#anyway i think this was in my docs for like two months and then i wrote almost the entire thing in two days bc ao3 was down | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nejackdaw · 2 years ago

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Now That You've Lost Tomorrow (is yesterday still a friend?)

4.2k words of the Celann backstory in my head

Under the cut for length; not NSFW. Also leave my Jimminy Cricket ass alone, I was thinking about Disney narrators when I started this lmao. It wasn't supposed to be an actual piece send help

Ahem. (Tw animal death) (tw gore) [Minor edits made 8/28/24 and 12/27/24 (spelling)]

Born in the Northmoor of Breton High Rock, Celann aged to be a fine man. With a lively, happy home, he was a handsome, good natured jokester with a penchant for bringing smiles wherever he went. Be it through mischief at home, exaggerated peacocking (resulting in clumsy accidents) in front of his beloved fiancee, charitable work through the town, or the song on his lips, he was an easygoing presence that had endeared himself to the people around him. Life was good and grand: he had an easy, do nothing guard job in a happy little town to bring in coin, plans to settle down and start a family, and wanted for nothing between it all. But things started to change when his elder sister prepared to set off on her apprenticeship–dark winds blew in that he, that none of them, would ever recover from.

It was an adjustment for everyone with Jehanne recently absent; she'd been gone only a week, but the absence of fabric scraps and 'come look at this for me's, the messily kept tomes and quills that dripped ink, the prospect of not hearing another "you're being ridiculous, it's been weeks! Come join us for dinner!" and her high pitched, victorious cackles as she raced away, knowing she'd magically cleared up everyone's schedules by asking–she'd only been gone a week, but it felt an awfully lot longer than that. Celann kept up with his guard work in her absence and Charlotte, ever interested in his sister's seamstress and design work, had taken up the hobby when she wasn't keeping the ledger at Garnier's, insisting someone had to be leaving fabric in a house somewhere in Jehanne's absence–to balance things out, obviously, as all good magic is supposed to be.

Time passed this way for another week or so as everyone tried to reassure themselves that everything was fine; it was a large change, but they'd known for months, and they'll settle into this new normal soon and everything would be fine. But suddenly news came whispering through the streets of strange shadows passing by windows at night, shadows with no one to cast them, and soon enough the guards were being asked to look out for missing pets, small cats and birds that must have gotten loose.

Small cats and birds that were found far from their homes and butchered, torn apart but not eaten.

An uneasiness settled over the town as more and more of the creatures turned up, and "killer" was on everyone's lips. After a few weeks of disappearances and gory resurfaces, they began tapering off until they stopped entirely. Like any predator: from small prey to large–the guards instructed woodsmen and hunters, trappers and fur traders to keep an eye out in the woods for anything that didn't look like an animal had gotten to it first. It took only two days after the order was given for a horrified hunter to return with news of a torn, gaunt elk carcass, black with rot around the edges of the worst wounds. Next it was a boar, then a doe–then nothing once again.

Celann was tasked with joining patrols, increased in the wake of the animal attacks until investigators, who so far had found no leads towards what everyone assumed to be a fledgling serial killer, could find some hint as to what had been happening. Everyone waited anxiously for the inevitable first victim.

It came only a month after the shadow appeared.

Following loud, panicked shouts, Celann stumbled into an alleyway to find something hardly recognizable as human. It was pale, even for a corpse, and gaunt like the beasts had been–ripped apart and stained black at the edges, wounds rotting prematurely. He covered his mouth and looked away as he desperately fought against the thick, burning bile at the back of his throat, side stepping into a puddle of dried blood to let a more senior guard pass by.

When everything had been documented, after the corpse had been covered and the area sealed off–more for the townspeople's sake than the scene's–and they were given permission to leave, Celann headed immediately to the blacksmith, grateful for the harsh, painful way the smell and smoke of the forge cleaned the blood and rot from his lungs. He left with three sturdy daggers, weapons he grimly pressed into his family's hands as he made them swear to carry it with them. The protests died on all their lips when they saw the fear in his eyes, each taking it with the same gravity Celann presented it with and solemnly promising they would.

After only three days, there was another disappearance; another corpse, butchered and rotting unnaturally. He'd never possessed the same gift for magic most of his people did, but Celann knew enough–knew to fear the third and what it would bring, because there was no way this terror was only a man and threes were either a blessing or a curse. In the end, it was both.

When he stumbled on the third victim, it hardly occured to him that the man had anything at all to do with the last horrifying, supernatural month. He wasn't torn open like everything before, the ground wasn't coated in blood and viscera. He looked almost like someone who'd been lucky and gone in his sleep somehow–but when Celann knelt down to check if he was alive, he startled to see familiar jewelry and recognized the gaunt corpse of the book seller from around the block. His wedding band sat at an angle around a finger too small for the old, tarnished metal, and when Celann reached for his wrist to get a better look he touched something slimy and cold.

He distantly registered someone from the patrol calling out his name as he stared down at the red on his fingers, a steadily growing urge filling him with every beat of his heart to smear it off on the rough stones beneath him until his own blood ran hot and quick and erased the feeling forever. He clenched his fist instead–looked over at the boots beside him and pretended he hadn't just terrified himself as a second guard knelt with him to inspect the body.

It was Simon who found the most important thing the body had to tell them; Celann was busy wiping the blood off on his trousers and trying to get his mind working right again. A frantic tap on his shoulder got his attention and he looked up into Simon's wide, terrified eyes before slowly turning his head to see what he'd found. The gloved hand gripping the corpse's jaw slowly retreated, shaking, and Celann looked down to see two frighteningly neat holes at the side of the neck.

They shared a long, quiet look before Celann reached out again for the merchant's hand, praying desperately he didn't dig his fingers into disgustingly smooth, exposed flesh again as he avoided gripping the wrist to turn it around. Torn and bloodied, but the black edges were smaller this time. Cleaner, neater, less noticable.

They raced away burdened with news of a vampire preying on the town, searching desperately for the commander and whatever investigators they could find.

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The city was placed under curfew immediately after the news arrived, and patrols were focused for the dark and evening hours. Everyone was required inside and with at least one companion; a vampire could easily overpower a pair, but the hope was that, with no lone targets, it would resent the effort it would take to target anyone else. Guards were similarly paired and ordered not to stray from one another–the only souls out in the night needed to be vigilant. Celann thought about the daggers he'd bought his family, thought about Charlotte taking Jehanne's room at home without him there in the night to share their bed. He wondered what good those knives would be, what good his sword would do him, if the beast got insistent.

Heavy tension hung over the town for weeks after the news arrived. Curtains were drawn and lights were left burning outside as people hoped the creature would pass them by. Every sound was investigated.

After a week, after two, after a month… there was nothing. No pets, no woodland beasts, no disappearances.

The dread started to lighten as time passed, and after four weeks of no new attacks, the townsfolk had, to a degree, returned to life as normal. They were still sure to make it home before night properly fell, still kept a light on, but as the days went by there seemed to be a collective feeling that it had all been a nightmare, some trick of Vaermina.

Celann noted three absences with every pass through the town.

Nightmares didn't claim lives, and he worried at how quickly everyone let themselves believe any danger had passed. The bookshop was closed for a week, what with the owner being dead; he and Lotte liked to buy each other occasional gifts from there, and the darkness in the windows–always warmly lit and welcoming before–never failed to stir a sense of dread in him.

But then a second month was passing without any sort of attack, patrols returned to normal, and even Celann let himself relax. With how often the beast had attacked before, there was no way it would sit and wait for months. The town had been on alert and anything it would have hunted locked inside, but even the forests nearby had been spared. It had surely moved on at this point to easier prey, or either fled in order to avoid detection, he reasoned.

That reasoning was why he accepted the promotion offered to him: an easy, quiet job out at the watchtower, not too far from town and coming with a pay increase; he'd be replacing someone who quit, understandably, in light of the vampire attacks while they had been happening. The new station was a bit of a trek from the gates, at the edge of the forest, but the road was usually quiet enough and the pay was enticing so he agreed. Fresh air, new faces–it sounded like a nice change of scenery, anyway.

It took a few mornings–early, dark, quiet–to adjust to all the rustling, and Perrette teased him for it, but they got on well and she explained their duties simply and easily. They arrive at midnight and they're relieved around breakfast, and spend their downtime chatting or pretending they weren't falling back asleep. Celann never bothered her when she did, and she returned the favor when he was half asleep, half awake, never quite able to properly sleep in the tower.

It was early, a week or so after he'd started, and he was tired; he'd been resting with his head pillowed on his arms at his desk, lost in that dark, semi conscious haze. There wasn't anyone out at this hour, with the moon still so high, and he paid no mind when he hadn't heard Perrette for what should have been a suspiciously long time. She was probably playing cards and he was just resting, after all, not falling asleep like his coworker did. If anything popped up they could handle it.

Just resting is why one eye opened blearily at a sound outside, a sound Celann had only half heard and had already forgotten by the time he was looking at candlelit paperwork. He kept it open a bit longer, listening for any other sounds, then let his eyes close again, shifting in his seat to get comfortable. Nothing, just the dark and the quiet–but as the seconds passed something settled heavy in his chest, had suspicion creeping into his head, and he sat up to look around.

Nothing. Just the dark and the quiet. He slowly stood from his chair and breathed deep, waking himself up as he glanced around the inside of the watchtower. Perrette wasn't at the window, there was no humming or the sound of cards, like he'd expected. The deck was, however, still out on the windowsill, game partially through, and when he moved closer he spotted a few that had blown outside. A familiar dread settled over him as he looked down at them, caught in flower stems and other growth that kept them from blowing farther away.

The moon was still high. Perrette was not here. She was not with the cards she carried in a little box as a gift from her lover, hand drawn with curling letters on the back. It was quiet. It was… unnaturally still, Celann realized. He stared out through the window at the road as his hand moved to the hilt of his sword. He listened. Something moved in the undergrowth behind the station and he quietly crept his way to the–open–back door.

A black hare greeted him at the threshold, a bloody, mangled carcass with its white ribs exposed to the moonlight. The smell of rot hit him and his face twisted; his sword scraped against the sheath as he drew it.

Vampire.

Celann didn't know where Perrette was, what had happened to her, but he doubted the beast would leave a display if it wasn't waiting. It hadn't left. He stared out into the woods and swallowed, listening and hearing nothing. Nothing. His heart beat a terrified rhythm behind his ribs as he stepped outside, stepping carefully over the carcass and into the night, heading hesitantly for the woodline.

He'd hardly stepped through, heel snapping dead leaves and trampling plants–sound, something BURSTING forward, a scream–

He managed to put an arm between them, elbow digging into their chest, pain, hot, claws and yellow eyes. His heel slid back in the dirt as the creature strained against him, screaming and snarling and gnashing bloody teeth inches from his face. The hot smell of blood and decay hit him in the face and suddenly there was a fist in his hair, pulling painfully and jerking his head to the side–it vanished as soon as it appeared and Celann watched the vampire stumble back, face twisted in betrayal.

His own twisted to mirror it as he stared at the disfigured visage of his sister.

Jehanne.

She was clutching one of her hands as if injured, and he noticed a small, circular brand pressed into the heel of her palm. The shape of his earring, a small piece of silver resting by his jaw.

Those two moments stretched into forever then minutes suddenly blurred–claws, pain, BEGGING, being thrown, his shoulders slamming into a tree.

Celann blinked blood from his eyes and raised himself onto a shaking arm, catching his breath as he reached for his sword. He noticed she'd torn through his sleeves; the cloth was dark and sticky with blood, and he could feel the edge of his mouth throbbing, the skin around his lips torn open with a nasty downward swing of her claws. Jehanne was pacing agitatedly, glaring down at him and spitting to herself as he pushed himself to sit in the undergrowth. His head was throbbing dizzyingly, shoulders on fire from the impact, and he could feel something hot and wet snaking its way through the short hairs at the back of his neck.

Celann staggered to his feet, leaning against the tree for support, and let out a shuddering breath as he held his sword in front of him. Trying to evaluate.

She wasn't uninjured herself, not that it did him any good; he'd mangled one of her wrists and she'd still thrown him like a doll. He'd cut and sliced and stabbed and she was standing all the same, and they shared a mutual look of despair. Some mix of emotions flashed across her face, faintly illuminated by what moonlight breached the canopy, bright eyes wide as her lips were parting and she was clawing at her face, fangs glistening, then– "But we're family!" she wailed

The world went quiet.

Realization hit him, then. Cold blood. The world became the woman in front of him. He couldn't let her leave. Horror. Couldn't let her live. Agony. She'd kill them all. Kill her first.

He wondered how many times his sister must have crept past their windows, how many nights she must have watched him from the forest. Family. She'd kill him if it meant turning him, kill them all if he couldn't stop her.

Jehanne took a step forward and spread her arms invitingly, one wrist hanging at a sickening angle. Another step when he didn't immediately move, a sweet smile on her face, then lunged–steel and blood and pain and screams. He couldn't hesitate, couldn't go easy anymore. Blood flew from his blade as he drove it into her heart–vampires need to be stabbed in the heart–once, twice, a third time. He staggered back and tensed, waiting for her to somehow still be moving, dizzy with blood loss and buzzing with adrenaline.

He distantly watched her head slump against the ground, face half pressed into the dirt; glowing yellow eyes went dim and returned to a familiar brown. He watched, paradoxically, as she regained some color, despite being dead. Dead. He looked at glassy eyes and felt far away. Trees and green growth and blood splatters came back into view, but it was someone else's view, someone else's eyes. They laughed, whoever it was, desperate and manic, and dropped his sword as he stared at his sister's corpse. Something was screaming about it, somewhere inside him, but it was far away and muffled, a mile away.

Celann stumbled on suddenly weak legs towards the nearest tree and let himself collapse to the ground against it, staring at her face until it blurred. Everything blended together, and all he knew was that he was cold. He distantly remembered he was bleeding, but the thought vanished almost instantly into the gentle fog that was clouding his mind. He shivered, he thinks, and then thinks nothing else as he sits on the forest floor beneath the moon for hours.

He doesn't register Perrette stumbling out of the watchtower, only partially realizing she was yelling at him at all, even as she knelt beside him. He came back to himself when someone was snapping incessantly in his face, when irritation managed to stir him into some faint awareness. Simon was kneeling in front of him, eyes wide with fear as he gestured at the people around him. They descended upon him, quiet and gentle as they hauled him to his feet, and as he was half dragged, half helped back to town, all Celann really noticed was that it was morning. The sky was a pale, misty yellow–sunrise. Morning. The night was over. The night was over but he would live with what happened in the dark forever.

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He had nightmares every time he managed to fall asleep, shepherded into the temple to be healed and watched over. Breathing was difficult and he assumed he was dying; he was only a little concerned at how okay with that he was. A stranger visited him on the third day after the Incident and the priestesses allowed her to feed him something from a vial, some liquid miracle that ended the worst of the night terrors and let him breathe easy.

There had been a newly made vampire den nearby, she explained when he woke again, and Jehanne had likely been taken the day she stepped out onto the road. Her voice was factual as she informed the temple they'd all been taken care of, but there was sympathy on her face as she looked down at the shadows under his half vacant eyes. She hunted vampires–and other daedra–she'd said as she left; there was something he didn't like in her tone, something knowing, as she closed the door behind her and told him she'd be staying in town for a month or two.

He was sent back home later that afternoon, back to he and Charlotte's house, but everything felt… strange. He felt like he was intruding on his own space, in his own house, in his own bed. Lotte was being patient, but the pain in her eyes when she looked at him sent a spike through his heart. Blood. Breaking bones. He supposed he deserved it after what he'd done, though even he could tell she very genuinely didn't think less of him for it. But she handled him gently and he missed her smiles, missed making her laugh. That solemn look didn't belong in her eyes.

His parents visited twice, to make sure he was healing alright, but there was a distance between them that had never been there. They'd raised Jehanne for 26 years, their daughter, you killed our daughter, what kind of man kills his own sister? It was never said, of course, but he could see it in the tension on their faces and the stiff way they held themselves near him.

They declined both times to stay for dinner.

Celann couldn't move on. His family thought he was a murderer, his fiancee was no longer living with the man she'd gotten engaged to. Something in bim broke when he thought about it, that they were supposed to be married in a few months. He'd been over the moon about it, wouldn't stop talking about it to anyone who listened, even if they weren't really, but the hush that had fallen over the house as Charlotte gave him the space he'd started needing felt like an ill omen.

Two months passed of feeling like an outsider in his own life and he was saying goodbye to her. She refused to break off their engagement, said he felt guilty and was being stupid, and as he tried to promise not to darken her door again she told him for better or for worse came before the wedding vows and if he didn't at least write to her on his trip with this mystery woman she'd find him and drag him back home like a runaway boy.

It… hadn't been what he'd planned on. He hadn't planned on returning or writing at all, had planned on removing himself entirely, no longer the man she'd intended to marry and pained at how she was caring for him. He hadn't told her about meeting the woman from the temple, either–but people talked and Lotte was good at listening, and he wasn't as surprised as he could have been. He had mixed feelings about the indefinite engagement, but if it was what she wanted he'd let her have it, like she was letting him leave because he needed to. They looked after each other like that.

Perrette, on her part, when he found her at breakfast, immediately told him through a mouthful of jam and toast where the woman from the temple was before standing and pulling him into a hug. She pressed a small wooden box and a dagger into his hands before wishing him well and telling him to hurry, because the stranger had been packing her things last she saw and getting ready to leave.

It turns out she had left, hours ago, but Celann found her waiting expectantly outside the gate just off the road. She was sitting with her own breakfast with a second placement set up for him, and he once again didn't like the knowing look in her eyes as he sat down. She explained, eventually, that she was with the Vigil of Stendarr, and had been sent with two others to investigate rumors of vampires in the area. Jehanne had been an opportune victim, out alone on the road so early in the morning; the vampire had been trying to start a clan and needed bodies to fill the seats.

He'd almost been one of them. It was a matter of hours, apparently.

Again, she assured him they were all dead and asked if he intended to join her and her companions on the road–if he had seen what chaos and danger creatures like vampires pose and wanted to take up arms against them. He didn't answer, and she didn't demand he give one; they ate together in silence again and she didn't comment on the way he'd glance back at the gate every now and then. The guard on duty would give a little wave each time, a sad look on his face, and so Celann looked less and less until he didn't look again at all. He was leaving, after all; something deep in him was different, had shaken him out of the life he'd had, and he was moving on. There wasn't room for whatever he was in the space he'd made for himself anymore.

A few nights later he would untie the ribbon around that little box Perrette had given him, far away from town, and open it to find a clumsily hand drawn set of cards with little messages penned in her handwriting on the back. He turned the fool around to see a scribbled portrait of himself amongst the scrawled decoration; the back of every queen was a rough sketch of Charlotte. He put them gently back in the box, retied the ribbon, and ignored the look Freyja gave him as he slipped it back into his bag.

He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, again, without a body next to him.

"For those who cherish memories of loved ones, their compassion often conceals the beast. Our compassion compels us to destroy it."

#skyrim #celann #dawnguard #writing #i really need a personal writing tag hmm #also yeah i was thinking about like. disney narrators. when the camera is showing the village or whatever #idk something new #anyway if basically everyone in skyrim is a man im making everyone in celanns backstory a woman. i make the rules #also dw about the engagement im a polyship celann truther #whos going to stop me #my last dnd character was named moore and i thought moore/less (pre/post canpaign trauma) was such a funny joke #celann went from moore to less real fast #anyway i think this was in my docs for like two months and then i wrote almost the entire thing in two days bc ao3 was down #so. my hand was forced #also im just dropping in the tags that if celann hadnt gone off on a murder journey hed have been kinda okay #but where does that leave us #no sad little man in fort dawnguard #i killed someone > im a killer > killers can only kill > i killed someone #etc its a vicious spiral #k one last extra before i forget but gunmars line at the end is what slammed the last piece of the backstory puzzle together #and the linked song is the title source #i think that covers it all #ive obsessed over every detail of this post long enough im hitting post aldnaonskw

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sad--tree · 1 year ago

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kinda assumed ppl were overstating the drums or w/e being Like That on st anger but. oh my god no they. they really are very very much Like That

#idk Music WordsTM but this does not sound. right. help. its so intrusive.#i dont even think the songs are bad! is this what ppl mean when they talk about bad production on an album???#watching some kind of monster did not prepare me for how these songs actually sound.....#i thought the snippets u hear in the doc sounded fine.....#whats up yall month number two (2) of my mental metallica lockdown :( finally branching in2 some other albums....#incidentally i enjoyed 72 seasons actually #like. theres nothing really uhh groundbreaking? in it but it was enjoyable! i like it! esp you must burn! and inamorata #my friend said he thought it sounded 'overproduced' and tbh i have ZERO idea what that means when ppl use that as a descriptor for any music #like ive heard plenty of stuff id maybe call UNDERproduced but over?? some1 explain #same friend said he thought james hetfield 'hasnt aged well' and good god if he saw the old men i wanna fuck.....#this friend is Older tho so i dont like. make those kinda comments with him lol it would maybe. be Weird.#anyways i should look up live versions of the st anger songs i wonder if they sound different/better ?

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cupofteatoyou2 · 2 months ago

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Off Limits

(By this request )

The rain had finally stopped, leaving behind a damp hush that blanketed the city like a sigh. From the open window in your living room, the smell of wet pavement drifted in, mixing with the citrusy candle you'd lit earlier and the lingering trace of Laia's shampoo.

She was lounging on your couch like she owned it—one arm stretched behind her head, the other loosely holding a mug of tea. Her hair was damp from the shower she'd taken not even twenty minutes ago, strands curling around her jaw, darkening her hoodie where they touched it.

It was her third time staying over this month.

