#straight line from twelve to thirteen

[hereforthehitsbaby]

Darkness, Imprisoning Me | Cooper Adams/Abbott x F!Reader

Gif credit to @billy-crudup

Synopsis: News reports of The Butcher leaving his latest victim across the street from your house wasn't enough to spook you, not even into locking your doors. In fact, you were enticed by the idea of him getting in. But is it everything you wanted?

Warnings: Dark!Fic, Angst, Mentions of Murder, Victim!Reader, Cooper is so cute then a baddie, Essentially what I would think would go down with The Butcher

Rating: R

Word Count: 6.2K

A/N: I promise to write fluff pieces with Cooper eventually, but this man has such a choke hold on me I cannot contain. It’s the parasite in me, I blame them. I need the angst, I need the hurt. Originally this was gonna be just straight up porn but, I didn’t want to burn out.

Tagging: @rubyfruitjungle @cherryinterlude @lilly3434 @amethystblackkchaos @rosaleelovesdilfs @babygorewhore @dirtylittlefairytales @redpillbluepill @strangererotica

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“The Butcher is a megalomanic, a typical wolf in sheep’s clothing. They’re meticulous and calculated. They are the perfect killer – and that is exactly why they slipped out from under the FBI’s nose.”

Calculated, that is the best way to describe most things in life, explain most passions as well. It isn’t a bad thing to be calculated, no, it’s a good thing after all. There is something about knowing that you are taking precautions and closing gaps before they can form that is rewarding. The endorphins it sends to the brain get mistaken for happiness and content. Calculated is good, calculated is safe. It means there are no possible tracks to follow or fall back on; A burned, fraying edge of a ribbon. It shrivels up under the intensity until nothing stands but a solid nub of what used to be. Calculated keeps the sanity flowing, for the opposing party that is. It brings a great sense of pride to the killer, knowing they are untraceable. Until they’re not; Their day of reckoning comes quick, quicker than they anticipate. They cannot run or hide anymore – they become infamous, they become hated. They become real.

That’s what your criminology professor used to say before she got on the case of The Butcher – what the media is dubbing him – a psychopath who likes to lure their victims into a sense of security, torture them, and then dispose of them in public places. The kicker? It’s never in one piece. All twelve victims so far have been cut into fourteen pieces, never thirteen. It made sense, thirteen being the unlucky number after all – it created a sense of bad luck for all killers to dwell on. But not The Butcher, they were clean. They clearly were not a loner; this was someone who could blend in at the drop of a hat. Disappear quickly if need be and never look back. Yet in Philly, everyone seemed that way.

Moving here wasn’t ideal for you, but Penn State offered you a great position as a first-year professor while you were pursuing your last year of your Masters. You’d be a fool to pass up that opportunity; The pay wasn’t awful but, it put you right where you wanted to be. Being the trainee of Dr. Josephine Grant was a dream come true, working under her and picking her brain about serial killers was exactly what you wanted. Since you were a kid, growing up watching all of those crime shows when everyone thought you were sleeping, you felt a connection to the field, like it was beckoning you. There was something about putting a psychopath away and finding out why they committed their crimes that intrigued you. What fired off in their synapses to where they thought killing was the only way to conduct their life. You wanted to make a change in the criminal justice field; You wanted to be that change. Philly happened to have a sociopath of their own running amok, and you wanted to be in the midst of the chaos.

Everything fell in line after that – your condo was bought at an extremely low rate compared to other mortgages in the area. You could walk to and from work and classes on the daily, leaving your afternoons open. Hell, it even helped that your grocery store was directly across the street, right across from the park. It was a sweet spot and one you felt like was too good to be true at the end of the day. But alas, you were not questioning fate as it saw you as its pawn. You were just living your life; Single, brazen, and ready to be the face of change in the field. Plus, working close with Josephine meant that you were right at the forefront of The Butcher’s ideas, patterns, schematics. Young, attractive; They all knew he was a male, and not a woman – especially with the craftmanship of the bodies.

It excited you, a man that dedicated to ending the lives of others. You wouldn’t ever admit it aloud but, being a young woman in your position was compromising. If you ever told Josephine your plan of luring The Butcher in to get more information, you’d be fired. But that was your plan at the end of the day – in hopes to uncover more. But truly, you were doing it to entice someone else. When your condo complex became the hub for the police, after another victim was found chopped up across the street from you, you wanted to lay a welcoming hand out for a certain someone. Which is why you stopped locking your doors, your windows, even barricading the deck door. Naivete got the best of you, you were most certain. But it was all for the cause, the further exploration into a serial killer’s mind. You hoped it wouldn’t be him who got in but someone else entirely, yet a girl can dream. As fucked up as it was to think; You were Grant’s pawn, a willing one at that. It was a stupid plan but, God it made you feel alive. The only other thing that did was off the table.

It's always easy to crush on the neighbor next door, not having an establishing factor caused you to admire from afar. Though it was hard not to with how thin your walls were – hearing everything that happened on the other side. It wasn’t provocative to say the least but intriguing. Nature documentaries, Golden Girl re-runs, even some mix ins of Robocop and Midnight Run to lull you to sleep. It was comforting knowing a person was there who happened to like the same things as you. But it only complicated the crush you grew to have. That wedding ring tended to complicate a lot of things – though you never saw anyone but him. It was weird to say the least but, you had no control over it. Pining from afar was the betterment of your time anyways, school took up too much.

The only time you ever talked to him was when The Butcher claimed yet another victim, tossing their remains on campus. It was obvious you were a student worker by your hoodie you always wore, showcasing the department and school. You were notorious for wearing your headphones in as you walked home anyways, which happened to spark his interest. “It’s not safe to do that nowadays – you wouldn’t hear anyone come up on you, sweetheart. I’m just looking out for you.” The sentiment of Cooper Adams’ words struck a deep chord within your body, not ever feeling something so live within you. Having someone car for you was foreign, especially with how your parents were growing up. But Cooper, he really was like a dad – if he wasn’t already. He was the neighborhood watch dog, only wanting what is best for everyone, if everyone wasn’t just you. His autumn eyes never looked away when you left or came home, they watched your every step with ease and precision – notating in case something happened. Cooper was a man, and you needed him.

”I respectfully disagree, I think The Butcher is sloppy and they know it. They keep fucking up and putting themselves on the line. I mean come on, who in their right mind leaves a trail of receipts behind them. For Lady Raven no less! The biggest popstar in the world has a serial killer coming to her concert I mean, it’s alleged but – the odds aren’t out on it, right?”

Grading papers and trying to finish the second of four halves of your dissertation on The Butcher caused you to leave campus late. A fifteen-minute walk down to your home was fine, but something about tonight felt off. October is a beautiful time to enjoy – the sweet and savory smell of pumpkin in the air, the crisp sound of leaves crunching beneath your feet. It was your favorite time of year, but you couldn’t enjoy it like you usually do. You ignored Cooper’s insightful thought to not use headphones on your way home, opting to listen to a podcast instead about The Butcher. Any new leads you could use for your dissertation you were taking, whether they came to full fruition or not. It helped to deepen your argument of what makes a killer, kill. You wouldn’t lie to yourself; The podcast was freaking you out with how soon the Lady Raven concert was coming up. Even if it was alleged, he was going to be at the Lady Raven concert, you didn’t want to take your chances. You knew how to blend in and keep an ear to the ground but, being a victim was not on your list.

Rounding the corner to your block, you saw that Cooper’s light was on in the living room – making you let a sigh of relief out. It meant he was up again watching you come home, keeping you safe as always. It warmed you heart and soaked your panties. It was a no brainer Cooper was extremely attractive; Beekeeping age to be exact. There was something about the power dynamic of an older man with you that lit you up on all cylinders, you couldn’t handle the thoughts. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t touch yourself to the thought of him – taking you soft and slow like you assumed he liked, treating you like a princess. It was what dreams are made of; he truly is prince charming in your eyes. No one is that perfect, that loyal to the job, or that kind. Beloved fire chief Cooper Adams, you wanted him.

Smiling to yourself, you removed your headphones from your ears, shoving them into your purse. The last thing you wanted was for Cooper to see that and think you didn’t heed his warning; in turn you did – the tail end of the trip anyway. Taking a deep breath, you let the weight of the world off of your shoulders, feeling safe again the closer you got to home. You knew it was silly to be spooked about this whole situation; The cleanup crew took the body away days ago and everyone trickled down from there. The caution tape still slapped against the barren tree trunks, shaking leaves from its head. But The Butcher moved on to another place and wouldn’t visit the same place twice you knew. Still though, the thought excited you of Cooper going into your home at some point to make sure you were okay. To reprimand you for keeping the doors unlocked, for seeing how innocent you truly were. You were begging for him, and hoped he caught along eventually.

You were thankful that the steps to your condo wasn’t too long, only a four steps to the front door. Hopping up each one softly, you gently put your hand on the doorknob, pushing the handle down with your thumb. The click of the stopped pushing back into its slot made you cringe, wondering how loud it was compared to what Cooper could hear. Surely, he was going to ask why he didn’t hear your keys tomorrow, and for that you’d had to think of a creative way to tell him. There was no way in hell you were going to come straight out and tell him why you left it unlocked. No, you needed to be smart about it. The heavy front door started to swing backwards for you, creaking at the hinges which in turn made you shy away from it, your heartbeat flooding your ears. The pounding in your head wasn’t helping your current situation, for every move you made was loud – causing your fingers to tremble. “Please don’t be awake,” you muttered to yourself, letting out a deep breath once the door was fully open.

The dark foyer of your condo made you feel safe, knowing once you get upstairs to the kitchen you could be okay – that nothing was coming for you. Letting go of the door caused it to fall back into place, clicking soundly when it is tightly shut. Reaching behind your back, you grabbed onto the top dial for the lock, turning it clockwise, then reaching up to deadbolt the top lock. Now that you were shut in tight – you didn’t have to worry about anything else. It was then the realization struck you; The Butcher couldn’t get into your house if he tried, if it wasn’t the front door. Your bedroom and kitchen were on the second floor. The deck stairs are padlocked shut – he would have to use a ladder. How you didn’t think of that previously was lost on you but – at least you had a good chuckle at the thought.

Grabbing onto the railing, you toed your shoes off by the stairs with a hum to your voice, showing Cooper you were okay – even if it didn’t need to know. Tiredness was setting in hard in your mind, causing a slight headache to erupt at your temple. Using your free hand to massage the tightened muscle, you made your way up the stairs; Every other creaking as you leaned forward. The strawberry cheesecake you bought yesterday was calling your name, all you wanted to do was cut yourself a slice, sit back on the couch and watching some Penny Dreadful. With the start of your weekend now commenced, you just wanted time to yourself to think. The closer you got to the top of the steps, the more you felt the sleepiness roll in behind you, wanting to curl up and snuggle the night away. A yawn released itself from your mouth, causing you to stop in your tracks. On the top step no less, you managed to press your back to the wall, so you didn’t fall, or topple down.

Shaking your head as the aftereffects of the yawn roll through you, you started to make your way into the kitchen to the fridge – feeling the draft of the windows behind opened cascading over you. With a thud on the countertops, you dropped your bag off with your phone – rubbing your eyes to ease the pounding. You didn’t realize how hard it had got to focus once you began, the feeling too good to stop. This was exactly what you needed to start – something brain numbing and desensitizing so you could continue on. You did have half a mind to sleep at the kitchen counter, everything else just seeming so far away. Just a little nap until your felt energized, it would fix everything for you. You dropped your hands at your side to stare forward, trying to let the stars in your eyes disappear before moving. Though, something was out of sorts.

Squinting your eyes in the dark of the kitchen, you strain to see what was at the far head of the kitchen table, wondering if it was just your imagination confusing you, or if there was someone sitting there. Your hand found purchase on the kitchen countertop next to your light switch, thumbing it on with a bright bulbed gleam. “Jesus!” You exclaimed out, jolting backwards into the stove, clutching your chest. There was a person sitting there, and surprisingly the one you hoped for. Your labored breathing echoed in the space as you huffed out a laugh, running your fingers back through your hair. The initial shock of seeing Cooper in your kitchen was starting to wear off, instead it caused you to be giddy. Finally, you thought with an internal smile. But it was clear Cooper did not mimic the same. Instead of looking like his usual sweet, kind, and caring self – he looks pissed off. The softness that laid upon his eyes this morning, we replaced with a darkened line of hard steel – ready to tell you off.

He was wearing that damned stripped sweater you loved so much, the autumn colors contrasting beautifully with his complexion. His biceps building as his arm crossed over his chest, his feet finding purchase flat against the linoleum. Cooper shot his brows up in a challenging way, as if to secretly say seriously. You couldn’t stare in his eyes as he looked at you, feeling the heat creep up your cheeks and neck, causing you to burn up. The tick in his jaw as he focused on you made your knees weak; Sucking down the moan threatening to escape almost broke you. “You didn’t lock your door.” Cooper stated in a non-bullshit tone, causing you to cower. If you looked at him, you knew you’d confess as to why you did. You promised yourself he’d never know about that, no matter the circumstance. “Two days the cops were here because of the body. And you didn’t think to lock your door when you went out?” The fatherly tone in his voice caused you to shrink away, jaw set in a hardened place.

Cooper shook his head back and forth with no change in expression, still so disappointed to see what you had done. “Windows open, doors unlocked. Have you forgotten there is a killer in the neighborhood?” That was the thing, you hadn’t. You left this as an open invitation for The Butcher to try something. Maybe, just maybe he’d let you live long enough to learn more, jot it somewhere or record so when you were gone, at least the evidence was behind. But there were faults in that, The Butcher wouldn’t give you time for anything. You’d be here and done in the next, depending on how long he wanted to play with you. “I’m sorry,” you squeaked, moving to the opposite counter, trying to get closer to Cooper. You could see it in his eyes he didn’t want none of that, he didn’t want an apology. The longer Cooper stared at you, the more his face shifted from annoyed and disappointed, to scared and worried. He must’ve realized how he was being and wanted to correct it before you thought differently.

“I wanted to see if you were up for having a movie night. Imagine my surprise when I see your door open and unlocked.” There was a fearful waver in Cooper’s voice, causing your stomach to sink. The one thing you didn’t want to do in your soon-to-be budding friendship was worry him or scare him for that matter. But there was a feeling of failure starting to weasel its way through your stomach, wanting nothing more than to console Cooper. He couldn’t look your way as he spoke, shaking his head away from you as he focused on the plastered white wall of your kitchen, counting the tiny specks of paint dots in my mind. “I thought…I thought The Butcher had gotten to you.” It was low, but loud enough to break your heart – tearing welling in the corner of your eyes. Your heart was plummeting, you needed to act fast.

Coming around the kitchen island, you stand at the front end of the kitchen table to face Cooper – your eyes silently pleading for him to look at you. His foot tapped against the floor in pointed rhythm with his fingers, tapping along the edge of the table as he unwound them from his chest. His thick fingers came up closer to the edge, grazing over the handle of something. Your eyes were curious, deciding to have a mind of their own as you glanced down to see the silvery glint of a sharp object – eyes going wide, breath going still. Sitting next to your thigh on the table was a meat cleaver from your knife set you just bought, the edge sparkling with attraction – wanting to be used. You understood that Cooper was scared for you, so he grabbed something to protect himself just in case. It was admirable to say the least, you felt your heart warming at the thought.

Cooper let his fingers cascade over the black handle of the knife, pulling it to him without a stutter in his step. Picking the knife up, he tested the weight of it in his palm, dragging the tip of his finger over the serrated edge, feeling it cut him a bit. You winced at the sight of blood pooling out of the small cut, your stomach doing flips. Blood never made you squeamish but self-inflicted wounds did. “I’m so sorry Cooper, I never meant to upset you with it. Honest to God, I forgot this morning.” You were lying through your teeth and Cooper knew, he fucking knew from a mile away. The saddened look in his eyes switched so quickly, if you blinked, you’d miss it. Placating a docile look to his own face, he stared at you carefully, making no quick movements or hasty decisions. He was giving you your chance to confess, and you fucked it up.

“I think you did it on purpose,” he called out, sitting forth on the chair so his elbows rested against his muscular thighs. He chuckled in a sinister way as he pointed the cleaver in your direction, waving it up to your face so you’d look at him, rather than the floor. “I think, you wanted The Butcher to come in here.” The heat sliding across your chest and neck made you feel sick, like you were exposed. A live wire touching a hot nerve ending; It was electric in a twisted way. There was no admiration or happiness but despair and darkness. He was calling you out so fast on your bullshit, it scared you. It made you feel weak just knowing he could read through you. Sweet, doting Cooper was a thing of the past as he kept going. “I think you wanted to catch him on your own and make yourself a hero.” Touch. Fucking. Down. It was the closest Cooper was going to get to the truth – he didn’t need to know the other half of it. Knitting his brows together, a light sheen in his eyes made the ember pupils go misty, your eyes letting the tears slip. “Is that true?”

“N-No, not at all!” It was obvious in your shifty tone that you were lying, that this was all bullshit. Cooper had it down to a tee, he read you like a book before you even stepped through the door. He saw you for what you are, a pusher. Cooper sighed as he lowered his head, shaking it from side to side as he stared at his boots. The leather tightened as he put his weight onto his boots. The stretch of them caused your pulse to shake, your feet moving back at the detection. You knew Cooper wouldn’t hurt you, he would even attempt to kill a fly, let alone a person. He was trying to get the point across to show you just how serious he was, but to you – he was a bit too committed to the bit. Tossing his head back, Cooper slid his calloused fingers through his hair, disheveling the length of it so it draped over his face.

 “Monsters exist, you know. They’re everywhere.” He began, his tone dropping to a lethal level. There was a drop in your abdomen as you heard it, sounding like something otherworldly. It didn’t seem like Cooper had control at all, but something else. Was it aggression? Pent up stress? Months and months of rage he needed to express? He was never wound tight so you were taken aback. You didn’t know how to navigate it, because the second you would try, it would backfire by tenfold in your face. It was the fact that Cooper was almost talking down to you that made you upset – leaning in a little too heavy on the reprimand. “I-I know that.” You shot back without hesitation, ignoring the stutter in your words as you stared at him. There was a venomous bite to your words, to which Cooper was not a fan out.

Cooper began to stand as his body evened out, his six foot three stature towering over you. Gulping down the fight you had in your throat, you focused on his facial expressions, waiting to see what he was planning next. The way he looked down his nose at you made you shiver, dread creeping its winding way across your spine. “No, you don’t. Clearly.” Cooper stated, the bladed ended of the cleaver coming to rest against your side, creeping along your sweatshirt. You didn’t dare to break away from Cooper’s expression, knowing if you did – something bad was going to happen. But it already wasn’t it? He was the bad thing. In that moment, a lightbulb went off. Cooper Adams wasn’t just the fire chief, or a doting father. He is The Butcher.

The revelation caused your palms to grow clammy, balling into shivering fists at your side. It was too good to be true, you never would’ve guessed though. The secret condo, the overt fascination in watching you, making sure you were safe. Always needing to hear you, knowing you were okay. Hell, he played the caregiver role very well – you just were oblivious to the fact that it is because you’re working with the same people trying to take him down. If there is one thing Cooper wouldn’t have, it is that. For years he has gone undetected, twelve victims, bodies brutalized into bits and pieces. “…because you let the biggest one walk through your door. Sit at your kitchen table. Watch you make a fool of yourself, and you’re still turned on.” Cooper ended his statement, causing you to tune back in to what he was saying.

Wrapped up in your own thoughts, you didn’t realize that Cooper had moved the cleaver to sit under your chin, the cold metallic feel against your skin caused your pulse to push. Anchoring you in your spot was Cooper’s free hand against your hip; A punishing strength you knew would leave bruises come the morning. With the cleaver at your throat, Cooper leaned down to whisper in your ear, letting his warm breath fan your flesh. “Don’t lie to me again, I won’t go easy on you.” Cooper growled out, his fingers driving into your hip deeper, causing you to wince at the pain. It was not a threat but a promise. A way of holding that control over you, to show you that no matter what – you were never in control of your life, for as long as he has been in it. You didn’t realize it but, you were wearing your heart on your sleeve. The emotion on your face was feeding some sick, twisted passion of Cooper’s, causing his once evil scowl to turn into a bright, beaming grin.

Stepping hard in front of you, Cooper jolted a bit to spook you – pulling the cleaver back enough so you didn’t get hurt. A cackle slipped past his lips, causing you to press against the kitchen wall closest to the stairs. “How long would it take you to get your locks undone, and get to the corner store before I caught you?” He asked it as if it was a simple question, but it was a challenge. If he could tell you left your door unlocked on purpose then, he could tell you had a crush on him too. His proposition was to showcase loyalty; Would you run and cry like the rest of his victims, or stand your ground and grovel at his feet? In another world the second option would be the best one, but this is reality – not fantasy. You couldn’t, after what he did – what he wanted to do…you were not going to be a statistic in his book – you were not going to be an easy kill. You are a fighter.

“Want to find out?” You didn’t, you truly did not want to but knew it was your only chance. If you stood your ground, it would be bloodshed. At least if you tried a bit more, pushed further – you could stop him once and for all. I mean, that was your plan after all, right? Catch The Butcher, put a stop to his shit. Your plan, a dumb – yet smart plan. But it being Cooper made it difficult for you, like a lump in your throat trying to pass. You didn’t want to believe it, couldn’t in fact, but the more he let his guard slip the obvious it became. You didn’t respond, didn’t look away from his eyes either. You stared ahead and watched Cooper with intent, challenging him to drop everything and stay there. You didn’t feel your feet leave the ground; you didn’t notice your knees hiking up with a sprint. Hell, you barely registered what was going on as your vision went from Cooper to the halfway point of your staircase, the deadbolted door only a few feet away. Jumping from the fifth to last step, you landed right on your booted feet – bringing a shaking hand up to undo the first lock. As you slid the deadbolt out from its place, you reached for the doorknob – but not before both of your hands were pinned to your side.

“Too slow there, princess. Did you even try?” That evil laugh ran your blood cold, a pout evident on his face without even turning. You went to scream but, Cooper cut off your noises with his arm across your neck, your chin sitting in the crux of his elbow. Instantly your nails found purchase in his thick sweater; Tiny fibers coming up as you pull with roughened hands. Donkey kicking your way into his knee, Cooper grunted with an annoyed mewl, letting out a heavy sigh against the side of your face as he pushes you face first into the wall. “Seems like you wanted me to catch you,” Cooper snarled, lips pressed so hard against your ear you felt his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. Fear is the biggest betrayer; When an escape comes your way, you take it. No second thoughts, you go. But alas, the fear of not knowing caused you to panic and stutter with the deadbolt. If only you had been quicker, you’d be at the police station, not at The Butcher’s mercy.

It hurt knowing this was Cooper’s goal all along, to make you lucky number thirteen in his black book of death. Just another name, just another victim, just another live lost because of the inadequacy of the police. Another pair of eyes snuffed out, another brilliant mind gone to senselessness. You know you are a survivor, you know you need to prove it. Placing a tender kiss to your temple, Cooper sways you a bit as he pushes his weight into your back, tightening his hold with a grunt. “Ask me why, come on. I know you want to.” The whisper was one of petulance, like he wanted to give you the reason before you became his thirteenth reason. It was your parting gift on this realm; To know before you met the others. You didn’t want to give in, you didn’t have Cooper Adams to have the upper hand. But the feeling of a small knife poking just under your right lung in the hold made tears fall, a gasp of sorrow spewing out. “W-Why!” You screamed, feeling the anguish and despair wallowing in the open air.

Cooper took a deep breath as you spoke the words, fueling his ego with the emotion you were giving. The glimmer of hope he was snuffing out of you set him on edge, in the best way possible. Here you were, pressed against a wall with his arms wrapped around you. His knee between your legs to keep them open and his face melding with yours. Cooper and you were one in the same, a victim and killer creating a blinding situation. One where the only outcome is red. Running his nose along the backside of your ear, nuzzling into your skull, let out in a low tone: “Because I can.” It was straight forth, no mistaking what he said or the meaning behind it. Cooper was not one to fuck around about the kill, he took it seriously as he should. It scared you how quickly he shifted into The Butcher – there was almost no time to adjust. Now, he confessed. He can so he will, and you are going to be the sweetest one for him.

“Oh, was that not what you were expecting?” Cooper pouted as he asked, feigning innocence as he omitted a sad sound in your ear, causing the silent tears to erupt. Turning your head slightly to try and see his face in the glow of the pale moonlight, your eyes shone with disbelief and tiredness. His lips screwed up into a soft smile, using his free hand to caress your cheek. Every tear that fell, Cooper kissed it away from the back. He was mourning as well, mourning a soon-to-be friend, maybe a love interest, but all in all another brilliant mind. “No one expects me to take a life, and that is the thrill of it.” There was no hesitation, no gallop along bullshit to make you feel better. Cooper was direct, manipulative, psychotic. “I hold power over everyone, and they let me.” It was stated like a prayer, a true belief that it was making the world a better place. Cooper didn’t forget the accusatory stance when he spoke next, making sure you heard his words loud and clear. To know what a mistake this was. “You let me.”

