#i saved a queue for my dad

[musicallygt]

borrower!reigen is really the funniest mfer ever. he has no idea what hes talking about.

also i think dimple would know what borrowers are

[currentlyonstandbi]

i know he’s faking it i KNOW he is because like 2 seconds later he gets up off the bed like it’s no big deal and nothing happens and yet every time i watch the scene where nigel’s father is threatening him and his mother with the shotgun and nigel is apparently shrinking with fear it gets to me

[kellystar321]

.

[awkwardcourage]

silly little tag dump pls ignore.

[neteyamsilly]

i will soften every edge, hold the world to its best | 3

summary ;; Sullys stick together. You learn the hard way what happens when you don't. PART 2 | PART 4 pairings ;; dad!jake sully x reader, mom!neytiri x reader, sully family x reader genre ;; pure angst and family feels notes / explanations ;; descriptions of blood and violence incoming, beware! shout out to the ppl who predicted the stuff in this chapter LMAO so um... i couldnt tag everybody who asked when i said i would... there's apparently a limit to how many people you can tag. please forgive me 😭 im not taking any tagging requests anymore since i cant do it. so sorry about that,,,, seriously also, thank you so much for 1160 followers! i still cant fucking believe it... daddy issues solidarity 🤙🏻🤙🏻

“Hi there Corporal, you hear me? Yeah, I know you do. As much as I’m charmed by the fatherly love I could give you a big old sloppy wet kiss, we have unfinished business.”

Rain covered the rustling of clothes and the click-clacks of readjusted weapons as concentrated silence hung in the air, thick and heavy like the morning mist swallowing up the forest.

No answer. 

What face could your parents be making right now? Heartbeat in your ears, you tried to hide your shame by looking down, but a jerk on your queue set you straight. the avatar holding you digging his gun sharper in your neck.    

“What, cat got your tongue all of a sudden?” The leader’s stare found yours. “Let me give you a quick remedy.” 

They’d linked your device into another for the sound to be relayed outside and the voice detection range could be wider, in other words, they wanted your father to hear what was happening to you. Your braid was yanked as if the one pulling it wanted to snap it right off your skull, no amount of training could stop the scream torn out of you — all the show just for him. 

The line was deadly still, save for some rustling, crackling static that you could have easily mistaken for hissing.

A ghost of a smile shadowed the man’s face, he extended his rifle to tip your chin up. “Guess we’re gonna have to be louder than that to wake daddy up sweetheart.” 

“Stop!” Father yelled, the unexpected timing of it made you jump. That earned him a group chuckle from the avatars around you. “Stop.”

He talked. He didn’t leave you to fend for yourself in this. Thank Eywa!

“That was fast,” the captor behind you said. 

“Thought you’d have forgotten English by now, playing native.”

“...Quaritch?” 

Quaritch. That awful, awful man from the stories your mother killed? Spider’s father? But… But he was dead. How could sky people know how to cheat death?

“In the flesh.” 

Father’s voice wavered, you’d think he was scared if you didn’t know any better. “That’s impossible.”

“Back from the grave just for you, Jake.”

“Then I’ll just have to put you right back where you belong.”

The squad of avatars openly laughed at that, boisterous, confident, arrogant. 

This was Toruk Makto they were openly mocking. None of them would last for one minute in front of him and yet—

“Quite the teary lovers reunion we’re havin’ here, but you got busy while I was gone, huh?” He looked down at you again, yellow eyes filled with mirth. “I have this tiny bird here we plucked right out of the air. Imagine my surprise to learn she’s yours. Is this the only one, or you got yourself a litter now?”

Silence again. 

“What do you want?”

“Straight to the point as always.” The smug smile momentarily twitched into an unamused, withheld resentment. This man was nearing the end of his capacity to keep taunting. “I don’t think I’ll tell yet. You know I love to be a tease.”

Your ears rotated upwards in treacherous hope at your father's next words. “If you touch one hair on my daughter’s head I swear to god—”

“You exchanged your god for this shithole, Jake. Let’s not kid ourselves now.” Any hint of playing around was gone, now, eyes fixated on something on the ground ahead. “Your daughter will be my guest for a while. Think of it as summer vacation. Don’t worry, unlike the Na’vi, we’re very hospitable.” His thumb brushed over a button. “Until next time.”

“Fucking bastard—”

With one beep, the call was over. Quaritch was touching the band around his neck this time. “Iron Sky, Blue on Actual. We are standing by for extract, over.” 

You began to tussle against the avatar behind your back. “No! No! Let me go!” 

“Be advised. We're bringing in a high value prisoner.”

“Dad’s really gonna flay her alive this time, I can’t wait.” Lo’ak, positioned just behind the flap of the tent to not be seen from the outside as he peeked with one eyeball just in case, was watching his parents vehemently yell at each other in whispers that started out loud, but got hushed probably to not reach him and his siblings. Aggressive limb gestures were flying in the air, and at one point, his mom had tried to run off somewhere and was forcefully stopped. 

Dad was currently pacing around like a wild animal with one hand permanently stuck rubbing his face, and mom turned away from him, holding her forehead. “They’re really going at it, huh?

Kiri was not amused with his insistence to breach their privacy. “What’s so interesting about watching this kind of thing?”

“Catharsis?” He remarked in English, feeling sophisticated. “You remember Spider talking about it? Purification and emotional cleansing through relief that you’re not going through the horrible tragedy, the character on stage is.” 

“You’re normally so dumb.” Lo’ak bore his fangs at her matter-of-fact tone of voice. “Your brain only comes back on when it’s about chaos.”

“I’m petty, and what about it?” A tilt of his head to dare Kiri to ask for her point, then his attention was thwarted by an incomprehensible cry from his mother. She was pushing dad from his arms, furious like Lo’ak had never seen before as the upset man tried to hold her more. “Look at mom and dad breathing fire at each other! You think they’re discussing how to punish her?”

“Stop spying already skxawng, mom will be angry if she sees you. We’re supposed to be in bed.”

“Shut up, I’m trying to listen here!” His ears were tilting at every angle to make out any words that reached to him as nothing but a cluster of broken sounds. “Why did they have to go far?” 

“Because they wanted to be away from peeping toms like you?”

“And you’re still here too, so?” Lo’ak gave his sister a meaningful look. “I know you wanna see too.”

“Ugh!” Kiri shoved out her tongue at him, eyes dead. “And it’s not funny, by the way! They are fighting. Stop being happy about it.”

He knew they were fighting about his older sister, and that she’d get all the heat and fallout from it the moment she was back. Lo’ak’s head was full of what he could get out of it, or what to ask her for in return for helping her out in her detention. So satisfying to be the sibling who wasn’t in trouble. He should do it more, actually. “It is funny when it’s not about me.” 

“You’re sick for taking joy in another’s suffering.”

“Oh, I’m doomed, then.” Kiri took whatever fat was on his thin arm between her thumb and forefinger, and twisted. Lo’ak had to blink away the tears that rushed to his eyes, snatching his limb away from the displeased girl and pushing her away in return — he was annoyed at how much that hurt, why was that so damaging for no reason? “Yeouch! What the hell?”

“Will it kill you to practice mindfulness once in a while?” 

He raised his voice’s pitch to mock the wobbly, ear-scratching whine of yours, and exaggerated his body movements to match, too. “I hate you!”  

“Gross.” She tried to shove him, he caught her hands in the air, pushing her back and getting the spiteful annoyance of his sister as a result. “Dad was actually hurt by that.” Lo’ak’s eyes could roll down the hills by themselves the way that sounded, but Kiri, as always, was bothered so inexplicably. “I don’t like this. I have a bad feeling.”

That bad feeling was the herald of dad’s upcoming cranky ill-temper and what would follow after you inevitably had to come crawling back home with tail between your legs, Neteyam dragging you from the scruff of your neck. Lo’ak was refusing to sleep so he could enjoy the fight. 

“Me personally, am over the moon, ikran duty is so gonna be off my hands. For months.” He halted at the idea that just went off in his head, tail swishing with the hype. “I wanna tell Spider. I’ll go get him.”

“Absolutely not. You sneak off now and they’ll laser-focus all the anger on you!” Kiri was pointing a warning hand at him, but slowly lowered it, one corner of her mouth twitching up. She was holding back amusement. “Hey, you know what? Nevermind, you can go. I want you to go. I have to see this.”

“Ha-ha.” Lo’ak’s tail stuttered, losing enthusiasm. “Attempted murder, much?”

“Guys, what’s going on…”

Upon the unexpected voice that wobbled its way into their conversation, they both looked down to see Tuk gripping her weaved blanket with one hand and dragging it on the floor as she made her way to them, the other rubbing her eyes one by one so sleep dripping from them would fly away.

“See, you woke her up! What do we do now?”

“You woke her up by yelling, why is it my fault now?”

“I didn’t, you—”

“Did too.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Did n—”

“Guys…” Tuk pulled on Kiri’s hand, and the foreign object she was clutching the whole time distracted Lo’ak. It must have dug into the older one’s skin that she carefully picked it up to inspect. The ear pieces they took off before they went to sleep. This one was Kiri’s.  “Neteyam’s calling. You didn’t hear…”

Grinning, Lo’ak snatched it up and skipped backwards and put it in his own ear, ignoring Kiri’s hushed yells to give it back now and the groans about ruining it with his stinky, cheesy earwax. He had to keep bouncing around, the girl was chasing him around the tent. “Bro! Tell her she’s sooo dead. Dad’s literally keeping guard in front of the tent—”

“Lo’ak, quit it.” Neteyam’s tremulous answer was harsh. Lo’ak’s smile wavered as he dodged Kiri’s arm and jumped over discarded cups on the floor, knocking over wooden spoons. “I need you to tell me what’s happening over there.”

“Aw, baby’s so scared to come back she needs to make a game plan first?” He laughed, slapping Kiri’s hands away. “I’ll only tell if she gives back my karambit knife.”

His older brother sighed, a bit too exasperated. 

“Yeah, I’m not letting that one go and I’m also making it your problem—”

“Lo’ak, she isn’t here.”

He stopped dead in his tracks. “What?”

“She isn’t here. I couldn’t find her.” Kiri bumped into him, unable to stop herself at the right time to hit the brakes due to how abruptly Lo’ak had stilled. They’d almost tumbled over. “Dad told me to wait until he contacts her and I’ve been waiting for minutes. Now tell me what’s going on over there.”

“Bro, you’re serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be serious, skxawng!” 

He turned to Kiri in disgusted discomfort, who had damn-near glued her own ear to his to hear better. “Forget months, I’ll be free for years. Dad’s not gonna let her take one step off the camp anymore.”

The girl would stomp her foot if she was a couple years younger. “What’s this about?”

And Neteyam would shake Lo’ak from the neck for ignoring him this long while he was fussing. “Tell me already you—!”

“They’re having a fight bro.” He leaned better to peep outside the tent. “Yeah.”

“She came back? Why didn’t you tell me?”

It was uncommon for Neteyam to completely disregard the previous input he’d been given. Lo’ak didn’t understand this level of anxiety. “Are you having a brain fart? Would we be having this conversation if she was here? It’s mom and dad who are fighting.”

It wasn’t that serious — on the contrary, his sister was quite simple to understand. She didn’t want to be found and had changed her place of hiding. End of story. The golden boy’s worrywart nature was keeping him from reasoning. 

“Don’t be a smartass.” Lo’ak practically felt Neteyam’s want to land a loud smack on his back. “Were they only able to reach her, then? Is that why they’re fighting?”

“You’re asking me?—”

The older boy began to grumble under his breath. ��This is why I called Kiri.”

Said girl’s ears perked up over picking her name from the static-surrounded line. Lo’ak snorted. “Ouch, bro.”

Kiri shook him from the elbow. “Me? What about me?”

“Great title for your autobiography.”

Kiri raised her arms to give him a beating and Lo’ak was already bolting away from anywhere near her vicinity. The siblings didn’t even take notice of the line with Neteyam going dark as they focused on their own play-scuffle for a while. 

Until Lo’ak bumped into someone.

It wasn’t Tuk. 

Shoulders pulled into himself, he turned around torturously freaked out to find dad standing there like a ghost, his tactical vest packed to the brim and gun hanging from his back the way they wore their bows. 

The blue of his skin had faded into an ashier tone, amber eyes wide and bloodshot, the veins on the normally put together Olo’eyktan’s forehead were bulging, even a socially clueless person would pick up something was seriously wrong. He commanded cold authority of the battlefield simply by the way he stood, immediately triggering Lo’ak into soldier mode.  

He took a few steps back, chin hanging low at the lightless, unblinking stare his father pushed down on him. “Sir.”

All the sleepiness that had Tuk unresponsive and nodding off through Lo’ak and Kiri’s push-and-pull was knocked out of her at the sight, she was now unnerved and frightened. “Dad?”

The man’s intensity was somehow eased by his youngest’s reaction, but he held back from taking her in his arms like he normally would to comfort her, didn’t even care to remark on how they were supposed to be sleeping — how they’d woken their little sister up, instead focusing on Lo’ak. “I want you all to listen well. Your mother and I are heading out for a minute and your grandmother will be with you soon — Neteyam is Oscar-Mike to come back here. Stay put and don’t go anywhere, understand?” His finger pointed accusingly at him. “Don’t cause trouble. Looking at you boy, what I’m saying here is Marine proof. I’m at the end of my wits here, don’t even think about slipping a tail out of this tent.” 

The potent severity of whatever the hell was making him this agitated to the point of a voice so hoarse it was unrecognizable got the wheels in Lo’ak’s head whirring. “What’s happening, dad?”

“One child!” The thundering shout came down on him with the force of a falling mountain, making Lo’ak jump out of his skin. “I need one child of mine to listen to me without asking any questions today!” Dad’s voice broke when Tuk whined, he shut his eyes as if he was in physical pain, and flexed his jaw, shaking his head and pulling the girl in from her shoulders to soothe her. Still no direct hugging. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m sorry sir,” Lo’ak said immediately, distraught by the over-the-top reaction, hands unknowingly curling into fists by his sides. Whenever that sky people word ‘Jesus’ slipped from dad not having any control between the border of his two languages, the boy knew it was demanding gravitas. “I heard you CFB.”

“Good.” He thinned his lips. “Kiri, please.”

Lo’ak frowned at dad basically asking for her to play her brother’s keeper in Neteyam’s absence in two simple words.

She nodded. “I know dad.”

He caught a glimpse of his mother running in the distance, her father’s bow in her hand. 

