s weight so she doesn’t put too much pressure on him, in turn, putting pressure on you.

The Tsahìk doesn’t look up from your wound, eyes brightening as if Eywa had finally delivered her guidance to the woman. “No, she will just need to rest. I would advise very minimal movement for at least seven days,” the woman says, being handed a bowl of yellowish sap.

“Seven days? But I need to be out there, it’s my duty to fight,” you plead, growing restless and inching upwards.

Neteyam pushes you back down, delicate but firm fingers pressing against your sternum. “Down,” he murmurs.

“It is not my fault you did not listen to orders,” the older woman retorts, using a brush-like leaf to observe the consistency of the paste before lowering it toward your injury.

“Yeah, well it’s not my fault that I just happened to save- oh, Great Mother! Holy sh-” you yelp upon Mo’at contact.

Neteyam presses a hand over your mouth, sending you a stern glare. “Not in front of the Tsahìk,” he hushes, palm warm against your lips.

You groan against his hand, face twisting and back arching in pain. Unlike the gel thinly spread across your back, there was no relief from this paste. Mo’at continued to slather it all across your skin, insisting that the more you move, the more it will hurt. You squeeze Neteyam’s hand, feeling the bones shift with how strong your grip is. If you’re hurting him, you can’t tell. The look of pain on his face seems to be linked to his feelings about your injuries, your pain. Always the doting lover.

Once Mo’at wraps the injury, using both Na’vi and human medical wraps, she places a palm over the injury, thanking the Great Mother. Then, she looks at your leg.

Your leg was held down by Kiri throughout the excursion, as she didn’t want the shrapnel to lodge itself deeper into the skin and muscle. At the base of your leg, a piece of twine is firmly wrapped around the skin to lightly restrict blood flow. The skin was not pinched, nor did you lose feeling in your leg as you would’ve if the twine was used as a makeshift tourniquet, however, your thigh still resisted against the band.

You haven’t cried yet, however, just with her eyes boring into your leg you feel as if you’re about to sob.

“Please don’t take it out. I don’t- I don’t want to have to do this anymore,” you begin to blubber, looking at Neteyam as you try to sit up.

“Shh, shh,” he placates, stroking your cheek. “It’s okay. I’m here, I promise I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“I’ve been hurting this whole time,” you groan, “what the hell have you been-”

Then, the last two people you want to see walk into the room: Norm and Max.

“I grabbed them as soon as I heard,” says Spider, following close behind.

“No. No, no, no. Get the hell away from me,” you say, instantly shooting up and trying your best to scoot away, even as Kiri still holds down your leg.

Neteyam says your name so sweetly, so full of fondness that a chill is sent up your spine—a chill that isn’t caused by the cooling medicine or a shock of pain. “He’s here to help.”

“I don’t want him here,” you spit, speaking Na’vi to the boy sitting beside you.

“We have no choice,” he reasons, his voice dropping an octave. “They will be much quicker with their equipment than with ours. I promise that my grandmother will heal and treat you, but we need their help to make sure that there’s no extra damage that is beyond what the eye can see.”

You shake your head, refusing to listen to him and averting your gaze.

His lithe fingers reach for your chin, turning you back towards him. There he goes again; always making you feel like the blushing fool, especially in front of his family.

“I will not let them hurt you.”

What a fucking liar.

Taking a team of three women plus Norm to hold your leg down, Max begins to lower his tweezers toward the piece of metal. With the first tug, you begin screaming. The pressure and the resistance between Max’s tweezers and the artificial shard against your tender skin and muscle caused your free leg to kick, hands tightening at your sides and clinging onto Neteyam. The fact that your whole body was tense, each muscle spasming, probably didn’t help what was already a difficult procedure.

“Damn, she’s strong,” Norm comments, adding more pressure in an attempt to hold your leg down. “Spider, help us out.”

You continue to sob, reaching for Neteyam to claw at his shoulder. If you’re hurting him or breaking skin, he doesn’t tell you. Instead, he cradles you as you cry against his leg. Ripping your hand from his, you squeeze his leg, nose pressed against his thigh to hide your face. There’s no guarantee that half of the clan hasn’t heard you by now, nor that a few people have poked their heads in to see who the hell was screaming so damn loud. You were well known. There’s no way anybody wouldn’t recognize that it was you who was being surgically tortured. However, if you could save some dignity by hiding yourself against Neteyam, you would do just that.

“I’m never letting them near my body again,” you weep, gripping tight to the blue skin beneath you.

Neteyam rakes his fingers through your hair, hands petting any inch of skin that has brought you comfort over the years. He knows you like the back of his hands. Playing with your hair puts you to sleep, rubbing his thumb across your cheek makes you keen, following the slope of your nose makes you smile, and touching your ear makes you quiet. Using this knowledge, Neteyam’s hands roam to any expanse of skin that he can reach. He must look mad, with busy fingers and frantic eyes, but he can’t help himself. His chest hurts when he sees you like this, and if he needs to kill someone to make you feel better, he’d gladly do that.

“It’s almost out. We’re almost done,” he assures you in a soft tone, getting close to your ear.

Your ears, which have been laying flat and folding over periodically finally perk up and away from your skull—a sense of relief. It’s quick-lived before they fall back against your hair, but he sees it as a small win.

“Can you dress it for me?” you plea, voice breaking painfully.

Who is he to deny you?

“All done!” Max cheers, placing the flat piece of shrapnel into an emesis basin.

The clang of the metal against metal causes you to abruptly sit up. Neteyam’s hand is on your shoulder, but for the first time, it’s not to push you back down. He lets you take your time viewing the sizable gash in your leg, an injury that without a doubt needs extra aid. You whimper at the sight, not necessarily at the pain, but because you knew what this means: you would be under strict supervision at the battle scene. You couldn’t be trusted to be alone, especially as you were a great friend of the Sully’s and Neteyam’s prospective mate.

Falling back into Neteyam, the cries you let out are softer but still cause your body to shake. Neteyam rubs his cheek against yours when you hide your face in his neck, tears causing the blue skin to become slick and tacky. He readjusts your top which has moved around during all of your painful squirming, protecting your modesty. The beads land softly against your shoulder, arms holding you snuggly against him. He tucks your hair behind your ear, giving him a view of the ear that is decorated with various pieces of Omaticaya jewelry. An orange bead, delicately dangling from your lobe, was a gift from him.

“It makes me feel wiser during battle,” you told him once before sending an arrow straight through the eye of a fish that swam around in the pond.

He touches it lightly, reminding you that everything is alright.

“No! She’s going to need stitches!” Tuk whimpers, a frown deeply set on her face. Even through your crying, Neteyam catches the faintest hint of a smile.

Mo’at begins to drip water over the wound, clearing away any blood that may have leaked down your leg despite the twine restricting your blood flow.

It’s silent besides Max, Norm, and Jake’s mumbling outside of the tent as Mo’at preps a needle and thread. Kiri, Neytiri, and Spider have since released your leg, observing you and the Tsahìk. Just as Mo’at blesses the needle and thread, Neteyam speaks up.

“I’ll do it.”

Mo’at looks at her grandson, her gaze strong but understanding. The white bone needle stays pinched between her two fingers, amber eyes unwavering.

“Neteyam, let your grandmother-“

“I said I’ll do it.” he hushes, lip curling in order to hide a scowl.

His mother looks at her own, a non-verbal communication occurring between their stares. Eventually, Neytiri acquiesces, standing up and taking a step away from you.

Mo’at hands him the needle, placing a worn but beautiful hand on your leg.

“Return here tomorrow so I can check on the wound,” she orders. You nod, eyes still teary before the older woman stands with her daughter, ready to move on to the other warriors who need their assistance.

Once his mother and grandmother leave, Neteyam grows restless.

“Everyone out, please.”

Kiri scoffs at him, still seated by your feet. “You can‘t be serious,”

“Out! Get out!” he hisses, fangs bared at his sister and the human boy beside her. “You have done nothing!”

“I wouldn’t call holding down her leg for nothing. I’ll have bruises for the next week,” Spider dismisses, standing up with Lo’ak, who is already headed towards the exit.

“Out!” he shouts one final time, his siblings leaving as his tail flicks back and forth with irritation.

It isn’t until they’re gone, that Neteyam leaves your right side, scrambling and pouncing over you in order to come in contact with your left leg.

The tent is silent as he begins his work. The process doesn’t hurt much, a gentle prick or pinch here and there; you’re not sure whether it’s because your nerves are shot and can’t detect pain anymore or because Neteyam is good at his work. It could be both. Before you know it, the wound is closed and a row of sutures stares back at you in a familiar Na’vi sewing pattern. The skin is even, nothing too uncomfortable, and although there’s bruising, it appears to be that everything will be okay.

You reach out to touch the stitches with a shaky hand, only to be slapped away. “Uh uh, don’t touch,” he tuts, eyes focused and mouth slightly ajar in concentration.

He grabs under your knee, bending it at the joint in order to prop it up so he can place a bandage over the sutures.

“To protect them,” he informs you, wrapping the gauze around your thigh.

He’s very quiet throughout, a reaction you were not expecting. Neteyam has always been logical, methodical; he never steps out of line or does something rash unless it’s for the means of protecting those he loves. Always quick to action, he’s usually the first to help and the first to reprimand someone (usually Lo’ak) for their stupidity. That would be the typical reaction. However, now he looked almost forlorn.

Once he’s done, he fully stands for the first time since you entered the tent. He begins to rummage through his grandmother’s remedies that sit in wooden jars and crystal vials, concoctions she’s mastered after years and years of being the Tsahìk. After selecting a small wooden bowl filled with clear oil, he grabs another bowl of water and a rag and sits down in front of you. Dabbing the rag in the bowl of water, he lifts the dripping cloth toward your face.

“What are you doing?”

He looks at you, eyes narrowing briefly before they return to their normal, large position.

“Your face is filthy.”

He gently holds your chin, tilting it up towards him so he can begin wiping your face. His hold is steady but his eyes look nerved, almost as if he has too much on his mind to bear. His breathing matches yours, and he dodges your gaze although his entire being crowds your line of sight. There’s no way for him to avoid you, really.

“What’s wrong?” you ask as he dips the rag and wrings out all of the water, approaching your face yet again.

“Nothing is wrong,” he replies curtly, his ears twitching quickly before returning to their previous state—a telltale sign that he’s lying.

“Oh, so you’re just going to pretend like I know nothing about you now?” you try to joke, smile falling when you notice how he doesn’t reciprocate your humor. “Talk to me,” you urge, grabbing his wrist so he can’t try to distract you or himself by caring for your wounds.

He sighs, looking away before he slowly looks back at you. Holding your gaze, eyes squinting and lips pursing slightly. Neteyam looks at you like you’re supposed to understand him–and you do–but it’s as if he’s expecting you to know what’s bothering him. However, the problem is that you don’t. Once he comes to that realization, he sighs, still looking into your eyes.

“I’m upset with you.”

And there it is. Your tail swishes uneasily, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by Neteyam, but he can’t bring himself to quell his emotions for your sake. He almost lost you.

“Why are you upset with me?”

He shrugs, almost as if he’s embarrassed or too shy to explain his feelings. Being the eldest son and the next heir, Neteyam often felt as if he had to hide his own inhibitions or concerns in order to be a good son, a good brother, a good leader. When it was just the two of you, you would often have to do a little extra prying in order to get him to reveal what was truly occupying that pretty little head of his. Even once he admitted it, it was even harder to get him to elaborate.

“Just drop it. You should be healing,” he dismisses, trying to distract himself by wiping your face again.

Pushing his wrist away with your fingers, you take the cloth and throw it into the bowl of water. Holding his hands on your lap, his tail swishing timidly behind him, you make him look at you by following his gaze. “I can talk and heal. The two aren’t mutually exclusive,”

“I wish they were,” he mutters, a braid swinging in front of his face.

“Hey,” you tuck the strand behind his ear. He leans towards your touch, almost as if he craves it, no matter how much he wishes he didn’t. “This isn’t how this works. You need to talk to me.”

“You’ve already been in enough pain today. I don’t want to cause anymore,”

“Quit the bullshit. I’m better now. I’ll feel worse if you don’t tell me.”

“That’s not the way it works.”

“Um, yes, it is.”

“It’s not.”

“How would you know? I can already feel my leg hurting ten times more now that you won’t communicate with me.”

“You’re not in any more pain because of me,” he scoffs, trying to escape your grasp.

“Ow, my leg! My leg!” you feign a whimper. He cracks a small smile, your cheeks spreading as smoothly as the war paint that still dons his face.

Neteyam looks so beautiful when he smiles. It’s a special smile, reserved only for you; it drips of sticky honey, so sugary that sometimes you feel as if you could fall ill from its adoration. He’s soft as he looks at you, coy and all things delightful. The hands that once tried to flee your own, now reach for your wrists, petting the skin in a pattern that speaks a million languages at once. And yet, somehow, not one of those languages can truly resemble how much he loves you. He loves you a lot.

“Please,” you whisper, “tell me what’s wrong?”

He sighs, assenting to your pleas. With one final sweep over your face, he finally indulges you.

“I’m not happy that you took down those ships.”

“Well, duh,” you scoff, rolling your eyes playfully. “I know that, but I want to know why.”

“You weren’t careful.”

This causes a richer scoff to form at the back of your throat, a sound that makes his ears press against his braids. “I thought we agreed to take down the enemy at any and all costs?”

“I know, and we did—we did make that agreement. I just,” he groans, trying to find the right words. Neteyam never had the right words when it came to expressing himself. “I was scared.”

“Okay,” you reply softly, shuffling closer to him. “Why were you scared?”

“Why wouldn’t I be scared?” he answers, tone mimicking the same quiet tone you used. “You’re mine—my girl, and- and they almost took what’s mine away from me.”

“God, I just got so scared that something bad would happen to you. And when I saw you hurt, how badly you were in pain, and I couldn’t do anything about it I just…” his eyes are frantic, searching all across the hut for something—anything—to provide him an answer. His hands start to tremor in your hold. “I felt helpless and so stupid. I should’ve been tougher on you, or—I don’t know—had Lo’ak or even Kiri stay with you so you didn’t have to be alone. And it’s not that I don’t think you’re incapable or anything—” he excuses, causing you to smile lightly, “—but I don’t trust them. I don‘t trust them with you.”

Smile turning watery, you reach for his shoulder, soon deciding to hold his face instead. He leans into your palm yet again, seeking the warmth that can only emanate from your hands alone. It’s the only warmth that can rid him of any chill.

Neteyam kisses your palm, soon rolling your hand over in his, placing his lips on each knuckle as if it provides him comfort. And it does. It provides him more comfort than he could care to admit. Placing your head in the crook where his neck and shoulder meet, you place a kiss on his collarbone, lowering your lips to place another on his pec, right above his heart. The young man draws in a deep breath, holding you close to him, savoring each second, each touch. Skin against skin; heart against heart.

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” you apologize, your soft lips grazing his blue skin. He loves the feeling. “I just wanted to protect our people.”

“I know, I know,” he murmurs against your forehead, a light kiss placed there. “I’m sorry for yelling.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t even yell,” you forgive, cheeks pillowing against his chest. When you lift yourself away from him, he tilts his head in confusion at your smirk. “Also, we both know Kiri would be awful on the battlefield.”

He chuckles, brushing his nose against yours. “True. She can’t even shoot an arrow in a straight line.”

“Exactly! I don’t know what you were thinking when you said that. Lo’ak? Sure, whatever. But Kiri?”

“I know, I know,” he agrees, voice growing softer as if his quietness will preserve this moment between you.

His eyes become velvet—smooth and warm—the longer he looks at you and it instantly makes you melt. His lips look saccharine, a buttery spread of a light smile decorating his face which is just the absolute cherry on top. If Eywa hadn’t taken you during battle, she sure as hell was going to take you now with how crazy Neteyam makes your heartbeat.

He tucks your hair behind your ear, his smile growing more and more with each expanse of skin he navigates. Dancing his fingertips over your jaw and across your cheekbones, he eventually cups your cheek and you just watch. If you breathe too hard, if you shift your weight, this moment could crumble. He’s looked at you like this many times before but it’s usually in the dark, under the bioluminescent blue and purple lights of the forest, where all you can see are the shadows of his face and the warmth of his tongue and the breeze of his breath. Now, you can see everything in pure, golden hues. The way his mouth relaxes, the way his eyes absorb all they can with each quick glance, the way the corner of his mouth tugs upwards unconsciously. You love it.

“May I kiss you?” he asks quietly, thumb swiping along a stripe on your cheek.

“Why do you ask now? You’ve done it many times before,” you wonder, eyes transfixed on the way his own mouth moves with each word he’s about to form.

He chuckles, a sweet, melodic sound, “Just wanted to make sure you’re still down even when the sun is out.”

This earns a loud laugh from you, a laugh that makes Neteyam’s heart squeeze and his lower stomach burn. He loves you. One day, he’ll say it.

Once your giggles have fizzled into a content sigh, you bite your lip lightly before you release it and it returns to its normal place. Neteyam follows the movement.

“I’m always down if it’s you.”

“Yeah?” he smiles, breathy and lips plush.

“Yeah.”

With that, he seals the deal. His kiss is soft, and you don’t miss the way his eyes dip to your mouth right before the initial contact. It makes you feel hot all over. He’s gentle—he always is at first—and he’s so, so kind. He pulls away briefly, returning not long after as if he needs to be connected to you or else he would suffer. In a way, he would.

Neteyam is sweet. He still tastes like the fruit you shared before the raid and also a little bit like blood—whether it’s from him or you, you don’t care; you’ll devour it desperately just like you want him to devour you. He traces that stripe on your cheek again, his new best friend, and follows it down the nape of your neck. His other hand trails up from the small of your back to the divot in between your shoulder blades. He uses his hand to pull you closer, seeking any contact from you that he can get.

Your hands are a barrier, shielding your chest from his, and in a way, it upsets you but also pleases you. Nobody knows what would happen if you could feel his chest pressed against yours at this moment—not even you know. Your hands glide across his chest, lighting scraping and molding against the fine muscle that hides under his smooth skin. When a lithe finger accidentally catches against a nipple, his mouth drops open pliantly, his tongue searching for yours.

“‘S scared they took my girl away from me,” he murmurs against your lips, his own following after yours after each word.

“Never,” you promise, kissing him firmly, one hand gripping his shoulder to ground yourself. All of this kissing was beginning to make you feel as if you could float away. “I’m yours. They could never take me or have me. You know that,”

“Mhm,” he hums, voice lilting towards the end as he presses his mouth to yours. It makes your back arch forward, seeking more of his skin, his touch.

His hands are growing desperate now. Neteyam knows he has to be gentle, avoiding the damaged skin on your back and remaining weary of the injuries on your rib and leg, but he so badly just wants to pull you close to him and never let go. He wants to hold you, to feel you, to be with you in every single way he can imagine so passionately. But he can’t. He will have to wait for another time.

You, on the other hand, may roam freely. Your hands travel down his chest, exploring the taught skin of his stomach. It seems he subconsciously flexes underneath your touch, something that is rather enticing. Reaching the plusher skin of his lower stomach, although there still isn’t much give, you trace the muscle gingerly, bordering right above the hem of his loincloth. The delicate touch of your fingers causes him to lightly moan into your mouth, a sound you gladly drink down just to feel its warmth in your stomach.

