#Retreat of the Elephants

[beachmere303]

Discover the Ultimate Elephant Retreat! Tawan Riverside Elephant Resort ...

[sceletaflores]

A Small Favor.

part one!

pairing: mike schmidt x afab!reader

summary: the stress of his new job is taking a toll on mike. he did such a good job helping you out, so you decide to repay the favor.

word count: 2.5k

warnings: 18+! MDNI! oral sex (m!receiving), vaginal fingering, handjobs, heavy on the praise, munch!mike always.

authors note: the heavily heavily HEAVILY requested part two is finally done. (quite literally wrote this instead of listening to my bio lecture) i still can't believe that fic has gotten so much traction, i hope this one measures up! it got waaaay more angsty near the end than i thought it would hehe also i decided to include everyone commenting under part one requesting part two in the taglist of this fic so you're welcome lol mwah <3

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It had been one week and three days since the couch incident, which is what you’ve lovingly taken to calling whatever happened between you and Mike. One week and three whole days of Mike dancing around you and the elephant in the room.

The morning after the couch incident he practically ran out the door taking Abby to school when you tried to bring it up. The next time you attempted to have “the talk” he stuttered out an excuse before retreating to the safety of his bedroom, so you gave up.

You know that there’s something between Mike and you that crosses the line of just friends, you both felt something change that night, but getting him to face his feelings and actually admit that will take work.

It's another night of sitting on Mike's couch mulling over what to do about the whole situation when you hear the front door open. You're shocked at first, usually you're asleep by the time Mike gets home. Sure enough when you check the clock it reads 6:33 in bulky red characters. Apparently, time flies when you're obsessing over how to get your friend turned complicated-accidental-one-night-stand to admit they have feelings for you.

You try (and fail) not to listen in on every move Mike makes in the kitchen, fighting to keeping your gaze trained on the TV as he makes his way to the living room.

In your eyes peripheral vision you see him begin to make his way to the couch, but he hesitates when his eyes fall on you. He awkwardly hovers between the two rooms for a few seconds until he takes a breath and walks over to the couch.

Mike sits next to you on the couch with a soft grunt. You wrestle with the need to look at him fully, but you can see out of the corner of your eye he's taken off his work boots and vest. His hair is sticking out at weird angles, curls frizzy and unruly. Your hand twitches against your thigh with the want to run your fingers through them.

You can feel your heart beat faster, struggling to sit still in the thick tension surrounding the two of you. You flick your eyes back to the TV in a vain attempt to focus on anything other than Mike.

Eventually, you lose the fight with your screaming inner monologue and chance a sideways glace in his direction. You're beyond surprised to find him already looking at you.

You stare back, a deer caught in headlights. The dim light coming from the TV highlights his eyes. Mike opens his mouth to seemingly break the silence but he stops himself short of actually speaking. You can see him fiddling nervously with the hem of his shirt.

It’s silent for a beat before you decide to speak up.

“Hi.” You say, it's a whisper but you might have well just yelled with how it cuts into the air between the two of you. Mike lets out what might be laugh, it sounds forced. "Hi." He replies stiffly.

"Home later than usual." You point out, fidgeting with your nail. Mike's home a little after 6: everyday, him being home 30 minutes late is odd.

Mike nods, he lets his head fall onto the back of the couch allowing his eyes to slip closed as he does. "Yeah," He replies, the position of his head allows you to get your greedy fill of his sharp jawline. "Jobs been hell."

You don't respond, but you know. Mike's been haggard recently, and not just because of the couch incident. The bags under his eyes have gotten worse, he's been forgetful, not to mention how much more neurotic and paranoid he's been.

Mike has been a wreck these past couple of days, and you want nothing more than to help him feel good. If not for just a few minutes.

You take a chance, and move to let your hand rest over his jean clad thigh. Mike tenses up immediately but doesn’t move to run or push your hand off.

"I could help you,” You say quietly, forcing yourself to keep eye contact. Mike's wide eyes flit rapidly between your eyes and lips. “Help you relax…” You trail off, voice barely above a whisper.

Your offer hangs heavy in the silence that settles. Mike just stares at you, after a while you start to regret making such a bold move. There’s an apology’s on the tip of your tongue, but when you start taking your hand off Mikes thigh he quickly grabs your wrist.

Your eyes snap back up to meet Mikes. His pupils are blown out, black encompassing warm brown. His tongue comes out to swipe across his bottom lip.

“You can...” Mike says simply, guiding your hand back to his thigh. Only he places it much higher up, high enough that you can feel the rough metal of his zipper brushing against the tip of your pinkie. "I need it." He breathes out desperately, eyes big and pleading. You allow yourself a second to just watch Mikes face before you start to move with a purpose.

You snake your hand lower, finding the already hard length of his cock through the rough material of his jeans. Mirroring what he did to you those ten days ago, you start to grind the heel of your hand against him.

Mike shudders, eyes fluttering shut at your touch. You can physically see tension slowly exit his body, leaving him slack and relaxed enough to sink deeper into the couch cushions.

The sight of him at ease and comfortable lights a fire in you. You feel a deep primal need to care for him, to make him feel good.

Patience wearing thin, you reach for the button of his jeans. Even in your arousal induced haste, you take a beat to appreciate the swell of Mike's cock pressing up against the denim. If this was any other time, you'd want to draw it out. To tease Mike until he can't take it anymore, but now is not any other time.

You pop the button to Mike's jeans, dragging the zipper down swiftly and pulling the flaps of his jeans open to frame his lewdly tented boxers. You can hear Mikes breath hitch, unable to keep from squirming under your intense gaze. The thin material leaves nothing to the imagination, the length and girth of him on display. There's a growing wet patch near the tip that's turned the light blue fabric dark and slick. An ache starts deep in your core, anticipation making you feel warm all over.

Slowly, you tug his boxers down enough for his cock to spring free and smack up against his stomach. "Ah! Shit," He hisses, hands balling up into fists by his sides.

Mike's dick is perfect. A nice length and girth you know will have your jaw aching in the best way later. The tip a soft pink color, and steadily leaking a stream of pre-come.

"I want to blow you," You say softly, getting close to Mike so your lips brush over his ear with every word. He shivers, mouth dropping open in a quiet moan. "Will you let me?"

Mike nods his head frantically. "Please," He pants, chest rising and falling quickly. "Please, I want it."

His begging is music to your ears.

You slide off the couch, kneeling between Mike's spread thighs. His straining cock makes your mouth water in anticipation. Holding the base in your hand, you lean forward to lick a board stripe from root to tip. Moaning at the heady taste and velvety feel of him on your tongue.

"God." Mike groans at the feel of your tongue.

You pull off with a slick pop, breaking a small thread of saliva trailing from the head of Mike's dick to your lips with your tongue. You lave over the tip, looking up to find Mike staring at you flushed and dark-eyed. You keep the eye contact as you sink back down, beginning to build up a rhythm.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Mike raise his hands before hesitating, and dropping them back down to the couch cushion. You can tell he wants to touch you, but he’s unsure of himself. You take his hands in yours, and place them on the top of your head.

At first he just sort of holds your head, overthinking what to do even with your permission. You’d laugh if you weren’t so busy preening over the feel of his unfairly big hands holding your head delicately, like he might break you.

“Fuck, your mouth…” Mike whispers, his words trailing off as he watches your lips work over his throbbing cock. His confidence grows, finally allowing himself to run his fingers through your hair and gather it in a loose fistful. Your moan of encouragement has him tightening his grip just a touch.

“Jesus,” Mike breathes quietly, you give him a lick underneath the head of his cock in response. "Fuck. Feels so good.”

You hum in response, working Mike's cock faster to draw out more of those whimpers that he can't hold in. Hollowing your cheeks and sinking down towards the circle of your fist still holding the base of his cock with wet, slick slurping sounds.

Mike's noises have gotten progressively louder by the second, you can feel his pulse beating wildly against your tongue through the vein running up his cock. You know he's close, and you're desperate to make him come.

You give him one long languid suck, swirling your tongue over the head as you pull off. His cock is slick with your spit, pulsing warningly. You use the wetness of your saliva as a makeshift lube to start stroking over him slowly.

"How's it feel, Mike?" You purr sensually,

When you sink back down, you don't break eye contact. Mike's eyes roll back into his head, the way his lips part on a sharp gasp, how his back arches off the couch, how his fist tightens even more around your hair.

Above you, Mike grunts, "Oh fuck, baby," His back arches, a rough gasp torn from his throat. The hand in your hair tugs sharply as he chokes out, "Gonna come, shit, gonna fucking come."

Mike shouts hoarsely, hips stuttering as he starts to come. His cock gives one final twitch in your mouth before he pumps load after load of warm come into your mouth. You moan loudly at the taste of his release coating your taste buds, swallowing what pools on your tongue routinely.

You continue to work your mouth over his cock, bringing Mike through the aftershocks of his orgasm, reveling in the broken sounds he keeps making. You lave your tongue over him savoring the taste of him, until he's tugging at your hair to pull you off his sensitive cock.

"C'mere, c'mere." He whines desperately. You’ve barely come up for air before Mike is bodily dragging you into his lap and kissing you like he needs it more than air.

His hand darts down your body and into your sweats. Mike moans in your mouth at the feel of your lacy panties absolutely soaked with your arousal. He wastes no time in finding your clit, rubbing tight circles over it with his thumb drawing a loud moan from your lips.

"Shit," You exclaim, nails digging into Mike's forearm. Your hips buck up into his touch, chasing his touch. "Mike..." You whine, needing him to do more.

"You drive me fucking crazy," He whispers roughly against the side of your face, sliding his pointer finger through the slick wetness of your folds. "I can't stop thinking about you."

“Oh god, Mike.” His fingers feel amazing, rubbing you in all the right places, his words lighting a fire in your stomach.

Mike gathers your wetness before pushing his thick middle finger in your tight heat. Your own moan gets drowned out by his guttural groan at the feeling of you clenching down on his finger.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” He moans, thrusting his finger in and out of your aching pussy slowly. "You're so perfect, so perfect for me." Mikes lips trail kisses down your jaw as he adds a second finger into your dripping pussy, brushing against the spot inside you that sends white hot sparks of pleasure zinging up your spine.

"How's that feel?" He asks roughly, throwing your earlier teasing back in your face. You moan wantonly, hips moving grinding down as you ride his fingers in earnest.

Mike angles his hand in a way that lets his fingers thrust into you, hitting your g-spot all while the palm of his hand grinds into your clit

“I’m gonna come, Mike,” You whine desperately, hips stuttering as you tip over the edge. “I’m coming.”

"Yes, come for me." Mike whispers, lips brushing over your cheek.

Your chest heaves as you come down from your orgasm, collapsing against Mikes chest. You're an absolute mess, thighs shaking and sweat dripping down your back. A hiss escapes your mouth as Mike eases his fingers out of your twitching pussy. "Sorry." He whispers softly, kissing the top of your head tenderly.

You allow yourself to lay on his chest with his strong arms around your waist, keeping you close. So close you can feel his warm breath puffing out against your neck.

You don't want to let it, but reality sets in. "Are you gonna run away in the morning?" Your voice is so quiet you don't know if Mike even heard, and you can't force yourself to look up at him.

It takes him a second to register your words, you don't have to look at him to know he's wincing. "I," Mike starts, trying to find the right words. "I don't know." He admits, lips brushing against your hair.

The anger mixed with shame and embarrassment is quick to come, you scoff pushing off Mike's chest so you can go home. "Of course." You spit bitterly.

"Wait!" He rushes out, arms tightening on your waist to stop you leaving.

"What?" You bite out bitterly, whipping your head around to stare daggers at Mike. It backfires on you almost immediately, forcing you to stare into his big sad dumb eyes. He falters, mouth opening and closing as he fumbles to say anything.

You can't help that the look in his eyes tames your anger ever so slightly. The way he's silently pleading with you to stay, his brows drawn in concern and lips pulled down in a frown. Your steely resolve crumbles pathetically.

"What?" You repeat quietly. Mike flounders for a second more, before he finally gives in. "Please stay." He exhales softly, hands planting themselves on your hips, giving them a light squeeze..

Maybe it's your shitty resolve, maybe it's the post orgasm afterglow clouding your judgement, maybe it's the earnest look in Mike's eyes that keeps you from pushing out of his grip and out the door, but you just can't bring yourself to leave.

You stare back at him wrestling with your thoughts, but it's a losing game and you know that.

"Okay," You whisper slowly, settling yourself back down into his lap. "I'll stay."

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i could NOT figure out how to end this, but maybe i could do a part three? would literally anyone want that?

taglist!

@ebodebo @yuenity @mfdxz @mikeschmidtgf @lee-inthebox @sunny-deary @ncqari

extra taglist!

@ballorawan740 @slasherluvrrr @importantgalaxyrunaway @iwantsleepplz @theaterhoefornewsies

[plutoswritingplanet]

You Started It pt. 2(Buggy The Clown x F!Reader)

a/n: GMFU, that's all i have to say. this chapter was strongly inspired by the song Shikayat from the movie Gangubai Kathiawadi,

Warnings: General Asshole Behavior from The Man Of The Hour, Hostage Situation, Light Bondage (lmao), Some Good Old Smexual Tension.

Summary: The time for your great performance finally arrives, but the culmination will surprise both you and your captor.

Part 1.

You awake to the sound of music. Drums, trumpets and bells fill your ears, shaking you from some pleasant dream, where you could run free with your brother and his crew. Instead, your forehead aches from the way the bars of your prison dug into it, while you slept. Your legs are sore as well, dangling above the floor, wooden planks leaving marks on your thighs. Your joints crack, as you try to straighten yourself to the best of your capacity, an unpleasant shiver running up your back. Groggily, you wipe left-over tears from your eyes. The music wires itself into your brain, like a bug drilling inside your skull.

Then, someone yells. You know the voice all too well. The music stops immediately, and with a quickened pulse, you hear footsteps approaching the door to the backroom.

He waltzes in, a spring in his step betraying his barely contained excitement. It's been a week since your faithful conversation, and you haven't been moved from your spot above ground. Like a bird in a cage, he has kept you locked, visiting even more often than before. To feed you, give you some water, drink in the sight of you, pester you with questions you had no intention of answering. Truly, your purpose here must've shifted from solely being a Hostage, to providing Entertainment. Just like he's said when you first got here.

"Hostage!" he exclaims, as soon, as the door closes behind him.

"Captain" you answer, voice tired and still traced with the remnants of sleep. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He's not bothered by your sarcasm. You're not sure if he even registered it, with his giddy state.

"Today's your big day!" he jumps a few steps in your direction, wobbling on the balls of his feet,

At your confused, if slightly annoyed expression, he raises his hands, and that's when you notice the elephant in the room. A costume, folded neatly in his arms, one, you're without a doubt expected to wear. It's pink, baby pink and frilly to say the least. You can see an ungodly amount of ruffles, and sequins, and small golden bells. It makes your face involuntarily scrunch up. Never in a million years you'd be caught wearing such a pink thing of your own accord. But, as much as you hate the sight before you, the show must go on. You know it, and he most definitely knows so, too.

You flinch, when the Clown throws the costume to the side, lets it collide onto the table, bells ringing loudly. Then, he produces a key from the pocket of his trousers

"Be good, or else" he warns, and you nod, because what else can you do.

The soft click of the lock is like music to your ears, and as soon as the man opens the door, you nearly moan at the feeling of your legs finally being able to stretch. He watches from the side, as you unfurl yourself from the cage, limb by limb. Oh, the feeling of solid ground under your feet is almost too much

"I really cooped you up in there…" he muses to himself, and you contain the venomous look you were about to throw him.

Instead, you opt for stretching out your sore muscles, rising your hands as far above your head as you possibly can, and try to ignore the spark in his eyes, as he watches your shirt ride up your stomach, Finally, he clears his throat, crosses the room to the table and gathers the costume back in his arms

"Don't take long" he winks and points his chin towards the dressing room screen, tucked away against one of the walls.

Grabbing the amassing of fabric from his arms, and trying really hard not to touch him, you retreat to hide behind it. The screen is big enough to cover your body, but your head peeks above, and you shoot a cautious look towards the clown. To his credit, he hasn't moved any closer, rummaging through one of the chests at the end of the room. Your eyes catch a glimpse of something metallic and very sharp, disappearing into the inside pocket of his coat, and your heart jumps to your throat.

Your hands now shaking, you lay out the fabric, trying to get a good look at the costume, before you have to inevitably put it on your body. As you look at the full garb, it doesn't look as intimidating, as before. The ruffles, although pink and obnoxious, are flowing nicely with the entirety of the outfit. It is, however, much more revealing, than you've anticipated, and against your better judgement, you throw a single, judgy look towards the Clown, who immediately catches your eye at the other side of the screen

"Chop-chop, we haven't got all day" he smiles at you, full teeth on display.

Shaking your head, you begin to undress, movements slightly skittish, from the sudden anxiety running up your spine. The outfit slides against your body with ease, the fit being slightly too big on your figure. The expanse of your stomach lays bare, ruffles from the hem of the skimpy top tickling your ribs. Your legs are also, almost completely exposed, the lower half of the costume turning out to be a skirt with rather deep cutouts on the sides. It's a shame you don't have a mirror anywhere nearby, although perhaps it's for the best. You don't know if you could stomach to look at yourself in this ridiculous getup

"Ready, Hostage?" his voice startles you against your will, and after a couple of deep breaths, you step out from behind the screen.

His face remains blank, but his eyes feverishly run all across your body, taking in the image in utter silence. Again, anxiety rises in your gut, this time however, you begin to worry that somehow, this isn't enough. That this isn't the vision he has conjured up in his head, and anything deviating from his vision was sure to anger him beyond belief. You bite your lip in anticipation, as he slowly starts to walk towards you. Then, to your utter confusion, he kneels down just in front of you.

Silence envelops the two of you like a blanket made of tar. It pours into your lungs, making you unable to breathe. His hands are steady, as he reaches out and places them on one of your ankles. Your mismatched shoe slides off your foot under his gentle tug. Then, the other one. Your bare feet hit the floor and that's when you realize, you've begun to shiver

"The audience will love you" he breathes, voice quiet and reserved, almost unrecognizable from his regular, flashy persona.

Then, his hands retract to the inside of his coat. Your breath hitches, as he pulls out a golden cuff adorned with the same, small bells, which are currently attached to the rest of your outfit. Your brows furrow, and another, unexplainable feeling blossoms in your stomach, as you watch him lean down to clasp the cuff around your ankle, the second one following closely behind. His hands linger for a moment, and another surge of trembles runs through you. He's warm, and his fingers are calloused, but somehow, your skin doesn't seem to mind. If anything, you'd risk saying the way he softly slides his digits up your calf is enjoyable. Troubling and confusing, yes, but enjoyable nonetheless.

You sway in your place, as he rises from his knees

"Give me your hands, Hostage" since when has this nickname become so affectionate on his lips, you can't remember.

One part of your brain reasons, that it's a recent development, caused by the time you were forced to spend in his grasp. The other, more treacherous part supplies, that this strange intonation has been there from the very start. You were just too stubborn to notice it.

The tremors running through your hands, as you raise them to present to him, are honestly embarrassing. Your head hangs low, to shield your face from his gaze. It's no use, he can see right through you. The flush in your cheeks, your mouth falling slightly open, the shine in your eyes. He eats it up like a man starved. Reactions, that's what he's after, and with the way you've been acting, you've given him quite the show already.

It's quiet again, safe for the occasional jingle of the bells, as he gently locks two bracelets around your wrists, identical to the ones on your feet. His fingers toy with the golden clasp, brushing against your running pulse. Tension builds in your stomach, as his eyes finally look up to yours. You would've believed you were solitary in your confusing feelings, if his breath didn't come out in quick gasps through his painted lips. Lips, which in this quiet moment seem much too appetizing than they had any right to be.

"You look perfect" his breath brushes against your face, "There's just one little thing, that's missing, Hostage."

Your brows scrunch together, as you watch him reach into his pocket yet again. A beautiful silken scarf slides between his palms. It's pink as well, adorned with constellations stitched in with a shiny thread. Your confusion deepens, when he grabs your hand and turns your wrist up. Then, your heart drops.

Between the rows of small bells, you can see a golden loop attached to the cuff, identical looking back at you from your other wrist. You try to voice your protest, try to wring out your hand, but his grip on you tightens, and he tuts quietly under his breath.

"Can't have you flying away now, can I?" he weaves the scarf between the loops, and ties your hands together, leaving the fabric to drape in between

"How the hell do you expect me to perform with my hands tied?" your voice comes out much weaker than you've anticipated, betraying your growing fear.

To that, he looks up with a grin, yet his eyes remain cold, causing your whole body to shiver.

"You're a smart girl, you'll figure it out."

His finger detaches again, flying towards your nose and pushing it hard enough to make your entire face scrunch up. Then, he grabs a handful of the fabric, tugs on it to check the binds, and starts walking towards the door, not sparing you as much as a glance. And you follow, obediently, trying to make his head explode with your brain.