You were curled up on the opposite end, bare legs tucked under a blanket, pretending to scroll through something on your phone even though you hadn’t read a single thing in ten minutes. Your focus kept drifting—to the sound of her voice when she hummed along to the muted song on the TV, to the way she kept shifting closer like it was the most natural thing in the world, to the little space between your bodies that felt like a live wire.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t been in your flat before. Laia had been part of your life for as long as you could remember. She used to crash on your family’s couch after Barça games. You used to steal her hoodies. You used to beg her to let you braid her hair when you were nine and she was already a teenager and already too cool to say yes—but she always did anyway.

But this—this thing between you—was newer.

And you hadn’t even figured out what to call it yet.

You hadn’t told Alexia nor other members of your family. That part was very, very intentional.

Your sister had been clear. Brutally so. “I know you think you’re grown now, but I don’t want you dating anyone on the team or my friends. Especially not Laia.”

You never asked her why. You didn’t want to know.

Now, Laia stretched, long and slow, the kind of stretch that made her shirt ride up just slightly above her waistband. She caught you looking. You didn’t bother pretending you weren’t.

“You’re quiet tonight,” she said, voice soft.

“Just tired.”

She didn’t press. That was one of the things you liked about her. She knew when to let the silence breathe.

You both stared at the TV for a while—some aimless nature doc flickering across the screen. You couldn’t have said what it was about. Probably penguins. Or seals.

“I almost didn’t come over,” she said eventually.

You turned your head slightly. “Why?”

She shrugged, eyes still on the screen. “Didn’t know if you’d want me to.”

You blinked. “Laia, you literally texted me that you missed me two hours ago.”

“Yeah,” she said, quietly. “And you said ‘come over’ like it was nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing,” you said. And then “But I didn’t mean it like that, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Her eyes flicked to yours.

“You didn’t?” she asked.

“No,” you said, a little more certain now. “I wanted you to.”

Her mouth twitched into a slow smile. She looked down into her tea like she was trying to hide it. You watched the curve of her jaw, the shape of her hands, the way her shoulders relaxed just a little like she’d been waiting for that reassurance.

“I like being here,” she said, almost under her breath.

You swallowed. “I like having you here.”

It settled between you like heat—soft, steady, low in your belly.

You adjusted the blanket across your lap. She shifted again, knee brushing yours.

You let it linger this time.

She looked at you, something flickering behind her eyes—an invitation or a challenge or maybe both. Her hand was on your thigh now. Not moving. Just resting there. She didn't look away.

You didn’t either.

“Come here,” you said, voice low.

She didn’t hesitate.

She moved toward you slowly, almost lazily, like she’d been waiting all night for you to say that. Her hand slid up your leg, her body angling into yours as her fingers curled over the edge of the couch, just behind your back. She didn’t kiss you right away. She just hovered, breathing you in. Her nose brushed yours.

You tilted your chin up. Closer.

Still, she didn’t kiss you.

“Laia,” you whispered, the sound barely there.

And then she was on you—her mouth catching yours, warm and sure and real. Her hand gripped your waist, pulling you into her like she’d been thinking about this since the last time. Your fingers threaded into the back of her hoodie, anchoring her to you, and the blanket slipped to the floor without either of you noticing.

The kiss deepened, slow but needy. She tasted like mint tea and something sweeter—something that felt like her. You parted your lips just enough to let her in, and her tongue brushed yours with a slow, deliberate flick that made your whole body tense.

Her other hand cupped your jaw, holding you steady as her mouth moved with more urgency. You felt her breathe your name between kisses, felt the way her body shifted to straddle your thigh without even breaking contact.

You didn’t care about anything else in that moment.

And then—

The front door opened.

Not a knock. Just keys, the sound of the lock turning, then the door creaking inward.

You froze.

Laia stilled against you, her mouth still brushing yours.

Then a voice, unmistakable

“Y/N?”

Alexia.

Your stomach dropped.

She stepped into the room just in time to see you straddling Laia, her hands on your waist, your lips still parted, breath still heavy.

Her eyes widened. She looked from you to Laia, back to you.

And then her voice dropped low. Clipped. Dangerous.

“What. The fuck.”

The silence that followed was immediate and violent. Alexia stood in the doorway like a statue, hand still clutching her suitcase handle, her keys dangling from her fingers. Her jaw clenched. Her stare didn’t move.

You scrambled off Laia’s lap, adjusting your shirt like it would fix anything. Laia straightened too, sitting upright, her chest rising and falling too fast for someone who was usually cool in every crisis.

“Alexia,” you breathed, half a whisper, half a prayer.

She didn’t look at you. Not right away.

Her eyes were locked on Laia—sharp, disbelieving, like she was trying to unsee what she just saw and failing.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said, voice low and dangerous. “Tell me I’m not seeing this.”

“Alex—” Laia started, but Alexia held up a hand.

“Don’t. Don’t say anything right now. I’m trying really hard not to lose my shit.”

Laia stood, slower than usual, like she knew better than to challenge Alexia mid-explosion. You remained on the couch, rooted, your heart in your throat, your hands cold.

“She didn’t do anything wrong,” you said quickly, finding your voice. “I asked her to come. It wasn’t like—”

“I don’t want to hear it from you either,” Alexia snapped, eyes cutting to you now, and it landed like a slap.

You blinked. You weren’t used to that tone—not from her. Not directed at you.

“Laia,” Alexia said, finally stepping further into the flat, closing the door behind her with a thud, “I trusted you.”

Laia swallowed, visibly tense. “You still can.”

Alexia let out a humorless laugh. “You’ve been sneaking around with my little sister behind my back and you think I should trust you?”

“It’s not like that.”

“It’s exactly like that.”

You stood now too. “You’re overreacting.”

That earned you a glare. “Am I?”

You nodded. “Yeah. You are. We’re not kids anymore, Alexia. I’m not.”

“You think that’s the issue?”

“Then what is it? That it’s Laia? You’ve always loved her.”

“Not for you,” she snapped. “Not like this.”

The words hit harder than you expected.

Laia took a step forward. “This wasn’t planned, Alexia. We didn’t go looking for this. It just… happened.”

“How long?” Alexia asked, arms folded, her voice cold now. “How long have you been sleeping with her?”

You flinched.

“Don’t ask that,” you said, quiet.

“I’m asking.”

Laia hesitated. “A few months.”

Alexia turned away like the words physically hurt her. She dragged a hand through her hair and took a long, slow breath. Then she turned back to you.

“You don’t even know what you’re doing,” she said. “You think this is just some exciting secret? Something fun while you’re living in same city? You’re going to get your heart broken, and you’re too fucking naïve to see it.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a child.”

“I’m talking to you like your sister.”

“I didn’t ask you to come here.”

“I was trying to surprise you.” Her voice cracked now, the anger folding into something sharper. “I thought we’d spend the weekend together. I missed you.”

You stared at her, your chest aching.

Laia stayed silent.

Alexia looked between the two of you, her next words soft but final.

“If you want to keep doing this… whatever this is… you do it without me.”

You blinked. “What does that mean?”

“It means you can’t have both of us.”

The room went still.

Your heart hammered.

“You’re giving me an ultimatum?” you asked.

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

“I’m your sister.”

“And I’m trying to protect you,” she said. “Even if you hate me for it.”

You looked at Laia.

You looked at Alexia.

Neither of them moved.

And in the quiet, you realized something. no matter what choice you made, someone was going to walk away.

“You can’t have both of us.”

The room stilled like it had been slapped.

Alexia’s voice didn’t need to be loud—it cut through everything anyway.

You felt the words before they hit. Heavy. Sharp. Like she’d drawn a line in the sand without warning and dared you to cross it.

Laia stood up beside you, slow and deliberate.

She didn’t look guilty.

She looked furious.

“Are you actually serious right now?” she asked Alexia, her voice low and incredulous.

Alexia turned to her. “Don’t.”

“No—you don’t,” Laia snapped, taking a step forward. “You don’t walk into her home, catch us off guard, and then act like you’re some kind of moral compass.”

“You’ve been sneaking around behind my back—”

“You’ve been treating her like she’s twelve,” Laia shot back. “She’s not. She’s not a kid anymore.”

“I know that!” Alexia’s voice cracked, her hand flying to her chest, like saying it hurt. “But I’m her sister. I’m allowed to care what happens to her.”

Laia laughed, bitter. “You don’t care. You just want control.”

“Fuck you.”

“Alexia!” you shouted, stepping in between them, heart racing. “Stop!”

But neither of them did. Not really.

Alexia’s face flushed, her breathing sharp. “You think I don’t see through you? You leave Barça, leave the team, leave me, and now suddenly you’re all about what’s good for her?”

“I left because I had to, and you know that.”

“You could’ve told me!”

“And you could’ve listened instead of judging me the second I walked away!”

“You didn’t just walk away from the club, Laia. You walked away from me. From everything we were building. And now you're back—what, claiming her like some kind of prize?”

Laia’s jaw clenched. “She’s not a prize. She’s not some trophy I stole from you. She’s herself—and she chose this.”

You could barely breathe. Your hands were shaking.

“I didn’t choose anything,” you finally said. “I never got to choose. You both just decided everything for me.”

That pulled them both quiet, like the weight of your voice had finally cut through their fight.

Laia looked at you, guilt in her eyes now. “I didn’t mean to put you in the middle of this.”

But you were already in it. Drenched in it.

You turned to Alexia. “Why does it have to be a choice?”

“Because you can’t live two lives forever,” she said, softly now. “And because one of us is going to end up resenting the other. And I don’t want to hate her. But I swear to God, if she breaks your heart—”

“I won’t,” Laia interrupted, sharp. “Don’t put that in her head.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“Yes, I can.”

“You can’t even promise you’ll stay in London more than a season—”

“I signed a contract.”

“And when that’s over? When something shinier comes along?”

“That’s not fair.”

“It’s true.”

You stepped between them again, heart pounding.

“I don’t need either of you fighting over who loves me more,” you said, voice shaking. “I need you to stop making me feel like loving someone is a betrayal.”

Silence.

Breathing.

The hum of the fridge in the kitchen.

Then Alexia finally broke, her voice lower. “If you stay with her, I can’t pretend like nothing’s changed.”

You blinked, throat tight.

“So what—if I don’t break up with her, you won’t speak to me?”

Alexia looked away.

That said more than anything else could.

Laia swore under her breath and backed up a step. “You know what? Maybe you don’t deserve to know who she is now.”

“You’re the one who doesn’t deserve her,” Alexia said, quiet and deadly. “You don’t get to have my sister and act like the victim.”

“Enough!” you yelled.

Both of them froze.

“I’m done. I’m not doing this right now. Either leave, or sit down and shut the fuck up.”

They didn’t move.

You looked at Alexia.

And said, quieter now, “If you walk out, don’t come back until you’re ready to see me for who I am. Not just the girl you used to protect.”

Alexia’s eyes shimmered. She didn’t say another word.

She turned.

She walked out.

And this time, the door didn’t slam—it just clicked shut like it knew it had broken something on the way out.

#woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso #woso imagine #barca femeni #barca femini x reader #barca women #fcb femeni #arsenal wfc #laia codina #laia codina x reader #woso soccer #woso fic #woso community #woso request #alexia putellas

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sturkillerbase · 23 days ago

Text

Touch Starved!

Summary: How the JJK men touch you before and after being in a relationship with you - and how they're always dying to do so!

Neutral reader!

Including: Nanami Kento, Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru (separated)

Genre: Fluff (lots of it!)

Wordcount: 5.8k total - 1.8k for Nanami and Gojo. 2k for Geto's

Notes: Very quick mention of periods in Gojo's, but it's so quick you can easily ignore it if you're a person who doesn't get periods. No physical descriptions and no use of Y/N.

Warnings: One brief mention of (little) blood.

A/N: Boy oh boy. This has been sitting in my docs for over a month as I ponder weather it's good enough for posting or not. Reasons being that 1. it's my first JJK fic and 2. I haven't written anything in over 2 years. So I'm really not confident about my rusty writing skills. When I was proofreading it, I thought Nanami's part wasn't good enough, but didn't know how to make it better! Which led to two more weeks of me not wanting to post it. But today I've summoned the courage and BAM! Here it is! Anyways, hope you like it (and let me know if you do, please)! Proofread but let me know if you spot some error.

Nanami Kento

Nanami never touches you. He may be dying for any kind of touch - a slight brushing of hands when you hand him something, your arms pressing against each other during a car drive, accidentally bumping into you as he enters the room you’re exiting – but none of it ever happens. He wouldn’t let it. He’s too respectful to let it happen. Damn, he’ll rush to the car just so he can take the passenger seat before anyone else does. Well, the front seats are more dangerous, of course he’ll take it so anyone else does. And his legs are longer anyway so there's more room for him. These are his actual reasons, right?

Plus, a ten-minute drive would turn into a ten-hour long one in his brain if you were pressed against him. Every tiny bump on the road making you press and rub on each other for a fraction of a second. He’d probably pass out.

The most he’d touch would be with his fingertips, ever so slightly, barely there even. And only on your shoulders or the very top of your back, in case he needed to walk past you in a narrow space, or maybe get your attention silently.

And even with that, he’d be flexing his hand open and then closing it into a tight fist, nervous like a little boy. His face was absolutely neutral, though. Yes, kinda like that one Pride and Prejudice scene.

There was this one time he really messed up. Couldn’t even sleep that night. He was sitting at the table, talking to Shoko, and as he described whatever it was that he was talking about (he couldn’t remember anymore), he stretched out his arm to the side in a gesture, just as you were walking by, and accidentally brushed your thigh, close to your knee. A feather-like, quick brush.

Oh no.

He apologized deeply. Sincerely. Guilt (and shame) in his face, his voice, his whole body. You said it was okay, that it was nothing, no need to worry. All while giving him that damn sweet smile of yours. You sat down as well, joining them, and as he felt heat creep up from his stomach to his neck, he excused himself and stood up quickly, fixing his perfectly-in-place tie, so none of you would see him blushing. What if you were just being nice? What if you thought he was disrespectful? A creep? What if you didn’t like him anymore? Hated him? He was in a cold sweat, laying on his back on his bed, staring at the ceiling, barely blinking.

But oh boy was he touch starved. He craved for the most simple things. Anything would do it at this point. A high five. A gentle poke of your finger on his shoulder. Taking an eyelash off your cheek with his fingertip and having you blow it away for luck.

He’d been thinking of a chance to hug you. Being able to feel your soft form against him as he gets to smell your lovely perfume straight out of you, and not just having the breeze blow it towards him. Honestly that breeze was very disrespectful, forcing him to smell things he couldn’t have.

How far was Christmas? He could hug you then. Or New Years perhaps. There was also your birthday. It’s okay to hug people on their birthdays, he could do that without being weird.

There was this other time that caused him to heat up like a boiler. You fixed his tie after he finished tying it back around his neck, after a particularly intense fight against several curses at once. Technically, you didn’t touch him, you just touched his tie. But he felt your fingers lightly on his chest, just above his dress shirt. That alone was enough to have him shaking.

“There. Better.” You said, looking up at him with a soft smile.

How did you manage to look so cute even after a crazy, tiring fight, clothes covered in dust, a tiny splash of blood across your cheek? He, once again, had to hide his intense blushing, muttering a low “thank you” as he looked away, cheeks red and ears on fire. He cleared his throat, trying to see if he could get his voice to sound anything above a whisper. He was just fine after all that fight, it was you who had taken away all of his strength. Thankfully, there wasn’t much light where you were to make his obvious blush contrast against his pale skin and hair. You didn’t see it.

He started dusting off his clothes, tapping away at himself, more to get his head out of those nervous thoughts than to actually clean himself. You did the same. And then, as he finally recomposed himself enough to turn back to you, your arm reached up. Up, up, up above his jaw, his ear, to the top of his head.

“There’s something here…” you said, nonchalantly, as you brushed out something that had gotten caught in his hair.

God, why were you so touchy today?!

He just watched your movement, thanking you with a little “mm-hm” – there goes his voice again.

There was something on your hair as well. He had noticed earlier. Could he brush it away for you too? Would it be weird if he did? Was doing that being a gentleman? Well, it wouldn’t be gentlemanly of him to let you walk out with something – a tiny thing – on your hair, right?

“There’s, uh-“ He started, nervous “you have something up here, too…” he said, and then reached for it with a touch so light you didn’t even feel it. But he did. And oh my, was your hair soft.

“Thank you.” you said, cheerfully. He gave you a brief nod.

“Yeah. No problem.”

He then quickly grabbed his phone to call Ijichi so he could come pick you two up and get him away from this dangerous scenario he found himself in: you.

When Ijichi finally arrived, Nanami did what he always does, and rushed to the passenger seat. And once you were all seated and buckled up, and Ijichi started driving again, Nanami cursed himself for forgetting to open the car door for you. Where were his manners? His mother taught him better than that.

Later that night, the warmth from your fingers adjusting his tie was still lingering on his chest. He covered his face with a pillow and let out a long, “I’m such an idiot”, loud breath.

Things didn’t change much after you started dating. He had, somehow, managed to gather up the courage to ask you out (this may or may not have involved Gojo telling him he would tell you about Nanami’s crush himself, in front of everyone, very loudly). On your first date, the only touch was your goodbye kiss on his cheek, which had him giggling and kicking his feet in the air the moment you closed the door to your place and he was out of your eyesight. He smiled to himself about it all through the night until he fell asleep, heart beating quickly.

On your third date, you slipped your fingers through his as you two walked around the park, under colorful trees. When you parted ways, his hand was burning, shaking even. He considered not washing it that day.

On the fourth date, he was bold! Reaching across the table to hold your hand. That night, he took another extra step and kissed your cheek back, slipping a gentle pinch to your chin as he wished you a good night, which had you melting.

Took him a few more dates to get comfortable touching you. Now, don’t get him wrong. He wanted to do it desperately, but he didn’t know if he was more afraid of disrespecting you or just touching you at all, like a pre teen boy around his very first crush. Still, he’s a man who takes his time, and respects yours above all else.

After you’re in an established relationship though, Nanami can finally wrap himself around you, just like he’s always dreamed of. And much before Christmas too! He’ll kiss you all over when you least expect it. He’ll lay on your lap, or lay on you, as you’re resting on the couch. You never fell asleep without being in his arms again - except when he cuddles into you and you have him in your arms instead. He’ll hug you from behind and rest his chin on your shoulder as you do something, even as you’re brushing your teeth. And don’t be surprised when he does it while you’re showering too! Walk by him whenever he’s sitting down and be sure he’s going to pull you into his lap, earning a cute little gasp from you. He holds you with so much care and love, like you’re the very reason for his breathing, but at the same time tight enough to make sure you’ll not, somehow, slip away. Like you would ever!

His kisses? Slow, tender, filled with love and affection, eyes full of adoration as he pulls away and looks into your own, gently caressing your cheek. You didn’t know you could ever meet someone with so much love in them. Nanami didn’t know he could feel so much love in him.

He’s the softest. And he’s the softest even in your most private moments, when things get particularly intense. Within the rough gripping and the clashing of teeth, you can still feel the tenderness in his touch, and the extra care in the little love bites he leaves all over your body. He may grab your neck or pull your hair, but always a bit less than you both know you can take. You’ve told him he could let go, but that’s just Nanami. He couldn’t bring himself to do more than that to you. Even if he wanted to give you that extra harsh slap that you ask him for (beg even) as you’re out of breath, his hand just… can’t.

And you love him exactly as he is.

He’s not one for a lot of public display of affection. He likes to keep his private life private. Also, he’s a bit shy when around others. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t do anything at all. Holding your hand, keeping an arm around your waist, kissing your forehead, taking your arm into his as you walk through a crowded place - he couldn’t bare accidentally getting separated from his dearest.

And don’t forget the little soft pinches on your chin, just like that one time on your fourth date. He normally sneaks those when you’re in a setting where he can’t give you a quick kiss, or, honestly, just for the fun of it, because he loves to watch you absolutely melt, cheeks growing pink and a childish smile spreading on your face. Every time. Every. time.

Sometimes he even thinks that you might be his actual heart, and this thing that is beating inside his chest is just… something else.

And when he looks at you, no matter where or when, he just knows he will never stop being so eager to touch you, however it is. How could he? You’re the love of his life, after all.

Gojo Satoru

Now, we all know Gojo is all over everybody. Always slinging his arms around other people’s shoulders and invading their personal space. Especially if it’s someone he’s fond of. Not that he doesn’t touch people he dislikes and that he knows dislike him back, just to annoy them. It’s his not-so-secret pleasure.

So yeah, he’s always all over you. Giving you attention or pouting as he begs for your attention. It becomes more and more frequent, and he doesn’t hide it. Soon it’s clear for everybody that he's crushing hard on you. The students start teasing him during class and as they cross paths at school, but he just let’s them. It’s the truth, anyway.

But if you think he’s not touch starved even though he’s constantly touching you, you’re wrong. Very wrong. He’s longing, aching for more. And it’s not sexual, no. Not that the thought hasn’t crossed his mind more than once, but it’s not it. He wants to pick you up and bury his nose on your neck. Wants to kiss you every time you do something great, and kiss you every time for no reason other than wanting to as well. Wants to hold you extra close, your body tight against his, face on his chest, as you two fall asleep together. He wants you to run your fingers through his hair as he lays on your lap after a long, exhausting day. Wants to massage your neck and shoulders when you are the one who had a long day. Once you complained about menstrual cramps and said you really wish you had a heat bag around. Well, it took everything on him to not launch himself at you and place his warm hands over your lower belly (yes, he’s an “uterUS” guy).

When he gets to hug you, as in, when he just hugs you for no reason, he gets your scent all over him and his clothes for the rest of the day, and oh, he loves it. Find him walking around with a dumb(er) smile plastered on his face for the rest of the day. But when night comes and he’s alone at home, he begins to despise it, because you’re not there. And of course he’s gonna make it everyone’s problem by texting the guy group chat he made exclusively for talking about his crush on you. Poor Geto and Nanami (Nanami has left the group chat several times, but Gojo keeps adding him back). He even sends whiny audios.