Neteyam pulls away suddenly, a loss you’re greatly upset about until he relocates his lips under your ear, traveling down your neck. He hums against the skin, tongue swiping against it as if he’s trying to taste as much of you as he can, as much as he’s allowed.

“You can’t touch me like that,” he says, using a hand to bring both of yours back toward his chest. You cradle his head instead, tracing a finger along his ear. It twitches.

“Why not?” you question, voice airy. Neteyam nearly preens at the sound, tail wild. “You seem to like it.”

“I do like it,” he insists, “I love it, even.”

“Then why can’t I touch you there?”

He places a wet, fervent kiss against the crook of your neck. Your breath hitches in your throat, a moan threatening to escape past your lips.

“Because,” another kiss, “You are not promised to me yet.”

“I just told you that I’m yours,” you reminded him.

“Yes,” he nods, trailing his kisses back toward your jaw. “However, you’re still not mine.”

Oh.

“I could be yours. All you have to do is ask,” you say as if it’s not something he already knows. You hold his head in place, halting his journey upwards so you can whisper in his ear: “Ask me, Neteyam.”

His tail swishes excitedly, something that makes you smile. Great Mother, you could eat him up.

“No,” he responds, pulling away and facing you head-on. He has a lovesick smile on his face, a grin that nobody could wipe off as long as you’re around. “I want to do it right.”

“Yeah?” you counter. “How would you do it?”

“Well,” he hums, kissing your lips. “First, I’d get all of your favorite foods. All of those fruits you like, season everything all nice,” he begins to slowly kiss your cheeks, “and get it all ready just for you to eat.”

“What else?”

“Then,” his kisses travel towards your ear, “Once you’re full and comfortable, we’ll go for a walk.” He bites your ear lobe and you press yourself against him. “We’ll go to our favorite spots: we’ll look at those flowers you like, go to the river, maybe swim a little. I like the way your hair looks while wet, you look so pretty,” he sighs. “You listening?”

“Yes,” you nod. “Go on.”

“Then I’d bring you to our sacred tree, just so Eywa can see us and I can see you under her light. I want to see you when I ask you. I want to see you if you smile or cry or decide that I’m not the one, I don’t care, I just want to see you,” he smiles, no longer kissing you but nudging your nose with his.

“And if you say yes—Great Mother, I hope you say yes—I promise, I’ll treat you so well. I’ll hold you the way you ask to be held, kiss you in all of the places I already know you love to be kissed, and learn all of the new places I can’t reach yet too. I want to feel you, and see the way you react. I want you to feel me, too. I want you to see me, and I want to see you,” he whispers, voicing each wish.

You nod, slowly and then desperately. “I want to see you, too,” you promise. He smiles that big, toothy smile. “Tell me when you’ll ask me? I can’t wait for much longer. I need you.”

His eyelids grow heavy, skin heating underneath your palm. “I need you, too,” he gasps, leaning forward to kiss you again. “It’ll be soon, just want you to heal for now.”

“Yeah?” you smile. “Soon?”

“Yeah,” he smiles. “Soon.”

#neteyam x reader #neteyam sully #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #neteyam x female reader #avatar #avatar: twow #avatar: the way of water #neteyam sully fluff #neteyam sully angst #neteyam sully x reader #atwow #atwow headcanons #atwow imagines #neteyam suli x reader #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan x reader

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sopebubbles · 1 year

Text

Four

Master list

Synopsis: in a world where alphas, betas, and omegas live along side modern humans as second class citizens, you've fallen through the cracks of a society that wants to take everything wonderful from you. Luckily a timely encounter with the boys just might save your life.

Chapter summary: the boys learn several uncomfortable things about you.

Warnings: nothing? that I can think of. Y'all know this shit is sad, but the pack is so comforting.

Wc: 4.5k

"Where are you going?" Jimin asked when he opened his eyes to find you only a few steps from the door.

You froze before pivoting on your toes. "Sorry. I was trying not to wake you," you answered in a nearly inaudible voice.

Jimin stretched his neck as he sat up. "I wasn't really sleeping. What are you doing?"

You relaxed onto your heels and looked around in confusion, as though you weren't sure yourself. "I was just feeling suffocated in the room and wanted some air. I thought I could step out without bothering anyone since you were all sleeping."

He started to ask if you were leaving, but then he swallowed his words. "We can go out to the backyard if you want to walk around a little," he said instead.

You nodded as an answer and walked toward him.

"You'll want this," he told you when you came near, grabbing Yoongi's hoodie off the arm of the couch. He had changed into it when he got home from work several hours ago, and had taken the time to carefully scent it with all the alphas before casually leaving it downstairs, as if by mistake. But Jimin knew better. "It's chilly out tonight."

You took the sweatshirt he offered you. You sniffed it and tugged it on with less hesitation than he expected. Maybe you knew what Yoongi had predicted: some comforts you just needed. You were still just in someone's shorts, but he figured you wouldn't be out too long. The beta moved a pair of slides by the door in front of you to slip your feet into before he held the door open for you. You smiled so softly at him that he felt his heart stop, over the moon at how easily you accepted his gentle way of caring for you, and he returned a smile back.

There wasn't much in the square patch of the backyard. Jimin watched your figure as you walked down the three steps to the sidewalk leading to the back gate. To the left of the door, in the corner, was a table with several chairs sitting on a slab of concrete. The rest of the yard was just grass, not yet needing a cut as spring had only just started. Hobi had been begging Jin to make a proper patio for everyone to enjoy since Jimin joined the pack four years ago, but Jin kept insisting they would move into a bigger house soon. When they had bought the house shortly after Kookie became an established member of their small pack, with considerable assistance from their families, they hadn't imagined their numbers would more than double in size, at least not without any pups of their own. A bigger house would be nice, of course, but there was something cozy to Jimin about stuffing the just slightly too small house to the brim with love.

Jimin sat on the top step and leaned his elbows on his knees, and his eyes followed you as you skirted along the fence. He could see you were still a bit shaky on your legs, and you seemed to be focused on putting one foot directly in front of the other.

"Where are you from, Y/N?"

Your head snapped to look at him with wide, startled eyes, as if you'd forgotten he was there. You stared at him a moment before you said, "Sorry, I don't remember your name."

He smiled again, softly. "I'm Jimin."

You nodded and began to walk along the fence line again, ignoring his question, so he asked another. "How long have you lived in the city?"

"What makes you think I'm not from here?"

It was your accent, a slight drawl on your words that you'd never quite managed to eliminate. Jimin shrugged. "Just a hunch."

You turned the corner at the back of the yard so you faced the house and looked up at the dark windows behind which his pack slept soundly. "How do you know about True Life?" you asked, clearly not wanting to give him the control of the conversation.

You weren't going to answer his questions, but at least you were talking to him, so he didn't mind answering. "I work at a shelter for teens, so I know about all the shelters in the area."

Your mouth made a soundless 'oh' as you continued along the fence toward the house. Jimin wondered if you were aware you were marking their property or if it was subconscious. Maybe you were claiming their space as your own. Maybe you were trying to draw in other alphas with your scent. Maybe you just had no idea what you were doing.

"How long have you been there?" He asked when you didn't say anything.

"A couple weeks." You shrugged and added a moment later, "I lost my second job and couldn't pay my rent and now I don't know what I'm going to do."

"I can help you find a job." Jimin perked up at being able to make the offer. "I know places in town that have no problem hiring omegas and who offer heat leave."

"I don't need heat leave, as long as I can afford the good pills," you told him. "I just ran out this month."

"The ones they gave you can cause long-term infertility," Jimin told you.

You snorted. "I don't care about that. I'm not ever having kids. I just didn't take them because they make my stomach hurt so bad." Jimin nodded his head and went silent for a moment as you continued tracing a path at the edge of the grass. "Is that what you do then? You help people get jobs?" You asked as you turned around and went back the other way.

"I'm a social worker. I help people get the things they need. Whether that's a job or school…or a pack." Jimin saw your back stiffen at the word, a minor hiccup in your pacing before you resumed. "Would that be something I could help you with?"

You turned the corner to walk across the back perimeter again, hiding your face in shadow. "I don't need a pack," you said quietly but firmly.

"Living on your own in the city can be really hard. Making ends meet, taking care of yourself. There are all kinds of packs. Not all are together for mating. Sometimes a pack can just be friends who care about you. When Taehyung came to us, he wasn't looking for partners, but family."

You sighed heavily at his words. "Your pack seems nice enough, but not all packs are like that. Everyone acts like packs are something you have to have, but not all packs mean safety. Shitty people don't stop being shitty just because they're pack."

Jimin's breath caught in his chest. Of course, he knew most packs weren't as good as his. And he knew that there were plenty of bad people out there, even Lykos. But he didn't like to imagine what could have happened to you to bring out such bitterness in your voice.

"But I'm sure someone like you wouldn't understand that," he heard you mutter under your breath.

Behind him, Jimin could hear the front door open on the other side of the house. It had to be Jungkook coming home from his shift. He heard the thick clunk of boots where he took them off by the door, and then nothing as the other beta moved with practiced stealthiness around the otherwise silent house.

Jimin didn't take offense at your assumptions of him. It was obvious enough that you spoke from a place of pain, and that was something Jimin could easily understand, and even empathize with. He rubbed his palms together and gathered his thoughts before speaking.

"My parents died when I was ten. My mom was sap, my dad was a beta, so we never had a pack. We never even had a normal family. After the accident, I lived in a series of group homes. Some were fine. Some were worse than others, but the one nice thing was being surrounded by other people like me. I met lots of people who had it worse than me. Kids who had been adopted only to be sent back when their new family didn't want them. Others who got kicked out of the group home when they presented and couldn't control their instincts. I was lucky because I was able to go from there to college without having to navigate those years all on my own. But after I graduated it was really difficult for me to live alone. Through some friends, I found out about a…collective of sorts, where young Lykos lived together. They weren't a pack per se but they were able to help each other out in ways like a pack. Resource sharing, budgeting, physical closeness. Like I said, it wasn't a pack bond, not like what we have here, but it was better than being all alone."

You had stopped at the other side of the fence and stood with your back against the wooden planks. He waited for you to say something, but he didn't expect the words you spoke next. "I would've guessed a pack would've wanted someone like you very early on."

Jimin's face heated, and he was glad you couldn't see it in the dark. "I'm not sure what you mean by that." Although by your tone it sounded like a compliment.

"I just mean that you're attractive and pleasant to be around. And doesn't everyone want betas in their pack? You're supposed to be stable and reliable, right?" You tilted your head to the right when you asked in a very endearing gesture.

Jimin cleared his throat. He could still feel the blush on his cheeks. "I was a late bloomer. For a while I thought I might actually turn out to just be sap like my mother. To this day, my scent is still fainter than anyone I've ever known. So I guess I'm not as attractive as you think."

You snorted again and pushed away from the fence. "If I had been you, I would've just pretended I was normal. You could live a perfectly ordinary life. Not like us freaks." You mumbled the end but Jimin wouldn't ignore it.

"There's nothing abnormal or freaky about who you are. And anyone who told you otherwise is just plain wrong. I chose this life because it belongs to me. Anyone who has made you feel like being alone is better doesn't know what they're missing, whether sap or Lykos."

You stopped in your tracks away from him and to his surprise, you turned to walk toward him. "I was born to God-knows-who, and the first thing my mother did with me was throw me in the garbage. Literally. And instead of leaving me be, some idiots hauled me out of the dumpster and gave me to a family who wanted nothing but a slave and who threw me out as soon as I got my first heat. Being alone isn't a choice for me, Jimin. It's just what I am."

Without waiting for a response you walked past him up the steps and into the house, letting the screen door slam behind you, causing him to jump. Jimin hung his head in his hands, applying pressure to his temples as he considered what you had said and his own stupidity. He knew better than to assume he knew anyone's story, or to tell people what he thought they needed instead of asking first. But something about you prevented him from thinking professionally.

Jungkook came home tired as ever. No, more tired than he'd been all week. He and his partner had been the first responders to an absolutely horrific scene of a murder. Although he spent most of his shift holding the police line, being the lowest man on the totem pole, it hadn't left him unaffected. As he pulled his feet from his shoes, he wanted nothing more than to plant himself face first on the closest soft surface and sleep for a day. He struggled clumsily with the buttons of his shirt, yanking the bottom free from his trousers before he fumbled with his belt buckle. He couldn't bring himself to climb the stairs to the pack's nest, so he shuffled to the spare room and left his clothes in a pile at the foot of the bed he now slept in more often than not. He kneeled on the bed in nothing but his boxers to crawl his way to the middle and sank into the warm space. The smells that greeted him were different but familiar. Hobi's sweet brown sugar was there, but faintly, hiding behind a saccharine apple. Jungkook registered the difference on some level, maybe even knew it was wrong to be there, but the scents were so comforting he couldn't help but melt into them. He pulled your pillow to his face and covered himself with the single blanket before he quickly fell asleep.

A loud bang had his eyes popping open. Alert to danger but still half asleep. Had he slept for hours or seconds? Moments later the door to the room closed harshly and the edge of bed dipped before a body collided with his. And then a scream. Jungkook scrambled off the bed for the light switch, nearly falling when his legs tangled in the blanket. After they turned on, Jimin appeared, throwing the door open to see what was wrong. All three of you breathed heavily as you looked at one another.

"What are you doing here?" You half screeched before the betas could say a word.

"Fuck! God. Y/N, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking." Jungkook sputtered, gasping. "I was just so exhausted that I forgot you were staying here. I sleep here a lot and I just…forgot."

Jungkook's chest caved in as he watched you shake in front of him. He had promised you safety and security, assured you that no one would bother you, but he was the first to trespass. Regret stole his words from his mouth, and you said nothing at all. He looked to Jimin for some kind of help, and luckily the other man was there to give it. He took Jungkook by the wrist and pulled him gently out of the room.

"Sorry, Y/N. Get some rest, and I'll check on you in the morning," he told you quietly. He reached for the light switch before closing the door.

"Leave it," you said, urgently, fearfully.

Jimin nodded and pulled the door shut. It clicked with finality.

"I'm sorry, hyung," Jungkook breathed out in the relative darkness of the hallway.

Jimin shushed him as he led the larger man to the living room. "Don't waste your breath apologizing to me, Kookie. It was an honest mistake. She's a little worked up, otherwise I'm sure she'd see that, too."

Jungkook stopped cold, making himself difficult to lead. "What happened? Why's she worked up?" He looked back over his shoulder toward your door.

"Jungkook, you look like you're going to keel over. Sit down for a minute," Jimin coaxed, guiding him to the couch. He sat and took the glass of water Jimin offered him, drinking without hesitation.

"Did something else happen?" he asked after draining the glass.

Jimin shrugged. "Not exactly. I don't know. We were just talking, and I might have said the wrong thing or at the wrong time. She just said some things…about herself." He sighed and reached out for Jungkook. Feeling the beta solidly beneath his hands always had a grounding effect. "Her troubles haven't started recently, Jungkook. I think maybe her whole life has been nothing but pain and trouble."

"I know," Jungkook said, sounding like he meant it concretely, not merely as a suspicion.

"Did you find something about her?"

Jungkook sagged against the couch and rubbed his face with his hands. "I did, but is it okay if we go through it tomorrow?"

Jimin smiled softly and ruffled his hair. "Of course, Kookie. I'll help you get upstairs so you can get some rest."

Jungkook yawned wide, stretching out his long arms. "I'll sleep here. You can go up."

"No, baby," Jimin shook his head.

"It's okay. I promise I won't bother her again."

"It's not about her, Kook. It's about you getting proper rest in the nest. Now."

Jungkook sighed. "I can't. I don't smell right after work. I don't want to ruin everyone's sleep."

Jimin's face crumpled. "Is that why you never come up anymore?" Jungkook nodded, eyes fixed on his knees. It's at least most of the truth. "Baby, no one cares. They'll get you smelling right in no time. C'mon, let's go."

Jimin pulled Jungkook like dead weight, but eventually got him to his feet. Jungkook was too tired to not let the smaller man bear his weight as they made their way up the stairs. When they got to the pack's bedroom, the door opened with a creak that Hoseok had been meaning to fix. The omega lifted his head from the bed in an attempt at alertness.

"Pup delivery," Jimin whispered, placing Jungkook gently on the edge of the nest. Hands from more than one person reached out to hold him and he was completely engulfed, snuggled in by his mates before Jimin closed the door once again.

Hobi could be nibbly in the morning. Jungkook had nearly forgotten about that. It had been a while since he had felt the omega's tongue lap at his scent gland, nudging him awake with his nose and gentle kisses.

"Morning, baby," Jungkook chuckled.

"Wakey, wakey," Hobi sang, though he was hardly awake himself, still feeling sleepy and far from ready to start the day.

"How did you sleep?" Jungkook asked conversationally as he carded his fingers through his omega's hair, keeping his voice low since he wasn't sure if the others were awake. The body on the other side of him—Yoongi probably—felt very still. Jungkook didn't know how he'd ended up in the middle of the nest, but he was pleased to be there.

Hoseok smiled against his shoulder. "So good, Kookie. I've missed you in the nest. I'll keep that girl here forever if it will make you sleep next to me every night."

Jungkook stiffened. Guilt for too many wrongs to count washed through him. But Hobi was quick to stroke a soothing hand down his chest. "I'm sorry," he choked out.

"Shh. I didn't say that to make you feel bad. I just love having you here. We've been together for so long that it doesn't feel quite right to have you missing. I feel like I wash the sheets twice as often because they don't smell the same without you," he chuckled. "But it's okay. I know you need space right now."

Jungkook pulled his mate tighter to him, inhaling the sweet scent from the top of his head. "I'll try not to be so distant. I know it isn't fair to you."

Hoseok shook his head. "I just want you to be happy, pup. But you don't seem very happy these days."

Yoongi shifted on his other side, wrapping an arm around his waist and nuzzling his other shoulder.

Jungkook hummed. "I'm happy right now."

"Now if only Jiminie were here this nest would be perfect," Hoseok mused.

"I'm here!" Jimin called from the hallway outside.

Hoseok lifted his head over Jungkook's chest. "Get your cute little butt in here then!"

Jimin didn't waste a second in following orders. He skipped to the bed where he was playfully pulled down to the mattress by a giggling Taehyung and squished into place between the alpha and Yoongi.

"Why were you out in the hallway, baby? Is everything okay downstairs?"

Jimin lifted himself up to hook his chin over Yoongi's shoulder. "Everything's…fine. I just missed you guys, and I thought I could do the job just as well from up here as down there," he admitted sheepishly.

"Was the door slamming and a scream last night real? Or did I dream about it?" Namjoon asked from the other side of the bed.

"Oh," Jungkook remembered. "I might have scared Y/N last night. On accident."

"After I made her upset, which is why she slammed the door," Jimin added.

Jin seemed suddenly aware, looking between the two betas with alert eyes. "How did you upset her?"

"I was trying to talk to her about the benefits of being in a pack. But I think I hit a nerve."

"How so?"

"She…she told me that she was abandoned as a newborn and adopted by saps who treated her horribly."

"And then I accidentally fell asleep in her bed and freaked her out."