It's your fault, really, the feeling of disappointment and anger swirling around in your head. All this sudden quiet intimacy has clouded your judgement, and you've forgotten who you're truly dealing with. Oh, how you wish you could do anything to hurt him. How you wish, your brother would rescue you already, free you from this prison, not only physically, but mentally as well, so you won't have to think about this stupid, homicidal clown ever again.

If he senses you fuming behind him, he doesn't comment. And why would he? You're still following him, as he drags you through the stage, right to the middle of your future dance floor.

Your eyes dart around the place, trying to find anything, anyone, who could help you escape this predicament. To your surprise, and later, horror, the Circus is completely empty. Not a soul shares your fate. Not the public, not his Freaks, not even the Announcer. The silence makes goosebumps erupt all across your flesh, and words get stuck in your throat, as Buggy turns to face you with an unsettling grin plastered across his lips.

"I thought a private performance would be much more appropriate for you, my Hostage" his smile widens at your expression.

You want to scream at him, punch him in his stupid face, but all you can manage is glare daggers at his stupid face. Suddenly, the lights flicker on, startling you, as beams of light flow around you, only to fall right on the two of you. Buggy grabs your face, squishing your cheeks between his palms. His enthusiasm would be contagious, if you weren't scared shitless by this entire situation.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to a one-of-a-kind performance" he whispers inches from your face, "My dearest Hostage will dance for her life… and for your entertainment."

He lets go of you, forcefully showing you away, and you take a step back to stabilize yourself. The lights focus solely on you, and in the brightness surrounding you, you realize, you can't see anything besides the middle of the dance floor. Cackling like a madman, the Clown steps back, his hands clasped in front of his chest. You almost call out for him, as he slides into the shadows, but any sound dies on your tongue.

You're alone, again. Your breath quickens, as your heart nearly jumps out of your chest. This is not at all how you've envisioned this performance to go. Well, above all things, you didn't expect it would happen at all. Your brother should have freed you by now, and while you had your utmost faith in him, you couldn't shake the feeling of deeply seated worry. Which is why, you had to endure this torture. So you can see your brother again, when he finally comes for you. With a determined expression, you nod your head at the darkness and raise your hands, getting into, what you hope would look, like a dancing stance.

He holds you in anticipation for a moment longer, as any great showman should. And then, music floods the stadium. Bells and violins, distorted slightly by what you assume is an old gramophone. You recognize the song, thankfully, your face falling slightly, as you remember the meaning. A love song, of course, about hatred and affection. Bitter-sweet. Your limbs feel heavy and awkward, but you start to move nonetheless.

He wants a private show? You'll give him one, he won't forget.

The rhythm picks up and so do the movements of your hips. Bells jingle all around you, as you slide from one place to another, clouds of dust flying around your feet. The scarf turns out to be a major distraction, as you're unused to being bound. It takes you a while to get the hang of it, but once you do, you make the fabric dance with you, flowing around your body with satisfying grace. The song becomes even faster, and you twist and turn, ruffles jumping, as you run, accompanied by the bells. Your feet start to hurt from the roughness of the floor, but you ignore it completely.

The song drops before the second verse, and you follow the rhythm to the floor. Using all the acrobatics you've picked up through the years, you begin to writhe in the sand, adding a clap and a stomp, bells jingling to the music. That's when you finally see him, crouched down right in front you, watching your dance with a tilt to his head and something terrifying swirling behind his eyes. It makes you falter in your choreography, makes your guts twist with a feeling too close to arousal.

Then, a glint of something silver catches your eye. It swishes through the air, and plants itself right between your legs. A knife. Sharp and polished to perfection, it embeds itself into the wooden floor, splinters flying from the impact. The scream you let out would make a Banshee cringe, as you push yourself as far as you can from the weapon

"Now, now" Buggy calls out across from you, his silhouette barely visible in the darkness" The show must go on, Hostage."

He sounds terrifying, like some demon from your darkest dreams. But the music still plays, and you'll be damned, if this is what takes you down. So, you wipe your forehead with the silk scarf, contort your body and stand up, straight as a chord. Now, it's no longer a simple performance. Your blood boils inside you, fear giving space to anger and, strangely, some sort of misplaced ambition. You want to impress him, you want to make him frustrated, angry. Dust flows around you, as you resume your dance, movements much more confident, violent even.

He stalks you from the shadows, producing another knife from his pocket. It shines, when he lets it fly in your direction, but you don't even flinch, when it swishes right by your ear. Then another, grazes your torso, as you bend backwards. This one nicks you right below your ribs. You can feel blood running down the length of your stomach. No matter. Your eyes still follow him, and he steps closer to the light. Another knife, inches from your left foot. And closer he stalks. You can see the tips of his shoes enter the spotlight.

That's all it takes for you to make a decision. You won't play this torturous game any longer, and as the music nears its climax, you close the remaining distance between the two of you, hands flying to the collar of his shirt, fisting it tightly.

You're panting, so is he, as you stare at each other, all innocence gone from your respective expressions. Fury, oh, fury, you're not sure if you want to kill him, or kiss him, and as he produces one last knife from his pocket, the sentiment seems to be mutual

"You started it" a growl frees itself from the depths of your chest, and under your tight grip on his shirt, he shudders violently.

There's heat pooling into those blue eyes irises of his, enveloping you completely in the moment. But then, his eyes follow your scowl down to your lips, and you realize, you've never tasted face paint. What an interesting experience it would be.

This moment of tension is broken almost immediately, as clouds of smoke fill the tent, seemingly out of nowhere. Suddenly, something yanks you backwards by your arm, something puts a knife in your hand and something yells for you to run. So you do, you turn from the Clown, his figure drowned in smoke, and you run as fast as you can, without looking back. He screams some words you're too scared to decipher, his voice breaking. A disembodied hand flies in your direction, but you dodge it expertly. One more tug from the hand gripping your arm, and you fall through a thick curtain.

The sun outside the Circus tent blinds you, nearly making you lose your footing, but a pair of strong arms hold you in place, and a familiar head of ginger hair turns around to face you

"Come on, the ship is not far" Nami yells, and you can't contain the smile blossoming on your lips.

The Hostage, freed at last… Or so she hopes

[penelopepine]

Elephant in the Room Pt. 4

Part 3 Part 4

Summary: John and you hooked up after a night at the bar. You two after that never saw each other again. At least until 12 years later when Price discovers that 9 months after your time together you had given birth to not one baby, but two. Word Count: 2309

Price continues to avoid you even after getting back to base. That seems to be what you want right now as well if the glare you shoot his way when he attempts to carry a few of the bags inside was anything to go by. With that in mind he swiftly made his retreat; leaving the rest of the team to help the two of you get settled while he excused himself on account of needing to do some paperwork.

His mind was racing far too much for him to truly focus on that though. Price tries to stay away, but after a few hours he can't help but find himself at your door once more today. Things like this do require space, but they also need to be discussed as soon as possible lest resentment and anger continue to grow. Ghost's words from earlier echoing in his mind. 

He knocks firmly on the door, and waits to see if you'll open the door, and surprisingly you do. You don't seem surprised to see him either. The two of you stand there in silence for what feels like hours before your moving, and gesturing for him to come inside. 

The silence continues even after the door shuts and you lead him to the living room. Price sits across from you, and only then does he finally speak, "I know the things that have been happening are my fault, and I'm- I'm sorry. I am going to fix things though. The only thing I'm begging of you is that I get a chance to talk to Amelia and Andrew." 

“No, no this isn’t your fault John. I shouldn’t have implied that I thought it was earlier. It’s just- everything is happening so fast; I mean just a few days ago everything was perfectly normal, and now it feels like I’m in an unending nightmare.” You explain to him before taking a calming breath, “Would you … like to talk to Amelia tomorrow? She was asking about you earlier, and I admittedly didn’t have any answers for her” 

“May I ask how much they do know about me; about us?” 

It's here where he sees a wave of sadness hit you. "They know just about as much as I do. I told them your name, that you were a lieutenant when I met you, and that you were kind. They also know that we weren't any official. Would be a bit hard to lie about not knowing your last name if I said we were."

Price softly whispers your name before continuing, "I shouldn't have left like I did, love. You didn't deserve that. Maybe things would be different now if I did."

"I tried to find you John, I wanted things to be different." 

"There was only so much you could have done. Heaven knows there are hundreds of 'Johns' in the military." He pauses here thinking about the conversations he's had with you today, "I still haven't properly introduced myself to you."

You let go of a soft laugh at his words. This might be the first time seeing any sort of happiness on your face since meeting you again. "Well go on then! I'd love to finally know my children's father's name." 

"John Price, and it's captain now."

"Captain John Price." You look at him with a soft smile, "it suits you." 

He likes the way you say his name. It only makes him wish he could have told you it all those years ago. You both sit in comfortable silence for a moment before he asks, "Were you serious about letting me talk to Amelia tomorrow?"

"Maybe- maybe you could come by for lunch; talk to her then." 

"I'd like that." He answers you with a gentle tone. "What is she like; what is Andrew like?"

Your eyes are soft and smile sweet as you reply to him, "Amelia … She's a good kid; smart too, but a little spitfire that one. I don't think that girl has ever been afraid of confrontation. Very blunt, I'll warn you now about that. I'd prepare yourself for some hard questions from her."

"Good to know," Price nods at the information you've shared. He can only imagine right now what a kid who's meeting their father for the first time in 12yrs could ask. "And Andrew?"

"Football is life is a phrase I'm pretty sure he actually lives by with how much I've heard him say it." You lightly chuckle at your words, and wipe a fallen tear from your cheeks before continuing, "He's a sweet boy though; always wanting to include others in whatever he does." 

"They sound like great kids." He pauses for only a moment, "You're a good mum." 

Your eyes snap up to meet him when you hear this with surprise shining through your face. "Thank you," your voice cracks out.

Price takes a moment of silence before speaking again, "It's late and I don't want to keep you up any longer, love."

You walk him to the door, and before you shut it you whisper, "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow." Hell or high water he'll be here tomorrow. He won't let you down again.

-

It's the next morning and only a few hours until his first conversation with his daughter when Laswell decides to make a sudden appearance in his office. “John.” 

“Laswell,” He addresses her, “what you got for me?”

She steps up to his desk and immediately hands him a folder, “Information about who took Andrew.” 

Instantly opening up the folder Price sees the name of the same group who had managed to take him captive for a few hours months ago. He had always thought that the interrogation had been odd. They didn’t ask for any information, any codes, or any future plans the team had. Instead they had swabbed his mouth, and left him alone for most of his time there. 

Looking back on it now though their intentions are becoming more clear. They didn’t want to simply torture information out him; they wanted to take something seemingly much more important to him. This was in the plans for much longer than he realized. 

Flipping through the other pages he sees a printed scene shot of a DNA test website. It shows a profile with his name being listed as father above Andrews’. That's how they found Andrew it seems; by a stupid online genetic test. 

"Where are we now on getting him back?"

"We have a basic location on their base of operation as of now. Be prepared to be sent out on a moment's notice; even for today. We're getting this kid back as soon as we can."

"I can agree with you on that. Has anything else been sent to us since the video?"

Laswell shakes her head at him, "Nothing as of yet. Which we should take as a good thing. Hopefully that means Andrew has been left alone for the most part."

"We can only hope."

She takes a step closer to him, and gives his shoulder a quick squeeze, "We're going to get him back, John.” With a slight pause she continues, “What about the girls; how have things been with them?” 

“Well I’ve been allowed to have a conversation with Amelia today so things are doing good, all things considered.” 

“Yeah? Are you ready for that?”

“Laswell.” 

“Yes, John?”

“How do you talk to 12 year old girls?” 

Laswell gives a small chuckle at Price’s question, “Don’t treat her like a soldier for one, and two … I’d just be honest about whatever questions she might have. She probably already feels like her life has been turned upside down. The last thing she wants right now is to be treated like she can’t handle knowing the truth.” 

“So just be honest about everything?” 

“Well she is 12 so there are going to be things you’ll probably want to explain in a more age appropriate way, but 12 year olds aren’t babies; they can handle having a serious conversation.” 

“And what if she’s angry?” Price can’t help but ask. Of all things, that is the one that he’s not sure how to properly react to or handle that.

Laswell merely sighs at him, “She’s going to be angry. You just need to stay calm, actively listen to what she says, and don’t take everything she says out of anger to heart. Especially with how crazy her life is right now.” 

He doesn’t say anything else right away; thinking about what Laswell had just said to him. As always she’s right; Amelia is most likely going to be angry. He knows if he was in her position he would be. “Thank you Laswell.” 

“No problem John.” She then turns around and walks out of the office.

Once alone he takes out the photo he had taken from the first folder Laswell had given him; the one that showed all three of you smiling together. Price thinks about how once he gets Andrew back he'll make sure all of you can be together like that again. 

-

It was noon right on the dot when Price stepped inside your house once more. The first thing he noticed was how delicious it smelt inside. It really made him think for a moment about how long it’s been since he’s had a meal that wasn’t from the base cafeteria. 

You both exchange slightly awkward greetings with one another before you lead him into the dinning room where Amelia is already sitting at the table; a notepad sits in front of her. Price stops in the arch way as he watches you walk over to her, and give her shoulder a squeeze. 

“Lunch is almost ready; it’ll just be a few more minutes.” You move your head between Amelia and him, “While I’m finishing up you two can have a talk. Amelia, come get me if you need to.” You say before nervously exiting the room.

With you gone now it just leaves Price and Amelia alone to have what he can already tell is going to be a hard conversation. He makes his way further into the room and sits across from her with a hand extended, “Hello, Amelia. I’m John; John Price.” 

He watches as his daughter takes a calming breath as she extends her hand to shake his as well, “Hello, … John.” 

She sounds unsure saying his name which he can understand. Price didn’t come in here expecting her to call him any sort of partial name; that is something he hopes later on she’ll be comfortable giving him. That time is not now though, now is the time to build trust. 

“I heard you had some questions for me, and I promise to do my best to answer them for you,” He slightly motions towards the notepad. 

At the mention of questions Amelia seems to immediately perk up; even flipping her notepad open to reveal several lines of text. Price unfortunately couldn’t read it from this distance. It seems all nervousness from her has been thrown out the window though. 

The first few questions were basic get to know you questions. Things like age, birthday, and where did he grow up. Price noted how this felt more like an interrogation rather than a talk which actually eased his nerves a bit; she strangely reminded him of Laswell at this moment. 

Those kind of questions could only last for so long though before you started asking about things currently going on. “Have there been any updates about Andrew?” 

“We’re hoping to retrieve him any day now.” Price hesitantly answers; unsure of how much he should really be discussing with her. “You’ll get your brother back soon.” 

“And afterwards?”

“Hmm?”

"So like … what's going to happen afterwards then? You keep saying you're going to get Andrew back, but what about after that?" Amelia questions him, "Are you just going to save the day and all these years without you don't matter anymore because of that, or are things going to go back to when we never knew you?"

“Amelia!” Your voice rings out from the other side of the room. 

Price doesn’t know how, but you had managed to come into the room with him noticing. He puts a calming hand up to you, and softly says your name before continuing, “No, it’s ok it’s a valid question to ask,and the answer truthfully is that I don’t know what is going to happen afterwards. That is something your mum and I have yet to discuss.”

"What do you want to happen?" You are now sitting next to Amelia with a comforting hand on hers.

"I- I don't know." She says as her head hangs low and picks at her nails.

"That's ok; You don't have to know." You stand up and gently help Amelia out of her chair, "Why don't you come and help me bring out the dishes?" 

Price watches as you both leave; knowing that you wanted to have a private conversation without him present. It only takes a few minutes for you both to return, Amelia mood seems to have risen based on the easy smile on her face. 

The conversation that follows is stilled in the beginning, but quickly becomes livelier as Amelia talks about her friends and upcoming school year. Everything for just a moment feels calm, but of course nothing can last forever. 

A loud rapid knocking sound rings through the house; stopping any conversations in an instant. Price is the first one to stand and walk towards the door. He knows that whoever is on the other side is most likely looking for him anyway. 

“Captain.” Gaz stands before him, a serious look on his face. “Laswell needs us in the debriefing room. It’s time to get your boy.” 

Taglist: @zarsghost @lulurubberduckie @mafer383 @7thsthings @sazifer

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Man 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Lloyd Hansen

Summary: a demanding customer complicates more than your work life.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

A few days pass as the humiliation of your big lesson clings in the air. You think about it too much. Enough that you find yourself cringing to yourself on your bike ride home or even when lying in bed. You’ve never been the most socially adept so the encounter leaves you reeling.

As you help Bre with opening, you feel your heartbeat pick up once more. You need to chase the elephant from the room. You puff out and wet your lips as you glance over at her. She measures out grinds into the silver machine as her eyes pinpoint on the task.

“Um, so, Bre,” you approach her warily with a fresh sleeve of cups, “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Mm,” she grumbles groggily. She’s on her second coffee already and she only just got there twenty minutes ago.

“So, um, that guy, from the other day,” you rub your boiling neck, “with the mustache. You said he’s the boss. So he owns this place?”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes as she shuts the lid of the machine and turns the silver dial on the front. She shakes her head as the machine starts to brew and she plants her hand on the counter in front of it. She faces you, her other hand going to her hip.

“Mr. Hansen? Lloyd. Hansen.” She enunciates as if you should know the name.

Your lips downturn and you shrug, “is that his name?”

“Are you new in town?” She asks hotly.

You nod, “yeah, actually. I used to live about forty minutes out of town but there was nothing there--”

“It shows,” she retorts, “he owns this shop, he owns the street outside, he owns me, he owns you. He owns this city. Got it?”

You hum and nod as you look thoughtfully to the ceiling, “not really. But he’s important, got it.”

“Just if he comes back in, come get me and say as little as you can. And please, for the love of god, do not ask him for money,” she snips.

“Oh, alright,” you deflate, “I didn’t know--”

“Now you do. Just trust me when I tell you, you don’t want to fuck around with him. If he tells you to pour boiling water on yourself, you’re better off just doing it,” she sneers.

You wince, “okay, sorry, Bre, I was just asking.”

“You ask too many questions,” she turns and goes into the backroom. She returns, dangling a keyring from her finger, “open up. It’s time.”

You take the key and go to unlock the door and flip on the sign. You retreat back behind the counter, swallowed up by the tension between you. You regret asking. You thought it might help clear the air but now you can barely breathe.

When the first customer enters, you volunteer to help them. Bre just mutters and slurps from her coffee. She might have less of a headache if she takes it easy on the caffeine. You don’t say as much to her, nothing really at all as you work through order after order.

She hops onto prep as you man the till while the queue grows. The morning rush is in full effect as you slide baked goods into little paper sleeves and hand them over before sending customers down to the window to wait for their drinks. The hectic flow helps you forget about the awkward start.

When at last the crowd trickles down and the cafe hums with voices sitting at the tables, you have a moment to catch your breath and center yourself. You like this job, it’s just like your last one, but the company isn’t as pleasant. Bre taps her thumb on her phone screen and ignores you.

The ebbs come with hide tides and soon lunch has you scrambling once more. The smell of toasted bread and cinnamon has your stomach grumbling. You’re too busy to let the emptiness bother you for long. When high noon influx subsides, Bre yawns.

“Lunch,” she announces, “I’m going to head down to Tabitha’s. They’re having a clearance sale.”

“Oh, alright,” you agree, not mentioning that she said earlier you could go first, “I’ll be here.”

She doesn’t respond as she disappears into the back to get her things. You hear her leave through the side door that leads through to the alley. You sigh out and watch the sit-in customers on their laptops or chatting with friends.

You resist the temptation of the tarts staring at you from the display. You can hold out until it’s your turn. The door jingles and a new customer enters. You’re too fixated on the painting of a latte to glance over. Not until you sense the sudden shift in the air. Several people quiet and pack up to go.

Footfalls scuff across the floor and customers leave their unfinished drinks on the table as they hurry for the door. You peer around then at the approaching shadow. It’s him. Oh no. Bre isn’t here.

“Um, hello, Mr. Hensen,” you smile shakily, “how are you?”

He stares at you as he comes to stand across the till from you. His blue eyes darken as he lets a long exhale out through his nose. You gulp and your cheeks tremble. He tilts his head and arches a brow.

“Hansen,” he corrects.

“Right, Floyd Hansen, I remember--”

“Lloyd,” he hits his fist on the counter and you gasp. “Lloyd fucking Hansen.” He leans forward and bares his teeth, “get that through that thick fucking skull.” He reaches for you, grabbing the front of your shirt, “you won’t forget who I am.”

“I’m s-sorry, I’m bad with names--”

“Shut up,” he twists the fabric until it strains against the back of your neck, “if you weren’t so goddamn pathetic, I’d drag you across this counter.”

Your eyes round and you bat your lashes. He’s only an inch away from you. You shiver as he opens his hand and presses the vee of his index and thumb to your throat. You’re frozen, terrified. Who is this man?

“Get me my fucking coffee,” he squeezes then shoves you so you choke.

You stumble back and bring your hand to your neck. You nod, eyes glittering with unspent tears, and look around. You can’t remember what he ordered. You’ll just have to make something up. Or maybe you could just sneak out like Bre...