Just what was happening? What had you done? 

Eywa, it had to be sky people. 

Dad saw the realization in his face. “Stay,” he emphasized, one final time before he was also gone with the wind. 

Lo’ak wouldn’t have obeyed if it wasn’t for his grandmother arriving just in time, keeping them busy with a story about the arrival of a wounded ikran with no rider.

You realized the gunshot wound puncturing your upper abdomen was there the whole time when the avatars put first aid and later slapped a rectangular sky people bandage on it that helped clotting or whatever it was called, the pain simply not being there had played a big factor in it with the body running on pure adrenaline. 

(Crouching close to you, Quaritch had bragged, “We aren’t so bad after all, huh, sweetheart? It’s called civilization. Your daddy ever taught you about that?”

Civilization, your ass. They needed you. There was nothing well-meaning about what they were doing.

And the nickname had ticked you off, sullying the good memories of father, your head slammed into his nose in full power after a hiss.

“Now my daddy taught me that!” you spat in English as other avatars had tackled you. The man claiming to be Quaritch was smiling as he wiped away the blood trickling down his nose.

What was the point in trying to patch you up if they were going to do this, then?)

You were now a part of an elaborate trap to lure your father in. Bait. The worst position to be in. This was the kind of trouble Lo’ak would get himself in. It was too late to go back now, the mess you’d gotten yourself into had made itself known. 

Think, think! How could you get out of this?

Within the unsleeping forest’s nightly noises chirping all around you, a specific call in the air halted your train of thought. 

It was mom. 

Your parents were here. But how? How did they know where you were, exactly? Dread and expectation pooled in your heart, coexisting in a nauseating mix. 

Father must be thinking that you already caused so much trouble, they couldn’t know you were also hurt, you’d never hear the end of it.

But there was no time to think, the pain you should have been feeling was ebbing its way into your body, and she was calling in the night to inform you to get ready.

All hell broke loose when the man who held you tight from your queue was shot right from the back of his head with an arrow, collapsing right on top of you. 

You couldn’t get away in time to not be crushed by his dead body and promptly got squished between the mossy soil and him, his gun was hurting you, the wound on your stomach getting in the way of you using your core to push the body off. 

How many minutes had passed with you struggling to get him off as a hurricane of bullets roared, you didn’t know (it hurt, pain was climbing towards the threshold) — mom was able to break free from the weight of a whole AMP suit, as you’d heard as a child, a Na’vi was naturally strong, but you couldn’t even crawl out. Panic was a rope tightening around your ribcage as your breathing picked up

All of a sudden, the weight was gone, and the only remaining thing from it was the big gun left from the avatar you found yourself hugging for dear life, eyes wide as saucers. Before you could see whoever had done that, you got hoisted up right back on your feet and tried to run, only to be held tighter and pulled behind the trunk of a tree.

“Hey, it’s me, it’s me!” Clumsy, overwrought hands were cupping your cheeks and — and oh, it was your father. 

You didn’t know whether to be afraid or cry from happiness.

Once he was sure you registered it was him by staring intently in your eyes with that edge of the softness you’d missed so much, his hold shifted to your neck and around your shoulders, and he gave you a look-over, checking for any wounds. Too bad what he was searching for was behind the gun you were holding. “Are you hurt?” He shook you when you were too stunned to answer. “Are you hurt at all?”

“No,” you shook your head automatically, it was weak against the explosions of bullets raining down all around you, but father had picked it up regardless, only focusing on you for the moment.

In the darkness, nobody could see the blood running down your body, that bandage had come out at one point. 

“On my mark, we’re gonna run, okay?” He nodded to you, tomahawk axe in hand coated in a dark substance, commanding your full attention. “Follow me. Ready? Ready?”

You weren’t ready at all, stomach feeling like it was being stabbed at every heartbeat, but you couldn’t tell him that. 

Instead, you ran like hell, moored by father’s taut clutch on your forearm pulling you forward to match his incredible speed dodging roots, bushes and branches. 

Things stopped moving only when you were enveloped in mom’s embrace, consciousness almost flying off from the relief that washed over you. Kisses were peppered along your hairline and forehead, her mumbling your name in gratitude blending with your panting. Tears burned bitter in your eyes, but you couldn’t cry, not when father was looking at you like that, chest rising and falling. You instantaneously remembered why you were holding that gun at the intensity he was radiating, tail escaping between your legs and letting mom hold you. 

At least this way he wasn’t able to objurgate you.  

Over her shoulder, you saw three ikrans instead of two. Heart soaring, you were skipping towards him in pure astonishment in a heartbeat. “Hey buddy!”  

His head lowered down towards you in bird-like movements. In this angle, it looked like he was giving you a razor sharp-toothed big grin. 

“He brought us here,” your mother said. The hand you were going to pet the ikran with stopped midway at her dejected tone. “You have passed Iknimaya, I take it. On your own.”

You didn’t know what to say, feeling immense guilt at having made her this disappointed over it. If this was any normal situation, any normal fight at all, you would have shot back with, ‘Well father told me to do it.’

But you were tired. 

Your pain threshold was being threatened, and you needed to get to your grandmother before any of your parents saw the situation you were in and this escalated into the worst fight you were going to get into in your entire life. 

Father’s only response was a dead cold, “C’mon, we gotta get outta here.”

He didn’t talk to you after that. Not one word. 

Squatting on an ikran’s back on a flight with an abdominal gunshot wound you were trying to hide was not an option unless you wanted to pass out midair and was looking for a free dive, so you were all but hugging the poor thing’s neck like a monkey, trusting him to follow your parents while you concentrated on mentally fighting to level out the pain. 

Nonsensical as it was to believe the gun stuck between your ikran’s neck and your stomach was acting as a tampon to lessen the bleeding, you were concerned with how dumb it must have looked to father and mom, how incompetent they must think of you that their daughter didn’t even know how to ride right. 

Got an ikran for nothing. 

Would they be less proud of you seeing how funny it appeared, nevermind that it was to contain your pain all the while not trying to faint?

But no words were exchanged about it. 

Father clamping up right after he’d made sure you weren’t hurt (yikes) had resulted in this awkward trip succumbing in total silence. They had sandwiched you between them, only necessary space for the ikrans to beat their wings freely left, so close that you could discern the scariest look on father yet, deepening the lines of age in his face while simultaneously expressing his barely contained desire to kill someone. 

A ticking time bomb. 

Forget speaking at all, but not only did he never address you until now, he didn’t even look in your direction for once. You knew because staring at him for five minutes straight for him to just acknowledge your existence had proven to be unfruitful. 

And the tears involuntarily streamed down your cheeks with how utterly worthless and alone that made you feel, trapped in this agony you couldn’t help but hide because he’d think you didn’t deserve to complain after bringing it upon yourself. You would rather bite your tongue and bear the pain than stay dreading his reaction. 

Yeah, no, he couldn’t know. 

Mom was looking over at you every one minute to make sure you were okay after her ears picked up on your sniffles, arrows of worry shot from her side sinking down your skin every single time, and you hated to make her this way. 

Your ikran kept comforting you through tsaheylu until you landed.

Father had promptly jumped down, agile and making haste away somewhere, passing you by and giving the cold shoulder. You all but slid off your own ikran, managing to make the gun stay where it should be, as you couldn’t help but weakly call out to him for one drop of consolation. “Father…”

He didn’t stop for you, quickening his steps, but his ears twitched, the tail beating the air ferociously halting and lowering before it returned to the previous motions, and those were the only indications that he’d heard it Lima Charlie.

The man just didn’t want to talk to you.    

And you had to make yourself believe it wasn’t the emotional devastation that had you falling down, but the wound sucking out all your energy now that you had gotten to safety. 

“Ma’ite?” Mom rushed to you. “Ma’ite, what’s wrong? What is it?”

“I’m okay, mom, it’s okay.” You were sitting on the floor, cross-legged. Thank goodness you still had the unbreakable willpower (and not the fear of Eywa put into you by father) to hold your shit together. “I’m okay. Just tired. My knees buckled. Weak, you know?” You swallowed, smiling. “I’m just… Just resting.”

Her gaze full of concern studied you, zeroing in on the gun you clung on for dear life against your stomach. Her hands lovingly brushed your hair, gripped your shoulders and elbows even though you were disgustingly clammy all over. It was grounding, anchoring within the ocean of pain washing over you in waves. 

“Oh, why are you sweating so much? You’re freezing.” You clutched the gun harder in a panic when she grasped it, most likely to put it away. It was the wrong reaction to have, but you weren’t exactly in the position to function healthily. 

Mom, as any other person would, got suspicious from it, her eyes flying up to your owlish ones — blanked out like a frightened animal. “You’re fine now,” she whispered, thankfully attributing it to how disturbed you must be, still not out of survival mode. “You are safe, my daughter. Mom is here.” She cupped your cheek, but every touch to your body hurt now, even when it was away from the gaping wound, still gushing blood, trickling down your hips and getting you scared that it’d be discovered once you stood up. “I’m here.” She searched your soul to know just why you were grimacing at her attempts of comforting. “I will take this now, you do not need it anymore.”

You snapped out of the gradually darkening gray haze mom’s lulling was laying you down gingerly into. “No, please don’t,” your breathing hitched. She was going to see. She couldn’t see. You had to avoid this somehow, as long as you could. Grandmother’s tent. You would make it, you had to.  “I’ll… I’ll just sit here for a while, okay? I need to just… take a small break, and then I’ll… Can you go back? I’ll follow later. Father is angry, I don’t—”

“Nonsense.” Incredulous and enraged suddenly about something you couldn’t put a finger on, and before you could stop her, she tried to haul you up with her by gripping your upper arms — colors exploded behind your eyelids, getting you you to lose consciousness for two seconds, your vision flooding back in a starry kaleidoscope. When mom’s voice reached your ears, it was in staccato exclaims your ears were ringing too much to discern. She was shaking you. 

You weren’t able to sit up straight anymore, leaning forward — mom had caught you, utterly confused and panicked at the same time. And then your head was lying on the crook of her elbow resting on her legs she’d tucked under herself. The moment you’d switched from sitting to straight up lying down was missing from your memories. 

A baby being cradled. Yes, this is exactly what it was like. Gentle arms surrounded you amidst the pulsating sea of agony. 

Your body was letting go, but your arms were vices around the gun, still holding that last line. Don’t let go. Don’t let go. They can’t know. Father will be so mad if he learns. “‘m okay… ‘st restin’…”

When your eyes cleared enough for the surroundings to be only a bit blurry, your mom was looking at the hand she’d just tried to take away the gun with, caked with your blood that had stained it, out of it and perplexed like she didn’t want to believe it. 

Her gut-wrenchingly stunned numbness sent the misery clawing its way inside into overdrive, pulling your consciousness down to the earth from the clouds it was ascending to. “Not mine,” you forced out, but it came out as begging. Everything was falling apart. The plan was so simple, why couldn’t you do anything right? “Not mine. Please. Mom, it’s okay.” 

“No…” Mumbling, she started sharply swaying back and forth, and with one brutally vigorous attack, she ripped the gun away from your arms, and hurled it away — then it was over. Your sob wasn’t due to the motion hurting you, it was all entirely for the broken wail of your mother at seeing the bloodied mess, tears spilling from her eyes as she reached down to press down at the pouring liquid. “No! No! Oh Great Mother! Why did you hide this! Oh, my daughter!” 

“No, mom, I’m fine, it’s nothing. Not my blood. Not my blood, okay?” You reached up weakly and wiped at her cheeks with trembling fingers, your heart got crushed worse than the pain could beat you down at her grief — lungs constricting. Where was all the air?  “I’ll get up. I’ll go to grandmother, don’t cry. Just resting.”

Frantically looking around, she yelled, “Jake!—” but her voice didn’t quite come out, breathy as if she’d been punched in the ribcage seconds prior.

A heartbeat’s worth of nothingness, after which you were full-on freaking out. Only one thought: Father will be angry. 

“No!” You shrieked, and blood swelled in one strong pump against mom’s fingers. She looked down at you in anguish, pupils blown wide, arm tightening around you as if you were a flailing bird. “Don’t tell him! Don’t tell father! He’ll really kill me for this—”

“No, no no no,” she shook her head, frenzied, tone cracked from beginning to end. “Do not say that. Don’t you ever say that—”

But you were struggling in her arms, wanting nothing but to crawl away into a hole, no reason registering whatsoever, only instinct. “He’ll be so angry,” you begged, pleading, pink spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth. The sound of gurgling accompanying the words you forced your whole body to form. “You can’t tell him — you can’t! He already hates me!”

The more you thrashed around and kicked your legs, the more you bled.

“Please, Great Mother!” The more mom lost her mind, hissing and howling hysterically, crazed, hugging you tighter and rocking. “Jake! Jake! Ma’Jake!” She put her temple against yours. “Not my daughter, please, Eywa…”

Why was she being like this? It wasn’t that serious! You were okay!

Delirium claimed you hot as she kept calling his name and her unbreakable hold on you kept you in a cage of a mother’s despair. In your feverish mind, a threat to your life was coming. Weakness spread like wildfire around your body and chipped away at the pain, slowly picking it apart to replace it with drowsiness. “Don’t call ‘im,” you continued to repeat, over and over again. “I’m just taking a break. Don’t call him over. He’s gonna be angry. He’ll hate me. He hates me. Please, mom.”

The sentences slurred together, shortened, wilted away pitifully, your voice died down, tongue deteriorating into only echoing, “He hates me.” A withered away, old flute. 

Your ikran was bellowing in the distance and you looked. The torches on cave walls were illuminating him and finally revealing to you his beautiful color scheme.    

And then your father was here, falling to his knees right beside you, his glistening wide eyes flying everywhere around your body — tracing all the blood, hands hovering above you as if he didn’t know where to start piecing a shattered vase back together.   

It was over.

Fully expecting the chastising you were about to receive to shake the floating mountains so bad the enemy would be able to spot you, you began to apologize — pride be damned, this battle be lost, you’d failed anyway. “Please don’t be mad,” you shuddered, meek and unsteady, tunnel vision flickering at the edges only perceiving him. “It’s my fault—I’m sorry—please don’t be angry—”

“Stop talking,” he ordered, rough and harsh, eyebrows knitted tightly, and out of breath — probably because of how hard he was trying to hold the anger back. You knew. That had to be it. “Don’t speak.”

Ah of course. This was only natural when he had refused to utter a single word at you the whole way, denying you the temporary comfort of a simple glance. 

