#like do u think u just go in and like. sweep. and dust. and then twirl around and the room is sparkljn

[nomaishuttle]

im done now im ready 2 go home ^_^

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Back a Ways Part Two

Part One | Part Three

Notes: I lied it's going to be three parts but part three is also getting posted tonight so y'all don't have to wait

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x Surgeon!Reader

Length: 3.7K

Rating: M

Warnings: Fluff; angst; yearning; cursing; slow burn

Summary: "Why would Jack disapprove? Matter of fact—” Everett folds his arms on the table, “Why would Jack care?” 

What the hell can you tell Everett? That it’s just a feeling, a hunch? That the way Jack eyed you when you were talking to Dana had been nearly as intimidating as the only time you went against his direct orders when you were a resident? 

u can come over

It’s as close as your brother gets to issuing invitations these days. From what you can gather, Everett only sees people a couple of times a week—your parents, and Jack, and a few of the friends he made at the academy. He’s never been the most outgoing guy, but he’d grown more and more reclusive since he’d been honorably discharged. The traumatic brain injury that he’d sustained while serving had only made the scope of who he dealt with on a daily basis even more narrow.

Everett has never tried to explain to you what had happened while he was on active duty. Jack has only made you privy to a thing or two, but you know that he doesn’t want to betray your brother’s confidences. 

Pulling up to Everett’s house and seeing Jack’s car in the driveway almost makes you drive away. You haven’t seen him since Dana ratted you out about Wilkins in the ER; haven’t spoken to or texted him since then, either. You consider it as the car idles, your hands twisting on the steering wheel. It’s possible that neither of the guys know you’re out there. Everett likes to have visitors out on his back patio when they come over—having too many people in his house makes him feel ‘penned in.’ 

But, this is the first time in months that Everett has given you the green light to see him. 

You grudgingly pull your car into the parking space in front of his house. You use the spare key to get into the house, kicking your shoes off as you look around. The living room is neat as a pin—mail is stacked on the living room table, sorted into two piles; the couch looks like it hasn’t been sat on for weeks; there’s not a speck of dust in sight. 

You look down at your shoes, considering putting them properly on the rack with the others…And then leave them on the floor by the door. It’s a minor show of protest in the face of Everett’s near-compulsive need for order. He’d always been an oddly neat kid, and his time in the military had cemented a hatred for any hint of mess. You reach out, pushing one of the pillows over on the couch before you head into the kitchen.

The coffee pot is nearly empty, and looking into his cabinet, you see two of his mugs missing. You begin to brew a fresh pot before you turn, walking down the hall to the back patio. You peer through the window, catching sight of the back of your brother’s head, and Jack sitting across from him. 

You know that the movement has caught his attention when Jack’s focus flickers to you. His gaze doesn’t hold for long as he meets Everett’s eye again, reaching for his mug. You consider going out, but hell—you’ve had a long night, and you don’t think you can face your brother without coffee in your system…Maybe something stronger. If you remember rightly, Everett tends to keep whiskey in the cabinet. 

-- 

“You gonna hide in here all morning?” 

You roll your eyes at the question, not bothering to turn as Jack sidles up to you at the counter. 

“It’s been five minutes—and I was making more coffee.”

Jack grunts, bracing his hands on the cool formica. You let your eyes sweep over his hands, savoring the heat of him next to you. 

“...He doing okay?” 

“The same.” 

“Mm,” You nod.

“A little better, maybe.”

“Oh?”

“Sure.” Jack turns, tucking his hands into his pockets as he props his hips against the counter. “You know he’s dating someone?” 

It surprises the hell out of you, and you don’t bother to hide it.

“Really?” 

“Mhm. Something else the two of you seem to have in common these days.” 

It’s a fact, but it feels like an accusation. A hundred answers sit on your tongue—David is a nice guy, someone who understands what you do (but so is Jack); you haven’t been out with anyone for a while, you’re just shaking the dust off (when was the last time Jack went on a date?); you can’t just twiddle your thumbs and wait for a man that will never see you that way—

“Jeez, Queenie—The hell did you do?” 

His tired question snaps you out of your spiral, and before you can ask what he’s talking about, he’s stepping out of the kitchen and neatening the nudged pillow. You watch, amused, as he reaches down, putting your shoes away properly. 

“Everett needs some mess in his life," You insist. "It’d be good for him.” 

Jack grunts as he straightens. “Last thing I need is the two of you at each other’s throats all morning.” 

“All morning is a stretch. I’m probably not staying long.” 

“No?” His hands tuck back into his pockets as he joins you again. You eye the counter as he faces away from it, picturing his hands pressed there just a moment ago. You’ve thought of those hands a lot of other places—on your hips, sliding under your shirt—

“Night shift getting to you?” He plies.

He doesn’t realize he’s offered you an easy out. You nod, raising a hand and scrubbing it across your eyes for emphasis. Jack grunts in sympathy. 

“How’s it been?” 

“You know how it is.” 

“...Yeah.” Jack nods, shifts beside you again. “You ever regret it?” 

“Regret what?” 

“Switching to surgery.” 

Your brow furrows, a frown pulling at your lips. It’s the first time Jack has spoken to you about your decision, years since you’d sat him down and told him that you’d be switching to a surgical residency and needed his support. 

“No. Not once. I…” You trail off, trying to nail your thoughts down as you turn to lean back against the counter. “Being in the ER isn’t for me, Jack. I never got my footing.”

“You kidding me?” 

“No, I’m not, and I wasn’t—”

“Queenie—” 

“No, Jack. I don’t want you to bullshit me. Not about this.” 

Jack is quiet for a moment. You can see the steady waggle of his head as he shakes it, hear him draw in a deep breath. 

“I liked it better when you were down where I could keep an eye on you.” 

Your heart stutters in your chest, and you can’t stop your rush to get a better look at him. Jack’s head is bowed slightly, lips pursed into a thin line. He doesn’t look at you as he adds:

“When you came to the Pitt, I promised your brother I’d look out for you.”

You just manage to stifle a deprecating, humorless laugh, staring blankly at the cabinet across from you. Of course. 

 “You’ve made too many promises to that man, Jack. Hell, he’s my brother, I don't even heed him like that.” 

“....It’s different.” 

And you can’t argue with that. You have a love-hate relationship with your brother, give the man shit, but he and Jack went through hell together. The worst that you had to face with Everett was a united front when he’d broken one of your mother’s favorite vases, and you’d recognized the abject terror on his face (you’d been able to convince her that it had been the dog; Everett had bought your silence with three months’ worth of his allowance money). 

“Yeah,” You nod, “It is.” You nudge his arm with yours. “If you’re really that worried, you could come up and see how I’m doing sometime.” 

“Right, with the mountain of free time I have.” 

“You take bathroom breaks occasionally, right? Come take one upstairs. They can do without you for a couple of minutes.”

“Maybe you come back down, see how you do.”

“What’d I just say about the ER?” 

“That was before. You were a resident back then, Queenie. Your instincts are different now, your knowledge is stronger, your reflexes are faster.” 

Your mouth works wordlessly for a moment before you shake your head, pushing out a disbelieving laugh. 

“Why won’t you let this go?” 

“Because it drives me nuts that you don’t see what I see.” 

“And what’s that.” 

“A brilliant, capable doctor—and a badass.” 

His gaze sears yours and you freeze, caught in the intensity that he watches you with. You don’t blink; you’re not entirely sure that you’re even breathing. Jack shifts, and your heart thuds as he turns to face you more fully. He takes one step, and then another, until he’s so close that you can feel the heat radiating off of his body, smell the crisp scent of his body wash.

“You’ve always had it, Queenie,” He murmurs, “But you never gave yourself any goddamn grace.” 

Your mouth works wordlessly as you flounder for a reply, stunned heat creeping up your neck and sweeping across your face. Jack’s eyes seem to flicker in focus between your eyes and your mouth, and in the split-second that you’re certain you’ve caught him looking, the world goes still, and quiet.

And then you hear the click of Everett’s back door closing, snapping you out of your fantasy and spurring you to whirl away. You take the coffee pot up with an imperceptibly shaking hand, curling the other tightly around your mug. You laser-focus on it as you pour, forcing yourself to hone in on it—not on your brother’s footsteps, or in the way that Jack is still watching you. 

“Thought I heard your voice,” Everett comments. You hum, non-committal, and lift the coffee pot.

“Figured I’d make a fresh pot before coming to say hello. Want some?” 

Everett nods, setting his mug down beside yours. He waits patiently as you fill it, stands still as a stone, and huffs a curse when a dribble of coffee lands on the counter as you lift the pot back up a little too quickly. You take a step back, biting back a bratty chuckle as he rips a paper towel off of the roll to swipe it up.

You glance toward Jack, expecting to find a gentle, chastising smile—but Jack’s expression is closed off, jaw set as he watches Everett clean up. He can’t be mad at you for that, can he? It was barely three drops worth—Everett will be over it by the time he swipes it up. 

“C’mon,” Everett urges. “Let’s go outside. Less for you to mess up out there.”

You push off of the counter, grumbling, “Don’t bet on it,” As you stride out ahead of them. 

--  

As visits with Everett go, this one is far more stilted than usual. Typically, if both you and Jack are there, it’s an easy enough go around—smooth slides between talking about the Pitt, Everett complaining about his neighbors, Jack ribbing him about some op that went well when they served together—round and round you go.

But this time, neither you nor Jack are making much of an effort to engage with one another. Everett is left to act as the conversational conduit, and for a man with a penchant for keeping his mouth shut, the morning crawls by at a snail’s pace. Jack heads out before you do—stands and shakes Everett’s hand, promises to see him next week, to call sooner.

When his gaze flickers to you, you force yourself to study the bottom of your coffee cup, turning it from side to side and eyeing the few drops left.

“…See you at the Pitt.”

“Yeah.” It’s all you can muster. You can’t even bring yourself to meet his eye and give him a small smile as you say it. Jack’s footsteps retreat; the door opens, closes behind him. And after a few minutes of silence, Everett lets out the weariest fucking sigh you’ve ever heard.

“Alright, what’d he say.”

You look up then, frowning at the question. Everett’s brows tip up as he waits for your answer. You flounder, shaking your head.

“What do you mean?”

“I haven’t seen you so closed off around the guy since you decided to change your residency—and even that wasn’t as bad as whatever the hell this was.”

You slouch down in your seat, setting the coffee cup back down. 

“Jack didn’t say anything.” Except rattle the hell out of you and trick you into thinking he was staring at your mouth. “I’m just in my head about something. Sorry, Ev.”

He grunts, leans back in his seat. “...Wanna talk about it?”

It’s your turn for your brows to lift in surprise. 

“Wow, I didn’t realize I was that off.”

“Yes or no,” Everett presses. You consider for a moment before you shake your head. 

“It’s not…I have a date with a surgeon that I work with.”

“Okay,” He shifts in his seat as his brow furrows. “What’s that got to do with Jack?” 

“Just got the sense that he doesn’t approve.”

“That bothers you?” Disbelief is rife in Everett’s tone, and you can’t blame him. You haven’t put so much stock in his opinion—but it’s not the same. “What’s the guy like?”

“David? He’s—” You flounder. “Nice, I guess. Smart, quick…He’s got really nice eyes—”

“I don’t need that level of detail.”

“He’s a good guy.” 

“Then why would Jack disapprove? Matter of fact—” Everett folds his arms on the table, “Why would Jack care?” 

You let your eyes lower to the table, your hands wringing in your lap. What the hell can you tell Everett? That it’s just a feeling, a hunch? That the way he eyed you when you were talking to Dana had been nearly as intimidating as the only time you went against his direct orders when you were a resident? 

“He probably doesn’t. Guess I’m just reading into things.” 

“Well whatever it is, talk to him—and soon. Two’a you will put me off having visitors over again.”

“Except for your new girlfriend?”

It’s Everett’s turn to go quiet, and your smile widens. It’s so rare that you’ve been able to catch him out. 

“You gonna tell me about her?” You prod. 

“...Next time,” He musters, adding, “It’s early,” Before you can argue. You purse your lips, considering.

“Don’t wanna jinx it?” 

“Something like that.”

“I respect that.” 

“Good. Now get the hell outta my house before you spill any more coffee on my countertop.”

-- 

It’s in the spirit of air-clearing. In a quiet moment at the top of your fifth night shift, you grab a Twix from a vending machine and head down to the ER. You expect a quick word, a drop off, maybe a smile to send you on your way with reassurance. 

You don’t expect to get roped into two cases in a row—an arm fractured in a car accident, and a stab wound. Any hope of ducking out after the first case is dashed when Jack just nudges your arm and directs, “Let’s go.”

You don’t even have to think. Following him is automatic. And as the two of you run through routine questions, diagnoses, criteria, you realize that you forgot how good this feels—not the rush of the ER, but Jack’s steadiness; his closeness; his encouragement. 

As you peel off your gloves and leave Shen to stitch up the patient, you find Jack giving you an approving nod. 

“Well handled, Queenie.”

“Thank you.”

“You come down here just to prove my point?”

You can’t help your eye roll as the two of you pump hand sanitizer into your palms and work it in. 

“No,” You lean on the denial as you follow him to his desk. “I came to give you this.” You fish into your pocket for the Twix, holding it out. Jack’s lips quirk with a smile. 

“You tryin’ to butter me up for somethin’?”

You were trying to cover off for the foul mood you managed to put Jack in while you were both at Everett’s, but the cloud that had hung over his head during that visit seems to have dissipated. 

“Nope,” You pop the ‘p’, “Just figured I’d take a minute to pop down and annoy you.” 

“Well,” He rips the packet open, drawing one of the Twixes out, “You only managed half.”

“Excuse me?”

“You came down, but you haven’t managed to annoy me. The opposite, actually.” 

“Really.” 

“Really.” Jack holds up one of the Twix in range of you, and waits, his eyes steady on yours. You can’t help the wicked little thrill that runs through you as you lean in, taking a bite of it. His smile widens as you chew, and as he raises the Twix to take a bite for himself. 

“Hey, there you are!” 

The sound of David’s voice makes you straighten u, turning to spot him just a few feet away. 

“Oh, hey,” You greet, swiping a bit of missed caramel off of your lower lip. “What are you doing down here?” 

“I’m heading out, but Princess said she saw you heading down here.”

“And…Here I am.” 

“Yeah.” David’s gaze darts to Jack before he met your eye again. “We still on for tomorrow morning?” 

“Mhm,” You nod.

“Sweet. I’ll be here at 7:30.” 

“Cool.” 

David nods again, seeming to meet Jack’s eye and give him a small wave before leaving. You turn back to face Jack, folding your arms on the desk as you try to meet his eye—but Jack seems laser-focused on the computer in front of him. The Twix is gone—shoved to the side, behind his keyboard. 

“I should head back up,” You manage after a moment, straightening up. “Try not to have too much fun down here without me.” 

Jack gives a soft hum, a nod, a murmur of, “Will do.” 

You let yourself linger for just a second longer before heading to the elevator, stomach twisting with the feeling that you had somehow managed to annoy him after all. 

-- 

Going back down near the end of your shift feels like kicking the hornet’s nest, but whatever it is that annoyed him, Jack’s surely had a chance to sufficiently cool off, right? 

You duck into the restroom once you’ve changed out of your scrubs, giving yourself a quick once-over. You’d promised to meet David downstairs for your breakfast date, but truth be told, you're beginning to regret agreeing to seeing him that morning. Not because of the way Jack had acted (at least, not completely), but you are tired as hell. You should’ve held off until you had a day off. 

You glance back at the sound of the door opening, offering Dana a weak smile. 

“Clocking in?” 

“Mhm,” She hums. “Clocking out?” 

“Yep.” You take up your bag, patting her shoulder. “Have a good shift, lady.” 

“Go get some rest. You look like hell.” 

You chuckle softly, teasing, “Always the charmer.” 

The ER is bustling as busily as ever as you step out onto the floor, looking around for Jack. You spot him coming out of North Two, and damn yourself for hesitating when he catches sight of you in his sweeping gaze. You meet him in the middle, tucking your hands into your pockets as you fight the urge to reach out and pick a piece of lint off of his shirt. 

“Doing alright?” 