A guttural, wretched wail leaped its way from deep within your body, ripping out through your lungs like a beast fully being unleashed. You dropped your knees slightly to try and get the advantage to slip away, groaning out in frustration as he locked his own. The knife slid across your sweatshirt like butter, not cutting your skin but sending the message. Cooper wouldn’t have gutted you in his sweater, no, it would be too dirty. The blade was dull, but the point was sharp. It was meant to scare you, to keep you in check. Did he think it would cut through cloth? No, but he knew it couldn’t skin. So, Cooper let you drop out of his grasp as the knife slid, backing up only slightly for you to scramble out. Yes, you exclaimed mentally as you crawled across the foyer floor.

Like a silent killer, Cooper turned around ala Michael Myers style and watched you – a blank expression making its way back to his features. He didn’t press forth, nor did he grab at you. Instead, Cooper watched you struggle like a stuck pig in mud, scurrying your way across the stairs and start to gain your balance. The first few steps were tough to keep your balancing, your boots sliding across the laminate wood. Halfway up you started to gain traction on each step, gripping the railing and not daring to look behind. But it was quiet, too quiet. You knew in your gut Cooper was planning something; You had no idea what but, this was something more than you. “You’re so pretty when you’re scared, it’s kind of hot.” Cooper drawled out as he slowly made his way up the stairs, smirking in the moonlight as he crept after you. Turning back around you kept the same speed to keep the distance between you both substantial. Slamming of boots coming from behind you, causing you to panic. But you were able to make it free of the stairs, and jet towards the deck door in the kitchen, thankful it was still unlocked.

As you moved forward on fast feet to grip the handle, a heavy hand came to the side of your head. The weight of it felt unnatural, otherworldly. The skin wasn’t warm on the palm, but ice cold. In a second, a simple blink, your eyes were unfocused. The world around you started to spin, and you reached your hands out, trying to find anything to grab onto. Instead, you felt the boom of pain on the left side of your head, warmth coating the skin as you fell. The floor, or table never came up – you landed in the arms of Cooper, who was now grunting and panting like a dog – perfect hair disheveled, mouth screwed up into an annoyed expression. “Sleep it off, you’ll be fine.” You dismissed off your feeling as he lowered you to the ground. Everything was in a daze, a glowing aura of red around your eyeline. No matter how many times you blinked or trying to focus your eyes, everything spun like a merry-go-round. Bursts of lights coated your vision, your wrists met with hard plastic as they were tied together. Your feet following the same fate.

You felt your body move, sliding down the kitchen floor. It was cold, dry, and yet warm all at the same time… then everything went black. You no longer felt a thing.

To Be Continued…

[elliesbelle]

nobody compares to you

chapter 10

pairing: ellie x reader

synopsis: you're in your junior year of college and at a party, you run into the girl who broke your heart: ellie williams. despite the time it took to reset your life, will you risk a broken heart again for her?

content warnings: modern college au, cursing, angst, descriptions of alcohol, straight men eww, unwanted advances, reader is implied to be shorter than both abby and ellie (if you think you're not, let's just pretend for a line or two for the sake of storytelling lol), descriptions of sexual harassment, descriptions of physical violence, minors do not interact

word count: 5.5k

chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen

series masterlist

my masterlist

i have a ko-if if you like my work so much that you feel compelled to tip me ♡︎

the "nobody compares to you" spotify playlist

featuring the equal creatures song "waiting in the wings"

Friday night came a little too quickly for your liking. After much consideration, you’d settled on a pink bomber jacket with a white corset top and black leggings for your outing at the Bow and Arrow. You contemplate wearing your usual black boots, but you decide for tonight to give your feet a rest from being covered with painful blisters. While you meticulously add finishing touches to your makeup, your phone buzzes furiously on your bathroom counter. You tap it to reveal a text from Abby.

You allow yourself a tiny smile at Abby’s banter before setting your phone back down. 

After you decide that you’re satisfied with your appearance, you spray yourself with hints of a freesia perfume Tara had gifted you for your birthday last year. Normally, you’d wear your signature lavender fragrance, but you’d figured that even tiny advances outside of your comfort zone were a good, healthy first step to moving forward with your life. You wonder silently if Abby would notice and like it. 

You spend the next couple of minutes pacing all around your living room, occasionally bouncing up and down on your tiptoes in sheer nervousness. When you hear three gentle knocks on your front door, your heart jumps out of your chest. You breathe in deeply from between pursed, painted lips, just the way your old therapist taught you, before striding over to anxiously turn the doorknob and reveal Abby waiting expectantly. 

She was wearing a brown, button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up over her muscled forearms and the top two buttons undone. Her dirty blonde hair was in her usual tight braid and fell down her back. She has her hands tucked into the front pockets of her black slacks and upon laying eyes on you, her face breaks out in a wide smile. 

“Well, good evening, pretty lady,” She greets you. “You look very nice tonight.” 

“You’re looking pretty suave yourself,” You reply, ignoring the rising heat in your cheeks. 

Abby smirks. 

“You ready to go?” She asks. 

“Mhmm,” You murmur, reaching for your purse & keys from the entryway table before closing and locking your front door behind you. “Lead the way, Miss Anderson.” 

You and Abby chat about your respective days on the way to the Bow and Arrow. You take the bus part-way, sitting next to her towards the back. It isn’t lost on you the way Abby’s hand twitches almost expectantly to hold yours, but you can’t summon enough courage in the moment to welcome the action. Though your body yearned for the physical intimacy, something else inside didn’t feel right just yet. However, you did at least allow yourself to take Abby’s hand for a few, short moments when she helped you out of your seat, and then again when she helped you hop off of the bus. 

The sun had almost entirely set by now, your shadows mainly illuminated by the lampposts and lights from the nearby shops and restaurants along the street. After several minutes of skipping next to Abby, you start to see the vague outline of the Bow and Arrow from a distance. Your fingers start to nervously fidget and you feel yourself chewing the inside of your lip in apprehensive anticipation. 

Making up an excuse to turn around and go home right now would be simple enough, though a little sudden and impolite. For the past day, you’d been trying to focus diligently on your schoolwork and classes so as not to dwell too far on what tonight could bring. However, the reality was starting to set in and your hands became clammier with every tentative step you took towards your destination. Perhaps it was a preemptively good idea not to take Abby’s hand earlier. 

You turn towards Abby, who hasn’t noticed your apparent restlessness. She looks completely at ease, confident as she always was. She oozes of enthusiasm, clearly looking forward to the night out. You sigh discreetly, resolving to at least make an effort to live it up, even just for a few hours. You make sure not to let your eyes wander too far towards the familiar, dark alleyway next to the bar. 

When reaching the entrance, you’d already pulled out your ID to flash at the bouncer, who lazily glances at it before handing it back to you and nodding you forward. The bouncer doesn’t card Abby and instead, gets up from their stool to clasp her hand and pat her back. 

“Yo, what’s up, Anderson?” The bouncer says in welcome. 

“Hey, Cam,” Abby replies. “Didn’t know you were working tonight.” 

“We’re not all doctors, man. Gotta pay those bills somehow.” 

“Not a doctor yet, dude.” Abby chuckles. 

“Yeah, yeah,” The bouncer waves her off nonchalantly. “You go enjoy your night.” 

You stand there and watch the interaction in both awkwardness and admiration. Abby really did know everyone around, even outside of campus. 

“Come on,” Abby motions you to follow her. “I think I see some of my friends here already.” 

You nod your head and trail after her timidly. 

Your wary eyes explore the bar, slowly taking in how it’s changed since the last time you’d visited. They’d added another TV among the line-up against one of the walls, and there were numerous amounts of low-lit string lights now hanging from the ceiling. You recognize a couple of the bartenders working tonight, in addition to a few more who seemed fairly new. They’d hung up a large version of the original rainbow Pride flag by a window in the front right next to the blue-pink-and-white transgender one. But even with these few new changes, the place looks generally the same. You secretly wish it didn’t, afraid that the daunting familiarity might trigger some unpleasant memories. 

Abby leads you towards a group of people gathered around one of the wall-mounted television screens where a Nintendo 64 was hooked up to. Three of them were engaged in an intense game of Mario Kart, all yelling at each other over both the race course music and a SZA song currently blasting through the bar’s speakers. Their spectating friends were heckling genially and cheering them on as the race ended with whichever player competing as Yoshi finishing in first place. 

“That’s how it’s done, bitches!” A guy who you recognize as Abby’s friend Jordan from the other day proclaims in triumph. 

“Whatever, asshole. You only won ‘cause I slipped on a banana peel during the second lap.” A girl wearing a black leather jacket to his left complains. 

“Excuses, excuses,” Jordan waves off, shaking his head mockingly. “Sounds like a serious skill issue to me.” 

“Leah, you better get your man right now before I beat his ass.” 

As you and Abby approach the group, one of her friends leaning against the wall looks up from the bickering to meet Abby’s gaze. 

“Yo, Abs, finally!” He says, beckoning her over. He was a tall, beefy man with his black hair tied up in a man bun and his face covered with a full beard. You knew he was one of Abby’s close friends, but you couldn’t remember which one he was. 

“You missed me that much, Alvarez?” Abby taunts, nudging him in the shoulder before grasping his outreached hand in greeting. 

“Cocky asshole,” Her friend chuckles. “Please save me from the torture of watching Jordan and Nora bitch at each other over this game all night.” 

“Why’d you even let them near this again after the last time we were here?” 

Abby and her friend jest for a moment or two before you’re eventually acknowledged. 

“So anyway, who’s this?” He asks. 

“Oh, right—” Abby says apologetically before introducing you. 

“Nice to meet you,” Her friend responds. “Manny. Have we met before?” 

“I’m not sure, honestly,” You admit. “I haven’t really been the most social or noticeable person of late.” 

“Pretty girl like you? Nah, I’m sure that’s not true.” Manny remarks boldly. 

You freeze at his unwanted flattery, which Abby doesn’t notice. You wonder internally what the hell her obviously and painfully straight guy friend was doing at this lesbian bar. 

Abby proceeds to acquaint you with the rest of her friend group: Jordan, Leah, Nora, Nick, and Jay. Jordan, Nora, and Jay were the three holding the controllers connected to the video game console, each either saying hello or nodding towards you in friendly greeting. The guy Nick who wore a black beanie raised his can of beer towards your direction when Abby introduced him before uttering a simple “wassup” to you. Next to Jordan is a girl with long black hair tied back in a low ponytail. Abby introduces her as Leah, after which she smiles sweetly at you. 

After she’s named all her friends, Abby turns towards you. 

“Wanna grab a drink?” She questions. 

“Yes, please.” You reply gratefully. 

You follow her to the semi-crowded bar where she settles on a somehow unoccupied barstool, you taking a seat on the one next to her. 

“What would you like, pretty girl?” Abby asks. 

“Umm, vodka cranberry, maybe?” You say. 

Abby smiles and nods before raising her hand to grab the attention of a bartender. After a few moments, she’s able to flag one down. 

“Can I get a vodka cranberry and a blue motorcycle?” She yells over the music, pulling out her wallet and handing over her credit card. “And start a tab?” 

“No worries, Abby,” The bartender smiles, taking her card. “Light ice on the motorcycle?” 

“Please.” 

The bartender nods as they swipe Abby’s card on the POS system before handing it back to her and walking to the side to prepare your drinks. 

“So you come here a whole lot, huh?” You remark as you both wait. 

“What makes you say that?” Abby asks, turning her body to face you better. 

“Everyone around here seems to know who you are.” 

“Nah, I’m just that cool and hot and popular that just about everyone knows my name anywhere I go.” Abby teases arrogantly. 

You laugh, rolling your eyes at her cockiness. 

“You are so full of yourself, Miss Anderson.” 

“Anything to make you laugh, pretty girl.” 

You and Abby banter for a minute or two before your respective drinks are placed in front of you, the bartender additionally handing you each a napkin. 

“Okay, so what the hell did you order?” You inquire of Abby, eyeing her turquoise-coloured beverage. 

“You’ve never had a blue motorcycle before?” 

“Hey, I’m a simple gal; I know only like, four or five different names of basic alcohol. Two of which are vodka.” 

Abby throws her head back, laughing boisterously. 

“Oh, man, are you really that much of a grandma?” She teases you. 

“Absolutely,” You joke. “I just shape-shifted for tonight to give the appearance of a 20-something-year-old college student so as not to be judged for my wild, party animal habits.” 

“God, you are so nerdy,” Abby chuckles. “Good thing you’re really cute.” 

You roll your eyes at her once more before taking a sip of your drink. 

“How’s your very basic and boring vodka cranberry?” Abby quips. 

“Oh, fuck off,” You giggle. “How’s your weird, little smurf drink?” 

“Extremely delicious, thank you so much for asking.” She responds. “Want a taste?” 

You grimace. 

“What!” Abby exclaims, chuckling. 

“I’m not exactly the most adventurous when it comes to what I put in my body.” 

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.” Abby offers, sliding over her blue drink towards your direction. 

“What the hell is even in it?” 

“Oh, just try it, you fucking wimp!” 

You whine in hesitation before bringing the cup up to your pursed lips, taking the most minuscule of sips. 

“Oh, come on!” Abby complains as you place the drink back down. “That was barely fucking anything!” 

“You wanted me to drink it, so I drank it!” 

“Chug it like a fucking man!” 

“Are you trying to get me drunk tonight, Miss Anderson?” 

“Drink it.” Abby tauntingly asserts. 

You purse your lips once more before relenting to take a much bigger gulp from the cup. As you slam the drink back down onto the bar and slide it back towards Abby, you scowl at the mixture of different flavours staining the surface of your tongue. 

“What the hell did you just fucking poison me with?” You grumble, your mouth salivating in disgust. 

“Calm down, you big baby, it’s just some basic liquor with a bit of Blue Curaçao mixed in.” Abby chuckles. “You know, rum, tequila, gin.” 

“Oh god, tequila?” You anxiously chuckle. “Well, get ready for just about anything to happen tonight.” 

“Oh?” 

“Tequila is my sworn enemy and weakness.” You admit. “Never know what’s gonna happen when I’ve got that shit in my system.” 

“Is that so?” Abby asks, placing her elbows on the bar and her chin on top of her interlocked hands. “I’m very much intrigued to know more.” 

“I’m sure you are.” You say, taking a generous sip from your own drink. 

“Any other weaknesses that you care to share with the class?” She coaxes. 

You lean in close enough for her to hear you whisper pointedly, “I guess you’ll just have to find out for yourself, Miss Anderson.” 

As the night goes by gradually and the more intoxicated you get, the more at ease you begin to feel. Abby’s friends eventually reveal that a local band was going to be playing a few songs live on the rooftop dancefloor later on, and you all liquor up in case they turn out to be an amateur disaster. 

Though they weren’t exactly your crowd, Abby’s friend group was generally amiable and sociable. She made sense amongst them, all of them having established a repartee with her and not being intimidated like a lot of people were. You didn’t care much for her guy friends, who were slightly crude & vulgar and all of whom you could easily tell were straight and who you felt had no place being in a lesbian bar. But with the rest, you generally got along well with. 

You piece together that the nice girl Leah is Jordan’s girlfriend from the way they stuck to each other’s side as much as possible. She was friendly, always including you in the conversations and acknowledging when you spoke.

Often standing beside her was Jay, who Abby at some point quietly whispers to you is her best friend. Next to Abby, she was the most outwardly lesbian-looking one in the group. She wore a sports cap backwards over her long, straight black hair and a grey hoodie underneath an old, dishevelled jean jacket. Her fingers were decorated with several silver rings, and you saw hints of tattoos whenever she would stretch her arms out and cause her sleeves to ride up slightly. Her rather short stature was dwarfed by her rambunctious character, often making you giggle at her drunken jabs at straight people. 

The girl Nora was who aroused the most curiosity from you out of the whole friend group. She was slim, athletic-looking, and very beautiful. Her dark, kinky hair was worn in a tight, high bun, apart from a few ringlets that fell effortlessly down the sides of her face. She wore a tight, black leather jacket that hugged her form nicely. From both her physical appearance and disposition, she gave off the vibe of the beautiful, mysterious love interest to the main character in a romantic indie film. She seemed to have this easy, welcoming banter with everyone, especially Abby. You wonder to yourself if there was something there between them before realizing that it was none of your business. 

You were surprised at how much of a good time you were having. Abby was by your side for most of the night, often nudging your shoulder playfully, explaining references, or whispering flirty comments in your ear. She paid for both of your drinks, to which you reprimanded her for the entire time, even up until she closed out her tab when you’d both had enough to drink. You were enjoying yourself to the point where you’d almost forgotten the significance this bar held for you. 

A little while before the promised local band were set to make their appearance, another friend of Abby’s belatedly joined the group. 

A gust of cold, autumn wind blew in unkindly from the outside when the front door of the bar opened to receive another patron. Your eyes unwittingly wander towards the movement, suddenly widening when they fall on the face of the familiar newcomer. 

Your ex-girlfriend Adriana strides into the bar, scanning the place for her friends. Your rattled and petrified state is short-lived when Jordan spots her as well and hails her over. 

“Yo! Adriana! Over here!” He calls. 

As Abby and the rest of her friends greet her and playfully berate her for her tardiness, you shrink behind the group as you attempt to compose yourself. Though it had ended amicably between you two, it had still been several years since you’d actually come face-to-face with Adriana. You’d never established a friendship with her afterwards despite it all, still feeling too much guilt for hooking up with her friend almost immediately after your breakup. 

Adriana leisurely makes her way through the group, greeting each one jovially. After she laughed at an inside joke Nora had uttered to her, you concede silently that you couldn’t avoid being seen by her any further, not without resorting to running to the bathroom and hiding for the rest of the night. You slowly step out behind Abby’s tall, burly figure, attempting not to draw attention to yourself and trying to ease back into the situation naturally. 

After a few moments, Adriana’s eyes fall on you. You see the recognition slowly setting in by the expression on her face and once you can tell that she’s realized who you were, she gives you a small smile. She doesn’t say anything to you and continues to engage in conversation with others, but you feel a little less awkwardness after you return her smile. Though your chest still feels a bit tight from the tension, you’re slightly more relieved and at ease knowing that Adriana still kept her word after all these years of having no ill will towards you. 

Several minutes after Adriana’s arrival, you saw other patrons starting to head towards the rooftop, and your group eventually followed suit. Once you reach the next floor, you see a small stage where a few instruments were already in place and a couple of band members were setting up for the show. Your group chatters amongst themselves as you all wait patiently. 

Abby taps your shoulder at one point to let you know she was heading back down to use the restroom for a second. You giggle and tell her she didn’t need to let you know, to which she rolls her eyes humorously and promises she won’t be gone for too long. As she walks away, you realize that on her other side was Adriana and that you were now stuck standing side-by-side with each other. 

“H-hey, Adriana.” You say, giving her a slightly uncomfortable smile. 

“Hey. Didn’t know I was gonna see you here tonight.” She responds lightheartedly. 

“Yeah, Abby invited me out.” You explain. 

“Oh, I see. I didn’t know that you two still talked.” 

“Honestly, we reconnected only recently.” 

“Ahh, I see.” 

There was a moment or two of silence where you were unsure of how to proceed with the conversation. Luckily, Adriana seemed comfortable enough to continue speaking. 

“So how have you been since we last saw each other?” She asks you. 

“Oh, umm,” You begin slowly. You didn’t feel the most comfortable sharing the traumatic shit show your life has been the past two years with your ex-girlfriend, so you settle for a simple “same old, same old” at the moment. 

“That’s good.” She replies. 

“How about you?” 

“Swamped as fuck with all my courses. I honestly wasn’t gonna come out tonight ‘cause I was busy as hell trying to get some work done. That’s why I was late. But my partner is actually in the band that’s performing tonight, and I wanted to be supportive.” 

“Oh, that’s really sweet of you. I’m sure they’ll appreciate you being here.” 

“Just wanna be a good and loyal girlfriend, that’s all.” 

Another lull follows. Adriana seems perfectly calm and content with the silence, but you continue to struggle internally with overdue guilt. You decide that dealing with the discomfort for the rest of the night wasn’t worth it. 

“Hey, uhh,” You start. “By the way, I’m sorry about how things went down between us. You know, how we ended and all.” 

“Hey, ancient history.” She assures. “It was honestly fun while it lasted, but I still think it was for the best.” 

“Still, I honestly do still regret how I was back then.” 

“Nah, don’t be so hard on yourself. I don’t think it would have worked out regardless.” 

“Yeah, I guess so.” You hesitantly agree. “Probably should have put in more effort on my part, though.” 

“I don’t really think that was the case,” Adriana says. “It was just sort of obvious at one point that you were just way into someone else so much more than you were into me.” 

You cringe. 

Damn. Was I that bad at hiding how much I liked Abby back then? Sorry for being such a shitty girlfriend, Adriana… 

“Was I that obvious?” You ask remorsefully, grimacing. 

“A little,” Adriana chuckles. “But it’s okay. She was obviously more your type than I was.” 

“You think?” 

“I mean, I think Ellie Williams is a lot of girls’ type, at least around here.” 

Everything around you freezes immediately as you feel your heart come to a stop. Your throat closes up at the same time that your hands grow cold and clammy. 

E-Ellie? 

Before you’re able to wrench yourself from your petrified state, Adriana speaks again. 

“Oh, I think I see my partner up there. I’m gonna move up closer, but I’ll meet up with you guys later on, okay?” 

She glances at you for half a second to give a short farewell smile before walking towards the stage where another band member with an electric guitar slung around their shoulders has joined the others. 

You remain suspended in the moment Adriana had left you behind with. The rest of Abby’s friend group was busy drunkenly conversing with one another to notice your near-comatose state. A deafening ringing resonates in your ears, the sounds of the expectant crowd and the tuning of instruments completely drowned out. 

Ellie… 

Your eyes wander towards the middle of the dancefloor that is currently occupied by unfamiliar audience members. Without warning, you’re suddenly and unwillingly ripped back into your memories. 

“Look, I’m really not interested!” You yelled over the music blaring from the DJ station on the stage. “I’m sorry!” 

“Oh, come on,” A woman at least ten years your senior griped. “We’re just dancing! Doesn’t have to mean anything!” 

You attempted to tug her hands away that were clutching your hips far too intimately, but her grip was tight and unrelenting. 

“Please, just leave me alone!” You implored the handsy stranger. 

“Don’t be like that now!” She exclaims. “Let’s just see where this takes us and—” 

Her sentence was cut short by a sudden fist in the air colliding with her face. Even over the loud bass drops, you could hear a crunch that you were almost sure was the sound of the woman’s nose being broken. 

“What the FUCK, you fucking cunt!” She screamed. 

You looked over at your saviour assailant to see an outraged Ellie. 

“You like harassing innocent girls, bitch?” Ellie spat. “Don’t know how to keep your hands to yourself? Well, it seems like I can’t either.” 

You saw Ellie winding up to attack once more, and you quickly grabbed her right arm before she could move any further. 

“Ellie! Ellie, it’s okay, I’m fine! It’s not that—” 

“This bitch thinks she can do whatever the fuck she wants to you!” Ellie hissed towards the stranger who was slowly retreating into the crowd, cowering at Ellie’s growing fury. 

“It’s okay, I’m not hurt!” 

“It’s not fucking okay!” 

“Ellie, baby, please, let’s just move—” 

The rest of your sentence was cut off when Ellie angrily marched off towards the staircase leading back down to the main floor of the bar. 

You nearly tripped over your high-heeled boots trying to run after her. 

“Ellie!” 

A firm hand on your shoulder transports you back to the present. You jump and look up to see Abby has returned, your hazy eyes meeting her blue ones. 

“You good?” Abby asks. 

“Oh, um, yeah, sorry.” You utter. “Just spaced out there for a second.” 

Abby chuckles and says, “Already lost without me even after a few minutes, pretty girl?” 

You give her flirty joke a half-hearted smile before turning towards the stage, realizing that the band is about to play. 

They start out with their own rendition of Paramore’s “All I Wanted,” and you note to yourself that they were actually quite good. But as they progress through the song, you find yourself unable to fully concentrate on their performance. 

Ellie… 

Abby and her friends cheer and yell in support as the music comes to a momentary end. You barely register the lead singer introducing their next song, an original of theirs called “Waiting in the Wings.” 

You feel Abby move closer towards you, her body radiating heat onto you. At this sudden contact, you force yourself to be more present in the moment and attempt to push all thoughts of Ellie out of your mind. 

The song begins in a minor key, starting off slow as the lead singer begins to croon. 

🎶 There’s a million people in this room who want me more than you // There’s a million people who want me more than you 

There’s no one in this world who loves you like I do // There’s no one in this world who loves you like I do 🎶 

You watch as the crowd of people nod along to the song, some already preemptively whooping. 

🎶 Alone in a crowded room, I wish I was with you // Whether I’m here or there, it doesn’t matter to you 

But you don’t know what you have ‘til it leaves you // You don’t know what you have until it leaves you 🎶 

You suddenly feel one of Abby’s arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you in closer to her. 