Even the hand he pressed down so ruthlessly firm on your stomach it might as well be a boulder pinning you down was meant to be punishment, the whines your unbreathing lungs couldn’t stop turned into yowls — you hadn’t even noticed your hands were wrapped around father’s wrist in an effort to push him away, scratching him, but he only added his other hand on top of the other in return.

“Hang on, sweetheart, I got you, please hang on a little longer,” he pleaded, but you were already too far gone, Eywa was cruel to have plugged your ears to the endearment you’d been dying to hear from him for so long, making the last things you were aware father said to you the fact that he didn’t even want to hear you talking. 

And you fulfilled his wish. 

taglist: @ihonestlydontknowwhattonamethis@alohastitch0626 @jackiehollanderr @lucciera @qvrcll @iloveavatar @velvtcherie @ssc7514 @goldenmoonbeam @neteyamforlife @itsluludoll @jakesullys-bitch @blubrryy @sully-stick-together @arminsgfloll @alice121804 @noname2246 @justthingzsblog @eywamygoddess @m-1234 @ellabellabus07 @hellok1ttycake @dakotali @bluefire12348 @abbersreads @yellooaaa @aimsro @octavias-next-meat-bite @nikqdn @nao-cchi @spicycloudsalad @yeosxxx @heybiatchz @winxschester @elegantkidfansoul @eichenhouseproperty @kakimakiloh @dueiosy @liyahsocorro @dimplesxx @tigresslily @n8ivatar @strnqer @lillybbyy @jakesullyssluttt @r3dc4ndy @myheartfollower @gcldtom @bunnyrose01 @aceofheartzzz @ghoulbli @slasherfcker505 @ducks118 @megsthings @graykageyama @gwolf92

[saltpixiefibercraft]

Pics from my two looms tonight, gotta sit down and work on my queue since I found a ton!!!! of video progress bits I didn't remember I saved and am excited to share :D

The top is gonna be bag fabric and the bottom a set of dishtowels for my partners' dad.

[reevesdriver]

Mr. Dutton (NSFW)

Summary: You're recently single and living in hotels so when you get talking to your long-term friend, Beth Dutton, she invites you to stay at the Dutton ranch where you suddenly become close to the man you crushed on as you grew up, John Dutton.

Word count: 2535

Reader: Female reader

Character(s): John Dutton

Warning(s): NSFW / 🔥🔥🔥 / Smut / Unprotected Sex / Age-Gap (Reader is of legal age) / Best Friends Dad / Save a horse you know the rest / Oral Sex (M & F Receiving) / Dickhead Ex-boyfriend / John is a strong man I just know it /

Support Me: Kofi

Part 2

(AN: This man, well, this series has me in a chokehold at the minute and there's a serious lack of Yellowstone fics so here you go have some daddy Dutton🥵.)

Splitting from your useless excuse of an ex was proving to be the best thing you ever did. Even if you didn't have a place to stay and a boot full of your belongings your happiness was improving already. Your long-term friend, Beth Dutton, had invited you out for dinner and when she heard of your current hotel-staying situation she invited you back to her family ranch to stay.

You declined at first, not wanting to be in the way, but when she asked you for a ride back to the ranch and made you come inside for another drink you conveniently got talking to her father about the situation and when John Dutton said you could stay who were you to refuse?

“Thank you for letting me stay Mr Dutton."

“You can call me John, darlin’. We’ve known each other long enough to keep up the formalities.”

“Told you he wouldn’t mind.” Beth smiled as she looked up from her food. Gator had prepared a meal for the three of you since Jamie was working and Kayce and his family wanted to spend some time to themselves so John let you take his youngest sons seat next to him.

“It should only be for a few weeks. Until I can sort out a place of my own, if there’s anything that needs doing please let me know. I don’t wanna be wandering around doing nothing whilst everyone else is working.”

“We could probably use some help keeping the place tidy but I’ll see if Rip needs any help too.”

“Thanks Beth.”

Later in the day Beth showed you to your room and after John insisted on helping you bring the boxes of your belongings up you got settled for the night. The room that had been given to you was large, definitely the largest room you'd ever stayed in, and as you hung your clothes up in the double-wardrobe you peered out of the window and across the ranch taking in the sights.

It had been a few years or so since you'd had the chance to come back to the Dutton ranch. Between working and dealing with your ex it became almost impossible to have any time to yourself let alone with your friends. Fortunately you remained in touch with Beth and despite you not being able to meet up like you used to you were thankful that she was understanding.

You sighed. You hadn't thought about your ex since walking out of the relationship after you found out he was cheating and you were annoyed that after a few weeks he decided to plague your mind now when you were trying to start fresh. As if on queue your phone pinged with a text from said ex and you felt the tears start to well up in your eyes as you saw the brief begging message he'd said. A gentle knock on the open bedroom door brought your attention away from your phone screen.

"You alright?" Johns soft voice filled the room as he stood cautiously in the doorway.

You sniffled a little bit and wiped the corners of your eyes before nodding. "Yeah I will be." You turn to face him. "Thank you for letting me stay John, it really means a lot to me."

"You don't need to thank me darlin', you're welcome here anytime. I'm headin' to bed but if you need anything then come and wake me alright?" He says and you nod in understanding. "Make sure you get some rest."

John turned and left the doorway, closing the door behind him he left you in peace as you continued to put your clothes away. When you finished you picked up your phone, blocked your ex and climbed under the sheets after turning the light off.

The following morning the Duttons woke before you did and made their way downstairs. Beth made herself a drink and then sat at the dining table immediately digging in to the food that Gator had put out for them. Soon after, her father followed and took his seat at the head of the table with his own drink.

“Is she still asleep?” John asks, referring to you and Beth nods. “I was thinking of getting her set up in the stables, she was always good with grooming the horses so figured that’s a good place to start.”

Beth agreed and soon they fell into silence, silence that was soon interrupted by Beths phone pinging. When she checked it a smile crossed her face and soon she was standing up and excusing herself for the rest of the morning. Shortly after Beth had left you'd woke and quickly got dressed after checking the time. It was still early morning but you didn't want to start sleeping in especially since you offered to help around the ranch.

Exiting the bedroom you made your way through the house and eventually to the dining room where you saw John sat at the table on his own. "I was wondering when you would be making an appearance." He greeted you with a smile. Gator was bringing more plates of food to the table, toast, bacon, eggs etc and you felt like you were in heaven.

"That was probably the best night sleep I've had in a while." You smiled and took the seat that you had sat in the night before. "I hope I didn't get up too late."

John laughed. "Darlin' you're up earlier than I thought you would be anyway so it's fine."

"You got any jobs for me today?"

"Actually yes, i want you to groom the horses if you're up to it, they haven't been bathed in a while and even though the men in the bunkhouse are capable they never get them looking like you did."

You happily agree and think back to all the times you spent with Johns horses, brushing their mains and fur, bathing them and just overall paying as much attention to them as possible. John always watched you from a distance since he had other things to be taking care of but when you stopped coming around he started to notice that the horses looked dirtier and never seemed to be as clean as they used to be.

Finishing off your breakfast you started the day with choosing a horse and hosing them down before washing and drying them. You brushed their fur, main and platted their tail before mucking out their stable and then moving on to the next one. By the end of the week you'd cleaned up a handful of the horses and had been introduced to the new workers like Jimmy and reacquainted with the old ones like Lloyd and Rip who you'd come to miss. You helped out where you could but when Friday night hit you were glad to have been told to rest over the weekend by John.

Your old cowboy boots had rubbed your feet raw as it had been so long since you'd last worn them. When you entered the house you kicked off your boots and carried them upstairs to your room sitting on the edge of the bed you removed your socks and frowned at the redness of your feet. As the sun set you undressed and showered before returning to the bedroom and climbing into bed. Not a minute or so after your head hit the pillow your phone pinged.

Sitting up you were curious as to who could be texting you, that was until you saw the 13 missed calls and around 50 texts from an unknown number. Your stomach dropped, it was your ex and the messages ranged from "I miss you" to "Go fuck yourself" as well as. few others thrown in here and there for good measure. You skimmed the messages quickly when another one came through "I can see that you've read my messages, fucking reply to me." and with that you blocked the number and turned off your phone.

All the work you'd done over the past few days didn't seem to have affected you anymore since you'd gone from being on the verge of falling asleep to wide awake in a matter of minutes. You tossed and turned in bed trying to fall asleep but after 2 hours had passed you gave up.

Leaving the bedroom you stepped into the surprisingly warm hallway and made your way to the staircase. Peering over the bannister you saw John who looked comfortable for once, normally any time you'd seen him he was tense but now, sat in front of the lit fire with a tumbler of Whiskey on the side table and his feet up on the coffee table he looked relaxed. “What’re you doing up?” You ask after glancing at the clock on the wall.

“I could ask you the same thing.” He replies looking up from his book as you descended the staircase.

“Can’t sleep, mind if I grab a book and join you?”

“Help yourself.” He replies and you smile. John watches from his position on the couch as you turn and head towards the bookcases. He watches you skim the leather bound books for a title that piqued your interest. Reaching up for a familiar title and raising up onto your tip-toes makes your oversized t-shirt rise up your thighs and stop just under your ass. John struggles not to choke on his drink as he drags his eyes up your thighs and catches a glimpse of your laced underwear peaking from underneath the baggy t-shirt.

After grabbing a book you quietly made yourself a drink from the bar and took a seat on the couch next to John as he topped up his glass with the opened bottle of Whiskey next to him. “Whatcha reading?” He asks with genuine curiosity. You flashed him the cover of the book and he recognised the title. “Good choice.” He smiles and you smile back.

Sitting down on the couch next to him you made sure to leave some room between the both of you. Your legs were bent at the knee and tucked up next to you and it didn’t take long until you started rubbing at the sore areas of your feet. The action didn’t go unnoticed and soon John broke the silence. “Your feet hurting you?”

“Yeah, been a while since I’ve worn my boots. Think they need breaking in again or I need a new pair.” You laugh.

“Here, let me.” He says extending his hand out to you and you knew better than to argue with him. Lifting your feet you drop them into his lap gently, the fabric of his jeans rubbing against the backs of your legs. Suddenly it took you much longer to finish a page as your mind kept wandering to Johns calloused hand rubbing your feet as he continued to read his book, stopping occasionally to take a sip of his drink.

His lap was warm, his jeans felt nice and rough and as his hand traced the bottom of your foot up to your ankle you felt the growing rigid length of his cock press against the side of your foot. Your eyes were no longer focused on the book and instead you peered over the pages to look at your best friends dad as you gently tilted your foot towards his crotch. Johns breath caught in his throat, his rough hand grabbed your ankle and he looked over to you. "Be careful darlin', I don't want you doing something you'll regret." He spoke before moving your feet off of his lap so he could stand up.

You watched as John grabbed the now empty bottle of Whiskey and passed round the back of the couch, leaving the room and entering the kitchen. Thoughts raced around your head and after deciding on what to do you opted to go with the idea that would hopefully release the pulsing between your legs. Standing from the couch you shimmied your lacy underwear down your hips and let them drop to your feet before picking them up and walking over to the book that John was reading.

You dropped the flimsy fabric on-top of the closed book, grabbed your glass and walked past John to the kitchen as he made his way back to the couch. You poured another drink and barely had time to take a sip when heavy footsteps stopped at the doorway of the kitchen. “You forget something sweetheart?” John says and you smirk. Turning to face him you see your underwear gripped in one of his calloused hands.

“I didn’t forget anything sir.” You reply. He lets out a hoarse laugh and closes the distance between the pair of you. Your back is pressed against the counter and John is pressed up against your front peering down at you with a smirk.

"You're a little tease aren't you."

"Only for you." You reply and he laughs again.

"Beth'll kill you if she finds out, hell I think she'd kill the both of us."

"We best hurry up then whilst we have an empty house."

Lifting you up onto the counter John parts your legs and kisses the inside of your thighs before devouring your cunt. One of your hands found the back of his head and you ran your fingers through his hair as he continued to lap and suck at your clit, his rough hands that were delicately rubbing your feet moments ago now roughy grabbing at your thighs to keep you steady.

Your thighs threatened to trap his face as he made you cum with his tongue and soon you were jumping down off the counter and dragging John back to the couch. Shoving him down you dropped to your knees with a crack and made quick work at unbuttoning his jeans freeing his cock from the confines of his underwear. You licked the tip before drawing it into your mouth and using your spit to soak his shaft.

His hand is resting on the back of your head as it bobbed whilst you sucked his cock. You always assumed that since John was a tall man he would have the cock to match and you were pleasantly surprised to find that it was true. When your jaw started hurting from shoving his girth between your lips you stood and straddled his thighs wasting no time in lowering yourself down on his cock.

John lifted up your t-shirt and took a nipple into his mouth roughly sucking it as you bounced on his lap, his hands moved to grip your hips as your cunt swallowed his thick cock with every rise and fall of your body. Cumming on his cock John wasn't far behind you, his laboured breathing urged you to push through the burning sensation in your thighs to bring him to his high. Pushing you roughly against his thighs John held you in place as he came, pulsing thick ropes of cum deep inside you.

"Looks like you still have it in you old man." You laugh trying to catch your breath.

"I'll show you more of what an old man can do."

[helloalycia]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐎𝐑 𝐄𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓 [𝐓𝐖𝐎] —𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐎𝐑

summary: Jackie and you become closer and she takes it as a challenge to make you fall for her charms.

warning/s: none.

author’s note: part 2 is finally here, sorry for the delay! i’ve had a migraine all day otherwise i would’ve posted this earlier 😅 hope you like it!

one / three / masterlist / wattpad

A month passed and any reminder of my conflict with Leroy and Tiffany had faded into oblivion. Jackie was correct in assuming they'd drop their beef with me, and once my hand was healed and Jackie's face no longer looked like an overly inflated balloon, there was nothing left to remind me of the incidents that occurred.

The only thing to come out of the whole experience was being a little more than acquaintances with Jackie. I couldn't go as far as saying we were friends, but she definitely felt the need to greet me more whenever she saw me in class, and I didn't mind returning the favour.

The real shift in our relationship began when Van, Jackie, Shauna and I were grouped up for a History class project. It was a presentation we needed to pull together, so we'd all made plans to meet up to discuss everything over coffee, which is how I found myself driving there with Van in my new car.

"You know you're gonna have to take me everywhere now," Van pointed out from the passenger seat with a grin. "I'm gonna be your passenger princess."

