#fern writes

[desert-fern]

The Walls Are Caving In - Jake Seresin X Reader

Pairing: Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin X Fem!Reader (Known as Honey Bee/Honey)

Summary: You are sunshine incarnate, the life of the party who is so free with your affection. Jake finds himself struggling to express his desire to be like you while wrestling with his past, what happens when it all comes crashing down around him? AKA Jake is both touch-starved and in love.

Warnings: Jake has a shit dad, angst, still fluffy tho (lmk if I missed anything)

Word Count: 5.5k

A/N: This one-shot is inspired a little by the song In my Blood by Shawn Mendes. That and I really wanted to explore what could be going on inside the cocky man we all know and some of us fell in love with, so please enjoy 5k words of me putting Jake under the microscope.

===

Jake Seresin was a mystery to you.

The blonde man had always been standoffish around you, almost like he couldn’t stomach the thought of being near you. Yet when the other pilots came together, it was like Jake couldn’t be close enough, knocking elbows with Bob as he tried to take a sip of his drink and chuckling when the WSO had to set his drink down to give him a bewildered look. Jake would start teasing shoving matches with Rooster out on the beach, laughing as he got absolutely rocked back into the sand.

But when you were in the group? He was as far away from you as was considered polite.

The unfortunate thing was that you thrived on physical contact. You loved hugs, both giving them and receiving them. Fanboy had figured it out early on and would now run up and pull you off your feet to spin you around. It was nothing but playful, yet why did Jake always look at you strangely?

You’d given up on finding out, choosing to focus on your career as a base medic. It had been a dream of yours to be a doctor while growing up, but as you got older, you had to face the fact that it wasn’t the most financially sound decision. So you joined the Navy and found your calling as a medic. Between treating a few base personnel for coffee burns, the occasional broken toe from jamming it against a bench in the locker room, and the pilots and crew members who would pass out when the weather got too hot, you were thriving on your ability to always try and bring a smile and a listening ear to whoever came through the door needing help.

It was why you had become known as Honey Bee by the base dwellers, as you had taken to calling them. You were sweet and were genuinely interested in getting to know people, but if someone fucked around, you always had a whole swarm of people willing to makes sure they found out.

What you weren’t expecting from the job was to catch the eye of several of the Navy pilots, not for a lack of trying to dissuade them. You knew better than to shit where you ate, knew better than to mess around with a Navy man who could very well have a girl at any and every port of call. You were here to do your job first and foremost.

But that started to change. Jake had caught your eye, not just because of the blonde hair that always seemed to glow in the late afternoon California sun, the green eyes that seemed to clock where you were in a crowd, or because he was magnetic in a room of people, but because you wanted to know more about him. He was an enigma to you aside from his medical record. You knew that he’d broken his elbow in high school playing football, that he’d sprained an ankle tripping over a step, hell you even knew his medication allergies. But anything personal, you could forget about.

So you stuck it out, keeping your distance and content to smother the other pilots in your affection.

===

It was late in the evening as you watched Rooster play yet another song that was older than he was, his squadron around him yelling along to the words. You and Bradley had been close since the mission he refused to talk about, only that he and his godfather had nearly died. You two had also engaged in a casual relationship, hooking up on the off chance neither of you had a partner, but other than the occasional romp in the sheets, you two were as close as best friends. It’s why you were here tonight.

Taking a sip from your drink, you turned to watch the crowd around you, scanning the room and enjoying your people watching. You didn’t know how long you’d been staring around the room, but it had been long enough that Bradley had stepped away from the piano to stand behind you. “Hey Honey.”

You spun around, hand pressed to your chest. “Jesus fuck Bradshaw! You better not give your favourite medic a heart attack. Who else would treat your ass after you fell off another ladder?”

“That’s just rude, Honey Bee,” he teased, winking at you over his sunglasses that had fallen down his nose. “You know no one else fixes me up like you do.”

“Damn right. So watch it,” you shot back, snatching his sunglasses off his face and putting them on your own face. “Also sunglasses at 10 pm? Who are you fooling?”

He snorted, rolling his eyes at your smirk. “Okay, okay. I came over here to give you a hug ‘cause you’ve been sitting over here by yourself. But since you decided to be rude, I’m just gonna walk away.” Bradley turned, moving through the crowd away from you and towards his team on the other side of the bar.

“Fuck you!” You yelled after him, downing your drink and chasing after him. You caught up to him, tapping him on the shoulder and when he turned, you wrapped your arms around his middle, hugging him tightly. “You’re a real jerk, Bradshaw. You know that?”

He laughed, hugging you back. “And you’re a real smart ass for being as sweet as you are, Honey.” Bradley grinned down at you, pulling his aviators off your face and tucked an arm in the collar of his shirt. “Sometimes it feels like I gotta wrangle you.”

You pulled back grinning at him. “You love me.” You felt energised, like that one simple hug had been injected with jet fuel. You were a social butterfly if you had enough hugs throughout the night and thankfully the Daggers had a number of people who loved your playful teasing and joyous affection. It was how you spread your love and you would be damned if Bradley or his friends felt like you weren’t appreciative of how they kept him and each other safe.

“Regretfully,” he quipped, slapping your shoulder and moving over to where Phoenix and Coyote were chatting.

“Dick!” You called after him, laughing when he flipped you off, his back still turned.

You fell into easy conversation with Bob and Fanboy, grinning when Bob pressed his side to you for a moment after a particularly funny joke. And you continued to bounce around the little groups, laughing loudly and uproariously even though you’d only had one drink hours earlier. “How do you do it, Honey?” Payback asked after you’d come back from dancing with his WSO.

“Do what?”

“Have so much energy. I’d be exhausted if I were you.”

You grinned at him, a wide one showing your teeth. “Well Reuben, I see so many people because of work, but I’ve always been like this.”

“Now that,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. “That I can picture. Little baby Honey with two braids making friends with everyone on the playground.”

You laughed with him, feeling alive with the energy in the room. It was only when you glanced around at the other Daggers did you notice a storm cloud underneath the ray of sunshine you were casting over your friends.

“Why don’t you turn your charm on Bagman over there? Seems like his battery is wearing out.” You jumped nearly elbowing Phoenix in the face.

A shrug. “He’s not my biggest fan,” you said simply, missing how Reuben and Nat gave each other a look over your head. “Besides, I don’t want to ruin his night even more than it seems to be going.”

“Mmm,” Natasha hummed noncommittally. “Still, I think you should at least try.”

You turned around. “Why? You all see how he seems to always stand on the opposite side of the room from me, how he barely says two words to me.” There was a frown on your face, something so uncharacteristic that it nearly had Payback choking on his drink as he saw it cross your face.

Natasha just raised an eyebrow and you folded like cheap cardboard. “Fine, but he’s not going to like this.”

You wove through the crowd, making your way over to the jukebox where Jake stood contemplating a song choice. “Hey.”

“Hi.” He didn’t look up at you, choosing instead to stare at the song list you know he’d practically memorized.

A beat of awkward silence passed. “So…” you started again. “You have a song in mind or is it going to be a random choice?”

“Why? You have something you want to play instead?” His tone was sharp, like he was trying to brush you off and it startled you. You could feel Nat’s curious eyes on you and were half tempted to turn around and shout ‘See?!’ in her direction.

“N-no. I was just curious.” Now you were feeling unwelcome. Everything about his body language screamed ‘leave me alone’. He was tense, speaking through gritted teeth, hand white knuckling his beer bottle. “Especially since Rooster always seems to hijack the music whenever you pick a song.”

Jake didn’t say anything, going back to faking his pondering over song choices. You stayed for another moment, before nodding to yourself. “O-okay.” You gave him a hesitant smile before slipping away back towards Natasha. Seconds later, you heard Def Leppard begin to blare through the bar as Jake strolled through the crowd, using his size to gently pass a group of what looked like college girls, whose giggles seemed to carry over the music.

“See?!” You hissed at Natasha. “He would rather fake stare at a music selection he has memorized than talk to me. He clearly can’t stand me!”

Natasha just gave you a cryptic look before drawing you into a conversation about the strangest accident you had ever seen or had. It was enough to draw you focus away from the blonde pilot icing you out, but it also prevented you from catching Jake’s glances your way.

He’d managed to escape your notice for most of the night, choosing to keep to himself or chat with Coyote on the off chance you hadn’t barged into their little group. Contrary to what you thought, Jake didn’t hate you. In fact, he was almost envious of your ability to shine in a room this big. You bounced around like the light off a disco ball, your personality as vibrant as the colours that radiated off as it spun.

The biggest thing he was jealous of though, was the fact that you were free with your affection. You always had a hug and a smile for everyone and if anyone tried to dull your shine, it was like you couldn’t be touched. Jake was jealous of the easy way in which you could ask for a hug to satisfy you.

He couldn’t. Jake yearned for the freedom to be openly affectionate, craved the feeling of being held, but he had spent so long being told that men didn’t do that, that he had to suck it up and be a man. The few girls that had stuck around longer than just one night had never wanted to be close. Sure they had cuddled, but they had all drawn the line at him holding their hand, hugging them from behind. They had only seen him for the prowess and personality he exuded as Hangman, but he was tired of splitting himself down the middle. He wanted someone who wanted Jake too, not just the cocky persona he used to show off. The persona that had made his father spare half a glance his way. He wanted hugs. He just couldn’t ask for them, so he stayed away from you and your sunshine. Created distance between himself and your vibrancy, if only so you wouldn’t pick up on the fact that he desperately needed the affection you distributed in excess.

The half a day he’d spent under your care weeks ago stuck in his memory. Jake hadn’t managed to grab breakfast or lunch on a hot day, hadn’t had much sleep or water, and between the endless up and down, pulling G’s, and push-ups from losing an exercise, the heat became too much for him. He’d passed out halfway through his push-ups, falling face first to the tarmac and scaring the hell out of Hondo who was supervising.

He had been rushed immediately into the infirmary, falling into your capable hands. You had been incredibly gentle checking vital signs, your voice as soothing as a cool damp cloth pressed against feverish skin. You’d stolen his breath when you asked the questions you had memorized due to their frequency of use, and Jake felt like he’d been sucker punched. He didn’t remember much, having spent most of the experience sleeping, but he dreamt of you and every facet of you that had captured his heart and mind over the weeks you had gotten to know one another.

That experience was beside the point though. Instead of asking and being as open and carefree as you were with your love, Jake left himself to revel in the pats on the back, the handshakes, and bro hugs that were “appropriate for a man”. He let himself watch as you hugged Bradshaw, danced with Fanboy, and seemed closer to his squadron than he himself.

So he pushed you away and hoped you didn’t see through him.

===

Days later, you were bustling around the infirmary. You hadn’t seen the Daggers since the night at The Hard Deck and it was kind of taking a toll on your usual bubbly energy. You still had a smile for everyone, but it had started to become forced the longer your shift went on.

Earlier in the day, a pilot had passed out from the summer heat and hit his head hard enough that he bled. You had been filling out reports when the wall of noise hit you and you were on your feet in half a heart beat.

You hadn’t sat down since. That one accident had set off a never-ending queue of people walking through the doors and your feet hurt.

Sat at the desk at the front of the infirmary, you blew out a sigh. 10 more minutes. 10 minutes and then you could go home and relax.

“You good, Honey?” Bradley. You could recognize that smooth voice anywhere.

You nodded tiredly. “Yeah. Just really busy today.”

“I get that.”

“So.” You drew yourself up from your chair, stretching out your arms. “What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”

“I was hoping that you could check on Hangman.”

You blinked at him, thoroughly confused. “What?”

Bradley gave you a flat look. “You heard me.”

“Why?”

“Because he's been reckless lately. He’s going to get himself or someone else killed if he keeps flying like he has.” There was nothing but seriousness in his amber eyes. Every micro expression that flickered over your friend’s face was one of deep concern.

You nodded. “Okay. It will have to be tomorrow though, Roo. I just finished my shift.”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry Honey, but I’m worried about him. He won’t talk to anyone and Mav is at his wits’ end. Can you swing by today?”

Internally, you groaned. Jake hated you, you were convinced of that. Yet Bradley seemed genuinely concerned for his teammate and despite your best attempts, you hadn’t been able to put him from your mind. “Yeah, okay. But if he blows up at me, Roo, I swear to God I will hurt you.”

Rooster grinned. He knew your threat was an empty one, you both did. You cared about him too much to actually follow through with it. “Thank you, Honey. I owe you one.”

“Yeah, you do,” you grumbled as you walked forward to hug him, burying your face in his flight suit. “You really do.”

You felt him scoff as he hugged you back, pressing a gentle kiss to your head. You stayed like that for a moment before pulling back. “Have a good night, Honey.”

“Thanks Roo. Drive safe.”

And then he was gone.

Fuck. What had you just agreed to do? You buried your face in your hands and blew out a long breath. This was going to be a long night.

===

Bradley had texted you Jake’s address as you finished changing out of your scrubs. You knew he was worried, but a part of you was anxious about what would happen should Jake open the door and see you. Would he slam the door in your face? Would he invite you in and then hit you with the cold-shoulder?

Jake Seresin made you nervous. Pretty people always did, and Jake was no exception. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about the two of you, but you never let your fantasies go too far. They were delusions. Jake avoided you at any chance he could, so you had one chance to make sure that he understood that you didn’t resent him even if he so clearly did.

Twenty minutes later, you pulled into his driveway behind the black truck that was so quintessentially Jake it hurt. You walked up to the front door, ringing the doorbell and trying not to look as awkward as you felt.

The blue door opened up and Jake stared at you with confusion written all over his face. “What are you doing here?”

You swallowed, mustering up some courage to say “Rooster sent me. Can I come in?”

“Sure?” Jake held the door open, stepping aside to let you pass by him. “You have strange timing. I just got Bradshit off my ass.”

“Heh yeah. It’s almost like an intervention or something.” Inwardly, you were cringing. Why had you said that? God, it was like any social skills you had vanished the minute you were around the blonde man. “Your house is nice. I love the colour of the hardwood.”

“Thanks.” Jake’s voice was back to short and clipped. It was clear that he was on edge now. Likely thanks to your stupid comment. Why couldn’t the floor just crack open beneath you right now and spare you the awkwardness? “So why are you here?”

You took a deep breath, letting your eyes meet his own. “Rooster is worried about you. He didn’t say why, just that I should check on you.”

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, averting his gaze. His arms were crossed over his chest, the black T-shirt clinging mouthwateringly to his arms and shoulders- you shook yourself mentally, cringing again at your thoughts. “You can go now.” Jake’s rushed voice cut through your self-judgement and brought you immediately back into his entryway where he stood not quite glaring at you.

Your interest was piqued by his rush of words. “That was awfully quick,” you remarked as casually as you could. “Jake, whatever it is, I’m not going to judge you. I only want to help.”

“Like I said, I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me.” Deep down, a part of him was screaming at himself to let you in. To let you help. He would tell you everything if you only asked, if you stayed a little longer. Jake clenched his hand into a fist, restraining himself from capturing you in a hug and never letting go. He shouldn’t have these thoughts. You were just being nice. It didn’t mean anything. Right?

“But I am going to. And your team is worried too.” You tried to reason with him, as you watched him closely.

Jake shook his head. “How many times do I have to say this? I. Am. Fine. Okay?” His voice was raised and he seemed just as shocked as you by his outburst. “I’m sorry, but I am fine.” No. God no. Why had he shouted? Even he could see right through himself, couldn’t you? He really hoped you did.

You gave him a kind smile, before replying “It’s okay, Jake. I’d offer a hug, but I know how much you hate them. If you need to talk, you know where to find me.” You turned back to the door, opening it up and slipping past Jake, your arm brushing his chest and his breath hitched.

Turning around, you faced him and watched his eyes land on everything but you. “Jake?” Your voice was quiet, like you were afraid to push him. “Are you really okay?”

He shook his head, still looking at the floor. “No,” he whispered. The fight had drained out of him, his resolve crashing down around him. When he did meet your eyes, you were astounded by the myriad of emotions you found swirling deep within the green irises.

“Where’s your living room?” You asked gently, hoping that you both could have this conversation in a more comfortable place. Especially since Jake looked like he would collapse at any moment.

“Down the hall,” he said hoarsely, pointing ahead of you both.

You offered your hand to him and could barely contain the shocked noise when he took it. You felt the calluses on his palms, the rough parts that scratched at your own hands, but there was also a softness in them. The parts he tried to keep out of the light. “Come, let’s go sit.”

You perched on the edge of the brown couch and patted the space next to you. When he sat, you noticed how it seemed like he had purposely left space between you both. “So,” you began cautiously. “What’s happened?”

There was silence for a moment, before Jake spoke. “Too much,” he mumbled so quietly that you barely heard him. “And I just… I don’t know how to fix it.” He was still lying to himself. He knew how to fix it, he was just scared of losing the persona he’d spent most of his life perfecting. He knew that he craved the closeness that you could give him, he just couldn’t ask for it.

“Hmmm…” your hum was soft. Everything about you was soft, Jake thought. It’s why you were so liberal with your love. “Well, can I help you?”

He nodded before he could stop himself. Jake risked it and finally glanced up at you. Where he was expecting judgement or pity, all he saw was empathy, kindness, and compassion. It nearly stole his breath at just how much you cared. You cared about him, even after everything. “Y-yeah. You can,” his voice cracked on the words, but he steeled himself and refused to look away.

You gave him a soft smile, watching his face carefully. Jake seemed to be at war with himself, torn between choosing what he always had or finally allowing himself what he needed. Swallowing, you spoke gently. “How can I help?”