Jin sat up, choosing for the moment to gloss over Jungkook's transgression to look at Jimin. "So she's basically always been alone?" Hoseok's hand found his, gripping him for comfort at such an unimaginable thought.

Jimin grimaced. "Not necessarily. Something she said last night stood out. I think she might have had a pack at one point. But based on what she said, it wasn't a good experience."

Hoseok tilted his head curiously. "What did she say?"

"She said bad people are still bad in packs, and packs aren't always safe," Jimin frowned.

Hoseok shuddered. "You might be onto something," Jungkook said.

Yoongi opened his eyes for the first time, though he'd been listening all along. "What did you find out?"

Jungkook cleared his throat but his voice came out nervously. "Before she came to this city, she served six months in a county jail in another state for solicitation."

"What?!" Several voices demanded, the whole nest suddenly in movement.

"A friend of mine who's on desk duty did some digging for me and found out she'd been arrested. In her testimony, she said that her alpha forced her to do it, but she pleaded guilty."

Hoseok thought he might actually throw up. He had heard stories on the news of omega sex workers before. Not just Lykos but even more often Sapiens would pay to have sex with omegas. But the thought that an alpha would do that to one they called their own chilled him to the bone.

Namjoon tugged his hands through his hair, his mind frantically trying to think of a way to make such an alpha pay for the crime. "Was the alpha arrested too?"

Jungkook shook his head. "She wouldn't give a name because she feared for her safety."

Jin's skin stretched painfully over his knuckles as he fisted the blanket. If his mother heard this she would use her family's considerable wealth and power to track down that alpha and make him suffer. Could he call in such a favor on your behalf?

Without a word, Taehyung got up and walked to the door.

"Tae, where are you going?" Jimin asked, anxious at the sudden loss of his mate.

"I don't want to hear anymore," Tae replied angrily.

"Sweetheart-"

"No. I don't want to hear any more about her from you. It feels wrong to know these things about her when she hasn't told me herself. It's an invasion of privacy and I won't listen."

"I'm sorry, Tae. I was just trying to figure out how we could help her," Jungkook defended himself.

Taehyung sighed, looking back at his lover. "I get that. And I want to help her, too. I just…ugh. I haven't even really seen her and I haven't gotten to talk to her. It feels weird for you to dig up information on her. It's like she's a character in a movie and not someone in our house. I don't know how to explain it but it makes me uncomfortable."

Jimin's heart melted. Taehyung's sensitive soul had a way of turning them all to mush. The beta slipped off the bed to wrap his arms around him. "Okay, alpha. No more digging, okay? Come back to bed. Don't be upset." Tae allowed himself to be pulled, always particularly sensitive to Jimin's coaxing. "Kookie won't do any more digging, right?" The maknae nodded. "Come back and let me cuddle you a little more, and then we can help Hobi get some breakfast going for her, okay?"

Taehyung followed Jimin back down into the nest with a pleased, boxy grin, wordlessly covering him with his body and nuzzling into his neck. While Jimin whispered sweet nothings into the youngest alpha's ear, the rest refocused their attention on Jungkook.

"Now, how did you end up in Y/N's nest?" Jin asked, appearing sterner than he ever was.

Jungkook blushed deeply. "I was an honest accident, hyung. I was just so tired and my feet carried me there. Jimin and Y/N were outside, so I didn't notice until she came back. Besides, it wasn't much of a nest. I usually sleep with more blankets than she had."

Hoseok frowned grumpily. He wondered if you would let him teach you. But it wasn't his most pressing issue in mind.

"What's wrong?" Jin asked, plucking a pouty lip.

Hobi turned to Jungkook once more. "I don't like that your first instinct is to go sleep in the other room." Jungkook opened his mouth to argue but Hobi wouldn't let him. "I know you have a long list of reasons why you do it, but I don't want to hear them. I don't care that you come home at 4 in the morning. You aren't bothering anyone. Do you think Jin and I sleep well knowing you're not here where you belong? I don't care if you come home smelling like the street and other people. I will make you smell like Jungkook again in no time. I'll make you smell like your pack. Unless you don't want your pack anymore. And if you're trying to pull away from us, then that's something we really need to talk about. Just be honest!"

A sad whine came from Jungkook's throat. Neither of them had expected those words to come out, though Hobi had been holding onto them for several weeks, only sharing them with Jin. "Hobi! I never want that. I never want to not be part of this pack. You're my home!" He whimpered, pulling the warm omega on top of him, forcing Yoongi to make way.

"Then act like it," Hobi mumbled into his chest.

"I will. I'll sleep here every night," he replied, holding his love close.

Hoseok smiled. At least that was one worry off the list.

A/n: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you thought in the comments and reblogs! They mean the world to me 💜

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jtl-fics · 1 year

Text

Fluent Freshman - Part 14

When Andrew came out of his bedroom to grab a second Allen wrench (he’s working on the frame of the dresser while Neil builds the drawers) he finds quite a few things to irritate him.

1st was the sound of his brother and his cousin arguing loudly. Andrew had been pretty clear that they needed to be quiet that morning but following Andrew’s clearly given guidelines was NEVER either of their strong suits.

2nd was the fact that there was a smell in the air that Andrew was unsure of. It wasn’t a bad smell. It didn’t smell like Nicky had left some component of the breakfast FF had bought to burn. Andrew sniffed the air again and…..lavender? It wasn’t really a smell that existed in the house of three college student boys.

3rd and most irritating was the fact that FF was not where Andrew had left him four hours ago on the couch. Again, Andrew had been pretty clear to both Nicky and Aaron that FF was to be left ALONE. FF hadn’t been able to go to sleep until Andrew had promised that nothing would happen to him while he slept.

He moves towards the kitchen table where Nicky and Aaron are eating some of the sour patch kids that FF had brought back as they argued, “He can’t be serious that Kate and I gross him out more than Andrew and Neil! I’ve seen how fast he walks away when they start getting gross.” He hears Aaron say.

“Aaron I have watched Smithy climb out a second story window because you and Katelyn started making out and he’d have to walk closer to you to go out the door.” Nicky returns. “I think you made him mad when you implied he was grossed out by Andrew and Neil. This is why I get spoon privileges and maybe, if Smithy is feeling forgiving, you can swipe your finger around the bowl.” he points at Aaron.

Andrew hangs back just out of sight.

He knows that FF does not like to be subjected to seeing PDA. A part of him feels…better at the confirmation that it really isn’t because him and Neil are both men. FF has seen them hold hands, kiss chastely, and lean on one another and been unbothered by that it was only when it started getting a little heated that they’d realize that FF had left. FF never makes a scene about it, never scoffs in disgust or squeals in delight he just seems to see where it’s going and will leave if he doesn’t want to see it.

It’s nice.

“Well he’s probably mad at you for waking him up. Andrew said to leave him alone.” Aaron returns.

“He needs breakfast! He also has to take his ulcer meds at the same time so he had to wake up and eat something. He can go back to sleep after!” Nicky defends.

Andrew scowls. Ok. Nicky could live if that was the reason he woke FF up. Still, why the hell is FF in the kitchen and more importantly what bowl and spoon are Aaron and Nicky arguing over?

Andrew tunes his family’s argument out and heads to the kitchen to find FF putting a baking dish into their oven while incense burned on the counter (Andrew now realizes that was the thin box that had been in with the rest of the candy)

He sees the bowl and spoon that Nicky had mentioned and more importantly he can see the chocolate brownie batter on them. Andrew walks over to the bowl and picks it up. He wipes his finger along the inside and…

He closes his eyes for a moment to savor the flavor of the batter. He leans against the counter and his hand brushes against….a five hour energy bottle. Andrew knows he had thrown out the two he had found in FF’s bags before (Ulcer + exhaustion + FF = bad he didn’t need to be a math major like Neil to understand that math.)

Andrew shoves the bottle in his sweatshirt pocket as FF turns around and stares at him passively. FF’s eyebrow’s raise slightly but there’s no other reaction. Andrew considers that, perhaps, FF had wanted to lick the bowl.

He offers the spoon instead knowing it is the better prize but FF is the one who bought the ingredients and mixed together this amazing batter, so he gets first dibs.

“That wouldn’t be good for my stomach.” He declines and Andrew wonders if FF had taken his meds yet or, in his tired state, he’s forgotten to.

“When did you wake up?” Andrew asks.

“Hour ago.”

He should go back to sleep after he takes his meds but also knows that FF probably won’t go to sleep until the brownies are done.

“I’ll make the pie tomorrow.” FF says and Andrew blinks out of his thoughts.

Andrew decides to go get FF’s meds for him. He’ll make it clear to FF later that the guy doesn’t HAVE to keep making amazing desserts as a thanks for being invited to Columbia. If FF just so happens to WANT to keep making amazing desserts then Andrew isn’t going to be the person that stops him.

He shoves the spoon in his mouth and heads out to go find Smith’s bag and his meds.

Aaron and Nicky see him and both let out outraged noises as their quarry had been stolen.

Andrew ignores them and gets to the bag by the couch.

Who the fuck just has 14 bottles of five hour energy sitting in their bag??

***

When Andrew handed FF his ulcer meds he could admit to feeling grateful even if Andrew had obviously gone through his bag to grab it. He swallows it dry because Andrew is standing by the sink and he knows that until Andrew eats a brownie he is not in a position to ask for favors big or small.

(He learned his lesson from that one time with Captain Neil. If he wants to do anything related to Russian he has to be in the safety of his lofted bed under the cover of night and the cover of his…covers while he reads via flashlight. He will not be caught so flat footed again! These are all necessary precautions!)

Andrew seems to very much want for FF to be in prime condition for the hunt. Part of him wonders if he’ll be released amongst other game animals and FF had never felt more jealous of the turkey who got pardoned by the president the day before. Why does that stupid bird get all the luck? Where’s his presidential pardon?

That grateful feeling evaporates into a dust cloud as Andrew lifts a plastic bag, “Stop drinking these.” Andrew hisses, “They’re going to make your ulcer worse.” He points at FF.

“I need them.” He says.

“For what?”

“Five hours of energy at a time.”

“Pull out the brownies and go back to sleep Smith.”

“They still have 10 minutes.”

“Then I’ll pull them out in 10 minutes.”

“There’s a final step that I have to do once they’re fresh out of the oven.”

“What is it.”

“Smith Family Baking secret. I don’t make the rules.” FF gestures towards where the incense continues to burn, “Great Gran’s recipe and methods cannot be shared with non-blood relatives. My mom wasn’t even let in on the secret.”

Thank god

Andrew glowers at him.

Oh God

“It’ll be just 20 more minutes.”

Andrew’s eyes narrow at him.

“They’ll be worth it.” He pleads.

Andrew rolls his eyes.

“Go to sleep when they’re done. Take Nicky’s room.” Andrew commands.

“Take Nicky’s what?” Nicky leans into the kitchen.

“Smith is going to go back to sleep on your bed.”

“Yeah you look like shit Smithy. Don’t worry, unlike Neil and Andrew’s bed mine is all safe.”

Nicky zips out of the kitchen with Andrew hot on his heels. Nicky really is a good friend.

He performs the sacred rites necessary upon the brownies when they come out of the oven and takes a small corner piece to taste test and -

He closes his eyes and clasps his hands together in prayer.

‘Thank you Great Gran.’ He prays earnestly.

‘Remember to wash behind your ears’ he thinks he hears a whisper of grandmotherly advice in return.

That was probably normal.

He extinguishes the incense.

He cuts up the brownies, finds a decently sized plate, and sets the brownies out on the counter before he starts to work on doing the dishes. Yeah Yeah he could have been cleaning while he waited for the brownies to cook! That’s what you always do right? Clean as you go?

Well have you ever been baking brownies that might be the difference between life and death? No? Well then FF is just going to have to stop you right there because he had the oven light on and his eyes GLUED to these fudgey squares.

Who knows what the cousins’ oven would do? He doesn’t know this oven. He and this oven are taking their first whirl together and it could decide to turn on him at any time. They don’t have the brotherhood that he and the oven at his Gran’s house have built over the years! This oven could be one of those ones that maintain their temperature by turning on the broiler! He felt like he could never again recklessly trust an oven after he tried to make crescent rolls in the Viking Oven at his step father’s house and had gotten them back blackened by the broiler.

That oven had been the SINGLE thing he had been excited about during the kitchen remodel which means naturally it was the thing that had betrayed him.

He lets himself think of all the ways he hates the Viking brand as he finishes the dishes and puts everything back to where they belong.

He walks out of the kitchen with the platter of brownies and sets them down on the table where Aaron and Nicky are sat. “Oh my god they smell amazing.” Nicky says and immediately his hand is shooting towards the plate and picking up a corner piece.

FF valiantly resists the urge to slap his and Aaron’s hands away. He needs these to compel Andrew into letting him live.

“Oh wow, those do smell good.” He hears Captain Neil’s voice and when FF turns around Captain Neil and Andrew are both there. It is only in that moment that he realizes that he should have bought some vanilla ice cream to go with these.

Andrew’s love of ice cream was not unknown, probably even infamous. He was the man who, during the summer training, had been so possessive over the soft serve machine in the cafeteria that anyone who wanted any had to ask Captain Neil to get them a bowl or risk being threatened.

He starts towards the door. At this point Target probably isn’t even that bad, probably just some irate people who didn’t come with the rush and are mad they missed out, maybe some officers talking to witnesses on who threw cast the first Wii remote, and workers who will hate him marginally less (unless he gets the same check out person and they remember him (unlikely))

His progress is arrested by a hand grabbing his hoodie.

“Where are you going?”

“I forgot Ice Cream.” And he could get a five hour energy to slam on the way back home.

He then finds himself being pulled down an unfamiliar hallway.

Ah, the anticipation had been killing him more than the fear of his demise. His brownies had not contained the requisite amount of grandmotherly love to save him he had been relying on extract (Great Gran’s spirit guiding his hands) instead of organic (he does not have grandchildren or children for that matter)

Maybe ice cream would have been the deciding factor? He’ll never know.

He closes his eyes and lets himself be dragged. He’s too tired to fight.

A door opens, and he finds himself sat on a bed.

Weird.

“You are falling asleep standing up. Go back to sleep. I’ll leave you at Eden’s if you fall asleep in the booth.” Andrew threatens.

What.

FF knows about Eden’s.

He has heard about it from Nicky trying to get him to agree to go but he’s pretty sure it’d be like introducing an Amazon rainforest frog to the Sahara desert in terms of survivability for him.

“We’re going to Eden’s tonight?” He manages to ask.

Andrew raises an eyebrow at him but answers, “Yes.”

“I’m not really interested in clubs. I don’t drink out in public or dance.”

“Neither does Neil. I just drink. We can stay in the booth.”

“I don’t want to interrupt your time with Captain Neil.”

“It’s fine, neither of us hate spending time with you.”

“I don’t have clothes for a place like that.”

“Nicky grabbed some for you. You’re coming tonight. Go to sleep.”

With that Andrew pulls Nicky’s curtains close, shuts off the light, and closes the door.

FF, always very much like a bird when placed into a suddenly dark environment, starts to feel some of the exceptional sleepiness that he’d been pushing off through sheer manic desperation to earn another day of life.

He lays down in Nicky’s bed and is tired enough that he can ignore the sheer amount of body glitter on the sheets (does Nicky excrete it like sweat??) and starts to let himself drift off to sleep.

Eden’s might be something completely out of his wheelhouse but-

A conversation with Nicky from when he’d been trying to get FF to go comes into his mind and he sits straight up in bed as Nicky’s words roll around in his head like stale hotdogs at a gas station.

“Eden’s is cool, even though there’s some sick shit in the basement.”

Eden’s is a Secondary Location with a BASEMENT.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

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#Fluent Freshman AU #Andrew heads back out to try one of those brownies #Aaron and Nicky are both looking to the sky #'what the fuck did he DO to these? I would know if there was drugs in them right?' Aaron asks #'Is it straight that I want to kiss his grandma's hand?' Nicky asks #'It's his great grandma's recipe so it'll have to be her grave' - Aaron #'Fuck it. I'll dig up her grave and kiss her skeleton hand. These are divinely inspired.' - Nicky #Andrew tries one #Neil saved him two corner pieces #This is why Andrew intends to spend his life with this man #It's perfect #It's not like box brownies where it's all sugar and sweetness #it's bitter it's sweet is that a note of....spice? it's complex. It makes Andrew want to get a shovel and help Nicky desecrate a grave #He'll get in on the skeleton hand kiss #Maybe he'll take Neil and FF to the really cool speakeasy in the basement of Edens #It's quieter down there which he thinks FF would like #He doesn't have to watch out for Kevin tonight either #That's a good plan #Nicky and Aaron can dance and Andrew can show his appreciation for good baked goods to his friend #Nicky is not allowed near the Speakeasy nor is he allowed to know about it because it's suppose to be a secret #Nicky's terrible at keeping secrets!#He couldn't keep one if his or someone else's life depended on it #So Nicky thinks it's a straight swingers club down there #Which he has zero interest in #AFTG #AFTG AU #AFTG OC #AFTG shitpost #FF - Pt. 14

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sserpente · 10 months

Text

A/N: Request from @hargrovesangel. Gods, I managed to write this in one freaking hour. Record time, seriously! We truly love jealous Billy, don't we?

Words: 1861 Warnings: jealous!Billy, violence, maybe hints of a toxic relationship?

It was already dark out when you stumbled across the trailer park, tears worsening your sight. One streetlamp, two streetlamps, three streetlamps… Eddie’s trailer came in sight. You sniffed, another sob echoing through the crisp air.

You knew that Wayne was at work already. You let out a sigh of relief when you spotted the light coming through the window of the living room. Eddie was home then, probably jamming away on his beloved guitar.

You rushed up the stairs, knocking as hard as you could. For a few seconds, it remained quiet, then, you could hear the footsteps nearing the door. When Eddie saw your tear-stricken face, his lips parted.

“Jesus H Christ, what happened?” You shook your head. Before you could utter a response, you were interrupted by another sob and threw yourself into his arms.

Eddie had been your best friend since middle school. He was quite literally your comfort person—and you always had each other’s back.

“We… we fought…” you choked out. Eddie held you tightly. This wasn’t the first time you were at his doorstep, crying over your relationship with Billy. And without fail, you argued over the same thing over and over again: Eddie Munson.

Billy was an impeccable lover. He was passionate and intense, he was protective and always looking out for you. It had taken him months to prove to you he was serious about you, that he liked you more than a fling and you were so in love with him it physically hurt. But he was also jealous. Unpredictable and dangerous.

He’d never been fond of the idea of your best friend being a guy, let alone someone like Eddie Munson. He’d promised he’d accepted it but the expression on your face whenever you told him you’d go and hang out with the town freak spoke volumes.

It was quite ironic that you were currently in Eddie’s arms.

“Come inside, sweetheart. Let’s get you warmed up, you’re ice cold.”

“Y-yeah, I walked here.”

“You walked?” Eddie’s eyes widened as he closed the door and led you over to the couch.

“Wanted to get away from him as quickly as possible,” you murmured.

“Shit… You want something to drink?”

“A… hot cocoa?” Eddie’s hot chocolate was the best in the world. Maybe it was the cheap and somehow charming sachets Wayne bought, maybe it was the way Eddie prepared it—he’d one day started replacing the spoon with a slim chocolate bar and it always lifted your mood.

