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attapullman · 6 months

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Pretend | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: You aren't sure what's worse: having to share a bed with the boy who was your first boyfriend who you haven't seen in years, or having to pretend he's your boyfriend when you wish he actually was.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: f!reader, light smut, 18+ only as always, unprotected pinv, fake dating trope, one bed trope, lots of switching between present and past tense whoops

A Note From Mo: It's Choose-a-Fic! Thank you to everyone who voted and has been part of my 500 Follower milestone! Hopefully you like the fic I wrote just for you (with a little extra one bed trope as a special thank you)! 😘

Coupe glasses tinkle and laughter rings out as the rehearsal dinner draws toward an end. Everyone’s had a little too much of the hotel’s signature white sangria. On your left, Isabel and Reuben are frozen in blissed smiles, the outdoor lights casting an ethereal glow. An idyllic night before the wedding.

You should be relaxed. You’ve had a little wine, the most delicious dinner, and tomorrow your college roommate is getting married at this stunning resort. But every time that big hand grazes your shoulder or his breath heats the skin of your cheek, you’re reminded none of this is real and you desperately wish it was.

The only difference between six-year-old Robert Floyd and the man standing in front of you is the broad shoulders. Those pink cheeks are just as prominent and his eyes are wide behind updated corrective frames. Sandy hair politely brushed off his face. Even his thin lips warp in that same warm smile that instantly relieves tension. The only significant difference is those shoulders that fill out the entire doorway as he checks his rooming assignment with Isabel.

From where you stand behind her, suitcase in tow, you feel your cheeks warm and your gaze drop. You haven’t seen him since the engagement party where you muttered, “it’s a small world after all” more than once. It seemed all too coincidental that your college roommate would be marrying a guy who just happens to be in the same Navy squadron as your first grade boyfriend.

To be fair, you had “dated” Bobby Floyd for a total of a week before your parent’s divorce landed you on the opposite side of the country. There hadn’t even been a formal breakup. He’d simply been the guy you jokingly referred to as your “first love” at wine nights. Occasionally you remembered his collection of vintage Coke bottle caps.

He was practically a figment of your imagination until Isabel introduced you to the man in the nicely ironed pale blue button down and you sputtered out that you already knew each other.

You’re so lost in how bizarre the coincidence of it all is that you zone out through Bob’s check-in and the next few guests that arrive. It’s not until her line of relatives has dwindled that she remembers you’re sat behind her, sorting out the favors for after the reception.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I should have given you your card earlier!” she apologizes as she flips back over her clipboard to find your room number. It’s all forgiven, you were waiting to finish up your bridesmaid duties before checking in. Get the work out so you can slip on your bathing suit and enjoy the amenities - pool, sun, and cabana boys - before dinner tonight.

She hands you a room card and walks you through the map of the hotel. You miss the second half while gathering up all your items, mentally trying to remember exactly how many rights before a left. Dinner is at seven and anything else surely she will remind you. With a kiss to her cheek, you head off to your room to begin the fun part of this destination wedding.

The property is stunning, all sun-washed sandstone and lush tropical plants. Deep blue terry cloth draped over the sun loungers you would live on all weekend. Some sun to compliment what should be a flawless wedding weekend. Maybe you’d get lucky and one of Reuben’s hot Navy friends would join you for some eye candy. You deserved a little one-weekend-in-paradise romance.

Suite 4. It’s a little deflating to remember that you’re in this big suite alone because all the other bridesmaids have dates. A least you have some privacy. The intricately carved door accepts your room key and you push the heavy wood open, ready to change and relax.

W-why was Bob in your villa?

Standing amongst the floor-to-ceiling windows draped with ochre that overlook the ocean, white oak furnishing topped with plush linen bedding, and a trailing pothos overtaking the wall, was Bob Floyd - right in the middle of changing his shirt. Equally wide eyes taking you in as he held the bunched heathered grey cotton right in front of his head, thumbs through the head hole, mouth open in shock.

“What are you doing in here?”

What was he doing in here? This was your room. “Why are you in my room?”

Despite knowing he’s not in the wrong, his cheeks tinge a deep pink. Takes a moment to pop his head in the hole of his shirt and brush out the wrinkles. You cling to to the annoyance of him interrupting your afternoon instead of focusing on how toned he’s gotten as an adult.

“This is my room. Suite 4. See?” He holds up a card identical to yours, the glossy ‘4’ reflecting the sunlight. The same ‘4’ that looks back at you.

Clearly there’s been some sort of mistake, someone at reception accidentally typing in the wrong number while going about their busy day or Isabel reading her meticulous list wrong. An easy fix.

You bite your lip. “Oh. Maybe I grabbed the wrong card. I’ll go find Isabel and sort it out.”

“I’ll come with you, she might have handed me the wrong card. Probably supposed to be sharing a bed with Fanboy.” He’s impossibly sweet as always.

You have no idea who or what a Fanboy is, but you accept his company back to reception, leaving your bag in the room purely because the bridesmaid dress alone weighs a half ton. The walk back there - with a few long turns - is a tad awkward as you both walk in silence, occasionally jerking your heads in the direction to turn.

Isabel has wandered away from reception, and is now soaking in one of the poolside bars with Reuben, their lovesick smiles contagious. She gives you the warmest smile when you approach, face splitting in two as she takes in your companion. “Hey, you two! You get settled in okay?”

God, this is awkward. Thankfully before you can muster the courage, Bob steps in. “I think there’s been a mix up with one of our rooms.”

Her eyebrows furrow as takes in what he said. Eyes flit to her lounger where her clipboard of rooming assignment lies within her tote. Reuben sips his frozen margarita in casual interest, not involved in the logistics.

“Which room are you in?” Even without her clipboard, Isabel is pretty sure she knows who is in what room. She spent months perfecting these details.

You hold up the glossy ‘4’, now slightly sticky with your sweat.

“Four? Hmm, I’m pretty sure that’s right. Was there a problem with the key? Both your keys?”

You give her a bewildered look. “One of us has the wrong key. We’re not sharing a room.”

“Why not? Your prude parents aren’t here to care if you share a room with your boyfriend.”

Every muscle in your body freezes. What is she talking about?

And while you’re paralyzed on the spot, Reuben looks like he’s about to throw up the margarita. Because he knows exactly what just happened. And not only is it his fault, but he does not have a solution.

Before you can question Isabel, the pilot is throwing his arm around your shoulders and grabbing Bob’s elbow, whisking you two away, calling out to his confused fiancée not to worry, he’s got it handled. The controlled hands of a fighter pilot steering you back in the way of Suite 4 while his face reads like he’s watching a plane crash.

Reuben won’t answer any of your questions, holding up a palm while you sputter out the who, what, where’s? of what is going on. Bob silently allows himself to be directed, confusion upon his brow, but patient enough to wait for an explanation.

Once you’re privately within the confines of Suite 4, the soft scent of bergamot and sandalwood wrapped around your bodies, Reuben finally confesses his mistake.

“Isabel thinks you two are dating.”

You expect to see eyeballs on the floor from how violently they pop out of your head. What? Bob doesn’t look much better. You two have barely spoken in decades, let alone are in a relationship! Why in the hell would Isabel think that?

Reuben drags a hand down his face, wishing he was back in the pool drinking. “When Bob over here told me that you two dated way back, I casually mentioned it to Is. When she asked the other week if he’d be good sharing a room, I thought she meant Fanboy or Harvard.”

You skip over the fact that Bob has talked about you to other people to focus on the details. “She meant me.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” By this point he’s rubbing the skin on the back of his neck raw, eyes wildly desperate. “Can you two share? It’s only two nights.”

Your eyes meet ocean blue as you both look at the single bed, then at each other. Bob intervenes calmly. “Why can’t you just tell her we need another room?”

Reuben crosses his arms across his chest, suddenly defensive. “We don’t have any other rooms. We booked the place out entirely. Short of Aunt Muriel keeling over, one of you would have to be at another hotel.”

“That’s fine,” you quip, grabbing your suitcase and ready to get the hell out of this situation.

“There’s nothing within a half hour drive. And you’re both in the wedding, that is not going to fly with Isabel.”

You’re tough, you can do hard things. Two nights at a gorgeous resort where you have to share a king-sized bed with the sweetest man on the planet? Could be so much worse. From a look at Bob’s face, he’s having the same realization.

And right as you’re about to tell Reuben that it’s not a big deal, he sends in the clincher.

“You’re also gonna have to pretend you’re dating.”

“You’re joking.” Your tinny voice rings out in the room. You can do a lot of things - go to a wedding alone, sleep in the same bed as Bob - but you draw the line at pretending you’re dating someone you hadn’t seen until an engagement party six months ago. Nope, no way.

You look at Bob, standing with his hand resting low on his hip, watching this entire scene unfold. Giving him an expectant look, he smooths out his face and gives you a little nod. He’s on whatever team you’re on.

And just as you were about to tell Reuben to get lost, Isabel’s sweet face floods your mind’s eye. That happy smile she always greets you with, and her dismay that something had gone wrong with your room. Her perfectly planned out wedding weekend ruined by her misunderstanding a minor detail. She would insist that you have separate rooms, even if it interfered with plans, and she’d be upset - the smallest tinge of disappointment clouding her bridal smile.

Isn’t the job of a bridesmaid to make the bride not have disappointment?

And now, sitting here at the rehearsal dinner, warm conversation all around you, you can still hear yourself let out a large huff of breath and agree. “Alright, we can pretend for the weekend.”

It’s a decision you stand by, but doesn’t make the subtle way Bob has been playing your boyfriend the last 24 hours any easier. He plays devoted partner a little too well. Carrying your beach bag down to the water that afternoon when everyone wanted to sit by the pool, sweetly rubbing sunscreen into that spot on your back that you can never reach. Grabbing a drink for you when he went up to the bar.

Your lonely wedding weekend is suddenly filled with this broad-shouldered Navy man who gives you a shy smile every time you make eye contact.

There wasn’t time to put in ground rules before Reuben threw you you to the wolves to socialize with the rest of the wedding party. When Isabel saw you, standing a healthy foot away from Bob and her sculpted eyebrow raised, it was the first test of this “relationship”. Your heart slamming in your chest as you slipped a hand around that thick bicep and rested your hot cheek against his shoulder. His own face fighting anxiety as he allowed you to set the pace. Isabel’s smile brightening as she beckoned you closer, instantly fawning over the two of you and the way Bob’s hand fits a little too nicely around your waist.

Thankfully the copious amount of relatives and friends constantly interrupting Isabel and Reuben prevented your friend investigating too close into this development in your love life. Happy to believe over some intentionally placed hands and the casual way he throws sweetheart in when asking if you want a drink.

“Now that I have you alone, why didn’t you tell me you were together? First loves reunited?!” Isabel drags you away to the other bridesmaids, Bob giving you a small wave as he joins the men.

You shrug, making a show of looking at the hibiscus to avoid her eyes. Desperate for a believable lie. “I didn’t want to…uh, distract from your big day?”

She wraps you in a warm hug you don’t deserve. “Not distracting in the slightest. He’s the best, you’re so lucky!”

You throw a glance his way, watching his good-natured grin as Reuben’s groomsmen, mostly aviators he’s worked with over the years, joke and jostle on the other side of the lawn. It’s side glances like these that carry through the night; when he pulls your chair out for dinner, asks the waiter to refill your water, and offers you half of his dessert. When your eyes do meet, you drown in the twin oceans that twinkle back at you.

By the time you’re heading back to Suite 4 to share that big bed, you’re pretty sure you’re not pretending to like him anymore.

You’re regretting not putting up the pillow barrier Bob so kindly offered to set up. It seemed childish at the time - you didn’t need a divider to stay on your side of the bed - but now you’re lying here in your little cotton pajamas you did not expect anyone to see and you can hear him breathing and the room is a little too warm. Every sense is on high alert and a pillow barrier would give you an inkling of privacy.

In the silhouette of the moonlight peaking through the curtains, you watch the planes of Bob’s face as he peacefully sleeps beside you. If he’s good looking in the daytime, he’s breathtaking at night. Pale eyelashes against his cheeks, lips slightly pouted, hair mussed from changing sides. You wish you could smooth your fingers over the planes of his face, appreciate the sharpness of his jaw, the roundness of his cheeks.

Tomorrow you have to pretend all over again to be in love with him. A feeling that’s already starting to creep inside you. A whole day of his gentle touches and laughs against your cheek. He was the perfect boyfriend that week in grade school, and even more perfect as an adult. Holding his hand made you want to never let go…which promptly made you want to jump out of your skin.

This was a tiny white lie to get through Sunday morning. That was it.

You keep replaying the last moment before you retired back to your hotel room for the night. The drunken group sitting around the fire pit, a bottle of tequila making its way around the circle. Not enough chairs so you ended up in Bob’s lap, body cradled in the firm comfort of his chest.

He made it so natural, the way his hand ran up and down your arm when you shivered in the night chill. You knew he could feel the shock up your spine when you noticed how intently he watched you during your story of how Isabel found a rat in your dorm room. He made you feel like the only person out there by the fire pit. The only person on this island.

When even the tequila couldn’t keep you warm any longer, the group disbanded in favor of cozy beds and hot showers. And even when no one else was in sight he still kept his arm around your shoulder to share his warmth, the pinching heels you’d shed in his hand as he asked whether you wanted to shower first.

Lips accidentally brushing your ear when he said he liked your dress; it matched the bougainvillea.

While you hadn’t spent much time together since your parents moved you away too long ago to remember, you were continually floored by how thoughtful he was still. He remembered how Isabel didn’t like ice, and that a few members of his squadron had allergies. Giving up his water because the woman next to him was without. Not to mention how he seemed to go the extra mile with you. All the years of boyfriends before this and not a single one had ever noticed you picked the pine nuts out of your salad; your new fake boyfriend requesting a fresh one sans nuts.

And it was borderline torture watching him get ready for bed post shower. Face and chest red from the scalding water and slick hair pushed back, towel slung a little too low as he dug through his suitcase. You were still speechless as he offered to put up a pillow barrier or something if it would make you more comfortable, making sure you knew he respected your boundaries.

His eyes were so blue without his glasses…

Caution to the wind, you run a finger over his cheek, brushing away a rogue eyelash and promptly turn away from him. Only one more day and you would be free of wanting a man that wasn’t yours.

The Fitch wedding day was perfect. Wide smiles, bridal lace, stunning hydrangeas, and not a dry eye in the house when Isabel and Reuben officially became husband and wife. It was the storybook start to a happy ever after.

The sunlight blessed ceremony was followed by a lantern-lit reception, dancing and drinking overtaking the sprawling beach-front lawn of the hotel. You stayed out until the evening ended, the wedding party laughing and overfilling glasses of champagne until the last lantern was blown out.

You barely remembered your rooming/relationship situation until a warm hand was on your forearm, asking if you were ready to go back to the room. It’s entirely unfair how good he looks in his suit. All day you’ve admired it, from the moment he emerged from the bathroom asking for help with his bow tie to an hour ago, when the wedding party did one last rendezvous on the dance floor.

Bob has an ease on the dance floor, clearly practiced, the hand on the small of your back gently guiding. A hand big and warm and more distracting than trying to remember your own footwork. The dark-haired woman he seems close with whooping out, “Look at those moves, Floyd!” every time you get close, her own date cheering along.

You shake the memory from your brain as Bob walks you back to the room. Keep the pining to a minimum until you can get to the airport and not have to see him ever again. You’re doing this for Isabel, your own emotions have no place. Even as you watch him open the door to the room and welcome you inside, looking so perfectly boyfriend-shaped.

Your skin feels too hot, your head clouded by bubbles and loud poppers exploding into the sky. Shedding this satin dress and getting into a warm shower sounds like heaven, washing away the buzzing ill-content flooding your body since you joined the wedding group that morning hand-in-hand with Bob. But a broken zipper interrupts those plans.

“Bob?” He stills on his way to the bathroom, bow tie loose around his neck. You indicate to the stuck zipper you’re fiddling with, warmth flaring at the top of your cheeks at your predicament.

The tips of his ears flush as he walks to you, chest a breath away from your back, admiring the way the satin flows over your curves and dips. Takes a moment to gather your hair over your shoulder before reaching for the zipper. The skin of his pinky accidentally brushes your neck, twin breaths catching at the shock.

Firm fingers guide the zipper onto the track. As they guide the cool metal down your back, the boiling point that has been simmering below the surface since yesterday afternoon comes to a head. The lace of your bra is visible. Now the silken band of your underwear. The air of the room is still, eagerly awaiting what happens next.

While his voice is shaky, his words are firm. “I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

Your head turns to the side, eyes catching his profile, too scared to look at him directly.

“What are you pretending to do?”

His face falls into the crook of your neck, fingers tightening along the satin of your hips. “Pretending I’m doing our friends a favor. Pretending I’m not falling for you. Pretending every time I touch you it’s not the best part of my day.”

Your hand wraps around his, rough skin and satin beneath your fingers. Needing to tether yourself to reality to make sure this isn’t a champagne-fueled dream that he’s professing against your neck.

“In that case, I don’t want to pretend anymore either.”

While you can’t see him, you can feel his realization against your skin. Brow furrowing, lips parting. The soft brush of his nose as he straightens up, uses his hands to turn you to him. Finally forced to look at each other amidst the information divulged.

You aren’t sure who leans in first, who braved the waters of uncharted territory. Time stills and speeds up as his face grows closer. The scent of sandalwood and bergamot that’s followed you all weekend replaced by the woodsy mint of his cologne you’ve treated yourself to when tucked into his side. Anyone outside can hear two hearts beating erratically, anxious and excited.

His lips are warm and comforting, just like everything else about him. Pressing delicately against yours, taking his time and letting you set the pace. You’re torn between the shock of how divine he feels and the greedy need for more. Senses overwhelmed by him; you want to taste more, feel more, see more.

When he pulls away, a gentleman not wanting to overstep, you’re breathless.

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to kiss you.” His confession is paired with pink cheeks and large hands playing with your fingers.

You can’t help but to tease him, the banter from your childhood coming back. “Did it live up to expectations?”

“Way, way better.” Your smile is swallowed in his kiss, chins knocking as you trade off enthusiasm. A groan leaving Bob as you grab his hands and walk back to the bathroom. That hot shower still sounds amazing, but you need more of him.

The travertine tiles glow in the soft light as you watch your childhood love remove his suit, taking time to fold the pieces on the counter, letting you indulge in unbuttoning his crisp shirt as you share another sweet kiss. His own hands twisted in the dress barely clinging to your skin. The sounds that escape him as your hands explore his chest are purely sinful, meant only for your ears.

He barely lets you bask in his body, honed from years of Naval training, before he’s stripping the satin from your frame. You beg for another kiss, but he denies you. He can’t be distracted from watching every inch of skin being revealed. From letting his fingers follow the fabric as it pools at your feet. From kissing his way back up your body until your head falls back against the wall, fingers beckoning him to the shower.

“You’re so beautiful.” It’s more breath than words, but ignite the goose flesh along your skin as he adjusts the hot water and shower head to your liking.

Minutes or hours passed as you reacquainted under the steam. Your fingers tangled in wet strands of sandy hair, fingers slipping along any skin you can reach. His own hands tightly hugging your body, holding you close as he appreciates your nude form. Swallowing each other’s moans as his fingers dip between your folds and you run your palm along his shaft.

The universe has ceased to exist by the time Bob kisses you against the shower wall, fingers wrapping under your thighs to hoist you to his level. Loving the way you giggle as your arms wrap around his neck, trusting him wholeheartedly. Eyes trained at where he lines up with you, relishing the way your breath catches in anticipation. He kisses your forehead as a promise to take care of you, a promise you know he’ll keep.