Those four words were the breaking point for Jake who had been strong for too long. The bottle holding in all his yearning, his wishful thinking, all of it, exploded in his chest and he began to sob.

Your eyes flew wide and you immediately gathered him in your arms, turning him into your shoulder. A moment passed before you realized what you had done and you made to let go, but found that Jake had clung to your sweater as he cried.

Each tear set free something deep inside him and Jake knew that nothing would be the same after this. His grip on his feelings had slipped and here he was, sobbing into your shoulder like a child who’d lost their favourite toy. But despite the shame he felt, Jake couldn’t stop and a part of him didn’t want to. You were here, whispering soft words of comfort, your touch grounding him in a way that reminded him how long he’d been floating on his own.

His mind could only focus on the pain he was trying to purge from his body. With each sob, his resolve on his self-judgements snapped and they floated away on the river of tears he cried for the parts of him he had spent too long hiding for fear they would be stripped from him.

Then, with sudden clarity, Jake realized what he was doing. He was mourning everything he’d lost. Everything that had made little Jake Seresin who he was. The excitement of flying, loving his friends with everything he had, all of it gone to appease someone who had been gone from this world for years now. He only cried harder at the thought of his younger self watching who he was now and being disappointed, asking him why he’d stopped hugging people. Why he’d pushed away someone who loved hugs as much as he had.

His face was buried in your neck, the tears wetting your skin. He clung to you, so afraid that if he let go that you’d vanish. And when you vanished, you’d take with you your kindness, the love you spread around so easily, everything Jake knew he didn’t deserve. How could he? You were a sunbeam that had fallen from the heavens above, casting your warmth on everything and everyone you touched. You were magic to him.

Your heart broke for the man in your arms. You silently cursed the pressure he was under as a pilot and whatever rigidity in his upbringing had made it so he didn’t or couldn’t express his true feelings. It hurt to hear his sobs but you knew that this was years of pain, frustration, and anger pouring out of a narrow bottle he had tried so long to keep shut. “I’m here, Jake. Shhh, I’m here.”

“I’m sorry,” he cried. “I’m so sorry, Honey.”

He felt you stiffen and pull back just a little. “Look at me Jake.” He chanced it, looking up at your beautiful face, cataloguing the fierce look in your eyes that was offset by the gentleness of your touch. “Never, never apologize for your feelings. You hear me?” Jake nodded tearfully, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “You can let go of your burden right now. I’m here for you, Jake.”

Your words only set him off again. They reminded him so much of his mother’s own and it cut him deep. She was the light in his life until somehow you’d eclipsed it. She had always given him the love he had craved and had been denied by his father, who had raised him never to express his emotions, yet he’d forgotten about anger. Mark Seresin was an angry man trapped inside the supposed standards of how a Texan man ought to be. He was needlessly hard on his boys, believing that it was his duty to ensure that every emotion had been beaten and worked out of them. He had raised his sons that crying was for babies and little girls. But he would never know how much damage had been done from his ‘tough love’. Mark Seresin would never see his sons snap under the pressure he had placed upon them and Jake was more than okay with that.

And so Jake poured that story out between tears, keeping his hands caught in the fabric of your hoodie, desperately trying to keep you close. He couldn’t have you slipping away from him, but even though he’d cried all over you, ripped open the deepest darkest parts of himself, you didn’t move except to slide backwards on the couch, settling yourself. You had cemented yourself in his life just by holding him close and Jake knew that you could never be aware of just how much that meant to him, how much he loved you for that.

You were going to stay. You held him as his sobs petered out. Held him close as he brought his breathing back to normal, and even as he tried apologizing. But you refused to hear it. “I said I wasn’t going anywhere and I meant it, Jake. Okay?” Your voice was still soft, your hand rubbing circles on his back as you both lay on his couch. He had his head pillowed on your chest, lying there despite the late hour. “You know you can talk to me, right? I meant it when I said I wouldn’t judge.”

“I know.” Jake hated how small his voice sounded, but he was so tired. Tired of the judgement he inflicted upon himself, the arbitrary scale he used to compare himself to others. He just wanted to rest and he was scared. His hard shell had been weakened under his breakdown and this was so new to him. Jake felt exposed, like he’d been stripped naked before you and left to face your judgement.

The only question was: would you still love him after this?

Jake was shaken from his thoughts when you said his name in that soft voice of yours. “What are you thinking about?”

He hummed. “How much I regret crying. I have a headache,” Jake let out a little chuckle at his words. “God, Honey, what do you think of me right now?”

“Honestly?”

“Yeah.”

You smiled at him. “I’m thinking about how strong you are, how much courage it took you to be so brave. You let your guard down and I am so proud of you for that, Jake.”

Jake’s cheeks pinked. “I might cry again if you keep that up,” he said thickly, swallowing the lump in his throat that threatened to choke him.

“I mean it. I am so proud of you, Jake Seresin, and I will say it as many times as I need to so it gets through your thick skull.” Your tone left no room for argument, but you were still smiling down at him, and the warmth of it washed over him like pulling a thick quilt over oneself during the deepest winter storm.

“I-I think I…” Jake trailed off, catching the end of his sentence before he could say it, before he could confess right then and there. “I have shit timing, holy fuck.”

You only raised a confused eyebrow at him. “Jake, what…?”

“I love you.”

He felt your giggle against his cheek, heard the peals of laughter go ringing through his ears. “I know, you sap. I love you too.”

“Wha- How did you know?”

“The infirmary. When you passed out a few weeks ago because you hadn’t had enough to eat, you were mumbling in your sleep. I just assumed you were calling your partner honey, but then you called me Honey Bee when you woke up and I just knew.” When Jake met your gaze, he saw your eyes full of what could only be described as the purest love. “I think I knew before you did.”

Jake laughed, shaking his head. “Well then,” he began. “Think I should make it official then?” He’d pushed himself up onto his elbows on either side of you and smiled down at you.

You looked adorably confused under his gaze, so he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. You hadn’t expected it so you let out a muffled squeak that made Jake chuckle against your lips when he pulled away. “Honey…”

A wide grin nearly split your face in two as you looked up at Jake hovering over you. It took nothing for you to cup his face in your hands and pull him down into yet another kiss, this one more intense, intoxicating one another on the feeling of your lips slotting together.

Jake rested his forehead against yours, his breathing heavy and those green eyes, the ones that had enchanted you from the minute you met, fell shut. “Honey. My Honey Bee…” he whispered millimeters from your lips.

“Yours,” you whispered back, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek so lightly Jake thought he’d imagined it. “I’m yours, and you’re mine, because you know that I will not be an idle partner in this relationship, mister.”

He laughed and it had never sounded so carefree to his ears. You had broken through his walls, forcing your way in with a touch so gentle Jake hadn’t seen you coming until you held his heart at your mercy and by the grace of whatever God sat in the heavens, you had breathed joy and light back into his soul. Jake was utterly devoted to you and your light, wholly captivated by you. You had remade him with laughter in his heart, reshaped his broken heart in your capable, yet gentle hands.

“-ake? Jake? Where’d you go?” Worry had seeped into your tone, your brows furrowing under the concern you felt. He’d spaced out a few times now, and while you were worried, you knew that it was likely residual doubt and his own way of trying to process the events prior. “You should go to bed, Jakey. It’s late.” Your thumb traced the ridge of his jawline, bringing him back into himself.

“Stay.” The words were out before he could stop them. “Please.”

“Okay.”

One word, and Jake knew that he’d be alright, that he was safe.

You were here to stay, his Honey Bee.

===

A/N: big thanks to Star for proofreading and telling me that this wasn’t absolute hot garbage! And for the record, this isn’t Jake’s Dagger Comfort fic. That is still in the pipeline somewhere lol

Taglist: @sarahsmi13s @startrekfangirl2233 @lovinglyeternal @bradleybeachbabe @horseshoegirl @roosterforme @cherrycola27 @dakotakazansky @thedroneranger @aviatorobsessed @csmt-m

[fern-writes-stories]

Miguel O’hara Headcanons

MINORS DNI !!!!!!!!!

♡ [a/n]; I am so fucking unhinged about him. anyways 🧚✨✨

✧ Pairing: Miguel O’hara x reader

✧ Summary: List of relationship headcanons for Miguel my bbg 😔<3 (smut and fluff) > > (tailored towards f! reader)

✧ Warnings: 18+/some NSFW under the cut, second POV, google translate spanish, mentions of oral (f receiving), marking/biting kink, mentions of bondage, mentions of edging, discussion of size kink, discussion of orgasms (f), lmk if I missed any!!!!!!

-

>> Miguel loooooves using his fangs on you. Nothing too brutal usually; he loves biting your neck, biting your shoulders, biting the insides of your thighs, biting your lips- whatever he can quite literally sink his teeth into.

>> He is very needy when he wants to be and gets touch starved very quickly, especially in his line of work; where Miguel might be away for days (or even weeks) at a time.

>> Although, somehow, he’s still very reserved when you’re in public. Nothing more than brushing your hand with his and giving you dreamy glances.

>> But once the two of you are away from prying eyes he isn’t afraid to kiss your neck or caress your thighs in a casual sense.

>> Miguel is positively crazy about you, and as such wants to make you feel so undeniably good that he will do damn near anything and everything to achieve that and get you to orgasm as many times as possible during sex.

>> For the same reason he loves giving you oral, and would do it for hours if the universe allowed him to. While he’s not stressed about receiving it in return, preferring to pleasure you, he won’t object if you offer it every once and a while. But in the end he’s quite happy to eat you out to your heart’s content.

>> Miguel alwaysss talks you through sex, and though he’ll degrade you if you ask he’s all the more about praising you for everything you do.

>> Especially in Spanish; “Eres mi niña buena, ¿no?” (You’re my good girl, aren’t you?), “Usted está haciendo tan bien, mami,” (You’re doing so well, mami,), etc.

>> Speaking of which, he has an endless supply of Spanish pet names for you. Cariño, mami, hermosa, mi cielo, mi amor, princesa and chiquita to name a few.

>> Definitely has a size kink. Just look at this fucking unit of a guy!!!!!! He loves how small you are when he looms over you in bed, how he can easily caress any part of your body with his calloused hands, how dainty (in his mind) you are compared to him. It makes him feel protective of you, too; like he’s the only person in the entire multiverse capable enough to keep you safe and happy.

>> If you asked him to pick his favourite body part of yours he wouldn’t be able to give a straight answer, he worships your entire body. Your supple breasts, your soft thighs, your sleek shoulders and tender neck, your hands which fit so perfectly entwined in his, and that preciosa (gorgeous) face of yours which he loves to kiss and admire; especially when you’re all hot steamy from sex.

>> He loves an s/o with a bit of chub, too. So much more of your delicious body for him to trail kisses across, run his hands over, to hold when he’s fucking you senseless.

>> Although Miguel loves pleasuring you he doesn’t shy away from teasing and edging, and a lot of the time he insists that you beg for your climax. He can’t help it; he just loves how you look on your knees, pleading for him to finish you off. It drives him mad with lust and you never shy away from such requests.

>> He goes crazy for any and all noises you make during sex and it’s a huge turn on for him. It lets him know how good he’s making you feel and he relishes every moan and squeak- and that fact alone nearly sends him over the edge.

>> He is so unabashedly gentle with you though, especially given his enhanced senses and abilities. There was the odd occasion where he had lost control once or twice and unintentionally roughed you up with his claws- not that you were ever excessively injured.

>> It didn’t matter to Miguel, though, because he would apologise for days and days on end regardless and do everything he could to make up for it, leaving a trail of soft kisses along the mark every day until it was gone.

>> But he’d be lying if he said there weren’t a part of him deep down that secretly enjoyed it- seeing you marked, by him, walking around with physical proof on your body that you were his and his alone.

>> He felt the same about whenever he left hickies or bite marks behind on your skin, drinking in the feeling it gave him like it was a drug.

>> If you ever feel the desire to spice up the sex you two enjoyed, Miguel is more than happy to incorporate his webs as a form of bondage. He adored the way it tied you together below him, wrapped up like a present on Christmas day just for him.

>> On that note, Miguel is never too worried about trying new sex concepts. He is open to every idea, of course, and enjoys the way you will occasionally present a new idea to him. The way you always ask him so shyly makes him want to fuck you right then and there and he laps the sensation up every time.

[mangomakii]

BOOKS AND SNEAKY KISSES - harry potter

i am in my harry potter phase i fear.

warnings: mentions of studying throughout. kissing no specific gender stated!

hermione granger ;

ah yes, the study queen herself. if you somehow manage to get her to study with you, there better be no ulterior motives because they will not work. hermione pushes you to the absolute max with spells, potions, and various bouts of magical history. you'll learn things you would have never thought to be a part of human understanding all while admiring her determined face. it wasn't as if you didn't want to study... you just got a little distracted by the beauty in front of you. "y/n, are you even listening? you do know that this paper is due by tomorrow night, right?" of course you know when the papers due. how could you not with snape breathing down your nose for you to turn it in. but, all you could think about was hermione — not some paper on troll snot and its health benefits. "can i kiss you?" you had blurted it out accidently. bundles of curls snapped towards you, slightly angry but slightly flustered. "you have work to do!" "please..." and who was hermione to deny the slight pout of her partners lips? "just one and then you're writing that paper, got it?" "yes ma'am."

harry potter ;

it's not studying per se... but you do get work done! (sometimes.) attempting to study with harry almost always leads to indulging in conversations about the world and what is in it. everything is up for grabs — from god to how frogs are able to jump. it is limitless in its discussion, but often meaningful. (until you get to sharing gossip about things you've seen while under a certain invisibility cloak.) when the two of you do decide to focus on school work, it is usually short lived. whatever paper you have due is neglected after a small snag is hit, and from there the conversations pick right back up. it's extremely common for you and harry to be the last ones in the library. both of you entranced by the ideas the other has. "i wonder why there are so many stars. do you think magic can make stars?" it's a strange question from you, but harry will answer nonetheless. "well, magic can make pretty much anything right?" "right." "do you think magic made us then?" now that was a big question. his glasses were off, and his eyes were closed as he lay next to you on the floor. you kissed him quickly on the cheek. "magic can make a lot of things. so why not us?"

ronald weasley ;

depending on his mood, ron is surprisingly studious. (aka when he has over twenty missing assignments.) he's had hermione on his back for years now so he knows how to catch up on an assignment or two. assuming you're the more studious one, ron will consistently ask you to revise his papers and worksheets. you often scold him for not being able to notice the more obvious flaws in his work — such as spelling mistakes. (there is no grammarly in the wizarding world.) but, you check his work nonetheless. on days when ron is not in the mood, studying often proves difficult. he'll distract you with prospects of sweets, sleep, and just relaxing. "we could go down and get those rolls... or we could just lay in bed..." it proves quite difficult to tune out ron's desires but you have to finish these writings before your professors bite your head off. "later. later." then, the quill is being plucked from your hands and placed lightly on the table. and pieces of ginger hair are flooding your vision as ron leans in close to you. "it's not like resting for ten minutes will kill you, right?" and ginger hair meets forehead as a kiss is planted on your lips.

george weasley ;

seeing as george and his twin would rather give puking patsy's to the first years as opposed to doing their work, it is unlikely that studying goes well with george. however, george is exceptionally considerate when it comes to your diligent studying. george will bring you whatever it is you need; from water all the way to the answers from a past worksheet that he tricked some poor fifth year out of. of course, george will be a kind boyfriend and sit with you as you study. he'll talk, and work on whatever latest contraption he and fred are creating. a comfortable silence falls onto the two of you as you both work on whatever needs to be done. you both can work well into the night with only exchanging a maximum of thirty words. but, past a certain point george can get a little restless. he's more than fine with the shared silence, but george also enjoys hearing your voice. he'll sacrifice getting scolded by you if it means he can hear you. "love, how long have you been studying exactly?" it takes a simple glance to the clock on the wall for your answer: "about five hours now." "and you're telling me your leg hasn't fallen asleep once this whole time?" it's such a strange question that you giggle a bit at it. (much to george's delight.) "we could go for a walk..." you spare george an upward glance and quirk of your eyebrow. "you've been studying for so long, love. get out and do something!" the previous look does not waiver as you attempt to communicate to george your stress without actively speaking. "fine. i will leave you alone." and he does. for five minutes. he's back and his arms are snaking around your waist ever so lightly. and his hands are meeting at your stomach and yanking you up. your legs are flailing and arms are hitting his lightly. and all you hear is his breathy chuckle as he walks you with him in his arms around the length of the library. and with each step, he presses a myriad of kisses into your creased forehead.

fred weasley ;

studying sure is fun, isn't it? combine multiple hours of sitting still with the efforts of a certain red-head trying to prevent you from doing just that and you'll be met with a recipe for disaster. the thing is, it's not like fred does it distinctly on purpose — he's just never been a studier, and that rubs off whenever he's around it. of course, george was the more "studious" between the two but it wasn't like he was the 'brightest wizard of his age.' So, Fred had always taken to annoying his brother in his academic endeavours and thus did the same to you. And for the amount of time you've know fred, you've grown used to his distractions. around exam times, fred grows particularly restless as he watches you toil away at countless scrolls and textbooks about various subjects. he'll do more and more extravagant things to try and get you to abandon your studies. for example, in your fourth year he got one of the second years to find the answers to one of your exams. it was a semi-sweet gesture that almost got him snubbed by snape had it not been for george and yours combined efforts. back to your current predicament, a certain ginger has taken it upon himself to plop his body right between you and your work. "fred, can you...move?" you were met with a simple head shake, and it took all of your willpower to not shove this man off your lap. and although this was one of fred's lighter distractions, it was a distraction nonetheless. "fred...." "darling, please. i've sat here for ages without speaking to you. i'm bored!" fred's naturally coy personality had given way to his own need for attention. but, he looked so cute like that... with his hair tossed around and eyes slightly wide. it was a small kiss. well, until fred grabbed you by the collar and made it a bit bigger. guess studying was gonna have to wait.