He nods, casting his gaze over your shoulder. You turn your head, following his gaze, and see David waiting for you by one of the exits. You swallow thickly, turning back to face Jack. 

“I have to go.” 

"Have to?" There's a sharp lean to the way he asks, a resolute tension tightening his handsome features. It's harsh; new to you in a way that's rattling. The judgement in his tone catches you off-guard, and your hands curl into fists in your pockets. 

“I’m going to.” 

“Well, that’s something different, isn’t it.” 

Your mouth works wordlessly as your mind races. You raise a hand to signal David to give you another minute when he calls out to you, unable to draw yourself away from Jack when he looks so goddamn disappointed in you. 

“What has crawled up your ass lately?” You hiss. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You’ve been so—” You wave a hand toward him, “You keep shutting me out—”

“You shouldn’t keep Wilkins waiting.” 

Your head jerks back like the man’s just slapped you, and Jack’s jaw tightens as he averts his gaze. You push out a stunned, affronted laugh, shaking your head as you step back.

“Wow—”

“Queenie—”

“No. No, you’re right.” You turn away from Jack without another word, forcing a smile onto your face when you make eye contact with David. 

“Sorry about that.” 

“Nah, s’okay. You, uh—” His eyes dart over your shoulder to where you left Abbot. “You ready to go?” 

“Yep!” You chirp. You refuse to turn around, to see if Jack is still standing there. For once, you don’t try to shut the rest out, to check if he’s watching. You just move forward. And when David’s hand settles on your lower back to guide you outside, you resolve yourself to have a good time. 

--  

You have never been on a more awkward date in your life. 

The conversation just doesn’t flow. When you and David are working together, there’s banter, there’s ease, but when you’re alone and there’s no one between you on a table, it’s like there’s this…block. 

You chalk it up to the fact that you’re so tired you could cry, that your sleep schedule is all out of whack. And sure, that’s a factor, but you just can’t get Jack out of your fucking mind. You know that the stilted nature of your conversation with David isn’t helped by the few times that you’d checked your phone. But Jack has hardly texted in months, so why should today be any different? 

The date ends with knowing smiles, teasing, “See you at work”s before you get into your cars. You buckle in, wave at David as he drives off, and then just sink back in your seat, staring at your steering wheel.

When the tears prickle your eyes, you tell yourself that you’re just overtired—that you need a nap, and some good coffee (because the coffee from the bad cart was watery and flavorless). You push the tears back, shaking your head. Nothing about the date was worth crying over. You’re still in the parking lot at work for christ’s sake. 

Just get yourself home. You can have a nice cry in a hot shower. 

Last Part

Tag list:

@missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @amneris21 ; 

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; 

@millllenniawrites ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; 

@thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @realwhoreforfictionalmen; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; 

@winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989 ; @cannonindeez ; @gabsgabsvaz

@rhaelintoo ;

[bainutwater85]

I’d like some Rock Lee sleeping hc like sharing a bed and smut😼😼😼please

hi anon sorry I took awhile to answer this and let your ask sit in a corner collecting dust and cobwebs 😭!

warnings: suggestive, creampies and masturbation.

God is he a messy sleeper..like he ends up in positions that you couldn’t even comprehend. His left leg will be under the bed while his right leg is on you and his toe is almost in your nose..yeah. He sleeps like a noodle basically.

Hates and I mean HATES thin covers. He has a closet full of blankets, pillows/pillowcases, sheets and comforters. He gets down he don’t play when it comes to his bedsheets💀

Never lets you go even if he isn’t holding u tightly like the wind may come in and sweep you away from him. He’ll always have a hand on your waist, thigh, back or ass. Anyplace he can easily just grab you nd pull you closer as if you’re falling off the bed.

Slobs..not a lot but enough to fill up teacup and always wakes up wondering why his pillow is soaking wet along w his face and arm cause he refuses to believe he slobs.

his morning wood isn’t as prominent as others. And he sees this as an opportunity to get an extra warm up for the day (jumping jacks/push ups to get rid of it) but i mean..if you wanna help!! He’s fine w that to😙

May or may not have slapped or kicked you before. He always apologizes tho but damn did that hurt so now he has to sleep on the floor or in the living room to feel your annoyance and pain!

Loves when you lay on him. He just wants to hold your head close to his heart like you’re a “princess” or sum shit he says. When you’re laying atop him and I mean your chest on his. Your legs on either side of him and your arms wrapped around his back— head against his chest typa position. He will melt (literally) cause you’re so cute and warm and he loves you sm give this man a child jeez. Anyways, he’ll run up and down your back but usually have a hand on your lower back.

Also he never makes you sleep closest to the door ifykyk 😭

Wants to be the one to wake you up, not a rooster, not the noisy neighbors or the constructions work in the neighborhood.

nsfw below!

Morning sex isn’t uncommon but it’s not something that happens every morning, yknow? But he looks so sexy his head back against the pillows nd headboard while you ride him reverse cowgirl. Him holding the fat of your ass and guiding you up and down, back and forth against his cock. which was going soft because he already came inside you

secretly wants to be waken up with a blowjob. Just the sight of his soft cock in your mouth while you try to make it stand could make a man like him die and ascend.

There have been times where he thought you were sleep and began palming himself to the thought of you. He doesn’t do it TO you cause he thinks it’s weird to masturbate to a sleeping person yuck. Whole time you’re rubbing your clit to his sultry exhales and and inhales. 😋

he doesn’t resort to sex most of them time but won’t turn down a good dry humping sesh

[tokkiwrites]

𝐂𝐇.𝟐 → 𝐀𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭. 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬.

꒰ ꪆ୧ ꒱ SUℳM𝛢RY ⌢ ꒰੭. The days slip by in golden blinks, time is faster here. Feedbags, hoofbeats, heat heavy on your forehead. But when you're with Joel, time forgets to move at all, like even it is trying to look at him a moment longer.

˖˙ ᰋ ── 𝖙ags ˚ cowboy!Joel x fem!reader, slowburn, mutual pining, age gap

𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒﹙ʚɞ˚﹚ 𝖓ote: HEY YALL!!!! part 2 is here! it took some time cuz i wanted the first part to get at least 100 notes, see if u all really like it. ANYWAYS here's joels part!! hope u enjoy p.s hope u enjoy my short poem at the beginning 🐇🎀🤠 (short taglist: @thoughts-of-bear @chewingbunny @mukeovernetflix )

𝐂𝐇.𝟏 | ...

❝The sun dips low, but I am still away

Fingers brushing against the edge of night

Do you hear the wind?

Saying things I don’t yet know how to say?❞

ㅤ ♰

It's been three weeks.

The days unfurl like parchment creased by dust, smoothed by sun. Mornings begin before the world stirs, with dew on the grass and coffee already steaming in the kitchen. The wind blows softly, the animals still asleep in their stalls. It starts to feel normal.

Joel’s already outside, like always. You see him through the kitchen window, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, that same weathered flannel unbuttoned just enough to show the curve of his throat, his skin sun-warmed and golden. He’s fixing something near the paddock, hammer in one hand, a cigarette dangling loosely between his lips.

You don’t mean to watch, but you do.

Later, when you’re washing dishes, he comes in. You feel it before you hear it, his presence always lands first. "That casserole last night," he says, setting down his gloves on the counter. "Think I died a little."

You glance over your shoulder, smile twitching at the corners. "Didn’t know you cowboys were so easy to please." He shrugs, eyes flicking to yours. "We’re not. You just got a touch." And maybe it shouldn’t feel like that. Like that praise is wrapped in flint, but your heart catches fire anyway.

That evening, you're sweeping near the porch, dust swirling at your feet, when Joel walks past you. No words. Just a low, amused hum in his chest. You speak before you think.

"Do you ever smile?" He stops. Turns just slightly. The brim of his hat hides most of him, but his voice is all gravel and molasses when it comes. "Only when I mean it." Your stomach flips.

He doesn’t linger, but he doesn’t go far either. Just sits on the edge of the porch as the sky burns pink and gold behind him. You finish sweeping slower than you need to.

Later, you join him, bare knees brushing the wood, the air between you hotter, a little awkward. You offer him half an apple, and he takes it, fingers brushing yours. It’s nothing he thinks.

It’s everything for you.

“You ever miss the city?” he asks. You shake your head. “No. It started to feel like rot. Like everything I touched would turn to mold.” He nods like he understands. Like he feels it too. The slow erosion of something once bright. "You don’t talk much," you murmur. He chuckles low. “Don’t need to, usually.”

You turn to look at him then. Really look. “I like that about you."

He meets your eyes, and it hits you like a nail through soft wood. A glance that stays long after it ends. There’s silence after that, but your heart is singing and dancing.

And maybe that’s the danger of him, you think. Not the calloused hands or the scars on his forearms, not the steel-toed boots or the pistol always clipped to his belt. It’s the quiet. The steadiness. The possibility. Like a fire that hasn’t yet caught. But God, how it wants to.

ㅤ ♰

Another day comes and passes by just like that.

Joel was already outside when you wandered past the barn. The sun had dipped low, all melted honey and tangerine spilling across the sky, and there he sat, on a worn stool beside the horse sheds, one boot pressed into the dirt, the other knee drawn up. A guitar rested on his lap.

You didn’t speak, not at first. Just stayed by the fence post, your once bright yellow sweater sleeves half pulled over your hands. He didn’t look up, but you could tell he knew you were there. His fingers moved across the strings like a prayer, coaxing out something low and slow. “You play beautifully,” you said at last, voice soft as the dusk around you.

Joel glanced up, shadowed by the brim of his hat. “Ain’t nothin’. Just somethin’ I picked up years back.” He replies, almost shy. “Helps the horses settle. Helps me settle, too.” You stepped a little closer, your shoes crunching quietly on the gravel. “Mind if I stay?”

His eyes flicked toward you. “S’pose not.”

So you sat on the low fence rail, watching his hands more than his face. Big, calloused fingers that could fix broken hinges, wrangle cattle, and still pull music from a six-string like it was made of breath and bone. You didn’t realize how close you were until the last chord faded into the evening air. He looked over at you and you felt your face burn up again.

“Y’got quiet all of a sudden,” he murmured, voice rough but not unkind. You swallowed. “Just…Umㅡ thinking.”

“‘Bout what?” You didn’t answer right away. What were you supposed to say? There was a breeze, and it tugged a strand of hair across your cheek. Joel reached out and tucked it back behind your ear. You didn’t move. Neither did he.

Your eyes met and his thumb hovered near your jaw. Close. And for a moment the world stopped. So close.

But the moment passed.

Joel leaned back, dragging in a breath like it hurt. And in a way it did. “Should head in. Gets cold out here once the sun drops.” You nodded, heart a thudding mess beneath your cardigan. “Right. Y-yeah.”

He stood, brushing dust from his jeans, and offered a hand to help you down from the fence. When you took it, you swore you felt something pulse between your palms.

“Night, darlin’,” he said. You smiled, cheeks warm all over “Goodnight, Joel." And when you walked back toward the house, his song still hummed, wrapped around your neck like a locket.

ㅤ ♰

That night, you can’t sleep. You twist in the sheets until they feel like ropes and chains. You are restless. You slip outside barefoot, cardigan tugged over your nightdress, and the door creaks behind.

The moon is high. Everything glows in that strange pale way, like the world’s been half-remembered. The grass is wet under your feet. You walk without thinking, past the porch, around the old woodpile.

You don’t mean to go far. Just to the old swing hanging from the crooked oak out back, weathered rope, wood worn smooth by years of use. You find it in the dark by memory, settle onto it softly, fingers curling around the fraying edges.

The stars are out tonight. Scattershot and trembling. You breathe deep and slow. Peaceful.

The swing creaks again under your weight, the night folding heavier around you. Then a sharp crack from the treeline. You jolt upright, heart lurching. The swing groans as it rocks back without you, and in your panic, you stumble straight into the solid warmth of Joel’s chest.

Strong hands catch your arms before you can tumble backwards. His palms are rough, steadying you like it’s nothing. “Hey, hey,” Joel says low. “Easy, darlin’. Just a branch. Wind picks up, things snap.”

You realize, belatedly, how close you are, pressed so near you can feel the heat coming off him in waves. His flannel is open over a thin, worn t-shirt, and you can smell soap and pine and the faintest trace of cigarette smoke.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, mortified, trying to pull back.

But he doesn’t let you go right away. His grip softens but stays firm. He’s grounding you. “Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for, girl.” he murmurs. His thumb brushes, barely, against the inside of your elbow.

You stare at the open collar of his shirt, too shy to meet his eyes. Your pulse stammers at the base of your throat. “I guess…” you start, voice too small, too breathless. “I guess I’m still not used to it being so quiet. City was always loud. Noise kinda...filled up all the spaces.” Joel huffs a quiet breath. Not quite a laugh, but close. “Out here, you hear yourself think more. Sometimes that’s worse.”

You manage a tiny smile. “You don’t seem scared of the quiet.”

“I ain’t.” His voice drops even lower. “Learned a long time ago it’s better to listen to what the quiet’s tryin’ to tell you.”

You finally dare to glance up at him. His hat’s pushed back a little, shadows painting the sharp lines of his face, the cut of his jaw. His eyes are unreadable. You wish you could drink the moonlight off of his face.

The swing creaks again behind you, swaying lonely on its ropes. Joel’s hand slips from your arm slowly, like he's giving you the choice to stay close or step back. You should probably move away. Put some space between you.

But you don’t. Neither does he. The wind picks up a bit. The night deepens, crickets singing somewhere out in the dark. You think he might say something else. You think maybe you should.

Your hands twitch at your sides, desperate to fidget. He notices, of course, and without thinking, Joel reaches out brushing his thumb against the edge of your sleeve where some srings are unraveled.

It’s a tiny thing, but it undoes you anyway.

“Y’cold?” he asks gruffly.

You shake your head. “No. Just...nervousㅡ I guess.”

Joel’s mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile. Like he knows exactly what you mean. He leans just a fraction closer, enough that you catch the shift of his shoulders, the way his breath catches. And for one reckless second, you think he’s going to kiss you.

Joel’s gaze drops to your mouth. You don't breathe.

But he stops.

You see the moment he reins himself back, muscles pulling taut, a low sigh escaping through his nose like it costs him something to let it go. He steps back, hands sinking into the pockets of his jeans.

“You oughta get inside,” he starts, “Gonna get colder once the moon’s up.” You nod, heart knocking against your ribs. “Yㅡeah. Okay.”

Neither of you move right away.

Joel tilts his head toward the house, a silent nudge, and you finally force your legs to work, stepping backward toward the porch light. Your skin still tingles where he touched you.

When you reach the door, you glance back once. He’s still there, standing in the dark, his hat low over his eyes, the swing swaying slow behind him.

Watching. Waiting.

You step inside, closing the door with a soft click. Press your back to it and try to catch your breath. Outside, the wind picks up again.

In the dark of your room, you peel off your sweater with shaky hands. Crawl under the covers and stare at the ceiling, wide awake, the swing still creaking in your mind, the ghost of Joel's hands still warming your arms.

You tell yourself it’s fine. It was nothing. Still, you wish he hadn’t pulled away.

Downstairs, Joel lingers in the kitchen longer than he needs to. He taps his fingers on a half filled whiskey glass, and stares out the window into the blackness beyond. He can see the swing from here. You were trying so hard to be brave. Like you’d have let him if he just leaned in.

He brings the glass to his lips but doesn’t drink. Instead, he presses the rim against his bottom lip, eyes narrowing.

Christ.

He should’ve kissed you.

It sits heavy in his chest. It coils hot in his gut. That faint sadness he caught in your eyes when he stepped back. He sets the glass down harder than necessary, the sound sharp in the quiet kitchen.

Joel scrubs a hand down his face.

He’s too old for this. He knows better. Knows what it would mean if he crosses that line. You’re young. New to this place. You look at him like he hung the damn moon some days, and he feels like a goddamn fool for wanting to reach out and take what you don’t even know you're offering.

Still, he can’t forget about you not even for a second. Since you got here it had been torture. Joel sighs, and pushes off the counter.

In his room, he doesn’t bother with the light. Just sits heavy on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floorboards like they might give him answers.

He can still smell you. Soap and summer and something soft. He tips his head back against the wall and closes his eyes.