He doesn’t want to mess things up with you. So he’s also asked the girls around him for dating advice. Shoko quickly dismissed him with a thick puff of cigarette smoke. Mai just told him “don’t” because she thinks you deserve better. Nobara started by listing all the reasons he was not fit for having a girlfriend, but eventually started talking so much about what a guy should do and how a guy should behave that he had to start taking notes on his cellphone so he wouldn’t forget anything. Of course, when he thanked her, she made him buy her a new jacket as an actual thank you.

And while he doesn’t come up with a date idea he’s satisfied with, he’ll have to settle with what he has for now.

And as you two get even closer, you start to get touchier too. You start by poking him around every now and then, eyes glowing with mischief when you find his ticklish spots. You lean into him as you two are looking down at the same thing. Hold onto his arm randomly, just because. Until you also start hugging him at any chance you get. And oh boy, is Gojo absolutely delighted. His hopes were more up than ever, and this was a sample of heaven. Actual heaven would be when you two finally get into a relationship. Preferably married. Geto and Nanami keep having to tell him to calm down.

Your first date wasn’t like Gojo planned. In fact, he didn’t even ask you out. But it wasn’t bad at all.

It happened when you two found yourselves in a strangely romantic setting after fighting some grade one cursed spirits that showed up in the middle of a crowded carnival. Of course, everyone fled the place, and it was deserted, but everything was still working (except for a couple rides and tents that were destroyed during the fight). So, you and Gojo grabbed some (free!) snacks and headed to the ferris wheel, admiring the night sky together.

“This kinda feels like a date, doesn’t it?” He said after a brief moment of comfortable silence, without thinking much, and mentally facepalming at his dumb ass and big mouth. He kept his eyes glued onto the sky after this and stuffed his face with more candy.

“Do you want it to be?” You asked, chill on the outside, shaking on the inside.

Gojo looked at you so fast his neck actually hurt, eyes wide and cheeks full of candy, just like a chipmunk. He swallowed it all down with a big, kinda painful gulp.

“Well, I– I wouldn’t mind…” he answered, his heart beating so fast his chest was hurting. Or was it the candy he swallowed way too soon?

You could see his whole face turning red even under the dim light, and you held back a giggle. Seeing this big guy turn into a very tiny one so quick was adorable.

“Cool. It’s a date, then.” You said with a smile.

It was no surprise that you two kissed on that very same night, you being as down bad for him as he was for you. Gojo was glad your eyes were shut as you kissed, this way you couldn’t see him frowning and scrunching up his nose as he tried his best not to kiss you desperately. ‘Be normal, Gojo Satoru’, he thought to himself.

Of course, he acted like his super chilled self once you parted, smiling like he wasn’t squealing like a little girl in his head.

Didn’t take long after he became your boyfriend for him to start suggesting you two should move in together. Took even less time for him to start begging for it.

“But baby, I want to cuddle with you every night, and wake up still holding you every day, and have the entire house smelling like you always, especially when you walk out of the shower. I want to sniff all that soap scent out of you. Please! I don’t want to be left with just some pictures of you when I could have real you there.” He said the last sentence with a big pout and huge puppy eyes. You had come to find his eyes could, somehow, get even bigger when he was being whiny like this.

You had also come to find that you couldn’t say no to him.

Damn that lanky man.

Oh, and by “some pictures”, don’t believe him. It was loads of pictures. There were countless pictures of your face everywhere in his house: in the living room, in the kitchen, the bedroom, the study, and even in the bathroom. Yes, he hung one there and refused to take it out. Even when you moved in. So you gave up trying to get it out of there and instead hung a picture of him by yours.

He loved it.

Although finally satisfied with how much he could touch you at any time he wanted, at night he would still wrap himself all around you, entangling his long legs with yours, elated that you were his at last. It was uncomfortable sometimes, having these bumps between you and the mattress, but getting out of his embrace wasn’t a choice. All you could do was wiggle and grunt a little until he moved his limbs into a more comfortable position for you - because he, for one, didn’t mind being uncomfortable as long as he was all around you. Holding you tight was his idea comfortable. And God, if he could become one with you he absolutely would.

Even during summer, he would turn on the AC on the lowest setting just so he could be all over you without you complaining about it being too hot. And if the house got too cold, don’t worry, he’ll heat you up with his whole body, like a personal, portable heater. Or a living blanket.

You were never cold during winter either, because at the smallest of the chills on your body, he would be there. Be it by rubbing your arms and hugging you while you were out or pulling a warm, fuzzy blanket over the two of you when you were home. Hell, he didn’t even think it was that bad when you mischievously put your ice cold feet on his back simply for the fact that that was you touching him. And your punishment for this? Being trapped tightly in his arms while he showers you with quick, loud kisses that makes the skin on your face and neck tickle. Oh, and he will sneak a kiss right on your ear, just to watch you squirm and the goosebumps on your skin, your laugh and his filling the room.

Worried you'll crush him when you lay on top of him. Well, worry no more, really - he wants you to.

Gojo couldn’t be any happier.

And that group chat? Never forgotten. He would still constantly update the boys on everything you two did together.

“We fought :C”

“We’re talking again!!!!”

“We went out and had swiss roll cake today ☺️”

Nanami blocked him when he got the “GUYS, IT HAPPENED! WE SPENT THE NIGHT TOGETHER” message. If there was one thing Nanami would not read it would be what Satoru Gojo did in bed with someone.

But be not afraid. Gojo would never, ever expose you like that. No. He’d pluck his eyes out and die before he did anything harmful to you. What he did was ramble on and on about how perfect it was and how happy he was and how it was everything he’d dreamed of and more.

Poor Geto (who has the patience of a saint, really) had to go through it all, reading each new message slowly, with care and fear, also afraid that Gojo could end up spilling too much in his excitement.

All Geto could say after Gojo was done talking was “I’m glad for you, Satoru 😊”, earning several lovestruck stickers from Gojo.

Since he started dating you, it never took too much to make the man happy. Just being with you, seeing you, or even just mentioning you was enough to have him glowing.

But nothing compared to having you in his arms, safe and sound.

It did take a whole lot to get Nanami to unblock him, though.

Geto Suguru

Dear Geto’s hands are tingling, itching, burning to touch you. When he’s watching you, he unconsciously starts fidgeting with his hands, rubbing his fingers together, digging his nails into his palms, cracking his fingers, shoving them into his pockets so he can grab the fabric of his pants.

Gojo notices how Geto starts doing this more and more often, but he hasn't figured out why yet. Until the day he’s finally going to ask Geto if he’s alright, and if there’s anything going on. When he shifts his gaze from Geto’s hands to his face, he catches him stealing a look at you, not so discreet this time. He was clearly not paying attention to what Gojo was saying just seconds ago.

A smile creeps up on Gojo’s face. He thinks it’s cute, really. Seeing his best friend fall for someone. But what’s much, much better is that now he’s got an amazing reason (or should we say one more) to tease poor old Suguru nonstop.

But what Geto doesn’t realize is that he’s already touching you. All the time. You two are close friends. Have been for good a while. And he’s always respected you, obviously. You are comfortable around each other. So it kind of makes sense that he doesn’t notice when he starts doing so.

He’ll sometimes whine about being tired as the two of you are sitting down on the couch, and lay his head on your shoulder. He also does that when you show him something on your phone. If you two are standing, he’ll rest his cheek on your head.

Other times, he’ll just hook his pinkie around yours as you walk side by side. When you’re in a crowded place though, he’ll either walk behind you with his hands on your shoulder, especially if he's guiding you somewhere or you're guiding him, or sneak his arm around your waist. Depends if he’s feeling more playful or moody that day.

Oh, and speaking about waist, that’s his absolute favorite spot to hold you. He’s standing or leaning somewhere and you come by? He’ll immediately reach out for your waist and pull you close, having you rest your body against his. He’s sitting down and you’re standing? There comes that arm firmly pulling you to him, thumb gently rubbing your side.

The latter had you start to (also subconsciously) do something similar: if you’re sitting and he stops by your side, you’ll give his pants a gentle tug to get him to stand closer so you can rest your head on his hip. And no one is surprised when, after a while, Geto’s hand goes from resting on your shoulder to caressing your head.

Oh, don’t forget the amazing bear hugs he’ll give you all of a sudden, making you gasp in surprise and then start to giggle as you hug him back, wonderfully nestled into him.

He doesn’t even have to look before reaching for you anymore. He’s memorized all the bits of you at this point. He would think it’s ridiculous, hadn’t he been so oblivious to his own actions.

And you enjoy it all, leaning into him and basking in the warmth and peace that radiate from him. Because you like him just as much as he likes you. You just don’t know it yet.

Gojo noticed this not too long after noticing Geto’s feelings for you. He actually realizes you like Geto much before you do. And he’s perplexed by it all. How can the two of you be so oblivious about it?! He’s so perplexed he doesn’t even tease as much as he normally would, too invested into watching the two of you being absolutely clueless around each other. Eventually he starts talking about it with Shoko, and they obviously make a bet on who’s going to confess first.

Geto also finds himself growing jealous and rather possessive of you (in a normal way, not in a toxic, creepy way). If looks could kill, so many people would’ve spontaneously combusted by now, just from the glare he sends anyone that stands too close or gets too funny around you. Especially that one friend of yours who’s way too comfortable with you. He’ll watch from a distance until his patience is entirely over, and then immediately make his way to you, arm glued to your waist before he’s even stopped walking, a fake ass smile on his face as he says something like “what are you two talking about?” or “what’s up, honeycomb?”. Or, to that friend he’s seen more times than he’d like, “I’m sorry, have we met before?”. He’ll even add an “Are you sure? I think I would remember you if we did” when he’s feeling extra spicy.

And still Geto Suguru’s hands are aching for you, for how touch starved he is. And he’s still fidgeting with them the moment he lays eyes on you.

Then, after far too many weeks of suffering - and finally telling his bestie about his crush - he’ll whine to Gojo about being so desperate for anything from you. About how glad he would be if he could at least hold your hand or have just one little touch from you. And he’s still mid mental breakdown speech when Gojo interrupts him with a

“Bro, are you serious right now?”

And when he doesn’t understand Gojo’s question, the white-haired man has to tell him all that he's been watching for the past few months.

“You two just haven’t fucked at this point. Or have. But I really don’t wanna know.” Gojo shudders at the thought. “What I’m saying is, we all thought it was cute and funny in the beginning, but now it’s becoming almost painful to watch. Shoko and I are nearly giving up our bet. Nanami’s considering moving to the countryside sooner.”

And the ridiculous look that Geto has on his face, speechless, mouth dropped to a perfect shocked “O” after hearing it all, is priceless. Gojo is dying to pull out his phone and take a picture of him, but he’s not in the mood to get beat up at the moment (he got his hair cut today, ok?).

But Shoko, being the icon she is and having just entered the room after hearing her name, captures the moment perfectly, making the picture their groupchat’s icon right away.

Geto’s mostly silent for the rest of the day, processing the information. It was all so simple, so natural to be that close to you that he didn’t realize he was already all over you. He’s stunned. At himself, mostly, more than the situation as a whole. How did he not notice? Geto Suguru, who’s always so aware of himself, his every thought and every move (no wonder everyone thinks he’s so gracious, even when he’s sitting with his legs spread open).

He starts getting anxious that night soon after going to bed. What if he had gone too far? Invaded your personal space? What if you were secretly hating it, disgusted and uncomfortable, but couldn’t find a way out of this situation. He knows you can defend yourself damn well, but if that had messed you up mentally, things aren’t as easy and simple as kicking him in the balls.

But then you would’ve made something at this point, right? Avoid him and distance yourself. Plus, you’re close friends with Gojo as well, you would’ve said something or asked him for help if that was the case.

Also, Gojo may be stupid, but he’s not that stupid. And he’s got good eyes. He knows you well. If he says you like him too, the chances of that not being true are very low.

That calms him down… A little.

He decides that he’s got to think of something. Do something. If not ask you out, at least talk to you. Make things clear. And apologize if he has to.

And then he, once again, unconsciously slips into daydreaming about a scenario where luck is on his side, and instead of laying down on his own to go to sleep as he is right now, he’ll be able to fall asleep with his arms practically tied around you, his nose shoved against your head so he can intoxicate himself with that delicious smell of your shampoo. He thinks falling asleep due to low oxygen because of doing so is a great way to fall asleep.

As you become significant others, he’s still doing all that he used to do (and much more, of course), but in a deeper way.

He’ll lay his head on your shoulder and loop his arm around yours. He’ll fully hold your hand, interlocking your fingers. His hand is firm against your hip, holding you close to him. When he pulls you close as you’re standing and he’s sitting, he’ll loop his arms around your leg and hold your thigh, or both your thighs, as he rests his head on your side. Or he might pull you to his lap, nonchalantly. Who knows?

Those bear hugs? Expect loads of them. Surprise or not. And now he’s also picking you up and showering you with kisses. He falls in love even harder when you get all giddy when he spins you around.

And his favorite, the arm around your waist as you two stand there. Now both his arms are around you, tighter than ever, obviously possessive even though he (again) doesn’t realize how possessive he looks when he does that. Especially when he’s leaning against something and his leg is slipping between yours, your hips tight against him, and he’s resting his chin on you (he doesn’t know why, but this one is heaven to him).

He’s so about touching you and feeling you, that when you’re in bed together, he doesn’t see the point of using something else to tie you up when he can just hold you in a position himself. He’ll use his own body and weight to keep you down, or, if he can’t hold you as he’d like (he only has two hands, unfortunately) he’ll command that you hold yourself in place so can use his hands to hold wherever else he’s got his mind on. You obey, obviously, mischievous or desperate, depending on how fucked up you already are at that point.

Aftercare? Showering you (he’ll clean you up in bed if your legs are too wobbly) and massaging your whole body, of course. He’ll kiss your body, following his hands, as he goes on, whispering sweet nothings. Then, he’ll pull you against his chest, wrapping both arms around you, so you can fall asleep listening to the always-calm, steady thud of his heartbeat. You’re both still naked, skin on skin, to be able to be as close to each other as humanly possible. He’s the happiest man on Earth.

He’s not shy of kissing you in public, either. From a peck to an open mouthed kiss, he’ll do it all. You’re the one growing red all over, actually. Having to push against his chest so he’ll pull away, especially when he’s going at it for too long.

“Oh, let them watch.” he murmurs as you point that everyone’s looking, your eyes darting everywhere in embarrassment “They’re either happy for us or straight up jealous” He says with those beautiful eyes of his staring so deeply into yours that you swear he can see your soul. “I’ve got the prettiest little thing there is anyway. All mine.” He holds your chin and kisses you one last time. He’s a teaser, but he respects it every time you ask him to stop.

Another thing he’s come to love is having you brush his hair, whether it’s in the morning or after naptime. Or at some random moment, just because he wants to feel you gently brushing it. And his favorite is after washing his hair. He’ll grab his hair products and comb and rush to you, closing his eyes as you gently untangle his hair and the delicate, flowery smell of the products fill the room. You always end it with an “all done, baby!” and a kiss to his forehead, and he thanks you looking up at you with loving eyes, following with a kiss on your lips. He wouldn’t trade moments like this for nothing in the world.

He loves you. And he loves loving you. And he adores holding you however it is.And even after all this time, his hands still itch, still tingle, still burn, and still get all fidgety every time he looks across the room and his eyes find you.

P.S.: Might write a part 2 of this for more characters once I get more comfortable with writing them, like Ino, Choso and Higuruma!

Divider by @uzmacchiato

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borkunlimited · 3 months ago

Text

Siúil a Rúin

As Take Your Time, Miss Deer, finally comes to an end, I want to reach out to everyone with a note, a thank you for being here in this two month long journey of weekly updates.

I still remember how I decided to write this fic out of a whim, mostly for myself because I want to sharpen my skills as a writer. What started as a whim turn to little snippets, then an outline, and finally, a challenge where I told myself I will complete this fic in a span of 10 chapters.

Honestly, I did not intend to post this at all here in Tumblr, but my beta reader and a friend convinced me otherwise and I am glad I listened to them or else I wouldn't have met each of you today.

This fic was incredibly challenging to write but mostly because I wouldn't deny that numbers still bother me though I still stick to my belief that these shouldn't define my worth as a writer.

One challenge I encounter is actually creating Miss Deer. Sweet characters seemed easy to write when you see them surface level but sweet characters who are layered are more difficult. I want her to be sweet and kind but not the type that she is dependent on other people to live, rather, has her own set of strengths.

I mentioned this several times to my moot (Hi @xiiiaomaiii!) how FLs from Studio Ghibli greatly influenced me and rewatching them all in one go gave me a better idea on how to write her character and how Sylus will play in the story.

I don't want Miss Deer to be completely dependent on him and I want Sylus to be like how every ML is in Studio Ghibli: Supportive and kind.

(Did it work? I like to think I managed to flesh out her character well based on everyone's feedback.)

There are multiple challenges that I have encounter along the way. My worry on ensuring that Sylus, the twins, and even the characters I have isekai'd in this fic (ex. Louis from Beastars) are not OOC. My realization that having an outline is completely different from fleshing it out and there are times I close the doc then call it a day.

Sometimes, I even erase lines of paragraphs. (Bork, do you still have them? No, they are in the abyss now, forever gone haha)

Anyways, I don't want to keep this long! These are just musings, mostly for my future self to read when she looks back.

What's next?

I will focus on drawing art for this fic during my break.

Pick-up what I left off in the side story related to this fic which is about Luke, Kieran, and the sheep hybrid occasionally mentioned.

(This side story is more focused on the themes of coming of age, the twins and the sheep MC navigating in their relationship. I mostly draw inspiration from Skip and Loafer and Horimiya for this. Also, the amount of Luke & Kieran fics is low and I, an upstanding citizen, must do my part.)

Might write short stories and drabbles between Sylus and Miss Deer as well.

Will I write another longfic?

Yes, I already have something in the works but I need to read more about this LI (Who is the LI? Hehe, you'll see), read more books, watch more films in line with the idea I have in mind.

When will you see this longfic?

One day when you wake up (Hopefully on a warm, sunny day), you'll just see the first chapter and you and I will be in another ride where I publish weekly (I pray nothing gets in the way of my life.)

I am happy this story reached you and when you reread it, I hope my intent of making it a cozy story will make you feel better, recharge you, and help you get ready to face what is ahead.

Thank you everyone!

AO3: Take Your Time, Miss Deer: 🦌🐉 Luke & Kieran's Bakery Attack(s): 🐺🐺🐑

Tumblr: Take Your Time, Miss Deer:🦌🐉 Luke & Kieran's Bakery Attack(s):🐺🐺🐑

#love and deepspace #lads #love and deepspace sylus #lads hybrid au #lads sylus #hybrid au #sylus x reader #sylus x you #take your time miss deer

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peachglazewrites · 5 months ago

Text

𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚘𝚏 𝚞𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛 ⸙ 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗𝚎

𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: abby anderson x f!reader 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: medical procedures, tlou typical violence, PTSD 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚜: literal sleeping together, friends to lovers, slow burn 𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘: no use of y/n or any reader descriptions 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 6475k

𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: Eight months ago, you sustained a life-altering injury while on patrol. Five months ago, you were officially dismissed from your unit and, after a tense meeting with Isaac, were transferred to the medical centre to train under your friend/roommate, Mel. Four months ago, you offered your couch to Abby to sleep on whenever she got kicked from her apartment for Manny's ‘sleepovers’. Two months ago, you started sleeping in the same bed. It works, this arrangement you have. She just doesn’t know that just over twelve months ago, you started to fall in love with her.

̗̀➛ master post

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ save/read the fic on ao3 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝙸: 𝙸

“You good to stitch this while I wash up?”

Mel wipes at her sweaty forehead with the back of her arm, slippery blood coating her hands. The procedure got messier than expected, and with gloves being stretched thin across the different bases, you had to get real comfortable with blood on your bare skin.

“Yeah, of course. Need to practice my knots anyway.”

Malcom, the older WLF soldier, lays back on the bed, shirt cut away and blood coating his abdomen. A bullet caught him in the side, going right through his front and leaving out his back. If he got medical attention right away it would have been fine, but his thinner skin and continued combat just made the wound deeper, ripping right through his side. The two holes he would have had were now one big gash that needed to be stitched.

“Be sure you make all them bows pretty, doc.” Malcom grins at you, his chuckles stuttering into a nasty cough.

Your eyes roll as you turn to the surgical cart next to you, setting up the sutures. “Sure thing, Malcom.”

Wheeling the table over to the bedside, you grab the curved needle and sterile thread, sitting on a stool next to his bedside to get a good angle on him. You grunt and stretch your left leg out stiffly under the cot, trying to release some of the tension in the muscle.

“You know, they should give you one of those punch cards for coming in so often. Visit us five times and you get a treat on the sixth.”

He squints at you, wincing and cursing when you push the needle through his swollen skin.

“Yeah? And when’s that lesson on bedside manner comin’?”

Mel laughs from the back room, washing and disinfecting her hands. “Oh, this is as good as it gets.”

Flashing a grumbling Malcom a smile, you continue your stitching, doing a row of smaller ones that you need to cut off and tie after each knot.

You’re getting the hang of it, though tying all the small knots with the forceps was your weakest point. You were much better at doing running stitches, but for a wound like Malcom’s on such a mobile part of his body, these were the best option. You’d obviously improved enough though, or else Mel wouldn’t have let you do them mostly unsupervised.

She’s a good teacher, Mel. You were hoping when Isaac approved your request to move to the medical centre that he would assign you to her. It only made sense. Not only was she one of the best here at the Stadium, but the two of you were already familiar with each other.