draco malfoy ;

now, studying with or around draco is noted for its silence. draco could sit for near hours without any speaking — especially if he's focused on his work. you can try your best at vying for his attention, but will most likely be met with a stone cold wall of a boyfriend. but his resolve is almost applause worthy as he sits for hours on end pouring over potions homework. (because he's worried that the professor will fail him if he's not up to par.) in all the attempts you've made, draco rarely ever breaks or even bends. for example, in the third year you had decided you needed draco's attention while he was studying for a herbology test and elected to charm his textbooks into plants themselves. (with each turn, a new plant would sprout up on the pages.) to any normal person, this would be enough to at least set the book down; but not malfoy! he merely pawed through the pages while ripping out the plants. (and muttering a few curses at you under his breath at you.) so, every attempt you make is more grand than the last. you're more than sure that draco's grown more than tired of your antics, but you don't really care. this time, you would make sure his potions work would be put aside — even if for a moment. "draco. draco. draco." "i'm not some ghost that can be summoned if you say my name three times fast, hun." not a single one of his limbs or bones moved to remove his attention from his potions textbook. you leaned across your shared table and began to play with his hand not lying on the textbook. if there was one thing about draco that he didn't want anyone to know; it was his hand sensitivity. while you thought it was cute, draco wanted to bash your head in whenever you took advantage of it. dragging your fingers from the beginning of his wrist down the last knuckle of his pointer finger, you felt him jump a little. each trace of your finger dragged draco farther and farther from his textbook and closer towards the slight touch of your hands. "draco..." this time, his head snapped up to look at you. you couldn't help but laugh at his lack of resolve from simple touch. you stood quickly, pushing your chair out from under you with great exaggeration. a swift kiss was placed onto dracos lips as you left him and his studies. "god damn it." and just like that, draco had abandoned his studies.

ginny weasley ;

books and books and more books were piled around the shared library table between you and ginny. it had become a sort of game between you two to see who could distract the other the most. from paper balls to charms cast across the wooden table — there was no limit to the amount of tactics deployed by the two of you. the two of yours transfiguration textbooks lay between various piles of snacks, paper, quills, and a stark variety of weasley products. ginny's main tactics in distracting you manifest in the form of frustrating you. usually, she would make herself well into your personal space and tease you to the maximum. it would start off small. with sitting close to you and reaching over you to "get something" or with the classic "there's something on your cheek." and you would play along with her little stunts—feigning misunderstanding just to make her feel like she was winning. (there's no way to tell who actually is.) it's a simple, yet dangerous game. the regular completion rate for when the two of you work together is around 5%. (essentially three sentences.) with each sleight of hand or look in the eye, the two of you drift farther and farther from the responsibilities you had both agreed to. this time, ginny elected to "tutoring" you as a means of distraction. "and what's the answer to this one, dove?" with two delicate fingers holding up your chin, distracting you from the problem, and green eyes staring straight into your soul— ginny had won. "oh? you don't know the answer? we just studied this one..." she'll give you the most "sympathetic" pout as she toys with you. and as you look up at her with the most determined yet defeated look, she'll press her lips against yours as her winning prize. she's always been the type to win, hasn't she?

[de-lululemon]

🍋Fern's Twisted Garden🍋

A.K.A Fern's Masterlist

All Fics are 18+ Minors DNI

🍋OT8🍋

nothing yet...

🍋Bang Chan🍋

Studio Beats

🍋Lee Know🍋

nothing yet...

🍋Changbin🍋

nothing yet...

🍋Hyunjin🍋

nothing yet...

🍋Han🍋

nothing yet...

🍋Felix🍋

Game Over

🍋Seungmin🍋

nothing yet...

🍋I.N🍋

nothing yet...

[littlefernghost]

Hiii! My name is Fern or Finn and I use they/she/faer pronouns.

I am a minor and an age dreamer. I will post most often about things relating to age dreaming. My middlespace age is most often 7-12.

I am autistic and have anxiety.

Tags:

#Fern writes: rambles and other stuff that doesn't fit under other tags.

#Fern's library: stuff about stories and storytelling. Will be tagged with #Fern's archive if it was not created by me (e.g. books or RPGs).

#Changeling Fern: stuff related to fairies and changelings, often fits under the Changeling core aesthetic.

#Fern makes: art and stuff

DNI if your blog is not safe for kids or you wouldn't show your blog to a kid. Toxic fans, ableist racist, and anti-LGBTQ+ blogs DNI.

[fern-writes-whump]

Whumpee pleads for mercy, begs to be spared. "I want to go home!" they cry and whimper.

Whumper shakes their head.

"You don't get to want things."

[captainfern]

May i request your majesty 🐈..

Cosy! Sfw (or if you find a way to make it NSFW then go wild) headcanon/ imagine of fem! Reader, reading to the boys every night or after a mission?? Like.. so mother ?? Bc they mostly fight and train and wrestle so, they have a lil calm, story time moment with the reader ??

Ugh I’m reading a book rn and thinking I just wanna mother these boys and read them a story!! Babies !!!

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"This Is Not A Book Club"

141 x gn!reader [platonic!]

[Imagines 1]

[SFW]

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• summary - what the request says :) • rating - sfw • wordcount - 1.8k • warnings - ik the request is for fem!reader but no specific pronouns/gendered language are used in this, pet name "love" is used once tho, strong language, no smut sorry fellow whores ✋

this idea is so fucking cute i just had to write it omfg. also i love that gif soap and ghost's interactions are just too adorable *pat pat*

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You didn't mean for it to become a habit.

It began on a whim.

After a strenuous mission, you relaxed in your respective room, curled up in your bed, reading a book. The main light was off, and you relied on the soft glow of the lamp on your bedside table. It was a relatively new book— you were only a chapter or so in— when a light knock at your door made you jump.

You hadn't been expecting it. It was pretty late, too.

You were surprised when Gaz poked his head in, apologising for interrupting. He figured he could unwind in your room, since the rest of the 141 were doing their own thing, and he needed some company.

You accepted, of course— how could you not when he looked at you with those deep brown eyes?

He settled on the bed next to you, sprawling himself across it near your feet. You laughed as he sighed, face buried in your duvet. He lifted his head, peering at you quizzically.

"What are you reading?" He asked.

You held the book up. "I... honestly don't know. It's pretty good, so far though."

He hummed, intrigued, as he scooted closer to you, head now resting parallel to your thighs.

"Read to me?" He asked, long eyelashes casting shadows across his cheekbones beneath the lamplight.

You smiled. "I'm two chapters in."

"That's okay," he muttered. "Just fill me in on what's happening."

You did, explaining the last couple of chapters in as much detail as possible. You then told him what the book was about, reading the little summary on the back. By this stage, his head was now resting on your lap atop the blanket, hand cupping your slightly bent knee.

"Right, okay," he said. "Now you can read from where you were reading."

You chuckled at his enthusiasm for you to hurry up and begin. So, you obliged, reading a couple of chapters before his breathing slowed. You looked away from your book, realising that he had fallen asleep, head still resting in your lap. You smiled, gently patting his head.

He mumbled incoherently.

"Gaz, come on, you fell asleep," you giggled, nudging him. "You need to go to bed."

He yawned, forcing himself to sit up. His eyes drooped, bleary with drowse as he stumbled off of your bed.

"Fine, but I'll be back for the next chapter tomorrow." He muttered, leaving with his eyes barely open.

The next evening, at roughly the same time, Gaz found his way into your room again. This time, with Soap in tow.

"Soap?" You greeted skeptically.

"Gaz said you're reading to him. I like a good storytime, too." He smiled, sprawling himself out on the rug beside your bed. He didn't give you any room for argument as Gaz resumed his place resting against your lap.

"Oh...kay... do you want me to fill you in?" You asked as you grabbed your book from your bedside table.

Soap shook his head. "No, no, don't worry. Gaz filled me in on the way here."

You laughed. "Of course he did."

So that's how you began reading to both Gaz and Soap. That night, Soap did much the same as Gaz did previously by falling asleep— face to the ceiling, stretched out on your plush rug. His soft snores prompted your eyes away from the pages. Gaz, too, was drifting in and out of consciousness.

You closed the book gently. "Okay, you two, time for bed."

Gaz got up without much of a fuss, but he had to shake Soap to get the man to cooperate. Soap grumbled and complained the entire time Gaz hoisted him to his feet. Then, still muttering grumpily under his breath, he let Gaz lead him out of the room.

The next day really confused you.

Both Gaz and Soap turned up, and once they were comfortable in their usual positions, a soft knock echoed through your room. Soap opened the door for Price, much to your astonishment.

"You too?" You questioned as your captain took up position in your desk chair, near the foot of your bed.

He relaxed in the chair, legs spread and arms folded across his chest.

"Got nothing else to do, love." He said simply, imploring you to pick up the book with a nod of his head.

You were in slight disbelief, but nevertheless, you continued with the book. While Gaz and Soap relaxed, listening to the peaceful lull of your voice, Price asked the occasional question. You stopped patiently and replied, ignoring the frustrated groans from Soap on your floor.

"Just shut up and listen, Price."

"Watch it, MacTavish."

Not long later, you managed to finish the chapter before Soap fell asleep. You waved them all goodbye as they filed out of your room, and you forced yourself not to laugh as they did.

Now, if you were confused before, the next day threw you completely.

Once again, Gaz lay sprawled out on your bed beside you, Soap on the floor with his arms behind his head. Price returned, too, taking his place in your chair. Then, just one word into the newest chapter, the door creaked open.

Ghost slipped in, almost silently, and you couldn't help but gape at your lieutenant as he lumbered into the room, cozy black hoodie on and hands jammed into the front pocket.

"L.T, I knew you couldn't resist," Soap beamed from the floor. "You want in on the book club?"

You scoffed, smiling. "This is not a book club."

Ghost just shrugged at Soap. "Lonely outside when I can't hear you lot making a racket."

He stepped over Soap and sunk himself onto the end of your bed, leaning himself up against the wall. He stretched his legs out, brushing your and Gaz's feet, knees cracking as he settled down.

You stared at everyone, slightly dumbfounded. Then, you turned to Ghost.

"You're... here willingly?" You asked him.

"Mhm."

"You... willingly want to listen to me read my book?"

"Mhm."

You took a deep breath. "Right, okay, cool. Um, do you need—?"

"Johnny's given me a rundown." He mumbled.

Of course he had.

And that's how it started, just over two weeks ago. Every night, especially after a particularly rough mission, the boys seemed to gravitate to your bedroom. They'd curl up and listen to your soft voice as you read to them; reading them to sleep on many occasions.

Despite Ghost and Price's lack of enthusiasm compared to Soap and Gaz, you could tell they enjoyed it just as much as the younger two did. It made you smile, feeling all warm and fuzzy inside knowing you could bring these hardened military boys some peace and comfort.

"Okay, so you're telling me, the kid didn't even know he was a wizard?" Price asked, leaning forward in his chair.

You laughed. "No, he didn't. Well, now he does."

"Ridiculous." Price muttered, shaking his head.

Ghost scoffed. "It's unrealistic."

Soap rolled his eyes. "Obviously, Ghost, it's a fucking fictional book about wizards an' shite."

"No, I mean, some big cunt with a beard turned up with a fucking ugly cake and told the kid he's a wizard, and the kid just believed him?" Ghost grumbled. His attitude had definitely shifted since the first time he joined their little, as Soap called it, book club.

"Yeah, basically." You smiled.

You had just introduced them to the Harry Potter series. You weren't even halfway through the first book yet.

"Ridiculous." Ghost said, echoing Price.

"Well, what would you have done, eh?" Soap questioned, sitting up, now cross-legged on the fluffy rug.

"What, if a big cunt called Hagrid turned up on my eleventh birthday and told me I'm a wizard?" Ghost mused. "Woulda knifed him, Johnny."

"Whatever." Soap scoffed.

When they weren't arguing about the book you were reading them, the night's with the boys were really peaceful. Relaxing, too.

A balm for their tortured souls, and a salve for the wounds they had earned during battle.

Dusk would fall, and they would limp into the comfort of your bedroom, warm and smelling sweetly of you. Waves of exhaustion would pin them in place while they clung to the presence of you for stability. Some days, all four would find themselves curled up on your bed— Gaz laying next to you, head on your lap; Soap on the floor, but his head resting on the edge of your bed, a hand resting in the crook of your arm as you held the book; Ghost with his back to the wall, your legs propped up over his, his gloved hands stroking circles on your shins; Price settled next to Ghost, shoulder to shoulder, his legs beneath yours as well, a hand resting warmly around your ankle.

They listened carefully, silently, as you read to them, basking in the comforting warmth of you. Battered, bruised, and bleeding from the cuts of battle, they rested tranquilly at your side. Their ears were no longer ringing with echoes of explosions, nostrils no longer filled with the acrid stench of gunpowder and death. They could hear only you, voice silken with each word you spoke. They could smell only you, the candles that burned and permeated the air, rich and sweet and a consoling sense of familiarity.

Towards the end of a chapter, you could sense a shift in the room. Some time ago, Soap had wiggled in beside you, head in the bend of your arm and shoulder. He breathed deeply, slowly, eyes closed and hair dishevelled against the sleeve of your shirt. Gaz, too, breathed slowly as sleep had overtaken him, hand still heavy on your knee.

Ghost had slumped to the side, somehow managing to tuck his hulking frame between Gaz and the wall. Mask still on, you could see his eyes, closed and smeared with black. Price, too, had fallen asleep; still, impressively, sitting upright. His head tilted forward, hat low over his forehead, snoring softly.

You sighed to yourself, closing the book and carefully putting it back on your nightstand, mindful not to disrupt Soap curled into your side like a cat. You nestled back into your bed, snuggled up with your task force, a sight you had never thought you'd see. As you wiggled to get comfortable, Soap stirred, groaning as he looked up at you, still resting his head near your chest.

"S'all right, go back to sleep." You whispered, angling your arm so it draped securely over top of him.

He didn't reply verbally, just burrowed deeper into your side, reaching a hand around to physically tighten your arm around him. He ran his thumb over your knuckles, before he fell back asleep.

Your other hand found Gaz's head, delicately skimming his hairline, smoothing along the soft skin of his forehead and cheek. You heard him sigh contentedly, still deep asleep.

Eventually, the warmth of the room and powerful bodies around you carried you to sleep.

And it was the best sleep you ever had.

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idk if this was good or not lmao but thank you my darling anon <3 this was nice to write mwah mwah xx

[caffeinewitchcraft]

Narrative Town

Summary: You don't ever want to be the main character. In your town, that's deadly. Someone has to warn the new kid. 

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Someone has got to tell the new kid in town the Rules.

“Hey,” you say.

The new kid looks up at you. He’s sitting at his desk in the back corner of the classroom, right next to the windows. It’s a chilly day, but he’s got the window open so that the breeze ruffles his curly, black hair. “What’s up? Fern, right?”

“Don’t call me by my name,” you snarl. Then, realizing what you’ve done, you look over your shoulder. The other teenagers are still looped around the teacher’s desk, trying to get Ms. Slauson to move the test date so they could organize a welcome part for the new kid. “I need to talk to you. Privately.”

The new kid leans back in his chair and studies you. You know what he sees – a completely average high school girl in jeans, a sweatshirt, and a ponytail. There’s nothing remarkable about you. He tilts his head. “You don’t look like a bully.”

You frown. “I’m not.”

“You’re being awfully threatening,” he says in a drawl.

The accent is going to be a problem. It’s southern and sounds really cool. Honestly, it might be too late for him already.

But you still have to try.

“Meet me on the rooftop—no!” You press the heel of one hand against your eye. Fight it, you tell yourself. Fight it! “Meet me at the supermarket on Western Street. The dairy aisle. After school.”

“Okay…?”

You spin on your heel, head throbbing. Meeting on the rooftop is against the rules. You glance up at the ceiling uneasily. You’re not usually affected by the compulsion so badly. Are you being targeted?

If you were smart, you wouldn’t show up to the meeting. You’d just let the guy get sucked into the madness on his own.

But you also really need to buy some milk.

---------------------------------.

To your surprise, the new kid meets you in the dairy aisle after school. He actually gets there before you and you find him frowning at the selection.

“I’ve never heard of these brands before,” he says. He points to one. “Moo-ilk? That’s not a thing.”

“It is here,” you say. Like you’d hoped, the supermarket is nearly empty. It won’t stay that way for long. “That’s what I need to talk to you about, new kid.”

He turns to look at you. You’re tall for your age, so you stand eye to eye. “My name is Caiden.”

“I know,” you say. “You should stop telling people your name, especially when it’s such a cool one. It’s safer to just be a nameless face in the crowd.”

“That’s deep,” Caiden says. His drawl is clearly sarcastic. “That can’t be what you wanted to tell me.”

It’s not my problem if he doesn’t believe me, you tell yourself. You take a deep breath. “It’s part of it. This town is magic and the school is the heart of it. It forces people to live out popular tropes.  If you’re popular or interesting in any way, it makes you the main character.” You take in the number of pockets on his black pants. “Unfortunately, you’re probably the coolest person to transfer ever and the magic is going to target you big time.”