Tomorrow, he tells himself. He’ll put more distance between you. Stop hanging around so much. Stop looking so damn hard. But even as he thinks it, he knows he’s lying.

He knows. He’s already too far gone.

[cheolhub]

birthday bash ask!!~

let’s eat (🤤)- sarrrr this is dangerous!! i’m going to have to request mr kim mingyu (you know!!) and i’ll let you decide on a prompt(s) to use! (trust you with my all! gimme a dm if u want me to choose hehe)

5:13 p.m. — kim mingyu

prompt. “you're so good for me, so fucking good around me, fucking made for me. “

wc. 955

warning. mingyu fucks reader in a dryer (very unrealistic), needy!gyu, baby fever + marriage kink (my fav combo), use of mommy [x1], unprotected sex, creampie, manhandling, SO much dirty talk, pet names [baby, angel] — MINORS DNI 18+

note. thank u for sending in an ask lu,, i’m so sorry if you dont like the piece or the prompt i used !!! i know it’s a lil intense and lacks a lot of detail 😭 i was in the mood to write needy gyu with baby fever without thinking abt logistics so,,, here it is (also im sorry it’s so short </3) [not proofread if u see a typo, i literally didn’t write this]

mingyu is a sucker. you’re not sure there’s a diagnosis for what he has other than a severe case of baby fever. it's not when he sees babies that sets him off, no, it’s you. you doing anything remotely domestic like chores around the house for that matter. when you’re cooking him dinner, loading the dishwasher, dusting and sweeping in your cute little house slippers, and his personal favorite, unloading the dryer.

to put it simply, he just can’t wait to give you a baby so he can come home and spoil his gorgeous little family. the mere mention of even wanting a future with him has him weak in the knees. 

it’s why your his shirt is flipped over your ass and your panties are pushed halfway down your legs the second he finds you in the laundry room. “gyu, what the fuck are you– ah!” you cry out feeling his spit-slicked cock slip inside of you. you fall into the pile of warm clothes, the smell of clean linen filling your nose. “baby!”

mingyu groans, cock twitching at the word that’s had his head spinning for weeks, “that’s right, ‘m gonna give you a baby, angel,” he says, hands gripping your hips for dear life, the flesh of your skin nearly interlaced between his fingers. 

you moan loudly, but it’s muffled by the wild white sheets in the machine. your skin burns up as if it weren’t already on fire thanks to the fresh heat of the dryer. you knew mingyu was ruthless and needy when it came to getting his dick wet, but never would you have thought you’d be in this position as he pounds into you.

“fuck, i love you so much. love you and this fucking pussy so so much. ‘m gonna fill you up ‘n ‘m gonna marry you,” he mutters, eyes watching the way you swallow his dick whole, disappearing as it goes in and out. “gonna make you a pretty little mommy, make you my fuckin’ wife.” 

you’re partially convinced that your boyfriend has gone crazy, but the words head straight to your core, the increase in your arousal solidifying everything mingyu had said. 

his breathing becomes labored, soft moans growing louder as they morph into deep groans. your ears pick all of it up even with the walls of the dryer attempting to drown him out. “tell me you wan’ it, angel, t-tell me you wan’na baby, a pretty ring… tell me you want me forever.” 

you just can’t say no, the offer is too good. you want everything and more with this man, so you tell him exactly what he wants to hear. “i do, i wan’ it, gyu, w-wanna make you a d-dad! w-wanna marry you!”

a guttural groan erupts in his chest and his thrusts pick up, the tip of his cock ramming into your cervix eliciting a loud, muffled cry as you scream into the cloth. “baby, you're so good for me, so fucking good around me, fucking made for me.” he babbles, overstimulated tears pricking at his eyes. “i’m so close, angel. gonna fill this cunt with all my cum ‘n get you pregnant. it’s gonna take. s-swear to fucking god, it’s gonna take.”

your hands mercilessly fist at the cotton, wrinkling it in your tight grasp. you think the heat from the freshly dried sheets melts your brain because now you’re sobbing, incoherently babbling out pleas, but the only thing that can be heard in the mess of your words is the chant of his nickname, “gyu, gyu, gyu!” you clench tightly around his cock, gummy walls molding to the shape of him as they’re made to.

and, fuck, mingyu’s abdomen tightens at the euphoric feeling. his balls draw up, thrusts turning sloppy and inconsistent as he fucks into you. “shit, baby,” he mewls, his grip on your hips near bruising. “i’m gonna cum.” 

all it takes is another tight hug from your cunt and he’s a mess. his cock throbs inside the heat of your stretched cunt before he slams into you and stills, his tip pressed right against your cervix as he empties his load. 

 it’s the ripple effect that triggers your own orgasm. you moan and whine as you feel his heavy seed filling you to the brim and painting your used walls white. all the while, the knot that’s been steadily forming in the pit of your tummy completely unravels and you’re left a shaking, crying mess inside a dryer full of wrinkled, tear soaked cotton. 

it takes him longer than usual to come down from his orgasm, but he eventually eases his grip on your waist as he finds his mind again. he pulls your near-limp body out of the dryer and you let out a broken whine as you feel his cock slip out, creating a mess of cum on the ground. he doesn’t really mind seeing his load go to waste knowing he’ll pump you full the second you’ve recovered.

you slump in his arms while he wordlessly presses kisses into your hair. when you whine again, he murmurs apologetically. “sorry i was so rough, are you okay?”

you nod, still trying to catch your breath and regain stability. “it’s okay. i’m okay. just need a sec,”

he doesn’t say anything for a minute or so, holding you in his arms till you’re able to stand on your own but then he whispers. “can we go again? are you up for it?”

you laugh softly at his need. “we can, but can we try the bed this time? do you think you’ll make it to our room without fucking me against one of the walls?”

he shrugs, grinning to himself. “we’ll see.”

© cheolhub — all rights reserved, please refrain from copying, reposting, modifying or translating my work on any platform.

[knoepfl]

Heyyy~ Could u maybe write a story with Madara Uchiha. I was thinking like he and the reader are fighting in war against each BUT they had an affair for a longer time, and then things get interesting while they're in the middle of fighting. It could be just intense or smut idc about that just write how it's more comfortable for you. PLEASEE 🙏🏻🙏🏻

Ps Love your writing style.

Of course! I haven't watched Naruto in such a long time so I really hope this satisfies you^^ I'm very grateful for your request if you have any more let me know!

Title: "Between War and Desire"

Word Count: 2,753 Trigger Warnings: Mentions of war, emotional conflict, violence, themes of betrayal, and intimacy.

Masterlist

The battlefield stretched before you in ruins, jagged earth and lifeless bodies scattered like broken promises. Dust swirled in the wind, mixing with the scent of blood and decay. The cries of the wounded faded into the distance, drowned by the sound of your heartbeat. But all you saw was him — Madara Uchiha, standing a few paces away, his Sharingan blazing with cold fury.

To the others, he was the bringer of destruction, the enemy who sought to tear the world apart. But to you, he was more than just a warlord cloaked in arrogance and shadow. He was the man whose lips had caressed your skin, whose hands had known the shape of your body better than any blade knew its wielder.

He was the one who whispered your name like it meant everything — and nothing at all.

"Don’t make me do this," Madara said, his voice deep and dangerous, yet laced with an edge of something unfamiliar. You knew that tone well. It was the sound of a man who wanted something he couldn’t have.

You tightened your grip on your weapon, fighting the instinct to believe his words, the part of you that still longed to trust him. "We all have choices. Even you."

His jaw tensed, and for a moment, the fire in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something far more complicated. He took a step closer, as if closing the distance might erase the line between what you were now and what you used to be.

The memory hit you without warning.

You were standing under a starless sky, your back pressed against a tree as Madara’s hand traced the curve of your shoulder. His touch had been hesitant at first, like he wasn’t sure if it was allowed — as though one touch might break whatever fragile thing lay between you. But once he started, he couldn’t seem to stop. His lips followed the path his hand had taken, pressing against your skin like a vow only the night could witness.

"You’re a distraction," he had whispered, his breath warm against your neck, even as his hand slid lower, pulling you closer. "And I can’t afford distractions."

You had smiled against his mouth, knowing he wouldn’t let you go. "Then stop coming back."

But he hadn’t stopped. Night after night, he found his way to you. And you let him, even though every kiss, every whispered confession, felt like the kind of mistake that would eventually demand a price.

Now, on the battlefield, that price was being paid.

Madara’s fan clashed against your blade with a force that rattled your bones, the vibrations traveling up your arm and into your chest, where they settled like a dull ache. His strikes were deliberate, precise — a perfect mirror of the man you had come to know in the dark. But you could see it, buried beneath the anger in his eyes: he didn’t want to do this any more than you did.

"Why are you hesitating?" Madara demanded, his voice sharp with frustration.

You sidestepped his attack, chakra thrumming in your veins, the familiar rhythm of battle doing little to silence the storm inside your heart. "Why are you?" you shot back, knowing the answer already.

This wasn’t just a fight. It was everything unspoken between you — every stolen moment, every breathless confession whispered in the dead of night.

"You think too much," Madara muttered, his fan sweeping toward you again.

You blocked the strike and threw your weight behind your next attack, forcing him back a step. "And you pretend too well."

The blow landed heavier than any weapon ever could. You saw the flicker in his gaze, the brief, unguarded flash of guilt and regret before the mask slipped back into place.

The night before the war had started, Madara had held you close, his breath shaky and uncertain. He pressed his forehead against yours, the rare softness in his eyes making your heart ache.

"Stay with me," he murmured, his voice raw with something you didn’t want to name. "When it all falls apart… stay."

You kissed him instead of answering, pouring every unspoken emotion into that single moment. Because saying yes felt like a betrayal of everything you believed in, and saying no would have broken you both beyond repair.

"I warned you," Madara said now, his voice dragging you back to the present. "This world… it was never going to be kind to us."

"And yet, here we are," you whispered bitterly, your blade flashing in the dim light. "Still fighting for a chance we never really had."

Madara moved faster this time, his strikes coming with a ferocity that left no room for hesitation. But you knew his movements too well, the way his body shifted when he was frustrated, the flicker in his gaze when he was holding something back.

It wasn’t just rage driving him. It was everything he couldn’t say aloud. Don’t do this. Don’t make me hurt you.

The thought lingered in your mind like a poison. What if you stopped fighting? What if you dropped your weapon and reached for him? What if you gave in to the dangerous, aching hope that whispered, He could change. For you.

But could you ever trust him? Would Madara really let go of his ambitions, the power he craved, just to hold on to you? Or would he destroy you the moment you became a liability?

His fan slammed against your blade again, the force sending you skidding backward. "Come with me," he said, and for the first time, his voice wavered.

It wasn’t a command. It was a plea.

And for one terrifying moment, you imagined it — imagined dropping everything, walking away from the blood and the bodies, and letting him pull you into the shadows where the war couldn’t reach you. You could see it so clearly: his hand in yours, the weight of the world falling away as he whispered promises only the night would hear.

But some dreams were too dangerous to chase.

"You should have known better," you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of everything left unsaid.

The last time you had kissed him, it had tasted like goodbye. His hands had roamed over you with a desperate urgency, memorizing every inch of your skin as if it might be the last time he’d ever touch you.

"Don’t fight me," he had begged, his lips trailing along your jaw. "Just stay with me."

You had wanted to promise him everything. But instead, you whispered, "I’ll see you on the battlefield."

His grip on you had tightened, like he could keep you from slipping away. But even Madara Uchiha couldn’t stop what was coming.

Now, as you stared at each other across the battlefield, you realized that nothing had really changed. You were still caught between love and war, between a man you once knew and a monster you could no longer trust.

Madara’s gaze lingered on you, heavy with unspoken promises and unanswered questions. But in the end, he turned away.

Just like he always did.

And you let him go. Because there were some battles you couldn’t win.

But as the wind carried the sounds of war back to you, the thought remained, buried deep in your mind like a splinter you couldn’t pull free: What if you had gone with him? What if he really would have changed, just for you?

Some questions, you realized, were meant to linger — unanswered, like the ghost of a lover’s touch long after the night has ended.

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for reading! This story was a deep dive into the space between love, loyalty, and betrayal — a place where choices hurt no matter which way they fall. I hope you enjoyed the emotional tension and lingering questions. Does Madara truly care, or is it just another layer of his ambition? Let me know your thoughts! Your support and feedback mean everything to me.

[heaven-s-black-box]

Notes- Public Eye; Lyney x performer!gn!reader

Return to File

Recovery date: October 20th, 2024

Description: haha i totally agree that lyney and y/n would be the stars of fontaine lol ^^ so uh do u think u could write lyney x reader in the last au? just generic relationship headcanons please!!

-⭐️ anon

Notes: This work was recovered in conjunction with researcher ⭐️, we thank them for their contributions. uh... this got kind of angsty? But it's also fluffy! I Swear! Also, kind of pushing my theory about how Genshin will end.

Back to directory

He hears about you, of course he does

As an entertainer it’s his job to keep up with the industry, both for trends and competition

But you do music, so he’s not super concerned

But family, he’ll keep up with anything for the sake of his family

So when the younger kids want to catch one of your shows, he’s quick to approve

Then he finds out when it ends and he’s not sending a gaggle of barely 10 year olds to the Opera Epiclesis alone

Honestly he says it’s for there safety, doesn’t want them coming back in the dark alone, but really it’s more for the citizens’ sake

Treats them to some front row seats, he’s heard your shows can be a bit interactive

And he’s surprised when they arrive to find the floor packed, no one is sitting and there are more people than chairs

He now understood the rumors of a new, outdoor, stage being built

Loves the showmanship of your performance, it’s a lot like his work and less like the traditional operas of Fontain

He thinks there’s a moment during your performance where you lock eyes and wink at him

The absurd lighting hides his blush, something he’s grateful for

Is this what people feel like when he flirts with them, because he’s pretty sure you could sweep him off his feet and he’d thank you

Nothing comes of this meeting, but when the new stage opens and he’s asked to be its opening performance, he thinks back to you

Decides to ask you to open his show and join him as a special guest

You are ecstatic, you’ve been waiting for that damn stage and you’ll get to be its first performer by opening for Lyney

So you meet up, and write a new song just for his show

Then comes the choreography, and Lyney need some stuff set up right from the start so you incorporate it

The show ends with you making him appear from one of his set ups, and he takes you to reveal Lynette, and then Freminette appears in a water tank

You spend a lot of time rehearsing everything, from your dance number to his show

Even Lynette talks with you during breaks, you end up bonding over tea

Lyney doesn’t realize he’s in love, not for awhile, he’s so used to putting on an act

It’s only Lynette who notices he’s really in love

The subtle things he does, gently placing a hand on your back or arm just because he can, the way he isn’t so secretive about his tricks, among other things

Then there’s the tells like the little twinkle in his eyes when he looks at you, how he just barely stumbles over his words or hesitates

Freminet notices too, but he’s not going to say anything

But with project stuzha looming over them, Lynette won’t tell her brother that she knows

He knows he’s not acting when he starts losing sleep over you, when part of his drive to complete project stuzha is to protect you

Your relationship kind of becomes this unspoken thing, you’re Fontain’s favorite couple but… you aren’t really together

He goes to all of your shows and you go to all of his, he helps you with effects and you put him in touch with your instrumentalist

You have dinner with his family and he has dinner at your place

He drapes a blanket over you when you fall asleep, and brushes the hair from your face to hold back from kissing your forehead

His kisses to the back of your hand are passed off as playful but, he’s stopped doing it for anyone else

But especially since you’re in the public eye already, he can’t put you in that kind of danger

So when the dust finally settles, and Celestia has fallen, when there’s no more danger

He’ll be there, at your front door, with the biggest bouquet of rainbow roses you’ve ever seen and three little words

I love you

The next day you and Lyney are front page of the Steambird “Fontain’s Sweethearts are official”

You still don’t perform together very much, it takes so much effort that it’s only for really special occasions like new years

Or celebrating the fall of Celestia, but only after he recovered

Dates are often very private affairs, with you two slipping out of the city of hiding in your house

Loves to cook with you, it’s so domestic that his heart flutters more than usual

Surprises you at practice, sometimes with lunch and sometimes to walk you home

In turn you’ve surprised him by having Lynette let you in to his workshop so you can hide in one of the many secret compartments

Your relationship is very playful and supportive

I imagine after the fall of Celestia the Fatui kind of disband of shift gears, so Lyney has more time for magic and you

Because of this, Arlechino is quick to accept you

She’s also secretly a fan of your music, but if you tell anyone she will kill you

The Steambird is very respectful about covering your relationship, Charlotte makes sure of it, but other tabloids can be annoying

It doesn’t help that the Steambird naturally gets all the good stuff because you’re close with Charlotte, she makes sure to ask before submitting articles though

But these tabloids seem to forget that Lyney is/was a member of the Fatui, directly under a harbinger and her chosen successor at that

He doesn’t kill the nosy journalists, but they’ll certainly learn to keep their nose out of your lives

[mediumgayitalian]

fic rec friday 5

hi!! welcome to fic rec friday. every week, i pick five fics i have bookmarked and rec them with a little review. check them out!

