#let these two sillies be frenemies

[sallymew4]

this started as me wanting to put big clean up Ritsu and pre-mob Teru in a room together but then i got silly

i like conceptualizing fighting game concepts for my favorite medias….. its really fun……….

heres the image without text

[sixeyesonathiel]

love thy neighbor — teaser

pairing – boy next door! gojo x fem reader

summary : you grew up with the boy next door, the one with crooked smiles and too much charm for someone who tracked mud into every room. satoru made it a habit to annoy you, throwing water over the fence and calling you by the nickname you hated most. somehow, between the bickering and backyard showdowns, he became the one person you could never quite shake.

then college happened, and distance made things quieter—but not for long. one summer, you're both back, arguing over garden hoses like nothing ever changed. he still calls you that nickname, but now he says it softer, like it's a secret he hopes you’ll finally notice.

tags –> one shot, expected 20k+ wc, neighbors au, childhood frenemies to lovers, suburban warfare (moms edition), mutual pining, domestic in the pettiest way possible, slow burn, she hated him (she did not), he loved her (he still does), summer vacation tension, other additional tags to be added

red string of fate collection m.list.

the neighborhood was perfect.

white fences, manicured lawns, and an unspoken rule that everything must remain picturesque. but beneath the surface of perfection, an ancient war raged: your mother versus satoru’s. it was a battle fought with gardening shears and passive-aggressive remarks, masked by polite smiles at neighborhood events.

your mother, ever the strategist, sipped her tea with a dramatic sigh whenever satoru’s mother so much as stepped onto her porch. “oh, did you see the way she over-fertilizes?” she mused, her voice dripping with feigned concern. “poor plants, suffocating under all that desperate effort.”

meanwhile, satoru’s mother, arranging her hydrangeas in full view of your living room window, would hum thoughtfully before muttering, ���i’d be embarrassed if my hydrangeas were that dull. not that i’d let it happen.”

the tension was palpable, woven into every stolen glance and whispered insult disguised as gardening advice. neither woman ever admitted the rivalry outright, but the perfectly pruned rose bushes and the carefully curated window boxes spoke volumes.

their husbands, however, lived in blissful ignorance. every weekend, they could be found on the golf course or clinking beer bottles over the backyard fence, chuckling about how “our wives are gonna kill each other one day, huh?”

the rivalry simply amused them.

but you and satoru? you were casualties. you were dragged into their war from the moment you could walk, coached into side-eyed glares and dismissive huffs whenever the gojos were mentioned.

when your father first introduced you to satoru at a neighborhood barbecue, he did so with the same pride as a general uniting two warring factions. “this is satoru, gojo’s boy!” he beamed, clapping his friend on the back.

but instead of an instant friendship, all satoru got was a glare and the words your mother had fed you over breakfast that morning.

“we don’t talk to people who use fake grass as a lawn substitute.”

you said it with the confidence of someone who truly understood what that meant, though in reality, you weren’t entirely sure why fake grass was so offensive. satoru blinked at you, mouth slightly open, his white lashes fluttering as if he hadn’t processed what just happened.

“...huh?” he finally said, voice trailing off in confusion.

your dads laughed, the kind of laugh that men share when they think their kids are just being silly. it wasn’t silly. it was war. and from that moment on, satoru gojo was your enemy, whether he wanted to be or not.

the first time you’re sent outside to water the garden, you don’t think much of it—until you see satoru stepping out of his house at the same time, dragging a garden hose behind him. he’s still in his pajamas, some silly blue set with little clouds on it, his white hair sticking up in messy tufts, like he just rolled out of bed. he’s wearing slippers—bunny slippers, to be precise—but what really catches your attention are the socks. white with tiny little blue stars, pulled up just past his ankles, the kind of socks that scream these are my favorite and if anything happens to them, i will never recover.

you freeze, fingers tightening around the nozzle as he glances at you, then at his own hose, then back at you. for a second, neither of you speak. but you both know. your moms, pretending to be absorbed in their baking and magazine-reading inside, have timed this on purpose. “pure coincidence,” your mother had said, the corners of her lips twitching in barely concealed triumph, and you—foolish, naive—had believed her.

satoru, being satoru, tries to be friendly at first, tilting his head as he watches you water the tulips along the fence. “your tulips are kinda nice,” he says, casual, like he’s just making conversation, like he isn’t the enemy.

you whip your head toward him so fast your hair smacks you in the face, eyes narrowing, scoffing as if he’s just insulted your entire bloodline. “don’t lie. your mom says they’re ugly.”

his jaw drops, scandalized, and you swear you can hear the dramatic gasp of betrayal in the air. “well, your mom says our garden looks like a plastic factory exploded.” he crosses his arms, standing his ground, his voice rising slightly like he can’t believe you just threw that at him.

you stare at him.

he stares at you.

the hose in your hand drips onto the grass, but you’re too busy processing his words to care. your mother had what? you had been raised on the belief that your family had the superior garden, the most elegant flowers, the healthiest grass. and now, satoru gojo, the enemy, was claiming that your mom had been talking about his garden?

your lips part in slow betrayal, nose wrinkling in distaste, and you take a slow step back. he mirrors you, blue eyes narrowed in suspicion, his fingers twitching against the hose. neither of you say another word. but you both know what’s coming next.

the next day, war begins. it starts simple—satoru ‘accidentally’ sprays you with his hose while you’re carefully pruning the roses, his grin widening when water soaks into your shirt. you shriek, stumbling back, clutching your watering can tighter like a weapon.

fine. if that’s how he wants to play, then so be it. you take a step, then another, before gasping dramatically and tripping—the entire can of water spilling directly onto his feet.

he lets out a scream, the most theatrical, over-the-top wail you’ve ever heard, jumping back like he’s been set on fire. “MY SOCKS!” he yells, staring down at them in pure horror, his slippers useless against the water seeping in. his hands fly up to his head, gripping his white tufts in agony, eyes squeezed shut like he’s in a tragedy film. “they’re wet! my favorite socks are WET!”

“oh, please,” you huff, rolling your eyes even as your own shirt clings uncomfortably to your skin. “it’s just water.”

“IT’S IN MY SOCKS.” he’s pacing now, hands on his hips, face twisted in pure devastation. “DO YOU KNOW HOW GROSS WET SOCKS ARE?!”

the next thing you know, you’re both storming inside, loudly declaring your grievances to your fathers.

“she did it on purpose!”

“he started it first!”

you both jab fingers in each other’s direction, demanding justice, your voices overlapping in a chorus of whiny accusations. satoru’s slippers squelch with every step he takes, which only makes him angrier, which only makes you smugger. but your dads, ever the peacemakers, just chuckle over their beers and wave you off. “just work it out, kids!”

useless. completely, utterly useless.

you and satoru glare at each other from across the room, still damp, still fuming, both of you knowing, deep in your little childish hearts—whether you like it or not, this is only the beginning.

tag list : @akeisryna @esotericsorrow @prettilyrisse @cherrymoon55 @linaaeatsfamilies @lilychan176 @n1vi @myahfig4 @here4dafics @stfusatoru @mintcheery @44ina @twinkling-moonlilie-reblogs @getoicious @flowerpot113 @satoruxsc @whytfisgojosohot @emoedgylord @your-mum3000 @chich1ookie @uhhellnogetoffpleasenowty @drunkenlionwrites @katsukiseyebrows @heartsforseo @beabamboo @bnbaochauuu @cupidsfrost @ethereal-moonlit @arabellasolstice

comment to join the tl xx

[d3cay1ngst4tic]

— your wounds make me bleed.

synopsis. you, being the oh so powerful sorcerer you are, did not even realise the extent of your injuries until you found out that you couldn't stand without the support of something— after defeating the curse, of course. shoko's busy, so, satoru, being the gentleman he is (and also the strange source of comfort you have) decides to take matters in his own hands— while being a pain in the ass, obviously.

however, you joking about your death does not help— and satoru's carefree façade manages to slip, bringing back some memories he had tried to forget.

genres/themes. satoru gojo x reader, hurt/comfort, satoru and reader are highschool friends (frenemies ?), satoru and reader bicker a lot, satoru being a menace, reader is also a menace (lmaoo), mentions of blood (reader is injured), mentions of satoru's past, reader comforts satoru.

★ jiah’s notes. i miss him so much that it physically hurts me. send help LMAOO—

word count. 1.8k

“tsk. and here i thought that you could take care of yourself, at least,” the white-haired man tuts, and you feel yourself roll your eyes to the back of your head for god-knows-what time again— and that of course earns a smirk from him. “how disappointing. and ah, don’t roll your eyes so much. you might just have a view of your non-existent brain and pass out on me. jeez, i wouldn’t want you to dirty my couch.”

“how fascinating to hear that you care about something, satoru,” your voice feigns bewilderment— a simply amazed look in your eyes as you heave a blissful sigh. “at least you’re not as heartless as i thought. hang on there, expensive leather couch.”

“so you’re admitting you’d pass out, and the fact that you don’t have a brain,” satoru huffs out a laugh, finding amusement in the way you let out a small ‘tsk’ of annoyance.

something about satoru comforts you.

no, it isn’t the comfort that people idealise— no physical contact, no silly gifts or acts of service— it was his mere presence that soothed you, while irritating you at the same time. every word that flowed between you two was either a sugary sweet taunt or a blunt insult— yet, you two found solace in each other in a way that was beyond the comprehension of everyone around you.

including you two.

“if not having a brain will make me cope with your ass, then so be it,” a small smirk tugs at the corner of your lips as you watch satoru wrap the bandage in a firm, yet gentle grip around your arm, relishing in the way his eye twitches and his usual shit-eating grin widens in annoyance.

“at least i didn’t get my ass handed back to me by a grade one curse,” the man lets out a scoff. “seriously, how do you even get this beaten-up?”

“hey, ’t wasn’t my fault i only noticed my blood after defeating it,” you say, shifting your position on that damn couch of his, as you felt a sudden urge to fidget with something, “at least it got exorcised.”

“sure,” satoru says, and you swear you could feel him rolling his eyes even through the confines of his blindfold, “very impressive. at least it got exorcised.”

hearing him say those— your— particular words in that mocking, sing-song voice makes an irritated scowl break out into your face, and oh how it makes satoru smile so smugly— making you want to curse the hell out of this menace of a sorcerer.

“you’re applying too much pressure, dumbass,” you mutter, trying not to wince as his fingers tightened the bandages which covered the skin of your hands.

satoru raises a brow, tightening them even more. “deal with it,” he deadpans. “ ’s your fault, ya know? if i keep it loose you’ll start to bleed. again. over my couch.”

the damned couch again.

honestly? you knew that he couldn’t give lesser shits about the furniture, and that he was just saying that to piss you off. and what was even more infuriating was that it was working.

really, years of experience with satoru gojo had changed nothing— and everything in your feelings towards him.

“get it over with the couch, will ya?” it’s your turn to let out an annoyed scoff, which undoubtedly makes the sorcerer let out a snicker of his own.

“sometimes i wonder how you even ended up becoming a sorcerer,” satoru wraps a band-aid around your scratched fingers, “thought you’d leave the job and become a farmer or somethin’, y’know.”

“unlike you, i had spent too much of an effort in the projects yaga gave us in highschool, so there’s no way i’d let it go in vain,” you shake your head, “it would be too embarrassing.”

besides, you’d rather die than see satoru’s laughing face if you ever decided to change your profession just because you weren’t able to handle a curse or two.

“you never change, do you?” satoru huffs out a laugh, and oh god if he didn’t wipe that agonizing smirk off his face within the next second, you’d gladly do the honours— if only you weren't in so much pain, though, “always so damn reckless. it’s a miracle you have me to tend to your wounds, or else just where you be?”

“dead, most probably,” you say with sarcasm dripping down your words, expecting a scoff of amusement in response— but it never came.

you tear your gaze away from the dried gash on your arm to meet satoru's piercing, piercing stare— it was really a wonder how that guy manages to make you feel his eyes bearing into the depths of your soul even though you couldn't quite actually see them because of the shield his blindfold created.

satoru feels a whirl of emotions in him— eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly, and you just know that he is not, in fact, amused.

not even in the slightest.

his heart is racing— and if he had his blindfold off, you’d see how his usually bright, azure eyes had a darkened glint in them— something which just screamed out the fact that he was unsettled, uncontrolled— afraid.

as the tense seconds pass, he gives you a little glare, his expression hardening.

“. . that’s not funny,” he utters, before averting his gaze down to your arm. his efficient hands wrap the gauze around your limb almost in a mechanical movement— the little frown never leaving his face, lips pressed into a thin line.

oh.

your gaze softens, watching the sorcerer quietly tend to your wounds, noticing how his gaze lingers on a particularly deep gash on your leg— how his fingers tremble ever so slightly when his touch stays on the burn for a little too long— you notice it, of course you do.

he's thinking about suguru again.

there wasn't quite a time when he didn't— at least he didn’t show it to anyone. but you, you see him for who he is— the lonely man who’s just wanted some love, and not just the title of being ‘the strongest’— the man who still yearns for his best friend to come back, even though he's . . . gone.

you always see through him.

you should've considered your words before joking about something like that, really.

no matter how much of an annoying bastard satoru may be to you, but still, he was satoru to you. not 'the strongest', not the guy who always had that stupid smile plastered on his face at all times, not the guy whom the world saw as undefeatable— no, he was something much, much more.

you watch his tense demeanour threaten to consume him alive— how his hands shake no matter how much he tries to make them steady, how his shoulders go rigid when they were usually slumped carelessly, how his bottom lip quivers— it was just a tiny movement, yet you manage to see.

how could you not see earlier that you words would've affected him? god, you felt so stupid.

“ . . hey,” hearing the soft tone in your voice makes something inside satoru snap— raising his head to forcefully avert his gaze from your injuries to your face— heart beating so loud that he’s unsure whether you wouldn’t have noticed.

but then again, you were you, and satoru was, well . . . satoru.

his eyes widen— seeing you open your arms with that soft, apologetic smile— and before the sorcerer knows, he’s burying his nose into the crook of your neck, arms wrapped tight around your injured frame; his lower body on the floor as he nuzzles into your arms on the couch.

most people would’ve hesitated, casted him a wary look of disbelief— the satoru gojo, reduced to a trembling mess just because someone joked about their death? the satoru gojo, who still blames himself for his best friend’s death? the satoru gojo, who’s known as ‘the strongest’— being vulnerable?

indeed, it is the satoru gojo, clinging onto you like a lifeline, large hands of his gripping you so tightly that he's afraid that you might disappear the moment his hold loosens.

your satoru.

arms wrapped around his neck as you shush him, bandaged fingers running through his snowy white strands whilst his shoulders shake— oh how you regretted saying that.

“ . . i hate it when you say stuff like that,” he mutters, and if you didn’t have a knack for noticing subtle things about it, you wouldn’t have seen a barely audible crack in his voice.

“ ’m sorry,” you say in a quiet, soothing tone, pulling away a bit to stare at his face, and god did your heart wrench— satoru's bottom lip was red from him biting on them so much.

gingerly, one of your hands unlatches itself from around his neck, going to gently slip under the hem of his blindfold — as you slowly pull it down, revealing those mystical eyes of his— so terrified that you feel the fear radiating off him.

he seems so, so vulnerable like this— a desperation and fright seizing his entire soul as he stares at you. you cup his cheeks, thumbs caressing his soft, warm skin.

“don’t . . . don’t joke about stuff like that,” he says in breathless, shaky whisper— eyebrows furrowing even more as his breath stutters, and from this moment on you swear to yourself to never say something like that again. not if it hurts satoru.

ever.

“i won’t,” you whisper, pressing your forehead against his, “ ’m sorry, satoru.”

you pull his head down so he’s laying it on your chest, arms wrapped around his neck as you massage his scalp soothingly.

satoru’s shoulders relax, his heart easing a bit from hearing your gentle tone, panicked eyes fluttering close as he lets out a small, shaky sigh, burying his face into your chest— so desperate for comfort, for some kind of reassurance that you are okay, that you won’t leave, that you’ll . . .

stay.

you run your hands through his fluffy locks, gently easing the tension that had accumulated within him with simple movements of your fingertips— earning a soft, relaxed sigh from him.

“keep doing that,” you hear him mutter, and you let out a hum in response, continuing to massage his scalp. “don’t . . . don’t stop. please.”

this is how two you seeked comfort from each other.

something that was beyond words— something that was beyond everyone.

including you two.

as you two lay on the couch— two souls craving reassurances from the other— time ticks by, but oh do you care? not even a bit.

“don’t leave me,” satoru whispers, and you find yourself letting out a murmur of approval, caressing his hair. “i was so scared, i can’t lose you too, i—”

“i’ll stay, satoru.”

and so, you do. as long as you’re here with satoru, he has nothing to fear.

as long as you stay.

☆ @stxrysnow on tumblr. do not copy or post any of my works without my permission.

[acotarxreader]

Flower

Azriel x Reader (Rhysands sister)

Synopsis: You and Azriel are sent deep into the mountains in search of a flower that may save Feyre's life during childbirth but quickly the frenemy status is put to the test as past trials come to a head leaving you to decide between your new sister and the potential love of your life.

Warnings: Fluff,, teasing angst, frenemies, physical fighting, mentions of wing damage/loss, blood, sweetness, silliness, Az calling the reader Kid.

A/N: You voted for it so here it is, my next Azriel fic. I enjoyed writing this, did it kinda quickly so forgive any mistakes and let me know what you think!

P.s I named Rhysand and Readers sister Aruna which means Moon in some languages.

----------------------------------------------------------------

“We’re lost Azriel”

“We’re not, you have no trust in me, this is basic Illyrian training” Azriel pushed an elongated branch from his path, releasing it thoughtlessly to smack you into the chest, a small yelp leaving you. 

“Fucking hell!” You swiped the pollen markings it left from your chest, knotting your face into a scowl towards the back of the Spymaster's head. 

“Next time duck” he called back, grin-laced words.

“Next time pick someone else to accompany you on your wild goose chases” Your boot sank into the uphill climb, the mud sinking its teeth into the well-worn leather as you fought with your lungs to keep breathing. 

“You were chosen for official Night Court duties by an official member of the Night Court government, have a little pride”

“An official Night Court prick more like” You muttered in reply to Azriel’s faux-inflated self-importance. Two days ago you had left Velaris, in pursuit of a special medicinal flower, Madja’s hope to save Feyre from the birth of her child. You had been hiking upwards for what felt like all 48 hours of your journey, your calves practically speaking to you now. 

“Do they not cover outdoor pursuit in your healer apprenticeship?” Another branch slapped into from the direction of the Spymaster.

“Do they not cover manners in Windhaven?” 

“You’ve known me for centuries, you know they don’t teach manners” He grinned, your sure footing overtaking his position as he held back a thicket of branches for you. You rolled your eyes as you passed him, missing his clear deception. Your foot snagged on a millennia old root system of an ancient tree, sending you finally downwards on your travel to bump along a forgotten path for a few seconds before another primeval tree stopped your course. Azriel shot with his usual agile step down after you. 

“I didn’t think you’d fly that far” He laughed down at you, your clothing covered in moss and mulch from your trip. 

“This is it, this is where you kill me. This was all a plot, all those centuries as the best pain in the ass culminating in this fake trip, Feyre isn’t even pregnant is she?!” You threw your arm across your forehead in fake dramatics, feining pain as he Azriel rolled his eyes before offering you a hand to pull you up. 

“I think if I was going to kill you, I’d have left Cassian to drown you that time we went swimming when we were 40”

“Ah, the last time I went swimming with you fools” You took his hand as he hauled you up, your muscles settling back into their place after their 360. You both continued your hike with some element of hurry but also with comfort.

“You used to love swimming with us and I mean c’mon I stopped him, no points for that?”

“You only stopped him because the death of Mor’s favourite cousin would have meant your certain death”

“I’m telling Rhysand you said that”

“Fine by me, he knows” You smirked before skipping along, hands behind your back in rested peace, your head gazing up through the canopy, the stars beginning to sparkle down over the moon-bathed forest. Azriel marvelled towards you, somewhat enamoured at the strong sense of peace radiating from his best friend's sister. You stretched above the sunken path towards a low-hanging branch, bright blush berries glowing in the scarce light. Your linen shifted slightly from your skin as you reached, revealing the troves of scars and chasms from the savagery of Spring's deepest betrayal of Azriel’s chosen family. You turned to him, a childlike grin as your cheeks filled with the lush fruit, a small laugh leaving Azriel as he gently shook his head. 

“Come here Kid, you’re all berry” He smiled, running the back of his sleeve down your cheek, banishing stray seeds until you pushed his arm away. 

“I’m like 10 years younger than you Gramps” 

“And I’ll always take care of you because of it” Soft tones of sincerity radiated from the Spymaster, his usual sarcasm towards you banished for a moment of truth. 

“Until you get old and frail and I send you to a retirement camp, you have about five good years left my friend” He shoved you back with a laugh, moment over. 

Another hour of so of what felt like aimless walking culminated in the both of you scaling prehistoric trees to settle in the canopy for rest, safe from the creatures roaming below in search of their next meal. 

Leaks of light snuck through the budding Spring flush of growth, crossing Azriel’s eyes until he stirred from his sleep. He sat up from his hammock, to look over to the adjacent tree to find your sling empty. 

“YN?” He yawned out, stretching as the branches creaked with the movement, your lack of reply had him calling out again. Azriel’s boots nearly split the soil on landing as he tried his best to keep his imagination from running away with his logic. He always woke up first and always had to haul you from your sleep, you were famously not a morning person. He called louder into the forest, listening back for any reply or clue as to where you’d run off to. He found his step quicken to match his heartbeat as he transversed great ground quickly. Light flashed around him as he found the edge of one of Illyria's many mountainous lakes, to see your silhouette floating in the centre of it. 

“YN!” He roared out, no response from you as his imagination very much took control. Without full consciousness, he tossed his over jacket to the ground, his heavy boots taking a spot next to it as he waded quickly into the silty lake, still calling for you. His feet could no longer touch the muddy bottom as he reached you in the centre of the still lake.

“YN!!!” A marred hand met your abdomen as the other found your lower back beneath the water, forcing your body up where you jolted out of your trance, thrashing water as you kicked your legs awake. 

“What the fuck you frightened me!” You pushed back from his hold, wrapping your arms around your waist, your snowy tank top clinging to your wet skin.

“You frightened me! What are you doing out here?” He pushed his wet hair from his face, allowing the colour to return to his face. 

“I was getting the moss and leaves out of my hair after yesterday’s little escapades, no need to lose your head” You shot back, before beginning to swim back to shore.

“I was calling for you! I thought something terrible happened to you!” Azriel allowed uncharacteristic anger to leech through his words as you both met the shore again. You turned your back to him as you wring out your hair, the drips of water creating mud in the dust. The soaked fabric clung to the fissures in your back where your wings once sat proudly, Azriel swallowed deeply at the sight, trying to keep the crime from inflating his anger further. You turned at his silence, noticing the path his eyes would have followed. 

“Something terrible already did happen Azriel” You bit, snatching your overshirt from the ground to shroud your scars, your shaking hands attempting to lock the buttons into place as the dots connected in Azriel’s head. 

“Is-is that why you don’t swim anymore? You don’t want people to see-to see what they did?” You looked up slowly through your eyelashes, hands on the final button before uprighting yourself completely. 

“The world should know what they did to me, what no amount of healer study I do can fix, what Tamlin’s fath- what that Court did to me, to my mother to my sister-” You bit out, the anger heating your skin seemingly drying the beads of water on your flesh “-and they will one day when Rhysand decides, when I am once again of use to my Court”

“YN, you’re of use now” he attempted to silence your inner voice escaping into the world, only to have you raise a palm. 

“To answer your question, no, that’s not why I don’t swim with you anymore, I don’t because Aruna loved it and the water feels wrong without our little sister-” Cold burning rage that Azriel was accustomed to seeing in Rhysand but never from you filled the space between you. 

“Now, let's go find that flower and go home, I’m not losing another sister” Azriel only nodded before leading the way back to the make-shift camp in contemplative silence. 

The next few hours carried that thematic silence through the woods, only the occasional check-in broke it up. You didn’t even comment when Azriel released multiple branches in your direction or when you definitely passed the same boulder twice. The soles of your shoes were leaving imprints on your feet but you stayed silent, refusing to give Azriel the satisfaction of being right when he told you to change your shoes. 

Azriel swung around to you on his heels as you released a blood-curdling scream from your exhausted lungs, a nearby bird fleeing the tree top at the raised alarm. His face lost any flush of colour as his eyes locked on the arrow piercing through your right thigh. He moved quickly to guide you to the floor as you screamed, blood spurting free from your flesh. In one swift movement, Azriel shielded you from another targeted arrow, it splicing one of the veins of his wings as he winced. 

“Azriel!” You cried, your shaking hand going towards the bloodied arrow. 

“Stay down!” He ordered, pulling some shrubbery over you as you crowed, his century-long training kicking into action as he launched in the direction of the ammunition. Tracking and trailing as fast as he could until he found the perpetrators, two members of the Hybern army armed to their teeth in weaponry. Azriel launched into swift movements, like a well-learned dance with vicious precision. 

Meanwhile, you snapped the long end of the arrow, leaving the cruel head with its teeth buried in your flesh. You pulled yourself up, desperate to follow the sounds of your best friend and his battle cry. Your hobbled step worked perfectly with your exhausted feet, sending you crashing for a second time this trip, down a bank to a stream. The welcomed thud of a great tree stopped you before you could enter the rushing water. You lifted your face from the squelch of the river clay, hazy eyes landing on a brilliantly blue flower, growing like a solitary soldier between ancient rocks. You groaned as you pushed up from the mud, your detour causing the head of the arrow to be pushed in further. You managed to snatch the lifeline from its home, tucking it into your pack before beginning your laboured ascent up the steep bank. The definition of an uphill battle as you fought against the overgrowth, using deep root systems like rescue ropes until you reached the mouth of the bank again. Your faltering step carried you in the direction of the Spymaster, who was deep in his own entanglement. You watched as Azriel slashed the leg of one soldier before pressing the other into a knotty tree trunk, his blood soon covering Azriel as Truth Teller dealt its fatal blow. 

“Azriel!” You shrieked in warning as the other soldier regained some strength, just as Azriel turned to your voice, a green-soaked blade slid into the Shadowsinger’s wing releasing pressurised blood systems.  The advantage didn’t last very long before Truth Teller claimed another victim, the soldier slumping to the ground with a final breath. Azriel stumbled backwards, his adrenaline fleeting until the support of a large oak met his back, allowing him to slide to the cool ground. 

“Az!” You yelped, limping to collapse next to his side, pallor growing across his face. You ran a hand over the wound, bright scarlet mixing with the sickly poison of a blade. 

“I told, I told you to stay” He spoke with gritted teeth, attempting to sit more upright against the tree. 

“You know I try my best to never listen to you” You smiled weakly, tears beginning to threaten the rim of your eyes as Azriel’s head dipped to fall on his chest. You moved quickly to prop his head up, his eyelids like lead as the poison worked through his system.

“We have to get you help, we have to get back”

“I-I can’t winn-ow both of-of us” Huffs of air left Azriel.

“Winnow yourself, I’ll figure it out” He lifted a heavy eyelid open, looking down to find your wound weeping fresh blood, swirling into his own. 

“The-re there could be mor-more of them out here YN, you-you have to be the one to-to go” 

“No!” You began digging through your pack, pouring the canteen of drinking water you had over his wound, trying to flush as much of the sick serum out as you could. The cobalt shimmer of the flower caught your eye again as you dug through for more water, looking from its bright colour to the dullness in your best friend. You began mashing it up into the lid of the canteen, its healing powers flowing into the water as you shook the two lifelines together. 

“YN you-you found it”

“I did Az and you’re going to drink it” He pushed away slightly from you. 

“Its-its for Feyre, get it to Feyre”

“I’ll figure that out, you need it Az” You held the lid of the canteen to his lips, Azriel turning his head from it despite his screaming nerves calling out for its relief. 

“Kid, it’s too-too valuable, give it to Feyre”

“You’re too valuable Az! I’m not losing you too, for once in your Godsdamn life don’t fight me! Let me look after you for once!” You grabbed the nape of his neck, tilting his head back to help the liquid into his mouth despite his futile protests. The sacred serum swirled through his system, like a torch in a blackout, defending off the tar-like liquid that tried to clog his system. You took your overshirt from your skin, ripping the clean sections free to soak in the remaining drips in the lid before applying it to the wound. 

“No YN, use-use it on yourself” He tried his best to push your arm away, unable to find the strength to allow you to make contact with the tattered spine. Unbeknownst to you, in your adrenaline-fueled state, your trousers were becoming laden with the blood spurting from your wounds. You sat back on your ankles, two Azriels dancing in your double-vision. You forced your eyes close, trying to banish one of the Azriels away, the swirl of blood loss becoming a bit too much as you fell back on your side, using a weakened arm to prop yourself up. 

“YN! You’re okay Kid! You’re gonna be okay, stay awake” Azriel turned himself onto his knees, his strength finding its way back to him as his hands met the soft skin of your cheeks, blood leaving them to rush towards your open wound. 

“I knew you’d be the death of me” You gave a weak laugh, your head rocking slightly from side to side. Azriel gave a small smile before closing the space between you, his medicinal-soaked lips meeting your frosted ones. Pulses of energy beat between you both, like everything that has ever happened both good and bad didn’t matter before this moment, each other’s lifeline in every sense. The traces of the river flower pulled you back from the brink with the essence of Azriel’s every being guiding you home. Shadows leapt around you both, pulling you both through the space until cool, clean stone laid under your legs. Azriel pulled back from you, his thumbs tracing over your cheeks as your eyes fluttered open. 

“Are you kissing my sister?” Rhysand stood from his desk to look down at his closest allies, in a ball on his office floor. Cassian leapt to help you up, lying you down on the chaise before Rhysand went to pull Azriel to his own feet. 

“It-it was to save her life” Azriel had thoughts of wishing the arrow had finished him off. 

“Likely story” Rhysand laughed, guiding his dear friend to his desk chair before sending for Madja. Cassian busied inspecting your battle wounds.

“We were attacked and-and they poisoned me and YN she-”

“-she gave you the flower?” Rhysand sank to Azriels eyelevel, searching for answers in the stormy eyes of the Spymaster. Azriel nodded gently, his head hanging in both shame and exhaustion. 

“It's okay Azriel, I wanted it for my mate, YN wanted it for hers” Azriel’s head shot back up to look at the High Lord's grinning face. Rhysand raised his hand to his face, making a locking motion at his lips before standing again, Madja quick on the scene to help. 

—-------------------

5 years later 

Azriel stood at the water's edge, the small lapping of the lake at his feet, the sun warming his wings as he stretched in the healing heat, a small V-shaped scar left in one of the spines. He allowed his eyes to fall close, inhaling the scents of the forest and the whoosh of the gentle breeze. 

“Argh!” He flinched at the sudden wave of cold water meeting his face, rubbing it from his eyes until he opened to see you stood, waist-deep in the lake and laughing. 

“You’re dead” He laughed before wading in as you roared with laughter, attempting to swim away from him to your friends. You took Nyx from Cassian’s arms as Azriel reached you. 

“I have the baby!” You laughed. 

“Oh weak move YN, hiding behind a child” He tilted his head back in laughter, Nyx kicking water up at his uncle, his own fit of giggles leaving him. 

“Not you too Kid! Betrayal!” Azriel chuckled, wiping the water from his face that Nyx quickly replaced again. You hugged Nyx close into your chest, Azriel paddling closer to you, his arms wrapping around the both of you, his hands tracing down the scars on your back, melting into the deep fissures on his hands, making the skin feel whole again. 

“Hey Az! Someone’s awake!” Rhysand called from the shoreline before bending down to the travel cot, pulling your baby from her cocoon, still swaddled in plush towelling. Cassian took Nyx from your arms before tossing him high in the air, Feyre immediately lecturing him. You and Azriel went laughing to the shore again, stray splashes escaping you both. Azriel took the baby from his brother's arms, kissing her head softly as she looked up at him, his entire world. 