🎶 There’s a line of people waitin’ for this to fall through // There’s a line of people waitin’ for me to leave you 

So please, baby, love me like I love you 🎶 

You can feel Abby’s piercing blue eyes gazing at your face, expectantly and determinedly. 

🎶 Someone here wants me, they want me more than you // Someone here wants me, they want me more than you 

There’s someone here who wants me, they want me more than you // There’s someone here who wants me, they want me more than you 🎶 

Despite this aching feeling bubbling in your stomach, you will yourself to meet Abby’s stare. 

🎶 There’s a million people in this room who want me more than you // There’s a million people who want me more than you 

There’s no one in this world who loves you like I do // There’s no one in this world who loves you like I do 🎶 

Abby begins to lower her face, her lips nearly touching yours. Her breath tickles your cheeks before you suddenly pull away from her embrace. 

The crowd is distracted as the song ends, applauding and sounding off in response. As their cheering eventually dies down, you watch as Abby’s face falls a little and an expression of slight regret is painted across her features. 

“O-oh, oh my god, Abby, I’m so sorry,” You quickly explain. “I didn’t mean to pull away like that; I swear to god, you just surprised me, that’s all.” 

You knew that it was all quickly strewn lies streaming from your lips, but you didn’t want to ruin Abby’s night by making her feel guilty. You pray that she believes your feeble excuses, and it thankfully seems that she does. 

“Serves me right for trying to sneak a kiss from you out of nowhere,” She says, smirking lightly. “I’ll do better next time.” 

“It’s okay, it’s just the tequila,” You laugh shakily. “Even just a few sips of it kind of makes my emotions a wild card.” 

“Well, you did warn me earlier,” Abby remarks, smiling. “No tequila next time; got it.” 

You chuckle nervously, biting the inside of your cheek. 

Abby begins to say something when Nora suddenly grabs her attention. 

“Oh my god, Abs, that’s the girl I was telling you about before,” Nora exclaims, pointing in a vague direction where it was indistinguishable who she was referring to. “See with the long ponytail?” 

“Holy shit, where?” Abby asks distractedly, looking away from you and towards where Nora's gesturing. 

Seeing an opportunity, you place your hand lightly on Abby’s arm before saying, “Just gonna run down to the restroom for a quick second, okay?” 

Abby turns back towards you and asks, “Do you want me to come with?” 

You muster enough bravado to jokingly say, “Believe it or not, I actually know how to pee all on my own like a big girl.” 

“Alright, alright,” Abby chuckles. “Hurry back.” 

You give her a noncommittal smile before weaving your way out of the crowd and towards the staircase. 

The bar’s gender-neutral restrooms were your first choice in brief sanctuary, but that plan was immediately foiled when you see the long line leading towards it. You sigh and resort to walking out the front door of the bar to catch your breath outside instead. 

Though it was much later in the night, the weekend guaranteed plenty of college students noisily roaming the streets of the downtown area. Wanting not to be disturbed, you reluctantly turn into the dingy alleyway to the left of the Bow and Arrow. 

A couple of people pass through the dark street, but you feel safe positioning yourself underneath the closest streetlamp as none of them lingered for too long. 

Sighing as you lean against the cold, stone wall of the next-door building, you look up at the lamp post you’d chosen as your temporary companion. You place a hand on its cool, metal base, remembering the last time you stood underneath its dim luminescence. 

“Why, Ellie?” You asked her. “Why’d you take it to that extreme?” 

Ellie’s eyes bore into you, the unspoken truth threatening to overflow from the ocean green. 

“You know why.” She said softly. 

“I—” You began, your lips trembling in hesitation. 

“You do, don’t you?” Ellie whispers. 

You don’t respond. Without thought or consideration, you find your body pressed up against Ellie’s, your mouth instinctively finding that of her own. 

The moment your lips met hers, you knew you never wanted to kiss any other lips but hers again. 

Every knowing and deliberate look, every inside joke, every accidental brush of your hands led up to this exact moment. And yet nothing could have prepared you for the bliss, the euphoria of finally kissing Ellie. Her strong, muscular arms wrapped around your waist, nearly lifting you off of the ground to pull you closer. You surrendered to your body’s instinct, almost as if fate was guiding it. 

The meaning of life laid behind Ellie’s lips, and what other choice did you have but to fervently search for it? 

You didn’t remember when you’d wrapped your arms around Ellie’s neck, only realizing you had done so when you found your fingers clutching at her auburn hair so firmly that her half-bun updo threatened to come undone. The more Ellie moaned into you, the tighter your grip on her hair became. 

You’d both forgotten where you were and how you’d gotten there. You just knew that you were no longer standing in that dark alleyway next to the Bow and Arrow. You were suddenly in this completely separate universe, a vast yet secret galaxy that consisted only of you and Ellie. It belonged to nobody else but you two. Nothing else mattered anymore, only you and Ellie and your little infinity. 

But you didn’t exist there anymore. It’s two years later, and you no longer live in that bubble of romance and fantasy. 

You step away from the wall, staring up at the clear, black sky. You try but fail desperately not to find the intricate patterns of Ellie’s freckles replicated in the constellations above. 

That universe of yours and Ellie’s was no longer within your grasp. It’s a place you hadn’t allowed yourself to visit for an eternity. This present moment, lonely and nostalgic, is the closest you can find to it. It was like a narrow, cruel window that allowed only a glimpse at the heaven you once knew. 

You sigh. Reluctantly tearing your eyes away from Ellie’s celestial clones, you bid farewell to your brief, ill-lit hideout and exit back to the main sidewalk. You make your way once more towards the front door of the Bow and Arrow, knowing that you would make Abby worry if you lingered too long outside of the bar.

author’s notes:

it's here it's here, it's finally here. can y'all believe i've really written TEN whole chapters of this fucking series? the word count is literally like, 40k. what the hell!

as mentioned and linked above, i created a playlist for this series if you wanna check it out! it's all songs that are either mentioned or included in the series, in addition to songs that i feel match the vibe of the story! i will continue to add to it as we progress (and if you pay attention, i may add some songs preemptively right before publishing a chapter that may have to do with that specific chapter)

again, if you lowkey recognize the lesbian bar i very, very loosely based the bow and arrow on, no you don't

jay is lowkey inspired by my irl ex-girlfriend adriana's friends back in college who had a similar physical description and i was lowkey more attracted to than adriana herself oops

the song in this chapter is by the band called equal creatures where my very good friend laurie is the lead singer! if you love me, please check them out!

sorry to make the creep hitting on the reader in the flashback a woman, but sexual harassment is not gender exclusive and i wanted to showcase that as well.

the line "the moment your lips met hers, you knew you never wanted to kiss any other lips but hers again" is heavily inspired by valerie's speech from the "v for vendetta" movie (if you haven't seen the movie, even if you have no intentions of actually watching it, please watch this scene, it's so fucking moving and it's one of my all-time favourite scenes in cinematic history, no joke)! the line is said at the 2-minute mark!

reader and ellie's first kiss is also heavily inspired by my first kiss with my ex (it was romantic as hell, ask me one day to tell y'all how it happened)

taglist: @lonelyfooryouonly, @elliesinterlude, @sawaagyapong, @peppesgirl, @iconsoft, @maybeidohaveadhd, @ellieswifee, @valiantllamapersonpony-blog, @nil-eena, @echostinn

@uraesthete, @softbunlvr, @cherriesxinthespring, @amitycat, @thefishymissy, @yevheniiaaaa, @machetegirl109, @bertandfearnie, @ximtiredx, @efam

@elliesnumber1gf, @digit4lslut, @tayyyystan, @emothurman, @livvy-2000, @abigaillovestoread, @gold-dustwomxn, @liabadoobee, @yuckyfucky, @qtefolleunpez

@libr4sonsa, @17luv, @robinismywifee, @villainousbear, @ashlynnnnnnnn15, @scarlettadore, @vianna99, @g0n3girls, @totheblood, @embermdk

@awyunh, @kenz-ee, @marvelwomen-simp, @eleactric, @simpforellie, @omgidksblog, @anxiouso, @nyrastar, @lillysbigwilly, @hopeless-y

@elliesbabygirl, @alexpritch, @thestarsanctuary, @aethelwyneleigh27, @cass00x, @mulan-but-gay, @carmellie, @destielcore, @tfuuka, @elliewilliamsmissingfingerss

@sagestuffing, @ewwitsbella, @igoferalforelliewilliams, @miaelliesgfxoxo, @saturnvalentine, @elysiagyaru, @asteroidzzzn, @gay4jinx, @97cityy, @joliettes

@p1llowthoughtss, @ellieslegalwife, @aouiaa, @lez-zuha, @ineffablefics, @peepshake, @lil-elliesgf

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty-One

TW: nsfw, exhibitionism, violence, blood and gore and guns, trauma, death

“Okay,” Tom says, “you need eggs, milk, blueberries, flour. You writing this down, baby?” 

“Um, no, hold on. You’re distracting me.” You grab your little pink nurse notepad and a pen. 

“Distracting you?” 

“It’s not my fault you sound hot talking about pancake recipes.” You flush at your own boldness, at the heavy chuckle he gives you. 

“Naughty girl, I’m in a diner, you know.” 

“Oh, sorry. Crowded?” 

“Does this mean you’re ready for round two?” He muses. 

“Wouldn’t it be round, like, 6?” You tease, catching yourself literally twirling your hair and kicking your feet for Tom Ludlow, pen poised for instruction. 

“You just wait til I get my hands on that sweet little—hey, Jordan, what’s up? Yeah, no problem—sorry, old coworkers.” 

You cover your mouth to muffle the raucous giggle—now, you scold yourself, can’t turn all hyper feminine and cute just because of Tom. “Okay, and the pancakes?” 

“What? Oh, yeah, pancakes. Although, now I’m hungry for something else...” 

“Indecent,” you gasp, “I’m just trying to get a pancake recipe, and here you are being a scoundrel.” 

“If I was a scoundrel, I’d take the rest of the day off and come lodge myself in that chokehold of a pussy.” He has to be quiet to avoid the nearby patrons hearing him, but that low, hushed voice travels through the phone, into your ear canal, through your brain, down your body, and straight into your cunt. 

You give a little frustrated grumble and put your head in your arms, hiding as if he’s right beside you and can feel the heat of your skin and the tremble of your body. 

“She can give it, but she just can’t take it,” he tsks, and you hear that shit eating grin. 

“Can too,” you protest, whiny. 

“We’re not talking about my cock, baby.” 

Jesus fucking Christ, okay okay. He wins. He gets the dirty talk crown. You’d say that’s the only thing his mouth is good for, but you’d be very, very wrong. 

“Pancakes?” You try pathetically. 

Phone sex. It’s usually awkward, tense, strange. Tom Ludlow makes it seamless, and it’s one of his favorite things, as you’ve come to learn. “Mmm. Don’t act like it isn’t your fault that I’m rock hard in a crowded food joint. Oh, fuck, I know you love cockwarming me, baby, but imagine doing it in a room full of people. One of those pretty little sundresses you love to tease me with hiding us from everyone. You’d have to keep quiet for me, though, so nobody finds out I have you stuffed full.” 

“God, I hope some elderly woman is not seated by you listening to this—you’ll give her a stroke.” Your joking voice sounds more like your please, fuck me voice right now, and you’re rubbing your pussy against the chair lip like in highschool fucking math class with that one handsome teacher. 

“The only thing I’m stroking today is that needy clit when I get my hands on—“ his voice changes from sensual to frustrated, and the line goes blank for a minute. “I gotta go, baby, see you tonight?” 

“Yeah, see you tonight, Tom.” 

“Keep her wet for me.” 

Well, at least you know that won’t be a problem. Not even while you’re showering, shaving, touching up the paint on your nails, cleaning, soaking your feet in epsom salts, and pulling out the new pretty cotton candy lace lingerie set you bought for Tom to lay out for later. You burn some incense, feed the plants, brush your teeth, and then even do a face mask just for the hell of it. 

It takes a while for you to realize that you’re starving. Blueberry pancakes sound like heaven right now, and you have everything but the main ingredient—fresh blueberries, Tom had insisted, they need to be fresh. 

You could eat a TV dinner for the 8th time this week, ignore that grumble in your tummy that craves something light and fluffy and sweet, but instead you grab your keys and decide to head to the local corner store for some little, delicious blue diamonds. 

You know it’s ridiculous, that just walking into the store, you feel like you’re floating around on a little cloud. This is all Tom’s fault, of course. The euphoria of new love–fuck, you should not use that word. But frankly, you don’t know what else to call it. 

No one has ever made you feel this way before. Always, you had a chorus of warning bells in the back of your mind in previous relationships, warning you not to get too comfortable, not to think for a moment you could depend on a man to be good to you past the point where he’d finally gotten the gratification that he wanted out of you all along.

But Tom…Tom wanted you. And not just for sex, though that had been–and you had a feeling would continue to be–fucking amazing. You think back on the way you had cuddled in your bed with such a sense of fulfillment and peace. He made you feel whole, whether he was inside you or just filling your arms, and that usual sense of terror that fills you with such things is gradually fading to a dull roar. You know if it goes on much longer–another day, another hour–you’re going to fold and give in. 

Floating on your little cloud, you’re not really paying much attention, as you browse the shelves and pick out your ingredients. The blueberries look heavenly, and you cradle your prize in your hand, excited to put them to use–in your grumbling tummy. So when the sound of gunfire erupts somewhere in the little store, you are taken completely by surprise. All you can think to do is hit the floor, making yourself as small and flat as possible. 

Blueberries spill and bounce down the aisle. 

***

Detective Tom Ludlow is on the prowl. 

He knows he should let it go–but he can’t. It’s just not in his vocabulary. Detective Terrence Washington betrayed their brotherhood, and he fully intends to give his old partner a piece of his mind. A firm talking to. 

Ok. He might break his jaw. 

As young cops Ludlow and Washington had regrettably learned that nothing gets in the way of Law and Order like the Law itself. After watching bad men go free on the streets time and time again, they had worked together to administer their own brand of justice. So what if they walked slightly on the other side of the line? If it meant a piece of shit wife abuser didn’t get to skip back home just to do it again, or a murderer didn’t go free to hurt someone else, then they’d done a good night’s work. Helping people was what he’d become a cop for in the first place, and it seemed like using his knowledge and connections to more vigilante purposes was the only way real justice got done. 

Maybe a part of him had sort of known it might catch up to him someday. He hadn’t cared at the time. After his wife’s death…he hadn’t cared about much, except the job. It was all he had. But now…he has you. It complicated things, in the best way. He knows you’re scared. He knows you’ve had a rough past, even if you haven’t felt comfortable enough to tell him about it yet. Most of all, he knows…that you’re the best thing that’s happened to him in a long time, and he’s not letting you go. 

So maybe, just this once, he’ll keep a hold of his world-class temper, and not use the belt he’s coiled around his fist to protect his knuckles. The sound of loud rap music catches his attention; he turns to see a late model red Caprice, windows down, piloted by two men with faces covered with bandanas. 

In his gut, he just knows.  

He knows something terrible is about to happen, and he doesn’t have his sidearm because officially he’d surrendered it and he was supposed to be working the Complaints Desk right now. All he has is his backup strapped to his ankle. It’s a .38 special, just like his father carried, with six fucking shots and it’s not nearly going to be enough to go against the firepower these boys are undoubtedly packing. 

He runs into the store anyway, because that is what he does. 

***

The items on the shelves explode in the rain of gunfire. Cereal. Canned goods. Chips. Poof! You are covered in foodstuff detritus, and your ears are ringing, and people are screaming on the other side of the store. It all happens so fast, and yet somehow time seems to slow. 

You know you’re an idiot, but it is the sound of the screams that gets you army-crawling your way around to the corner of the isle. Someone might need your help. If they’re screaming–they’re not dead. And whether you’re in the ER or not, that means you have a job to do.

As you poke your head around the corner you see an African American man on the ground, his ebony dark skin splattered bright crimson with blood. One of the robbers leans over him, says something you can’t make out past the ringing in your ears. The man on the ground reaches up, swipes the bandana away with a clumsy hand. Says something forceful with what little strength he can muster.  

You see the shooter’s face, his handsome features a mask of fury as he shoots the injured man one more time in the chest. 

Then the shooters flee, racing out the door to their car, peeling away down the block. 

You are shocked, when none other than Officer Tom Ludlow emerges from behind one of the other banks of shelves, kneels beside the wounded man. 

“Washington, Washington, stay with me” he calls, urgent and panicked, a new side of him coming to light among spilled grocery goods and fluorescent lights. He feels the man’s pulse, and his face turns pallid and scared. You’re on your feet, then, running and slipping on a puddle of liquid, getting right back up and crossing what feels like a miles long distance to land at the man’s side. 

“Y/n?” Tom grabs your shoulders, but you shove him off. 

“Does he have a pulse?”

“No, are you alright?” 

“Call 911, get me an AED.” You press two fingers into a blood coated jugular, slipping off the mess of plasma, and then going back to feel for a pulse that isn’t there. 

Turns out Tom doesn’t have to call anyone, because two ambulances and five cop cars pull up to the storefront. As you perform CPR, the old familiar song and dance of cartilage tearing and ribs breaking and getting covered in crimson up to the mid forearm, police and firemen and other uniformed personnel flood into the store. 

Someone tries to pull Tom away, but he shoves them off and kneels back down beside you with an AED, knuckles bloody and glittering with glass shards from where he probably punched in a display window to get to the defibrillator. 

“Put the pads on him,” you tell Tom, lifting up your hands momentarily so he can rip Washington’s shirt right down the middle. You go back to compressing while he slaps the pads on, and switches the device. 

It lights up, that little pleasant ding a thick balm on your raging, acidic anxiety. STAND CLEAR, it says, just as the stretcher arrives. ANALYZING HEART RHYTHM.  

“Let me take over,” someone instructs, taking your place on the floor. “How long have you been at it?”

Tom speaks for you. “Twenty minutes.” 

Felt like two. 

NO SHOCK ADVISED. BEGIN CPR. 

“Put a line in.” Tom pulls you away. “Pushing epi now.” He picks you up, sticky from blood—or maybe that’s you. “STAND CLEAR.” You get a cradled police escort outside, and placed gently into the passenger seat of Tom’s car. 

“Stay here?” He asks, hand on your cheek, damp and thick. 

“Yeah,” you nod. 

He shuts you in and presses the lock. 

[iboatedhere]

could I please get "heart shaped sunglasses" as a prompt? I love canon but if there's an AU that speaks to you I'd love that too

I went with a photographer/model AU.

—

Alex didn’t grow up thinking he wanted to be a photographer.

He cycled through dreams that almost every kid has—doctor, teacher, President of the United States, and astronaut. For a few weeks, when he was four, he thought seriously about becoming a T-rex.

When he was thirteen, he found an old camera in the attic that his father had left behind when he moved out.

He watched a half-dozen YouTube videos to figure out how to get it to work, then took a photography class in high school and got a position on the school paper, taking shots of football games and events around town.

He thought he looked cool, carrying around a vintage camera that used real film in the age of sleek digital devices and camera phones, and he was good at it. He received heaps of praise from his photography teacher, won awards in local contests, and even sold a few prints at farmer’s markets and craft fairs around Austin.

Alex majored in studio art in college, focusing on photography and media. He learned about color, composition, and lighting. He studied Ansel Adams, Dorthea Lange, Steve McCurry, and Robert Capa. He thought about becoming a war correspondent, embedding himself in the most volatile parts of the globe and reporting the truth through photographs—gritty, raw, and dangerous.

Where he ended up was someplace much softer.

–

Alex first saw Henry Fox on the glossy pages of one of June’s fashion magazines when he was twelve.

Vogue or Harper’s Bazaar. Maybe Cosmopolitan. He can’t remember. What he can remember is Henry Fox’s wide, blue eyes and golden hair. He remembers looking at the close-up photo of him for too long until June cleared her throat and met his startled gaze with raised brows.

He looked for Henry after that. Sneaking into June’s room or stealing the magazine straight from the mailbox when it was delivered. He’d bring it with him to the treehouse in the backyard and search.

Before Alex even had a word for it, most of the photos had felt exploitative. Henry, too young, around much older models. Odd poses and barely there clothing. Henry never looked happy. He never smiled. Alex would never photograph him like that. He never really thought about photographing him at all. Mostly, he just wanted to hang out with him. Maybe take him swimming at Barton Springs, to a baseball game in Round Rock, or ride their bikes together. He just wanted to make Henry smile.

Alex found out later that Henry’s father was a famous actor and his mother was a supermodel, making Henry one of the world’s biggest nepo-babies.

Maybe doors automatically opened for Henry. Maybe he has a trust fund or an inheritance and never has to work another day in his life. Alex is unsure of those things, but he is certain Henry is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

–

Alex lowers his camera as the art director flutters into the frame, tugging on the strap of Emily’s bikini top and sweeping Henry’s hair off his forehead.

“Perfect,” she says before waving in Alex’s direction. “Okay. Keep going.”

Alex rolls his eyes and lines up another shot.

He doesn't really know what the point of this shoot is. He guesses it’s supposed to be playful…a fun day by the pool where Henry has stolen her heart-shaped sunglasses and perched them on the top of his head while she’s taken his diamond-studded watch and is holding it against her throat like a necklace. But Emily’s bikini is practically see-through, Henry is wearing a pair of swim trunks that hide nothing, and Alex doesn’t understand what they’re trying to sell, aside from their bodies.

So goes the fashion industry.

“Did you get it?” Henry calls out to him without moving a muscle.

Alex blinks through the viewfinder. “What?”

“Did you get the shot?” He asks.

“Oh. Yeah. Probably.”

“Good,” Henry says, “my foot is beginning to cramp.”

He shifts, and Emily hops off his lap and into a robe a PA is holding while Henry stands up, stretches the arch of his foot, and accepts his own robe.

It’s all so fast and formal as if they didn’t just spend the last hour dry-humping each other by a pool at a mansion in Beverly Hills.

Alex isn’t sure if he could pull that off, being that close to either of them and acting like it’s no big deal. Things are easier behind the lens of a camera.

Alex busies himself by pulling the photos up on his laptop. He took nearly two hundred. At least one has to be good enough to go to print.

“May I see?”

Alex nods, and Henry steps into his space, pressing their shoulders together before Alex can make room.

“Christ,” Henry says as he peers at the screen. “Am I really that pale?”

“We can fix it in post?”

Henry hums. “Add it to the list,” he jokes, but it’s not funny at all.

Alex knows that no one is perfect, but he thinks the people he photographs—Henry especially—are about as close to the idea of it as possible. That won’t stop every photo he’s in from being scrutinized and edited to death. They’ll airbrush out the moles that dot across his ribs, the small half-moon scar by his left hip, and the line between his brows. Whatever they do to Henry, it’ll be ten times worse for Emily.

“You’re very good at this,” Henry tells him. It’s not the first time they’ve worked together, but it’s the first time Henry has complimented him.

“Thanks. You make it easy. I mean you guys—you two—you and Emily,” Alex flounders. “You look good.”

“Is it the sunglasses?” Henry asks as he reaches up and touches the thin, pink frames.

“Yes,” Alex answers. “They complete the look. Maybe they’ll let you keep them since they suit you so well.”

“I’ll be sure to ask,” Henry says, the barest hint of a smile on his face.

—

Unsurprisingly, it was June that helped him shape his view of fashion.

When he was younger, he’d point to the avant-garde looks in her magazines and genuinely ask who the hell would ever wear this?

“No one,” She’d tell him as she snatched the magazine away. “Sometimes clothes aren’t meant to be worn, they’re meant to be admired. It’s like how some people go to the Louvre to see the Mona Lisa. Other people find their art in fashion magazines.”

He reminds himself of that each time he attends Fashion Week in London, Milan, or Paris. It’s an art exhibit; the models are living sculptures.

In the front row of the Dior show at Bryant Park, Alex thinks Henry makes a stunning canvas.

His hair is dyed dark brown, a near match to the cropped leather jacket he’s wearing, only half zipped, his chest bare. Alex watches his long legs in oversized wool shorts as they walk down the runway, where he stops at the end, poses, and then continues back. He looks down at Alex as he passes, tips his head up, and disappears backstage.

Only after he’s gone does Alex realize he didn’t get a single photo of him.

–

They let me keep the glasses, by the way.

Alex frowns down at his phone as he tries to parse out the Instagram DM that popped up on the screen.

He has two accounts—an official photography account and a smaller, more personal one, followed only by his family and friends. Alex knows he isn’t famous, not yet anyway, but he knows that people can get weirdly parasocial, and he’d rather not have to purge his main account a few years down the line.

This message, from a GEJames97, was sent to his personal account.

????? Alex sends back.

The ones from the shoot, the next message reads.

This is Henry.

Fox.

Alex’s frown deepens. Henry has an Instagram account. He has nearly four million followers and posts photos of his most recent campaigns at least twice a week. Not that Alex is keeping track.

Prove it, Alex says.

A few moments later, a photo of Henry Fox in the pink, heart-shaped glasses pops up.

Pez told me about this account. I hope that’s okay.

Pez…..???????

Percy Okonjo.

Percy Okonjo is an up-and-coming designer who is best friends with Henry. They have the entire fashion world buzzing with speculation that Henry will start working with Percy the second his contract with Dior ends.