Eddie nodded. He gave you a smile and went to heat up some milk in the microwave before he went to work. A few minutes of silence later, he returned with a mug that had the Iron Maiden logo on it and sat down with you. He loved that mug. He only let you use it when you were feeling down—just like right now. You took a sip, savouring the sweetness of the hot chocolate.

“So… what happened?”

“The same thing as always. Billy hates you, he doesn’t want me near you, he’s jealous. I just don’t know what to do anymore. I keep telling him that we’re just friends but it’s like he doesn’t want me to talk to any other man but him.”

“Oh, sweetheart…” Eddie pulled you close so your head was resting on his shoulder. You sniffed.

“Can I stay the night? I bet he’s on his way to my place right now but I just… I don’t wanna face him again tonight.”

“Of course you can. Do you want me to talk to him? I’ll talk to him. Tell him we’re just friends and that I don’t want to steal his girlfriend. Maybe even let him know about my crush on Chrissy to calm him down too?”

“No! No, don’t do that! You know how… aggressive he can get. I don’t want him to hurt you.”

Eddie tilted his head, clearly concerned—not for himself. For you.

“Let’s… can we watch a movie? I need a distraction.”

The metalhead sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, we can do that. But… listen… there’s something we need to do about this eventually.”

You gave him a small nod. “Tomorrow, okay?”

Eddie got up in defeat and walked over to the small TV. There was a messy pile of VHS tapes next to it. Eddie let his ringed finger glide over the titles. “How about Nightmare on Elm Street?”

You chuckled. Horror movies were your thing. Whenever a new one came out, you’d stock up on popcorn and watch it together. Right… Billy was jealous at that too even though you two regularly had movie nights together as well—the only difference was that those usually ended in fucking. One time, you’d even done it in the cinema. That’d been way hotter and more exciting than you had initially assumed.

You sighed. You already missed him—yet at the same time, you couldn’t bear being near him right now.

Eddie put on the movie and then returned to you. You cuddled up to him, allowing him to put his arm around you like he always did. It was then someone knocked on the door. Frantically. Loudly. As if they were about to punch through the wood any moment.

You froze, knowing exactly who it was.

“Open up, Munson, or I swear to god I will kick in the fucking door!” Billy roared.

Eddie and you looked at each other, contemplating. Neither of you had any doubt that he would do so. You bit your lower lip when Eddie got back up and opened the door with a deep breath. Billy stormed in, pushing him aside.

His chest was heaving as he barged into the living room, staring you down. You hadn’t been here long. He must have turned the streets into a racetrack on the way here.

“I fucking knew it. Of course you’d run straight into that freak’s arms.” His expression was murderous. You could practically feel his anger.

“Billy… please, calm down.”

He didn’t. Instead, he turned to Eddie who, with widened eyes, seemingly feverishly calculated his next move.

“Fucking bastard. I told you to stay away from my girl, Munson!” You flinched, jumping up when he grabbed him by the collar, shoving him against the wall. Eddie groaned.

“Billy! Billy, stop!”

“Woah, woah, listen, man, we didn’t…” He didn’t get any further. Billy’s fist connected with Eddie’s face. His head was forced aside, blood pooling on his lower lip. “I’m gonna show you what happens when you don’t do as I say. This shit has been going on for long enough.”

You stormed forward when Billy took another swing, catching his elbow only a second before he could throw another punch.

“Billy, please! Please, stop!”

Billy threw you a glance. He narrowed his eyes at you, panting, but kept his fist ready to hit Eddie yet again.

You swallowed. “Billy, if you touch him one more time, I’m breaking up with you.”

He scoffed but hesitated. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me. Touch him again and we’re done.”

Billy’s nostrils flared. He was on the verge of exploding with anger as he took another menacing step towards Eddie. “What did you tell her, Munson, huh? I’ll be damned if you take her from me. I love this girl more than I love my fucking self, alright? She’s mine. I’m not losing her to the town freak of all people!”

I love this girl more than I love my fucking self. You gasped for air, letting go of Billy’s arm. You turned his face to you, cupping his cheeks with your trembling palms.

“Billy. Please. Please stop,” you whispered, tears swimming in your eyes.

One second passed. Then another. Billy was still breathing heavily. You looked him deep in the eyes, begging him silently. And then, finally, he released Eddie who instantly took a step back along the wall, relief apparent on his face.

What happened next you would have never expected.

“I’m sorry…” Billy muttered.

Your lips parted. Never… Never ever beforehad he apologised to you for expressing his jealousy. You knew this was a big thing for Billy, an overcoming that took all of his willpower. He was trying to be better for you. You’d never expected him to change, hadn’t expected that you could change him because you had fallen in love with him with all of his flaws but this… this was huge. Slowly, you wrapped your arms around his middle, hugging him tightly. You closed your eyes when you felt him put his arms around you.

“Come back home with me. Please, doll.”

You took a shaky breath, looking up at him. “Billy… we can’t keep fighting about this. Eddie is my best friend. I’ve told you, times and times again that we’re just friends.”

“Yeah… and I’m into Chrissy Cunningham who currently doesn’t remember that I exist,” Eddie decided to throw in, pressing the ball of his thumb against his bleeding lip.

“Fuck, I’m jealous, alright? That what you wanna hear?”

“And I get that… but… you have to trust me when I tell you that there’s nothing between us, Billy. There never has been. I love you.”

Billy took a deep breath and pressed the side of your face against his chest, stroking your hair. You knew without seeing it that he was glaring at Eddie who cleared his throat.

“If I may interject, she always talks about you when we’re together. Like, all the time, man. She does love you.”

Billy stayed quiet for a moment. “Let’s get you home. Back to my place. Let me make it up to you, alright?”

“Promise me that this was the last time you lashed out because of this. Please, Billy.”

“Fine,” he spat. “I promise.”

“Then let’s go. Eddie… I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“You sure you two are gonna be okay?”

Billy narrowed his eyes at him. “You implying I’m gonna hurt her, Munson?”

“Just making sure she’s good with it, man.” His brown eyes were on you as he said that and he nodded as if to mutely ask the question yet again. You nodded as well.

Billy interlaced his fingers with yours, pulling you outside with him with gentle urgency. He led you to his car whose engine was still running. He opened the front passenger door and fastened your seatbelt for you. Once he was in the car with you, he breathed out so loudly it even drowned out the sounds of the rattling engine.

“My mom looked at my dad the exact same way you looked at me today. Begging him to stop hitting her… and me,” he suddenly said. “I’m sorry,” he repeated then. It was the moment you saw it for the first time since you got together. The open wound eating away at his heart, the scars that he was so desperate to hide from the rest of the world… except you.

“I already lost one important woman in my life. I’m not gonna lose another.”

“It’s alright, Billy. You won’t lose me.” You reached for his hand. You’d get through this somehow. Together.

A/N: Check out my blog for more Imagines and my original novels! ♥

#billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove #billy hargrove x female reader #stranger things #stranger things imagine #dacre montgomery

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gojou-violin · 2 years

Text

perfect timing

☽ 𝒦𝐼𝒩𝒦𝒯𝒪𝐵𝐸𝑅 𝒲𝐸𝐸𝒦 𝒯𝒲𝒪 ☾

| pairing: alpha!shoto x fem!omega!reader x alpha!bakugo

| warnings: 18+ MDNI a/b/o, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, double penetration, mild temperature play, breeding kink, knotting.

| wc: 4.9k

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It felt normal at first… Like any other day when I was bored around the house with nothing to do and nowhere to go, I decided to clean. Simple as that. Cleaning. Lots… Lots of cleaning. I thought that maybe it was because I was bored or stressed because I started first thing in the morning and continued throughout the entire day without so much as taking a break for lunch or to put my feet up for a bit. Every time I thought I was done, I turned into a new room of the apartment and found something else that needed to be cleaned. Dishes in the kitchen, clothes that needed to be thrown into the laundry, shelves that needed to be dusted, trophies and picture frames that needed to be polished. After I had done all of that, I swore there was nothing else to do until the laundry was done.

The boys came home earlier than I expected. When they left in the morning, they kissed me as I groggily told them to be safe and they said they’d be back later sometime after dinner. Instead, they came home around 3PM. They caught me sitting on the bed in my pajamas, my favorite pillows tucked around me, my blanket over my crisscrossed legs, the laundry in front of me in a large pile that I was working on folding up neatly one article at a time.

Shoto was the one to point it out. He scrunched his nose, sniffing noticeably, and hissed, “I thought we agreed you’d call whenever you started your heats.”

I laughed at him. “I haven’t started—”

Bakugo had to run out of the room suddenly, causing me to freeze and look up at Shoto. Now that the door was open, I could tell that there was a difference between the air I had been surrounded by for about an hour or so compared to the air out in the hallway and the rest of the apartment. Hell, there was even a third scent being thrown into the mix now that Kacchan and Shoto were home.

“You’re supposed to call when you start your rut!” I hissed back at him.

He threw his hands up in defeat. “We tried, but it looks like someone was too busy making a nest on the bed to pick up the phone!”

I looked around myself for a split second, realizing that what he was saying was right. I’d been giving off more scents than I realized for who knew how long, and I’d been cleaning to make the apartment perfect, and I’d snuggled myself up on the bed with my favorite things, including their clothes. It was just innocent cleaning at one point… Wasn’t it?

Shoto’s hands clenched and his stance changed like he was trying to hold himself back. An omega in heat, an Alpha in rut, it was supposed to be the perfect combination, but the three of us never had to deal with it before. Whenever I was starting my heats, I could tell days in advance, giving us enough time to prep. The boys would let me set up my nest wherever I wanted in the apartment, they’d call their respective Pro-Hero companies to let them know that at least one of them had to be at home at all times to watch over me, which meant their schedules were fucked up; and they’d take inhibators to make sure they had some kind of self control while I suffered because sometimes I didn’t want to mate, and that was alright, but their Alpha instincts were stronger than them sometimes. And whenever they’d start their ruts, it was always at different times, so one of them would have to leave the house altogether or else it would start a war, meanwhile I basically was glued to the bed for however many days it took because the two of them were like wild animals when they were in rut. They had to fuck me and fill me up or else they would go insane. What we didn’t account for was our unexpected heats and ruts to align…

“Kacchan started this morning without warning,” Shoto explained. “He tried to take inhibitors when I told him he was starting to trigger mine.” He did his best to hold his breath while he explained, “But it was too late… By the time he’d calmed down, I started, too, and we had to come home.”

So that was why they were back early. And that was why Kacchan left the room suddenly. Out of the two of them, Bakugo was obviously the one less capable of self-restraint. Honestly, Shoto’s ruts were the easiest because he got protective and horny for about two days before he was done, which meant that I just needed to fuck him a few times and he felt better. But Kacchan… The poor thing’s ruts lasted anywhere between five to seven days, and he was needy all the time. There were no breaks when I was with him. He tried his best to hide from me during his ruts because he didn’t want to subject me to being stuck on his knot for a week, but he’d always go back on his own promise, hunting me down in the apartment to breed me the second he laid eyes on me. Out of the two of them, Bakugo was the more protective one, too. He got violent during his ruts. If I mentioned Shoto, or if I was even caught texting him, or if I happened to be watching TV and stared at an Alpha on screen a second too long, Kacchan would get upset. Not with me, though. He never got upset with me. If Shoto was the issue, he’d try to fight Shoto— Which was why they always had to separate during their ruts now. If it was something online or otherwise, Bakugo would try to his ignore his anger by fucking me, to prove that I was his.

“Sho…” I croaked, scared. “What do we do?”

He released his breath. I could see from my spot on the bed that his entire body was shaking now, a brave attempt to keep himself away from me as I was pouting at him, a scared omega in the middle of heat who needed an Alpha to make everything right.

“Baby…” he whispered through a raspy breath, “we gotta get your scent under control first…”

“I can’t,” I whined. I didn’t know how. I didn’t even know I was doing it. I didn’t know when it would stop! I started to panic, which only made things worse, forcing Shoto to expel more of his pheromones, too, in an attempt to calm me down.

“You gotta try for me, baby—”

“I can’t take it anymore!” Kacchan stormed into the room. “I can smell it all the way down the hall!” He scrambled onto the bed while Shoto tried to hold them both back. “I have to—”

“You can’t! It’s their nest!”

“I can’t help it—”

“You have to, Kacchan!”

They both fell onto the ground and started wrestling while growling at each other like Alphas did when they were protecting their omegas. They each thought they were in the right. Shoto was doing his best to guard me because I was in my nest, my safe place; Meanwhile, Bakugo was trying to help us both get through how much we needed each other, even if it meant jumping into my nest. Both of them were giving off too many pheromones in the process. Anger, defense, lust, it all swarmed to the point that I began to panic further. I knew that they could then smell me because they stopped within an instant, forgetting about why they were fighting in the first place, then they ran to my aid. Their omega was upset. I’d spent all day cleaning for them, making everything perfect, and I just wanted everything to be okay—

Bakugo caught me off guard by smothering me in a hug that made me fall back against the mattress. Only seconds ago had he been so feral that he would have done anything to have me; but now he was so caring. He just wanted to make me feel better. I could smell his worry on him, and I could feel by how he was strangling me in his arms that he wanted to make sure that I was alright and that I felt safe and protected.

I relaxed once he and Shoto had me in their arms.

“What do we do?” I asked one more time.

Bakugo nuzzled me with his nose, a dare to see if he could last long enough to not scent me. “I’ll leave for a couple of days so that Todoroki can watch over you.” He seemed so tranquil now that we were all on the bed.

“What about you—”

“It’ll be fine, baby.” He kept nuzzling me, almost like he was trying to find a way to get inside of my skin because he was so desperate for more and all of me that just having me wrapped in his arms wasn’t enough.

“We’ll figure something out,” Shoto whispered calmly.

The smell in the room started to change again, my head clouding up with thoughts and ideas of them both in the bed with me, holding me, kissing me, touching me, fucking me. It seemed that even though Kacchan had calmed down, they were both still incapable of preventing their ruts from taking over their natural senses, which allowed me to smell just how desperate they were. Could they smell it on me, too? Did they know that I was thinking then and there that I would have been fine if we all said "'fuck it" and stayed in bed until my heat and their ruts were over? Could they smell how I melted at the thought of being stuck on the bed for days, pinned under them, my legs pressed up against my chest as they knotted me. Did they know that I was practically dying to be filled up to be reminded that I was theirs?

“You smell so fucking good,” Kacchan cooed in my ear.

Yes, they did know. It was too obvious for them to ignore me, the same way it was too hard for me to not acknowledge the fact that they were both grinding against my thighs now to get some kind of relief.

“Kacc… Kacchan…” I whimpered.

“Fuck—”

Within an instant, Bakugo was scenting my right side. He found the gland so easily so that his attack could go smoothly while Shoto reached for my hands and decided it was best to pin them at my sides before he began to scent my left side. I moaned between them. I couldn’t remember the last time they had both scented me at the same time. There had been over a dozen instances where they were using me at the same time and took turns scenting, but it felt so overwhelming and unfamiliar to have them both nibbling around my neck and jawline just to get my body to release a smell that said, “I’m yours. Only yours. Take me however you want me!”

“I’ve gotta have you, baby, please,” Bakugo pleaded with me. “Please.”

I nodded vigorously while reaching up for their hair, tugging gently to make sure they kept touching me because if they ever stopped I feared I would die. Even though they were in my nest, a place that Shoto always tried his very best to respect and not enter, I could tell that they both threw out every bit of reason they had left the second I bucked up underneath them, signaling that I needed them as much as they needed me. Besides, in theory, my nest was the best place to do it. That was what they always said in health classes at school. “Typically, when Alphas and omegas are ready to mate for the sake of breeding specifically, they will do so in the omega’s nest. These days, this will only happen with the omega’s consent; but way back in the day, Alphas would force their way into the omega’s nest to breed them.”

We had been too fucking young then to learn that type of shit— But I was beginning to appreciate the knowledge now while Bakugo was clawing to get my pants off and Shoto was carefully unbuttoning my shirt because he didn’t want to ruin anything that I’d likely have to fix later myself. To hell with reason. To hell with making up a plan that included sending Bakugo away to deal with his rut alone! I was right there! I needed them, too! Fuck, I needed them just as much as they needed me!

“Please— Something— Anything!” I begged breathlessly.

Shoto reached down to press his thumb against my clit as Kacchan desperately kicked his own pants off because he was straining too much in the tight confines of his clothes. When he was back on top of me, he joined Shoto in the effort to kill me with pleasure by sliding his middle finger inside of me and curling it without warning. I clenched down around his digit. It wasn’t enough. If he was going to tease me, the least he could have done was give me another finger to make me feel more, because we all knew what we really needed. They needed to be inside of me, and I needed to be filled.

“Don’t tease,” I continued to plead.

Shoto kissed my lips to calm me down.

Bakugo added another finger and explained, “We’re not teasing, baby, we’re just taking our time getting you ready.”

“We don’t want to hurt you,” Shoto added.

I shook my head. “I need you now— I don’t care if it hurts!”

They both started leaving gentle kisses everywhere across my body. Despite what I was screaming while tears were pricking at the corner of my eyes, they still had enough awareness to recognize that it was the omega inside of me making bad choices, so it was their duty as my Alphas to make sure that no one actually hurt me, even though I thought it was alright. It wasn’t alright. Whatever it was that they had on their minds, there was a good reason for them to be taking their time to ensure that Kacchan did a good job of loosening me up while Shoto worked my clit faster to get me towards an orgasm.

Warmth brewed inside of me and nearly felt like it was burning the skin on my hips, too, thanks to Bakugo who was thrusting his fingers in and out of me with one hand while holding onto me for dear life to make sure I didn’t squirm away. It was too hot. I felt like I was overheating under both of them and with Bakugo’s Quirk heating up unintentionally. But it didn’t matter. I was near the edge, just about to tip over, and all that made sense was to wriggle around and kiss Shoto as I discovered euphoria. My body shook as I came. My legs and my arms were too weak to hold me up or push Bakugo and Shoto away from me, so I had to lay there and take it as it got so hot I began to sweat while they were overstimulating me for the sake of hearing me whine and beg them for mercy.

“You’re gonna kill them if you do that—” Shoto warned, snatching Kacchan’s hand away finally. I slumped with a deep breath. “You’re too hot, darling.” As he finished abusing my swollen clit, he used his Quirk to cool me down, wiping the sweat off my forehead with kisses that followed his touch.

“I’m sorry,” Bakugo pouted half-heartedly.

He wasn’t sorry for jumping into bed or for instigating everything or for letting his Quirk help me through my orgasm. No, no, he wasn’t sorry for anything that made me feel good. He was, however, sorry that he’d gone too far without realizing it; and he was sorry because he didn’t want to risk losing the opportunity to finally fuck me.

“I won’t do it again.”

That was his reassurance to me and Shoto so that we didn’t have to stop.

“I just need you so fucking bad—” He invited himself to touch me again by kissing my collarbone as he settled between my legs, the tip of his erection pressing against my sensitive clit.

“You’re not being…” My train of thought began to drift as Shoto laid down next to me and rolled me onto him. “You’re not being fair to Sho, Kacchan…” My back was now pressed against Shoto’s clothed chest, my ass resting just above his pelvis because Bakugo was working to yank Shoto’s pants down. “I’ll get too tired if- if you…” I was too distracted to keep coming up with excuses anymore.