You and I were Fireworks by percyspandapillowpet

“Eleven fifty-eight,” he said, and when he tilted his head back up, his eyes were sparkling. “There’s still enough time to go see the fireworks,” Nico realized aloud. “Do you want to���” Will shook his head, expression unchanging. “Nah. Fireworks are overrated. I’d rather stay here with you.”

look one thing this author can nail is SWEET. also will with his seltzer made me smile idk why but it did. im just a huge fan of slice of life stories and this is such a cute one!!

2. Love Wins by percysandapillowpet

“I’ll be right there!” he shouted, and the knocking stopped. On a count of three, he managed to push the duvet off his arms and legs and let his feet fall to the floor. He glanced down at what he was wearing—a black t-shirt and flannel pants, that would have to do—and walked over to the door. “What do you want, Solace?” he asked, pulling it open. Will was all smiles and sunshine. “Did you hear?” Nico narrowed his eyes. “Hear what? If this is some big event, then no, because I’ve been asleep like a normal person.” Will might as well have been jumping up and down, he looked so excited. “Nico, they did it! The Supreme Court legalized same-sex marriage for the entire country! This morning!”

i read this fic in 2017 actually. and i REMEMBER how huge 2015 was; i'm canadian but it was massive. i was 12/13ish so i was in percy jackson back then too, and i remember reading DOZENS of fics that came out right after. this was so huge and this fic captures that :)

3. I Think You're My Best Friend by percyspandapillowpet

“You know what always makes cleaning more fun?” Will asked, sweeping a pile of dust and dirt into the center of the room. “What?” Nico replied, trying to hold back a smile. He found himself doing that a lot these days, too. Will set his broom down against one of the cots that lined the wall. “Music!”

this one made me melt bc personally....if someone called me their favourite i would never ever recover. never ever. and i love short & sweet fics about specific interactions/moments!! and this author nails that!!

4. Darkness by percyspandapillowpet

“So,” Will says, slightly awkwardly, making Nico realize that he forgot to respond to whatever he last said. “Um, you wanted something to take your mind off things?” He pulls back from the hug just enough to see his face, holding him at arms length. “I’ve, uh, got an idea.” He’s not used to Will looking so unsure of himself. He’s always acting so overly cocky. Kiss me, Nico thinks. “What?” he asks. Will smiles, then, his confidence restored. “Let’s go for a hike.”

sweet kisses in nature....the big three boys truly know how it's done bc the way i would SWOON and crumble. also i love it when nico is so so bad at like talking to people lol. hes so real.

5. Past, Present, Future by percyspandapillowpet

“We’ll help her, okay?” Will continues. “We’ll do the best that we can. You and I both know what this feels like. We need to give her support and take care of her for a while.” He nods again, glancing at her sleeping form in the cot. She looks a little less pained, and a little more peaceful. Nico is already dreading how she might react when she wakes again. “We’ll take care of her,” he repeats.

first of all proposal fics get me literally every time. second of all i do love fics where ppl explore what theyre future might look like!!! what they might be when theyre older!! theyre so careful with each other u know.

thank you for joining me this friday!! happy reading!!

[rendy-a]

Hello darling! Congrats on 500 followers! I love your work (⁠๑⁠♡⁠⌓⁠♡⁠๑⁠) For the event, how about your favourite character and a theme of your choice?

I think I’ve been getting burnt out trying to write so many stories of the same theme for my event so, I’m happy to say that this is the final story of the event!  After this, I’ll dust off my old inbox and see what’s been sitting out there. 

For this request, I’ve decided to change things up and give some attention to the staff of NRC!  I just love the way the students interacted with Trein in the Glorious Masquerade event.  We need some more banter like that, so…here you go! 

The lights dimmed as each glowing magical lantern was turned to a lower brightness on the chandelier.  The echo of footsteps slowly faded as the departing students left first the reception room and then the hallways beyond.  After what felt like months of hard work, it was finally over.  The goodwill dance between magical academies was over.  Royal Sword students would be heading back to the southern part of Sage Island right now to sleep in their own beds while Fair Maiden students would spend one last night guesting in makeshift dormitories at NRC before leaving in the morning.

“That could have been worse,” Sam chuckled as he sat at a table, “The little imps in my day had a lot more fire in them.”  Vargas came to join him, “I’m sure it was my rousing physical education that tempered their energy!  Now they are headed to bed to get enough sleep to turn that muscle building effort into results!”  The beaming smile Vargas gives causes Sam to smile politely in return before sliding to the far end of the table.  “I’m just glad its over,” mutters Trein as he massages his back, “I’m not as young as I used to be, and these things take a lot out of me.”  Crewel takes a cigarette out of a case and sets it in his mouth, “Were you ever young to begin with?”  Trien thought him a disapproving glare, first at the comment and then at the unlit cigarette.  Crewel signs and returns it to the case unlit. 

“Now, now,” the overly cheerful voice of Crowley beams, “Let’s not get too overexcited.  There is still clean-up to be done!”  He claps his hands and gestures to the room.  “Why didn’t you have student do this?” Crewel asks in a deadpan voice.  “Exactly!  This is just the sort of character-building physical labor young people need!” agrees Vargas.  “Ah, well,” Crowley begins before trailing off.  “It’s Ambrose, isn’t it?” Trein asks knowingly.  “Ah!  What do you accuse me of!  Just because that windbag brags about how much he cares for his students, that I let the children off the hook?”  Crowley backpedals, “It is only because I am SO KIND that I thought to give the students time to recover before classes in the morning.  YES!  Because I care SO MUCH about their education! Ah ha! Ha!”  No one quite believes the headmaster’s story, yet they admit it is rather late to keep the young students up. 

The silence settles for a moment, then Crewel kicks a broom and utters, “Ah, shit,” under his breath.  As if waiting for that exact moment, Sam tips his hat and widens his smile into a beaming customer service grin, “If easy clean-up is what you are searching for, I have several self-sweeping brooms that are IN STOCK NOW!”  Trein looks at him with a simple raised eyebrow, “You happen to have several brooms in your possession at this very moment?”  Sam nods with a gleaming smile.  “How convenient for you,” Trein remarks.  Then all the staff look to Crowley as though to say, ‘Well, what are you going to do?’  Crowley sighs but senses his defeat and agrees to the purchase.  “Is there ever a time when you aren’t prepared to wring the madol out of a situation?” he laments as he gazes at his upraised hands forlornly.  Sam smiles knowingly but does not reply.

He passes a broom to Vargas who waves it away, “You can’t build muscles with shortcuts!”  He then picks up a standard broom and sweeps in a furious flurry.  A cloud of dust kicks up, causing Crewel to cough and ask in an annoyed voice, “Must you always carry on so?”  Vargas gives him a beaming smile, “I see we are both reminiscing on the same thing.  Ah, our shared youth!”  Crewel again rolls his eyes, but the statement has caught the attention of the others.  “Shared youth?” asks Sam in a leading tone, “Did you know each other when you were young?” 

Crewel snorts, “Nothing as intimate as that.  We simply both attended Night Raven at the same time.”  Vargas gives the aggravated professor a hearty pat on the back, “Yes!  Crewel was my Senior!  I was in my first year when he was a third-year student.”  Crowley gives them a curious look, “That wasn’t a development I was expecting.”  Trein looks at him in disappointment, “You were headmaster even then.  Shouldn’t you know these things?”  Crowley starts, surprised at being called out for his shortcomings, “Ah, why yes.  Yes, of course I recall.  All the fine days you spent together in your dorm and classes.  Ah ha ha!”  Crewel drawls, “We were in different dorms.”  Crowley gazes around nervously and alights on a table of food, “Ah, the food has been left sitting out!  What a dangerous hazard to our students’ safety!  I must rectify this at once.  AT ONCE!”  Then he quickly hurries away, avoiding the conversation and answering for his amazingly bad memory. 

“You did know each other though,” Trein smiles in an amused way.  Sam seems to catch on to the fact that there is some sort of story there and leans in, as though inviting him to share more details.  “It was at the campus wide dance, if I recall correctly,” Trein remarks.  “Ah yes!” Vargas picks up the narrative, “I hoisted him on my shoulders so everyone could admire the marvelous upper-body strength I had.  There was a good deal of cheering for me, as I recall.”  Vargas finishes proudly and flashes Sam a toothy smile.  Crewel gives him a disdainful look, “They were cheering for me.”  Sam gives Trein a look as though to say, ‘Let’s get an impartial opinion in here.’ 

Trein sighs and says, “As I recall, young Divus was named Prom King and a girl from the visiting academy was to be Prom Queen.  However, someone thought she wasn’t worthy of the honor and stole both crowns; declaring himself both Prom King and Queen.”  Crewel smiles in a way that is not at all apologetic, “You want to wear the crown, you must put in the work.  I’ll not let a mangey cur stand at my side.”  Trein finishes in a weary tone, “After stealing her crown and being carted around by other miscreants,” Trein gives Vargas a look, “We had to end the dance early and send several very upset young ladies home by mirror that very night.” 

Sam has a good laugh with Vargas and Crewel while Trein continues to look disapproving.  “The hearts of young maidens are nothing to be trifled with.”  Sam nudges the stiff professor with an elbow, “So the hearts of girls are a specialty of yours, Mr. Romantic?”  Crewel barks a harsh laugh, “By calling it ‘girls,’ you’re being a bit too generous, it’s really only the one, eh?  Actually, didn’t you mention you took your wife to this dance when you were young?”  Trein lets out an offended ‘harumph’ and turns his back to the rowdy young staff members.  As he cleans the table, a small smile graces his lips. 

“Nice memory, huh?” Vargas asks loudly.  Trein looks up and sighs, “Yes, I took my wife to this dance.  It was our first date.”  He smiles again, as though remembering something special to him.  “When the bells chimed midnight, I gave her a flower and promised to take her to the City of Flowers someday.”  Vargas gives a hearty laugh, “Ha!  Its like hearing about history in person!”  Trein gives him an extremely offended look before searching out Crowley, “I’m hardly the oldest person on the staff.  Speaking of which, I believe we are done here.” 

Crowley sits in a dark corner gazing out a window, avoiding both notice and work.  Crewel picks up his pointer and gives it a loud crack across his hand, causing the crow fae to jump at the sudden sound.  “Aaahhh!  I…I mean, ah!  I see you’ve finished. Ah ha ha!” he finishes in a very unconvincing way.  The teachers share a look between them.  “Well,” Sam beings slowly, “I think that’s all the profit left to reap tonight.  Unless you’d like to share some reminiscences with us about your own dancing days.  Perhaps you have your own romantic story to share.”  Trein scoffs and Crewel chuckles under his breath.  Vargas however, doesn’t pick up on the joke and jovially exclaims, “Yes Headmaster, why don’t you share some tale of your own with us.” 

Crowley looks startled at the suggestion, which further amuses most of the gathered staff.  Sam laughs good-naturedly and pats the clueless coach on the back, “Let’s go Ashton, I’ll explain it to you on the way out.”  The staff begin the journey home and, before leaving, Crewel snaps his fingers and extinguishes the lights in the cafeteria.  Crowely says nothing, watching them depart and leave him alone in the not-quite ballroom.  Tomorrow, perhaps it will return to being just a cafeteria.  Tonight though, Crowley sat for the second time in his life alone in a darkened ballroom.  The memory of dances past comes to him and he gazes again out the window at the unreachable moon.  There were balls held in the dead of night among the dark fae courts when he was a much younger crow and less weary of life.  Perhaps, he’d even be willing to share those stories someday with those that should know.  For now, he’d keep them quietly in his own head, waiting for dawn with the memory of a life and love long since gone.

[actualbird]

is the mattress on the floor so bad tho 😭😭 i grew up just having it on the floor. still do because i move around a lot and have fallen off the bed so often i would probably break my neck and die if the mattress was higher than like a foot (....lukes previous bed was kind of cute tho maybe i just have bad taste 😔)

irt luke and mc's bed on the floor in their anniv 3 home

anon im so sorry in advanced because the response im about to type is probably way too much infodumping than you were expecting but, just to preface all of this, nah having a mattress on the floor Is Not Necessarily Bad and especially in cases like urs where falling off is a risk, having it on the floor is a great workaround!!!

that being said.........There Are Some Cons To Having a Mattress On The Floor :(

note that i said "mattress" specifically because thats honestly where the problem comes in, because there are many other different types of sleeping materials that can (and should!) be put on the floor for a floor sleeping arrangement, but mattresses Specifically (and uhh just to be clear, definition of mattress for this post is a bed/bed portion created with Fabric and filled with some kind of firm material as the guts) but like NOT TO SAY THAT IT'S THE WORST THING EVER LIKE full disclosure a good 65% of why i rag on luke having a palette bedframe (and later on just having it on the FLOOR) is cuz sometimes it just heals my heart to make fun of my fave. it's like how i'll always slander his blocky xmas partyland event sweater even if at this point he's definitely worn Worse Sweaters (like his mr butterfly kisses cards sweater....what WAS that) but making fun of the blocky xmas partyland sweater is just so much fun now that i cant let go of it

but in addition to "making fun of my baby beloved loserboy luke pearce is fun", i also have a One Subjective Reason for being averse to beds on the floor + Two Objective Reasons + just to round it out, a bunch of Good Ways To Have A Floor Sleeping Arrangement

Subjective Reason On Why Luke Floor Bed Irks Me: doesnt maximize storage space

so this is subjective, it's wholly just something i think personally. but man not having a bedframe is nerfing one's self at a whole bunch of storage space!!!

in small spaces especially!! in smaller living spaces, maximizing space Vertically (shelves, bunk beds, raised types of structures, loft designs, etc) is a much more efficient way to go about making more space into Usable Space. and luke's original home, the third floor above his antique shop, is pretty cramped. the kitchen is right next to his bed and hes got a bunch of objects just strewn around on the floor and god god i wanna clean his room so bad because LUKE. WE CAN FIX THIS. THINGS DONT HAVE TO BE ON THE FLOOR AS A POTENTIAL TRIPPING HAZARD, BUT IF THE REASON THEYRE THERE IS CUZ OF A LACK OF STORAGE SPACE IVE GOT A SURPRISE FOR U........BEDFRAME! which leads to space Under the bed to use for storage or whatnot

Objective Reasons On Why Luke Floor Bed Irks Me:

can leave u more susceptible to dust (bcuz ur closer to the floor, where dust gets) and thus activate allergies. this can be avoided by regular cleaning of course but just be careful cuz yknow when u sweep the floor around bed, clean the bed right after too cuz who knows how much dust or whatnot had gotten stirred up and landed on the bed. n

i live in the philippines and the weather is often very humid and wet here and if where you are is also very humid then BEWARE BEWARE BED ON FLOOR MIGHT GET MOLD. mattresses are big chunks of usually absorbent material and if it's on the floor it is Not getting as ventilated as a bed on a bedframe (since air can pass under and around it easier) and if ur not checking ur mattress regularly, funky stuff can grow compleyely unbeknownst to u.