You share one of the Stadium apartments, have done for just over a year and a half. As far as roommates went, Mel was amazing. She’s friendly, respectful of your space, quiet. It was hard not to become friends with her. You spent late nights talking, would join her and her group of friends for meals. It was nice.

And then you got injured. Well, a bit more than injured—you fucked up your leg pretty bad. Mel was on call when you were dragged in and helped you as much as she could. She’s incredibly talented. Quick hands and quicker thinking. She had your broken leg splinted up and healing in no time.

Until you fucked it up again, leaving your leg to fuse itself in a weird spot. You can walk, sometimes even run for a bit if it’s a good day, but you’d be biting back the pain and severely regretting it afterwards. On a bad day? It’s a struggle to even stand for more than a couple of hours.

Now you have a limp that won’t go away, and your position as one of WLF’s many grunts taken away from you.

“We need soldiers, not bait. Next time you come asking me for your rank back, make sure you’re not shaking from your walk down the hall.”

Yeah.

Mel was the one to suggest becoming a medic. You’d spent enough time around Mel to pick up a thing or two, and those ten weeks in and out of the medical tent made you pretty familiar with the goings on. She even offered to be your supervisor, taking you under her wing to teach you all she knew.

You clip the final suture, placing the forceps and scissors back onto the metal tray next to you.

“Okay, I think we’re done. Mel,” you call over your shoulder, “Can you check this for me?”

Mel looks up from the chart she’s scribbling on, tucking it under her arm to come and lean over your shoulder.

“Nice work. You lost a bit of tension in the middle, but not too much that it wont hold.” She reaches over, ghosting over the segment in question. She brings her hand to rest on your shoulder. “Otherwise, they’re perfect. I think you’ve officially gotten the hang of it.”

You beam up at her, chest puffing in pride. It’s been good knowing that you’re good at more than combat. A relief. You don’t know what you would have done if this didn’t work out.

You’d rather not think about it.

Malcom shifts on the cot, twisting his body to look down at his stitches. He reaches a hand down to touch them, but you slap them away before he can.

“Touch them and I’ll put a cone on you like a dog.”

Malcom grins, laughing and rubbing at the red slap mark on his hand.

“You flirtin’ with me, doc?”

“Gross. Get out of here, Mal.”

His laughs once again devolve into gargling coughs, levering himself up off the bed with a hand from Mel.

She wraps him up, bandaging the wound while giving him the rundown.

“No getting this wet for twenty-four hours. After that you can shower, but no soaking. You’ll need to come back in two weeks to get the sutures out, so until then I don’t want you touching it or picking at the scabs.” She gives him a pointed look, and he has enough in him to look away guiltily, scratching at his chin.

“Yeah, I know the drill. Any sign of infection I’ll come back.”

Mel nods, stepping away from his side to grab a small bottle of pills off the counter.

“Take two of these when you need them, but wait four to six hours in between.”

“Got anything stronger?” Malcom winks.

“Not for you.” Mel’s lips twitch in a smile and she presses the bottle to his chest. “Have a good one, Malcom.”

Malcom takes the bottle and grins, bringing a hand up to tip an imaginary hat on his head. “Appreciate all you do for us, doc.” He peers around Mel, calling out to you in the next room. “And always a pleasure seein’ you. Remind me to take you up on that treat next time.”

“Goodbye, Malcom.” You call from the sink, scrubbing down on your knuckles. You stare him down as he leaves, laughing the whole way.

You roll your eyes, turning back to washing the blood off your arms. It had started to dry, making your skin tacky and gross.

Mel wanders over, leaning to rest against the sink next to you as she finishes filling out Malcom’s chart. “He’s got a point. You’ve got to be nicer to patients.”

“Malcom’s a dirty old dog. He’s fine. If he wasn’t going to be okay, then I’d be nicer.”

“The severity of someone’s injury doesn’t factor into how nice you are to them.” She’s trying to tell you off, but you can see her smiling from behind her clipboard.

You just shrug, turning off the tap and shaking out your arms. “Seems fair to me.”

She breaks, snorting and poking you in the side with the board as she walks past, placing it on a hook on the wall. She grabs the metal tray and wheels it away to be sanitised.

“You’re done for the day. Go home and relax, your leg is shaking like crazy.”

You look down at your leg, sighing as you watch the muscle of your calf twitch from the strain. It wasn’t too crazy today, but there was a lot of sitting down and standing back up. You were starting to feel it.

“You sure? If I’m sitting, I can- “

Mel cuts you off with her signature ‘excuse me?’ look, her brow raised, and her lips curled downward. That shuts you up real quick, as it does most people. Poor Owen is on the other end of that look too often, and he pouts for ages afterwards every single time.

You grab your coat from a basket under the sink, where you all put your belongings when you clock in.

“I’ll see you for dinner?”

Mel shakes her head, gathering up all the dirty tools and putting them in a metal tub for sanitation.

“I’m going to Owen’s tonight. We have the morning off tomorrow, so I think we’re going to head to the aquarium with Alice.”

You smile, throwing your coat back on. “That’ll be nice. I know Alice was antsy about getting out of the kennel when I saw her yesterday.”

Mel chuckles, “That’s how she gets you. You know she has to go on a diet because people keep giving her treats?”

You laugh along with her, the zip lock bag of jerky you save just for Alice burning in your coat pocket.

Coming up behind her, you press a chaste kiss to the back of Mel’s head as you pass. “Well, have fun. Drink responsibly. Use protection- “

“Shut your mouth right now.“ She hisses, whipping her head around to see who’s around to hear. She’s in the middle of cleaning up, but you know you’d get a punch right across your shoulder if she had a hand free.

Pulling back the tent flap you wave goodbye to Mel, grinning at her flushed face.

“I’ll see you when you get back!”

Swinging by the front you sign out for the day, writing down your reasoning for clocking off early. You only had two hours left of your shift, and you really do think you could have lasted if you were allowed to sit the rest of the day. But what Mel says goes, as both your supervisor and your doctor.

The sun is setting when you leave the tent, the November air nipping at your skin. Winter is right around the corner, and you can already feel it. You’ll need to take up Mel’s offer of making some legwarmers to wear under your clothes, knowing that the freezing temperatures are going to be hell on your leg.

Wrapping your coat further around you, you shuffle inside the stadium as quickly as you can. The caf should just be starting to serve dinner now, and if you hurry you can beat the rush before everyone clocks off.

Just as you predicted, people are already lining up at the food stations when you reach the mess hall. Each of the stalls are serving something different, though it usually all boils down to a combination of rice, meat, soup, and stew. Today it looked like everyone was lining up by the old pretzel place, which usually meant it was burritos.

You do an awkward shuffle, a small circle as you try to decide what to eat. The burritos stall is always packed for a reason, but it looks like the butchers finally got some of those pigs in-

A sharp whistle from behind you cuts through the rumble of voices.

“Hey, doc!”

You turn, looking over at the old Noodle Bowl.

A woman a bit older than you stands behind the counter, her cropped hair hidden underneath a backwards cap. Her tank top is drenched in sweat from the hot kitchen, her deep skin flushed from the heat. She holds out an opaque container, though you can already smell the rich beef stew coming from the kitchen behind her.

“Skip the line! You know medics get priority.” She grins, waving the container at you.

You smile and limp over, your leg starting to throb. You meet the woman at the counter, gently taking the container from her. It’s nice and warm in your hands, feeling them tingle as they heat up.

“Thanks, Isabella. You’re a life saver.” You sigh appreciatively. You crack the container open to peek inside, your mouth watering at the dark broth and floating chunks of potato and beef.

“You know what would be perfect with this?” You begin, looking up at her. She smirks, reaching off to the side.

“Bread?” she asks, sliding over a small parcel of tinfoil.

You gasp, reaching for it. “A woman after my own heart.” You laugh, placing the foil of bread on top of the container. “Remind me again why we didn’t work out?”

“You were way too out of my league?” Isabella teases, leaning across the counter towards you.

“Good answer.” You grin back at her.

Isabella chuckles, taking off her cap to smooth out her hair again before putting it back on.

“You take care of yourself, yeah? Enjoy.” She winks, rapping the counter with her knuckles before turning back to the kitchen.

Stew in hand, and a light blush on the highs of your cheeks, you make the long trek back to the comfort of your room. Luckily yours is only on the second floor, as opposed to being on the third or fourth, but with the escalators out of order it’s still a huge hike for you and your leg.

You end up taking your coat off to make a temporary bag for your stew, folding it up and using the arms as handles. It gives you more room to grip the rails as you need them, which becomes more and more often the higher you climb.

You’re slightly out of breath and coated in a fine layer of sweat by the time you reach your room, taking a second to catch your breath before stepping in. Maybe you couldn’t have done those last two hours. Dammit Mel for always being right.

The stew is still hot when you unwrap it from your coat, moving to hang it up on a peg near the door. If you were quick about getting changed, you could probably get away with not having to heat it back up.

Depositing the container on the dining table as you pass, you make your way over to your side of the room, having to pivot and turn back when you automatically start going down the steps.

You and Mel split the room pretty evenly, her having the slightly raised segment to herself, and you having the area in front of the window. You liked being so close to the giant windows, peeking through the curtains you both strung up when you couldn’t sleep and pressing your cheek to the cold glass on warm nights. But ever since your injury, Mel suggested the two of you swap.

It made sense, taking away as many unnecessary obstacles as possible, but you still kind of missed your old spot. Maybe if you asked ever so nicely you could swap again.

You strip in front of your wardrobe, quickly hopping into comfier clothing. It was by no means anything close to proper pyjamas, a pair of slightly more worn in cargo pants and a long sleeve henley. Something that you could feasibly run around and fight in if you needed to.

Your days as a solider are over, but old habits die hard.

The rest of your night is simple. It always is when you have the room to yourself. Having Mel around is always fun and you love staying up and talking to her, but it is nice to just be alone sometimes. It feels different, not like how it used to when you were fighting for your life before you joined WLF. You can choose to be alone now, knowing that you’re safe and warm and that your friends are just around the corner. You can enjoy it.

Setting up a CD to play some soft music in the background, you eat your dinner. Isabella had served you up richly, enough chunks of beef in your single serving to split across two. She’s always been like that, giving special treatment to those she likes and admires. Your brief but very intense history got you onto that list, and you’re thankful for every day you’re still on it.

Using the bread to soak up the last of the broth, you savour the final bite of your food. If Mel was here, you’d get to have her broth too (she only likes the chunks, apparently), but tonight you miss out.

With dinner done and nothing else to do, you decide to curl up in bed for the rest of the night, give your leg a much-needed rest. You keep the CD playing quietly and grab one of Mel’s textbooks, tossing it onto the bed.

You run through your stretches for the night, positioning yourself on the floor to bend and stretch your leg just as Pierre-- the closest thing to a physiotherapist you have around here-- showed you. It hurts like a bitch, so you give yourself some leeway tonight and stop when it gets too much.

Peeling yourself up off the floor, you practically crawl under your covers, dragging the book under with you. The book is heavy, one that would be used during school, but you’re finding it somewhat useful. A lot of what they’re talking about goes over your head, but there’s enough diagrams and things you recognise to somewhat keep up. A lot of what Mel teaches you is done through the real thing, so you don’t have a lot of time to learn the name of every single bone or nerve in the nervous system. It’s a lot more… ‘Don’t cut here’ and ‘If you don’t put pressure there, he’s going to bleed out and die’.

You fall asleep around eleven, the textbook flopping to the floor when your arms couldn’t hold it up anymore. You’ve shifted in your sleep, back facing the rest of the room and limbs tucked in. You should start looking for a thicker blanket now that it’s getting colder.

The corner of your bed dips under their weight as someone sits, trying not to squish your feet under the covers. The thumping of boots being kicked off their feet and to the floor is just enough to pull you back to consciousness, though it’s the rush of cold air under the blanket as they pull it back that wakes you up entirely.

“Abby… Cold.” You hiss, turning and trying to tug the blanket from her.

You can practically hear her eyes roll as she crawls under with you, shifting onto her side so she can press her back up against yours. It makes up for the biting cold she let in, her back strong and warm, heating you up more than your blankets ever could.

“How was patrol?” you mumble, brain still catching up.

Abby hums. “Fine. Normal.”

You nod, or think that you do. You’re so tired.

“S’good.” You yawn, burying your face into your pillow more. “Sorry Manny kicked you out.”

She shifts, her rolling muscles move against your back.

“Yeah,” she sighs, sinking into your mattress, “It’s whatever. He uh, got to the room while I was eating dinner.”

“Should talk to him. Tell him to keep it in his pants when you get home from patrols.”

You hear a ghost of a laugh, your music quiet enough for you to pick it up. It puts a sleepy smile on your face.

“I should, huh? Maybe tomorrow.”

“Mmhm.” You yawn, stretching out your legs before relaxing back into your mattress with a hum. “I’ll be your back up.”

Ever since you found Abby passed out in the library, an open copy of Lord of the Flies laid across her chest, she’s been sleeping in your room.

She rejected your offer initially, looking at you like you’d grown a second head before rolling back over to keep sleeping. Which was fair, you guessed. You weren’t exactly friends, just two people that hung out in the same group.

Not that you didn’t try to be. You knew from the moment Mel introduced you to everyone that you wanted to know more about Abby. She was intimidating, a bit rough around the edges, and more than a little cold during your first interaction. It should have been a sign to stay out of her way, to leave her alone. But unfortunately, it just made her incredibly attractive.

No matter what you did, nothing seemed to favour you to her. You eventually found out it was because of Mel, and while no one could tell you exactly what happened, you figured it was bad enough for her to dislike you through pure association.

Something must have stuck with her though, because soon after rejecting your offer she was knocking on your door, pillow tucked under her arm, ready to take over your couch.

And she did. Anytime she needed a place to sleep, and Mel wasn’t home, she would come over. You started leaving out nicer blankets, draping them over the back of the couch, switching out the throw pillows for softer, less scratchy ones. She never said anything, but you knew she appreciated it.

It wasn’t until two months ago, drunkenly collapsing on your bunk together after Manny’s birthday party, that you started sharing your bed. The nightmares you would have, that the both of you shared in common, seemed to fade away when you weren’t alone.

A silent agreement passed between the two of you then, an unspoken arrangement to slide in next to each other. Backs pressed together, sharing your warmth, getting hours of blissful sleep.

You feel a nudge to your calf.

“Go back to sleep. Didn’t mean to wake you up.” She whispers, drawing her foot back to curl into herself. The movement presses her back more firmly into yours. A contented sigh tumbles from your lips.

“You’re fine. G’night, Abby.”

“… Night.”

You both fall into comfortable silence, the soft music still playing from the corner of your room. The CD will finish soon, but you should hopefully be asleep by then. You wait for the telltale signs of a sleeping Abby before you let yourself fall back under.

While the nightmares aren’t as intense when you share the bed, all it takes is a particularly bad day for them to rear their ugly head. And while you have your own long list of issues, you’re not the one still in active duty, so you like to make sure that Abby falls asleep. That she isn’t left to stare into the dark until the sun begins to rise, or gets dragged into whatever hell her brain has fixed up for her.

Her breathing eventually slows, and while she doesn’t snore, her deep breaths are interrupted with the occasional huff and groan. The pressure of her warm back on yours builds as her muscles relax and she shifts into the divot in the mattress between you. Her foot twitches and she shuffles her legs, unconsciously nudging you to entangle your legs with her own.

Only when you are certain she’s out and her sleep is peaceful do you let yourself go back to bed.

⸙

She’s gone in the morning when you start awake, the sound of a door down the hall slamming closed making your heart leap into your throat. Shooting upright in bed, the blanket tucked gently around you falling to your lap, you reach out for your firearm. It takes feeling the lumpy, cold mattress beneath your fingers to bring you back to yourself.

You’re in your room. Not outside hidden amongst the trees.

There are no Scars here.

Knees come up to meet your forehead as you curl in on yourself, shutting your eyes and forcing deep, shaky breaths.

It’s been months since you were on any kind of active duty, yet your body wouldn’t let you forget a second of it. Once a soldier always a soldier, you guess.

Once your heartrate slows back down, the sweat that was beading along your temples cooling, you lift your head up from your knees, peaking at the curtains. The morning sun is breaking through, sending slivers of light over Mel’s bed and the couch. If you strain your ears, you can hear people shuffling in the hallway, tired grumblings as they make their way into work.

Without checking a watch you’d say it was around eight in the morning.

Mel wasn’t scheduled for work until tonight, which means that you too got to have the morning off too. Though you were really getting somewhere with your training, Isaac didn’t want you working solo until Mel had signed off on you. So, unless they were absolutely swamped or it was an emergency, you worked the same shifts as Mel.

Flopping back on the mattress you shut your eyes once more, stretching out your limbs across the entire expanse of the bed. You had absolutely no issues with sharing your bed with Abby, but this mattress wasn’t exactly a king, and often find yourself tucked right up against the wall.

You doze on and off for a few more hours, taking advantage of the free day to catch up on all the sleep you’d been neglecting. It feels like you and Mel have been working around the clock lately, being assigned long shifts at odd hours. Ideally, you’d nap until your shift tonight, but your body refuses to let you sleep peacefully after 10am.

You putter around the room for a bit after dragging yourself out of bed, getting changed into your clothes for the day and drawing open the large curtains to let the sunlight into your room. The rays warm you as you do your morning stretches, flexing and pulling your leg into repetitive positions.

You so desperately want to just laze on the couch, curl up with a book or a magazine and rest your leg, but looking around the room you spot multiple piles of belongings neither your nor Mel have bothered to tidy up. Knowing the two of you, they’ll never get done if you don’t tackle them now. And who knows, maybe Mel will be so impressed that she really will swap spots with you.

You stomach begins to rumble around lunch time, just as you’re standing up from the CD rack you spontaneously decided to reorganise. Sure, there was probably something more important to do, but now your CDs are back to being in alphabetical order. For now, atleast.

Checking the fridge, you grimace at the lack of edible food left on the shelves. A withering carrot, some marmalade, and leftover rice and beans from a few nights ago make up its contents.

Sighing, you shut the door and grab your jacket. You’ll just get something from the cafeteria. Maybe when Mel comes home you can figure out her schedule, see if she’ll be willing to split some groceries with you.

⸙

“Hey, doc! Come sit with us, huh?” A voice calls out to you as you walk past their table, a container of stir fry hot in your hands.

You swivel around, eyes roaming the few tables in front of you when you spot Manny, waving you over. He’s seated with a few other soldiers, some you recognise from prior hangouts, others that must be part of his unit.

You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip as you toss up between sitting in the cafeteria with company or scampering off to your room to eat in private. Not that you don’t like sitting with Manny and his friends. They can just get real rowdy sometimes without Mel or Nora around to talk to.

You open your mouth to politely decline, wanting to chill as much as you can before your shift tonight, when the person opposite Manny turns around to look at you.

Abby.

She looks good this morning. Her usual braid is draped over her shoulder, getting long enough now to do so. It brushes the collar of her t-shirt, the sleeves of which she’s rolled up to the seam to fit her arms. She’s holding a bowl of rice up to her chest, spoon hanging out of her mouth as she looks at you.

Unable to hide the small smile that twitches your lips, you give Manny a nod and head over, weaving back through the crowded hall. Manny grins and shuffles along the bench, pushing against Jordan to make room for you next to him.

“There she is! How’s it going? Seen anything gross lately?”

You laugh, pushing yourself into your spot between him and Jordan, having to climb over the seat to get there. “Unless you count touching Malcom, then no. Not lately.”

Abby huffs a laugh around her spoon, twisting back around to face the table. You look to her as you set your container down on the table, smiling when you see she’s already looking. Her eyes flick down to your food and back to you, brows raised slightly in question.

Tilting your container you show her your lunch, the stir fry still steaming and warming your hands.

“Malcom isn’t that bad,” Manny laughs, diving back into his own food. Some sort of sandwich from the looks of it. “He’s a good shot.” He muffles through a mouthful of food.

You roll your eyes, picking up your fork and stabbing at a few vegetables, “Yeah, and a bad dodge. He keeps coming in to get stitched up, but I’m convinced it’s because he gets his chest felt up.”

“Can’t blame a man for trying his best. Not all of us are as lucky.” Manny snickers, elbowing the man beside him. The rest of the boys laugh back, the noise at the table picking up.

Abby just shakes her head, slouching over her bowl of rice to continue eating. From where you’re sitting it looks like plain brown rice. Knowing her, it probably came with a side that she’s already eaten all of, not planning out her bites ahead of time and just going right for the tasty part.

You twist to the side to face Manny, reaching up for his ear.

“Speaking of--” You pinch the top, yanking on it to bring his head down to your level. He yelps, grabbing at your wrist and swearing. “You need to stop having your play dates the same day Abby gets back from missions.”

Manny eyes you as he curses, briefly looking over at Abby before turning his attention back to you. Across from you Abby tenses, spoon pausing halfway to her mouth. She looks like a deer caught in the headlights.

“How’d you know I had someone over?”

You sniff, letting go of his ear and turning back to your food, getting a bite in before answering. “Caught her in the library again.” You lie, hopefully smoothly.

The two of you never agreed to keep her sleeping habits a secret, but you knew enough about her to know that she liked to keep her business to herself.

Manny grins, throwing his hands up guiltily. “What can I say? I have poor timing. Well, not all of the time...” He winks.

You fake a gag, grimacing as you pick up your food container.

“And with that, I need to go get ready for work tonight. I’ll catch you all around.”

Manny laughs, his voice booming through the hall. He playfully grabs at your sleeve, tugging it as you stand up to leave.

“Baby, don’t go! Please, I can change!” He pleads, gently trying to pull you back down to the table.

You stumble and laugh, batting his grabby hands off your clothes as you squirm away. Nearly tripping on the seat, you pry yourself free, stepping out of Manny’s range and across the table.

“Bye, Abby.”