Once he’s seated deep in you, the moment about connecting rather than getting off, he tilts your head up to check in with you. A kiss as his eyes search you for discomfort. The flames of his eyes burning the brightest blue. One final clench around him and he knows he needs to move; if not for his sake, for yours.

It’s the most glorious dream as he fills you completely, hips rocking into yours as sweaty foreheads meet.

When he brings you to orgasm, a steamy moment punctuated by your muffled screams against his shoulder, there’s nothing fake about the affection as he peppers you with praise. Or when he fills you with his own release a moment later, exhaling thank you, thank you, thank you.

A pillow barrier isn’t even discussed as you lay in his arms that night, cheek against bare chest. His arm trails down your arm like it had the night before, a mindless action you now recognize as meaningful to him as to you. Sated and content, as it should be.

You sit up a little to run your nose along his neck, producing a low groan from him. “You need something, sweetheart?”

“I was wondering, after that,” you gesture to the shower, cheeks heating, “does this mean we’re, uh, dating again?”

He smiles at your flush, cupping your face with one of his large hands. Presses the sweetest kiss to your lips.

“You know, we never had a break up. Technically we’ve been dating this whole time.”

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ama0310 · 3 months

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Silver Springs (S.R)

Character: Spencer Reid

Requested: No

Type: Angst

Summary: A chance encounter during a murder investigation forces Spencer to confront his past when he comes face-to-face with Y/N, his ex-girlfriend and new victim, rekindling old feelings and tensions.

AN: It's basically Daisy Jones & the Six meets Criminal Minds type of vibe.

"Another day, another case."

Spencer Reid had grown accustomed to the relentless pace of his work with the BAU. Evil, it seemed, never took a day off.

This explained why he now found himself en route to interview the latest victim, accompanied by Morgan.

Four murders in two weeks, and the body count showed no signs of slowing. All signs pointed to a disturbing connection within the music industry. The first two victims were singers, their vocal cords savagely ripped out. The third, a guitarist, had his hands severed. The most recent victim, a band manager, had his eyes gouged out in a grotesque display of violence.

As they walked briskly down the bustling Nashville street, Morgan voiced his frustration. "I can't wrap my head around why each murder was so different. It's like we're dealing with a completely new MO each time."

Reid's brilliant mind was already piecing together the puzzle. "Actually, there's a twisted logic to it," he explained, his words tumbling out rapidly. "Each mutilation corresponds to the victim's role in the industry. Singers silenced, a guitarist robbed of his ability to play, and a manager blinded, unable to oversee his clients. The unsub is targeting what makes each victim valuable in their profession."

"Do we know who we're meeting?" Reid inquired, his curiosity piqued.

Morgan nodded, consulting the notes from their technical analyst, Penelope Garcia. "Her stage name is Y/S/N, twenty-six years old. She's the lead singer of a band called The Springs. The band's manager reported an attempted abduction last night. She fits our victim profile perfectly: female, location in Nashville, related to a band. This is our first witness, Reid. She could be our key to catching this guy."

As they entered the recording studio, a frazzled assistant greeted them. "Hi, I'm Cary, the manager's assistant. Thank you so much for coming! Jason has been a nervous wreck. Please, follow me."

Morgan took the lead, his FBI credentials at the ready. "I'm Agent Morgan, and this is Dr. Reid. We need to speak with Y/S/N as soon as possible."

Cary nodded, guiding them towards a red door. With each step, the muffled sound of music grew louder, and a hauntingly beautiful voice became clearer.

"The band is actually recording their latest song right now," Cary explained in a hushed tone. "You'll need to be quiet, but the manager will brief you further."

As they approached the studio, the lyrics washed over them:

Time cast a spell on you, but you won't forget me I know I could've loved you, but you would not let me

A chill ran up Reid's spine. Something about that voice tugged at his memory, but before he could place it, he collided with Morgan's back.

A man stood before them, his face etched with worry. "Thank you for coming. I'm Jason, the band's manager. I wanted to take her straight to the police station, but she insisted on—" His eyes widened in recognition. "Spencer?"

Reid froze, suddenly face-to-face with a ghost from his past. "Uh, hi?" he managed, his usual social awkwardness winning again. How does one greet their ex-girlfriend's best friend after years of silence?

Morgan, sensing the tension, stepped between them. "I'm Agent Morgan, and this is Dr. Reid. We're here to speak with Y/S/N."

Jason's eyes darted between the two agents, his expression hardening. "Actually, I'd prefer if he wasn't here," he said, gesturing to Reid. "No offense, but I don't think it's wise for either of you to cross paths again."

Morgan, though confused by the unexpected connection, maintained his professional demeanor. "With all due respect, Dr. Reid and I work as a team. We both need to speak with Y/S/N to conduct a thorough investigation."

As the two men argued, Reid's gaze drifted to the recording booth. Through the glass, he caught sight of the band, and his breath caught in his throat. There, at the microphone, stood a face he thought he'd never see again—a face that to this day still haunts his most amazing dreams.

I'll follow you down 'til the sound of my voice will haunt you Give me just a chance

The lyrics pierced through Spencer Reid's carefully constructed walls, flooding his mind with memories he'd long tried to suppress. He was transported back to a time when life held more than just case files and criminal profiles—a time when he had someone to come home to, when he felt truly free rather than trapped within the labyrinth of his own brilliant mind. A time when he and Y/N L/N couldn't imagine a life without each other.

You'll never get away from the sound of the woman that loves you

Despite his best efforts, Spencer's heart threatened to burst from his chest, yearning to reunite with its other half. For that was what Y/N had been—his perfect complement. They had met when she was seventeen and he was nineteen, initially friends until, two years later, they could no longer deny the intensity of their feelings.

Their love had been a force of nature—intense, pure, raw, and undeniably real. Until life's cruel realities came knocking at their door.

Y/N was a free spirit, driven by her passion for music. She'd twirl until dizzy, her long hair a wild tangle, singing until her voice grew hoarse. Music moved her in a way nothing else could.

Meanwhile, Spencer was on the cusp of graduating from the FBI Academy, with whispers of a fast-track position in the prestigious Behavioral Analysis Unit. Two paths diverging, leading to an impossible choice.

He did what he thought he had to do, breaking things off for both their sakes. He had run the probabilities, analyzed every scenario, and a happy outcome seemed frustratingly out of reach. They wanted different things, or so he had convinced himself.

That fateful night was seared into his memory. Y/N was about to leave for New York to meet with a record label—an opportunity that Jason, her best friend and now manager, had excitedly relayed during their date. Spencer saw the yearning in her eyes, the spark of a dream about to be realized. And so, he made the agonizing decision to end things.

Her tears, her desperate pleas, her hands clutching at him as he walked away—it all haunted him still.

Was I just a fool?

I'll follow you down 'till the sound of my voice will haunt you

Spencer watched, transfixed, as Y/N sang in the recording booth. She swayed to the rhythm, smiling at her bandmates, lost in the music. Everything about her still captivated him. Their relationship had been a bittersweet dream he never wanted to wake from.

Give me just a chance

You'll never get away from the sound of the woman that loved you

He stood rooted to the spot, oblivious to Derek's hand on his shoulder or the sudden silence as the band stopped playing. Then, Y/N turned towards the glass, and their eyes met for the first time in years. The world seemed to stop spinning.

Her gaze flicked to Jason, her expression morphing into a glare as she mouthed, "What the fuck?" The spell broken, she grabbed her bag and bolted through the back door.

Everyone sprang into action. Jason was the first to follow, with Derek close behind. Spencer remained frozen until his partner turned him around.

"Look, I don't know what history you have here," Derek said, his voice laced with concern and confusion, "but we have a job to do. If you can't handle this, go wait in the car. If you can, let's move." He pressed the car keys into Spencer's hand before chasing after Jason.

Against his better judgment, Spencer followed. A selfish part of him needed to be near her, even if it meant causing more chaos.

As he approached, he heard Y/N's voice, sharp with anger and pain. "I don't give a fuck if he's the president of the goddamn country. I'm not speaking to him. So you can either throw them out or let me leave."

Spencer rounded the corner to see Y/N already in her car, engine running, poised to flee.

"Look, Miss," Derek began, his voice firm but empathetic, "we can't let you go. You're the only survivor of this serial killer. If you don't talk to us, more people will die. Is that something you can live with?"

Jason, his arm still through the car window, pleaded with his client. "Come on, Y/N. You and I both know they're here to help. Let's get this over with, and then we can get you out of state within hours. This is for your safety and the safety of others."

Y/N's gaze flickered between her manager, the new agent, and Spencer, who was approaching hesitantly. With a heavy sigh and her heart in her throat, she turned off the ignition and moved to open the door, forcing Jason to step back.

"Get me a whiskey and a glass of milk," she demanded, grabbing her purse and striding back into the building without a glance at the agents.

Jason turned to Derek, his expression grave. "I strongly advise against having him there," he said, nodding towards Spencer. "As you can see, it won't end well if he's present."

Derek, still loyal to his partner, bristled at the suggestion. "And I advise you not to tell an FBI agent how to do his job. We've got it from here." He turned to Spencer, concern evident in his eyes. "Is he right? Should I listen to him?"

"No. I'm fine," Spencer insisted, though his tense posture suggested otherwise.

"And what about her?" Derek pressed, before noticing Carly, the assistant, anxiously tapping her foot nearby.

"She's in room 24, waiting for you," Carly informed them, pointing towards a door. "Um... good luck!"

As they entered the room, they found Y/N and Jason in the midst of a heated discussion.

"Everything alright?" Derek intervened, causing Y/N to roll her eyes dramatically.

"Yup, everything's perfect!" Jason's forced cheerfulness was palpable. "You guys can have a seat. I'll be right outside." He looked at Y/N sternly. "Be good. And tell them everything, please."

"Yes, Dad," Y/N replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm as she took a sip of whiskey. Once Jason left, she glanced between Derek and Spencer. "Well, are you going to sit down, or are we having a stand-up interview?"

Derek motioned for Spencer to sit beside him, both agents studying the woman before them. Y/N held a cigarette in one hand and whiskey in the other, while a glass of milk sat on the side table—an odd combination that spoke volumes about her state of mind.

"I'm Agent Morgan, and I believe you know Dr. Reid," Derek began cautiously. "We just have a few questions about what happened to you yesterday."

Y/N took a long drag from her cigarette, exhaling slowly before tapping it on the ashtray. "And what exactly do you want to know, Agent?"

Spencer cleared his throat, drawing her attention. "Jason mentioned you survived a failed abduction. Can you walk us through what happened?"

Y/N tilted her head, her gaze fixed on Spencer with an intensity that made him shift uncomfortably. "We finished recording one of our songs yesterday, and the band wanted to go out for drinks. I was still hungover from the night before, so I decided to sit that one out." She took a gulp of whiskey, chasing it with milk in a bizarre ritual. "I stayed in the studio for a few hours, just writing. Around three a.m., I decided to head back to my hotel. I'd parked two blocks away, and as I approached, I noticed someone loitering near the parking lot entrance."

"Did you engage with him?" Derek interjected, earning an eye roll from Y/N.

"I'm not fucking stupid," she snapped. "I walked past as quickly as possible. He tried to talk to me, but I ignored him. Guess he didn't appreciate that, because the next thing I knew, he was behind me, trying to force a plastic bag over my head."

The room fell silent as the gravity of her words sank in. Spencer leaned forward, his analytical mind already piecing together the details. "Can you describe the attacker? Any distinguishing features, voice, or mannerisms?"

Y/N's eyes locked with Spencer's, a flicker of their shared past evident in her gaze before she quickly looked away. "He was tall, probably six feet or so. Muscular build. I didn't get a good look at his face, but his voice..." She paused, taking another drag of her cigarette. "His voice was deep, with a slight Southern drawl. Not local, though. Maybe Texas or Oklahoma."

Derek nodded, jotting down notes. "How did you manage to escape?"

They could see Y/N physically reliving the traumatic experience, her leg bouncing with increasing anxiety. The calm facade she had maintained began to crack under the weight of her memories.

"Hey, it's okay," Derek said softly, his voice gentle and reassuring. "Take your time."

For a moment, Y/N seemed to relax, but just as quickly, her emotional walls snapped back into place. She crushed out her cigarette and downed the rest of her whiskey in one swift motion.

"I'd heard about the murders before," she began, her voice steadier than her trembling hands. "Even before that, I always carried a pocket knife and pepper spray. Call it paranoia or just good sense in this industry." She paused, collecting her thoughts. "I managed to scratch his left arm before kicking him. When he loosened his grip, I turned and pepper-sprayed him. Then I just... ran. Got to my car and drove straight hotel. That's when I called Jason."

Derek leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "And you didn't think to call the police?"

Y/N's eyes flashed with anger. "I wanted to forget about it," she snapped. "I was planning to leave anyway. Sometimes denial feels safer than facing reality."

"Yet you still came in to record a song right after that?" Spencer's quiet question drew her attention, earning him a look that was equal parts resentment and something harder to define.

"I have a job," Y/N replied, her tone clipped as she turned back to Derek. "We have an album coming out soon, and we needed to finish recording. We love working in Nashville, so yes, I wanted to get it over with and then leave. Music... it's always been my escape."

Spencer cleared his throat, treading carefully. "Can you describe anything else about him? Any details you remember?"

Y/N's gaze softened almost imperceptibly as she looked at Spencer. "I think he was wearing a blue sweater, but I'm not certain." She paused, her brow furrowing in concentration. "What I do remember clearly is his smell. It was... odd. Like scented candles, the kind you'd find at Bath & Body Works. It was strangely out of place, but unmistakable."

Derek nodded, jotting down notes. "Alright, thank you for your time, Y/N. Here's our contact information if you remember anything else or need assistance." He stood, extending his hand, which Y/N shook briefly. As he walked to the door, he noticed Spencer hadn't moved. "Spencer?"

Spencer glanced between Derek and Y/N, who was now staring at him intently. "Give me a second," he said quietly. "I'll meet you at the car."

Derek hesitated, giving Spencer a questioning look. The younger agent's eyes pleaded for understanding, for a moment alone with the woman who had once meant everything to him. With a slight nod, Derek acquiesced and left the room.

As the door closed, the air grew thick with unspoken words and years of regret. Spencer and Y/N sat in tense silence, neither quite ready to bridge the chasm between them.

Finally, Spencer spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "Y/N, I... I'm sorry. For everything. I know it doesn't change anything, but I need you to know that."

Y/N's carefully constructed mask slipped, revealing a glimpse of the pain she'd been carrying for years. "Why now, Spencer? After all this time?"

"Because I never stopped caring," he admitted, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. "And seeing you in danger..." He couldn't even finish that sentence. "Please, promise me you'll be careful.

Y/N studied him for a long moment, conflict evident in her eyes so she does what she does best. Ignore it. "Congratulations are in order, Mr. FBI," Y/N said sardonically, reaching for another cigarette. The acrid smell of tobacco filled the air, a scent that brought back a flood of memories for Spencer.

"Smoking causes about 90% of all lung cancer deaths," he recited, unable to stop himself. "More women die from lung cancer each year than from breast cancer." It was an old argument, one they'd had countless times before.

Y/N took a long, deliberate drag, exhaling slowly as if to challenge his statistics. "We're all meant to die one day, Spence," she said, her voice tinged with a familiar fatalism. "I always told you that."

Indeed, she had. It was her motto, her way of justifying living life to the fullest, consequences be damned.

"I thought you quit," Spencer said softly, his eyes fixed on the glowing ember of her cigarette. "When did you start again?"

"A few months after my twentieth birthday," she admitted, her gaze dropping to the floor. "The record label signed us, and suddenly we went from doing a few covers a week to churning out originals every month. Needed a stress reliever."

Spencer studied her, noting the way she avoided his eyes. There was more to the story, he was certain. "Y/N/N," he said gently, using the old nickname that once came so easily to his lips, "are you okay?"

Her head snapped up, eyes narrowing. "Why would you assume I'm not?"

"Well," Spencer began, slipping into his analytical mode, "you drank that whiskey rather quickly. Your eyes are bloodshot, and you're flushed—signs of prolonged alcohol consumption. The fact that you're willing to record and drive in this state suggests it's become a habit. And then there's the cigarette addiction. So, naturally, I'm concerned about your well-being."

Silence fell between them, heavy with unspoken words and years of separation. Y/N broke first, standing abruptly and grabbing her purse. "I've told you what you needed to know," she said, her voice brittle. "I have to leave. Hopefully, Jason's already arranged my flight out of here."

As she turned to go, Spencer's hand shot out, catching her wrist. The contact sent a jolt through both of them—a spark of electricity, familiar yet now terrifyingly foreign.

Y/N's eyes traveled from his hand to his face. "Let go, Spencer," she said, her voice low and dangerous.

He couldn't. Not yet. Not when he'd finally found her again, when there was so much to explain, so much unfinished between them. But he also knew that Derek would come bursting through the door at any moment.

With reluctance, he released her wrist and pulled out a post-it note and pen from his bag. Hastily scribbling his number, he held it out to her. "Take it. Please. If you need anything—and I mean anything—call me, okay?"

Skepticism clouded Y/N's features. Did he really expect her to take his number, to even consider calling him after everything?

Seeing her hesitation, Spencer pressed on. "Look, Y/N, I know you have every reason not to trust me, to want me out of your life. But please, give me a chance to prove that I'll be there for you. We'll catch the guy who attacked you, and if you need help with anything else, anything at all, come to me. Please."

Y/N stared into his pleading eyes. A part of her recognized his sincerity, but the wounded 20-year-old inside her still ached from old betrayals.

With a resigned eye roll, she snatched the note from his hand and left without a word, leaving Spencer rooted to the spot.

As she passed a trash can in the hallway, Y/N paused, the note burning a hole in her hand. For a moment, she hovered on the brink of tossing it away. But something—sentiment, curiosity, or perhaps a stubborn refusal to let go—made her slip it into the back pocket of her jeans instead.

You'll never get away from the sound of the woman that loves you

The lyrics of her song echoed in Spencer's mind as he watched her go. And in that moment, he realized with startling clarity that he didn't want to get away. Not anymore. Not ever again.

As Y/N disappeared from view, Spencer was left alone with the lingering scent of her perfume and cigarette smoke, and the weight of years of regret. He knew that solving this case was now about more than just catching a killer—it was about second chances, redemption, and the possibility of healing old wounds.

With a deep breath, he steeled himself to face Derek and the investigation ahead, all while knowing that the most challenging case of his life might just be winning back the trust of the woman he'd never stopped loving.

Author's Note: I absolutely love Silver Springs. I belt it out all the time lol. I also was obsessed with Daisy Jones & The Six when it came out. Used to read a lot of those fanfics.

Also let me know if y'all want a part 2.

Thank for reading!

#spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid imagine #daisy jones and the six #silver springs

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leclercss · 1 year

Text

Tainted Love, Part 1 (Charles Leclerc)

Masterlist

plot: in an attempt to fix your marriage, you've reluctantly agreed into being in an open relationship with your husband. so far, it's only been your husband that has taken advantage of your recent arrangement until one night out you meet a man who makes you begin to question your marriage.

pairings: charles leclerc x fem!reader

warnings: (+18) mentions of smut, cheating and some swearing

authors note: this is based on a story that i was writing in my spare time but thought it would be interesting to use Charles and a couple of other drivers as characters instead. so Charles is used as a character inspo rather than it including his life as an f1 driver. would love to hear your thoughts and if you'd be open for a part 2. i'm thinking of making this a longer fic.

word count: 4.8k

"[Y/N!]”