Caiden stares at you. “You’re saying magic is real.”

“Yeah,” you say. You glance over his shoulder towards the front of the store. You can see shadows slanting through the windows as the sun starts to set. “All sorts. It depends what type of story you get pulled into.”

“But the main magic,” Caiden says, “is in the town itself which forces people to act like main characters?”

“Some people,” you say. You point at his trio of long necklaces. “Is that a wolf?”

Caiden looks down at the metal pendant. “It’s my favorite animal.”

“You are in so much danger,” you marvel. That’s the coolest thing you’ve ever heard. He also has a necklace that looks like an ancient coin and the other is a shark tooth. “The magic is definitely going to make you a main character.”

Caiden opens his mouth, closes it, then asks, “Are you insane?”

It really depends on what he thinks insane means. But going into that actually does make you sound insane, so you just sigh and shake your head. “You don’t believe me.”

“No.” Caiden doesn’t sound angry. He almost sounds apologetic. “I don’t.”

The bell at the front of the store rings. You reflexively look to see who came in. You see tennis rackets and gym clothes before you make yourself look away. A sports team, probably from a rival school. That…could be safe. Or safer. If they’re the first people he runs into, he might actually survive without having to believe you. “That’s fine. You do you.”

“…okay?” Caiden says.

He doesn’t follow you as you grab a gallon of milk and beeline for the self-checkout. You pass the tennis team in the aisle. They smell like sunscreen and don’t notice you dart past them.

“Hey,” you hear one of them say. They’re looking at Caiden. “I’ve never seen that guy around before.”

Another one hums. “There’s something about him. He looks…strong.”

“Why’s he just standing by the milk?”

You grab your purchase and calmly walk out the door.

------------------.

It’s a month after Caiden first transferred when he marches up to your desk after the last bell rings and says, “You. I need to talk to you.”

You look up at him from under your bangs, hands stilling on the open textbook. Caiden looks a lot different. He’s always dressed in a tennis club uniform now and his wild, curly hair is held away from his face by a sweatband. He’s a little sunburned and there is a bandage wrapped from wrist to shoulder on his right arm. Your eyes dart down to see a matching bandage wrapped around his left ankle.

“Please,” Caiden says when the silence stretches too long. His voice cracks. “I was wrong. I was—”

You close your textbook with a snap. You weren’t really studying anyway. Studying makes you look like a background character, but the ace of the tennis team coming to talk to you cancels it out. “There’s a dentist on 3rd Street. Meet me there in an hour.”

“A dentist?” Caiden asks, bewildered. He dumbly moves out of your way when you stand to go. “Why a—”

“Not here,” you hiss. “Dentist office.”

You rush out of class before anyone notices him talking to you.

-------------------.

The first time this town killed one of your friends, you didn’t know about the magic.

You were just a kid, barely thirteen, and new in town. You didn’t know what you were doing when you decided you wanted the quiet girl in class to befriend. Jeanine always sat by the windows, staring out into the school’s courtyard by herself. Her black braids swung on either side of her face and her glasses were pressed high on the bridge of her nose.

You introduced yourself to her, complimented her on her book, and asked if she’d like to have lunch. Sometimes you remember the smile she gave you in that first moment. Surprised, vulnerable, secretly pleased. You treasure that moment where you were just two girls looking for friends. You remember all her smiles over that blissful period where you went to the bookstore and the library, to the movies and to sleepovers, to parties and to concerts.

Sometimes remembering those smiles even helps you forget the painful one she gave you before she lost her life saving yours.

-----------------.

Caiden is pacing in front of the dentist’s office when you arrive. The street is deserted and there’s a faded Closed sign in the window.

Caiden jerks his thumb at the sign. “It’s closed.”

“Yeah,” you say. There’s a little bench in front of the office where patients are invited to wait for their appointment. You take a seat and gesture for him to do the same. “Very few stories start at the dentist and, those that do, always start when it’s open. It’s unlikely we’ll run into any trouble here.”

Caiden clutches his bandaged arm, looking over his shoulder as if checking for pursuers. “So location is part of it? Even just…walking down the street can trigger it?”

“Depends which street,” you say. You twist so you can put one foot up on the bench, angling your body towards him as he sits next to you. “Setting is an important part of the story.”

“Okay,” Caiden says. He breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth. “Sorry. I just—sorry. Thank you for talking to me. I know I didn’t believe you—”

“It’s hard to believe,” you say, “even without the magic.” You nod your head at his arm. “You okay?”

Caiden looks down at his arm as if he forgot about the bandages. “Oh, this? I’m not injured.” He unravels the strips to show unblemished skin. “Mark – the tennis team captain? – he’s worried about spies from other schools. I’m pretending to be hurt so they think I’m out of commission.”

“Thus giving you the element of surprise when you face them at Nationals next week,” you say with understanding. You eye the other bandage. “And your ankle?”

Caiden laughs. It’s not a joyful laugh. It sounds a little hysterical. “No, no, that’s real. I got invited to a drama club after party and spent most of Saturday night running away from a werewolf. I sprained it in the woods.”

“The Drama Club President is a werewolf,” you say. If he’d believed you a month ago, you would have warned him. You were there when she got bitten, but you managed to escape that particular story by pretending to faint. “She’s really had a lot of character growth since she got bit. She used to be super mean before.”

“Oh, as long as it’s for character growth,” Caiden says sarcastically. He scrubs a hand over his face. “We barely got away. It was only because the track team was there that we managed to run her into exhaustion.” He looks up at you. “I think—I think she’s going to kill someone one day.”

“She already has,” you say. When Caiden’s eyes widen, you wave a hand. “It was a bad guy who was trying to turn our entire school into werewolves. We actually owe her a lot for managing to contain that particular plot.”

“How is she going to put that on a college application?” he asks.

You point at him. “See, that right there is why you’re already so deep into a story. Being funny when you should be panicking is basically a requirement for protagonists.”

“I’m panicking,” Caiden assures you. He points to himself emphatically. “I’m definitely panicking.”

“Good,” you say, “that means the magic doesn’t have complete control over you yet. I was worried. Nationals isn’t supposed to be for another four months. I thought the accelerated schedule was a sign you’d completely become the main character.”

“How do I get out of this?” Caiden pulls at his jersey. “I don’t even like tennis! I don’t even know how I joined the club, I didn’t sign up for anything. I don’t know how I got the equipment. My dad didn’t buy it for me.”

“Those details aren’t necessary for the story you’re in,” you say. You pick up your backpack and unzip the main pocket. “I have some Rules to avoid getting sucked into a role. No meeting people in Big Settings, first of all.”

“Big Settings?”

“The lunchroom, the roof, the community pool, the lake, a love interest’s house, anywhere after curfew, etcetera,” you rattle off. You pull out a copy of The Rules and hand it to him. Even now, the mix of your handwriting and Jeanine’s sends a spike of sorrow through you. “There are some pretty specific ones on there too. I suggest you read through them all and pick out the common themes.”

The sun is getting dangerously low. You keep one eye on Caiden as he scans through the six pages of photocopied rules and one eye on the street. A couple cars pass by, but they’re all normal sedans. The moment you see a motorcycle or a van it’ll be time to leave.

“I can’t have an accent?” Caiden looks up from the paper. “But I’m not from here! How can I control an accent?”

“You can’t,” you admit. “But don’t use any region-specific idioms. That should help.”

Caiden points at the page. “Do not go to the library’s second floor?”

“Do not go to the library’s second floor,” you agree solemnly. When Caiden stares at you, you relent. “It’s super haunted. Also all the books in the back corner are cursed.”

“How do you know that?”

“They look super cursed. In a town like this, if it looks cursed, it’s cursed.”

“I guess I can’t say I don’t believe you,” Caiden mutters. “Werewolves are real, I’m pretty sure my club captain is some sort of spymaster, and I saw a kid fall four stories and land on his feet yesterday.”

“That’s Mark’s little brother. He’s got some sort of budding superhero thing going on,” you explain.

“Superhero implies the existence of a supervillain,” Caiden says.

“I try not to think about that.” A car turns onto 3rd Street a little too quickly. You tense and watch as a bicyclist comes screeching around the corner and pedal furiously in pursuit. “Time to go. Sunset is when rising actions get to climaxes. Read the Rules. We’ll talk about how to get you out of your current story tomorrow.”

“Wait!” Caiden scrambles up after you. “I can’t wait until tomorrow! Who know what will happen by then? A stalker could climb the trellis outside my window, or my house could catch on fire—”

“Do you have any little siblings?”

“No? What—”

“Are you going to be out after curfew tonight?”

“No, but my parents—”

“Your house won’t catch on fire then,” you say. “You’re a main character right now. The magic won’t give you a tragic back story when you’re there to stop it. I’d leave now if I were you. There’s about to be a police chase down here.”

“How could you know that?” Caiden cries out.

“Did you see that bicyclist just now?”

“From a minute ago? Yeah, but—”

“We’ll talk tomorrow. If the police see you here, you’ll get dragged into it as a witness.”

As if on cue, sirens start up a couple blocks over.  You duck into a side street without waiting to see if Caiden understands.

-----------.

Your parents stop talking when you come through the front door. You set your backpack down slowly, taking them in. They’re sitting on the floor of the living room with a whole pile of newspaper articles and printed Wikipedia pages between them. They’re both dressed in all black and your mom has a grappling hook over one shoulder.

“What’s going on?” you ask.

“Costume party,” your dad says.

“Collage for my book club,” your mom says. When she hears your dad’s answer, she nods quickly. “My book club which is also a costume party.”

It’s sad to see your parents caught in the magic like this. You remember them when you were little. Your mom was an accountant, and your dad was one of the best mechanics in your hometown. Sure, they’d still been a little…odd. Your dad taught you to hotwire a car before you learned how to change the oil and your mom would bring you along into corporate fraud investigations, but that was what they wanted. Now their eccentricities make them main characters.

“Sounds fun,” you say with false cheer. You desperately want to beg them not to do whatever they’re planning. You want to plead with them to be safe. You want your dad to quit adding spy-like features to the family car and for your mom to stop breaking into the town museum. But you aren’t strong enough to protect them. You’re only strong enough to protect yourself. “I’ve got a history test tomorrow, so I’m going to study in my room. I’ll probably have my headphones in so I won’t be able to hear anything. Try not to scare me.”

Your mom’s eyes light. “We won’t bother you, sweetheart. Do you want to take some snacks to your room? So you don’t have to come in and out.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Does it hurt your parents are so eager to get you out of the way? Yes, but at least it’s an attempt to protect you.

You let your parents give you some mixed nuts, fruit, and popcorn before heading up to your room. While they plan whatever heist they’re doing tonight, you’ve got planning of your own. Caiden’s in a pretty tame story, but it’s still a story.

He’s got to get out as quietly as he can or else things will get messy.

----------.

“Let’s meet in the lunchroom after classes,” Caiden says the next morning. The circles under his eyes are even darker than they were yesterday, but his eyes are bright and alive. He ruefully gestures to his tennis uniform. “Before practice.”

You raise an eyebrow. The lunchroom will be empty, students choosing to use the more comfortable chairs and tables in the multipurpose room or library to study. “I’m impressed. That might be the only time the lunchroom will be safe.”

“I finally did my research,” Caiden says grimly. He flinches when the classroom door opens but recovers quickly. He walks away from your desk as if only passing by it, smiling easily at a fellow tennis player when they greet him.

“Hey,” the girl at the desk hisses at you. She’s a lower-level antagonist, easily identified by the bubblegum she’s always chewing. The teacher is always yelling at her for it, but she never gets in trouble unless the magic needs her to be a background character in detention. “Is it just me or is Caiden talking to you a lot?”

“I don’t think so,” you say. You frown at her like she’s the strange one, not you. “Are you feeling okay?”

Flustered, she pops a bubble and turns back to the doodles she’s scratching on her desk. “Never mind.”

Whew. That was a close one. Her words could’ve triggered a romance plot between you and Caiden with her as the third wheel. You’ve seen more than your fair share of those pan out. Best case scenario, one of you would end up studying abroad for a year. Worst case, one of you would end up dead.

Your heart races a little. Frowning for real, you press a hand to your chest. Could…could you actually have a crush on Caiden? After a moment, you shake your head. That’s ridiculous. You’re probably still feeling the adrenaline of escaping the pull of a story.

Even now, after four years, avoiding the magic still feels like a victory.

----------------.

The thing is, you used to love the magic. When Jeanine first showed you how to watch people, it was like TV come to life. The teacher is in a slow-burn romantic comedy with the principal. The tenth grader who just passed you in the hall is actually one of the most respected journalists in town. There’s going to be a musical number in the park after school because the eggs the biology club has been looking after finally hatched into the cutest baby ducklings.

You loved it. You and Jeanine would race around after school every day to check in on each story. You remember the way her jacket would puff out behind her as she jumped the last few steps in front of the auditorium. The glint of the sun off the barrette in her hair that matched the one in yours. The joy when she would turn to smile at you like what you were witnessing was for just the two of you.

It got to the point where you could guess what sort of story someone would get caught in. You and Jeanine used to place bets on the genre, the cast, the ending. It was a game. It was all a fucking game until it wasn’t.

You were naïve. You thought that being watchers protected you from the bad endings. The Rules…you thought yourself clever for making them. You never saw how incomplete they were. That’s why you didn’t notice when Jeanine became withdrawn. She never told you about the threatening letters that started to show up in her mailbox. Her parents were always away working and she didn’t have anyone to turn to.

She should have turned to you. You believe that now. If she’d just come to you sooner, then the weight of the story you’d gotten yourself tangled in would have been bearable. Or maybe you should have been able to see it. You were right there, watching. You should have seen the mysterious cloaked figures. You should have known.

You didn’t know soon enough.

Jeanine died saving you.

And now it’s your turn to save someone else.

-----------------------.

The end of the school day can’t come soon enough. When the bell finally rings, you make yourself count to ten before standing up.

Rule 14: Never be the first one out of class.

Rule 27: Never be the last one out of class.

You exit exactly in the middle of the pack. To your delight, Caiden is only a few people ahead of you. He read the Rules and he’s following them. That means this morning wasn’t a fluke. He’s still not completely bound by the magic.

He can be saved.

“Alright,” you say when you reach the lunchroom. Like you’d hoped, there’s no one there. You slam you backpack on top of a table and start pulling out folders. “I’ve got a couple ideas on how to get you out of your story.”

Caiden twirls the racket in his hands. “Can’t I just quit the club?”

“No, that’ll just turn it into a story about getting you back in time for Nationals,” you explain. You flip open the first folder. “One option is to get arrested for something. Sure, it’ll make you a criminal for a little bit, but your team won’t come looking for you. Heck, they might kick you off the team entirely.”

“If they’d come after me for quitting, don’t you think they’d just bail me out?” Caiden asks.

You pause. You didn’t think about that. “Would they even have the money to do that?”

“Mark’s estranged Dad is a millionaire,” Caiden says. He pulls out his phone and flips to a picture. “Here he is on a yacht.”

“I don’t really pay attention to the adult stories,” you say. You examine the picture. Yep, that’s definitely the start of a millionaire romance trope. “Good thing my parents are still together.”

Caiden frowns. “Mine aren’t.”

“Don’t let either of your parents meet Mark’s Dad,” you say apologetically. You flip to the next folder. “Next option is to pretend to be possessed by a famous tennis player. Then, when you lead the team to victory, you say it’s because of the ghost, the ghost gets exorcised, and the team loses interest in you when your abilities fade.”

“That’s pretty convoluted,” Caiden says. He pulls the folder towards him and examines the doodle of a ghost you did. “You don’t know if I’ll lead the team to victory.”

You scoff and gesture to him. “Look at you. Of course, you will.” Before he has a chance to respond, you reveal the last plan. “That’s why I think this one will work. Instead of leading the team to victory, you become a supporting character.” You open the folder to reveal a picture of Mark. “In short, you make Mark a main character.”

“What?” Caiden yelps. He casts a guilty glance towards the front of the lunchroom, making sure no one in the hall heard him. He lowers his voice. “You want me to sacrifice Mark? The guy’s already been through a lot!”

Caiden looks awfully heroic with the way he’s squared his shoulders. He’s genuinely a good person and if you’d meant to sacrifice Mark in his place, you’d feel very villainous right now.  “No,” you say, “don’t you see? Making him the main character will actually help him.”

“How?”

“His little brother’s got powers and his dad is, apparently, a millionaire.” You hesitate. You don’t really want to say it, but you don’t think Caiden’s quite understood what it means to be surrounded by main characters. “The way it is now, Mark is in danger.”

Caiden goes still. “What?”

“What’s more powerful than a superhero fighting to protect his brother’s memory? Or a millionaire who only needs the right romantic interest to recover from the grief of losing his eldest son?” You flip over the page and grab a pencil. You draw a circle on one side of the page. “Imagine that’s a superhero story.” You draw a dot in the circle. “That’s Mark’s brother. He can only be affected by superhero-related things as long as he’s in that circle. Their dad’s millionaire-romance story won’t stop him from being a hero, just like his son being a hero won’t stop their dad from becoming a sugar daddy for some lucky single in town.”

“Definitely keeping my dad away from him,” Caiden mutters.

You draw another circle and put another dot in it. “That dot is their dad. He’s protected from any superhero stuff because he’s the main character in the romance stuff.” Between the two circles, you draw a third dot. “In the center? That’s Mark. And right now he doesn’t have a circle to protect him from the superhero stuff or the romance stuff. Do you understand?”