Percy also was a guest editor for Vogue and had an undefined thing with June. Alex doesn’t know the details, and he’ll never ask for them, but it was enough that Percy followed Alex’s personal account.

How long are you in New York? Henry asks, and Alex feels his heart rate kick up.

Why do you think I’m still in New York?

Henry sends him a photo Alex posted earlier of a friendly Central Park squirrel eating a small piece of bagel out of his hand.

Until Sunday, Alex tells him. Why?

Doing anything tonight?

Alex blows out a breath.

Not yet.

Alex has only been at the bar for three minutes before Henry shows up. Alex appreciates the promptness, it gives him less time to be nervous.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Henry says anyway, leaning in to press a kiss to Alex’s cheek that leaves Alex feeling untethered. “Traffic in Manhattan is insane.”

“It’s fine,” Alex says, “you’re good. You’re…” Alex trails off because Henry is beautiful in jeans, a t-shirt (that probably cost more than Alex’s hotel room bill), and a Yankees cap pulled low over his face.

“If you want to go someplace else–,” Alex starts.

“Why would I want to go someplace else?” Henry interrupts, raising his hand to wave down the bartender.

“I don’t know. I feel like this place isn’t your usual vibe.”

It’s not a dive by any means, but it’s certainly not the flashy restaurants and clubs Henry usually attends.

“A few months ago, Pez brought me to this place in Chinatown. We followed this woman down a narrow stairwell for what felt like forever, light flickering and water dripping from the ceiling. I would’ve phoned my sister to say goodbye, but I didn’t have cell service. If I can survive that, I can survive this.” He glances around the bar. “I don’t fear for my life at all here.”

“You’re in America,” Alex tells him. “You should kinda always be fearing for your life.”

Henry snorts. “I suppose that’s true, but I am enjoying myself.”

“You just got here.”

Henry shrugs. “Then maybe it’s the company.”

Alex ducks his head. “How long are you in the city for?”

“At least another two weeks,” Henry tells him. “I’ll have a good bit of downtime, but not enough to fly home between shoots. I’m trying to figure out ways to keep myself busy. Do you have any ideas?”

Alex has about a million. He’s been thinking about this since he was twelve years old.

“Have you ever actually been to a Yankees game?” Alex asks, and Henry shakes his head. “They’re in town if you wanna go.”

Henry smiles, big and bright, even in the murky lighting of the bar, and Alex feels like he’s suddenly accomplished everything he could ever want in life.

[suhnshinehaos]

growing pains : act three, part twelve (2/2)

series synopsis : people say that you’ll experience three kinds of love in your lifetime. the first is an idealistic love, the kind that feels straight out of a fairy tale. the second is the hard love, the kind that will leave you with lessons about yourself and the love you want and need to experience. finally, the love you never see coming. this is the story of your three loves. pairing : svt 97 line x gn!reader genre/s : non-idol au, coming of age, angst, fluff, my attempts at humor act three, part twelve wc : ~1k

act three : the unexpected love  ➤  part 12 : soft italicized oh

after years studying and working abroad, yn is finally back home to a new job and new faces. all they want now is to focus on nothing else but their career and one of their coworker’s friends, minghao, makes it all the more interesting. 

previous  ➤  act three, part twelve (1/2) next  ➤  act three, part thirteen growing pains ➤  masterlist 

“thank you, i guess.”

you step out the car in a daze, you’re not even sure if you fully registered the words that escaped your lips. the cold evening air sends shivers up your spine, you don’t even bother to wave the man goodbye as he drives away. you enter, and mindlessly make your way to the elevator.

there’s a weight in your chest that you can’t quite shake off. no matter how many deep breaths you take. no matter how many affirmations you make in your head. i am capable. i don’t owe that man anything. there will be no second date. each step feels heavier than the last, and you hesitate before bringing your hand up to knock on minghao’s door. one breath. then another. your shoulders tense,

and they fall once he opens the door. 

the first thing you notice is the tight-lipped smile on his face, clearly cautious of your emotions, but his eyes are warm and inviting. the way you now remember them to be. minghao steps aside to let you in, and the next thing you notice is how nicely he’s dressed. crisp black button-down, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, a nice pair of slacks, and shoes that matched.

“did you just get back from a shoot…? or maybe an event?”

he shakes his head. “i can’t have you feeling overdressed now, can i?”

“i don’t think there’s any situation where you’d be the one underdressed.” you chuckle, and your first genuine smile of the evening spreads across your lips. making your way to the dining area, you can’t help the way your smile reaches your eyes when you see the way he’s set everything up.

everything about the way the plates, the utensils, and the glassware has been made to look straight out of an expensive restaurant. but there’s something so comforting about the pot of what seems to be stew, a bowl of rice for each of you, and a bottle of wine you just know he spent a ton of time considering.

“i would have made more, but this is all i could do on such short notice.”

you take a seat, and the heaviness you felt in your chest mellows out to a feeling you can’t quite place. “no, it’s perfect.”

your voice trails off, your gaze shifts from him to your lap, and you chew on your bottom lip. “it’s just-”

“it’s just what?” minghao asks gently, leaning towards you. but you don’t feel like he’s pushing, or pressuring you to talk. 

you sigh, still avoiding his eyes. “ever since i met you… you’ve done so much for me. helping me with photography, making me tea, and now this… i just feel like i’ve done nothing for you-”

“yn, look at me.” minghao cuts you off, his voice is still soft but there’s now a sense of command in it. “i’m not keeping score.” 

“minghao.” you look at him and your breath hitches, you can tell that he means it.

he holds your gaze for just a second before continuing his point. “but if you want me to, you’ve offered me friendship, companionship. i didn’t always have someone who was willing to go on these groceries, runs, or museum days with. you could have just easily said no when i asked. others have, but you didn’t.”

your lips part and you’re not sure how to respond, minghao says it as if it’s a truth he’s just acknowledged himself. 

you could have said no. it would have been easy to. there’s a grocery store that’s fifteen minutes away, but you never fail to go to the farmer’s market that’s nearly an hour drive away. you could have gone on runs alone, there’s a gym inside your work building, but you chose to exercise with him. you could have spent your afternoon editing photos from your latest shoot, but you spent it checking out the museum with him. 

but the choice was never difficult. despite your earlier reservations about him,

“i like your company.” you blurt, finishing the thought aloud.

he tilts his head to the side, the corner of his mouth twitches upward to a smile. “i like your company too, yn.”

a silence falls between the two of you, but it’s not tense. 

it feels like a sense of understanding, of comfort and security, of relief. the very feeling you get when you finally find an item you thought had been lost forever, in between seat cushions or in cluttered cabinet drawers, simply hiding in plain sight. the feeling you get when you remember actually brought an umbrella so you don’t have to walk home in the rain. the feeling when you remember the lyrics to a song you hadn’t listened to in ages. 

no words were spoken, but there was no need for them anyway. in that moment, neither of you even knew how to articulate the swelling in your chests. you only knew the feeling, coursing through your veins, taking over yours and minghao’s senses.

it’s only a few seconds, and minghao blinks back before he reaches out for the bottle of wine so he could pour both of you a glass. “let’s eat, hm? and you could rant about everything that happened in that little date of yours.”

he hears you out, rolling his eyes when he got particularly annoyed at the man who took you out. the night turns from terrible to wonderful. 

when all is said and done, and you gently close the door of your own apartment. you can’t help the wistful sigh that escapes your lips. oh.

not knowing that on the other side of your living room wall, in his own apartment now accompanied with nothing but his own thoughts, minghao places his nicest dinnerware back in his cabinets. oh.             

from reese, with love

it's pining time babyyyyyy this might just be my favorite written portion of the entire series (so far) !! i thought nothing would pass 0114 and 0214 but ooooh i'm really feeling this one which is why im extra excited to find out what you guys thought of this !! all asks/replies/rbs are appreciated <3 thank you for reading ! hope you're all doing well and taking care ^^

also svt are coming back to the ph i need to get employed soon so i could actually afford to go ;-; anyone looking for a concert buddy? jk1/2 (manifesting aaaaah)

[imagines--galore]

||The Thread of Fate|| Part Fifteen

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

A/N: I am so excited! We're almost at the end of Book 2. Just five or six more chapters? Maybe less. But argh! This was a pain to get right!!!! Lemme know what you think folks!

Maybe this was a bad idea?

But bad ideas, always led to good ideas didn't they?

Something about the negative attracting the positive.

Or something of the sort.

It was too early to actually think straight.

Placing the small note she had quickly written to ensure Iroh and Zuko that she had simply gone to the Outer Ring for a little bending practice, Orora was quick to exit the apartment and make her way down the stairs and out of the building.

Glancing behind her, and seeing no candle suddenly burning, the young waterbender heaved a sigh of relief, before leaning back against the wall she had taken refuge behind.

Straightening the strap of her satchel, her lips pulled in a secret smile before she began to walk down the road.

"Little early for you to be going for a morning stroll, isn't it?"

A shriek the surely even the Spirits would've heard echoed in the early morning air.

Her heart threatened to burst out of her chest, as she whirled around to stare wide eyed at the smug looking banished prince leaning against a support beam of a building.

"Monkey-feathers Zuko! Are you trying to scare me to death?" Pressing a hand on her chest, as if physically willing herself to calm down, her gaze shifted from sudden fight to fury and annoyance. "And it is none of your business where I go. A girl is allowed her secrets." She stated in a rather haughty tone, prompting Zuko to raise an eyebrow at her. A smirk pulled at his lips, that infuriating smirk when he knew he had a comeback she had no answer to.

"What girl?"

Her nostrils flared, and an offended look overcame her features. "Humph." That was the best response she could come up with. Adding to that response, was a pivot on the heel and attempting to walk away in a huff.

Of course that didn't happen when Zuko reached out to grasp her by the elbow.

The sudden contact had her stopping dead in her tracks. Her head shifted to look over her shoulder where she could feel his warm hand against the bare skin of her elbow. Zuko seemed to be following the exact thought, since his eyes dropped to his hand as well.

Twin blushes stole across their cheeks, as Zuko slowly, almost as if he were reluctant to do so, let go of her elbow. She brushed her hair behind her ear, a habit she had picked up out of nervousness since her hair had grown long enough, he had noticed. "You know you're not supposed to wander around the city on your own." He reminded her, crossing his arms over his chest as he did.

Orora closed her eyes, letting out a sigh as she stared longingly at the Outer Wall that was just visible beyond the line of houses. "I know, but I didn't want to bother you, or Master. I just wanted to find an open space, and just waterbend." She admitted. "I heard about this lake, but its off-limits to the public, but if I could even find a small pond....." She trailed off, shoulders drooping in defeat.

"But you're right. I shouldn't have tried to go off on my own." Gripping the strap she let out a disappointed sigh. "We should head back. Your Uncle will worry if he sees us both gone."

She'd barely taken a step or two back towards the apartment building when she heard Zuko sigh.

"Wait." He called out, prompting Orora to come to a halt. She turned around to look at him, her gaze questioning. "I'll go with you." The firebender sighed out. Surprise flitted across her features, before a bright smile pulled at her lips.

"Really?" He barely had time to nod before she tackled him into a brief yet fierce hug. "Oh thank you Zuko! I promise I'll buy you a whole bag of moon peaches on our way back!" She vowed, smiling at him. Zuko blinked, still a little taken aback by the sudden embrace. At least he recovered physically, his head jerking forward in a nod.

His voice, however, was having a little trouble finding itself, while his mind was focused on the fact that Orora had hugged him. Granted it wasn't the first time, but he was starting to find that no matter how brief a touch he shared with Orora, it always meant so much to him.

Especially since that night just a day ago.

When he had kissed her, and she had kissed him back.

A hand gripping his brought him back from reliving that sweet memory. Rather then focus on the Orora in his mind, he instead turned his attention to Orora as she stood next to him, smiling at him in gratitude as she took his hand, and began to lead him towards the Outer Wall.

For once, he followed someone else. He allowed someone else to lead him.

Someone he trusted other than his Uncle.

                                          ————————–

The previous day had been interesting to say the least.

After the kiss, both teenagers had felt a little shy around one another. It wasn't everyday that someone went ahead and kissed their soulmate.

It was a life-changing moment.

Just one step away from formally acknowledging and accepting that the other person was your soulmate.

They were two very different things.

Both of them had laid under the stars together for another good hour. Though this time, neither of them met the other's gaze. Nor did they touch.

Or rather.

Not completely.

Their hands had been right next to one another, and Orora had found her small finger wrapping itself around his finger. Her hold had been gentle, but when he looped his own finger around her own, she had felt herself smile.

Alright so maybe her and Zuko were not going to be open about whatever had happened, but at least it had happened. That was a start.

A kiss.

Her first proper kiss.

As she recalled the moment, Orora could feel a smile forming on her lips. She quickly suppressed it by biting down on her lower lip.

But then he stood up and left without a word. Orora had been a little confused at first, but thought that maybe he was just as shy as she felt.

The next day had been as mundane as any other.

With an added perk.

Iroh had been at the front of the tea shop while she and Zuko had been washing dishes in the back. Standing beside one another, he washed, while she quickly dried using her waterbending. The both of them worked in silence, the clink of the cups and plates they were washing the only sound.

But that wasn't to say they weren't speaking.

Or rather, they weren't speaking verbally.

Every now and then, their gazes would meet, and something would pass between the both of them.

Every now and then their skin would graze when passing the cup or plate, and both would actually feel their senses come alive with that brief touch.

Every now and then a smile would pass between them, one that was equal parts shy, uncertain and almost, dare she say, hopeful.

Finally, finally, Orora had cleared her throat. "You know, back at the North Pole, there's a little game we play. Well I've heard of people playing it, I've never played it myself."

A little surprised at hearing her say something after such a long length of silence, he turned to look at her. She kept her eyes on the spoon he had just handed to her.

"That when two............soulmates find each other," Spirits, his cheeks felt like they were on fire. "A little competition starts, to see how they would be able to catch one another off guard." She explained, remembering how one of her maids had actually spoken to her about it.

Fiddling with the spoon she gripped in her fingers, the young waterbender girl lifted her head to look at him. "It allows them to get to know each other better and build some strange sense of trust."

Zuko blinked, finally realizing that her ice blue eyes were close.

Much too close.

"I know we're not at the North Pole, but........." She trailed off, her gaze open, earnest and pleading. And really, in what world could he ever say no to her.

His nod of confirmation was enough to have her smiling.

Though the mischievousness that danced in her eyes had him very nearly stepping back and going back on his word.

"Well since you caught me off guard on the roof top." Orora commented, gathering whatever strength and bravery she needed to continue.

"I suppose its my turn."

So saying, she raised herself up on her toes, given that she was a few inches shorter then him, and pressed a series of kisses, two on his cheeks, on either side, and one on his lips.

The moment she was done, Orora turned around and all but ran out to the front of the shop, leaving Zuko to stand their dumbfounded and unable to ascertain what had just happened.

Though once he did recover there was no denying that the smile that formed on his lips, and the happiness that he felt, was something he had not experienced in a long long time.

                                          ————————–

Starting the contest seemed to have broken the ice. Both teenagers went back to acting like their normal selves with one another. With a few added aspects.

For one, throughout the entire day, they would both do random little acts for one another. It wasn't to say that they didn't do anything for each other before, but now that it was a contest to see who would do more, they both decided to step up their game.

                                          ————————–

He'd caught her trying to pick up a huge stack of plates and cups. And though he'd been on break, Zuko had been quick to reach out and take most of the cutlery. She'd blinked at him, a little surprised knowing he was rather particular about his break.

Glancing over his shoulder and seeing no one there, Zuko had taken that moment to quickly peck her on the forehead, before walking away with the stack of plates.

Orora had been a little uncertain about whether Zuko would accept to play her game or not, but with that little gesture, she had her answer.

                                          ————————–

She stepped back a little from walking beside Iroh on the way back home and grasped his hand. A little daring considering Iroh could turn back and catch them at any moment, but that didn't stop him from squeezing her hand back.

                                          ————————–

Orora had been busy preparing dinner when Zuko had stepped up next to her. She had glanced at him, curious when he nodded towards the vegetables that still needed chopping. Her eyes widened in surprise.

He hated chopping vegetables.

Zuko simply rolled his eyes at her astonishment and began to peel and cut, leaving Orora smiling happily while Iroh stared at his nephew a little dumbfounded.

He wasn't as comfortable as Orora was when it came to phsyical acts of affection. Orora craved them, having gotten next to none growing up. It would seem her tactic of catching Zuko off guard was using little gestures of affection. While his battle plan for surprising her was helping her wherever she needed it.

                                          ————————–

Iroh had gone to bed a little early that night, so that left the two teenagers to do whatever they wanted. And what Zuko wanted, was to reach out and take Orora's hand before leading her up to the rooftop once more.

Which he did.

They spent hours up there, lying next to one another once more, just talking.

And for once it was Orora who told him about her life before she had met him. How her father and brothers had suppressed her, how her entire life had felt like she was walking on thin ice because of her father's temper. How he had lashed out at her most of the time and hit her multiple times. How she had tried her best to be the perfect daughter, but something inside her had always told her that this was wrong, that she wasn't meant to be treated that way. How she would sneak away to the Spirit Oasis because the place helped calm her and just play with the water. How, once, she'd even dared to step into the pond of the koi fish.

How her grandmother had given her waterbending scrolls as her final act of rebellion against the men in their lives. How she had honored that act by practicing her bending to train to become a fighter. How she had, finally, decided that she would not take the abuse any longer after nearly dying during the Siege. How her father had actually tried to hit her after she returned home, but she'd caught his descending hand using her waterbending. How she had knocked her brother aside with a wall of water, and frozen them to the floor. How she had looked her father in the eye, her very being radiating an anger that it actually had the temperature dropping in the room.

For the first time she had spoken her mind, and said what she had wanted to say for so so long. Her father had been too stunned to do anything. Her mother had stood in the corner, pride in her eyes where there had hardly been any emotion at all. Her brothers had stopped their struggle and had followed their father's example. Even though her father had already banished her, which had been the trigger causing her to act as she did, Orora had stated that she'd already made up her mind about leaving.

And then she had left.

Throughout the story, Zuko had never once looked away from Orora, even when she could not longer meet his gaze and instead focused on the night sky above. He had known she had gone through some trouble with her family, but he had no idea she still carried the scars of it, and that it still effected her. Then again, he carried his scars as well, physical and mental, so why should she be any different. He wasn't in any way comparing their pasts. They'd both had different experiences, both been treated harshly by their fathers and had been abandoned by their siblings to fend for themselves.

But then she revealed one final detail.

A detail that had Zuko's heart stopping in his chest, and a horrible feeling creeping all along his body, like pinpricks, and settling just under his skin where he could feel it the most.

The detail of how the verbal, emotional, mental and physical torture had gotten so bad at one point that she had actually considered just...........

She'd trailed off then, closing her eyes and feeling all that hurt, anguish and loneliness rise to the forefront of her mind. She'd put up a strong front all her life. Had never wavered when it came to her own sense of belief. But there were times when she had doubted and wandered if it would all be worth it in the end. She could feel the harsh sting of the tears behind her closed eyelids, felt them escape and slowly trail down her cheeks, warm against her skin.

"Sometimes I feel like, there's this chasm inside me. Even now, after getting away from it all, I'm standing at the very edge of it." She revealed, pressing a hand to her chest, where she could physically feel her heart ache. "There is no end to that chasm, and I'm about to loose my footing and fall." She gathered herself closer to her body, as if trying to attain some warmth that would dissipate the coldness that came from within. "But then, I feel someone take me by the hand, and pull me back a little and I look up."

Finally, she turned her head to look at him. A watery smile pulled at her lips, and despite the tears he could see the hope and utter trust in her eyes. His heart squeezed in his chest. Did he even deserve that from someone?

"And I see you standing there. You and your Uncle. I know we've known each other for just a few months, but I don't think I've ever trusted anyone before like I trust you Zuko. You and Master helped me see that you can trust someone."

She was baring herself to him, heart and soul, just like he had done all those nights ago when he had revealed the truth about his scar. "And yeah, we did fight and I didn't like you, I still sometimes want nothing more then to throw you off a building." A small laugh, prompting Zuko to smile at the sound. "But I trust you."

No one had ever trusted him before. Not his father, his sister, not even his crew. His Uncle did, but having another person, his soulmate, tell him that she trusted him was an another thing entirely.

He reached out, gently grasping her by the shoulders and pulling her in. Her head settled on his chest, right near his heart, his arms wound around her, one on her waist, the other around her shoulders, his hand buried in her hair as he held her close. He placed his head on top of her own and just sat there. For her part, Orora wrapped her arms loosely around his waist, feeling tired and drained after all that she had just revealed. Her eyes closed as she felt him drop a kiss to her head and she sighed.

Despite having not said a lot the entire night, with that one hug, Zuko said more then he ever could have.

The tears continued to fall until she finally fell asleep in his arms.

                                          ————————–

It was strange having someone else open up to him like Orora had. Growing up in the Palace, Zuko hadn't had many friends. Any at all. He would usually be around his mother, and she would play with him when he was younger, though as he got older he insisted that playing was for children and had instead moved on to practicing with weapons. His cousin had been the one to teach him about Dao Swords, but then he died. His mother disappeared, and it was only when Iroh returned that Zuko finally had a friendly face around the Palace. Azula had been lucky when it came to friends. She had Mei and Ty Lee.

Zuko had no one.

But now he had Orora.

Sitting on the bank of the significantly spacious pond, Zuko remembered the last time he had seen Orora practice like that. It was just after Azula had shot lightening at Iroh. Everything that had happened seemed like such a long time ago. The both of them had barely been able to look at one another then.

But in a span of a few short weeks they'd become friends. And they'd kissed.

He was brought out of his reverie when a bubble of water splashed just near his feet.

"Hey! Watch it!" He called out annoyed.

Orora stood in front of him, knee deep in water, her pants pulled up and her long shirt tucked in to keep from getting too wet. Not that it would matter, she could always waterbend herself dry.

She grinned. "Oh lighten up, and I mean figuratively." Zuko rolled his eyes as she laughed at her own joke. "You're trying too hard." He stated, prompting her to scowl at him.

"Well if you're just gonna make fun of my jokes, then I won't take my turn in our game." He raised an eyebrow at her. "I thought you were going to buy me moon peaches?" He asked to which she shrugged. "I can buy those for you any time, but I figured why not teach you a waterbending move which I'm sure you can use for other scenarios."

He blinked at her. She grinned and winked playfully.

Stepping out of the water, she quickly reached his side. "Come on, its an easy one, I promise."

So saying, she inhaled deeply, centering herself where she stood. Raising her arms in front of her, palms facing her body, she slowly brought them up to shoulder level before allowing her arms and hands to fly out, palms out.

The entire movement was fluid and graceful, quite the opposite of the firebending forms he had studied all his life.

"And when I do it with water." So saying she demonstrated the move again but this time using her waterbending abilities, sending a powerful wall of water splashing on the opposite end of the pond.

Zuko was impressed. She had improved a lot since he had met her. Her bending had gotten powerful through sheer practice and determination alone. Deciding to humor her, and yes she did catch him off-guard when she offered to teach him a waterbending move, Zuko dropped into stance next to her.

Orora smiled when he did, eager to share what she had learned.

As they both went through the motion, with Orora correcting him every now and then, the topic stayed on bending. Though now in an entirely different context.

"So I was thinking." He turned his head to look at her, though still going through the motions of the bending move. "You're able to bend using your feet as well. I mean I've seen you create arcs with just a swipe of your foot." She was careful to not say the word firebending in case someone else was listening in. "And Earthbenders can do the same, and I'm sure the Airbenders could as well."

Zuko nodded. "Yeah? I've seen the Avatar do that. What're you getting at?"

She shrugged. "Well I was just wandering, why isn't there any move where a waterbender could bend using their legs?"

Zuko frowned, contemplating on what she had just said. "Maybe no one has ever tried before?" He stated in a matter of fact voice, which had Orora humming, as she dropped her previous stance and waved her arms in an arc around her body, pulling a stream of water from the pond and creating a ring of water around her waist

"I guess." She said her voice low, dividing the ring into two and freezing one of them in a beautiful circular curvy ring. The water from the other ring, continued to weave through the now frozen structure, creating quite a pretty effect. It almost looked like she was wearing a stylized belt or something.

Having stopped going through the motions, Zuko turned his attention to her. "Why don't you try it?"

Her eyes snapped up to meet him, though her fingers kept moving in an elegant circular motion, keeping the water moving. "Me?" She asked, surprised.

Zuko shrugged. "Yeah whats wrong with you trying?" Orora pursed her lips, unfreezing the water and allowing the two rings to merge into one and sending it back into the pond.

"Well I'm not a Master, I don't know a lot of waterbending forms." She kicked her foot out sheepishly, catching a small pebble and watching as it rolled into the pond. "I doubt I'll be able to create a whole new form of bending."