You don't really hear your name being called at first. You've been stuck in your own thoughts for the last five minutes, staring at nothing in particular.

"[Y/N]!" It's a little louder this time but still not enough to knock you out of the deep trance you've found yourself in. It's only when you get an elbow into your side and the champagne that's in your hand falls onto your lap that you finally snap out of it.

"Shit!' you squeal as you look down at the champagne that now soaks the bottom of your dress.

"Oh my God! I'm so sorry," the girl beside you laughs, "We've been trying to your attention for the last minute."

You look up at her, eyebrows furrowed. You can't remember her name. Was it Bethany? Stephanie? You didn't care, to be honest. It didn't really matter anyway; she wasn't your friend. You were only here as you were roped into pre-drinks before a girls' night out by your best friend, who was the only person you know here.

"It's fine, I was totally out of it," you mumble as you reach out for a napkin to dry the bottom of your dress.

"No shit," you hear a familiar voice say with a hint of smugness. You look across the table and see your best friend Whitney holding back a smirk. "You're on your fourth glass of champagne. I'd be out of it too if I was drinking as quickly as you've been".

You chuckle half-heartedly. Laughing it off as if it was the bottle of Moet that you mostly managed to get through on your own which caused you to be zoned out for so long. Not the fact that you’ve been replaying the arguments that you’ve been having with your husband over the last few weeks in your head. Nor the fact that you’ve been thinking about your shambles of a marriage.

As Whitney takes her attention off you to start cleaning up the mess, you let out a little sigh to yourself and go back to your previous thoughts.

How had your marriage gotten to this point?

You had been so in love with your husband when you first met. In fact, he’d been the only person you had ever been in love with. There was a ten-year age gap between the two of you but that hadn’t stopped you both falling for each other so quickly. He was one of the first people you had gotten to know when you first moved to London six years ago. You’d met on a night out about three months after moving to the city. The physical attraction was instant but that blossomed into something much deeper and within two years you had gotten married. He was your rock, your entire world. And maybe that was a bit of a risk for a girl, who at that point was in her early twenties, to depend on somebody so much and so quickly.

You had a few sceptics when it came to your relationship back in the early days. A few friends from back home had told you it was just a whirlwind romance with a hot older guy. Your mother had been unsure about the age gap. What would a girl in her early twenties need from a man in his early thirties? And what would a man in his early thirties need from a woman in her early twenties?

Your brother had joked that it was probably daddy issues.

You married him anyway. And the first two years of marriage had been bliss. Until about eighteen months ago when things had started to change. Your husband spent more time away from home (he said it was work related), the sex had become less regular (not by a lack of trying on your part) and you slowly started to feel like a spare part in your marriage.

You started to have a feeling that someone else was now involved in your marriage. And that feeling was unofficially confirmed to you when your husband had brought up the possibility of having an open relationship - basically, he could fuck whoever he wanted, and you couldn’t (and wouldn’t) complain about it. You reluctantly agreed. You loved your husband, and you were willing to make this sacrifice if it means that you could start to repair your marriage. But you were so wrong.

Deep down you knew that you were never going to leave him. And your husband knew that too. Six months into your “open relationship” and your husband had been taking full advantage of the arrangement. Meanwhile, you took the opposite approach and hadn’t slept with anyone outside of your marriage. Despite that, your jealousy grew towards your husbands’ new partners and your loyalty was wearing thin. You had initially been quiet about your doubts when it came to your arrangement. But lately you had been more vocal to your husband about your feelings. Of course, he dismissed those feelings. That’s why you were arguing lately. He had told you that it was something you both needed in your marriage, you guys were too dependent on one other. You told him that you should be enough for him, you didn’t need other people to fill whatever void he was feeling. But you were beginning to realise that maybe you weren’t enough for him.

“Oi! Snap out of it. I’ve poured you another glass. But you better drink it quickly. And fix your dress because the Uber is getting here in ten minutes,” Whitney scolds as she shoves the champagne glass back into your hand.

“Thanks, Whit.” You can’t help but smile at her. Apart from your husband, Whitney had been your only other source of love and stability during your years in London. And that was why she had dragged you out tonight to pull you out of your recent misery.

“You know what you need? A girl’s night out! And before you roll your eyes and tell me how you’re officially too old for clubbing, we’re going out. You need to spend time with someone else other than him. And it’s been so long since you’ve been shitfaced,” is what Whitney had said when you had told her that you and your husband had been arguing more and more these days. You still hadn’t told her about the open marriage thing. She’d never forgive you for agreeing to it.

You flash her a smile before downing your last glass of champagne. Despite your hesitation, maybe a girls’ night out was what you needed.

“To getting shitfaced!” you yell before throwing the hard liquor down your throat. You try not to gag as you slam the empty shot glass down on the bar. Despite your previous doubts of this girl’s night out, you had been having a good time. It wasn’t your usual scene, but you had made an effort to join in and found yourself in a tipsy but playful mood.

“Come on, Stephanie has found a group of hot guys who’ve got a table,” Whitney shouts in your ear. You look at her and giggle, “Seriously?”

“Seriously! Now come on, I think they’re French.”

You allow yourself to be dragged over to the table where the other girls were mingling and flirting with a group of guys. You take a quick glance; they look about two or three years younger than you. Not your type (there was no harm in looking) but they were definitely good-looking.

“This is my friend Whitney, she’s single by the way. And this is her friend, [Y/N},” you hear Stephanie tell them. “But she’s married”.

One of the guys looks at you and lets out a laugh, “What a shame. Lucky guy”. You try to fake a smile at his remark, but your mind momentarily flashes back to your husband.

Rather than trying to come up with a response, you look around the table for something to drink. “Who’s up for some shots?” you ask before grabbing whatever alcohol you can find on the table. God, the hangover is going to be deadly tomorrow.

Just as you’re about to pour yourself something, you feel someone lean over to place a tray of Jager bombs on the table in front of you. “Did someone say shots?” he shouts before being met with a round of cheers. Before you have a chance to look up, the guy has sat down beside you. He leans over and whispers in your ear, “Weren’t you just doing tequila at the bar?” His breath is hot in your ear, his accent even hotter.

“Didn’t know there was a limit to how many shots a girl could have,” you tease, your playful mood apparent.

As you turn to face him, you’re met with a pair of piercing green eyes staring back at you. Fuck, they’re gorgeous. He’s said something to you but you’re too busy staring into his eyes that’s you have no idea what he’s said to you. “Huh?”

You only break eye contact with him as you notice his eyes start to scan your face, most notably he’s looking at your lips before lowering his eyes towards your cleavage. His eyes stay there for a moment before he’s looking into your eyes again. A knot begins to tie in your stomach.

You feel yourself starting to blush at the intense eye contact when you see his mouth start to move again. You really have no clue what he’s said this time.

“I’m sorry, what?”

He chuckles. He quickly scans your face again, smirk still intact, before leaning over to your ear once more. “I said, there’s no limit as long as it doesn’t stop me dancing with you later.”

As he leans back, you can’t help but admire his face. He has a light amount of facial hair, making his somewhat boyish face slightly more mature and handsome. You notice his dimples as he continues to smirk at you before taking a not-so-subtle glance at his lips. As you look back up at his eyes, you realised your staring is painfully obvious.

He leans over you and grabs two glasses from the tray of shots, handing you one. His eyes are back on yours again as he clinks his glass against yours, “Cheers!” You down the shot, wincing in the process before slamming the glass back on the table. “That was disgusting,” you groan before letting out a giggle.

You look back at the Frenchman who’s smiling at you. “Now I’ve gotten you a drink, are you going to tell me your name?” he asks. As he does so, he leans in slightly, so his face is a little closer to yours.

“It’s [Y/N],” you reply. “And yours?”

But before he has a chance to respond, the guy sitting behind your drinking companion leans over and chuckles, “Leave the girl alone, Charles. She’s married,” before turning back to his previous conversation. The beautiful man in front of you, who you’re assuming is Charles, looks back at you. “Married, huh?” He doesn’t look phased.

You nod. “And he’s not with you tonight?”

“No, it’s girls’ night. No husbands or boyfriends allowed,” you reply.

“And what other rules do you have on these girls’ nights?”

“Get as drunk as humanly possible with a group of hot guys.”

You’ve spent quite a while talking to Charles. He’s still flirting with you, lightly pushing the boundaries of “I know you’re married”. You’ve learned he’s from Monaco, not France. And he’s been living in London for about a year with a group of his friends from back home. He’s single (you’re not entirely sure how when he looks like that) and he’s better at handling his alcohol than you are.

You’ve spent a short amount of time getting to know some of his friends. His best friend Joris has been getting cosy with Whitney. You didn’t even get a chance to learn one guy’s name before he had started making out with Stephanie. The others you’re too drunk to remember they’re even here. However, your attention always falls back on Charles. And his attention always falls back on you.

You hadn’t even spared a thought about your husband until you saw your phone light up. First you notice your phone background, a picture of you and your husband kissing in front of the Eiffel Tower (and you’re aware that Charles is looking at your phone too). Then his name pops up on your screen. You glance at the message through your alcohol-blurred vision. It says something along the lines of how your night was going and if you were coming back home tonight. You roll eyes before swiping away the message.

“Husband?” Charles asks you. His finger has been tracing your knee for the last few minutes. You nod, trying to push the face of your husband to the back of your mind.

“Yeah, nothing important.”

Charles smiles at you. “How long have you two been married?”

“Four years, together for six.”

“Six years, you must have been late teens when you got together right?” you think it’s his attempt of saying you look good for your late twenties (as if that’s old). But it works on you momentarily, or it’s the fact that the finger tracing your leg has now turned into a hand.

“Well, I was twenty-one. He’s ten years older,” you tell him.

“And how’s that going? Is he okay with these girls’ nights out?”

You’re not sure why he’s quizzing you. It’s probably because of the face you pulled when you saw your husband’s name pop up on your screen. Or the fact that you haven’t mentioned him once all night. Most girls Charles has come across quickly name-drop their partner into conversations quite quickly if they aren’t interested but not you. Your body language has changed since the mention of your husband. And you’ve only been giving short answers when being questioned about him which tells Charles that your husband may be the reason you’re here tonight.

“He has his nights out, I have mine,” you lie before having a quick look around the table. “I’m not here to talk about married life.”

You momentarily look back to Charles who seems a bit taken back by your bluntness before looking back across at Whitney who’s no longer being occupied by Joris. “Whitney, can we go dancing?”

“Let’s do it!”

You stand up from your seat and look down at Charles. “I’m going to go dance. Whenever you want to do another shot come grab me,” you tell him before Whitney takes your arm and leads you to the dance floor. You feel a bit rude for ending your conversation with Charles so abruptly. But you weren’t here to spend the night talking about a man you’re trying to avoid.

Swaying your hips to the music and dancing with your best friend was exactly what you needed. The alcohol was well and truly coursing through your body at this point and it gave you the confidence you needed to feel sexy on the dancefloor. You weren’t a bad dancer by any means, but the numerous shots and glasses of champagne were a big help.

Whitney had reunited with Joris on the dancefloor, grinding and making out with one another. You didn’t mind dancing on your own. You were lost in the rhythm of the music, attracting some bystanders who you subtly moved away from when they got too close.

That was until you felt someone place their arm around your waist from behind. The hand felt familiar, but you couldn’t quite place it until you felt a mouth press against your ear. “You were looking a little lonely, thought I’d come and join you.”

You could get used to that voice whispering in your ear.

You look up at him and smile, “How thoughtful of you, Charles.” You were a little too drunk to care about the fact that his other hand found itself around your waist, pulling your body towards gently towards him. Mostly because you were enjoying it.

You felt his torso press against your back, and you leaned against his body as his hips joined yours in swaying to the music. As the both of you found your rhythm, you pressed your ass against his crotch and grinded a little harder on him. Truly letting yourself get lost in the moment with him. You think you hear Whitney cheer at the sight in front of her, but your only focus is on your movements against Charles. You feel one of his hands slide from your waist towards your ass, squeezing it a little before running it back up your waist to just below your breasts.

Fuck, that felt good.

You lean the back of your head against Charles’ chest and peer up at him through your lashes. He’s looking down at you and slowly moves his face towards yours, hips still moving in synchronisation. You look into his eyes, his attention fully on you before you take a quick glance at his lips. They’re slightly parted and if you didn’t have a slight nagging voice in the back of your head you totally would have kissed him. You’re suddenly nervous, you haven’t felt like this with a guy since you first met your husband. It’s new territory but it excites you. Is this why your husband wanted an open relationship? For the thrill and excitement of being so close and almost intimate with someone that wasn’t you?

Charles notices that you’ve gotten lost in your thoughts but wants your attention back on him. He lifts your chin with his thumb, so your face is closer to his and mimics your actions from a few moments ago – looking into your eyes before looking at your lips. You can feel his breath hitting your face and so you lick your lips. If he wants to kiss you, he’s going to have to make the first move.

He senses this and leans in; your parted lips meet his. You’re not sure if it’s nerves but it’s almost like you’ve forgotten how to kiss. The feeling of Charles’ lips against yours has caused all thoughts and logic to leave your body. You’re thankful that he takes the initiative once again and starts to move his lips against yours. You find your momentum again as your place one of your arms behind your head and place your hands on Charles’ cheek, your back still firmly pressed against his torso. As you continue to kiss, you notice that his crotch is still placed firmly against your ass, the bulge in his pants is slightly harder this time and it causes you to feel a slight tingle in your underwear.

As your kiss becomes more passionate, Charles turns you around so you’re face to face. He cups your cheeks with one of his hands, his thumb firmly under your chin and he reconnects your lips together. This time he slips his tongue into your mouth, and it begins to move against yours. The tingly sensation in your underwear is back again and it causes you to moan against Charles mouth. You can feel him smile against your lips, but it doesn’t stop him, it only encourages him to deepen this kiss even further. It’s like you’re the only two people in the room. Your body is tightly pressed against his, slowly tracing his chest with your fingers while Charles’ hands are covering as much body surface as possible. The hand that was cupping your cheek is now on your breast, his thumb grazing over the area where your nipple is. You’re not wearing a bra, so your nipple hardens at his touch, causing him to smile into your kiss once again. His other hand is very low on your back, his fingers spread across the top of your bum.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been kissing for, it could be thirty seconds or thirty minutes but you don’t want to stop. One of your hands finds its way into his silky brown hair and you tug on it lightly. In retaliation, he squeezes one your bum cheeks. This time you’re the one smiling against his lips.

After what feels like an eternity, you both part from the kiss. Your eyes meet his and it feels like you’re in a trance with him. All you can do is just look at him, only him. You’re not sure how long you’ve been standing like this, your hands on his chests, his on your waist. Once again, it’s Charles that takes the initiative but this time in conversation.

He leans down to your ear, your body lightly pressed against his. “Do you want to come back with me tonight?” He leans his head back slightly to gage your reaction. You quickly lick your lips. Your body is telling you to say yes – the tingle in your underwear is only getting bigger. But your head is pounding and you’re not able to open your mouth. The only thing you can do is move and so you move one of your hands from his chest up to Charles’ cheek, your thumb slow soothing the soft skin beneath you.

He's still waiting for an answer. His green eyes staring into yours.

As you finally muster up the courage to speak you feel you feel a strange hand placed on your shoulder. You jump slightly at the sudden touch of contact which clearly isn’t from Charles and turn your head into the direction it came from. Stephanie, the queen of impeccable timing, is smiling at you. She’s saying something to you but you’re not really paying attention.

Only until she starts waving your phone in front of your face do you realise what she’s saying. You thank her before taking your phone and looking at the screen.

It’s your husband. Out of all the nights he could have given you attention, it had to be tonight. You quickly look at your phone and see a missed call accompanied by three or four more unread texts. From a quick glance, you see he’s a bit concerned that you hadn’t responded to his previous message telling him what time you’d been home. He’d never usually ask so it’s a bit baffling to you why he’d suddenly care now. Then again, it’s the first “girls’ night” you’d gone out to in about two years. And you remembered the arguments you guys had been having for the past few weeks and the way you stormed out of the flat this morning.

And what you didn’t realise is that he had seen you pack one of your more revealing dresses in anger when you told him you were going out with Whitney and a few of her girlfriends tonight.

He was worried. Not about you. But about what you might be doing.

“Is everything okay?” Charles voice brings you back to reality and you look up at him for the first time since Stephanie had given you your phone. You hope he hasn’t seen you gulp but he has. He notices a flicker of hesitation in your eyes.

You nod and smile at him, but he’s not convinced. Your husband’s messages have brought you back to reality and your body language has become closed off. You’re no longer touching Charles. He removes his hands from your waist and you’re both left standing there awkwardly on the dancefloor.

You open your mouth to say something but at first nothing comes out. You let out a deep breath before you finally allow yourself to speak, “I can’t. I’m… I’m married, Charles.” He breaks eye contact with you and place his hands into his jean pockets. He’s nodding but doesn’t really say anything.

You both stand there awkwardly for a few moments before you speak again, “I think I need to go. I’m sorry, Charles”. You lean up to place a soft kiss on his cheek. His posture softens a little bit, but he’s disappointed.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. It sounds a little deflated and you can’t help but feel guilty. Moments before Stephanie had handed you your phone, you would have easily said yes to anything Charles would have asked you but now you find yourself in a weird mindset. You’re curious and you want to know what going home with him feels like, but your husbands’ messages are now imprinted in your brain. And so, you take the easier option which is to go home to your husband and be the loyal wife you’ve talked yourself into being for the last eighteen months.

“Have a good night, Charles,” you say softly before flashing a sympathetic smile. You turn away to leave the dancefloor when you feel Charles’ hand wrap around your arm. He tugs you back towards him and grabs your phone out of your hand. He gestures for you to put in your pin, and you oblige. He takes your phone once again and taps away on the keyboard before handing your phone back to you. You look at your screen to see he’s put his number into your phone.

“For whenever you need another “girls’ night”,” he whispers into your ear before letting you leave.

You quickly search for Whitney to let her know that you’re leaving before ordering an Uber home. As you hug Whitney goodbye, she leans in and whispers, “I hope you had fun tonight. I won’t say anything”. And you know she’s referring to the kiss that you’ve shared with Charles not so long ago. You thank her before making your way out of the club and getting into the Uber which arrives a few minutes later.

You rest your head against the window as you the Uber takes you through the busy London streets. You can’t help but feel disappointed with how your night ended and your mind flashes back to the look on Charles’ face when you told him you were leaving. A part of you wishing you had stayed.

You let out a little sigh and shut your eyes, pushing the image of Charles and the feeling of his lips against yours to the back of your head before opening your eyes again. Your phone lights up, catching your attention and you see a text from Whitney asking if you had made it home yet. You scroll down a little further on your notifications to see the unread text messages and missed calls from your husband.

You unlock your phone and start to type up your replies.

The first text.

Whitney: Just in the Uber now, be home in 20 x

The second text.

Lewis ♥: Staying at Whitney’s tonight. I’ll be home before noon tomorrow. Love you xx

You close your conversation with your husband and click on the + icon to open a new message. You let out another sigh before you begin typing the message.

To Charles: Hey, it’s [Y/N]. We didn’t get to finish our dance, mind if I come to yours? X

Your thumb hovers over the send button. You’ve typed your message, now all you have to do is send the it. Shit! You’re such a coward. You tell yourself that if you count to five you’ll send the message. Okay…

5…

4…

3…

2…

1…

Sent.

You quickly lock your phone out of embarrassment and throw it onto the seat beside you. Shit, why did you just do that? You refuse to look at your phone and tell yourself it was a dumb idea to message Charles. You just need to get home, get to bed and pretend like it never happened.