I laughed. "Hey, I don't mind. It's a bit of a rust bucket, but it beats skateboarding everywhere." I paused, then added, "Who am I kidding? I'm gonna miss skateboarding everywhere."

"We can still hit up the skate park every now and then," she promised. "But driving is a lot easier, you can't lie."

I smiled in agreement. After using some of my savings and convincing my parents it was time to get a car, they bought me an old, second-hand banger from one of my dad's friends who owned a garage. It wasn't the best looking car, but after a wash and a little bit of sprucing up with some car accessories, it looked decent enough to serve its purpose.

Conveniently, I pulled up at the coffee shop at the same time as Shauna, who was parking a few spots down. When Van and I jumped out the car with our bags, Jackie and Shauna were already approaching us.

"Hey," Shauna greeted us both with a smile, before nodding with approval at my car. "Love the new ride, Y/L/N."

"Thanks," I said with proud smile.

"You got to the part where you have to fill the tyres with air?" she asked with amusement. "It's so awkward when everyone watches you do it."

I snorted with amusement. "I'll be lucky if I get that far. This thing is trying its best right now."

She chuckled and glanced over it once more. "It's still pretty nice. Gets you from A to B, right? Driving saves so much time, trust me."

"Very true," I agreed, before I noticed Jackie checking it out curiously, having greeted Van already. I quirked a brow as I jokingly asked, "What? Not up to the princess' standards?"

Van and Shauna exchanged amused glances whilst Jackie shot me a playful glare.

"That's not what I was thinking," she said matter-of-factly.

I stopped by her side to look at it like she was, giving her a sideways glance. "I was kidding. Kind of."

She gave me a knowing look. "It's nice."

I tried not to laugh as I said, "Thank you."

She rolled her eyes playfully before the four of us headed inside to find a table. After claiming a booth in the corner, we pulled out our supplies and textbooks to get started.

"I'll go order our drinks," I offered, before we got stuck in. "Everybody know what they want?"

After they shared their orders with me, I slid out the booth to get in the queue, but Jackie slid out alongside me.

"You might need more hands to carry it," she said, when I quirked a brow.

I shrugged and the two of us got in line to order. It didn't take long to reach the front, and after giving the barista our order and paying, Jackie decided she wanted a muffin that was on display.

"Shoot, I'm so sorry to be annoying," she said with her signature smile, albeit a little apologetic, as she pointed to the muffin. "Please can we get that too?"

The guy, probably no older than we were, nodded eagerly and got the muffin for her, placing it on the tray. "Of course. It's on the house."

I resisted the urge to smile as I raised an eyebrow, watching Jackie laugh flirtatiously.

"No! Really?" she asked with bright eyes. "You're too sweet!"

The guy shrugged casually, his cheeks turning pink as she gave him all her attention in this moment. Before we knew it, our drinks were added to the tray and I picked it up to leave.

"Thanks again," she said with a tilt of her head and a matching smile.

He watched her leave distractedly, and only when we were walking away did I let out a quiet chuckle at what I'd just witnessed.

"What?" she asked, glancing at me, as if she didn't know what she'd done.

I gave her a look of disbelief. "Seriously?" Her confused expression forced me to continue. "You just bat your eyes and get what you want?"

She looked up thoughtfully before nodding. "Pretty much."

Breathing out through my nose, I shook my head with amazement. It made sense that even strangers fell victim to the Jackie Taylor effect.

"Can you get some napkins?" she asked, flashing me the same smile she gave the barista, but I would be damned if she thought she could fool me.

"Not a chance," I said with a stifled laugh, equally amused by her frown as I was her audacity.

I returned to the booth as she went to grab some napkins for us, and the four of us got stuck in immediately. As well as getting the base of our presentation researched, we also had a nice bonding session. To be fair, Van already knew Jackie and Shauna well, but I enjoyed getting to know them too.

I especially learnt that Jackie was pretty used to getting what she wanted whenever she wanted, and having people fall head over heels for her. This was something that came to light the more time we spent together working on this project. I guess you could say that the project is what intertwined our lives again once more.

—

After yet another studying session with Jackie, Shauna and Van in the library last night, I realised I grabbed Jackie's notebook by accident and planned to return it to her the next morning at school. I found her by her locker, but she was in a conversation with Jeff and I debated whether or not to interrupt.

They weren't together, the two of them surprisingly staying broken up unlike the many other times they'd somehow got back together, so it was odd to see them talking. But it wasn't any of my business, even if I was a little curious to whether they were back together – especially after everything that happened – so I just sucked it up and politely interrupted.

When I stopped by their side awkwardly, their conversation fell quiet and Jeff glanced at me, no doubt thinking of the whole Leroy incident. Without another word, he walked away, leaving Jackie and I alone.

"Sorry," I said to her uncomfortably, before holding out her notebook. "I just wanted to give you this."

"Oh, thanks," she said, blinking, before accepting the notebook. "I was looking for this all morning."

"Yeah, I must've grabbed it by accident," I said with a small smile. "My bad."

She nodded, and I was about to leave, but then she met my eyes and said, "That wasn't–"

She'd stopped, so I prodded, "Wasn't...?"

Uneasily, she explained, "He's been trying to get back together with me. Jeff."

I chewed on my lip, unsure what to respond, because she didn't owe me any kind of explanation. But a small part of me was nosy enough to want it.

"I'm not stupid, obviously," she continued.

"Obviously," I repeated in agreement, otherwise stumped for words.

"But yeah," she finished, a small, awkward smile on her lips. "That's it."

I mirrored her smile, nodding. "Awesome... er, thanks for the update."

She cleared her throat, nodding too, and then an uncomfortable silence filled the air. I was relieved, though I would never admit it, to know that she wasn't considering going back to him. It only reaffirmed all she'd said about listening to me, and it showed that she respected whatever friendship we seemed to share.

"I'll see you in class," I said, straightening up.

She relaxed her shoulders. "Yeah. See you."

—

Shortly after finishing our group assignment together, Jackie felt the need to work with me more often, for whatever reason. She had a lot of friends, so I couldn't see why she needed me in the mix also, but I guess I wasn't totally against it.

I was walking into Chemistry class when I spotted the blonde sat where my usual lab partner, Dennis, sat. Getting a sense of deja vu, I watched her questioningly as I set my stuff down in my seat.

"Is there a particular reason you're sat there?" I asked, when she flashed me a nonchalant smile.

Placing her chin in the palm of her hand, she stared at me through her lashes. "I feel like you don't know me well enough. So, I switched partners."

I resisted the urge to laugh, oddly intrigued by whatever game she was playing. "I mean, we've only been in the same classes all our life, but–"

"It's not the same," she insisted with a wave of her hand, making me laugh.

Not caring enough to be opposed to her trading seats with Dennis, I took a seat beside her and began to get my books out. As I did, our teacher, Mr Turner, approached our table with a stern expression.

"Miss Taylor," he addressed her. "Can I ask why you're not sitting in your assigned seat?"

I watched on with amusement, wondering how she'd get herself out of this one. But if she was sweating in the slightest, it didn't show.

Shooting Mr Turner her signature smile, she said, "I'm sorry, Mr Turner. I was just about to come and ask you permission. I thought moving beside Y/N here would help improve my grade and be less of a distraction than my old partner."

I quirked a brow, glancing between him and her, and watched as his expression softened slightly. Holy shit. The Jackie Taylor effect worked on teachers too?

"Very well," he conceded. "I suppose that's alright, if it's for the betterment of your learning. Just don't let me catch you chatting through my teaching, alright?"

She nodded innocently. "Of course. I'd never disrespect you like that."

My mouth opened slightly with disbelief, her pure arse kissing astounding me. Mr Turner nodded appreciatively before returning to the front of the classroom, and Jackie turned to me with a cheeky smile.

"I'm impressed," I admitted. "Everybody really loves you, huh?"

As she grabbed her book, she shrugged, though gave me a sideways glance as if she was pouting. "Almost everyone."

I rolled my eyes playfully. "C'mon, Jackie. You have the whole school– heck, probably the whole world at your fingertips. Why are you so adamant on making me like you?"

She raised her brows impatiently. "Because I'm likeable!"

The pink tinge on her cheeks, darkening her already-existent blusher, paired with her impatience only served to make me grin. If I'd known treating Jackie Taylor like this would get her so flustered, I would have done it more often. It was definitely entertaining, and she was going through more effort than she needed to, which only made me laugh more.

As amusing as it was though, I knew she'd give up soon. I simply refused to let myself slip under the Jackie Taylor spell that she had over everyone – doing whatever she wanted, treating her like she was god's gift, there at her beck and call... Unlike every other poor soul who genuinely believed they had a chance with her, no doubt because she had a power to make you feel that way, I wasn't naive. Jackie Taylor was out of my league, as a friend or anything more.

I wasn't blind. Her powers of seduction were rooted in her beauty and ability to turn heads wherever she went. It was normal to have a tiny crush on her, I was sure of it, but I'd never let it be more than that.

Of course, there were small micro-moments where I'd let myself indulge for once, to be a little selfish and delirious. Like now, as she sat beside me in class, nodding along to what Mr Turner was explaining. From the corner of my eye, it was easy to make out the perfect curve of her jaw, the glossiness of her lips, the flutter of her eyelashes. And it would have been even easier to give into it all, especially when she asked me to grab her a lab coat from the back of the classroom, a soft smile on her lips and a single bat of her eyelashes.

But all it took was one relinquishment of power and I'd be just another fool who let Jackie Taylor create delusion in their heads. And I refused.

"I don't know what the arrangement between you and your last partner was, but here, you do things yourself," I said with a suppressed smile, appreciating the way her face dropped.

She tensed her jaw slightly, before trailing along behind me to grab a lab coat. After suiting up, we returned to our desk and I got out the lab equipment whilst she read over the worksheet we'd been given.

"Okay, first step is to turn on the bunsen burner," she read aloud, glancing at me expectantly.

"Great." I pushed over the bunsen burner to her. "Go on."

Indifferently, she straightened up and began to connect the hose to the bunsen burner, shooting me a knowing look as she connected the whole thing to the gas tap.

"I know how to do things myself, y'know," she said disapprovingly.

I chuckled. "I know, it's just fun watching you actually do it."

She huffed dramatically before twisting the gas tap without warning, making me jump back quickly as the flame lit up. Her eyes widened as she twisted it off, before falling to me with both concern and amusement.

"Shit, are you okay?" she asked, hand covering her mouth, but a smile was threatening to break out.

I released a breath, touching my shirt which almost set on fire, and shot her a look. "I am, yeah. No thanks to you!"

She began to laugh quietly. "I'm sorry. See? If you'd just done it for us, that wouldn't have happened."

"Oh, if I'd just done it for us?" I asked sarcastically, mimicking her voice.

"Yeah, you should've just listened–" she started, eyes darting between mine with entertainment.

"I should've just listened," I agreed, still as sarky as ever.

"Yes," she agreed between laughter.

I sighed, giving into my smile as she watched me with dismay. This was going to be a long lesson.

—

As much as I hated to admit it, I was enjoying having Jackie as my lab partner, looking forward to the hour lesson where she was as careless as ever when it came to our experiments, but to the satisfaction and humour of me. Of course, she could never know that all of her efforts to sway me were working, so I played it cool.

I definitely didn't expect to see her beyond that, so I was especially surprised when I showed up to the local community centre after school with the intention of improving my college application and saw her waiting outside with a few other students. I did a double take, her face being the last I expected to see.

"Hey," she said when she recognised me, moving to stand beside me with her usual blinding smile.

"Are you stalking me, Taylor?" I asked jokingly.

"You wish," she retorted with a playful eye roll. "I'm here because it looks good for my college application."

"Ah, of course."

She lifted a brow. "You?"

"Same," I admitted sheepishly, making her laugh.

Once the other students turned up, there were thirteen of us in total and the manager of the community centre met us outside to brief us. We were to work on the community garden over the coming weeks, helping to clean it up and plant some fresh produce and flowers to brighten up the place. Only once it was complete would we get a certificate of recognition for our efforts.

We got stuck in straight away, everyone assigned to different areas. Jackie and I were working on planting the flower beds, so the first thing to do was bring over the soil to the designated area. I heaved the giant bag of soil over my shoulder and brought it over, dropping it to the ground with a sigh and wiping the sweat from my head.

Giggling made me look up, and I watched as Jackie got some freshman to grab her bag, twirling her hair and fluttering her eyelashes as he dropped the bag beside mine.

"You're too sweet, Johnny," she said with a classic tilt of her head, touching his arm. "Thanks again."

He shrugged casually, clearly affected by her attention. "Anytime. You need a hand with anything else, just let me know."

She nodded in agreement and watched as he walked away before her eyes found mine.

"What?" she said like it was obvious. "It would've gotten my nails dirty."

I glanced down at the soil staining my shirt, before giving her a knowing look. "Wait until you start to plant the seeds."

Kneeling down, I used the spade provided to dig out the old dead plants from the flower beds. She kneeled down beside me, careful not to dirty her skirt as she did, and watched my hands work.

"I'm curious," I said, glancing at her. "Were you planning to help at all?"

She straightened up with a sense of pride. "Of course." And then reluctantly, she used her hands to help me remove the old plants, but not without pulling a face.

I tried not to laugh as I watched, finding a sense of satisfaction as her fingernails did indeed get stained with soil. Working alongside her, I used the spade to dig out the next plant, but it skidded across the soil, the plant too firm, and I ended up flicking a handful of soil at Jackie.

"Oh, shit," I said with a stifled smile, watching as she looked down at her clothes. "Sorry."

She breathed out slowly and dusted the soil off, but it left dark tracks in its midst. "It's fine."

"Good thing you wore your old clothes, right?" I asked, biting my lip to contain my smile.

She hummed in agreement, jaw tensing slightly, and a grin fell upon my lips. Everything she wore looked too nice to be considered old. Poor Jackie was probably not expecting to lift a finger.

For whatever reason, whether it was to prove me wrong or to prove her own point, she actually helped me with our tasks, no longer using freshmen to get everything done. It was fun, working with her, and it only gave me more time to appreciate spending with her.

Once we'd done our assigned two hours, it was finally time to leave for the day, and Jackie and I walked out together. Parked a few cars down from mine was Shauna's, and I gave Jackie a look of disbelief.

"You made Shauna pick you up?"

"Duh," she said with a shrug.

I breathed out slowly, looking up and shaking my head. "Why do I still get surprised?"

"What? That people love me?" she asked with a teasing voice.

"Yes."

She rolled her eyes, lips pressing into a smile. "I'm sure you'll figure it out. Until then, see you tomorrow."