But There Are Obviously Good And Great Floor Sleeping Arrangements

im no bed expert or whatever but based on my general knowledge and experience, what makes Mattresses not suited for the floor is the fact that theyre Chunks, and Chunks tend to absorb things around it and keep it inside to create all sorts of problems and evils. to battle that, Chunks generally should be elevated via bedframe just so they have more surface area to breathe instead of absorb.

so Chunks dont do great directly on the floor. but yknow what does? MATS!!!!! FLAT PLANES!!!!! examples!! banig (philippines), tatami (japan), and probably MANY MORE BUT THESE R THE ONLY TWO I CAN REMEMBER AT 5AM WHEN IM WRITING THIS RESPONSE

these r not Chunks these are Planes and also by virtue of being made from Dried Materials (palm leaves, rice straw, etc) and also built for asian climates (tend to be humid and wet for significant portions of time) theyre less likely to absorb and create problems. obviously theres still Upkeep and Cleaning involved but in general, yknow, still better

tldr: modern mattresses are not engineered for a bunch of the problems that the floor can pose. Mats Were Made For The FLoor so theyre Built To Withstand General Floor Problems. of course, every person will have different sleeping needs and sleeping problems to solve, so there is No Single Correct Way To Be Doing This, it depends on u and ur lifestyle and sleep-style. but also i just want luke to maximize his living space. let me in there i gotta clean his room plEASE PLEASE

again, im sorry for this response. u unknowingly activated a portion of my brain that has too much passionate knowledge on the mundane

[merlinney]

Moblit x Hanji Fanfic! Discontinued but if u want some mobihan stuff u can read it ^_^

<closeup of moblit while doing paperwork>

As expected. It always ended up with them getting busy, or Hanji was just too numb to all those complicated stuff Moblit was feeling towards her. No matter what hint he was giving, Hanji wouldnt get it unless he actually said that 'phrase' to her.

This takes place when Eren was finally in the hands of the Survey Corps.

Scene: shining sun at 9am with soldiers doing their chores.

It was a sunny day in the Survey Corps's base with soldiers training and doing their parts in maintaining the base's cleanliness.

Levi; of course, was sweeping the dust away in one of the rooms and his squad assisting him. Erwin, Hanji, and Moblit along with some other high ranks in the Survey Corps were discussing the next plan and formation for the next expedition outside the walls.

During the discussion, Moblit always kept an eye on Hanji. Although-- it had always been that way ever since because he was always so worried about her. He's done alot of stuff for Hanji; Examples like--making sure shes eating, saving her from trouble, and most of all: Supported her in everything she did. Whether it be dangerous or simple, he always helped her in everything she wanted to do as Squad Leader.

However, something just honestly clicked on Moblit's mind. He took a small glance at Hanji and cherished her face with joy that she's here with him, alive and well.

Moblit thought:

"*If only you knew.*"

Scene: Sunset outside with windows and them two walking in a hallway, holding paperwork

A few minutes have passed and they were now walking, together.

Hanji spoke up looking determined and excited, "Moblit! Lets do a quick experiment on the recently captured titan. Would you help me? Pretty please?"

Moblit couldnt resist and say no of course. Even if he did, that'd be like he wasnt interested in Hanji's antics. He didnt want to disappoint Hanji, his superior.

Moblit replied with a hesitant face; "O-Of course i will."

Hanji, looking excited earlier shifted to a curious, concerned face. She noticed something

"You can leave me alone with my experiments if you want to do so. Why say yes with a hesitant look? I care for you, Moblit. It's fine of course!"

However, deep down inside Hanji was that she would feel really lonely if Moblit wasnt there. She always needed him everywhere. Or more like, They needed eachother.

Moblit, looking a bit agitated abruptly spoke and looked behind him: Hanji, you know i would never ever, ever! Leave you. I care deeply as well for you, i never want to leave you alone in both dangerous and peaceful times. Hanji, i love you okay?! Just please, care for yourself too. What if im not here anymore and turned into Titan vomit?

Hanji, looking at Moblit with wide eyes and a tint of blush on her cheeks, Moblit wasnt done speaking; He wanted to finally say what he wanted to say for so many months however... they were suddenly in a akward position, staring at eachother with surprise.

Everything felt like it was going in slow motion. Hanji was definitely going to ignore him for a few days, or worse! Hanji asks someone else to be her assistant! That wouldnt be right for him!

Moblit, with a embarrased face turned infront of the hallway, with Hanji just in shock and her face blushing alot by what Moblit just said.

The two continued walking down the long hallway, akwardly and quietly.

Scene: Hanji's Office dusk time

Not knowing what to reply to Moblit after what just happened, she just said "You may be dismissed for now. Thanks."

Moblit left the room in a hurry, with embarrasment lingering everywhere around him. Thinking, "Why did i say that? Im so stupid. Now she'll avoid me, ignore me, and more bad stuff. Or worse, i cant protect her by then! Or what if she finds another vice captain of the squad..?" Moblit then finds himself infront of Commander Erwin.

Moblit yelled "Sir!" As he saluted at his superior.

"At ease." Erwin smiled gently and asked Moblit, "I overheard you and Hanji's conversation." Erwin chuckled. "You guys seemed akward after. Anything too serious? You look sad."

Moblit spoke with a sad tone; "I think she'll ignore me after what i just said."

Erwin replied firmly; "Is that so... I dont believe she will. She needs you, Moblit. Afterall, she relies on you the most as youre the vice captain of her squad and also her personal assistant in a way."

Moblit was starting to think optimistically of his situation by Erwin's words.

"Commander.. If i confronted her about it.. Would she avoid me?"

Erwin, as ever with a firm tone replied "You'll know if you do it. You may be dismissed, i have something to take from my office."

Moblit saluted and left hurriedly to his room to think..

"What if Hanji accepts my confession? Id be joyful than the word itself.. but.. being with her forever seems like a dream. Considering our duties, everyone could die at any moment. *Moblit looked down with a sad look on his face.* This is so hard..."

[deathfavor]

@barrenstars said: 🛑 ( earl + horo! u can do this reversed too, whatever tickles ur fancy! )

send 🛑 for my muse (receiver) to protect yours (sender)

   The days where Earl was an unstoppable fighter had long passed, brought down when he lost his left leg. No longer could he singlehandedly destroy everyone who threatened or tried to make fun of Horo.  No longer was he in the frontlines, tearing apart enemies and confronting danger head on. Not in the way he once had, with brutal fists and crushing kicks even after hours of labor with the caravans. Now it was with ruthless planning and strategy that could crumble entire groups overnight. Arguably he was a far greater threat now, but it was less showy, less obvious.   

   But no one would get away with trying to ambush his little sister. Especially not when she was coming back from an exhausting mission. She wasn’t a helpless little girl anymore, he knew that. No matter how much he’d tried to keep the burden and brutality of this world from her, how much he’d tried to make it so she could have the proper childhood he never had, she was a warrior. She was undoubtedly strong and powerful and had a will of the strongest steel. She didn’t need him as a shield anymore. He was proud of her, even if it pained him that the world had forced her to grow up too young. He was proud even when she was upset at him. Even so, it didn’t matter how strong and powerful she was, she was always his little sister. He would always protect her. That’s what he did. 

   “ Did you really think you’d go unnoticed?  “  Earl’s grim voice pierces the mockery of the group leader speak, his expression cold and ruthless. He allows enough time for the other man to turn around and see the ruthlessness in Earl’s eyes and long enough for Earl to see the fear that forms in his eyes. That is all the time he is given. With a snap of his fingers, the leader explodes and sets off a chain of explosions hidden in the ground. Dust and debris fill the air as death sweeps down on the field like a hawk to a mouse to collect the dead. Only a few survive and go fleeing down alleys with panicked screams while Earl stands alone, dust swirling around his ankles and coat. 

   There is great irony in his ability being the very thing that took his leg from him. 

   “  Horo.  “  Earl turns his attention to her – left entirely unscathed through quick calculations on his part.  Maybe she’ll be mad at him for stepping in. That was okay though. Even if she yelled at him, he didn’t mind when it meant knowing she was safe and unharmed. “ It’s been a while since I’ve done that. “ His somber expression softens just a tad as he steps over the corpse and approaches her.  “  Are you alright?  “ 

[caruliaa]

barely even in the atla fandom compared to other ones but if sokka makes it to like. the quarter finals of the eldest sibling bracket ill change to eldestdaughtersokka until they either win or are eliminated. maybe.

[dkfile]

desire, desire

❛ he is sure your presence alone would be enough to keep him alive through even the coldest winter months. ❜

word count | 1.2k (1199) genre | angst, pining

everything would be a lot easier, wouldn’t it, if you let him into your heart. everything would be a lot easier if you weren’t so afraid it’ll all fall apart.

★ warnings | none that i can think of lol.  ★ author’s note | one of my favourite pastimes has to be writing something when i should be studying. i’ve got like 7 drafts and 50+ ideas in my head but this is the only one that i ended up finishing so :) hope u enjoy this word vomit

Believe what you want to believe, but he is sure nothing is more painful than this.

The winter air nips at his cheeks, kissing his nose with the tenacity of a lover with enough love to drown cities. The wind sweeps his air up as he stares at the cityscape, lips parted in awe at just how alive it is. Buildings tower over one another, competing to have the most power, and the roads are a blur of red, yellow, and green, with shouts of frustration echoing off brick and reaching the clouds of the evening sky.

He has been up here dozens of times before, watched the havoc from above, pretending to play God — but it knocks him off his feet every time.

“Are you cold?”

His throat goes dry and his hands grow clammy. He keeps up the facade, cool and collected, a boy of indifference. He’s not quite sure how much longer he can keep this up for.

“I should be asking you that,” he says. He was hoping his voice would sound calm, maybe a little cold and brooding, but instead it comes out at an odd high pitch. Discomfort dances on the tip of his tongue, bold and shameless, and it is enough to cause you to flinch. “You’re the one who didn’t dress for the weather.”

“I didn’t think it was going to be this cold.”

He hums, forces himself to leave it be. But one shiver from you and he sighs, slipping off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders.

“Mark—”

“Zip it,” he says, not unkindly. He goes to dust something off the shoulder the same time you turn your head to look at him. His knuckles meet the cold skin of your cheek and sends a jolt of electricity down his spine. His insides have turned warm all of a sudden; he’s overwhelmed by how quickly it smothers him, how quickly it engulfs him — he is sure your presence alone would be enough to keep him alive through even the coldest winter months.

“Well, now you’ve got no jacket,” you state.

“I’ve got a sweater on, I’ll be fine,” he shrugs, “at least one of us decided to be smart and layer up.”

The smile you give him doesn’t quite meet your eyes. It’s almost there — almost, but not quite. Something inside of him cracks.

“I’m sorry,” Mark says suddenly.

You frown. “For what?”

“For everything.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Mark?”

“I—” he halts, feeling everything inside him shut down when understanding dawns on your face. He turns back again at the chaos of the city, at the people stumbling down streets and shop owners flipping the ‘CLOSED’ signs on their windows.

He looks everywhere but at you. The art of avoidance is hard, something he has never quite learned how to master — why should he, when all he’s ever wanted was to be close to you, to have you.

“You what?” you ask softly.

“I shouldn’t have told you,” he says, “I shouldn’t have told you that I love you.”

You’re quiet for a while. Mark isn’t sure if he prefers silence over words. Over another rejection. “Mark, I—”

“I just thought that it would make me feel better, if I got it off my chest, I thought it…” he trails off. He hears your breath hitch. Then, he whispers, “I’ve loved you for years and keeping it a secret was killing me.”

He barely hears you above the breeze, “For years?”

An exhale. Then, a confirmation. “For years.”

Suddenly, you’re stepping away from him, and the world tips on its axis. “I don’t understand,” you respond, voice rising. “If you’ve loved me for years then why are you here?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

A confused frown drags along his lips. The previous apathetic demeanour he so desperately tried to keep up has disappeared as his whole body shifts to face you in your shaking, panicked glory. There is something in your eyes that he can’t read and the unknown almost splits him in two.

“No, I don’t,” he says, the caution evident in his tone. “What’s wrong?”

“Why are you here?” you repeat, frantic, “Here, on this rooftop, next to me. Why are you giving me your jacket and worrying about my wellbeing when you watched me walk away last night after you told me that you love me.”

He softens, heartbreakingly so, and falls apart at your words so pathetically quick that it scares him.

“Why aren’t you mad?” you ask. “Why aren’t you cursing me to the gods or talking shit about me to your friends or—”

“I would never do that to you,” he interrupts, disgusted at the thought and offended that you think that he’d stoop so low.

“I hurt you, Mark. You’re supposed to be yelling at me. You’re supposed to hate me.”

His shoulders droop. “You’re my best friend. I could never hate you.”

“You should.”

“But I don’t,” he says, persistent. “I don’t think I ever could.”

You freeze, his words rooting you to the spot.

“Why not?”

It’s a selfish thing to ask. You know the answer. You know it pains him to say it, especially if you won’t say it back. But the three little words are reassuring, a reminder that he feels the same way you do, and is brave enough to take a chance.

“Because I love you.”

It’s exhausting, you’re sure, to love someone like you. Your heart has been slashed and scorched too many times to count, torn piece by piece by people who walk into your life and anchor themselves into it, taking you for granted and discarding you when you’ve served your purpose.

Someone who falls too hard, falls too easily, and suffers the consequences.

He takes a hesitant step towards you, fingers reluctant as they rest on your cheeks and swipe away the stray tears you never even noticed fell from your eyes.

“I’m sorry.” It’s you who apologizes this time, quiet sob escaping your lips.

“For what?”

There are so many things you could say. For not being ready. For being afraid. For loving you but not being able to say it.

Instead, you opt for, “I don’t know.”

Mark hums. He knows you’re lying, has mentioned once that your voice cracks when you lie, but he doesn’t push the subject — doing so may only result in you slipping from his grasp, and he would set the world on fire if that were to ever happen.

He pulls you into his chest, unbothered by your tears staining his favourite sweater.

“I can wait, you know,” he murmurs into the dead of night.

You aren’t quite sure if he wanted you to hear that. Still, you whisper, “But what if you regret it?”

Mark inhales sharply. He’s asked this question himself, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom when he was unable to sleep. But the answer has always been the same.

Love is painful. Torturous, almost. And love, perhaps, makes you stupid.

But Mark wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I won’t,” he replies eventually. “I think I could love you forever.”

[hawkinsindiana]

we go together

ALMOST PARADISE - PART FOUR: CHAPTER FOUR OF NINE

pairing: steve harrington x henderson!reader

word count: 8.2k (WHEWW)

a/n: uh oh...... i think u know what time it is. the dive. gulp. anyways, in a return to form the angst HITS in this chapter and ur gonna be getting it for the rest of the season! there is also a paragraph that gets a lil.... a lil steamy. just warning u ahead of time. it also makes sense that with this being miss ruby’s new favorite chapter, she would have contributed here and there. HOPE YOU ENJOY OKAY BYE!!

masterlist

Steve can’t decide if Creel House is in better or worse condition than he was expecting. The house seems to be structurally sound, minus the frequent creaking from the floorboards. On the other hand, the amount of debris and cobwebs make it hard to believe this place was ever nice. With each step, a flurry of dust swirls through the air; he finds himself rubbing his nose often.

You and Dustin are walking a bit in front of him, peeking your heads through the empty bedrooms as you pass by. Dustin comes up by your side as you lean against a door frame; he scans the room quickly, his eyes landing on the twin bed in the corner. This must’ve been Alice’s room.

He gestures to the dusty mattress with his chin, “Give you five bucks to go lay in it.”

You glance down at him, face pinching in disgust as he smiles in that teasing way he does, “Absolutely not.”

“Ten.”

“No!”

“Twenty?”

You scoff before moving to study the family portraits in the hallway, “You don’t even have twenty dollars.”

Not that you would admit this, but you still have no idea what clues Nancy wants the group to be looking for. The only connection that makes sense to you is that Vecna’s attachment to this house is rooted in being the site of his first attack, but even that feels like a stretch. Why would there be any clues about Vecna on the Hawkins side? God, you wish you could get across to the Upside Down — you never thought you’d say that.

The beam of Steve’s flashlight pans across peeling wallpaper; the light shines through the cracks between the wooden supports and out into the backyard. All of a sudden, he hopes no one saw the group of you enter the condemned property, if the flashlights don’t give it away first. As he turns his head, his gaze catches on a small knob jutting out from the wall. With his dark brow furrowing, Steve wraps his free hand around the handle and tugs. He needs to pull harder than he was anticipating; a small door, warped from water damage, is freed from the wall after using more force. 