Zuko frowned, not liking the way she was speaking about herself, and her abilities. Reaching out, he placed, what he hoped was a comforting hand, on her shoulder. "Look from what I have seen, you're a really good bender. You always practice when you can, and it doesn't even matter if you're doing it in the water, or just practicing going through the motions. You work hard, and your skills have improved since we had that spar in the forest."

She blinked up at him briefly, before a hopeful yet shy smile pulled at her lips. "You really think so?" She asked, and Zuko couldn't help but smile back at her. His hand moved from her shoulder, to cup the side of her face, thumb gently stroking her skin.

"Of course." He answered honestly.

She tilted her head, closing her eyes briefly, as if she were savoring his touch. "You know Zuko," She finally said after a brief stretch of silence. "For someone who acts grumpy all the time, you're a pretty sweet guy."

Instantly his expression changed to an annoyed look, prompting Orora to laugh under her breath. "You mention this to anyone, and I'll tell Uncle you broke his favorite teacup." He threatened.

Her eyes widened in disbelief. "I replaced it!" She protested. Zuko smirked, shaking his head.

"It doesn't matter. That teacup had sentimental value, he doesn't know its been replaced, unless I tell him."

Orora scowled at him, flicking away the hand that still rested on her cheek. "Oh you would stoop that low wouldn't you?" She ground out, pouting.

If possible, his smirk only widened. "Anything to be Uncle's favorite."

He was met with a light punch in the gut on part of an annoyed soulmate.

                                          ————————–

Ever since last night, Zuko had been thinking some things over. So far, Orora new most of what had happened to him, but he had neglected to inform her of the months he had spent chasing he Avatar and all that had come with it.

From being constantly belittled by Zhao, to nearly dying in an explosion, almost getting captured by Azula, not to mention that time when the Avatar had saved his life.

He had to tell her. She had been truthful with him. She deserved to know the truth. The whole truth.

The walk back home was a long one, and since he was sure there was no one around to listen, he decided it was his turn to catch her off-guard like she had him the night before.

By telling her about everything since he had begun chasing the Avatar. She had to know all that he had done, every dirty tactic and trick he had played to try and capture the Avatar. From the time he had used the watertribe girl's necklace as bait, to dressing up as the Blue Spirit, to kidnapping the Avatar while he was in the Spirit World.

It was one failed attempt after another, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth as he spoke. Surely Orora would want nothing to do with him. He was a failure. He couldn't even capture a twelve year old kid. Granted the kid was the Avatar, but he was still a kid.

Just as he had listened to her the night before, she listened to him. Once he had said all that he could, she inhaled deeply, her mind swirling with all that she could say to him. It was hard to choose where she should start.

So she started with holding his hand, pulling him into a partially hidden alley. She sighed. It almost felt like he had a rock inside him, weighing him down, as he waited for her to speak.

"I can't say that what you did was right, and I won't agree with it either." His heart dropped. "What you did was wrong Zuko, but....." She trailed off, licking her lips before sighing. "But I know more then a little about wanting to gain a father's approval." He blinked at her. That was more then he had hoped to hear. He had fully expected her to turn her back to him.

"You do what you can to please him. To try and get him to look at you with something other then contempt." She nodded in understanding, reaching up to run her fingers through the hair resting on his forehead before resting on his cheek. "You loose yourself in the process. You loose your own morals and that is the worst part." Never once leaving his gaze she continued.

"But you never did that. Where any other person would've taken a life or hurt someone out of desperation, never have I heard from your lips that you actually hurt someone." Zuko shook his head. "But that was all luck."

She shook her head. "You just told me that when Zhao was being taken away by the Spirits, you tried to save him, but he refused your help." He opened his mouth, but Orora quickly quietened him pressing her fingers to his lips. "You went after your Uncle after he was kidnapped by those Earthbenders. You never intentionally hurt anyone who came your way."

Finger gently caressing his mouth she continued. "And most of all, you saved my life. I'm proof that you haven't lost your morals Zuko. That you are a good person despite all that you have done. You didn't know who I was, you had no idea I was your soulmate, but you saved me." With every word she stepped closer until she was all but pressed up against him, her face just inches away. And while her gaze was open and earnest, he was looking at her through heavy lidded eyes. "I'm alive because of you." Her words were barely above a whisper as he dropped his forehead against her own. She sighed, adoring how warm he felt against her, her eyes slowly drifting shut, wanting to savor the moment. "I'm here because of you."

The last two words were muffled as she fused their mouths together in a kiss that had her grasping for the front of his shirt, while his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer.

So far their kisses had been quick and chaste, both of them feeling too shy and uncertain about their feelings for one another.

But this one?

This one kiss they shared in the alley?

It was anything but chaste.

Zuko pressed his mouth insistently against hers, forcing Orora to lean back. There was a near desperation in that kiss, almost as if her words had awoken some sudden realization in him. And they had.

She had reminded him how close he had been to loosing her. Loosing her before he had even gotten to know who she was. And how important she would become to him.

His arms tightened around her waist as he gently pushed her so her back would rest against the wall of the building. Neither of them broke the kiss, content on memorizing the shape of each other's lips. Her hands slid up his chest to bury her fingers in his hair. The gentle scrape of her nails against his scalp opened an entirely new plethora of feelings in him.

Instinct drove him forward, taking her lower lip between his teeth and allowing them to sink into her soft skin. His hands, not wanting to stay idle, began to roam the small of her back, tracing the side of her waist as he did. Orora could barely contain the sound of surprise at the sudden onslaught of new sensations his touch awoke in her. Her eyelashes fluttered against the curve of her cheeks as she too returned the favor by nipping at his lip. His sound of approval reverberated against her mouth, prompting her to smile as he melded their lips together once more.

It was then that she seemed to realize the heaviness clouding her mind was not because of having Zuko pressed up against her, and his mouth on her, but because she couldn't breath.

Her hands dropped to his chest, pushing him back and unfusing her lips from his. The moment she did, the young waterbender inhaled sharply, trying to catch her breath. Zuko was no better. He was breathing heavily as well. Their forehead were still pressed together, cheeks flushed, and their eyes were open, ice blue staring into warm amber.

Once they were able to calm their breathing, as well as their racing hearts, Zuko pulled away from her. Though he didn't look away from her. She was smiling softly, and he couldn't help but mirror that smile as he led her out of the alley and into the street, heading for home.

But despite what they had just spoken about, once they stood outside the apartment building Zuko couldn't help but glance at it and scowl.

He hated it. Hated that he had to work as a tea server his whole life. Zuko glanced at Orora as she walked beside him. Despite having not thought about it in awhile, his mind drifted back to home. To the Fire Palace and all the comforts that came with it. In his mind, his father welcomed him home with open arms.

The bitterness that was now a part of his soul festered away as he continued to think of a life back home with Orora by his side.

A life he could never have.

                                          ————————–

Putting away the last of her waterbending scrolls in the small wicker basket, Orora smiled and stood. "Well I'm done packing up, would you like me to make you a cup of tea Master?" She asked, already moving towards the stove and kettle, knowing he would answer in the positive.

"Anytime is good for tea my young Pupil, remember that life lesson." Iroh responded cheerfully, prompting the young girl to laugh as she bended some water into the kettle.

This was so exciting. Not even a month ago, they had barely had any money to buy clothes and food. And now? Her Master was getting the chance to open up his own tea shop. To say he was ecstatic would be an understatement. They would be moving to the Upper Ring, getting new apartments, new clothes. That last part was something she looked forward to more then anything else. Maybe she could even get her own room?

Orora was truly happy for Iroh. He deserved his own tea shop, with how excellent his tea making skills were. She was glad he had chosen to teach her his secrets as well. In her eyes, any teaching Iroh had to impart on her, she would gladly accept. It was truly an honor.

And speaking of honor, ever since their outing, Zuko had been in a bit of a modd. She had figured he needed to come to terms with what they had spoken about, and decided to give him some space instead. She knew he appreciated her advice, but sometimes a person needed to sort through some thoughts by themselves.

"Have you thought of a name yet for the tea shop?" She asked, curious to know what he would come up with. Just then the door slid open and Zuko stepped in.

Iroh, wanting to include Zuko into the conversation spoke up. "I was thinking about names for my new tea shop. How about the Jasmine Dragon? It's dramatic, poetic, has a nice ring to it." Orora hummed in agreement, watching curiously as Zuko unfolded a piece of paper and showed it to his Uncle.

"The Avatar is here in Ba Sing Se and he's lost his bison." Orora blinked in surprise. "He lost Appa?" She asked, worry lacing her tone as she quickly walked forward to look at the paper, which was actually a flyer, as Iroh examined it.

The old man sighed. "We have a chance for a new life here." He said, letting Orora take the piece of paper and examining it further. "If you start stirring up trouble, we could lose all the good things that are happening for us."

Zuko who had been looking out the window with a determined expression, turned around. "Good things that are happening for you!" His words prompted Orora to look up at him, hurt evident in her eyes. A fact that he refused to acknowledge and ignored completely, even as he glanced in her direction. Though a sliver of guilt settled in his stomach, he continued. "Have you ever thought that I want more from life than a nice apartment and a job serving tea?"

Iroh sighed. "There is nothing wrong with a life of peace and prosperity." His tone was soft and understanding as he continued. "I suggest you think about what it is that you want from your life and why."

"I want my destiny." Zuko stated without even thinking about his answer. Iroh nodded. "What that means is up to you."

Knowing he would get nothing out of his Uncle other then words of wisdom and riddles, young Prince stalked away to their shared rooms and disappeared behind the door. His Uncle didn't understand. And while on some levels Orora did, she had accepted her fate and the fact that she could never go home. Him though? He still had a chance to earn his father's approval and go back.

Orora stared after him, more then a little hurt at being ignored by Zuko like that.

"The Tea Weevil!" Iroh suddenly exclaimed, before shaking his head. "No, that's stupid." Biting her lower lip, the young waterbender moved back to the stove where the water was now boiling.

"He did not mean to hurt you Orora." Iroh's words had her blushing at being so obvious about the situation. She glanced at him to see the old man smiling kindly at her. "My nephew tends to push people away when facing a problem or a challenge, thinking he can take care of it himself."

Continuing to pack, Iroh added. "Give him some time, he will realize that what he already has is enough." Giving her a smile of reassurance, Iroh hoped he had helped ease her worries about Zuko a little.

                                          ————————–

Pretending to be asleep that night was no easy feat. She was restless, her mind ringing with what Zuko had said, and with the knowledge that Aang, Katara and Sokka were close by. And they had lost Appa. During the short journey from the North Pole to the mainland, she'd grown fond of the hairy beast. He was adorable, and Orora adored adorable things.

It was a weakness.

She heard Zuko as he got up from his sleeping mat. She sat up the moment the door slid close. A determined expression on her features, she quickly pulled on her shoes and grabbed her water pouch. She'd barely taken a few steps down the road when she bumped into her Master.

"A little late to be taking an evening stroll my young pupil." Iroh stated in a jovial tone, though his eyes were serious. Orora glanced over his shoulder. "He's just up ahead Master, we should be able to follow him."

Iroh shook his head. "No, my dear. You will stay in the apartment. Where Zuko is about to go, it is a dangerous place, and I cannot be worrying about your safety as well as Zuko's." Her heart plummeted in her stomach and her shoulders drooped.

"But Master, I can take care of myself." She insisted, to which Iroh placed a hand on her shoulder. "I know you can. But Ba Sing Se has powerful men and women working on the wrong side." With a firm squeeze of her shoulder, her Master stated one final time.

"Stay." With that he moved to follow after Zuko.

Orora pursed her lips where she stood, feeling a little bubble of disappointment forming in her chest. Did Iroh not have faith in her abilities? Or did he think she would distract Zuko?

Her heart and mind were at war, as she turned on her feet and began to walk back towards their apartment.

But a slight tug on her finger had her looking down at the string that connected her with Zuko.

She frowned.

                                          ————————–

Iroh had heard rumors of the secret of Lake Laogai. The White Lotus had warned him of the many dangers that lurked in the catacombs of the city. This had been one of the reasons he never allowed Orora to wander around the city by herself. He had heard tales of people disappearing, never to be heard from again.

Though he was reluctant to admit, Zuko had more experience when it came to being on guard and watching his back. Orora did not. She had proven to herself to be a skilled fighter, but she lacked the experience when it came to people.

Iroh followed after Zuko. Luckily the entrance to the under water base of operations had been left open. So it was easy to jump down and begin the task of looking for Zuko. The tunnels were dark and seemed almost haunted in the dim green light. The tiniest sound seemed so loud in one's ear. He'd only wandered through a few tunnels, when Iroh became aware of a presence behind him.

As a skilled firebender, he could actually feel the warmth of a body and how close it was. And these several presences were getting closer. He hid himself in a shadowed alcove, watching as several Dai Li agents rushed by. They had barely passed when he felt another heat form closing in.

Much to his surprise, it was a rather familiar one. As soon as they were within range, his hand darted out to catch them by the elbow, and pulled them into his hiding spot.

If he allowed himself to, Orora was sure her Master would be breathing steam at that moment, with how furious he looked.

"I told you to stay behind Orora." He said, his voice carried the weight of his disappointment. Orora lowered her head. "I know." Shame colored her tone. "I know you did Master, but I couldn't just sit back and do nothing."

Grumbling under his breath, Iroh ran a tired hand over his face. Finally he looked at her with a serious expression. "Orora. As your Master, I hereby forbid you from ever disobeying my orders again." He knew it wasn't right, knew that he was asking her to take an oath that she would find very hard to break, but he had to.

To protect her.

"Swear to me, that the next time I give you an order, no matter what the outcome may be, you will obey me."

Orora bit her lower lip, nodding. "I swear, Master." She hated the look he was giving her, and never wanted to see it again. He was her teacher, he knew best. She trusted him to keep her safe and never lead her down the wrong path.

Nodding in a satisfactory manner, Iroh peaked out from their hiding place. "Now follow me, and keep close."

                                          ————————–

While Iroh stayed on the lookout for any potential threats, Orora slowly began to lead the way following her thread. By some miracle, they didn't run into any trouble as they ventured deeper and deeper underneath the Lake. It didn't take long, for them to reach a door. Her finger gave a gentle tug and she knew Zuko was on the other side.

Iroh didn't waste time in reaching out and opening the door. He was already angry at Orora for disobeying him, and it was only growing at the thought of his nephew doing something stupid and throwing away his life.

The moment they entered, Orora closed the door behind her. The first thing she noticed was the person in the blue mask. Zuko, holding his Dao swords at the ready. And behind him?

Appa.

In chains.

"Appa!" She called out, rushing forward, darting past Zuko and approaching the Bison. The big creature let out a warning growl, though she wasn't deterred. "Its me. Orora." She held her hand out for him to sniff, to remember her scent. "Remember me?" She cooed, as the Bison leaned forward to press his nose against her palm. She gently ran her hand along his nose smiling. "Its alright boy. I'll get you out."

"And then what!?"

The sudden shout had her turning on her heel, eyes widening. She had never heard Iroh yell. Never seen him so angry as he did right then. Not even a few moments ago when he had caught her.

"You never think these things through!" He pointed a finger at Zuko, who now stood with his back to his Uncle, maskless, his eyes focused on the ground as emotions ravaged through his very sense of being. "This is exactly what happened when you captured the Avatar at the North Pole! You had him, and then you had nowhere to go!"

"I would have figured something out!" Zuko argued, though there was uncertainty in his voice.

"No! If his friends hadn't found you, you would have frozen to death!" Iroh stated, prompting a chill to run down her spine. Zuko had spoken to her about it, but how much had he downplayed on the amount of times he had nearly died?

"I know my own destiny, Uncle!" Again, he tried to argue, but Iroh was having none of it.

"Is it your own destiny, or is it a destiny someone else has tried to force on you?" He demanded. Behind her Appa fidgeted, not liking the loud voices. She made a reassuring sound, gently running her fingers through his soft fur.

"Stop it, Uncle! I have to do this!" Forced determination, that was all there was in Zuko's voice as his heart raged with his mind.

Capture the Avatar, restore his honor, restore his father's love, go back home, restore his title as Prince. That was all that mattered.

"I'm begging you, Prince Zuko!" Iroh demanded, and pleaded at the same time. "It's time for you to look inward and begin asking yourself the big questions. Who are you, and what do you want?"

That seemed to be the last straw.

Zuko let out a pained cry, throwing down his weapon and the mask, dropping to his knees as he did. Orora stood where she was for a few moments, before glancing at Iroh. He gave her a small nod.

Giving Appa a reassuring pat on the nose, she slowly approached the conflicted Prince. Her soft steps echoed in the otherwise silent chamber. She dropped to her knees in front of him, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm not gonna say I understand, because our situations are vastly different." She started, knowing he was listening to her. "But I do know a little something about living a life, following a destiny that someone else decided for me." Reaching out, she cupped his face to make him look up, to meet her gaze.

Lost amber eyes, found a determined blue gaze.

"But I broke free, and I have never regretted that. I found a Master. I found you. I found friends. But most of all? I found myself."

Leaning forward she pressed a gentle, lingering kiss against the scar on his cheek.

"Find yourself, Zuko. Find your reason to fight." She whispered softly.

So saying, she stood. With one last gentle smile at him, she turned back to Appa, uncorking her water bag and pulling out twin streams of water.

"Alright Appa. We're gonna have to work together if we're gonna get you out of here." So saying, she threw her arm out, wrapping one of the chains that held Appa's leg, in a stream of water and freezing it in place.

"Now pull." The Bison gave a loud grunt as he pulled at the now brittle chain. It tokk a few tries, but he was able to free himself easily, prompting Orora to grin widely. Gathering up the water from the now brokem pieces of ice, she moved to the next chain when she suddenly felt a presence beside her.

It was Zuko.

He walked past her, swords in either hand, nearing Appa with every step. The Bison growled again, prompting Orora to reach out. "Its alright Appa. He's here to help."

She hoped.

Zuko stopped in front of the chains that held Appa prisoner. His swords began to steam as he allowed his firebending abilities to heat the metal. Raising them in the air, he brought down both swords in one powerful stroke with a mighty cry. The heated blade cut through the metal chain like butter.

Orora grinned.

Between the both of them, they were able to free Appa in a matter of minutes. The Bison let out a happy grunt, stretching his legs, before nudging Orora with his nose, nuzzling against her. The young girl giggled, throwing her arms around Appa's cheek and returning his embrace. "Go find Aang. I'm sure he's worried about you." She said, stepping back a little so she could meet Appa's intelligent gaze.

Glancing behind her, she saw Zuko standing next to Iroh. She reached out, quickly grabbing his hand and yanking him forward. "He wants to say thank you." She said, placing Zuko's hand on Appa's fur.

Zuko stood there, frozen, his eyes meeting Appa's brown gaze. Human and animal stood still, before Appa closed his eyes, and somehow, Zuko knew the creature was thanking him.

With a mighty thump of his tail, the Bison took off. Through sheer strength he was able to break through the thin metal railing above him and take to the skies.

"You did good." Zuko felt a soft hand slipping in his, prompting him to turn around and find a smiling Orora standing by his side. His Uncle stood not even a few paces away. Both of them looked proud.

The first time Zuko ever felt he did something right was when he saved Orora's life.

But this?

Helping an innocent animal go free, that came a close second.

                                          ————————–

The walk back from Lake Laogai was a long one. This gave Zuko some time to think about what had just happened. Did this mean he was no longer hunting the Avatar? That he was going to make a life for himself in Ba Sing Se? As more and more questions rose in his mind, he began to feel them crowd around in his head, causing it to become physically heavy.

He could barely navigate his way through the streets of Ba Sing Se as his head began to throb all over.

By the time they reached their apartment, Orora could barely feel her feet. Though she barely noticed the ache as she focused on Zuko. In the time it had taken them to get back home, his face had gotten paler and paler. She'd caught his eye and silently asked if he was alright. He'd nodded, though even his movements were starting to get sluggish.

"You did the right thing." Iroh said, opening the door to their apartment, the pride in his voice evident as both teenagers walked in. "Letting the Avatar's bison go free."

Orora, who had entered first, turned to look at Zuko. He looked worse then before. "Zuko?" She reached out, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. He lifted a hand, pressing his palm against the side of his head as he met her gaze. "Orora?" His words slurred. "I don't feel right." His vision of her grew hazy and blurry before it darkened completely.

She was barely able to catch him when he passed out. "Zuko!" She didn't know who was louder, her or Iroh, who rushed forward to help Orora lay him down on the floor. She grabbed him by the shoulders, gently shaking him.

"Zuko! Zuko wake up!"

No response.

"Zuko!"

                                          ————————–

Tag List - @wavesofchaos​ @violet-potter​ @rennysketch​ @emma-andrea1 @lovesammikinzz @fuzzyfestcat @msrawog @notsaelty @lust-for-pan @aces-tattooartist @jinxxangel13 @lotr-got @bitterspoons @realrintaro @gatorgirl151 @inutheangel @heartfully10 @lucaaahhh @juniper-july19 @anuttellaa @gfksz @bussyvussy @punksnotdeadbutiam @ablofftoneverland-blog-blog @slut-for-menn

[notalotgoingonatthisinstant]

May I offer you all some Wilmon in these AO3-is-down trying times? We'll get through this withdrawal 😭

Growing up, Simon didn’t stop to think much if he wanted kids or not. He loved his family, loved his sister, loved his mum, (loved his dad,) loved getting to see his little cousins grow over videocalls from South America – but he never stopped to think about himself.

He remembers a fleeting thought he had once, when he was very young, around twelve or thirteen, and figured out he was definitely gay, that it would take some extra steps to have children. He would never have them on accident. He couldn’t decide overnight, talk to his partner, and start trying the next day with a real possibility of making a baby on that very same day.

Then he put that thought inside a mental folder and left it there for the longest time.

He believes that it’s a natural progression to start thinking about it again once you’re in a committed relationship, even if it’s to decide it’s not for you. But he is aware that his thought process wasn’t the same as everyone else’s.

It started with random mental images, when he and Wille got out of school and into the world – well, the world and the military. Back when Simon was studying and working to afford his own flat in Stockholm and, some nights, he would have Wille there on his couch, in his small living room, laughing over a stupid series they’d put on, or pouring coffee for him the next morning.

He would watch Wille shrug on a suit jacket, looking very dapper for the morning meeting, and accept his goodbye kiss. Then Simon would finish gulping down breakfast, put on his flannel shirt, and leave his flat fifteen minutes later. He would lock the door behind him and wonder how earlier he would have to wake up if he had to drop kids with someone, or would they have a nanny? Or maybe Wille would take them?

The thoughts assaulted him without warning and were gone just as quickly. During Wille’s trips, how would Simon manage alone? What if they were both travelling? Could Wille’s children even travel with him? He remembered something about how two heirs straight in line for the throne couldn’t take the same mean of transportation, for safety reasons, which is why Wille didn’t travel with his mother, but did that apply to a toddler?

Simon didn’t ask for the longest time as well, because he didn’t want to open that discussion. He wanted to know if Erik had travelled with his mother when he was a baby; his fingers itched to google it, find pictures or articles, just so he could know.

But he didn’t ask, because back then he wasn’t even sure if he could take the pressure of marrying Wille, even though he was doing nothing to stop that natural progression.

The thoughts would come and go. Sometimes, they disappeared for months on end and Simon would just live his life and worry about more pressing matters, like his uni finals or Sara’s recent breakup. Other times, they would come in the form of his children having panic attacks over being in line for the throne.

Moving into the palace with Wille drew a line in his life, which is why he didn’t do it lightly. It definitely took longer than it would if Wille weren’t the fucking Crown Prince, because Simon felt ready to move in with him straight out of school. But he had spent his years weighting the pros and cons and decided Wille was worth everything and that they could figure it out together.

Living with him in one of the royal palaces, and therefore having more money to spare, brought a wave of baby thoughts to Simon’s mind. They had all this space, all this money, all this support. Surely it wouldn’t be too hard? He knew, rationally, that money would never be a problem, but Simon would have a hand in supporting his own children, and now he was feeling like he could reach that point.

He began to understand, then, how rich people’s minds work. Simon was working, but with a better job and a better salary, and he didn’t have to pay rent. He didn’t have to pay for cleaning supplies or spend one day a week scrubbing his flat. He spent a lot less on groceries, because food simply appeared in the kitchen cabinets and in the fridge. He didn’t have to pay water or electricity bills.

He had all this money monthly deposited into his account and he didn’t have to spend even half of it, which meant it only grew, even with taxes. It got to a point when Wille told him he should have a talk with the royal accountant, to learn how to put it in better funds and investments. To learn how much he had to spare for his own enjoyment.

It turned out to be a ridiculous amount. Nothing compared to the numbers he had pried from Wille about the royal accounts, but a ridiculous amount for a twenty-three-year-old working-class man from Bjärstad just beginning his career. Probably enough, if he braved into that line of thinking, to raise a kid.

One day, almost a year later, Queen Kristina nonchalantly talked about the Act of Succession over brunch, when they were discussing the christening of the daughter of one of Wille’s second cousins. Simon had never bothered to read the Act of Succession, because that had felt too big, so he learnt it for the first time in her voice while buttering a piece of toast.