They were both hard against me now. Shoto was under me, his cock dripping precum onto my thigh, meanwhile Bakugo was hovering closer above me, his cock drifting down towards my entrance.

“I can play fair, baby, don’t you worry,” Bakugo said wickedly. “Just need you to relax and let your Alphas take care of you. Can you do that, baby? Can you let us make you feel good?”

I nodded while whimpering between them.

“Such a good omega for us…”

As Bakugo used his hand to line himself up perfectly with my entrance, Shoto was scenting my neck again to keep me calm and loose, a willing, immobile participant in whatever ideas they had running through their minds. I was their good omega. The praise was going to my head too much— Their good omega. I could be good! I could be perfect! I could be all theirs if they would just—

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I groaned, grabbing onto Kacchan’s shoulders.

He was so big… It must have been the fact that he was in rut because he felt bigger and warmer than usual. Part of me felt like I wouldn’t be able to take it, so I squirmed and complained with high pitched whimpers, but he held me steady with hands on my hips so that he could slide into me inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt, filling me up so perfectly I forgot about the whole world around me. All that mattered now was him. I needed him to fuck me. I needed him to fill me. I needed him to—

“Just stay relaxed, baby, okay?” Shoto whispered in my ear.

I nodded even though I wasn’t really sure what was about to happen.

“You wanna feel really full, don’t you, baby? That’s what you said, right?” Bakugo questioned, running his fingers through my hair. When I nodded again, he smiled. “And you wanna let your Alphas breed you to make us feel better during our ruts, right?” I nodded with more enthusiasm. “Good. Good. You’ll do great for us.”

A gasp escaped me as I felt Shoto lining himself up with my entrance, too, his cock probing the limited space there was next to Kacchan’s already sizable length. Two Alphas in rut wanted to be inside of me, at the same time?! I panicked again. They held me steady while I thrashed around until Bakugo’s cock hit a spot deep inside of me that made me go limp again and moan submissively. The two of them… They wouldn’t fit… It wasn’t that I was opposed to the idea or wanted to stop. In fact, I wanted them to try, even if it hurt, even if I squirmed and cried, because deep down, despite the fact that I was scared, I knew that it would relieve the desperate ache I had to be filled, stretched, and destroyed by them. My Alphas. They would take care of me. They would look after me. Nothing would happen to me so long as I was still in Shoto’s arms as Kacchan tried to find a way to make both of them fit.

“Oh, fuck—” Shoto hissed. Bakugo found an entry point that got Sho’s tip in next to Bakugo’s length.

I grabbed harder onto the sturdy shoulders above me. It hurt so bad… They had made me cum in the hopes that it would loosen me up, but that was only worth so much when Kacchan already took up all the room I had to give. The truth of the matter was, it was just going to take time. We were all patient. Once the tip was in, it was just a bit more of a stretch from there, and once he was settled inside, I knew that everything would be okay… I just had to trust my Alphas—

“Sho!” I moaned, throwing my head back into the crook of his neck, tensing my whole body in response to the way he started sliding in without any warning.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry…” he apologized sincerely. “I couldn’t help it. I’m sorry.”

I felt him straining under me to hesitate to give me time to breathe, relax and adjust; but it was hard for all of us to stay still and wait while Bakugo was getting jittery and Shoto was giving off a scent that begged me to let him fuck me no matter what happened. I thought we were patient. What happened?

“Do it,” I begged. “Just go—”

He did as I asked, pushing slowly into me a bit more while scenting my neck to make sure that I was okay and that I was like puddy in both of their arms. The stretch felt unbearable at times. I thought that I was going to break in two. But Shoto would have pulled out if he thought I couldn’t have taken it, and Bakugo would have scratched out the other Alpha’s eyes if he thought I was being hurt. Truth was, I loved it. I loved the sting, the stretch, the way they both fit in me to complete the desire I had to be unimaginably stuffed. I felt the urges of my heat begin to cheer in my heart. I was happy— Ecstatic, even.

“Thank you...”

“You’re welcome, baby,” Shoto whispered.

“I gotta move,” Bakugo complained while his knuckles were turning white due to the grip he had on my hips. “I gotta, baby. Fuck, I gotta—” He pulled back lightly before snapping his hips forward.

Shoto and I moaned in unison.

It felt strange having both of them inside of me. I could feel their tips bottoming out inside of me simultaneously, their shafts were so girthy that they were constantly stretching my walls to mold to fit them, and I could feel them both twitching from the friction they got from rubbing against each other when they both started fucking into me like wild animals. I was tight on my own… Unbearably tight sometimes, according to Bakugo; I couldn’t even begin to imagine what it felt like for them to be crowded in there. It must have felt amazing because Bakugo of all people was screwing his eyes shut while moaning pathetically into my neck. I’d never seen him so broken before. I’d never heard him be so lewd. Usually, he liked to grunt and tell me that I was a good omega, his good omega, or something along those lines, all while telling Shoto what he could be doing better if he were fucking my mouth or sitting to the side and scenting me. Bakugo was never speechless.

“I can’t—” he gasped. Suddenly, he was burning up again, his skin nearly simmering mine until I hissed and Shoto reached for my hips and started to cool me down. “Fuck, you’re too cold, Icy-Hot.”

“You’re too warm, Kacchan,” Shoto moaned.

My eyes rolled to the back of my head from being so overwhelmed. Both of their chests that I was sandwiched between were so warm, yet their hands told a different story. Part of me was burning up, the other was shivering from excitement and a hint of freezing. They weren’t going to hurt me. They just wanted to mess with me.

“You think you can take our knots, baby?” Bakugo questioned with a smirk he was forcing on his face to prevent us from seeing just how much he had broken down in the midst of salving his rut.

I nodded. “Please,” I whined. “Please—”

They both started working faster without a second thought or any kind of communication to one another. Shoto’s arms were wrapped around my waist to hold me down against him to keep me steady while he bucked up, meeting Bakugo’s thrusts as he was fucking down into me, his hands still on my hips, both of them still using their Quirks on my body to drive me crazy. In that moment, I thought to myself that I could live like that forever. Squished between them, completely at their will, working towards my own orgasm as they raced to be the one who knotted me first because who knew if both of them could fit in me at the same time.

“Have to breed you, baby—” Shoto panted in my ear. “You want that?”

I nodded.

“Gonna put our pups in you—” Bakugo egged on.

“We’ll do this every time you’re in heat—”

“Because you deserve it! Fuck!”

Bakugo was the first to fuck me faster as he hit his peak, then stilled as he came inside of me, giving me everything he had to offer during his pent up rut. He scented me one last time as he filled me up. It was the final moment where he could mark me as his omega in multiple ways at once. Meanwhile, Shoto held out for a second longer so that he could rub my sensitive clit again until I was near the edge, too. I knew that he wanted to make me cum with him. It worked. As I tipped over, I squeezed desperately around both of their lengths, twitching and squirming between their stiff bodies. Bakugo hissed at the overstimulation— It was enough to give me his knot, however. It popped through my entrance and into me to hold his cum right where it belonged. Shoto came inside of me with a pathetic moan that he hid in my neck as he scented me. The knot beside his own was too much to bear for him. It was too crowded. It was too tight. It felt too fucking good.

I cried as their knots plugged me.

They both cooed me like I was an upset pet who needed comfort from its owner. I didn’t mind. I enjoyed the way Bakugo collapsed onto my chest with his face still buried in my neck so that he could soak up my scent that he was so in love with; and I loved the way Shoto ran his cold fingers through my hair in an attempt to get me to relax after how much work I’d put in just to take them both during their ruts. I would have do it again, there was no doubt about it, but… It hurt. Now that my clouded mind was clearing up, I had enough sense to tell myself that I’d never be able to take them both like that at the same time ever again, even if we desperately tried. I supposed it was perfect timing, then. My heat started at the same time as their ruts. What were the odds of that?

I ran my fingers through Bakugo’s blonde hair to mimic Shoto’s soothing touch on me. “Feeling better?”

Bakugo nipped at my neck to play with me. “Don’t tease me right now, omega. I could break you if you’re mean.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Shoto warned, also being playful, before he leaned over my shoulder to kiss Bakugo.

I kissed their cheeks before melting into them. “Wake me up when you’re done.”

Their knots were still strong, and knowing them, especially during their ruts, they could stay stiff for a while, something I had to learn to deal with since we first mated. They liked it when I fell asleep with them still inside of me— Shoto tried to explain it to me once. He said that it was an Alpha urge that tugged at his heart whenever I was snug on his knot and felt safe enough with him to fall asleep in his arms, that I trusted him enough to take care of me like that. And I didn’t half mind falling asleep either when my eyes always got too heavy to keep open during my heats. When they inevitably calmed down every time, they always just slid out of me carefully to not wake me, and then they’d clean me up and look after me like any good Alpha would; but with both of them, I knew that there was no way they’d be able to sort it out themselves. They’d have to wake me up to warn me that I’d feel unbearably empty soon.

“You did so well for us, baby,” Shoto praised me. “Such a good omega.” He kissed my cheek before he slumped against the bed. “Get some rest for us.”

There was another smirk on Bakugo’s face that told me he might wake me for something besides pulling out of me, to which I returned a look that said he could fuck Shoto instead. We both smiled and kissed.

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dollygirl808 · 5 months

Text

Ch 1 of A Helping Paw

Obsessive! Werewolf/Weredog 141(+extra) x Chubby! OC Freya

Freya was just trying to have a nice, relaxing getaway vacation with her boyfriend to her old childhood home, to get away from the loud, crowded city, when a big, kind of obsessive dog quite literally forced his way onto her lap and into her life. All of a sudden, there's a second dog. Then another, and another, until suddenly she found herself with a whole pack of dogs! Little does she know, they're all werewolves, not real dogs, and they're all a little (lot) in love with her.

Masterlist

Freya breathed in the crisp, fresh air of the back country as she settled in the handmade wooden bench swing, thick legs tucked under her and curled up in what was probably a real furred blanket, thermos cup sat in her lap and a book held in her hands. She was finally going to get around to reading the book she brought with her, a collection of spicy monster stories to pass the time.

It only took her a week and a half to open the thing, already over halfway done with her getaway vacation, that she was supposed to spend the majority of time being with her boyfriend, Jake.

Of course, he had to complain about it being too cold even though it was technically summer and wasn't even snowing, and then he got sick and acted like the world was ending. Even though it was more likely just sinuses acting up due to the pressure changes, and he was only sick for three days.

They had a couple of cute date nights, one even in town at the most adorable little seafood restaurant by the lake, another out shopping for cute memories and little knickknacks, and another inside watching an old movie she loved as a kid on the nice big wall-mounted TV in the living room, eating popcorn and deer jerky and local-made beer.

It had been really fun, in between all of their bickering little spouts where he nitpicked and insulted her childhood home, where she grew up with her parents and grandfather, pointing out all the small little differences and imperfect coloring in the wooden beams, all fit together by hand by her grandfather and great-grandfather.

But she wasn't here to fight, she was here to relax and get away from the stresses of the big city, clear her mind and get ride of her writers block.

So she sank into her book, gets a good thirty pages in before the sound of rustling leaves had her looking up, and spotting a massive, chocolate brown dog standing just outside of the treeline, striking baby blue eyes standing out against the fur.

She can't tell if it's some sort of wolf dog hybrid or maybe just an all brown German shepherd, albeit a massive one. Perhaps a wolf German shepherd hybrid? She blinked at the dog curiously, setting down her book, and it broke eye contact first, glancing down as it sniffed at the grass.

It just sort of lingered in the area, nosing around the grass and occasionally glancing up at her, fluffy brown ears perked foward. Doesn't approach, doesn't bark, doesn't show any aggressive signs.

From afar she can sort of see a black collar around its neck, so she assumed it was just a neighbor or hikers pet who wondered off. Someone might come by to collect him, or call him back, or he'll just wonder off again on his own. She's pretty sure one of her closest neighbors has a dog for two, used to hear the bark or howl on occasion when she was kid.

Then again that was a long time ago- he might not even live there anymore, not that she's really had any time to say hi to anyone. Not worried about the dog, she goes back to reading.

---

Freya sipped at her hot chocolate, then nibbled on her local treat she bought when she went into town yesterday as she finally gets to the fun part of the story, when suddenly she heard the old steps creek and looked up only to be met with bright blue, curious eyes. She let out a shocked shout as she spotted the dog much closer than before, two paws on the bottom steps of her porch.

He had managed to sneak up on her completely silently, not that she was particularly paying attention to it with her nose in her book, but it still startled her.

She took a calming breath to help ease her nerves as he climbed the steps with a bit of hesitancy, head ducked and ears relaxed, like he recognized that he'd scared her- even if only briefly. She tried not to panic as it stood between her and her front door, blocking her only reasonable escape. It wasn't here to hurt her, probably, but that didn't mean she loved feeling trapped.

"Hi pretty boy," Freya cooed softly, staying where she was, "Are you friendly? Can you sit?" She asked, and the massive pup took a few more steps forward before sitting down in front of her, tail thumping softly against the wooden panels.

"Oh, that's a good boy," She praised, and carefully held out her hand knuckles first incase he decided to give her a warning nip. He sniffed curiously at her fingers before giving her whole hand a lick, long tongue lapping between her fingers.

She took that as a sign of friendship and gently pat between his ears, and immediately he stood up and bullied his big head onto her lap, nearly knocking over her thermos and little bowl of snacks.

It made her laugh, and she ruffled the fur on his neck while checking his collar for a name, and maybe the number of his owner if they were responsible. After some amount of struggling, considering he kept nosing at her arms with his long muzzle and practically demanded to be pet more, she found out his name is Soap and managed to dial the number on the back of his tags.

It immediately goes to voice-mail, and she's not too surprised or dissapointed, good consistent service is hard to get out here, so she left a message, "Hi! My name is Freya and I think I've found your dog, Soap?" He perked up at his name.

"He just wondered up to me on my porch, beautiful big brown boy, he hasn't given me any trouble or anything. I'm not sure if you live close, I used to live out here in the country side and I moved away a few years ago, but I'm just here on vacation. Anyways, give me a call back whenever you can and I could drive him back to your house or we could meet up somwhere in town, depending on where you live. Promise he's safe with me for the time being and I'll take care of him as best as a can until then, but I hope to hear back from you soon." She hung up then, putting her phone away as she pet him.

"Guess you're stuck with me for a while, huh boy?" She asked, rubbing her thumb over his ear, "Let's get you some water, yeah?"

Soap backed up to give her room as she stood up, gathering her little blanket and cup and snacks and book in her hands before leading him inside, dumping everything on the couch before digging through the bottom cabinets and looking for her grandfather's dogs old bowl, buried behind pots and pans. It's just a cheap flimsy metal bowl with a little raised bone on the front, and she fills it up in the sink before placing it down on the kitchen tile.

Only after she stood up did he lap at the water, and Freya left him to it as she went to her bedroom to get changed, he was going to need some food after all, and a few leftover peices of turkey wouldn't cut it. He was absolutely massive, after all.

It took her a moment, but eventually she settled on the outfit she wore when she went into town on the first day, a long white skirt with roses and a high slit along with a long sleeve red top that had a sweetheart neckline. There are only a couple of months where it's actually warm enough to show some skin, and that's why she was here at this time of the year instead of any other.

It would be hard to fully enjoy a getaway vacation with her boyfriend if they were both bundled up under layers and layers of proper winter gear, after all.

She dug around in a closet for an old leash, it's leather and peeling but it'll have to do. She hoped Soap wouldn't give her any trouble being leashed up.

"Soap, come on boy. Wanna go for a car ride?" She asked in a high pitched voice, half bent over and half leaning on the back of the couch to do the strap on her red and tan platform wedge sandals, with little bows over the edge of the open-toed shoe. Her toenails were painted white match her perfectly manicured nails, this was supposed to be a lovers getaway vacation after all.

Soap abandoned the bowl as soon as she called his name, nearly running into her legs in his excitement. He lapped at her tan calf peaking out through the slit in her skirt and let out a happy ruff.

He tried to nose and sniff at her crotch through the skirt no less than three times while she attempted to do up her other ankle strap, but eventually stopped and sat patiently when she just pushed his wet nose away with a playful scolding every time.

Freya opened the back door to the red truck, and he hopped in before she could even say anything. She gave him a quick pat between the ears and some praise before climbing into the driver's seat, tossing her brown bag and leash onto the passing seat and connecting her phone to bluetooth to play music.

Just after she's buckled up and about to turn on the car, Soap jumps over the center console and sits himself in the passenger seat instead, kicking her things into the floor space as he settled on his side, body laid over the console and big paws and head in her lap.

She attempted, and failed, twice to lift him up and get him off of her, at least put him on the center console instead of on her lap, but he doesn't budge even one inch, even thinks it's a bit of a game as his tail thumped happily against the car door. It doesn't take her long to give up, he clearly just wants to be close. Maybe this was what he was used to?

When she started driving, she took it very slow at first, wanting to make sure he wouldn't move around too much or misbehave. No one else is really around anyways, so she can afford to go like 20 miles an hour while she tests the waters. To his credit, the pup behaves perfectly and eventually she speeds up to the speed limit, and it only takes them an hour to get into town.

---

After parking she turned the car off, took off her seatbelt and leaned over the fluffy menace to get her bag and the old leash, resulting in a few slopy doggy kisses to her face and neck that she has to wipe off when she sits up.

"Soap, gross!" Freya complained, half-smiling half scrunching up her face as she lifted the bottom of her skirt to get rid of the warm slober he left behind.

She hooked the leash on him no problem, then hesitantly opened her door and got out. "Come on boy, be good and don't pull me please," She called, patting her thigh to encourage him to come out. She tightened the leash in her hand when he stood up, but he only hopped out nice and easy, and stood next to her as she closed the door.

"Good boy, good boy," She cooed, patting between his ears. He soaked up the praise, nearly knocking her over with his weight alone as he leaned into her legs and touch, brown fluffy tail kicking up dust as it wagged.

She stepped back, snorting at the way he stumbled and almost fell without her support. "Let's go Soap, c'mon," She told him, holding the leash loose ad she walked forward confidently.

Immediately, he fell into step next to her, almost a perfect heel. Didn't stray far enough for any tension to be on the leash, only let his nose fall to the ground when a scent was particularly interesting, and barely paid a glance at people walking by, complimenting and cooing at him fron afar.

Freya thought that whoever owned Soap must be pretty good at training and raising dogs, because he's essentially a perfect gentleman. They walk into the local pet shot without any problems, and she said hi to the worker before trying to find him some food that he liked. That was the only problem they had the entire time.

She bought another bowl, because she only had one at the moment and he would need water and food at the same time. She also bought a few toys and chews, because she didn't need anything in her old family home to end up broken or chewed on, the entire house was made of wood after all. She even bought a new leash, a simple black nylon leash that wasn't pealing and practically as old as she was.

And if she felt a little ridiculous for buying all of these different things, despite the possibility that he'd be gone within the next couple of hours? Well, Soap couldn't possibly judge her for those things. Maybe she was being a little much, buying him toys and treats like he'd be sticking around for a while, but she needed something to do while her boyfriend was out and about without her, on a hike at a nearby national park with a tour guide for most of the day.