Casting his flashlight forwards, he’s met with the sight of a narrow, twisting staircase. This must go to the attic. Without pulling his eyes away from his discovery, Steve calls out, “Hey, Henderson?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s up?”

You and Dustin look at each other when your reactions overlap. You point to yourself, “Oh. Did you mean-”

“Or do you want-” Dustin interrupts.

“Or both-”

As Steve realizes what he said, his face burns a bit in embarrassment when he shifts his gaze to you both. Well that’s never been an issue before. Steve hesitates — instinctively, he was referring to you and he doesn’t feel like hurting the kid’s feelings at the moment. He gestures for both of you to join him.

Your nose crinkles as you peer through the door, likely leading to the attic. From what you can see, it’s coated in cobwebs and the thought of having to face what made them makes your skin crawl. You quickly retract, stepping back down next to the boys with your body coated in goosebumps, “Let’s uh, finish sweeping the other rooms first, yeah?” 

You shiver, instinctively swatting at your arms to rid yourself of any imaginary arachnids; Steve chuckles at the sight. You’ve fought monsters but are scared of a few spiders? Adorable.

“We need new nicknames,” Dustin says, shoes scuffing against the dusty carpet as Steve leaves the attic door propped open. 

“How about one and two?” You suggest, “I’ll be one-”

“Why are you one?”

You frown at Dustin’s interruption, as if it’s stupid for him to consider another option, “I’m the oldest by like… four years. I’m obviously number one.”

Before Dustin can argue, Steve’s speaking as you three begin back down the hall, “How about I just call you Little Henderson?”

A scowl erupts over your brother’s face in record time. He spins, mouth agape and flashlight pointed straight into the eyes of the Harrington boy. His expression says it all; he absolutely hates the idea.

“Don’t even tell me what nickname you’re coming up with for her. Sexiest Henderson?” 

Dustin pretends to gag while turning away, his footsteps illuminated by the flashlight as he darts off into one of the bedrooms. Steve goes a bit pink, sputtering his response, “I was gonna say Big Henderson, Jesus Christ man!”

You roll your eyes at your brother’s reaction, scoffing slightly while you turn your attention back to the photographs on the walls. A better kind of shiver rolls up your spine as Steve slips his hand under your jacket, pinching your waist and lowering his chin to hook over your shoulder.

“Maybe I should use that one.”

His voice is low in your ear, only loud enough to be heard by you. Steve emphasizes his words with a firm kiss pressed to your flushing cheeks; you bat him away playfully. It earns you a small yelp, accompanied by a giggle from you as he fakes pain, overdramatically rubbing the spot on his arm where you hit him.

Steve drops the act quickly with a smile, instead choosing to think about other variations as you walk, “What about… Henderson I’m dating? Or Henderson I’m totally in love with?”

He peeks over his shoulder to see if you’re smiling along, which you definitely are, still trying to search for clues even as Steve flirts. You chuckle, shaking your head at how stupid it is that those cheesy nicknames get your heart rate to increase just a bit.

You decide to play coy, “Alright I’ll allow it… but only if you can handle any more gagging sounds from Henderson number two.”

From a room over, Dustin’s voice shakes through the wall, “I heard that!”

— 

The mid-afternoon sun beats down on your neck as you dip in between the trees, wiping a hint of sweat away from your brow with the back of your hand. As you lower your wrist, you catch the time on your watch — you’ve been wandering through the woods for at least twenty minutes.

You sigh, “Steve, I think we’re lost.”

Steve has to resist the urge to roll his eyes at the sound of your voice. Before he can even think about responding, his gaze brightens, hand gesturing animatedly through air.

“No, see! I know what I’m doing, alright? This is the tree you got your shirt stuck on that one time and you had to-”

Steve stops himself after remembering that Dustin is right next to you, trudging along through the Indiana forest with his compass in hand. Your brother’s face turns to one of pure disgust, his features pinching as he desperately tries not to think about what you two were doing out here in order to end up in that predicament.

“Oh Jesus Christ,” Dustin whines, his shoulders slumping. Your boyfriend smiles sheepishly as Dustin quickens his pace to get away from you both and takes the lead. Steve does the opposite, slowing down to walk beside you, close enough for his arm to brush yours.

“You remember the tree I got my shirt stuck on?”

Steve looks to you as you whisper, eyes darting over your scrunched nose and the teasing smile pulling at your lips. As if it’s obvious, he shrugs, “You had to take your top off in the middle of the woods. Pretty sure that’s ingrained in my head forever.”

“Definitely not the only thing I remember,” He adds, holding his hands up, “Just sayin’.”

The other members of your group are trailing further behind as you attempt to lead them to Eddie, who’s currently hiding out at Skull Rock. Not only do you have to deliver a selection of Dustin’s favorite junk foods, but inform him of the new information you’ve gathered:

Vecna seems to perform his kills remotely from the attic in Creel House — how he manages to do that is still a mystery to you, but you suspect if you try to think about it too hard you’ll drive yourself crazy. Eddie confirms the theory when you find him a few minutes later, revealing that he was present when the third victim was attacked and killed; a senior named Patrick McKinney. Lucas seemed especially troubled by this news.

But something continues to bother you about the plan, especially as you stand here in the shadow of Skull Rock, hiding from the local authorities and helping a fugitive.

“Look, I’m just gonna put it out there…” You begin, hand outstretched in front of you as you cautiously attempt to lead the others along your train of thought, “I don’t think we’re gonna be able to convince Hawkins that Eddie and the Hellfire Club are innocent.”

Your words force everyone’s eyes to land on you. You shift nervously, crossing your arms over your chest, “We can’t prove their innocence without telling the town about Vecna, and I just have a feeling they’re more likely to believe a group of ‘devil-worshippers’ are the ones committing all these murders and not a being from an alternate dimension with psyonic abilities.”

“They won’t believe it unless they see it,” Robin agrees, “Not that I’m sayin’ we should show them…”

“Regardless, the priority needs to be finding Vecna and killing him,” Nancy adds. Eddie slumps a bit to your left, tossing a snack wrapper to the ground as he chews. Obviously, he’s a bit defeated by your assumption, but he supposes it makes sense; that makes it hurt more. It’s realistic.

“And we currently have no way to do that because we can’t even get to where he is,” You remind the group. Luckily for you, your brother quickly brings new hypotheses to the table.

A gate? Nearby? It sounds too good to be true. But you remember wandering around the train tracks with the boys and El a couple years ago; the same thing that happened to your compasses then is happening to Dustin’s right now. With a few weary, uncertain glances passed between you, the group sets off again in search of where the path to Vecna lies.

You take the caboose, occasionally turning to make sure you’re not being followed. After a particularly long scan of the treeline in the distance, you spin to see Eddie’s slowed down to hike alongside you.

“So…” Eddie starts, clapping his hands in front of him as he walks, “You’ve uh, fought Vecna before?”

You scoff, shaking your head as you step down off a log, “Nah, no. Vecna’s a… new development. Let’s put it that way.”

Eddie nods slowly, trying to grasp the meaning of your words as the silence lingers in the air awkwardly. He doesn’t know why you seem to be the most trustworthy one out of all of them. For some reason, he believes that you’ll tell him the truth if he asks. Maybe it’s because you’ve been straightforward with him since the beginning. Or maybe it’s because you’re defying his expectations left and right.

The hostility that was present before has mostly melted away — there’s a small amount of tension that lingers, but mostly out of discomfort. Neither of you knows anything about each other. But at least you’re willing to converse now; a drastic difference in comparison to your first meeting. 

Eddie’s cheeks pinch as he hesitantly speaks again, gaze cast towards the ground while he hikes, “Then if you haven’t fought Vecna, what… have you?” 

“Well there’s um-” You pause, lips pursing as you try to figure out a way to describe what you’ve seen. Your face lights up in realization.

“You’ve seen Alien, right?”

Eddie nods, expression flickering with disbelief and surprise, “Duh, ‘course. Ridley Scott’s a genius.”

Surprisingly to him, you crack a smile with his words, proceeding to go on a well-constructed but winding tangent about the creatures you’ve encountered. As your voice filters through the air, Steve finds himself glancing back at you; eyes squinting while you ramble, fingers moving to reference height or length, strengths and weaknesses and everything in between. Eddie clings to everything you say, head tilted to look at you more than the ground — he nearly trips when he spends too little time watching where he’s going. 

Robin rolls her eyes at the odd crease in Steve’s brow, scoffing under her breath as she catches him staring at the pair of you, “You’re hopeless, Harrington.”

“Oh! And there’s eggs too, but I… I haven’t been able to figure out what’s up with those,” You continue, picking at your fingernails as you brush past a tree, “Y’know, what comes out of them, lays them, etcetera. And honestly? Maybe I don’t wanna find out. I’d rather not add another monster to the list of ones that I’ve seen.”

“Is that why you haven’t played D&D in a while?” 

Your gaze turns to a glare as it snaps to Eddie. He shifts anxiously under your scrutiny, embarrassment pooling behind his cheeks. Eddie coughs, “Dustin mentioned you haven’t played in a couple years, I just… sorry.”

You blink, wiping the scowl from your face as quickly as it had arrived, “No, it’s uh… it’s fine. You’re right. I-I’d rather not roleplay fighting monsters when I’ve done it before. As myself.”

Suddenly it hits him — a group of teens have been protecting Hawkins from an alternate mirror  dimension. That sounds like something he made up while high out of his mind.

“Jesus Christ.”

Eddie takes a second to think, tongue darting out to wet his lips while you grow silent beside him, only agreeing with his curse through a small smile and a tilt of your head. He exhales before spinning one of his rings between his fingers. 

“Y’know if you ever feel like gettin’ back into the game, I could make a… a monster free campaign. If you’d be interested, it’s fine if you’re not, obviously.”

It’s not until Eddie mentions the game that you realize just how much you’ve missed playing with your brother and his friends. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to indulge your younger self. Your grin grows at the idea, “That sounds great, actually.”

You catch his matching smile out of the corner of your eye before he adds a more serious tone to his voice, expression contradicting his tone as he begins concocting, “Alright, how about the party’s trapped in a… ooo! An enchanted castle. And there’s… evil magic furniture trying to kill them as they escape.”

“Evil magic furniture?”

Eddie shrugs before glancing over to meet your confused but undeniably intrigued expression, “Well what else am I supposed to come up with if I can’t do monsters, Henderson? C’mon, I thought you were stupid smart. Use that brain of yours!”

His jab manages to get a laugh out of you — a confused, but genuine laugh. You shake your head in amusement as Eddie continues. Steve’s brow furrows at the sound of your chuckle. A strange, unwelcome feeling blooms through his chest as his head snaps back to land on you both once again. Eddie Munson made you laugh.

Oh. Steve doesn’t like that.

As that conversation comes to a close, Eddie catches the other boy’s glances over his shoulder. A sense of uneasiness passes through him. There’s a possessiveness to Steve’s eyes, one that Eddie doesn’t quite understand.

“I’m sorry I just have to ask because it’s killing me,” Eddie blurts out, catching both of you by surprise; he wasn’t expecting to actually say his question, “You and Harrington are… what exactly?”

You look up just in time to see Steve’s gaze spin from Eddie to Robin, who shoves him and the pair begin to bicker animatedly. You can’t make out exactly what they’re saying due to their hushed words, but you have a hunch. It makes blood rise to your cheeks.

“He’s my boyfriend.”

Eddie’s brow skyrockets, “Oh shit! So you’re like… you’re steady?”

You scoff lightly, “Sure, I guess. If you want to put it like that. A little old fashioned, but yeah.”

Your answer doesn’t help. Eddie finds himself even more confused, running over things he’s heard in comparison to what he’s seen over the last few days. How quick Steve is to run a comforting hand across your shoulders when the mood turns serious, how much you smile at him for the most miniscule reasons, how equally enamored you both appear to be. After getting to spend time with both of you, you appear to be head over heels for each other.

You protected Steve in the boat house without a second thought; it was an instinct, an itch that you couldn’t bear to go unscratched. Eddie cannot grasp why everything about your behavior with Steve bothers him so much — until he does.

“Listen, I was gonna look past all the sleeping around because clearly you deserve to be acknowledged for what you’ve done and if that’s the only way you can cope, then fine. But if Harrington’s your boyfriend don’t you think that’s… kind of a shitty thing-”

“Woah, woah, woah,” You slow down, almost pulling yourself to a full stop, “What do you mean? What are you talking about?”

Eddie matches your pace, panic lighting inside him at your tone. Your posture straightens, raising your voice with just enough power behind it to make him reconsider everything — you’re confused, which only makes him confused. 

“So… you’re… you’re not sleeping with other people?”

Uh oh. Steve comes to a halt beside Robin, who he ushers to continue moving. Anger — the unfortunately familiar anger — is starting to simmer beneath his skin. He clenches and then relaxes both his fists, hands flexing as he suppresses the fierce instinct to pull Eddie aside and threaten him.

“No!” You nearly laugh, the concept so ridiculously absurd that it seems obvious you’d never do such a thing, “Who… who would even say something like that?”

You glance ahead when you notice Steve’s watching with a clenched jaw — the look he throws over his shoulder at Eddie can only mean one thing: a warning.

Eddie doesn’t have to speak again for the puzzle to start putting itself together; Steve doesn’t tend to get this worked up over much. There’s only one person who would spit something hilariously untrue purely out of spite to tarnish your reputation just for fun, as if his actions didn’t already leave a smattering of chinks and dents in your armor and scars over your skin. The realization flickers over your face — Billy Hargrove.

Suddenly, moments from the past few months start to make more sense. The lies from girls trying to steal Steve from you, trying to weasel him out from beneath your tight grasp. The smirks from guys that saw the pair of you together late at night in the supermarket, whispering vile insults between each other at your expense. Your boyfriend’s glare is telling; perhaps your name was thrown around the locker room more than you imagined and Steve gave you the blessing of never letting the vicious rumors reach your ears. 

Eddie clears his throat when he looks back over at you, now grown very dejected by this revelation. He clears his throat before muttering a small apology, fidgeting under Steve’s intimidating gaze and decides to leave the pair of you alone. The second Eddie passes Steve, Steve’s expression softens. His focus shifts to you as you hesitantly step forwards to continue your hike.

Your eyes are cast down, intently studying the forest floor as you think, juggling a multitude of emotions. Instinctively, Steve reaches for your hand to intertwine your fingers. Before you can consider if it’s a stupid question, you’re speaking.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Steve’s grip tightens for a moment, inhaling deeply as he considers how to answer. He hoped he’d never have this conversation with you, never comfort you after finding out how Billy has continued to torture the both of you even in death, never reassure you that he knows not a single ounce of it is true. Billy Hargrove couldn’t bear the thought that you had said no to him and his bruised ego decided to destroy your reputation as a result. If he wasn’t dead, Steve would’ve killed him the first chance he got when he heard how out of hand the rumor had gotten.

At first, it was just between Billy and his cronies. The things Steve heard made his stomach churn, lie after lie shared in between gym and third period; Billy assured them that you were someone who knew what she was doing and someone that wouldn’t say no — a horny and desperate teenage boy’s dream. He insinuated that you’d been like that for a while, despite what others may have originally thought of you, even convincing them that you’d managed to get Jonathan Byers wrapped around your pinky. Steve didn’t have to ask you to know that wasn’t true; the thought of dating Jonathan made you cackle when he had brought that up early in your friendship. That’s all it was for a while — a filthy grouping of words kept as a secret between the junior and senior boys in the locker room.

It was easy to keep that from you. It was stupid untrue gossip. It was Billy trying to make himself feel better, sending daggers into Steve’s back as he changed, turned away and thinking of anything he could to drown out the lies. Which wasn’t hard to do — the moment he’d catch your sweet gaze on him in fourth period had him forgetting everything Billy had said. You’re so far from what he made his followers think of you. That would’ve made Steve more upset if he wasn’t comforted by the fact that you two knew more about each other than anyone else — he knew the real you.

What did make Steve upset was the knowledge that he was your first, that you two waited until he was confident that he loved you. Steve didn’t want to mess it up with you, after years of not getting it right, he felt that waiting was the best call. And it was you; his best friend. Jumping right into something so intimate with the only person who’s ever truly known him without time to adjust could’ve killed him. 