“Hello Flower” 

-------------------------------------

Whatcha think?

ALSO! There are over 500 of you lovelies!!?? That's so crazy!!! Thank you so much for all of your kind words and support my friends! -C

[call-me-strega]

Dc x Dp Prompt #3: Of Apples and Academic Frenemies

Au where Jason and Danny are attending the same college course on mythology and classical literature and they are always getting into debates about the depictions of the characters and the historical context of stories and stuff bc the both have a different exposure to the myths. Like Jason knows literal demigods and Amazons but Danny knows Pandora and the Greek myth related ghosts plus time travel from Clockwork and the infi-map. The debates can get heated at times but the respect each others intellectual takes.

This creates a peculiar situation where everyone in the class thinks they are academic rivals who hate each other (except for the few with their shipping goggles on and sense the homoerotic tension underlying their debates) and are deeply invested in watching them interact like their own personal drama even thought at this point in time they are at best friendly acquaintances and at worst annoying classmates.

Jason rants to his family about his debate partner/rival bc he’s happy to have some who will talk to him ad-nauseam abt this stuff but also bc he wants to complain about how Danny's a “smart but annoying little twink who’s got some real audacity”. And while the batfam is happy that Jason is experiencing some normal life things like an academic frenemy they’d love to stop hearing about this guy's “smug fucking smirk” and the “annoying gleam in his eyes". They are worried that Jason will snap and beat this guy up for being too annoying. Well, except Tim who thinks Jason would rather make out with this guy than debate with him.

One day the course decides to do a big themed party/fundraiser to save up for a class trip to an excavation site of some temple ruins or something. Both of them volunteer for the organizing committee bc of the offered extra credit. This encourages the two of them to start seeing each other more and to hang out outside of their classes so the can work on event planning. Over time they actually become pretty good friends (Danny's presence filters Jason's toxic ecto and cures pit rage due to increased exposure. It was happening anyways as classmates but the close proximity sped up the process) and Jason and Danny develop mutual crushes on each other.

For the event they do, like an Olympic games style format and have people sign up in teams for events a couple of weeks beforehand. Anyone in any sort of classical/mythology related course can join and they opened the event for public spectating. They have a few traditional events like a foot race, long jump and chariot race. But the also have some silly ones like Medusa's Snakes, where they shove their faces into bowls of whipped cream and fish out gummy worms, Pandora's Amphora, where they stick there hands into a box/jar of mystery contents (grapes, slime, a live animal like rats or kittens, a bunch of glitter, soda, etc.) and whoever keeps their hand in the longest wins, and Gladiator Fights, where they try to knock each other into a foam pit with those foam and rubber jousting sticks and the such.

Neither Danny, nor Jason want to participate for fear of their physical/supernatural abilities being discovered so the both get talked into doing the emceeing and commentary for the events. They make a really good duo, snarking and bantering with each other, playing off each other's energy and providing fun commentary to the events. Everyone, including the batfam who came to spectate, is a bit baffled by how well they are getting along bc last they checked these two were rivals of a sort, mildly annoying at best and actively antagonistic at worst. However, they really seem to be enjoying themselves.

The last event of the day is a trivia contest, which they both decide to take part in and let someone else take over the emceeing. The final winning trivia question is "what trope was falsely understood as a marriage proposal or declaration of love by misinformed media, that was actually closer to a ploy of seduction and indication of sexual desire according to Greek texts" and the both ring in at the same time to say "tossing an apple to someone" and an tie for the win. They both go up on stage to receive the prize (idk a gift card or smth) and shake hands before walking away in opposite directions.

Then suddenly Danny calls out to Jason just before he leaves the stage and chucks an apple he seemingly produced out of nowhere at him. The apple has a note with the time and date of a dinner reservation on it and when Jason looks back up at Danny he see the slightly flushed boy tentatively smiling at him.

" What do ya say Jase? Will you go out with me?"

And instead of replying Jason just straight up kisses him in front of everyone. Everyone else is gobsmacked by this whole turn of events except Tim who's cackling his head off, screaming "I FUCKING KNEW IT". When the two of them break apart they grin at each other widely and Jason drags Danny of the stage presumably to go make out somewhere.

[linaslore]

s.h. | we need to warm up (one shot)

a/n: it's been a while since i posted a steve fic, so here it issssss. this is a combination of a friends episode and a scene from an old tv show i used to watch when i was a teenager.

warnings: being locked up in closed spaces, language, mentions of sex and injuries (freezing), english is not my first language. some stuff may not be accurate. MINORS DNI. credits to the gif owner!

summary: steve and you worked at scoops ahoy together and one day while you two were bickering about something silly, you got stuck in a walk-in refrigerator.

steve harrington x afab!oc!reader.

🚫do NOT copy, translate or put my work thru an AI.

Robin, your best friend, helped you get this job at Scoops Ahoy a couple of months ago. The work itself wasn’t ideal because you had to put up with a lot of annoying people (and cleaning toilets wasn’t very appealing either), but the pay was pretty good and it allowed you to combine it with your study schedule. The best parts were obviously the free ice cream and sharing shifts with your bestie.

You also had to share several shifts with Steve Harrington. You didn’t like him at first if you were being completely honest. You knew him from before because you had shared a few classes at Hawkins High, but you never actively talked to him. He was very handsome and charming, but his reputation of being a womanizer and a douchebag preceded him so for you that was enough to keep your distance.

However, everything changed when you took on this job. On the bright side, has had some personal growth over the last few months so this made spending time with him a lot easier. Of course, the King Steve persona sometimes came into the light and he could get insufferable, but you still enjoyed his company. You could say you had more of a ‘frenemies’ relationship. Definitely, one of the things that amused you the most was bickering with Steve, so when the work day was quiet, you’d pick a silly argument just for the sake of it. 

Thus, that’s what led the two of you to discuss the topic of sex in the middle of one casual Saturday afternoon in mid-September at Scoops Ahoy. The weather was chiller than the one from previous weeks, but there were some people that weren’t going to let the climate get in the way of getting ice cream. You couldn’t blame them though. Robin was at the register machine, getting the customers’ orders and Steve and you were organizing the stock at the back of the shop.

“Harrington, are you really saying that kissing and foreplay are not as important as the sex part!?”, you exclaimed a bit too loudly while you glared at your coworker with a questioning look. He just quirked his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders meaning ‘Yes, I said what I said. Deal with it.’

You didn’t feel any shame talking about these topics. In fact, you were pretty bold. Especially with Steve. He had that vibe that made everyone around him feel comfortable with discussing or doing anything. Of course. King Steve, ladies and gentlemen. 

“Why would I prefer the opening act when I know I’ll be seeing, I dunno, The Police soon?”

You let out a chuckle.

“You have been spending more time with Eddie, haven’t you?”, he gave you a mocking look. It was no secret that Steve wasn’t a fan of Eddie, especially because recently he had been stealing Dustin’s attention and that made Steve more jealous than he cared to admit. You couldn’t help but smile at the cuteness of Steve and Dustin’s relationship and his jealousy.

You grabbed one of the boxes with new ice cream flavours that were recently delivered to the shop because you had to carry them to the walk-in refrigerator, but since the two boxes were really heavy you asked Steve for help. At first he pretended to ignore you, but then he smiled teasingly and grabbed the other one to give you a hand. You had trouble deciding whether you hated that smile or you loved it… It was probably the latter. 

As soon as you entered the refrigerator, the chilly air hit your skin. You carefully placed the box you were carrying on the floor and put the door wedge so it wouldn’t close while you were in there. The door was pretty heavy because it needed to stay shut in order to keep the temperature low, but also, the door handle wasn’t working pretty well.

“Anyways, for us girls they’re really equally important”, you resumed your little argument while you two arranged the ice creams on the various shelves, categorizing them by their flavor. “We can get all the information we need about the other person from the first kiss. I can’t believe you don’t like it.”

You looked at him from the corner of your eye and noticed that he rolled his.

“No, honey”, he paused and sighed. You screamed internally at the pet name. He usually called you by your name or ‘Smarty Pants’ whenever you gave him witty comebacks. “It’s not that I don’t like it. I do, but I’d rather get down to the real business quicker.”

“Well, hun, friendly advice, if you keep thinking like that, you’ll have to settle with solo concerts.”

Steve wanted to give you the middle finger so badly but couldn’t do it because he had his hands full so he had to contempt himself by sticking out his tongue in a mocking tone. You gave him a playful nudge on the shoulder and then he gave you another one back but Steve was stronger than you so you tripped backwards and accidentally kicked the door wedge and the refrigerator door closed. 

“Fuck”, the two of you blurted out in unison; your heartbeats picking up rapidly. You exchanged looks and frowned your eyebrows at the same time. Under different circumstances, you would have laughed at the synchronicity.

“This is your fault.”

“How is this my fault, Harrington? You pushed me!”, you replied back while you got up from the floor and adjusted your uniform.

“You made me come in here!”

“I simply asked for your help!”

You decided it was useless to continue with this bickering so you kneeled down before the door handle to try to make it work. However, it was useless. The door refused to budge. You had repeatedly asked Keith, your boss, to call the repair guy to fix said handle but of course he never did. You cursed him under your breath while you got back up and started screaming and banging on the door.

“ROBIN! HELP! SOMEBODY”, Steve joined you but nobody seemed to hear. “HELLO, WE’RE INSIDE THE REFRIGERATOR!”, you both screamed over and over again.

“I hope Robin notices quickly we’re nowhere to be seen. If not, we’re going to freeze to death”, you lifted your hands to massage your scalp, trying to prevent yourself from spiraling. Extremely difficult task given the not so encouraging situation. You didn’t consider yourself a claustrophobic person but you weren’t a fan.

“Don’t exaggerate, Y/N. It’s just a little bit of cold”, he shrugged his shoulders and waved his hand dismissively, as if brushing off your very real concern. 

If looks could kill, he would be reduced to ashes right now. 

“Unlike you, I don’t have teenage-like hormones, Steve. I get cold easily.”

He was about to reply with another witty comment, but he noticed how anxious you were getting. He saw your right leg start bouncing rapidly and how you bit your fingernails—subtle things you did when you were nervous or distressed. He had noticed them before. He let out a defeated sigh.

“OK, I’m being serious right now: we’re going to get out of here in a heartbeat, don’t worry.” 

You went back to the screaming and banging, hoping that someone outside would hear you at that very moment and get you out of there. Unfortunately, you were alone with the echoes of your voice and movements. Meanwhile, Steve was pacing the small place, thinking of any other possible escape. 

After some minutes that felt like hours, the cold and the confinement were starting to take a toll on you. You sat on the floor with your back against the door to keep hitting it, more occasionally now. The Scoops Ahoy uniform was not enough to keep you warm; your body started trembling so you hugged yourself, keeping your knees close to your chest. Steve heard your shivering breaths. He scanned the ‘room’ one more time and saw the empty cardboard boxes stacked where you had been organizing the ice cream.

“We can use the empty ice cream boxes to keep us warm”, you gave him a questioning look. encouraging him to clarify. “We can break them down to sit on them and then put the other parts over our bodies”.

“God bless that big head of yours, Harrington.”, you smiled and tried to stand up but it wasn’t as easy as before. Your body was getting stiffer. Steve gave you a hand.

The two of you started tearing up the boxes and placing the flattened pieces on the floor next to the door and then cutting up bigger sections to use as makeshift blankets. 

“Well, it’s better than nothing”, Steve commented once you were all set and you agreed, keeping the cardboard boxes as close to your body as possible. 

It was far from being the perfect solution, but it worked… for a couple of minutes. Then, you started shivering again. You got up to the point where you could no longer feel your legs. You wanted to keep screaming and banging on the door but the little energy you had was starting to wear off. You decided to save it for later.

“Fuck, it’s so cold in here. I can’t stand it anymore”, you blurted out, more to yourself than anything and tried to rub your hands violently against your legs to get some warmth.

“Come here”, Steve whispered while opening his arms, motioning you to huddle closer to him so you could share whatever body heat you had left. It was true, Steve had a higher body temperature than any other person either of you knew but he wasn’t sure of how much that was going to last. He was feeling colder too.

You were hesitant to accept his embrace at first because you weren’t used to sharing physical contact with him but you quickly decided that it was worth trying it. Once you were beside him, he put his arms around your shaking frame and put two cardboard boxes over both your bodies. He rested his head on top of yours and you hugged him, wrapping your arms around his waist. Despite everything, this felt strangely nice and comfortable.

“We’re gonna get out of here, I promise”, he said after some silence and you could see the wisps of vapor that looked like smoke coming out of his mouth. 

You were too tired and weak to say or do anything. It seemed the temperature kept dropping every second. There was some frost on your hair and your eyelashes. Steve had it on his perfect hair too. At this moment, you actually believed you were going to die there. You snuggled closer into Steve’s embrace; not that it was really possible because you were practically glued to him.

You slowly started to drift off; your eyelids felt like two bricks of concrete. Steve went into alert mode when he felt you relax under his touch. “Hey, Y/N. Can you hear me?”

You let out a barely audible “Mh” and he started rubbing circles on your arm, close to your elbow.

“Stay awake, OK?”

He knew you couldn’t fall asleep if you had hypothermia. He didn’t know why but he remembered one of his biology teachers who explained that your body functions would slow down even more, which could be deadly. He didn’t even want to imagine that happening. 

At first, he didn’t want to admit he liked you because you were a pain in the neck, but then, as he spent more and more time with you, he learned you were funny, smart, and although you annoyed him to boredom sometimes, you were kind-hearted. Also, you had one of the most contagious laughs he has ever heard. And on top of that, you were insanely pretty. 

This drastic situation helped him realize he didn’t want to lose you, in any way. He couldn’t.

“I can’t.”, you whispered once again.

“Yes, you can”, his hands moved upwards to cup both your cheeks now; his desperate eyes fixed on your face. “Open your eyes, please, darling”. You wanted to laugh at the nickname but you didn’t even have the strength to do so. His voice was trembling now too. He didn’t know if out of the cold he was feeling or of the fear of something happening to you. He placed a kiss on your forehead. “Come on, I wanna see those pretty eyes.”

“I’m cold, Stevie. I’m sorry.”

You only used that nickname to tease him because he hated it. Now, it scratched his brain just right. He didn’t fail to notice you looked so small, so fragile. He didn’t know how, but he could feel you slip away from him.

“No, no, no, no”, he blurted out quickly. “Y/N, listen to me. Focus on my voice and my hands”, he rubbed circles on both of your cheeks. “Don’t fall asleep. Talk to me.”

His serious but also desperate tone made you realize the gravity of your state.

“About what?”, you whispered as you tried to get your whole attention to his gentle touches and his breathing. 

“About anything. Tell me a secret, a memory, an embarrassing story. Whatever comes to your mind, just talk to me.”

You gathered strength out of nowhere and opened your eyes. You saw Steve sigh with a little bit of relief. He also looked exhausted and cold, but there was something in his eyes that told you he was not giving up easily. You couldn’t say so for yourself, sadly.

“Your pretty eyes are the last pair I’m going to see”, you spoke slowly. Steve’s heart broke a little at your statement.

“No, don’t say things like that.. I need you to stay here with me. Please. I need you to stay alive so I can take you on a date when we’re out of here”, his voice and the movements on your skin were starting to slow down too. “I don’t want to leave this planet before kissing your beautiful lips.”

You gave him a weak smile.

“Do it now, Stevie.”

He lifted his eyebrows, thinking he heard you incorrectly. But then, you directed your eyes to his own lips, so he took it as an invitation and wasted no time. The kiss was slow and short but sweet nonetheless. None of you had much energy to keep going for longer, much to your dismay.

“That’s the way to warm up, right?”, he joked and you let out a choked laugh.

You went back to your tight embrace. You weren’t sure how much time you had left. You stopped trembling a couple of minutes ago and you knew that wasn’t a good sign. You thought about your family and your friends. One single tear fell from your left eye.

Just about when Steve was going to wipe it, you heard some noises on the other side of the door. You two looked at each other and Steve used the adrenaline rush to get back on his feet and helped you do the same.

“HELP, WE’RE STUCK IN THE REFRIGERATOR. PLEASE HELP”, Steve was the one yelling and you attempted to bang the door as loud as you could.

And then, the door finally opened. You squinted your eyes due to the sudden change of lightning and tried to make out the silhouette that was standing in front of you, but before you could see who it was or do anything else, your legs gave in and your vision went black, which resulted in you passing out on the ground.

Your eyelids fluttered open as the characteristic antiseptic hospital smell hit your nose. The sterile white walls were the first thing you saw. Your body still felt cold, even though you had several blankets wrapped around your frame. You turned your head to the side and saw Steve sitting on a chair, wrapped on a blanket as well. His eyes were closed and his head was slightly tilted to the side. He looked worn off but really adorable.

“Steve?”, you called his name but you didn’t recognize your own voice. It was really sore. The boy opened his eyes and gave you a sweet smile. There was a mixture of relief and concern in his look.

“Hey… You gave us quite the scare.” You apologized and he shrugged it off. “Your parents are already here. They’re filling out the paperwork.” He grabbed the chair and moved it forward to be closer to your bed. Then he grabbed your hand that was hidden under the blankets. “I should call the doctor to let her know you had woken up.”

You nodded but refused to let his hand go so he could stand up. His heart melted.

“We need to talk about our date”, you casually mentioned between giggles.

“You don’t waste a minute, don’t you?”, he chuckled, shaking his head. “I assure you, it’s going to be a date to die for.” Now it was your turn to laugh. 

aaaand the end... i hope you enjoyed it! and as always, i'd love to read some comments with your opinions :) and i'm also taking request, so there's your chance to leave a nice ask 💗

[woso-dreamzzz]

Questions

Aitana Bonmatí x Codina!Reader

Summary: You vs Carla the social media manager

You see her coming, eyes wide in fear.

Your teammates haven't seen her yet, wrapped up in their own conversations.

You turn to go but Lucy's got an arm thrown over your shoulder, wrapped tightly around you like an iron bar.

You try to wiggle out of it but you can't.

"Girls," Carla says as she approaches, phone already out to capture content," What's your phone lockscreen?"

You breath a sigh of relief that it's a tame question.

You never quite knew what Carla wanted from you so you thought it best to just ignore her sometimes.

"Me and my sisters," You say plainly.

"Can we see it?"

You think for a moment. "No."

You walk off.

"Oh! Come on, y/n!"

You laugh as you go, waving teasingly as Lucy's caught showing her own lockscreen to the camera.

Carla is your frenemy. You're not the happiest on camera. You don't really enjoy being put on camera and asked silly questions. You're never quite sure how to respond or what kind of response she wants from you.

Carla knows this and you both like to make it a game to see how many times she can catch you out each week.

You're winning at the moment, escaping from her nine times out of ten this week including a fairly daring escape where you leapt over the barriers and climbed the fence to get away from her.

She filmed that too and it circulated through the staff and team groupchat. Someone even sent it to Laia in England so she called you just two nights ago to laugh at you.

But, still, she kind of caught you this time and you're not going to be happy about it.

"Carla get you?" Aitana laughs as you enter the locker room with a frown on your face.

You huff. "I don't want to talk about it."

It's a little embarrassing to talk about it with Aitana. You've been crushing on her for years at this point and you know it's mutual too.

Just neither of you has made the first move yet. This dancing around each other is so you and Aitana that you're not too sure why you would change it.

Aitana can be the one to make the first move.

"You know," She says," You can just admit defeat."

You scoff. "It's almost like you don't know me at all. The day Carla gets me to admit defeat is the day that you finally go on a date with me."

Aitana laughs, winking. "Maybe you should hurry up and admit defeat then."

Your mouth falls open. "Wait, are you being serious?"

Aitana grins, a soft kiss being pressed to your cheek as she disappears out of the room. "Am I?"

You don't have much time to dwell on Aitana's words because training starts and by the time you get home, you've all but forgotten about them.

Your life is blissfully Carla free in the coming days and she doesn't resurface again until Thursday, when you're walking in with Aitana talking to you, one hand around your arm as the other is used to gesture about what's got her so excited.

You spot Carla make a beeline for you and you know that you can't do one of your daring escapes again unless you want to shove Aitana away and you never want to do that.

So, you stay with her and admit defeat to Carla for once in your life.

"Which team member would you not let date your daughter?" She asks and you sigh.

"Er..." Aitana says," Maybe Cata."

"And you, y/n?"

You shrug. "Aitana. Because my daughter can't date their other mother."

Carla laughs, lapping up your answers before sending you both on your way.

Aitana's frowning though and you bump her with your hip.

"Something wrong?"

"Did you mean it? About your kid not dating me?"

"Our kid," You correct with a shrug," Besides, I allowed Carla to ask me a question. I think this means you owe me a date."

Aitana rolls her eyes. "Pick me up at seven. I'd like dinner at some place fancy."

You grin. "You got it."

[hivemuthur]

The Game of Teaching Body - Ch. 2.

viktorxfemale!reader mature! (for now, I will mark later chapters as explicit when the time comes)

AU university, AU modern era, slow burn, frenemies to lovers, teasing, pinning, banter, eventual romance and therefore smut, Viktor is simultaneously a menace and needs a hug, TA Viktor

Ch.1. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6. | Ch.7. | Ch.8. | Ch.9. | Ch.10. | Ch.11. | Ch.12.

word count: 4K

tag: #the game of teaching body

summary: Reader is hit by a truck which is *university*. So, a lot of studying and a lot of frustrations. And the TA is being a pain in the ass, you know how it is. Some science talk, based on the remnants of my knowledge from uni.

author’s note: Guys, you have showered me with love, so I'm showering you with writing.

Cross-posted on AO3 + POV3rd Person Version

—

Sue was so fucking right. It had only been one week of freedom, and then the workload came crashing down on you. Suddenly, every class had a welcome test attached to it, and you found yourself buried under a mountain of homework—chemical equations to solve and analyse, essays, books to read, lab practice, and lectures to attend. There wasn’t any snowball effect; it all hit at once, and by the time you and Sue returned on the first Monday of the second week, you were carrying enough work to fill two mules, and it would still have been too heavy even for them.

“Your mum is calling,” Sue’s voice pulled you out of a particularly boring passage about physical chemistry in one of your shared workbooks. You would usually put your phones on the cabinet for study time, but the vibration had startled Sue for the third time in ten minutes, so she decided to address it.

“Ugh, can you put her on speaker? I’ll deal with this quickly, and I don’t want to move,” you rolled your eyes, catching Sue’s judgmental glare. She’s your mum!

“Kochanie, finally! I’ve been trying and trying, how are you doing?” Your mum’s voice filled the room with her familiar heavy accent, though she insisted it was improving. Your dad didn’t speak a word of Polish, so Joanna had to switch to English entirely after you left.

“All good, Mum. Lots and lots and lots of studying,” you said, your voice so unamused you barely lifted your eyes from the book, though your gaze was unseeing. You had been staring at the same equation for about half an hour now.

“Have you been practising your affirmations?” Of course, you hadn’t. Silly idea.

“Yes, every day and every time someone pisses me off. How’s Dad?” You decided to deflect as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

“Dad went to Calais for a retreat, and I’m left alone for the entire week. He’s not allowed a mobile, you see,” Your mum rambled on a little longer, and you let her. You were happy to hear your parents were moving on after losing their only daughter. Even though Joanna insisted she could feel your presence in the house, in the clothes and trinkets you’d left behind, and could sense your moods through an invisible mother-daughter bond you shared. What a load of nonsense.

“Mamusia, I love you, but I have to go. I’m studying with Sue, and we’ve got a test in thirty minutes,” you added a round of loud pecks so she could hear the kisses through the phone speaker. She told you to wear red underwear and get Sue to kick you for good luck.

“Your mum sounds awesome,” Sue laughed under her breath. She tried to study but ended up listening to the entire conversation.

“Eh, she’s something. She’s pretty cool when she’s not suffocating you with love, you know?” You gave Sue a knowing smile, and she understood immediately. “Have you managed to learn anything? My brain is literally fuming.”

Sue groaned as she started packing up her notebooks to head toward the lab class. “Honestly, I don’t know. I think I’ll use my last resort—can I borrow some red knickers?” You snickered as Sue shot you a huge mocking grin.

“No, but I can kick you alright, sweet Sue,” you couldn’t help but laugh. You gathered all the papers scattered around you with both hands and shoved them into your bag. You glanced at yourself in the mirror before leaving your dorm room, and Jesus Christ, your youth had already fled. Dark circles under your eyes, a gaunt face, lips chapped—all of it painfully underlined by an ink stain on your t-shirt. Whatever, there was no time to do anything about it.

It was Viktor’s class again. You had slowly grown to dislike them, ever since he and Jayce began to switch every second day, after Jayce got a new girlfriend—beautiful Mel Medarda, a third-year theatre student whom Hale once called a close second contender to rule the planet one day. Second after you, of course.

All of Viktor’s initial friendly sass had dissolved into the mean kind, which he executed each time Heimerdinger’s students were supposed to already know something they didn’t—including you. Thankfully, most of the time, you knew. The times you didn’t, he relished it and squeezed the situation to the maximum, like a sad lemon.

“Alright, take a test from the tray on the teacher’s desk and take your usual seat. And as usual, you can have a calculator and periodic table on your workbench,” Viktor’s instructions boomed through the lab classroom as one by one, students dragged themselves through the door, each one looking more exhausted than the other. “Looking ravishing today, Y/N,” he sent a smirk your way as you passed by him without sparing him so much as a glance and a quiet ‘hi.’

“Bite me, Viktor,” you barked back at him. What the hell was he thinking?

“Gladly, but maybe after class.” Usually, the smug look on his face would get you to scoff; this time, you granted him a faint eye roll as you dragged your feet toward the workbench you shared with Sue. As Viktor strolled through the room, making sure no one had anything illegal on their tables, he snatched your phone from your desk just as you were putting it into your bag.

“No phones,” he slid it into his lab coat pocket with a wink. You whined, about to say something you’d regret, but were immediately cut off by “I said, after class,” coming from behind you as you watched his back, your eyes burning a hole in it.

You solved the test first; you were so angry. As soon as you put it back in the tray, a realisation washed over you, and what you realised was the mistake you’d made in one of the exercises. You wanted to retrieve it and fix it, but Viktor’s hand shooshed you away.

“Come on, Viktor, it was there for less than a second!”

“You put it away, it’s gone for grading. That’s the rule. Also—it’s a learning curve,” he smiled at you sweetly, and you wanted to choke him out.

“Learning curve of what? That you are being a dick?” The last part was barely a whisper, nevertheless, a whisper that was fuming with rage and could cut through steel.

“Patience. And decision-making, which is a process that you clearly haven’t mastered yet,” he said coldly, not even looking you in the eye. This time, you did scoff, and angry steps carried you back to your seat.

The class settled into a more familiar rhythm after the test, the shuffle of papers and the steady hum of Bunsen burners filling the air. Viktor moved around the room, overseeing his students’ chemistry lab exercises with the same detached air he always wore. You tried to focus, but your thoughts kept drifting back to the test—and Viktor's smug little smile as he watched your frustration unfold.

The task at hand was simple enough: a titration experiment to determine the concentration of an unknown solution. Viktor had given you all the instructions, but as you watched the beaker of sodium hydroxide mix with the diluted acid, you felt a sinking feeling in your stomach. Something about the instructions didn’t sit right with you.

You glanced over at Sue, who was carefully measuring out the chemicals. You leaned in, whispering so Viktor wouldn’t overhear.

“Sue, I think he messed up the ratios in the instructions. If we follow this, it’s gonna screw everything up. We’ll end up with a totally different result.”

Sue frowned, taking a closer look at the setup. “You sure?”

“I’m certain. The way he wrote it—if we add that much of the sodium hydroxide, the pH is going to overshoot too quickly. It'll neutralise the acid too fast, and we won’t get an accurate reading. If we’re supposed to get a neutralisation point, that change will mess with the whole titration curve.”

Sue was sceptical, but you were adamant. You felt it in your gut. "It’ll be off. Trust me."

Sue nodded reluctantly. "So, what do we do?"

You hesitated for a moment, your fingers tapping the edge of the desk as you thought. You pulled up a few formulas on Sue’s phone, glancing back at Viktor to make sure he wasn’t looking in your direction.

“If we use less sodium hydroxide, the neutralisation will occur more slowly, and we’ll get a more accurate pH reading. We’re supposed to use a much more diluted solution.”

Sue nodded, though she looked uneasy. “What the hell, let’s try it.”

You adjusted the solution as you suggested, making the necessary changes to the procedure. You proceeded with the experiment, and despite her hesitation, Sue followed your lead. The two of you worked in tandem, the smooth, natural chemistry of your lab partnership taking over. As you neared the end of the titration, it was clear you had achieved the neutralisation point correctly—without overshooting or leaving any room for error.

Meanwhile, the rest of the class was still fumbling through their measurements, the air thick with the sounds of Viktor’s quiet reprimands. You couldn’t help but glance at him every now and then, noting the small, almost imperceptible frown on his face as he inspected his students’ work.

When the clock pointed to fifteen minutes away from the class ending, Heimerdinger stepped into the lab, his eyes scanning the results with interest. He walked toward your workbench, eyes lighting up as he reviewed your calculations.

“Well, it seems we have at least one pair who didn’t follow the instructions blindly,” Heimerdinger said, his voice rich with approval. “Good work, you two. You’ve done the experiment correctly. Trusting your instincts—making adjustments based on the data rather than simply following authority—is key in science. After all, we’re here to discover, not just to repeat what’s been done.”

You allowed yourself a smile of satisfaction, while Sue breathed a little easier, glancing at you in admiration.

Viktor’s face, however, was unreadable. He stood at the back of the room, arms folded tightly across his chest, watching the interaction with narrowed eyes.

Heimerdinger didn’t seem to mind. “It’s a learning curve for all of us, even your teacher. Mistakes are inevitable. But sometimes when we challenge authority—question the procedures—that’s when we learn and grow. Science is born from curiosity and defiance. Respect is important, of course, but don’t be afraid to challenge when you feel something isn’t right.”

You raised an eyebrow at Viktor, who hadn’t said a word. His lips were pressed into a thin line, but his eyes were hard as steel. He wasn’t pleased by Heimerdinger’s praise of your independent thinking.

“That’s how science is made,” Heimerdinger continued, completely oblivious to the tension between his students and the teacher. “By asking ‘what if?’ and exploring the unknown.”

Viktor finally spoke, his voice cool and controlled. “That’s true,” he said, glancing at you. “But there's a fine line between innovation and recklessness. Don’t mistake one for the other.”

You met his gaze, your jaw tight. “I don’t think we did.”

Viktor’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he didn’t respond, turning on his heel and walking toward the front of the room. Sue nudged you gently, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Well, at least we didn’t screw up,” she whispered.

You smiled back, but your mind was still racing. You had challenged Viktor’s authority—hadn’t followed his instructions—and it had got you praise from the professor. This couldn’t be good. “Sue, I don’t think I’m getting my phone back,” you whined into your friend's shoulder, who giggled uncontrollably.

You waited for your group to disperse into the library or the cantina before the start of the next lecture, making sure Viktor wouldn’t be able to humiliate you in front of anyone. You took a deep breath and knocked weakly on the door of the assistant’s back office.

“Come in,” Viktor’s voice was as flat and unwelcoming as ever. You braced yourself as you turned the doorknob and stepped inside quietly. Viktor was sitting at one of the tiny desks you were cramped at with Jayce and didn’t even look up. You cleared your throat.

“Yes?” This time, he looked up. God, he looked angry. When he finally raised his eyes to meet yours, he only sighed. “I doubt I can do much for you, Y/N. Given that you know everything already.”

“That’s rich coming from a guy who broke into the lab to prove his point once. Yes, Jayce told me,” you smiled at him sweetly, referring to his second-year incident when he and Jayce breached the lab security at night and conducted an experiment they were forbidden to do by Heimerdinger himself. This got them secure spots for PhD and TA positions.

Seeing that there was absolutely nothing coming from his direction but a blank stare, you asked carefully, “Well… why did you fuck up?”

Viktor sighed again, stood up slowly, and walked toward you. “Some theatre girls got us drunk last night—Mel’s friends. And I messed up the notes. Chemistry is not my major, as you know.” A smirk started to paint his face as he observed your reaction to the mention of drinking with some girls.