He'd be back either super duper late, around 3am or 5am, or he'd take a rest at a hotel and drive back in the morning and get home at around 10am. Either way she'd be alone for the day, simply because hiking with Jack wasn't very fun.

Not that she didn't enjoy it, she'd spent plenty of her childhood exploring the surrounding woods both with her father and alone. Hiking with him just felt like a massive production that was about doing it to brag that you did rather than because you enjoyed it, which really sucked all the fun out of it.

She had already promised Soap she'd buy him all those things, let him pick and choose which ones he wanted, so she couldn't possibly go back on her word now, even if she felt a little silly.

When the worker offered her a couple pieces of different kibble for him to sample after she explained her situation, he turned his nose up at all of them, some he didn't even bother to sniff before knocking them out of her hand or just completely ignored them. It was like he didn't even consider it edible!

To be fair it was dry dog kibble, but also on the other side wasn't he a dog?! Just what the heck was his owner even feeding him, anyways? Raw meat?

The idea clicked in her mind, and she sighed. "You're a spoiled boy aren't you?" Then she turned to the worker and asked about raw food, to which she sadly explained that they didn't have anything like that here, which wasn't surprising. Thankfully, she directed her to the buchers just on the outskirts of town who might be able to help. So, naturally, she loaded up her temporary pup and headed out there.

#cod fanfic #cod men #john soap mactavish #werewolf #werewolf au #Werewolf!Soap #OC Freya #task force 141 #cod fandom #A Helping Paw cod

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the-badger-mole · 1 year

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All You Need Is...

Zuko recognized the signs. Katara was far more patient than he was, especially with the people she loved, but he saw her pausing for what seemed to be silent counts more and more. He noted how forced her smile had become lately. He saw the tension in her shoulders and the slight tremble in her clenched fists.

It was surprisingly easy to get rid of the others. He let slip a hint here and there about a festival that took place on Ember Island at that time of year, and the rest took care of itself. Katara was hesitant about the scheme. Aang with his arrows was too recognizable, to say nothing of Sokka and his dark skin. But eventually, the point was settled against her.

The festival was a three day long affair. On the first night, Katara declined to attend. Her sharp refusal looked like anger and annoyance to her friends, and they decided not to push. They left quickly, before Katara could try to talk them out of it. Suki and Sokka had linked arms and were whispering their plans for their first real date. Toph and Aang walked out ahead of them pushing and shoving and joking with each other. Maybe on another night, Katara would feel a bit envious of their ability to be so carefree, but tonight, all she felt was relief watching them leave. She turned to head back inside to enjoy the quiet. There wasn't much food left (she made a mental note to go shopping the next day), but she thought there was enough to make a solid meal for herself. Then maybe, she could practice her bending for a while, or see if the pipes in her ridiculously opulent bathroom actually work and spend the evening soaking her tired muscles.

There was clanking coming from the kitchen, and Katara frowned. When she opened the door, she was struck first by the sight of Zuko at the stove, and second by the sound of something sizzling in a pan. Zuko noticed her entrance before she could make her hasty retreat, and she froze.wen

"I...I didn't realize you were still here," she said. She and Zuko were...well, friends, she supposed. But the association was still new. A shaky thing, like a newborn mooselion, still working out how its limbs work. To see him there unexpectedly was jarring.

"I didn't feel like going to the festival," he confessed. "I-I've been feeling a bit overwhelmed, and I thought I'd take the opportunity for a quiet night."

"I'll let you finish cooking," Katara said, a bit disappointed, but not unkind. Zuko smiled shyly.

"I've made enough for two," he said. "If you want some. If not, I'll be done in here in a few more minutes." Whatever Zuko was making smelled great, Katara realized, sniffing the air experimentally. Certainly better than she thought she was going to be able to pull together.

"If you don't mind sharing," she said softly. Zuko smiled at her and pulled two plates to serve on. In a few minutes, he presented Katara with komodo chicken in a mango sauce over rice with vegetables on the side. Her jaw dropped. Since when did Zuko know how to cook? Since when was any of these ingredients in their kitchen.

"I...um...snuck out to town earlier," he said, answering Katara's second question. "I saw we were low on food, and I wanted this tonight. I-I got enough food for a few days." "I didn't know you could cook," Katara said, accepting her plate. "I didn't know you'd gone out."

"You were busy when I went," Zuko told her. "And I can't cook. Not really. I only know how to make this and a couple other things. Uncle insisted I learn." Katara thought that was wise of Zuko's uncle. Sokka refused to even learn how to make rice, and Aang thought all food should begin and end with custard tarts. Toph...well, the idea of teaching Toph anything was exhausting on it's own.

"You don't have to eat with me if you don't want," Zuko said. Katara's brow drew down in confusion for a moment before it clicked.

"You were hoping to have the place to yourself," she guessed. Zuko shook his head emphatically.

"Not at all," he said. "I knew you'd be here, but it seemed like you wanted a night alone. I don't want to intrude."

"No it's fine," Katara slid onto a stool the kitchen island and motioned for Zuko to take the other side. They sat in silence for a few moments, exchanging slightly awkward smiles. Finally, Zuko broke the tension and took a bite of his food. Katara dug into her plate, and froze.

"This is..." her eyes widened and she stared at Zuko in astonishment. "This is great!"

"It's a simple dish," he shrugged in embarrassment. "It didn't take me that long to make."

"Sometimes the best dishes are simple," Katara said, taking another bite of her meal. "You've been holding out on us! If I knew you had this up your sleeve, I'd have asked you to help with cooking ages ago!" Zuko shifted in his seat and looked away bashfully. Katara was struck then by just how young he was.

"I can, you know," he said. His voice was quiet, as if he was afraid he'd be heard. "Help you with cooking, I mean. I'm not as good at it as you, but most of my food is at least edible."

"You're hired!" Katara shot Zuko a grin.

The rest of the meal was pleasant. They chatted about safe topics. Aang's progress; the weather; Sokka's latest harebrained scheme; chores; how well everyone had settled into the seaside palace. When they'd finished eating, Katara got up to do the dishes, but Zuko stopped her.

"I'll take care of it," he said.

"But you made dinner," Katara protested. "It's the least I can do after crashing your quiet evening alone."

"I don't mind. Honest. I like doing the dishes."

"You like doing dishes?" Katara raised her brow skeptically.

"I do! It's-" Zuko shrugged awkwardly. "It's meditative, I guess."

"Meditative you guess." Katara snorted and rolled her eyes. "What's going on, Zuko?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why are you being so...nice?" she asked. "You knew I wasn't going to the fair with the others. You were there when I told Suki yesterday, I know you heard me. And you made dinner. Just enough for two people? And now you want to do the dishes? What's going on? Am I dying?"

"What?" Zuko sputtered. "I-I didn't-"

"What is going on?" Katara demanded. Zuko threw his hands up helplessly.

"I thought you could use a break," he said.

"...what?" Katara was stunned. Zuko rubbed the back of his reddened neck awkwardly and shrugged again.

"It's just... you've seemed tense lately," he explained. "I didn't know how to approach you about it, but I thought maybe a break would help. The others...they need a lot from you, and I thought if I got rid of them for a few hours, you could rest. I know when I get tense, I tend to snap- oh! N-not to say that you would snap. I just...I just know what it's like to need space and not really be able to take any."

Katara's face was unreadable. Zuko could see a storm of emotions there, but he couldn't identify any of them. He'd overstepped. He'd crossed some line. He'd just undone all the progress their friendship had made, and now he-

Zuko had no time to react before Katara launched herself at him. Instead of the attack he was fearing would come, he found Katara clutching him around his middle and her face buried in his shoulder. She was trembling, and a moment later, he realized she was crying.

"H-hey," he murmured, patting her back in what he hoped was a soothing gesture. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"You didn't," Katara assured him in a wavering, tear thickened voice. "Thank you, Zuko."

#atla #zutara #zutara month #a shoulder to cry on #THE YEAR OF CONTENT!!!!

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stingynugget · 1 month

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Lost Kingdom Bowuigi Prompt

An idea I had for Bowuigi, though I'm not sure how to flesh it out (so any ideas are welcome lol):

Luigi is in the Lost Kingdom from Mario Odyssey, looking for a balloon his brother hid. He gets caught in an acid rain storm, so he goes to a cave to hide... only to find Bowser already there. However, Bowser is acting strange. He won't open his eyes, and he doesn't get up when he hears Luigi enter the cave. (Maybe somehow a poison film covered his eyes, and one of his legs got dipped in a poison pool and got eaten down to the bone.) Cue injured Bowser x Luigi story, but one where Bowser doesn't recognize Luigi for either a while or until he's healed and is at the Mushroom Kingdom for a party. Could have some Cinderella/Little Mermaid elements as Bowser looks for the man who saved his life, but he has no idea what he looks like.

I started this idea off, but I lost motivation haha:

Luigi pushed aside a particularly dense area of vegetation and breathed in the earthy scent of the Lost Kingdom. Tropical trees and plants surrounded him, along with stretchy wigglers and klepto birds. He was looking for a hidden balloon, as part of a hide-and-seek game between him and his older brother Mario.

His compass, which told him what direction the balloon was, pointed down into a nearby pool of poison. He’d been trying to figure out if Mario actually hid the balloon in the poison or some nearby location for the past hour, but he still couldn’t find it.

To make matters worse, clouds were starting to form overhead. The Lost Kingdom was notorious for its horrifying poisonous rain.

Luigi sighed. Did he just give up and try again tomorrow? But Mario was already at Blue Balloon rank, and Luigi was still stuck at Yellow Balloon. He needed to catch up soon, before he lost the month-long game altogether.

He felt a sizzling pain on his arm. Crying out, Luigi looked up to see the rain had already started to fall. Luigi frantically looked around, until he spotted a path that he knew led to a large, dry cave. He made a dash for it.

As he rounded the corner, the cave came into view. However, the last being he expected to see was sleeping there: the King of the Koopas himself.

Bowser deeply snored, his head resting on his arms as he curled up in the cave. His spiky shell nearly touched the top of the cave, though the cave was deep enough for the rest of his body. He wore his usual spiked armbands and choker.

Luigi froze. He glanced behind him, at the sprinkle of acid rain that was now a downpour, and back at Bowser. Maybe… he could just sneak in quietly, and Bowser wouldn’t even know he was there. Just until the rain stopped.

Luigi took a small step forward and immediately tripped on a protruding rock. The sound of his shoe scuffling and his body thumping on the ground resounded throughout the cave.

Bowser stirred and sniffed the air. “Who’s there?” he growled.

Luigi’s heart hammered in his chest. He tried taking a small step backwards, but he didn’t get far without nearly getting poison on him. Right. The whole reason he was in this cave was to get out of the rain. But now he was stuck with Bowser. Which option was worse?

Bowser chuckled lowly. “I know you’re there. I can smell the sweat on you.” His eyes remained closed, which Luigi thought was strange.

Luigi squeezed his hands and desperately tried not to panic. But he was panicking. What should he do? Say “hello” to the Mushroom Kingdom’s biggest problem? Or just wait it out? More sweat dripped from under his hat and onto the tip of his round nose.

“You have three seconds to say something before I fry you.”

Luigi gulped. “Um!” His mouth chattered. “S-sorry to bother you. I was trying to g-get out of the r-rain.” He waited for the inevitable plume of flame that would be headed his way.

Bowser smiled. “There. Was that so hard?”

Luigi blinked in surprise. What was Bowser playing at? And why was he keeping his eyes shut? Did he just want to go back to sleep? Because Luigi would really like that.

“I w-won’t be a b-bother,” Luigi said. “Once the rain stops, I’ll be out of your hair.” Red hair, to be specific.

Bowser hummed. “Or… I throw you into the rain right now.”

“W-what!?”

Bowser chuckled darkly. He didn’t move from his spot, though. “In exchange for letting you stay here, you will become my servant. Being an underling of the King of the Koopas is quite the honor.”

“B-but—”

“Just until I’m out of this awful kingdom. Though, if you do well, I’m actually recruiting right now. Lost a lot of minions from my last escapade. That's why I’m here in the first place.”

Luigi had a feeling that by “last escapade,” Bowser meant the last time he tried to kidnap Princess Peach. Mario and Bowser had a huge battle in the Moon Kingdom, with Mario winning of course. Luigi was just glad Mario hadn’t dragged him on this adventure. Flying in The Odyssey sounded like a nightmare, especially since he had acrophobia.

And wait, Luigi thought about the other thing Bowser said. “You… want me to join your team?”

“Were you even listening? That’s if you serve me well.”

Luigi frowned. He studied Bowser, who was still curled up on the floor of the cave. Bowser’s eyes, now that he looked at them closer, seemed to have a thin purple film covering them.

Luigi tiptoed to the other end of the cave, but Bowser’s head didn’t follow the movement. He waved his hand, and Bowser just continued to “stare” at the rain falling outside.

“The pay’s good. Same with paid time off,” Bowser continued, when Luigi didn’t say anything.

Luigi shivered at the thought of working for Bowser. “I’ll, uh, consider it.”

“Now, servant, what is your name?”

Luigi flinched. “Uh…” Shoot. He definitely shouldn’t give Bowser his real name. “L… Luis.” This was never going to work. He was so bad at lying.

“Luis… Sounds kind of familiar…”

“Er, it’s a common name.”

“Hmm… I see. Well, servant, your first action will be seeing what you can do about my leg.”

Why did Bowser even bother asking for his name? “Your leg?”

Bowser growled. “You think I’d be in this cave if I could help it?” He gestured behind him with his chin. “Get to it. And if you cause me any pain, I’ll fry you.”

“B-but—” He wasn’t a doctor! How was he supposed to know what would or wouldn’t cause pain?

“Stop dilly-dallying and get to work!” Bowser roared.

Luigi straightened his back and cried, “R-right!” As he crept around Bowser, he considered just running as far down into the cave as he could. Though… while Bowser couldn’t move, he still had his fire breath—and Luigi had plenty of experience to know that stuff had a wickedly long range.

#bowser #bowuigi #bowser x luigi #luigi #luigi x bowser #fanfic prompt #fic prompt #bowuigi prompt

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chxrrylime · 1 year

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❝ PART I: 𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗦𝗜𝗧𝗘. ❞

PART TWO.

So I decided to break this into two parts. I don’t like leaving work unfinished, but I don’t have the energy to get this done tonight, so it’s easier for me to post the first half now and the rest later. Enjoy :)

Soap x Gaz x Price x M!Reader ↪ 1776 words — 18+ / SMUT

Content tags — cis male submissive Soap, cis male switch reader, cis male switch Gaz, cis male dominant Price , sub/dom dynamic, polyamory, bit of angst, subspaces, jealousy, unhealthy handling of said jealousy, nothing explicit until part II.

Key — C/S for callsign.

Soap never thought of himself as the jealous type.

It’d been the result of growing up with five older sisters in a house barely big enough to house three of them. Everything was shared amongst them, begrudgingly or not, and so it set the precedent for Soap early on.

He had a healthy relationship with sharing, he felt. Most of the partners he’d had in his life, which weren’t many outside of one night stands, he had shared. He liked to date people with the same libido as him, and so that meant he came to terms quickly with an open relationship. He wasn’t going to make a lover wait around for him for months on end just to get laid.

None of those relationships had worked out, ending ugly and often with a lot of yelling, and Soap really didn’t have the time of day to consider if that had ever played a part in it.

Now, though, jealousy was clawing through his body like a fuckin’ parasite.

Amongst the one-four-one, it wasn’t any secret Price liked to have his playthings. They kept it between themselves—it wasn’t anyone else’s business as long as it didn’t affect their work. Sometimes Ghost would join, but he lacked the sex drive to keep up with the group consistently.

Soap fell into the category of plaything—it came easy to him, he’d be wrong to deny the hero worship, and for fuck’s sake, the daddy issues, that drew him to the older man. Casualties of a single mom, he supposed.

Gaz was the other one. Soap respected Gaz. He’d been there first, before Soap, and so while sometimes Soap felt a little left out—felt like Price was playing favorites, he also acknowledged the Captain had full right too. Even when Price reassured him, Soap knew he’d never lose the feeling he had to work to earn his place beside Gaz (and beneath Price).

Soap and Gaz meshed well together. It wasn’t much of an issue. Nothing that kept him awake at night—more like an angry little tingle at the base of his spine when he saw Gaz and Price alone together. That, he could handle.

But you. He wanted to fucking strangle you.

The second you were assigned to the one-four-one, Price took a shine to you. He always seemed to favor you—give you the most attention, the most leniency—even in the fuckin’ field, which he never did with anyone, so careful to keep the ruthless dynamic of the task force stable—to keep play from leaking outside of private quarters and offices. You were Price’s new favorite, and as far as Soap was concerned, you hadn’t fuckin’ earned it. Not a single bit of it.

It would be a lot easier for Soap if you were a fuckin’ prick, too—except you weren’t. Ruthless maybe, on the field, but outside of that you were sweet as ever. Real fuckin’ bonnie. You were sweet, and it made Soap’s skin crawl. No matter how dismissive he was of you, you would always offer to share your sliced fruit, or bring him cold water after drills. You wanted Soap to like you, and so did the rest of the one-four-one, but to everyone’s chagrin Soap just wasn’t having it.

Price had chalked it up to Soap’s territorial nature. The lad shared with people he considered equals. People that gave him a good vibe off the bat. He was like a guard dog, sniffing the air for signs of danger—licking the hands of those he deemed good. He didn’t trust you initially, and Price couldn’t blame him, most of your file was black ink for anyone below Lieutenant—he had no basis for you. As far as Soap was concerned, you were invading the one-four-one's hard established dynamic—threatening to dislodge it.

And so Price gave it time. He paid you extra attention to make up for Soap’s cold shoulder, assured you you just had to be patient with him—just had to keep trying, and eventually he’d warm up and get over whatever preconceived notions he’d had of you.

Except, Soap wasn’t warming up. He wasn’t taking the olive branch, and it was starting to grate on Price’s nerves. Soap was more petulant than usual, bratty, and so Price told him he wouldn’t play ‘till Soap cleaned up his act. That meant more time for you, and more unfounded reason for Soap’s jealousy to grow at his own foolish behavior.

Gaz tried to talk to Soap first, at Price’s urging—knew the only time Price butted in was usually when Johnny was at the point of punishment, and he didn’t want to make this worse if he didn’t need to—but Soap pushed Gaz away. Changed the topic. Refused to admit there was even an issue. Deflect, deflect, deflect.

It was becoming too much for everyone involved, Price had started letting you share his bed almost every night since the stress dreams started. Even Ghost was right fucking irritated with Soap’s recent behavior, going on a long tangent in the Captain’s office that ended with an angry “sort him out,” and an even more forced “please, sir,” remembering he was venting to his SO.

Soap is antsy when he’s called to Price’s office. He walks down the bland halls with a quick stride, already chubbing up in his fatigues. He’s pent up, hoping Price has missed him—that he’s still mad at him—will bend him over his knee and make him have to sit at the edge of his chairs for the next few days.

He raps on the frosted glass of the door, waiting for his invite in before pushing inside. The door swings shut behind him with a loud click as he takes in the view in front of him, any feeling of excitement and anticipation draining from him in an instant as his eyes harden.