It’s about fifteen or so minutes later and you’re only a few streets away from your apartment. You’ve told yourself not to look at your phone but at the same time you’re curious to see if Charles has responded.

You pick up your phone quickly and see a couple of texts.

First from Whitney:

Text me when you’re in. Love you! Thanks so much for a great night xxx

Then from your husband:

Okay, text me if you need me to pick you up in the morning. Night, love you x

But it’s the third message that piques your interest the most. From Charles:

You changed your mind? We’re on the way home now. Here’s my address if you’re still up for it? X

You can’t help but smile to yourself. As the Uber driver pulls up outside of your apartment building, you look up towards your apartment window, the curtains are closed but a flicker of light is breaking out from the lamp on inside. Knowing Lewis is awake prompts you to make your next decision and you hand your phone to the Uber driver.

“Sorry, I need to go to this address instead”.

The Uber drive grunts at you but he begrudgingly types in the new address before pulling off. You can’t help but smile to yourself as he drives away from your building , and you let out a little giggle as excitement starts to course through your body. That tingly sensation is back as you type your next text:

Charles: I’m on my way x

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #charles leclerc x you #f1 x you

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dilemmaontwolegs · 9 months

Text

Not A Verstappen: A New World {10}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: The heat of Qatar packs a punch and causes drama but nothing like what happens when the race ends. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, reader illness WC: 2k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine NAV: A New World One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || Ten NAV: Lights Out One

Round Eighteen - Qatar GP

“Goddamn this place is hot. I’m sweating my tits off.”

“Are you?” Lando chuckled. “‘cause they still look good to me.”

You rolled your eyes at his flirty wink and continued to try to fan yourself as you scanned your pass at the entrance. “Fuck, this has to be some crime, it’s inhumane to make us race in this heat. How the hell are you wearing a hoodie?”

“It’s comfortable.”

You couldn’t even fathom a response as you stared at Charles, but he just shrugged with a smile and said, “He’ll take it off for the ice bath.”

Your enthusiasm perked at the idea of both a shirtless Lando and submerging into the cold water. Except you knew you would be in your own motorhome where your ice bath was prepped, not able to enjoy the view in McLaren or Ferrari.

“Are you going to be okay in there, mon amour?” Charles asked as they stopped outside your destination. Neither of your boyfriends were happy with leaving you alone, but you hadn’t heard a thing from Lance all week and assumed his father was to thank for that. His son had been absolutely slated online after the video went viral, now he kept a low profile.

“I can handle the big baby,” you said with a nod, cursing the laws that stopped you from kissing them both. “Go, before I get us arrested.”

Lando’s lip curved up into a smirk. “Didn’t we give you enough attention this morning to last a few hours?”

“Non, mon cher,” Charles laughed. “Our sweet will never have enough.”

You hated how your blood began to rush faster from a few whispered words, and they continued to tease you as they went on their way.

“Remember to hydrate, Spitfire.”

You pressed the button on your steering console and nearly gagged as warm water filled your mouth. It was an effort to swallow but you forced the liquid down knowing you were losing much more from your body through sweat. Your suit was drenched and your eyes stung when even the balaclava couldn’t keep your forehead dry and the sweat ran into your eyes.

“I’m having words with Russell after the race, we can’t drive like this,” you complained again.

“I’m sure he will have a few drivers with the same issue. Sargeant is retiring from the race.”

You lapped the Williams car as it limped slowly into the pits but you couldn’t spare a thought for the rookie as your vision started to blur again. Shaking your head violently, you recovered your focus in time for turn one and throttled through it. Another lap down, too many more to go.

Your head was hazy, and your sight wasn’t much better. You were fairly sure it was muscle memory that kept the car on the track as you didn’t really remember the last few laps after your water ran dry. In all honesty you may not have realised the race was over if it wasn’t for Charles slowing down ahead of you. For a moment you thought you were gaining on him but you weren’t that lucky.

“What were the results?” you panted as you followed Charles on the warm down lap, running over the marbling and ignoring the system settings you didn’t have the energy to enter.

“Verstappen, Piastri, Norris, Russell, Leclerc, you. Nice job.”

“And Stroll?” The lap seemed to be going on forever as you took each turn at a snail's pace. You were hot and itching to get out of the seat that was most definitely burning your asscheeks.

“P11.”

You pulled into the pits and the engine stalled as you failed to disengage it properly. The failsafes clicked in and you fumbled for the harness as the need for fresh air almost suffocated you. Your mouth was too dry and the taste of metal coated your tongue. You didn’t even have the strength to climb over the halo and just slid down to the asphalt.

It took every ounce of will power to stand upright with the intention of making your way to Charles. But, as soon as you were upright it was as if all the blood drained from your brain and it was too heavy to hold up. You tried to take a step towards the ambulances that had arrived but when your foot lifted, the world tipped into darkness.

Lando searched the crowd as he stepped out onto the podium and waved proudly at his third podium in three races. He had seen Charles before being sequestered to the cool down room but hadn’t caught sight of you. Now he couldn’t find either as he scanned his team's area.

“Can you see them?” he asked Max beside him.

“No, but I saw Charles heading to her car before we left. Relax, she’s probably just chosen an ice bath over you.”

Lando snickered. “I won’t take it personally, I’m fucking cooking here.”

It was Jon who pulled him aside the instant his shoes hit the bottom step at the back of the podium. Lando knew something was wrong the moment he saw the worry etched on his PT’s face. “Max, you should come too,” Jon stated, his hand wringing together. “It’s your sister.”

Jon quickly recounted how you had collapsed from exhaustion trying to get to the ambulance in parc ferme. Charles had reached you first and then they had taken you straight to the medical centre, which was where Lando and Max were racing towards.

The medical centre was busier than either man had ever seen it and they passed Ocon and Sargeant looking a little worse for wear. Both looked up from their narrow cots in a curtained area but it was Logan who pointed to the door to a more private space.

“She’s in there,” he said softly. “They’re about to transfer her to the hospital. Sorry. Thin walls.”

“Appreciate it,” Lando nodded, skipping to catch up to Max as he pushed the door wide open.

“Zusje…”

Lando froze as he saw Charles sitting beside you, his hand holding yours carefully to avoid the IV that was pumping fluids back into you. Your race suit had been cut away and cooling blankets enveloped you as they worked to bring your core temperature back down into the safe range.

“I thought she fainted?” Lando murmured as he stepped closer and into the space Charles made between his legs, laws be damned. He placed his hand over yours, lacing his fingers between Charles as he sat on his knee.

“Her blood sugar was way down,” Charles said, his voice struggling to remain steady as he pointed to one of the bags connected to the IV. “Severe dehydration, hyperthermia. They are sending her to the hospital for monitoring, just waiting for the helicopter to arrive.”

“A helicopter,” Max frowned. “That’s not normal, right?”

“No,” Charles whispered before swallowing deeply and holding Lando tighter. “There’s something else that showed up in her blood test, mon cher.”

Lando twisted to see Charles as his voice broke. “What?”

Max circled the bed and reached for the papers that were still hanging from the machine that had since been turned off. “She’s pregnant too?”

Charles looked down and nodded, Lando’s spine stiffening at the news before he stood up and snatched the pictures from Max’s hands. His empty hands balled into fists and it was only your body in the bed that kept him from jumping over and tackling your boyfriends to the ground. “Which one of you klootzakken knocked her up?”

“It was an accident,” Charles said as he rose to his feet and wrapped his arms around Lando’s waist. “The doctor thinks she’s about 12 weeks along, but he wants the maternity unit at the hospital to check them.”

“She’s been racing,” Lando murmured, still in a state of disbelief. “She could have crashed.”

“She didn’t know,” Max growled under his breath. “How could she not know?”

The doors opened and three heads turned to see the FIA Director walking in, his eyes taking in the scene. “Good, you are all here.”

Max turned his anger to the Director who had clearly been debriefed on the situation. “How could you let her race in her condition? She got randomly tested in Singapore.”

“We test for drugs, Mr Verstappen, not pregnancy. General health check ups fall on the teams, any further questions should be directed to Aston Martin.”

More footsteps came down the hall and a nurse came with the news that the helicopter had arrived. Charles bent down and kissed your forehead, your skin still too hot on his lips. “I’m sorry, mon amour.”

Only family were allowed in the helicopter and there wasn’t enough space for everyone so Max ended up flying while Charles and Lando broke every speed limit on the road to reach the hospital.

“She’s going to hate us,” Lando whispered into the silence that plagued the car. “Fuck, Charles, we’ve ruined her career.”

“Hey, shh, she’s not going to hate us,” he said, taking Lando‘s hand while praying he wasn’t lying.

“Did you see it?” Lando asked, absentmindedly stroking the picture he still held. “A baby, Cha.”

“I didn’t believe them when the blood tests came back,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips before it dimmed. “I can’t help wishing she was awake to see it.”

“Do you think…do you think it will be okay? The training, and racing…What if it hurt-”

“Don’t, Lando,” Charles cut him off with a shake of his head. “Don’t think like that, mon cher. Put your brave face on, for her. We’re here.”

Charles' hand slipped from Lando’s as they got out and it was a reflex to reach for each other when they met at the front of the car, except they couldn’t. Not there, not in public. The most they could allow was their shoulders to brush as they stormed inside the hospital and followed the signs to Maternity.

A dull thumping whomped around your head as you came back to consciousness and it took a while to realise the sound wasn’t inside your brain but from the helicopter you were a passenger in. Straps held you down on the gurney and you struggled against them before a hand gripped yours.

“You’re alright, zusje, calm down,” Max said through the headset that matched yours.

You looked around confused about how you had ended up in the back of a helicopter but it was the lack of two other people that worried you most. “Where’s Charles and Lando?”

“Don’t worry about those assholes, they’ll meet us at the hospital.”

You blanched at the acerbic tone and watched your brother's jaw clench with rage. A shiver broke across your skin despite still feeling like you were cooking from the inside out. “What happened?”

Max looked away and shook his head, refusing to explain further as the chopper started to descend. Mad at him, and mad in general, you pulled your hand away and found the buckle, unclipping yourself and reaching for the IV next.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m fine, Max, it’s just a little heatstroke.”

The nurse travelling with you had the same look on her face as what Max vocalised but she was more calm when she spoke. “You almost went into cardiac arrest, ma’am, and you are still at risk so please lay back on the cooling pads. We only want what’s best for you and the baby.”

Max winced and dropped his head into his hands. “Fuck.”

You blinked. Then blinked again. Maybe you did have more than just a little bit of heatstroke because you were obviously delirious. With a laugh you fell back into the cold blankets. “Crazy,” you mumbled as the buckle was refastened across your chest. “Could’ve sworn she said baby.”

Click here for the next part NAV: Lights Out .

#charles leclerc fanfic #lando norris fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #lando norris x reader #charles leclerc imagine #lando norris imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula one imagine #f1 x reader #tw: pregnancy

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timdoubleyou · 10 months

Text

i found jay’s black jacket (an ID guide)

This black jacket is worn by Jay about 9 times throughout Marble Hornets, including his final appearance. And after some weeks of on-and-off research, I think I know the exact make and model.

This post will detail exactly how I found it, and serve as a guide for anyone that wants to find the jacket, whether that's for cosplay purposes, or if you're just keen on collecting items related to MH.

Main post under the cut

Intro

The first step to identifying the jacket was to gather as many references as possible.

I went back to the web series and took screenshots from any entries the jacket makes an appearance. (shoutout to mg549′s very comprehensive MH wardrobe guide, without it this would’ve been much more of a pain)

Jay's jacket is, for the most part, very plain. It's a solid color, full-zip jacket, without any particularly eye-catching logos or other details. I had to look for moments where even the slightest distinction appeared clear on camera, at least as distinct as it can be. Even if it was just close-ups to get the shape of a zipper, or how many buttons are on a sleeve, it was the best I got. While I did manage to find a decent amount of these, there was just one crucial detail that would've made finding it near-impossible; the brand is never shown. Thankfully, I had another resource.

In 2018 Troy Sold a Lot of Stuff

In early 2018, Troy officially announced that MH would be continued in a comic series. To fund the first issue, he held a number of auctions for production items used during the web series on Ebay.

These included items such as Jay’s camera, Brian’s hoodie, A Masky mask, and Jay’s black jacket.

Lo and behold, the jacket listing includes a picture with the brand in clear view. It's from Gap.

Ebay does not archive sold listings older than 90 days. However, Worthpoint, a website for valuing and pricing collectibles, does. Using Worthpoint I was able to find all of these items, (and a lot more, which can be found in this doc I submitted to Archive Hornets)

Identification

With the picture from the listing and the series screencaps, I had a complete ID list.

(Top image is from the Ebay listing, with the contrast adjusted a little for easier viewing. The bottom two images are from Entry #79)

The Gap logo (This specific logo dates the jacket being made anywhere between 1986 and 2009, when it first appears).

Front Zipper (Note the shape)

The two front pockets

The two buttons and pointed cuffs on each sleeve (Second one is a little hard to see but it's jusstt peeping out at the side)

The blue piping in the inner lining

The zipper in the right side inner lining

The gray mesh inner lining

With these in mind, I could now go to the next and longest step-

Finding the Jacket

I combed three resell sites; Ebay, Depop, and Poshmark. My main goal wasn't to actually purchase the jacket, (although, I would like to at some point) but to find a jacket listing that had every identifier, and have a more definite baseline for finding others. I needed to be sure what I had was enough to properly ID the jacket. The references I had stitched together were decent enough, but I wanted to see if there was something better out there.

After tons of page scrolling and tab-switching and comparing and contrasting, I finally got lucky.

(first two images are from crashthecloset's listing on poshmark, last six are from shannfo-76 on ebay)

I haven't bought one myself as of posting, but I feel pretty confident this is it. The jackets were already sold, but every marker seemed to be accounted for. It also revealed new ones, like the reflective pattern and pockets on the inner lining, (zipper on the right side pocket, button on the left pocket) and the materials tag.

With that, here's some final notes that may be helpful if you try looking for the jacket yourself:

Online sellers often describe it as a light jacket, a windbreaker, a 2-in-1, or 3-in-1.

"Gap Mens Black Jacket" is the search phrase I used the most since it yielded a (very) broad result pool.

Most of the jackets I found came from Poshmark or Ebay.

The exact size of Jay’s jacket is unclear. My best guesses are either a US Men’s S or M, since Jay was pretty skinny and of average height. I’ve only been able to find maybe 2 jackets that are a size M, one of which is the first pic in the photoset above.

Gap has sold other black jackets that look remarkably similar to Jay’s, and they do pop up on resell sites. One of these was so similar, the only discernible difference was the style of the logo. I highly recommend making sure it matches the exact one Jay had before purchasing. (It's also more than fine to ask/msg me if you have any doubts!) As long as you know what to look for, you shouldn’t have a problem finding at least one.

One detail that confounded me was this sleeve poking out of Jay's jacket. At first I thought he was wearing a long sleeve underneath, making this shot a continuity error since he appeared to Only be wearing the green short sleeve under the jacket.

@hivemite pointed out that this might be a two-in-one jacket, which has multiple layers for different types of weather. While I have not been able to see the sleeve outside of two shots in entry #79 and #80, one listing I found did describe it as a 3-in-1.

that's about it! hope this helps :)

#marble hornets #jay merrick #ref #over and out #long post #happy entry 80 day. heres some extra tidbits just for the tags #at least two listings called this y2k which is really funny.#it is also strangely difficult to find these in sizes smaller than large #another thing kinda related. worthpoint is a shitty site unfortunately #as you can see with the jacket description. in which it apparently ‘‘works and comes with a charging cable’’#<- i mean that Couldve been an error on the original ebay listing #however that is. impossible to verify now unless someone somewhere had a screenshot #but each mh item from this particular auction there had consistently bad errors that inclines me to say that wasnt the case #ok this went too long for a few extra tidbits but can you tell i lost my mind

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munson-blurbs · 1 year

Note

Hey can I do one of the spirit Halloween requests. Sour Patch Kids/Butterfinger. And can it be with Eddie please. Can include smut if that's OK. Thank you 😊

Enemies-to-Lovers/Shy!Reader/Eddie Munson

(+ 3 other anon requests)

I couldn't figure out a way to make it smutty without it seeming forced, but there are definitely some raunchy elements. I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Eddie is mean to Reader, allusion to masturbation (18+ only, minors DNI), Reader wears a skirt

WC: 1.2k

Divider credit to @saradika

“Absolutely not.” Eddie crosses his arms over his chest, a sneer cursing his lips.

“Come on, man!” Mike grumbles, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “I told Nancy I’d help her out.”

Eddie scoffs, turning away from you and your best friend’s younger brother. “Yeah, well, I didn’t promise shit,” he retorts. “We don’t need anymore players, and we definitely don’t need her.”

Your lower lip quivers, and you bite it to stop from crying. “I, um, i-it’s okay, Mike,” you hurriedly reassure him. “I’ll tell Nancy you tried.” You turn around and leave the drama room, tears blurring your vision.

“What the hell is your problem?” Mike yells loud enough that you can hear him halfway down the hallway, despite the pounding in your ears. “Nancy said she’s really into DnD. She could, I dunno, be our sub when Lucas has a game or something.”

“Am I speaking a different language? No. N-O. Not happening.”

Gareth cocks a bemused brow. “Are you still pissed off about—”

“SHUT UP!” Eddie’s bellow reverberates around the tiny room. “Look, are we gonna play or not?”

“I gotta go make sure she’s okay before Nancy kicks my ass,” Mike huffs, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. “Thanks for nothing,” he spits at Eddie.

No one says anything for a moment; the Hellfire Club is eerily silent. Finally, Jeff speaks up. “That was pretty harsh, Ed.”

“That was harsh?!” Eddie guffaws and clenches his jaw. “Me telling her she can’t join Hellfire is harsh, but she can talk shit about me to her friends, and that’s totally fine? Cool, got it.” He shakes his head at the memory. Just a few weeks ago, he’d been walking to your locker to ask you out, only to overhear you telling Nancy that you wish he would disappear and leave you alone.

“Why do you even care so much?” Lucas asks, now thoroughly invested in the drama.

“Because he loves her,” Gareth pipes up, “and she thinks he’s an obnoxious prick, which is accurate.” He’s unfazed by Eddie’s glare, having been on the receiving end of his anger many a time. “Dude, you embarrassed the shit outta her in history! Why would she be nice to you?”

Dustin rolls his eyes. “What did you do?”

“Nothing!” Eddie insists at the same time Gareth says, “As soon as she walked into class, he jumped on his desk and shouted, ‘there’s the prettiest girl in Hawkins!’”

All of the guys let out a collective groan. “You can’t do that with a shy girl!” Lucas groans. If Eddie wasn’t six inches taller than him, he’d smack him upside the head. “Max would kick my ass if I did that to her.”

“She probably thought you were making fun of her,” Dustin points out, and Eddie’s face falls when everyone else nods in agreement. “Have you tried, like, talking to her and not at her?”

“No,” Eddie admits, scuffing the toe of his Reeboks on the tile floor. “Shit, I gotta fix this–I’ll be right back.”

You’re nearly at the double doors of Hawkins High’s entrance when you hear a familiar voice calling your name. You wipe the tears from your cheeks and muster up all of your courage, but your words still rush out too quickly. “I’m gonna tell Nancy that Hellfire wasn’t my scene. You’re in the clear, okay? Just…go away.”

But he doesn’t go away; he comes closer. The anger that previously flamed behind his eyes is extinguished, replaced by concern. “Can we talk?” he softly asks. “We can go in my van so it’s more private. Please.”