I waved goodbye to her as she kept walking, trying to understand the hold she had on everyone. Her and her silly smiles and silly hazel eyes and silly raspy voice.

Annoyingly enough, I was starting to see it.

—

I found myself in Chemistry class later that week, doodling on my notebook as I waited for class to properly start. Jackie arrived as usual, greeting me, and when I looked up, I took a moment to find my words.

"You look different," I said without thinking, trying to figure it out.

"I'm pretty sure I don't," she said with a chuckle, sitting beside me like always.

But no, there was something different about her today, something that had me admiring her a little more closely than usual. And as I was subtly studying the freckles on her face, the slope of her nose, the golden flecks in her eyes, it hit me.

"Your hair," I said with realisation, making her look up. "It's up. You never have it up."

She lifted a brow with amusement. "I guess, maybe not often, but..."

She'd worn her hair up before, obviously, but her signature look was to leave it out, freshly curled. So, seeing her with it up just happened to draw my attention more, and also show off her pretty face a bit more, which I guess is why I noticed.

Satisfied that I'd figured it out, I nodded. "Yeah, that's it. It looks pretty like that."

Her lips curved into a soft smile, eyes darting away from mine in an uncharacteristic manner. "Er, thanks."

I didn't think much more of it as I returned to my doodling, but then from that day onwards, I noticed she began to wear her hair up more often. And every single time, I found myself admiring her secretly, letting myself indulge just that little bit more.

—

Promising to pick up Van from soccer practice today, I headed to the field to wait in the bleachers for her, having killed time studying all I could before my brain would fry itself. I was a little early, so the Yellowjackets were still practicing.

I took that as my opportunity to get comfortable at the bottom of the bleachers, feet leaning on the ones in front of me as I pulled my headphones on and focused on my book. I was deep into it when something hit me and I jumped, startled.

Yanking my headphones off, I looked down to see a bottle cap, and then looked up to see a laughing Jackie stood by the bench on the field, bottle of water in hand.

"Thanks," I said sarcastically, before tossing the cap back at her, which she swiftly dodged.

"What are you doing here?" she asked with a grin.

Admittedly, she looked really cute right now, dressed in the school gym kit, a little sweaty and her face flushed pink from all the running she'd done. But I would never give her that satisfaction, so sarcasm was my next best defence.

"Oh, I just had to come and see Jackie Taylor in all of her team captain glory."

She raised her brows, pausing. "Really?"

"No. I'm here to pick Van up."

She scoffed gently, rolling her eyes.

"As much as your many admirers would love to watch you practice, I'm not one of them," I teased.

"Hilarious," she said with narrowed eyes, making me grin. Dismissing my mockery, she asked, "Are you coming to the pep rally tomorrow? First game of the season is this week."

I leaned back, thinking about it. "Eh, why not?"

Hand on her hip, she shot me a disapproving smile. "Don't sound too enthusiastic or anything."

I crossed my legs comfortably as I met her challenging stare. "I'm not big on the whole soccer thing. I'm just going to support Van. That's what a good friend would do."

She began to smile, a glint of amusement in her gaze. "A good friend, huh? Pat yourself on the back much?"

"Someone has to."

She looked away with disbelief, hiding a smile. "Wow, I see."

I quirked a brow, smile forming on my lips. "See how annoying that is? That's what it's like having a conversation with you."

She pursed her lips as she looked over me with feigned irritation. "Touché, Y/N."

I flashed her a satisfied smile as she finished the last of her water before flipping me off then jogging back to the others. I chuckled to myself as I watched her leave, admittedly checking her out as I did. Stupid Jackie and her stupid cute face.

—

We were well into October when it happened. I couldn't have seen it coming in the slightest.

Lottie, one of Van's teammates, was hosting the ultimate Halloween party at her mansion of her house, able to get away with it because her parents were away. Everybody was attending, and if Van herself didn't invite me, at least ten other people had because of how awesome it was supposed to be. Naturally, I said yes, loving a party more than anyone else but especially a costume party.

So, I showed up with Van and Taissa, the latter opting for a Catwoman costume that she very much pulled off, and Van and I dressing up as two of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles – her as Michelangelo and myself as Leonardo. They were iconic outfits, what could I say?

Of course, I may have felt a little stupid when we met up with the rest of Van's team, including Jackie who looked drool-worthy in her Supergirl costume.

"Wow, you two look...," she began when she saw Van and I, eyes flickering between our matching costumes. "It's very you."

Van swung her nunchucks in agreement. "I thought so too. Love the sexy Supergirl getup."

Jackie stifled a smile as she nodded in acknowledgement, before her eyes fell to me. "Which one are you? Raphael?"

I pointed to the blue bandana over my eyes. "Leonardo, obviously."

A grin broke out on her lips as she touched the bandana, pulling it over my eyes a bit better and also sending goosebumps all over my skin at her touch. "Obviously."

I swallowed thickly, trying not to let my eyes drift below her head, because her costume was very tight and she looked very good right now.

"Nat's pouring everyone drinks in the kitchen," she said, looking between the three of us. "You coming?"

"Hell yeah," Van spoke for us all, raising her nunchucks in the air, before glancing back at Taissa and I. "Leonardo and Catwoman, on my six!"

I cracked a smile as I readied my sword and followed after my idiot best friend. 

It was admittedly an eventful first few hours, with Van and I stressing Taissa out enough times that she was forced to take our pretend weapons off us for the rest of the party. Apparently assuming the personas of our costumes wasn't going down well with her, which, in hindsight, was fair when I remembered how drunk we got.

At one point, I found myself rambling to some random guy about the lore of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, aware that he was passed out on the couch beside me but still talking anyway, when Jackie strolled over to me, just as drunk as I was.

"There you are," she said with a grin. "Come dance with me."

"Jackie, I'm in the middle of a conversation," I said, motioning to my passed out friend.

"He's asleep, idiot," she pointed out, before outstretching her hand and wiggling it. "Come on."

I batted her hand away. "I don't dance."

She lost her smile as her patience ran quicker now that her inhibitions were lowered. "Y/N."

Finding it amusing, I motioned around us. "There's a billion people here. One of them would kill to dance with you. Why not ask them?"

"I'm asking you," she said through gritted teeth.

Not really aware of her anger, I pushed myself off the couch with a stretch. "I'm hungry."

She glared at me as I walked away, pushing through the party-goers and intending to find the kitchen, but Lottie's house was huge and I'd already forgotten the layout. I opened several wrong doors, and then on the last one – some sort of games room – I felt someone shove me from behind, forcing me in.

"Hey–!"

"Why does nothing work with you?!" Jackie interrupted my complaining, shutting the door behind her and fixing me with a frustrated stare.

I blinked, confused.

She scoffed, uncrossing her arms and rolling her eyes. "I've been trying to get your attention for months, you idiot! I even started–" she faltered, embarrassed, "wearing my hair up because of one stupid compliment you gave me."

My brain was working slower than usual, so her words were catching up to me little by little. "I noticed that."

Still not happy, she narrowed her eyes at me. "Why do I even try?"

Realising this was about the Jackie Taylor effect, as I'd rightly dubbed it now, I said, "Everybody loves you. Why is it so important if I don't?"

Her eyes flickered between mine, and I was certain she was going to slap me or berate me or shout at me. But then her expression softened and she admitted, "Because I want you to."

I didn't get chance to register her words before she stepped forward, pressing her lips to mine. Her fingers curled around the back of my neck and I found myself melting under her touch, falling right into her. Her lips tasted like alcohol, tobacco and strawberry lipgloss, and I was suddenly eager to taste her concoction even more, all my senses heightened as I pulled her close.

She moved her lips against mine eagerly, fingers sending shivers down my spine as they tickled my skin, and I pushed my tongue between her lips in retaliation, not even thinking about anything other than her. We broke apart for air, barely seconds passing before our lips reconnected, and I was infatuated with every part of the blonde that had been on my mind these past few months.

Time was a drunken haze – we could have been there for seconds or hours for all I knew – and we were unfortunately interrupted by the sound of the door suddenly opening. Our sloppy movements meant we pulled apart a second too late, and we turned to see Van standing there in her Michelangelo costume. God, did I look that stupid right now?

"You're both trashed," she said, words slurred, before she looked to me. "C'mon. Catwoman is taking us home." Then she looked to Jackie, adding, "Shauna's looking for you."

I glanced at Jackie, heart still racing and her taste still on my lips. The state I was in made everything feel like it was so distant, as if it was happening to someone else, so I still hadn't truly acknowledged what had just happened between us. Jackie was already looking at me, eyes half lidded and cheeks flushed. I almost wanted to kiss her again, but Van impatiently calling my name snapped me out of it.

"Coming," I told her, before tearing my eyes from Jackie and following after Van.

[willowser]

*this was—apparently—in my queue on my nsfw blog, and i must have scheduled it so far out so that it wasn't taking up room in my drafts, and the day that i scheduled it came to pass and it posted on a locked blog and i didn't even know about it until now hehe

i actually get a little sad, thinking of pro hero touya !! especially in the case of knowing him before it all, when he was still eighteen and scrawny, angst-fueled, acne on his cheeks 🥺

you're the first person he's ever had like this. you're not necessarily dating, because endeavor wouldn't allow such a possibility, such a distraction, but you walk with him after school and occasionally stay for dinner, sometimes come over to study on weekends. rei let you hang around until the early hours of the morning once, lazing on the couch with all her kids, watching movies while enji was on night patrol.

there isn't much time the two of you have to yourselves, outside of school and touya's siblings, so the relationship is platonic for the most part (save for the few brave late night texts that have been exchanged, the handful of goodbye kisses you've managed to sneak on his doorstep). the furthest it ever goes is on the couch upstairs, one weeknight when his dad is gone and everyone else is meant to be asleep.

it's hard, being that age and having to settle for hands held under the table, fleeting looks across the room when the tv goes dark. it freaks him out, too, wanting something—you, in more ways than one—when he knows his main focus should be graduation, his reputation, training. his future.

but you're so—comforting, and you couldn't care less about who his dad is or who touya is supposed to be one day; you're here, always, for who he is now. for his home-pierced lip and chipping nail polish and red, embarrassed cheeks. for just touya.

and so he really goes for it in the moment he can, manages to unbutton your shirt enough to slip his hand inside it. and he's never touched someone like this before, so even though you're shy about your simple, plain bra—he really isn't paying attention to that, just the tender weight of your breast in his hand. how soft and squishy it is.

by now, you've managed to figure out the kissing thing: it had been a bit awkward before—when to move his head, where to fit his nose—and it all had to be done quick, in case anyone was coming around the corner, and he really should still be worried about that, but his head is only full of you, you, you.

especially when you unzip his slacks enough to fit your hand, his whole body stiffening when your fingers brush the material of his boxers, touching him in a way he's only done to himself. it doesn't go too far—though touya is more than preparing himself to lose his virginity on this couch—but there's such severity to the want flowing through his veins, an intensity he'd never felt before then.

of course natsuo ruins it, by shouting at the top of his lungs that touya's got his pants down, even though he totally doesn't, and—

maybe that's all he gets from you, before his future finally comes for him.

gradation and becoming a side-kick, joining endeavor's agency, adjusting to the new hero life; it becomes a lot for him, and now that enji has the chance to be more heavily involved in touya's every step—he loses you along the way. gets swept up in the tide of fame and glory and all that his dad has ever wanted for him.

but i think—no matter how many people he sleeps with, how many people come in and out of his bed as the years pass, he'll never forget how he felt on that couch during that late night. how special you felt to him. how special he felt to you.

[raynetheinsane]

Batfam (and friends) as Henry Danger quotes

(Because im a nerd and love this show)

Damian: Tt, my parties arent that bad

Jon: Christmas. 3 years ago. 15 kids ended up in the hospital!

Damian: FATHER!!!

Tim: Damian! Were trying to study here *indicates to Duke and Steph, both clearly not studying*

Damian: I’m talking to my Father.

Robin!Jason: Dangit! All these jobs say i gotta have skills..

Dick: You have skills!

Jason: Name one.

Dick: You’re a great dancer!

Jason: No I’m not?

Dick: You could take lessons.

(More under the cut i just dont want this to be super duper long)

Bruce: How old are you?

Tim, trying to become robin: Im 13, I’ll be 14. On my next birthday

Dick: Ah so youre aging sequentially

Tim, extremely tired: Do you ever dream about sleeping?

Steph, extremely confused:…no??

Tim: good. If you did youd be dead.

Bruce: Lets ride.

Robin!Jason who is very new to this: Wha- Ride where?

Bruce: We’ve got people in the Jandy River that need saving.

Bruce: Come on.

Jason: You mean we’re going there? Together? Like right now?

Tim, extremely dirty and has a cut on his face walking into Drake Manor:

Jack, not paying attention: Hey Tim, did you get the job?

Tim: Yeah, just finished my first day.

Jack: So hows work?

Tim: Uh it was pretty… interesting.

Bernard: Hey, you never told us what you do at your new job

Tim: *just stares wide eyed silently*

Bruce: While we were patrolling, Poison Ivy stole packs of baby bottles, can you guess why?

Robin!Dick: Uhhh

Bruce: To flood the bottles with radioactive plant matter.

Dick: I would not have guessed that.

Jason: I see youre in your pajama pants.

Tim: Yeah its almost midnight, I was studying for this test i have tomorrow

Jason: What subject?

Tim: Puerto Rican history

Jason: Ah Puerto Rico… land of…

Tim: Puerto Ricans?

Jason: yeah..

Red Hood: Strike three.

Spoiler: That was only 2

Hood: Okay, don’t correct me in front of the criminals

Duke: Whats in the mug?

Tim, who just poured himself and entire pot of coffee despite hating it: Coffee.

Tim: To keep me alive.

Duke: no, no, no, no, you cannot drink this much coffee after work. This mug is comedically large!

Steph: I have the same dream all the time. It satrts with me getting a horse for my birthday. Then my dad shows up. Then the horse kicks my dad in the face!

Jason, helping Tim study: You want a good grade on your puerto rican math test?

Tim: history

Jason, who died before he finished highschool: Same thing

Non-Bat who needs the antidote for Joker gas or something: Will this hurt?

Black Bat: Yes, very much.

Bernard, talking about a criminal the Bats cant catch: Its not Batmans fault, he just needs a better sidekick

Tim: One more time.

Bernard, who knows: Just saying, I’d be way better at catching criminals than the current Robin

Dick: I’m gonna die..