She started by saying that the heirs have to belong to the Church of Sweden and profess “pure evangelical faith”, whatever that means. Wille doesn’t exactly do that apart from his cross necklace, but Simon didn’t point that out.

The heirs must be born in wedlock from a marriage approved by the monarch, and they must be brought up in Sweden. It’s an absolute primogeniture.

By then, Simon knew he was going to marry Wille. He had known from the moment he had moved into the palace, because why would he make that decision if he didn’t plan to marry him? And he knew Wille wanted to marry him, too. And he figured that Kristina approved, otherwise she wouldn’t even let Simon into her palace.

Simon also figured that she didn’t give that talk because she was afraid of illegitimate heirs – because, honestly, Wille wasn’t going to run around cheating on him and getting people pregnant. No, Simon was pretty sure that she was saying that to remind them that they needed to get engaged. Simon knew she was getting restless after seven years; Sweden was getting restless, if the tabloids and tweets were anything to go by.

So, when he was twenty-four and Wille had just turned twenty-five, Wille made a show of proposing and giving him his grandfather’s ring. Simon cried, even though he had been expecting it. From then on, his mind was pretty preoccupied with the wedding and everything it entailed.

A wedding and a marriage, in their situation, very much entailed future children, but neither of them focused on that.

They had one conversation the summer after they got engaged. Kristina had been particularly generous with the talk about grandchildren that day, like she couldn’t wait to have them, which was the same thing she spewed every time since her 60th birthday earlier that year.

“I don’t know why she’s so insistent now,” Wille said when they climbed into bed. “She had Erik at thirty-one. That’s enough time away for us.”

Simon didn’t answer immediately because, for one of the first and only times, he could see her point of view clearly and didn’t disagree with it.

She had to ensure heirs, sure, and turning sixty probably put life into perspective for her. But also, the monarchy had never done this, the whole gay Crown Prince couple. Were there any laws that needed changing? Would the kids need to be biologically Wille’s or would adoption be just as valid? And who knew how long that process would take. Maybe they did need to start thinking about it then so they could have a legitimate kid by thirty-one.

Simon was quiet for too long, lost in thought, and Wille pushed up against the pillows so he was more vertical. He spoke softly, “Hey, I know you’ve… mentioned it before, but… do you really want kids? I mean, I– I don’t really have much of a choice, but you do.”

Simon raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Who else would you have them with?”

“I don’t want them with anyone but you,” he shrugged. “But it’s too big of a thing to push on you on top of everything else.”

Sensing Wille’s anxiety spiking, Simon also rearranged his pillows to face him better in a more sat up position. “Wille. I knew I would have to have kids if I married you.”

“Still…”

“I was fully aware of it.”

“I don’t want to force you.”

“You’re not forcing me to do anything,” he scooted closer and took his hand. “Do you feel forced?”

Wille shrugged again, taking some time to choose his words. “In a way. Mamma always drilled it into our heads that we needed to produce heirs. After Erik died… the last remaining chance I had to refuse went with him. She doesn’t want to pass on the lineage to her sister’s side, so I guess I just grew up always knowing I was going to have children. I never stopped to think in any other way.”

“You should, though.”

“No,” Wille shook his head. “I promise it’s okay. I do want children, so it’s okay. Still don’t know how to go about it, but… I want them. Do you?” he finished, a hint of nerves in his voice.

“I do,” Simon answered honestly, “I’m not going to lie and say that the fact that I want a life with you, the fucking heir to a country, doesn’t come into play, because that’s too big to ignore. But I think it’d be cool to have a few babies with you,” he smiled. “Just a few, though. No more than three, for fuck’s sake.”

It got Wille laughing, which is Simon’s goal in conversations with him ninety-nine percent of the time, and the subject was mostly dropped.

It was dropped between the two of them for the time being, but their parents didn’t have the same idea. Cousins started having kids occasionally. Simon has a distant cousin on his dad’s side and news somehow travelled to his mum about his baby being born. Apart from Wille’s second cousin who had the christening, his first cousin Eleonora gave birth to a bubbly baby boy as well.

The comparison was even worse because they are mostly “older cousins” in their families, born from the eldest sibling. In their generation, Simon is only second to Sara on his mum’s side, and Sara had barely even started another relationship, nowhere near ready for children. Wille is also the second, since Erik died, behind only Eleonora in age. That, in their parents’ minds, automatically meant that they were supposed to start the new generation before everyone else, and they were already late.

And they were responsible for the country’s next leader, so no pressure.

Their initial deal, as a couple, was to revisit the conversation when they felt like it. Apart from outside pressure, the two of them didn’t have the urge, the need for children right away. It was always something for some day. Something for eventually. Something for when we’re not drowning in royal adulthood.

Simon doesn’t know what triggers it. Maybe he isn’t as immune to the passage of time as he thought, or maybe the comments start getting to him. Either way, those assaulting mental images have been building up in frequency and complexity, until one day Simon finds himself slowly pacing one of their spare bedrooms in Haga Palace, a week before his twenty-ninth birthday.

That is how Wille finds him near dinnertime, after calling out for him a couple of times. “Hey, what’re you doing hiding in here?”

Simon doesn’t answer immediately. Wille is still dressed in his daily formal clothes, having just come home, and Simon’s eyes automatically pan up and down his body, even with his head kilometres away. He sees Wille stepping closer to greet him, but lets his eyes lose focus. He interrupts Wille’s leaning in when he finally speaks. “Do you think this is too far away from our room?”

At Wille’s head tilt that he catches with the corner of his eyes, Simon meets his gaze. Wille asks, “What do you mean?”

Simon knows what he himself means, although he finds it hard to say out loud. Sure, they don’t have a solid plan laid out, but he recalls Wille talking about how his mum had Erik at thirty-one and also how Simon himself rolled his eyes at Queen Kristina’s half-playful remark about giving them five years to have children since their wedding. It has only been half that long.

(Linda had Sara at twenty-three.)

“I mean,” he picks his words carefully, feeling restless and needing to continue walking around and gesticulating, “this room’s got one of the prettiest views of the garden, with the cherry tree, and it faces south, so it’s got sunlight year-round. And I know there are, like, three more guest rooms like this along the corridor, but they’re all so big, no matter how much stuff we try to put in them, but also, is this too far away from our room? And it would be weird to have a few guest bedrooms and random rooms between ours and…” his voice trails off.

Slowly, an amused smile grows on Wille’s face. “You’re asking if this is too far away to walk in the middle of the night every two hours? Because yes.” Wille steps closer to him again, drawing Simon to a stop so he can comb a hand through his curls. “You’ve been worrying your pretty mind about this all day?”

“No, not just today,” Simon confesses, and then bites his lip briefly. “And I’m not… worrying, I’m… brainstorming.”

“Brainstorming.”

“Yes.”

“Simon,” Wille says with the same amused smile, “we’ve got another four potential bedrooms by our room, if you’d be willing to turn the music room and the gaming room. It even beats your limit of three kids. Why are you pacing the tiniest guest bedroom we have?”

Wille’s idea of tiny has never been the same as Simon’s.

Simon sighs and lets his shoulders drop. “Because… I don’t know,” he mutters, averting his gaze. “This room is… cosy. It’s…” He looks around. “Can you imagine a baby in one of those rooms? It’s ridiculous. They’re way too big for a baby. But then, what if when they grow up they resent us for not putting them in a bigger room? Do we just– Do we move their bedrooms? Is that what happened with you and Erik? Did you guys have smaller bedrooms closer to your parents when you were super young? Is that how this works? Because it would be weird to change their bedrooms. Wouldn’t it? I feel like it would. But I can’t think of a single room in this godforsaken palace that is appropriate for both a tiny baby and a rebellious teenager.”

Simon has lived in five bedrooms in his almost thirty years of life, but they changed when he changed houses. First, his childhood room in his parents’ flat, before his mum had saved enough money to move them out. Then in the house where his mum still lives. Then his Stockholm flat. Then the Drottningholm apartments. And now Haga (before he eventually moves back to Drottningholm someday). He can’t really picture moving inside the same place.

During the speech, Wille doesn’t lose his playful air, and Simon has no idea how. Maybe he is being ridiculous and there is a simple solution right in front of him, but he feels like, whatever he chooses, it will somehow be wrong, both from a parenting point of view and a royal point of view. He can’t say he is the best prince Sweden has ever had.

“Simon,” Wille says his name again, in that endearing way only he can, “why would it be weird to change their bedrooms as they grow? We’ve moved houses before and it wasn’t weird. People do that.”

“We’re adults, Wille, and we didn’t move inside the same house.”

“I did,” he shrugs. “I mean, I don’t remember much but, back when we lived at the Royal Palace, before my grandfather died, I know I had a room closer to my parents and then, at some point, I was moved closer to Erik. Then we were put in an adjacent wing to them when we moved to Drottningholm when I was seven, and I moved again when you came to live with me.”

All he is saying makes sense in a practical sort of way, and Simon knows Wille moved inside Drottningholm. Of course, if your house is a literal palace with hundreds of different apartments and available rooms, you can just… move from one side to the other and it will be like moving houses. You don’t keep the new-born in the same place as the sixteen-year-old heir. It makes sense. However, Simon grew up with the notion of His Room. People rent, buy, and build regular houses with those things in mind.

Simon frowns. “You were moved to that different wing when you were seven?”

Wille mirrors him. “Yes…?”

“You were a little kid and, when you guys moved, your parents put you in a completely different wing?”

“It’s not a different wing – it’s within the same apartments, just in a different portion of them, but it’s honestly not that far.”

Simon thinks back to sharing a thin wall with his sister and his parents’ room. “I’ve been there. It’s very fucking far.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It’s very far for a seven-year-old child to be from his parents.” Simon sighs, frustrated, and looks around. “And this is definitely too far as well. I just… This is smaller. It’s more fit for a baby.”

Now, Wille has dropped the playfulness and is instead searching Simon’s face with a more serious expression. He raises a hand and caresses his cheek, in an attempt to calm down his rambles, and it works, taking away a bit of concern with each swipe.

Simon knows how he sounds like right now, so he crosses his arms and doesn’t meet his eyes. “I’m just… I’m brainstorming.”

Wille raises his eyebrows. “You weren’t brainstorming a few months ago.”

Simon shrugs, unsure of what he wants to say, unsure if he wants to start that discussion. To be honest, fucking terrified of opening up that line of discussion. Terrified of what they will tell him about how to raise his kids. Terrified of having to fight on every decision, even as small as wanting his children’s bedroom close to his.

“Hey.”

The whisper startles him into meeting Wille’s eyes.

“How about we talk over dinner? I’m starving, and I know you get cranky when you don’t eat,” he finishes with a slight upturn of his lips.

Simon wants to be petty and argue that he isn’t cranky right now, even though he very much is, although not because of hunger, but he finally lets himself register the fact that his husband is home with him after busy days for them both and how amazing that feels. How their guards aren’t inside with them and they can put on pyjamas and make a mess in the kitchen if they feel like it. And Simon feels like it.

An involuntary smile tries to creep up on Simon’s lips. He fights it, shoving Wille’s shoulder for good measure, and he is drawn back into a bone-crushing hug, which makes it really hard not to smile.

They do eventually talk very seriously about it later that night. Simon confesses that something in him is growing space and that that space is starting to feel empty. It’s not like he feels his life is empty – he is extremely happy to be living with someone he loves and being able to use the privilege of the royal name to do charitable work that is important to him –, but maybe, in a little while, he will crave more.

Wille watches him talk, and Simon realises he has got a dreamy expression on his face by the end of it. When questioned, Wille simply says that hearing him go on about having kids with him makes his heart burst and that it awakens something in him as well. There is definitely something about seeing your significant other around kids or talking about kids; Simon can verify. He knows he very nearly had a heart attack when he had to see, with his own two eyes, Wille playing with Eleonora’s son and glowing while doing it. So, he gets what Wille is saying.

With all the excitement of it, there is the downside. Simon knows he would be feeling uneasy even if he hadn’t entered the Royal Family, because his own dad wasn’t the best at being a dad. Plus, how does one even go about being a parent? How much will he actually sleep? How do you not fuck up a child?

He had entered the Royal Family, though, and married the heir apparent. Just his luck that it means he needs to have A Meeting™ with his mother-in-law/boss to say he wants to have kids.

He and Wille have a gameplay sort of ready, because they know they need to present a united front in this. Part of that involves having the meeting on their own turf, with their own rules about the attendees and level of formality.

[bullet-prooflove]

Past Mistakes Part Twenty: Bad News - Mike Duarte x Reader (feat: Joe Velasco)

Tagging: @mysoulisasunflower @resonmalvo @@littleone65 @thesandbeneathmytoes @mydarkestsecretlol @evee87 @wooshwastaken @hearthockey @justreblogginfics @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @rosaliedepp @thatesqcrush @storiesofsvu @whateversomethingbruh @burningpeachpuppy @legit9thlunaticwarrior @kiwiithecrazybird @spooky-pomegranate @telepathay @weiwei0210 @spaghettificationandpretzels @plaidbooks @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @withakindheartx

Past Mistakes Series:

Part One: Try - Mike turns back up in your life after three years apart.

Part Two: Hope (NSFW) - Mike and you get reaquainted.

Part Three: California - Mike and you discuss the past.

Part Four: Favours - Mike asks Liv for a favour.

Part Five: Choices - Mike comes face to face with someone from his past.

Part Six: Truth Hurts - Mike begs you to tell him the truth about what happened three years ago.

Part Seven: Sharing - Mike and Joe have a conversation.

Part Eight: Buried - Mike discovers that McGrath’s misdeeds go far futher than he thought.

Part Nine: Complicated - Mike discusses moving forward.

Part 10: Feral - Mike returns to the apartment to find you’ve disappeared.

Part Eleven: Torture - You wake up in the basement.

Part Twelve: Fire - You and Joe discuss moving forward.

Part Thirteen: Lost Time - You and Mike get real on his porch.

Part Fourteen: Plan B - Mike always has a plan B.

Part Fifteen: Proud - Mike tells you how proud he is of what you’re doing.

Part Sixteen: Mattituck (NSFW) - You show Mike how much you love him.

Part Seventeen: Seven - Joe makes a discovery.

Part Eighteen: Patterns - Benson and Murphy discover the reality of McGrath’s misdeeds.

It’s done.

The case has been handed over to Carisi and the indictment comes down tomorrow. All of the work they’ve undertaken over the past few months finally comes to fruition. There’s no more subterfuge or embargoes there’s just the reality of the situation laid out on a whiteboard in the incident room they’ve been working out of since this whole thing started.  

Joe stands before it with his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze studying each picture of the victims. There are eight of them including you.

You’d assumed you were just another victim in the long line of women that McGrath had assaulted but you weren’t, you were the catalyst, you were Victim Zero.

Yours was the crime that McGrath emulated over and over again, perfecting his technique because he hadn’t managed to succeed the first time.

Joe’s eyes come to rest upon McGrath’s final victim.

Number Eight: Detective Cass Matthews.

She’d committed suicide by overdosing in a motel in Bronx last month, because she hadn’t wanted her sister to find the body. Laura had come forward not long after Cass’s death, submitting a complaint because Cass had told her she was being repeatedly assaulted by one of her superiors, she just hadn’t said which one.

The thing is straight after the first attack, the one where McGrath had injured Cass so badly, she’d had to tell her Captain she was mugged, she had gone to the hospital. She’d had a rape kit completed, there were photographs of her injuries. She hadn’t wanted to press charges, so Bronx SVU had let it slip through the cracks.

Cass’s sister had given Joe permission to run the kit. He wasn’t surprised when the results came back to McGrath. He hadn’t bothered using protection, he’d had a vasectomy years ago, Joe remembers him complaining about it after he’d knocked his wife up for the third time.

Joe doesn’t say anything when Murphy enters the room. He’s too busy thinking about all the lives that have been destroyed by his former mentor, how McGrath had sat there and told him it was all consensual, that each and every woman had wanted him. He’d seen the pictures of what he’d done to Cass that night, the bruising on her arms and legs, her throat, her mouth. He knows what violence looks like.

“I’ve called Duarte, let them know the indictment’s coming down tomorrow.” Murphy informs Joe, his hands coming to rest on either side of him as he leans back against the desk.

“I guess we won’t be the only ones losing sleep tonight.” Joe says quietly as he tilts his head towards Murphy. “What they went through… What they’re going to go through…”

Joe shakes his head because it isn’t right. You shouldn’t have to be raked over the coals by McGrath’s lawyer, you shouldn’t have to relive the most traumatic moments of your life in front of an entire courtroom because the bastard refuses to admit what he’s done.

“It’s a means to an end.” Murphy says knowingly. “It’s shitty and-”

He’s cut off by the sound of a gunshot. It erupts through the building with a loud retort, the boom echoing through the quiet corridors. Murphy’s already in motion, his hand on his own weapon as he rushes out of the door.

Joe doesn’t bother to follow.

There’s a heaviness in him because he knows where the gunshot came from, what Murphy will find when he steps inside McGrath’s office. He doesn’t want to see that, the brains of his previous mentor splattered across his desk. There’s a bitterness in his mouth because yet again McGrath has escaped justice and Joe just can’t stomach it.

It’s a couple of hours later that he picks up the phone, he watches McGrath’s body being wheeled out in a black bag as his thumb hovers over Duarte’s number.

It rings three times before Duarte picks up.

“Velasco,” He says, his voice rough from sleep. “I take it you have bad news.”

Love Mike Duarte? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[spiderh0rse]

notes from the process of building my butcher-cherish fic. lots of em.

Will first clarify none of this is set in stone I'm still in the planning/winnowing out all the outside influence I don't need stage

for the purposes of this fic five had a minor combat thinker ability. projected reverse-afterimages. sees motions people make before they make them. six has some major heat resistance. seven has enhances reflexes, and having super strength multiple times over has made following through on those reflexes even easier. ten has a tinker power focused on,,, ehh figure it out later

To make the strength stacking a little more interesting, FIRST'S is straightforward enough, but if he's in more pain, he's got more power. Can't use his induced agony on himself, nor can future users. Refused to take care of minor injuries. Would frequently engage in self-harming behaviors to make himself stronger. Thinks that may have been his power's way of hinting at the inheritance. Wondered if Thinker headaches would ramp up the power. THIRD: In this case, fear makes his strength greater. Again, incentivized to get into dangerous situations to reap greater rewards. Believes now that most powers operate in this fashion, but doesn't quite have his head on straight enough to say any of that. SIXTH: straightforward and minor. Brute 1 alongside her Mover whatever rating NINTH: Stronger when angry. Fighting style was get close, make the opponent mad, then dredge up his own bad memories and get pissed enough to kill the other guy. ELEVENTH: Stockpiles. When he's not using it, he gets more in the stockpile. Able to release it either all at once or like a sort of tap. This can't be turned off alongside the other strength powers, but does *amplify* them. It runs out long before everything else does. Priority is on ending fights fast.

on the topic of naming what is functionally twelveish ocs

One: Butcher Two: blood based name? Vascular? Three: former hero so name should follow PR sorts of things. Hindsight? Implies Thinker power but could work. Four: Pestilence? Nah. That's got a wider range of connotations. Fester is too straightforward. Putrefact? Straightforward as well but slightly less obvious. Five: oogh a tough one. How do you name combat thinkers. Placeholder: Forethought Six: thinking something vaguely uhh. Behemoth-themed? Mythology at any rate but I've got very little suitable in my head for that. Ifrit maybe. Something I'm forgetting. Seven: yet another subtle power. Hard to get a name from. Jitter? Probably looks weird throwing himself around like he does. Shudder? Along these lines. Eight: Stoneknapper is a GREAT one I've seen but I don't want to knockoff that. Not VISIBLY anyways find a synonym Nine: Bearskin. I'd contemplated making him a Case 53 but the name would be on the nose here. Ten: i am not figuring out the Tinker's specialty and giving a name based after it right now. Unless. Shit like rube goldberg machines. Makes some normal action into a giant trap if you set it off. Just call him Rube. Eleven: Buildup. Name misleads into thinking he's got escalation going on. Opposite is true. Twelve: again I really liked Nemean but without her being a lion case 53 that has less impact. Workshop this one. Thirteen: oh god it's another super strength. I need to give him more than that and then I'll figure out a name Fourteen: Quarrel Fifteen: Cherish/Cherie (Sanguine? Cheerful in nature and blood-themed)

Urrgh XIII's strength. Uhhh. Fuck it that isn't all he has. The strength is like. A minor aspect of something else. Direct consequence of a power? Needed side effects? Maybe he's got like. Denser physical makeup. Yeah he's tougher everywhere and that includes muscles. Bam. Easy. Bulwark

Yes I'm mostly working on making sure the Butchers feel like people. Arduous task! But on the topic of how they aren't all a catatonic mess being dragged deeper into the ocean as Tattletale planned

How to work around Bonesaw's alterations,,, could argue that if it altered the Gemma, then the new shard coming with built-in "yeah here's a new control schema" fixed that on accident

i think this has just enough of a root in existing parahumans lore to not feel impossible while also being difficult enough to predict being able to happen that Tattletale didn't account for it

[neonshrike]

15 LINES OR LESS

Thank you for the tag @corvosattano!

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture their character/personality/vibe. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you’re free to include those as well.

“Am I really ready to go?”

“I’m twelve, almost thirteen, I can take care of this,” she sighed, pushing up her glasses and getting ready to leave.

“Yeah, but we did it together! I warned you about that crash and found you a detour, and I had the best playlist ever.”

“That’s me,” she awkwardly smiled as she got an affectionate pat on the head.

“Not really, all I know is I want to help people.”

“But they’re my grandparents, I deserve to know!” she retorted.

“Yeah, where are you going with this?” Brenna asked, sitting up a little, now concerned with what he’s about to tell her.

“Maybe our family’s not really normal, but it’s not broken.” 

“Are you going to be okay? Both of you?”

“I have questions,” she said bluntly.

“Love you too,” she responded with a chuckle. “This is kind of awesome.”

“I’m Agent Daniel Bergman of S.H.I.E.L.D. and I’m hoping for a minute of your time?”

"And you look just the same," he said, sipping his espresso.

“LINK. I’m using my talents in neuroscience and chemistry to help this broken world now."

“Let me be honest with you, I didn’t just come here to connect with an old friend."

“That won’t be necessary,” he spoke, voice unwavering.

“Isn’t that better?” he asked in a cold, condescending tone, his voice slowly becoming muffled.

“Another concoction of mine, just for you. It takes your speech and hearing, paralyzes, then kills you in 18 hours,” he explained, obviously proud of his invention as he tapped the empty syringe.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure your new friends will try to save you, but I wouldn’t count on being useful to them after, if they manage to, of course.”

“And if you survive, consider this a warning. I’ll just kill you instantly next time you get in my way.”

“Just throw her out in the street.” 

You’re doing much better than I expected,” he calmly assessed.

“Nothing. I’m smart enough to see that I’m losing and I’d rather not get involved with anyone else,” he explained as he looked back up at her.

“I’m giving it all up, and I’m happy to do that as long as you go down with me.”

“You think I wouldn’t know you would just use brute force? I’m taking the oxygen out of the room, and there’s only—”

“They’ll remember me through you.”

“Oh shit,” she whispered to herself, astonished at how powerful the gauntlets were.

“Hi, Scott. Spying on me?” she greeted.

“You’re not going to take me away again."

Lucille couldn’t help but laugh at his fear. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to curse you.”

“I hear everything,” Lucille smirked, turning to see her putting them back.

“They’re gone now, but thanks,” she said, not making eye contact with him.

“It’s just hard, being like this. I used to be so strong,” she sighed, looking down at herself.

“Ever since I got out, it’s just been about running and surviving, and trying to right my wrongs. The only time I actually got to rest, without any nightmares, was when I almost died."

“Every day I was gone, I thought about you and I worried about you,” she confessed while looking straight at him, tearing up as well.

“Maybe not, but I have to try,” Lucille responded quickly, then made a running start, turning off her boots at the last second. 

“I don’t know if I’m ready,” she admitted to both Bruce and to herself. “But if this doesn’t happen now, I’m afraid it might be too late.”

“Then open it, and let’s start walking out.”

“Don’t move, or I’ll drag you out of here myself,” she warned as she moved closer, wanting to see him unlock the room.

“I didn’t want things to end this way, I swear.”

“I would be more than happy to fight by your side,” Lucille accepted as she held out her hand.

Tagging @captastra @socially-awkward-skeleton @carlosoliveiraa @inafieldofdaisies @marivenah @nightbloodbix @shellibisshe @cptcassian @thedeadthree @cloudofbutterflies92 @the-lastcall @the-laridian

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Lost & Found - Chapter Eighteen.

A huge thank you to everyone for being such a lovely audience :) I appreciate you more than you know.

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen

Words - 3,898

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, Minors DNI. Recounts of kidnap, child trafficking, physical/verbal/sexual abuse.

“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t stand up for you more with EZ. It’s a shitty position to be in, though, caught between my girl and my club. Especially the fucking president of the club, a guy I have a lotta respect for. I’m not good with it, though, the fact he scared you.”  