You slide your container of food next to hers as you pass, having eaten all the vegetables and leaving her the beef. Her head whips up to yours, eyes questioning and mouth full of food. A piece of rice is stuck to her bottom lip.

Cute.

She tries to swallow her mouthful to say something, but inhales wrong in her haste, choking on rice. Manny, observing the interaction, bursts out in a fit of laughter as he slides over his canteen of water, watching Abby gulp it down to clear her throat. Some of the guys sitting next to her lean over to slap at her back, chuckling along with Manny. He’s calling her something in Spanish as she pushes all the hands away, the tips of her ears reddening as he jeers at her.

The last thing you see before the crowd shuffles and blocks your view is Abby, leaning over the table to punch Manny in the arm.

⸙

“He even said that we could decorate for Christmas. Apparently, he knows some department store that has trees and everything.” Mel gushes, setting up the surgical cart for the night.

“You two are so fucking cute.” You smile, spinning yourself in the office chair they have back here.

Mel flushes, feeling the heat of her cheeks with the back of her palms, “I just… I don’t know. I feel stupid for getting so giddy about it all but he’s just sweet, you know? Thoughtful.” She smiles softly to herself, reaching up in a cupboard for some gauze. “We haven’t even been dating a year and he’s already talking about getting new room assignments.”

“And you want that? He’s not like, pressuring you to go too fast or anything?” You slow your spin, digging your heels into the tent floor to stop to face her.

She shakes her head, laying out a handful of freshly bleached bandages and some scissors. “No, he’s been really good about it. I said that I’d like to wait until the New Year at least. Start fresh.

You nod, looking at her. Mel is a kind person, though she can be very outspoken and tough when needed -- you’ve seen this enough times when dealing with Abby or an unruly patient. But you’ve never seen her so happy. So flustered.

She giggles sometimes. Mel has never been a giggler.

Owen has been good for her. She needed someone to stop her from overworking herself, to make her feel appreciated and special, and if Owen is anything, he’s a hopeless romantic and a great distraction.

You let out a sigh, dramatically throwing you hand up to your forehead, pushing with your feet to spin on the chair.

“I can’t believe my wife is taking our child and leaving me for another! Leaving me to wallow in our shared home all alone.”

She snorts, throwing you a look over her shoulder, “Our child?”

“Alice, obviously.” You peek at her from behind your hand. “I expect visitation.”

Mel laughs, throwing her head back, “Of course. Wouldn’t dream of keeping her from seeing you.”

The room falls into a comfortable silence, Mel double checking the contents of her cart.

“Maybe when I move out you can see about getting someone else to move in so you’re not as lonely.”

You shrug, leaning your head all the way back on the headrest so it hangs over. You feel something shift and pop in your neck, a pressure fizzling away.

“Yeah, no. I’ll just live it bachelor style until someone needs the space.”

Mel hums, “So you wouldn’t even offer it to your mystery woman?”

You try so hard to school your reaction, to not make it so obvious how right she is, but it’s difficult when she gets you like that out of nowhere. You tilt your head up to look at the back of her head.

“My who?”

Mel turns around, a smirk playing at her lips. She knows she’s caught you out. “Don’t play dumb with me. I know you’ve been having someone over while I’m gone.”

Your cheeks pink as you go to defend yourself, but for the life of you, you can’t find a non-damning answer. You’re left stuttering, gaping like a fish.

“I- Who- You don’t know that.”

“Oh? Then why do you always ask if I plan to be home or not?”

“Can’t I be invested in your safety? As your friend- “

“And, “ she cuts you off, crossing her arms over her chest as she leans against the sanitation sink, “We both know you have trouble sleeping alone. But suddenly on the nights I’m gone, you come into work having slept like a baby? Nuh-uh.” She points an accusing finger your way. “You’ve got someone you’re bringing home that you’re not telling me about.”

She looks triumphant. Victorious in having called you out on your sneaking around.

Your hands come up to cover your face, hiding from her gaze.

“Mel, it’s not like that,” you groan, sliding down in your chair.

“Seems like that to me.”

“No, it’s just… we’re just friends. I’m just hanging out with a friend.”

She doesn’t believe you. You don’t have to be looking at her to know that for a fact. “And you’d be content to just… stay friends?”

“Obviously I’d be fine with whatever she wants,” you rush out, getting overwhelmed with the intimate questions.

Theres a beat of silence.

“But…” she prompts.

You throw you hands up, looking up at her, “Yes, Mel. Fine. If she was interested, I would take her up on it. Happy?”

Mel nods, pleased as punch at getting you to admit this out loud. She has a bad habit of doing that.

“So,” she breaks the silence, kicking off the bench, “Are you going to tell me who it is?”

You cringe. Seeing as they aren’t exactly on speaking terms, you doubt that she’s going to be super thrilled about Abby hanging out in her home while she’s gone.

“I… I don’t know, Mel. Sorry, I just- “

“Hey, it’s fine. I get it.” She says softly, walking over and placing a warm hand on your arm. “No hard feelings. I’m not going to be mad because you don’t want to tell me who you’re crushing on.”

You breathe out a sigh of relief, sagging against the backrest of the chair. “Thanks, Mel.”

“But if you ever wanted to talk about it- “

“Yes, yes,” you wave her off, unable to help yourself from smiling, “I’ll come to you about it.”

Mel smiles, pushing you on the shoulder so that you spin around in your chair.

“Come on, time for work.”

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#abby anderson #abby tlou #abby the last of us #abby anderson tlou2 #abby anderson x reader #abby x reader #abby tlou x reader #abby anderson smut #the last of us #tlou #the last of us part 2 #tlou2 #abby tlou2 #the last of us x reader #tlou x reader #reader insert #x reader #ao3 #peachglazewrites

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777nicetits · 6 months ago

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look who’s back ;P

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ baseball player!schlatt x physiotherapist!reader, mentions of injuries, a lot of bickering, not proofread. english is not my first language.

“Where is he?!” You borderline scream as you enter the locker room, the sea of (luckily clothed, save for a couple shirtless ones) players turning their heads over to where you and the nurses stood at the door.

To your right, you heard the unmistakable and ever so insufferable sound of a gravel, low chuckle. Your head whipped in its direction, fire burning behind your dilated pupils as your eyes found his. Standing by the entrance to the showers (mistake number one, not supposed to put any weight on his left leg), a damp towel thrown over his shoulder and another one wrapped around his hips (mistake number two, no full body showers, no wetting the bandage), the dirty uniform he wore previously carelessly laid on the ground next to his feet (mistake number three, absolutely no playing for the next three months).

Mother. Fucker.

“You gotta be shitting me!” This time you screamed. The room erupted in laughter, but you didn’t find anything about this situation funny.

With a heavy sigh you looked over your shoulders, head nodding once, the silent signal for the nurses to go get him, and so they did, walking over to the man with the wheelchair he hated so much.

Schlatt stumbled backwards, the back of his knee hitting the wooden bench behind him and almost knocking him onto his ass. “Hey! What’s this about?”

“You’re late for your physical therapy session. Y’know, the place you should’ve been instead of in the field, disobeying my direct orders!?”

He scoffed. “Can I at least put some clothes on? Or you want me to go like this, doc?”

I’m gonna kill this bitch, you thought.

But, instead of jumping on him like a hungry lioness and taking a piece of his jugular off with your own teeth, you just inhaled deeply, holding the oxygen in your lungs for a couple of seconds before letting go.

“Just bring the clothes,” you said calmly, “we’ll help you put them on in the clinic. Can’t risk you putting any more weight on your feet.”

Out of excuses, Schlatt reluctantly sat down on the wheelchair. Huffing and puffing his way out.

“I can’t believe you did that!” You slammed the door to your office open, the wood plank hitting against the wall and making everything on it shake.

Schlatt, who now had a shirt on and had taken control of his own wheelchair, rolled his eyes as he rolled himself in. “You’re so dramatic. It was just a light practice, I didn’t even-“

“Dramatic?!” You did a 180°, twirling like a ballerina to angrily face him. “Schlatt, you’re 100% my responsibility. If you keep disregarding what I tell you, you won’t get any better, and if you don’t get any better the higher ups are gonna blame me for that! I could lose my job!”

Schlatt kept looking up at you with a blank expression, and it was your time to roll your eyes. “Dunno why I’m telling you any of that, it’s not like you care anyways.”

You walk over behind your desk, opening the top drawer and taking some new bandages to replace Schlatt’s damp one, while he takes the moment you weren’t looking to get up, quickly throwing the towel around his hip to the floor and putting his underwear on.

“You’re not gonna lose your job.” He grunted, sitting back down on the wheelchair.

“Sure buddy,” you scoffed, closing back the drawer, “because when they ask you why haven’t you recovered you’ll tell them that’s it’s ‘cause you didn’t listen to me.”

“You think I’m that much of a douchebag I’ll just throw you under the bus like that?”

You crouched down in front of him, placing his feet on top of your knee, fingers working skillfully as you undid the bandage, careful as to not hurt him in the process.

“You’re not a douchebag, Schlatt,” you sighed, “I just know where your priorities lie. And I don’t blame you, I’d do the same if I had the talent you do… and the salary.”

With yours eyes still fixated on changing the bandage on his sprained ankle, you heard him scoff. “My priorities? Yeah, right.” He leaned in, hand cupping your chin and lifting your head up, your eyes meeting his. “Maybe you should let me take you out for a couple drinks, show you where my priorities really lie.”

To say that his offer took you by surprise would be an overstatement. Ever since you started working with the Yankees, Schlatt has always flirted with you, just for fun (and you always send him on some HR visits, y’know, just for fun), but this is the first time he’s ever gotten this close to you, touching you while he talks with that smooth voice of his, that stupid grin plastered on his face. The bastard knows what he’s doing, and he knows he’s good at it.

You placed his feet back on the floor with little care, making him wince, and got up, your thighs burning a bit.

“You haven’t seen miss Anderson this month, have you?”

“Oh c’mon, toots,” he chuckled, “you can’t pretend you don’t like the attention forever. Just give me one night, you won’t regret it, I swear.”

You looked down at him, arms crossed over your chest. It’s not a matter of liking the attention, it’s more of a matter of not hating it. Or at least that’s what you’ve been trying to convince yourself.

“I’ll call Nelson to come help you put your pants.” You say after awhile of silence, making your way over to the door.

Schlatt lets out a breathy laugh. “Just so you know, I won’t let it go until you say yes!” He screamed as you walked away, leaving him by himself in your office.

You shook your head, a dumb little smile on your face.

I really hope you don’t.

aaaand scene 🎬 !! it took me three whole days to write this lmao, what can i say? i’m just that good at procrastinating 🤪

#jschlatt #jschlatt x reader #schlatt #schlatt x reader #jschlatt x you #schlatt x you #schlatt x y/n #jschlatt x y/n

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yelenapilled · 1 month ago

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line without a hook (wasteland, baby! series)

chapter one: enter RIO and NATALIE, stage right.

masterlist

(divider from @dollywons !)

note: first chapter ! woooo ! ok this is only a prologue which explains why this is just 17k of a whole lotta yapping. i locked in last night and wrote like 4k+ words for like 4 hours just because i was tired of looking at this sitting in my docs taking up space

SOME POINT IN SPRING, 1996.

Nobody really liked Rio Marcini.

It was a universal fact. Very few people in the world—specifically small town New Jersey where most of the population consisted of uptown people and their trailer park counterparts who were often looked down upon with the suspicion that each and every one of them were up to no good—ever got along with Rio. It primarily circled around the stereotype that people (particularly white people, but they’d never ever own up to their oppressive thoughts and beliefs) made about Mexicans. Plays soccer; wears alternative clothing; foul mouth; mediocre grades. Some people even went far enough to assume she does drugs (‘some people’ referring to the ones who left their first interaction with her with a fat lip after boasting their stereotypes about her), but whether that’s true or not doesn’t play into the deeper part of her.

She hadn’t been in Wiskayok very long, moving further up north when she was 14 and was pushed into the 8th grade class in the middle of the year. Long before then, during her time in a sun-soaked Miami, it wasn’t as bad as people in New Jersey rumored it was. Maybe it wasn’t as ideal to them as it was to Rio, probably because everybody there either grew up with their whole lives on a silver platter or still had to work three jobs to pay rent. Skin color and clothing style was the first thing people noticed when she came to Wiskayok—because of course the most head-turning thing in the world is a brown skinned girl walking around the 8th grade building primarily surrounded by a bunch of white kids.

She didn’t care—that’s what it looked like to most of them, anyways. Further proving that ignoring the bully doesn’t solve anything and only gives them the impression that their actions don’t have consequences when their main target is a person of color.

A few people did end up liking her. A handful. It wasn’t enough. She’d always find herself wanting more until she’s satisfied with who she thinks people want her to be.

But this’ll do.

A girl—the first person to actually show kindness to her aside from her mom and occasionally her younger half brother who sometimes pops in whenever things in Montana (her father left just a few months before Rio and her mom moved up north to New Jersey, taking her unknown half brother with him) with her father were rocky for however long it would last—her name was Natalie. Nobody really liked her either, save for the few people she hangs out with after school and the varsity soccer team she got into to distract herself from her own home life.

Natalie wasn’t exactly the ideal Wiskayok high school girl, either. She was considered a ‘burnout’—skipped school sometimes (a habit which Rio actually picked up on), smoked, drank, all sorts of stuff. It was nothing less that was expected of people who lived in the trailer park on the other side of town. She didn’t show much emotion, though Rio could see that she cared when she looked between the lines when Natalie would show up to her house with a ceram wrapped peanut butter and jelly sandwich one morning in their freshman year (she claimed it was because the breakfast the school served in the cafeteria was shit, but Rio knew better than to buy into the shallow excuse to show her affection). Rio did admire her fierce loyalty—nobody ever messed with her without messing with Natalie (which sometimes led to the two of them getting into a mini argument over Rio claiming that she wasn’t a damsel in distress).

There were these few other boys who liked her. Two of them had some sort of homoerotic friendship going on that earned a bunch of head turns and questioning glares from the people around them whenever they talked a little too loudly. One of them was one of those boys who looked like they’d roll out of bed and throw on their cleanest shirt (most of the time it would be some sort of band t shirt) and basketball shorts and pull up to school riding a skateboard and half expect the senior girls to swoon over him instantly. At least, he looked like it, anyway. His hair was never neat—always messy with a black squirrel's nest sitting over his head with shitty eyeliner smudged over his eyelids with little splotches even getting into his eyes. He was one of those guys who trashed on people who listened to really popular bands and artists and swore to the gods above that he had the best music taste around (he couldn’t convince anybody that he was simply “branching out” when Natalie caught him listening to Sir Mix-A-Lot after he heard Rio listening to brown shuga on her walkman).

Despite all that stuff about him, his quirks and faults and flaws and annoyances, he wasn’t that bad. He was incredibly sweet, all things considered—in Rio’s sophomore year she only got a few things on Valentine’s Day (one of which was from the varsity soccer team captain Jackie—but whatever goes on between her and Rio is another can of worms) and he—Seth, the guy with the shitty hair and the guyliner and the ‘godly music taste’—gave her her first Valentine’s Day gift in all her time at Wiskayok. She recalled seeing an unnatural blush on his freckled cheeks as he handed her the rather fancy box of chocolates that was rumored to be shoplifted from the mall (whether or not that was true didn’t necessarily matter—it was the thought that counted), warm from being in his backpack the whole day and waiting 7 periods before he could hand it to her just a few minutes before soccer practice started.

The soccer team itself was actually quite entertaining for Rio. The teammates were nice—one of them instantly clicked with her once she joined the team. Back in Miami, the community soccer team she played for was mediocre at best and they believed that having fun was the most important part. Rio couldn’t have disagreed more—and apparently so did the Wiskayok soccer team. That didn’t mean she didn’t miss them.

The team goalie—Van—was the one that instantly clicked with Rio. Taissa often stuck with her and was always talking to her whenever practice was over or just before it started. Laura Lee was probably the sweetest girl Rio ever met; a Christian girl with absolutely no hate in her heart. That being said, Rio never ever missed an opportunity to tease her about ‘finally accepting Jesus into her heart’ only to reveal she was messing with her every single time. Shauna was one of the harder ones to bond with. She was one of those quiet girls with excellent grades and a few friends. Part of Rio thought she was only on the soccer team because she felt some sort of obligation to one of the other teammates—Jackie, to be precise. She was never caught staring at anything else for a long period of time other than Jackie.

Jackie herself was an easier one to get along with—not as easy as Van or Natalie or Laura Lee, but they had their moments together. She was an excellent team captain—albeit she definitely wasn’t the best player on the team, with Rio dominating all of them in terms of footwork and a few others being faster than her, she was definitely the most enthusiastic about the sport. In addition she was also one of the most caring people on the team—and that she ever met in general—after finding out that once Rio had gotten diagnosed with glaucoma and had a really bad habit of “forgetting” to do her eye drops (she hated them) that Jackie had somehow gotten her hands on the same exact tiny bottle and sometimes did them for her. On the rare days when Rio was feeling the effects of other people being their ignorant selves and dogging on her for fitting the stereotype that they saw her as, Jackie would be the one to tell Rio that ‘they can talk shit all they want about someone they don’t know, the more they do it the more stupid they’ll look when they come to realize that this heart of gold in your chest is something they could only dream of having.’

Moving on.

Lottie was nice. Rio didn’t know a whole lot about her aside from the fact her parents were fucking loaded. Maybe too loaded and it didn’t really make sense to Rio that the Matthews decided to live in this tiny town. A lot of the parties she’d been to were at her house—more of a mansion, really. Mari was what was called an acquired taste—Rio didn’t care for her all that much in the beginning and even thought she was a bit of a bitch. She couldn’t recall when it was, but at some point in time she got used to Mari’s shit and most of the things she said didn’t phase her. Misty was…definitely an equipment manager. Rio had only three one-on-one interactions with her before and she had nothing nice to say about any of them.

The rest of the teammates she didn’t pay much attention to—they either opted not to interact with Rio outside of practice or they were underclassmen (which Rio soon found she had a heavy disdain for once she was a sophomore). Altogether she barely considered her teammates as “friends” aside from Natalie and Van.

_________________________

The middle of February came around again—the entire month itself was always a mix of warm and freezing temperatures in Wiskayok. Some people had plans for Valentine’s Day that they made a month ahead (Jackie, for example). Seth danced around hinting who he would ask to be his Valentine (nobody was oblivious to the hints he thought were “sneaky” when the next thing he’d look at was Rio with the tenderest look in his eyes). Rio wasn’t dense—she knew Seth had some sort of thing going on for her, though it wasn’t very easy to believe at first considering that the only Valentine’s gifts she received were in elementary school in Miami back when it was mandatory for all the students to pass gifts out to the whole class. And then Seth started hanging around her more often: showing up to her locker (and sometimes getting there before Rio could and waiting for her there), buying tickets to whatever movie had come out that Rio had only expressed interest in for a few seconds (then faking an apology to his friends when they asked why they didn’t get any, saying “these were the only ones left, guys”), putting together cassette tapes of all sorts of genres and bands he thought she might be into. Seth often did other things for Rio, really dumb stuff like opening the door for her and taking an extra roundabout in the classroom so he could take her paper up to the teachers desk and turn it in for her so she wouldn’t have to.

Natalie sometimes teased Rio about it—for what reason she’d never understand, but she definitely knew that Natalie was secretly rooting for the both of them. Or maybe not—it’s hard for Rio to tell with Natalie (as well as anyone in general, but especially her), like when she’d poke fun at Rio for it when they’re hanging out with their dysfunctional friend circle or at soccer practice (and get everyone else in on her shenanigans in the process), but when it’s just the two of them she makes no effort to bring up how Seth always always took up whatever spot next to her. If their shoulders weren’t almost smushed together then it was him sitting right behind her with Rio between his legs and the front of his shirt almost brushing against her back. Jackie and a few other girls on the team thought Rio was dense when she said she didn’t think much of it and wasn’t reading into it at all.

As a result of all of that, it was an understatement to say Rio didn’t really appreciate the teasing and the shipping. The pressure she felt from Mari when she arrived at practice on some days when she asked her unofficial trademark question Rio was sure she’d heard more times than any other phrase in her life, “so how are things with Seth?” Completely platonic, is what she wants to say and possibly scream out to the whole team in hopes it’d give her some peace from their suggestive tones when they’d occasionally see her walking to practice with Seth glued to her side. She wonders if this is how rednecks feel when they say their infamous quote to voice their opinion on the lgbt community, ‘stop making everything gay,’ but then her thoughts are undermined when she remembers that’s about same-sex attraction and not boy-girl relationships.

Then she wonders how it’ll sound when she ultimately tells Seth that whatever they have is platonic when someone from around school takes it too far and assumes something extreme like sex (which unfortunately is looking to be inevitable, given that even the boys fucking baseball team is getting in on the teasing too, probably from Jackie’s doing, but Rio’s frustration towards any of them would be neither here nor there), only for Rio to find out Seth thought the same thing too and make a fool of herself for bringing it up.

But that instance didn’t sound very likely, anyway. Especially not when February went by in the blink of an eye and March rolled right around with a flurry of games coming up (including the one that following Saturday) and the very last thing that Rio needed to worry about became a fucking worry of hers.

It wasn’t the most romantic thing in the world, in Rio’s fair and inexperienced opinion. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to be charmed by the rushed confession of Seth’s feelings for her just minutes before he was supposed to leave for a culinary exam he’d been scheduled to retake. She also wasn’t sure if she’d ever be charmed by him if it was something more intimate—maybe leaving a movie theater well into the night or sitting on the hood of his car at the park and eating sandwiches from Subway. Regardless of where or how it took place—in the middle of a busy atrium or with the chilly night air blowing through Rio’s hair—the sentiment would still be there. A sentiment she wasn’t clinging onto very tightly. She supposes Seth would still have been equally as nervous if he’d planned and orchestrated it ahead of time than if it was spontaneous like it was that day.