Jason: Not in the house. If you’re gonna die, do it outside

Tim: I’m Robin.

Bernard: I know. I figured that out.

Damian: Todd, I wish to speak to you about something.

Jason: BABIES COME FROM THE BABY STORE

Oracle: Steph, come to Gotham Park right now!

Steph: noo, I’m not in the mood for trees

Oracle: did i ask you what youre in the mood for?

Vikki Vale: So, Spoiler, how did you catch Two Face?

Spoiler: I’d love to take all the credit, but it was really all thanks to my partner, Black Bat.

Vikki: Interesting. Black Bat, can you tell us more?

Black Bat: No.

It really bothers me the lack of Babs, Cass, and Duke worthy quotes there are 😔😔 also my personal favs show a lot and im sorry for that, but there will be more as i think of them, these are just eps 1-4, the rest will be posted like in a queue or something and as single quotes cus im eepy

[strongheartneteyam]

I wet you like water but she stained you like blood.

Chapter 2

Pairing: widowed!dilf!Jake Sully x younger!female!human reader

CW: angsty as hell, Neytiri is dead in this AU, unrequited love, older man & younger woman relationship (y/n is in her 20's), feeling like you're only there to fill in the gap someone else left (Neytiri, in this case), mentions of death and being a widow, complex feelings, talks of trauma, CAN BE TRIGGERING TO SOME, mentions of sex, mentions of sexual fluids, reader feeling guilty about being with Jake not long after Neytiri's death

Not proofread. And I can't even read what I just wrote, without even correcting it, because I have to feed my cat and take care of dinner right now. I'm just praying this stuff makes sense. I'll correct any mistakes as soon as I can. Sorry in advance lol This amateur writer here never has enough time on her hands...... 🥲

Chapter 1 𓆩♡𓆪

You're so much older and wiser

And I wait by the door like I'm just a kid

Use my best colors for your portrait

Lay the table with the fancy shit

And watch you tolerate it

If it's all in my head tell me now

Tell me I've got it wrong somehow

tolerate it (Taylor Swift)

𓆩♡𓆪

Jake was a widowed father of 4, he was an attractive, responsible, charming, older man. And he was also funny when he was just chilling, hanging around his friends or his family. Last but not least: he had a delicious "dad bod", a word people came up with to describe older men who are still toned but have some cute fat here and there.

You were a girl in your 20's, a young xenobotanist living in Pandora, who used to spend her nights alone, eating cup noodles, watching and rewatching old TV shows from when the planet Earth was still a place where humans could actually live in, and feeling lonely. So, when Jake Sully got his eye on you, you fell head over heels for him.

You knew well you could never replace Neytiri. Even after her death, she still had a place in Jake's heart that nobody, not even you, would ever be able to claim as yours.

Still, you could not let Jake go. Still, you insisted in staying. Still, you didn't seem to love yourself enough to say to yourself "I deserve better" and wait for a guy who actually loves you, not one that seemed to only love your company and well... your body most of all, as it seemed.

Okay, maybe you shouldn't think this bad of Jake. You knew he felt really connected to you, in a deep level. You two would talk late at night and he would always be vulnerable and tell you about real personal and deep stuff about his life - the one in the human body and the one in the na'vi body -, while the both of you would eat roasted meat and fungi, up in some tree in the middle of the Pandoran forests. But you knew he did not love you. Even if you could feel his heart beating fast through his chest when he kissed and touched you, away from everyone, never in front of anybody, because you two were adults and knew damn well that situation, him seeming like he was so happy and living his best life with another woman, a much younger human girl, who was at an age where she could actually be his daughter, wouldn't sit right with anybody, not human, not na'vi - given that he had children that were still mourning the death of their mother (one of them being a little girl, Tuktirey).

That sacred feeling, love, was saved inside of Jake's heart for Neytiri, his deceased mate, even after death. He bonded with her through tsaheylu. You, as only a human, no neuro queue to connect with his in sight, knew you could never compare to that primal bond he had experienced with her. But worst of all (you felt horrible saying "worst of all" but you knew you didn't mean it like that, like you didn't care about other people's feelings), Neytiri was the mother of his children. She might be with Eywa now but you knew Jake would always remember her looking all beautiful and incredibly feminine carrying his first born, Neteyam Sully, and his other two biological children in her belly (Kiri was adopted after her biological mom died, a dear friend of the couple, Grace Augustine. Kiri was a miracle kid. Her mother was bearing her inside of her body after her own death, inside the lab. That was crazy stuff your human mind would never understand, you thought. Only the na'vi could understand the magnitude of Eywa's power. You yourself knew she was strong and respected her but didn't love and worship her like they did.)

Thinking about the way Jake must still adore the memory of Neytiri and think about her and even cry missing her gave you a big lump in your throat and made you wanna throw up. You felt like the worst being in the Universe thinking like that, but you swore, truly, that feeling that way was not you being a petty selfish girl, jealous of the man you were currently in a situationship with and not even considering to have some respect for his grief and the grief of his children - who had just lost their mother -, but it was actually the love you felt for Jake manifesting in your body, in a psychosomatic way. The pain and desperation you felt thinking about the possibility of him never getting over Neytiri made you sick to your stomach, it made the bones inside of your flesh ache.

The first time you saw him talking to Norm one day at the lab, his tall, large frame in all its glory, his blue skin so beautiful, his dark blue stripes adorning his whole body in intricate patterns, his long brown hair falling on his toned back, his tail looking so cute, reminding you of a kitty cat.... "I'm fucked" You thought to yourself. "Am I really catching feelings for this older na'vi man who will probably never want me in this way?! Damn, he's still mourning his dead mate.... Neytiri died not even a whole year ago... I must be evil to be thinking about him this way at this moment. Stop that, you crazy stupid heartless girl."

You looked at him again and he was smiling, his fangs touching his lower lip. He had such a cheerful, precious smile, even though you knew he had been through a whole lot of pain and trauma in his life. "He must be really strong and resilient. That's beautiful." You thought to yourself

Jake Sully had the right amount of muscles but still had soft flesh in all the right places, his tummy just perfect enough for you to be able to squeeze it if you wanted to, his thighs thick but the muscles were balanced with sweet softness. He made you feel a raw kind of heat in your lower belly and think about him just before sleep, like you were a damn schoolgirl. Sometimes (okay, many times...) he made your panties slick with your own juices when you imagined him taking you in his arms and kissing you hard, dominating you like you were his. Which you wished you were. Until one day that wish was fulfilled. You were in cloud nine when that happened.

Jake had been in the marines back when he was human and lost the movement of his legs, being left needing a wheelchair to move himself around and do day to day activities. He lost his twin brother back on Earth, too, after he - Tommy - had been mugged. And now, he had just lost his wife to death too and was left alone to take care of his 4 children. Poor thing must have PTSD, if the na'vi brains were able to have the same disorders as humans brains had. You didn't know, to be honest. You were a xenobotanist. Your area of expertise was the biology of extraterrestrial plants, not the biology of extraterrestrial bodies.

The fact that he still was capable of irradiating happiness through his eyes, smile, voice and overall presence made you weak with admiration. And love, you must say. Because thats what you were: weak and in love, all for and with Jake Sully.

Too bad his feeling were not even close to being the same as yours. He loved you as a friend and he lusted over your body. He wanted to protect you from any harm anyone could ever do to you. The bitter part of it all is: he could never protect you from the harm he himself did to you. The harm being giving you pieces of what could be his love, but it wasn't. That was the worst crime he could ever commit against you. At least that's what the pungent pain deep inside the arteries of your heart told you. Every night. Every time you remembered he didn't love you, but he loved Neytiri. Everytime you got reminded of the fact that you were alive and she was dead but you still were not his favorite.

Goddammit. How did you end up competing with a dead na'vi woman over a na'vi man's love? You sure were losing your mind.

But falling in love with Jake Sully proved to you that you were not the nerdy science girl who used to always put reason first and feelings last, that you always thought you were. Not when it came to love, at least. Or not when it came to this relationship.

𓆩♡𓆪

If any of you wanna be in the taglist for this fanfic, just leave a comment 🤍 ily n hope you're having a nice day/night 💓⚘

[thesleepy1]

Should've Bought Him Flowers

A/N: So I watched the new Teen Wolf movie and let’s just say I have thoughts. By the way, Derek doesn’t die in this because what the fuck was that ending. 

Pairings: Stiles Stilinski x Derek Hale 

Summary: Stiles comes back from his business trip. 

Word count: 173

Warnings: 

Part 2

“I was gone for a week, Derek!” 

“Don’t be mad.” 

“Don’t be mad? Don’t be mad!? Why did none of you call me? You two could have died!” 

“Okay, so I know you’re mad. You have a right to be, papa,” Eli jumped in, trying to save his dad from the worst of it. 

“Oh I have more than a right to be mad. I am livid.”

Eli turned to his dad and gave him a look. “I told you you should’ve bought him flowers.” 

“Eli. Flowers would not have fixed this. Your father should have known better.” Stiles’ tone was final. The fact that he referred to Derek as father instead of dad was enough of a tell. Eli couldn’t help his dad anymore. The only option was to run. 

“Uh–good luck, dad!” Eli called out from the front door. “That’s my queue to go.” 

Stiles sighed at his son. At Derek too to be honest.

“He is just like you,” Derek remarked. 

“Yeah, which makes me so grateful for my dad.”

[lisbeth-kk]

May Prompts

Today's prompt is: intimidation

The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter 9)

Summary: Rosie and Sherlock hunt the London streets for sweets a dark Halloween night. A meeting with one of Sherlock's enemies turns out to be the highlight of the expedition.

Nine Years Old

When I came upstairs, wearing my Halloween costume, Papa was attacking Dad’s neck with his silver fangs. (I know, it sounds way more dramatic than it was.) Dad giggled, which did not amuse Papa who was clearly trying to portray an intimidating vampire.

“Sorry, my love. It tickles,” Dad said mirthfully, aware that said vampire was displeased with his flawed reaction.

Papa removed the fangs and looked offended at them. It was time for me to intervene before those silvery teeth were used in an acid experiment.

“How do I look?” I asked, lifting my arms dramatically in the air for good measure.

My dress was bright red, just like my devil horns and my trident. Nana had provided me with black lipstick and the charcoal makeup around my eyes completed the spooky look.

Papa forgot all about the traitorous fangs and gave me a proud onceover.

“Hudders certainly hasn’t forgotten her skills as a makeup artist!” he exclaimed. “You look terrifying.”

Dad was instantly intrigued by this new information about Nana, then shook his head and chuckled.

“You two will scare every part of London you visit tonight,” he proclaimed.

“Obviously,” Papa said smugly. “Come my devilish girl; let the hunt for sweets begin!”

***

It was unfortunate that we ran into Philip Anderson on our round collecting all kinds of sweets from friendly Londoners. Then again, it had all been a tiny bit monotonous. Papa behaved, not a single deduction left his mouth, and my bucket was filled three quarters full. It was more sweets than I could consume in a fortnight, so we decided to return home, and that’s when we bumped into one of Papa’s least favourite people.

I had only met him a couple of times when I visited Molly at Barts and at the NSY’s Christmas party. (The children friendly version.) 

Anderson was escorting his two children, who stood in a rather long queue outside a house decorated with pumpkins, skeletons, spider webs and orange fairy lights. Michael Jackson’s Thriller boomed from hidden speakers.

I had made up my mind about the man long ago, and everything I had deduced proved to be right. He was an idiot. And rash. The latter became quite clear when he spoke, instantly regretting it once the question was uttered, if his pained expression was anything to go by.

“What…are you doing here, Freak? All dressed up…uhm…like…”

“Ah, Anderson. Such lucid speech. A rarity that,” Papa purred, but the steal in his voice was unmistakable. 

“What did you just call him?” I asked through clenched teeth.

He had the decency to blush. I’ll give him that. His next move was not…how shall I put it…a wise one. He crouched down in front of me, trying, but failing spectacularly, at backpedalling.

“Listen…little girl. It was nothing. Just…well…I guess you’ve heard about pet names?” he stuttered with that whining voice of his, clearly taking me for as big an idiot as himself.

“Now, you listen to me,” I said sternly, my arms akimbo. “That is NOT a pet name, but a swear word. The next time you feel tempted to use it, I want you to reconsider it for just a second.”

My voice was barely a whisper, but I was fastidious with my pronunciation so that even hecould understand the meaning of my warning. Anderson’s eyes went wide with surprise, and I knew my next move would do the innocent harm I intended.

I lifted my right foot, twirled to the left, hitting Anderson’s left calf. I completed the movement and with a quick flick of my ankle I managed to flip his feet in the air, so he lost his balance and landed on his bum. 

The look of confusion when he found himself half-lying on the pavement, is forever engraved in my mind, not to mention securely saved on Papa’s mobile.

Also available on AO3

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @raina-at @a-victorian-girl

Further tags in the replies for obvious and annoying reasons...