[trickphotography2]

Wanna Dance with Somebody

When his girlfriend of three months ditches a night at the Hard Deck after a rough day, Bradley knows just what to do to cheer her up.

Word Count: 1.8K

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Off work yet?

Not yet. I have so much left to do in this last hour and a half.

Okay. Let me know when you’re on the way, and I’ll have your drink waiting.

Bradley glanced at his phone again to see if there was any update, only to see his last message left on read two hours later. Excusing himself from the pool table, he stepped out onto the patio of the Hard Deck. 

You answered on the third ring. “Hey,” you said, exhaustion coloring your voice. 

“Hey babe, just wanted to check where you were.” There was silence for a long moment before you sighed.

“Would…would you mind if I skipped out tonight? It’s been a shit day, and I’m exhausted.” 

“Yeah,” he frowned. “Everything okay?”

“Just a lot. I still have about an hour of work before I can log off for the night. And some of the shit is going to be Monday’s problem.” 

“Anything I can do?”

“No. As much as I appreciate it, no.” He could hear the smile in your tired voice. “Have a drink for me, tell everyone I said hi, and text me when you get home?” 

“Will do, babe. Lo…lock up, alright?”

“Always do,” you replied, confused by his strange request. “Night.”

“Night.” 

An hour and a half later, you shut down your computer and stowed it in your work bag, shoving that into the back of your closet. After changing into a pair of sweatpants and pulling on the wearable cat blanket that fell to your knees - Bradley had gotten it in a White Elephant Christmas exchange and shoved it into his closet, quickly giving it to you when you spied it the first time he made you dinner at his house and loved it - you shuffled toward the kitchen. Lunch had been a quick affair - a bag of chips and a mug of tea - since it had been a busy day. It was a busy week, to be honest. This time of year was always a shit show: people came out of the woodwork asking for help, projects that you pushed off were due, and new work started to pile up. It wasn’t until 3:00PM that you’d finished the stuff from yesterday and switched to today’s tasks. 

You zoned out while watching the microwave heat up leftover pizza from the weekend and contemplated stress crying in the shower. A quick, cathartic cry would be a good kick-off to the weekend, but that would also require the effort of actually getting into the shower. Eating seemed like a monumental task, so showering would be even worse. 

Beeping interrupted your musing, and you quickly silenced the microwave. The pizza was only lukewarm, but you ate it anyway. An open bottle of wine caught your eye when you refilled your water bottle, and you retrieved a wine glass from the cabinet. Thankfully, it was still carbonated after you’d shoved it onto the door shelf and jammed the stopper against the upper shelf. Pouring yourself a healthy measure, you retreated to the couch, tugging the blanket hood over your head. 

With the lights off, you grabbed your phone and mindlessly scrolled social media while lying on the couch. A few videos made you chuckle, and you sent them to your friends. The sun had long set, but you had no motivation to turn on any of the lights in your home. 

“Hey.”

“Fuck!” You shouted, jolting upright and sloshing the wine balanced beside you. The overhead living room light flicked on to reveal a smirking Bradley standing in the doorway. 

“You alright?” He asked, trying to school his expression as you wiped wine from your hoodie, blinking at the sudden brightness. 

“What are you doing here?” You demanded, glaring up at him. His mustache twitched as though he was trying not to grin - he had never seen you in “full gremlin mode,” as you called these nights, in the three months you’d been dating. 

“Just coming to check on you and bring you this,” Bradley said, holding up a bottle of your favorite wine. Your eyes darted between it and his face, feeling your anger fade. 

“Babe,” you groaned, setting your wine glass on the floor and pulling the hood down to cover your face as tears pricked your eyes. “You didn’t need to do that.” The carpet muffled his footsteps as he neared. Still, you heard the soft ‘thunk’ of the bottle and the metallic clanking of the spare key given to him to check your apartment when you went out of town for a conference hitting the coffee table before he gently pushed the fabric from your eyes. 

“Bad day or long one?”

“A bit of both,” you shrugged. “This week’s been…” He nodded, thinking about what you’d shared over the last few days. Glancing at your wine glass, he grabbed the bottle by the neck and removed the foil.

“Sounds like you need something to make you feel better, baby.”

“Sex?” Throwing his head back laughing, Bradley twisted the wire cage keeping the cork in place.

“We can get to that. I was thinking about something else, though.” A loud ‘pop’ sounded as he pulled the cork from the bottle, retrieved your glass from the floor, and filled it before handing it back to you. Once the bottle was back on the table, he pulled out his phone and connected it to your Bluetooth speakers. “Ready?”

“For what?” You asked, cocking an eyebrow.

The speaker started to play a familiar tune, followed by clapping. Bradley held out a hand to you, hips beginning to sway.  “Clock strikes upon the hour,” he crooned with Whitney Houston, “and the sun begins to fade.” 

Tossing your head back into the couch arm, you groaned as he sang along to I Wanna Dance with Somebody. When you didn’t take his hand, he playfully rolled his eyes, plucked his aviators from the pocket of his Hawaiian shirt, and put them to the tip of his nose. His tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth as he attempted to moonwalk on the carpet, hands closing around the unbuttoned sides of his shirt. 

His hips swung, fingers snapping while he danced and spun across your living room, fist raised to sing into an invisible microphone. Biting your lip against laughing, you watched him shake his ass while sliding the shirt down his arms, glancing over his shoulder at you in a pantomime of strip tease. While Bradley wasn’t the best dancer, he was certainly enthusiastic. Once free from his shirt, he tossed it at you, moving around your living room and singing loudly. “Oh, I wanna dance with somebody. I wanna feel the heat with somebody!” He wiggled an eyebrow at you, which was what made you crack. 

Laughing, you reached behind your head to turn on the floor lamp before pushing to your feet and going to turn off the overhead light. In the dim lighting, you watched him hold out a hand for you. 

As soon as your finger slid over his, he tugged, lifting his arm to spin you under it and then back again. His hand on your waist was a gentle pressure, muffled by the thick fabric, and you couldn’t help the laugh that burst out of you as he held you tightly and shimmied, crouching and hiding his grimace when his knees popped. On his way back up, his belt buckle caught on the fabric of your hoodie, tugging it upward. 

Bradley towered over you, smiling as he serenaded and swayed in a rhythm too slow for the song. “I been in love and lost my senses, spinning through the town,” he crooned. You felt butterflies in your stomach at the sincerity shining in his eyes at those words. 

“Sooner or later, the fever ends, and I wind up feeling down,” you joined in. “I need a man who'll take the chance on a love that burns hot enough to last. So when the night falls, my lonely heart calls - ”

Grinning, Bradley twirled you, tugging so you fell into him when the chorus picked up. His lips grazed your forehead, mustache tickling your temple as he rasped, “Yeah, I wanna dance with somebody, with somebody who loves me.” 

Heart in your throat, you forced yourself to keep smiling as you danced. He was just singing the lyrics. Three months was too early to drop the ‘L’ word. When you pulled away, he caught your hands and spun you, crossing his arms over your front as your back pressed against his chest. His hold was a loose cage you had no desire to escape.

The song played as you swayed, head tipped back to rest on Bradley’s shoulder. The oversized hoodie, combined with the heat Bradley always threw, was getting to be overwhelming, but nothing could have made you move at that moment. 

His hand lifted to gently stroke your jaw, light pressure encouraging your chin up so he could kiss you. The song faded, but you barely paid attention as he licked into your mouth. Your hand lifted to trace the scars on his cheek before cupping around the back of his neck, fingers curling hair that was getting tiptoeing the edge of being out of regulation. 

There was a brief silence as the song ended before his playlist continued. “I need love, love, ooh, to ease my mind. And I need to find time, someone to call mine. My Mama said, ‘You can’t hurry love. No, you’ll just have to wait,” Phil Collins sang. Bradley chuckled against your lips. 

“What’s so funny, Lieutenant Bradshaw?” you asked, attempting to turn in his hold, but his tight grip stopped you. 

“Nothin’,” he replied, nipping your lower lip. “How’d you feel about grabbing your wine and hitting the shower, honey?” 

“I could go for shower wine.” 

The only crying you did in the shower was when Bradley went to his knees, your leg over his shoulder as he took you apart with his fingers and tongue. His eyes were soft as he washed your hair, taking the time to massage the tension from your neck and shoulders. His lips crashed into yours as you stroked his cock, feeling his hot spend against your stomach until he backed you under the shower spray to clean you off.

Later, he tucked you into bed and curled up behind you, drawing lazy circles on your stomach. The repetitive motion, coupled with his soft breathing, was lulling you into a trance. You hovered there, in that liminal space between awake and sleep. 

Bradley’s fingers paused, and he whispered your name. You felt the soft press of his lips against your shoulder, countering the gentle scratch of his mustache when you didn’t respond. “Love you, honey,” he whispered against your skin so softly you were sure you dreamt it.

“Love,” you mumbled, feeling Bradley’s arm tighten around you as you slipped over the edge into slumber.

Three months was too early to say you loved someone. 

But it wasn’t too early to dream it. 

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Author's Note: Started thinking about this fic after a rough day at work and then it got lost in my drafts folder. Needed a bit of a pick-me-up recently, so I revisited this fic. Thanks for reading!

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Taglist: @shanimallina87; @roosterforme

[thetravelingtyper]

a moment (Simon Ghost Riley x 141 Sgt! Reader) one shot

A short moment with your commanding officer, see also Soap MacTavish has a big mouth...

Warnings! Stitches but nothing graphic! Fluff!

Just a little one-shot to Cigarette Daydream by Cage the Elephant to get me back into writing! Check out my other series!

Masterlist!

What did you think would happen?

The mist of the cold street engulfs you through your civvies as the rowdyness of the bar ends at the threshold. The silence outside crept like some ancient spirit. You can hear the laughter of other sergeants at your retreat.  Some little lovesick puppy you were.

Did you stand there all alone?

Oh, I cannot explain what's going down

I can see you standing next to me

In and out somewhere else right now

There is the roll of a spark wheel and a whisper of a spark and you don't turn as you move to the edge of the river, guardrail weathered and paint chipped red under your nails.

“Leave me alone Johnny,” unshed tears are tightening your throat as you bite as much as you can, hands gripping the rail.

There is only silence and the quiet inhale of smoke.

You sigh, look away

I can see it clear as day

Close your eyes, so afraid

Hide behind that baby face

Do-do-do, do-do-do

At his silence you pull a fist and spin, aiming for his face only for a pale hand to catch your fist at his chest. 

Your eyes widen in shock as your lieutenant looks down at you with dark eyes.

You can drive all night

Looking for the answers in the pouring rain

You wanna find peace of mind

Looking for the answer

“Sir I-”

“Shouldn’t have crept up on you.”

A hot flush engulfs your face in shame and before you turn you head away to hide the tears rolling down your cheeks. 

Funny how it seems like yesterday

As I recall you were looking out of place

Gathered up your things and slipped away

No time at all, I followed you into the hall

You look off into the lit distance, dazzling lights like stars reflected on your face as his free hand hangs, cigarette smoldering.

You tug your hand, fed up with him, your feelings, Johnny for being a dick. 

“Come on lassie! Let me see you!”

You knew a drunk Johnny was trouble but this was different as he pulled you to dance.

He was your best friend but sometimes a right-ass.

“You know I was talking to Gaz about your little proble-”

Your head shoots to him,

“You didn't tell him did you?!?”

Johnny gives a cheeky smile, 

“Not like it isn't obvious. Not like there is ever a chance of you and the Ghost.”

The words you know are a drunken mutter but you feel the hand around your heart tighten. You push out of his arms as he realizes what he’s said in a stupor,

“Wait lass I didn’t mean-”

“You've said enough MacTavish and fuck you too.”

Cigarette daydream

You were only 17

So sweet with a mean streak

Nearly brought me to my knees

Do-do-do, do-do-do

You had spent many long missions with Ghost in your service with the 141. Cold nights curled together with Johnny snoring as Ghost worked his side arms, cleaning knives and his pistol. As you slip out of the cot his voice trails out like gravel.

“You should be asleep Sergeant.”

You give him a caught smile before sighing,

“I can’t with him like this.”

You lift an arm as Johnny clings to it like a cub. Ghost’s eyes finally lift from his work, turning to the contact with a smolder you don’t catch.

“Take my cot then and get to sleep.”

You reply with an aye sir and slip silently by, brushing past the large man heart clutching when you catch his scarred hands.

You can drive all night

Looking for the answers in the pouring rain

You wanna find peace of mind

Looking for the answer

If we can find a reason, a reason to change

Looking for the answer

If you can find a reason, a reason to stay

Standing in the pouring rain

You sat alone in medical, cursing silently to yourself for a shitty mission. You were caught lacking on your own when you caught a slash along your side. As evac came you covered the wound and carried on despite the pain, Johnny giving you a knowing side-eye but hushing up as Price and Gaz passed into the front of the helo for directions. In the quiet moment, Johnny's hand comes to your side and you hiss.

“I knew it! You got hit! Ye are paler than a lamb! We need to get that see too now.”

Price calls from the back as a heavy body pulls itself into the chopper as it lifts off.

You elbow Johnny as Ghost looks over you two before passing, umber eyes tracing your face as you and Johnny quietly bicker.

“I'll stitch it myself Johnny now shut up!”

Back on the table, you tie a shaky stitch when there is a flick of the light, you blink before hissing in pain at the movement.

“Could get in trouble for this Sergeant.” 

You jump and turn your head to see Ghost in the doorway, leaning on one arm as he examines you. His eyes are heavy in the solitary room.

You fumble with the needle and prick your finger in surprise, pulling on the stitching with a hiss. 

“It was nothing I couldn’t handle. Not worth stopping the mission for.”

Ghost watches you a lot closer,

“That what Johnny said?”

You blink at that, you shake your head with a scoff,

“He's just a mother hen. Always has been since my parents died.”

Ghost inhales, eyes dropping to your working hands. He rolls his shoulder back before entering the room and humming low.

“You two are close.”

The pain is momentarily forgotten as your commanding officer washes his hands and digs in a drawer, wide back turned. Flashes of the scot fill your mind as you snort.

“You could say that he’s been my shadow since birth, been a right pain too, why do you say, looking to adopt?”

That gets a chuckle from Ghost as he turns back to you, there is a crinkle in his eye and you can tell he is grinning. He is wearing a pair of gloves, and in the next second, he is right in your space, stepping between your legs to take the needle from you. You gulp at his sudden closeness, your heartbeat stuttering.

His eyes look into yours and you feel a weight settle in the room,

“Wouldn’t think you’d appreciate that Sergeant.”

He watches your face as he begins to stitch and your eyes widen at the connotation.

“That's a fucking joke, Jesus L.t. I’d sell him for a biscuit. We aren't like that, just friends.”

You had heard the rumors, something resolute settles in Ghost’s gaze as he finishes stitching you up. His hands linger a moment, helping you to stand as he takes a step back.

“Call me Simon, Sergeant.”

You look up at him curiously but nod.

“right.”

Do-do, do, do, do

Do-do, do, do, do

Do-do, do, do, do

Do-do, do, do, do

You can drive all night

Looking for the answers in the pouring rain

You wanna find peace of mind

Looking for the answer

If we can find a reason, a reason to change

But Simon does not release your hand and you look up at him, frustration mounting while he casually extinguishes his cigarette. Umber eyes then turn to look down at you. You huff and pull your hand again gently,

“Can you please let go, Simon, I want to be alone right now.”

He seems to consider it for a moment before his fingers wrap further around yours, 

“I don't think so, Dove.”

You look up at him blinking, not understanding, you are about to force your hand from his when he takes a step forward and pins you against the guardrail, his other arm caging you in. You lean back naturally but his free arm works to wrap around you guardingly.

“Simon?”

Your heart is pounding and there is a rush of blood in your ears when his eyes soften, he hums but gives no other reply other than working your hand open to entwine your fingers.

“What?”

Simon chuckles, his head dipping towards your ear.

“You doubt yourself and MacTavish has a big mouth.”

A nervous giggle comes out at that but you step forward into his embrace.

“I guess he does.”

Looking for the answer

If you can find a reason, a reason to stay

Standing in the pouring rain

AN! I am not dead!!! I just needed a break as life and full-time kicked my butt. On the same page and our shattered heart are still important to me and I hope to continue them both really soon!

[seeingivy]

style

actor!eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting series

previous part linked here

an: this is 10k. I decided to leave the what am I to you scene for the next chapter bc of it...apologies....also I jsut wanted to post it bc I promised this at the beginning of the week and yday and now its been a long time coming

songs mentioned: style by taylor swift and glimpse of us by joji (minor mention of peace by taylor swift too)

--

--

“Wait, so. I don’t get it. You’re basically…acting like a couple on purpose?” Zeke asks. 

Eren spares a weary glance to his parents, matching apprehensive looks in their eyes, as he slides the salt and pepper shakers towards Zeke. 

Leave it to him to bring up the elephant in the room. 

One mention of attending an award show or a red-carpet event had the three of them dropping everything to come to New York at the drop of the hat. Especially when Scott Clarkson was going to be attending. 

Levi was more than happy to oblige them at the hotel they were all staying at, much to Eren’s dismay, which left him in his current predicament. 

That unlike his friends, who were secretly letting him indulge in something he probably shouldn’t and turning a blind eye, the three of them were never going to let it go. 

Eren knew that part of what he was doing was wrong. That he was walking a very fragile line and that their concerns, in some sense, were very valid. 

He had promised you a show. The problem was that it wasn’t just a show for him. It wasn’t even the slightest bit difficult for him to give the public exactly what they wanted to see – to go above and beyond to prove that the two of you were better than ever. 

He wanted that deeply – for it to be true. Fervently, desperately. It wasn’t hard to pretend when Eren had spent a majority of his life thinking about you, about what this would be like, anyways. 

It started out simple. Eren offered to accompany you on your first walk out in public that morning – after watching you stare at the people through the window the entire morning. There was a big crowd lingering outdoors, supplied by rumors that the group of them were staying in the hotel, and he was positive that some part of it was making you feel green. 

That and the fact that as much as you could front, some part of this had to be some level of nerve wracking to you. You had put on a brave face very well, but Eren’s deep rooted fear is that this’ll just send you deeper into that cave you retreated into last time – and that you’ll leave him waiting outside again. 

So he offered to do your first paparazzi walk with you. Cited that it would have been the perfect thing to build up more publicity, give them a greater chance of stealing the morning headlines about how today was Hyla’s birthday and the buzz around what she was going to wear tonight. 

It gave him an excuse to make sure you didn’t run off this time – that he’d be able to catch you if something happened. 

Except Eren took it too far. He had given you the permission to pump the brakes whenever you felt like it was too much and the fact that you almost never did made it impossible for him to stop. So he pulled you close whenever the paparazzi were near, brushing his nose against yours as the two of you smiled sunshine into each other’s faces. 

It was a disaster waiting to happen. Though from Eren’s expert point of view, he couldn’t fall any more than he already had. 

The problem would come later – when it would just become another memory that he cherished, had to relive after he was finally denied the promise of your company and friendship for good. 

When the show ended in two months and when you would have no reason to talk to each other again. 

Eren shakes the thought from his head as he looks back up at them. 

“Yeah. But trust me, it’s actually working. The record label dropped Ricky James and now that Y/N promised them her new album, they’re going to sever ties all together.” Eren states. 

“I just don’t see what that has to do with pretending to date. You know, especially when you’re still in love with the girl.” Carla states. 

“It’s sadistic. Even for you.” Zeke states. 

Eren shoves him in the side. With his parents' eyes averted, he takes the chance to knee Zeke this time to catch his attention. 

Could you just back me up? Eren mouths. 

Zeke rolls his eyes, before quietly mouthing his response back. 

Okay, fine! Just relax. 

Eren turns back to the two of them, mustering his best smile. And hoped that deep down, that fleeting flare of hope that’s been burning in his chest won’t go to waste this time – that there are real grounds behind actually bringing Scott Clarkson down. 

“There’s a certain publicity that you can’t buy with people who have…such a drama filled history like us. We’re aiming for a solidified deal with Ethan Cole by the end of the Met Gala.” Eren states. 

He flinches when his dad drops the fork against the ceramic of the plate. 

“Ethan Cole? Are you crazy, Eren? He’s never going to agree to a deal with you guys.” 

“Maybe a little. But I think that we could do it. I spent years being played by idiots like Scott Clarkson – it’s not hard to tell that’s how he keeps people around. And…we have an idea of exactly how to do it.” Eren states. 

“I don’t know, Eren. I don’t exactly like this idea. I wouldn’t exactly put your hopes on this.” Carla murmurs. 

Eren gives her a smile, reaching to tangle his ankle with hers under the table. 

He gets it. Deep down, he does. Because the last time Eren did this – with the court case and Connie and Lana at his side – Eren was downtrodden when Scott Clarkson’s life virtually stayed the same. Almost everyone knew, or had some semblance of an idea, that Eren had sued him, that Scott had terribly wronged him. 

He had gone through the lengths of an entire court case, just for it to amount to nothing. 