“Fine.” The desperation in his tone convinces you to give in. You follow him to the van, offering him the smallest smile when he opens the door and motions for you to go inside. Pushing aside a stray guitar pick, you take a seat on the carpeted floor.

Eddie takes a deep breath, twisting his rings around his fingers nervously. “I, um, I’m sorry. For, y’know, the whole thing in history class.”

You suck your lip between your teeth before responding. “S’okay,” you mumble. You really want to tell him off so he knows how hurt you were by his teasing, but you can’t bring yourself to say the words.

“No, it’s not. I…I should’ve told you when it was just the two of us,” he counters, drawing a confused look from you. “What?”

“Told me what?”

“That I think you’re the prettiest girl in Hawkins.” He offers his own puzzled expression when you scramble to your knees and lean for the door handle. “Wait! Where’re you going?”

There’s a lump in your throat that you force yourself to swallow before you can speak. “This is obviously a big joke to you, Eddie. ‘Ha ha, let’s point out how ugly the nerdy girl is!’”

“No. No.” Eddie’s voice is firm but kind. “It wasn’t a joke. I really think you’re the prettiest girl in Hawkins. And I like you. A lot,” he adds with a nervous laugh. “That whole, uh, performance was my way of flirting.”

You’re still unconvinced, cocking a brow in disbelief, so he continues. “How about this: since I embarrassed you, I’ll tell you an embarrassing secret. And if I’m lying about liking you, you can tell everybody.”

You relent for the second time today. “O-Okay. That’s fair.”

“All right.” Eddie rubs his palms on his jeans, slick with anxious perspiration. “So, remember that time that I got to class, all…sweaty and out of breath and stuff?”

You nod. “Mhm.” He’d told Mrs. Click that he’d been in gym class, but you knew he’d just come from lunch like you had. You’d figured he’d had a deal out in the woods and ran back to school.

“Well, um,” he looks down at the carpet, “it was because I saw you in the cafeteria wearing this cute little skirt, and I had to…take care of myself. In the boys’ room.” He presses his palms to his eyes and says, mostly to himself, “No fuckin’ way did I just admit that.”

You’re shell-shocked. Like joining Hellfire, the skirt in question was another one of Nancy’s ideas to ease you out of your comfort zone. You had no idea he’d even noticed. “Y-You liked it?” you ask dumbly.

“Ohhhh, yeah,” Eddie chuckles. “I gotta stop thinkin’ about it before…” His eyes drop to the zipper of his jeans, a small tent already visible against the seam, and he hurries to switch subjects. “D’you still wanna play DnD with us? I promise I’m usually less of a dick. And a perv.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “I have my doubts about that last part,” you tease, only half-joking, “but, yeah. I would love to play with you guys.”

“Awesome.” Eddie’s face lights up. “And maybe after, you and I can grab something to eat? Maybe catch a movie or somethin’?”

Before you can chicken out, you kiss his cheek. “It’s a date.”

The two of you walk back into the school, Eddie’s hand on the small of your back. “Oh, um, one more thing?”

“Mhm?”

“Can you change into that skirt?”

#trope or treat #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #fanfic #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #smut #eddie munson angst

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kenposting · 1 year

Text

New Guy Part 2! Ah!!!

Summary: Ken invites you over for dinner at his house - something you were greatly looking forward to! Until you noticed something was on his mind.

WC: 4.2k

AN: literally so many people asked me to write more and i just wanted to cry wtf .......... i just feel so silly like i just like him!!! and u guys like him too gosh i luv u guys!!!!!! wtf!!!

Read Part 1 here: New Guy

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀⋆˚✿˖°⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Ken was off today and you really, really missed him. For some reason. He brought a sort of light to the diner that was just not there before he arrived. Sure, he made zero fucking sense 90% of the time, but he didn’t take himself too seriously, and that was incredibly refreshing.

The girls you worked with snickered behind him often, though, and you did pick up on his face whenever he saw them laugh at a question he had or an encouraging comment he’d make. He really was trying his best, but it seemed no one took that into consideration.

Perhaps that’s why he asked you to come over after your shift today. You never laughed at him, you always answered his questions no matter how simple they were, and you actually spoke to him like you respected him. Because you do!

It was an odd feeling to keep looking up at the clock. You didn’t have class since it was now Summertime (and neither did he, as important as studying Beach was to him) and, upon realizing Summer meant a break from college, he very hurriedly asked if that meant he could “take you out sometime – but, you know, only if you wanted to, I mean, I don’t want to make you feel pressured or anything…”

He was so cute for whatever reason and you found yourself unable to let that go – it’s like he wasn’t real; like he hadn’t been tainted by the rest of the world. He cried – literally cried – the last time you were late for a shift because he thought something bad had happened to you. You promised you’d make it up to him however he wanted and all he could think of was asking you to teach him how to ride a bike. You didn’t know why he was like… that… and you didn’t worry yourself trying to figure it out.

The directions he gave you to his apartment were drawn in crayon on the back of a paper placemat from work. He made sure to include a tiny house and tiny diner and lots of arrows. He knew the way well, too; as if he had recited it to himself lots of times. Maybe he was scared to forget where he lived. Now that you thought about it, he never drove, only ever walked, and he did say he was new to town when you met him a few months back.

His house was tiny and sweet, only six short blocks from where the two of you worked. You could tell he took great care tending to it, even just by observing the front yard. It was blocked off by a metal gate and seemed to be an older home, simple and freshly painted eggshell white. He had planted flowers around the outside beside the front step before the small patch of grass began.

You couldn’t see it, obviously, but he had been pacing around inside for half an hour, nervous about seeing you. And you seeing him. Did he look okay? Was his house okay? He was just beside himself, which didn’t go away at all when he heard a gentle knock at the door.

“Hey, Ken!”

He stood meekly in front of you as you opened the door, nervously folding and wringing his hands together, scared to do or say something that would make a bad impression. He was nearly hiding behind the door. This was silly since you worked with him almost every day (and hung out with him almost every evening). You noticed a shift over the last few weeks – like his bubbly demeanor had subsided a little. It was probably your coworkers getting to him.

“Thanks for having me over. I like it so far!”

He smiled sheepishly and looked at the ground, a blush arising on his cheeks as he seemed to regain a little bit of himself at your presence.

“Thanks! I’ll show you the rest of my mo–”

He stopped himself, brows furrowed, like he was going to say something out of habit, but remembered something and decided against it.

“My house, but it will probably only take, like, five seconds. It’s pretty small.”

He stepped aside, holding the door open for you (something ‘gentlemanly’ he had learned from observing other couples at the diner – he was proud he noticed this). You saw his hands shaking, but you appreciated the confident gesture anyways.

You stepped in beside him as he closed the door behind you, taking in the scenery. His house was… definitely… something.

“My friend Gloria helped me find it and even paid for the deposit so I could live here and work! I paid her back, of course.”

He was confident in his home, it came across in his tone of voice. He had surely made it his own. It was loud as hell. The walls were a bright pink color, but somehow it kind of worked.

“They helped me paint it too! Gloria and her groom-husband and their daughter.”

Brushing past his bizarre choice of words (but what’s new, it’s Ken), you surprisingly felt relief within yourself at hearing she was married. You hadn’t realized you were holding your breath on that one.

Your eyes glanced around the place, taking in all of the little things that were so… him. It was like a frat house, but way nicer; cozier. He had shelving all around with little trinkets carefully placed everywhere, some of horses, some of small glass fish, and even some of tiny people. He had put so much thought into these scenes of humans just having fun, one shelf showing a scene of a bunch of friends playing beach volleyball and another showing guys in all black posed in various dance positions playing rock-paper-scissors.

“Ken, this is so sweet. Did you make all this yourself?”

He looked aside and blushed, shrugging off the compliment.

The adjacent wall had framed photos of people dressed in what you assumed to be Halloween costumes. A scene of a fierce man in a gold tracksuit posed next to a blonde girl with a sparkly dress on, the framed photo sitting proudly next to a shot of a group of girls (and one boy) in a mock supreme court dressed in all pink jumpsuits.

He opened his mouth to tell you about the people in the picture, but you watched as he teared up just thinking about them. It must’ve been a sensitive subject, so you thought it better to not ask.

Above his (ridiculously messy) desk were tacked drawings on the wall. Crayon drawings. You saw him making them on his breaks. There were little doodles of horses, and some of people having fun at the beach, but mainly horses. You sensed a theme.

“This section is for all the things people gave me when I came to the real world.”

His voice was trembling a bit, like he missed them very dearly. Ignoring the ‘real world’ thing, you looked where he was gesturing to see a whole lot of unique and incredibly thoughtful gifts. A tiny disco ball, a small pink model car, a gag book called “Backflips for Dummies” where ‘dummies’ had been crossed out with marker and replaced with a handwritten ‘Ken’, a baby blue record player with matching pink headphones, a seashell, a tiny model campfire, a collection of various headbands, a pink first aid kit – it was just endless. He was clearly so very loved by these people.

“And all of my furniture was made for me by carpenter Barbie!”

The Barbie thing was ever-present in his descriptions of home. It didn’t bother you, really, but it was just… getting old. You knew it was just some bit, assuming he was calling his ex-girlfriends Barbies since his name was Ken. A classic joke, sure, but he had beaten it to death at this point.

“Jeez, Ken, how many girls have you dated?”

You were careful to come off playfully, never wanting to risk hurting his feelings. You got it, really. He was so sweet and charming, but it felt weird to hear about Carpenter Barbie and Lawyer Barbie – even Stereotypical Barbie. It wasn’t like him at all. His entire personality glowed with respect for everyone he's ever met, so why was he reducing his past loves to just their job title?

“Oh… No, I haven’t ever… dated anyone before. Their names really were all Barbie, their careers were just how we’d all tell the difference when we were talking about them. I know things are different here. Even you – you’re not named Barbie.”

You blinked at him. He knew you didn’t believe him, and it showed on his face, like he wanted so badly to just take your hand and introduce you to everyone. His genuineness was hard to pass over, but seriously? All of them were named Barbie? It didn’t make sense. And you supposed it didn’t have to. What did it matter – he lived here now, didn’t he?

“It’s okay, Ken. Maybe I can meet them one day.”

His ears pricked at that, stuffing that idea aside for later. It was Summertime, after all. Doesn’t everyone go on vacation for Summer?

“Mmhm, I can take you!”

It was like he was trying not to fist-pump. He was always so animated. It was one of the very first things you noticed about him. “Anyways… I made dinner. I figured you’d be hungry after working so hard.”

He stepped into his (tiny) dining area and for the first time, you got a good look at him. His house was kind of a lot – so much so that it had sort of overshadowed him, but as he stood there, the golden evening light from the window washing over him, you wondered how it had taken you so long to notice.

He stood tall in the archway, wearing a gray pullover sweater, one you’d get at a university (but it had the Barbie logo embroidered on it). Light jeans were cuffed enough to show off his socks. He had swapped the usual white crew-style for patterned ones with little jellyfish all over them. His face was glowing in front of you and you felt yourself just wanting to leap towards him. He looked so cozy and soft and kind and handsome and –

“I’m not sure what you like with it so I just kind of made everything…”

You looked over his shoulder to see a rather extensive display of food. Still simple, though, nothing too extravagant, but it was clear he had put a lot of thought into everything.

Most of his dishes were plastic (and heart-shaped) but you found that rather charming. He had made the same lunch your mom had made growing up, the one you had told him about just days before when he asked you what you’d be doing right now if you could be anywhere in the world.

“Probably back home, but I’ve got rent to pay so I can’t travel for the Summer if it's longer than a day trip.”

You remembered him looking so sad, like he was going to cry. The two of you were taking your lunch breaks together, as you did most days. You snacked while he drew horses with crayons on a napkin. He said he wasn’t hungry and that his head was hurting (probably because of the alcohol he’d ordered for the first time on your study date the night before). His cheek was squished, resting on his fist as he scribbled away, very focused.

“What would you do at home?”

“Have lunch with my mom at the kitchen table, soup and sandwiches. All the best things always happen at the kitchen table.”

His face furrowed and scrunched as he put his whole heart into his drawing. His tongue even poked out a few times before he proudly showed it off to you.

“My art teacher wants to put these in the gallery this weekend! She told me that my drawings perfectly capture the nostalgia of childhood, but I don’t know what those words mean.”

You looked at him now, standing in front of you in his tiny little house, having prepared all of this just for you, remembering and holding on to everything you had passively told him. It was nearly maddening how kind he was – like you were just waiting for the other shoe to drop at any moment. There had to be a catch. There was no way this guy was real.

He pulled a (baby blue) chair out, allowing you to sit first. You thanked him for putting all this work in, but he shrugged it off like it was nothing. It was like he was created just to serve the people around him. Even the girls at work that were mean to him – he’d pick up their shifts the second they didn’t feel like coming in and he spoke so highly of them, noting how they’d helped him to get the hang of his job. If only you could figure out this whole Barbie real-world thing, maybe you’d understand him a little better, but right now it all just seemed a little ridiculous – both the stories of his hometown and his chivalrous behavior. There was no way he was real. You’d pinch yourself to see if you’re dreaming, but that didn’t work the last twenty times, so really there’s no point.

Seriously, though. What was his deal? You liked him so much – it just snuck up on you. You weren’t looking to be with anyone but you just couldn’t figure him out, and maybe you didn’t want to. Every guy you’d known had some bizarre at the least or toxic at the worst trait that came up eventually and you so desperately wanted him to be different. Now was as good a time as any to get it over with, rip the bandaid off, and be free of this false hope.

“Hey, Ken…”

“Hmm?”

His mouth was full but he looked up at you immediately with a great intensity, like he was so concerned to make sure you were alright. His eyelashes fluttered as he blinked at you, waiting (literally) on the edge of his seat. The seats were too small for him. He kind of towered over most of the things in his house, actually. It was like this was a little dollhouse and he had barely begun to outgrow it.

“What’s with all of the Barbie and Ken stuff?”

He just looked at you, confused at your question.

You sighed.

“I mean, you always say Barbies and Kens instead of just saying women and men. And you always talk about how this… place, this world, is different from your own. I really like you and I’m really trying to understand it but I just don’t get it.”

He blinked at you, brows furrowing as he nearly choked on his food and tried to gather some sort of answer that wouldn’t further confuse you.

“You… you like me?”

You realized what you had said just moments before. It came as a shock to the both of you. You did like him. You liked him so much it was starting to annoy you, actually.

You nodded, frustrated, like you were searching for some sort of explanation that wouldn’t further confuse him.

“I do, I like you a lot. I think about you all the time, you’re so silly I just love being around you, you’re ridiculously handsome it’s actually absurd, you’re so good at your job and so kind and you try so hard in school, I love your drawings, I love eating lunch with you, I just love… you. All of you”

You watched as his lip quivered. He had been trying to hold it in all evening but he just couldn't anymore.

“You like me?!”

He bit down on the inside of his lip to stop the shaking.

“I like you! And I’ve been wanting to tell you for so long but I’ve just never felt this way and… And I just feel like I never know what I’m doing. This place is so different than back home and I always want to take some initiative to show you how I feel but I’m just scared I’m going to bother you and that didn’t work back home and it’s so weird having my own house and–”

He sighed, looking up at you.

“This world – this place is so hard to live in.”

You watched the look on his face. It’s the same face he makes when things get a little too overwhelming. You had seen it before, most recently after he walked right in to a sliding glass door, despreately trying to convince you that they just don’t have those where he’s from. Some things like that are just hard for him.

You nodded, placing a hand on his.

“This place is hard to live in. I’ve felt that way my whole life. Like I don’t really fit anywhere and everyone around me knows what they’re doing except me.”

He nodded so desperately, like you were the first person to ever really understand him.

“But… Ken, if this place is so hard to live in, why did you come here? And why did you stay?”

“I came here to figure out why I did what I did.”

There it was. He answered so quickly, like he had been waiting to tell you this since he met you. You knew it was coming sooner or later. There was no way he was as kind as he seemed, and he was about to tell you about some insane or horrible or creepy or despiciable thing he did to some poor girl before skipping town to ‘find himself’. You’d heard it all before.

“I really liked this girl back home and she didn’t feel the same way. Not even like she didn’t like me, she just… it was like I was a bother to her, and I was. I waited for her to show up everywhere I’d go and I just wanted her to like me too, but not even romantically. Just like me, as a person, respect me, acknowledge me, validate me, reject me even. She didn’t even do that, she just…”

He took a deep breath, steadying himself. Your jaw tightened, waiting to hear him say something he couldn’t ever take back.

“Anyways… I didn’t mind that she didn’t like me, truly. I just hadn’t ever really thought about it before. Like we were meant to be together, but not in a good way – like it was planned and I couldn’t escape it. It was Barbie and Ken, there was no Just Ken.”

Again, as bizarre as this whole Barbie and Ken thing was, his tone of voice was incredibly convincing.

“But there is just Ken. I am Ken – and that’s it, that's good, but I didn’t know what that meant or who I was without spending my days just pining for her. After all that she came here to the real world and I wanted to as well. I didn’t come for her, I came for me. And I stayed for you.”

He was crying now, tears slowly falling from his eyes, like he had been waiting for ages to find the words to explain all of this.

“I mean… I came here to study. The first time I visited I learned about Patriarchy–”

“The patriarchy.”

“Right, the patriarchy, and I felt respected and seen, but I didn’t really get it. I tried to figure it out, I really did, but I couldn’t even do beach here and I kept getting arrested and I just... I just felt worse and worse so I…”

His lower lip was really shaking now, like he had done something unforgivable.

“I came home without Barbie and I let her get kidnapped by Mattel and I told all the Kens about what I saw and… and–”

He was holding back actual sobs.

“And I turned her dream house into a mojo dojo casa house for Kens only and I made Barbieland into Kendom Land Land of the Men and I made her listen to me play the guitar for, like, ever and ever and I just feel so bad about it all.”

He took a shaky breath in, still clearly upset about everything.

“But she was so nice to me about it when we finally talked. And then she came here, so I did too. I signed up for school so I could figure out why I did that and how to help other people realize what they’re feeling before they do something like that too. I know it was wrong and really mean, but I can also see that I was sad and I just liked her and I felt invisible and I didn’t even have a house.”

He didn’t even have a house?

“But now I do have a house! And I love learning about Beach and horses but what I really want is to do everything I can to help other people understand why this system doesn’t work, no matter who’s in charge. It didn’t work in Barbieland and it surely doesn’t work here either. It’s all ridiculous and it benefits no one, including those in power. It’s not fair, to guys or girls, to you, even. You can’t even go home during Summer because they barely pay you as much as they pay me just because you’re a girl, and I just started! You trained me! It’s absurd!”

None of this was making any sense logically, but emotionally, all of it tracked. You felt the same way. You came here to understand the unhealthy behaviors in yourself and to try to help fix the system any way you could.

“I love my house so much. I’m doing everything I can to figure out how I did something so crazy to all of the Barbies, but I won’t let it make me cynical or cold or mean anymore. I love being alive and even though people make fun of me for crying or blushing too much or asking stupid questions, I love being alive. I know it’s silly, but I love it, I love all of it. Every time you compliment me or help me with something or show me something new I just feel like I’m gonna explode. I don’t understand it, but I never even felt this way about Barbie – I don’t even know if I liked her, really, I think I was just programmed to act like it. I love seeing the older people that come in to work, they love each other so much and I just… I want that. That’s real and I want something real. I want more than a long-term long-distance low-commitment casual girlfriend bride-wife – I want what I see every day here. Like my friend Gloria and her groom-husband and everyone we see at work and at school. You know how people come into the diner every day – literally every day! – just to eat together? And hold hands? And look at each other for so long and just talk and laugh? I have no idea what that’s like, but I want to know so bad. I want to have that. And I want you to have that – even if it’s not with me! Even if you don’t feel the same way, you deserve a good groom-husband more than anyone I’ve ever met, it's absurd that no one is taking care of you!”