“You’re saying that Mark needs to be a main character so he doesn’t become a tragic backstory,” Caiden says. He scrubs a hand over his face and collapse onto a chair. “This stuff is messed up.”

“Sometimes,” you say, “being outside the magic is just as dangerous as being in the magic.”

That’s what you and Jeanine never understood. There’s a difference between being a background character and being an exception. Exceptions make great protagonists. When the sorcerers that live in the park noticed that you and Jeanine never fell under their hypnosis, they took interest.

Deadly interest.

“Hey.” Caiden reaches out to place a comforting hand on your arm. “You okay?”

You shake yourself. The quiet of the lunchroom makes you feel like you’re the only two in the world. It’s been a long time since you’ve been able to talk to someone that’s not under the town’s magic. You swallow. “My friend,” you say without really knowing you’re going to say it. “The one who wrote the Rules with me.”

“Jeanine?” Caiden asks gently. When you shoot him a surprised look, he says, “You guys signed the Rules.”

You’d forgotten about that. You hardly ever read the Rules anymore. You know them all by heart. You nod. “Yeah. She saved my life. The town isn’t evil and the magic isn’t all bad. But when it’s bad, it’s really bad. You’re doing Mark a favor by making him a main character. You might even be saving his life.”

That seems to break through to Caiden. He takes his hand off your arm, eyes far away as he considers that. When he looks back at you, there’s no resolve in the set of his jaw. “Okay. I’ll do it. How do I make Mark a main character?”

You pass the folder over to him. “It’s all there. You’re going to have to go to Nationals but, after that, you should be back in the background. Just like me.”

“Perfect,” Caiden says with a sigh. He stands, taking the folder with him. “I gotta get to practice.” He pauses in front of the door. “Will you come see us at Nationals?”

“Probably not,” you say. You scrunch your nose. If you go and meet Caiden after the game, you could be in danger of triggering another romance plot. You start packing up to hide your blush. “I’d hate to be caught up in a sports story.”

“Right, rule #35,” Caiden says, laughing a little. He looks awfully cute when he laughs. “If you’re good at sports—”

“—no you aren’t,” you say with him. You grin and wave him off. “See you later.”

Caiden glances down the hall for other students before leaning back into the lunchroom. “Thanks, Fern,” he whispers and then disappears out the door.

Your face feels hot as you make your way home.

-------------------.

You find yourself at the park the day of Nationals. You can’t bring yourself to watch Caiden. On paper, the plan is simple. He has to let Mark play all the singles and, if he plays doubles, Mark needs to be the one to score the most points. Or whatever the right terminology is. Even if it wasn’t dangerous to know too much about sports, you wouldn’t care.

Jeanine would care.

You wander past the kids’ playground and head across the lawn to where there’s a cluster of birch trees. In your mind’s eye, you see this place four years ago. It was night then and there weren’t any kids on the swings or parents idly chatting around the water fountain.

No, it was dark and empty and the only sound you could hear was the harsh panting of your own breath and the slow, rhythmic chanting of the sorcerers about to sacrifice your best friend.

Jeanine was an exception. She was someone who’d grown up here her whole life but was just…average. Average grades, average looks, average worries. Average. She was never compelled into a story as a kid. She wasn’t called on to fight dragons and she wasn’t recruited to be a child spy. She was just Jeanine.

The birch trees are looking a little weak. You stop just where the grass changes to dirt and stares up into their thinning canopies. Good. You hope these trees die. Then the sorcerers trapped inside of them won’t ever emerge and, at last, Jeanine will be avenged.

“If that’s even possible,” you say absently,

The truth is some days you feel like you killed her.  Jeanine was average. You were the transfer who knew how to do too many things. You were the one the town took an interest in. Of course it did. You were a 13-year-old who could hotwire a car and who regularly broke into corporate offices searching for dirty books.

Jeanine saved you. She saved you from all the fates she’d seen her classmates fall prey to over the years. She taught you how to watch. She taught you how to survive. Sometimes you wonder why she did that for you, knowing what it could potentially (and did) cost her.

The truth is you would have done the same for her.

You kick at a root with real anger. When the magic couldn’t drag you into a mundane story, it escalated. The sorcerers that lived in seclusion on the other side of town got tipped off. They made a prophecy.

A prophecy about you.

You know the story that you should have had. You were supposed to be a lonely transfer student with only one shy friend. You were supposed to be excited when the sorcerers came to recruit you into their epic fight against evil. You were supposed to learn their spells and their ways and forget all about the normal life you once led.

Jeanine noticed the hooded figures first. She intercepted them before they could get to you. That’s what finally caught the magic’s attention. Here was a girl who would do anything for her friend. A beautiful girl with quick wits and an amazing loyalty.

Here was an obstacle that the sorcerers had to kill. Here was the final piece of your tragic backstory.

But Jeanine didn’t let that happen. Quietly, desperately, she worked to change your fate and, in exchange, sealed hers.

There is a reason that there aren’t any prophecies in town anymore. Jeanine’s sacrifice not only saved you, but everybody else from that fate. She gave her life to seal the sorcerers here, in these woods where they’d meant to kill her and take you away.

What you’re doing for Caiden isn’t like what Jeanine did for you. He’s not in danger of being whisked off into another dimension or being tortured by power you’ll never understand. He’s on a tennis team he doesn’t want to be on. But you’re teaching him like Jeanine taught you.

You just hope he sticks around long enough to learn.

----------------------------.

You get to school early on Monday. It’s against the rules, but you can’t help it. You need to know how Nationals went. You need to know if Mark won the title for them or Caiden.

You see the back of Caiden’s head in the hall outside of class. Your heart races. “Caiden!”

Caiden turns. When he sees it’s you, he raises two fingers in the air. “We won!”

Your heart sinks. “No, I’m so sorry—”

“I mean, I didn’t win,” Caiden says. He gestures down at himself. “Look! No tennis uniform!”

For the first time you realize that Caiden’s wearing normal clothes. Black cargo pants, a Henley, and boots. Normal clothes might be a bit of an overstatement.  You try to focus on the positive. “Nice job! Did Mark score the last goal?”

“Not how that works in tennis, but kind of,” Caiden says, grinning. “He got scouted. That means he’s the main character right? He’s safe?”

“Yeah.” You eye Caiden’s necklaces. He’s still got the wolf pendant and the shark tooth on, but now the ancient coin has been replaced by a tiny sword. “I don’t think you’re in the clear yet though.”

Caiden deflates. “What? Why not? Can you see something on me?” He turns in a circle as if looking for note that says main character stuck to his back.

“You’re still way too cool,” you say. You point at the sword necklace. “Where did you get that?”

“Found it on the ground,” he says.

“Oh my god, take that off right now,” you say.

You’ve really got your work cut out for you.

 -----End----

Thanks for reading! I love writing semi-meta stories like this and you know it’s not the last you’ll see of Narrative Town!

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Next week’s story is already up!

Summary: When Shireen's city falls to a Supervillain, she knows there aren't any Heroes to save the day. So she does in more ways than she knows.

Thanks again for reading :)

[officialspec]

self indulgent dnd yuris

[desert-fern]

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw X Fem!Reader

Summary: You’ve had Rooster’s eye since he first met you, the only problem? You were in a relationship. But when you come to the Hard Deck newly single, looking to have a good time, your ex reappears. Things get heated, what’s a man to do other than shoot his shot (and maybe throw a few punches)?

Warnings: swearing, cheating (not from our main characters), confrontation about cheating, physical fights (it is a bar fight after all), reader is a quippy little shit. Lmk if I missed anything.

Word Count: 5.5k

A/N: hey all! Welcome to my second ever Rooster oneshot and my entry for @roosterforme’s Rocktober event! This piece is inspired by Van Halen’s Jump and is my excuse to write a bar fight.

===

Friday nights out with Mason sucked. Well, the drinks were always good at the Hard Deck, the other Navy men who frequented on Fridays were very pleasing to look at, the only shitty thing was, well, Mason. He would ditch you multiple times throughout the night, spending hours chatting with people he saw at work all day while you sat awkwardly in your seat people-watching.

Needless to say, you didn’t like those Friday nights very much. The nights where it was just the two of you were wonderful; you had his undivided attention and it was just easy. Your boyfriend would be all over you, smothering you with affection and it was so unlike the pilot you had come to know.

Mason just became a completely different person when he went out to the Navy bars with you. Maybe it was your fault, you weren’t really the kind of person who liked going out, so you couldn’t really blame him if he ditched you.

That was reasonable right?

Those were your thoughts as you sat at the bar, sipping on your water watching Mason and his group of friends chat with a group of girls. “You doing okay?” A voice next to you asked.

You turned, catching sight of what was probably the prettiest man you’d ever seen. Tall with tan skin just the right side of sunburnt, his whiskey coloured eyes were watching you over a pair of aviators perched on the edge of his nose. You swallowed, watching as his biceps moved, straining against the white and yellow printed Hawaiian shirt. “Yeah,” you croaked out, wincing at the sound. “Uh, yes. I’m alright, thanks.”

He smiled at you, his mustache crinkling just a little and you had to take a sip of your drink to try and keep your composure. “Glad to hear it. I’m Bradley, most people around here call me Rooster though.”

“Good to meet you, Bradley,” you replied, smiling back at him. You introduced yourself and couldn’t help but grin when he repeated your name back to you, loving the way it rolled off his tongue.

“Are you here with anyone?”

You nodded, smiling sadly. “I am. My boyfriend is over- well he was over there. I don’t know where he went,” you said after a minute. “But I don’t mind a little conversation.”

Bradley grinned. “Glad to hear it. So, at the risk of sounding like a sleaze, you come here often?” You could hear the humour in his tone and it made you laugh.

“I do, but it’s really not my scene.”

“Not a fan of the Navy?”

You shook your head. “That’s not it, my boyfriend is a pilot for the Navy. I’m just not really one for crowds,” you admitted. Your job as a nurse brought you close to a lot of people and sometimes, all you wanted was just to cuddle up on the couch with Mason and watch a movie. However, your boyfriend was much more of a social butterfly than you were and you often went along with what he wanted for the sake of not arguing.

But Friday nights were ‘for the boys’ so you often got dragged along to the bar whether or not you wanted to go.

“Did you want to step outside? I’d hate for my gorgeous but taken conversation partner to be uncomfortable,” Bradley said, shooting you a sly wink that had warmth blooming in your cheeks.

“Does that line often work for you?” You teased, enjoying how his blush grew.

He took a swig of his beer, rolling the bottle between his palms on the bar top before replying. “Wasn’t a line, sweetheart. You’re taken, but I can’t understand how he could so easily leave someone like you sitting all alone.”

You had to bite your lip to stifle the grin that threatened to grow larger the longer you sat chatting with Bradley. A reply was half way out of your mouth when a hand gripped your arm and you heard Mason’s voice next to your head. “Piss off Bradshaw, she’s taken.”

“Maso-” you started, but Bradley took a step back from you. You hadn’t noticed how close the two of you had been, practically sharing the same breath, but now, it was like someone had doused you with ice cold water. “We were just-”

“I don’t care,” your boyfriend growled. “Stay the fuck away from him.”

“Why?” You demanded. “You fucking ditch me at the bar YOU wanted to go to and expect me to not talk to anyone? Do you have any idea what that’s like?”

“Cannon…” Bradley muttered. “Of fucking course.”

Mason turned to look at you and you had never seen this kind of look in his eyes before. He looked dangerous, a wildness seemed to have taken over his entire being and you were scared. “Don’t embarrass me,” he hissed softly, his grip tightening around your arm.

Bradley must have seen the look of shock in your eyes because he stepped in. “Cannon, man, we were just talking. Let her go.”

Your arm was released and you finally took notice of his dishevelled appearance, a stone plunging your stomach down, down, down. You had known. Smelt the perfume that was not yours, you never wore it because Mason had claimed it gave him a headache. You had turned a blind eye to the random scratches, the strange bruises, even the lipstick on his shirts. You had willingly chosen to push your doubts aside for the sake of living the same boring life you had lived for the better part of two years.

But not anymore.

Pushing your doubt down, you let him lead you out of the bar, making the short trip to your car. You drove in a stony silence, ignoring every criticism Mason threw your way. But you said nothing, at this moment, you weren’t his girlfriend but his DD, and you thought long and hard about what you wanted from your life. If you were honest with yourself, it wasn’t Mason.

You wanted the simple life you had before he’d stumbled into your life with all the grace of a drunk elephant, a fairly apt description for Mason as a person.

He had made it fucking transparent that the last two years were a waste of your time. Mason’s friend, Max or Nuke as he was known to your boyfriend, lived a few blocks away from the bar, it was his house where you dropped him off, all but pushing him out of the car. “Don’t call me,” you snapped, watching his face go from confused to angry. “We’re done. I’m bringing your shit here tomorrow.”

The drive back to your place was strangely quiet. No drunk ranting, no criticising your shyness in the bar, none of that. It was like you pulled the bag off your head, unknowing that it was suffocating you and now you were finally breathing fresh air again. You thought back to Bradley, his strong arms, the ease with which he’d carried himself and the pink hue of his cheeks when you’d teased him back.

He was different.

And maybe you deserved different, but maybe that was your newly-single brain getting ahead of itself. All you knew is that your heart felt lighter as you climbed the stairs to your apartment, it was freeing and constricting all at once.

Inside, you ignored your phone buzzing incessantly. You plugged your phone in, ignoring the flash of angry messages that appeared as quickly as you could blink. You groaned, watching as Mason’s name popped up on your phone, this time calling you, but it disappeared just as fast, clearly he hadn’t meant to call you. It took less than 10 seconds for you to power your phone off, the screen going black as your eyes finally gained a reprieve from the onslaught of angry, hateful messages directed at you.

Mason could sober up before you had any type of conversation with him, not that you would be doing so for a long time, but still. He ran a short fuse, blowing up so quickly over the smallest things. You figured you were saving yourself the headache of not engaging, so you began to grab his things, throwing them in a pile in the living room.

Somewhere between cleaning out his clothes and throwing his knick knacks into the living room, you felt a tear run down your cheek. “He doesn’t deserve these tears,” you muttered angrily, swiping them away. “He didn’t deserve you.”

===

A few months later, you let your friend and coworker bully you into going out with her. You had often told Blair about your people watching at the Navy Bar and it had only taken one mention of it from you and she had been obsessed with the idea.

Now that you were single, for a whole three months, as Blair had ever so helpfully pointed out, she had decided that it was time for you to get back out there.

So here she was standing in your bedroom, clothing scattered around her as she pulled shirt after dress out of your closet. “Why have I never seen any of these before?! This shirt would look so hot on you!”

Shaking your head, you had to say that you didn’t know. “I just never felt comfortable wearing it around Mason’s friends and-”

“And you two never went out without at least one of his douchey friends.” Blair finished for you, giving you a look. “I swear, hon, his cock must have been huge for you to put up with his BS for as long as you did.”

You snorted. “That’s the sad part…”

“No! He was a fuckhead who cheated, a selfish bastard, and he had a micropeen?!” Blair exclaimed, whirling around to look at you. “Why were you with him to begin with? And don’t say that he was different when you first met. Mason wasn’t smart enough to hide all of that.”

The room was silent for a beat before the both of you burst into laughter. “I don’t even know why I said yes when he asked me out!”

“Girl! Me neither!”

You’d doubled over, clutching at your stomach as you laughed. It had morphed into a cackle of a sound, filling the room with raucous noise that had Blair laughing harder.

Tears streamed down your faces as you both tried your hardest to calm your breathing. “Here,” Blair said breathlessly. “Wear this.” She threw a pair of tight, high waisted blue denim shorts at you, a pair that you had bought once and quickly forgot about. Which was a shame, because these shorts in particular had two star-shaped cutouts filled in with red fabric on the ass.

You paled a little, thinking about what would happen if Mason had seen these shorts. “You broke up with him,” the little voice in your head chided. “Who gives a shit what Mason would’ve thought. You’d look hot.” So you grabbed them and a black tank top, changing quickly before Blair wrangled you into getting your makeup done.

The little voice in your head had been right, you did look hot. You could feel eyes on you from the moment you and Blair walked into the Hard Deck and while you wanted to run and hide, the thought of proving Mason wrong kept you motivated to at least have some semblance of fun. And that’s exactly what you did. You found yourself chatting up at the bar with another aviator who’d introduced himself as Fanboy. “You look familiar,” he’d said when he came up to the bar to buy another round for his group in the back of the room.

“She used to come here with her ex-boyfriend,” Blair chimed in, shooting you a wink before she slipped away to join the crowd around what looked like an intense darts game.

Fanboy - Mickey - had paused a little at her words before turning back to you. He’d asked you about your job, seeming very interested when you took the time to explain what you did. It was one of the best conversations you’d had in a while, both parties very interested in what the other had to say.

You didn’t know how long you’d been chatting when a dark haired woman in jeans and a plain t-shirt appeared by Mickey’s side. “So this is where our drinks went,” she teased, watching you both flush. “Why don’t you invite her over to the table, that way Jake stops whining about a pretty redhead picking Javy over him.”

He turned back to you. “Did you want to come hang with the rest of the group?” You must have hesitated because he quickly backtracked. “Or I can go run these over to them and I’ll come back.”

“No, it’s fine. Lead the way,” you told him, grabbing your drink. “Who picked this song?” You mumbled under your breath, wrinkling your nose at the Motley Crüe song blaring out of the juke box set against the side of the bar.