He still had his career. He still had the movies, a beloved producing company, and the godawful tabloids that ruined Eren’s life. People continued to work with him despite everything that had happened. 

“I won’t be like last time. It…it almost feels better this time around. I have everyone around me and I don’t feel alone, so.” Eren adds. 

“Well, you weren’t exactly alone the last time.” Carla states. 

“You know what he meant. It’s different.” Grisha murmurs.” 

“I do think she can do it. These people only care about what makes them money or…or moves their business forward. No one can do that for them like her. And even besides that, she’s really earnest in the way she moves. I feel like people could even become more aware of this type of thing if she spoke out about it.” Eren finishes. 

Eren looks over, looking to his mom’s brown eyes hoping for her approval. He doesn’t exactly find it, but there’s a nod. He understands it all the same – that he’s the one who gets to make the calls here, regardless. 

“Oh, let’s all relax! If Eren wants to kiss her and run around doing god knows what, that’s his business! He’s a grown man.” Zeke adds, sliding one hand around his shoulder and using his free one to pinch his cheek. 

Eren seethes, stomping hard on his foot under the table. 

“I don’t kiss her.” Eren defends. 

“Not yet, you don’t. That’s for next month, right?” Zeke responds, with a wink. 

Is this what Zeke thought backing him up was? 

Eren can feel his cheeks burn. Leave for the empty spots in the script – that Levi had stated he had some special plan for – the last part of the show was almost finished. And much to Eren’s dismay, Hange and Levi overrode his opinion in the writers room and included a kiss in the script. 

He’s just hoping for his own sake that they end up cutting it before the day comes like they did the first time. There were only so many things that he could stomach. 

“That’s filming, Zeke. That’s different.” 

Zeke rolls his eyes. 

“Right.” 

Eren’s thrown out of the loop when the door swings open, with Connie and Mikasa barging in with you at their heels. The three of you look particularly disheveled – sopping wet from the rain outside, giggly smiles on your faces – as Connie and Mikasa shake their hands at the group of them. 

“We ran out of toothpaste over there, Eren. We’re just gonna take some.” Mikasa states. 

“You needed three people to get one tube of toothpaste?” Eren asks. 

“Well, I was going to come. Then, Connie decided he wanted to accompany me. And then Y/N realized we were going to get it from your room, then decided to come.” Mikasa responds, dragging Connie off to the little bathroom at the side. 

Eren lifts his head to find you standing at the door, with…an almost awkward look on your face. The big smile that he saw seconds ago was virtually gone. 

“You know what! I think Falco’s actually calling me…so I’m just going to…” 

“You should sit. Eat breakfast with us.” Carla states, gesturing to the empty seat at her side. 

That’s when Eren realizes it – and it sends an overwhelming amount of relief through him. That you didn’t feel awkward around him but around his family instead. 

Eren racks his mind trying to remember it – when you were with them last. And if his memory isn’t deceiving him, it was the last Thanksgiving that you guys were together, a snowy November years ago. 

And he gets it, the immediate nervousness. God knows he felt the same way around Falco and Colt when they arrived – after Levi hadn’t listened to his advice to not cast the two of them in the show. Just to spare him some torture. 

Levi, obviously, refused to listen. 

You always had your guard up around Zeke and if he knew you half as well as he thought he did, he knows for a fact that you must feel embarrassed to show your face around his parents now after everything that happened. 

“Mom, it’s okay. You can go see if Falco’s good, Y/N.” Eren affirms. 

Eren watches as your eyes meet his, slightly faltering before you shake your head and drag yourself to the table. From his peripheral, he can see that Zeke’s already too delighted for his own good as Zeke quickly offers you the seat at Eren’s side and sits directly across from the two of you. 

“Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Jaeger. I appreciate it.” you respond, smoothing the little cloth over your lap as you knit your fingers into knots. 

Eren busies himself with filling your plate, carefully sectioning small amounts of each dish, before he puts his hand in between yours. You welcome the touch, linking your fingers in with Eren’s under the table, as you shoot them all a smile. And Zeke’s godawful delighted smile back almost makes you sweat. 

“Eren. You should go check on Falco, since he was calling Y/N.” Carla states. 

“Huh? Oh, I-I’m sure he’s fine. Colt’s here and Gabi too, you know.” you mumble. 

There’s no way you’re sitting alone with his family. 

“I think Eren should check on him. That way, it won’t be in the back of your head while we talk.” Carla responds. 

Eren shoots you a questioning look at your side, as you release his hand, and give him a nod. You can tell that he’s hesitating, his movements painstakingly slow as he exits the room and closes the door behind him, leaving you with the three of them. 

“I apologize for that. He wasn’t going to leave unless you gave your approval.” Carla murmurs, as the three of them relax with his presence missing. 

Zeke takes the opportunity to take the seat at your side, filling the empty space Eren left. He leans closer, voice quiet as he whispers and nearly makes your heart drop in your chest. 

“Don’t worry. I’ve got your back. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to hold your hand under the table like he did.” 

You fight the urge to spit the water in your mouth straight into the glass – but swallow the shock and battery acid sensation down as you spare the two of them a glance ahead of you. 

There’s a twinge of regret – that at one point, you used to be like their chosen family and now it feels like you’ve allocated a lifetime of hurt to their son. 

“I want to start by apologizing.” you state. 

The two of them look up at you confused. 

“For?” Grisha asks. 

“Everything I did to Eren. I…I care for your son an awful lot, though it may not seem like that at times. And I hope that you know that even causing the smallest bit of pain is something that I have to carry with me everyday. Something I’ll spend a lifetime trying to rectify.” you state. 

Carla sighs, setting her fork down in her plate and crossing her arms against her forearms. You can tell that Zeke’s priming some sort of response against her just from the almost enraged look in his face and you make it a point to spare him a warning glance not to. 

Whatever wrath she had prepared for you was what you deserved. And just like Eren and Mikasa, you’d spend your entire life fixing it till it was better with her too. 

“I’m not going to pretend to understand what it was that happened between you and Eren. I can read news articles and watch interviews and documentaries but…it doesn’t exactly make sense to me. I can admit that. I don’t know why you broke up with him and…and I surely don’t know why Eren thought it was okay to say everything that he did to you.” 

“Oh. That’s nothing, really-” 

“I don’t understand how you guys can make these big, love confessions without even confronting each other in the first place. Because…you’re not together, right?” Carla asks. 

You bite down on your cheek. 

“That’s right. It’s just for the paparazzi, trying to build up the hype around-” 

“No, I get that part. But the interview, the documentary. You guys did that for each other, on some level. So I’ll ask again. You’re really not together?” Carla asks. 

You sigh. 

“No. I’m sorry. I…I haven’t thought much about that because I want everything settled before I even consider it. Being careless ruined everything last time…and I can’t afford to do that again. I want to be careful with his feelings this time around.” you state. 

Carla pauses, before standing up and joining you at your side. And you’re caught completely off guard when she wraps her arms around you, pulling you up until you’re nestled in her arms and she’s rubbing at the sides of your biceps. 

You forgot – she used to do this to you all the time.

“You…you’re a good girl. We’ve always loved you, always loved how Eren was around you, but…just be careful with our son, okay? I don’t want him to be hurt again and he’s sensitive, if that much wasn’t obvious at this point.” 

“I appreciate that. Really, I…I don’t think you guys understand what it means to me. And I won’t, I’m making my sincerest promise that I’ll try not to. He’s….he means the world to me. He’s been my best friend as long as I can remember and…no one is going to be who Eren is to me.” 

And for the first time, the two of them spare you a glimmering smile. 

“He feels the same way.” Grisha states. 

You sigh, offering the two of them a smile. And right on cue, Eren barges right through the door, the worry on his face melting as the two of you offer him a smile. You can tell that he’s a little confused – as he settles back into his seat and gives a questioning look to Zeke. 

The two of them return to eating, as you dig your own fork into the food and push it around. That’s when Zeke slides his arm around the back of your chair, leaning forward as he gives you a smirk. 

You can’t help but feel annoyed. Not in the genuine, hatred way, but in the same way you did when Colt used to tease you when you were a kid. 

“So…family that I chose now that I see your brother as my brother? That is about me, right?” 

You roll your eyes, sparing him a laugh, as you elbow him in the side. 

“I’m so sorry to break your heart here, Zeke, but that line in peace was about Eren and Falco. Not about you and me.” you state.

“Yeah, dumbass. She doesn’t even like you.” Eren mutters. 

Zeke feigns hurt as he clutches his right hand to his chest and groans. You watch as Grisha rolls his eyes in front of you and Carla fights the urge to smile at his theatrics. 

“You’re a bitch.” 

“Language, Zeke! God.” the two of them cry, rolling their eyes at Zeke. Eren rolls his eyes as he stands up, stacking all the plates and placing them at the island as you turn back to look at the group of them. 

You shake your head, laughing, as you thank your lucky stars at how comfortable it is, that you’ve floated right back into the ease that you always seemed to be in when you were around them. And Zeke too, for the first time. 

Zeke spares you a genuine smile this time, as he gets closer to you. 

“I think that you and I could be really good friends. We both love Eren and…and maybe we haven’t always done right by him but…” 

You can tell that he’s getting tripped up by the words, that the sentiment that’s underlying is something the two of you have never really shared before. A closeness that brings you together. Because for you, Zeke was always something you needed to protect Eren from and for him, you were positive now, knowing what you did now, that maybe Zeke felt robbed of some part of that. 

Getting to meet his little brother’s first girlfriend. Tease him about it, give him some brotherly advice – the way Colt did with you. That maybe he wanted the relationship that Eren and Falco had with each other with you, if things were different. 

“Yeah. But…we’re going to do right by him this time. We’ll make sure of it.” you whisper back, averting your eyes to where he’s standing. 

Zeke breaks out into a smile, extending his closed fist out to you as you push your own against his. 

“One thing?” Zeke states. 

“What’s that?” 

Zeke has a nearly murderous glint in his eye when he says it. And it fills you up with a searing feeling of warmth. 

“You give that asshole Scott Clarkson hell. For all of our sake.” 

You give him a smile back. 

“That’s a promise, Zeke.” 

--

Eren can feel himself sweating on the opposite side of the red carpet. The stickiness of the hairspray is sitting heavy in his hair, the collar digging into his neck, and palms embarrassingly sweaty as he stares at the group of people around him. 

Lana and Sukuna are fussing over fixing Connie’s outfit, Jean and Mikasa are taking shots at his side, and you can tell that Suguru Getou is truly cutting his losses at this point. 

Satoru’s wearing an outfit with literal, raw meat on it. 

“It’s camp!” Satoru whines. 

“That was the theme last year, dumbass. And it’s not camp, you’re just a nuisance.” Megumi grumbles, pinching his nose as he joins Eren at his side. 

Eren gives him a nod in acknowledgement, as he watches Yuuji at Satoru’s side, snapping excited pictures of Satoru’s meat hat and pokes his fingers into the red flesh. 

“Can you believe you’re dating that guy?” Eren asks. 

“Everyday I question my sanity.” Megumi mumbles. 

“Could be worse. You could be married to Satoru.” 

“Don’t remind me.” Suguru groans at his side, the two of them sparing a laugh. 

Megumi chooses to keep the comment to himself. He swallows, pointing out that you had said the same thing to the pair of them when Satoru dressed up like that godawful cat years prior. Megumi figures that he’ll keep this thread of your invisible string to himself, for the time being – that it might not exactly be productive for right now. 

Eren catches Levi’s head shifting towards him in the peripheral, as he looks over and tries to follow Levi’s line of vision. And feels his throat constrict as Ricky and Hyla walk past, the two of them sparing him and Lana a sickly sweet smile, and take their spots at the end of the line. 

Eren notes that despite the fact that you had side-swept all of her designers to work with you, naturally she still put together an outfit. He was hoping that it would be worse than it actually ended up being. Though he supposed the birthday girl would always get what she wanted in the end. 

“I’m ready to wipe that smug smile off of their fucking faces and I’m so serious.” 

Eren nearly jumps as he realizes you’re now standing at his side, your eye nearly twitching as you watch the two of them. But all he can feel now is his own throat itching, Ricky and Hyla the least of his problems as his skin ignites at the sight of you so close to him. Your flowery perfume is invading his senses, as he fights the urge to ogle your dress full on. 

“Y/N.” he whispers. 

“Do I look stupid? The underslip they had for the dress didn’t fit me because Hyla’s so much taller that they just…told me to wear this matching set. I feel like I’m going to be flashing everyone.” you mumble. 

“Better for you. You look fucking hot. And apparently, Hyla stole her dress from a piece that was already in the museum. I’m sure she’ll ruin it by the end of the night.” Lana states, as Sukuna joins her at the side and links his arm through hers. 

The two of them have matching stitching on their outfits, wedding rings sparkling on their fingers. Eren clears his throat, your eyes expectant as you wait for a response, and his head nearly spinning from the overstimulation. 

“She’s right. You’re beautiful.” 

“You can say she's hot, Eren. It won’t kill you.” Sukuna complains. 

Eren watches as your eyes widen, a soft pink blush running up your neck, as you avert your eyes. And Sukuna, naturally, ruins the moment by making gagging noises only to get smacked by Lana after the fact. 

The two of them shuffle off, giving you a thumbs up behind their backs, as you turn to each other. Eren links his hands in with yours, giving you three squeezes, as he looks down at the dark makeup smeared around your eyes, making your eyes appear even bigger and brighter. 

Eren gestures his head to the left, snaking his hand around your bare skin in the dress, and lines up directly behind Ricky and Hyla. And the two of you wait for them to walk out and follow directly after. 

It goes exactly how it thought you would. You haven’t walked a red carpet since the last awards show – and from what Eren told you – it had been years since he had too. 

It was simple. 

Seeing Hyla and Ricky at a carpet together was almost a given, almost too predictable. It would hardly spare a headline in comparison to you two – together. Years after the fact, with Eren’s documentary behind you. 

The clicking and the flashing immediately throws you off your guard, coupled with the screaming of your name, that you almost fall off the stiletto of your heels. But Eren’s quick with it, hands looped around your waist as he held you up against him. 

“Thanks. I-” 

“Don’t look at them. Just look at me.” Eren whispers, voice almost gravelly. 

“What?” 

“It’s better that way. Just act like you’re above them. Like you and I are the only people in the room.” Eren murmurs. 

You give him a nod, catching his drift as you follow his lead. And it almost works too well – easing your red carpet nerves when you literally don’t have to acknowledge them and just have to hold hands with Eren all the way down the carpet. 

Eren stops dead center, right before the steps, as you spare a glance over your shoulder. The group of them are following – Satoru’s raw meat causing a commotion at the start – and you turn back to him. 

“Ready?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I know you just asked me to get you a necklace for the Ricky thing, but I actually did ask them to design a custom one for you.” 

You smile. You had made it a point – that you were going to stick it to Ricky for that stupid night that he left you drenched in the rain – but you failed to consider that this would happen. Though in hindsight, you should have expected it. 

Eren was always thoughtful when it came to things like this.

“Really?” you ask. 

Eren nods, as he reaches into his pocket, pulling out the little charm necklace. You take it in his hands, admiring the little charm at the center, of the planet Saturn. You frown, turning it over in your fingers. 

“Does Saturn have some connection to Uranus that I don’t know about? I thought that I was supposed to be the moon.” you mumble. 

Eren laughs, as he shakes his head and gestures for you to spin around. You oblige, moving your hair to the side and feeling your cheeks heat up as the paparazzi snap what feels like hundreds of pictures – of Eren clasping the necklace and then pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck. His voice comes out as a whisper on your skin as he pulls you closer to him, the two of you posing for the picture. 

“I mean, Marco was always a big fan of immature jokes. So I guess it does?” Eren states. 

You widen your eyes as you press your fingers to the charm, realizing what it means. 

Your braids like a pattern, love you to the moon and to Saturn. 

The last time that you were at the Met Gala was when you performed with Marco. You can feel warm tears accumulating in your eyes as Eren cups the side of your cheek, a soft smile on his face. He taps the little pin on the lapel of his jacket, a matching little saturn charm as you bite down on your cheeks and smile back. 

“He’s here with us. Haunting us from his grave like he promised.” Eren jokes. 

You give Eren a teary laugh. 

“Yeah. I think he is too.” 

You lean your head against Eren’s shoulder, as the two of you walk straight up the stairs into the venue. There’s a glimmering chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the stage decorated a sparkling silver. 

“Do you have a Maya Angelou quote for me? She always was Marco’s favorite.” 

Eren smiles. 

“I can be changed by what happens to me. But I refused to be reduced by it.” Eren states. 

--

Falco and Colt are the ones by your side backstage. You can feel your hands shaking, throwing the mic from one hand to the other, as the two of them lean their heads against yours. 

You’re performing for the first time in years. Since you performed the grudge, at that godawful awards show years ago. 

You choose to use the wall of pictures as a distraction. One of your favorite things about performing at the Met was that they took pictures of each of the performers and pasted them to the big walls behind the curtains. People would sign the walls, the pictures themselves – to mark that they had performed here, to immortalize themselves on the wall. 

And it takes a few seconds, but you find the picture dead center. Of you and Marco. The two of you are hugging each other, cheeks pressed together with pink, teary eyes, with your names scribbled in Marco’s loopy handwriting underneath. 

seven by y/n l/n ft marco bodt 

And directly next to it, is a picture you’ve never seen before. Of Eren and Marco – their hands clasped together – and the same loopy handwriting underneath with the song. 

“He didn’t want to take that picture. He…he made me do it. Said he should still remember the moment, even if he wasn’t at his best.” Armin states. 

“Oh. Hey, what are you doing here?” 

“Just checking you’re okay. First time performing and all that. And I was back here with you the last time this happened too.” Armin murmurs. 

You smile, lacing your hand through his as you both stare at the pictures of Marco and you wrap your arms around Armin at the first sound of his sniffling. 

“Well, this is hardly about me performing, Armin.” you mumble. 

Armin gives you a watery laugh, before pulling back and wiping the wetness on his face away. 

You frown as you lightly dig your elbow into his side, trying to gesture him into talking. 

You were a little harsh when you talked to him last – when you had to convince him to finally forgive Eren. You regretted it after, being so rigid and forcing him into it, but you figured direction was what Armin needed at the time. 

“Marco said that even though that moment was bad for Eren, that even though he felt like he was never going to recover, there would be a day that he looked back on it and would relish in the fact that it was never going to be like that again. I hate the fact that Eren’s probably having that moment right now and shit is still so awkward between us that I can’t even tell him that I’m happy for him.” Armin murmurs. 

You stare at the pictures. 

“I didn’t realize you were…with Eren that day.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I was. I called him a lot after the whole Girlfriend thing, he was kind of convinced that we all hated him. And I did the same when the whole Satellite Port thing happened too.” 

Armin pauses. 

“I was always there for him, until I wasn’t. And I feel like I’m fucking groveling but things still won’t be the same between us.” 

“Well, don’t lose hope about that. Mikasa and I-” 

“You and Mikasa are different. You’re…you overlook things easier than we do. Mikasa wanted you to be her maid of honor again after you said you wanted to sleep in her room – just because she realized you still loved her. Even if Eren knew I loved him, I doubt that would fix what happened with us.” 

You lean your head against your shoulder. 

“Did you finish the script yet, Armin?” you whisper. 

“What?” 

“Did you finish it?” 

“Yeah.” 

You look over at him and smile. 

“That last conversation? Between your character and his? He wrote that all on his own. It’s obviously a little bit more dramatic than he intends it but…the premise is still there. You and him, still best friends at the end of it.” 

Armin looks back at the pictures, running his hands through his hair, and ruining any semblance of styling in his golden locks. 

“You think Marco would be pissed at us? All of us?” Armin mumbles. 

“No. I know he would have loved to seen us all reconcile. That he would have been really happy for us.” 

Falco and Colt give you a gesture over your shoulder, as you shoo Armin back to his seat, and readjust the feathers on the sleeves of your dress. You give Colt a smile as he hands you the last piece of the outfit, the glittery garter belt that you wrap over your thigh as you take your cue. 

--

Eren gives you props for hundreds of things, but this one specifically. It was hard to find something that you were bad at, since it felt that you were naturally skilled at everything, but when he watched you, like this, he couldn’t help but feel like you were born for it. 

You really knew how to put on a performance. 

It’s pitch black, leave for your purple silhouette against the back of the stage. Of your fingers running across the neck of the guitar, playing the opening notes to the song Maki requested days prior – that you named Style. 

Midnight You come and pick me up, no headlights Long drive Could end in burning flames or paradise Fade into view, oh It's been a while since I have even heard from you (heard from you)

And I should just tell you to leave 'cause I Know exactly where it leads, but I Watch us go 'round and 'round each time 

Eren watches as you pause, the entire backtrack and music stopping, as the entire crowd jumps to his feet and starts hollering for you when they finally shine the lights on you. Eren watches as you give everyone a little wave, pressing your hands to your cheeks unable to contain your smile before you gesture for everyone to be quiet so you can keep singing.