[happyk44]

i started writing this in my drafts weeks ago but didn't continue much farther than the first sentence - probably put it down to do something else and then passed out lmao. anyway after scrolling past last night wanted to continue it but can't be effed to scroll through my drafts rn (i save everything to my drafts to tag and queue later and my drafts ar like over 250+ rn)

anyway percy who becomes obsessed with finding this grim reaper he saw the night his mom killed his step-dad. he was an abusive asshole and percy helped his mom stage the scene to look like someone gabe owed money to came knocking. they don't have much in terms of expensive shit - just the TV and playstation. it's an old old model that one of percy's classmates was going to throw out as he wasn't into the games he had with it anymore and was getting the latest version for christmas.

it was nice that he gave it to percy with only a fraction of the cost in hand and a promise to give him the rest over time. percy paid him off every monday. it took sally weeks to pay it off, percy chipping in by donating cans and glass bottles he found lying around. the games were old and a little childish, but it was the only entertainment percy had aside from sally's old and crappy laptop that gabe hogged with online poker games.

so it sucked to watch sally dump it into an empty trash bag. it's small, she'd said. the tv would be too big to carry out without causing suspicion, even in mind-your-business new york city, but the playstation, her shitty laptop, and gabe's cell and wallet were things that could be dumped into a bag with no one giving a second look. percy crawls out the fire-escape grateful their shitty apartment building doesn't have cameras. he has to use a couple boxes to really rise himself enough to stuff the bag under the other bags. sally walks out the front door and they go have a late dinner at a nearby cafe.

then go home an hour later and scream in surprise at gabe's dead body in the bedroom, still warm from the heater in the corner boiling up the room that sally promptly unplugs.

percy doesn't think much about WHY his mom was so specific about how to clean his blood off the kitchen floor, about how to stage the scene, about moving gabe's body into the bedroom, about pulling him like he had been then letting him fall flat. heating up the room to keep him warm and fresh, while keeping the window cracked open so the heat doesn't stay by the time the police arrive.

he writes it away as her being a reader, a writer. maybe murder mysteries had been on her mind lately. maybe she watched too many cop shows. maybe she'd thought about this so many times she perfected it. his mom was not a repeat killer. gabe was her first time. her only time. and it was fine.

he sucked.

it's sitting in the chair, feigning distress but not too much, talking to a cop about the scene while he stares off into the air when he sees him. the boy is young, dark-haired and pale-skinned. he's startled by the presence, cutting off in his explanation about how people often came banging on the door for money gabe owed them. how he kept his poker winnings in the now open and empty safe in the bedroom. he wants to draw attention to the boy, but no one else seems to notice him.

he watches idly as gabe is carried out the front door in a body bag. then disappears towards the bedroom.

percy stands and mutters something about wanting to see his mom. the cop guides him to where she's sat on the bed crying thick tears. the boy is there. no one else cares that he's there. the boy reaches out and gabe's body shimmers into view. he's a visage of how he'd looked right before he died - the wide-eyed shock, tensing of his shoulders, mouth open wide because he'd been shouting at percy, threatening him.

he didn't realize how much like his mom he was until gabe fell flat with a knife sticking out of his throat. his mom standing behind him breathing hard. she'd squatted beside his head, pulled out the knife. stared at it. then stabbed stabbed stabbed until gabe's chokes turned to wispy gasps and his wispy gasps disappeared.

"four stab marks," his mom had said. "hopefully that won't look like overkill. but make sure to mention how many times people came screaming at the door just in case."

gabe's white glowing form dissipates into a ball in the boy's hands. he pulls out a baggie from his shoulder bag, then dumps gabe into it with a grimace.

he does suck, percy thinks. be annoyed.

the boy steps away. his eyes catch percy's. percy's arm tightens around his mom's shoulders as he looks into the endless void that is the other boy's eyes. flashes of his own death catch his mind. lying flat on the ground, weakly asking for help, and a dark-skinned man with black angel wings standing above him whispering, i'm sorry, but it's time to go.

then the boy looks away and disappears into a shadow.

grover believes him when he tells him about it. that's the thing percy loves about grover. the mystical and paranormal are easily believed. grover's parents are hippie-like green witches. percy doesn't really get it but has surmised from grover and visiting their house it means they really, really like plants.

"grim reaper," grover calls him. "or a psychopomp. collectors of the dead."

he lists a bunch of names from various cultures until percy cuts him off. "are any young boys?"

grover shrugs. "i mean life is bigger than what the stories tell. there's more people, more humanity. atheists even. where do they go? who collects them? there's definitely more gods and spirits than we think these days. it's not like they all stopped fucking just because the stories ended. there are definitely more gods than we think."

percy doesn't know what to do with that. grover asks him a lot of questions about the boy. but it's hard to answer them. they can't find a culture he could belong to, a way to summon someone without a name. the kid was young, dressed normal in black clothes with a normal black messenger bag. there were no signs of culture, religion, belonging.

he could've blended into a primary school playground easily.

"maybe you need to kill someone," annabeth suggests. the conversation arises a year or so after they first met and befriended her - a new addition halfway through the school year, a few months after gabe's unfortunate death. following a CPS check, her biological mother decided to take charge of her. annabeth spent a lot of time grumbling about her family in california while also missing california ("it's familiar, new york is not, i don't miss my step-mom, i miss the comfort of routine") and bitching about her bio mom's obsession with her grades and extracurriculars.

it takes some campaigning but the three of them manage to create an afterschool club in the new school year for her to find some time to chill and relax and get school work done. it took a lot longer to convince her mom to let her join their "magics and mystics club" - some nonsense about how it'll make her stand-out in college applications.

percy highly doubts any college is looking too closely at middle school extracurriculars, but what does he know? he's either lasting until graduation with grover and annabeth, or getting his GED and dropping out to immediately book it to the first basic entry-level job he can find. school already sucks ass, but his barely medicated ADHD and severely dyslexic ass already twaddles the line of a C average. What's the use of hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt that's only growing frantically from interest and a degree he barely achieved with the lowest grades required to shake the hand of someone he's never interacted with?

annabeth spends most of her time in the club doing her homework, while percy gets reeducated on grover's witchy stuff. their club advisor is the drama teacher who only checked in at the beginning of that first meeting then dipped for the drama club. grover's putting together a presentation on the history of mysticism while percy glues pictures to poster board. annabeth will present their stuff. the three of them doubt anyone will care if they did anything productive with their club, but annabeth's mom will so they do their best to make it fancy as fuck.

she already doesn't like either of them.

in the spare times that annabeth isn't doing homework or studying for another class, they talk about the spiritual and paranormal, magic and whatnot. so percy mentions his experience with the reaper.

and annabeth's first suggestion is murder. it's hilarious. grover knows the truth but annabeth only knows the lie. percy makes a note of it in his head. maybe he'll hint around the truth. they're close, but there's still time needed between the two of them. the worst she's told him is about the spiders in her bedroom. but nothing about what kickstarted a CPS investigation and her subsequent arrival into his life.

"maybe he's a murder reaper," she says. she's intellectual, doesn't believe in the mystic magic stuff but tolerates it for grover. "so he only comes around when there's been a murder."

"i don't think reapers are split up by types of death," grover argues. "and even if they were, why would a little kid be sent to deal with murders?"

annabeth crosses her arms. "maybe he's not a kid. maybe he just chooses to look like that."

they get into a weird half-argument, half-civil discussion. to her credit, annabeth doesn't bring science into it. they both descend to the computers and the books grover brought in from his house to search through to prove whatever point they've landed on.

percy is too busy cutting out paper to glue to poster board. and thinking about the murder aspect. he doubts that murder matters. he's pretty sure grover's right, but he likes keeping his balls so he doesn't say. annabeth is probably right too. magical beings are always capable of changing form. maybe little kid is just easy. who would be afraid of going somewhere with a little kid. or a dog.

but death is needed to see the reaper again. percy doesn't live with anyone dying. and he's too young to volunteer at the hospital. besides death is random isn't it? everyone was convinced that their classmate who got diagnosed with stage four cancer was going to die but she returned a year and a half later missing a leg but recovering. and the gym teacher who ran marathons and was known for his obsessively healthy eating habits died of a heart attack over the summer.

and even if he hovered around people on the verge of death, it didn't mean he was going to be there when they died.

but murder? definitely. he'd be right there because it would be his fault.

at that, he dashes the thought away. murder is wrong. he can't kill people just to see a reaper he saw but never spoke to. it's not like he has any questions about his death. he'll die when he dies. dying isn't scary to him. what's scary is dying before his mom and leaving her childless and mourning. but death itself? he's unafraid.

but inside burns a deep need to see the reaper again. not even to talk to him. just to lay his eyes on that night sky hair and porcelain skin. then he'd be satisfied and the need would go away.

maybe.

probably.

hopefully.

it's on his sixteenth birthday that he sees another reaper. it's not the boy he's looking for. he's disappointed. he shouldn't be. he should be more concerned with the dead man lying in front of him.

the letter opener is sticking out just below luke's left armpit. it hadn't killed him. it was too delicate for that, and the spot wasn't vital enough. but it had shocked him enough for annabeth to shove him away in disgust. he fell back, tripping over annabeth's shoes, and smashed into the glass coffee table.

"shit," annabeth breathes. she doesn't notice the reaper - a slender arabic man appear from the darkness and pull luke's soul of his chest with thin hands. he pushes his hands together and the soul vanishes. then he turns into a dog, or... something like a dog, and disappears back into the shadows.

it's take a few minutes to figure out how to stage the scene. they get rid of the letter opener and shove a piece of broken glass into the spot. this time he doesn't escape through the window. just walks out of the room, calm and detached, and sits in his mom's car. when the police arrive, annabeth, crying thick tears, tells them that he had fallen over while she was getting her things ready after percy came to pick her up.

it's not technically a lie. the police wish him a happy birthday when he says he came by to pick annabeth up from her study session because they were going to do laser tag for his birthday that afternoon. when they don't arrest him in the weeks that follow, he relaxes. and considers his options. he googles arab dogs which is an odd search term but brings up jackals and anubis. cool, he thinks. he tells them both about it afterwards. despite the death, grover is excited. annabeth is less impressed.

"i would've noticed, i was there too," she huffs.

"maybe they don't like you because you're a nonbeliever," grover fires back.

is percy a believer? he's not sure. he knows that what he sees is real. if he was suffering from delusions or hallucinations, surely he'd be seeing them a lot more than twice over the course of four years.

"what if i asked them?" he suggests. "to make themselves visible to you?"

"planning on being around another newly dead guy soon?" annabeth asks with a laugh. grover snorts. but percy remains silent and serious so their amusement shifts to concern

grover leans in close. "percy-"

"just bad people," he cuts in with a solemn whisper.

"you can't be judge, jury and executioner," annabeth hisses. "what you think is bad is not always universal? think about jim crow laws or slavery-"

"annabeth," he cuts in before she can go on an historical tangent. "i was hoping you'd help actually."

it doesn't take long for her to click together what he wants out of her. she glares at him. "percy," she snarls through clenched teeth. "i'm not swishing my ass to entice seedy men for you to murder so you can maybe have a hallucination to process death."

"okay, okay." conceding, he raises his hands. "it was dumb, i'm sorry. i just... really wanna see this kid again. sorry."

annabeth watches him carefully the rest of the day. grover doesn't. he knows what percy is, even if he doesn't agree. so it's not too surprising to start seeing grover scrolling through the newspaper on his phone. he startles every time percy spooks him when he's reading. then laughs it off, swats at percy, and keeps reading. it's the obituaries that percy sees the most, but sometimes articles about a death.

whatever he's looking for, some kind of proof it's percy, he must not find because he doesn't say anything. but it's grover, percy's soulmate. so he's sure the slow side-eye that he gets some mornings are a knowing side-eye.

percy doesn't look at the newspapers. if he's gonna get caught, he'd rather be surprised about it other than worrying and getting sloppy.

it's hard to find truly shitty people from first glance. he doesn't have the patience to observe. just slight insomnia that keeps him up until one in the morning prowling the streets. he hovers around in his old neighborhood, where the cameras are for show and shitty people live. it's still difficult. he doesn't want to go around hurting innocent people. less so because he cares, but more because it would disappoint grover and annabeth and his mom. he can't disappoint them.

he does see reapers, including the one who will one day take him, but never the boy. percy tries to envision him older, but even then none of them match. he does try to speak to them, but they ignore him. he wonders if it's some kind of weird curse. he can see them but they can't. sometimes the ignorance seems intentional, but he can't really tell so other than a few short sentences that always go ignored, he gives up and heads home.

some days he wakes up and is certain the police will come for him. but they never do and so he gives it a few days or a couple weeks and head back out again. they're opportunity kills. random and haphazard. he keeps mittens on, which looks normal in the fall and winter, but sketchy over the summer. to counteract his want to see that reaper, he signs up to be a counselor for a summer camp. grover joins him. annabeth is dragged off to university summer classes by her mom. her emails are miserable. percy wonders aloud to grover if annabeth would be happier if her mom was dead. grover eyes him flatly and says he doubts it.

percy gets assigned to the little kids who tell him all kinds of family secrets. some are funny. some are not.

it's not that hard to get into the camp's directory and write down in poor handwriting and with tons of struggle the names and addresses of these secrets. it's not a lot, which is great. but it's more than it should be and come summer's end, he has his start for the fall.

it's clear grover knows what percy's planning. he was there after all when a little secret got whispered too loudly. but all he says is, "sometimes kids get things wrong." the newspaper on his phone comes back into play after summer ends. but he still says nothing, even when glances at percy from the corner of his eyes.

it's two years of scattered kills before he sees him again. the kid is older now. he looks about fourteen, maybe fifteen. but percy knows it's him. he's the only one who makes eye contact. this time percy doesn't see his death. but he sees the endless void.

purgatory, he thinks, before he blurts out, "i've been looking for you." the teen tilts his head and smiles, small, gentle. the sight of it slams hard into percy's ribcage and sinks messy into his heart. "what's your name?"

"what's yours?" the teen fires back, turning away from percy and collecting the pulsing orb into a little baggie like before. his voice is enchanting, smooth and crystalline. there's an edge of an italian accent in it.

"percy," he says without hesitation. "jackon. percy jackson." he shakes his head. "perseus, actually, but everyone calls me percy."

the teen laughs gently. the sound is haunting. somewhere in percy's subconscious he knows the sound should scare him. but instead he just craves it more. "well, perseus jackson, my name is nico."

nico, percy thinks. in his head, the name is surrounded by hearts like a schoolgirl writing out the name of their crush in a movie. "that's really pretty," he says aloud. mentally he slaps himself. that's really pretty? that's stupid.

but nico just laughs again. "thank you." he steps over the dead body and touches percy's face. "perseus was a quite the soul when he was collected." his fingertip ghosts down percy's cheek, leaving light phantom tingles behind. "will you be?"

then he dissipates into shadows, leaving percy with a heavy craving for his ghostly touch and hauntingly enchanted voice.

[x0x0josephinex0x0]

reader, i [kissed] him | Choi San

summary: you have a dumb rude rich dad who hired a bodyguard because he's paranoid...enter choi san who is literally the man dreams are made of but he works for you so that's weird. you're a lit student and you've been giving him book recs. warnings: absent/sucky dad, mention of papercuts, a few minor jane eyre spoilers?, storm, fire

You look up at the sound of a book shutting. San pulls his glasses off and rubs his eyes. “Finished,” he says.

You shut your textbook. “What did you think of the series?”

He leans back in a stretch. “You were right,” he admits. “Percy Jackson is pretty meaningful for a kids’ story.” He replaces his glasses, smiling at you. “So what’s next for the book club?”

You chuckle. “Are you enjoying my reading assignments?”

“Honestly, yeah. I can’t believe I’m getting paid to read books with you,” he says. “There are literally no downsides.”

“You’re getting paid to protect me,” you correct, a teasing smile playing about your lips. “Keep an eye on these books. They’re notorious for giving me paper cuts.”