Viktor decided to push you further, his smirk widening as he leaned against the desk. “It’s hard to focus when you’re surrounded by Mel’s friends, you know. A lot of distractions. I haven't quite shaken last night off me yet,” he teased, his eyes glinting with amusement.

Your heart dropped at his words. You forced yourself to keep your expression neutral, but something inside you shifted—you didn’t want to admit it, but it hurt. Viktor was deliberately drawing attention to some girls, and it stung more than you cared to acknowledge.

You scolded yourself internally. Stop it. Don’t let him get to you. But it was already too late. You could feel a pang of something—jealousy, maybe, or insecurity—but you refused to let it show.

Viktor, sensing your discomfort, didn’t let up. “By the way,” he said, his tone casual, “I took a closer look at your test. You know, given your answers, I understand how you worked out the correct proportions for the exercise. Same mistake you made on the test itself, right?”

Your stomach twisted, and your chest tightened. “So now you’re just going to relish in my defeat, aren’t you?” you shot back, your voice strained.

Viktor raised an eyebrow. “I’ve got far better things to relish in. Just making observations.”

You exhaled sharply, your anger bubbling over. “You know, because you were being such a dick, the thing I actually knew will probably lower my final grade now. Congratulations.”

Viktor’s smirk never faltered. “I wasn’t being a dick,” he said, voice smooth. “I was merely being a meticulous stiff bastard.” He leaned back, his tone laced with sarcasm. “You were quite vocal about that, if I recall. Something about me being a ‘pedantic pain in the ass’ when you were drunk.”

Your face flushed, your hand tightening into a fist at your side. That comment struck a nerve you hadn’t even realised was there. Your heart pounded. “Are you seriously so petty, Viktor, that you’re going to take revenge for some drunken slur by messing with my grade?” you snapped, your voice rising. You turned to leave, the weight of your frustration heavy on your chest.

But Viktor’s voice stopped you cold. “Wait,” he said, and for a moment, you thought he was going to apologise. Maybe even admit he’d gone too far.

You glanced over your shoulder, ready to hear some kind of redemption. But then Viktor’s tone shifted again. “You didn’t forget something, did you?”

You froze as he pulled your phone from his pocket and held it out to you, a mischievous gleam in his eye. The sight of your phone in his hand made your heart sink. You really are a bastard, you thought.

With strained composure, you took the phone from him. Your fingers brushed his, sending an unexpected jolt through you. Viktor’s gaze lingered on you a moment longer than necessary, and for the briefest second, you saw something flicker behind his usual cool façade. Something almost… uncertain.

Your stomach fluttered—No. Not now. Don’t let him do this to you.

You forced a tight smile, returning his gaze. “I can play this game too, Viktor,” you said, your voice low and controlled.

Viktor’s smirk faltered for a brief moment, and he leaned back against the desk, watching you with a hint of something deeper in his expression. His eyes softened, but he quickly masked it with another calculated look.

You turned to leave, your mind racing with frustration and another weird emotion you didn’t have the name for. Just before you reached the door, you felt a shift in the air. Viktor’s teasing had crossed a line, and somehow, the distance between you felt less like a joke and more like something real. Why does this matter so much to me?

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest. Viktor hadn’t just teased you. He’d affected you, and you hated that. As you stepped out of the office, you could feel his gaze on your back, following you, studying your body. You scolded yourself internally for looking like a wreck and made your way to join Sue in the library.

Your friend regarded you with concern as you slid into the chair at the table, books already splayed out in front of her. “Did you get your phone back?”

“Yeah, it was a fight to the death,” you mumbled, sighing heavily as you opened a massive tome of genetics for the next lecture.

“And who died?” Sue asked, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“Oh, definitely me this time.” You whined and dropped your head face-flat onto the table. “I don’t understand when this happened. Can you direct me to a point in time when Viktor woke up and chose violence?” you chuckled despite yourself.

“Um… I think it was some time after the party where that cute curly-haired guy with a poetic name clung to you the entire evening. Or—” she smirked—“you calling Viktor a meticulous stiff bastard.”

“Ambrose? I completely forgot about him,” you mused for a second. There had been an Ambrose sometime during your first weeks. He was from the theatre department too, full of big words, slightly obsessive, but overall nice. You never gave him your number, though, deciding it wasn’t meant to be.

“So you think Viktor loves me so much, jealousy rotted his guts?” you laughed a little too loudly, drawing a few irritated ‘shh!’ sounds from nearby students.

“Let’s say it’s my instinct,” Sue replied with a mischievous smile. “And remember, Y/N—trusting your instincts is key in science,” she added in a hushed, exaggerated Heimerdinger impression, causing you to suppress your laugh even further.

***

Viktor stretched in his chair. The last paper to check stared him in the eye, glaring at him almost as intensely as you had that morning. He groaned slightly at the pain in his leg as the door creaked open.

“Hi, partner,” Jayce greeted, shooting him a smile that was a mix of guilt and a plea for forgiveness. He’d left Viktor for an entire day to gallivant around campus with Mel. She had apparently needed strong arms to carry boxes of flyers advertising their winter show.

“Don’t ‘hi, partner’ me, Jayce,” Viktor huffed but smiled faintly under his nose. “How was it?”

“She’s really something, Vik. I can tell you over a beer?” Jayce offered, clearly still buzzing from his all-day hangout with his beautiful, smart, interesting, unique, elegant, new girlfriend.

“I think I’m going to call it a night. One last paper to check.” Viktor groaned slightly as he flipped your paper in front of his friend’s face. Jayce snatched it mid-air and studied it carefully for a minute.

“How come? I thought she was the only one to work around your… notes mishap?” Jayce tread carefully, noticing the frown forming on Viktor’s forehead. He knew exactly how Viktor had messed up the notes—sadly, it was partially his fault as well.

Viktor leaned back in his chair, still staring at the paper. “Yes, indeed, she was. She even tried to fix her answer when she put the test into the box,” he muttered quietly under his breath.

Jayce raised an eyebrow. “So why didn’t she?”

Viktor rolled his eyes, the motion quick and dismissive. “Because, Jayce, I don’t make exceptions for students who can't follow the rules.”

“Oh, Viktor,” Jayce sighed, shaking his head. “What did she do to get so deeply under your skin? Seriously, you're not usually like this.” Viktor was only mean and vigilant when he cared—or when he was hurt. That, Jayce knew. He just didn’t know which one it was.

Viktor shrugged nonchalantly, but there was an edge to his voice. “She’s just full of herself. Thinks she can do whatever she wants because she’s got it all figured out.”

Jayce’s lips twitched into a knowing smile. “Oh, I see. Well, if someone’s getting on your nerves that much, it usually means they’re reflecting something about you that you don’t want to see.”

Viktor stared at him blankly, the words almost not registering. Then, he let out a short, mocking laugh. “When did you start spreading the wisdom of your people around the world, Jayce?”

Jayce leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms casually. “Mel teaches me how to talk to difficult people now. You know, learning to understand them and not just shut them down immediately.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow, his tone sceptical. “Am I the difficult one here?”

Jayce’s grin widened. “Clearly. I mean, you’re willing to fuck up Y/N’s final grade over a sentiment. That’s not exactly… rational behaviour, is it?” He leaned into the desk, hoping for a moment of self-reflection from his friend.

Viktor was silent for a moment, then scoffed, trying to brush off the conversation. “It’s not like that. I’m not just doing it to be petty.”

Jayce leaned in slightly. “So, what did you tell Heimerdinger about the mishap?”

Viktor leaned forward as well, his voice dropping into a more serious tone. “I told him the truth—both of us fell asleep in the lab, working on our side project. I had to rush to class that morning. No big deal.”

Jayce nodded, processing this. “I’m sure Heimerdinger won’t bat an eyelid if you step up for Y/N, especially since she did well in class. If anything, she deserves some leniency.”

Viktor paused, looking at his friend thoughtfully. “I guess I could do that. Just… don’t think this is something I do for everyone,” he exhaled, rubbing his temple. “But I’ll talk to Heimerdinger.”

Jayce smirked, leaning back in his chair again. “There you go. Maybe Mel’s influence is working on you after all.”

Viktor shot him a look, clearly not amused. But deep down, he couldn't deny there was something about you that unsettled him—and, for some reason, it had started to bother him more than he cared to admit.

“Just keep your wisdom to yourself,” Viktor muttered. “And get out of my office. I still have work to do.”

Jayce chuckled but stood up, winking. “Hey, it’s my office as well! But yeah, I get the point.” As Jayce exited, Viktor stared at the paper before him, his mind occupied by frustration. A meticulous stiff bastard he was indeed.

[forsaken-headcanons]

Hallo! Got some hcs for C00lkidd, Bluudud, and Pr3ttyPriincess

-C00l’s fav artist is FeMtanyl! He likely shouldn’t be listening to those type of songs but he loves it without understanding what the lyrics mean or in some songs, what the artist is even saying

^His fav songs are PUSH YOUR T3MPER, NASTYWERRK, and WORLDWID3(the artist makes her song titles all cap)

-Bluu really likes Mother Mother and Glass Animals

^Favs are All the Hayloft songs: Hayloft, Hayloft II and the mashup(Mother Mother)and The Other side of Paraside(Glass Animals)

-Pr3tty varies mostly, she would once love Sabrina Carpenter, then move on too Melanie Martinez, then move on to Chappell Roan but as of now, She’s a Marina fan! She does have a fav song from every artist she listens too

^Her fav songs are Thumb( Sabrina), HOTTOGO( Chappell), Gingerbread Man and Pity Party(Melanie) and Primadonna and Bubblegum Bitch(Marina)

-Preforsaken, All three of them would go to each others houses, and their parents(and guardian for pr3tty)technically had 3 children but got full custody of one

-Pr3tty would mostly stay at c00l’s or bluu’s house rather than her own. There’s relatives taking care of her but she doesn’t really know them all that well

-C00l collected things and is a bit of a hoarder. His room is a terrible mess and things that should’ve be in his room and that aren’t his too begin with

-They all have different interests in shows but…Object shows. Like they really like BFDI and TPOT(I haven’t never watched either so idk the acronym…hope I’m correct!)

-They are like frenemies to each other. The 3 bicker a lot and see the other as annoying or smth but are very much inseparable and know each other the most rather than the other killers (I mean ofc they do)

-Pr3tty has and uses glitter gel pens to draw and write! She loves things glittery! She’s like a crow lol

-Bluu, despite using a lollipop, he’s not into sweets, if anything he’s sweet repulsed! He’s a sour loving guy by heart

-C00l has the best spice tolerance out of all the killers(damn imagine a 10 year old being able to eat a spicy pepper but not you 😔) while bluu can eat lemons, if he wanted too. Just like, if he wanted to, he’ll lick a lemon and barely react

- I don’t think any of them had died to get into forsaken, rather they had freak accidents they caused (Basically they fucked around and they found out by being forsaken)

^Pr3tty got forsakened after trying to cook something for a tea party—that had to go so well, the relative came to a burnt down house and a child missing

^^C00l was playing around and may have been too reckless and gotten forsaken with a THUD(prolly fell off something like the swing or smth)

^^^Bluu got way too close to a dog…a very mean big dog that is. He was bitten and tackled then forsakened

-They have this one survivor that they want OUT of the forsaken realm. They want them GONE and away from the rounds

^Pr3tty hates Two time(they look crazy and high wtf), C00l hates Shed and the other sentinels( they keep attacking him for just playing tag bro😔) and Bluu hates Chance(Bro has NOT donated yet)

-C00l is VERY confused as to why his dad doesn’t help him and lets those other MEANIES keep shooting at him and attacking him

-You know those milestone skins for c00lkidd? I believe that they with the milestone skin represents C00lkidd coming into terms with what he’s doing…he realizes he’s not playing tag anymore..that’s he’s been hurting others… why he gets attacked, and why his dad can’t save him.

^Feel like the same thing happens too Pr3tty and Bluu, where Bluu realizes first, cause is the oldest and C00l realizes last cause he’s the youngest

Aaand That’s a wrap! Got nothing else I wanna say!

Hope you have a good day!

Hehe…and hi mod…cheek…hehe…/silly

*tiptoes away in an evil silly manner*

FEMTANYL MENTIONED FEMTANYL MENTIONED!!! GUYS FEMTANYL MENTIONED IM SO JOYOUS HEELLOOO ahem. Each kiddo hating one specific survivor is so funny. Bluudud just wants his money from chance bro </3

[thewalkingwillowtree]

Safe Haven

Series Part Listing Found Here

Neteyam x Original Na'vi Female Character

Summery: Seeking refuge, Xilä and her father venture to the lands of the Omatikaya clan, in the hopes that the Toruk Makto would be generous in allowing them to stay. This is her story about not only finding her strength, but finding love. 

Warning: This story contains smut, violence & abuse (please don't read if these topics will affect you)

Some characters have been aged up. Neteyam in particular is 24.

Xilä is my own creation.

~

Part 20 - New Life

From her spot around the crackling fire, Xilä felt as if she were being watched. She didn’t need to look up to know who it was though. 

Since their arrival at Awa’atlu, she’d gotten her fair share of stares and peaks and glances. She’d expected it really. 

Physically wise, Xilä was no Omaticaya, so she didn’t blame the Metkayina people for their curiosity. She herself was curious about them.  

So when the other clans had arrived- all in their varying physicality's, she wasn’t the only one of interest and it was nice if she were being honest.  

But Aonung however, well his stares were different. She didn’t think they had anything to do with her features, not really. It didn’t feel rude or inappropriate either. More… intrigued, perhaps? Confused? 

He always watched her as if he had a question right at the tip of his tongue, but he never asked. Instead he’d always pursue his lips and look away. 

Tonight, a large group of them- all mostly within the same age bracket, had escaped to a nearby little island, which was nothing more than a sandy beach with very little vegetation. 

Away from the rest of their families, they built an impressive bonfire and made themselves comfortable on woven mats whilst pouches and cups of strongly brewed spirits and fermented wine were shared around.

Xi politely declined any offers of the alcoholic beverages and was thankful that no one questioned her about it. 

Their large group was scattered along the shoreline, creating clusters of conversations and activities and attraction was heavy in the air. 

For those single- the women whispered and giggled amongst their groups, eyes darting over to whichever male had caught their attention. 

As for the men- well, their own peeks and glances weren’t as hidden either, not even the ones being silly and dumb by daring each other to do stupid things by the water’s edge. 

There were even couples- some mated like her and Neteyam who cuddled and spoke quietly as if they were in their own world, gazes locked and glistening with love. 

The vibe and atmosphere all reminded Xilä of the night she’d completed her rites. They were all so young and full of life. And the rare freedom to let go and be themselves- away from elders or younglings, it was refreshing. 

Unable to bear the feeling any longer, Xilä finally turned away from her mate and met Aonung’s intense stare. 

He was quite a sight to see- he always was really. Aonung had not one, but two gorgeous females under his arms. A flirty, bubbly thing- the daughter of an Anuri warrior who seemed to be animatedly talking his ear off. 

And the other- a sultry, vixen of a Metkayina woman whose lips appeared to be permanently attached to his skin- her mouth lavishing and sucking at his neck with gusto. The woman whispered something to him- something that made his lips quirk devilishly. 

“I’m beginning to think your friend has a staring problem,” Xilä murmured to her mate. 

“He’s asking for it now,” Neteyam replied through gritted teeth. “I won’t warn him a second time.”

She probably shouldn’t have said anything. “Ignore him. He’s probably doing it on purpose, trying to test your patience.”

“Sure.” 

Xilä tittered when he wrapped a possessive arm around her and allowed herself to be shifted out of view- face pushed into a hard chiselled chest. She didn’t need to glance up to know her mate was probably boring holes into Aonung’s head. 

Their bickering hot and cold, frenemy relationship never failed to amuse her. They were adults- men, but yet they behaved like boys around each other.

The Metkayina male gave him a knowing smirk before returning to the conversation with the group surrounding him- his voice so important that all eyes fell on him to hear what he was saying. 

Lo’ak’s laugh pulled Neteyam’s attention away- and Xilä’s. 

“They’re adorable, aren’t they?” she whispered, peeking out to observe the couple seated nearby. “He’s completely smitten.” 

Neteyam watched Lo’ak and Tsireya. His head was in her lap and their fingers were interlocked- they looked every bit in love. 

He’d never seen his brother so open with affection. Not with anyone really. Lo’ak was a heartbreaker- unknowingly to himself. Kiri didn’t joke about his fan club for no reason. His brother had charm and the moves to have any woman at his feet- something Neteyam had once upon a time been jealous of. 

But this? This open display of ‘this is my woman’- Neteyam had never seen this from him. 

“Oh yeah... He’s a goner. She’s good for him.” 

When the drums and bone flutes began with a deafening roar, Xilä was quick to find Kiri- both girls pulling a hesitant Tsireya along to dance amongst a growing crowd. 

And while she was busy, Neteyam enjoyed conversing with a spontaneously formed group of men he and Lo’ak had befriended during their stay. There were K’ayno and Astlu- cousins from the Tipiani clan, Ye’k- a warrior from Ta'unui and Cxian the son and next in line Olo'eyktan of the Sarentu clan. 

Neteyam of course couldn’t help himself and still kept careful watch on Xilä, lips quirking upwards every time his eyes landed on her. She was enchanting as she moved- standing out from everyone else. 

She and Tsireya eventually made their way to him and Lo’ak- Xilä begging him to dance with her- eyes dangerous and weaponized to make him weak, however could he say no? 

They danced for what felt like hours- yipping and  twirling on fast feet. Rhythmic music beats speeding up, Xi’s hips moved wildly in time with the drums. Neteyam followed, eyes heated and intense on the woman before him, hands greedy and unable to not touch her skin while he stole and planted kisses wherever he could. 

It was electrifying. 

There was no one else but her and him.

As the night wore on, almost everyone was on their feet, bodies moving carefree and minds loose as they gave in to the spirit of the music. 

Eventually needing a break, Neteyam left Xilä in the trusted hands of his brother, sister, and now soon to be sister-in-law. Xi loved dancing, she was not stopping any time soon, he knew. 

Returning from relieving himself in a secluded patch of shrubbery, he saw a lone figure near the water’s edge. 

“Not in a dancing mood, I see,” he teased, startling his friend who had been tossing pieces of his meal into the calm ocean, a sort of game with a few clustered ilu.

“Not really, no. Although I must say it was quite shocking to see you of all people out there with the rest of them. Last I remember from your previous visit, you turned down almost every teenage girl who’d dared muster the courage to ask you to dance.” 

Neteyam snorted. “Yeah well what can I say, Aonung? Those girls weren’t my wife.” 

Aonung's flickered to his, and the same curious expression he’d been staring at Xilä with was now directed at him. He stared as if wondering who the man in front of him was- as if seeing him for the first time.

“Alright, enough. Spit it out. What’s the matter? If I didn’t know you, with all the looks and staring you’ve been giving my mate lately, I’d think you were interested in her- but I do know you so I know you’re not stupid enough for it to be that. What’s going on Aonung?” 

Aonung’s gaze fell. Jaw clenched in irritation, he pretended to be far more interested in the rolling sea. 

Before Neteyam could speak again, they were interrupted. 

“Aonuuung, come dance with me,” a Metkayina woman crooned through slurred speech. She plastered herself to him, most likely unaware that Neteyam was standing right there since her fingers tried to creep into Aonung’s loincloth. “Or do you want to sneak any instead? I’ll do that thing with my tongue like last time and maybe we could-”

“Zers’i,” Aonung chided, although there was no real bite to it. “Go find someone else to warm your bed tonight. I’m sorry, but I’m not very good company right now.”

“Oh…” She pouted dramatically- huffing in disappointment when he pulled her hand away from groping him. “Well maybe next time then, yeah?”

“Next time,” he promised. 

Neteyam coughed and looked away when the woman promptly kissed him- practically sticking her tongue down his throat in goodbye before finally stumbling back to the dancing crowd. 

“Brother, don’t even.” 

But Neteyam couldn’t keep a straight face. 

Aonung scowled and flopped to the ground with a sigh when he heard his friend’s stifled titters turn into a full bellied laugh. 

“Right… no, because while I’m thoroughly traumatized, that- that was entirely too entertaining.”

“How’d you and Xilä happen?” 

“What?” Neteyam sobered up quickly at the sudden question. 

Aonung blew out a breath and hung his head, elbows digging into his propped thighs. “I need a mate. Soon.”

Understanding dawned upon Neteyam. He glanced over to the crowd in the distance and once he spotted Xilä who was squashed between Kiri, Tsireya and a few other familiar females, he slumped down onto the sand beside his friend. 

“A mate… You’ve been given a deadline I’m assuming?” 

“A year. One fucking year,” Aonung rasped. 

“Shit.” And Neteyam thought his six years were ridiculous. 

“I don’t know how you do it. I don’t think I’m cut out for all this. How do you deal with the pressure? We have to take over from our fathers, follow in their great and mighty footsteps- lead an entire clan of people who hold us with the highest of expectations. They expect us to find a woman and make sure we produce the future generation, they expect us to be the best examples and not step an inch out of line because when we mess up it’s-”

“Our responsibility and we should have known better… yeah.” Neteyam rubbed the back of his neck. He knew exactly where Aonung was coming from- from each and every side. “Believe me I get it- all of it.”

They sat quietly for a few long minutes- the drums and yips and hoots being the only thing they heard until Aonung broke the silence between them. 

“Your Xilä is great- amazing. I’m halfway not joking when I say sometimes that I’d steal her from you… but she baffles the shit out of me.”

“It what way?”

Aonung shrugged. “She’s as in love with you as you’re in love with her. Right?”

Well now Neteyam was straight up confused. “I’d say so, yeah.”

“And it’s not all an act?”

“Fuck no. What are you trying to get at?”

“The last time you were here, you said you’d probably never take a mate. You said- what was it again? Oh right, that you hated the pressure of being “the chief’s kid and wish you had the guts to do things your way.” Did I remember all of that right?”

“Impeccable memory there, brother. You should also note that I was sixteen and an idiot.” 

“Skxawng relax,” Aonung chuckled, amused by Neteyam’s sudden defensiveness. “I’m glad you found happiness, truly. I’m simply looking for it myself. You saw a couple of the others-” he jerked his chin towards a certain group of men- men like them who either followed in their father’s footsteps, or “married” into it. “Not everyone like us gets lucky like you.” 

Neteyam absorbed his words. He knew arranged matings were the norm for most clans. Some pairings eventually found love, while others tolerated the match. Neteyam knew he was blessed, this trip had solidified it as much. 

Of the many Na’vi who’d shown up to Awa’atlu, he and Aonung had met some of the unlucky ones- the ones who’d taken another out of duty and expectation. It wasn’t that they were out right miserable, but it was clear as day… They weren’t really happy. 

“I guess I should be grateful that my parents are allowing me to find my own mate and haven’t just thrown someone at me… K’ayno over there”- he pointed to the Tipani man- “his mate was picked out for him before he could even talk. They’ve been together for eight years already. They’ve got a kid and another on the way… does it seem like there’s an ounce of affection in that relationship to you?”

“Eight years? He’s only two years older than me..”

“Yeah. And I don’t want that. Couldn’t do it.”  

Neteyam distractedly nodded in agreement, mind whirling away. 

“How’d you choose her though? Xi? How did you decide to spend an eternity with that one woman?” 

“Eywa.”

“Eywa? That’s a given, ‘Teyam. I’m being serious here.”

“And so am I. Look, just like you I got a deadline, not only that but a blood-oathed yes from me, sealed the deal- I had no choice. At first I did try to make a connection. Nothing felt right. I fooled around with a couple women- though, not as openly as you, my friend,” he said, making them both chuckle. It eased the tension somewhat. “But it wasn’t until Xilä who practically landed in my arms, did I know. Eywa’s to thank for that.” 

After another quick glance to his woman, he continued. “She’s impossible not to love. It was fast. I didn’t even court her. I claimed her as mine without going through all the traditional bullshit, and pissed off our mothers and half the clan while at it… and I have no regrets. I’d do it all the same way in a heartbeat.” 

Aonung’s brows rose high at the admission of pissing off their mothers and made a playful jab that made the conversation veer off topic for a couple minutes. 

“Man, your story was sweet and all, but that tells me nothing. How’d you know it was Xi?” 

He considered the question. “I cared.” 

“You… cared? That’s it? It was that easy?” 

“She was the first thing on my mind when I woke up and the last before I slept. It might sound trivial, but I cared about whether she’d eaten dinner or what her plans were for the rest of the day. I wanted to know everything about her. What her favourite food was, what her past was like, what she wanted for her future. I wanted to know what her fears were and what I could do to make them all go away. I hated sharing her- wanted her all to myself all the fucking time. And… and I’d never felt an ounce of any of that with anyone. Ever.” 

Aonung had an indescribable look on his face as Neteyam spoke. He shook his head, brows furrowed in hopelessness. “I don’t even know where to begin looking for someone like that. Not that I even tried looking yet, that is.”

“So don’t.” Neteyam shrugged, “This might be shit advice, so take it at your own risk… but maybe you shouldn’t look. I had about given up until Xilä came along. Maybe it can work for you too. Eywa will hear your heart.” 

Aonung reluctantly nodded. “Thanks,” he said in a tight voice, and Neteyam knew his thanks weighed heavily- that it meant more. 

“Oh and by the way, if you tell anyone about this little conversation, I’ll deny it and kick your ass. I’m not giving up hope for round two with you and beating you this time around.” 

“I’d like to see you try.” Neteyam shoved him with a grin of his own. 

His friend's chin jerked forward to where Xilä stood a couple feet away, seeming unsure if she should interrupt. 

“I think your pretty mate misses you,” he pointed out, taking in the way her cheeks were flushed and hair was wild and askew from her dancing. There was no doubt she was gorgeous and although he was wholeheartedly happy for Neteyam, he still felt that subtle pang of jealousy. 

“I’ll see you bro,” Neteyam said, eyes drawn to his waiting wife. They both got to their feet and slapped arms in parting. 

Aonung watched Neteyam greet his mate, head ducking low to claim her lips, one palm cupping her cheek, the other pulling her close while Xilä tucked her fingers into his belt. 

“Hi baby,” he heard Neteyam murmur, “you ready to go?” 

Xilä whispered something that Aonung couldn’t make out, but it made Neteyam laugh and kiss her again, deeper as if he hadn’t seen her for ages. 

And when they broke apart- voices hushed and eyes intensely locked, Aonung didn’t miss the way his friend’s palm spread across the span of Xilä’s stomach… or the way they both looked down to where it rested, smiles matching in the moonlight.

~

The old device gave a loud whirring noise that made all three of them cringe and wince in discomfort. Xilä in particular slapped her palms to her ears to try and muffle the sound, while Neteyam himself clenched his teeth together- ears flat to his head. 

“Sorry! Sorry! Lemme just- oh don’t do this to me now.” Norm’s fingers moved furiously across the keyknobs and the instant the high pitched sound ended, he released a joyful WHOOP and raised his fist in the air. “It works! I am a fucking genius.” 

Neteyam chuckled and peered over the older man’s shoulder at the large, clear monitor screen. The glass had a slight crack on the top left corner, but then again the thing was most likely ancient after all. 

Xil watched too, fascinated by the numbers, letters and moving lines that flooded the “page” Norm had brought up.

“Alright then genius, lets see you get it up and running now.” 

They left him to it, and it took him another half hour filled with curses and threats at the poor device, but with a final few strokes of the keyboard, Norm was looking back at Stephan and Max- their background being the familiar scenery of the labs back at Home Camp. 

Between him and Stephan, they made a few more tweaks, and then- finally then, Xilä was staring back at her parents who were also awed by the technology like her.

“Xilä! Oh magnificent Eywa- Jxo, look, look it’s our Xilä!” Salveen was yelling at the top of her lungs. “Darling, can you see us too?! Can you hear me?!” the elder screeched while her face pressed up into the glass.

Norm, Xilä and Neteyam smothered their amusement while watching a very patient Max explain to her parents how the communication worked and that they could speak normally. 

“We’ll give you some time to catch up, but I’ll be back, okay?” Neteyam murmured before he and Norm quickly made their way out of the designated mauri used for communications- a makeshift lab of some sort. 

“Hi,” Xilä breathed, smiling wide at the sight of them after so long, fingertips gently pressed to the glass. 

“Oh I miss you, my sweet girl. Darling you’re glowing, you look so beautiful, doesn’t she, Jxo?” 

Jxo grunted in agreement. “When are you coming back?” was the first thing he said. 

Xilä’s smile faulted a little, she was going to have to tell them. “I miss you too. So much. Have you been taking care of yourselves?” 

“Bah, we’re fine. Just fine. Oh I have so much to tell you though. You’ll never guess who broke off their betrothal!” 

On and on Sal went, filling Xilä in on all the latest gossip of the Camp. Xilä awed and gasped and laughed throughout it all- giggling, especially when Sal would throw out a “right, Jxo?” to which the man would simply nod or grunt in agreement. 

Xilä loved them both so much. Right now all she longed for was to hug them, to physically see them in person. She missed them a ridiculous amount. 

She perked up when she heard a familiar shriek in the background. 

D’avi and Yalnïk appeared with their two babbling children. “Xilä!” 

“D’aviii!”

L’eya was plonked onto her grandfather’s lap and then an overly excited D’avi invaded most of the space on the screen and started blubbering away- much like her mother had done before. 

There were many “I miss yous” and “look how shiny and long your hair has gotten!” and “when are you coming home?” 

Both sisters were momentarily in their own little world and Xi was saved from answering her sister’s last question when L’eo shrieked- the baby clearly needing some attention. 

Yalnïk and D’avi proudly filled her in on the twins' newest milestones. L’eo was even more a talker now, and Xilä had just about burst into tears when Yalnïk pointed to her and asked his son to say hi to his aunty Xilä- to which L’eo strung together a jumbled mess of words that sounded exactly like it. 

L’eya had finally taken her first steps and was now cautiously toddling around after her brother who’d Xi had had the joy witnessing his own first steps before she’d left. 

Jxo had gotten up to give Xilä a little demonstration by placing the baby down on shaky legs. She was still wobbly and didn’t want to let go of her grandfather’s fingers, but she managed to make a couple solid steps before falling on her bum. L’eya’s bottom lip wobbled in preparation to cry but still distractedly clapped her hands along with everyone else when they’d cheered her. 

Xilä had tears running down her cheeks by now. “Ah my babies, I miss you two so much,” she sobbed whilst smiling back at the toothy little grins of her chatty excited niece and nephew who blew her sloppy kisses. 

“Do you want me to come get you?” Jxo suddenly asked- voice gruff and no nonsense as ever. He kept staring at her as if trying to figure something out. “What’s that damn boy doing to you? You keep crying, darling. I don’t like it.” 

“Jxo!” Sal chided but her mate paid her no mind. 

He simply handed her L’eya and came closer to the screen, frown deepening. “Where’s he at, Xilä? I want to talk to him.” 

Xilä couldn’t help laughing while she frantically tried to remove the evidence from her under her eyes and cheeks. “I’m fine, father. I am. Neteyam is as wonderful as ever to me. I just really miss you all. Finally talking and seeing you,” she sniffled, “just makes me really happy.” 

Her father seemed to buy it after a couple more of her assurances. 

Her family asked about life at Awa’atlu- Yalnïk in particular was highly interested in the fishing techniques and gear- which Xilä suggested he ask her husband instead- she’d not really paid any attention to the job. 

D’avi told her that Leati and Ze’lu had finally started courting- much to Fe’ska’s displeasure and apparently there was a very public argument between the mother and daughter that was all the clan could talk about for days. 

They spent another half hour of bonding before Neteyam returned and quietly asked if she was ready for him to interrupt. Crouched beside her with a warm palm to her thigh, he greeted her family and caught up with them- marvelling over how much the twins had grown in the few months they’d been gone. 

And when the Sully family started trickling in- Spider included of course and when Mo’at appeared on the screen as well- it was like one big happy reunion. 