And feels his chest fill with immense pride as you walk all the way down the stage, fingers fast and smiling from ear to ear as you sing again. He can’t help but feel embarrassed as the group of them – Connie, Reiner, and Jean – start smacking him on the back, screaming about how crazy his girl was. 

You got that James Dean daydream look in your eye And I got that red lip classic thing that you like And when we go crashing down, we come back every time 'Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style You got that long hair, slicked back, white T-shirt And I got that good girl faith and a tight little skirt And when we go crashing down, we come back every time 'Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style

When you reach the end of the stage, Eren watches as you slightly trip on your steps, before averting your eyes down to your leg. In the mess of walking and the notches on the guitar, a part of your stockings had ripped. 

Eren was impressed that you were still singing, as you reached down and took the halves of the garter belt in your hands, before you started looking out in the audience. And Eren can’t help but feel like in that moment, that some divine power might actually be real. 

Because three years ago, it was Hyla’s birthday and he was stuck at a dinner table thinking about you. About how he’d never feel that rush, that thrilling electricity that seemed to thrum in his veins whenever you looked at him. 

And he knows for a fact that really, it almost has to be real – a higher power that was looking out for him the entire time. Because years after the fact, he’s sitting here, blushing profusely as you throw the garter belt to him to catch, before you like down on the stage and scream your heart out. 

To a song that you wrote about him. 

Take me home Just take me home Yeah, just take me home Oh, whoa, oh (Out of style)

Oh, you got that James Dean daydream look in your eye And I got that red lip classic thing that you like And when we go crashing down (now we go), we come back every time  'Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style 

--

--

“Ethan Cole! You’re just the person I wanted to see.” you state. 

Fresh off of the performance, with the little note card tucked in your hand, he’s the first person that you beeline towards. 

On first impression, he’s younger than Scott Clarkson by a landslide – beachy, golden hair as he stands from his share to take your extended hand. 

“Y/N L/N! Quite the performance up there, my daughter is a huge fan. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Ethan asks. 

You give the girl at his side a warm smile, the girl barely above the age of fifteen, as you turn back to him. 

“You know, I’ve really missed doing romantic comedies. I’ve heard that’s your forté,” you state. 

“Is that right?” 

“As fun as Attack on Titan can be, the drama can…be a little draining. I would love to get behind you if you produced a romantic comedy that I could star in.” 

You watch as he pinches his smile, eyes strained as he looks around the room. 

“I’m not sure how keen…some people at the company would be about that.” Ethan murmurs. 

“Who said you had to do it with them?” you state. 

“Huh?” 

You give him the best, most sickly sweet smile that you muster. “Who said…you have to do it with him?” 

You pull the little note card out of your backpocket, with your phone number scribbled over the top, and hand it to him. 

“You could easily produce it on your own. And if it was a star studded movie, you could avoid the risks of being associated as a start-up all together.” you state. 

Ethan pauses, for a while. 

“My own company?” 

“That’s right. You’re young, younger than your competition, and with how things have been going lately…I’m doubt they’ll stay afloat longer. If I were you, I’d capitalize on the fact that your own competition is about to be eliminated.” you state. 

You can tell that he almost doesn’t believe you. 

“I’ll have to think about it.” Ethan states. 

“Sure thing, Ethan. If the situation was right, I could even be persuaded to get some of my….friends to join. And I know you’re a smart guy – there’s some publicity that other people couldn’t even dream of buying.” 

You spare a glance over your shoulder to Eren at the stage with Lana, as she takes her seat at the piano and Eren begins adjusting the microphone at the stand. 

“I look forward to talking to you, Ethan.” 

And you give him a sickly sweet smile before you walk away. You settle back into your seat next to Levi and Connie – who had decided to take Eren’s open seat while he performed. 

“How did it go?” Levi asks. 

“He didn’t buy it.” you state. 

Levi gives you a terse nod, as you shake your head and readjust your seat to face the stage. Connie pulls his seat up right next to yours, the two of you giving each other a smile as you link your arms together and lean your head against his shoulder. 

“It’s your song!” you whisper. 

Connie leans his head on top of yours, voice quiet as Lana starts playing the piano. 

“It’s actually not. It’s even worse.” 

“Huh?” 

You lift your head off of his shoulder to eye him, and he only smiles, deviously, in return. 

“Let’s just say if it was my birthday today, I’d commit a murder after this.” 

You turn back to the stage, eyeing the little star decals hanging from the little ceiling, and watch as Eren nervously shakes his hands, before placing them on the mic stand. He turns to his left, giving the group of you a smile, before he starts. 

“I wrote this song exactly five years ago today when I was twenty. I was stuck at a birthday party, with a bunch of people I hated, and all I could think about was how I just wished that I was somewhere else. And really, I was hoping that the person that I really wanted beside me, had some semblance of that feeling about me too. This is my new song, it’s called Glimpse of Us.” 

When you're out of sight In my mind

'Cause sometimes I look in her eyes And that's where I find a glimpse of us And I try to fall for her touch But I'm thinking of the way it was Said I'm fine and said I moved on I'm only here passing time in her arms Hoping I'll find A glimpse of us

Eren always claimed that singing was never his forté and even from the way he moved – you could tell that he clearly felt more comfortable when he was acting. That he most definitely believed that his talents lied on a set rather than on a stage. 

And for maybe the hundredth time, it’s clear that Eren’s own visions of himself have clearly limited him. 

Because he’s beautiful. 

The stage design makes it look like he’s suspended in the sky, in between the moon and the stars, and the lack of production to the song – the fact that it’s just his voice and Lana’s fingers on the piano is chilling. 

It reminds you of that song that he wrote for you on the beach. 

Eren dislodges the microphone from the stand, tossing Lana a smile over his shoulder, before he walks directly to the edge of the stage that’s closest to you and Connie. And uses his hand to gesture for you to come closer, as he takes a seat and dangles his legs off the edge of the stage. 

You can feel the butterflies erupting in your stomach as you pull your chair closer to the stage, right until you’re looking up at Eren from your little seat and he’s looking down at you. And as he sings, he reaches down and places one of his hands on your cheek – the biting cold of the rings on his fingers cooling the warmth on your cheek – but doing nothing to help the burning in your chest from his dark green eyes, filled with such warmth and sincerity that it makes your heart race. 

You bring your own hand up to where his is on your cheek and he gives you a dimpled smile in return. 

'Cause sometimes I look in her eyes And that's where I find a glimpse of us And I try to fall for her touch But I'm thinking of the way it was Said I'm fine and said I moved on I'm only here passing time in her arms Hoping I'll find A glimpse of us

When he finishes, you press a kiss to the top of his knuckles and try to memorize the way the smile spreads across his face.  

--

Your last chance to convince this cowardly idiot Ethan Cole to agree with you guys is at the afterparty for the Met Gala, which coincidentally, you’ve never attended. 

The last time you were here, the entire ordeal was so draining – considering it was the first time that you had seen Eren since you broke up and you were here with Ricky – that you just skipped the party afterwards and went home. And you would have done the same thing now, since your hair was feeling sticky and your legs felt like lead from the heels, but you had to give it one last shot before you left. 

You had taken Mikasa and Jean’s lead, and decided to take four shots with them, by the time the party was in full swing. And right before the fifth, Eren suddenly materialized after being missing for the first half of the party and slipped it away from your nimble fingers and downed it himself. 

“Are you drinking?” he asks, shaking his head from the burn, before handing the glass back to Jean. 

“Well, obviously not if you’re taking my glass.” 

Eren reaches forward, fingers on the little ribbon around your neck, before you smack his hand off. 

“I like the outfit. It’s like the scarf from the show.” 

“That’s the point.” you state. 

Eren rolls his eyes as you both lean back against the wall, eyeing the crowd of people in front of you. 

“You should have told me. I would have matched.” Eren states. 

“How are you supposed to match? Your costume on set doesn’t have something as…obvious like the scarf.” 

“I would have just done the titan marks and called it a day.” Eren mumbles back. 

You nod, mulling over the idea, as you reach for the back hanging around your shoulder. And luckily for you, your lipstick is still in the bag – though most of the time, the bags that you have on red carpets have literally nothing on them – and instruct him to crouch so you can reach. He obliges, flashing you a smile, as you intently focus on drawing the lines under his eyes. 

Eren takes the distraction – the focus that you have from drawing on his face – and uses it to observe you. 

“Did you like my song?” Eren asks. 

“You’re insane. Did you really write that five years ago or did you make that up?” you whisper. 

“Nope. I wrote it after the last Met Gala, I think Hyla’s birthday was like a week or two after that.” he mumbles back. 

“Well, if it’s any consolation, what you were hoping was actually true. When I was at that Met Gala, I really just wished that I was with you, sitting with the rest of the cast.” 

Eren laughs. 

“Who said the song was about you?” Eren jokes. 

You pause, only to look up to glare at him, before you lightly shove him. And you can tell that he’s joking but it’s still irritating. 

“You’re such a dick, sometimes.” 

“You were thinking about me?” Eren responds, closing his hand around yours and snatching the little tube of lipstick from your hand. 

He lifts his phone up, looking at the reflection from the screen of his phone, as he messily finishes off the marks on the other side, more messy and jagged. And as annoying as he is, it’s extremely attractive when he does it – capping the lipstick and curling it back into the palm of your hand. 

“You wish.” you respond. 

Eren leans against the wall and you join him at his side, the two of you eyeing Ethan Cole at the end of the hall, with Ricky and Hyla posted up on the other side. You can’t help but seethe with anger as you watch the two of them together, curling your hands into little fists at your side. 

“I saw that video that was going around on Twitter a little while ago. Of you and Ricky, last time you were here.” Eren responds. 

“What video?” 

“It was on the red carpet. He like…grabbed your arm and shoved you.” Eren clarifies. 

“Oh! That’s right. He was trying to introduce me to John and I said some crap about him to Historia. Then, he got all pissed saying that I had to be nice to him or whatever since he was nice to you guys.” you respond. 

Levi and Hange walk up to the pair of you, arms linked together, as you straighten up. The two of them had weary eyes, focused on Eren, as they look around. 

“Eren. He’s here.” 

“Who’s here?” you ask. 

“Scott Clarkson. He just walked in – guess he’s not deciding to skip after all.” Hange responds. 

Eren leans forward, angling his head over the crowd of the people, towards the opening at the front of the hallway and feels his throat turn to sandpaper. Eren clenching his fists so hard that he’s sure he’s drawing blood, the entirety of the conversation almost lost to him as he feels himself nearly losing balance on his legs. 

“You’re free to leave, Eren. We have a car ready for you. If you want to stay, we’re here with you.” Hange states. 

You look around to the other side of the room to find Connie talking to a group of people, none of which you knew. Mikasa and Jean are a few feet away – but clearly drunk out of their mind – and you can’t seem to find anyone else who could stay with him. You jerk your head back, to the two of them. 

“Listen. I’ve got Eren. Could you guys check that Connie’s going to be fine?” 

Hange and Levi turn their heads to the side, giving you a nod, as they speed walk to the other side of the room and you link your arm in with Eren’s. He’s still staring at the other side of the room and you lightly tug on his arm to catch his attention, his eyes almost dazed when he looks at you. 

“Sorry. Did Hange and Levi say something?” 

“Just wanted to make sure you were okay. We can leave if you want to, there’s a car and everything.” 

“No…no, we didn’t talk to Ethan Cole yet. And, it’s fine.” Eren responds, shaking his head. 

It’s not that Eren’s exactly scared of Scott Clarkson, though there was a point in time that he most certainly would be. It’s more that he’s intimidated by what could go down, because while Eren knows that he isn’t exactly being swayed by him anymore, it’s a debilitating reminder every time he makes a comment that sends Eren tumbling back down. 

“Lana and Sukuna are together. I sent Hange and Levi to check on Connie. And I’m here with you, so…so all the bases are covered.” you respond. 

Eren smiles. 

“You’re here with me? What are you going to do?” 

“Punch him in the face.” you respond. 

Eren laughs. 

“Are you crazy?” 

“Do I look like a comedian to you?” you ask Eren. 

“You look more like a clown to me.” 

You feel your eyes widen, as you turn to your side and find Hyla and Ricky standing right to the left of you and Eren. You’re not sure what it is, but Eren suddenly squared his shoulders back, muscles tense at the sight of them. 

“Do you need something?” Eren asks. 

Hyla rolls her eyes as she looks at Eren, before turning back to you. And her eyes flicker to the necklace around your neck, before she looks back up at you and smiles. 

“Cute necklace!” 

Eren grins at your side. They took the bait. 

“Do you like it, Ricky? It’s custom Tiffany. I had it made special for Y/N myself.” Eren asks. 

You watch as Ricky furrows his brow, slightly clenching his jaw and nearly pink in the face, as he rolls his eyes in response – very clearly understanding the reference. 

“I don’t know where the fuck you think you get off, Eren. Need I remind you, that while I was at the top of my fucking career you were cleaning up a baby’s diapers.” 

You watch as Eren’s eye twitches, knuckles white at his side as he doesn’t respond. And it only gets more agitating since Ricky clearly gets off on the fact that Eren refuses to fight back, and takes it as an invitation to keep going. 

“Seriously, dude. You started at the fucking top of the food chain – your parents are literally Grisha and Carla Jaeger – and yet you’re slumming it with Lana and Sukuna. Lana’s quite literally the biggest bitch I’ve ever met in my life. Don’t pretend like you’re both not trying to get your five minutes of fame by talking about me. And don’t even get me started on how pathetic Sukuna is for what he said in that dumbass documentary the two of you made. Donating to sexual assault victims won’t fix a lack of talent.” 

“Where do you get-” 

“Y/N.” Eren states, silencing you all together. 

“That’s right, Eren. You better keep my sloppy seconds-” 

Ricky doesn’t get to finish the statement, because Eren’s punched him in the face. Not once, not twice, but three times to the point where he’s tackled him onto the floor, a bright red decorating his knuckles. 

“Y/N. What the fuck? Get him to stop!” 

You know that it’s petty. That maybe if you were a little bit of a better person, you actually would have asked Eren to stop. But Ricky James was quite literally the worst person you had ever met and deep down, there wasn’t even a single part of him that didn’t deserve what he was getting right now. 

You crouch down on your knees, Eren momentarily stopping to look at you, before you shake your head and look down at him. 

“I’m so sorry, Ricky. I don’t think I can do that right now.” 

Eren smiles, as he lands one more punch, before a very drunk Jean and Reiner are able to pull him off – Maki and Pieck at your sides as they rub into the softness of your arms. You shake your head, signaling to them that you were fine, as Eren looks over at you over the accumulating crowd of people, and gives you a gesture. You nod, as Eren extends his hand out to you, and the two of you walk to the other side of the room. You eye the blood on Eren’s hand, all Ricky’s you’re sure, as Eren stops at the table and starts filling the cups with the lemonade. 

“We need a drink.” Eren states. 

“That’s what got you pissed off, Eren? When he started talking bad on my name?” you mumble. 

“I love your name.” Eren defends. 

You smile. 

“Though, I always felt like it’s missing something.” Eren adds. 

You roll your eyes. 

“And what’s that, huh?” 

“My last name.” Eren responds. 

Eren watches as a blush creeps over your cheeks and try not to laugh when you mutter something that sounds an awful lot like fuck you under your breath as he passes you one of the glasses of lemonade. Which is right when Lana comes up and snatches the glass from his hand and slams it down on the table. 

“Are you a fucking idiot, Eren?” Lana seethes. 

“What?” Eren responds, giving her an annoyed shrug back as he takes the glass back and hands you one. 

“You promised, Eren.” Sukuna responds. 

“You two can get your panties out of a twist. I didn’t break any promises.” 

“Do you think I’m blind, Eren?” Lana asks. 

Eren rolls his eyes, as he leans down, bringing his face closer to Lana’s. It’s the same thing that Colt does to you – on the rare occasions that he’s able to prove you wrong. 

“You made me promise that if Ricky said anything about Teddy or you, I wouldn’t say anything. And Sukuna made me promise that if Ricky said anything about him, I wouldn’t do anything, because it would upset you.” Eren states. 

That’s why he didn’t say anything. 

“Our princess over here didn’t force me to make any promises like that. So the second he called her sloppy seconds, I did what I had to do.” Eren responds. 

Lana’s eyes widen, as she turns her head to you. 

“What a dick. Are you okay?” Lana asks. 

“I’m fine. He said worse about you guys, I wanted to punch him myself.” 

Eren smiles, as he leans down to look at you. 

“Too bad. He’s getting escorted out on his ass now, so you lost your chance.” Eren responds, pointing towards the door. 

And surely enough, the security are taking him out with his hands secured behind his back – no thanks to the obscene screaming he’s doing – while Hyla looks maybe the most irritated you’ve ever seen before. She spares you one last glance, to which you and Eren respond with glimmering smiles, before she walks out. 

Lana gestures towards the bathrooms as Eren follows, presumably to wash his hands, leaving you and Sukuna by the table, nursing the little glasses of lemonade in your hands. And wordlessly, you extend your glass out to Sukuna – and thank your lucky stars that he understands – as he pulls the little flask from the pocket and pours it into your drink and then his. 

“Eren’s been waiting for that one.” Sukuna states. 

“I’m shocked you haven’t.” you respond. 

“Maybe before. But you know, with the kid, you have to be a good role model and all that. Plus, I hate when Lana lectures me because she gets really mean.” 

You snort. 

“I’d be scared of her too.” you respond. 

“Speaking of scared, how many drinks until he falls off?” Sukuna asks, pointing to the left. 

You follow his line of vision to find Yuuji standing on top of the bar, tie loosely hanging around his neck and pink in the face with Satoru, as he sings along to the music playing from the speakers. 

“Which one are you talking about? I think they’re both well past that point.” you respond. 

“Yuuji, obviously. I’m going to stop him before he ends up on a headline.” Sukuna responds. 

“You have fun with that. I’ll watch from over here.” you respond, as Sukuna walks away. 

When you scan the room for Ethan Cole, you find that he’s already looking at you. You give him a polite wave, positive that whatever Eren just did with Ricky James must have swayed him some type of way, as you lean back against the edge of the table. And the table dips slightly under you, nearly making you spill the glass of lemonade, when you find Scott Clarkson leaning against at your side, his beady eyes fixed on you. 

“Y/N. It’s nice to see you.” 

“I’m so glad you were finally able to learn my name.” you respond.  

Scott clicks his tongue in his cheek, before extending his hand out to shake it at you. You begrudgingly oblige, skin curling with disgust as he presses a kiss to your knuckles, and leans back. 

“I’ll admit, I had you pegged all wrong in the beginning. But I’m sure that you can understand, it can be so hard to trust new and upcoming talent like that when you run a big company.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure.” you deadpan. 

“I think we should let bygones be bygones. I even think that we could be useful to one another. If you really wanted full ownership of your albums back, I could get it for you. Just a few movies, here and there, and they’d be back in your hands.” 

You feel your throat dry. 

“What did you just say to me?” 

“I’m sure you know I am well acquainted with Danny and Sareen. I’m sure I could persuade them, after a little give and take.” 

You thank the heavens that the stylists had stacked each of your fingers with a perfect set of silver rings. You sure it made it hurt even more when you slapped him across the face. 

“You have some nerve, you asshole. Don’t even think about-” 

You feel a set of arms on your biceps, squeezing hard, as you turn your head to find Levi at your side. You shake your head, turning back to Scott, who no whas a group of people around him, inspecting the red mark you’ve left on his cheek. 

“Levi. Fucking, get off.” 

“This is not the time for this. You and Eren are leaving, you’ve had too much to drink.” Levi responds, pushing you out into the cold air outside the hall and near the taxi. 

Eren’s leaning against the car door and he quickly jumps up at the sound of your voice, meeting Levi at your side. 

“Did you hit him, Y/N? They’re saying that you hit him.” 

“I slapped him.” 

Eren pinches his mouth into a line. 

“Did he hit back?” Eren asks. 

“What? No. Levi started yanking me off of him before I could get another one in.” 

Eren passes Levi a thankful smile, before ducking your head into the taxi, and tuning back into your rambling. 

“He’s such a dick. He fucking had that coming, trying to offer me a career like I don’t know who he is and what he fucking does. Like really, even down to being an opportunist, does he really think I care about my album that was already stolen from me over all of my friends? Over you? I think he’s a psychopath and we didn’t even get to solidify the deal with Ethan Cole or-” 

“Okay, Y/N. Relax. It’s-” 

“We have to do something to get his attention. Something crazy. I have an idea but…you have to follow my lead, okay?” 

Eren’s slightly hesitant. Only because he can tell that you really are tipsy from the light pink tint in your cheeks and the way that you’re shaking your legs. But he hates to tell you no, especially when you’re staring at him so expectantly, waiting for an answer. 

And when you drag Eren into a sweaty tattoo parlor, Eren realizes that maybe you’re well past tipsy. 

“I technically picked what we did last time, Eren. So it’s your turn. Just make sure it’s something like…fucking crazy. Like iconic.” 

Eren has an idea. But he can’t say it. Because you can’t possibly get that tattooed. And he’s sure that it’s showing on his face, because now you’re giving him an excited smile, jumping up and down on your feet waiting for him to tell. 