“I will personally destroy any book who dares to mess with your fingers,” he vows dramatically, and you laugh. “But seriously, are you done studying for the day or do I get another reading assignment?” 

“I still have a bit of work to do,” you say, pulling out your copious notes. “So you get another hour or so to read. Don’t you want to choose one?”

He shakes his head. “Nah,” he says. “I’d rather live inside your head for awhile. Why? Did you run out of books?”

You make a mock-offended face. “Absolutely not,” you say. “I just wanted to give you the option to read what you want to read, instead of what I want you to read.”

“What you want me to read is what I want to read,” he tells you, standing up. “Now, lay it on me.”

“Jane Eyre,” you say. “It’ll be in the B section.”

You watch as his broad shoulders retreat into the library shelves, admiring the muscles clearly visible underneath his tight black shirt. Shaking your head, you turn back to your studies, reminding yourself that ogling your bodyguard is a fruitless and unnecessary activity that will not help you pass your college classes.

He takes a seat shortly afterward, holding up the copy of Jane Eyre. “Why this one?” he asks — his constant question before he reads any of your suggestions. 

“Well,” you say carefully, “it’s actually…my favorite.”

His eyes get wide. “This book is your favorite?” he asks, pointing to the gray cover. 

You nod. “My absolute favorite, of all time, ever.”

“I thought you were gonna save your favorite for graduation,” he says. “Why are you moving it forward in the queue?”

“Because I feel our friendship will remain intact even if you don’t like it,” you say. “I wasn’t sure for awhile there.”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Are you saying you’ll still love me even if I don’t like your favorite book?” he asks with a glint of humor in his eyes.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” you say. “Although it’d be hard for me. This book is a must-read if you hope to understand anything about me.”

He leans back, opening the book to the first page. “Then I don’t see how I couldn’t like it,” he says. “I don’t know why you were worried. Brief summary?”

“Terrible childhood, brooding gentleman, house with a dark secret, romance.” His eyes stay on you as you list the themes. Then suddenly your phone buzzes. You look at it and make a face.

“Your dad?” San guesses.

You nod, answering the call. “Hello?” you say in trepidation.

“Where are you?” he barks. 

“At the library at school,” you say, trying to keep a calm tone. “I’m studying.”

“Good,” he says gruffly. “Is San with you?” 

You sigh quietly. “Yes,” you say. 

“Perfect. I’ll be gone the next few days for a trip. Don’t call.”

“Okay, I won’t,” you promise, hanging up.

“What happened?” San asks immediately. “Was he unkind?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “No more than usual,” you reply. “He’s going out of town and wanted to make sure I knew not to call.”

San’s jaw clenches briefly, before turning his attention back to the book in his hand. “So why is this book your favorite?”

You consider him for a moment. You know a major motivation for him to ask you this question is to distract you from thoughts of your father, but he nonetheless looks earnest, so you answer honestly. “The book is written from the point of view of a young woman whose frank honesty is pretty inspiring. She doesn’t extol her virtues or edit out her failings. And it’s a story of how she comes into her own and finds herself. I don’t know, it’s just compelling.”

He gives you a large, dimpled smile -- that smile that stops the world, that makes you want to give him everything he ever wanted. “She sounds like you,” he says.

You blush. “Well, I haven’t found myself yet,” you say. “I’m still looking.”

“You might not be perfect yet,” he admonishes, “but you know yourself well. Now get back to studying or else we’ll be here all night.”

You can’t help but smile softly to yourself as you turn back to your books.

***

Later that night, you’re alone in your room with a candle burning, the window open to the cool night air. Your father’s large house is quiet, and you thumb through your personal copy of Jane Eyre, remembering how when you and San had left the library, he insisted on checking it out. “It’s your favorite,” he’d said, confused, when you asked him why. 

You smile in spite of yourself once again, thinking about how all the things you want feel just out of your reach. You have family — but they aren’t close. You have money — but no ability to use it due to your father’s curmudgeonly nature. And here is the perfect man — silly, intelligent, handsome, and the kindest person you’ve ever known, and yet he works for you. That is a line you know it would be unfair to him to try to cross, especially with a father like you have. 

Lost in thought, you slip on your favorite blue nightgown. Perhaps tonight, with the chill air on your skin, you’ll wander the halls of the house with your candle just like the secret Mrs. Rochester herself. You even consider going down the hall to where San sleeps to see if he’s made it to that part yet, but stop yourself when you realize just how inappropriate that would look. Instead, you sink into your bed and stare at the ceiling, urging sleep to come and whisk you away into a dream world that is hopefully happier than the one in which you live. 

You have scarcely closed your eyes when the rumble of thunder wakes you. The open window is swinging dangerously on its hinges as a storm rages outside. You shriek as rain begins pelting the carpet, and hop up to shut the window. With the sound of the storm now muffled, you try to flick on the bedside lamp, but either the bulb is burnt out or you’ve lost power. You go to the main light and flip the switch — nothing. You sigh. It’s about to be very cold.

Just then there’s a knock at the door, making you jump. You crack it open to see San, in his pajamas, holding a candle. “Everything okay in there?” he asks you. “I heard a scream.”

“Yeah, I just forgot to close the window before I fell asleep, and then the storm started,” you say sheepishly. “Sorry to wake you.”

He shrugs. “It’s okay,” he says. His eyes travel down your body, taking in the sight of you in your nightgown. Goosebumps erupt on your arms, and he notices right away. “Are you cold?”

You shiver. “Uh, yeah,” you say. 

He smiles. “Your dad’s sitting room has a fireplace. Let’s go.”

“Won’t he be mad?” you say, even as you step out of your bedroom with a blanket. 

“He’ll never even know,” San assures you. Minutes later, you are sitting on a couch with a blazing fire in front of you, blankets tucked around you as San leans his back against the couch, looking proudly at the fire he made. 

You adjust the strap of your nightgown, looking at him shyly. “Thanks,” you say.

He smiles in reply. “So, Jane’s quite the heroine,” he says, shouting you a glance.

You smile. “How far did you get?”

“I’m at the part where the fortune teller talks to the party guests.”

Your eyes get wide. “What? That’s pretty far.”

“It’s pretty good,” he says earnestly. “I’ve always wanted a little girl like Adele.”

“Pretty?” you ask him.

He grins. “Spoiled,” he says. “Although I’d be sweeter to her than Mr. Rochester is.”

“I’ll bet you would. What do you think about Mr. Rochester so far?”

He shrugs. “Probably similarly to how most people in his life feel. He’s a mysterious man. I don’t think I trust him.”

“Can I give you a tiny spoiler,” you beg, and he laughs. 

“I think I am contractually forbidden to say no to you,” he says, “and also, yes, as long as it isn’t major.”

You lean forward, nearly whispering to him. “The next bit is some of the spookiest stuff in the book.”

You move your legs to give him room on the couch as he stands up to sit next to you. “Am I gonna get scared?” he asks. 

“You’re a bodyguard. Aren’t you supposed to be brave?” you tease.

He scoffs. “Being brave isn’t about not being scared. It’s about facing the fear.”

You nod, impressed. “Ah, how well-said. You know, for a bodyguard, you’re quite eloquent.”

“And for a pretentious academic, you’re quite down-to-earth,” he teases. “However, I will say that you don’t strike me as someone who’s scared of much.”

You think for a moment. “I suppose I’m not,” you say slowly, “although it isn’t quite that simple. I do have anxiety.”

“What’s the difference?” he asks, sounding genuinely curious. 

“I’m not scared of spiders or the dark or storms or even dying, necessarily. But any one of those things could make me overthink myself into full-on panic. I got bitten by a spider and it made me so anxious that I was convinced I would die every night.”

He nods, thinking, his eyes twinkling in the firelight. “What does it feel like for you?” he asks softly.

“Like a weight on my chest,” you respond immediately. “Sometimes it’s so bad I can hardly breathe.”

You have to turn away as he looks at you. His expression is so compassionate you are afraid that his empathy will pick up on the very real feelings you have for him. He asks a new question. “And joy — what does that feel like?”

You look at him, eyebrows raised. He raises both his hands in an innocent gesture. “You have such colorful descriptions,” he says. “I just want to get a little deeper into your headspace. It’ll probably help me do my job better.”

You shoot him a skeptical glance before giving in. “Joy feels like…the first step out the door when the air starts to turn cold and crisp for fall. It’s like something new but also so familiar.” You think about the feeling you get every time he smiles. “It’s…expansive. And warm.” You turn to him. “What about you?”

His eyes widen in surprise to have been asked. “Oh. Um…” he thinks for a second, and a slow smile spreads across his face. “Joy feels like music to me, like the best part of your favorite song.”

“Beautiful,” you say, smiling back at him. “And fear? What does that feel like?”

“Being trapped. No freedom,” he says. He hesitates before he asks the next question. “And…love?”

You blush. “Love isn’t an emotion,” you protest, looking away from him. “Love is a verb. It’s an action.”

“You’re right,” he allows, “but it comes with a very specific feeling. How does that feel? For you?”

You look up at him, finally, unable to look away. “That’s one I’m not sure about.” You force yourself to ask what you don’t want to know — because he’s a little older than you, and has lived a whole life apart from you, a life that must have involved the whole spectrum of human emotion and loss and love, but to hear of him falling in love is too much — “Maybe if you describe it, I’ll recognize it.”

He opens his mouth, then pauses, searching your face before smiling bemusedly. “It’s…it’s this heat, everywhere,” he says. “Almost like you’re being lit up like a candle from the inside, almost like if someone were to really look at you, they’d be able to see light coming from every part of you, even…even underneath your fingernails.”

Your heart nearly stops as you realize he’s describing almost perfectly how it feels for you to be around him. You swallow nervously before replying. “It sounds…intense.”

He chuckles. “It is.” And then he does something so unexpected that you gasp. He leans in and catches your cheek in his hand. “When I’m around you,” he says, and his voice is shaking, “it sometimes feels like I might explode — it’s like you are firelight, filling up all the parts of me that used to be empty, and then some. I’m surprised you can’t see my veins from the outside, because I swear to God, I can feel you lighting them up. You’re everywhere.”

He gently brings your face forward so your lips are practically touching. “Everywhere,” he whispers once more, before closing the gap and kissing you. 

He pulls you into his lap as he does, cradling you in his arms, and you have to hold on to his shirt for dear life as you kiss him back. When he finally pulls back slightly, pressing his forehead to yours, he asks you quietly, “this, what does this feel like for you?”

You consider, touching his face with your fingertips as his eyes bore into your own. He looks positively desperate to know. After awhile you answer. “All the voices that are usually shouting at me in my head are suddenly very quiet.”

“And that’s…good?” he asks intently.

“It’s…more than good,” you admit with a blush.

“Do you want me to keep going?” he says, and his voice is breathless, his chest heaving.

“More than anything.”

He smiles, kissing you again. 

[im-not-batman]

For the ask WIP game

Spideypool falling please 😊

Oh I LOVE this one!

It's a 5+1 of spideypool falling for eachother and then Falling For Eachother. Featuring Dadpool because I'm a big fan of his work (Ellie).

"It really creeps me out when you do that, Webs." Wade said, sinking deeper into Peter's beat-up couch and kicking his fluffy-sock-clad feet up onto the other half of it that Peter was perched above. "I like sitting up here, sends all the blood to my brain so that I can beat you quicker," Peter reasoned and as if on queue the tinny TV speaker announced yet another victory. "You're such an asshole, Baby Boy," Wade smirked up at him, sounding more proud than annoyed. He threw a couple of M&Ms up for Peter to catch in his mouth, "do the other heros know how much of an asshole their comrade is?" Around his mouthful of chocolate and peanuts, he grinned, "I save all my worst bits for you, Wade." It was true too. He always felt like he needed to pose and posture around his fellow superheroes. Even though he'd come into his own as Spider-man over the last ten years, he still yearned for their approval and strived for their respect. Around Wade though, there was no need to pretend he was any better than he actually was. He didnt feel the need to constantly be on his best behaviour. Peter let his sass and sarcasm, disdain and irritation, good moods, bad moods and everything inbetween run rampant around Deadpool. And he never felt like he was being judged or evaluated. Just admired. Ecouraged even. "I'm touched," he said, throwing up another handful of M&Ms. This time Peter didn't react quick enough, lost in thought, and missed them.

Instead Wade caught the chocolates in his own mouth. Which shouldn't have been a thing but Peter's brain was making it a thing. He couldn't figure out if it was the ease with which he caught them – Peter's attraction to competency rearing it's ugly head – or the fact that the M&Ms were intended for his mouth and were now in Deadpool's. Either way, Peter's brain was doing some sort of horny gymnastics to rationalise it as tonsil tennis by-proxy. He watched Wade's throat bob as he swallowed. Peter's concentration was decidedly broken. He slipped. Usually that wouldn't be an issue; usually he'd have fallen from a much greater height and thus had more time to catch himself. But he was hanging from the ceiling this time. Granted, it was a relatively high ceiling, but not high enough. He let out an indecipherable jumble of a scream/shout/warning and Wade managed to dive out of the crash zone in time to not be knocked out by a 170 pound moron. When Peter didn't feel the heavy, throbbing pain of head trauma, he managed to gather his wits enough to realise that his head hadn't made contact with anything.

After another moment, he realised that Wade had seemingly managed to get his hand between Peter's skull and the floor. He still found himself uncomfortably contorted - half on the couch, half off, in a sort of human pretzel situation - but Wade had reacted in enough time to keep his head from cracking against the ground. And he was still holding him that way.

Peter's brain stopped working again. "Sorry," Wade said, trying to right the hero so that he was no longer lying at a downward 45 degree angle with legs akimbo, "Dad reflexes."

Peter wanted to scream. "You're apologising for saving me from a concussion?" Peter attempted to tease but it fell flat when he saw Wade's face, "Are you okay?" He let out a choked laugh, "Am I okay?" He asked incredulously, "you just fell eight feet." "And yet you're the one looking a bit loopy," Peter half laughed but wasn't able to keep the worry from seeping into his tone. "You scared the shit outta me, thought you were gonna go splat!" Deadpool justified. "From that height? Child's play. If I'd splatted, I'd have deserved it." It was a joke but Wade didn't seem to find it funny. "You should look after yourself better, Petey," he looked like he realised he was being too serious then, and his demeanor visibly shifted, "you don't regenerate, so you gotta look after that sinfully gorgeous meat suit of yours."

Ty ty for the ask! I really wanna get back into writing these two, I love them so much 🥲

Send me an ask with which of my WIPs from This Post you wanna hear about!