Mo’at had eyes for only her at first, ignoring everyone else in favour of asking about her health. The Tsahìk was not usually the fretting type, but with all the questions and attention, Xilä had a feeling that the grandmother knew.

Afterwards Lo’ak introduced them to his lovely future mate who shifted nervously under Mo’at’s assessing gaze. D’avi saved the awkward encounter by complementing Tsireya’s hair, and from there, the two became quite chatty. 

Finding the right moment, Neteyam stood, cleared his throat, calling for everyone’s attention. He squeezed the back of his mate’s neck in comfort when she leaned her head against his leg. 

“So, I’ll admit, I had a bit of an ulterior motive for making all this happen. We- Xilä and I have some news we’d like to share.” 

A soft gasp was heard through the computer- D’avi.

“Oh I knew-mpf!” 

Yalnïk covered his mate's mouth like he’d probably had to do a thousand times, and shot Neteyam a sheepish smile and nod to continue. 

“Right, um, baby?” He offered her his hands and helped her stand.

Xilä was nervous, but with an uncontrollable excited grin, she pushed down the bunchy material of her long slitted skirt which sat high up on her waist and revealed the little bump she’d been hiding for the last couple of weeks. 

“Surprise! I’m pregnant!” 

The noise that erupted was deafening- cheers and screams and cries of happiness which was mildly overwhelming. 

Neytiri was the first to wrap her up in a hug, pulling back to cup Xilä’s cheeks with a blinding smile before she was leaning over to do the same to her son. 

Sal was just about squeezing the life out of poor Jxo as she squealed and jabbered on and on. 

“I knew it!” D’avi was telling Kiri whilst taking a whining L’eo into her arms, and blindly pulling at her top so her baby could feed. “She’s got the glow- and the tears.” 

“Shit, you’re right, the tears! I knew something was up,” Spider laughed, “no regular sane person cries over fruit- Ow! Kiri!” 

Kiri rolled her eyes at him, then made her move to congratulate her brother and sister-in-law.

“XiXii!” Lo’ak shouted from across the room. “I’m really going to be an uncle? You- you’re not pranking, right? Because this is the best day everrrr! Babe, hold me,” he fake sobbed dramatically, throwing himself at Tsireya. 

A frowning Tuktirey had made her way to her eldest brother and patted his leg to get his attention. He’d been wrapped up in a hug by his father who was teasing him about his upcoming journey of fatherhood. 

“Hey there, baby sis.” He lifted her up with a dramatic groan and planted a kiss on her cheek. 

Tuk poked his nose and then frowned at Xilä who was chatting away with Mo’at and her family through the screen. “You’re still gonna love me the most right?” she pouted. “Even when the baby comes?”

“Aw, Tuk. Are you worried about that?” 

The little girl shrugged and played with the beads on his choker. “Täylley said when her sister had a baby, everyone forgot about her. She said they only ever wanted to play with the new baby. Just like everyone sometimes does with L’eo and L’eya.” 

Neteyam knew the feeling Tuk was experiencing all too well. He was the eldest of four after all. 

“I’m sorry your friend’s feeling that way but I’m sure that’s not the case at all. And it definitely won’t be the case for you. Who do you think is going to teach the baby how to build a fort or paint the best looking flowers I’ve ever seen?” 

“I can climb the best in my class. I bet they wouldn’t know how to do that either.”

“Nope. See, they’ll need an expert like you to show them.”

“Yeah, I can show them… but only when they get older. When they could talk- and walk,” Tuk said, hesitantly as if trying not to get too excited. 

“That’s right.. You know, the baby, and L’eo and L’eya are going to need someone they can look up to. Someone awesome, and brave and smart. Someone who can-”

Tuk’s eyes were wide as she absorbed her brother’s words. “Me. Me! I can be that person. I know I’m only seven, but I can do it! Almost- almost like a big sister, right?”

Neteyam kissed her cheek again and playfully tickled her side. “That’s right.” 

Xilä shook her head at her mother’s question. “I haven’t really been sick, mostly nauseous around certain scents.” 

“Oh you lucky bitch,” D’avi teased without heat. “These two had me constantly throwing up for the first four months straight, and then it was a constant fight or dance party inside me for the other eight.” 

“What has Ronal been giving you for your daily nutritional maintenance?” Mo’at asked with a slight frown. 

“A couple things I’m unfamiliar with. But I feel fine and my energy is good. Once I have a nap in the afternoon, I’m not overly tired for the rest of the day.” 

“What worries you mother?” Neytiri, who was at Xilä’s side, asked. 

“I know not about the Metkayina’s ways. I would be far more comfortable knowing Xilä was under my care. How far along are you, dear? Did Ronal confirm?” 

“I’m nearing the end of my fifth month,” Xilä admitted with a hand to her stomach. She knew where this was going. She knew it was time to share the other part of the news with her family- news she was dreading. 

“She- Ronal strongly advises against me returning home until a couple months after the birth.”

“What?!!” D’avi and Sal exclaimed together. Even Neytiri- and Kiri, who had just joined, glanced at her in alarm, Jxo’s lighthearted expression turned to stone. 

“We don’t leave here for another two and a half months and by then I’ll be too far along to risk the journey by ikran… I’m sorry mother, I-”

“No… No, Tsahìk, tell her it’s fine,” Sal gently demanded- though a hint of hysteria poked through.  

“I’m afraid Ronal is right. I was against you going on this trip in the first place. But it wasn’t for me to say at the time- and the risk was far lower. As much as you may not like it Xilä, the safest thing for you and the baby is to stay there.” 

~

Neteyam didn’t think he could ever tire of the beauty spanned before him. Even at night, Awa’atlu was a sight to behold. 

He and Xilä sat on the beach while calm waves rolled in, kissing the tips of his toes before fading back. His pretty mate sat between his propped up thighs, head and body molded to his chest while he cradled her bump. 

Since they’d found out she was expecting two months ago, her bump had grown- still small but prominent enough that she couldn’t hide it anymore. 

“You’re quiet tonight. Too quiet.”

“Just thinking.” 

“More like overthinking. I can hear your thoughts a mile away, sweetheart… Tell me.”  

She sighed. “I think it’s finally registered for me that we’re actually having a baby… a baby who’s going to be here in only a couple of months. Our baby, yours and mine… I- I’m going to be a mother.” 

At her tone, Neteyam’s fingers paused their gentle caressing on her bump. He said nothing, waiting for her to continue. 

“I know we’ve had conversations before and I agreed to all of this, and I’m not backing out- I’m not. But I’m scared, Neteyam. Eywa gave us a precious gift.”

Her hands came up to rest over his. “I’m scared that I’m going to mess this up somehow. I don’t know the first thing about being a good mother. I mean, look at last month- I completely freaked out when I felt our baby flutter inside of me for the first time.” 

Still listening, her mate hugged her closer, chin nudging her temple, propped thighs pressing into hers.

“My birth parents messed me up. Their own parents messed them up too. I want to break that cycle. I refuse to be like them. But it doesn't stop my worrying and I- Ugh… You probably think I’m being silly bringing this all up again.”

“Xilä…” Neteyam licked his lips and exhaled a breath. “You’re not alone in the way you’re feeling. You don’t think I worry about being a good father? Of course I do. But we’re in this together. You and me, baby. We’ll figure it all out together too. And you what? We’re going to mess up. We’re going to make mistakes. There’s no perfection in all of this.” 

He flipped the arrangement of their hands, his covering hers as they rested against her skin. “But you know what? The little one we created inside there? We’re going to try our damn hardest to be the best parents we could possibly be for them, and we’re going to love the heck out of our kid. ” 

“Yeah?” Her head tilted to meet his gaze. 

“Yeah, baby. You and me. Always...” He ducked and kissed the tip of her nose. “You’re going to be an amazing mother, Xilä. Our baby is lucky.” 

Just as Xilä was about to respond, a sharp gasp escaped her lips instead. 

Neteyam tensed. “What-”

“‘Teyam, I-” She grappled for his palm and moved it lower- just under her navel where she’d felt it.

He was going to ask her what was wrong when he felt it too- he felt the light pressure press into his hand, a small little first hello from his baby. 

“Was that-” And if he thought he’d imagined it he certainly didn’t, because he felt it again, and then again. 

“Oh Eywa,” he whispered, meeting her awed ecstatic expression. “Was that the first time? First kick?”

“Uh-huh. Oh! There it is again.” 

“Well hi there, little Sprout. Are you finally saying hello?” 

“Sprout?” Xilä chuckled. 

“Yeah, been calling them that in my head since your tiny bump first appeared.”

“Sprout. I like it- it’s a cute nickname… Hello, baby Sprout,” she sang to her tummy. 

“Speaking of names, we’re going to have to pick one ou-”

“‘Teyam.” Xilä suddenly sat up and turned to give him her full attention, finality set in her expression. It had been eating her alive and now she was more sure than ever. 

“I know Ronal said it’s not safe- but I really don’t want to have the baby here. I want to go home. I want us to go home.”

And without hesitation or worry over how he was even going to make it happen, Neteyam gave her a firm nod. “Okay. Then we’re going to go home.” 

~

“Are you going to get big like D’avi was? She was so huge! Bigger than Täylley’s sister when she was having her baby.”

“A-ha! Um, maybe. D’avi was having twins after all.”

“Oh right… Is it only Sprout then? They’ll be lonely inside of there don’t you think? Oh! Do you remember the christening grandmother Sal took us too? The one where her- her friend’s daughter had three babies?! You should do that Xi. 

You should grow three.”

“Three?” Xilä spluttered with a laugh. “Why three?”

“Three’s better. There’ll be one for me, one for L’eo and one for L’eya to play with,” the seven year old stated matter-of-factly. 

“I see… Well, I’m sorry I can’t make that happen. I don’t think it works like that. And anyway, Ronal confirmed there’s only one little one growing inside of me right now.”

“Oh. Mm that’s okay too, I guess. We’ll just have to share, but I’ll be the baby’s fav-”

Tuk stopped. Her brow wrinkled as she pondered in thought, fingers pausing their works on the pile of sand she and Xilä were constructing.

“Xilä? Do you think Sprout will like me? Täylley fights all the time with her sister’s baby- and he can’t even talk yet! She said he’s always pulling her hair or biting her finger! Can you believe that?”

Xilä tried her hardest not to laugh at the little girl’s theatrics. “I think the baby will love you, Tuk. Just like I do. I’m a little jealous that my baby will grow up having someone amazing like you in their life, honestly.”

“I am pretty amazing, huh?” Tuk nodded seriously, making Xilä smother another incoming chuckle. 

Tuktirey scooted over on her knees, sandy little hands reaching out to rest against Xilä’s bump. “I think you’d be a really great mommy.”

Xilä sucked in a surprised breath. “Yeah? What makes you say that?” she whispered. 

“Just because, and my mommy and daddy said so too last night,” Tuk shrugged while she continued to rub Xilä’s belly, rendering the pregnant woman slightly speechless. 

“Why’s the baby so quiet? Can you make Sprout do the kicking thing again?”

“Baby’s probably sleeping. Lately, they seem to like keeping me awake at night with all their stretching and kicking. Shall we see if we can wake them up?”

After a couple nudges and feeling around, they finally felt a small, almost barely there kick which made Tuktirey giggle then pout when the baby didn’t move again. 

“I think Sprout’s a bit grumpy today. Probably telling us off for disturbing their sleep.”

Tuk sighed dramatically, a sigh that reminded Xilä too much of Sal. “Okay, well let's get back to work then. I’ll finish the mountains and you dig the hole for the lake. Then we can fill it with water.”

“Hey, Tuk,” Xilä called when she caught sight of a lonely figure. Ronal and Tonowari’s youngest son was playing in the sand by himself a couple feet away. “This seems like a really big task. Why don’t you invite him to come help us?”

“Ohh, great idea!”

Once the trio completed their masterpiece and the kids decided to run off and play near where Neytiri was helping shell clams with a couple other women, Xilä stepped away and walked toward the shoreline. 

A cool breeze sent her hair flying. She shook out the thin shawl she’d been sitting on and wrapped it around her shoulders instead to combat the chill of the wind. 

Neteyam and Aonung were still where she’d left them since she’d come out here. They were further out- knee length deep in the crystal clear waters as they fished. 

Xilä bit her lip at the sight before her. She openly ogled her mate, appreciating the ripples of his back muscles and biceps while he worked the massive net in his hands. Aonung must've said something funny, because her husband's shoulders shook slightly. 

“Can you not look at my brother like that in public, Xilä?” Kiri complained with a dramatic groan, making the pregnant woman jump as she approached. “I get that your hormones are all over the place but sheesh. Every time I see you it’s the same damn look. No one needs to see your fuck me eyes in public. Bleh.” 

“Well hello to you too. I’ll remember this the next time you want to drag me to the training rings to spectate and find that Tasam’s the one who’s conveniently already there, mid-fight. I’ll remember to tell you the same thing when you’re shooting him your own fuck me eyes, as you call it.”

Kiri’s mouth flopped open to argue a retort, but she quickly shut it when nothing came out. “Shut up,” she seemed to come up with, failing at hiding her blush while Xi laughed. 

“Do you miss him?” 

“A lot honestly…” She made a face. “Is that weird?” 

“Not at all. You like him, it’s okay to miss him… Do you find it weird?”

“Yes. I find the entire thing strange. We went from never hanging out, to pretty much spending all of our free time together. And now I’m wondering, how’d I never noticed him before? It’s like one day he just appeared. And he’s so…” 

“He’s so what?”

“Unexpected.” Kiri settled on. She sighed. “Did you know he told me he’s liked me for years? Years, Xi. I didn’t even notice. It took your sister one afternoon to pick up on it and meddle her way into creating this thing between him and me.” 

Xi drew into the damp sand with her toes. The waters rolled in and covered her feet, erasing her artwork when it fell away. “Honestly? I’m not surprised you didn’t. I’m sure you’ve not even noticed your Awa’atlu admirer either.” 

“What? Who?!”

Xilä jerked her chin towards Rotxo’s direction. The quiet man seemed to always appear wherever her sister-in-law was. He was currently seated nearby, whittling a spear whilst shooting not so subtle glances in their direction. 

“Are you talking about Rotxo?!” 

“Mmhm. He’s definitely got a crush. Very sweet too, don’t you think?”

Kiri stared at him with a tilt of her head, brows furrowed in thought. “Huh.” 

Xi snickered.

A comfortable silence fell over them, where they both got lost in their own thoughts. Xi returned to appreciating her husband’s backside while Kiri pursed her lips as if forcefully trying to keep words in.

“Tasam said he’s going to ask me to court when we get back home.”

An audible click was heard when Xi flung her neck towards Kiri, mouth open in shock, then morphing into excitement. “And what did you say to that?”

“Nothing… and then I felt bad because there was a whole awkward silence moment happening while my brain went haywire. He told me not to say anything yet. He wanted me to take the time away to really think about it before making a decision.”  

“Aww Kiri. This is exciting. Do you know what you’re going to tell him?”

“Not yet,” her sister-in-law replied, but there was no hiding the blushing smile she tried to rein in. 

A splash had them both looking out at the sea again. 

“Oh look, here comes, your admirer, and I’m not talking about your husband,” Kiri deadpanned. 

“Hello beautiful,” Aonung called out, wading through the waters towards them with his and Neteyam’s catch for the morning. 

“Stop flirting with my wife, skxawng.” 

Aonung jogged ahead of him and sent Xilä a playful wink with his good eye as he passed. 

“Better get out of here before he gives you a matching black eye, you fool,” Kiri taunted. She followed after him then broke off and headed towards Rotxo who’d beckoned her over.   

“I really still can’t believe you punched him, ‘Teyam. You’re not boys anymore. You use your words, not your fists!”

“I did warn him though. He’s the one who decided to keep flirting with you,” her husband shrugged as he made his way closer. “He knew he had it coming.”

“Handsome! He only does it to piss you off. You could just ignore him. You know that right?” 

“I like my solution better.”

“Of course you do.” This man never ceased to amaze her. 

Like an insect to a flame, when he got in reach, Neteyam’s hands crept under her shawl and immediately found her belly, fingers trailing over the smooth firm skin. 

“Hi,” he whispered in greeting, ignoring her exasperated expression and kissing her anyway. “How’s my little Sprout doing today?” 

Sprout gave a big kick as if awakened by the sound of Neteyam’s voice- as if saying hello daddy!

“Quiet until now. Our baby always knows when it’s you.”

That made him happy. 

“What are you doing later? If you’re not busy tonight, do want to go on a date with me?” he asked with a wiggle of his brows.

Xilä pressed up onto her toes and looped her arms around his neck. Her bump prevented her from getting closer, but she made it work. 

“Always… Will there be sex at the end?” she teased quietly. 

“It’s on the list of activities, yeah.”

“Good. We haven’t done that in a while and I miss you.”

“It’s been only four days, Miss Greedy.”

“Exactly, it has been four days. I’m glad you’ve been keeping track. You’re the one who keeps putting off every one of my efforts.”

“Yeah, cause… baby, you’ve been so tired lately and- hey, don’t even,” he said, halting her objection. “Sprout’s been keeping you up a lot with all the kicking and you need to rest. So, I’m making sure that you do when you can. Even if it means, no sex sometimes.”  

Xilä stared up at him for a long minute- taking her time to roam over his facial features. “I love you. What did I do to deserve you? I must have done something right- something big.” 

“Stop.” He was trying so hard not to blush. “I hope you remember you love me the next time you want to rip my head off for simply breathing too loud.”

“That was one time.”

He raised an amused brow as if saying really, babe?

“To be fair you have been behaving ridiculous lately. Actually if we’re checking, pretty much since you found out we’re expecting.”

“When have I ever been ridiculous?”

“Are you kidding me? I have a whole list of instances, but if you want more recent- You tried to ban me from hanging out with Spider and Lo’ak just this morning at breakfast!”

“Because the idiots wanted you to go with them to explore Cx’ove Creek!” he hissed. “Who in their right mind invites a pregnant woman to go exploring a srakat infested water cave for fun?”

“I told you already, they were just being nice and simply offered. I wasn’t actually going to go! You didn’t have to be so bossy about it.”

“But I thought you liked it when I was bossy?”

She turned flustered. “Well yes, but-” 

Neteyam silenced her with a kiss. Then another when she was about to protest and one final one before she finally gave up trying to argue. “I love you too by the way. Are you hungry? Have you had your second breakfast yet?” 

She shook her head with a grumpy frown, eyes following him when he squatted in front of her. 

“I think your mama’s mad at me, Sprout,” he whispered to their baby, kissing right where felt a poke, “but don’t worry, I’m going to feed you both and then I think we should all take a nap, and that means you too. Can’t keep waking her up every night, alright?” 

They both grinned at their baby’s nudge. 

“Alright,” he said, getting up, “time for second breakfast.”

Second breakfast. It made her chuckle every time.  

When Jake had picked up on her habit of having another meal after breakfast and before her first lunch, he started calling it “second breakfast” which was some sort of inside joke between him and Norm. 

They tried to explain the movie where the joke came from. There was something about a quest and a ring and a creature called a hobbit? 

And although it went over her head, second breakfast stuck. 

~

Their final two months at Awa’atlu flew by, bringing many changes along with it. 

The majority of the other clan leaders and clan representatives had by now returned to their homes, but for the Sully company, they’d stayed the longest. Jake and his team’s roles were far too important for the massive project they’d started. 

What they had accomplished was far from simply great- it was incredible, completely world changing. They had gotten the clans of Pandora to come together. Uniting them in a way that was marked as historic. 

With Norm’s guidance, a temporary form of communication between all clans was successfully up and running. It also aided the new system they were trying to implement for the sharing of resources which was finally underway. 

And thanks to it, Neteyam was able to secure a safe solution for his wife to return home…

The moment he saw her, the man’s jaw dropped. His grin broadened at the sight of her midsection. “Well look at you, kiddo!” Stephan laughed as he gently hugged Xilä. “The bump suits you, doll. Congrats, darling.”

“Thank you,” she smiled, proudly, hand automatically running along said bump. “Nice hairstyle, it suits you,” she replied, taking in his new-do. The sides were shaved and the hair in the middle was short and spiky. 

“Much more me, right?” he winked, moving forward to their packed things to grab up three overstuffed satchels in one hand and a wrapped heavy net in the other. She’d gotten Aonung to organize the specially crafted gift for her last week- she couldn’t wait to give it to Yalnïk.

Neteyam and Lo’ak had just strolled into the marui when she awkwardly tried to bend to pick up a bag with the intention of following after Stephan. A belly bump made simple everyday tasks difficult sometimes, she was still adjusting. 

Her mate was quick to tell her off however, mildly scolding her for even attempting to lift anything. 

Xilä huffed. “We’ve talked about this, Neteyam. I’m not an invalid. At least let me help carry something out to the ship.” 

“Here.” He handed her a small pouch of seaglass stones she and Tuk had collected which made Lo’ak snort when Xilä shot her husband an unimpressed look. 

He took off with his own armfulls- the large case he’d brought his weapons in, a thick rolled up pelt and the last three satchels that held their belongings. 

“Four more months. Just four more months,” Xilä sang to herself. “Have I told you that your  brother is driving me crazy, Lo’ak?”

“Only two or three times a day since you told us you were expecting,” he teased. 

“Ugh! Everything is don’t lift that, don’t go there, that’s too dangerous, my baby shouldn’t be eating that, eat this instead, you should rest, you should sit, you should sleep! Eywa! If I didn’t love the man…” 

“Hey, don’t look at me for help. You’re the one who willingly chose him as your mate. You knew what you were getting yourself into…” His playful words fell away as he stared at her. “I’m going to miss you, XiXi.” 

“Don’t do that, Lo’. You’ll make me cry. Do we really have to do this now?” 

He clicked his tongue sympathetically. “Come on. I’ll walk you out.”

Xilä took one final glance at the now sparse marui before Lo’ak led them out onto the bouncing pathways. 

“I’m going to miss you too, you know. You’d better not hold any blessing celebrations over you and Tsireya without me.”

“Nah. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. After that stunt Neteyam pulled with you, mom would kill me in a heartbeat, and Tsi’s parents aren’t people I want to cross either. Even grandmother threatened me on our last call. She wants to meet Tsireya in person before I officially ask Ronal and Tonowari for their blessing.” 

“I get it. You’re bringing her on your visit in a couple of months right?”

“Yep. So you better not have that baby until we arrive.” 

“I still can’t believe you’re moving out here. I am so happy for you, though.”

Lo’ak stopped and pulled her in for a hug, being extra careful not to squish her belly. “Hey Xi? I don’t think I ever apologized… but I’m sorry I was such an asshole the first time we met. You’re hella awesome.”

Xi hugged him a little tighter. 

The beach was crowded that morning- much like it had been on the first first day they’d arrived. Many Metkayina surrounded Stephan’s ship, all awed and fascinated with the odd metal, bird-like aircraft. 

From Xilä’s viewpoint she could see the eccentric Avatar giving a couple of the younglings a tour through the wide glass windows at the front of the ship. 

This was it. It was time to return home. 

Her and the Sullys’ goodbyes were bittersweet.

Awa’atlu had been their home for the past six months. She had formed deep connections, friendships and had grown attached to the sea and all the beauty that came with it. 

“Take care of him for me, will you?” She overheard Neytiri asking Tsireya as they embraced. “He can be a handful sometimes- too stubborn for his own good, but he really is the sweetest boy.” 

“Are you sure that contraption is safe?” Ronal interrupted, to ask Jake who was chatting with Tonowari. “I don’t know if it’s any better than your tempered ikrans. It doesn’t look like it.”

“It’s safe,” Jake assured. “They did a lot of repairs on the ship in preparation for this trip. Xilä and the baby will be well protected.” 

She gave an unimpressed hum, but said nothing else on the matter. Her expression softened when Xilä approached to bid her goodbye. “You better bring that baby with you next time you visit. I can already sense your child will be destined for great things…”

Xi was finishing making her rounds when a voice called for her.  

“Are you not going to say goodbye to me, beautiful?” 

“Aonung.”

“Tsk. Aw come on Xi- I’m hurt, wounded,” he joked solemnly- palm over his heart. 

“Take care of yourself, okay? I mean it.” 

His smile fell a little. “I’m going to miss having you around. It was sure fun riling up your husband… I never did get to fight him again.”

A chest plastered against her back and she automatically leaned into it. “Yeah, cause you know you’d lose again, you skxawng,” Neteyam teased from over her head with a possessive palm to her round tummy. 

Xi shook her head, highly amused- there they went again. 

She was really going to miss this place. 

~

Xilä’s reunion with her family was a joyful one. Welcomed home with open arms and all the love they had to give, she knew she made the right decision to come home. 

Returning to the forest eased Xilä’s worries. It was safety, it was warmth and love. It was… home. 

And although they’d been gone for six months, she and Neteyam had settled back in quite quickly and were able to return to their routines just like before. 

She resumed her studies with Mo’at, eager to share all that she’d learned from the metkayina and Neteyam returned to his duties as a high ranker, along with all the other responsibilities he had under his belt. 

What was most exciting was catching up on how much she’d missed out on. 

Kah’lee and W’aote were on some sort of weird break where they weren’t talking but would still have the occasional “fuck session.” W’aote apparently was ready to settle down, but Kah’lee wasn’t- which was strange because before Xi left for Awa’atlu, it was the other way around. Kah’s hesitancy to officially court him sparked an argument between the two, thus creating the weird separation.  

Leati and Ze’lu however were going strong. The female warrior loathed public displays of affection but Ze’lu appeared to be a stage five clinger- Kiri’s words, not hers. The man was completely in love and would smother his woman in affection despite her grumpy, lackluster protests. 

Xilä personally thought they were a perfect couple. He calmed her bitchiness and temper tantrums and she brought him out of his shell. It was the perfect balance.

The twins' development, however, amazed Xi the most. They were toddling around everywhere now, and always chatting up a storm in a mixture of baby babbles and their ever growing learnt vocabulary. 

They were also both fascinated with her belly bump, especially whenever Neteyam was able to coax a big movement from Sprout- tiny little hands patting her with excited squeals. 

And speaking of babies. Xi and her husband had done a lot of preparing for their little one’s arrival. Xi had never sewed as much as she did before- Sal was a big help in that department. 

Meanwhile Jxo and Neteyam did a lot of upgrades and rearranging of their tent in their spare time. Jake had pitched in too, only he called it baby proofing. 

Her father had also built them the cutest little cot she’d ever seen… It was very similar to the ones he did for his first two grandbabies- and yes, she did cry when he gifted it to them. 

Since finding out that they were going to be parents, the mated pair were eager to absorb as much information and advice from those closest to them. And sure, they would have the support whenever they needed it, but they wanted to learn to do as much of it as possible on their own. 

As she neared the end of her pregnancy, Xi had grown increasingly miserable. She couldn’t move as fast as before. Her bump prevented her from certain tasks, her feet ached all the time, she could never find the right position to sleep in and quite frankly, she was just about ready for Sprout to move out. 

Neteyam was another matter entirely. 

Four weeks ago, Mo’at had instructed her that she was supposed to be taking it easy- an instruction her husband was all too eager and diligent in making happen… 

He’d become increasingly overbearing and overprotective of her throughout her pregnancy. It seemed as if as her baby bump grew, so did his possessiveness.

He snapped at anyone who so much as breathed too much in her direction. It was probably worse than his clinginess back when she’d been rescued from Li’ona.

Suffice to say because of said behaviour, it was no surprise when he and the women of their family butted heads a few times. 

Sal and Neytiri had to keep reminding him that pregnant women were tougher than they looked. He and D’avi also got into far too many bickering matches whenever he hovered and lingered during their “sisterly bonding dates”. 

Kiri and Mo’at simply found Neteyam’s behaviour amusing- Xi was sure she’d never seen the grandmother so entertained before. 

And when Xilä had finally met her twelve month mark- due date coming and going, there was no baby. She was a week overdue now and felt uncomfortably massive. 

“Why doesn’t the baby want to come out,” she whined. 

“You’ve made too good a home for your little one it seems,” Mo’at joked mildly as she ran her hands over the stretch of Xilä’s skin, fingers pressing down to feel the baby’s position. “We shall have to do some coaxing then, hm?”

“What kind of coaxing?” Neteyam asked quickly. 

“Have her take a walk. She can try some char’mille tea, heavily spiced herb broth, perhaps a warm bath and sex.” 

Xilä knew the list of suggestions, and yet even as the Tsahìk voiced the last one, her cheeks still tinged lightly. Her mate seemed unaffected though. He nodded seriously and asked his grandmother a couple other million questions- like he always did whenever they came in for a visit.  

Is it normal that her boobs are already leaking milk?

When will they know for sure she’s in labor?

Do they need to wait until her waters break or until the contractions start before coming in?

How painful will the birth be for her?

Was there anything he could do to ease it?

Fingers interlocked and propped up on her bump, Xilä relaxed as best as possible while her husband went on and on with question after question. 

Midway through their visit, he handed her a leaf wrapped snack that appeared from nowhere- some thinly sliced nectar coated meat placed between two sari cakes with mashed teylu and diced shrooms. Not the most appetizing thing to anyone else, but it was all she livid off of for the past week. 

Xilä smiled at her husband’s attentiveness and dug in without needing to be told. 

“And I know I’ve asked already, but are you sure there’s nothing else I can do for her during the birth?”

“Your role is to support her. The moment is all about her… and then all about her and the baby. She needs calm. You soothe and encourage her through it all. That’s it. If you can’t do that then you stay outside the birth room… Now, any other questions?”

“Yes. What-”

This boy! Mo’at huffed and shot Xilä a half amused, half frustrated expression. “Are you sure you want him to stay during the birth?” 

“What do you mean? Of course I’m-”

“I’m not asking you, ‘Teyam… Xilä?” 

“I wouldn’t want him anywhere else,” she smiled.

~

They’d tried almost everything. 

But no amount of tea, or broth, or walks or baths did anything to nudge their little Sprout out of her. 

She was too uncomfortable for sex, so only when nothing else on the list worked and she was just about at her wits end, did she finally decide to give lovemaking a go. 

“You’ll have to do all the work. I’m not moving a muscle,” she groaned. 

“We don’t have to do this, you know.” 

Xilä could cry. “Well we’re going to have to! I want the baby out already, ‘Teyam! I’m so uncomfortable. My skin feels stretched to its limit, my boobs feel like they’re about to explode. And there are parts of me that hurt, that I didn’t even know could hurt like this! I don’t want to do this anymore. Please- just please do something! And why are you standing so fucking far away?!” 

Shit! “Alright hey, hey. I’m here, baby.” He climbed into their hammock beside her, sensing a mental breakdown. “Sweetheart-”

“This is not sex,” she frowned when he cuddled her into his arms. 

He tried not to smile. “Let’s take a breather first, yeah?” 

She nodded and blew out a gush of air. “I’m sor-”

“Stop,” he whispered against her lips. “Just relax, sweetheart.”

He hummed the little tune he’d started singing to Sprout whenever he got too rowdy while his large palm soothingly ran over the curve of her belly. He prepared her with tiny kisses wherever he could reach from his position and sent silent prayers to Eywa to ease her discomfort. 

“‘Teyam.”

“Xi.”

“I have to pee… again.” 

He kissed her forehead. “Okay. Let’s go.” 

After helping her to her feet, they probably only made it a couple steps before Xilä stopped with a gasp. A gush of liquid escaped her- it coated her inner thighs and rolled over her calves and ankles as it fell to the floor. 

“Was that-”

“My waters broke,” she said, staring dumbstruck at the puddle at her feet. 

~

The room was too crowded.

Neteyam was itching to throw them all out and with every passing second, every glance towards anyone who wasn’t his wife, his patience grew thinner. 

They were nearing the fifth hour since Xilä’s waters broke. Her contractions were slowly growing more frequent now, and it was killing him every time he saw another wave of pain hit her. 

Seated between his raised thighs, he felt her body tense up again. She moaned through gritted teeth and desperately squeezed his forearms while the pain consumed her for a couple seconds too long for him, before her shoulders slumped and head fell backwards as she panted. 

“You’re doing so good,” he whispered against her temple. 

She gave a shaky laugh in response. 