“Oh my god. What is it? Tell me right now.” 

“Uh. The moon and the ocean.” Eren responds. 

You frown. 

“We already basically have that as a tattoo, Eren. With the fish? And I can tell that’s not what you were going to say.” you respond. 

Eren sighs. 

“Y/N. It’s too much.” 

“Nothing’s too much! Come on, it’s you and me that we’re talking about. We got fucking matching tattoos when we were like eighteen and released songs about quite literally fucking each other on the same day! We can get a crazy tattoo!” 

“You’re so crass when you’re drunk, Y/N.” 

“The word Levi used was homicidal.” you respond. 

Eren sighs, as he tells you his idea, and watches your face light up. And after the fact, Eren can’t help but feel like he’s on top of the world.

Because for a second time now – the two of you are running down the streets, bathed in the dim lamplight and laughing into the night. Matching tattoos of each other’s names on the inside of your lips, a confession on the tips of your tongues like you were two soulmates destined to be together.

That’s the moment you’re able to coin it. 

You’re head over heels in love with Eren Jaeger. Again. Maybe even worse, more desperately than the first time.

And as the perfect cherry on top, Ethan Cole sends you a message confirming the deal the following morning.

--

--

next part linked here

an: are you catching my hint for the songs in our next chapter.....which is an AWARDS SHOW CHAPTER ARE WE READY. and don't worry....scott clarkson and danny/sareen welcome to your tape...this next chapter is for you

(pls tell me someone gets the pussy joke that megumi made and that im not just horrendously chronically online)

taglist: @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06  @bsenpai @sweetenertea @mykyoon @violetmatcha  @rebeccawinters @cutiejg @bokutosthings @bookwrmm @mblrrr @wheredidmycrowngo @somethinginyoureyes7 @chilichopsticks @okaystopwhore @you-always-made-me-blush @itzmeme @firelordazulaaa @whoami-72 @g-ghostly @intimacywithceline @erensmoodygf @cocomellxn @princess-ackerman @jaegerfiles @cacapeepee @rui-0836 @moonmalice @invisible-mori @sofiasber @bbybeeb @timetobegone @tee4str @ttokki2 @leave-rae-alone @ec3lipsy @officialsimpp @gojojang @yookayyo @lordbugs @multiplefandomthings @iobeyfandoms @camilo-uwu @justanotherkpopstanlol @mel-star636

[textless]

Hello, hyrax family!

These rock hyraxes live on the grounds at the Emakoko Lodge in Nairobi. They look rodent-like, but they are descended from a common ancestor with the elephant, and you can see the resemblance in their toes, and their little tusks (though no tusks are pictured here).

Hyraxes live in groups, eat plants, and retreat to rock crevices or similar places to hide from predators. At the Emakoko, they like to lounge on top of the smaller buildings, soaking up warmth from the solar water heaters. They are roughly rabbit-sized, but sound 100% elephant when they gallop across the roof.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Have you ever wished you could live in the It's a Small, Small World exhibit at Disney? Wanted to visit a Paris cafe, go on an Elephant safari, visit a Zen retreat, or stroll a Vegas Mall? Well, you can do all of that without even leaving home in this 2007 house in Liberty Lake, WA. 3bds, 3ba, $1.275. I truly admire the dedication & commitment to decor, art & theme. I would buy this house.

From the front door, enter the streets of Paris and enjoy brunch at a little bistro. Those must be the mountains of Montmartre in the distance. Note the lovely flowers sprouting from that rock.

In the living room, there's a life size weeping willow tree and mountains, but when I saw how they attached the branches to the ceiling, I was kind of disappointed in the execution.

Next, visit the kitchen pavilion. It looked a little Bavarian to me.

I imagine that the kitchen wasn't built this way, or that they at least put those fin things up there (why does it bother me that they're crooked?). Anyway, we must be in London, b/c there's a British phone booth on the fridge door.

Have dinner at the Vegas mall.

I'm sure they'll take the bed with them, but I love the sky canopy. I don't know what theme you'd call the primary bedroom. There's a lot going on.

The bedroom is so large, it has room for a double office in the corner.

It also has an outdoor terrace.

Even the en-suite has a little bit of everything.

I'm surprised that the closet isn't set up like a Paris boutique. Too narrow, I guess.

I didn't expect that you could actually see down into the kitchen from the upstairs mezzanine.

The 2nd level hall.

This bedroom is used for a home gym.

The secondary bedroom has a Zen retreat theme.

Another full bath. I don't like all the draping fabrics in the house.

Now, we're heading on down to the ground level.

The owner has a very extensive sewing room in what would be the rec room. Oh, look, the Washington's area taking tea in their parlor back there.

So, this large space would normally be a rec/game/family room area.

Very long, large deck runs the length of the house.

There's also a patio and a pavilion.

A brook on the property.

The large home is on a very big 14.09 acre lot.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/2581-S-Stateline-Rd-Liberty-Lake-WA-99019/82577478_zpid/

[random-thought-depository]

One of the thoughts I had while writing that post on Barbara Ehrenreich's Blood Rites, anti-predator defense, and the origins of the male gender role is if that model is correct it implies Larry Niven got the relationship between a sapient species's diet and culture/values pegged wrong, at least as far as the Kzin are concerned. Courage is the virtue of a prey species that engages in collective defense; a smart predator attacks the weak, avoids fights against strong opponents, and is quick to retreat from any fight in which it loses the advantage; a sapient species with a long evolutionary history of being big game hunting carnivore apex predators would probably value/honor courage less than we do, so Kzin biology and implied evolutionary history is actually kind of an awkward fit with the kind of assholes the Kzin are. Asshole aliens with a long evolutionary history of being big game hunting carnivore apex predators might be sneaky raiders with an unapologetic "if they outgun us, trade, avoid, or appease, if we outgun them, raid and pillage!" mindset, or something like that; they probably wouldn't have the prideful machismo, hotheaded aggression, and disdain for restraint of the Kzin (you could argue calling it machismo is an anthropomorphism because Kzintosh aren't men but lbr human machismo is very obviously what the Kzin attitude is modeled on).

I wouldn't go so far as to say it's unrealistic for the Kzin to be the way they are, cause Kzin values could plausibly arise from intra-species competition and my rationalization for why the Kzin are as they are is a mix of that and "the Kzin are like that because their right-wing authoritarians won their history and got to shape their culture." But, as I said, I think the kind of assholes the Kzin are wouldn't logically flow directly from their ancestral subsistence strategy/ecological niche.

Which makes me wonder: if as a spec-bio exercise I tried to make a species which's biology would predispose them toward becoming approximately the kind of asshole Proud Warrior Race the Kzin are, what traits would they have?

Here's what I came up with:

First obvious thing is to give them a "harem" social system like gorillas, elephant seals, certain ungulates, etc.. This lends itself well to a species with a highly competitive male hierarchy in which male social and reproductive success is contingent on being able to make credible costly signals of being strong and badass.

One major obstacle to a species like that becoming a threat on the interstellar scale is control by a single dominant male is a pretty hard cap on group size. I propose that this species has overcome that by developing a social system with dominant bull coalitions, so instead of being limited to groups of one to three dozen individuals controlled by a single dominant male, they can have e.g. groups of a few thousand individuals controlled by a few hundred dominant bulls and so on; this eventually scaled up to an interstellar empire with billions of subjects and probably at least a few hundred million dominant bulls in loose coalition (that big dominant bull coalition is the empire's warrior-aristocrat class).

Unlike the Kzin, in this species the females will definitely be sapient and have lots of soft power; all the internal male social competition and external war and imperialism is largely about impressing them.

Another major point of difference from the Kzin: this species definitely should not have much evolutionary history of cooperative big game hunting. Pack hunting strongly incentivizes and rewards cooperation and solidarity (I suspect this plus the smaller group sizes of carnivores is why you see "harem" social organization more in herbivores), whereas I think to get aliens that are assholes in approximately the way the Kzin are we want a social system that's highly internally competitive. This probably implies a mostly herbivorous diet, though there might be some supplementation with small game; the important thing is this species has had basically no selection pressure for being effective predators of animals strong enough to require cooperation to take down.

Related and important point: the evolution of sapience in this species was more-or-less entirely driven by social competition and sexual selection, and they got too big to be tempting targets for the predators of their ancestral environment long before they developed sapience. So this is a species with no recent evolutionary history of being a prey species.

I guess we're maybe looking at something like a mix of gorillas and elephants here; maybe ancestrally browsers of the savanna and open woodland (though they'd gradually switch toward eating more richer food such as fruit, tubers, young shoots, meat, etc. as they developed more efficient food production). If we're doing the Mass Effect "more alien-looking than Star Trek forehead aliens but still implausibly humanoid" thing some kind of big beefy horned minotaur-looking humanoids would be a pretty appropriate look for the dominant bulls (with the subordinate males being more slender and the females being more slender and substantially smaller - this would be a species with way more sexual dimorphism than humans), not sure what I'd make them look like if I went the route of making them more realistically alien-looking.

Organized violence (i.e. war) developed in this species partly as a mating ritual. Large-scale battles gave males the same kind of opportunities to demonstrate strength and courage that fitness signalling duels did, but the much more complex tactical environment of a large-scale battle also offered opportunities for males to conspicuously demonstrate intelligence and cooperation. The switch from duels to battles as the primary arena of fitness signalling was a major selection pressure driving the evolution of sapience in this species. Originally the ultimate aim of war in this species was group fusion in which the dominant bull coalition of one group would defeat the dominant bull coalition of another group and the two groups would merge with the victorious dominant bull coalition being the dominant bull coalition of the combined group and the males in the defeated dominant bull coalition being either killed or demoted to subordinate status with their new lower rank being rubbed in by bullying and humiliation rituals. As the species developed bigger and more sedentary social groups this developed into territorial conquest with conquered communities remaining in their old homes under the rule of viceroys. But the thing where wars were partly giant mating rituals meant often neither side was particularly in a hurry to finish off their enemies as no more enemies to fight would mean diminished opportunities for social mobility and impressing females; there tended to be a "we have always been at war with Eurasia/Eastasia" dynamic where the conflict itself was effectively treated as having social value and actively maintained and subject to various forms of ritualization that limited its destructiveness so it could be kept going longer.

So, this is a species that's gotten lots of selection pressure from intra-species competition and violence, but has no recent evolutionary history as cooperative predators of animals with comparable size and strength to themselves and has no recent evolutionary history as a prey species. This species will have instincts and intuitions about violence totally optimized for intra-species violence that's mostly a mix of coalition politics propaganda of the deed and male fitness signalling rituals (and, of course, their culture will build on those instincts and intuitions and the dynamics that selected for them). I think this would lead plausibly to people who share one of the defining traits of the Kzin: being aggressive imperialist warmongering swaggering bullies who endlessly congratulate themselves on their ferocious warrior spirit and supposed mighty warrior prowess and supposed right to rule derived from that but are not actually all that good at war compared to a species like us that has been shaped by hunting and being hunted.

The thing about intra-species violence that's mostly a mix of coalition politics propaganda of the deed and male fitness signalling is it simultaneously incentivizes restraint more than inter-species predator/prey violence and incentivizes aggression more consistently than inter-species predator/prey violence.

On the restraint side, intra-species violence means potentially violence against relatives or potential mates, and in a social species violence against potential helpers. This obviously creates an incentive for restraint. Violent intra-species competition is where you get natural weapons and combat set up to probably not do too much damage (bighorn sheep knocking each other on their hard blunt horns instead of stabbing each other in the fleshy flank or face with sharp horns), notions of fair and honorable fights, "why don't you pick on someone your own size?," chivalry, rules of war, boxing gloves and rules against hitting below the belt, etc.. This post touches on some of the dynamics I'm talking about here.

I think plausible cultural development of this species might enhance this. A highly competitive "harem" social system means at least the males of this species are likely to be less cooperative than humans, and a less cooperative species will have a harder time forming effective equalizing coalitions. This species never got our probable evolutionarily significant period of living in mostly relatively egalitarian societies; compared to us their males at least are likely to be less wired for cooperative coalition-building and more wired for trying to individualistically climb their way up viciously competitive hierarchies; again, it seems likely this would make the formation of effective equalizing coalitions harder. The females are a bit of a wild card here, not sure what'd be going on with them, but considering they find aggressive, violent, domineering males sexy, I can see them not having instincts terribly promising for forming effective society-wide equalizing coalitions either. A species that's not very good at forming effective equalizing coalitions is likely to be not very good at coming up with ideologies of equality; equivalents of liberalism, democracy, socialism, anarchism, etc. may not exist at all in their philosophical tradition, or if they exist are likely to be obscure and marginal. The implication may be the political landscape of this species was a pretty dismal picture of oppressive oligarchies everywhere for pretty much the entire existence of their species. Like I said, I expect this species would develop a lot of practices to limit the destructiveness of war and focus its destructiveness on direct combatants. Defeat of a community in war would likely mean little change in the social or material conditions of most of the community's members; one oligarchic dominant bull coalition would replace another, and the only real change for most people would be a change in the names and faces (or scents or whatever they primarily recognize each other by) of their masters. Plausibly, the females of a conquered community would even approve of the change, seeing their community's new ruling dominant bull coalition as having proven themselves more desirable breeding material by winning. All of this would tend to encourage a sensibility that wars are basically social games between males and the only thing important at stake in them is the personal social and reproductive success of the direct combatants.

On the aggression side... Violent coalition politics involves lots of costly signalling, bluff, and martyrdom. The kind of violence a species like the one I'm describing here engages in is probably going to include a lot of violence that's basically an implicit statement of "I am exceptionally strong and brave and badass and would be an exceptionally good subordinate or ally, please give me a promotion!" And when it comes to male violence done as male fitness signalling to females, well, sperm is cheap and ova and wombs are expensive; in a "harem" social system demonstrating your mere viability will probably not be enough to impress females into mating with you, they are likely to require a costly signal of exceptional excellence before perceiving you as a desirable breeding partner, and if you die trying to make that costly signal, well, rolling the dice on a 65% chance of getting killed while young and a 35% chance of getting to breed might easily be selected for over contenting oneself with dying childless at a ripe old age.

Basically, I think you might plausibly end up with a species with bone-deep intuitions that:

- Violence is a performance, it is primarily communicative, using it to send a message to your opponent and/or to witnesses is at least an important secondary consideration and may even be more important than the actual concrete outcome of the fight. It is not enough to simply defeat your enemy, you must do so in a way that effectively communicates what you want to communicate.

- The most consistent purposes of violence are to show off your own strength, bravery, and fighting prowess and to terrorize and humiliate your opponent into submission.

- War is basically a game played among males. It's not a trivial game, it's literally deadly serious for the males involved in it and your society is largely organized around it, but it's fundamentally a game; the only people who have really big stakes in it are the direct combatants, and having fun and displaying good sportsmanship and putting on a cool performance are important secondary considerations and may even be more important than the actual concrete outcome. If you've ever read Ian Banks's Player Of Games, Azad (the game and the institutions and culture around it) in that book is the best analogy I can think of for what war would be to these people.

- Your enemies will be basically following the same rule book you have.

When these people develop interstellar travel and meet other sapient species, they'll apply the instincts and cultural institutions they developed for intra-species competition to those other sapients. I.e. they'll turn into nasty imperialists. Conquered aliens would get incorporated into their society in about the same social position as weak males. In their society weak males with little hope of rising to dominant bull status are kept around for labor and to assist with the care and education of the offspring of their female relatives and have a social status roughly equivalent to serfs; this would be the obvious niche to put conquered aliens in, with some modifications, e.g. conquered aliens would be expected to keep reproducing with each other.

Combine what I said in the previous paragraph with how much these people's social instincts would revolve around volatile male hierarchies reinforced by bullying and humiliation rituals, and I expect being a conquered subject of them would tend to be unpleasant to horrific. Being a primarily herbivorous species, these people wouldn't occasionally eat their slaves like the Kzin, but I could totally see the dominant bulls occasionally casually caving some poor slave's skull in out of a combination of some petty irritation and wanting to remind everyone who's boss.

Let's say we want these people to get approximately the same nasty surprise when they attack humans that the Kzin did. Model favorable to that:

In this setting, the most common pathway to sapience is through social and sexual selection. Sapient species usually evolve in environments without big predators, e.g. isolated islands, because serious predation pressure tends to prevent the very strong commitment to a long-lived slow-breeding very K-selected life strategy that leads to sapience. Sapient species usually do not have recent evolutionary history as big game hunters (the typical sapient is a physically not very strong omnivore, often primarily an eater of fruit, tubers, seeds, insects, and small animals, though also a lot of sapient species started with an ecological niche roughly equivalent of fish-eating birds that nest in large rookeries). Species that evolve sapience through this pathway usually have strong social and artistic intelligence, but lack instincts and institutions of organized violence (they aren't always peaceful, but if they do have significant intra-species violence it's murder, done by individuals or very small groups, not war).

When the warmonger aliens I've spent most of this post describing meet species like this it usually goes similarly to what happened when the Maori met the Moriori, or at least like that event as described in a book I read once. The warmonger aliens will roll up and be like "Yo, what's up, losers! You are now our slaves! We're awfully fond of presents called 'tribute' which you'll be giving us regularly from now on, and you'll be obeying our orders from now on! You can start by performing these humiliating submission rituals to acknowledge our superiority!" and this will be kind of an OCP to their victims, who will usually either basically surrender immediately or try to resist but fold pretty quickly cause they aren't well-equipped for war psychologically, culturally, institutionally, or materially. The warmonger dominant bulls honestly find it kind of boring, to the point that they fight a lot of highly ritualized flower war style conflicts among themselves as a mix of oligarch class dispute resolution, bloody enrichment, and live fire training to keep their warrior skills sharp.

Basically, the galaxy is full of weedy theater kid nerds, and these warmonger aliens are the meathead jock bullies of the galaxy going around shoving those nerds into lockers and stealing their lunch money.

The exceptions to this pattern the warmonger aliens met before us were a mix of 1) other species like themselves, 2) sapient species with a long evolutionary history of being big game hunting carnivore more-or-less apex predators (who are basically sneaky raiders). The warmonger alien dominant bulls tend to hate the latter and bitch endlessly about how they "have no honor," but savor tangling with the former in a "finally, worthy opponents!" way.

Then they met humans.

Humans have a long enough evolutionary history of big game hunting that this may have subjected us to significant selection pressure for increased cooperativeness that the warmonger aliens didn't get. But that isn't special in this context, the warmonger aliens have tangled with sapients descended from big game hunting carnivores before.

The thing that makes humans relevantly special is our relatively recent evolutionary history of being a prey species that engaged in collective defense, and the instincts we have that formed in that context but can be activated in other kinds of conflict.

Going back to that "real fights" thing earlier:

"but how often are you ever going to be in a fight where you’re willing to rip the other guy’s cheek out, gouge out his eyes and so forth?"

A fight against a predator that wants to eat your child looks like that.

If you're fighting a member of your own species, the entity you're fighting might be a relative, potential mate, or potential helper, so there's an incentive for restraint.

If you're a predator hunting, well, a carnivore species needs their prey species, that's their food source; smart lions wouldn't want to wipe out their prey species, they need their prey species, they would prefer their prey species thrive and be abundant and healthy; again there is an incentive for restraint; very plausibly one of the first lessons a sapient carnivore species would have to collectively learn after becoming sapient is restraint, learning that it would be all too easy to use their new, better weapons to kill too many of their prey and that they need to consciously avoid doing that.

Prey defending themselves from predators are the ones who'd have more-or-less zero incentive for restraint. If you can hurt or kill the lioness that's trying to eat your child, there is basically no reason to not go for it except self-preservation. Predators need their prey, but that's not symmetrical; prey don't need their predators, and sapient prey smart enough to do birth control and cull any dumber competitor species would probably be unambiguously much better off if all their predators dropped dead (Pleistocene humans could have done semi-reliable birth control by abstinence, outercourse, and lactational amenorrhea).

Humans are a slow-breeding species. A pride of lions could easily gradually eat a small early human band into extinction, and would have little incentive to avoid doing so cause humans aren't even their primary prey so when they ran out of humans they could just eat more of the antelope and so on that are already most of what they're eating anyway. The warmonger aliens have no evolutionary history of conflicts so existential.

The warmonger aliens have an idea of self-sacrificial heroism, but their version is entirely oriented (in an "adaptation executor, not fitness maximizer" way) toward burnishing the reputation of surviving close male relatives by association and thus increasing their reproductive success. They would have nothing in their recent evolutionary history like the experience of standing between a child and a hungry lioness. They would not grok "get away from her you bitch!" (that essay talks about the role of males in anti-predator defense but, yeah, women would have this too, who do you think would be the last line of defense for the children if a predator got past the male defensive ring?).

(The warmonger aliens definitely think it's a bit weird that we have mixed gender armies, not so much in a conventionally sexist way - they're inclined to see the size and strength differences between human men and women as obviously trivial compared to the much bigger sexual dimorphism of their species - but in that the idea of females caring enough about the outcome of a war to fight in it is alien to them. It's not that weird to them though, the big game hunter ancestry carnivore sapients they've encountered have mixed-sex armies and unwarlike sapients that try to resist conquest usually form them when they scramble to put a military together so it's got precedent in their experience.)