Because the girls that came before didn’t know him like you do. Nancy knew some things, sure, but you knew about so much more. You knew about his parents and how their neglect really made him feel, how lonely he felt most of the time trapped in the big house with people like Tommy and Carol to keep him company. He told you so much and never expected anything in return; the least he could do was do the same for you, make you believe that he wanted you because he genuinely cared, not because of what you could do for him.

Then it became so much worse after Billy died and you and Steve started being open about your love. You became someone else entirely. Steve often wonders if his previous flings and relationships have been a contributing factor to your new reputation — someone who couldn’t keep her legs together. Because if you were being flirty with Steve Harrington, there’s only thing either of you could’ve been getting from the other. The former King and the nerd seemed far too unlikely. In the minds of the student body, there had to be an exchange occurring, and what Billy said to the other boys started gaining some traction. So you became a myth among the students at Hawkins High: a phone number scrawled in permanent ink on the stalls in the boy’s restroom, an obscene gesture doodled beneath the bleachers next to the track, a cautionary tale to the freshmen girls, a name etched into the interior of a locker in the gym showers.

Mike did everything he could to smudge the combination of numbers on the wall. Max scowled at her science partner who tried to gossip about spotting you and Steve at the drive-in. Lucas scratched out your name carved into the metal after watching one of his teammates do it before practice.

Steve only heard because Lucas had the guts to ask, citing his concern and confusion over what that could’ve been about. He made the younger boy swear not to tell you or your brother — a stern finger pointed across the counter of Family Video after school. Of course, with Steve’s notoriously bad luck, that lasted about two weeks.

Dustin had frowned at the drawing, not understanding what the hell you had to do with it; the only reason he saw it was because he tagged along with Eddie and the rest of the Hellfire Club when they went to smoke under the bleachers for the last ten minutes of lunch. The comments from some of the older jocks started after that, asking Dustin in the hall if you were still worth chasing even if you were supposedly Harrington’s toy. The truth smacked him right in the face and lingered for hours afterwards, a discomfort noticed by Steve later that night at the arcade.

Steve hated having to explain that to your baby brother, and he’ll hate explaining it to you now.

“It wasn’t true,” He starts, his heart shattering at the glimpses of your misery he catches out of the corner of his eye. He did everything he could to prevent this from happening and it still wasn’t enough. Perhaps it was better that the reveal came from someone like Eddie with good intentions versus whatever the opposite would’ve been — some guy actually trying to ask you for a favor. No one ever had the guts to approach you about any of the rumors, thankfully. They would’ve earned a swift kick from you and a hospital stay courtesy of your boyfriend.

“You were still having nightmares about… about him when it started,” Steve adds, voice a bit weaker than he’d like, his thumb stroking the scar across your skin, “Thought I could protect you from that at least.”

Your silence has him rethinking everything. Should you have been made aware? How would he have even brought that up? He backpedals, words tripping on their way out.

“I'm… I’m sorry I didn’t tell-”

“Don’t apologize, Steve. I’m not… I’m not mad at you. I don't…”

You sigh, shutting your eyes for a moment. You’re telling the truth — you don’t think you could ever be upset with him for trying to keep Billy’s influence from reaching you any further. If anything, you’re appreciative of that.

But how naïve did you have to be? How did you not realize? How many of your friends know?

“I don’t really know what I’m feeling, to be honest.”

Steve supposes that’s understandable. There was a jumble of emotions he felt when he heard too. The strongest, however, was the bone deep instinct to defend you. To protect you. To love you. Regardless of what Billy said, Steve knew that was the most important part. As long as it didn’t affect how he felt about you it didn’t matter.

You asked him not to engage if Billy tried anything. At the time, you didn’t think you could’ve handled patching Steve up after another fight. You’d already done it once; you were heartbroken to clean his split knuckles and beaten face and he wasn’t even yours then. You asked Steve not to engage and he listened because he was falling for you, positively enamored with your soft touches and the care with which you treated him. He promised — a saying that has gained serious meaning in your relationship. When one of you makes a promise, you’d rather die than let it be broken. No matter how difficult it was for Steve not to tackle Billy and make blood pour from his face, Steve knew the look on your face when he told you would’ve been more painful than whatever injuries he would’ve sustained. He didn’t want to hurt you ever again, so he took the brunt of it to protect you. 

You, his reprieve at the end of the day, tucked into the dark privacy of your bedroom. Each pass of your warm palms down his back and across his shoulders removed each knife Hargrove had put there. Each press of your mouth healed and cleansed the wounds words had left. Each mumble of your feelings for him had Steve forgetting the other boy’s name. Then he’d wake the next morning with you — his love — curled into his chest, the early morning light barely peeking through your curtains, and Steve would remember why he allowed Hargrove to hurt him instead of you.

Steve’s eyes widen slightly when you plant a firm kiss to his cheek, lips soft against his skin. 

“Thank you.”

There’s no reason for you to say anything other than those two words — they say everything you wish to. Thank you for looking out for me. Thank you for knowing me. Thank you for taking care of me. Thank you for loving me.

Steve’s blushing a bit when your eyes flick up to meet his briefly as you pull away. He inhales, nodding once. He doesn’t need to give a long answer for you to understand that he’d gladly do it all again.

“Always.” 

—

The boat has been stopped for a few moments; the compass in Nancy’s hand began spinning endlessly, signaling that the gate is extremely close. There’s only one place it could be — down.

The gentle swaying makes it difficult to focus, your flashlight cast beneath the surface of the water. You’ve never seen a gate to the Upside Down, but you think you’d know it if you saw it — you’re searching for any sign in the murky depths below.

All of it makes you uneasy. The nearly full moon in the sky, a waning gibbous that casts white streaks across the ripples. The chill from the spring breeze, forcing you to curl into yourself tighter as you peer over the bow. The night that surrounds you, cloaking the familiar serenity of Lover’s Lake in a mysterious atmosphere. The fact that right now you could be floating right above Vecna’s entrance into Hawkins. A shiver runs up your spine that not even Steve’s warmth beside you can quell.

“You really think it’s down there?” Steve asks, glancing over to Robin as she studies the compass.

She nods, “S’gotta be. Where else are we gonna find a gaping portal into an alternate dimension all the way out here?”

Steve feels when your shoulders sink with a sigh. When he shifts his eyes to your profile, that bunched up brow tells him everything he needs to know, even more so when you turn to meet his gaze. Somehow, Steve manages to know exactly what you’re thinking. Your silence speaks a thousand words — you’ve got to go down there. You need to see it for yourself. And if you’re going in…

He sighs too.

“God dammit, Henderson.”

That’s when you and Steve start tugging at the laces of your sneakers.

“Woah woah woah, wait a sec, what are you doing?”

You pause, taking a moment to glance over at the other boy — Eddie’s voice trembles slightly. The darkness, only broken by the thin stripe of light from the flashlight, adds a glint of white to his irises. You furrow your brow as you respond, “What do you mean?” 

“W-What are you…” Eddie gestures blankly to you as you pull off your shoes before removing your socks; you place your sneakers next to Steve’s and stuff the socks into the sole. He doesn’t have to finish his sentence for you to understand — why the hell are both of you going?

“We go together,” Steve answers, tone firm and unwavering. A nervous energy washes over the group. Robin and Nancy exchange a look.

“You can’t be serious,” Nancy adds.

“We’ll take a quick look and come right back,” You say, shifting closer to the edge as you pass Robin your flashlight, “I need to know if that thing’s really down there. I trust my brother but… y’know. Confirmation would be nice.”

“Besides, you’re looking at two lifeguards and the co-captain of the Hawkins High swim team,” Steve continues with a hand gesturing between the pair of you, “If anyone’s going down there to check this thing out, it’s us.”

Eddie seems to relax at his reasoning, leaning back slightly in his seat. Your face is scrunched in confusion; your head snapping to Steve gives it away before your words do.

“You were a lifeguard?” 

Steve shrugs a bit, “Yeah?”

“How did I not…” You pause out of pure disbelief, glancing over to the others for some kind of reassurance, “Why didn’t I know that?”

A smirk toys at the end of Steve’s lips as he stands, “Just admit you wanted to visit me on the job with my shirt off and move on, Henderson.”

As if to punctuate his words, he tugs on the back of his collar and removes his sweater. You feel the faint heat in your cheeks as both the thought and the sight run through you; the red swim shorts, sunglasses you know all too well perched on his face with the whistle on his bare chest. You cough as you avert your eyes from him, but it’s plain to see on your face what stream of thoughts you just followed. Steve fully smirks as you stammer your recovery, tossing the article of clothing carelessly behind him; it ends up slung over Eddie’s arm, the boy’s face pinching as it lands on him.

“That’s not… I didn’t… shut up, Steve.”

You adjust on the bench, turning slightly away from him so you’re not tempted to ogle. But with his hair sticking up at odd angles and broad shoulders highlighted by occasional passes of someone’s flashlight, you can’t help but take a couple of peeks. You get reminders of memories: 

A splash of water as Steve tossed you across the pool, pulling a rather loud squeal from you when you got more airtime than you bargained for. He quickly shushed you with a wide smile when you popped out, your soaked hair sticking to your face, worried that the neighbors down the street might overhear and call the cops. It was rather late, nearing two-thirty in the morning but neither of you could sleep. The pool was a delicious reprieve from the near freezing temperatures of the Indiana winter, the cover carelessly tossed in the nearby half-melted snow as the pair of you swam, bathed in the warm glow of the holiday lights his mom hired someone to put up. When Steve finally reached you, dragging you into his arms, he grinned into the wet skin of your cheek. It was Christmas Eve ‘85 — your first anniversary.

A sigh pulled from Steve’s lips, mind fuzzy with your weight hovering above him. One of your hands was intertwined and tugging at his caramel-colored hair, lightened from all his time spent in the sun with you over the summer. The strands were longer than normal, made even wilder with your fingers carding through it as he kissed you, slow and purposeful. Your lips were addictingly sweet, tongue coated in chocolate and butterscotch, a mixture of the two scoops of ice cream Steve had provided just an hour before. The top half of the vibrant blue uniform was long discarded, hanging off the edge of the couch as his hands gripped your hips, still clad in the white fabric of your lifeguarding swimsuit. You smelled like chlorine and gardenia, Steve like brown sugar and teakwood. The combination of a chuckle and a groan spilled from his lips when your free hand traced along his thigh bent up between you and the back of the couch, his heart hammering inside his chest as your fingers drifted beneath the hem of his shorts.

A kiss pressed in between Steve’s shoulder blades while your arms looped around his waist. The pan on the stove crackled as he cooked — scrambled eggs for you and two sunny-side up for him. It was late in the morning, the clock on the wall nearing noon, but neither of you had the mind to care. The corners of Steve’s lips curled up at the feeling of your forehead leaning against his bare back, nose nudging along his spine, the warm socks on your feet bumping his heels. Perfectly timed, the toaster buzzed and he shut off the burner before spinning in your embrace. Your grin matched his while he cupped your face in his hands, dipping down to plant a chaste kiss on your lips. Then several more until both of you were giggling and humming contently, smiling into each other while your meal grew cold. You ate it up anyway.

“We’re waxing your chest the second you get back here, Harrington,” Dustin’s voice crackles through the radio in Robin’s hands, forcing your attention back to the task at hand. Well, sort of. You frown, motioning for Robin to give you the walkie as Steve turns to the shoreline, sending an unpleasant look to the teens who watch from a distance.

You click the button on the side, “Not on my watch.”

“You… you pervert! I can’t believe you-”

You turn down the volume on the walkie talkie to its lowest setting — your brother’s scolding becomes a dull static-y sound through the lapping of the water that surrounds you. Eddie lets out a low whistle, now dangling an unlit cigarette from his lips as you pass the device back to Robin. She flashes a sort of disgusted look your way as she takes it from you; Nancy playfully rolls her eyes. You don’t give Steve the satisfaction of meeting your eyes, casting your gaze back down to the lake as you get to your feet.

You have to be careful not to tip the boat while you stand; Steve has a hand extended outwards, ghosting over your back just in case you stumble. A heavy exhale escapes you as you fist the bottom of your shirt in your fingers and proceed to pull it over your head.

“This has got to be the stupidest thing we’ve ever done,” You say, voice muffled for a moment until your face is free from beneath the fabric. Steve swallows harshly as he goes to look at anything but your bra, more so for the sake of the other members of the group than himself. He didn’t realize how big the moon had gotten — he stares at that instead. Eddie looks for a second too long, skirting his eyes away just in time to avoid a scathing glare from Steve; your boyfriend still hasn’t decided how he feels about what Eddie revealed earlier. Robin’s looking straight up at the sky and Nancy could care less.

You gulp, glancing down at the dark, swirling water below the edge of the boat, “Well, guess we got that swimming trip you wanted.”

Steve looks over to you and he can’t help himself. He takes in the sight of you shirtless beside him, his arm brushing yours due to the closeness of the dingy, “Yeah, well it’s no new bikini, but I guess it’ll do.”

You smirk a bit, color pooling beneath your cheeks when you turn to him, “Eh, there’ll be time for that later.”

“I can’t believe I’m gonna say this, but can you two please just jump in the water already?” Robin pipes up from your other side, your shirt firmly held between her fingers. She loves you both, but all the flirting is starting to cut into her a bit. You flash an apologetic glance her way and take the hint.

“Oh! Before I forget,” Eddie begins as he passes a plastic bag wrapped flashlight over to Steve. With his other hand, he gestures absently to you both, earning him two looks of confusion.

“I cast Guidance.”

Steve… doesn’t know how to take that. It must be some D&D thing based on how you react — you smile appreciatively and nod once, “Thanks.”

But now, back to the task at hand.

“You sure you wanna do this?” Steve asks, hand shifting around the flashlight one last time, “You… you don’t have to. I can-”

“We go together.”

Your voice is just as serious as Steve’s was before; the echo from earlier makes his heart twinge inside his chest. With a final look shared between you, he takes a deep breath and dives, arms outstretched. You follow immediately.

The water is significantly colder than you were expecting, which is dumb in hindsight; you have to resist letting out your entire supply of oxygen at the shock. Steve’s waiting for you when you open your eyes, treading the murky water that surrounds the pair of you. The flashlight doesn’t help much. You give him a thumbs up — he’d give you a smile if he could.

The further down you travel, the more your head aches; the pressure from the weight on top of you presses painfully into your skull as you reach the bottom of the lake. It’s difficult to see anything in the dark and cloudy water, eyes pinching as you try to make sense of what you see before you. Either your eyesight has gotten worse, or there’s nothing here.

Steve seems confused too, scanning the flashlight across the ground. The only thing he’s spotted are some… fresh fish bones? Why would those be down here? When your hand on his shoulder — a reassuring sign of your safety — taps twice, Steve spins to follow where your focused gaze lies. A red glow emanates from the crest of rocks ahead.

There is a gate down here.

It’s not as large as the others you’ve heard about, but it still lights fire deep inside you. There’s a crack in the earth perhaps ten feet long and multiple tentacles of varying sizes and lengths slithering out from it. A membrane covers the opening, which calms your nerves just a touch — it hasn’t been used yet. As you think that, you swear you see movement on the other side. Without another moment to waste, you’re tugging on Steve’s arm and heading straight for the surface. You got your confirmation.

The second your heads are above the water, Steve’s ushering you back onto the boat. It’s a bit of a struggle, but he helps to hoist you up just enough for Robin and Nancy to pull you to safety. Water splashes onto the wood as Robin hands you your clothing.

“Well? Anything?” Nancy asks, hair blowing through the spring breeze.

Steve nods as you tug on your shirt, “Oh yeah. Yeah it’s down there alrig-”

Your hands go to grip the edge of the boat as it rocks suddenly; Steve’s pulled briefly under the surface as something seems to yank at his leg, gulping as he’s submerged. Panic starts to set in as he rises again, just as confused as the rest of you. You have no time to react.

Just as he looks to you, Steve quickly disappears under the waves, an outstretched hand sinking beneath the bubbles. You don’t hear the cries from the others; you’re diving back in without another thought the second he vanishes. 