“Do you want me to take over, ‘Teyam? You can go stretch your legs for a bit and-”

“No.” He winced at his tone and shot his mother-in-law an apologetic half smile. “Sorry. But no, I’m good, Sal. I’m not going anywhere.”

Five minutes later, his mother came and asked the same damn question. 

Ten minutes after that, D’avi offered to sing Xilä a “calming song” she thought would help sooth her. 

Neteyam knew it was their custom to have a “village” present for a birth… but this? This was too much. 

Why couldn’t they wait outside with the men- as well as the shocking mass of clan members who’d shown up to give their support? 

That damn song made him reach his limit. 

The singing, combined with the not so soft chatter from Leati’ and Kah’lee seated in the corner of the tent, Sal and Neytiri’s bustling around the small private quarters Mo’at had set up for them as they made arrangements and Kiri and Mo’at’s ingredient tinkering- he’d had enough. 

“Baby?”

“Yeah?”

“How mad at me would you be if I kicked them all out?”

Her head moved against his shoulder. 

“What? Who?” 

Even with sweat slicked hair and heated flushed cheeks, he thought she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. 

“All of them? Except grandmother of course.” 

Xi turned and took in the room’s activities. Her stifled anxiety quickened so she quickly glanced away again. 

“You can say no.” 

“Honestly? It’s crowded. I won’t be upset if you ask them to leave,” she admitted. “I love them all and I’m glad they’re here to support us… but it’s just…”

“Overwhelming right?” 

She nodded, feeling a wave of guilt consume her. 

Reading her all too well, he brushed her jaw with his thumb. “There’s nothing to feel bad- or be sorry about. They’ll understand.” 

Xi internally debated asking D’avi to stay. But if she was being honest with herself, she wanted this moment to be between her and mate. 

“Wait”- she stopped him before he could move- “do it nicely, okay? I don’t want any of them to think they’re a problem.”

He kissed her neck and promised to be nice about kicking out everyone before he got up. 

Sal looked ready to put up a fight with him but with one glance at her daughter who Mo’at was helping through another contraction, she relented. 

The women understood- thankfully. 

Both mothers showered Xilä with kisses before they left and assured they’d be a call away and just in the next room giving up prayers of their own. 

~

In the quiet dim space, Mo’at’s chats shifted in waves of highs and lows. Xilä’s wails however, overshadowed them. 

“No more. No I can’t. I CAN’T do thi-” Xilä broke off into another cry that Neteyam helplessly tried to sooth. 

“Xilä, breathe.” Mo’at patted her thigh and waved another round of spiced smoke from a lit herb bundle. 

“‘Teyam,” she whimpered through never-ending tears, breathing heavily in pants she fought to control.

“I know sweetheart, I know.” He brushed away the stubborn strands of hair that kept getting stuck to her forehead. “You’re doing so good. Almost there, baby.” 

Her chin wobbled and she licked her chapped lips. 

“Tell me what to do for you. What can I do?” We wished he had the power to take away her pain. 

“Tell me a story?” 

He couldn’t help the breathy chuckle that escaped him. It had been a while since she’d asked for one of those. Lips to her temple, he tasted salt. “What kind, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know. Any? I just need to hear your voice. Please?”

“Okay, I got you,” he soothed. “I’ll tell you about the one that changed my life, yeah?”

Her head fell forward when another contraction rolled in- back arching away from him. Her fingers bit into the flesh of his thighs that bracketed her own. His palms ran over her sweat slick skin- shoulders, arms and the backs of her hands whilst soft cooed words fell from his lips. 

Only when it was over and she sagged against him- fatigue dripping heavily with another plea for him to talk, did he start his story. 

“It all started on what I thought was a random day of the worst year of my life. Nothing was going right and so much was weighing heavily on me. I decided I needed to get away for a couple day, so I went on a solo hunting trip to blow off some steam.” 

He ducked to check on her. Her eyelids half closed while she stifled a whimper. 

“I caught nothing though, couldn’t focus- I kept missing my shots. On my last day, after catching nothing again, I was just about to head back home when a woodspirit distracted me. And then I heard a sudden scream- a gut wrenching and skin chilling one at that. So I followed it and I found this odd little cloaked thing running from a nantang. They tried to climb a tree to escape, but they slipped, and fell.”

Xilä’s heart thudded in her eardrums… She knew this story.

“Anyway, after I took care of the beast, I approached the hooded and masked stranger. They blinked up at me for a second, with- with the most incredible eyes I’d ever seen, before they blacked out. And when I pulled the mask away”- he made an approving pleased sound- “the stranger? Prettiest thing I’d ever laid my eyes on.”

Mo’at’s chants grew quieter as she continued to waft smoke in Xi’s direction- it helped her calm somewhat. 

“Anyway, I didn’t know it at the time, but I made the best decision of my life by taking her home with me… After an order from my dad, I had no choice but to spend time with this gorgeous creature every day, and you know what?”

Xi’s eyes closed. “What?”

“It was pure torture,” he whispered in her ear, making her snicker with a moaned wince. 

“So then what happened?”

Neteyam bent and nuzzled her cheek, palm coming to rest on her stomach. “So, then I fell in love with her… and by some miracle she loved me right back.”

“And then?”

“And then I claimed her as mine, and she claimed me as hers… can you believe that? She became my mate. Mine.”  

Xi peered up at him- pure love and adoration shining through her pain stricken face. “And then?”

He wiped the tear rolling down her cheekbone. “No… and now… and forever.”

“Xilä,” Mo’at called. “It’s time to push.”

“‘Teyam… can’t-” 

“Shhh. Come on baby, what am I always telling you? Hm? You’re strong- you can do anything.” 

“It hurts,” she whimpered. 

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. Lean on me, sweetheart, I got you.”

~

Their baby came into the world with a hearty cry. Wails almost deafening but Neteyam laughed in glee- eyes prickling at the sight of the tiny wrinkly blue creature Mo’at placed on Xilä’s bare chest. 

A boy. A son. 

“Neteyam- oh ‘Teyam, look at him. He’s-” Xi grinned through her tears- pain forgotten, “he’s perfect.” 

Neteyam couldn’t keep his eyes off of their little Sprout. “Holy shit.” He was here- their baby- their son.

Arms over Xi’s he gently cradled his baby’s head. “So much hair,” he marvelled. 

“It’s dark like yours, handsome.” Xi couldn’t move her eyes away- too busy trying to absorb every single detail. 

Index finger extended, Neteyam touched his son’s palm, and when his teeny tiny fingers closed over the digit, his heart melted. 

Their son’s cries turned to whimpers as Xi soothed him and he looked almost annoyed as he blinked up at them through half opened eyes before they closed again.

“Hi precious, I’m your mama. Hi, aren’t you the sweetest.”

“I think he’s got your eyes, baby. I caught a flash of silver.”

Xi took a damp cloth from Mo’at and began to clean their son- removing away as much of the waxy type substance that coated his skin. 

Mo’at eventually took over after ensuring Xi was taken care of. The elder handled their baby with expertise. He began to fuss while she checked him over- gums, tiny tail, pointed ears and queue. 

The grandmother failed to hide her sniffle and misty eyes, voice soft in her whispered prayers to Eywa. 

“He’s okay?” Neteyam was itching to have their baby back. 

“Perfect. A healthy baby boy.” She handed the crying infant back to his mother and he instantly quieted. She gently cupped Xi’s cheek. “You were amazing, darling. Congratulations to you two.”

“Thank you, grandmother. For everything. Thank you.” 

Little Sprout gave an unhappy coo, and like a natural, Xi arranged him in her arms and helped him find her nipple. It took a couple tries and whispered coaxing but the instant he latched, he was hungrily suckling. 

Neteyam stared at the two of them, entranced and amazed- unaware when his grandmother snuck out to share the news with the rest of their family. 

He kissed his wife’s temple, with whispered words of praise- telling her how proud he was of her. She met his lips with hers for a brief moment and with her own I love you’s.

After she shifted their baby to her other breast and he had his fill, she gently burped him, cooing a soft good job when he did. 

“Ready to hold him, handsome?” 

He nodded eagerly and shuffled out from behind Xilä, accepting hands comically larger in comparison to their infant. 

Was it possible to love someone wholeheartedly after knowing them for less than an hour? 

His mate was right, their son was perfect. 

Nestled in the crook of his arms, their baby yawned, tiny fists clenched against his cheeks, knees drawn up against his tummy. 

Neteyam’s heart could burst. Happiness consumed him. 

“He looks just like you. Just like his daddy.” 

The resemblance was startling, he thought. A mini him. 

Xi peered at the second love of her life, head resting against her husband's bicep. “I don’t think any of the names we picked out suits him, and as much as I think it’s a cute nickname, I’m not calling our son Sprout.”

“You’re right… we’ll figure it out though.” He kissed the top of her head. “How are you feeling, sweetheart? Do you ache?”

She nodded, fingers gently touching her son’s tiny toes, they twitched and Xi thought she’d just about burst into tears. “Yes, but I can bear it. I can’t believe our baby’s here with us now. I’m so happy, ‘Teyam, I don’t know what to do with myself.” 

“Me too.” 

Sprout shifted and made a soft noise in his sleep before settling- tail giving a slight flick against Neteyam’s hand. He truly couldn’t take his eyes off of him. 

“Our families’ are going to go crazy, they’re gonna love him. They’re probably going mad over waiting so long as well,” he joked. 

“Let them wait,” Xi sighed, the pad of her thumb tracing a delicately soft cheek. “Let’s just be together a little longer, yeah?”

Neteyam smiled in agreement. “Whatever you want, sweetheart. Whatever you want.” 

~

This chapter was soooo difficult to write & edit, I hope you all enjoyed it anyway!

First things first, yes, that was the last chapter- but WAIT. There will be a two-part epilogue. One- a slice of life after the birth of little Sprout and Two- a couple years after that.

PS. I still haven't settled 100% on a name for Sprout, so you can still send suggestions. Also, for girl names too (since they may or may not have another baby/babies in the epilogue).... (Who am I kidding, of course they will) LOL!

Okay, now cue the waterworks...

Thank you, THANK YOU to everyone of you who've followed me on this journey. Safe Haven is so special to me and I have enjoyed sharing it with you all.

Every read, every like, every comment, every suggestion and idea- just know I appreciate them all!

This community has been so welcoming and the response to a newbie writer like myself is profound.

As always, please share your thoughts :)

Tags:@jakesullyfatjuicypeen@granddearduck@riatesullironalite@strawberri-blonde@earthling55 @innercreationflower @duckworthbean @gyuventure @btsiguess-kpop@blkmystery@neteswife@luvteyams@isnt-itstrange@erenjaegerwifee@faatxma@ivysully@bakugouswaif@pinkpantheris @mntx666@ironcaptainnataliabarnes

[im-a-wh0r3]

fuck it, I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands and write a fic about James Logan ‘Wolverine’ Howlett x reader. I intend to make this a long-ass series, lmk if you’d like that. I’m gonna do it anyway but would like to know if anyone would read it.

I haven’t written anything in like 4 years so it might start a little shitty so bear with me 🙏

Second Chance

Pairing: James Logan Howlett/Wolverine x Mutant!Magneto’s sister!Reader

friends to lovers to strangers to enemies to frenemies to friends to lovers (not all in 1 chapter dw)

Warnings: Historical inaccuracy (I’m not a historian pls 😩), afab!fem!reader, use of y/n, I’m shit at summaries so it’s gonna feel a bit bullet pointy (lmk if there’s more)

Added notes: considering the reader is Magneto’s sister, that would make her Jewish, you obviously don’t have to be Jewish to read this. I myself am not Jewish, however, I put myself very much into this character and I feel Magneto and myself are very similar personality-wise so making him the brother of the character that I have created made sense to me, their mutations are also kinda similar. What Erik went through during the Second World War isn’t mentioned in this because I felt that was incredibly insensitive of me considering I in no way relate to it, but if I do state anything that causes issue please inform me and I will change it. (tbh I tried not to mention the happenings of the war at all because I know very little about it but still, let me know)

Summary: You were only young when the war began. As a young woman in 1939 you could do very little to assist, so you became a nurse. What you didn’t realise was how much tragedy, heartbreak and indescribable desire this choice was going to bring you.

Word Count: 1.4K

Hope you enjoy <3

Nuremberg 1924, Jakob and Edie Eisenhardt had just given birth to a beautiful baby girl, y/n. You were an independent, strong-willed child, never ill, and learning to walk and talk long before others your age. So, when you were four, and your mother gave birth to your little sister Ruth, a sickly child, your mother’s attention was ripped from you, far more concerned with your sister's wellbeing, with her constantly slipping in and out of illness. Your father was also away a lot with work, leaving you to entertain yourself. You were never fazed much, preferring the company of your family dog, Otto, your playful 2-year-old border collie.

Your strange connection to the earth began to show not long after your little sister was born. Not thinking much at the young age of four, of the strange habit animals had of following you, the way the flames in the fireplace would dance whenever you were near, and how the wind would bend around you. Then, two years later, Max was born. He was just like you, strong-willed and stubborn. You adored your little brother, taking him everywhere with you. Walking with his pram with Otto through the fields that surrounded your home.

As you grew, you began to slowly notice not only your oddities but also your brothers. The way he would drop his knife or fork whilst eating dinner, and then command it straight back to his hand, the voice you thought was in your head, speaking to you as if it was- Otto?! Yes, very odd. You brushed it off, knowing that if you were to tell your parents, they would treat you as if you were a silly little child begging for attention. By the time you were fourteen, however, it was far too noticeable to just push aside. The flames began to roar in the fireplace, the voice which you refused to believe was Otto began becoming far too clear, and even the spiders you would remove from your house began to sound as if they were shouting at you. At least your brother had calmed down, with him being eight you supposed his childlike lack of care had faded away. One less problem to deal with.

A year later, the war began. Your father had insisted upon you taking your brother and sister to England with you, where you would be staying with your uncle in the countryside. Ruth came along easily, Max on the other hand refused to leave your mother and father, too afraid to be apart from them. After days of arguments, your parents gave in, allowing just you and your sister to travel to England, ensuring that Max would be safe with them. The following day, your bags were packed and you were ready to part from the only home you had ever known. You said your goodbyes and reluctantly waved your home farewell.

“Promise me they’ll be okay” Ruth pleaded, snapping you away from your train of thought.

“They’ll be alright Ruthie” you gave her a half smile, only half believing your own words. “Mother and father promised, remember?” you continued.

She gave a curt nod, continuing the silence.

Your life in England was different, to say the least. Your uncle Erich was a stoic man, never caring much for children, though you and your sister tried to do your best by him as thanks. At the age of 16, you left high school and began a nursing training program, in hopes of aiding those fighting in the war.

The three years were gruelling. The war had disrupted your schooling, having to break during your travels, leaving you behind the other trainees. You refused to let that hinder your progress, you feared for your family every day, the least you could do was help those who could be helped. As awful as the past three years had been, you made it through your training, and eventually, on the 10th of June 1944, you arrived in Normandy, to assist your wounded troops.

The medical tents are awful, to say the least. They’re cramped, sweaty and reek of... men. You make your way to the end of the tent and are greeted by a tall, tanned, gorgeous man. He seems unscathed, lying comfortably in one of the beds.

“Hey there soldier” you greet him. His deep brown eyes meeting yours. “Anything I can do for you?” you continue, eyeing him over once more.

“You tell me bub” his Canadian accent catches you off guard. “They sent me in here, told ‘em I was fine” There’s a slight humorous tone to his voice.

“I’ve seen all the bloodshed out there” you counter. “You trying to tell me you went through all that with not even a scratch to show for it?” he grins.

“Guess I’m just indestructible” he shrugs.

“Or just very lucky” you argue. “Well, if you’re completely fine I’d appreciate it if you could leave the space for someone who needs it” you give him a tight smile, not exactly wanting the beautiful stranger to leave, but needing to put your job first.

“I don’t see anyone out there waiting” he retorts. “James Howlett” offering you his hand.

“Y/n” you ignore his outstretched arm, staring quizzically at him.

“Well, Miss y/n” he stands. “It was a pleasure. I hope to be seeing you again” he grins at you once more and begins making his exit.

“I hope not” you shout to him, in hopes he can hear you, smiling quietly to yourself.

You continued your work for the next few days, aiding men with injuries far worse than you had seen before. Then, after the few days that followed, the stranger that you now knew as James, was back in your care once again, and just like the last time, you discharged him. It became routine, every few days, you would find James lying in one of your beds, completely unharmed. You would discharge him after a quick checkup, and then a few days later you’d find him lying there yet again, like clockwork. You began to form a friendship with the impenetrable soldier, dismissing his flirtatious remarks with witty underhand comments. The banter between the two of you came easily, taking jabs at one another constantly, and having conversations that came with no struggle. This continued for weeks, his visits becoming more frequent, your conversations once full of banter, now riddled with flirtation.

“Oh c’mon bub” his deep Canadian voice implored you. “You not even gonna check me over? I could be dying” he smirked.

you raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

“Oh yeah? Where are you wounded sweetheart?” you encouraged. “Here?” you placed a flat hand over his bare chest, slowly dragging it down.

“No.” he stopped you, your heart began to race, redness adorning your cheeks. Had you taken it a step too far, had you read his signals wrong, was he just- the clearing of his throat willed you back from your thoughts.

“Right here” he pointed his finger to his lips. “Heard kissing it better helps” that cocky smirk meeting you once again. He offered you his hand, this time not ignoring it, you outstretched yours. His fingers barely grazed yours, hand slowly rising to your wrist. He grabbed it lightly, giving you time to pull away, when you didn’t, he gave a sharp tug, causing you to topple into him. His eyes locked with yours, a feeling so familiar, and yet in this instance, so foreign. His hand, now placed on your lower back, moving slowly to cup the back of your head, the other grasping your waist. Your hands were firmly placed on either side of his head, unable to move in fear of falling. He slowly pulled himself up, your faces much closer than before. He waited, giving you one last chance to pull away, you didn’t, holding his gaze unwavering. You could feel his breath fanning your face, his stubble tickling your skin.

The kiss was soft. Far from rushed.

He held you gently, as if you were fragile, ready to break at any moment. The kiss didn’t last long, the sounds of the other patients snapping you both back to reality.

“You should go” you whisper into his lips, unable to now meet his gaze.

“I suppose I should” he agrees, grabbing your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his. You stare once again into his brown eyes, the closeness allowing you to see the green specs that litter his irises. “Till next time, yeah sweetheart?” he gives me one last kiss before making his exit.

“Next time.”

[sixeyesonathiel]

love thy neighbor — chapter one.

pairing – boy next door! gojo x fem reader

summary : you grew up with the boy next door, the one with wild white hair and a grin too sharp for someone who always left dirt on your doorstep. satoru lived to rile you up, stealing your snacks and outrunning you in backyard chases, weaving himself into your life despite every glare you threw. through the chaos of shared summers and endless spats, he became a constant you couldn’t quite escape.

college stretched you apart, states away, the silence of distance swallowing your usual bickering—until summer drags you back. nothing’s the same. the air feels heavier, the days stranger, and satoru’s still all smirks and sly glances, but his eyes linger now, carrying a quiet ache you’re only starting to notice. college has you questioning everything, and he’s waiting, like always, for you to catch up to something you’re not ready to name.

tags –> fluff, tiny bit of angst later, eventual smut, neighbors au, childhood frenemies to lovers, suburban warfare (moms edition), mutual pining, domestic in the pettiest way possible, slow burn, growing up together, long term pining, yearner satoru, summer vacation tension, alternating POVs.

a/n : releasing this as series with four chapters that will have 10k+ wc per chapter instead of a oneshot out of draft jail because i overyappped once again, i’m really sorry for second guessing and hesitating so much, making u all wait TvT

collection m.list. | series masterlist. | playlist. | next ch.

the neighborhood was perfect.

white fences, manicured lawns, and an unspoken rule that everything must remain picturesque. but beneath the surface of perfection, an ancient war raged: your mother versus satoru’s. it was a battle fought with gardening shears and passive-aggressive remarks, masked by polite smiles at neighborhood events.

your mother, ever the strategist, sipped her tea with a dramatic sigh whenever satoru’s mother so much as stepped onto her porch. “oh, did you see the way she over-fertilizes?” she mused, her voice dripping with feigned concern. “poor plants, suffocating under all that desperate effort.”

meanwhile, satoru’s mother, arranging her hydrangeas in full view of your living room window, would hum thoughtfully before muttering, “i’d be embarrassed if my hydrangeas were that dull. not that i’d let it happen.”

the tension was palpable, woven into every stolen glance and whispered insult disguised as gardening advice. neither woman ever admitted the rivalry outright, but the perfectly pruned rose bushes and the carefully curated window boxes spoke volumes.

their husbands, however, lived in blissful ignorance. every weekend, they could be found on the golf course or clinking beer bottles over the backyard fence, chuckling about how “our wives are gonna kill each other one day, huh?”

the rivalry simply amused them.

but you and satoru? you were casualties. you were dragged into their war from the moment you could walk, coached into side-eyed glares and dismissive huffs whenever the gojos were mentioned.

when your father first introduced you to satoru at a neighborhood barbecue, he did so with the same pride as a general uniting two warring factions. “this is satoru, gojo’s boy!” he beamed, clapping his friend on the back.

but instead of an instant friendship, all satoru got was a glare and the words your mother had fed you over breakfast that morning.

“we don’t talk to people who use fake grass as a lawn substitute.”

you said it with the confidence of someone who truly understood what that meant, though in reality, you weren’t entirely sure why fake grass was so offensive. satoru blinked at you, mouth slightly open, his white lashes fluttering as if he hadn’t processed what just happened.

“...huh?” he finally said, voice trailing off in confusion.

your dads laughed, the kind of laugh that men share when they think their kids are just being silly. it wasn’t silly. it was war. and from that moment on, satoru gojo was your enemy, whether he wanted to be or not.

the first time you’re sent outside to water the garden, you don’t think much of it—until you see satoru stepping out of his house at the same time, dragging a garden hose behind him. he’s still in his pajamas, some silly blue set with little clouds on it, his white hair sticking up in messy tufts, like he just rolled out of bed.

he’s wearing slippers—bunny slippers, to be precise—but what really catches your attention are the socks. white with tiny little blue stars, pulled up just past his ankles, the kind of socks that scream these are my favorite and if anything happens to them, i will never recover.

you freeze, fingers tightening around the nozzle as he glances at you, then at his own hose, then back at you. for a second, neither of you speak. but you both know. your moms, pretending to be absorbed in their baking and magazine-reading inside, have timed this on purpose.

“pure coincidence,” your mother had said, the corners of her lips twitching in barely concealed triumph, and you—foolish, naive—had believed her.

satoru, being satoru, tries to be friendly at first, tilting his head as he watches you water the tulips along the fence. “your tulips are kinda nice,” he says, casual, like he’s just making conversation, like he isn’t the enemy.

you whip your head toward him so fast your hair smacks you in the face, eyes narrowing, scoffing as if he’s just insulted your entire bloodline. “don’t lie. your mom says they’re ugly.”

his jaw drops, scandalized, and you swear you can hear the dramatic gasp of betrayal in the air. “well, your mom says our garden looks like a plastic factory exploded.” he crosses his arms, standing his ground, his voice rising slightly like he can’t believe you just threw that at him.

you stare at him.

he stares at you.

the hose in your hand drips onto the grass, but you’re too busy processing his words to care. your mother had what ? you had been raised on the belief that your family had the superior garden, the most elegant flowers, the healthiest grass. and now, satoru gojo, the enemy, was claiming that your mom had been talking about his garden?

your lips part in slow betrayal, nose wrinkling in distaste, and you take a slow step back. he mirrors you, blue eyes narrowed in suspicion, his fingers twitching against the hose. neither of you say another word. but you both know what’s coming next.

the next day, war begins. it starts simple—satoru ‘accidentally’ sprays you with his hose while you’re carefully pruning the roses, his grin widening when water soaks into your shirt. you shriek, stumbling back, clutching your watering can tighter like a weapon. fine. if that’s how he wants to play, then so be it. you take a step, then another, before gasping dramatically and tripping—the entire can of water spilling directly onto his feet.

he lets out a scream, the most theatrical, over-the-top wail you’ve ever heard, jumping back like he’s been set on fire. “MY SOCKS!” he yells, staring down at them in pure horror, his slippers useless against the water seeping in. his hands fly up to his head, gripping his white tufts in agony, eyes squeezed shut like he’s in a tragedy film. “they’re wet! my favorite socks are WET!”

“oh, please,” you huff, rolling your eyes even as your own shirt clings uncomfortably to your skin. “it’s just water.”

“IT’S IN MY SOCKS.” he’s pacing now, hands on his hips, face twisted in pure devastation. “DO YOU KNOW HOW GROSS WET SOCKS ARE?!”

the next thing you know, you’re both storming inside, loudly declaring your grievances to your fathers.

“she did it on purpose!”

“he started it first!”

you both jab fingers in each other’s direction, demanding justice, your voices overlapping in a chorus of whiny accusations. satoru’s slippers squelch with every step he takes, which only makes him angrier, which only makes you smugger. but your dads, ever the peacemakers, just chuckle over their beers and wave you off. “just work it out, kids!”

useless. completely, utterly useless.

you and satoru glare at each other from across the room, still damp, still fuming, both of you knowing, deep in your little childish hearts—whether you like it or not, this is only the beginning.

days slip by, your damp glares hardening into a silent pact—every sprinkler twitch, every sidelong glance a spark for the next war. your moms, oblivious or scheming, sip lemonade on the porch, their laughter sharp as pruning shears, while you and satoru circle like cats, waiting for the other to pounce.

it appears overnight.

one day, your mother’s pristine front yard is free of any unnecessary clutter, and the next, it’s there—perched right at the edge of the gojos’ flower bed, staring directly at your house with its beady, unsettling eyes.

the ugliest garden gnome you’ve ever seen. its paint is chipped in places, its smile is a little too wide, and its hat is a garish shade of red that clashes horribly with the hydrangeas behind it.

your mother nearly drops her morning tea when she spots it through the kitchen window.

“oh. oh, that woman wants to play dirty.”

she sets her cup down with the grace of a queen preparing for battle, fingers tightening around the delicate porcelain like she’s contemplating war strategies. her brows draw together, lips pressed into a firm line as she leans closer, scrutinizing the gnome like it personally insulted her taste in home decor.

by the end of the day, a stone fairy statue sits on your side of the fence, directly facing the gnome. her expression is serene, her wings spread wide, and her hands clasped together as if in prayer—yet something about her placement feels pointed. deliberate. a silent declaration of superiority in the war of aesthetics.

you and satoru meet at the line that divides your houses, staring at each other over the ridiculous decorations your mothers have so proudly planted in the soil. it’s early afternoon, the sun casting long shadows across the grass, and the air is thick with unspoken tension.

satoru stands lazily with his hands in his pockets, a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, the summer light catching in his white hair and making it look almost silver. his eyes, bright and sharp, flit between the fairy and the gnome before settling on you, amusement flickering in their depths.

“so,” he drawls, rocking back slightly on his heels. “admiring the superior piece of art?”

you don’t answer. instead, you take a single step forward and flick his forehead, hard. his head jerks back slightly, his smirk faltering for half a second before he recovers, blinking at you like you’ve just committed a grave crime against his entire bloodline.

“your gnome looks like it crawled out of a swamp.”

satoru’s jaw drops, a scandalized gasp slipping past his lips. his hand flies to his forehead, rubbing the spot you flicked like you just inflicted some kind of irreversible damage.

“you—” he sputters, shaking his head as if in disbelief. then, with the precision of someone who has been waiting for this moment his entire life, he flicks you right back, his finger striking the center of your forehead with surprising force.

“your fairy looks like it belongs in a cemetery.”

you don’t know who lunges first, but suddenly, you’re both on the ground. hands grasping at arms, legs kicking up dirt, your yells and shrieks breaking the peaceful afternoon air.

satoru pulls at your sleeve, so you shove him, and he shoves you right back, his stupidly strong grip knocking you off balance. the scent of freshly cut grass fills your nose as your back hits the ground, satoru’s weight pressing down as he tries to pin you, but you twist, rolling and taking him with you.

��get off me, you overgrown ferret!” you hiss, your fingers grasping at the fabric of his shirt in an attempt to push him away.

“overgrown?” he scoffs, despite being half sprawled across the dirt, panting. “you’re literally—ow! stop pulling my hair, you gremlin!”

grass sticks to your clothes, dust clings to your skin, and the world tilts as you both roll across the lawn like a pair of feral raccoons fighting over food.

from the porch, your mother gasps, her hand flying to her chest in horror. satoru’s mom, less dramatic but equally exasperated, calls out something about ruining the flowers, but neither of you hear her over the sound of your bickering.

your fathers, however, are the last to react. one second, they’re sipping their beers on the porch, talking about some old golf game, and the next, their precious children are rolling in the dirt like a pair of rabid raccoons.

both men jump up at the same time, eyes wide, jaws dropping in comical horror.

“oh my god, they’re fighting.” gojo’s dad sounds genuinely distressed, like he’s just witnessed the betrayal of the century.

your dad nearly trips over the porch step as he rushes forward, his voice heavy with disbelief. “this is a disaster! we raised them better than this!”

it takes all their combined strength to pry you and satoru apart. you’re still kicking, your hand tangled in his stupid white hair, while he’s gripping onto your sleeve like he refuses to let you get the last hit. dirt smudges both your cheeks, grass stains your clothes, and the once-perfect garden is in shambles around you.

satoru’s mom lets out a horrified gasp, clutching her chest as she surveys the battlefield that was once a pristine lawn. her manicured fingers tremble, eyes darting between the trampled flowers and her son’s dirt-streaked face like she’s witnessing the collapse of civilization.

your mom, on the other hand, stands tall with her arms crossed, head tilting ever so slightly as a slow, satisfied smile curls on her lips—like a queen who just watched her heir claim victory in a brutal duel. her gaze flickers to you, pride gleaming in her eyes before she speaks, voice low and laced with amusement.

“you see?” she murmurs, just loud enough for her husband to hear, yet dripping with the unmistakable venom of a well-placed jab. “this is what happens when you let your daughter socialize with bad influences.”

she doesn’t look at satoru’s mom as she says it, but the weight of her words lands squarely where it’s meant to.

satoru’s mom bristles, her grip tightening on the pearl necklace resting against her collarbone, but she holds her tongue—for now. the war between them is long-standing, fought with polite smiles and passive-aggressive flower arrangements, but today, your mom has landed a solid hit.

your dads, however, are too emotionally wounded to acknowledge their wives’ ongoing cold war. your father looks at you like you just kicked a puppy in front of him, his hands shaking slightly as he runs them through his hair in utter disbelief.

“you’re best friends!” he exclaims, voice cracking like his entire world is crumbling before his eyes. “this—this is not how best friends act!” his horror is genuine, as if the mere thought of you and satoru, the lifelong duo, turning on each other is an omen of the apocalypse.

satoru’s dad isn’t faring any better, hands braced against his knees as if steadying himself for what might come next. he exhales, long and pained, shaking his head like he’s about to mourn the loss of something sacred.

“we failed them,” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper, but heavy with grief. he looks at his son, at the tangled mess of white hair and stubborn defiance, then at you, covered in dirt and glaring daggers at his boy.

to him, this is a tragedy beyond comprehension.

for a fleeting moment, the sheer devastation in their eyes almost makes you feel bad. almost. but then you glance at satoru, and he’s already looking at you with that same ridiculous, half-offended, half-smug expression, a silent dare in those too-bright eyes.

the pity shrivels and dies instantly, replaced by a renewed wave of annoyance. because, honestly, why does he look like he won? he didn’t win.

“you’re gonna apologize and shake hands,” your dad says, attempting to sound firm despite the evident emotional turmoil in his voice.

you and satoru both freeze, breathing still uneven from the scuffle, before simultaneously turning away with identical scoffs. the idea of making peace with each other so soon, especially under adult supervision, is downright insulting.