Like, yeah, the warmonger aliens are exactly the kind of people where some human commander would draw some of them into a clever trap they wouldn't anticipate cause prioritizing actually winning over looking heroic is alien behavior to them and then the comrades of the ones who died getting punked would bitch about how "dishonorable" it was of us to fight to win instead of obediently lining up to get slaughtered like cattle in some set-piece battle because that'd be the "honorable" thing by their definitions.

But also, something a lot like Londo Mollari's little speech about how brave the humans were in the Earth-Minbari war but it's some warmonger alien dominant bull describing the resistance we're putting up against his people and instead of admiration it's spoken with a tone of queasy puzzlement tinged with fear, irritation with our "irrational" resistance mixed with fear of the possible implications for what might happen if we start winning, it's alien behavior to him and he's admitting that it scares him.

Also, turns out species that have been strongly selected for solidarity (that's us!) are good at building equalizing coalitions and creating memes to coordinate them around, so not only are human ideologies of equality such as liberalism and communism effective at supercharging our resistance against imperialist conquest in a way that's an OCP to the warmonger aliens, they also turn out to be really disruptive to the warmonger aliens' shitty empire when some human chaos agents have fun spreading them around in it.

[emkayewrites]

These two pictures inspired one of the chapters of my Lukola fanfiction called 'Curtain Fall'...

Here's a sneak preview:

17th June 2022 – Brockenhurst (UK)

Everything about The Pig exuded charming British elegance. Nestled in the heart of the historic New Forest National Park, the homely country manor served as a five-star hotel with an acclaimed restaurant. It was a favourite weekend escape for city dwellers who were attracted to it for its natural beauty; from free-roaming local horses to ancient woodlands that were perfect for long walks.

It was a place particularly revered for offering the finest of traditional English dining without excessive pretension. The dining rooms had a rustic, cosy charm, featuring open fires and mismatched antique furniture.

Nicola and Luke sat opposite each other at a farmhouse-style table in a private dining room called the Green Room that was reserved for special guests. A Victorian-style fireplace and floor-to-ceiling conservatory doors opened onto a private garden terrace. Before them lay a half-eaten feast: salads with organic vegetables from the estate's garden, freshly baked bread with warm butter, a plate of oyster mushroom pappardelle for her, and a sourdough pizza for him.

They had been invited to this countryside retreat for the weekend courtesy of the production team. This was their first day and they had been greeted with a prepared lunch. He sat there in a slightly over-sized salmon button-down shirt and jeans. In contrast, she was dressed in a little more sophistication. She wore a dark tapestry mini dress with tie shoulders that cinched in her waist in a way she hoped would be flattering.

"You know, when Jess told me we should get bonding, she mentioned doing it over a coffee. This is a little more than a coffee." Nicola laughed, trying to shake the awkwardness off herself. She was used to spending time with Luke but this setting felt different. It felt intimate.

"It's on brand though." Luke replied, nodding at their surroundings. He was not wrong. This could be a room straight from Bridgerton.

She reached out and touched the green wall panels.

"What do you reckon this is – Farrow and Ball?" She quizzed.

"What's that?"

"You haven't heard of Farrow and Ball?"

He shrugged in an I don't know what to tell you sort of way.

"Well, that surprises me. Maybe you're not as posh as I think you are." She teased. "It's very posh paint, with pretentious names like Elephant's Fanny and Leopard's Arse."

He laughed. "OK, that's quite enough. You need to stop calling me posh. People might start believing you and expecting things from me."

"Anything east of Dublin is posh," she retorted, making him laugh again.

This is what she thrived on: banter. Their friendship was based on her dry wit and sarcasm. Making him or anyone else on set laugh was a small victory for her.  She was trying hard not to think about having to switch gears and drop the humour she wore as armour.

She had not wanted to admit it, but sitting across from him now, it was harder to deny: he was absolutely beautiful. To make matters worse, he was kind too.

Why couldn't the love interest be someone with a hideous personality in real life? She found herself wandering.

She was barely out of her reverie when he reached out and wrapped his hand around hers, guiding it gently away from the wall and in front of his face, inches from his lips. He took a deep breath, and his blue eyes bore into her own.

Oh God, that was his Colin face.

You can read more here:

[internalweebpanic]

Not a Shadow of a Doubt

summary:  A drabble about Megumi’s shikigami.

When Megumi finds you, you are fast asleep, face half-buried in the divine dog's fur, its body curled protectively around you as if to shield you even from the sun. 

 It is no secret that all of Megumi's shikigami love you.  

 How could it be?

 It is obvious when the rabbit escape crowds around you, soft, little bodies all fighting to be near you. You always, always pick one up and press a kiss to its nose. The rest of the little rabbits clamors for their turn and overwhelm you while Megumi turns away, the pale color of his ears tinged with pink.  His mind crowded with thoughts of your lips. 

 The rest of his shikigami are no better. The divine dogs' snouts are always pressed affectionately against your side; the max elephant never fails to wrap its trunk around you and pull you close; even less subtle, the great serpent coils around you protectively, and so on.

 It's honestly Megumi's fault. If his feelings for you weren't so overwhelming,  he thinks he could have contained it but it is and now he can't stop it from spilling everywhere and touching every part of him. 

 The divine dog uncurls around you, allowing Megumi to take you into his arms. Your head lays on his shoulder, lips murmuring softly as you snuggle into his chest. His cheeks, neck, and ears flush. He retreats into the high collar of his shirt like a turtle. 

 Like his shikigami, Megumi loves you and that itself is no secret.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mise en Place 1

Warnings: noncon, coercion, manipulation. Proceed with caution.

Note: thanks all for reading and I hope you’re excited for this one. All feedback is more than welcome and loved and appreciated. Reblogs are most helpful.

Part of The Club AU

You place the final sparkling glass on the cart and give a tiny smile at the accomplishment. Your work isn't particularly complicated or glamorous. As eager singles and lively coeds wait outside to invade the downtown club, you work tirelessly to ready the place; clean the dishes, sweep and mop the floors, vacuum the coatroom…

The work is draining but simple. You don't mind it so much. You mostly hide in the shadows and get it done, take your check, and retreat to your singulsr existence. Your co-workers more than make up for your invisibility.

You can hear the booming voice of the bartender as he chats with the other. His voice tends to carry over most other noises, even the music when its thrumming from the subwoofers. You always hear him coming whereas you are ever unnoticed by others.

Sonny, the cook, chops at the cutting board, the air vibrant with the the aromas of his simmering pans. The private rooms are ready for their guests, most of the plates will be sent there. Everything has its place in the club; the burly blond behind the bar, Sonny at the stove, and you wherever a mess arises.

"Glasses," the door swings inward, startling you as you carry the used utensils and bowls from Sonny's station to the sink, "ah, perfect."

Thor, the bartender, strides over, his immense size making the space feel even smaller. Yourself too.

He nears and grabs the handle on the cart. You barely have time to react as he lurches it too sharply. One of the highball glasses slides off and shatters on the floor as he stops. You barely keep several others from following suit.

"Oh, apologies," he grins guiltily at the glass shards.

"Thor, if you're not in here stealing apps, you're trashing the place," Sonny guffaws.

"I didn't mean to," the bartender says defensively, "I'll clean it–"

"I got it," you're quicker than him as you grabs the broom from where you left it, "no worries."

A hum catches in his throat as you return to the cart and slowly roll it towards him. He backs up with your careful advance. He grips the handle and slowly pulls it with him, this time making a show of doing so cautiously.

"No worries," he echoes you, "thank you."

He wheels backward through the door as you turn to sweep up the scattered glass. Sonny grunts as a pan hisses. He tuts as he sprinkles spice into one.

"Bozo, that one is," he chuckles, "makes a mean cocktail despite having the grace of a newborn elephant."

You nod and say nothing. You don't know Thor well, you see him around, like most of the other employees. Bottle girls, servers, bouncers. You only ever see Sonny or the other chef, Enid, often. Neither really seems to mind you and talk more to fill the dearth than make friends.

"Lucky his brother runs the place or he'd be paying for all the nachos. Never knew a man who could eat so much. Good guy but… insatiable."

You listen without response. The crotchety chef is used to that. You almost think he prefers it. He doesn't argue with you like he does the bottle girls or posture as he does around the bouncers. Especially the big one, August.

You scoop up the glass in the dustpan and dumb it in a box formerly used for the ready to serve cans. You set it with the recycle and go back to the task of scouring the dishes. Sonny whistles along to the softly buzzing radio, soon to be replaced with the coursing of modern pop music.

Employees drift in and out; servers bitching, bottle girls grabbing tall bottles, and a shuffle you can't keep order of.

The DJ puts on the first track and signals opening. You put your ear plugs in then, it's a bit too loud for your brain to focus. You linger in the kitchen, you'll sneak out to collect empty glasses once the place is a bit fuller.

Sonny sends his first apps and slips the pack of smokes from his front pocket. He signals that's he's going for his usual break and you nod as you go to peek through the window. Servers take the trays and crumple tickets as you look past them.

The flashing of colored lights reflect off sparkling outfits and add definition to attractive faces. You were never the club type. Never had much of a chance. No school, no parties, just work.

"Goddamn," Thor blusters in, the door bouncing off the metsl corner of the counter, "Loki… always…"

He stops his grumbling as the door shuts and reveals you just on the other side. He gives a sheepish grin and you stand dumbly watching him. You probably should try to look busy.

"Tequila," he declares, "I missed it in inventory."

You quick push away from the counter and beat him to the storage room. You're not sure what kind he needs but you recall an empty one with the gold cap. You grab that and come back to the doorway as he nears. He almost jumps back, as if he didn't expect you.

"Oh, fawn, you scared me," he smiles, his blue eyes gleaming, "ah, you are exactly what I need."

He takes the tequila from you and raises it to read the label.

"Clever," he muses, "perhaps you might do me another favour."

You stare at him. Well, you won't have much to do for a while. You nod.

"It'll only be me tonight," he declares, "so, I need some help. You would only need to be my assistant. Hand me bottles and glasses…"

"Oh, I don't… know if I–"

"You will not get any trouble for it, hm? I will speak to my brother should he try to give any. Besides, I am rather desperate."

He sticks his lip out, just a little, just enough to tweak your heart. It might not be wise to say no to the brother of the owner.

"Just for a little," you permit, "okay?"

[ellies-star]

feels good. part 1

pairing. dealer college student! ellie williams x f! reader. 

an. lol attempting to write a lil dealer!ellie fic. aLsO there is no smut in this part sorryyy

synopsis. dina convinces ellie to go to Jesse's frat party, and somehow finds herself smoking with a girl in the back of her truck. (this is purely reader and ellie getting high and then fucking). warnings. 18+. mentions of drugs (nicotine and weed) and alcohol, ellie and reader smoke together, making out, sexual tension and suggestions?

Ellie had been planning out her Friday night all day. She had spent the entire week studying her ass off for exams, working at the coffee shop after classes and managing her side hustle; she was ready for a break. She fumbled with her keys for a moment before bursting through the front door of her shared apartment with a loud sigh of relief.

Her back slumped due to the excessive amount of biology textbooks weighing down her backpack. After finally shrugging it off her shoulders to her wooden floors, she crashed onto the couch with a groan. Her feet ached from standing on them all afternoon, making coffee for buzzing students– who definitely did not need that extra shot of espresso. She kicked off her black converse, sending them flying in different directions, finally settling her feet onto the coffee table in front of her. She sank into the plush cream couch pillows, closing her eyes and letting out another sigh. “Honey I’m home!” She announced to her roommate blow drying her damp hair, and blasting Elephant by Tame Impala in the bathroom.

Dina swung open the door and revealed her dark locks blowing wildly from the dryer. Ellie could barely hear her over the loud sound of blasting air, but she managed to get a “welcome home dearest!” She thought she heard Dina say something else after retreating back to the bathroom, but the words were drowned out by the noise. Ellie shrugged it off, finally getting the chance to close her eyes. However, the moment of peace did not last long.

“Ellie! What are you doing? You can’t sleep!” Dina jumps onto the end of the couch, shaking Ellie’s legs awake. Ellie’s eyebrows furrow and she groans in response. For fucks sake, she thinks to herself.

“Why, so loud! The hell are you talking about, it’s nap time.” Ellie mumbles curling into a ball. Rolling her eyes, Dina lays her chin and arms on Ellie’s hips.

“Ellie we have to leave for Jesse’s party in like an hour, did you forget?” Ellie stays silent for a moment, humming while searching for the lost memory of when she agreed to this shindig. Then she grumbles, cursing her past self for getting into this predicament.

“Shit, yeah I did forget…” Ellie runs a hand down her face. “I don’t know D, I’m fucking exhausted.” Turning around and lifting her chin up to Dina who has moved to retrieve a hairbrush. “I had class from 9 to 3:45, and worked at Java till–” she looks at her watch– “20 minutes ago.” She throws her head back down to the seat cushions.

“I– yeah that’s a lot… I know this week has been brutal for you.” Dina pauses, “You don’t have to go, I just know Jesse was looking forward to seeing us both.” Dina looks down at her brush picking out the hair while leaning against the door frame.

Ellie scoffs at this. “You know I love Jesse, but he just wants me to go and be his plug for the night.” She begins to sit up, leaning her forearms onto her knees.

Dina shrugs her shoulders and purses her lips, “Mmm, yes he did want you to sell at this party, but he also wanted to hangout! Y’know we’re his only friends outside of the frat.” Turning back around to the bathroom to start applying makeup. “Okay, how about this!” She bops her head back out, “It’s 8:30, you can take a nap and I’ll wake you up in 30 minutes. See how you’re feeling, then decide– Deal?”

Ellie ponders the offer, she does believe in the power of, well, a power nap. And a redbull.

“Deal.”

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Ellie pulls up the road to the infamous house of Sigma Omicron Pi (ΣΟΠ). Different colored lights flooded from every window, a sea of drunk UCSC students painted the massive front lawn. The bass of Knock Knock by Mac Miller pouring out of the house’s speakers. She pulls her 1997 Land Cruiser into park a few feet away from the mess. The homes in the neighborhood were separated by at least 50 ft— making the perfect spot for a frat house.

She takes a swig of her half finished red bull, before turning off the engine. Looking to the passenger seat, she watches Dina apply more blush, concealer and whatever that last sparkly thing in a tube was. “D, you look fine. I don’t know why you bother.”

Dina rolls her eyes in response jokingly. “Not everyone can be a chapstick lesbian with perfect skin and lashes like you, Els.”

Ellie scoffs, “Shut up, you look good without makeup. That’s why I don’t think you need it.” She gets out of the car to grab a few dime bags and pre-rolls to shove into her black herschel shoulder bag.

Dina finishes applying some lip gloss and closing the visor mirror. “Yeah I know, but sexy eyeliner and glitter makes me feel good.” She flashes Ellie a grin and wink before opening the car door. “Now let’s go! We’re late, and I’m too sober for this shit!”

Ellie barks a laugh while locking up her car, before following her towards the massive house.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

The two were greeted by red solo cups littering the grass, creating a trail to the porch. They walked past a group of frat boys in the middle of an intense game of pong. Opening the green wooden door, the sheer volume of the music blasted Ellie in the face. The loud sounds shook her chest, the deep bass sending a vibration through her ears down to her ribcage. She could barely hear Dina say to keep an out for Jesse, even though they were only inches apart. The hallway leading to the living room was filled with more people, the two girls having to squeeze past them in zigzags.

Eventually they made it to the massive living room, a dance party occurring in the middle of the floor. There had to be around 50 people in this room alone. It was either sweaty bodies grinding against one another, the excessive amount of liquor in the jungle juice causing them to move loosely, or it was a group of people laughing and shoving one another into the dance circle.

Whatever it was, Ellie didn’t want any part of it. She continued to follow Dina into the kitchen— where they finally spotted Jesse.

She watched as Dina ran up to him, ending whatever conversation he was in the middle of. She kissed him in a rush, then pulled away leaving him beaming.

“Baby, you made it! I was wondering where you were.” Jesse smiles, while holding her close.

“Sorry, I know I know. Ellie needed an extra 15 minutes for her power nap.” Dina giggles, nodding her head in my direction.

He looks up to find Ellie leaning against the counter. “It’s good to see you Els, glad you could make it.” He steps away from Dina to pull Ellie into a hug.

“Yeah man, wouldn’t miss it.” She chuckles, letting go of his hand to adjust the strap of her bag. He eyes her movements, then remembers why he invited her.

“Did you uh, did you bring anything to sell by chance?” He dips his chin low and brings his face closer for Ellie to hear better over the loud music and conversations.

She nods, throwing her thumb over her shoulder. “Got a few dime bags and pre-rolls in here, got extra in the car too if ya need ‘em.” She shrugs her shoulders.

“Sweet, there’s a group outside in the back and then in a room upstairs that were looking to buy. Sure you won’t run out any time soon.” He gives her another nod while slinging an arm around Dina. “Anyway, I was about to grab another drink— shall we?” He motions towards the open back door.

“Let’s go! I need a seltzer, asap.” Dina squeals while walking through the crowd of people.

The fresh air felt good against Ellie’s face. Even though they hadn’t been inside the house long, it set her body into a heat wave underneath her hoodie and black jeans. Jesse had grabbed Dina and him a new drink, then led Ellie to a group of people smoking cigarettes and sitting along the white fence.

“Yo Jesse, what’s good!” One of the boys leans off the ledge to greet him.

“Hey Josh, this is Ellie. She’s selling right now, if you’re still looking to buy.”

Josh looks over at Ellie with a goofy grin. He takes a drag before handing it to a girl on his left. “Yeah man! What’chu got?” His breath was hot, filled with the scent of tobacco and Mezcal.

“Wedding Cake and Blue dream in dime bags, and a few hybrid pre-rolls.” Ellie removes her hands from her pockets to open her crossbody bag. She lets the group look at a few samples.

“Shit, that sounds great. How much for the Wedding Cake and a joint?” The boy asks, while analyzing the work of her pre-rolls.

“Bags $15 and joints $5.”

“Sold.”

And just like that, Ellie went throughout the first two hours dealing left and right. Somehow, she found herself a cigarette and two beers in, with only a joint left in her bag. She had lost Dina and Jesse to the backyard after a game of rage cage at some point. Party games weren’t really her thing, she typically likes to be a fly on the wall— find a space to chill and smoke for a little bit, before Dina was ready to go home.

Which is exactly what Ellie planned to do.

The inside of the house was too loud, and the backyard was packed— as a frat party should be. Ellie didn’t know anyone else besides Dina and Jesse here, and she wasn’t really in the mood to mingle. As her Red Bull began to wear off, she remembered the front porch. She recalled it had a swing, and by this point most people had fled to the inside where there was dancing and more alcohol.

She opened the front door, the cool night air greeting her. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath in, the smell of mixed smoke and cedar filled her nose. And when she exhaled, the door closed, and the obnoxious noise of house music faded— just a little.

However, her moment of peace was startled by the squeak of the porch swing. She jumped and stumbled slightly as she looked to her left; there sat a girl she hadn’t seen before— and Ellie would’ve remembered if she saw her, because she was stunning.

————————————————————————————————————————————————

You bore a cider in hand, leaning back into the wooden swing with a puzzled look on your face.

Shit… she’s pretty, Ellie thought to herself.

Your hair poured over your bare shoulders, keeping you warm from the brisk air. You sat crossed legged, in worn-out denim jeans and a loose olive green tank top.

Ellie’s hazy eyes trailed the goosebumps that arose on your tanned arms, all the way to your chest. You were braless, hard nipples poking through the thin cotton of your tank top.

“Anyone ever tell you that staring is rude?” You spoke. Self consciously you drew your knees up to your chest and took another swig from your cider.

Ellie lifted her gaze immediately and locked eyes with you, her cheeks burned crimson from embarrassment. She shook her head in an attempt to clear her thoughts, “Sorry, didn’t realize someone was already out here, uh I’ll just–” Ellie mumbled the last bit of her words, ready to turn on her heels and kick herself once she was back inside for the obvious ogling. You just chuckled in response.

“I’m messing with you– sort of. What’s your name?” A playful smile began to appear on your lips, they were the color of rose. Ellie made a mental note of how soft they looked pressed against the lip of your bottle. All Ellie could think was how she wishes they were pressed against–

“It’s uh… Ellie! It’s Ellie…” Jesus fucking christ did I seriously almost forget my own name?

You couldn’t help but giggle at her nervousness. “Well, uh Ellie, I’m Y/N. Wanna join me?” You patted the spot next to you on the wooden swing, and Ellie’s heart fluttered.

“Sure.” She shrugged her shoulders, trying to act nonchalant, despite the the intense pounding in her chest and twisted feeling in her stomach.

You shifted slightly in attempt to make more room for the blushing girl. She plopped softly onto the bench next to you, trying to make herself small. She still managed to brush your arm with her own. The short contact made you shiver.

“So, what brings you here? To the party I mean— pretty obvious you came outside to escape the mess in there.” You took another swig.