“I know this is extremely rushed and sprung on you—and onto me, too, cause technically I’m supposed to be in the cafeteria by now, but this isn’t really about me! Unless you think it’s not just you or me but it’s the both of us and this is just as nerve wracking and pressuring for you as it is for me—“

The incredibly slow and wordy build up wasn’t necessarily doing the trick for Rio. If it weren’t for the fact he was standing right in front of her (more specifically right in the way of her first period economics class) she would’ve been zoning out and looking at literally anything else aside from him. Maybe at the chipped wall painting that definitely was overdue for a new layer, maybe at her nails that suddenly became more interesting to inspect and mentally debate which color polish would look better than to look at the nervous wreck in front of her, maybe at her soccer captain strolling by with her usual strut and her quiet girl best friend beside her, or possibly at the dried gum that's been spat onto the floor some fifteen years ago.

Then came the inevitable million dollar question:

“—can I be your boyfriend?”

Seth, standing in all his loser glory, with his usual eyeliner smudged and heavily contrasting against his sickly pale skin and his absolute mess of haircut that Rio wasn’t sure even had a name, as well as his orange 2Pac shirt (whom she was sure he wasn’t even into) and his wildly unmatched khaki colored cargo shorts, looked at her with a nervous smile like this was the first time he’d ever talked to her. To anyone who didn’t know any better it might’ve looked just like it—Rio never had a more forced smile on her face than the one she brought up to her lips. At first she thought it was obvious it wasn’t very sincere, then over time it just melted and it became something like a flustered grin, because the more seconds that passed the bigger Seth’s nervous smile turned into a hopeful beam.

Rio was sure Seth knew she never had a boyfriend before—or ever even really done anything intimate, save for that one kiss she had back in Miami when she was at a 7th grade dance at the end of the school year. The closest thing to a kiss she’d ever done after that was hugs and sharing an icee with Natalie (and occasionally kissing her goodbye after games and parties—but that didn’t count). Rio was also sure Seth knew she didn’t necessarily understand the pressure that a ton of girls face when it comes to boys—like they’re expected to have a boyfriend as if it’s some universal rule you have to follow or else you aren’t really good for anything. She always wondered why it almost seemed like the concept of a heterosexual romance was being advertised at her every turn. She remembered a few weeks into her freshman year her mom asked her if she’d seen any “cute boys” yet. Her mother never stressed the concept of a straight relationship over Rio that much, but even when the amount of times the conversation happened was only a handful, she never failed to notice the undertone at the end of each and every one. Remember, Rio. It’s only natural to be attracted to men as a woman. Be with a man, why don’t you.

She never quite questioned it. Because god forbid Rio bring up the idea of her being into anything other than a traditional life with her male counterparts.

Nobody in the atrium was watching them, but the heat that crept up the back of Rio’s neck and seemingly attacked her face like a hot flash made her think that this was some sort of spotlight moment in a play where the only thing the audience could see was them, and the prying eyes felt like pointing fingers aimed towards Seth as if to tell her this is your destiny. She surely felt a fever was coming over her with how hot her face felt—her chest, as well. Her tank top felt like it was stuck to her, latching to her chest with the intent to squeeze and wring the air out of her lungs until she was a raisin. Her armpits were screaming at her to take her jacket off before they caught on fire, and she would’ve if she wouldn’t get dress coded by the deans lingering around. It wasn’t even that warm and fuzzy feeling that one of the girls from the soccer team described. It was sweltering, incredibly uncomfortable and it might as well set her whole heart on fire and burn uncomfortably in her chest the whole day.

Rio could see that Seth was visibly growing nervous the longer they both stood there in the middle of the hallway. Despite the bell having already rung and a few people sped past them because they were late for whatever reason, nobody stopped to look at them and question what the fuck they’re standing around for like they’re freshmen. When a hall monitor emerged from the doorway to the main hallway, Rio was pulled out of her train of thought and looked away from Seth.

“Uhh…” she began with no pre-orchestrated plan on what she would’ve said next. And she thanked whatever god was up there when the hall monitor practically sped his way over to the both of them, pushing his rather expensive looking pair of glasses up the bridge of his freckled nose and got ready to hiss for them to go to class so that she wouldn’t have to give Seth an answer (whatever answer that may be, she wasn’t necessarily sure yet but she wasn’t leaning towards the ‘yes’ side).

“Go to class!”

“Fuck off, Henry,” Seth frowned as he whipped his head around to look at the incoming hall monitor, watching him make no effort to stop power walking towards them seemingly with a notepad at the ready. For what reason he had such a portable thing on him, neither Rio nor Seth could ever find out, but they both assumed it wasn’t for any reason that would benefit either of them in any way, so instead of focusing on the more romantic aspect that Seth thought they had going on, they both opted to go their separate ways for the while and go to their given destinations before getting chastised by the helicopter hall monitor.

Rio was internally grateful that Seth decided to drop the initial topic and went away before she could be pestered any more than she already had been. She didn’t necessarily feel like listening to him explain to the hall monitor that instead of going to the cafeteria for the culinary exam retake he was spending the past five minutes standing there and asking out one of his only lady friends to be his girlfriend only for him to get nothing but a cheap smile and dead silence in return. Consider that his very late and very bland Valentine’s Day gift after having nothing to give him in return.

Although there came the embarrassing feeling of walking into class late and without a proper excuse as to why she was a whole three minutes late. She couldn’t think of anything to say when someone had opened the door for her as a result of all the pairs of eyes that suddenly became so interested in her tardiness, as if that’d become a universal entertainment for the whole school population.

Her economics teacher stood there at the chalkboard with her arms crossed and a small piece of chalk sitting between her fingers and with a raised eyebrow on her face. “Tardy pass?”

No, you moron, I just got here ten minutes ago and was immediately pestered by a guy who thinks I want him.

“No,” Rio drawled out quietly and almost shamefully, until she dared to look around the classroom and find none other than fucking Natalie Scatorccio sitting at the back in her usual spot with her usual smirk and her usual cocky glint in her eyes.

“Any valid reason as to why you’ve decided to express your tardiness?”

Rio hated that her economics teacher did this to everyone who was late, even if it was a measly three minutes. No, she obviously didn’t have a valid reason as to why she was tardy. It irritated her. And what was she supposed to say? The throes of romance got the best of her and rendered her a victim of Cupid’s unfortunate arrow? That she was being held up by a dude who wanted her to fit into the role of a “guy’s girlfriend”?

“No,” she grumbled out again, looking around again and letting her eyes land on Natalie, her face scrunching up slightly at the smirk that didn’t seem to want to leave. As much as it irked her she couldn’t really find it in her to be mad at her. Not just at that but in general—but she’d digress if someone were to ever ask why.

The teacher didn’t bother with publicly shaming Rio for being tardy. It was only eight in the morning, and frankly she hadn’t even taken attendance yet, much less started class. Though instead of showing her tiredness like a normal person would at eight in the morning she opted to be a bitch to her first period class, because everybody’s too groggy to pay attention to the way her eyes carry a tired glint to them despite having a bit of makeup on to cover her eye bags underneath.

Rio shuffled to the spot reserved for her in the back of class—not that assigned seats were a thing in this teacher’s class, since this kind of class was specifically for seniors, and she had just enough faith in said seniors that they could behave themselves with no seating arrangements that prohibited them from sitting next to their friends—Natalie’s shoe covered the seat next to her, with her leg stretched across the row and a shit eating smirk on her face.

“Nuh uh,” Natalie shook her head teasingly, her eyes staying on Rio as she stood there with an entirely unamused look. For the sake of not having the teacher get on her case again, Rio only kicked her leg away and took her rightful spot next to her best friend, tearing her impossibly heavy backpack off her shoulders and setting it on the floor next to her chair.

“You wanna tell me why you’re late?” Natalie prods, turning in her seat to face Rio. The teacher never bothered to pay any mind to the students in the back of her class who sat there for a reason—doing stuff and talking about stuff and doing anything and everything except paying attention to the class itself, which is why Natalie so casually turned to face Rio instead of facing forward.

“Don’t act like you have a leg to stand on,” Rio countered, turning her head to look at Natalie. “You fucking skipped classes before.”

“Yeah, but like,” She licks her lips as the gears turn in her head and she thinks of something else to say to defend her case. “That’s kind of expected of me. You’re kinda like a goodie two shoes, except you’re not that great.”

“Listen to the teapot calling the kettle black,” Rio lets out a chuckle meant to make fun of Natalie, furrowing her eyebrows with a grin that mirrors the cocky look on her face. “You aren’t up to people’s standards either, burnout.”

Around other people, like Seth or Laura Lee or Mari or the other handful of friends she has, it wasn’t very often that they saw Rio with a spunky attitude. Most of the time it was her acting the same way as them—mirroring their personalities and talking like them. Nobody ever really questioned that fact; verbally, anyways. A few of her friends wondered why she had such varying attitudes towards others at different times but they never actually asked her about it because they thought it was her way of being everybody’s friend. Natalie was no exception—whatever snarky and sarcastic thing she had to say, Rio had a quip ready on the tip of her tongue to keep Natalie on her toes. It was just like that between them and nobody else.

Maybe Natalie was into that. Probably not, but it was safe to assume for everybody that never spoke to her a day in their lives that she was into anything with the kind of reputation that surrounds her.

Natalie knows it’s all in good fun, when Rio calls her “burnout”. She doesn’t mean it like other people do when the word rolls off their tongue and seemingly lands in the mud puddle it was originally meant for. It doesn’t sound like a bitter taste on her tongue, it doesn’t sound like a punch to Natalie’s face. Instead it ignites a warmth in her chest that makes her feel a different way about the word. Like she shouldn’t give a damn what people judge her by calling her that, because as long as it carries a different connotation in Rio’s mouth, everybody else doesn’t matter.

“You’re avoiding the question, loser,” Natalie leaned her arm on her desk. “You’re late, dude.”

“No shit,” Rio snarked back, and a second later she ran her hand through her hair and let out an exasperated sigh. She knew Natalie wouldn’t stop being nosy about why Rio was late until she told her whatever it was she was hoping to hear. So instead she opted for a smartass remark.

“I was late cuz I was doing anal with your mom.”

“Interesting,” Natalie raised an eyebrow to accompany the now confident grin that’d taken shape on her face. “So do you want me to report the both of you before or after Regionals?”

“You know I’m only joking,” Rio reached a leg over to her left to lightly kick Natalie’s ankle. “It was something else. It was really weird.”

Natalie’s eyebrow stayed lifted. She didn’t look surprised at all and if anything she looked curious—which she undoubtedly was judging by the way she shifted in her seat to get comfortable. “Well don’t beat around the bush.”

Rio groaned. It was too late. Natalie was already invested in it, and Rio began wondering how long it would take for her to lose interest in it once she found out it was about Seth. Now she began to momentarily orchestrate how she’d say it without Natalie getting that pouty look on her face. Rio nibbled on her bottom lip; she knew that Seth was a rather unenjoyable topic for her (and frankly she felt the same despite being friends with him for so long), and she knew, even if Natalie didn’t say, that she only hung out with Seth because Rio did. And Rio only hung out with Seth because he was friends with one of Natalie’s other friends. Point being neither of them really had an opinion on him. That wasn’t a good thing.

“You’ll never believe it,” she started slowly; she still only had part of a plan orchestrated on how to say it without mentioning Seth. Her teeth let go of her bottom lip. “But, someone…”

“Someone…?” Natalie pressed, tilting her head forward. The sun shining through the window casted a glint over everyone in the room, though Rio wasn’t really paying attention to them. She was watching the way the light shone over the bleached blonde hair, as well as the light doing wonderful things for her jawline, and the warm look in her eyes (which needed no assistance from the sunlight) that she always got whenever she was looking at Rio. Reason being, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know; or maybe she did know and she never brought it up out of fear that it would change things between them. And obviously it would, but she didn’t want things to be complex. She wanted it to stay the same, to stay simple and easy and without question.

Moving on.

“Someone…asked me out,” Rio finally pushed the words out of her mouth like they were originally stubbornly tied into a knot on her tongue. She watched the warm glint in Natalie’s eyes fade. Her heart clenched slightly. It sounded weird anyways despite her half-baked efforts not to make it sound weird. Natalie almost looked disappointed if it weren’t for her attempt at covering it up with a snarky smile and a look of disbelief.

“So people do have low standards,” Natalie let out a dry chuckle, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair. She crossed her legs next. “I almost feel bad for whoever it was.”

“Yeah, well, I could say the same thing about the guys who hit on you,” Rio rolled her eyes affectionately.

A pause. It’s only for a few seconds, but it was long enough for Rio to start thinking that what she said might’ve actually made Natalie upset before her train of thought was interrupted.

“Are you gonna tell me who it was or are you gonna make me guess?” Natalie quirked an eyebrow, her smirk solidifying into an almost genuine look. Maybe she manifested her own legitimate smile into existence. “Or is this shit all in your head.”

“Asshole,” Rio lightly kicked Natalie’s ankle again, earning a shove on her shoulder in return. “Why do you care who asked me out, anyways?”

“Why would I not give a shit? You’ve, like, never been asked out before,” the way Natalie said it so matter of factly nearly shoved it into Rio’s face that she could potentially have her first ever boyfriend today, in the instance she’d accept Seth’s confession with the open arms he was hoping for. Maybe the realization was there before and Rio was just avoiding it for whatever reason that pertained to wanting something else—someone else, though it seemed unlikely to Rio at that very moment.

“You’re so nosy,” Rio scoffed, shrinking away slightly and sitting properly in her chair as if to avoid the question by pretending to pay attention to whatever her teacher was saying. The way she shifted didn’t go unnoticed by Natalie’s watchful eyes.

“And you’re deflecting.”

“I don’t wanna fucking tell you,” Rio hissed, her eyebrows furrowed. Natalie narrowed her eyes at the sharpness in her voice; she could see the gears turning in her head and the process of eliminating going on in her mind’s eye. Where she got options she came up with, Rio would never know. But at some point between when she snapped and when Natalie finally clicked her tongue which signaled she had an idea of who it was, she came to the conclusion of who it was.

“It was Seth, wasn’t it?”

“It’s—“ Rio started, and she didn’t have a clue why. She couldn’t find a way to explain herself, much less figure out a way to make the whole thing not sound weird. The things she wanted to say were clogged up in her throat. The word vomit that tried making its way from her stomach just barely reached her mouth and left an unidentifiable taste on her tongue.

“I probably won’t even say yes,” she didn’t want Natalie to be upset if she did ever accept Seth. Like she already acknowledged many times before, both Natalie and Seth were indifferent towards each other. Why they were so weird around one another, that was between them and God.

“But you’re considering it,” Natalie retorted. It was only then that Rio noticed the smirk fell from her face.

“Kind of…” Rio started again. “But like, I don’t wanna turn him down and potentially ruin our friendship.”

“It’s not my place to tell you who you should and shouldn’t date,” Natalie held her hands up slightly in defense, signaling her surrender in an argument that never even started. Rio felt a familiar taste of disappointment replace the word vomit. “But if you say no and he doesn’t take it well, then that doesn’t sound like a dude you wanna keep around.”

“I know—you’re right,” Rio leans her elbow on her desk and rests a hand in her hair, frizzy from the humid March air she’d been trudging through just an hour ago to get to school just to avoid driving her car with no air conditioning. “I just don’t know if I like him or not.”

“Can you envision yourself kissing him?” Natalie quirked her eyebrow again in an attempt to give Rio the impression that she was already moving on and pretending there wasn’t any tension just half a second ago.

Fuck that. There was no way Rio could envision herself ever kissing Seth. He wasn’t ugly, but he wasn’t dashing, either. She never paid too much attention to his lips but she imagined they weren’t very soft if she had any leg to stand on in comparison to Natalie—then again those “goodbye kisses” from leaving parties and games didn’t count. Not to Rio, anyways, and Natalie never made a big deal out of the whole thing being so casual despite the fact she was literally kissing her best friend. She was more than sure Seth wouldn’t even come close to being on her level. And doing more than kissing? The thought made her physically recoil in her seat.

And so came the weak “Yeah.” A lie. A fat one, at that. Natalie knew. She saw the way Rio made a face just a few seconds after such a blasphemous question was imposed on her.

“You’re such a shit liar,” Natalie grinned, like she had any idea just how much Rio truly began to resent the thought of having to kiss Seth. “Why would you wanna date someone you can’t even picture yourself makin’ out with?”

“Kissing and making out isn’t all there is to a relationship, is there?” Rio asked rhetorically. On the contrary she agreed with Natalie, but at the same time a very small part of her was curious. There’s always room for more: more money, more opportunities, more knowledge. Which means room for growth. Could she grow to like kissing Seth even if she’d never done so? Could she grow to like the idea of being with a man despite all her inner monologues against her mother’s rhetoric and her own pondering about her sexuality to prove otherwise? The universe does work in mysterious ways, after all.

“Not really,” Natalie shrugged. Like she knew anything about a stable relationship. “But it’s pretty strange if you’re with someone and you don’t even kiss them.”

“I guess,” Rio mirrored Natalie and shrugged in return. “But there’s other ways to show your love for someone without having to like…” she trailed off. She didn’t know squat about relationships either, the only knowledge she had about them was from watching the occasional romcom from time to time if she ever decided it was worth her attention. “Y’know. Get intimate.”

Natalie argued. “He’s just gonna wind up cheating on you.”

“And how do you know?”

“Well, for one, he’s a teenage boy. Two, he’d be stuck in a relationship where his girlfriend doesn’t wanna fuckin’ kiss him. He might think you’re the one cheating on him from all the times we kiss each other goodbye from games and parties.”

“That doesn’t count!” Rio whisper-yelled, which in turn made Natalie raise her eyebrows suspiciously. While Rio never saw or heard her make a big deal out of that whole affair being casual in Rio’s eyes or ever confronted her about it, Natalie did wonder why Rio was so insistent on it just being completely platonic. What was so friendly about kissing your best friend on the mouth? It wasn’t only kissing, either. It was the less physically intimate parts about them. Like when they’d sit on the bleachers share an orange creme soda together on the occasion that they got to the soccer field early and waited for practice to start. Or when Rio’s driving and she reaches a red light and they randomly turn to each other and gaze into the other's eyes until their moment of longing is interrupted by a rude honk from the car behind them. Being caught watching the warm glint in your best friend’s eyes and wanting to swipe your thumb underneath her eyelid doesn’t exactly scream “just friends!”

“Whatever you say,” and so Natalie decided to drop it. She figured it was better to just let it play out the way God intended than to try and fight it knowing damn well Rio probably would end up accepting Seth’s confession that Natalie was mentally sure wasn’t even sweet and considerate anyways despite saying otherwise just a few minutes ago.

Rio couldn’t find the words to keep the whole conversation going. Curse her awkwardness. Thinking back now, if she wasn’t so awkward earlier when Seth approached her with an inconvenience about him to match her uncoordinated conversation skills, this whole thing wouldn’t be an issue. She would’ve actually had the balls to turn him down and not give a rats ass if it sent his ego balled up into a knot and rolling down a very bumpy hill towards frown town. Heaven forbid she actually engages in what she’s feeling like a normal person. Heaven forbid the cat doesn’t get her fucking tongue.

A personal grudge she holds against herself. A few, actually, and part of said grudges pertain to a bunch of other people too, so as not to make it look like plain self deprecation to anyone who asked. Her own inability to speak for what she wants (which in this case is to not be Seth’s girlfriend), she sort of blamed on her mother. All those undertones that meant to say get a fucking boyfriend already, Rosario rather than do you wanna invite your friends over for your birthday? assuming Rio would include her guy friends in the process. She never did, by the way. Her letting other people make their assumptions about her without saying a thing to them to prove that their stereotypes weren’t true. Well, scratch that. A few might be on point, like her playing soccer and wearing alternative clothing. A grudge she holds against a few of those popular girls Rio calls “Heathers” despite having differing names and all those baseball and football guys who date cheerleaders and all look and act the same: white, buff, brown or blond hair, tall, and fucking stupid.

Grudge number three: her dad cheating with another woman, which ultimately resulted in Rio and her mother moving up north away from Miami. As well as a little brother whom Rio had no idea even existed until one day in her freshman year when this boy showed up on her doorstep and explained to her that he was her brother. She wasn’t too pleased with it.

Quite a few grudges. No biggy.

The silence that dragged between Rio and Natalie made the rest of the class feel like time was purposely moving slowly so that the both of them had to sit in their own awkward atmosphere they built up when Rio decided to announce that someone had their eyes on her as some sort of punishment for being too much of a pussy and not doing anything about the tension that started growing between them in their sophomore year.

Yes, tension. Between Natalie and Rio. Not bad tension, per say, but it did make things a little weird for them. For a time Rio wasn’t used to seeing Natalie in a light that brought a heat to her face—and no it was not from “the sun” despite all the times Rio would argue that it was whenever one of her annoying teammates would ask about it.

“I think she’s got the hots for Nat…” Van would whisper to Taissa.

Such a shocking thing to discover when they’ve been kissing each other on the mouth since tenth grade.

And the bell finally rang, much to Rio’s dismay that it didn’t ring about 30 minutes earlier. It certainly would’ve saved her the urge to rip her hair out simmering inside her. She was pissed off, and she couldn’t put a finger on the reason why. Not at Natalie, who seemed to be mildly irritated with her in turn, though neither of them made a point to talk about it because it would eventually fade away by the end of the day when practice started from the natural waves of the school day that washed over them whenever they saw each other again. If anything, Rio thought it was safe to assume that her anger was pointed at Seth, even though in reality he hadn’t really done anything wrong and he was only expressing the feelings for Rio that strummed evenly in his bloodstream like guitar strings playing a soft tune. She didn’t like that. Not really, anyways. She didn’t like the thought of being his girlfriend, of actively touching her lips to his and cuddling up with him and spending time with him in that way.