“absolutely not.” the rejection comes in perfect unison, as if you rehearsed it beforehand.

but then satoru’s dad straightens up, shoulders squared, and fixes you both with a rare, serious, dad look—the kind that demands obedience without words, the kind that even satoru, with all his stubborn arrogance, hesitates to challenge. suddenly, rebellion doesn’t seem worth the trouble.

grumbling under your breath, you stomp forward, satoru mirroring your reluctance with a dramatic sigh. your hands clasp together with the enthusiasm of someone being forced to shake hands with a venomous snake.

and then, just because neither of you can ever let the other win, you squeeze. hard .

satoru winces first, barely, and your lips twitch into a victorious grin. but then he recovers, tightening his grip just enough to make your fingers ache, and a smirk creeps onto his face. across the yard, your dads, completely oblivious to the ongoing war happening in your clasped hands, wipe fake tears from their eyes, murmuring about how balance has been restored.

but nothing has been solved. nothing at all.

the forced peace lasts exactly three days before you're elbowing him in the ribs for hogging the watering can. he retaliates by “accidentally” spraying your shoes.

you step on his foot.

he tugs your hair.

you pinch his arm when no one’s looking—fingers darting quick, nailing the soft spot under his sleeve. he yelps “ow!” under his breath, swatting back with a pouty glare. by the time the roses are watered, you’ve racked up twelve secret scuffles—stealthy masterpieces hidden from the kitchen windows where your moms sip grudges with their brew.

he trips you into a rosebush with a sly nudge—smug grin flashing, all teeth and blue-eyed glee. you lob a fistful of fertilizer like a prank grenade. it dusts his face gritty brown. he sputters “gross!” and wipes it off with his t-shirt hem.

your cackle cuts the air when dirt clumps in his perfect white hair. he shakes it out like a wet dog, strands spiking like a porcupine. then he shoves you—hands fast on your shoulders—sending you splashing into the birdbath. water soaks your shorts.

“jerk!” you hiss, scrambling up, nose scrunched in fury. he giggles “serves you right!” and dodges your swat, slippers squishing on the grass. it’s exhausting—this endless tug-of-war. arms ache. slippers muddy. but stopping? not an option. you’re magnets, doomed to clash.

the backyard brawl simmers all week. each morning brings sneaky jabs and muffled yelps. roses and hydrangeas stand as silent witnesses.

your dads catch on eventually—dirt-stained clothes you try to sneak past the laundry, faint bruises on your knees, satoru’s slight limp after you “accidentally” drop a watering can on his foot. they’re done. sick of scuffs. sick of whining.

sick of their wives’ icy fence-side stares—each blaming the other’s kid, their garden rivalry now a cold war over mulch tips and pta brags.

one afternoon, mid-scuffle—over who stepped on whose garden bed and if that’s an act of war—you’re shoving his chest, his elbow jabs your side. your dads roll in like tired storm clouds.

“enough!” yours barks, arms crossed, flannel sleeves rolled up, face etched with exhaustion from your week-long nonsense.

satoru’s dad nods, rubbing his temples. “you’re driving us up the wall—cut it out or you’re grounded ‘til christmas.” 

“he started it!” you snap, pointing at satoru—your pout deepens, your muddy slippers leaving a smudge on the patio as you cross your arms tight.

“she pinched me first!” satoru fires back, his voice high and whiny as he jabs a finger at you, his hair still dusted with fertilizer flecks, his blue eyes wide with mock innocence.

“that’s it,” your dad says, rubbing his temples like this is physically paining him. “you’re best friends now. deal with it.” his voice is firm, final, like a judge handing down a life sentence.

satoru’s dad stands beside him, nodding like he’s just made peace with some deep, personal tragedy.

“if you’re gonna keep fighting, you might as well do it under supervision,” he adds, voice hollow with defeat. “playdates. every day. no exceptions.”

you and satoru freeze, eyes locking in an unspoken moment of horror. playdates? every day? with him?

“no,” you start, shaking your head as panic sets in, “no, no, no, i refuse—”

“you can’t make us!” satoru cries, taking a step back like he might actually run for it.

but your dad is already walking away like the matter is settled, and satoru’s dad claps a heavy hand on his son’s shoulder, muttering something about “team bonding” before disappearing inside.

betrayal. this is betrayal of the highest order.

you whip around, jabbing a finger into satoru’s chest, voice dripping with accusation. “this is your fault.”

his jaw drops, indignant. “my fault? you’re the one who threw the first punch last time!”

“because you called my hair stupid!”

“it is stupid!” he fires back, arms flailing as he gestures wildly toward your head. “it looks like a mop!”

you take a deep, dramatic gasp, clutching your chest like you’ve been personally wounded. “oh, yeah? well, at least i don’t look like a walking snow cone!”

his mouth falls open, blue eyes wide with pure, unfiltered rage. for a moment, he just stares at you, like he can’t even process what you’ve just said.

then, with the air of a man who has lost everything, he lets out a long, exhausted sigh and stomps away, muttering under his breath about how this arrangement is going to kill him.

good.

you hope it does.

the next day, you arrive at his house with a plan. if you’re going to suffer through this nightmare, you’re dragging him down with you.

so you stride through the front yard like a queen arriving at her court, the tiny porcelain tea set clinking in your bag with each step. a plastic crown sits atop your head, slightly askew from the wind but still regal in its defiance.

your expression is the picture of authority as you set down your things, the miniature table unfolding beneath your hands with all the grandeur of a royal banquet being prepared.

“sit,” you command, voice dripping with the kind of entitlement that demands obedience.

satoru, standing barefoot in the grass with his wild white hair falling messily over his too-blue eyes, just blinks at you. then he tilts his head, gaze flicking between you, the tea set, and the absurd little chairs you’ve arranged.

“i’m not drinking imaginary tea,” he says flatly.

your smile is slow, syrupy sweet—too sweet, the kind that signals incoming disaster. “oh, but you are.”

he narrows his eyes, arms crossing over his chest. it’s a battle of wills, a silent exchange where neither of you so much as blink.

then, with the exaggerated sigh of a man facing his own execution, satoru flops onto the tiny chair, legs sprawled out, arms still folded like he’s being forced into some great injustice.

you nod in satisfaction, pouring the invisible tea with practiced elegance, your pinky raised just so. the delicate porcelain cup is extended toward him, an offering of peace—or, more accurately, an invitation to his suffering.

he takes it hesitantly, fingers curling around the dainty handle like it might shatter under his touch. then, in the most over-the-top display of mock refinement you’ve ever seen, he lifts it to his lips with the grace of a nobleman.

“ah, yes,” he drawls, eyes fluttering shut as he tilts his chin upward. “delicious. simply divine.”

your hum of approval is sharp as you sip from your own cup, matching his theatrics with an air of superiority. “good.”

the corner of his mouth twitches, his eyes peering at you over the rim of his cup, and you know—this isn’t over.

revenge comes swiftly.

the moment you step through the door, satoru is on you like a storm, all grabby hands and reckless energy, fingers locking around your wrist before you can so much as take off your shoes.

he yanks you forward with the force of a battlefield general rallying his troops, pale strands an untamed mess, sticking out in wild tufts like he’s been plotting for hours. there’s an unmistakable glint in his too-bright eyes, something electric, something that makes your stomach twist with impending doom.

you try to plant your feet, to demand an explanation, but he tugs harder, practically dragging you down the hallway like a man possessed.

“sit,” he commands, throwing his arm out with a flourish the second you cross the threshold into his room.

your gaze sweeps across the floor, and your stomach drops. an army—an entire army—is laid out before you, meticulously arranged in tight, strategic formations.

tiny soldiers stand at attention, their weapons poised for battle, knights lined up with their plastic swords raised high, towering mechs positioned like silent sentinels at the edges.

even a couple of dinosaurs lurk ominously in the back, their beady little eyes trained on the battlefield as if waiting for their cue to wreak havoc.

you swallow, suddenly aware of the tiny doll clutched in your hands—a delicate princess with golden curls, her dainty features carved into a permanent, gentle smile. she does not belong here.

satoru turns to you, the grin stretching across his face so wide it practically glows. “war,” he declares, voice heavy with self-satisfaction.

your fingers tighten around the doll. “… war?”

he nods, far too pleased with himself. “yeah. your princesses are under attack. they’re defenseless.” his head tilts, expression shifting into a mockery of pity, but the gleam in his eyes betrays him. “tragic, really.”

your lips press into a thin line, suspicion creeping in. “what happens if they lose?”

his grin sharpens. teeth. teeth everywhere. “they get executed.”

your gasp is immediate, theatrical, hands clutching your chest as if he’s personally driven a dagger through your heart. “executed?!”

satoru shrugs, the picture of nonchalance. “war’s brutal.”

your grip on the princess tightens, rage curling in your chest like a wildfire. the urge to flip his entire battlefield, to scatter his perfectly aligned soldiers like fallen leaves, is almost unbearable. you could end this before it even begins.

but then satoru smirks, slow and confident, tilting his head in that infuriating way that makes your blood boil. and just like that, losing is no longer an option.

and so, the war rages on.

tea party chaos one day, epic war games the next.

you haul out fancy tea sets, doilies, and plastic tiaras, daring him to squirm. he counters with action figures, spinning tragic tales to pin their doom on you.

you snatch his favorite snacks, munching with a glare; he traps you in marathons of your least-liked cartoon, smirking at every grimace.

playdates turn into battlegrounds, a clash of stubborn wills. you bake fake cookies; he chokes theatrically, flopping to the floor. he stages a war; you parade your princess dolls, decreeing peace to ruin his plans. neither of you yields.

yet somewhere amid tea-sipping and battle cries, the venom softens. it’s still a fight, but now it’s about who cracks a smile first. the worst days are quiet ones, no one to spar with. it’s not fun, but it’s not awful.

and maybe you don’t mind the challenge.

not that you’ll say it.

it hits like rain on a sunny day—sudden, uninvited. you didn’t plan to enjoy satoru’s chaos. but between the shouts and shoves, you laugh. he laughs too, not smug, but real, and your stomach flips, like maybe—maybe you didn’t hate him as much as you thought.

but your mom notices.

she always notices. when you come home from his house, she watches you extra close, her eyes sharp like when she’s trying to catch you sneaking extra cookies before dinner.

that night, when she brushes your hair, she doesn’t say it right away. her fingers are careful, gentle, but her voice is not. “remember, sweetheart, we don’t get too close to them.” it’s not a question. it’s a rule. the same kind of rule as don’t run with scissors or don’t talk to strangers—except this one hurts.

so the next day, you fix it. it should feel like something big is happening, like the sky should turn black and lightning should strike right between you, like the world should know this is the worst thing ever. but no. the stupid sun is still shining. the wind is still blowing. and the ugly little garden gnome by satoru’s front steps is still sitting there, laughing at you. it makes you want to kick it. but you can’t, because you have something more important to do.

“your hair is ugly.”

satoru’s head snaps up so fast you think he might get dizzy. “huh?!”

you cross your arms, lifting your chin like you totally mean it. “it’s so white. it looks like bird poop.”

there’s a long, long silence. satoru’s mouth hangs open, like he’s waiting for you to say just kidding! but you don’t. his hands ball into little fists at his sides, his face going all red—not the angry kind of red, but the kind that looks like he just swallowed a rock. “why are you being so mean?”

you look away. your chest feels all tight and weird, like when you’re about to cry but you can’t, because if you do, then it’s over. your mom’s voice rings in your head again— we don’t get too close to them. “ i was just bored.”

and just like that, everything breaks.

he stares at you like you just kicked his puppy. his stupid blue eyes get all shiny, like he might actually cry, and that makes you feel even worse. “but… but yesterday—”

he stops. his lips press together, and he swallows really hard, like there’s something stuck in his throat. then, before you can say anything else, before you can even take it back—he steps away.

“fine,” he says, and his voice sounds wobbly, like a popsicle stick bridge that’s about to snap. “i don’t care, anyway.”

but you know he does. because satoru always cares—loudly, annoyingly, in ways you don’t even understand yet. and for the first time ever, he turns away first. doesn’t yell, doesn’t push, doesn’t try to win.

he just leaves. and for some reason, that makes you want to cry more than anything in the whole wide world.

satoru didn’t talk to you after that day. not in the loud, teasing way he usually did, not in the begrudging, petty way you’d come to expect. not even when your dads gathered for the weekend barbecue, laughing over beers about how their kids had finally made peace.

you could feel his glare from across the yard, burning into your skin like a laser beam, but the second you turned to look, he was already stomping away, white hair bouncing with every step.

you’d won the war, hadn’t you? you should’ve felt victorious, you should’ve been skipping circles around him just to rub it in his stupid face. but instead, your stomach twisted up all weird, like you swallowed a rock—or maybe a whole pile of them.

and then, as if the universe had personally decided that your life wasn’t miserable enough, disaster struck.

the evening air was thick with the smell of damp dirt and fresh grass, but all you could smell was your impending doom.

your mother loomed over the flowerbed—or what was left of it. crushed petals and snapped stems lay scattered, a wreckage you caused. the porch light stretched her shadow, sharp and accusing, across the dirt. her arms were crossed, lips a thin line, but her eyes—piercing, soul-searing—made your stomach plummet.

you swallowed, glancing at the ruined flowers under your shoes. you’d only chased a butterfly, but—crunch—they were gone, and you were doomed.

“look at what you’ve done!”

your hands balled up, body rigid. “i’m sorry,” you mumbled, voice small, but she didn’t flinch.

she sighed, pinching her nose like you were her endless headache. “i work hard on this garden, and this is how you repay me?” her head shook, disappointment stinging like a slap. “these plants are my babies, and you trample them like you don’t belong here.”

…oh.

your breath snagged, heart stuttering. her babies? your chest clamped tight, ears buzzing, and it clicked—too perfectly. your mom’s lawn obsession, how you didn’t quite match your parents’ looks, your weird food quirks, her sighs, heavy with unspoken weight when she bragged about you to neighbors. 

this was it.

you were adopted.

panic flared, wild and sharp. if she knew you’d cracked her secret, would she… return you? like a mismatched shirt shoved back to the store? would she ship you to some grim place where unwanted kids ate cold broccoli forever, no cookies, no warmth? no way. you wouldn’t let her.

you had to run.

before they could box up your stuff, before their soft, syrupy voices cooed, we’re sorry, sweetheart, it’s just not right. you’d need clothes, snacks, a flashlight—money? (where did money even come from?)—maybe a blanket. you could live in the woods, charm squirrels, nibble berries. 

or you can find your real family.

maybe they were out there, longing for you. maybe you were a lost princess, a royal carriage just waiting to whisk you to a castle. maybe your true parents, rich and heartbroken, ached for their stolen kid. maybe this was your big break.

you had to get out.

you scanned the room—not yours, not anymore. glow-in-the-dark stars speckled the ceiling, stuffed animals slumped in the corner, soon someone else’s, someone who’d fit this family better. your throat tightened, but you shook it off. no time for tears. you had a mission.

you grabbed your pink backpack, stuffing it fast—three snacks, a hello kitty juice box for style, a flickering flashlight, and your stuffed bunny, because even runaways need a friend. it was heavier than you thought, tugging at your shoulders as you crept to the window. you nudged it open, wincing at the frame’s squeak. night air slipped in, whispering of adventure, maybe a real home.

but doubt crept in too.

not about running—that was still the plan. but the actual escaping? harder than it looked. your grand exit felt shaky, and you wondered if you were really built for this runaway life.

now, for the hardest part: actually leaving.

you climbed onto the windowsill, fingers gripping the edge as you looked down. it wasn’t that high… right? you just had to dangle, drop, land, and run. simple. foolproof.

you sucked in a breath and shifted forward, lowering yourself carefully, your feet searching for the ground—but it wasn’t there.

your legs kicked uselessly, toes barely brushing the wall, and for a humiliating ten seconds, you dangled there, flailing, before gravity made the decision for you.

with a yelp, you plummeted straight into the bushes, a sharp rustling of leaves accompanying your graceless fall. a dull pain shot up your arms, the sting of scraped skin making your eyes prick with tears, but you bit them back.

a true runaway does not cry! with all the dignity you could muster, you pushed yourself up, shaking off leaves and twigs, ready to make your grand escape—

“you look like an idiot.”

your breath caught in your throat. your stomach dropped.

oh no.

slowly, you turned your head, dread curling in your chest. and there he was, perched at his own window, elbows resting on the sill, white hair catching the fading sunlight. gojo satoru.

he had the nerve to look completely relaxed, chin resting in his palm, his stupidly bright blue eyes filled with unmistakable amusement.

he had been watching you.

“what are you doing?” he asked, voice laced with barely-contained laughter.

you straightened your backpack straps, shooting him a glare. ”leaving.”

“leaving where?”

“away.”

his head tilted slightly, studying you like you were the most ridiculous thing he’d ever seen. “that’s not an answer.”

ugh. always so annoying. always questioning everything. wait—why is he even trying to get you to explain yourself to him? this wasn’t his business!

you huffed, turning on your heel with a dramatic flip of your hair. "none of your business, satoru. goodbye forever."

you had barely taken four steps before the unmistakable sound of feet landing lightly on the pavement made you freeze.

your eyes widened. you turned back just in time to see him straightening up, brushing invisible dust from his pants, completely unbothered—because unlike you, he hadn’t fumbled his escape. no flailing, no tragic bush landing. just an effortless, cat-like jump from his window, as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

you clenched your fists. of course he made it look easy.

he fell into step beside you, hands buried deep in his pockets, his pace maddeningly unhurried, like he had nowhere else to be but right here, ruining your night. 

it was infuriating how effortlessly he matched your pace—never rushing, never struggling, just there, lingering like an annoying ghost you couldn't shake in the darkness.

“you don’t even know where you’re going.”

his voice was light, almost teasing, but you caught the undertone of amusement laced beneath it.

you spun around so fast your backpack nearly smacked you in the face, eyes blazing as you glared up at him. “yes, i do.”

he didn’t even blink, just tilted his head, one white eyebrow arching with skepticism. “oh yeah? where?”

your mouth opened—then promptly shut. under the weight of his expectant gaze, your mind scrambled for an answer, something grand, something impressive, something that would prove you weren’t just some clueless kid storming off on a whim. but all that came out was a very unconvincing:

“...the forest.”

satoru pulled a face like you had just suggested something utterly pathetic. he actually wrinkled his nose. “lame,” he declared flatly. “if you’re running away, at least go somewhere cool.”

your eyes narrowed dangerously. “oh, and where would you go, genius?”

his expression shifted instantly, brightening with exaggerated thoughtfulness as he tapped a finger against his chin. he dragged the moment out, milking the attention for all it was worth, before finally grinning. “probably the moon. or mars. as long as it’s on space.”

you rolled your eyes so hard you nearly saw the inside of your skull. “be serious.”

“you be serious.”

“i am serious.”

“then why are you running away with just a backpack?”

you froze, shoulders snapping rigid. your fingers clenched around the straps of your backpack as heat crept up your face.

right. that.

you knew something about your plan felt slightly underdeveloped, but it wasn’t like you were going to admit that. you forced your expression into something defiant, lips parting to throw back a retort—but nothing came. because, well... he had a point.

“why do you even care?” you snapped instead, turning the conversation away from your failure. “just go back inside and leave me alone!”

he shrugged, completely unaffected by your growing irritation. “nah. watching you fail at running away is way more fun.”

your jaw clenched so tight it ached.

you should have known he’d be a problem.

but you were determined. you were going to run away, and there was nothing gojo satoru could do about it.

you slung your backpack higher, stomping down the street, ignoring the patter of footsteps dogging you. maybe speed would shake him, but no—satoru’s smirk followed, wide and smug, like your escape was his evening show.

you sped up. he kept pace. you crawled; he mirrored, whistling a tune that clawed at your nerves.

hours dragged—maybe two, but each step burned eternal with him bouncing beside you, white hair aglow under streetlights, practically engineered to irk you. at first, you’d burned with purpose—flee your mom’s scolds, her heavy sighs, and start fresh, maybe in a city, baking in some cozy shop.

now? your legs screamed, feet pulsing. regret piled high, and you just wanted to collapse.

“i’m hungry,” satoru whined, his voice grating, lips twitching with mischief.

you groaned, dragging slower. “shut up, satoru,” you muttered, exhaustion coating your words, shoulders slumping.

“no!” he snapped. “this is your fault! you should’ve at least rode a bike if you were gonna run away like a loser!”

“i’m not a loser!” you shot back, voice wobbling, defensive. your glare faltered under his teasing glint.

he sidled closer, face moonlit, mischief dancing in his eyes. “you kinda are. only losers run away and don’t even know where they’re going.”

your cheeks flared. “i do know where i’m going!” you insisted, but doubt gnawed. the dream of running was souring fast.

he arched a brow, smirk widening. “oh yeah? where?”

you froze, scanning the dark—nothing. words failed. “…” you mumbled, purpose fraying.

satoru’s smug hum stung, his grin widening as he stood, hands on hips, relishing your fluster. “exactly. loser.”

you huffed, stomping toward the park’s swings. “whatever. let’s just sit.” annoyance masked relief as you sank onto a seat, sighing into the quiet night.

satoru flopped beside you, stretching with a groan. “ugh, finally. thought my legs were gonna fall off.” his white hair spilled over the swing’s chain, catching moonlight like a mocking halo.

 you rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt, the swing creaking under your shifting weight. “stop being so dramatic.” your fingers gripped the cold metal chains, grounding you as a breeze rustled the leaves overhead.

“says the one who ran away over some flowers,” satoru shot back, kicking his legs lazily, bunny slippers scuffing the dirt. his smirk glinted, sharp in the dim light.

“says the one who followed me,” you snapped, arms crossed tight. damp grass and metal tinged the air, his stare prickling even without a glance.

he grinned, shameless, leaning to sway the swing. “well, yeah. what else was i supposed to do? let you get eaten by raccoons?” his brows wiggled, voice thick with fake worry.

you stiffened, rigid against the creaky seat. “…there are no raccoons here.” your tone held firm, but your eyes flicked to the shadowy bushes, doubt nibbling.

“are you sure?” he tilted his head, blue eyes twinkling, finger tapping his chin to stretch your unease.

you froze—breath catching. the night yawned wider, leaves rustling too lively.

he leaned closer, voice a mock whisper. “you know, i heard they sneak up on dumb kids who run away.” his breath grazed your ear, swing rocking as he shifted.

your fingers clamped the chains, knuckles pale. “you’re lying.” your voice wavered, small against the vast park.

he gasped, clutching his chest, eyes wide with fake shock. “why would i lie to you?” he flailed, nearly tipping the swing, slippers flopping.

“because you’re you!” you shoved his shoulder, steadying the creaking metal. an owl hooted, siding with you.

“fair point.” he shrugged, grin lazy, settling back as the swing slowed. crickets hummed, playground groaning softly.

you kicked his shin—hard. “ow—hey!” he yelped, rubbing it, hair bouncing as he glared.

“you deserved it.” you huffed, chin high, swing swaying gently, cooling your flush.

“did not!”

“did too!”

“did not—ugh, whatever, i’m too hungry to argue,” satoru groaned, flopping against the swing, hand splaying over his stomach. “feed me.” he batted his lashes, moonlight catching his mischief.

you scrunched your nose, leaning back. “excuse me?“

“you packed snacks, right?” he flicked a finger at your bag. “hand ‘em over.” his palm opened, expectant.

“why should i?” you hugged the bag tight, zipper glinting.

“because i followed you and kept you safe from raccoons.” he puffed his chest, slippers swinging with smugness.

you scowled, lips thin. “you were literally just saying you wanted me to get eaten by them.”

“so? didn’t let it happen.” he shrugged, teeth flashing, chains rattling as he leaned in.

“ugh,” you groaned, yanking the bag off, unzipping it sharply. “fine, only so you shut up.”

you pulled out a biscuit, fingers brushing his as you dropped it in his palm. he stared at it, then you, jaw dropping. “…are you serious?”

you smirked, leaning back. “take it or leave it.”

he grumbled but bit in, crunch loud in the stillness. silence settled, heavy, until he swallowed. “gimme another one.” crumbs dusted his fingers, eyes glinting.

you scoffed, loud and dramatic, head thrown back like he’d demanded your soul. “absolutely not.”

“c’monnnn, i’m starving.” he whined, slumping forward, elbows on knees, white hair flopping over his pouty face, moonlight amplifying the ridiculousness.

“too bad. should’ve brought your own food.” you shot back, sticking out your tongue.

“i would’ve if you actually planned this runaway properly.” he muttered, crossing his arms, mimicking your huff.

“ugh! just be grateful i even shared at all!”

“pfft. what else do you got?” he asked, leaning toward your bag, curiosity undimmed.

you glared through the dim light. “nothing.” your lie was sharp, hugging the bag tight, the hello kitty juice box now a state secret.

satoru’s grin turned wicked, teeth glinting. “liar. you have a juice box, don’t you?” he leaned closer, breath teasingly warm.

your fingers dug into the fabric, heart tripping. “no.” your voice wavered, face turning away as the swing creaked.

“you totally do.”

“do not.”

“you do.”

“do not.”

“oh yeah? then what’s this?” he lunged, snatching your bag and unzipping it in one swift move.

“hey!” you yelped, diving, but he twisted away, laughing as he held it high.

“aha! knew it!” he crowed, waving the hello kitty juice box like a prize, pink design flashing in the moonlight. he leaped from the swing, chains clattering.

your face burned, horror spiking. “PUT THAT BACK!” you shrieked, lunging, but he danced away, cackling through the empty park.

satoru spun, keeping it out of reach. “oh? what’s wrong? embarrassed about your cute little juice?” he taunted, dodging your flailing hands.

“shut up! give it back!” you swiped, slippers skidding, but he sidestepped effortlessly.

“hmmm… nah,” he said, popping the straw in with flair and sipping dramatically. “mmm, tastes like victory.” he leaned against the swing pole, smirking.

you gasped, betrayal hitting hard. “YOU. DID. NOT.” your voice shook, fists clenched.

“i did,” he smirked, sipping again. “mmm. strawberry.” he twirled the box, straw bobbing.

rage narrowed your vision. “GOJO SATORU, I HOPE YOU CHOKE!” you roared, tackling him off the swing, both crashing to the dirt.

satoru yelped, hitting the ground with you on top, a tangle of fury. “OW—YOU MANIAC, GET OFF ME!” he flailed, slippers flying, juice box rolling free.

“GIVE IT BACK, THIEF!” you snarled, pinning his arms, reaching for your prize, hair falling in your face.

“I HOPE YOU CHOKE, SATORU!” you yelled, snatching at the box as he squirmed, laughing through indignation.

“JOKES ON YOU, I ALREADY SWALLOWED!” he wheezed, bucking beneath you, hair now dirt-dusted.

“YOU’RE A MONSTER!” you shrieked, shoving his chest, betrayal stinging sharp.

“AND YOU’RE A GREMLIN!” he shot back, twisting, nearly toppling you, voice cracking with laughter.

“THAT WAS MY JUICE!” you wailed, grabbing the box, clutching it like a lifeline, breath heaving.

“IT’S OUR JUICE NOW!” he argued, propped on elbows, grinning like he’d won. your elbow accidentally jabbed his ribs.

“OWWW!” he howled, flopping back, clutching his side theatrically, rolling in mock agony. “THIS IS IT. I’M DYING.”

you froze, juice box dangling, blinking down. “…what?” your voice softened, anger fading.

satoru whimpered, curling up, eyes squeezed shut for effect. “you got me. this is the end. tell my mom i love her. tell your mom i don’t love her. tell my dad he owes me twenty bucks.” he peeked one eye, gauging you, breath hitching.

your heart stuttered—he was faking, clearly, but doubt whispered: what if? tears pricked as you sniffled. “satoru, you idiot!” you choked, voice wobbling, “you can’t die! who am i gonna fight with if you die?!” you dropped beside him, dirt cold.

“i dunno…” he groaned, head lolling, faint and pitiful. “maybe get a pet goldfish. name it satoru junior.”

“but i don’t want a goldfish!”

“too bad… this is fate…” he wheezed, going limp, playing dead.

“shut up! shut up, stupid! you’re not allowed to die!” you cried, throwing yourself onto him, hugging tight, tears soaking his shirt.

satoru wailed, chest shaking, real tears mixing with fake. “ow, ow, ow! you’re squishing me!” he pushed at your shoulders.

“I’M SORRY, OKAY?! I DIDN’T MEAN TO KILL YOU!” you sobbed, hugging harder.

“YOU’RE KILLING ME RIGHT NOW! STOP HUGGING ME SO TIGHT!” he wailed, kicking, feet smacking dirt.

“DON’T DIIIIE!”

“I WON’T IF YOU GET OFF ME, YOU GREMLIN!”

“PROMISE?!”

“YES! I PROMISE!” he shouted, hoarse, flopping back in defeat.

“PINKY PROMISE?!” you pressed, holding out your trembling pinky.

“I CAN’T PINKY PROMISE IF YOU’RE CRUSHING ME, LOSER!” he snapped, tears streaming, hair sticking to his dirt-smeared face.

eventually, your sobs calmed into sniffles—your grip loosening as exhaustion took over. satoru’s cries faded into tired little hiccups, his chest still rising and falling fast beneath you. the playground settled back into quiet, the night wrapping around you like a heavy, damp cloak.

you fell asleep with him right there, sprawled across the cold playground floor, too worn out to move. you curled up against satoru, your face smushed into his shoulder, your breath evening out into soft, snotty snores. satoru, despite all his whining, let an arm flop lazily over you, his own snores mixing with yours as drool pooled between you.

your dads found you like that, a tangled heap of dirt and tears under the moonlight.

“oh, for fuck’s sake.” your dad muttered, rubbing his face with a tired hand, his voice rough with exasperation. he stood there, hands on his hips, staring down at the mess you’d made of yourselves.

“wait, wait,” satoru’s dad whispered, already fumbling for his phone, a grin tugging at his lips despite the late hour. “we have to take a picture.” he crouched down, angling the camera to catch the full disaster—your drooling face, satoru’s sprawled limbs, the abandoned juice box lying pitifully in the dirt nearby. the flash went off, immortalizing the chaos, and the night carried on, oblivious to the two little warriors who’d fought themselves to sleep.

the morning after your playground disaster hits like a dodgeball to the face, jolting you awake with your dad’s laugh booming through the walls, drowning out the birds chirping meanly outside. you blink against sunlight stabbing through your blinds, legs caught in sheets, and stumble out of bed in messy pajamas—one sleeve drooping, hair a wild puff.

you shuffle downstairs, steps creaking, eyes gummy with sleep, and freeze. there, on the mantle, sits the awful proof—you and satoru, a muddy pile under broken monkey bars, drool on your face, his arm flopped over you, both smeared with dirt and chaos.

your dad’s laugh erupts again, shaking the couch as he slaps his knee, grinning huge.

“look at you two! thick as thieves!” he hollers, wiping a tear, his flannel stretching tight.

you squeak—a whiny, horrified sound—hands flying to your face. “it’s so gross!” you wail, voice muffled, peeking at the photo—your drooly cheek squished against satoru’s shoulder—and step back, foot scuffing the floor. “burn it, pleeease!”

“oh no you don’t.” your mom snaps from the kitchen, stirring coffee like she’s brewing a curse, burnt toast smog around her. her glare could zap you dead. “running off over flowers—with that gojo boy? you’re lucky you’re not grounded forever.”

you cringe, twisting your fingers, shoulders curling.

“aw, honey,” your dad chuckles, sipping juice, all calm. “she was just eloping with satoru a little early—gotta practice for the real thing!”

“don’t encourage her!” your mom barks, slamming her mug, coffee splashing, eyes flicking to satoru’s mom’s smug hydrangeas outside.

you whine, flopping against the wall. “i’m running away forever!” you mumble into your sleeve, sun warming your pout as your mom mutters—“that boy’s trouble”—her spoon clinking angrily..

next door, satoru’s trapped in his own morning horror, stomping into the kitchen, fuzzy blue slippers squeaking on tile. he freezes, blue eyes popping wide, and jabs a finger at the framed photo wobbling by the toaster—same drooly wreck, same muddy faces, a twin to your nightmare.

“rip it up!” he wails, voice cracking like he’s auditioning for tragedy, arms windmilling wildly, nearly toppling a mug. “i look like a zombie!”

his dad leans back in his chair, coffee mug in hand, completely unmoved, a lazy grin tugging at his lips as he reaches over with a broad hand.