You can barely see, now propelled through the water without a flashlight to guide you. Your heart thuds in your ears, head pulsing from the pressure as you travel further into the depths of the lake. 

Your dive crashes you into Steve — a surprise you were able to catch up with him. You manage to think quickly enough to reach out for him when you make contact. His fingers wrap tightly around your wrist, a bruising grip as you grab his other hand. Using all the strength you can muster, you try to pull back and free him from whatever’s wrapped around his ankle. 

Your shoulders strain as you blindly re-adjust your grip, locking your hands together as you pull. With purchase on your body, Steve is able to do the same, dragging himself towards you while his foot tries to wriggle free. 

It seems to be working; the pair of you stop moving, the water slowing around you as your lungs begin to burn. Then you jolt downwards as the plan backfires. When the tentacle slithers further up Steve’s leg, pulling him with greater strength, you go with him.

Your eyes screw shut as water rushes into your face, obstructing your field of view as it also pours down your throat. From behind your eyelids, you can see the red aura that emanates from the gate as you get closer. Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach. You’re about to go through.

As you and Steve are pulled through the gate, your grip on each other finally wavers. Breaking the barrier sends you flying from him — you land on your back as you get left behind at the portal’s maw.

A horrible choking sound comes from you as you gag, coughing up the water that filled your lungs and stomach. Your chest burns as you fight to take in any amount of oxygen you can. Unfortunately for you, the air in the Upside Down is a bit thicker, spores getting caught in your mouth as you try to breathe.

When you finally manage to roll over onto all fours, Steve’s voice reaches your ears. You’re a bit wobbly on your feet, but you push up off the ground just enough to stand when you spot him about twenty feet to your left. 

“Oh my god…” You mumble between coughs, sinking down beside him as he sits up. Steve is trying to catch his breath, chest heaving as he takes in his surroundings and your concern-stricken expression, water and slime dripping from your hair. As your fingers drift across his arm, you catch the color of pink, irritated skin. When you tug at his limb lightly, Steve doesn’t fight it and he lets you move it closer into your line of sight. 

It’s not as bad as you thought it’d be, but the burns aren’t pretty to look at either. Being dragged across the rough ground scratched the skin on his back and biceps, leaving it inflamed and no doubt bruised. Once Steve realizes he’s not totally panicking, he moves his hand to grab yours. He nods a bit, swallowing harshly as he assures you he’s alright.

“I’m okay,” He says, sounding breathless, but his admission floods you with relief; he can see it on your face. 

“I’m okay,” He repeats, maybe convincing himself as well as you, “Just a little banged up.”

You slump, leaning back onto your palms while a delirious laugh escapes your lips. It’s insane what you and Steve have gone through, but this? This feels like the worst.

“You’re okay,” You mimic his words as Steve sits up further, his brow bunched as he reaches out to you now. You nod — you’ll be fine.

The Upside Down is just as Nancy described. Everything’s exactly the same as Hawkins, devoid of most colors and washed in a cool tone of blue and gray; you can recognize the shoreline where Dustin, Lucas, and Max are waiting for you. Speaking of the lake, it’s completely empty. There isn’t a drop of water. Instead, the lake floor is coated in vines and a few sunken boats, similar to the one you had ridden on. 

Just as you open your mouth to speak, a cool sensation slithers around your wrist. There’s just enough time for you to glance down before you’re jerked backward. Your arm strains, nearly popping out of its socket as you go with it, the back of your head slamming into the ground hard enough to make you see stars. 

Steve’s hand just barely misses your foot when he reaches out to grab you. Your skin burns as you’re dragged across the ground, but thankfully protected by the fabric of your clothes. You’re blinking aggressively, trying to regain your bearings after hitting your skull so hard — the spot that smacked into the ground aches like your worst migraine. 

When you come to a stop a couple dozen feet from where you began, you can finally catch a glimpse of what has a hold of you. A thick vine creeps up your forearm, continuing to envelop you the longer you stay still. But struggling makes it tighten its grip. 

You turn and push yourself onto your stomach as you begin to pull, wiggling your arm beneath the tentacle and attempting to use the slick surface of your skin to free yourself. Pressure begins to build around the muscle of your thigh; you realize once it's too late that another vine has started wrapping firmly around your leg. 

You hear the creature before you see it — an otherworldly shriek catching your ears through the ache in your head. Then, out of the corner of your eye, that’s when you spot it. Are those… wings? 

The monster — it’s more of a bat than anything — descends from the thick storm overhead. The bolts of red electricity that crackle through the atmosphere only add to the gnawing sense of fear. It grows closer still, your breaths now coming in as shallow pants while you continue the attempt to free yourself before it reaches you; your wrist doesn’t feel like it’s going to budge. 

You’re stuck, body straining as you use all of your strength to tug at the tentacle. You begin to panic.

—

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[wandering-words]

17 & avanine !!

17 - fixing the other persons clothes absentmindedly or like tucking their hair behind their ear U KNOW WHAT I MEAN THAT SOFT STUFF

I got this prompt twice but I loved getting the opportunity to do more with it :)

~~~

Janine was going on a date with Maurice, and Ava rolled her eyes at the prospect.

She’d overheard Janine’s conversation with Gregory about how she was talking to Maurice, a friend of his apparently, and watched as Gregory’s already wide eyes widened more in surprise.

Now they’d been going out for a little bit, and Ava still didn’t really understand why.

From the short description Gregory gave of Maurice, and from the many mindless entrances he’s had to make through Ava’s office to get a visitor’s sticker, Ava realized that he was nothing more than a slightly smarter, slightly more considerate Tariq.

It made Ava’s stomach roil uncomfortably with a feeling she was unwilling to unpack.

She didn’t really care, she had better things to think about, but it didn’t make sense that Janine would go after someone who was so much like Tariq when Janine broke up with him in the first place.

The rest of the school day passed in a daze as far as staff interactions went. Ava’s assistant fielded calls all day (because Ava already hosted a staff meeting and wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone else) and Ava hunched over stacks of paperwork from the district she’d been meticulously working through ever since her job scare at the school board meeting, realizing that she’d have to stay late in her office again.

It wasn’t a bother, really. Iggy was busy playing at one of his basketball games in LA and Ava was willing to commit herself to reading the paperwork necessary to become a better principal. The budget had been extra tight this year, and she was reviewing the breakdown so that Barbara and she could come up with strategies in the morning to delegate the money where it was the most necessary.

Her late night reading was interrupted by shuffling at her office door. Ava looked up through her sweeping glass windows, half expecting to see Mr. Johnson giving her a disapproving look like he usually did the few nights she stayed this late.

Mr. Johnson would look at her with his narrowed brows and that thin frown just a bit deeper on his face.

“Don’t you have places to be?” He asked one night, and Ava rolled her eyes.

“I work here.”

He clucked his tongue. “So you’re bored and your social life is trash.”

If it were anyone else, she’d be insulted at the way he tried to usher her out of her own office through insults, but she knew that he minded his business and let her mind hers, only annoyed that Ava wasn’t letting him have Abbott at night as his quiet sanctuary.

Tonight, instead of seeing Mr. Johnson reminding her how late she was staying, she saw a disgruntled Janine getting up off the floor. She’d clearly fallen, and Ava watched as she bashfully brushed a few stray curls from her face and smoothed down her red skirt, also brushing invisible dust particles off of her slightly wrinkled white button up.

Ava looked up at her with a raised eyebrow, and Janine averted her eyes, looking down at the floor as if it was the most interesting thing she’d ever seen.

“Janine? What are you doing here?” Ava asked as Janine opened her glass door. (Why Janine was coming in or was still at school was beyond her.)

“Um… I’m preparing for my date. I’m going out with a guy named Maurice. He’s… a friend. Of Gregory’s.” With every word her voice went from a confident tone—though wavering with every word—to practically silent.

She was a bit disheveled from her fall, and Ava could see that Janine’s posture was rigid, the woman standing straight as a soldier with her shoulders tense as a bowstring.

Ava found herself itching to care for the shorter woman, and she realized that nothing was stopping her. No one was there to see them (Mr. Johnson had begrudgingly tossed her the keys and told her to lock up, properly this time) and even if Janine said anything about Ava’s care, no one would believe her.

“Let me smooth everything out for you,” Ava said, and she watched Janine’s eyes grow wider as Ava drew closer to her, Ava’s shadow growing until it enveloped her like a dark blanket.

Ava touched Janine’s shoulder lightly, and Janine’s brown-eyed gaze was curious, imploring as Ava smoothed out the wrinkles on Janine’s white blouse. She felt a shiver go through the shorter woman at the heated touch of Ava’s fingers through the skin of Janine’s blouse.

Then her hands moved from Janine’s shoulders. (It took everything in Ava to ignore the small, disappointed noise Janine made at the loss of contact.) Ava noticed that Janine’s curly hair was still in a slight disarray from her fall, and Ava reached up to tuck a few curls behind Janine’s ear, watching as Janine closed her eyes when feeling the warmth of her touch, absorbing it, savoring it, keeping it close to her chest as if she wasn’t sure when she would be touched again.

Ava found her hands moving from Janine’s curly hair to her cheeks, cupping her face and gazing imploringly into Janine’s now open, wide eyes, searching for something she didn’t know she was looking for.

Janine nuzzled her face into Ava’s hands, and that was the touch to bring Ava back out of the Janine-induced haze she’d been lulled under. She pulled her hands away quickly, as if Janine’s face had heated up to an unbearable temperature, and she pushed down the lump that arose in her throat when Janine’s mouth twisted into a hurt line.

“Thanks.”

Janine’s voice was barely a whisper, the two of them still recovering from the surprising intimacy of the moment before.

“Yeah.”

That’s all Ava could say without spilling some embarrassing thought about the shorter woman that had been shoved to the back of her mind for a reason.

You deserve better than Maurice.

I’m better than Maurice.

Choose me.

[wordpress-blaze-176197706]

The Ridge- REPUBLISHED

Into the Wilderness: Part 6

Our rented SUV was one of the last in the parent caravan. We drove along winding paved roads until we turned off onto dirt pathways, passing white clapboard houses nestled among the hills, weathered with moss, a lone horse, a few sheep hugging dilapidated barns. Then, we turned off those dirt roads onto pitted tracks created by other four wheelers. We navigated slowly up the mountain, wheels edging steep declines. We bumped over rocks, tree branches scraping our doors. We passed an overflowing stream.

Finally, the line slowed and stopped. In what seemed like practiced unison, SUVs turned slightly off the tracks. The forest was damp and thick, the soil emitting steam as the sun warmed it. The Blue Ridge Mountains in Georgia are actually a temperate rainforest and that becomes obvious the moment you crack open your car door. The moisture and heat- it was now late August- envelope you.

All around us was green. If our teens were camped in these woods, seeing them through the trees was nearly impossible. Chuck and I got out of our SUV and followed the other parents walking toward an incline about a half mile down the path. A sense of human presence started to emerge. An abandoned steel tent frame gleamed in a clearing- not from our campers; they have strict rules to leave the forest as they find it. In the distance, smoke from a campfire wafted through the green light. We walked toward it.

All around us, teens and parents had begun to re-unite. Rustling undergrowth, excited screams: the teens rushed to meet their parents.

Far down on the path, was a spot of red. As we walked, it formed into a shape, then a figure. It was unloading food supplies from the back of an SUV. The figured stopped and faced our direction.

Squinting, Chuck asked, "Is that Catina?" We couldn't tell. We walked closer. And as we did the figure began to sprint toward us. And then we knew. This was our girl.

We ran. She ran, clouds of dirt rising around her like Pigpen from Charlie Brown. We came together, grabbing hold and squeezing in an enormous hug.

The first thing I noticed was how bad she smelled. And how smelling so bad, she still smelled good. Every mother knows the scent of her child. It's there from the first moment your child is in your arms and you bury your nose in the soft spot where the neck meets the shoulder.

That was the smell I noticed, along with sweat and body odor. Deoderant attracts mosquitos and flies so the teens avoid it.

Next, I noticed her clear eyes. And her dimpled smile. She was happy, not just to see us, but happy. Her body showed it. She had a confidence she had never carried before.

She had firmed up from the hiking and healthy eating. The teens do not eat processed foods and can only have limited amounts of honey as a rare treat. She was covered in bug bites, red welts dotting her arms, ankles and calves. She wore a long-sleeved red windbreaker and splotched khakis, an orange vest with fluorescent tape and a mismatched pair of crocs, one blue, one orange (see our photo in the About page), without socks.

Chuck and I wore "I heart Catina Wipper" T-shirts. In her last letter home, Catina had asked Chuck to adopt her, and we wanted to surprise her with his answer. Just two days before, we had found a small printing shop in Clayton, Georgia that could make our T-shirts in a day. The T-shirt was hidden beneath our buttoned shirts and we opened them in a big "ta da."

We were together again. After eight long weeks of separation.

We walked to the clearing where they had set up camp. In the center was a big tarp with a campfire. The teens learn how to start a fire using self-made bow drills. Designated campers tend the fire to keep it continually burning. No fire means eating peanut butter in big spoonfuls from the jar or handfuls of GORP.

Each teen was assigned a pack of necessities weighing about 40 pounds: sleeping bag, school and therapy notebooks, water bottles, food supplies, bowl and spoon, a change of clothes, bags for collecting waste, a toothbrush. The packs were piled in a mound about 20 feet from the center tarp. A constructed bathing area and latrine were at opposite ends of the camp, both lined with tarps for privacy. Above the camp, on a ridge, the teens had set up their tents. Each day, they choose a favorite spot for sleeping. This one had a view of nearby mountains, blue and hazy in the distance like a smudged charcoal drawing.

The teens had settled down with their parents, excited to tell them about living in the wilderness. They were all so proud. They had lived outside for weeks tending to their own needs. While different issues had brought them together, the underlying issue was often the same: anxiety, depression, low self-esteem. But now they had discovered they could thrive- through storms, heat waves, bug bites, pesky critters, slips and falls.

Catina took our hands and led us up a hill above the camp to a rocky nook shaded by trees. Chuck and I unfolded our chairs, portable, legless contraptions that suspend a body in a reclining position. These "chairs" are provided only to teens who have reached a certain level in their progress- an incentive to work hard. Visiting parents are warned not to give our chairs away, or to let our kids sit in them.

We checked in. How were we each feeling? Excited, happy, complete. Catina told us about her days- what time they rise, packing up, unpacking, hiking off trails, setting up camp, cooking meals, cleaning up. She had never camped a single day in her life before wilderness, and now she loved being in the deep woods, sitting quietly with a book or journal, or staring endlessly at the beauty of it all.

We talked about a lot of things. Her letters. Her inventories. Her memories. Her new-found love of reading. Her regret. Our regret. An awful, violent incident she had hidden from us and blamed herself for because it had happened at a party she shouldn't have been at. What had led her here, to this place, this moment.

When we returned to the camp, dinner prep was underway, a counselor watching as they cubed raw chicken and cut up vegetables, sauteed in a big skillet over the open flame. They made pasta with chicken and vegetables, simple and good. Catina added sriracha, gobbled it down and wiped her bowl clean with leaves from the ground. When I couldn't finish my serving, she was happy to eat more.

Joy. I had never seen her so in her body, so present to herself. She was just Catina. The Catina that is Catina. Not the Catina that anyone else wanted her to be.

As the sun began to set, we hiked up the hill to the ridge where they had lined their tents. I captured a fallen branch as a walking stick to help heave myself up the mountain and across the uneven terrain.

Catina had chosen to place her tent last, at the far end of the ridge. She tied it between trees, a sharp inverted V high off the ground so she could see the sky and feel the night wind. We crawled underneath, removed our hiking boots and handed them to the counselors. We loosened our clothes and laid on top of our sleeping bags, arms and legs interlinked, staring at the moon through the branches. We repeatedly whispered, "I love you." There was not much more to say.

We lay on this ridge of mountain. The ridge seemed endless, stretching across the Appalachian shelf. It had risen millions of years ago, rock crashing together, thrusting upward, a massive tectonic shift continuing to reshape the landscape even today. And here we were now, on this ridge, together. We too had collided, fault lines rippling through our lives. We had forged new selves out of this, our own seismic event. Here on this ancient ridge, we knew we had come far.

Source: The Ridge- REPUBLISHED