The woman snorted. “That would be Jake. Tall, blonde, dumb as he is tall. I’m sure you know the type.”

Biting back a laugh, you nodded. “Though if he’s a pilot like most of the people here, he can’t be that dumb.”

“Only when it comes to emotions.”

Ahh. One of those. You wove through the crowd, dodging groups of college aged girls all trying their hand at snaring a Navy man for a night.

Mickey stopped, dropping the drinks on a table nearby. “Finally! What took you so long, Nerd-Boy?” A tall Black man chided teasingly.

“Shut it, Lay-Back,” Mickey quipped back and you had to bite your cheek to hide your laugh at the banter that erupted on your arrival. “I was preoccupied.”

The woman behind you snagged a beer and flopped onto a stool near the edge of the pool table. “Guys come on. If you keep this up, he’ll never be post-occupied.”

“Nix c’mon!”

“That was awful.”

You watched their joking with interest, keen on figuring out their dynamic. No one seemed to act better than anyone else, namely the pilots who you learned were Phoenix, Payback, Coyote (or Javy to Blair who was leaning against his chest), and then Hangman AKA the ‘dumb as he is tall’ Jake. It was refreshing to see a group of people who had the same job as Nathan and his asshole friends, but who were the most welcoming people you’d met in a while.

“So,” Payback said, turning the conversation away from that morning’s hop. “What possessed you to follow Fanboy of all people?”

You swallowed harshly, feeling their attention turn to you. “He actually asked me questions about myself rather than try and slide into my shorts for a night.”

A few “ooohs” rose out of the crowd, the pilots around you chuckling at how quickly you’d lambasted Payback for his bad question. You just shrugged and took a sip of your drink, ignoring the little whoop Blair had let out.

“Well, well, well,” Jake suddenly said, smirking at something behind you. “Looks like Birdbrain finally decided to grace us with his presence.”

You turned and nearly gasped. The man behind you gave you a crooked smile before replying. “I was a little busy.”

“Rooster,” you breathed, finding yourself suddenly very shy. He looked the same as he did the night you had met, maybe better because now you were single, but regardless. “Hi.”

“Hey.” He was watching you closely, brown eyes flicking back and forth over you as you averted your eyes. “Haven’t seen you around lately. Everything okay?”

You nodded, meeting his eyes and promptly feeling your face turn a brilliant red under his gaze. “Yeah uh… I’ve been busy at work.”

Bradley moved to stand beside you, grabbing the lone bottle on the counter and taking a swig. “You’re a nurse, right? Long shifts?”

“Something like that,” you mumbled, narrowing your eyes at Blair who was making a kissy face in your direction. “Just had a lot on my mind lately, plus crowds…”

“...aren’t your thing,” he finished for you, laughing at your reaction to the woman under Javy’s arm.

Your eyes shot up to meet his, your mouth falling agape at his words. “You remembered.”

“That I did, sweetheart.”

A flush spread up your neck. Somehow it had been easier to flirt when you weren’t single and now you felt like a goldfish that someone had plucked out of the water. Completely out of your element and you felt like dying at your uncertainty. “Lucky me,” you breathed, sipping your drink. “A man like you remembering little ole me? That never happens.”

“How could I not, sweetheart?” The grin on Bradley’s face sent butterflies racing through your stomach, the charm just radiating off of him. “You made quite the impression.”

You gave him a flat look. “My social awkwardness was enough to catch your eye? Nice try, Bradley, but I’m not buying it,” you replied teasingly, watching his eyes light up. “That poor attempt at a line doesn’t work on me anyways.”

“Who said it was a line?”

A loud smacking noise had you and Bradley jolting away from one another, suddenly becoming aware of the fact that there were other people in the room besides the two of you. “Finally!” Phoenix said, rolling her eyes. “There are other people here besides you two, ya know.”

“Sorry…”

“Sorry Nix. Couldn’t help myself,” Bradley said, sheepishly. A hand came up to tuck his sunglasses in the collar of his shirt and you couldn’t help but smile. He hadn’t changed from your memory. Still kind, still handsome as all hell, still dressed in a loud Hawaiian shirt. This one had white and orangey coloured flowers against a creamy light yellow fabric. But it was him and you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him since you’d met.

Despite that, you let yourself get dragged into a game of pool, pairing up with Phoenix against Bob and Mickey. You hadn’t played in a long time, so you weren’t great, but everyone else was sort of around your skill level so it wound up being more fun than you’d thought. “Okay, so after that show of mediocrity, anything will look good,” Hangman said loudly, clapping his hands and snatching a pool cue off the wall.

“Just means that we set the average. If you lose, you’ll land among us,” you snarked back, grinning widely at him. “No pressure.”

A hand on your lower back startled you and you spun around only to come face to chest with Bradley’s sunglasses. “Hear that? You got a lot riding on this one, Bagman,” he jeered over your head, shooting you a wink after. “You wanna take him on with me?”

“I’m not…”

“It’s just for fun, sweetheart. No pressure at all.”

“Sure. Why not?”

And you were off. Round and round the table you went, watching Jake and Bradley duke it out over the velvety table. But when it finally came time for your turn, you had to lean over the table far more than you had initially wanted, giving the pilots and Bradley behind you a good look at your ass in those shorts. You could feel his gaze on the red stars neatly framing your hips in the colour, and you preened a little.

A solid hit with your cue, you stood up, watching the white ball shoot towards a purpley coloured one and send it careening into the pocket. “Yes!” you whooped, jumping up in your excitement, bumping into Bradley behind you. “Oops.”

“All good sweetheart. No harm done,” the lazy smile on his face had your knees buckling and you quickly grabbed the pool table, using it to steady yourself. “Besides, I’m tougher than I look.”

You laughed, the sound mixing with the general din of the bar and you watched as Bradley’s eyes filled with the same mirth that was bubbling inside of you. “Self-burns are rare to witness,” you teased, grinning wider at the look that skittered across his face.

“I walked right into that, didn’t I?”

“Yup.”

He groaned jokingly, his lips twisting into a devilish smile that sent heat racing down your spine to pool between your thighs. “Damn it. I was hoping to play it cool.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but shut it quickly when Jake started complaining about the pair of you taking too long and Bradley stepped up to play his turn. You watched the two of them keep at it, playing as though neither you nor Mickey were there. “I’m going to grab another drink, did you want anything?” you asked, setting your cue against the wall.

“Nah, I’m good. Before you go, I’m guessing you’re more into him than me?” Mickey saw the surprise cascade over your face. “It’s okay! I just want to know if I should get my hopes up.”

“I’m sorry Mickey, that really wasn’t fair to you at all,” you apologized. “I do have another friend that I think would be perfect for you, but I am sorry for wasting your night.”

“Hey. It’s fine. Seriously,” he added when catching your unconvinced look. “I still won. Rooster finally shut up about the pretty girl he met a while back that was dating this douche we have to work with. You did us all a favour.” Mickey gave you a kind smile, before turning back to the game and leaving you standing in shock at how calmly he’d handled the rejection.

But you didn’t dwell on it long. You needed another drink; the first one long gone by now. Penny had just handed it over when a voice from behind you caused the hairs on the back of your neck to stand on end. “So this is where I find you, you fucking cunt.”

Only one voice sounded like that and it belonged to your ex.

Fucking Mason.

You groaned, turning around with your new drink in hand. “Can I help you?” A few of the people next to you, two men and a woman dressed in civvies, dropped their own conversation, listening intently on the drama that was sure to unfold. “I was fairly certain I told you not to contact me in any way.”

“You fucking abandoned me at Nuke’s place! Didn’t even have the courtesy to call him!” Mason growled, stepping closer to you. “I had to explain what happened like a fucking loser!” You could smell the alcohol on him. He reeked of it, his sweater wafting vodka-flavoured fumes in your direction each time he moved. Biting your tongue, you shifted in place, keeping your body close to the bar and watching for Nuke or another of Mason’s cronies to make an appearance.

Normally by now, you’d be trying to placate him, telling him not to make a scene and to lower his tone. Tonight however, you couldn’t find it within you to care. If he yelled and threw a tantrum, that was on him, not you. “How is any of that my problem, Mason? You cheated, and had been doing so for months as I later learned. You literally fucked around and found out.”

Mason’s face turned a shade of purple you’d never seen before. There was madness in his eyes and you finally learned why they had called him ‘Cannon’. He was unstable, quick to anger, and once set off, nothing could be taken back. “How can you be so unaffected?! I was the best thing that ever happened to you! No one loved you. If it weren’t for me, you’d still be the same ugly bitch I met two years ago.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Mason,” you told him calmly. You had no idea if the whole bar had gone quiet; all you could hear was your frantic heartbeat thrumming like a butterfly’s wings. “You were a stepping stone to who I really am. If I meant so little to you, then why not love me and leave me like you did to all those girls you had in between?”

You paused, drawing in a sharp breath and trying to ground yourself in the moment. Trying to force yourself to pause, to centre yourself. “I’ll tell you why. It was never me who needed you. You needed me.” Taking a step forwards, you forced your eyes to meet his own, taking stock of the wildness that raged unhindered in the deep blue of his irises. “Your game wasn’t fun unless I had no idea. You needed me to make you feel good about yourself. By all means, live in your delusion, but let’s not kid ourselves and say that this break up was my fault.”

Mason let out an unintelligible noise, his hand flying out and slapping you. The sound echoed through the room, snapping your head to the side. “You whore!”

It took you not even ten seconds to right yourself and punch him back, your fist slamming into his nose with a sickening crunch. Blood stained your knuckles and you watched his face contort in pain as his nose began to bleed and he let out a shout of pain. “If anyone’s the whore it’s you, Mason. You got laid more times by women other than me so often your body count is higher than a fucking motel bed.”

He lunged for you, anger staining his face a brilliant scarlet that matched your shorts, but was blocked by one of the men who had been standing next to you. Mason’s fist thudded against this man’s arm, shock evident on his face.

A few seconds passed. No one moved. Mason was still held by this other man, who was both taller and wider than him. You stood against the bar watching it all slowly tick down. “5, 4, 3,” you thought to yourself, noticing how some of the men in the room looked twitchy. “2, 1.”

Just as the opening notes of Van Halen’s Jump blared through the jukebox, the man holding Mason swung, clipping him in the jaw and sending him sprawling back into another man, who spilled his drink all over himself. He whirled around, shoving your ex away and yelling at him.

Shouts erupted, fists began flying as the bar dissolved into complete chaos as small fights broke out. People jumped out of the way and you heard a few glasses smash against the floor. You heard Jake’s loud “What the fuck?!” over the din as he waded through the fight, dodging a rogue fist that went for his stomach.

The Navy personnel were trying to stay out of it. The Daggers at the back were standing in barely concealed shock as a girl shrieked like a banshee and came running at you. She grabbed your hair, yanking you away from the bar with a surprisingly strong grip. “Fuck you!” You yelled as you kicked a leg out to trip her.

She fell, hauling you to the ground with her. You landed on top of her, prying your hair from her fist, feeling some strands get ripped out as you tried to stand up. Wrenching yourself from her grasp, you backed up, tucking yourself against the bar once again. You saw Mason get shoved back from a group of men, his hands coming up to swing at his attacker, but fail and get punched in the face for his trouble.

Rooster saw the red flash of your shorts through a hole in the crowd and immediately pushed his way through the people, ignoring Phoenix’s hand trying to hold him back. He couldn’t see you anymore; he saw Cannon swinging wildly nearby and his heart sank, praying that it wasn’t you.

It wasn’t. Thankfully.

His focus was diverted when a punch went wide, slamming into his mid-back and making him stumble forwards a step. Bradley whirled around, glowering at the man, a young pilot on base, until he raised his hands in surrender. “Go home,” he snapped, watching the younger man blink in what looked like fear before backing up against the wall and staying out of the way.

Bradley pushed his way over to where he last saw you, but found nothing. You had vanished and the bodies thudding into one another, smashing glasses, and shouts did nothing to help him find you. He was tall enough to see over most of the crowd, but unfortunately it gave him no advantage in trying to find you. Half the girls in the bar were dressed like you and unless he could see your face or your ass, he would come up empty every time.

“Get the fuck off of me!” You screeched loudly, slamming your hand against a man’s throat when he groped you. He started wheezing, anger in his eyes as he tried to catch his breath, still advancing on you all the while.

A hand grabbed the man’s shoulder and you caught a glimpse of Rooster’s mustached face over his shoulder. “Get lost.”

The man in front of you turned around, eyes widening a little when he saw Bradley behind him. “I was just-”

“I don’t care what you were doing.” The chill in Rooster’s voice sent shivers down your spine and you could see that the man in front of you was scared shitless. “She told you to fuck off.”

Under Bradley’s firm gaze, the other man ducked his head and hurried off into the crowd, tossing a half-hearted apology your way. “What the fuck happened?”

You opened your mouth to reply but quickly shut it having seen Mason run up behind him, a beer glass in hand. “Behind you!”

He turned quickly, catching a glimpse of Mason who froze in his tracks. You couldn’t see what happened next, but you did see Bradley’s head snap to the side and next thing you knew Mason hit the floor with a crash. “Fucking coward. Starting a bar fight because you cheated on your girlfriend and she called you out.”

He crouched down, mouth close to Mason’s face and hissed out “You’re fucking lucky that there’s witnesses and that your ex-girlfriend is watching this whole thing, otherwise I’d make sure you looked as small as you made her feel.”

Unable to watch more of this, you stepped forwards, letting your hand fall on his shoulder. Bradley’s head turned, his eyes softening as he took you in. “He’s not worth it,” you mumbled, barely audible over the noise in the bar. “Let Penny ring the bell and let him get his ass beat tomorrow in training.”

Bradley stood, towering over Mason before kicking his leg and turning to pull you into his arms. “You okay?”

“Ish… my cheek hurts. Fucker got me good.” You cast a look over his face, smoothing your thumb over his jaw, prodding gently at the red mark that had started blooming from Mason’s fist. “Are you okay?”

“Fine now.” He brushed your concern off, a small smile beginning to form as he saw the concern in your eyes. Even after a bar fight that you had inadvertently started, you were still concerned for him. You had faced your ex head on and he’d laid his hands on you. Sure you’d hit him back, but he’d still drawn blood when your teeth had smacked against your lip.

But here you were, in his arms, asking him to follow your finger so you knew that he really was okay. Cannon hadn’t deserved you and Bradley had thought of no one but you since you’d agreed to chat with him that one night months ago.

“Sweetheart, I’m fine,” he finally said, catching your hand in his own. “Trust me. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Your heart stuttered from its steady pace. The sincerity in his brown eyes gave you pause because you couldn’t believe that this man, another Navy pilot, could be so different from your ex. “I know,” you whispered. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I nearly had to call an ambulance because my fuckhead of an ex tried to knock you out.”

Bradley snorted, shaking his head at your scathing words. “I liked ‘fuckhead’ better than Cannon anyways.”

“Seriously? That’s what you took away from this?”

He shot you a lopsided grin, the end of his mustache tilting a little with the expression. “I’m pretty sure I got you in all of this, sweetheart. Best prize I ever won.”

“Who says you won me?” You shot back, trying to hide the smile that threatened to break free under the teasing look Bradley was giving you. You had found yourself doing that all night, every comment, each passing look you’d been given had filled you up with giddiness.

“I do, if you’ll have me, that is.” A hand brushed hair over your ear and you couldn’t contain the shiver that the gesture elicited. “If not, then I hope you let me try and win you over.”

You couldn’t hide the smile that erupted at his words. The bar fight continued in small pockets around the room, but right now with Bradley’s hand resting just above the swell of your ass as you curled into his side, you found a peace you didn’t know you needed.

Looking up, you pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “All good things require a leap of faith, right?” He nodded, smiling down at you. “Might as well jump if you’re there to catch me.”

===

A/N: So there we have it! Rocktober is checked off my WIP list now! Now to make sure I don’t start anything new 😂 Big thank you to @startrekfangirl2233 for punching the shit out of my imposter syndrome and being the best beta-reader a girl could ask for!

Tagging: @roosterforme @startrekfangirl2233 @cassiemitchell @sarahsmi13s @cherrycola27 @multifandomlover4life @horseshoegirl @bobgasm @thedroneranger @beyondthesefourwalls @dcyllom

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[fern-writes-stories]

Together Again

♡ [a/n]; I love these two so much!! :(

✧ Pairing: Sonic x Shadow

✧ Word Count: 4,457

✧ Summary: Sonic and Shadow have not seen each other in a very long time, and old feelings get rekindled when they meet face-to-face again.

✧ Warnings/Tags: Fluff, aged-up, I know hedgehogs don’t actually wag their tails but idc, Shadow POV, legal alcohol consumption/mentions, confessions, first kiss, wholesome, lmk anything else I should tag !!

✑ You can find all my stories here!

✑ My request guide is here (and you can place a request here)!

-

It was funny. 

To Shadow it was, at least. 

He and Sonic had slowly grown apart over the years, though not of their own volition. It was occupational, really. Team Dark had decided to pursue broader horizons, leaving them no choice but to move away from Green Hill. Tails and Sonic had moved closer to the city and Amy had made the full leap to city life. Knuckles was the only one who stayed rural at all. 

At least they were all within a town of each other,  Shadow brooded. He’d had no such contact with any of their old friends since they’d left. Not that he didn’t enjoy the company of Rouge and Omega; he’d decided to move across the world with them, after all. But he was not the type to upkeep online appearances and soon enough Sonic’s bright demeanour and even brighter smile were all he could remember amongst the constant missions and assignments.