She was confused about herself, yes, but she wasn’t stupid. She could tell between what she wanted in general and what she didn’t want with certain people. She could tell that whatever Seth had going on for her, she clearly didn’t have it going on for him. And she didn’t think she’d ever have it going for any other dude that was bound to make their move on her in the foreseeable future she was supposed to make it to.

Then again, she was only a teenage girl. All sorts of things change in a teenage girl’s mind.

_________________________

LATER THAT DAY.

Natalie wasn’t too pleased with Seth. A mini grudge birthed itself in the back of her head to which she made no effort to keep back there. No effort to hide it, no effort to make it known to Seth that she didn’t feel anything else for him other than resentment.

Rio’s considering it.

Actually considering being Seth’s girlfriend, as far as she knew. Which in Natalie’s defense wasn’t a lot, given that their whole conversation earlier that morning wasn’t to show that they were champions at communicating with each other.

Defense fucking failed. Seth knew right off the bat that Natalie was pissed with him for the day. No need for assistance from one of her other bonehead friends to poke and prod at the wrong buttons today. Seth’s big fat Cupid’s arrow shaped thumb poked at the big red button at the center of Natalie’s chest, right above her heart, with Rio’s name on it and sounded off just about every alarm in her head that nearly sent steam blowing from her ears.

Fucking cool it, Nat. You’re being a weirdo. She’d tell herself after she noticed the look Seth gave her like she had grown an additional head after she’d barked a little too loudly that she was “fine” when she’d shown up to her English class looking a little too not fine.

This must be how Shauna feels, was what ran through her head for the rest of the day. And if Natalie knew anything from catching glimpses from the all-too obvious yearning in Shauna’s eyes when they lingered on Jackie, she was not gonna let herself go down that miserable Shauna Shipman path.

Not that she hadn’t been subconsciously going down a much similar path the whole time. Maybe a sister path, without a knockoff Jeff for the time being up until that day. It seemed that the whole week before spring break was a curse for Rio and Natalie. Like life had it out for them any time it saw them getting closer and closer until they were a hair’s touch from being satisfied with life as it was.

Practice had been waiting for Natalie with a shit eating grin on its face. Just like it always was, with the usual hour and a half of running laps around the soccer field for 10 minutes as a warm up that, more often than not, left a few beads of sweat sliding down her temples. Only for her to find out that her best friend had decided to fucking skip. Then it was accompanied with the whole team discussing what they were going to do for spring break instead of actually practicing despite Jackie’s speeches and lighthearted demands to do so (hypocrisy’s sassy head reared in in the form of Jackie standing over a few teammates crouched down on the grass with a hand on her hip and talking instead of kicking balls around). Natalie wasn’t too excited for spring break, and, to her halfhearted surprise, nobody else was, either. She would usually hear something interesting about whatever Rio was gonna do for the break, but to Natalie’s dismay resulting in her raising a lovely middle finger to the sky on her sweltering odyssey home after declaring life had pulled Rio from practice to spite her wanting to see her again, there was nothing to fucking hear.

Of course, that wasn’t all. Just like people do when either Jackie or Shauna weren’t there (which was an extremely rare sighting), the team asked “Where’s the rest of you?” referring to Rio’s empty spot at her locker next to Natalie. She was half tempted to come up with some bullshit lie. Another half of her was tempted to very angrily tell them a short and brief story that someone was trying to take away her only chance at happiness. Then she decided both ideas were dumb as shit and went with the blatant obvious she’s not here.

Yeah, no shit, Natalie. No other reason for you to walk around with a storm cloud over your head.

Practices without Rio were surprisingly boring, in Natalie’s opinion, which in this case wasn’t very credible. Surprisingly, because it wasn’t too often that Rio skipped practice and usually it was for something serious. They were boring because there wasn’t anyone around to get on Jackie’s nerves or condescendingly talk shit with Mari and let Natalie eavesdrop on it because Rio knew she’d only pester her about it later despite Natalie’s mild disinterest in gossip, so she’d listen anyway. Nobody was around to walk home with Natalie even when she didn’t want to go home—just about anywhere sounded better than her shitty trailer littered with cigarette butts and beer cans and her mom who didn’t give a rat's ass about her.

The next few hours dragged on like nails against a chalkboard. The humid, sweltering heat seemed to melt time into wax and make it move slower than usual, and normally Natalie wouldn’t mind it. She wasn’t too fond of the teasing from Van, who seemed to be one of the first to see right through Natalie’s grit teeth and the straight face she wore the entirety of warming up (running laps around the field).

“What’s with the storm cloud over your head?” Van asked once she’d finally sat down on the grass, taking a spot next to Natalie instead of her usual place next to Taissa during the second half of warming up: stretching until their muscles felt like rubber.

Natalie doesn’t ponder her answer which came out in her usual monotonous voice. “Just had a shitty day,” not necessarily a lie. Her day was only mildly ruined when she learned that Seth had decided to test his luck in his dating pool with an ambiguous answer in return. It wasn’t as bad as she made it out to be, though if Van knew the extent of the underlying issue behind why the day was so “shitty” then she’d never hear the end of it. “Typical Wednesday.”

“I hear ya,” Van made a face to show to Natalie that she agreed, and that she’d drop asking her why she was so grumpy through teasing comments. It only lasted a few seconds before she smirked. “Y’sure it ain’t got anything to do with a certain Rio-shaped gap next to you?”

“Absolutely, cuz my entire life revolves around Rio showing up to practice.” Natalie extended her legs all the way out in front of her before leaning over, stretching her arms out to touch the tips of her cleats with her fingers. She purses her lips to keep a satisfied groan from escaping the back of her throat.

Van scoffed. “Might as well,” she pulled her legs into a butterfly stretch, setting her hands on her knees and leaning forward slightly. “With the way you’re acting like a piss baby.”

“Piss baby,” Natalie grumbled under her breath with a shake of her head, pulling herself back up and running her hands up her legs before making a stop at her hips. “That’s a little dramatic.”

“Hey, man,” Van sat up straight and raised her hands slightly. “You’re the one who’s grumpy here.”

A beat. A long one, long enough for Natalie to think Van already moved on from pestering her about the real reason she’s so moody.

And once again Van proved her wrong.

“Maybe she’s just late.” Came her lame attempt at making Natalie not look like she just ate a lemon. She turned her head to get a clear look at Van, still looking like she ate a lemon.

“It’s been twenty fucking minutes, Van. She’s not coming.”

“Chillax, holy moly,” the way Van, even if it was playful and lighthearted, acted like Natalie had said something completely out of line (which, okay, maybe the aggressiveness wasn’t necessary, but it was completely justified!) made her frown deepen. She forced her eyebrows to relax and got herself to pull out her resting bitch face almost immediately.

“Worst case scenario, she’s runnin’ off making lean and probably doing lines off some aliens ass crack somewhere.”

Natalie’s eyebrows furrowed in a natural response to Van’s attempt at bringing her spirits up before she even had time to process the sheer absurdity of it. Her head whipped back around to look at Van with the scowl that’d curated on its own.

“Is that your own version of comfort?” Because anything short of what Van just said could be closer to comfort and reassurance than that.

“I’m just saying, dude. At least she probably isn’t doing that.”

Natalie shook her head. It’s more humorous than comforting, probably the closest thing to amusement she’s had other than pretending to find comedy in the mental picking apart of the sentence Someone asked me out in her head, only to find none but laugh it off anyways because laughter was always the best medicine when your heart is actively sinking into a pit in your stomach.

Stupid heartache, man.

“Doin’ lines without me,” Natalie tuts, pulling herself up from her spot next to Van and popping her neck in a way that left a sharp pain in the left side of her nape. Just another thing to be pissed about. “Nah. She wouldn’t do something so exhilarating as that without me.”

Van follows suit after her, pulling her goalie gloves out of her pocket and pulling them over her fingers. “Worst case scenario, you wind up asking Shauna where the hell your girlfriend is. Don’t they got last period together?”

“My girlfriend?” Natalie squinted her eyes incredulously as she glared at Van.

“Oh, that’s what you ask about,” Van gave her a look. “You’re so bad at hiding it.”

“There’s nothing to hide,” in the history of bad lies ever told, that was the worst of them. Natalie couldn’t have made it more obvious than if someone stuck a hat over her head with a sign that said I’m in love with Rio Marcini! And it is actively ruining my life!

“Right, right,” Van gave Natalie a brief nod and looked off to the side as she smirked. “So does she have a date to prom yet?”

“Fuck if I know,” Natalie set her hands on her hips as the look on her face changed from irritation to exasperation. Fuckin’ Seth Mitchell, probably. The poorly familiar taste of jealousy settled in her mouth as the thought of Rio showing up to prom with the skunk-raccoon breed looking guy hanging off her arm. She figured she’d have to douse out the jealousy in her tastebuds with a bit of vodka from her mom’s fridge.

“Why do you care, anyways? It’s not like my best friend’s date to prom is any of your business.”

“How do you, like, not know if she has one? Every best friend knows their best friend’s date to prom?”

Practice without Rio on a measly Wednesday before spring break was nothing short of annoying.

_________________________

A BIT LATER THAN THAT.

It wasn’t serious at all, unbeknownst to Natalie who’d made the assumption that Rio skipped practice for something serious, unbeknownst to Rio that an assumption was even made.

Natalie didn’t get very much out of asking Shauna if she knew what was up with Rio; all she got out of Shauna after asking, very roughly, you know where that asshole went? was a measly explanation that Rio’s mom had come up to pull her out for the rest of the school day. Natalie couldn’t say it irked her; she would’ve given up her right arm if she didn’t have to go to her 7th period English class with Seth and the other boneheads to her right and bitchy, cunty, stereotypical popular girls to her left that liked to bother her like it was a hobby.

Lucky for Rio, who didn’t even have 7th period English class, it wasn’t anything extreme like Natalie had presumed. If anyone asked, it would’ve been hard for Rio to explain, but occasionally when her mother felt like being nice, she’d do stuff for Rio that she didn’t typically do. For some people it might’ve been the bare minimum, but her mother didn’t want Rio to waste her energy on practice that day and instead spend the rest of her afternoon “sprucing up,” as her mother said when Rio got in the car when the question was lingering on the tip of her tongue.

Sprucing up for what, exactly, Rio had no idea. Part of her thought her mom had super hearing or some sort of telepathic powers that extended all the way to her school and could read her mind pondering on the million dollar question imposed on her that morning, and that was why her mother wanted her to spruce up. What her mother had in mind was getting Rio’s nails painted in the color of her choice (which, upon choosing black, made her mother’s nose crinkle for a half second before putting on a supportive grin in an attempt to silently tell her that whatever made Rio happy, she was happy), getting her hair trimmed, to which Rio was actually grateful for as she’d made plans a while ago to get her hair fixed up before States, then taking a trip to some restaurant Rio had never even heard of and getting take out.

Only for them to run into her little brother hanging around the counter talking to the dude standing behind the register.

Hugo, her little brother, with short and still somehow messy black hair, one of the thousands of plain black shirts he owned, jeans that looked like they’d been through hell and back and dragged to absolute filth, converse that looked like they experienced the same kind of evil, and a singular silver nose piercing that somehow made him stand out from all the other alternative boys at her school. His other saving grace was the glasses on his face and the fact his skin was just a tiny bit darker than hers and a voice so distinct it was easy for Rio to clock even if they were in a crowded room. He had the same slouch to his posture, which was given the way his arms were crossed over the white counter he was perched in front of on his feet with a toothy grin that, in some other peoples minds (probably Seth or Kevyn Tan from 3rd period ASL), seemed outwardly friendly. Rio knew better. Hugo was grinning stupidly wide at the cashier and had a twinkle in his eyes that told her it wasn’t a smile that said he wanted to be friends.

Rio and her mother stood there in awe as they watched Hugo casually stand there talking to a cashier he’d never met in his life before that day as if he hadn’t traveled all the way across the country from the west. At first they didn’t actually think it was him, and then he let out a hearty laugh in that annoying voice of his that pulled them back to reality and made them realize that, yes, Hugo was there once again.

It ended with Rio opting to hop in the back of her mom’s car instead of staying up front where her bag was so she could talk to Hugo on the ride home, while he ate all the fries and left the three of them only the mediocre, ridiculously greasy burgers and the nuggets that came with his.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Rio whispered, squinting her eyes before raising her hand when the car turned at an angle where the sun shone right into her eyes and nearly frying her retinas in the process. Hugo handed her a fry.

“Shit hit the fan in Montana again,” he whispered back as quietly as his pubescent voice would let him. He pulled a fry out from the bag before he looked back down and realized he had the last one. He turned back to Rio and ate it right in front of her.

She only scoffed. That was the same thing Hugo said every time he popped into Wiskayok. “Is that what you’re gonna say every time dad gets even slightly involved with the cops?”

“Better safe than sorry!” Hugo reached over and swatted Rio’s arm with his hand before he went back to holding the paper bag like it was his baby. A moment of silence lingered between them and Rio’s mother, who’d been eavesdropping on what they were talking about even when she made it seem like she was focusing on driving. Rio figured out the signals a while ago when she noticed her eyebrows would raise every time one of them said something shocking.

“I got a game on Saturday,” Rio whispered again. Hugo turned his head as if to ask if Rio still played soccer like he’d forgotten over the time he’d been back in Montana. “You wanna come see?”

“And watch y’all lose? Why not? It’ll give me something to clown on you for.”

“Ass,” Rio swatted Hugo’s arm again, biting back the smile that had attempted to make its way onto her face. “We’ve been undefeated all season. And we got States coming up soon in May, so if you think you’ll be stickin’ around long enough you can watch us make it to Nationals.”

“I heard about y’all playing our team a few weeks ago,” Hugo reached his arm around to scratch the back of his head. An invisible lightbulb went off over it, and a shit-eating grin took form on his already annoying face.

“You still friends with that Natalie girl?”

Rio’s face fell for a moment when Natalie’s name tumbled from Hugo’s mouth. The image of that detached look on her face flashed in the back of her mind, then she remembered she hadn’t said anything to her mother or to Hugo about Seth. She cringed internally, though it quickly went away when the thought crossed her mind that if they won the game coming up on Saturday, then Rio would be get to enjoy the temporary escape from her reality when her and Natalie inevitably shared another “goodbye kiss” that shouldn’t have sent a shiver down her spine and a hotter flush to her cheeks as many times as it did.

“Why are you suddenly so interested in my friendship with Nat?”

Hugo simply shrugged like he knew nothing of the real intentions he had behind asking. “Dunno. Just thought I’d ask if y’all are still platonic after all the things you said about her over the phone.”

Rio felt a wave of panic rush through her as her blood went cold.

She slapped her hand over Hugo’s mouth to keep him from saying a little too much while her mother was still around to hear it.

“Shut up,” she took her hand off of Hugo’s mouth, and he raised his eyebrows slightly. A look flashed across his face, a knowing look, one that told him that he was getting somewhere when he asked if Rio and Natalie were still platonic.

The rest of the ride back to Rio’s house was primarily quiet. Hugo once complimented Rio on her hair, though it hadn’t changed much since the last time he’d seen her; it was a bit messier and frizzier than it normally was, but spring weather had its conditions. In exchange for nice breezes (and only nice breezes), humidity filled the air and allergy season came in return. Occasionally, Rio’s mother would look in the rearview mirror and send a glance at Rio, something she’d started to do ever since Hugo opened his mouth and dared to suggest that Natalie and Rio were anything more than friends. Rio would’ve liked to think she didn’t care and that she was aware it wasn’t really any of her business, but the look in her mother’s eyes wasn’t exactly warm and welcoming, even if there was the slightest chance that what Hugo said was completely false. It disappointed her, and it only served to egg her on even further to wander away from Natalie.

The neighborhood which Rio and her mother lived in (plus, temporarily, Hugo thanks to his inviting himself in) was within walking distance to the trailer park Natalie and Van lived in. Rio could’ve gone out to her backyard and climbed up the fence and she probably would’ve seen the trailer park from there, if it weren’t for the overgrown grass and bushes that Rio nor her mother never bothered to clean up. Their house itself wasn’t quite the dump it would seem to be, given that they were so close to the lowest of the low one can get in Wiskayok. A medium brown covered the exterior that extended to the size that a normal house would’ve been, with a few windows on the front left side and one on the right with the door painted a darker brown in between them. The garage stuck out from the doorway, going past half of the walkway which led to the porch guarded by a veranda painted in the same shade as the exterior and extended to the side of the house. The roof was just plain black shingles that absorbed way too much sunlight; one of them had practically dangled on the left edge of the front near the garage and seemingly had been waiting for some divine force of wind to finally knock it out of place.

On the right side of the house was Rio’s room. It was only slightly bigger than her mother’s room, but the difference was so small that her mother couldn’t even tell and she’d been happy as a clam to see hers. The inside hadn’t started out very special; over the last few years they’d been there it was obvious Natalie had a bit of an effect on the way it was styled. In Rio’s freshman year her room only consisted of her bed, her desk, her drawer, her closet and a few posters here and there that she’d collected before she left Miami. In comparison to that, by the start of her senior year, fairy lights hung around the crevices of her ceiling and all around her room with a substantial amount of posters her and Natalie had been hunting for (in an effort to make Rio’s room have more personality, since the first time Natalie came over she’d pointed out that “the walls look a little bald.”) and trinkets were hung and held up by thumb tacks and pins. A nightstand was moved in next to Rio’s bed, where it’d been filled with all sorts of stuff: the top drawer with her numerous pairs of sunglasses, as she liked how convenient it went with her hair and her style, a few old cassette tapes she kept for the sake of nostalgia, and a few things of hair ties Rio made no use of in the two years since Jackie had given them to her from having a few too many to fit in her own drawer and had been towering up on her bathroom sink; the middle drawer keeping her polaroid camera that Lottie had given her for her birthday during the summer between sophomore and junior year (to which she’d put to use quite often), the rest of the drawer having been filled top to bottom with tons of polaroids of random things (most of them were of her and Natalie, which she’d never ever throw away no matter how much space they took up); the bottom drawer held a few of her notebooks she’d used to the very last page to write all sorts of things in. Most of the time she’d written something that involved whatever she had to complain about (which is one of the things she did best) or paragraph after paragraph about her own self reflection and a few attempts to psychoanalyze herself. The attempts were, more often than not, futile, but a few exceptions were made by the universe whenever Rio had been staying up at an hour which would earn an earful and a snatch of her walkman from her mother, and her lamp had been lit up just enough that she could see what she was writing and surprised herself in the morning when she’d woken up to find her open notebook containing things she’d concluded about herself in the dead of night when she was alone and had nothing to show for her enjoyment of life. Other times they’d been about whatever shenanigan she’d been up to with Natalie for the day or simply stuff about her best friend that she occasionally flipped to the pages of when she was feeling bored and caught herself smiling at the mere sight of her name written in the lead of her own mechanical pencil.

The left side of the house was where her mother slept in her slightly smaller room that she was oh so delighted about. Her mother took it upon herself to buy a bunch of paint during the early months of living there and painted her walls a rose-gold color to make herself feel more at home. A giant dream catcher was hung on the wall right above her bed, because that was the sort of thing Yesenia Marcini believed in. Her room wasn’t much special, just the typical things a mother would usually keep in there. Her mother specifically restricted Hugo from ever even going in there as a byproduct of the heavy distaste for his father still left simmering inside her. She tolerated him nonetheless, only because Rio loved him as her half brother. Hugo sometimes slept on the couch, that way he had the whole living room to himself at night while the other two left him alone. Other times he stayed in Rio’s room despite her demands for him to go away and slept on the floor after Rio caved in and gave him one of her pillows and an old blanket.

In between that was, ideally, a bathroom down the hall from their rooms on the left side, and a laundry room which also gave way to the back door. At the front of the house was the kitchen and living room, with typical kitchen and living room necessities. In one of the drawers in the kitchen was a specific set of silverware separated from the rest of the forks and knives and spoons. One of each set aside for Natalie, which went to prove she practically had her own place to stay there whenever she didn’t want to go home (which was more often than what was considered normal).

Upon arriving home, which took a little bit longer than Rio would’ve liked, considering that the air inside the car felt just a tiny bit suffocating for the second half of the ride, they’d been greeted with their back gate being propped open despite the fact none of them had even touched in the span of the past several weeks. The murky brown, rickety, wooden gate was swung open just a little bit, but it was enough to suggest that it was wide enough for someone to easily slip through. Rio had half a brain to turn to Hugo and raised an eyebrow at him to silently question him, only for her to have received a confused look in return. The suspicion sat uneasy in Rio’s stomach, and she felt that her need for food had vanished bit by bit as she was the first one to get out of her mother’s car to go and check out what it might’ve been. A stupid idea, she realized when it dawned on her that she wasn’t armed in any way and that she could’ve been walking into a fight with some dude with a gun or a knife at the very least. She was careful to look for footprints and shoe prints that weren’t hers, and when she found none, she assumed that the wind had somehow knocked the gate open. But then she looked at the lock and saw that for the gate to be opened that far, someone must’ve purposefully pulled the lever down and pushed the gate open.

Nothing was back there, Rio found out after she’d tiptoed around the yard and tested if the backdoor was unlocked. It wasn’t, but of course that did nothing to ease the anxiety that’d worked its way up her neck and squeezed around her throat like barbed wire. She earned herself an earful from her mother after that, the words having gone in one ear and out the other when she’d droned on abou how “that was a stupid idea” and “are you stupid? You could’ve gotten hurt, child!” Rio did find that her mother liked to use the word “stupid” a lot in those few minutes she’d spent yelling at her instead of letting it go and opting to eat in peace.