Pausing, Guero leaned to her, kissing the side of her neck. “Saying that, though, despite the fact I knew you were scared, you fucking stood your ground. Baby got spicy! Made me real proud.”  

“What can I say?” she mused, her eyebrows rising. “I’d had a couple a’ five beers by the time you guys arrived back. Had a little courage bolstering my spice. He came and apologised though, so we’re good.” Her eyes then found an annoyance that had been bothering her for the past hour, lifting her chin. “That over there in the leather shorts, I’m not so good with.”  

Guero followed her line of vision, receiving a wave and a smile he only acknowledged with a slight nod. “Yeah, that’s Lauryn. She hasn’t been around much, guessed she came with one of the guys from another charter. She um, she tends to get around.”  

Her mouth tightened a fraction, cocking her head a little. “And has she ever gotten around you?”  

He shook his head. “Nope, she don’t do it for me.” Sliding his finger along the dip in her dress, he hooked it, pulling her close. “You’re the one who does it for me.” He kissed her with heat, his hands sliding down to grasp her butt, Emma hoping that his display of affection made Lauryn get the message.  

She wasn’t the jealous type, and she knew he’d been with plenty of the bike bunnies who hung around the club. She’d asked and he’d told her. For the most part, as soon as those girls saw the guys become committed to one woman, they backed off. Lauryn wasn’t one of them.  

“Yup,” Lee burped into her hand, pointing over to where the girl stood with her back to them a short time later. “She made a play for Obispo one time. Fuckin’ cracked her with a pool cue for it. Ain’t got no shame, that one. If she wants a specific dick, doesn’t fuckin’ matter to her if that dick is occupied, she’ll sniff around to see if there’s a chance of swiping it. I don’t do slut shaming, go get your fill is what I say, but not with another woman’s man. That’s low-down behaviour, sick shit, messed up, man.”  

Lauryn then turned, lifting her chin. “Yeah, I’m talking about your trashy ass, homegirl!” Draping an arm around Emma’s shoulders, she fixed her with a look of defiance, the girl turning back to whoever she was talking to. “Absolute fuckin’ shit show.”  

“She seems it, and I am in no fucking mood to deal with that tonight,” Emma stated, Lee softly applauding. 

Guero looked entertained by that statement, his grin wide. “Spicy boo got all the heat tonight!” 

“I fucking have, and she can have it if she tries me.” 

“Yes, sugar! If she continues making eyes at your guy, you need to get over there and set her straight!” Lee roared, hiccupping.  

“Oh god,” a nearby Angel sighed, shaking his head as he walked over. “Tiger is out of the damned cage. First you give my brother a face full of knuckles, and now you’re yelling at everyone.” 

“Not everyone, just her,” Lee chirped, bolting back more of her drink. 

“Bish is gonna gag you before the night is out.” 

Lee grinned widely, giving him a little soft poke in the chest. “Don’t you threaten me with a good time!”  

His head shaking continued, wrapping an arm around her. “Nothin’ but fucking trouble when you’re drunk.” As it happened, it wasn’t Lee’s actions that would lead to trouble that night, the girls heading back inside with a few of the guys to congregate at the bar, Emma going to use the bathroom. When she came back out, it was to a sight that displeased the hell out of her.  

“Told you, I ain’t interested,” she could just about hear Guero state over the roar of Ace of Spades by Motorhead, Lauryn attempted to drape herself around him. He then looked up, catching her eye, stepping back and nodding in her direction as he took as seat at the bar again. “My girl is right there, you need to fucking quit.”  

Her jaw tightened, eyeing her with the kind of venom that she might not have had if she hadn’t been ten beers in. Unfortunately for Lauryn, though, she was, and her give a fuck meter was as unflinching as her anger. 

“Oh, man,” Angel spoke, turning to his side to witness her death glare, cringing slightly. “You gonna give us all a hair pulling chick fight? C’mon, it’ll be awesome!”  

Reaching behind him, she yanked the knife from his belt before he could stop her. “I’ll fucking give you more than that.” Storming around the bar, Lauryn’s look of defiance was met with a hand to her throat, Emma driving her across the space, men all around turning to look as the object of her rage was pinned against the side of the door. 

“Get the fuck off of me!” she yelled, Emma taking the knife and slamming it straight into the wood, an inch from the side of her head. The look of fear that flooded Lauryn’s face was instant. 

"Oh, oh did that scare you?" She exclaimed, sarcasm dripping, yanking the knife from the wood and pressing it against her throat. "Yeah, I'm not what you thought I was, am I?" 

While Lauryn was being held against the side of the doorframe, almost every single pair of eyes within the club watched it happen, Guero sitting there stunned. Well, stunned and... 

"Bro, if this kicks off any further, will you go grab my girl?" he muttered to Bottles. 

Tearing his eyes from the scene, he adjusted his glasses, frowning slightly. "Yeah, but why can't you?" 

Guero shook his head, the corners of his mouth upturning. "Can't even walk right now. My dick is too hard. Damn, that's hot." 

Bottles snorted, almost spraying his beer, Angel leaning in. "No disrespect, dog, but yeah. Mine too." 

While the guys had their quiet moment of exalting how arousing the sight of an angered woman was, the angered woman in question continued making sure her feelings were heard. 

"Listen to me, if you fucking wave your pussy anywhere near my guy again, I swear I will cut that shitty tattoo right off your face. Am I making myself clear, puttana?" 

Lauryn nodded, eyes wide, feeling embarrassment rise in her throat. Still, she swallowed hard and lifted her chin, at least attempting not to look as frightened as she felt at having a sharp knife held to her throat. "Yeah, you are." 

Smirking, Emma lowered the blade. "Good, now get the fuck out of here." Giving her a last, disapproving sweep with her eyes, she finally released the hard grasp that had held her throat, Lauryn gasping as she was let go, moving from the clubhouse rapidly.  

Walking back to Guero, his eyes still like saucers, she handed an equally stunned Angel his knife back. “Thank you, buddy.” She then picked up a shot of tequila and sank it, her eyes flitting between the guys, all stupefied by her display of mettle. “What?” 

“You!” Bottles laughed, reaching to nudge her arm friendlily with a fist. “You and your bad-assery, gone fried up your man’s brain. Look at him! He’s malfunctioned, needs his operating system restarting.”  

She was just about to reply when two arms wrapped around her shoulders, a set of lips pressing into her cheek. “That’s how you fuckin’ do it! Bitch got her shit rocked,” Lee exclaimed. “Proud of ya, sunshine.” 

Guero was still on mute, but the look in his eyes, oh. It spoke many words, all of which Emma understood very clearly. Sinking the rest of his beer, he also downed a shot before sliding off the bar stool and promptly throwing her over his shoulder.  

“Woah, okay!” she giggled, hanging onto the back of his kutte. “Where are we going?” 

He chuckled, low and dirty, his hand pounding off her ass in a hard spank. “To restart my operating system.” He carried her with a dark tide of lust shadowing his insides, through the gate and out into the darkness of the yard, through the piles of abandoned, rusting metal, his eyes scanning from side to side.  

The still partially shiny metal of a large, double doored fridge caught his attention, carrying her to it. Letting her slide from his shoulder, he pinned her against the structure with his chest before she could reach the ground, her legs tightening around him. 

“Damn, baby,” he panted, pulling at his belt buckle, running the tip of his tongue up her neck. “You’re gonna get railed so fucking hard.”  

They kissed with furious hunger, Guero feeling a ravenous desire tumbling over his bones, yanking his jeans undone and pushing them down his thighs, pulling her underwear aside and dropping her onto his cock with a rumbling grunt. He teeth imbedded in her lower lip, tongue rolling against hers as he speared her with deep, rapid thrusts, pulverising her insides, her wail rending the air.  

He was savage with her, a ravenous delight that tumbled through him and into her, the thick drag of his cock filling and emptying her with absolutely nothing short of carnal fury, the remaining shelves within the fridge all beginning to clatter with the force he fucked her against it with. 

“If getting mad at people does this to you, I might have to do it more often,” she panted, crying out as her walls flexed around him, feeling the coil within her tightening. He was just about to tell her how her spicy temper worked like an accelerant upon his desire, when she continued. “Oh, fuck, fuck, that cock is so fucking big! Mmm, yeah, fuck me harder. Fucking split me in two.” 

And oh, how he did after hearing those sinfully dirty words. It roared over them both like a forest fire, the flames of their release scorching their nerves, leaving them both panting and trembling in the wake of such torrid ferocity.  

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she panted, resting her forehead to his as he pulled out and set her back on her feet. “Doubt I’ll be able to walk after that.” 

He chuckled, kissing her hotly. “You did say split you in two, my spicy lil’ boo.” She walked as if she had been as well, Guero laughing to himself as they walked back to continue with the debauchery. They left at close to 4am, getting home via a cab since while not wasted, both were a little unsteady at that point. Stripping off, they let their clothes fall into a heap, throwing themselves into bed and curling up.  

Alcohol was the strong sleeping tonic that pulled them both into slumber, neither Emma’s hissing nor Guero’s brontosaurus snoring hampering it. It was unfortunate that for the former, her sleep was not restful, though.  

She recognised her dream surroundings immediately, the huge, white and oak kitchen, people buzzing around, she and Marie preparing little trays of appetisers for party guests.  

“Here, darling. Make sure that plate stays separate, it’s for my ma,” Marie spoke, pointing at the little blue plate she had prepared a selection of gluten free snacks upon. “Unfortunate, isn't it? An Italian who can’t have gluten! Mother Mary, did you ever hear such a thing?”  

Emma turned to her side, smiling, her eyes prickling as she played out her role in the dream, exactly as it had happened in life. “You’d be a nightmare if you couldn’t have proper bruschetta, mom.” 

Marie nudged her with a soft elbow, chuckling as she sipped her wine. “Me and no bread, can you imagine?”  

Even though just a dream, all Emma wanted to do was throw her arms around her, breathe in the scent of her Guerlain perfume, and tell her how much she missed her. Not having any kind of power over it, though, she found herself acting as she had on that night, Rocco’s fiftieth birthday there at the house, picking up the little blue plate.  

“I’ll go take these out to her, she’s down by the pool.”  

Marie clasped her arm, squeezing softly. “Good girl.”  

Lifting the plate from the crowded island full of Marie’s beautiful, home cooked Italian delights, Emma left through the back door, walking down across the patio, smiling at guests as she passed.  

“Are these for me?” Anna-Lucia greeted her with warmly, Emma proffering the plate forth.  

“Yes, gluten free, just for you.” 

Her smile was kind, taking the plate as she set her martini glass down on the table. “Thank you, love.”  

With a little nod, Emma carried on, making herself of use by beginning to collect all the abandoned plates so she could go and place them into the dishwasher, knowing that if she didn’t, she could expect an earful of abuse or worse from Rocco. While passing through the lower part of the sprawling garden, she noticed that an earful was exactly what somebody was getting from her captor, her eyes scanning until she saw Rocco with a group of his friends, he and another in a heated exchange.  

The man sure had balls, she thought, stepping up to the boss like that, Emma recognising him to be Mario, Rocco’s nephew. The exchange grew in ferociousness, Rocco suddenly lunging at him, clasping his throat and shunting him back against the children’s large, wooden playhouse. He then pulled a knife from his pocket, releasing the blade and plunging it into the wood right at the side of Mario’s head, yanking it out and holding it to his throat.  

She awoke with a start.  

“Mm, s’up, baby? Nightmare?”  

“No,” she sighed, reaching to rub Guero’s forearm, taking a deep breath. “No, it was only a dream, but shit, it spooked me.” It hit her hard, such a realisation, that there within her subconscious lay a memory that her brain had drawn upon earlier in how she’d handled the situation with Lauryn. In wanting to make it clear that she wouldn’t tolerate such behaviour, she’d become the one thing she never wanted to be. Rocco.  

Taking a breath, she leaned forward, resting her forehead to her knees. “What I did to Lauryn tonight, I behaved exactly how Rocco did one time towards his nephew. Mother fucking Mary, it was spot on, my brain must’ve drawn it out of a memory, because I just dreamed of the night I saw it happen. Christ, I’m him. I acted like he does when he’s pissed!”  

“Mamas, no you ain’t. No way are you anything like that motherfucker.” Her boyfriend’s statement was staunch, Emma reaching for the nightstand lamp and switching it on.  

Stretching her arms, she rested her head upon her knees again, hugging them to her chest as he stroked her back. “But what I did was, though! I went straight from his playbook, even called her a puttana, too. He used to call me that. Jesus!”  

It was a hard juxtapose for Guero, since he was by nature a person who, had it been a guy sniffing around Emma, likely would have done exactly the same thing. In his world, it was the norm. Hell, he’d heard all about the time Lee had taken a pool cue to Lauryn and smacked her with it so hard it had broken after the third strike against her head. In Emma’s former world too, violence was the natural display of anger, but he saw clearly that she wasn’t comfortable with it being hers.  

“Look, it’s hard for me, being a person with a real fucking bad temper and thinking your reaction was justified, but I get that you aren’t so cool with it,” he began, shrugging a little. “I might not be the best person to advise you, bearing that in mind. I dunno, I’d say maybe in future if you feel yourself getting to that point then dial it back, but again, I don’t have the best track record at doing the same.” He paused, moving forward further, resting his chin to her shoulder. “How you acted in one moment isn’t defining of who you are, though. Cuz’ you ain’t him, baby.”  

Pulling back from it. What he said made sense, even though he acknowledged it was something often beyond his own capabilities, Emma saw that going forward, she had to try for it not to be out of her own grasp. Perhaps it was the fact that she knew come the following day, she’d be putting herself within his proximity again, maybe it was that which had stirred her, the fear manifesting into the kind of anger she was not used to feeling.  

The subconscious was a complicated beast, she realised.  

Tiny little storms of worry struck upon her brain as she lay back down, curling into the warmth of Guero’s embrace once more. Still, she was glad that the alcohol in her system acted more powerfully to send her back to sleep than her thoughts did in keeping her awake. Upon waking, she had much more pressing troubles. 

“My eyelashes hurt,” she bemoaned, sitting with Lee outside the clubhouse five hours later, both drinking very large, very strong coffees while they waited for their first customer to drop his bike off with them. “I haven’t felt this bad since my thirtieth, when we finished that bottle of mandarin vodka between ourselves.” 

Indeed, Emma’s birthday had been a blast, but god, how she and Lee had suffered for it. EZ had found them passed out on top of his trailer, taking a combined effort from him, Guero and Bishop while also wasted to get them down again.  

At the mere memory of orange vodka, Lee heaved suddenly, placing her coffee down and rushing back into the clubhouse, passing Bottles as he exited.  

“You look remarkably fresh for someone who moved to sambuca at 2am,” she groaned, the bespectacled man beaming. 

“I don’t get hangovers.” His statement earned him a scowl. “So, where’s G unit?” he then asked. 

“Still asleep. He’ll be down a little later. I take it you didn’t even go home?” 

Just then, the clubhouse door opened, revealing a girl with long, bright blue hair and a shaved side, tickling Bottles on the neck with her fingernails, turning to wink at Emma before she sauntered away, swinging her hips seductively.  

He pointed with a grin. “Woke up between the pool table and her.” 

She immediately thrust her fist forth. “Gimme some knucks!”  

“Between that and the funky assed temper, you’re getting just like Lee,” he chuckled, obliging her with a fist bump. 

A little prickle sharpened against her gut about the temper comment, thinking to herself that it wasn’t Lee whom she’d resembled last night as she’d wielded Angel’s knife. One thing Guero had told her rang true, though. She was not Rocco, and she had to emphatically remind herself of that.  

Smiling, she responded casually. “Eh, I learned from the best.” The best arrived back after a few minutes, looking a little green, taking a seat with a groan. 

“Please don’t tell me it’s today we gotta go to Tahoe,” she pleaded, resting her head on Emma’s shoulder. “I can’t cope!”  

“No, buddy. Guero booked us for tomorrow, remember?” 

“Remember? I don’t remember anything after you pulling a knife on that fuckin’ little tramp,” she groaned, Emma kissing her forehead as she made further noises of discontent, Lee then turning her attention to Bottles. “And why do you look so goddamned spritely? How fuckin’ dare you when I feel like my liver is packing up to leave! It’s outta here, on vacay, leaving me to die a death!”  

He pushed his glasses up his nose, still beaming widely. “Got laid better than a roll of linoleum.”  

His analogy cracked them up, Lee lighting herself a cigarette, taking a deep breath. “Well, at least you got some. I was too hammered to get a hammering! I’d say I’d never do it again, but I’ll have to be drunk just to sleep next to Gilly. Dude doesn’t snore, he fuckin’ whistles when he’s asleep. I’m surprised he doesn’t wake up every morning to a pack of dogs out on his fuckin’ front lawn.” 

Much to Lee’s light chagrin, the only rooms available were doubles, meaning she and the big man had to share a bed. Bishop had made it even worse for her by jokingly telling her she could have a hall pass, mortifying the hell out of her since she looked at Gilly like a younger brother. The two men had nearly split their sides laughing as she’d hid her face in her hands.  

“I still don’t know how the hell we’re meant to find out the room Vincent will be staying in when we get there,” Emma sighed, while they chatted about their upcoming visit. “I mean, what, one of us attracts the front desk person while the other tries to get a look at the computer screen?”  

“Or you just get somebody with the right set of skills to hack into the hotel’s booking system, and there you have your room number,” Bottles chirped, his face brightening more by the second. “I am that person, in case you two are too hungover for nuance.”  

They sat up like a pair of meerkats, very curious over the information presented to them. “I’d completely fuckin’ forgotten that, that you’re a genius with the ole’...” Lee trailed off, making a typing motion with her fingers. 

He cocked his head, looking pleased with himself. “I’d say somebody should’ve brought it to me last night prior to you guys booking hotel rooms for longer than necessary, but I was too deep in blue haired babe heaven, and everyone was wasted. Is what it is.” One short trip to fetch his gear later, and the three of them were sitting at the bar, Bottles tapping away. 

“Okay, Hyatt Regency,” he muttered, eyes scanning the screen as streams of data moved across it, imputing more numbers and codes. “And enter this here, and... yep... mmhmm... bingo. I’m in.” He began to study the long list of names, Emma going behind the bar and pouring herself a shot of tequila, needing to see if hair of the dog worked. “Got it. Calabrese, room three zero seven.” He then continued to look down the list. “Lombardi, room five four two, just an FYI. Where are your rooms?” 

“Ten and thirty-three, so we’re not even on the same floor. Phew.” Emma confirmed, breathing a sigh of relief. They didn’t even need to use the elevator, with them being on the ground floor. Inside though, her worry began to slowly coil around itself, like a viper constricting upon its prey.  

Ten months ago, she’d escaped the clutch of the mafia, and now there she was, putting herself right back within their proximity. She just had to hope that the many tentacles of the hydra did not notice her presence, especially not the biggest of them all.  

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen

TW: nsfw, angst

The lights of the amusement park in the dying day make the old wooden dock feel like a carnival, a happy place where only good things can happen. He’s snagged your hand in his again, giving your fingers an affectionate squeeze. You can’t help but notice that he slows his long stride to match yours. You get the feeling that it’s not often Detective Tom Ludlow takes the time to meander anywhere.

It’s possible that you lean your head on his shoulder.

When you reach the festively lit booth of the shooting gallery Tom lifts his arm, surprising you by guiding you in a little twirl. “Alright, Miss Oakley, you’re up.”

“Not fair, now I’m dizzy!” you giggle.

“Got a feeling I need any advantage I can get,” he teases. He pays the operator and you get to go first, with the air hose operated pistol. With the shots alloted you knock down 8 out of 8 ducklings, and you make a sad face for the fallen. 

Tom takes the pistol with that signature smirk, and you can’t help but admire the way he squares up to the targets, all broad shoulders and spread feet. 

You probably need your head checked.

He knocks down seven ducklings easily and doesn’t even look like he feels bad about it. The competitive part of you pouts, but it is his actual job to use an actual gun, so you don’t feel too bad. You know for sure he’s not going to miss the last one. However…. 

It’s really not your fault, that your awesome push up bra choses that moment to poke you. You have to adjust it, at that very moment. As you fidget with your strap and tug on your neckline to expose your cleavage Tom’s attention is drawn decidedly elsewhere–he misses his duck, and by the look he shoots you, you just know you’re going to pay for it.

The booth operator hands you the big stuffed bunny, and you give it a tight hug goodbye before handing him over to his new owner. “What’re you gonna name him?” You ask. 

Tom pinches the fabric of your dress and tugs you forward so the pillowy creature is the only thing separating your bodies. “Oh, you just wait.”

You blink up at him, feigning innocence even as you crush your inner thighs together to relieve the awful ache between them. “That’s a weird name, but whatever you like.” You even add in a little shrug.

His smile is a curved knife—his smile goes straight to your clit, if you’re being honest. 

After that little scene, you shouldn’t be jumping at the bit to get locked inside a Ferris wheel compartment alone with him, but you are. 

And Tom, not one for wasting time, wrestles you into his lap immediately after the ride starts, dress sleeve falling down your arm, hem ridden up to show your thighs, ass pressed against his clothed erection. 

You feel so tiny and scared and helpless and safe in his sturdy lap. He brushes stray hair off your neck, makes your skin erupt in goosebumps, traces the curved line of throat from shoulder to dress sleeve, then tugs the fabric up into its rightful place. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be undressing me?” You ask him, emboldened by the fact that you don’t have to look at him while saying it. 

“Only sweet girls get to be undressed.” His fingers coast down your arm, leaving every hair raised in their wake, then ghost over your twitching belly, feeling the soft cotton wrinkles of your pretty sundress, taking far too much time inching up, up, up, finally feathering over your pebbled nipple, making your hips jerk and your breath catch on a throaty whine. 

His hand travels further until it’s wrapped snug and soft around the front of your throat, tipping your jaw up and back. 

“Am I hurting you, pretty girl?” His lips are almost, fucking almost pressed against the sensitive shell of your ear and you get the unhinged urge to scream in frustration.

His other hand slides into the space at the back of your right knee and unsticks your leg from the other one so you can’t press an ounce of this terrible need out of your center. “Answer me.”

“No.” You hardly recognize your own whiny voice. 

He rocks his hips up into your soft bottom, and you can’t hide the groan that the feeling of his hardness sinking an ident into your softness elicits.

“Serious question,” he asks.

“Hu-uhh?”

“Was anyone ever patient enough to not just immediately fuck you?”

“Honestly, not really,” you admit, thinking back to previous partners who were convinced foreplay meant giving you a single hickey. You resist the urge to tell him about Dr. Mercer, because you have a feeling Tom really will hurt him badly if he knows the extent of how he made you feel unwanted, and afraid. 

“Can’t say I blame them,” he tells you, finally pressing his stubble against the hypersensitive space behind your ear. 

You want to ask him the same question, but it’s hard to make words when he’s kissing your cartilage, inhaling your scent, flicking his tongue out to taste the tip of your ear while his right hand absently tickles the back of your knee. Just really fucking teasing the shit out of poor you. 

“Look outside,” he urges, and you open eyes that you didn’t realize had fluttered shut. 

Below you, the pier glows and glitters rainbow bright, stark against a dark, churning ocean and inky sky. You are suspended at the highest point, stuck right at the top, and your tummy flips a little bit at the thought until it realizes that it’s completely safe wrapped up in Tom’s embrace. 

He himself seems a bit distracted, and you use the opportunity to turn your head and kiss his cheek—the angle is awkwardly off, so it ends up being more of a peck to the side of his beautiful nose, but it gets the point across, and this impenetrable fortress of a man flusters below you, a hint of peach lighting the bridge of his nose and cheeks. 

He looks absolutely—heartachingly—adorable, and you regret doing it only because this dumbfounded puppy side of him makes you want him in more ways than just physical. Fuck, you want to keep this man. It’s terrifying. 

Of course, he’s got to show you up, releases your throat in favor of pushing his fingers into your hair and turning your body so that you’re across his lap rather than in it. One arm supports your back and head while the other lifts both your legs up onto the bench. It’s a perfect position to kiss in, and he’s leaning down, nose brushing your own, lips a half inch away from where you need them to be.

You close your eyes, mouth popping open, every inch of you tense and ready and wanting, but Tom Ludlow does not kiss you. He stays just out of reach, driving you crazy. 

You try to make contact after an eternity of him being right there right there right there, but he just holds you in place and tickles your lips with the warm air from his chuckle. 

After an aching eternity of madness, he leans in, and makes this so much worse for you, ever so softly placing a wet, tiny kiss to your upper lip before pulling away and making you pant and writhe. 

You want to tell him you hate him when he grins that knowing grin, but that would be another lie, because you’re starting to do the opposite of hate him, and it’s far too soon for that feeling to overtake you. 

“Tom.” You brace your hands on his chest. 

“Yeah?”

“I kinda made this vow to myself when I first moved here that I would be alone with myself for a while. That I would, I don’t know, kind of find myself?”

“So, you’ll bend your rules for a bitch Doctor, but not me?” Instead of angry, his demeanor is outwardly jealous, boyish, pouty. It makes you feel like the biggest jackass on planet earth, and that’s really saying something because you know from experience there are a large number of jackasses residing on this little blue orb. 