He couldn’t recall how close he’d actually been with Sonic before they’d parted ways; how much of it was real, how much was twisted in the mind of his younger self and warped further by time. 

Yet somehow Shadow could still recall how naive he had been about it all, nonchalant and insensitive. He wished he had left in a kinder manner. He regretted coming across as though he did not care. He still distinctively remembered the aching in his chest after finally coming to terms with it all.

No more petty arguments. No more spontaneous sparring matches. No more of that smug smile he so desperately wished he could punch clean off Sonic’s face at times.

And then when Team Dark had finally decided to move back home- or at least closer to it- Shadow so desperately did not want to. Being forced to face them all again and deal with the repercussions of a younger Shadow’s ego and pride was something he was not ready for.

It had been three years. Almost four. 

He felt like he knew nothing about them anymore. It made him so inexplicably nervous not to know something, especially when it was people he used to know so well. Shadow wanted to preserve the good memories he had instead of trying to make new ones. He knew he was being drastic- but he didn’t much care.

So only Chaos knows how Rouge managed to convince Shadow to move back near Green Hill with her and Omega. Perhaps there was a part of him that was curious enough to oblige. But all curiosity had left him the moment that they arrived.

And there he sat, neatly placed at one end of a couch. The walls were bare and smelled of fresh paint. The air was cold and felt abnormal. He did not like having a new home.

“Come on, Shadow- you’re sitting on a couch, why do you look so stiff?” Rouge chided. The sound of her heels clicking against the floorboards became louder as she neared.

“I do not like it here,” he muttered.

“Not yet, you don’t,” Rouge replied, moving to stand in front of him. “We still have to unpack everything. It’ll start feeling more like home after that.”

Shadow’s ear flicked. Rouge sighed.

“Can you at least pretend you’re happy to be here?” She joked.

“No.” Shadow moved to fix his quills, smoothing them several times before his hands returned to sit neatly on his lap again.

“Well, regardless, can you please help Omega bring up the rest of the moving boxes-”

“NEGATIVE,” a robotic voice rang out, and a moment later Omega appeared through the front door. “I AM PERFECTLY CAPABLE OF COMPLETING THE ASSIGNED OBJECTIVE SINGLE-HANDEDLY.” A large box was positioned on one of his shoulders as he ambled his way farther into the room. Then he stopped suddenly.

Shadow and Rouge watched as Omega outstretched his arms and purposely dropped the box, a loud shattering noise ringing throughout the house. He offered a nonchalant thumbs up before turning around and leaving- presumably to grab another box.

Rouge sighed again, pinching above her nose. “I guess we’re going to be using paper cutlery for the housewarming party...”

Shadow’s ears perked suddenly and he turned back around to face her. “The what?”

He sounded panicked and Rouge felt herself cringe at her own callousness. “Sorry, Shadow. I meant to tell you at a better time.”

“When is it?” He asked quickly, referring to the party. 

Rouge looked off to the side anxiously. “It’s... still a little while away...”

“NEGATIVE. OBSERVATION: ROUGE IS LYING TO MAKE SHADOW FEEL BETTER. THE TRUTH: THE SO-CALLED “HOUSEWARMING PARTY” IS SCHEDULED FOR THE END OF THE WEEK.”

“Omega!” Rouge exclaimed. “We talked about this! You promised you wouldn’t say anything!”

Shadow began to fidget with his inhibitor rings.

“NEGATIVE. I NEVER SETTLED ON SUCH AN AGREEMENT.” Shadow heard another box crash to the ground before Omega’s heavy footsteps trailed away again.

“You need to cancel it,” Shadow said, staring at the ground.

“I can’t, hon, I’ve already sent out all the invites- I’d feel horrible if I had to cancel everything now.” A moment of silence passed. “I’m sorry, Shadow. I just thought you’d like to see some familiar faces again. I know you don’t like sudden changes, including us moving back here in the first place, so I was hoping that meeting up with all of our friends again would lessen the blow.”

Rouge moved to sit beside Shadow on the couch. “I’m sorry if I just ended up making things worse.”

Shadow swallowed a harsh remark. He knew she was only trying to help. “It’s... okay.” He sighed, looking up from his inhibitors finally. “I appreciate that you attempted to do such a thing for me.”

Though his expression was blank, Rouge had known Shadow for long enough to know that he was speaking sincerely. 

“It... will be okay,” he continued. “This new house will be okay. The... party will be okay. Maybe it won’t be so bad.” 

He ignored the anxiety clawing at his stomach, screaming and pleading with him to beg Rouge to cancel the party anyway. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Rouge placed a comforting hand on Shadow’s knee, offering a small smile. “I’m glad. Now let’s go stop Omega before he destroys any more of our dinnerware.”

【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】

What was funny to Shadow was how inexplicably nervous he was. He tugged at the hem of his jacket- Rouge said he would look nice if he wore it tonight. He felt like a little kid again.

He’d been through much worse, surely. The past few years had presented him with many unique and dangerous scenarios, yet somehow nothing held a candle to this.

There’s not even anyone here yet, Shadow scolded himself. Yet somehow that almost makes it worse…

It was the waiting that got to him the most. Far different to staking out undesirable individuals or the stealth required to infiltrate a building. At least with those scenarios his stomach didn’t churn with anxiety and his quills didn’t stand on end.

Shadow glanced around the house; once empty only a few days earlier, now covered from head to toe with tacky streamers and cheap balloons. Multicoloured lights were strung along the walls and loose ends hung down, an inch or two too short to finish tying up.

The first knock on the door had been Amy which was less than a surprise. She was early, and Shadow immediately noticed how different she looked. Her quills were cut differently and she was wearing a stylish colour of eyeliner which matched her long dress.

Upon seeing her Shadow finally realised just how much everyone must have grown up. Surely not everyone had changed so much! Though his fears were all but confirmed when more guests began to arrive. Even Knuckles had changed to some degree; various beads and wraps decorated his spines and looked as though they had been a staple of his appearance for a while.

Shadow tried his best to greet everyone alongside Rouge, though other than that, he remained reserved and away from the loud music and blinking lights that were assaulting his senses.

Then eventually Tangle and Whisper arrived, hands entwined. Rouge made some playful comment that Shadow didn’t hear and Tangle replied to it.

“Man, I forgot how long you guys have been gone for… yeah, Whisper and I have been together for a while now,” Tangle explained bashfully, glancing over to her girlfriend for a moment.

“I’m so happy for both of you!” Rouge moved to embrace the two excitedly. “I was wondering when you two would finally get together,” she added playfully, though Shadow had stopped listening after that. He had begun to feel quite ill.

I wonder if Sonic will be with anybody. He thought anxiously. Shadow thought for a moment.

It doesn’t matter, he snapped quickly to himself. Why would I care, anyway?

Soon fewer and fewer guests began to arrive until eventually the flow stopped completely. Shadow now stood at the edge of the main room beside Rouge, red cup in hand as he stared at the front door. Rouge was catching up with Amy and Blaze. He hadn’t the brightest idea what they were talking about, too entrenched in his own thoughts.

“Shadow?” He heard Rouge’s voice. She snapped her fingers in front of his face and he turned to look at her.

“What is it?” He asked.

“I was worried the door was about to burst into flames,” she muttered. “What’s wrong? Is it too loud in here? I can get Omega to turn down the music if you’d like-”

“No, it’s fine,” Shadow reassured her quietly. He honestly hadn’t been focused enough to hear the music until now.

“Then what’s wrong?” Rouge pressed.

“Are you waiting for someone?” Amy asked, turning to glance at the door as well. Shadow began to feel his face heat up and he took a sip from his drink, burying his face in the cup.

“Who’s not here yet?” Amy asked, turning back to Rouge and Blaze. “I thought everyone would have arrived by now.”

“Sonic and Tails,” Blaze pointed out, and Amy rolled her eyes. “Sonic isn’t exactly known for his punctuality.”

“You’d think he would have learned some responsibility by now,” Amy jokingly agreed.

Shadow stared into his cup still, using the strong smell of the alcohol to ground himself. His ears flicked towards the door as he heard Omega move to open it. He must have been too distracted to have heard anyone knock.

The door opened and Shadow was unable to see who it was from behind Omega, but when the robot finally moved he felt his breath hitch in his throat.

“Speak of the devil!” Rouge exclaimed, Sonic ambling through the front door behind Tails. Shadow barely processed that Tails was about as tall as Sonic now, if not taller.

“Sorry we’re late, everyone!” Sonic called out bashfully, and the entire cohort seemed to sigh and roll their eyes communally.

“It was Sonic’s fault,” Tails muttered, though that seemed to be collectively agreed upon already.

“For the fastest hedgehog in the world, he sure does love being late all the time,” Amy muttered.

“Uh… Shadow?” Rouge whispered, trying not to gain the attention of Amy or Blaze. Shadow managed to drag his concentration from Sonic to turn and look at her again.

“What?”

“Why are you doing that?” She asked. Shadow was about to ask for clarification before he followed her line of sight, realising that his tail had begun to wag involuntarily.

He quickly leaned back against the wall behind him with a loud thud, making Blaze and Amy turn to see what had happened.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He moved to take another drink from his cup.

“Rouge, Shads!” Came Sonic’s voice suddenly. Before he could even redirect his attention Shadow was engulfed in a tight embrace, the blue quills that were mere inches from his face clueing him into who was responsible. From his position in the hug Shadow could see that Sonic’s tail was wagging very quickly.

“Oh, right- sorry!” Sonic stumbled over his words for a moment as he pulled back from Shadow abruptly. “I forgot that you aren’t really a hugger,” Sonic apologised. Shadow wasn’t sure how to respond, frozen in place.

“Well I am,” Rouge said, moving to embrace Sonic once he’d distanced himself from Shadow.

“Hey, Rouge!” Sonic greeted her, returning the embrace happily. “It’s so good to see you guys again- Are you happy to be back?”

“I am- Shadow’s having a harder time adjusting, though,” she replied as they parted. Shadow’s ear flicked at her comment.

Now that Sonic was standing in front of him Shadow could take in his appearance fully. Surprisingly, Sonic looked majorly the same as he had before Team Dark left- albeit being taller now, and slightly scruffier somehow.

He was wearing a red and white letterman jacket. Shadow also noticed that Sonic had new shoes, wondering if they were what he usually wore or if they were just for the party.

“I like your jacket,” Sonic said suddenly, nodding towards Shadow. Shadow felt himself startle at his words.

“I like yours too,” he replied. Shadow then became acutely aware of the fact that he had begun to crease the plastic cup he was now holding far too tightly.

“Hon, why don’t you go show Sonic where the drinks are?” Rouge suggested, pushing him off the wall and almost directly into Sonic. Shadow caught himself quickly before glaring back at her.

“Looks like you need a new cup, anyway,” she pointed out. He tried to ignore the knowing smirk on her lips.

“Fine. Sounds like a great idea.” It took all of Shadow’s willpower not to crush the cup entirely at that moment. He turned back to Sonic.

“Follow me,” he muttered quietly before sauntering off.

Shadow could feel Sonic’s eyes on him as they walked and decided to pull his jacket down over his tail before it began to wag mindlessly again.

Chaos, this can’t be happening. He was thankful for the current darkness of the house and tried desperately to focus on the lyrics of whatever generic pop song was playing.

A moment later they arrived at the kitchen and a large ice-filled cooler was now visible on the floor.

“There’s more in the fridge,” Shadow said, standing so his tail was once again squashed against the wall.

“Wow, and you guys are just letting people have whatever they want?” Sonic asked in disbelief, opening the fridge and staring in awe at the sheer amount of alcohol.

“G.U.N gifted us a large amount of money for our services,” Shadow explained.

“What, did you guys retire for good, or something?”

“No, just taking a step back from it all.” Shadow turned to toss his crinkled cup into the trash. “They wanted to organise a ‘thank you’ gift for us. Some of it was alcohol but it was mostly money. Rouge wanted to buy some extra refreshments for tonight and Omega over-spent on everything, so now we’re stuck with it.”

“Omega bought all of this?” Sonic laughed, grabbing from a shelf before finally closing the fridge.

“Yes,” Shadow held back a laugh of his own. “Though unfortunately, Rouge is particularly partial to wine, alcohol has little to no effect on me, and Omega cannot ingest it at all. So we’re letting people take what they like.”

“I’m certainly not complaining,” Sonic said as he twisted off the bottle’s cap. “I was in such a rush to get here that I forgot to organise my own drinks.”

“Why were you late, anyway?” Shadow asked. Not that he was upset about it- only curious.

“Er…” Sonic took a quick sip of his drink. “Do you still have Dark Rider?”

Shadow blinked at him. “My motorcycle? Of course, I do.” He wondered what the question had to do with Sonic’s punctuality.

Sonic reached into his quills and his hand returned a moment later holding a small parcel, handing it to Shadow.

“Sorry it’s kinda messy,” he apologised, taking another anxious sip from his drink.

Shadow took the box gingerly and looked it over. It was wrapped in crumpled red wrapping paper and taped crudely along the edges, as well as in places where the paper appeared to have torn. It was accentuated with a black ribbon that was poorly tied around the entire box and finished into a bow on top, the ribbon barely long enough to hold itself in place.

“Oh.” Shadow looked between the gift and Sonic for a moment.

“You can open it now if you want, you just can’t tell Rouge or Omega about it, yeah? I haven’t exactly got anything organised for them yet…” Sonic rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

Shadow untied the bow and began to tear the wrapping paper away to reveal a plain cardboard box. He lifted the top and stared down at a pair of black motorcycle gloves.

“I hope you like them! I wasn’t even sure if you still used your motorcycle- or if you already had a pair of gloves-  or if you’d even use them-” Sonic had begun to ramble, looking anywhere but Shadow and waving his hands around as he explained himself.

“Th-Thanks,” Shadow said suddenly, and Sonic stopped speaking to look at him. “They’re… perfect. Thank you, I really like them.” He felt his face get hot again as he stumbled over his words.

Sonic looked elated by this response and Shadow could see his tail wagging again. Sonic must have noticed him staring before he realised what was happening, moving to grab his tail quickly.

“S-Sorry! This thing’s got a mind of its own, I swear,” his face reddened.

Shadow could feel his own tail begin to move as well, moving to grab it too. “I’ll be right back. J-Just need to… put this away quickly.” He cursed himself for stumbling again and sped off before Sonic could respond.

Shadow dashed to the stairs and quickly climbed them, turning into his room and all but slamming the door behind him. He stood pressed back against it for a moment, trying to calm himself down.

All this time he had thought his anxiety stemmed from the idea of the party itself, maybe even the sheer amount of old faces he felt terrible for feeling distanced from- but everything only felt so much worse when Sonic had finally arrived.

Worse? Is that what he was feeling? Surely not, if his tail insisted on having a mind of its own. Shadow felt anxious and like his heart was racing a million miles an hour. But every time Sonic did something- anything, really- he was overcome with such immense joy and his face would feel like it was on fire, his thoughts becoming foggy.

This was very unusual behaviour for Shadow, and he feared that he might have been coming down with something, stomach twisting with nausea suddenly.

He moved to sit on the edge of his bed, staring down for a long moment at the gift Sonic had gotten him. It was extraordinarily thoughtful, especially for someone Shadow considered to be quite air-headed at the best of times.

There was a light knock on the door and Shadow looked up at it. When the door didn’t immediately open he deduced that it mustn’t have been Rouge coming to collect him- who else could it have been, then?

Whoever it was knocked again and Shadow was brought back to the present, moving to place the gift box down delicately on his bedside table before standing to answer the door.

“Hello-?” He started as he opened it, stopping short when he was met face-to-face with Sonic again. Shadow could feel his quills standing on end.

“Hey, Shads… Um, Rouge said your room was up here, and that I should come and check up on you. She said she didn’t think you’d be returning to the party any time soon.” Sonic looked nervous, face still flushed. “But if you want me to go, I can-”

“No!” Shadow said far too quickly. He cleared his throat in an attempt to recompose himself, opening the door wider. “No, it’s fine. You can come in if you’d like.”

He moved to the side and Sonic walked into the room, Shadow closing the door behind him.

“I brought you a drink,” Sonic offered, holding out an alcoholic beverage.

“Oh. Thank you.” Shadow took it before moving to sit on the edge of his bed again. Sonic glanced briefly around the room before deciding to sit beside him.

“I was a little surprised when we received the party invite from Rouge,” Sonic began.

“Oh?” Shadow took a small sip of his drink.

“Yeah, I didn’t think you would want to throw a party in the first place.”

“I… didn’t.” Shadow corrected him. “It was Rouge’s idea. She tried to keep the party a secret from me so I wouldn’t ‘freak out’,” he added.

Sonic laughed, the sound making Shadow’s stomach do somersaults. “Well, I guess some things never change.”

“I see Tails is starting to grow up, though,” Shadow said, trying to keep the conversation going. Sonic sighed.

“Yeah, he’s as tall as I am now. And he’s only- what, 14?”

“Time flies, as they say.”

“Sure does,” Sonic agreed lightheartedly. A moment of silence passed.

“So…” Shadow began slowly. “Are you… seeing anyone at the moment?” He covered his question with another, very long, sip from his drink.

“Are you?” Sonic replied, a wide smile on his face. Shadow looked away from him abashedly.

“Sorry. You don’t have to answer that question, it’s none of my business.”