“aw, come on,” he chuckles, ruffling satoru’s already doomed hair until the strands rebel further, flopping into his face like a snowy avalanche. “you two are inseparable—gonna tell this story at your wedding one day.”

satoru shrieks, staggering back, knocking a spoon to the floor with a clatter. “noooo! she tried to murder me!” he howls, clutching his head like it’s about to explode, hair flying as he thrashes.

his mom sips tea at the sink, sunhat tilted primly, lips smirking sharp. “if he even survives her chaos,” she murmurs, swirling her tea with a clink, “she’s a tornado.”

satoru wails louder, flopping against the fridge, face squished in despair. “my life’s ruined!” he whines, kicking the floor, sock drooping, as warm bread’s scent mixes with his sulky gloom.

satoru groans, long and dramatic, dragging his hands down his face until his cheeks puff out, his slippers scuffing as he spins to glare at the photo again—his drool-glossed lips parted, your muddy handprint on his shirt—and flops against the fridge with a thud.

“i’m never living this down,” he mutters, voice muffled as the fridge hums behind him, the scent of warm bread from the toaster oven curling around his misery while he kicks at the floor, his sock slipping further down his ankle.

outside, the hydrangeas bob in the breeze like they’re in on the joke, a silent audience to the disaster unfolding on either side of the fence. watering plants shouldn’t be this chaotic, but with satoru involved, everything turns into a summer storm—the air already thick with cicadas and the sharp, damp scent of upturned earth.  

your mom shoves the hose into your hands, coffee sloshing dangerously as she snaps ”don’t let him ruin my tulips” before vanishing inside, the screen door slamming behind her like a warning shot.

you trudge out in your slippers—ratty pink ones with a half-peeled bunny face—squinting against the sun as it beats down, smug and unrelenting, like it’s waiting for you to crack first.  

and there he is.  

satoru slinks across the yard like a villain caught mid-scheme, dragging his hose behind him, the green coil snagging on every patch of grass. his eyes—bright, sharp, unfairly blue—lock onto yours over the fence, mischief sparking in them like a lit fuse. his hair’s a mess of white strands flopping over his forehead, one fuzzy slipper kicking at the dirt as he straightens, grin already in place.  

“your dad’s a jerk for framing that,” you snap, twisting the nozzle with a jerk—only to spray your own shin, cold water seeping into your pajama pants. you scowl.  

“yours too, idiot,” he fires back, voice dripping with faux innocence as he angles his hose, misting your toes with deliberate precision. the droplets glitter like tiny knives in the sunlight. “now everyone’s gonna think we’re friends.”  

“jerk!” you yelp, and retaliate, your aim wild but effective—water arcs straight for his chest, drenching his stupid oversized shirt until it clings to him, fabric going sheer in patches.  

he barks a laugh, half-shielding himself with the hose like it’s a sword, free hand swiping wet hair from his eyes. “hey! watch it—”  

the air crackles with spray and tension, the sun casting long, warped shadows of you both across the grass. your mom’s voice slices through from the porch: “keep it civil!”—coffee cup in hand, frown sharp enough to cut.  

his mom’s shout follows, sunhat bobbing as she leans over the railing. “watch my sod!”  

“like i’d ruin her precious grass,” you mutter, rolling your eyes as you redirect the hose toward your tulips, water pooling around them like a makeshift moat.  

“you would if you could aim,” satoru taunts, leaning forward, smirk widening as his hose dangles, dripping onto his already-wrecked slipper. 

“shut up,” you hiss, flicking another spray—just enough to make him hop back with a squelch.  

“oi!”  

you bite your lip to hide the grin, turning away before he sees it.  

later, through your window, the day fades into gold, and you catch him pacing his room, backlit by the dying light like some dramatic silhouette. he flips you off—long fingers splayed, wrist twisting with unnecessary flair—before yanking the blinds shut, hair flopping like a defeated flag.  

you press your nose to the glass, fogging it with your breath as you stick out your tongue. “loser.” 

outside, the cicadas drone on, relentless. across the gap, you can feel him glaring at his own window, probably plotting his next move—all sharp eyes and slouched shoulders, one slipper abandoned in defeat.  

you wouldn’t expect anything less.  

somehow, that’s the point. 

summer lingers, sticky and slow, your mornings a ritual of traded barbs across the fence—his smirk sharp, your eye-roll sharper. but the days stretch, and the battles blur, until the leaves hint at gold, and your dads' voices boom, calling you both to the yard like it’s time to rewrite the rules.

then—almost without warning—the air turns crisp. the hydrangeas fade from vibrant blue to dull brown, their petals curling like old paper, while the maple out back erupts in flames of red and orange. one morning you wake to find the grass glittering with frost, your breath fogging the window as you peer out at the changed world.

fall sweeps in with crisp air nipping at your cheeks, golden leaves crunching underfoot like nature’s tiny applause, and the dads declare it barbecue season with all the gusto of backyard kings.

they drag mismatched lawn chairs—wobbly legs and faded stripes—into your yard, smoke curling from the grill in lazy spirals, the scent of charred burgers doing a clumsy tango with your mom’s lavender bushes, their purple heads bobbing in the breeze.

you step outside, the grass cool against your slippers, and spot that cursed photo—yes, that one—propped dead center on the picnic table like a first-place ribbon from your playground disaster, its tacky gold frame glinting in the late afternoon sun.

your dad chuckles “look at our little warriors!”—his voice a rumble as he clinks a soda can with satoru’s dad, the aluminum clank sharp against the fire pit’s crackle. he leans back in his chair, flannel stretched tight over his belly, grinning like he’s just told the joke of the year.

satoru’s dad nods, sipping his own soda with a smirk. “bet they’ll run this neighborhood someday,” he says, his laugh booming over the snap of burning logs, the firelight dancing in his glasses.

your mom’s mouth thins into a tight line, a silent protest as she crosses her arms, muttering “over-fertilized nonsense” at the hydrangeas peeking over the fence like nosy neighbors. her eyes narrow, sharp as the lavender’s scent, while satoru’s mom hums louder—a smug little tune—pruning her bushes with a snip-snip of her shears, each cut a tiny victory carved into the air.

you and satoru are squeezed onto a rickety bench, paper plates wobbling precariously between your knees, the wood creaking like it’s begging for mercy.

he elbows you hard—his bony arm jabbing your side—making your soda fizz over the rim in a bubbly hiss, and you scrunch your nose, glaring at him through the corner of your eye.

“this is your fault,” you hiss, shoving him back with a quick nudge, ketchup smearing your fingers like war paint as your plate tilts dangerously.

“nah, yours framed it first,” he retorts, flicking a fry at your face—his long fingers quick and precise, his blue eyes glinting with mischief as it sails through the air.

you catch it mid-flight with a snap of your hand, popping it into your mouth with a defiant crunch. “good, hope they frame it in the hallway,” you snap, your pout deepening as you chew, glaring at his smug face.

“hope you get detention,” he mutters, leaning closer, his white hair flopping forward like a messy curtain, a lazy grin tugging at his lips.

“hope you get ketchup in your eye,” you fire back, flicking your stained fingers at him—he flinches just a bit, his smirk faltering for a split second.

you shove him again, a quick push with your shoulder, and he shoves back, his slipper brushing your leg—your plate flips onto your lap with a sad plop, ketchup splattering your shorts like a crime scene.

“ugh, you’re the worst!” you yelp, smearing a dollop of ketchup onto his arm—his t-shirt sleeve now a canvas of red streaks—and you pout harder, lips trembling with mock fury.

“you’re welcome!” he laughs, snagging a fry from the mess on your lap with a quick swipe, popping it into his mouth with a grin that shows too many teeth, his cheeks dimpling.

“quit stealing my food!” you snap, swatting at his hand—your fingers barely graze him as he dodges, leaning back on the bench like he’s king of the chaos, his fuzzy blue slippers swinging lightly.

“it’s payment for sitting next to you,” he says, stretching his arms behind his head, his t-shirt riding up just enough to show a sliver of his stomach as he smirks, daring you to argue.

your mom’s glare from the porch could melt steel—she stands there, arms crossed, a shadow against the sunset—while his mom’s pruning pauses, her shears glinting as she shoots you both a look that screams behave, her sunhat tilting like a crown of judgment.

you huff, plotting to fling a pickle slice at his head, your fingers itching to grab one from your ruined plate. but the dusk sky turns orange behind your petty war, painting the yard in a warm glow, and you settle for glaring instead, your slippers scuffing the grass beneath the bench.

you slip away to the tire swing after dinner, the oak’s gnarled branches casting long shadows across the grass. the rope groans under your grip as you push off, bare ankles brushing cool blades of grass. the distant crackle of the fire pit fades behind you, replaced by the whisper of leaves overhead.

of course he follows.

pebbles skitter against your shins, each one a tiny declaration of war. you don’t have to look to know he’s smirking—can picture the way his slippers scuff against dirt with deliberate laziness. when you finally glance back, the dying light catches in his eyes, turning them electric. his hair glows like embers, white strands lit from within.

“quit it!” you snap, swatting at nothing as another stone finds its mark. your fingers tighten around the rope, knuckles going pale.

“make me,” he dares, and suddenly he’s there, long fingers wrapping around the rope. the world tilts violently as he spins you, your stomach lurching into your throat. his laughter cuts through the dizzying whirl—bright, sharp, dangerous.

“you’re gonna kill me!” the words tear free as colors blur into streaks, one slipper dangling precariously from your toes.

“maybe then you’ll stop hogging the swing!” the rope slips from his grasp, sending you wobbling to an unsteady stop. He rocks back on his heels, hands shoved deep in pockets, grin wide enough to split his face.

you’re moving before the world stops spinning—launching yourself at him with a wordless shout. you collide in a tangle of limbs, rolling through crushed grass and fallen leaves. the earth smells rich and damp beneath you, filling your lungs with each gasping breath.

from the porch, your dads’ voices carry across the yard, “there they go again!” their applause ringing through the twilight. firelight dances in their raised soda cans, painting their grinning faces in flickering gold.

your mom’s groan cuts through the celebration. “not again.”

satoru’s mother’s shriek follows, “not my sod!”

you come to rest with him pinned beneath you, knees digging into soft earth. “say sorry!” you demand, hair wild around your face. your breath comes in quick puffs, stirring the strands that have escaped into your eyes.

“never!” he gasps between laughter, his whole body shaking with it. one blue slipper hangs half-off his foot, swinging uselessly as he squirms. his eyes crinkle at the corners, bright with challenge even as he lies trapped in the grass.

later, when the fire’s burned low to embers and your dad shoves a half-melted popsicle between you with a gruff “sharing’s caring,” you could scream.

satoru takes the first bite—obnoxiously loud, teeth cracking through the ice—and his mouth goes instantly blue. “tastes better stolen,” he declares, tongue swiping at a drip sliding down his wrist. his hair’s a mess of white strands falling into his eyes, backlit by the dying firelight like some kind of haloed menace.

“you’re disgusting,” you mutter, yanking the popsicle back. the cold burns your teeth when you bite down, but you force your scowl to stay put, even as your slippers swing uselessly from your toes.

“and you like it,” he sing-songs, leaning in so close you can smell the sugar on his breath. his tongue’s still stained, lolling out in a way that should be gross but just makes your fingers itch to shove him.

so you do.

one sharp push to his chest sends him sprawling into the grass with a soft oof. “dream on,” you snap, but he’s already laughing, arms splayed like he’s making snow angels in the dirt, gaze fixed on the purpling sky.

dusk settles around you both, thick with woodsmoke and the lazy chirp of crickets. your pout falters—just for a second—when the popsicle’s sweetness hits your tongue again. across the yard, the fire pit’s glow paints long shadows that dance over his grin when you sneak a glance, already scheming. always scheming.

by the time you drag yourself inside, the night’s gone quiet save for the memory of his laughter, clinging like burrs to your thoughts. the stars blink down, sealing your truce—or your war—in their cool, indifferent light.

the years blur like a popsicle melting under a summer sun, sticky and sweet, your battles with satoru piling up like crumpled homework in a backpack—each one louder, messier, sharper. 

sixth grade drags you into school’s squeaky halls, where lockers slam and whispers sting, and satoru’s there, always, his white hair flopping, his lanky frame shooting up overnight like a weed that won’t quit. he towers over you by spring, his sneakers scuffing the linoleum as he leans too close, smirking “shorty” while flicking your forehead—his voice cracks mid-taunt, a squeaky betrayal that makes you cackle, water spraying from your bottle like a victory fountain across his shirt. 

you chase him through the cafeteria, trays wobbling, your laughter bouncing off the walls as he trips over his own gangly legs, his blue eyes wide with mock outrage. your moms’ war rages on—hers with her smug wind chimes, yours with that chipped gnome glaring from the lawn—while you and Satoru hurl insults over the fence, hoses flailing, your shadows tangling longer now, stretching into dusk like a sloppy braid that won’t untie. 

but the walks home, your backpacks swinging, his slippers squishing, carry a rhythm neither of you name—a truce woven into scuffs and shoves, your glares softening when no one’s looking, the cicadas humming like they’re in on it.

middle school crashes in like a rogue wave, and satoru’s growth spurt turns him into a walking skyscraper, his arms too long, his grin too wide, his voice settling into a teasing lilt that makes your stomach flip in ways you won’t admit. 

you’re still elbowing him in the ribs, still dodging his paint-flecked flicks in art class, but now he’s stealing your fries at lunch, his long fingers snatching them with a lazy “tax for sitting here” while you kick his shin under the table. 

the block parties keep coming, your dads clinking beers and shouting “teamwork!” as you and satoru spill lemonade, tumble into grass, and wrestle over the last popsicle—his blue-stained tongue lolling out as he pins you, your shriek loud enough to scare the crickets. 

yet something’s shifting, soft as the breeze rustling new leaves—you catch him staring once, his ears pink, his smirk faltering when you shove him off the tire swing, and your own cheeks burn when he lingers too close, his shadow swallowing yours. through your glass window, he’s still tossing that rubber ball—thunk-thunk—his frame filling the frame now, his grin flashing across the gap like a sparkler you can’t look away from. 

you mutter “he’s so annoying” into your pillow, but your lips twitch, your glow-in-the-dark stars winking above, and the night hums with a truth neither of you will say: you’re magnets, doomed to clash, bound to stick, your war softening into something that glows brighter than the summer sun.

tag list : @akeisryna @esotericsorrow @prettilyrisse @cherrymoon55 @linaaeatsfamilies @lilychan176 @n1vi @myahfig4 @here4dafics @stfusatoru @mintcheery @44ina @twinkling-moonlilie-reblogs @getoicious @flowerpot113 @satoruxsc @whytfisgojosohot @emoedgylord @your-mum3000 @chich1ookie @uhhellnogetoffpleasenowty @drunkenlionwrites @katsukiseyebrows @heartsforseo @beabamboo @bnbaochauuu @cupidsfrost @ethereal-moonlit @arabellasolstice @captainhoneythebunny @scryarchives @fancypeacepersona @anathemaspeaks @ilovebeansyay

plz comment if u want to be added on the tag list xx

[thescrapwitch]

I’m going to be super predictable. 😆 Maglor for the ask game?

Maglor Maglor Maglor Maglor!

How I feel about this character: He’s in my top three favourite elves to write. I love him a ridiculous amount. He is such a fun character to play around with as a writer. He’s my silly-putty: I can twist him up and squish him into all sorts of fics, be they crack (CRABLOR) or cozy horror (eldritch) or very very angsty. His voice is one of the ones I am most comfortable writing, and I love it. Its the being left behind by everyone you loved (dead or lost or you feel too unworthy to approach the ones that remain), its the sad-singer last one standing who keeps the memory of the past alive, its the sibling feels, its doom, its EVERYTHING. He is very water coded to me (and not just because of the whole singing sad songs by the sea shore), very calm and caring, very much able to hide his truer, messier emotions deep beneath his surface (performer until the very end), and when he is angered you will drown.

All the people I ship romantically with this character: I have been converted to DaeMags, and also have been shown the light in regards to Fingon/Maglor. But most of the time I tend to write Maglor not very interested in romance/sex. He’s devoted to his family and to his music, but its a lot more fun for him to tease his brothers in their relationships than it is for him to actually get involved in a serious one.

My non-romantic OTP for this character: I see him as being very close with Maedhros, but I also love writing him as being close friends with Fingon. The three of them as a trio shine in my mind. Also, Maglor - Finrod - Amarie as a pre-Darkening musical friendship trio is also fun. Him and Daeron as musical rival-frenemies is fun, and of course, I ADORE writing him as bffs with Lindir.

My unpopular opinion about this character: I believe that Maglor had more of a role - the main role - in taking care of E+E, and that it was HIS idea to send them away. Beleriand was getting worse and worse, the Feanorians hanging on by a thread (after all, it was just Maglor and Maedhros by the very end). Maglor would have wanted the twins to live, not just survive, would have wanted them safe as doom tightened around the last two Sons of Feanor like a noose. So he did what any good adult would do: he sent them away to people who would care for them better than he could. Even if it broke his heart to do so.

One thing I wish would happen/had happened with this character in canon: LET. HIM. SAIL. HOME!!!!!!!

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Don't knock it till you try it

Masterlist

Pairing: Syverson x reader x Walter Marshall (technically college AU. I needed to make the road trip scenario plausible.)

Summary: Your friends Walter and Sy have offered to drive you home for the summer, and you have decided to turn it into a nice relaxed camping trip on the way...

Word count: 9146 (yes, really...)

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DNI, fingering (vaginal, anal - f receiving), oral sex (f and m receiving), penetrative sex (vaginal, anal, DP - f receiving), masturbation (f), smug and dirty talking Sy, sex in a tent, hint of a size kink (blink and you miss it), silly bets, and an astonishingly solid bromance. I think that's all, but call me if I missed any.

A/N: I've finally really stopped hurting the boys and now we're just going for some nice relaxed sex in a goddamn tent, dammit! Also yeah I'm going to keep imagining the boys in college until the day I die, I don't know why (maybe because I'm young), but just... idk, read it as a memory or something? idk :')

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @ellethespaceunicorn @peaches1958 @sillyrabbit81 @peyton-warren @summersong69 @mayloma @livisss

You were not – by a long shot – the first girl to see the backseat of the beat-up chevy pickup you were sitting in. Fact. A fact so factual, in fact, that Sy hadn’t complained when you demanded he put a blanket down for you to sit on, which told you more than you really wanted to know.

Now, your eyes kept drifting shut to the sound of tires on asphalt and the bickering of soothing baritone voices in the front seat. The outside world consisted of mountain views and clear blue skies, and the fresh breeze of early summer that worked just hard enough to raise goosebumps on skin, but inside this rusty old vehicle the atmosphere was dominated by two pairs of broad shoulders, deep voices, and what you always mockingly referred to as ‘disgusting man sweat’ – always hoping neither of them would ever find out how often you dreamt of licking those salty droplets off their abs after a workout.

Both of them had shown up, first semester, in a class they didn’t have a prayer of passing, and you’d been teamed up with them because of what you then thought to be a hideous trick of fate. Somehow, you whipping them into shape for that tutorial hadn’t put them off you, and what started as whatever the educational equivalent of ‘frenemies’ is, turned into study buddies and eventually friends. The only downside to your friendship was that you chronically had to explain to your entire dorm that, no, you weren’t sleeping with either of them – let alone both of them.

As you still toed the line between asleep and awake, a heavy hand on your knee – belonging to Walter – made a decision for you in favor of consciousness.

“We’re hungry,” he said.

“You’re always hungry,” you grumbled as you reached for the bag of food and snacks on the other side of the backseat. It was a good thing they didn’t bother to deny it, because you would have strangled them both. God forbid you ever left a bag of Doritos out in your dorm. Seconds! Gone!

Sy had the stones to ask for a tuna sandwich. Absolutely the fuck not!

“I’m not opening that bag in this car, Sy.” It already smelled like stale beer and weed in there. Not in a bad way, but in a ‘you’re not allowed to smoke on campus, so this is our only option’ way. That said, adding tuna to the mix would be a complete disaster.

“Suit yourself,” he snapped. You rolled your eyes. For the love of God, it was all of ten minutes past feeding time! Walter snickered as he held out a hand. Turkey on wheat for Walter, BLT for Sy, mozzarella pesto for you. You’d splurged on groceries, because the boys had offered to take the lion’s share of the drive.

“We were thinkin’ of callin’ it a day soon, sugar.” They’d had morning classes, and you were falling asleep while on snack-duty… Plus, you’d agreed to just take it easy the whole drive. It was summer; there was no need to rush home.

Sy pulled off the highway, quickly ending the smooth, rhythmic hum of the tires on the road, until the asphalt finally made way for the crackling of gravel. Without Sy, you never would have found the campsite at which you pulled over. Camping ran through that guy’s veins, as you could tell from the impressive amount of camping gear in the bed of the pickup – all his.

Even though he helped you get out of the truck, you still lost your footing and stumbled into him, leaving Walter grinning to the side of the spectacle, commenting on your horrible clumsiness.

“Dunno,” Sy replied with a sly smile. “Guess she’s just fallin’ for me.” The cheesy joke made Walter stop dead in his tracks.

“I think that’s twenty-five,” he deadpanned, looking at you. In a less-than-sober state, somewhere in the past year, you had made a deal: if either of them managed to make that joke twenty-five times before the end of the year, you’d… Alright, let the records show that when you made that bet, you had been entirely convinced they’d never take you up on the offer to let them kiss you. But they had.

“You’re not gonna hold me to what I said back then, are you?” you asked in a small voice, your cheeks so hot you could probably fry an egg on them. The door of the truck slammed shut behind you, and Sy slowly stepped forward, forcing you to step back, until you were backed up against the truck, with him leaning over you – completely caged in between his solid body and the car.

“Deal’s a deal, sugar.” There was no trace of his usual grin, no hint of the mischievous glint in his eyes that normally told you he was kidding. He just came closer and closer as your eyes went wide – Walter did nothing. Jackass.

Not that kissing Sy was something you didn’t want. Oh no! In fact, it was something a fairly large part of you wanted so badly you thought you might burst. On some days, being close to either of them – let alone both – was torture, where your heart raced every time they came near you, and you unconsciously held your breath when they touched you… And while the guys just freely admitted to having sex dreams about you, you kept the little nugget of truth that you had similar dreams about them, tightly under wraps. Not because you thought they’d tease you about it, or anything, just… No, wait, actually that’s exactly why you didn’t tell them.

A few more seconds passed in which your heart tried its best to jump out of your chest.

“This isn’t funny, Sy,” you snapped on a sharp exhale when his mouth curled at the corners into that signature smirk you loved to hate. Finally able to gather your thoughts as well as your strength, you put your hands on his chest and pushed. It was a good thing he let you go, because if he had decided to stay put, you wouldn’t have stood a chance in hell.

“I want my kiss, sugar,” he called after you as you paced away to… alright, you didn’t actually know where you were going, but away, at least. “One way or another.”

As pissed – or confused – as you were, this was ‘the outdoors’ and therefore absolutely not the type of environment you were well equipped for in any kind of way, thus you decided it was best to stay close – within earshot, at least – to the boys. But they could take care of unpacking and pitching tents and whatever the fuck else needed doing.

“Hey.” Sy sat down next to you on the rock you had claimed, and put an arm around you. This was oddly comfortable, especially compared to the tense situation by the car, earlier. “I was messin’ with ya back there, you know that, right?” Whether it was to make a point, or simply because Walter wasn’t watching – or maybe because the threatening wall of man from before was now your familiar gentle giant again, you had no idea, but you impulsively reached for Sy and kissed him on the cheek. A low chuckle escaped him, and he pulled you closer.

“There’s a trail up to a waterfall we maybe wanted to check out, you in? Easy hike.” The good thing about hanging out with the guys was that they really considered your level of… adventurous ineptitude. If they suggested this hike, it meant they were at least medium convinced you could actually make it there and back in one piece – or that they could make it at least halfway with you on their backs.

The hike led up to a beautiful, clear river, and a spectacular waterfall. Between the smell of the woods, the sun comfortably warm on your skin, and the phenomenal view, this hike had been more than worth it – never mind that you were all sticky and sweaty from trying to keep up with the guys and their superhuman pace.

“On the way back, can we please remember that I have little legs?” you complained as you sank down onto the rock at the river bank the boys had selected to eat yet another sandwich on. Sy hummed, finally contently munching on the tuna sandwich you’d denied him in the car, and Walter laughed. You sat in silence while your friends ate their food, which meant the rock inevitably became too boring for your limited attention span.

What started off as a relatively sure-footed expedition over the rocks that stuck out of the water, inevitably ended with your very accurate portrayal of a soaking wet person regretting most – if not all – of their life choices. Sy sighed and rolled his eyes as he swallowed the last bite of his sandwich, taking his sweet time to get up and make his way over to you to fish you out of the water – which he then called ‘refreshing’ instead of ‘freezing fucking cold’. That didn’t improve your mood. Next, Walter had to dive for your phone – which, luckily, could swim, but was still going to be next to useless to you at the bottom of this far-deeper-than-anticipated vein of icy death.

Shivering, covered in goosebumps and with chattering teeth, you stood on the bank of the river.

“Take your shirt off,” Walter commanded, plucking his own off the dry rock.

“What?” you stammered, staring at him in disbelief. Now, that alone would have been just fine, if your eyes hadn’t dropped from his face to his chest. Small droplets of water dripped from his hair and beard onto his shoulders and chest and… somehow trickled down his body in slow motion. If they knew how much willpower it took to lift your eyes to his again, they would never let you live it down. Sy repeated his words from a distance – there went your excuse that Walter had just been talking too softly. Sy was still up to his knees in the river, unbothered by the cold, just hanging out there as if that water didn’t rival the fucking arctic ocean for temperature.

As you looked at him, he started to walk back to the riverside. The sun was starting to set, changing the light in a way that made it look like Sy, much like those fucking drops of water, was moving in slow motion, flecks of sunlight dancing over his skin… These guys were distracting enough when they were dry and dressed, but now that they were wet and half naked, with damp, coarse curls sticking to their chest and abs, catching the water that dripped down from their heads… These boys were fucking with your head. Big time.

“Sugar, take off your shirt, please,” Sy repeated when he stood next to you. “You’re freezin’, let’s get you a dry t-shirt, at least.” Oh. So, they weren’t putting the moves on you. Good to know. Hopefully, your exasperated sigh didn’t give away any of the disappointment you felt. With a little help from Walter, you lifted your soaking top over your head, not caring that they saw you in your bra until it was already too late. Sy used his t-shirt to dry you off a bit, before handing you Walter’s to put on. The whole time, they kept their eyes in decent places, and their hands didn’t wander anywhere they shouldn’t. Now, why did that make you feel sad?

“We should head back,” Walter said – mostly to Sy. The sun disappeared rather quickly, and without the heat from it, that dry t-shirt – save for the two tit-shaped wet spots where your soaked bra touched it – didn’t do much to keep you warm.

By the time you made it back to the campsite, you were shivering again. The walk had done next to nothing to warm you, and your still wet jean shorts chafed painfully against your thighs. Not to mention your thighs were starting to chafe painfully against your thighs. So, the first thing you did was disappear into the tiny single tent that was meant for you – as you had made it abundantly clear that sharing a tent with the boys was out of the question – and change into something dry, warm, and comfortable. The guys did the same, although – as it turns out – their version of ‘warm’ included no shirts. Did they ever get cold?

It was tough enough to keep your eyes off Sy in cargo shorts – although Walter in jeans was just as much of a sight for sore eyes – but now that it was getting dark, the sweats came out to play. You silently thanked Walter for his choice of black sweatpants, because keeping your thoughts out of the gutter was hard enough already. Sy was shamelessly sporting a pair of grey sweats, filling them out just about as nicely as humanly possible as he sat there, getting a fire started. The sly glances and that godforsaken smirk he flung your way from time to time told you that he was more than aware that you were checking him out.

The heat from the fire alone wasn’t enough to warm you up. Sy’s solution was tequila – which helped, but not quite enough, so Walter wrapped you in a blanket, pulling you close to his side as he ran his hands over your arms in an attempt to stop your shivering. At the same time, Sy inched closer, and before you knew it, four arms were wrapped around you.

Apart from being hot, proverbially, these guys were hot in the literal sense, too, warming you up slightly more effectively than the blanket around your shoulders and moderate amount of alcohol in your system. Still, the icy temperatures from the ground you were sitting on seeped into you without mercy. Of course, the boys took notice, both getting the same idea, and each grabbing one of your legs to try and pull you into their respective laps. Needless to say; it didn’t work, and you just ended up with spread legs, sitting between them on the floor. Sy had that twinkle in his eye, that smirk on his face that was dripping with confidence and indecency… You had to get out of there before he could speak!

As you scrambled to your feet, mumbling something about getting another blanket for yourself to sit on, you tripped and fell into Walter’s lap. Of course! You had been keeping score on that bet as well, and you knew you had come here – fucking camping – with both of the guys stuck on twenty-four counts of the same lame fucking joke… This was your fault, really.

To your surprise, however, Walter said nothing – instead, he smiled politely, pulling you into a more comfortable position in his lap.

“You’ve earned it,” you whispered, although you had absolutely no idea why. Maybe because it was the truth, maybe because you just wanted this bet to be over. Either way, it hurt you that he didn’t make the dumb joke, and asked to collect his reward the way Sy had. Hoping to get up before Walter looked into your eyes – where your thoughts were no doubt displayed for everyone to see – you made a move that was entirely too advanced for your mediocre balance and agility, and you crashed down again, this time falling harder than before. As Walter grunted, panic shot through you…

“Darling, I’d ask you if it hurt when you fell from heaven, but so far the only person who got hurt in that process, is me,” he blurted out in a strangled voice, while Sy was losing it next to you, howling from laughter.

Was it the booze? The fire? The tension from this afternoon? The fact that you were sitting in his lap, with his hands maybe a tad too low on your hips, but high enough to not rouse suspicion? Or maybe just your complete lack of self-control? Whatever it was, it caused you to move to straddle his thighs, and without thinking about it for so much as a second, you kissed him. If you’d had a sliver of hope before that Walter would break the kiss after an at least semi-decent amount of time, it was gone now, because the hand on your hip pulled you tighter against him, and his other hand tangled in your hair.

Walter kissed you. It took far more effort than you had ever expected to really let that sink in, but at the same time there was no way around it. He was kissing you, and it was eager, and rough, accompanied by ragged breaths and the occasional moan. It managed to make you forget everything around you. Everything except for Sy – mainly because he let out a pained grunt just as you were about to stick your tongue down Walter’s throat.

“I got a kiss on the cheek, man,” he groaned as he leaned in slightly on one elbow.

Now, if you had been thinking clearly, you would have laughed it off, gotten up and gone to bed. Safe to say, you were not thinking clearly.

Sy’s mouth felt just as good on yours as Walter’s had, with similarly soft lips, a similarly coarse beard scraping your skin, and a similar roughness to him that only wound you tighter. You moaned, your hips unconsciously grinding into Walter’s, his growing hard-on providing extra friction to soothe the ache between your legs. When you briefly opened your eyes to see if Sy was as involved in this as you were, you saw him palm his own erection through his sweats – casually adjusting its position before focusing on you again. In that moment – timed perfectly with a moan from Walter – something inside of you snapped.

“I’m going to bed,” you stuttered as you broke the kiss with Sy, at the same time scrambling to get to your feet – this time succeeding without falling into anyone, and making it to your own tent without a hitch. ‘

Now, if it had been a sober conversation, and it hadn’t been in the middle of nowhere without a sound to be heard for miles other than crickets, the occasional owl, and the crackling of the fire, at least half of it would have been inaudible from where you had pitched your tents. But the boys were too drunk, and their voices too deep and dark – the sound just traveled too far. You could have ignored them. You could have turned around, pulled your sleeping bag over your ears, and pretended to be asleep until it became the truth. Instead, you listened, sometimes straining to understand what they were saying.

“So, who do we say got her first?”

“I’m asking for a do-over.”

“Because it was me?”