Price is at the front of his desk, leaned up against it, ankles and bulky arms crossed as he puffs a cigar. He’s in civvies, hair mussed and face the slightest bit flushed. Behind him, behind the desk in his chair is Gaz, with you curled up in his lap. Soap can tell from the both of your kiss swollen lips that he’s apparently interrupting something, despite having been invited. Something churns in his stomach and tells him you two are the ones that shouldn’t be here. That Price wanted him.

Suddenly, sharing sounds like the worst thing on Earth.

“Sir,” Soap tries, carefully, though there’s an edge of annoyance to his voice that Price doesn’t much appreciate. He takes in a sharp breath and puffs a steady stream of smoke out through his nose, looking all the intimidating dragon as he glares.

“I’m tired of your attitude, lad,” Price begins, taking one last drag of his cigar before putting it out in the ashtray behind him. He moves to stand in front of Soap, that one looming inch coming in handy as he presses near chest to chest with the younger.

Soap makes the mistake of refusing eye contact, keeping his gaze straight forward, glaring a hole into the center of Price’s throat. He can feel the growl emanating before he can hear it, Price’s hand shooting up to grip Soap’s jaw, jerking his face up.

“Look at me when I talk to you,” Price chides. He doesn’t miss how Soap’s eyes seem more gray than blue as they meet his, jaw clenching tight, his nostrils flaring in rage as he holds brutal eye contact. He almost looks like he’s challenging Price, and something about it makes the man’s heart twists, frowning.

His grip softens ever so slightly, his voice equally so as he next speaks.

“Where’d my good boy go, huh?”

Soap looks sad at that, brow furrowing and eyelids drooping, letting out the quietest little breath through his nose. If he could look down, he would, feeling shame run through his blood hot.

“Dunno,” he murmurs, and for a blessed moment it’s just him and Price in this room, “m’sorry.”

“I know,” Price says, humming in consideration before continuing, “you don’t trust C/S.”

The mention of your name has Soap tensing up again, and you nuzzle closer to Gaz who’s arms wrap a bit tighter around you in response.

“No, sir,” Soap grits out.

“Why?”

“Dunno.”

“Do you know anything, sergeant?” Price chides, jostling Soap a bit with the hold he still has on his face. Soap has half a mind to shove his hand away.

“I don’t know,” Soap emphasizes, eyes squeezing shut for a moment as he takes in a ragged breath, hoping the oxygen can help pull apart the mess of jealousy in his brain. He doesn’t fuckin’ know. He doesn’t know what’s possessed him. He could argue in the beginning that you hadn’t earned it, but at this point you’d probably saved each of the one-four-one’s lives twice over. He didn’t have any more excuses, caught in his own anger like a spider in its own web.

“‘Am tangled up. In my head,” Soap tries, opening his eyes to see Price give him a reassuring nod, prompting him to continue as the hand on his face slides to his shoulder, gently pushing. Soap tenses for all of a second, the fight leaving him as quick as it came when Price squeezes. Soap drops to his knees.

The hand moves to his hair, tugging at the short strands until Soap presses his face to the Captain’s thigh, letting the loss of vision desensitize him, breathing in the smell of generic fabric softener and Old Spice cologne, soothing him down ever so slightly.

“I earned this,” Soap grits out, nuzzling, “how do I know… he’s good enough.”

“You trust my judgment, don’t you, Soap?”

“Yessir.”

“He’s more than earned his place here, he’s more than good enough, or else he wouldn’t be here. That’s not your place to decide, not your decision to make. You’re out of line.”

“Yes, sir,” Soap breathes again, spaces between his words as he drifts ever so slightly, fingers clenched tight at the bottom of Price’s jeans. He nearly topples forward as Price steps back, fabric ripping from his grip as strong arms wrap around him from behind. Gaz shushes him when he whines, warm lips pressed behind his ear.

“This dynamic doesn’t work if we don’t trust each other,” Price continues, tone hard, and Soap can feel his skin heat up in equal parts shame and anger as he looks up to see Price once again leaned against his desk, you curled up against his side, “and you need to be punished for your behavior towards our boy here, Johnny.”

#i know i know its short #bare with me #modern warfare #modern warefare 2 #price x reader #captain john price #soap x reader #john soap mactavish #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #mine #smut #male reader

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hadeslegacyhephgirl · 1 month

Text

Midnight adventure

Nico woke up alone.

Which was, in and of itself, not unusual. But tonight was different

Because tonight, he hadn't fallen asleep alone.

When he'd fallen asleep, it'd been to Will's warmth and whispered reassurances that he'd never leave.

His first instinct was monsters.

But no, there was no blood and he was unharmed.

He sniffed the air

And was met with a sickenly sweet smell

Chlorophom

Which mean someone had drugged Will (maybe even Nico himself, and kidnapped him (Will, not Nico)

Nico jumped off the bed and, grabbing his sword and jacket, headed outside.

It was cold

And damp

But there was moonlight

And a very clear drag trail leading from his cabin to the forest.

He grinned, a wolflike grin as he tightened his grip on his sword

He was hunting

And Wills kidnappers were his prey

~*~

Will tried to flick on his glowing ability and was immediately kicked in the head.

Not that that particular bruise would stand out among the dozens fo others she was sure he was obtaining as two Roman demigods, a girl and a boy, dragged him along.

"I don't understand" the girl whined "why can't we just kill him now?" The boy kicked her in the shins.

At least he wasn't the only one. "Be quiet!" So, no answers.

~*~

Nico was close. He knew it.

He'd seen the brief flash of light in the forest; Will had obviously tried to signal for help.

He hurried after them, quiet as possible.

Sproing

Fuck.

He'd stepped right into a net trap. He let out a string of curses under his breath. His sword arm was trapped under him and his was basically upside down in the net. He was too tired to attempt shadow-travel.

And every second he spent trapped, Wil was carried further away.

~*~

Will came to tied to a tree.

He'd fainted from pain and exhaustion a while back, and while he'd been unconscious, they'd either arrived at where they wanted to go or had just stopped for the night.

The girl glanced over at him. "'e's awake!" A guy walked into the clearing, the firelight illuminating his scarred face as he smiled.

Will felt a sense of dread. "Search him"

The girl and the other boy approached him.

Roughly the turned out his pockets and searched his flannel for anything.

The girl felt around his (still clothed) chest and grinned when she felt the necklaces. She pulled them up out of his shirt and surveyed them.

There was the camp bead necklace, which she glanced at once and dropped it, turning her attention to the other one.

See, Will had a penchant for charms, and his charm necklace was almost as full as his camp one.

She flicked through the charms until she stopped.

Oh, shit

It was the two little pride charms he'd got when he'd found out that he was bi. One little rainbow and a bi flag.

"Hey, Thomas! Check this out!"

The two boys stopped. The one by the fireplace, obviously Thomas, walked over and surveyed the two charms.

"Well, well, well, would you look at that. Not only is he graceus scum, he's a fag too!"

Thomas slapped him across the face. "Beat him up. I loathe fags, and here is some practice for you two in beating up skills."

Will felt blow after blow until his entire body was in pain, he curled up into a ball, protecting his face as they rained kicks and punches on him and then... stopped.

He looked up.

Nico was in front of him, sword drawn, probably glaring them down.

He smiled.

Thomas spat.

"The camp traitor! What a find. You care for this one? Pathetic. Kyle, Dylan, let's go."

The girl, Kyle, make a small sound of indignance

Thomas whirled around "Oh, by all means, if you want to fight him, go ahead. I don't care. Dylan. Let's go"

The three trooped out of the clearing, Kyle flipping them off as she passed them.

Nico didn't move until they'd disappeared, then whirled around, crouching, all worry and care now.

"Will? Are you okay? What am I say, of course you're not okay. Let's get you home. Do you need to go to the infirmary?" "No, 'm fine. Le's jus' ge' back to your cabin, please. I need sleep" Nico threw Wills arm around his shoulder and helped him up. "Sorry I couldn't be here earlier." "'s okay, at leas' you got there at all"

They managed to get back to camp and back to Cabin 13, where they collapsed back onto the bed, Nico big spooning Will as they drifted to sleep

~*~

The next day Will woke to find most of his bruises gone, due to his fast healing ability. The only visible reminder was a small cut on the side of his head, obviously from one of the rocks.

Neither Nico or Will spoke of the late-night adventure again.

#solangelo #solangelo fanfiction #angst #fanfiction #nico di angelo #pjo #will solace

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cutebutalsostabby · 3 months

Text

Indescribable

Short fic based on @breannasfluff's finish the prompt challenge :) first part, in italics, is Breanna's work. I wrote the second half.

(Tried to match the style and tense but oops in advance.)

-------

Hyrule wipes his forehead and turns to Wild with hopeful eyes. “So? How did I do?”

Wild’s face does this funny thing where it goes through too many emotions at once and ends up scrunched. “Well…six fires in just three hours is your personal best! The only problem is that we’re making fruit salad…”

“I need to cook the fruit!”

“Well, about that...”

“And then there’s that sauce you wanted me to add to it.”

“Which is…warmed in a pan.”

“And don’t get me started on the whipped cream!”

They both turn to look at the jar which once held cream and now holds…chuchu jelly. And maybe some butter.

It’s at this moment that Legend walks in and freezes, sniffing the air. “Do I even want to know?”

“Ledge!” Hyrule grabs a spoonful of something from his bowl and holds it out. “Taste this and tell me what you think!”

The veteran is dubious, but at a nod from Wild, accepts the spoon. Then his face scrunches up because it tastes–

Indescribable.

Indescribable is the word that comes to mind.

Sweet, innocent Hyrule is staring at him with bright, hopeful, expectant eyes, and yet the only word that comes to mind is "indescribable".

No, Legend tells himself sternly, he should at least try to describe the situation happening inside his mouth. If the scattering of pots and pans, the strong odour of burnt cabbages in the air (why?) and the heavy dusting of flour and cinnamon on Hyrule's clothing are any indication, his successor worked hard to produce that deeply indescribable taste. He should at least provide some form of feedback.

Reluctantly, he looks down at the bowl Hyrule is holding, on the off chance that it will offer up some further clues. The ominous sludge inside is a murky, greyish brown, splotched with brackish oil, and right in the middle, Legend thinks he can see...

"Is that... a tentacle?" he asks unwillingly.

Hyrule appears genuinely startled at the question. "Huh?!"

"I think it's a spicy pepper," Wild observes casually from the side. He reaches over with a spare wooden spoon and scoops the offending produce out for inspection. Sure enough, the bright red monster part is revealed and re-identified as a large, whole chilli.

For some reason.

"So?" Hyrule prompts eagerly. "How does it taste?"

"Uh," says Legend. He fishes for relevant words. "Spicy? I guess?"

"You guess?" a crestfallen Hyrule asks.

"Maybe he needs another taste?" Wild suggests sweetly.

And now that Legend's actually looking, he can't help but notice the distinctly vindictive edge to that smile. Obviously, that little shit is in on it. So Legend, of course, does the only thing he can do in that situation.

He lies.

"It's great, Roolie," Legend says cheerfully. "Might be the best thing I've ever tasted. Did Wild teach you how to cook that?"

Hyrule beams. "Yeah!" he replies, in tandem with Wild's emphatic, "No."

They look at each other - Hyrule with confusion and Wild with incredulity.

"Guess Wild still has a lot to learn then," Legend concludes. He claps Hyrule lightly on the shoulder, gives a small, encouraging nod, and rapidly evacuates the premises - a well-trusted problem-solving technique that is yet to fail him, even once.

Left behind to double-guess his scientific method, Hyrule can only glance mournfully at Wild. "That bad, huh?"

"...Let's just start again from the top. Alright?"

#linked universe #lu fanfiction #finish the prompt #lu ftp #lu triple threat #lu legend #lu hyrule #lu wild

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shylighthi · 3 months

Text

@breannasfluff - Finish the Prompt: LU Style!

Fluff <3

Hyrule wipes his forehead and turns to Wild with hopeful eyes. “So? How did I do?”

“I need to cook the fruit!”

“Well, about that…”

“And then there’s that sauce you wanted me to add to it.”

“Which is… warmed in a pan.”

“And don’t get me started on the whipped cream!"

They both turn to look at the jar which once held cream and now holds…chuchu jelly. And maybe some butter.

It’s at this moment that Legend walks in and freezes, sniffing the air. “Do I even want to know?”

“Ledge!” Hyrule grabs a spoonful of something from his bowl and holds it out. “Taste this and tell me what you think!”

The veteran is dubious, but at a nod from Wild, accepts the spoon. Then his face scrunches up because it tastes–

-good… Legend had frozen in place. He looks down at the spoon and blinks a few times because this didn't taste burnt like the rest of the room smelled.

Hyrule frowned assuming the worst from Legend's pause. Wild smiled sympathetically at Hyrule and put a hand on his shoulder, ready to go into mother cuccoing mode.

“It's.. it's good, Hyrule.”

Wild and Hyrule matched Legend's previous expression of shock. “What?” Wild didn't mean to sound like he didn't have any faith in the meal.

Legend offered the spoon and Wild took it with more haste than he intended. He scooped out some of the concoction. The second it hit his mouth he was almost overwhelmed by it. Somehow, it was sweet with a bit of salt, a little tangy, probably from the chu chu jelly but the fruit had no burnt taste to it despite being charred in some places. “It has a weird aftertaste but it really is good.”

Hyrule was almost vibrating with excitement. “Really? You really think so?” Wild offered him the spoon. Hyrule tasted it and a moment later wrapped his arms around Wild.

Wild smiled and hugged him back. “You did good, Rulie.”

Legend put a hand on Hyrule's back. “Maybe we can learn some things from you. I mean, I want to know how you accomplished this, both of you. If I didn't know any better, you stole this from the castle!”

Hyrule looked up at Legend, his eyes watering. Legend jerked his hand away. Had he said something wrong? No, because in the next moment, Hyrule had launched himself off of Wild and pulled Legend into a crushing hug. “Thank you.”

Legend smiled and hugged Hyrule in return. “Shouldn't be thanking me for the truth.”

Wild joined their hug a moment later, wrapping an arm over each of them. “You should join us next time, Legde! Your ice rod would have helped us a lot.”

Legend glanced over to the burnt pots before closing his eyes and relaxing. “I can see that.. maybe I will.”

#this was fun!#im glad you did this!#also it gave me something to do as i watch a play for one of my classes #legend is soft you cannot tell me otherwise #linked universe #lu wild #lu fanfiction #lu hyrule #lu legend #lu ftp

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rafecameronsslxt · 1 year

Text

HOOKED

Warnings: Implied smut, angst, toxicity

Synopsis: All travesties must reach an end, before a new one starts.

Rafe Cameron x OC

MINORS DNI

Part SEVEN of series. (Can be read as stand alone)

Masterlist

Part ONE- Part TWO- Part THREE- Part FOUR- Part FIVE- Part SIX

I think we've all seen this ending before just a different destiny. (My account is going through an actual drought right now) I want to make a Sarah fan fiction so badly but have no ideas!

Had to repost bc this wasn't showing up in tags!!!!

Words: 5,014

HERE I stood with my best friend's honouring my dead friends Sarah and John B. The gravestone was only for John B as we kept Sarah in our hearts while craving a heart out on the giant tree. 2003 to 2020. John B Routledge, P4L.

All we could do was stare at it, nothing more, as we grieved the loss of our friends. “I have to go.” I clear my throat, and my voice comes out in a whisper, holding back tears. They all nod and walk with me. I wave to my friends who have heartache. They wave back, tears silently descending our red puffy faces.

I had to make it in time for Peterkin's funeral to be there for Rafe. It’s not like he’d be crying or sad, but to keep him somewhat sane. While driving, I tried wiping my tears, but they wouldn’t stop sinking into my lap. John B, I hope you’re alive, not dead like we think you are.

My stomach had gotten more prominent over the past months. Over time with this child destroying my insides, I’d become displeased with having a baby. I was throwing my life away. No more adventures with the pogues, and I couldn’t help them when I could barely get up the dramatically long stairs, but I am trying.

Three deaths in a year and a human inside me had gotten me depressed. An inconsolable feeling that no one will be able to fix.

I pull into the cemetery, seeing everyone in horizontal lines. I quickly run to the Cameron's in plain black heels, making me feel wobbly. Wheezie lets me cut in between her and Rafe.

I grab Rafe’s hand tightly, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he stares ahead, expressionless at the burial of Sheriff Peterkin. They carefully place the American flag on her polished wood casket, and guys in uniform shoot their rifles into the air. I can’t help but feel multiple people stare past me. I turn my head to see Ward staring at the side of Rafe’s face. I quickly avert my eyes to the entombment, anxiety taking me over like a tide dragging me in.

The trajectory of Rafe’s life had been getting worse. He was leading a path of the worst boyfriend that ceased to exist and drugs. Had he been unhinged before the death of Peterkin, he was undoubtedly deranged now, yet here I was.

Rafe’s face was well-maintained clean shaven, and perfectly slicked back hair besides a strand falling to his forehead. His black and white suit was freshly dry-cleaned, and his hands were positioned by his sides as one of my hands held his; they were clammy.

If I hadn’t known that he killed Susan Peterkin, I would’ve kissed his cheek, laid my head on his shoulder, and maybe had pathetic sex, but it didn’t turn out like that.

“Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. We shall remember to uphold the ideas which she stood for.” The minister spoke aloud to the humid air, and Susan then put in the depths of the ground dying at the hands of a kid—a kid I still, unfortunately, loved.

The burial had finally ended as we paid our respects. Rafe and I walked hand in hand to my car. “I’ll meet you at your house?” I asked quietly, looking into his eyes. “Can I, um, come with you?” Rafe stuttered, and I nodded my head reluctantly.

I could see him sniffing and wiping his nose out of the corner of my eye. “Four more months.” I remind Rafe. I’d started to push myself instead of staying home all day. I wanted to do things, not sleep. So I looked up if running while in the second trimester was okay, and Google said it was safe, so I took it up.

Rafe had been distant, but I have too. Our relationship consisted of arguing and hurt, maybe some enjoyable moments. “Rafe!” I raised my voice. He seemed to dissociate more each day. I wish he would tell me what's wrong because we could work it out together instead of what we’re doing now. “I heard you, baby.” He stared aimlessly ahead. Rafe’s hand finds a place on my thigh and grips the flesh. Rafe not asking me about John B and how I feel made me want to cry. He could’ve at least had that much decency.

“You have that look. What do you want me to say?” Rafe’s voice is hoarse as he speaks. “I shouldn’t have to tell you, Rafe. My best friends are supposedly dead, and you couldn’t even fucking ask me how I’m doing, boyfriend reward goes to you, babe.” I say sarcastically and throw his hand off of my upper thigh.

The atmosphere in the jeep turned tense, and the vehicle's heat enervated both of us. Rafe loosens his tie. “Do you want me to fuck you until you stop hating me? Because you obviously want that if you’re trying to start shit.” He spits out as boundless irritation radiates from the both of us. Rafe turns to me, but I don’t look at him. I grip the black steering wheel. I roll my eyes and scoff. “You know I don’t hate you, Rafe, so don’t try that, and it’s always sex with you. I want to talk like a normal fucking couple.”

Inhale and exhale.