“Nah, I’m not with anybody,” Sonic replied after a moment, leaning back on one of his arms as he looked around the minimally decorated room. “I just… haven’t got enough time, I guess. I move too fast for most people.”

“I don’t think so.” 

Sonic turned to meet his eyes and Shadow began to fiddle with the zipper on his jacket. He turned away suddenly. “And to answer your question, no; I am not seeing anyone, either.”

Sonic looked like he was about to say more when something caught his eye. “Hey, is that what I think it is?” He asked, leaning across Shadow to retrieve the item from the bedside table. “Wow, I can’t believe you kept this!” He exclaimed excitedly.

“Of course I did,” Shadow replied almost timidly, turning his head to the side in a shy manner. He glanced back at what Sonic was holding; a black coffee mug with some corny pun on it pertaining to the owner.

“Why isn’t it in the kitchen?” Sonic asked, looking it over in his hands.

Shadow shrugged. “I packed it separately from the rest of our things. Omega is prone to mishandling delicate items.”

“Aw, you care about it that much?” Sonic teased. “I mean, you’ve kept it all this time.”

“It… helped remind me of home. I didn’t let it leave me for the whole first week after we moved,” Shadow admitted embarrassedly. 

“I told Tails you’d like it!” Sonic smiled brightly. “He kept insisting I could have picked a better going away present.” 

“No, it was perfect.” Shadow reassured him.  Just like always. Everything you do seems so perfect. He had to stop himself from speaking the rest aloud.

Sonic gave the mug back to him and Shadow’s hand lingered for a moment before he finally took it. He placed it back on the bedside table.

He turned back to see that Sonic was staring at him. “What is it?” He asked.

Sonic startled and his ears flicked back in embarrassment. “Sorry, I just…” He looked away for a moment. “I’d almost forgotten how handsome you are, after all these years.”

Shadow’s heart lurched and he began desperately wondering if he’d heard him correctly. He froze up completely and Sonic must have taken this for discomfort.

“Sorry! Sorry,” Sonic began frantically. “I know you’ve only just got back and are still trying to adjust to things, I shouldn’t have just said something like that out of the blue,”

“I…”

“I just haven’t stopped thinking about you since the day you left, and- and then I showed up late to the party anyway which I’m sure made a great first impression- but it isn’t technically a first impression if we know each other, so it was a second impression, I guess-?”

“Sonic…” Shadow could feel himself beginning to blush again, noticing Sonic was also becoming increasingly flushed.

“-And I wish that I’d done more before you left, then maybe then you wouldn’t have gone- or we could have at least kept in contact or something, and maybe it would have been better to tell you how I really felt before all of this- oh, I feel like I’m just making everything worse, and- and-”

“Sonic,” Shadow interrupted him more sternly this time, grabbing his hand.

Sonic fell silent and immediately turned to their entwined hands, face still a bright red. Shadow could hear Sonic’s tail wagging against the bedsheets.

“It’s okay,” Shadow began quietly. “I…” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I… like you too.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, both hedgehogs stunned and not quite sure what to do.

“You… you do?” Sonic finally broke the silence.

“Yes, of course I do,” Shadow laughed quietly. “How could I not be so hopelessly in love with somebody like you?”

Shadow could hear the sound of Sonic’s tail managing to wag impossibly faster, laughing again. Sonic was snapped from his daze at the sound and moved to grab his tail.

“Ah, I really wish I could control this thing sometimes…” He muttered through gritted teeth.

“I think it’s endearing,” Shadow commented, watching as Sonic tried feebly to immobilise his tail.

“Sonic?” He started after another moment. Sonic immediately abandoned his task and looked up to Shadow almost expectantly.

“Yes?” He replied quietly.

“Can I kiss you?” 

There was no immediate response as Sonic stared back at Shadow with wide eyes and a startled expression.

“Sonic?” Shadow prompted him, worried that he was moving too quickly.

“Yes- yes, of course you can,” Sonic finally spluttered out somewhat breathlessly.

Shadow suppressed another chuckle, instead leaning forward and meeting Sonic halfway with a delicate kiss.

When they parted Sonic appeared even more dazed than he had before and Shadow felt himself swell with adoration. He brushed his thumb over Sonic’s hand which seemed to bring him back to reality.

“Come on,” Shadow said, standing up and leading Sonic by the hand. “Let’s get back to the party.”

[mangomakii]

LET ME GET THIS ON CAMERA - SUGAWARA KOSHI

first haikyuu fic?? (will make this a series probably. maybe.)

synopsis: suga has a camera. he really likes taking pictures of you. (no specific gender stated.)

warnings: none that i can think of. mentions of cameras?

suga is no stranger to the more beautiful things in life. he stops to smell the flowers, lingers longer on pieces of art at museums, and stares just a bit too hard at you on certain occasions. so, when he bought himself a sleek, black camera, he knew exactly what he would utilize it for.

every date, suga bears his camera clinging onto his neck in classic photographer fashion. he would watch closely as you looked to the skies, or a child, and would snap as many photos of he could. the sound of a camera shutter clicking began to become a sound of startling comfort whenever you were around koshi.

in each photo he took, suga likes to say he attaches a piece of his soul to each one. he'll hang each photo up along his walls, blending in with his photos from volleyball, his family, and then you. koshi has a distinct way of taking photos. he'll focus a little less on the subject, allowing the lines between subject and background to weave together into a strange yet beautiful composition. with this, it gives suga a great grasp over sunsets.

the first time he held a camera to you, it was an accident. he had just brought the camera, and felt the weight in his hands and allowed it to fill him whole. he brought it to practice that day, and showed it around the team, practically beaming whenever anyone so much as glanced at it.

you had walked in, looking for the notebook you had left in the gym during your physical education class. suga was hoping to catch the light bouncing off the bleachers— which you just so happened to be on.

you hadn't even noticed it at first, you thought the faint "click" was the sound of your feet, or anything else. koshi had also not noticed. he promptly shook himself out of the trance, and moved his arms in waving to you.

"hey! can i ask your name?"

in a quick turn, you were met with a bashful smile. a quick stumble off the bleachers, and walked cautiously underhead of various flying projectiles being launched at seemingly mach speed.

"sorry, i accidently took a photo of you. i thought you may want to take a quick look at it?"

your eyes flicked over to the camera in his hands. it was turned slightly outward towards you— a quick showing of the accident he had made.

the photo was slightly stunning. he had somehow made you look like a natural part of the bleachers. as if the sunlight bathing the side of your body was always meant to be there.

"ah. i can delete it if you want! i'm so sorry! it was a complete accident!" suga's hands grabbed back at the camera, pulling it back towards his chest. almost cradling it.

you finally spoke, "no! no. i actually really like it. do you take photos often?" your eyes floated up to him.

"i actually just bought this one! kinda cool, right? it was lodged in the back of a pawn shop." he beamed back at you, clearly highly invested in this new art form he had collected.

before you could respond to him, you were cut off by a semi-harsh voice sounding koshii back to his place on the court.

"let's go mr.pretty boy! jus' cause you're a setter doesn't mean you get to chat it up with every newcomer!" ukai's booming voice rounded back to suga.

koshi's eyes flashed back to his coach, then to you. he gave you a wary, but embarrassed smile.

"that's me.." he made his steps backwards, before stopping himself quickly as your expression changed.

"wait. can i ask your name? i mean, you got me in your camera, i at least want to know who's camera i'm in."

he smiled again. the kind of smile that made you stop for a second. "koshi. sugawara."

you looked at him. his eyes, his hair, and how his hands had instinctively bent to a setter's position the second ukai had called for him.

"y/n l/n. let me know when you get a handle on the camera, yeah? i'd love to see how you come up with things."

and look at that now. in each moment, you had become his muse. everything that he could capture, he did. he loved it. finding the beauty in things was so much easier with you.

[onebarofsoap]

played pokemon platinum recently and swept the league with nothing but my overleveled team of two guys named steamed bun and egg tart 💪

[fernlessbastard]

okk love your blog, so I rlly wanted to send an ask even if its nothing too especific ;-;

soo, since u like tntduo (like me :]) whats your favorite hc for their relationship? I love hearing about hc's, and since your art its so cute, u probs have some cool hc's

Thank youuuuu I appreciate it so much, and by all means flood me with asks! Asks are great, I love asks, be it random thoughts, art ideas, opinions, etc etc, asks are always welcome (unless they're from the 🥝 anon 🙄🙄🙄 /j/loving)

And a favourite headcanon? Hm, i don't know, hard to say. I have multiple headcanons, idk if I favour any in particular

There's one where after revival Wilbur's body is kinda fucked up in the nerves and blood vessels department, so he has some trouble with kinda controlling it, which particularly expresses itself in his hands being unsteady. They're so unsteady, that the first time he picks up a guitar again he can't play right. He blows up over it and has a breakdown, and vows to never play again. He still ends up trying a couple times, but each time he just immediately gets pissed off and upset, and tosses it away. It really breaks him. At some point he's at Quackity's place, and he sees a guitar. He looks at it for a while, but doesn't say anything, of which Quackity makes note. Next time they meet up Wilbur shits on Quackity for not having touched it recently, so Quackity takes it as a challenge. Once the music starts, Wil goes quiet. He's sitting to the side of Q, slightly behind him, and after a while for just a moment he leans against his upper back, and closes his eyes, simply l taking the moment in. This situation repeats, a couple times, and each time Wilbur lets himself relax a bit longer. He starts playing with Quackity's hair as he listens, and one time he l begins trying to braid it. His hands are shaking, he's struggling to divide the thick hair into even parts, he's having trouble keeping the braid even, but what's crucial is that he does it. Next time it repeats. And next time too. And the next, and eventually the braids start to look actually pretty decent. Time passes, they meet up more often, and eventually comes a day when Wilbur takes the guitar. No words are exchanged. No ridicule, but no praise either - no verbal acknowledgement. Instead Quackity just sits slightly behind him, and begins gently braiding his hair. The notes are wonky and don't always sound quite right, and the rhythm is messy, and strumming only goes well sometimes, but he's playing...

Quackity kisses Wilbur's head, right above the new braid. He leans in, partially hugging him, as the other's playing. It's been a bit over a year since he started playing again, and the difference is big. Neither knows if he'll ever fully regain the control and steadiness of his hands, but he manages to keep the rhythm, and the notes now ring out clear a big majority of the time. He plays quicker songs too, now; sometimes they both sing, and laugh when they mix something up. Quackity smiles, closing his eyes as Wilbur once again butchers a random song by changing up the words completely to make it as on the nose as humanly possible. He begins to wonder what they should eat tomorrow for their anniversary breakfast.

[fern-writes-whump]

question for my fellow writers/readers:

do you also have a default floorplan? like a flat / house layout you'll imagine until the description conflicts with it?

[existentialcynic]

knight in black leather

Janine ditching you on a night out might just work in your favour.

Pairing(s): melissa schemmenti x gn!reader

Word count: ~1.4k

Warning(s): suggestive themes but no actual smut, mild harassment

You didn’t realise you were even tipsy until you stood up from the couch you were sharing with Janine - scratch that, Janine and Gregory. When did he get here? Why were you here? When the decidedly reserved Miss Teagues invited you out with her to the hookah bar with a woman you had already forgotten the name of, you expected to have one drink before your work friend called it quits and wanted to leave. Instead, she’s one encouraging nudge away from shoving her tongue down another colleague’s throat, and you couldn’t interrupt to ask her to drive you home.

Shouldering your way through the thick crowd, you walk into the - surprisingly - empty bathroom, grimacing at the way your shoes stick to the floor as you sway slightly. Pulling out your phone, your finger presses the screen to call Jacob.

“Hello,” he answers after a few rings, dragging the word out and causing you to raise a brow he can’t see.

“Jacob? Janine is… busy and can’t drive me home. I don’t want to waste half my paycheque on an Uber, can you come get me?”

He laughs a little too loud, making you pull the phone away from your ear. “No can do I’m afraid, I’m getting turnt with Barb and Mel.”

Laughter bubbles out of your chest - you can practically feel the eye rolls your other colleagues are giving the oblivious man on the phone. A faint voice floats through the phone, the unmistakable Philly accent making you blush in your inebriated state. “Who’s that? Your shoe guy boyfriend?” Jacob huffs into the phone, and you listen quietly as he explains “the deets” to Barbara and Melissa. A bit of shuffling meets your ear before the woman of the hour speaks directly into the phone.

“Hey, I’ll come get you, I’m not drunk like numb nuts here. I live closer anyways.” You can hear Barb start to say something, but Melissa cuts her off. “If you puke in my car you’ll wish you never went into teaching in the first place.”

“I’m not that drunk,” you groan, “Janine just ditched me and she’s my ride.”

“Whatever hot shot. I’ll be there soon.” She hangs up before you can respond. Deciding one last drink can’t hurt, you exit the bathroom and slide into an empty seat at the bar, trying to get the bartender’s attention.

“Now what’s a sexy thing like you doing all alone,” questions a jarring male voice from behind you. Plastering the most convincing smile you can muster, you turn to see a man undressing you with his eyes and leaning in way too close for comfort.

“I’m just waiting for my ride,” you reply, turning back to sip on the drink the bartender brought to you as the man spoke up again. “I can be your ride baby, in more ways than one,” he smirks, gripping the buckle on the front of his pants. Downing the drink, you grimace before stepping off the chair and away from the guy that just won’t take a hint.

“I’m good, actually.” A well-timed text lights up the screen on your phone, letting you know your redheaded colleague is outside. Shouldering past him and into the crowd, you slowly make your way to the door.

The icy December wind hits your body as you leave the warm, tobacco-scented air from the bar. You can almost feel yourself sobering up in the cold. Spotting Melissa idling at the curb, you start towards the parked car before a hand grips at your upper arm.

“C’mon baby, let me show you a good time.” The man from the bar turns you towards him, the stench of liquor coming off him in waves. “Don’t be a tease.”

“Hey I’m not interested, get your hands off me,” you snap, yanking your arm back with no luck. The man is inches taller than you, and strong if his grip was any indicator. Your heart races when you see that he’s starting to get angry.

A soft, warm arm wraps around your waist, fingers digging into your hip. The contrast between it and the man in front of you makes you shiver. The voice that you heard over the phone earlier is eerily sharp, accent thicker now that the owner is irritated. “Is this guy bothering you, sweetheart?”

Turning your head, the redhead holds your gaze; her eyes are soft but have an edge to them that would have made you blush if there wasn’t a stranger gripping your arm. “No, I’m okay.”

A dark chuckle escapes the older woman’s lips. Moving to face the drunkard in front of the two of you, any kindness that she had shown you dissolves as she starts to speak. “My girlfriend is a lot nicer than me. Get your hands off her or it’ll be the last time you use that hand for a long time, I guarantee that.”

“Whatever bitch,” the man spits out, loosening his hold and moving back towards the bar. That soft hand around your waist moves up to your bicep, massaging it gently as its owner ducks her head to look at your face. “Hey, are you okay honey?” You give her a dazed nod, your brain only focusing on the woman touching your arm.

“Are you sure?” Her other hand moves to your face, palm cupping your reddening cheek. You nod again.

“I think that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” you return, hand coming up to slap over your mouth after your thoughts slip out. Damn that last drink. The laugh from earlier meets your ears again, Melissa’s eyes darting down to your covered mouth. Her fingers slip around your wrist, moving your hand away from your face and using the grip to pull your body closer to hers.

You knew you were sobering up fast but the touch of the woman in front of you is making your head swim, your stomach flutter. A stuttering breath escapes your lips when Melissa’s hand grabs your hip possessively, no longer putting on a show for anyone. “Really? That was nothing. I can do so much better than that, sweetheart.”

“Yeah?” She nods, taking her bottom lip between her teeth. Eyes glancing at the ruby lipstick, you watch a smirk bloom as she catches you staring. Your cheeks are no doubt the same shade as the swipe of colour you were looking at, and you slowly meet Melissa’s fiery gaze.

“Why don’t you show me then, Schemmenti?”

Instantly, the soft lips that had you hypnotised earlier are now pressed against your own. The hand wrapped around your wrist moves to your bicep, your shoulder, and up the nape of your neck. Sharp acrylics drag across your scalp before gathering a fistful of hair and giving an experimental tug that has you practically whimpering. It gives her the leverage to slip her tongue into your mouth, confidently brushing it against yours. She tastes like sugar cookies and wine as red as her lips. Fumbling, one hand grips the lapel of her jacket - leather, your favourite - while the other moves underneath it to dig your fingers into her lower back. It pulls an appreciative groan from the other woman, and she starts to back you towards her car.

Your back hits the side of Melissa’s car, forcing a chuckle out from your chest. Pulling away from the redhead, you press kisses down her jaw, stopping just below her ear. “You playing the protective girlfriend role is doing something to me, Mel,” you sigh, biting her pulse point softly enough that it won't leave a mark. It prompts her to tighten her hold on your hair, and you let out a deep moan at the slight sting.

“Is that right, honey?” You hum in response, pulling her free hand forward until she's cupping you through your pants. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, red as sin itself. Pupils blown, Melissa kisses you hungrily, not removing her hand but not daring to go further. Pulling back, you grab her chin to make her look at you.

“Take me somewhere private and I’ll show you just how much,” you murmur, watching Melissa stutter before turning to the car door she’s pressed you next to and opening it for you. Settling in the seat as Melissa rounds the car, you’re still catching your breath as she starts the engine. “I live closer,” Melissa states, just as breathless as you are as she pulls away from the curb. Chuckling as you remember that phrase from earlier - in a much different context - you squirm in your seat at the thought of what’s to come.