He sighed, closing his eyes.

“Sorry, what I’m, trying to say is, I just… I don’t understand it but all I want to do is spend time with you. I tried to ask some people at school what to do about... this feeling but their answers were so mean, like you were an object I was entitled to just take for myself. I tried to ask our coworkers but they told me you wouldn’t like me anyways and I believed them. I just… I don’t want to be... patriarchal about it and I have no idea what I’m doing.”

A quiet fell over the place. You watched as little dust bunnies glittered around him. He had soup on his shirt.

“Ken, I… I don’t know what to say.”

You smiled, letting out a gentle laugh. He laughed too. You had been holding your breath at everything he was saying, a blush creeping over your ears. He was blushing too, mostly at himself for going off a little, but also at you. He could stare at you for hours. Most days he’s telling himself not to, straining his eyes away from you at work. His heart just ached when you spoke so kindly to customers or your coworkers or him. Gosh, when you spoke to him. He just melted every time, turning away from you as quickly as possible so you wouldn’t see him fall apart, just bashful.

“I think you know exactly what you’re doing. And you’re damn good at it, too. If you’d asked me I’d say you’re the most experienced human I know.”

Relief was painted on his face, a sense of calm falling over the two of you like a gentle, quiet snowfall. You really were the only one that understood him, but moreover, he was the only one that understood you.

“I don’t know what I’m doing either, Ken. I don’t think anyone does. Everyone is just pretending, I promise. I watch the way those same couples spend their days just… existing together. It’s like they don’t have a care in the world when they’re next to each other and I feel that way when I’m with you. I also don’t know what I’m doing, but I can learn. We can learn. We can figure it out. And I don’t really understand the Barbies or Kens or Real World stuff you’re talking about most days, but that doesn’t mean you can’t show me.”

He looked so simple, sat right in front of you, and you watched as he smiled – like all of a sudden he wasn’t so confused anymore.

“Do you know how to roller-blade?”

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀⋆˚✿˖°⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

#ken #<3 #kenergy #barbie #ken x reader #just ken

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joelslegalwhre · 1 year

Text

My Riduur

word count // 1.6k

pairing // Din Djarin x fem!reader

word count // 1.6k

summary // Mando didn't like it at all that some boy thought he could get close to his wife. He couldn't show with actions that you were his, the helmet prevented that, but he had his own way to show it.

warnings // jealous Din (let‘s still call him Din okay, thanks), pda, established relationship, lovesick puppy energy, protective!din, allusions to smut, Din and reader speaking Mando’a, me having absolutely no clue about Mando‘a grammar, taking the helmet off if you’re married is okay here, okay? Thanks (did I miss something?)

a/n // I put translation for the Mando‘a words at the end, so you don‘t get confused but I also have the link to the dictionary right here

Took me long enough to write this 😮‍💨 Thank god my exam is over (and I stressed for nothing, it was actually really easy), so here you go with my first ever din fic, I hope you like it x

Masterlist// Mando‘a dictionary I used // my kofi 🩷

It felt strange to be sitting here, in a bar on Mos Eisley, surrounded by all kinds of people, droids, and even a few bounty hunters.

It wasn't the feeling of sitting in a cantina that was weird. No, it was more the feeling of not having to accept a job. You were not here to look for one. In the last months you had almost had no break, and now you could finally lean back a little. The thought, of picking out a nice place with Mando for the three of you for the next few days, pleased you.

But before you did that, you just had to have the ship repaired a bit, after it had taken quite some damage.

Mando was still at Peli Motto's place, busy showing her the ship and checking the price for the repair. You had been looking around the bar ever since he left, hoping he'd be back soon. The jobs of the last weeks had been unique, the wages you had collected for them were easily enough to sit back and relax for a few days, even after getting the razor crest repaired.

You were sitting at a free spot at the bar of the cantina and watched the people and other beings talking to each other. Some argued, some laughed with each other.

You wondered how long it would take for Mando to-

"Hey there, gorgeous." someone sat down next to you, interrupting your thoughts.

You looked at the stranger for a moment, eyeing him. He had to be your age, a few strands of his dark hair fell into his face, and his eyes were not only gleaming with a deep blue, but with an extreme amount of confidence. "I didn't expect to see an angel today." he smirked in a way that almost made you laugh. He didn't lack any confidence, that was for sure.

You drew your brows together, and tilted your head slightly as you looked at him.

"Say, does that work on any woman?"

At his next sentence, you were sure he definitely had a drink too much or just a little too much self-confidence to flirt so shamelessly.

"You're not any woman." he winked.

You raised your eyebrows and nodded with an amused smile. "Oh, is that so?" you chuckled lightly.

"You're here with someone?" he asked, leaning closer. You immediately brought some more space between the two of you again, "I am, actually."

"Well, then where are they?" he asked with a grin that told you he didn't believe you. "Right here." you could hear Mando's deep, modulated voice. Your heart made a little jump when you turned your head and saw him walking straight towards you.

If looks could kill, this wannabe bounty hunter would be six feet underground by now. Mando's jaw had clenched when he saw the stranger talk to you. His jealousy stewing at the mere thought of another man looking at you this way. He’d been ready to stomp up to him and place a good, hard punch right at this fool's flirtatious face.

"Me'bana?" Mando asked, looking at you. His hand naturally found its place on your waist.

"Nothing," you leaned a little closer to him, "Kaysh mirsh solus."

Mando's light, breathy laugh made you almost turn into a puddle. 'He's an idiot.' you'd told him in Mando's native tongue, so the stranger in front of you wouldn't understand.

You had learned it when you started to accompany Mando. He was confused at first, to say at least, as to why you'd wanted to actually learn the language. But you wanted to get to know Mando, that included his native tongue. And besides, it was fun, sitting in the razor crest next to him, Grogu on your lap, learning to speak and read the extraordinary language of your Mandalorian.

"Hey, just so you know," said one started again, "Unalike that tin can there, I can show my face whenever, my lips too." he smirked. His obvious confusion about the two of you speaking in a language he'd never heard but knew must've been Mando'a.

You politely declined his request, slowly getting annoyed. "Thank you very much, but I actually really like the tin can right here."

Mando wanted to kiss you so bad, show you off as his, but he couldn't. That's just how it was, he couldn't take off his helmet. He was proud of his religion, it was part of him. You'd probably wouldn't even let him take it off, even if he tried. That was one of the many reasons he loved you so deeply. You respected his religion, tried to understand and learn about it.

And he could always take it off when the two of you were back in the privacy of the razor crest. He loved the curious look on your face every time he did, as if it was the first time you've seen his face.

But the truth was, that you were enamored with his features, the patchy beard paired with the mustache, his brown eyes and the brown curls… You could just never get enough of him.

Even before you two were married, you always loved to play with the ends of his fluffy hair, whenever it was getting longer once again. It was never much, but enough.

He had other ways to make sure everyone, especially the fool in front of you, knew you belonged to him.

"We need to look for our child." he was well aware that people believed he meant a human child when he referred to Grogu as "child" or "kid".

The look on the boy's face made a smug smile appear on Din's face, carefully hidden by the beskar helmet. He was so satisfied with himself, you could practically feel it spill over, and you didn't even need to see his face for it. You just chuckled quietly.

"Next time," Mando said, "watch who you talk to. My wife is off limits, understand?" his voice cold, almost threatening.

The eyes of the stranger widened, hearing the title.

You took Mando's gloved hand from where it was still firmly placed on your waist, and intertwined your fingers with his.

"C'mon, let's go," you smiled up at your riduur. You turned back around to address the guy, trying to sound nice, "It was nice meeting you."

With that, you left him sitting there, Mando‘s grip on your hand tightening in a protective manner, as you left the cantina.

When you were back at the ship, you could see Grogu fast asleep in his pod, "He's the most adorable thing I've ever seen." you say to Mando, looking at the little being with a look of pure love. Mando‘s heart warmed at the sight of you and Grogu. His little odd family.

"Even more than you getting all jealous of that guy back in the cantina." you grinned at him teasingly.

Mando stepped closer to you, his hands on your hips once again. You slung your arms around his neck.

"I wasn‘t-" but he interrupted himself, he was jealous, so much so that he would've loved to take his blaster out of the holster, even if it was just for show. "I was protecting my aliit." Family. You could barely get your fastening heartbeat under control, no matter how many times he'd say it. "I'm all yours, Din."

"Good." he said, and lowered his head. You could feel the cold beskar of his helmet touch your forehead. A Mandalorian kiss. You loved when he showed you his love that way. You closed your eyes, just soaking up the moment. You couldn‘t see it, but Mando had also closed his eyes, his hands still on your waist, he tried to memorize every little detail about this, about you.

After some time, spent taking the other in, after savoring the intimacy, you could hear a content sigh voice through his modulator.

"I'll look after you, always." His hand wandered to your cheek and cupped it gently. “And trust me,” he huffed, "I won't let anyone flirt with my wife like that, cyar'ika."

You grinned up at him. You couldn't wait to be all alone with him, leaving Grogu in the cockpit to sleep, and kiss him. Oh, how badly you just wanted to give his lips a little peck. You settled for wrapping your arms tightly around his armored middle, pressing yourself against his chest.

Mando's arms around your shoulders, he leaned his helmet against your hair. Even if all you could feel was his armor, it was still him. Your Mandalorian. Your husband. "I love you, mesh'la." the modulator had barely picked it up. He'd whispered it into your hair, like he couldn't believe that you were his. That he had the privilege to be the one to hold you… to love you. And to be loved by you.

"You know," you started smiling at him innocently, „since the baby's asleep, I thought you could show me how much. I mean, just so I know-"

"Haav." he interrupted you, his voice low, "Now." This was no plead, no, a demand. You chuckled and started walking to the makeshift bed you shared with him.

Behind you, you could hear him taking off his helmet, and you could barely hold in your excitement to finally see his face again. You had really missed it, although you've just seen him this morning before getting up. His armor followed next, a second later you could feel his arms wrap themselves around you. "Too many clothes." he whispered into your ear, his voice clear without the modulator. It gave you goosebumps all over your body, "Take them off then.".

Mando‘a translations:

ner = my, mine

riduur = partner, spouse, husband, wife

Me‘bana? = What‘s happening? What happened?

Kaysh mirsh solus = He‘s an idiot (lit. His brain cell is lonely)

cyar‘ika = darling, sweetheart

mesh‘la = beautiful

aliit = clan name, identity, family

haav = bed

🩶taglist: @alexxavicry @kittenlittle24 @hereforfics124 @Snow30285 @cl16version

#the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian reader insert #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian #grogu my beloved #star wars #star wars fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x reader #jealousy #pedro pascal #fluff #em's masterlist

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capricorn-0mnikorn · 6 days

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What I'm (tentatively) thinking for MyNoWri"Mo":

One: Right now, I'm aiming for a 6-week challenge: From January 2 to February 13: The dullest of doldrums times in my particular culture. Also, I've heard that it takes six weeks of steady practice to get a habit rooted.

Two: Word count be damned. Instead, I'm thinking along the lines of "A Plot Chain Unit A Day": Situation -> Disruption -> Reaction -> Consequence. Start the next day with New Situation. That might be covered in 300 words, or it might take 1,000. If you don't have all the words in your brain (or time in your day), jot down the synopsis. As with NaNoWriMo, if you're on a roll, you can always write more.

Three: (Because, I, personally, need to be be connected to other people, as well as a schedule, to keep on track) Schedule in periodic breather days (every 3 days? once a week?) for getting feedback on knotty plot units, with a willing partner(s). That partner might also be writing (in which case, you'd trade) but they don't have to be -- they could just be your "sounding board." Breather Days could also be used for going back and filling in synopses, if need be.

(NaNoWriMo's culture of "Never look back, never pause, just throw as many words on the page as you can, regardless of what those words mean," is ultimately what always led to my mental and emotional burnout by the end of November)

There is no fixed word count for success. The point is to finish a satisfying story.

Whatcha think?

#nanowrimo alternatives #my thoughts #writing #Dreamwith x-Post

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aus-wnt · 8 months

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Matildas star Steph Catley was at a training camp for club side Arsenal when a nutritionist blurted out the news: Sam Kerr had ruptured her ACL while at a Chelsea training camp in Morocco.

“I literally felt like someone had stabbed me in the stomach,” Catley said.

“My stomach fell. I just felt really emotional really quickly just because I felt really removed from it and I couldn’t go and see her and I couldn’t speak to her in that moment.”

Women’s soccer is booming. Before her injury, Kerr, the Matildas captain, and Catley, the vice captain, were part of an Australian side that captured the nation’s attention in the Women’s World Cup in 2023. The Arsenal defender then flew back to London where she played in front of record crowds in the Women’s Super League, including 59,042 at the Emirates Stadium against Kerr’s Chelsea in December.

But that boom is hiding a serious issue.

As a female athlete, Catley is no stranger to serious injuries among her peers. As well as Kerr’s injury, Holly McNamara was called up for the Matildas last year but did her ACL. At Arsenal alone, four stars suffered ACL injuries in the space of just six months: Lionesses captain Leah Williamson, WSL’s record goalscorer Vivianne Miedema, European Championship Golden Boot winner Beth Mead and Austrian international Laura Wienroither.

Catley says the foundations of women’s soccer are not developing fast enough to keep pace with the product.

“Obviously it’s what we absolutely love doing, but I think now that the game is at a point where the standard is so, so high and the games are so challenging and physically demanding [that] a lot of teams and a lot of clubs don’t have facilities and don’t have the right calibre of staff that can keep players healthy and strong,” she said.

“They don’t have the facilities to cater for the amount of demand and the pressures that are on the women’s game now.”

On the eve of Williamson’s return to the playing squad late last month, the 26-year-old defender said the current calendar and demands on female footballers were unsustainable.

“We’re not bred for this. We get to October and girls are saying ‘I’m tired’ because you’re carrying so much from the previous season,” Williamson told UK’s The Telegraph.

“We are driving ourselves into the ground, so some sort of solution needs to be found soon, in terms of the schedule, otherwise it’s not sustainable.”

ACL ruptures disproportionately affect female athletes at a rate 3-6 times greater than their male counterparts.

Research into ACL injury prevention and causation is ongoing and newer reports suggest an intersection of risk factors of intrinsic (anatomy, physiology, biomechanics and hormones) and extrinsic factors (training, conditioning, preparation, facilities and resources).

While Catley was hesitant to speak on the causation of ACL ruptures as she was not an injury expert, she said there was no room to properly switch off mentally or physically on the merry-go-round of the calendar year, putting a lot of strain on the resources available.

“I don’t know if A, B and C leads to this. But yeah, it does logically make sense that if there’s that much demand and not enough support and not enough foundations underneath that people break down mentally, physically, in every way possible,” said Catley.

“I think that’s human and that’s the way bodies work.”

Some English clubs can play as many as three games a week during the height of the season when the WSL, Champions League, FA Cup and League Cup calendars are running concurrently. The additional travel, plus the demands of national camps and tournaments, can further complicate schedules. Major tournaments occur in most WSL off-seasons, including a rotation of Olympics, World Cup and regional championships such as the Asian Cup, meaning most players will get one off-season free every four years.

When Matildas defender Ellie Carpenter ruptured her ACL just over a year out from the World Cup during Lyon’s Women’s Champions League final win over Barcelona, she referred to it months later as a “blessing in disguise”.

“I really needed this break. I was very fatigued, I’ve played a lot – a lot – of football in the last year and a half. I was just on the verge of [being] burnt out, really,” she told Forbes last March.

“The injury came, and, obviously, it was disappointing but at the same time, it was the perfect time for me to reset, get stronger, have a rest, have an off-season that I never really have had.”

In Kerr’s absence, Catley will captain the Matildas for the final Olympic qualifiers in Melbourne on February 24 and 28 against Uzbekistan and, if they progress, again at the Olympics in July. Catley did the same in Kerr’s absence for the first half of the World Cup.

Catley said as a kid, she never thought captaining a women’s team at the Olympics would even be possible. But now it is, it’s a “pinch me” moment.

“To be honest, even having that honour at the World Cup was extremely special and something that I’ll remember for the rest of my life, and cherish for the rest of my life, because it’s stuff that you dream of, really.”

But before she flies to Melbourne, for a 48-hour stop to play the first qualifier, she is deep in the thick of an Arsenal campaign for the title.

The club is looking almost back to full strength after regaining Mead, Miedema and Williamson this season, and sit third on the table, below Chelsea and Manchester City.

Catley said the title race was heating up. And while in the past seasons her side has struggled in those bigger games, this year they’ve done well against top opponents – but let others slip that they’d usually win. This is best summed up by their 4-1 win over Chelsea in December and then a 1-0 loss to Tottenham the following week. On Sunday, they lost to relegation-threatened West Ham.

“You’ve got some incredible teams that are also in form and if anyone drops points at any point, it’s like sharks,” said Catley.

“It’s just so, so close.”

#steph catley #arsenal women #arsenal wfc #matildas #auswnt

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imagines--galore · 4 months

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||The Thread of Fate|| Part Twenty-Four

Summary: Soulmate AU. They say the Thread of Fate connects you to your one true love. It may tangle. It may stretch. But it will never break. Wrapped around your little finger it tightens when it feels your soulmate is close and loosens when they are far. And becomes visible with the colors of your soulmate’s Nation when you finally fall in love with them.

Pairing: Zuko x OroraOC (ATLA)

Rating || Genres || Warnings: T+ Romance. Adventure.

Previous Chapters - Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen, Part Seventeen, Part Eighteen, Part Nineteen, Part Twenty, Part Twenty-One, Part Twenty-Two, Twenty-Three

A/N: We are getting close to the Day of the Black Sun people! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!!!! THINGS WILL START HAPPENING NOW SO HANG ON TO YOUR HATS! And I know Orora's part is all over the place but only because that's how she feels right now? I dunno? Hope you enjoy!

The wind blew softly through her hair as she sat with her arms resting atop the saddle, staring out towards the wide open sky and ocean that flew by beneath them. The sun had almost set, the last rays of sunshine peaking over the horizon, turning the sky a beautiful hue of orange, pink and purple. Behind her, she could hear her friends but she hadn't really felt like adding anything to the conversation, so instead she opted to admire the view.

And though it painted the perfect picture of serenity, her mind was anything but.

Orora was still a little disconcerted about the dream she had had a few nights ago. It seemed strange, that after so long she would dream about Zuko, one that did not involve a nightmare.

She'd stopped having nightmares weeks ago, and her mind had simply opted to not dream at all. Well, that wasn't really a conscious choice on her part, but it seemed her sub-consciousness was giving her a break by letting her sleep peacefully through the night.

Until a few nights ago that is.

When Zuko had appeared in her dreams.

Held her.

Kissed her forehead.

Touched her.

Comforted her.

And though it was a dream, it had all seemed so real.

Which was utterly ridiculous because how could she feel everything physically that had happened in her dream?

And yet Orora could actually recall the feeling of the wind in her hair, the smell of the sea, the sensation of the sandy beach under her bare feet. If she closed her eyes, she could hear his voice in her mind, promising her what she dared not repeat to herself lest a fickle thing known as hope grow in her heart and just set her up for future disappointment.

Not to mention that when she awoke, her string had been glowing red. And it had stayed that way for quite sometime even after she woke up.