You watched as she turned her head away from you, and then it was your turn to stare. Ellie looked forward, showing off her delicate side profile, but strong jawline. Her lashes were long, and freckles painted her cheeks and nose like a map. You could see the gears turning in her head, she was debating something before looking back at you. You were mesmerized, her green eyes were the color of sunlight filtering through trees.

“I know Jesse, he’s a guy from the frat—” Ellie paused to swing her bag into her lap to pull out a plastic one, “—he asked me to deal for the party.” She unzipped the baggy and fished for the preroll. “You smoke?” A small smile appeared on her lips when you nodded your head ‘yes’.

“ah gotcha, plug for the evening. were you just selling joints?”

“Nope, dime bags too. Everything went pretty quick thankfully.” She patted her pockets looking for something. “Shit I forgot my lighter in the car.” She began to stand up when she noticed you shiver again as a breeze came through. “we could uh, smoke this in my car if you want? I have blankets in there too.” She rubbed the back of her neck, afraid that was too forward after you spoke for literally less than 2 minutes.

but it wasn’t too forward, in fact, you’d rather get as far away from this house as possible and be with this random girl you just met with short brown hair and a goofy grin.

“That sounds good to me, it’s cold as hell out here.” You couldn’t help but smile at one another.

“Sweet, I’m just down the road.” Ellie readjusts her bag and pops the joint behind her ear, watching you down the last bit of your cider.

You finally leave the trash covered lawn and spot a large car in the distance. “What kind of car you drive?” You ask crossing your arms to bite the cold.

Ellie chuckles. “It’s a land cruiser, I don’t know if you know it— they’re not the coolest car.”

“What? Of course I know it! That used to be my dream car next to a 4Runner!” You beam, getting more excited the closer you approach the green SUV.

“Seriously? Can’t believe I met the only girl at this party who knows about these things.” At this point, Ellie’s stomach is doing flips and you were the ring master.

You whistle when you pull up, impressed by the state of the car, despite it being an old model. “You must take good care of it, she looks good. what is it— 95’?”

Ellie blinks at you in aw while unlocking the car— “97’.” Did she just win the lottery?

“Hot.” You smirk while getting into the passenger seat. Even though it was joke, it made Ellie’s legs buckle.

You slide onto the soft leather of the seat. Looking around, you know this girl is a lesbian. The console had been replaced by something more modern, and when Ellie turned the car on, it hummed to life making it softly fade into interchanging rainbow colors. In addition to the gay radio, a tash sultana cd laid in the cup holders, next to a mug with boobs on it.

“God it’s gay in here.” You laughed, bringing a knee up onto the seat.

Ellie rolled her eyes, “well it’s probably because I’m gay.”

Ellie’s phone reconnected to the Bluetooth, and she quickly found a playlist. Daddy Issues by The Neighborhood began to play by she turned the volume.

“Wow really, I couldn’t tell.” You smirked earning a raised eyebrow from the brunette who was already lighting the joint.

She took a few puffs, breathing in, and slowly breathing out before handing it off to you. “takes one to know one…” She spoke, more as a question than a statement.

You took the joint between your fingers, brushing hers in the process. It sent tingles all the way up your arm. You brought it up to your lips to repeat her actions. A few drags in, letting the smoke slowly slip past your lips. “this is true.” You chuckled looking over at her.

Ellie’s eyes followed your every move, the way your fingers delicately held onto the joint, and the way your lips looked wrapped around the filter. There it was again, that thought about how your lips would look really good on-

“Earth to Ellie?” You waved your free hand to signal her back to reality. She locked eyes with you again. Even though it was dark, you could see a faint blush creeping onto her cheeks in the dim red lighting from her radio.

“Oh sorry, thanks.” Another long drag. “So how did you end up at the party?” She ques, taking one more hit before handing it off to you.

The joint was shorter, and you brushed fingers again. You liked how rough the pads of her fingers were. Now it was your time to blush, nearly dropping the joint in the process. You took a moment after your hit to think about your answer.

“Well, a girl invited me, and then I found her making out with someone else.” You blew out the smoke almost releasing your frustrations from earlier. “a guy from the frat, actually.”

Ellie winced at your response. “Damn, that’s rough I’m sorry.” A wave of emotions went through her, anger— because how could someone stand you up? But also relief— knowing that you weren’t going home with anyone gave her hope. “Bummer you didn’t get to make out with anyone, a real shame.” She joked, the weed making the two of you laugh.

“Truly! I mean the whole point of coming out here was to get laid.”

You both chuckled. You felt all ooey gooey from your chest down to your stomach. The effects of the joint, and the bass from the car, made your body melt into the seat cushions. You closed your eyes and hummed into satisfaction.

But Ellie, Ellie was more tense than ever. She watched as one of your legs came up onto the seat to make yourself more comfortable, your knee reaching outward onto the middle console closer to Ellie’s own leg. The other one casually spread out against the door. You looked so damn hot like that, and her thoughts began to drift.

She wondered what it would be like to softly rub the inside of your thigh. To lean over and leave a trail of kisses along your neck and jaw. What kind of noises you’d make if she could have her way with you in that passenger seat.

And when you opened your eyes, they locked with Ellie’s— a dark shade of moss and pine. Your eyes felt heavy, but you couldn’t seem to look away. But Ellie’s eyes began to travel, all over your body. Your face began to heat up, you wanted to know what she was thinking about, but you had a good idea. You could feel the way her eyes undressed you, and it made the feeling in your stomach even hotter, now pooling into your underwear.

You noticed the joint was coming to an end, and you had a thought. You reached over for her hand, which caused her to shake from her perverted thoughts.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize I was holding onto—“

You didn’t let her finish before you brought the short joint, still stuck between her worn fingers, to your soft lips. They were pressed gently against her pointer and middle finger. Her breath hitched, and she looked at you with pure admiration. She licked her lips before bringing her bottom one between her teeth, and letting her thumb rest against your jaw, softly stroking your cheek.

You pulled away a few seconds before gently pulling on her arm again, this time you leaned in as well. Your eyes were still heavy, but you were able to make contact with hers one more time before glancing down to her rosey lips. Your faces only inches apart.

“What are you—“ she began to question before you cupped her left cheek and brought your lips to hers. It was the slowest and softest touch, your lips felt light.

Despite Ellie’s high and sex driven brain, she could register what was happening, you were trying to shotgun. She lifted her other hand to hold the place between your neck and jaw, and gently sucked the smoke when you blew it into her mouth.

You pulled away to try and catch your breath. Your nose brushed hers as you pulled back slightly to watch Ellie exhale, but her hand never left your neck. It all felt like a dream, the way the smoke slipped past her lips as she tilted her head back slightly so it went up and not in your face. The sight of her left another warm wave between your legs. You could still feel her lips on your own, the tingling feeling dancing on your bottom lip. You wanted more. And she did too.

She didn’t hesitate to put the rest of the joint out and discard it in her ashtray before bringing her face back to yours. She brushed her nose against your own letting you know how close she was.

“Still thinking about how I never got the chance to make out with anyone.” You mumbled into her, causing her to chuckle.

“Y’know I think we can change that.” She smiles before drifting her lips to the side of your cheek, pressing a soft kiss, and dragging them to your jaw and neck. You tilt your head to the side to offer more access, softly humming in response.

“And if your whole plan was to come out here and get laid, we could make that happen too.”

You have to bite your lip to keep yourself from moaning. She knew what she was doing, saying that in her sexiest voice. Letting her hand slowly slide up even further into your inner thigh, softly squeezing it. So close to where you need her the most.

“Fuck Ellie get in the back, now.”

[certkidwhocantdomath]

Fanart by @863ham

Did I Pass The Test?

Additional tags: Blood and Violence, Bloody Kisses, First kiss(kinda), pre-blind Johnny Cage

Summary: Bi-Han wanted to test Johnny's fighting abilities, so he wrote a fake fan letter luring Johnny to the forest.

Or coldstar's first kiss.

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

Bi-Han scaled a tree with ease, positioning himself within its branches, hidden both by the leaves and the cool dark of night. Everyone else at the academy would be asleep by now but Bi-Han waited like an owl for the mouse to show it's face under the moonlight. If they had gotten away and could follow the guiding instructions on the letter right, Johnny should be arriving soon.

Right on cue, Bi-Han detected the unsubtle crashing of foliage and footsteps. A flashlight beam cut through the dark as Johnny's one guiding light. Bi-Han retreated further into the tree, widening his eyes to take in more light as he stared down.

"Shit, this place is creepy," Johnny huffed, ducking under a low-hanging branch.

His flashlight scanned the small clearing, finally landing on the large boulder amidst it. Johnny let out a low whistle, coming up to it for a better look. "Oh, wow. That monk wasn’t kidding. This thing really does look like an elephant’s face. Hah, and it’s gray too."

The flashlight turned around, sweeping in a circle. It wasn’t very powerful but it did provide some decent light to the area. Not that Johnny would be able to hold on to it much longer.

"Um, hello? I’m here…" Johnny called, tilting his head to listen for signs of the imaginary monk who had written the letter.

Johnny didn’t know how long he really wanted to wait out in the creepy woods. It wasn’t exactly the middle of nowhere, given how close it was to the academy. But the way the trees loomed only set Johnny on edge the longer he had to bask in their spindly, reaching branches.

Sure, he was a star but he would like a bit more light than just stars. Though the moon was quite bright itself. It looked full tonight and was quite the sight to behold.

Johnny turned the flashlight up as he too looked to the sky, looking at that big eye in the sky. But when his flashlight caught the treetops in it's beam, he was met with two extra eyes than normal.

Johnny and Bi-Han stared silently for just a moment, Johnny's mouth dropping open, blinking in disbelief, as if he could open his eyes again and the ghost would be gone. Bi-Han, equally dismayed at being caught before he could unleash his surprise attack, stayed with his hands still poised together, about to form an icicle.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" Johnny broke the stalemate with a shout, complete disbelief showing on his face where Bi-Han could see past the light shining on him.

Taking that as his cue, Bi-Han finished his motions, a long and sharp dagger of ice forming in his hands and quickly leaving them planting itself violently into the ground just at Johnny’s feet. Johnny jumped back, the light in his hands trembling as he shakily pointed the flashlight at it.

"Holy shit Sub-Zero, you could have killed me!", he was so shocked he couldn’t even muster up a silly nickname. Good, Bi-Han thought, he’s taking this seriously.

"That is the plan," Bi-Han growled, dropping from the tree and landing in a crouch.

He stalked predatory towards Johnny, who continued to back up, holding out the flashlight like it was his only defense. "You fell so easily for my ploy. Did you not ever think to check the authenticity of the letter’s writer before so easily straying from safety?"

"I figured of all fans a monk wouldn’t be one of the crazy’s-" Johnny defended, trying to keep his distance while Bi-Han circled him. "I know how upset you are about 'us', but we can talk this out, right?"

"I grew tired of your talk a long ago," Bi-Han snapped. He stomped his foot into the ground, sending up pillars of ice and breaking off a staff from one. "Now we will fight with real stakes. If you beat me, I will never bother you again."

Johnny clenched his fist. He knew running was not an option here. Setting the flashlight to the ground gingerly to shed some light on the battleground, he dared to ask, "And if you win?"

Both already knew Bi-Han's answer. "I will kill you."

Johnny sucked in a breath, trying to steady himself. He had always imagined that Bi-Han might get angry enough to murk him, but he had never thought it would actually happen! He figured being Earthrealm’s defender and Liu Kang’s little backup squad put some restrictions on the guy.

Although it also wasn’t too hard to imagine they were going a little off the book. Either way, he needed to win, and he had a feeling it was going to be a lot harder than it was at Cage Manson.

Bi-Han reveled in knowing he was going to get to beat the man, his joy only sightly dampened knowing he couldn’t match against them with his real strength. He just wanted to get the man scared enough to think they were going to die, not actually lose their life.

Bi-Han pointed at Johnny with a glare, seeing the man still trying to keep a distance. "Fight!" He demanded.

Bi-Han hurled the staff he had made first, then a compacted ball of ice at Johnny, who swiftly threw himself to the side in a dodge for both. Bi-Han attempted another throw but Johnny had closed the distance with impressive speed.

He shot out his foot for a kick, but Bi-Han ducked, rolling under it and grabbing their thigh still in the air, throwing them down. Johnny rolled on the ground as Bi-Han attempted to stomp on them. Johnny managed to save his own ribs from a crushing blow and slammed his foot into Bi-Hans as they bent over him.

It sent the ice man back a few paces, enough for Johnny to get back on his feet. Bi-Han flew forward, though, striking out with punches. Johnny blocked what he could while sending back his own strikes. Both landed hits, but Johnny felt the most blows, his head lolling back after a particularly strong hit.

Bi-Han dropped to the ground, sliding on a sheet of ice he formed to knock their feet out from under them. Johnny toppled but was quick to use it to his own advantage, angling his knee to land roughly against Bi-Han, knocking up against their chin.

Bi-Han let out a grunt from the damage while Johnny used his position on top of the other to deliver more strikes. Continuing his assault, he pummeled the man until Bi-Han managed to catch his wrists and press his knees against his stomach, pushing up and flipping Johnny over Bi-Han onto his back. His breath was briefly knocked from him as he landed, and he only watched helplessly as Bi-Han appeared over him.

Johnny closed his eyes with a yell, holding an arm over his head in a cowering block. Bi-Han huffed in irritation, gripping their hand with a freezing grasp and tearing it away from Johnny’s face. "That was far too easy. You didn’t even try to push back this time." He slammed his fist into the ground on the side of their head. "Pathetic."

Bi-Han retracted, giving space to the other fighter and moving back into a starting stance. "Again!" He demanded.

Johnny sat up and Bi-Han could tell his face was red from embarrassment. Good. They should be.

The humiliation made Johnny better as they sought to prove themself against the harsh words Bi-Han had delivered. They both fought with conviction, time freezing in the woodsy arena so that all they could focus on was each other.

"Argh-" Bi-Han grunted as a foot connected with his head, swaying to the side in disorientation.

Another hit slammed into his stomach, then Johnny spun, using his elbows to dig into Bi-Han before finishing with a strong back kick that sent Bi-Han to the floor.

Johnny was on him at once, lifting his leg again for another kick but Bi-Han covered a layer of ice over himself, rolling away as the freezing clone remained in his place.

The ice shattered as Johnny kicked the fake Bi-Han's eyebrows, lifting in surprise as the ice shot up from his foot, covering the other in a thin layer that froze them to the spot. Bi-Han barked a short laugh as got to his feet, kicking out himself to slam into the frozen Johnny. The ice shattered and it sent him backwards, the sharp ice causing a few bloody cuts.

They were both bloody by this point, a trickle of crimson running from Bi-Han's nose and in other spots while Johnny's knuckles left their own bloody imprints on Bi-Han, farther tearing the actors skin each time he punched.

The rough terrain of the forest ground didn’t help cushion the blows either. Each time one of them was knocked down, pieces of sticks, roots and pebbles would poke and scrape them. Each had also taken several turns of being slammed up against the large elephant shaped boulder as well.

Both were tiring though, slowing but surely losing their energy. They had been at it for what felt like forever, constantly exchanging blows and, at times, words. Mostly just Bi-Han egging Johnny on, who would occasionally shout back his joy whenever he managed a particularly good blow against Bi-Han.

More than an hour must have passed and Bi-Han had to compliment Johnny on his stamina. But he had a snaking suspicion this would be the last round before Bi-Han forced Johnny to concede.

Bi-Han circled the actor, both huffing from exertion and Johnny weakly put his hands up. "Come at me." He taunted but none of his usual mock was in it, Johnny too focused on getting his breathing under control.

"Do not ask for what you can not handle." Bi-Han retorted.

Johnny and Bi-Han pushed against each other, their arms locked together in a stalemate. Bi-Han grit his teeth, and slid his arm to the side, bringing Johnny's with it to lower his guard and send a jab into his cheek.

Johnny huffed and sent back his own punches. He brought a knee up quickly, slamming into Bi-Han's stomach and following through with a grab at the sides of Bi-Han’s head, bringing Bi-Han's face down into his knee.

Bi-Han stumbled but pinwheeled his arms as a makeshift weapon formed from his ice, splitting over the top of Johnny’s skull. That one hit a bit harder than he intended but it was getting harder and harder for Bi-Han to hold back. It just felt so good to go in a match against the actor.

Johnny bounced back, reared back, and sent an uppercut into Bi-Han, forcing him to retreat briefly.

Bi-Han shook off the disorientation and threw out several balls of ice. Johnny dodged all but the last, stumbling as he turned to quickly from the previous and fell right into the other. It struck him sharply, spreading ice over his arm. Johnny shook and clawed at the iced over arm, trying to free himself and Bi-Han rushed forward, sliding forward on a path of ice. Bi-Han jabbed into their chest with several pointed hits.

Johnny kicked him squarely, sending Bi-Han back a few paces. He looked up and found Johnny had already managed to get closer, kicking him again. Bi-Hans’ stomach contracted from the force, his lungs spamming for a moment. Johnny tried the kick a third time but Bi-Han caught him by the ankle instead, throwing him to the ground with it.

"Don’t be so predictable." he snarled.

"Yeah? Predict this!" Johnny growled back, darting forward.

Bi-Han expected a punch and put up his arms to block. But instead, Johnny dropped down, though not for a kick. Bi-Hanc's eyes widened as he looked down through his guard. Johnny’s legs spread as easily as a ballerina performing a pirouette but without any of the fluttery grace. Dropping into the splits, Johnny punched Bi-Han right in the crotch.

Bi-Han choked, his knees buckling as he dropped to the ground in pain, clutching at the front of his pants.

Johnny looked mighty proud of himself, crossing his arms and chuckling.

An angry red flashed in Bi-Han’s vision and with a violent strike out he threw out ice that froze Johnny's feet to the ground. Bi-Han got to his feet while Johnny struggled to break free from the ice. Johnny only had time to glance up before Bi-Han had a powerful foot against his ribs. Johnny was sent flying and Bi-Han lowered his leg into a normal stance.

He waited for Johnny to get back up.

And he waited.

Johnny remained face down on the ground, body giving slight twitches.

"Fuck…" Bi-Han growled lowly. That kick had been much stronger than he wanted and he feared he might have actually killed the man.

He jogged towards the man and dropped to the ground. Quickly and gingerly, he rolled over the man, turning Johnny onto his back. His eyes were closed but mouth open, clearly breathing. Bi-Han sighed his own breath of relief. He ran a hand over Johnny’s chest, feeling over his ribs.

"Did you break one?" Johnny wheezed, cracking open his eyes.

Bi-Han glanced at Johnny, his stern face relaxing. "No. Your alright."

Bi-Han pushed an arm under Johnny's back, sitting him up, his hand still resting gently on Johnny’s chest. He looked down at the bloody and bruised man, who still managed to smile at Bi-Han, showing off their bloody mouth. Bi-Han’s chest swelled, adrenaline still fueling him as he brought a hand to his face, removing his mask.

He took in a deep breath of the woodsy night air, unburdened by the mask. Gently, he brought a hand up to Johnny's face, tilting it slightly as he leaned down. Bi-Han pressed his lips against Johnny's, gentle at first, before it became more pressing.

Johnny groaned, whining into Bi-Han’s mouth, who pressed deeper. Bi-Hans tongue swiped out briefly, licking up some of the blood that stained Johnnys teeth and lips. Bi-Han breathed out cold air against Johnny, the crystalline breath making Johnny's mouth feel a bit dryer.

"So… your not actually going to kill me. Are you?" Johnny asked, still pulled in close to Bi-Han. His eyes drifted back and forth from the ninja’s eyes to their lips.

Bi-Han shook his head. "It was merely a test." Johnny gave thanks by imitating his own kiss, pressing against Bi-Han with a huffing moan. Whether it was pain or pleasure was anyone’s guess. Probably both.

Johnny managed to smile as he parted their lips. "That’s good. It would have really sucked if you killed me. So… did I pass the test?" Johnny asked, tilting his head back to lean into Bi-Hans’ arm.

"You are not totally useless, Cage." Bi-Han said.

Johnny managed another laugh that turned into a cough, his arm coming up weakly to grab Bi-Hans’ front to steady himself. "That’s also really good, because I think I’m going to pass out."

Bi-Han raised his eyebrows. Perhaps Johnny should go into a carnival sideshow as a psychic because the actor did, in fact, pass out into Bi-Han, his body going slack.

Bi-Han gently lay the actor back down. Retrieving the actor’s flashlight first and tucking it away, he moved into a squat next to the man. He moved his arms under Johnny and dragged him up and slung Johnny over both shoulders.

It was still late in the night. As long as Bi-Han was quick and silent, no one would see him carrying the injured Johnny back into the academy. That would certainly be very hard to explain. Especially since Bi-Han was taking them to his bedroom.

----AUTHOR'S NOTE---

Yup, the coldstar kiss happened after a fight. Next I'mma write about Johnny's revival and training and in Seido(will be separate) and the Johnshi and Coldstar reunion(canonical to my HCs and fictional to my HCs)