For him to have any thoughts about me hating him is so angering, yet heartbreaking. “I think instead of the birth being a surprise; we should just ask her. It makes me too anxious. The next appointment is in two weeks.” Rafe and I had decided it be a surprise, but I just wanted to know the gender of our baby as the days passed.

Rafe doesn’t say anything for a minute. Then he gradually nods while his fingers rub his neck, and his gold ring shines. Rafe’s leg is going up and down quickly. He appears nervous and on edge and probably should be. I didn’t want to blame Rafe for everything, but our relationship wouldn’t be in this predicament if he didn’t pull the trigger. Neither would JB nor Sarah be out there in the calm waters.

I allowed the silence to seep in as we pulled into the driveway, already seeing the Ward's Range Rover sitting dead. Our buckles let go simultaneously as the arid conditions hit my make-up-covered skin.

My black heels click loudly against the black and white tiles, echoing throughout the estate. Rafe trails closely behind me as we walk up the glossy wooden steps, and I feel his hands pull up my dress and grab my ass, his hands and eyes enthralled by my fat. I pause, and Rafe’s body bumps into mine. “Your sister or parents could see you, and I’m not in the mood.” I smile sweetly at him as I make myself unambiguous. Rafe throws his hands up, surrendering as my flowy black dress drops.

“I’m going to take a shower.” His voice was husky and trying to hint me to come. However, Rafe’s arms snake around my stomach and lock together as he lays his head in the crook of my neck. His red lips painted invisible marks and featherweight kisses to my skin. “I might need to come in there to get my make-up off and, um… unzip my dress.” Somehow Rafe never fails to make me nervous, even after knowing him for nine years.

He moved his lips to my jaw, kissing the outline whilst unhurried hands drew down my zipper. The black dress finally pools to the ground. I wasn’t caving into his touch, not this time. Whenever I tried to talk, he gave me light touches, soft kisses, and a heart-melting smile like he is now. Rafe’s airy smile could make any girl fall to their knees as his shiny white teeth started nipping at my jaw. “Go take a shower.” I let out a throaty laugh, pushing him away lightly. Rafe throws his shirt off. “You’re missing all of this, baby.” He opens the bathroom door with a seductive smile, and the door closes, leaving me alone in his bedroom.

I smile to myself at his actions and miss the feeling of his body close to mine. I’d felt secure briefly—his warmth coasts along my body, his kisses still holding their place on my neck and jaw.

I looked through Rafe’s closet, which consisted of my clothes too, and all I could find was a white button-up that I’m using as a jacket of sorts and white stretchy shorts that can go over my stomach, but I couldn’t see a solid top to wear. So that means I have to walk myself into Sarah’s room. Unfortunately, the room she hadn’t been in for a while, and I never got to say goodbye.

I cleared my throat and wrapped my hand around the knob; my fingers turned stiff to open the door. “I got this. Just a room.” I encouraged myself quietly. I push the door open and walk to her closet. My eyes fell to her bed, which contained many sleepovers this past summer, but then I left her. Don’t cry. I can do this.

So many of her shirts hung up on satin-padded hangers waiting to be worn by Sarah, collecting dust as we speak. I quickly pick a tan ribbed crop tank top and jog out of her room after shutting the door. I throw my clothes on and start to open the bathroom door.

Rafe’s muffled moans came from the other side, along the lines of my name following a curse. I slid my body quietly past the door, and the steam covered the glass door to the shower, but I could see Rafe’s body outline. I’m guessing he didn’t notice me, either.

His dick wrapped around his hand as he laid his body against the tiled wall. I could faintly see his hair covering his pretty face. I lay my knuckles on the glass and tap three times. “What’re you doing, baby.” My voice sounds cracked because I want to start laughing, and I cover my mouth. Rafe quickly pushes his body off the white tiles and returns under the shower head, and his long fingers drag through his wet hair. “Just getting out.” The water turns off, and the glass opens.

I hand him his towel as a deep shade of red crosses his cheeks. Rafe notices my grin that I failed to hide. “If you would’ve just come in, it wouldn’t be this embarrassing.” Rafe’s voice is raspy as he mumbles. His body is on full display while he dries his messy hair. My eyes can’t help but course over his body while water trickles from his abs to his still-hard dick, red, and veins protruding; it looks distressing. Rafe wraps his towel around his hips, flawlessly showing his profound v-line.

Rafe’s fingers find their way under my chin, forcing me to look into his alluring sea eyes. “Up here, baby.” His husky voice goes through my body, and chills reach my spine. Rafe kisses me lightly and walks into his bedroom, leaving me stranded, wishing for more, but I’m not succumbing to his temptation, which takes all self-control.

I could faintly hear Kiara’s voice screaming since the balcony door was open and Rafe was out there. I was lying comfortably on the silk sheets until Rafe came in, scaring me. He’s pacing back and forth, rapidly becoming angry by the second. I can tell he wants to start throwing things.

“You know I’m not a murderer, right Adriana!” His voice was exasperated, and his fist balled to his sides, waiting for me to say something wrong to have an excuse. “Rafe, baby, stop. Just calm down. I love you. Come on.” I say softly, and grab his wrist, trying to bring him down on the silky sheets with me. But, instead, he jerks his hand away. “I have to talk to my dad.” I raise an eyebrow at the sudden change of mood, walking out with him, guessing this was my time to leave.

Finally, Rafe’s boyfriend alert rings to kiss me before I go, but it wasn’t what I expected. His rough lips press against my delicate ones, quick and short. I take this as he wants me out of his way for whatever he’s telling his dad. A frown forms on my face, looking up at him. Rafe’s face is determined and ready to criticize me for wanting to cry. He was never good with sadness or emotions in general.

He gives me the look of ‘Don’t start or it’ll be worse for the both of us’ expression. Rafe speed walks outside, with me following behind, giving Ward a small smile before pulling out of the driveway. The outside wall is vandalized with the saying ‘murderer.’

Kiara, definitely Kie.

Speaking of the provocateur pogue, I get a text from her to come to the docks.

At the docks, we discussed a plan to get John B cleared from the charges. “We kidnap Rafe. We kidnap Rafe and stick the gun in his mouth,” He pauses and looks at my face. “No offense, Ad, and just wait till he starts squawking.” He shrugs his shoulder with a questioning expression. We all give JJ then we’ll end up in jail look. “That’s a felony,” Pope states matter-of-factly, and we all share our opinions of JJ’s grandest plan of kidnapping my boyfriend. “We fly espionage,” Pope says to end our conversation. We all laugh and smile as Pope and JJ do a weird handshake.

We all hop into Kie’s car, and JJ pulls out his gun cocking it back way too playfully. “JJ, why do you have a gun!?” My eyes widen at JJ waving the gun around. We fight with JJ, as per usual, about his gun and keeping it hidden from everyone. Finally, the brain of our group Pope comes up with a plan to wiretap the guys' car. Pope runs off, leaving me with JJ and Kie. JJ decides this is the time to ask questions about Kie’s relationship with Pope. I sat with my head down, getting secondhand embarrassment. JJ had been painfully obvious he likes Kie, and I don’t think she was picking it up.

“Do you hear him,” Kie says, her face completely covered with confusion over this topic, and her lip arched. “Yep, Kie, just leave me out of this.” I shake my head, covering my face to look outside. Kie throws her hand up in the air. I can’t help but laugh. Kiara needs to start picking up on things, but I haven’t exactly had girl talk time with her, but these circumstances mean I HAVE to.

“We could sit in silence,” Kie says, looking out the window, her smile tight-lipped.

Since the sun had started setting as a group settled, we should wait until night fell. I was nervous. It’s been a while since going out the pogues on a risky venture.

Kiara calls Gavin, and though her voice wasn’t scary, we had leverage to scare him out, hopefully. “JJ, move over,” I whisper-yell quietly and push him with my hip, finally moving over. He propels his shoulder with mine, and I sigh, bothered. “He’s talking about negotiating something,” Pope says vaguely. “Gavin has the gun Rafe used,” Pope says quickly, and I’m palpitating as anxiety floods my body. Of course, my friends wanted Rafe to be locked away, and Rafe should be, not John B and Sarah out on the forefront (I have faith they’re alive) to make up for Rafe's mistakes. But, as Rafe’s girlfriend and best friend, I didn’t want him to exist behind a cell, and I’d have to talk to him through the glass while holding a grimy black phone to my ear.

I’ll always feel guilty for playing both sides, but it wasn’t like I was telling Rafe anything. I don’t think I’ve ever revealed any plans the pogues made, and I could efficiently get information out of Rafe, but then he’ll stop trusting me. The arm was consistently tugging me to pick a team. The brevity of not having Rafe in my life would feel drawn out.

Gavin pulls his car off to the side, and we go past and start getting anxious. “Guys, we can’t wait here,” I say impatiently, and Pope is already running off to the grass. I’m the second to jump over the fence into Sean's backyard with three other kooks. “Hey, Adriana.” Sean waves to me, smiling as if this was an everyday occurrence. I wave back weirdly and start playing catch-up with Pope.

“He’s meeting ward right now. We gotta go.” We all start dashing back quickly.

This was elusive and had lots of running, but this was what I wanted. I wanted my old life back—the chaotic pogue-kook life of contumacious and vigilante.

We all overlooked the fence at the construction site, which was creepy as alone, but rain straining on us and thunder exhaling to the water falling hard on us didn’t make it any better. “Lord of the dorks,” Kie said, shaking her head at the 90s-looking camera Pope chose to bring, which was way too big. Pope loses Ward and Gavin on the camera, and JJ whistles to us, finding a ladder to climb up. This. Is. Not. Safe. I want to say but bite it back, ascending up the slippery red and peeling ladder.

Pope finally gets the perfect view of the two, and we get to be an audience of whatever will happen. Pope narrates to us what is happening.

Ward hands Gavin a duffle bag, concluding that this was a payoff of the gun, his silence, or both. “Guy, I think this is a payoff,” JJ states, looking at Pope and then at me. I nod, turning my head back. Pope says Gavin looks mad at Ward, yelling about something. “Why?” Kie asks, confused. “I don’t know.” Pope looks back to the scene unfolding. “Shit,” Pope said, moving around uncomfortably. “What?” All three of us say in unison at his reaction to what is happening. “I don’t- don’t know they’re fighting over something.” Pope looked at all of us and swivelled his head back. I started to become frightened.

I look at JJ, and he grabs my hand reassuringly. I have a gut feeling this won’t be such a poise exchange of goods. “Holy shit, Wards got a gun.” His eyes stay focused on videotaping what's unravelling. “I bet that’s the murder weapon!” Kie says with conviction in her tone.

A shot rings throughout the air as it did on the tarmac. We all put our backs to the wall, gasping at the murder committed.

All I think of is Susan and how I stood there, doing nothing. Sarah’s eyes fall to mine, the hurt and betrayed blank stare gazing into mine. Rafe’s hand is slightly shaking. The blood was coming from her shoulder quickly, flowing like a river in the Bahamas.

JJ’s hand tugs on mine, bringing me to the rainy twilight once again to leave the flashback for later. “Oh my god, please tell me that didn’t happen.” Kiara’s worried voice rang as I covered my mouth to stop any sound. Ward will always be nefarious; anything he touches breaks and dies.

Ward looks out from the construction building, and Pope yells for us to get down, and we listen. Our hearts are racing with fear. “I think we should go right now,” JJ suggests quickly, all of us agreeing to circumvent this god-forsaken situation. Ward comes running, looking on the paved road for the weapon, but it falls into the broken drain.

Kie gets up, pushing herself over the little wall. “What is wrong with you? Murderer!” We all cover her mouth, pulling her down. We all start pacing down the ladder. Kie steps on my hand, leading to JJ and Pope falling to the grass, and I land on JJ. “Sorry.” Kie jumps onto the grass. We get up, leaping over the large wooden fence. We return to her car, panting and out of breath from the horrific incident. Kie calls the cops, and JJ starts to yell, but she’s already dialled them.

We pleaded with Shoupe to believe us, even me, but he gave me the ‘later I’ll talk to you’ look and said that this whole argument was stupid. The boy who cried wolf was not us.

Kiara starts blaming JJ for it all. “You stepped on my hand.” I threw my hands up into the air. “You guys kept telling me to go faster.” She sighs angrily at JJ and me.

By the time we head home, the sun barely rises, but orange still peaks, and the light blue sky is coming through. I’m drenched and cold and tired. This chase for independence isn’t good for the baby, and at the moment, it felt good to forget despite the trauma we all endured.

After going home for an hour, I had to travel back to the construction site and the ocean so Kie, Pope, JJ, and I could find the gun Rafe used, and we’d turn him in, but I didn’t want to be with them. I couldn’t handle the shame of helping the pogues lock my boyfriend up.

Rafe and I are star-crossed lovers. The little balls of fire shone luminously in the deep blue sky full of love and hurt, and it felt like they were against us, calculating every move for us to make every wrong turn, but I didn’t believe in fate. That someone in the sky or universe had been planning for me to love him. Fate was always an excuse to blame your problems on something other than you. You are supposed to make it happen, not the idyllic stars or sky that are a romanticization of our life. You make your experience, which will fall on your pristine or impure hands.

“We can all agree I’m not going in there.” I point to the disgusting sewer filled with rats, mud, and maybe rabies floating around somehow. Our eyes land on Kie after JJ tells some story about a worm that can get in– never mind, Kiara just proceeds into the drain. Pope looks into her brown eyes, telling her to be careful, but Kie being Kie, gives him the cold shoulder. “Kiara, did you find anything yet?” Pope asks, and the drain echos loudly. Kie says a simple nothing. I get on my hands and knees, pushing my body halfway in, calling Kie’s name sporadically to confirm she’s safe. Then JJ and Pope start talking about Pope and Kie’s relationship, which makes me feel bad. Pope sounds almost lovesick to the fact Kiara just doesn’t desire him like Pope wants Kie.

Kiara starts shouting, causing us to call out until she says it was rats. “What if Ward put Gavin sewers? That would make so much sense!” JJ says as if that statement makes sense. “She would've seen the body.” I look back at him in bewilderment at JJ’s thought process and roll my eyes. Then, Kie starts screaming that the water is rising. “Kie! Kiara!” We all yell, and it bounces off the cement. My eyes widen.

The water bursts out, and I fall into JJ’s body, which grabs my wrist and holds me by my waist. The three of us get to the grass running to the lid of the sewers.

We start trying to lift the heavy metal, and the water becomes deathly close. Kiara is underwater when we throw the grate off, and she gasps for air. I wipe the hair out of my face with slippery fingers. We watch as Kiara gets up from the pavement, battered and coughing water, pulling the gun out from her back.

The gun. The gun, the gun, full of bad memories and Rafe’s fingers press down on the trigger and then boom.

Kie smiles at us, and we laugh while JJ wraps the gun in a bandana. I have to force a smile and laugh. Finally, I tell them I ought to leave, and they all grin at me, feeling relief.

My house is quiet. My parents aren’t home again for the past week. They’ve been on a trip, but they told me they’d be back yesterday, yet here we are, the house settles as the wind whistles loud from the outside. I walk through the house, leaving wet footprints and water dripping from my body to the floor. I open my bedroom door with a sigh.

“Hey, baby.” Rafe waves carefully at me, his tone too sweet, almost bitter. I don’t get scared this time. “Where were you?” Instead, Rafe’s voice wants to initiate an argument accusing me while his eyes wander over my body. I throw my white ribbed tank top to the white hardwood floor, leaving me in a bikini top. “At the pool. Topper threw me in.” I lied through my teeth dryly, Rafe knew, and I knew it. Rafe stands up from my bed, and his body becomes too close, seizing up my oxygen. He leans his head down to my ear. “I don’t think our child would like a liar, right?” Rafe’s trying to get in my head, his breathing fanning my ear, and his manipulative tactics make my eyes reach red.

A smile dares to make an appearance on his face. “Just tell me, baby. You usually can’t handle a day without me. What changed?” Rafe positioned his hand on my cheek, but I moved away, trying to back up, he grabbed my lower back, restricting any movement, and his fingers trailed over my breasts and stomach. “I was at the sewers- playing around.” God, I sounded stupid. “Playing- Adriana fucking tell me, or I start breaking shit.” Rafe finally gives out on his act, and anger covers his face. Red splotches blanketed his pale skin. I stir under his intense stare.

Kook academy had been fun for most of us. By ninth grade, we couldn’t keep our eyes off each other. Glances while walking to class. Rafe’s pretty smile worked like a charm, never failing for me to smile back or pout as we trekked the halls past each other, and I’d bump into someone. A chuckle would fall from his red lips, turning his head. Then it became walking me to class, stealing kisses before anyone would pour from the classrooms, the happiness of our relationship, not this.

The elegiacs to mourn every time something shatters to pieces, the threats, to learn not to push him, or me crying every single time. It was a cycle of precipitation raining down on us that we had to stop.

Rafe’s right-hand stops at my neck, squeezing it tight, but let’s go quickly—a sadistic smile forms. Everything is being thrown to the ground, pens, pictures of friends or family, our photographs, notebooks, the fuzzy white blankets covering my bed fall to the ground, clothes of mine and his pulled from the hangers. I yell at him many times, but he doesn’t stop until his breathing is wretched and beads of sweat form on his forehead. My room is in shambles, the hardwood floor coated with my items.

Uncontrollable salty tears tumble down my cheeks as I look around. My parents would’ve been furious if they had seen it like this. “I’m sorry, baby. I- I didn’t mean to. I promise I didn’t mean for it to turn out like this.” Rafe is crying along with me, his voice shaky as he mumbles into the flesh of my neck. “Rafe- why would you do this to me? Why!?” I want to push him off me, but my fingers can’t help and follow through his hair, wet and strands effortlessly out of place.

Rafe pushes our bodies to the blanketless bed. We lay down, his hands placed on my stomach. “Please don’t leave me. I can’t lose you, baby. You know I love you. I didn’t mean to put you through all this stress, especially with the baby.” His voice is genuine, and he leans over the bed to grab the fuzzy blankets to cover us. “I’m not. I’m not leaving you.” I turn my body his, tears sapping to the pillows and Rafe’s hand under my cheek; my nose is clogged, meaning I have to breathe through my mouth. “But, do you see what you did? Ra- Rafe, I need a break from this. No from us. I don’t want to break up; I just need to be alone for a while without you-” Before I turn into a broken record, he cuts me off, begging me. “Adriana, I have to be here for the baby. For you.” His cracked voice, rain falling on my face while he kisses me. Soft and light kisses, I accept. “Rafe, I ask for a week’s break, ok, baby. I love you but cannot deal with this right now.” I wipe my eyes and kiss him deeply with my heart until I feel heart sick. My hands held his slippery face.

His body moves on top of mine. Rafe’s too cherry-red lips press to my dry pink ones.

I couldn’t explain the heartbreak and the darkness that has fallen over us as individuals and as a duo, an affinity. Our relationship has disintegrated into tattered glass, sharp and pointy pieces, ready to stab as Rafe and I’s bodies move against each other, savoring one another.

Sometimes love was rough, too rough for two broken people.

When love became an overbearing harshness like the wood to a pier, it had to be revised, looked over to make sure no one could get cut, but at moments it’d slash people, let the crimson spill because someone hadn’t mended it correctly.

That was us.

We would never be mended correctly until we determined to step back from the pier. I just didn’t have faith he would.

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