Rio and Hugo ate in her room. Despite Rio’s protests for Hugo to go somewhere else (even when she knew he would’ve had to face the consequences of her mother glaring daggers at him from time to time), he stayed in there anyway. He claimed that her demanding he leave her room only served to egg him on and stay there out of spite. He also told her that she didn’t have much of a choice anyways and that he’d make himself comfortable on the floor at some point that night. Another way to ruin her fun, in Rio’s mind, but she let it go nonetheless.

After they ate, Rio procrastinated on her homework instead of doing it right away like she usually did. Hugo was a massive distraction to her, one of many in her life. They talked and bickered and made jokes instead of leaving each other alone so Rio could focus and Hugo do…whatever it was that he could’ve done with little resources to entertain himself. The hours passed and before the two of them knew it, Hugo had first yawned like a child and gave Rio a sleepy-eyed look that told her he was beyond ready to sleep. She couldn’t blame him. He’d probably spent all day getting from point A to point Z just to wind up in Wiskayok from Montana with her mother, then had to sit around town and talk to people he didn’t know.

The dead of night came. Hugo was barely awake on the floor; he claimed that the roughness of the carpet was irritating him, and Rio did sympathize with him, but she wasn’t about to give up her spot on her bed just because her 15 year old brother couldn’t handle sleeping on some carpet.

Rio, on the other hand, was wide awake. Her mind wracked with the anxiety that came from having taken a peak in her backyard earlier and even went as far as to search her house for anything that was out of the ordinary to her. She found nothing after she’d even looked in the cabinets in case the hypothetical burglar was a dwarf and in the fridge in the event that they happened to like the cold. Earlier, Hugo had to bully the anxiety out of Rio and told her that she was being stupid for being worried about it even after it was confirmed that no one had broken in. It wasn’t quite shaken out of her head, but she pretended anyway just to get Hugo to shut up.

She glanced over at the clock on her nightstand next to her bed. 12:03 AM. Her body was practically glued to the bed. If Hugo had gotten up his gaze would’ve been able to cut through the darkness and see the evident uneasy look on her face. Her heart beat so loud in her ears she was sure it’d brought him back from nearly being unconscious. A part of her envied him for being able to be so carefree on the floor in the middle of the night. A fear lingered in the back of her mind that someone or something was hiding under her bed, waiting for her to make the wrong move so it could come up from the edges of her bedframe and snatch her, and eat her whole. The image of something dark and ugly and shadowy and deformed coming up from right underneath her played over and over in her mind’s eye, and it sent an absurdly unpleasant shiver down her spine. She was stuck. She was frozen with fear, too scared to make any movement or try to come up with any reason in her mind that there wasn’t anything to be afraid of.

She wasn’t about to bother Hugo to make her realize that there isn’t a boogeyman under her bed because one, it embarrassed her to think that she needed such support from her little brother, and two, it wasn’t like she had a choice in the matter, anyway. She couldn’t even bring herself to lift her head up, and earlier she’d strained the muscles in her eyes to the point she surely felt she’d pop a blood vessel just to get a good look at her clock. Rio thought of a time a while back during her freshman year when she’d accidentally told Natalie about her massive fear of the dark. Natalie told her, in an attempt to shake the fear out of her habits, that most of the time there wasn’t anything in the dark to be scared of, and if there was, then she’d never have to face it alone. Her attempts amounted to little, obviously, but in Rio’s foolish and young ears, Natalie had basically said that she’d be her knight in shining armor during times like that night when Rio was spooked to the point even her voice had shrunk in its own shell and refused to come out from the back of her throat.

Natalie. Natalie, Natalie, Natalie. Rio already began to miss her bleached blonde hair and her eyeliner that’d been around her eyes for so long they could’ve been passed as real circles around her eyes like a raccoon. The sound of Natalie’s voice in her head saying she wouldn’t have to face her fears alone, all raspy and low, brought a warmth to her chest that seemed to work on thawing out the chilling fear that’d taken her body hostage.

She glanced over at the nightstand again. Her eye muscles strained once more, but this time she couldn’t find any ounce of giving-a-damn in her body to stop and let her eyes rest. Instead her gaze lingered on the telephone sitting on the top next to her alarm clock. The blackout curtain which was hung a few months ago let in just a tiny sliver of moonlight that shone on the top of the beige paint of the telephone. Rio contemplated on reaching over and risking getting snatched away by the boogeyman apparition accumulated by her imagination and dialing Natalie’s trailer and beckoning her over through the other end of the line. Then came a different kind of fear that was incredulously worse than the boogeyman under her bed. The fear that she was being needy, the fear of Natalie finally telling her to fuck off or just being straight up ignored.

The angel on her right shoulder told Rio that she should just take a few deep breaths and think happy thoughts. She was half tempted to reach over and flick off the angel for having made such a dumb suggestion when the department of sunshine and rainbows and cupcakes and bunnies in her brain was out of order for the time being and the nightmare department had been working overtime for the past thirty minutes since the lights went out.

The devil on her left shoulder told Rio to pick up the damn phone and call Natalie and completely ignore the off chance that she was asleep. Screw the boogeyman, the little red devil on her shoulder said, if it means you get to see your girl tonight, who gives a fuck if it’s Pennywise?

Wait— “your girl?”—

Pick up the fucking phone! And take a breath, damnit.

Rio mentally flicked the invisible angel off her shoulder and pulled her arm out from underneath her blanket. She leaned over, seemingly breaking through the ice that’d caked up around her limbs, and reached for her phone with her hand.

It shook in her palms, sweaty from the anxiety bubbling beneath her skin. She swallowed quietly, her tongue darted out to wet her lips after her entire mouth had gone dry. Her left hand reached over and dialed the number, her finger shaky and nearly missing all the digits and almost dialing a completely different number instead. She inhaled and exhaled weakly shaking her head before she pressed the phone to her ear.

Rio silently cursed the universe for having made the dial tone be so loud in a quiet room. She wasn’t even sure if Hugo was unconscious yet and she was calling someone past midnight. Third times the charm, or however the fuck it goes, she thought to herself when the possibility popped up in her head that her mother could’ve used her wicked spidey sense and sped over to her room to catch her on the phone. She gulped and wordlessly prayed to every deity in the history of theism and religion and mythology and whatnot that that wasn’t the case at all.

The stretch between Rio dialing the numbers and the tone starting seemed to be far too long for her liking.

One Mississippi.

A bug outside her window began buzzing. A moth, a bee, a wasp, whatever. The buzzing was so loud it might as well have been right in her ear.

Two Mississippi.

Maybe Nat isn’t home, Rio thought in an attempt to console herself and make up for the nervousness that’d started to swirl back in her stomach. She knew Nat sometimes wouldn’t go back home until the wee hours of the morning; she knew because most of the time it was because the two of them had stayed out all night.

Three Mississippi.

Okay, she better be fucking home—

“Hello?”

Rio’s teeth released her bottom lip, tearing off a piece after she’d been subconsciously chewing on her lap for the past few moments. A sigh of relief worked its way up her throat before she pushed it down once she remembered she wasn’t by herself.

“Hey, Nat,” Rio whispered. She turned her head slightly to try and see if Hugo was awake; he wasn’t. She felt blessed.

“Rio. The fuck are you doin’ calling me this late at night?”

Rio should’ve known that Natalie wouldn’t have enjoyed getting a call in the dead of night, regardless if she’d been asleep or not. She chuckled quietly.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m…I just feel like I’m about to have a literal nervous breakdown, or something.”

Natalie was silent on the other end. Rio couldn’t tell if that was a good or bad thing. On the other end, though, Natalie was swallowing a lump in her throat as she tried to think of anything to say that might’ve served to calm Rio’s nerves.

“You there?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry I called you, Nat. You–”

“It’s fine, doofus. Are you sayin’ you need me to come over?”

Rio felt a smile trying to stretch across her face. She let it; it was the kind of smile that made her cheeks warm and her heart beat just a little bit faster. The fretful clouds in her head began to clear up already.

“If it ain’t too much trouble, yeah.”

A beat. A moment of silence.

“But be quiet, though. My little brother’s here.”

“Hugo?”

Rio was sure Natalie had the phone pressed between her head and her shoulder at that moment. She heard the shifting coming from the other end, as well as her getting up to go grab her boots. Her grin widened.

“Yeah.”

Another moment of silence. For once, the lack of noise was comfortable.

“I’ll be at your window, idiot.”

“Thanks.”

“Mhm.”

Rio huffed out another chuckle when the dial tone followed immediately after. An excitement bubbled up in her chest as she looked at her window like that would’ve magically made Natalie appear in an instant. The fear was still there; it died down quite a bit in the moments that she and Natalie had called. It still lingered in the crevices of her shoulders and the hollows of the corners of her knees, watching, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike again and bind Rio to her bed until an inevitable Natalie-shaped antidote arrived.

The minutes passed. Rio glanced every few seconds at her clock and sometimes watched the minutes change from 12:20 to 12:21. She was impatient. She felt a hunger for Natalie’s very presence that was causing a pit to form in her stomach. She moved over to see if Hugo was still fast asleep and found him in a strange position that one could only be found in if they were having the best sleep of their life. So much for complaining about it earlier.

An hour passed. The hunger grew, and the more her body craved—no, not craved, because that’s weird— itched, for a lack of better words like craved, the more the fear came crawling back in a force that multiplied with each passing second wasted alone. Rio’s throat felt as if it had closed up on her. She knew first and foremost that Natalie would never abandon her for anything, but in the back of her mind she couldn’t stop the new and improved wave of anxiety that’d washed over her.

Her chest felt weird. A little too weird for her liking (the bar wasn’t very high to begin with). All prickly and impatient, her heart beat with the same connotation as someone tapping their foot on the floor, waiting.

Rio swore if she thought hard enough she could’ve manifested it into existence sooner: letting Natalie in, sneaking her around Hugo’s sleeping body and pulling her in by the collar of her leather jacket Rio knew she’d worn, laying in silence and listening to her breathing or whispering so quietly they could barely even hear themselves. Another smile tugged at her lips.

Then, she was certain she’d never ever feel this impatient for Seth, or anyone else, really.

Tap tap.

Rio’s head snapped upwards, the moonlight that’d shone through the sliver of her curtain gap casted a twinkle in her eyes unbeknownst to her. She cautiously crept out of bed, despite the fear that’d switched to taking root in her feet, and tiptoed to her window. Her fingers wrapped around the edge of the curtain to pull it back and revealed a head of bleached blonde hair glowing in the moonlight facing the side. Rio marveled in how Natalie looked even at this time of night, even if she’d taken an hour to get there.

Rio reached for the lock and nearly jumped out of her skin when it made a sound that Rio was sure would’ve woken up her mother. Rio and Natalie both locked eyes for a moment; Natalie looked much more calm than Rio had at the moment, with her hooded eyes and expressionless face. Rio looked a little… scared shitless, but she didn’t see any sign of Natalie brewing up some sort of tease in her head, so she brushed it aside. She pulled her window open and let Natalie crawl in after she’d taken off her boots.

The little devil on her left shoulder giggled in her ear when her heart started pounding in her chest again. Like it knew why it was doing that in the first place.

Natalie dusted off her black, dusty jeans (she’d tripped over a root and fell on her knee which resulted in a hole right where she landed) and messed with the hem of her shirt, fingers flitting back and forth over the edge like she was nervous. Was she nervous? Or just stalling so she didn’t have to say anything? Rio couldn’t tell, so she chose not to pay so close attention to it and opted to close her window and pull back her curtain instead.

“You didn’t say he was sleeping right there,” Natalie finally turned to face Rio after she spared the sleeping Hugo a glance. A teasing tone was in her voice, for reasons unknown to Rio other than the fact that was how she always sounded around her.

“I did say to be quiet, didn’t I?” Rio whispered back. She balled her fingers into a fist to stop herself from reaching out and grabbing Natalie by her jacket to pull her into bed with her. Natalie saw it. She said nothing.

“You don’t look like you’re on the verge of tears,” Natalie commented quietly, and gave Rio a once over. Rio swallowed and rolled her eyes, stepping away from Natalie and moving back to her bed. She sat in the middle criss-cross and looked at her pointedly.

“You look perfectly fine to me.”

“Hm. Must be the affection talking.”

Natalie scoffed. Her lips quirked into a grin as she ran her tongue over her front teeth. “You’re full of shit, y’know that?”

“Listen to the teapot calling the kettle black.”

Natalie flipped Rio off before she stepped over to Rio’s bed, kneeling beside it and resting her arms on the mattress. “Game recognizes game.” Rio inhaled quietly and looked at the edge, then back at Natalie. She raised an eyebrow.

“What, I got somethin’ on me?”

“No, idiot,” Rio chuckled quietly. She leaned over on her side and propped her head up with her hand, her other arm over her waist. “Our back gate was open earlier.”

“And?”

“And, it was what was giving me grief earlier.”

“Yeah, I still don’t follow.”

Rio internally groaned as she tilted her head back and clenched her jaw for a moment. Natalie huffed out a stifled chuckle.

“I, um…I kinda got scared. Like, what if something was under my bed?”

A moment of silence stretched between them. Rio let her head fall and her eyes met Natalie’s gaze, which held a look to them that told her she was about to pull some smart remark. Natalie raised an eyebrow as their eyes locked again, and a smirk smudged the corner of her mouth. She broke eye contact (which Rio was enjoying) to take a quick look under Rio’s bed, ducking her head under the bed frame and looking around with her naked eyes at the darkness that her best friend was oh so deathly afraid of. Then, with a stifled snicker, she went back up, and the size of her smirk had doubled.

“Well, no sign of the boogeyman over here,” Natalie shrugged. Her smirk lessened, and it turned into a softer version of itself. Possibly one of Rio’s favorites. “But, if it’s of any use to calm you and your nerves, you would’ve smelled something. Or heard something. Or someone would’ve jumped out as soon as the lights went off, or whatever.”

“You seem very confident in what you’re saying,” Rio remarked quietly. Her arm that was around her waist moved so that her hand rested flat on her blanket. Natalie didn’t want to think that it was Rio silently daring her to put her hand over hers and let a portion of her warmth engulf her for just a moment.

It was tempting, like dangling a carrot in front of a pig.

“Told you you’d never have to face these things alone, remember?”

“And you clown on me for being a sap.”

Natalie pulled away slightly from the edge of Rio’s bed with another quiet scoff under her breath. She shook her head, and she wondered if she should’ve just ignored the call and went to sleep immediately after. And though the thought floated around her head, she knew she’d never be able to deny her anything. Traveling from her trailer park to Rio’s neighborhood seemed about as easy as breathing, like going to such measures as walking around Wiskayok alone at night just to see Rio and make sure she was okay was a second nature to her.

Jealousy was like a snake hiding in the bushes. She’d stepped too closely to it, and it darted out and got her. The familiar taste of envy festered on her tongue like she was about to throw up. She found her emulous thoughts from earlier in the day circling back to the current moment and ruining it. She wondered, very rudely, if anything like this would ever happen with Seth instead of her. If Seth would ever be the one to sneak in through Rio’s window and have intimate moments where Rio held her hand out and wordlessly dared him to touch her like that. If Rio would ever call him for any reason in the middle of the night. If Rio would ever even think of him in such a vulnerable moment.

Obviously not, the little angel on her right shoulder told her. If that’s the case, you wouldn’t even be here. Get over feelin’ sorry for yourself.

“That’s somethin’ you and Seth both got in common,” Natalie knew she’d only just tested some very dangerous waters. She looked back at Rio to see if her face had changed at the mention of her chaser, to see if her suspicions were right or wrong and to either feed the doubt in her mind or try to extinguish it. “You’re both fuckin’ saps.”

“I don’t see what Seth has to do with this,” Rio mumbled, and she looked down at her blanket. Her fingers messed with the material of it, picking at it with her nails and smoothing her hand over it.

Natalie wasn’t about to let Rio know that her mundane response gave her an absurd boost of hope.

“Isn’t he your boyfriend now, or whatever?”

She’s playing dumb on purpose, Rio, the little devil on Rio’s left shoulder whispered into her ear as she looked back up at Natalie. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

“Y’know, this isn’t doing much to soothe my nerves.”

“Sorry,” Natalie murmured halfheartedly. She knew Rio was onto her. She didn’t care at that point. “You’re avoiding the question, though.”

“Not that this’ll do anything to serve as a balm to the big fat jealous wound over your heart, or whatever,” Rio started quietly. She looked around her room and hoped that some sort of god that had the power of forcible amnesia would make Natalie drop the topic already. “But he isn’t my boyfriend. I haven’t even seen him since this morning.”

“That’s right,” Natalie quietly snapped her fingers, like she really did magically drop the subject. “Your mom checked you out. Shauna told me.”

“You actually asked?”

“Well, yeah. I was wondering where my best friend went. I thought you’d totally blown off practice to go be with Seth or…do lines off an alien’s ass cheek, or whatever.”

Rio stifled a laugh, a hearty laugh this time, as she bit her lip with her teeth and pressed her lips together afterwards. “An alien’s ass cheek?”

“Gotta be as open minded and inclusive as I can be.”

“Yeah, you’re quite the progressive.”

Natalie laughed quietly, leaning her face into the mattress to stifle her voice with the blanket. Her shoulders shook slightly as she giggled, her hand snaked up the side of the bed and rested next to Rio’s hand. A daring move, one that Natalie’s proud of since Rio didn’t back away or retreat, didn’t tuck herself in her turtle shell and hide.

“You still don’t look like you’re on the verge of tears.”

Rio squinted her eyes. Her grin lessened into a tender smile. “You must be a fixer upper of sorts.”

“Is that the affection talking?” Natalie teased, earning an eye roll and a light swat in her arm from Rio as they both chuckled together in sync. Natalie glanced over at the alarm clock. 1:30.

“You think your mom would lose her shit if you let me stay the night?”

“Why, you gettin’ tired?”

“No,” Natalie’s grin turned bashful as she looked down at the blanket, her bangs working to cover her face.

“So you just don’t wanna leave, then?”

“Something like that.”

Natalie looked back up at Rio and they locked eyes again. She could’ve sworn she saw Rio’s gaze quickly drift down towards her lips then raced back up to her eyes like she’d been caught stealing from the cookie jar. It was one of the signals that this was one of the few times they found the conversation wasn’t going anywhere. She knew how that night would’ve ended, how her short time at Rio’s house would come to a stop. How she’d be inevitably sent off. It both hurt and soothed her heart that Rio couldn’t think of any other way to dismiss Natalie other than to seal the bounds of their time together with a touch of affection that left the both of them feeling flushed.

“Well,” Rio started after she cleared her throat nervously. Her heart was in her throat, and she knew as well. “I can guarantee you, you’d definitely be banned from coming over ever again.”

“You did well sneaking me in tonight,” Natalie shrugged one shoulder and looked at Rio pointedly. “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

“And what we know would make her pop a blood vessel.”

Natalie let out a dry chuckle, but she knew nothing was funny. She knew Rio’s mother wasn’t very fond of Natalie (as she wasn’t very fond of anyone but herself and her daughter), and she had the suspicion that her mother was starting to suspect the both of them having thoughts about each other that didn’t exactly pertain to the friendship they’d kept up over the last four years. She was right, of course, to have an inkling that they saw each other as anything more than friends. If she knew they’d been secretly kissing each other goodbye from time to time whenever they’d leave parties or games she definitely would’ve kicked Natalie to the curb and forbid Rio from seeing her again if she could help it.

Natalie looked over at Hugo, as if his snoring had ever distracted her before. “It’s a wonder how he didn’t wake up.”

“That’s all you, dude. You’re the one who kept laughing.”

They both sat in silence for the next few minutes. As they went by, they both sent each other knowing glances, and they weren’t the good kind. They both knew that they’d eventually bid each other goodnight and send Natalie on her way home with yet another invisible present to keep in her drawer and think about during her more vulnerable moments when no one was around, save for herself and a cigarette between her fingers.

Rio initiated it. An off chance, since it was usually Natalie who grew a pair first and went in.

They touched and they brushed and they ghosted each other’s lips. Natalie felt a rush, the same old rush she got every time they kissed and yet it never bored her. She felt she could’ve sat there for the rest of the night, simply bidding each other goodnight without ever actually leaving or going to sleep, knowing that come morning when the sun came to blind her with the bleeding reality that it would all be swept under the rug. And though this was the first time a moment like this actually happened, it felt so familiar to her, in a way that gave her deja vu and had her head nearly spinning off her body.

“Good thing he isn’t awake,” Natalie whispered once she reluctantly pulled back. Her tongue darted out as she looked up at Rio, and her lips immediately pressed together to hold back what she really wanted to say.

“I don’t think he’d snitch if he saw,” Rio muttered. Her lips felt like they didn’t belong to her body at that moment.

Natalie’s eyebrows drew closer together. She wanted to ask why, but a light turned on out in the hall and highlighted the bottom of Rio’s door. The light poured into a small part of the room, only a sliver, but it was more than enough to send a wave of panic crashing over Rio’s heart and frantically usher Natalie out as quietly as she could without Rio’s mother noticing her spidey sense going off and taking a detour to Rio’s room to see if anything was out of the ordinary.

Natalie went home a little bit afterwards. She walked around for a while, letting the cool breeze that followed the late hours of the night distract her from the dull pain that’d twisted in her chest at the knowledge that she was only a dirty secret at the moment. And that knowledge would never have the same moonlight shed upon it again, and instead the tears choked her heart that she’d never let out.

Natalie went home after her walk around Wiskayok in parts she knew she wouldn’t get snatched up in. She went to sleep a little bit afterwards, with her invisible present tucked to her chest instead of her drawer, the first ever.

#yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #natalie scatorccio x reader #wlw yearning #cursing warning #natalie scatorccio #lottie matthews #taissa turner #van palmer #yellowjackets x oc #jackiestailor

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