Glancing at her string, which certainly wasn't glowing right then, she wandered if perhaps the closer they got to the Fire Nation capital, would Zuko be able to feel her near?

And that made her nervous.

Was what he said to her in her dream a figment of her imagination, or had it been real?

She wanted to ask someone else's opinion about everything so badly. Maybe Aang? He would know something about it. But she didn't want to worry him. With the Invasion coming up the poor kid already had so much on his mind.

Katara wasn't an option either. The poor girl was only just starting to recover from her ordeal with Hama. Orora felt a shiver run down her spine as she thought of that old crone. No, no point in making Katara worry over her when she had her own demons to fight.

Sokka would be a good choice, but his mind was preoccupied with the Invasion plans and going over each and very detail over and over again. He would be the last one to go to sleep sometimes, and the first to wake up, pouring over maps. Not Sokka then.

Toph? Maybe? The girl did give good advice for a thirteen year old. Not to mention, out of all four of them, Toph knew the most about her situation with Zuko and the conflicted feelings she still had for the Prince.

Talking to Toph sounded good then, she mused, chin resting atop her arms, her eyes closing as she slowly began to doze off.

That is, until she caught sight of something from the corner of her eyes just as she closed them.

Or rather someone.

Instantly, her blue eyes snapped open, head whipping to the side as she stared at the empty spot next to her.

She blinked. There was no one there.

But she could've sworn.....

"Ice Princess? You okay? Your heartbeat is going crazy?" Once more her head whipped around to look at her friends, who were all staring at her a little confused at her sudden reaction. Toph was staring at her, eyes narrowed, and for the first time she felt how fast her heart was beating.

Shaking her head, Orora smiled in a reassuring manner. "Nothing. I just nodded off and had that weird feeling like I was falling or something." Aang, who sat upfront nodded. "I get it! It's happened to me too! And its weird since I can't even use airbending to stop myself from falling in my dreams." He added with a laugh. Orora responded with a smile, thankful that she could always count on Aang to distract her with his cheerful disposition.

Though, as she moved to sit next to him to avoid Toph's observant unseeing gaze, the fact what she had seen remained at the back of her mind.

Not a what, rather a who.

A who with very distinct scar on his face, and amber eyes that had haunted her dreams a few days ago.

"You alright there Orora?" Aang spoke up from beside her. Pursing her lips, and deciding to be truthful, the girl gave a shrug. "Honestly? I don't know. The closer we get to the Fire Nation Capital the nervous I get." She revealed, despite having decided just a few moments ago that she wouldn't burden Aang with her thoughts.

Giving her a look of understanding and a sympathetic smile, Aang reached out to rest a reassuring hand on her forearm. "Is it because we're gonna be storming the Capital, or because you're nervous about seeing Zuko again?"

Orora chewed on her bottom lip as she averted her gaze to the calm ocean flying by beneath her. "Does it make me selfish if I say the latter?" She finally asked after a moment of silence, raising her gaze to look at Aang once again. The young airbender shook his head. "Not at all. But maybe you should ask yourself, are you feeling nervous because you're going to see him again? Or are you feeling nervous because you think you won't be able to face him if the situation calls for it?"

And that was what worried her.

Would her past feelings allow her to face him one on one? Whatever anger and anguish she had felt over his betrayal lay dormant within her. Maybe she should reawaken it be reliving the moment under Ba Sing Se again?

"There it is!" Sokka's voice suddenly cut through her thoughts as he stood pointing towards an island that grew larger in size as they approached. "Argh! Finally! I feel like we've been flying forever." Toph groaned, eager to feel the earth under her feet again. Pulling on the reins, Aang was able to guide Appa into a smooth landing just beyond a clump of bushes.

Everyone quickly dismounted, making their way through the bush. Orora smiled at the sight of the koala sheep that were sleeping peacefully in the clearing. The sun had set about half an hour ago, and though it was still early in the evening, she was tired. Rubbing her eyes, the girl stifled a yawn as Sokka walked around, looking at his map.

They all waited patiently, albeit sleepily, for him to give the all-clear.

"This is it!" He finally exclaimed, prompting Toph to jerk awake where she'd been dozing off on her feet. "The official rendezvous point for the invasion force." Well it was rather peaceful, Orora mused to herself, moving to help Katara and Aang get their bed rolls from atop Appa. "How did you pick this place?" Toph asked, turning to Sokka who grinned proudly.

"Before we split up, my dad and I found this island on the map." He explained. "It's uninhabited, and the harbors surrounded by the cliffs seemed like the perfect secluded place."

As she spread her bed roll on the floor, Orora hummed. "Thank Spirits no one lives here. We can really relax and sleep without having to stay on guard all the time." Picking up another bed roll, she frowned at it before throwing it in Sokka's direction.

The lump of clothing hit him in the face with a soft thump. He pushed it off, glaring at Orora but she was too busy undoing her hair to pay him any mind.

"Nice choice, Sokka." Katara praised her brother, as she too untied her hair. Having seen Orora's little prank and wanting to avoid a scuffle between them both she continued. "And we're here four days ahead of schedule."

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say.

Aang who had only just laid down, suddenly scrambled to his feet. "Wait! Four days?" He cried out, his voice anxious, his face panicked. "The invasion's in four days?" Orora glanced at him, before she yawned hugely once more, her eyes tearing up as she did. Sokka, having unrolled the bed roll Orora had thrown at him, yawned.

"Whatever. That's like four days from now. Let's just calm down and-" He didn't even finish his sentence before he was snoring away. A little ways away Toph was beginning to snooze as well, her feet elevated so she wouldn't have to see during the night.

"For once I agree with Sokka." Orora muttered sleepily, her mind exhausted from over thinking throughout the day. She hoped tonight would be one of those nights where she didn't dream.

Katara nodded. "Sokka's got the right idea, Aang. We're here. We're ready." Orora barely heard the rest of Katara's sentence as she began to drift off, her eyes closing. "The best thing we can do now is get plenty of rest." So saying the waterbender laid down, falling asleep almost instantly. Aang looked around at his now sleeping companions.

"I guess."

Silence settled over the small clearing, broken every now and then when one of the sleeping children would turn over in their sleep, or in Sokka's case, would let out an occasional snore.

And though in the beginning she slept soundly, as the night crept on, a frown creased Orora's forehead and she tossed and turned, as she began to dream.

————————–

She was being led through and open space. Her wrists and ankles were bound, her clothes were in tatters. The sky above her glowed an ominous red. Her gaze flitted around, trying to find any means of escape, yet nothing rose to mind. There were Fire Nation soldiers all around and not a single familiar face in sight. A hand at her back pushed her forward, prompting her to stumble and fall to her knees.

Somehow she caught herself before her face hit the dirt. Shrugging off the hands that gripped her arms, Orora rose to her knees, her gaze tilting up to the sight before her.

There was Ozai, standing over her with a look of contempt on his face. He cut an extremely imposing figure dressed in his royal robes, and his face was just as cruel as she had seen in the village statue of him. Azula stood next to her father, her features settled into a look of utter glee as she regarded the waterbender. Somehow they both appeared even more fierce and powerful looking then they probably were in real life.

"So, you are the one." Ozai spoke, and though he didn't give any further information, she knew what he was talking about. Orora didn't speak though, she continued to look back at them both. Her face was devoid of emotion and that seemed to annoy Azula.

"May I get rid of her father?" The younger girl all but cooed gleefully, as if she would delight in ending the other girl's life.

And she probably would.

Orora watched as Ozai opened his mouth, to agree with his daughter, to.........what? End her? Torture her? Make her bleed?

Whatever it would be, Orora closed her eyes as she sighed, she could not fight the inevitable. Funnily enough, she wasn't scared.

A shadow fell over her. Probably Azula coming to play with her. To have her fun.

"You'll have to go through me."

Her eyes shot open as her entire body went rigid with utter shock.

No!

It couldn't be!

Despite her disbelief, she managed to tilt her head back and look up to the person standing over her.

His back was to her, but there was no denying that all too familiar head of hair, the stance not to mention the swords he gripped in his hands.

Zuko.

It was Zuko.

Zuko was standing over her.

He was protecting her from his family.

Saving her.

Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. Her gaze flitted from his back, to his shoulders, to his hands, to his finger.

The finger that held his string.

That glowed a bright blue.

Perhaps she whispered his name? Or maybe she called out to him out loud?

Whatever it was, it compelled him to shift his head slightly so he could look over his shoulder at her.

Orora barely managed to catch a glimpse of his scar, barely saw his lips as he called back to her.

Before her eyes snapped open and she sat up fully awake.

————————–

His life was beginning to get rather tedious. Sure he had enjoyed all the luxuries he had been denied during his banishment and then his subsequent life as a refugee, but since his arrival at the Capital he had slowly begun to realize that he kind of missed that life.

Over the three years he had spent searching for Aang, Zuko had seen the entire world and it had amazed him just how powerful and yet beautiful nature could be.

Rather like his soulmate, he figured.

It wasn't until he began to interact with the people who lived in the world, did he realize that they contributed to the beauty of the world.

Unlike the Fire Nation.

He frowned as he looked at the hot towel that had been offered to him, before he closed his eyes in resignation and dabbed his face with it. Orora would hate all the fuss, he realized. She had told him that one of the other reasons for her leaving the North Pole, other then her family, had been because she wanted freedom to do whatever she wanted. Sure that meant giving up some things she liked, but in the long run, it had all been worth it.

Maybe the luxuries were unexciting because there was no one else to share them with.

As he walked out of the Palace, his gaze flitted from one side to the next, as if he were waiting for someone to suddenly appear.

But no one did.

And he frowned.

It had been several days since he had last seen Orora, in his dreams or otherwise. And while he did think of her everyday, it was nothing compared to the comfort her presence had had.

Though the constant glow of his string did serve to remind him just how deep his affections for her ran, despite her not being there with him.

He needed to speak with someone, he mused to himself as he reached the gates of the Palace and looked to the mansion just across the street.

Thank the Spirits he had someone he could trust and who trusted him.

————————–

Pulling out the fabric she had bought so long ago, Orora smiled at the color.

"Hey! When do you get that?" Katara asked, reaching out to feel the texture of the fabric. Her smile turning sheepish, Orora gave a nervous laugh. "I got it from the hustle money." She admitted, to which Katara gave a disapproving glare, but shook her head. "Well, what're you gonna do with it?" She asked, as Orora moved to get the small sewing kit she had also bought.

"Well I don't want to face the Fire Nation is their colors." She gestured to the clothes she had on. "I want to fight them wearing the colors of my tribe." The other girl nodded in understanding. "But isn't it a little darker then what you would usually wear?"

Orora nodded as she looked over all the rough sketching she had done over the past few weeks. "Well I figured warriors wear dark blue when they go into battle." She admitted, to which Katara gave a small laugh. "Trust you to go against tradition." She said, playfully nudging Orora to which the older girl grinned at her. "Oh? And which one of us beat up Pakku so he would teach her how to fight?"

Giggling Katara peered at the sketches Orora had done, smiling as she picked up one. "Maybe you should do this one?" She suggested, holding it out for the older girl. Orora nodded. "I needed a second opinion. Thanks Katara!" So saying the girl moved to pick up a pair of scissors.

Grabbing the corner of the fabric, she lifted it in the air to shake it out.

But then her gaze caught sight of someone standing just at the other end of the cloth. Her mouth fell open in a sudden gasp, and the corners slipped from her fingers as the fabric dropped. Behind her Katara continued to go through the sketches, leaving Orora to stare in disbelief at Zuko.

Their eyes met, ice blue on warm amber. He looked just as she had seen him on that final day in Ba Sing Se, only before what had happened in the catacombs. He smiled at her, that soft happy smile that only she managed to get out of him, and her heart physically ached at the sight.

The dream she had had last night suddenly came back to her. And how, despite the obvious danger of her dream she had not been afraid.

Almost as if she had known.

Known that he would come and save her.

Her string glowed a bright red, prompting her to raise her hand and inspect it briefly. Zuko mirrored her action, so that she could see the blue of his string.

"-ra? Orora?"

The young waterbender was jilted out of her entrancement when Katara's hand landed on her shoulder. She let out a startled cry, tensing up and dropping the scissors she had been holding as she pivoted on her feet.

Her heart beat fast in her chest, and she panted, prompting Katara to frown at her in worry. "You alright? I've been calling your name for awhile now?" She asked, as the older girl turned to look over her shoulder where Zuko had been standing a few moments ago.

The space was empty.

"S-sorry, I was.....lost in thought." The girl finally admitted, reaching up to brush her hand back from her face where it hung around her shoulders in soft waves. Katara's worry did not dissipate as she continued to frown. "How about I help you with cutting the fabric?" She offered, picking up the scissors as she did.

Giving a small nod, Orora turned her attention back to her little project, hoping to push away the sight of her soulmate standing just across from her from her mind.

It helped.

But only a little since her string glowed red throughout the day, serving as a constant reminder of the depth of her feelings for Zuko.

————————–

"So have you given any thought to what I said?" Mai asked as she set down the teapot and held out the cup of tea she had just poured. Accepting the cup, he took a small sip from it, his eyes darting to the open doorway. Mai seemed to catch his silent question and quickly reassured him with a nod.

No one was out there to eavesdrop on their conversation.

"I have." He finally revealed. "But I'm still working on all of it, it'll take me some time to go over everything. Make sure I'm ready." He revealed, keeping his response as vague as he could. Mai nodded.

"I get it, though I figured you would want to prepare after the all-day war meeting coming up?" She revealed, taking a sip from her own cup as she did. Zuko frowned.

"War meeting? What are you talking about?" He asked, his voice sharp. Mai looked surprised before continuing. "Azula mentioned something. I-I assumed you were going, too." She said, as she too frowned at his confusion. He was the Prince wasn't he? Shouldn't he be aware of the meeting like Azula had been?

Zuko tried not to let that disappointed feeling settle in his heart. He had thought that perhaps his father would actually treat him like a son, but that hope had sailed out the window. But not even treating him as Prince of the Fire Nation?

That truly gutted him. "I guess I wasn't invited." He finally said, ending the conversation with a sip from his teacup. The both of them sat in silence for the rest of his stay. A simple goodbye was all they offered one another as he departed, leaving him with his thoughts as he rode the palanquin back across the road.

Why did he keep setting himself up for disappointment one moment after the other?

It was actually starting to get pathetic, even in his eyes. Orora would surely have his head for allowing himself such false hope. Honestly, he liked to think he had more chance of Orora actually forgiving him then his father treating him as his own son.

Though he doubted it would be easy.

As he walked back to his room, his string glowing an ever constant blue. Once ready for bed, he dropped onto the soft mattress, reaching under his pillow to retrieve the blue dragon comb. He set it at his side, where he could see it and just relive the memories of the owner.

————————–

Her fingers were beginning to cramp by the time she was done cutting the desired shapes and outlines. There was no point in actually starting her sewing till the next day since the sun had set awhile ago.

She hadn't spent the entire day cutting. Somewhere inbetween she had taken a lunch break as well as a bending break with Katara. The Master waterbender had taught her some new moves that would help her in the upcoming battle. In turn, Orora had gone through some basic leg movements to teach Katara how to waterbend with her feet and legs.

All in all, it had been a productive day.

Aside from the fact that she kept seeing Zuko here and there throughout the day at the most random of moments.

Now that everyone was finally asleep, including Aang, who had come rather late to where they were all sleeping, Orora sneaked away to the small river outlet she and Katara had been practicing in the entire day.

Looking around, she removed her shoes, before stepping into the water. Inhaling deeply she closed her eyes, concentrating with all that she had.

And when she finally opened her eyes, he was standing right in front of her, just a few feet away.

"What're you doing here?" She demanded, ignoring the way her heart leapt at the sight of him. He shrugged in response, crossing his arms over his chest. "You called me just now, didn't you?"

The sound of his voice had every single memory of him rising to the front of her mind. Slightly overwhelmed by the emotions, Orora did her best to not let them overtake her completely.

"You alright?" He asked, obvious concern lacing his tone as he peered at her from under the fringe of his black hair that covered his forehead.

"Why should you care?" She spat out, allowing her anger to rule her tongue for once as she glared at him. The water responded to her shift in emotions, rising in a small wave around her. He didn't seem at all perturbed by her sudden outburst. Instead he sighed, suddenly looking really really sad.

"You know why." He finally responded as he raised his finger, the string glowing blue. She exhaled angrily. "That is not a reason. It shouldn't be. Not after what you did."

It was stupid. She was talking to someone who wasn't even there.

And yet.......she couldn't help it. Couldn't help show the hurt and anger that had laid dormant for so many weeks. Though this was only a small trickle of it. Most of what she felt was still behind a wall she had built within herself.

Doing her best to calm herself, she turned her head so she wouldn't have to look at him. "Please, just go away."

She didn't have to look up to know he was gone. Though she did in the end.

Just so she wouldn't have to see her string flicker with color.

————————–

"Sokka, get up! I needa know what day it is!"

The startled, panicked cry of Aang was what had her sitting up even before she had opened her eyes. The night had been restless for her, and she'd only managed to catch a few hours of sleep.

And now there was Aang screaming at the top of his lungs, first thing in the morning. She forced her eyes open, only to be greeted with the sight of Sokka jumping up and hitting his head on a nearby rock. Despite the fright she had gotten, Orora couldn't help but snigger at the boy's expense. Beside her Katara and Toph sat up as well.

"Relax! It's still two days before the invasion!" Toph reminded, as Aang began to pull on Sokka's limbs to try and get him to stand up. Now that the sleep was out of her eyes, Orora was finally able to see the state Aang was in.

His hair was in disarray, there were bags under his eyes, and he looked frantic and panicked as he insisted that Sokka perfect his rock climbing skills, because of a dream he had.

"But that was just a dream." Sokka reminded before insisting. "I'm a great climber!"

The young Avatar was having none of it as he pointed towards a nearby cliff. "Then climb that cliff! Climb it fast!" They all turned to the take in the sheer size of the cliff. Sokka returned his gaze back to Aang who simply pointed even more adamantly, if that were possible. Sighing the Water Tribe boy reluctantly began to climb the cliff, grumbling under his breath as he did.

Shaking her head, Orora moved to put on her shoes.

"Don't drink that!" Aang suddenly shouted, pointing at Toph who had just taken a gulp from a water skin. She spat the water out, straight onto Katara who grimaced in disgust. Orora muffled her sudden giggle as Katara glared at her in annoyance.

"Why? Is it poisoned?" Toph exclaimed, as Katara waterbended the water off her.

"In my dream, we were right in the middle of the invasion, and you had to stop to use the bathroom!" Though she was listening to what Aang said, Orora stood to start preparing breakfast. "We died because of your tiny bladder." Seeing movement out of the corner of his eyes, Aang's gaze suddenly shifted to Orora where she was fathering ingredients for breakfast. "And you!" He shouted, pointing towards the older girl, startling her into dropping her ingredients. "In one of my dreams you made something to eat and we all got sick and none of us could fight in the invasion."

Orora blinked at him. Alright, now she was starting to get a little worried about his state of mind. But Aang didn't stop there, he pivoted on his feet, turning to Katara and pointing at her. "And you need to start wearing your hair up. In my dream, your hair got caught in a train, and-"

But he didn't complete his dream. Katara's hand on the side of his face had him pausing. "Aang!" She spoke loudly and firmly over his panicked gushing. "I know you're just trying to help, but you really need to get a grip." She tried to reassure him. "You're unraveling."