“We could just… Y’know…”

“Think she’d go for it?”

“What, both of us? My ex did…”

“But she was nuts.”

“Hey! Okay, fair enough.”

Both of them? Both of them? As in… Separately? Or… Oh, what the fuck did it matter! The answer was yes.

What surprised you most about your thoughts was how completely unsurprised you were by them. Somehow, the idea of sleeping with both Sy and Walter felt as natural as could be, and left you not only stumped, but with another problem that needed tending to…

Without thinking, you slid your hand down your body, and into your sweatpants. Kissing the boys had definitely had its effect on you, you had known that as soon as it had happened, but the extent of the mess between your thighs was still quite surprising. Somehow, tasting both of them, followed by your eavesdropping, had made you dripping wet and craving something more than just your fingers. Unfortunately, they’d have to do.

You thought of that first kiss with Walter, then the one with Sy, then wondered what it would feel like to have those beards scratch the skin of your neck, slowly making their way down to your chest. Would they lick? Bite? Moan? You pictured Sy, eagerly making his way further down, while Walter kept his attention on your chest. Would he be as quiet as he always was? Was Sy as loud as you imagined him to be?

There were so many things to wonder about, besides the obvious size question, that the thoughts consumed you completely as you worked yourself up to your peak. So completely, in fact, that you didn’t hear the guys return to the tents – just as you squealed from pleasure while you came. Hard.

“Fuck, sugar,” Sy said from outside. Walter warned him to stop talking, but he didn’t listen. “Tell me if you want any help.”

It was tempting to say ‘yes’. It was tempting to crawl into that tent and tell them you had heard everything they said by the fire. It was tempting to offer yourself up on a silver platter, hoping they’d make good on their promises from before by fucking the life out of you. But things that are tempting can also still be difficult, so you did nothing. Well, nothing… If ‘dying of embarrassment’ counts as ‘something’, you were definitely not doing nothing.

The sound of your own teeth chattering prevented you from falling asleep, even though you could hardly keep your eyes open. And who knew goosebumps could hurt like this? The boys had warned you beforehand that it would get cold at night, and you’d even told Sy what you had planned on wearing as pajamas, and he’d said you’d be good. Well, you weren’t good. You were covered from head to toe, and you were not – by any definition of the word – ‘good’.

As hard and painful as it was to just lay there and freeze, it was harder to get up, worm your double-socked feet into your sneakers and get out of your tent. Outside, it was pitch black, and the dim light of your phone was barely enough to prevent you from falling flat on your face. You had to credit the boys with their incredible foresight to keep the path from your tent to theirs free of tripping hazards – something you were so delighted in at that moment that you forgot to question whether or not there was some sort of ploy, or whatever in place. Lewd scheme or not, you were glad to make it without a hitch.

“Eh, guys?” you whispered after zipping open the tent and poking your head in.

“Hm? What?” It was Walter – and from Sy’s continued snoring, you deduced that you shouldn’t wait for him to answer; he wasn’t waking up.

“I’m really fucking cold,” you admitted reluctantly. That seemed to wake Walter up a little more…

“Cold? You could go on an expedition to the north pole dressed the way you are!” The sleep-drunk slur of his voice was… adorable, in a way. To his left – no, his right… To his left from where you were standing? The left side of the air-mattress they were on when you looked at it, standing at the foot of the bed, the right side if you were actually lying in… oh for fuck’s sake! Next to him, Sy groaned and turned – although you couldn’t see any of that, because it was very dark.

“The fuck is going on?” he grunted, his voice gravelly and dark – which did a good job of making your knees weak.

“She’s cold,” Walter replied dryly.

“There’s no way,” Sy said in disbelief, “she’s dressed for winter in Alaska.”

“If you two are done mocking me, I’m actually freezing my ass off out here. Do you have an extra blanket or something?” you snapped.

“Sugar, we’re not even wearin’ shirts,” Sy said, his voice steadier now that he was waking up.

“Great, so you put on a shirt, and I’ll take your sleeping bag.” It was a shame they couldn’t see you roll your eyes, but the snippy tone would surely get your point across.

“Or you could just come here, love,” Walter said all of a sudden. There was rustling in the tent and then a dim red light over your heads turned on.

“Interesting choice…” you started, but Walter and Sy chuckled.

“It’s easier on your eyes, sugar.” Shit, Sy was easy on your eyes, god damn. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he wasn’t wearing a shirt, and the way he casually lounged on that fucking mattress right now, with that arm behind his head, eyes half shut…

Walter was sitting up, holding a hand out to you, waiting patiently until you had zipped open the door further – which took so long that he ended up helping you with it. As you got in, he got out, and for a moment you were scared he would offer to leave you with Sy while he took your tent, but after a while he returned holding your backpack and sleeping bag.

The bed was a bit small for the three of you, especially since the guys were so bulky, but you managed to make it work. The only thing was… shivering in between them was hardly more comfortable than shivering by yourself, and now there wasn’t enough space to curl up into a ball and hope for the best.

“Sugar, stop squirmin’, c’mere.” Sy’s strong arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you close, when up until now you’d been trying desperately not to touch either of them. “Alright, I take it back, she is freezin’.” A gesture to Walter you could feel but not see, made him scooch over, too, until his body was flush against yours.

Your heart raced in your throat when warm hands slipped underneath your hoodie, stroking your side and – eventually – your stomach. Somewhere down the line, you forgot how to breathe properly, taking in shallow breaths, hoping the guys wouldn’t notice. Of course, they did, because they were inches away from you.

“You should take this off, sugar,” Sy mumbled into your ear. Every muscle in your body tensed up at the suggestion, and it felt like the air was knocked out of your lungs.

“C-can’t,” you stammered, “I’m not… eh… I’m not wearing a bra.”

“Fairly sure we’ve seen a pair of tits before, love,” Walter replied, right at the time Sy muttered ‘neither are we’, making you laugh. Somehow, all of this seemed innocent – or rather; you were convincing yourself it felt innocent, and any subtext and undertones were a figment of your imagination, instead, when in fact, it was far more likely that it was exactly the other way around…

“Not mine,” you protested, biting your lip as a third hand, belonging to Walter, began to roam your back.

“We’re aware of that,” Sy said, his voice dangerously close to your ear. His breath was hot against your cold skin – a sensation that made you shiver.

“In fact, we try not to think about it. It makes us sad,” Walter said, leaning his forehead against yours, sliding his hand down your back and then up your side until his thumb was less than an inch away from the underside of your boobs.

For a moment, the thought that this was just a tactic to actually warm you up flashed through your head, because – in all fairness – it was working. Every part of you was suddenly glowing, breath quick and ragged in anticipation of whatever it was that would come next. What surprised you, though, was how calm they both seemed. Then again, they had already – unknowingly – admitted to having done this before. If that was where this was headed, which you still didn’t quite know for sure… It was as if the guys were both waiting for something. Waiting for… you.

Your lips trembled as you tilted your head up, Walter taking your hint and pressing his lips to yours. Sy pushed your hair out of the way and latched on to your neck. Neither of them went straight to groping you – not more than they had been up until now – but it was only a matter of time before you felt Walter’s hand creep up to your chest. He broke your kiss, his eyes silently asking for permission, which you gave him with the flash of a smile and a slight nod, gasping when his fingers brushed past your nipple. Despite the rising temperatures in the tent – even though most of that was likely just your imagination – the difference between your skin and Walter’s was striking, and you moaned when his warm hand cupped your breast.

Sy was less subtle by about a million degrees, boldly grabbing as much of your other boob as humanly possible – and he had big hands, so you quickly ran out of tit for him to dig his fingers into.

“Can you take it easy,” you blurted out as you laughed in surprise at his – as far as you were concerned – unwarranted enthusiasm.

“Darlin’, I’ve been dreamin’ of these tits for weeks, throw a man a bone.” He groaned when you backed a hip into him the same way you would have if he had been standing next to you.

“Looks like you’re the one throwing me a bone, Syverson,” you teased when you felt his cock push against your ass. It was a horrible joke; Walter laughed, Sy did not – possibly because he was the one on the receiving end of your mockery. Instead, you heard a low, arrogant chuckle in your ear, that told you exactly how he wasn’t going to give you the upper hand.

“I ain’t throwin’ you nothin’, sugar,” he growled, putting a hand on your hip, gripping you tight. “I’m gonna make you fuckin’ beg for it.”

“Promises, promises.” Teasing the boys was fun when you were studying, because you very clearly had a head start in that department, and they would get frustrated, and it was very cute. But now, sandwiched between their bodies, gone was your head start. Any advantage you had over them, in any other way, was useless here. The worst part? They fucking knew it. It was as if they grew bigger and you got smaller, and you were loving every second of it.

Suddenly, the hands underneath your sweater grew impatient, tugging the fabric up until there was no point in keeping it on. Rough hands turned you on your back, which left you staring up at both guys while they raked their eyes over your naked upper body. The knowledge that they were far from unaffected by you graced you with a sense of pride that helped keep doubts and shyness away as you reveled in their attention and the appreciative grunts and moans they let out as they looked at you.

“Fuck,” Walter muttered, licking his lips, completely focused on your bare skin. He scooched closer to you, grinding his hips into your side as he did, and turned your face to his to kiss you.

It was as eager as before, this time with Sy descending, pressing his lips to your neck, exceeding every expectation you had created in your fantasy from before; their lips were softer, their tongues wetter, and the way the coarse hair felt on your skin better than anything you could ever imagine. You whined and squirmed as their hands glided over your body, paying plenty of attention to your boobs, their fingers treating the soft flesh in remarkably similar ways. After a while, they switched places; Sy kissed you, Walter explored your body, making you gasp into Sy’s mouth as he wrapped his lips around your nipple, sucking gently on the hardened little bud while his fingers worked the other.

Eventually, he came back up to kiss you, a situation Sy took advantage of by diving straight back between your boobs, this time sliding his hand down your stomach and into your sweatpants – which is when you grabbed his wrist.

“Stop.” Stern and very effective – not that you were about to give the boys any credit for not assaulting you; that sounded like common fucking decency to you, actually. “Before this goes any further; did either of you, with your infinite wisdom and incredible foresight, pack condoms? Because if not…” Before you finished that sentence, both of them sat up and reached for their bag, leaving you there, taken aback by… You didn’t actually know what had you so shocked about this.

Sy made it back to your side first, tucking a handful of condoms beneath his pillow before laying down again. “Oral?” he asked. It was only half the question, but you understood perfectly. You quickly established that everyone was clean, making the short answer to his half-question ‘without’. Sy responded to that agreement by promptly sliding his hand into your pants, not wasting any more time. His fingers slipped between your folds, and he let out a low chuckle.

“For a moment I was worried you didn’t want this as much as we do,” he growled in your ear. “Guess I was wrong.” One quick, skilled swirl of his finger around your swollen clit made you whine – a sound he clearly found very motivational, because his fingers picked up a steady rhythm. You tried to hide your face in Walter’s neck to cover up the sound of your moans, but he caught you and kissed you instead.

Sy somehow found the time to kiss your neck, your jaw, your ear – sinking his teeth into you ever so slightly, stopping just before he hurt you – while he continued what he was doing. His fingers were absolute magic, making you swear under your breath as he effortlessly slipped two of them inside you. Next, he kissed his way down again, not stopping at your breasts, but continuing over your abs, until he reached your sweatpants, pulling them down eagerly without waiting for your permission. Of course, he had it – and you’d had plenty of time to stop him while he was headed there. It’s just that… That was about the very last thing you wanted.

Next to you, Walter kept busy pressing lazy kisses to your neck and jaw, occasionally pulling away to look at you, while he held you and played with your boobs. A few times you tried to move your hand to the bulge in his sweatpants, but he stopped you every time.

“Would you just...”

“Darling, been there, done that. You’ll be useless to me within seconds.” He nodded towards Sy, who was taking a moment to find a decent position between your legs. You raised your eyebrow at Walter, questioning his words, but he didn’t budge. “I’m gonna wait my turn, love.”

“I know this one,” Sy said, running his fingers over the fabric of your thong. You chuckled – he was right; he’d barged into your room one night while you were changing into whatever you were going to wear out to the club, and he’d seen you in your underwear. This underwear. He took his sweet time taking it off, teasing you with kisses on the inside of your thighs, his beard rough against your sensitive skin, until you were almost begging him to keep going. Finally, he pulled your panties down.

“You were right,” he said to Walter, leaving you to wonder what the fuck… “It is her natural hair color.” Oh. You fought the urge to kick Sy – instead, you lightly squeezed your thighs shut around his head. It didn’t seem to bother him. Quite the opposite, in fact.  

The urge disappeared altogether when you – finally – felt his tongue on your pussy. He wasn’t subtle, but damn, he was good. Walter had absolutely had a point; barely ten seconds in and you couldn’t keep your eyes open, let alone focus on anything other than the feeling of Sy’s tongue on your clit. He impatiently spread your legs further while mumbling some very dirty things about how much he wanted to taste you. Involuntarily, you chuckled – causing both guys to stop what they were doing and looking at you in suspicion. Lying was pointless; they knew you well enough by now to effortlessly see through that, and you sighed.

“I… eh…” you stammered, unable to find the words.

“Come on,” Walter said, “if you’ve still got things to hide from us now…” He was right, of course, this wasn’t a position you’d have found yourself in at all if you hadn’t been so comfortable with – and hot for – these guys. Then again, you were already exposed and vulnerable… Why make that worse?

You hid your face in Walter’s neck as you just said what was on your mind without thinking about it: “I always imagined you to be the quiet one and Sy the loud one.”

“Always?” Sy teased you. His usual cocky attitude transferred seemly to the bedroom – or… tent – as it would seem. Except now, for once, you had a decent shot at shutting him the fuck up – although you did have a feeling you were going to like his smug confidence for a change. Sy had been growing out his buzzcut for a few weeks now, which made his hair just about long enough to grab – a fact you used to your advantage when you tangled your fingers in his hair and pulled his face back to where you wanted it.

“That’s just going to make it harder to answer the question, darling,” Walter muttered next to you while drawing circles around your nipples with impatient fingers.

“Fuck!” you shrieked as Sy’s tongue hit your clit just right – a note he took to heart, because he didn’t leave that spot again, leaving you wishing that all men were that smart. Because why – for the love of God – did they always change their approach as soon as they found a spot you let them know you really liked? Right… The question at hand… “You really thought it was just the two of you dreaming about me?” They had to be smart enough to figure out what you meant on their own, right? The flustered look on Walter’s face told you enough, as did the deep chuckle and gentle bite on the inside of your thigh.

Apparently fed up with your conversation, Sy doubled down on his efforts, eating you out like a man starved, more chuckles escaping him as he watched you pull his pillow over your face in an attempt to keep quiet. ‘Attempt’ because you still failed quite horribly when he pushed two fingers into your pussy and curled them, finding your g-spot without any effort. The orgasm that followed was the kind of toe-curling, earth-shattering, life-changing thing that made you really mad at yourself for one particular reason…

“Jesus fucking Christ, I should have taken you up on your offer when my useless ex broke up with me,” you moaned as Sy made his way up again, pulling in the pillow that you had haphazardly thrown aside – after you were done screaming­, that is – so you could catch your breath. Sy immediately pulled you on top of him, kissing you hard and deep, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. It was something that had always made you feel weird and – if you were being perfectly honest – mildly disgusted when it had been your ex doing it, but there was something about the way Sy had gone down on you, and the way he was kissing you now, something unapologetic, passionate, and enthusiastic, that made you want to kiss him.

In fact, you were just about to commit to the bit when someone – and that someone had to be Walter – grabbed you by your hips and dragged you back until you were on your knees. You tried to lie down again as you heard him rummage around, looking for something – the obvious, really. The smack on your ass made you shriek in surprise, only making you slightly worried that either sound would have been audible well outside the tent.

“Stay there,” Walter’s husky voice commanded. “My turn.” Maybe he was the quiet one, but when he did speak… Oh my! You didn’t dare to move a muscle, leaving you sitting there, exposed as you heard the pretty familiar crinkling of foil. Shortly after, you felt the tip of Walter’s cock glide along the length of your slit. He teased you for a moment before lining himself up and slowly pushing into you. Sy laughed as your eyes went wide, and he grabbed your hand, guiding it to the bulge in his pants. Jackass. As soon as you got a good sense of what he was equipped with, you squealed. Not with any particular emotion in mind, just… Right now, you didn’t know what to think. In fact, Walter was well on his way to at least semi-permanently turning the whole thinking-function of your brain off.

“You alright, love?” Walter asked as he slowly pushed further into you.

“So far so good,” you moaned, “but I hope you’re running out of dick, because I’m running out of places to put it.” Cue roaring laughter from both guys…

“If you ever wonder why we love you,” Sy said, his sentence interrupted by more laughter, “that, right there. That’s why.”

You wanted to respond to that, you really did, but Walter pulling out of you already left you breathless, meaning all you could do was gasp when he slammed back into you. You’d never pictured either of them to be gentle. Concerned for your comfort, sure, but not tender. You’d been right. Luckily, gentle lovemaking was very low on your list of priorities in this particular situation – or ever – which meant you reveled in the brutish attention you got and soon found yourself wanting to beg Walter to fuck you harder.

Sy, as vocal as he’d been before, turned out to also be a champion in impatiently nudging your hand, vaguely suggesting he wanted you to do something, and for a moment it felt like you were about to regain some control of the situation, but no… He was also not above manhandling you into a position where your face hovered over his crotch, and taking his dick out himself once he got really fed up with your stalling. With your eyes wide, you looked at him – something he enjoyed for a moment before tapping the tip of his cock to your lips.

“Don’t make me ask, Sugar,” he growled. As much as you wanted to protest and act out, with Walter fucking the attitude out of you, there was nothing you could do but open your mouth and carefully wrapping your lips around him. The chuckle you let out as Sy grunted appreciatively when you swirled your tongue around his cock was interrupted by your own moan when Walter did… whatever it was that he did to cause it.

Slowly but surely, you made your way further down Sy’s dick, until a particularly violent thrust from Walter threw you off, accidentally forcing Sy deeper than you could handle. Choking and sputtering, you moved away from Sy, only scared for a moment that he’d be disappointed, but he had a different reaction – similar to Walter’s: checking to see if you were okay. Again, you were not in the habit of handing out bonus points for normal behavior, but it was nice, regardless.

“I’m fine,” you said between ragged breaths. “Note to self: deepthroating while getting railed from behind; bad idea.” The guys laughed, and as soon as you’d caught your breath, you joined them.

“There’s one way we all get attention without any risk of choking,” Sy mentioned casually, wiggling an eyebrow suggestively. Yes, you knew what he meant instantly, but… both of them? At the same time? All it took to convince you to at least give it a try was Walter slipping out of you, leaving you empty and nowhere near sated. One of Sy’s sly glances was a question to Walter, who ‘hmmph’-ed. You didn’t like the sound of that, per se, and looked over your shoulder to see what he was on about.

“Definitely depends,” he said, taking your lack of an immediate ‘absolutely the fuck not’-reaction as a sign you were considering it. And he was correct in that interpretation of the situation. “There’s a time and place for first time anal, and this is not it.” That was a sentiment you could absolutely get behind. Luckily, it didn’t matter, because it was hardly applicable. You assured the guys you had plenty of experience in that area.

Another potential spanner in the works that Sy mentioned, was the lack of lube. Somehow, Walter surprised you by mentioning you should have some with you – you did, but how did he know that?

“You use it to keep your hair from going frizzy,” he deadpanned. You looked at him as if you’d seen a ghost, while Sy looked at you as if you’d gone completely nuts.

“What?” you said, turning to Sy again. “It works!” With one hand, you reached for the strap of your backpack, pulling it towards you so you could look for the bottle. It was just under half full, but that should be enough…

Walter wasn’t stingy with the stuff, which was a good thing. There were few things more annoying to you than continuously having to tell a guy to use more lube. One, then two, then three fingers disappeared into you without a hitch, and although the fourth was a nice reminder that you had to relax, that went over without too much trouble as well. Somehow, somewhere in your mind, the fact that Walter seemed to know exactly what he was doing irked you – it was completely hypocritical of you, for obvious reasons, but right now the thought of him with anyone else made you mad.

The boys laughed when you voiced the absurd thought, and Sy didn’t neglect to point out that they hadn’t been too happy about several of the ‘scum’ (yes, really) you’d gotten together with in the time they’d known you. It was a weird thing to be joking about with two of your closest friends while one of them had several fingers stuck up your ass, but at the same time it felt very natural and on-brand for your relationship with the guys.

You whined when Walter pulled his fingers out, making Sy chuckle in a way you didn’t like at all.

“Maybe we should go to sleep,” he suggested with a smug grin on his face that only widened when you told him you were definitely not going to do that. “Why not, sugar?”

Fuck, he was making good on that promise from before. Now, of course, you could convince yourself that begging for cock was beneath you, and you weren’t going to do it, but that would leave you – relatively – unfucked, which was… not desirable, to say the least. Or you could admit to yourself and them how much you wanted both of them inside of you, and have a great time.

Somehow, the red light that no one had bothered to turn off – luckily, as everything you had been doing so far would have been more or less impossible in the dark – already made the tent feel like… a brothel, quite frankly, you put your doubts aside and looked at Sy.

“We’re not going to sleep, because you’re not done fucking me,” you said, giving him your best bedroom eyes. Sy seemed impressed at first, but his eyes flitted to Walter and…

A strong hand grabbed your shoulder and pulled you up until your back hit Walter’s chest. His arm reached around, grabbing you by your throat – lightly, almost as if to ask for permission, but demanding.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice dark and gravelly. Down on the air mattress, Sy smirked up at you, making it painfully obvious that you wouldn’t get out of this, no matter how hard you tried. You quickly scanned your brain for all your options, sadly coming up completely empty. No matter which way you sliced it, they were going to come out on top.

“I want you to fuck me,” you snapped, “both of you.” A sarcastic chuckle behind you and Sy shaking his head as he looked up at you told you that that wasn’t good enough. After a deep breath, your voice softened as you spoke again, finally saying the word they wanted to hear: “Please.”

For a long, dull moment all you really heard was the sound of two more condoms being unwrapped, and the top of the bottle of lube clicking. Then, Sy pulled you towards him. As soon as you felt his tip at your entrance, you sat down, fighting the urge to slap him when he threw a smirk and that godforsaken horrible wink your way. Under normal circumstances you considered yourself very well versed in resisting that desire, but today… He laughed when your palm landed lightly on his cheek and thrust up into you for good measure, making you squeal and fall over. Luckily, he caught you just in time.

Just as you wanted to sit up again, Walter put a hand on your back. Right. In that little moment of silliness, you’d almost forgotten what the endgame was, but now that you felt Walter’s cock pushing against your ass…

“Keep talking to us, okay?” Sy whispered softly as he saw your expression change. He cupped your cheek, gently stroking your cheekbone with his thumb. “Breathe.” You took his advice immediately – no doubt a nice change of pace for him, as he was used to your stubbornness at this point – taking a few deep breaths. It wasn’t until the third or fourth one that Walter moved, slowly pushing into you. Keeping your eyes open was absolutely impossible, the sensation of both of them filling you up at the same time too much to even really wrap your head around. “Sugar, you okay?”

“Uhuh.” You nodded, showcasing your current full extent of your ability to answer. When Walter moved, you swore under your breath – when they both moved you hid your face in Sy’s neck and let out a loud moan, followed by an out-of-breath ‘fuck yes’, and that was all the confirmation they needed.

They established a rhythm suspiciously quickly, pumping in and out of you in sync. Yeah. They’d definitely done this before. As you pushed the thought away and focused on the incredible sensations of their cocks moving inside of you, their eager – and mostly greedy – hands on your hips, shoulders, ass, thighs, and tits, you felt a familiar pressure inside of you.

“Don’t stop,” you blurted out – and the boys seemed more than happy to oblige. With one little disclaimer…

“Make it quick, love… Not gonna last,” Walter grunted, digging his fingers into the flesh of your hips. It hurt, causing you to swat at his hand, which made him relax his grip a bit. Judging from Sy’s rapid breaths and a concentrated look on his face that gave away just how much difficulty he was having with keeping his rhythm steady, he was getting pretty damn close, too. In fact, pretty much the second their thrusts dragged you over the edge, both of them grit their teeth and gave in to their own pleasure, growling profanities as they came.

The boys were nice enough to handle most of the cleanup for you – which was, given that you were camping, largely a matter of wet wipes, which was definitely not even close to the shower you would have loved to take right about now. And you couldn’t really appreciate Sy’s joke about a lovely, refreshing river near where you were, either.

“Maybe tomorrow,” you yawned, turning around in the middle of the bed, wrapping your sleeping bag tightly around your shoulders. It didn’t take the guys long to join you, and soon you were sandwiched between them again, strong arms wrapped around you – clearly not planning on letting go anytime soon.

Walter pressed his lips to your shoulder and let out a low chuckle. “Still cold, darling?”

The next morning, you woke up in an empty bed, in a tent that was already slightly warmer than comfortable, with just your sleeping bag on it. The guys had somehow already managed to worm theirs into the tiny little bags they came in, and all without waking you. Then again, it was safe to say that by now they’d proven themselves to be experts in the field of putting pretty big things in relatively tiny places…

For a moment, you wondered if you should feel weird about getting up and going outside, seeing the guys, but something about the whole thing felt so oddly natural that you didn’t give it a second thought.

“Mornin’, sugar,” Sy said as he held out some coffee to you when you joined him on the ground by the fire, where you’d spent the start of last night, as well. The two of you called Walter over, who was just about done putting your tent – the one that had been meant to be yours, anyway – away. He tossed the bag into the bed of the truck as if it weighed nothing – and maybe it indeed didn’t, you wouldn’t know, because you hadn’t touched the entire thing – and made his way over to you, gratefully taking the other cup of coffee Sy had poured.

You knew better than to try striking up a conversation with either of them before they’d finished their morning coffee – it was so bad that whenever you had classes together in the mornings, you showed up there with two double espressos for them and a latte for you, because if you didn’t do that, they’d just grouch and snap at you all the way through the first half of class.

It was all the more surprising, then, when Sy suddenly asked Walter a very unexpected question: “Have you ever kissed a dude?” The answer was no, he hadn’t - to which followed an even more surprising question: “Ever wanted to try it?”

The casual energy of the shrug with which Walter answered that question was absolutely unmatched by anything you had ever seen, and you stared at the guys, wide-eyed as they leaned in until their lips touched. It wasn’t just a quick peck, either! No, there was tongue involved in this… And by the end of it?

“Eh,” Walter said, “not for me.” Sy agreed.

“I’m sorry,” you said, completely taken aback by the unexpectedness of what had just happened. “What? You can’t just… Stick your tongue down your friend’s throat and then casually decide… What?”

“Hey,” Sy said, his tone still infuriatingly indifferent, “don’t knock it till you try it.”

[aziraphales-library]

hi guys! just want to start off by saying you are incredible and i am so grateful for this library.

do you know if any frenemies to lovers fics at all? i’ve recently read Camping with your Frenemy: It's F***ing Intense by IneffableMcMuffin and it was so good

thanks again!

You can check our #enemies to lovers, #enemies to friends to lovers and #friends to lovers tags for fics you may enjoy. Here are some more along the lines of rivals to lovers...

The Golden Lion by CrentTrimm (E)

Aziraphale, a privateer in the King's Navy, meets an old rival in Port Royal, and their exchange ends in a hasty tussle in a back alley.

Gods in the Gaslight by Anti_kate & rfsmiley (T)

A mysterious rival and a ghost from the past threaten Fell's magical career.

The Devil's in the Flowers by jjgremlinson (M)

For the last eleven years, A.Z. Fell’s Fantastic Flowers has provided quality bouquets and services to the people of London. Whether it’s weddings or funerals, lovesickness or heartbreak, Aziraphale can find the perfect flower for you. But when Crowley’s Flowers, Houseplants, and Other Assorted Leafy Green Things opens up across the street, everything starts to change—and Aziraphale will be damned if he’s going to let this no-good, profit-hungry Crowley steal all his business. (Or, the one where Aziraphale and Crowley are rival florists working in the same neighborhood).

Would I Lie to You? by FeralTuxedo & TawnyOwl95 (E)

Anthony Crowley and Aziraphale Fell are rival team captains on popular comedy panel show Don't Lie To Me, where they exchange insults and banter to an audience of millions. But behind the scenes, a whole other game of truth and lies is being played. A comedy panel show AU

Angel Face with a Taste for Suicidal by Lor_Lupin (E)

When Crowley spots his replacement on his former band for the first time, he doesn't expect the man to push him against a wall but he's not complaining. The Fallen and Flaming Swords, two rival struggling punk bands, hold a grudge against each other and spend more time fighting and performing crass pranks than actually composing songs. Crowley is hurt, Aziraphale is new, a lot of flirting ensues. INEFFABLE HUSBANDS AS HUMAN PUNK BASS PLAYERS. Inspired by the looks of Peter Vincent in Fright Night and Thorne in Laws of Attraction.

Actuarial Risk by doomed_spectacles (M)

A. Z. Fell, principle salesman for Silver City Financial, never paid much attention to his company's main competition, Fourth Circle, LLC. That is, until he met Anthony Crowley. When the rivalry between their respective head offices heats up, they make an arrangement both know is unsustainable. A rival salesman AU with hijinks, fluff, misunderstandings, and a happy ending.

And the one you mentioned...

Camping with your Frenemy: It's F***ing Intense by IneffableMcMuffin (E)

Silly little romp featuring bitchy Aziraphale and Crowley's hips which are incapable of being untruthful.

- Mod D

[crimswnred]

LOVE ISLAND THE GAME TEMPTING FATE: thoughts and mostly prayers

for the first time in a long time we are the hottest character in the cast LET'S GOOOOOOO

here's my girl

oh ok, Jin is the funny boy of the season™ and also the Asian guy™

and Theo and Claudia are the day one couple ughh I'm sensing hate being thrown to my girl as we speak

Claudia what are you doing here it's carnaval 😭

Oakley hates Emel wtf 😭😭😭😭

I, for one, love Emel, she'll be my best frenemie

"gonna rule myself out" SHUT UP

me and Jin hit it off y'all I don't know what to tell you he told a joke I laughed we fuck that's how it goes for me every season

Theo isn't like Ozzy because Ozzy had no shame and would just blatantly flirt with us, Theo is more like Noah or Kobi

Jin is gonna be my boy but I'm eyeing Oakley up

Jack can fuck off I guess

Jesus Christ that was a loooong episode, EPISODE TWO HERE WE GO

Theo and Claudia? oh I'm breaking this couple but not the way y'all think 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

first date with Theo: potentially a great friends to lovers dynamics

homeland MENTIONED

well, Theo, I'm really close with my family in Brazil too

first date with Jack: he's cute, I won't lie... and what's that that I heard? HE HAS TWO MUMS LET'S GO LESBIANS

first date with Jin: if he didn't tell me every 5 seconds he's a model, I would never guess.

he's so silly 😭 yeah guys he's ticking my boxes

LIKE the prank? it wasn't the best prank ever but it was kind of funny

last but not least, first date with Oakley: okay local hero vibes. he's kinda serious, I really like him

"I perform better when Oakley is watching" JIN SHUT UP

okayyyy little kissy kiss

Luna didn't like me at all, did she? 😭 I don't blame her, like, I did kiss her man twice already... and I like how she came and talked to me to clear things out but it's obvious fusebox is gonna make her hate me no matter what

I can't deal with Emel's style 💀

me saying I hate cheaters as if cheating hasn't been my game for like, 5 out of 7 seasons 😭😭

okayyy so apparently we are not the first bombshell, cool. so why are we picking who we want to couple up???

Jin is kind of a player oh noooooo

me: I hate cheaters!! also me: sneaks out to meet Jin in the daybeds

Jin: we should always be honest!! also Jin: tells Luna we were just drinking water.

the girl will be DUMPED? alright........

okay, now, where's the Tempting Fate part?

conclusion: it just feels a lot like season 4, except none of the girls acted bitchy towards us like Lexi did. Am I dying of excitement? not even close. but I like Jin so far and also Oakley, so let's see how it goes