Aang blinked, taking a deep breath as he shook his head. "You're right. I'm losing my mind." He groaned softly. Reaching out Orora patted his head gently. "How about we all have some nice breakfast. Maybe that will calm you down?" She offered, smiling kindly at the younger boy. "I promise I'll be careful with my cooking." She joked, winking at him playfully. Somehow he managed to smile back at her.

However, an hour later, Orora realized that there was no helping Aang. He was still pacing around, his eye twitching, his fingers rotating and fumbling as he fretted over what was to come on the day of invasion.

"It's like every time I think about how stressed I am, I just end up more stressed. I'm like a big growing snowball of nerves." As he paced some more, she found her eyes flitting to Katara who looked back at her. They both exchanged a look of concern.

Sokka who had been hammering away at a piece of armor for Appa turned to look at Aang. "Of course you are. That's 'cause you gotta fight the Fire Lord, the baddest man on the planet. And you better win or we're all done for."

Orora slapped her forehead while Toph sighed at Sokka's lack of attempt to calm Aang down. Katara stood up and approached her brother.

"Sokka! You're not helping!" She stated in an annoyed tone, to which Sokka stood up and shrugged. "What? It's true. That's the deal. He knows it." Before Katara could respond to her brother's lack of tact, a flash of blue flew through the air, catching Sokka around the mouth and freezing there in place, effectively shutting him up. As Sokka began to struggle with the ice mask, courtesy of an annoyed waterbender from the North Pole, Katara walked towards an even more nervous looking Aang and touched his shoulders.

"You know what, I've got just the thing! Get ready to be de-stressified!" She said, smiling and leading Aang away. "If your trick doesn't work, I'm next!" Orora called out to their retreating backs as a shadow loomed over her. She raised an eyebrow at the sight of Sokka who made several muffled angry sounds before pointing to his mouth.

She rolled her eyes. "Next time, be more tactful." She warned, waving her hand and allowing the ice to melt away from his mouth. In response, the boy stomped back to his personal project, grumbling under his breath.

Orora turned her attention to the half sewn shirt she had dropped in her lap, picking it up and resuming her task. She was so engrossed in what she was doing, that she barely noticed when Toph and Sokka walked away with Appa, to mold the shape of the armor that would be using metal to his size.

"What're you making?"

Her hands stilled, but she didn't look up.

"I am making a new outfit to wear for when we defeat the Fire Nation." She heard herself say. Why she spoke to him though was beyond her. She should just ignore him and he would disappear.

And yet, some small part of her, the one that still held that soft spot for him, that missed him, wanted to speak to him, to hear his opinion.

Even if, in a way, she would be speaking to herself.

"So, not a new outfit because you're meeting me then?" His voice was teasing. She still didn't look up.

"Don't flatter yourself. I'll be busy fighting to take down your nation to even think about you." Lies, her inner voice told her, but she ignored it.

He was silent for a few moments. "You know, I always wandered how you would look in blue. I mean I did see you at the North Pole, but you were kind of covered in blood then." She could feel the smile in his voice as he continued. "I bet you'll look beautiful."

His compliment, threw her off guard.

Her eyes widened, and despite her initial promise to ignore him and just focus on her fingers as the needle and thread flew through the fabric, she looked up.

Only to see that he was gone.

Leaving her with a hollow feeling in her chest, and a flickering string.

Luckily distraction came in the form of a disgruntled looking Avatar. "Well Katara's sauna method didn't work." He grumbled turning his heavy lidded gaze towards Orora who set her sewing aside. "In that case, lets see if I can help you relax."

So saying, the girl led him away to a location that was partially covered by a big outcropping of a cliff side. It provided enough shade that their ice sculptures wouldn't melt.

"Making sculptures always helped me." Orora explained, as she led Aang to stand in front of his block of ice. "It helps keep my mind focused on one task and helps me relax." She explained further, gesturing for him to start whenever he was ready.

"What should I make though?" He asked, looking back at her curiously to which she shrugged. "Whatever comes to mind."

Aang stood still for a few moments, probably contemplating on who or what to mold from the ice. Finally his arms and hands began to move and Orora watched, in growing horror at what he created.

It was an ice sculpture in the likeness of Ozai. However, he appeared more like a demon spirit then his real self. Aang had even given him horns, a forked tongue and about six eyes. She winced as Aang stepped back, clear fear and shock written across his features as he took in what he had created.

"Erm....maybe, you shouldn't have let your nightmares guide you so much?" Orora suggested, to which Aang let out a groan of frustration. "What am I going to do?" He lamented, as Orora waved a hand and his sculpture melted away. "You're had nightmares before Orora." He suddenly recalled, turning to her, his face desperate.

"How did you get rid of them?" Orora blinked, frowning slightly in thought. "I don't know if my nightmares were at the same intensity as yours Aang. I mean the emotions behind them were very different. I just had to let out all that I was feeling for the nightmares to stop."

She looked at him, reaching out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I should think for your nightmares to stop, you just need to face your fear." Her suggestion had Aang's eyes widening in panic once more and his entire body to tremble. "But that doesn't mean you have to do it alone." She reassured him quickly. He was so much shorter then her, and it only made her feel all the more protective over him.

"I promise, when you face the Fire Lord on the day of the invasion, I'll be there with you." She promised. So saying, she wrapped her arms around his slight frame, enveloping him in what could only be described a soothing embrace. It took him a few seconds before he returned the gesture, and for a few moments, Aang was able to feel safe and secure rather then the crippling fear ad anxiety that had hounded him for the past two days.

Once he had pulled back from the embrace, she smiled at him. "Maybe you should talk to someone about what you're feeling? Talking always helps, maybe Sokka can be the perfect candidate for that?" She added to which Aang nodded.

"You're right! I'm gonna go find him! Thanks Orora!" So saying, the young Avatar raced away on an air scooter. Once the air had settled, Orora turned her gaze towards the ice sculpture that she had created for her own purpose.

And that purpose was quickly realized fifteen minutes later when she stood in front of an ice sculpture of her soulmate.

"Why do you have to be on my mind so often?" She whispered as she put the final touches to the sculpture before stepping away. "You should mean nothing to me after what you did, and yet I still find myself thinking about you. And it feels like I'm betraying our cause when I do."

Silence.

Her only companion was the glow of her string and an ice sculpture that melted away with a wave of her hand.

————————–

The meeting had just adjourned.

And he had been invited to it. his father hadn't wanted to start the meeting until he arrived. He had sat beside his father, in the seat of honor, had been the perfect son, the ideal prince.

But then, as he walked down the corridor towards his room, why did he feel so alone?

For so long he had wanted nothing more then love and acknowledgment from his father, from the man who should be there to guide him and help him should he stumble.

But that meeting, what his father had decided, helped get rid of that notion once and for all.

He was never going to change, Zuko realized. That man was going to remain hard-hearted and unforgiving. He would destroy the entire world for his gain. For glory.

During the entire duration of the plan his father had told so gleefully, all Zuko could think of was all the lives that would be lost because of that plan.

All the plan who would loose their homes, their loves ones.

Everything.

Zuko had lived among those people. They had shown him kindness when no one else could ever have. They had helped him, his Uncle and Orora as well.

How could his father be so cruel and unfeeling?

Orora had been right.

Try as he might, he would never gain his father's approval the way Azula had.

And his Uncle had been right too.

He had to forge his own path, his own destiny.

While his initial drive had been to find Orora and maybe stop the Fire Nation from damaging the world too much. Now? It was completely different.

Now his destiny included helping the Avatar end the war and defeat the Fire Nation.

Once and for all.

————————–

The whole day she had worked on her outfit. It was almost finished and just needed a few embellishments. Orora hoped she had gotten the proportions right.

"Its turning out great."

If only the mirage of her soulmate would leave her alone.

She looked up from her task, glaring at Zuko as he sat opposite her. He met her gaze with a small hesitant smile. "You know, if you want to say something to me, about what I did, you can." He suggested after a brief moment of tense silence. Orora shook her head, returning her attention to her clothing, her needle flying.

"What would be the use?! You're not here so I would be yelling at nothing and my friends already have Aang's spiral to deal with. I have no desire to burden them with my troubles." She responded, wincing as she accidentally pierced her thumb with the tip of the needle. Wiping away the drop of blood, she continued.

"No, I am going to yell at you when you're actually here in front of me. Because that is what you deserve for what you did to me. To your Uncle." Her hands trembled as that anger that had festered within her for so long in the darkness began to reach a boiling point.

"And I look forward to it." She blinked, her gaze once more finding his. Her brow creased in a confused frown. "To my yelling at you?" She asked, thinking that maybe her mind was really spiraling like Aang's.

Zuko shook his head. "No. To see you."

Her eyes widened at the absolute honesty on his face as well as the smile of utter happiness that played about his lips.

She shook her head, closing her eyes. "This is all in your head." She whispered. "This is all in your head."

Orora couldn't afford to get her hopes up. But it seemed fate was just setting her up to be disappointed all over again. Starting from the dream where he had promised he would come back to her, and now, his mirage appearing to her and saying things like that.

Tears of frustration pricked her eyes as she finally opened them and saw that he was gone. Trying not to let that sinking feeling in her chest make her feel anymore hollow then she already was, she returned to the final stitches of her pants.

Only to glance up when a gust of wind blew by her. Or rather an airbender with his arms in the air and a cry of complete panic echoing as he went by. Orora blinked at his retreated back, wandering what had scared him like that.

A moment later Toph followed his path and she had her explanation.

"What did you do?" She asked, prompting the blind girl to scowl at her. "How'd you know I did something?" Se asked sounding a little offended to which Orora rolled her eyes. "You're always doing something sinister or planning it Toph."

A beat of silence before Toph grinned and nodded. "That's true." Kicking up dirt she walked to sit beside Orora, using her knitting basket as a footstool to keep her feet elevated.

"So, mind telling me why your heart is racing like you just ran as fast as Twinkletoes?"

Blue eyes blinked at Toph for a few brief moments before the older girl sighed, her shoulders drooping. "I'm just thinking about tomorrow and how I might.....run into Zuko." She finally revealed to the younger girl.

Toph hummed. "You know I've been wandering the same thing. I mean we're gonna be taking down the Fire Nation and he is the Prince of the Fire Nation. How're you gonna handle it?" Setting aside her sewing in favor of pulling her legs to her chest, Orora sighed. "I honestly have no idea." She admitted, allowing her fear and uncertainty of the situation to leak into her tone.

Toph was silent next to her for a few moments. "Well, whatever happens, and no matter what the outcome, we'll all face it together." The waterbender glanced at the earthbender from the corner of her eyes. Slowly a small smile pulled at her lips as she nodded. "Yeah, I suppose we will."

Grinning Toph pulled her hand back and punched Orora in the shoulder, prompting the girl to let out a grunt of pain. "I see your method of showing affection has not changed." The girl said, rubbing the sore spot as Toph grinned. "Nope, and it ain't happening either Ice Princess. So get over it!"

"Hey guys!" Katara's voice cut through their moment of silence, prompting them both to look towards the source as she raced towards them. "What you want Sugar Queen?" Toph asked. Ignoring the nickname, she simply grinned. "I think I found a way for Aang to sleep." Behind her, her brother was racing to catch a koala sheep, prompting Orora to raise an eyebrow at his antics.

"Has Sokka started to loose it too?" She asked, to which Toph added. "More so then he already had." The both of them laughed at their own jokes, prompting Katara to huff and grab their wrists, pulling them up.

"Come on! This is brilliant."

She spent the rest of the day catching koala sheeps and creating the world's softest bed for Aang. And not for the first time, Orora was grateful for the friends she had accepted as her surrogate family.

Because honestly?

They were all worth the pain and sacrifice.

————————–

And as Orora laid down to sleep that night, her string colorless, she knew what tomorrow would bring.

————————–

And as Zuko laid down to sleep that night, his string a bright glowing blue, he knew what tomorrow would bring.

————————–

Tomorrow would be the day she would face the Fire Nation. And with her family, friends and allies at her side, there was no way they would loose.

————————–

Tomorrow would be the day he would finally leave the Fire Nation for good, free his Uncle and join Aang on his journey to restore balance to the world.

And beg Orora to forgive him for what he had done.

He had a long journey ahead of him, but for once, Zuko wasn't scared.

He was at peace with what fate had decided for him.

And he would see it through this time.

————————–

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#zuko x reader #zuko x oc #zuko imagine #avatar the last airbender #avatar the last airbender fanfiction #prince zuko #avatar the last airbender imagine #aang #sokka #katara #avatar: the last airbender #avatar #avatar aang #the thread of fate

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weirdgenetic-fuckup · 3 months

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Hiii

Can you write a one-shot about the idea that you cheated on dave mustaine and he found out? 💋

A/n: I don't know if you wanted this to end in smut or not but it's just angst, who doesn't love angst <3 I also left it at what may be an odd part so if you want a part two I can do that, just let me know what direction you want it to go in <3

Gimme your Dave asks bc every time I write one I’m reminded of how hot he is, it’ll be written between now and six months from now <3 /hj

Warnings: Angst, cheating, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

Dave was always so distant. He was cold and never truly seemed to care about you, always putting music first.

You'd ask him to go out every now and then but were always left with an open answer, so you'd go out with your friends. You knew they could be encouraging in some... interesting ways, to say the least, but when you went out for a nice dinner you'd planned months in advance with them instead of Dave, heading out to a nearby bar and hooking up with some guy seemed ok.

You didn't think to much of it, it was one night with some random guy you'd never see again, Dave would never even know.

But then it wasn't just one night.

You found yourself going out, telling Dave you'd be with your friends but you'd be at the bar by yourself. Or rather, at the bar on some guy in the bathroom or a back alley somewhere.

This went for a few months. You promised yourself you'd stop but then Dave went on tour with Megadeth. He never called you. Never sent you anything. There was nothing from him and it infuriated you. So you got yourself all prettied up and went out to find guy of the night.

Dave wasn't home and wouldn't be for a while so you brought him back home to have your fun, and you did.

When you woke up he wasn't there, you figured he'd just gone home but when you went downstairs he was making breakfast. "Oh, no, why'd you come down? I was gonna bring it to you." He had said as he rushed over to you. Dave had never done anything like that.

Not recently.

Sure, maybe it wasn't a constant that he'd been cold and distant. He showed he loved you once upon a time, he'd buy you flowers, show you his favourite bands because he wanted you to like the same things he liked. He took you out to fancy dinners, bought you pretty dresses, did everything a good boyfriend should do.

But it all stopped at some point.

When this new guy started showering you in the attention you'd missed oh so dearly you had to keep it coming in some way.

You let him stay until Dave gave home, making him leave a few days in advance just incase you had the dates mixed up or Dave ended up coming back early. He treated you like a queen, making you food, worshipping your body, doing everything just right.

Doing everything the way Dave used to.

Then Dave came back and it was right back to that cold void walking through the halls of your home. You tried talking to him but he'd just grumble something and leave it there. It was pointless.

Weeks passed and you saw something about Dave change. One day he'd be an exact copy of what he used to be, the next he'd go right back to ignoring you.

You woke up one night alone in bed, odd since Dave was usually a heavy sleeper and never left the bed even if he did wake up.

You checked the time and saw it was past three. Worried, you decided to go looking for Dave.

You heard voices coming from the living room and went to investigate, finding Dave sitting on the couch and anxiously biting the skin around his nails as he stared at the TV.

"What are you doing?" You asked as you came up to him, sitting next to him on the couch. He didn't respond, didn't even look at you. His eyes stayed glued to the TV, a blank expression on his face. "Dave?" Again no response. You huffed and leaned against him, letting your eyes close since you were still tired.

"You cheated on me?" He asked. Your body tensed and your eyes shot open.

"Huh?" Is all you managed to get out.

"You cheated on me." He said, more of a statement now. "Your boyfriend called, asking if you were busy." You inhaled deeply and pulled away from him.

"Oh..."

"Oh?" He asked, finally tearing his gaze away from the TV to look at you. "Is that it?"

You shrugged. "What do you want me to say?"

Dave glared at you before shrugging, sighing before he spoke. "I don't know. Not that, I guess." He mumbled as he looked back to the TV. You reached for the remote and turned it off.

"What do we do now?" Dave said nothing. "Do you want me out?" Nothing. "Dave?" Silence.

You stared at him, waiting for an answer, a reaction. Anything. You wanted him to scream at you, yell at you for what you did, you wanted him to throw things and kick you out.

"Are you serious?" You demanded, all your anger over the past few months, over everything the two of you had been through, over everything he'd done to you, it all boiled up and burst at the surface. "Nothing, you're giving me nothing?"

He didn't even flinch as your voice raised. "I wanted attention! I wanted someone to love me and not care to show it! I wanted more than this cold fucker that showed up randomly and took the man I loved, what happened to him, huh? He let groupies fuck that right out of him? Drugs?"

You stood in front of him and pulled his hand away, the one that was holding his head up. "Answer me!"

Tears rolled down his cheeks though his expression remained the same. You didn't say anything and neither did he, he just kept his gaze forward as more tears fell from his eyes.

You huffed, hands falling to your sides in fists as you stormed off. You were about halfway up the stairs when Dave called out to you. "You love him?" He asked, not even bothering to look at you.

You turned back to him, taking a few steps down to him. "What?"

"I said," his voice was shaking as he spoke, "do you love him?"

You crossed your arms over your chest, eyes flickering around. "I don't know." You answered after a moment, honestly having no idea how you felt about it when you really thought about it.

Silence fell over you again before Dave broke it once more. "Does he treat you right?"

You chewed your cheek. "Better than you do."

"Better than I did?" You paused at that, sighing as you sat down on the steps.

"Better than you do." You repeated.

Dave looked up at you. "I never stopped loving you." He said, wiping his eyes.

"You stopped showing it." You mumbled, with the silence around you he could hear you.

"I was... terrified... for you, me... us." He said. "No one ever loved me like you."

You took in his words, the two of you maintaining eye contact as you thought about it. "Why'd you stop showing it?" You asked.

"I was scared." He said, you shook your head.

"That's not good enough, what did you want to happen?" Now it was Dave's turn to think.

He let out a heavy sigh. "This, I guess."

"You wanted a reason to get out." He paused before nodding. "I gave you one." He gave another nod "So... do you want me out?"

"No." He answered fast. Faster than you expected. Faster than he should've. "Stay, please."

You stood and walked back to him. You stopped in front of him. "What do we do now?" Dave thought for a moment before patting the spot beside him.

"We can fix this." He muttered, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you to his side.

"Should we..?" You didn't want to ask it but you knew you had to. Dave looked down at you, his eyes glassy and a small pout pulling at his lips.

"Please." His voice was no louder than a whisper. Suddenly he wasn't the man you'd known.

He wasn't the sweet guy that bought you flowers for your birthday or other special events or just when he thought of it, he wasn't the man you couldn't recognize as the one you loved who only spoke to you when he needed to. He was a kid who's mother couldn't love him over her religion, he was the kid who's brother-in-law beat him when he was listening to music.

He was innocent and pure and needed love.

Your wrapped your arms around him and pulled his head to your chest so he could cry. You wanted to tell him everything would be fine but you weren't sure it would be, so you just let him cry. And when he started apologizing for things he did and things he didn't you didn't interrupt him, you just forgave him. When he cried over his mom and his dad you let him.

When he cried all his tears and fell asleep against you, you let him. You pulled a blanket over the both of you and held him close, whispering nothing but love in his ears so he slept good even if just for one more night.

#megadeth angst #megadeth x reader #megadeth imagines #megadeth fanfiction #megadeth #dave mustaine x reader #dave mustaine imagines #dave mustaine fanfiction #dave mustaine #dave mustaine angst #dave mustaine fluff #megadeth smut #dave mustaine smut

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