If there’s one thing about Tom Ludlow, it’s his ability to call you out on your bullshit and expose every part of your charade before it can even really get started. “You’re right, but Julian was a fluke. If anything, he solidified the need to find myself without anyone else in the way.” You decide to not mention the fact that Julian respectfully asked you out instead of harassing you, which greatly influenced your decision of who to go on a date with in the first place. 

You watch his jaw tense, vision narrow. He sucks the inside of his cheek. “See, the problem with that is, I’m the one in the way now, and it’s going to be hard to get me to move.”

“Why?” 

“Because I haven’t felt like this in a long fucking time, and it’s not just something you let go without a fight.” 

You have a feeling he excels at fights. 

The Ferris wheel churns to life, sending you down from heaven, breaking the tight intensity of the moment. 

You take the attack of opportunity, snatch Mr. Bunny from the seat, and shove his face into Tom’s while making a kissing sound. 

“You little weirdo.” He’s laughing, pushing the stuffed animal away half heartedly, rolling his eyes at the childish distraction that’s actually working splendidly. 

He grabs the fat toy from you and holds it high into the air. You start to scramble up on him to get to it, but he wraps a restraining arm around your waist. 

You can’t reach Mr. Bunny, but you can—finally—press your mouth over his own, giving the same teasing treatment, just a little chaste peck on the lips. 

You try to pull back, but he’s got other plans, braces the entire back of your head in his hand and pulls you into his open mouth. His caveman and your cavewoman clash with fervent tongue and teeth. The stuffie drops forgotten while you attempt to meld. His hands are desperate, urgent, like he can’t get enough of you at once. And you don’t think you’re doing any better, because although sporting less brawn, you are just as frantic, grabbing at his short, velvet hair, fisting his shirt in your hand to pull him further against you despite being so smashed together already that you can hardly breathe. 

You’re grateful for being on an ending carnival ride in public, because if you were in any sort of private setting, you’d be ripping this man’s clothes off to get him closer. 

The look this man gives you as you exit the carriage could start a wildfire. He tugs you against him and slings his arm around your shoulders, bringing you into the shelter of his strong body. It really shouldn't make you feel so invincible as it does, but you feel untouchable under his wing. You make your way down the pier, and you giggle like a little girl when he buys you a cotton candy. You share the sweet treat, the sugar melting on your tongue like your resolve to resist this man. 

Fuck. You’ve got it bad.

When you reach the end of the pier you cut down to walk by the water. Tom offers to carry your sandals for you. “Sure you can handle it?” you tease, looking at the bunny. “You’ve got quite an armful.” 

“I think I’ll be alright.”

“I’ll be expecting to see that stuffie on your dash the next time you pull me over,” you inform him with an insouciant grin.

“I still gotta pull you over to get some action?” he fires back, tugging you against him. It steals your breath away, and you toy with his collar, mainly to avoid meeting his eyes.

“Tom…?”

“Yeah baby?”

“Is that…something you’ve done before, to get girls?”

You think you know the answer, but your heart is in your throat anyway. 

“No. Just you.”

You feel a little braver, lifting your eyes to meet his. “Why?”

“What do you mean?” He seems genuinely puzzled.

“Why me?”

“There was just something about you, sweetheart. When you walked into the room and put me back together again that night–I felt my whole world change.” 

You can’t stop yourself from biting your lip. If he’s lying–feeding you lines, the way so many other men have–it will destroy you. You can just feel it in your bones.

“I get the feeling you don’t believe me?” 

“I want to,” you tell him, and mean it. “I really want to.”

An ambitious wave chooses that moment to crash around your ankles. You screech, the cold water a shock to your bare skin. Tom scoops you up and swings you to dry land, grinning like a feral tiger with your body wrapped up in his strong arms. He kisses you, really kisses you, nearly lifting you off the ground with his ardor. Your tongue slides against his, and you fancy he counts every single one of your teeth as he bends you over his arm. When at last you part he presses his forehead to yours. “I’m going to be honest with you.”

Oh lord. Here it comes. When a man says something like that to you…it always seems to end in disappointment, somehow. You can’t stop yourself from curling your fingers in his shirt, hiding against his broad chest. You’re not ready. There’s nothing you ever could have done to prepare yourself for this man–maybe deep down, you knew it all along. 

“What?” you ask, bracing yourself. 

He huffs with laughter, but there’s also an edge to it, his fingers digging into your sides. “I’ve been losing my goddamn mind thinking about how sweet your pussy must taste.”

He can’t see it, but at first all you can do is blink. You should slap him, but instead you just feel weak in the knees. You must make a little noise while tucked up under his chin, because he smirks at you before catching your mouth again.

“I’m starting to think my little nurse likes it when I talk dirty to her.” 

“Officer Ludlow, you are a walking sexual harassment violation.” But fuck you, if you don’t say it with a smile.

“Just you wait, baby.” 

It almost sounds like a threat, and it sends a spear of molten desire straight to your core, your fingertips curling against his broad chest.

Somehow you manage to peel yourself off of him, tugging on his hand to walk down the beach a little longer. One more second and it was not going to matter how many people were milling around this warm California evening–you were going to tear off his shirt. 

Maybe he senses this tension singing down your spine, thrumming like a tuning fork, because he squeezes your fingers in his, leaning over to kiss your temple. “I got you that worked up?” he teases, and you know you should just fucking relax, because he’s already told you that he has good intentions, as insane as that might sound, but you just can’t help but grit your front teeth. To be fair–he’s the one who started all this, and as usual, you’re pretty sure you’re the one who’s risking getting hurt. 

"Can I be real with you?"

"Yeah."

"I'm just so fucking tired of being used. I don't know if it's this town, or what, but everyone is so in love with themselves, and everyone has their own agenda..." You sigh, afraid you sound like a crazy person, and a whiner on top of it.  "Nevermind."

But he pulls you closer, and he could have pushed you over with a feather after saying, "I get it, believe me. I know we got off to a rough start, but…I meant what I said. I like you. And, if you want, I’ll go find Doctor Bitch right now and make him regret the night his ugly ass Ivy League parents decided to make him.” 

You don't know why those simple words crush you inside, but you grip his big hand like he's the last thing you've got to hold on to. 

Still, you’ve heard this all before, so a massive part of that protective mind of yours is reluctant to believe anything anyone says let alone talk, dark, handsome men. 

“I see you fighting with yourself in there, y/n.” He brings you back from the thorny forest of your thoughts, and you look into his dark, far too perceptive eyes. 

Now that he has your attention—he’s never really lost it since you saw him that first night bleeding out in your waiting room—he tucks hair behind your ear and says, “I told you, I can be patient. Trust me.”

“That’s, uh, hard to believe.”

He laughs a little as if at some inside joke. “Want to get a drink? It might do us both some good.” 

The margarita you’d had with dinner was excellent, but maybe didn’t have quite enough tequila in it to get you through the night with this man. 

“Yeah. That sounds excellent.” It sounded essential, if you were being honest. 

***

The bar he brings you to isn’t exactly a dive, but it’s definitely his spot. Everyone seems to know him, and there’s a tickling little thrill in the back of your mind, as you think about how it’s almost like he’s showing you off. 

He orders a shot of vodka and a beer. You opt for your favorite vodka cranberry. 

“How did you score a date with a nice girl like this?” teases the bartender, and you can tell there’s no malice in it, just friendly ribbing between Guys™.

“Once in a while, even an asshole like me gets lucky,” Tom answers with a smirk, pulling your barstool closer. You find yourself tangled in his long legs, and you’re pretty sure you like it that way. 

Tom was right. The drink does do the trick, and you feel yourself relax, even as he keeps finding excuses to touch you, his fingertips on your arm or his big hand engulfing your knee. You lean close so you can hear each other over the requisite noise of the bar, and maybe it’s just the vodka, or the low lights, but his dark eyes shining for you from so close ties your heart up in knots. 

You chat for a little while, finish your drink, and before you can stop him he orders you a new one with an insouciant grin. “I gotta hit the head,” he tells you, kissing your cheek before sliding off his stool. 

“Okay.” 

You try not to. You really do. But you can’t stop yourself from watching him–coming or going, that man is a menace. 

It isn’t long before someone hops up on the stool next to you. “Sorry, that seat’s taken,” you say with your best apologetic smile. It’s a man about Tom’s age, with a tight crew cut and a sharp look that just screams LEO, even though he’s in plainclothes. With a glance you see his badge clipped to his belt. 

“Oh yeah?” he says with a smile like a razor blade, a hard glint in his blue eyes. “Couldn’t help but notice you’re here with Ludlow.”

“Yeah? So?”

“I’d be careful, I was you. Be a shame, to end up like his wife.”

Your heart spins into freefall at hearing this. 

His wife? Is Tom married?

You know your surprise and horror is written all over your face–this asshole enjoys it way too much. 

[flatland-a-2024-translation]

Section 07. Concerning Irregular Figures

[Table of Contents]

Since the start of this book I have been assuming that my Readers in Spaceland were already aware of something that I take for granted. I should have made sure to explain to you the most basic, fundamental law of our society, upon which everything else is built:

Every human Being in Flatland is a Regular Figure.

Which means that a Woman is not simply a line, she is also a Straight Line.

An Isosceles Workman or Soldier must have two of his sides equal (being an Isosceles, he is of course defined by his third side being irregular).

A Tradesman must have his three sides equal.

Lawyers, (the group which I, your humble narrator and guide, am apart of), must have four equal sides, and in the higher Polygon class, all sides must be, generally, equal.

The size of these equal sides of course depends on how old this person is. A Female at birth is about an inch long [around 2.5 centimeters], and a tall adult Woman might be more than 12 inches [around 30.5 centimeters] long.

As for the Males of every class, as adults, the length of all their sides, when added together, measures somewhere around two feet, give or take. [around 61 centimeters].

But it is not the length of our sides that is important. I’m talking about the Equality of the sides, and it doesn’t take a stretch of the imagination to see why the whole foundation of civilization in Flatland rests upon the fundamental fact that Nature wills all Figures to have their sides equal.

If our sides were unequal, our angles might be unequal.

Instead of simply being able to judge a single angle by feel or by sight, you’d have to figure out the measurement of every single angle by time-consuming Feeling.

Life is too short for such mind-numbing groping. The whole science and art of Sight Recognition would be killed instantly. Feeling, as much as it can be called an Art, would perish soon after.

Casual interaction would become deathly dangerous or outright impossible – no one would ever be able to interact with any stranger or make even the most basic social arrangements without being in danger.

In a word, civilization would collapse into barbarism.

Am I going too fast for my Readers to understand how I’ve come to these obvious conclusions?

Surely if you think for a moment, and imagine a single instance from our every day life, you’ll be convinced that every part of our society relies on Regularity, or Equality of Angles.

For example, say you meet two or three Tradesmen in the street. You know they are Tradesmen by a single glance: a seemingly straight line, with a bright point in the center, rapidly growing darker towards either end. You ask them to step into your house for lunch while you discuss business.

This is something you can do, right now, without any hesitation, because everyone knows how much space, give or take an inch or two, is taken up by an adult Triangle.

But imagine if one of these Tradesman dragged behind his Regular and respectable angle, not just a straight line, but a parallelogram of twelve or thirteen inches on the diagonal. Now what are you supposed to do with a monster like that stuck in your door?

[ID: A simple digital drawing with a black border around it, showing a Square looking out a doorway at three other shapes. Two are Equilateral Triangles, and the third is an Irregular shape with an Equilateral front, and a very wide parallelogram back. Next to the square is a small bar showing three points of brightness with fading edges, lining up with the points of the Triangles in front of him, as he says: "To my view, they all look like Equilateral Triangles. Just at different distances from my eye." Then there is another bar behind the three shapes, saying, "But from another angle...the Irregularity is revealed.". This bar shows one very large white line, with a smaller grey line next to it, matching up with the backs of the shapes above it. End ID.]

But I am insulting the intelligence of my Readers by explaining things that are clear to anyone who lives in Spaceland.

Obviously the measurement of a single angle wouldn’t help us interact with one another under such circumstances – one’s whole life would be hours upon hours of feeling or visually surveying the entire perimeter of everyone you meet.

It’s already hard enough to avoid running into others in a crowd, even for the trained wisdom of a well-educated Square! But if Regularity flew out the window, and you couldn’t assume anyone around you had logical angles, everything would devolve to chaos and confusion! The smallest panic would cause serious injuries, or – if there happened to be any Women or Soldiers in the crowd – considerable loss of life!

This is why Expediency teams up with Nature in stamping the seal of its approval on Regularity of Configuration, and the Law, of course, seconds their efforts.

To us, “Irregularity of Figure” means a combination of both inherent moral failure and purposeful criminality, and is treated accordingly.

We do, of course, have some distributors of writings that claim there is no inherent connection between geometrical and moral Irregularity.

“The Irregular”, they say, “is, from the moment he’s born, rejected by his parents, bullied by his brothers and sisters, neglected by his nurses, scorned and suspected by society, and excluded from all forms of trust, responsibility, and fulfilling jobs.

“His every movement is openly surveiled by the police until he comes of age, and presents himself for inspection. Then, he is either destroyed if he is found to be Irregular past the set margin of deviation, or imprisoned in a Government Facility as a desk worker of the seventh class.

“Barred from marriage, forced to serve at a tedious job for practically no pay, and with no other choice but to live and eat entirely at this same office, unable even to take a vacation except without a guard escorting him like the prisoner that he is – then is it any wonder that human nature, no matter how pure or benevolent it started out when he was born, becomes bitter and corrupted with a lifetime of this kind of treatment?”

None of this very plausible reasoning has convinced me, nor has it convinced the wisest of our Statesmen, that our ancestors made a mistake when they set down the law that mandated Irregularity as incompatible with the safety of the State.

I have no doubt that the life of an Irregular is hard, but the best interests of the rest of society requires that it be hard.

If a man with a triangular front and polygonal back were allowed to exist, and to father even more Irregular children and grandchildren, what would become of the Arts of life? Are the houses and doors and churches all supposed to be changed to accommodate such monsters? Are the ticket-sellers supposed to measure every man’s perimeter before they let him into a theater, or to take his place in a lecture hall?

Is an Irregular supposed to be exempt from military service? And if not, how is he going to be stopped from killing his comrades by accident?

And just think of the horrible crimes and lies these creatures would be tempted to commit! It’d be so easy for him to enter a shop with his polygonal front forward, and order whatever he likes, on promise of future payment, from a too-trusting salesman!

Let the falsely claimed “Philanthropists” beg all they like for the abolishment of the Irregular Penal Laws, they won’t convince me, because I, for one, have never known an Irregular who wasn’t what Natuer clearly intended him to be – a hypocrite, a misanthrope, and, as far as he can succeed, a perpetrator of all kinds of crime and nuisance.

Not that I would (at the moment) recommend the extreme measures adopted by some Countries, where any infant whose angle deviates by half a degree from the expected angularity is promptly destroyed at birth.

Some of our best Men, Men of real genius, suffered, in their early childhood, deviations as great as – or even greater than – forty-five minutes. The loss of their precious lives would have been an irreparable injury to the State.

We have also achieved many victories in the Art of Healing, allowing most Irregularities to be either partly, or entirely, cured, through the use of medical compressions, extensions, fuses, and more.

I would say there is no point at which we should look at a newborn and decide it is incurably Irregular – but, if the Irregularities cannot be cured before the body begins to form its permanent shape, and the Medical Board has declared that nothing can be done to salvage it, then I would suggest that the Irregular child be mercifully euthanized.

[Table of Contents]

[suhnshinehaos]

⚘  growing pains

series synopsis : people say that you’ll experience three kinds of love in your lifetime. the first is an idealistic love, the kind that feels straight out of a fairy tale. the second is the hard love, the kind that will leave you with lessons about yourself and the love you want and need to experience. finally, the love you never see coming. this is the story of your three loves. pairing : svt 97 line x gn!reader genre/s : non-idol au, coming of age, angst, fluff, my attempts at humor

act three : the unexpected love

after years studying and working abroad, yn is finally back home to a new job and new faces. all they want now is to focus on nothing else but their career and one of their coworker’s friends, minghao, makes it all the more interesting. 

part thirteen : thank you dinner

previous  ➤  act three, part twelve (2/2) next  ➤  act three, part fourteen growing pains  ➤  masterlist

from reese, with love

this is a looooong one ! pls ignore the timestamp on jn's mh twt it's supposed to be later in the day heh anyways, ynhao are so dear to me like ??? the absolute warmth i get while writing them >>> i hope it translates well and you feel it too while reading :) thank you so much for all the love on the previous part and for reading this one ! as always, i would love to know your thoughts !! all replies/asks/rbs are appreciated ! hope you're doing well and taking care :))

also svt and 127 dropping music aaaaaah gosh fact check and seventeenth heaven i am ready for youuuuu!!

[outstandingblue]

Promises to Keep

Thirteen - Almost Lost, Twice

recom!miles quaritch x fem!na'vi oc

| Masterlist | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen |

Miles almost losses Jiniraa and he (unintentionally) returns the favor.

cross-posted on ao3 here content warning: it's a doozy blood, animal attack, animal mutilation, stabbing, animal bite, loss of self, angst word count: 8.5k

The viperwolf latched itself onto Jiniraa’s arm and Miles felt his entire world shift. There was nothing else that mattered. All that shit he said earlier that day about the mission being the most important thing? Gone. All that mattered was getting Jiniraa and Spider and the team out of this mess. His vision was trained on Jiniraa’s form - the way the animal’s jaw pressed further into her flesh, the way her deep red blood dripped onto the forest floor, the way her eyes were wide and terrified.

The creature momentarily released its death grip on her arm, but latched onto her hip as it slid down. Jiniraa let out another howl of pain as its teeth sunk into her flesh, tearing straight through her woven pants. 

Viperwolves descended on the entire group. They usually picked on loners in the forest, not an entire group. The pack must’ve been beyond starving to challenge the Recoms, searching the group for the weakest one - that person would be the easiest to pick off. Spider remained encased in the center of the group; Lyle continuously threw glances over his shoulder to check on the teenager as he fought off every damned animal that lunged his way. 

Miles only saw red as he made his way towards the woman. Hunman Quaritch hated viperwolves for his own reasons - his scars originated from their deadly claws. He carried those markings as a badge of honor, proof even Pandora wasn’t strong enough to kill him. Recom Quaritch carried that same hatred deep inside, but the hatred would change into unadulterated loathing by the end of the night. 

Miles slashed the animal, forcing it to release its death hold on Jiniraa’s side before it fell to the ground. He forced his foot down its neck, hearing the satisfying crunch of its spinal cord under his boot. For extra measure, Miles stabbed his knife into his torso, ripping back towards its tail to empty the contents of its body onto the forest floor. Once the threat was beyond dead, Miles grabbed Jiniraa by the waist, dragging her back to the security of the group. Prager stepped to the side, allowing Miles to come through and then resumed his position. They were guarded by a wall of Recoms. She was awake and still breathing, but clearly in shock - the clammy skin and glassy eyes were enough proof. 

“Baby, you with me?” Miles slapped the sides of Jiniraa’s cheeks, watching as her unfocused eyes rolled around in their sockets, “fuck, eyes on me.”

He set his knife next to them on the forest floor, bringing both hands up to cradle her face. She was dazed as the chaos continued around them, but nevertheless she nodded. She had yet to realize the severity of her wounds, not noticing how her blood was collecting in two small puddles beside her.

“That’s it, there you are. There’s those pretty eyes, keep ‘em on me, yeah?” Miles softly cooed as her eyes locked onto his, dragging on the phrase to keep her focused. He was acting as her tether to the world. 

Spider had his back to the pair, acting as their second line of defense if the wall of Recoms failed. He tried to remain brave, but the shaking hands showed just how terrified the young teen was. He had never experienced a viperwolf attack of this magnitude before. His bow was drawn, but he couldn’t trust that he’d hit his target when he released. 

A viperwolf launched itself off a tree branch, aiming right for Zdinarsk’s head. The impact of the skeletal creature knocked her completely off balance, making her fall back and land on Miles. With the absence of Miles and Zdinarsk, there was an opening to the two most vulnerable members: Spider and Jiniraa. Viperwolves could smell the blood that was already split, making their mouth’s fill with slobber as they salivated imagining their next meal. 

Two sets of yellow eyes gleamed as a bold viperwolf darted forward, seizing the opportunity to take down the seemingly defenseless pair. Jiniraa was still out of it as everything seemed to occur in slow motion: a dark figure coming from above, Zdinarsk falling onto Miles, Zdinarsk and Miles wrestling a viperwolf, the viperwolf coming towards her and Spider. Right towards Spider. Spider. 

The blade on the ground gleamed and Jiniraa grabbed it. The weight was unnatural in her hand, the hilt heavy and straight rather than curved and sleek. She would've preferred her own obsidian blade in this situation, but there wasn’t time to think about that. She swung an arm behind Spider, hitting him in the knees and making him fall forward into the ground. She moved her body infront of him, crouching down to cover him as much as possible. Spider hit the ground just as the viperwolf launched itself into the air and six sets of claws came right for her. 

Miles snapped the neck of his viperwolf, a kill performed with his bare hands. His knife was long forgotten a few feet away on the ground. He turned to Jiniraa, watching a viperwolf launch itself at her for the second time that night. It made contact and the force made her fall backwards, rolling over her shoulder as she wrestled with the animal. She flipped them over, knees on either side of the animal's body.

Her eyes widened, enough to show the whites around her green eyes as she screamed. This time the scream wasn’t in pain, but sheer, unbridled rage. She extended an arm, wrapping her fingers around its neck to keep the snapping jaw away from her hand as the other stabbed the animal again and again and again. She sliced the animal well past its point of death, almost mutilating to beyond recognition. 

She rose up onto her feet as she bent over the corpse, unable to contain her growl as her throat burned in fury. She returned to her full height and joined the nearby Recoms in their defense. By the end, she took down four more viperwolves before the pack retreated into the darkness. Jiniraa stood, eyes wide and crazed as she looked around. Animalistic was the only word one could use to describe her current state. She wasn’t standing up straight, remaining slightly hunched over with a bend in the knees. There was a splatter of blood diagonal across her face, the result of her feverish violence. 

The people she cared about had been threatened and she protected them. She spent too many years living in fear, utterly reliant upon the people around her. No more of that. Now? She was capable and strong - she did not need to entrust her safety into the abilities of another out of necessity anymore. She could protect herself just fine and would bring a reckoning down on anything that dared attempt to harm those she cared about. 

Miles watched, completely speechless at the metamorphosis. A rebirth. This was not the same scared and weak woman he’d picked out of the forest over a month ago. No - she was a warrior now. Screw everything Jake Sully tried (and failed) to teach her all those years ago, continuously telling her she was the lost cause. No, Jake, you were the one in the wrong. Jiniraa always had this strength inside of her, she just needed the right people to push her. 

She was still on high alert as Miles approached her, slowly raising his empty hands to show he wasn’t a threat. She swung the knife - his knife - towards his chest, reaching to slash at him before she realized who it was. He crouched down to be more level with her, rather than the imposing mass he typically was. The burn in her arm and hip was starting to take over, making her grip loosen slightly, but she refused to give in and release the blade. Spider’s gaze flicked back and forth between Jiniraa and Miles, watching the latter approach her like she was a wild animal. 

“Sweetheart, put down the knife,” Miles bartered, volume low in volume, but firm in tone. She didn’t respond as her tail flickered around. He watched her blink twice, seeing her physicality change as reality settled in. She looked around the clearing, finding the bodies of over a dozen viperwolves littering the ground, varying in levels of disfiguration and mutilation. 

The weight of the situation came down on Jiniraa instantly, robbing her body of any strength. Miles closed the gap between then, catching her in his arms before her knees even hit the ground. He quickly pulled the knife out of her grip and tossed it somewhere behind him. He didn’t care where it landed. Someone else would pick it up. All that mattered was her. 

She clung to his vest, continuing to look around at the corpses. The blood from her hands was seeping into the material of his vest, making her sick to her stomach, but Miles didn’t care. Na’vi were supposed to protect the great balance and leave decisions of life and death to the Great Mother. She took that into her own hands, literally. Also - she didn’t just kill a creature and move on. No, she butchered the animals without care for the pain they felt. These deaths weren’t completely meaningless - they were necessary to protect Spider and Miles and all the other Recoms, but it didn’t make the gravity of the situation any easier. 

Jiniraa’s hands shook as she attempted to wipe the blood off her skin, but it was pointless. It was already beginning to stain. Miles didn’t care that she wiped the blood right onto the vest - that was the least of his concerns. She didn’t seem to notice that there was blood spewed across her face; if she did know, she would’ve emptied the contents of her stomach onto the floor next to them. Miles would have to figure out a way to get it off without telling her what it was. 

He brought one hand to cradle the back of her head, pushing her forehead into his chest in an attempt to shield her gaze from the carnage she had caused. A carnage he never wanted to see again. For those few minutes, Jiniraa was lost to her rage as her instincts took over. That wasn’t the Jiniraa he knew - this was a completely new side to her that she did not even know existed. 

Jiniraa pulled herself out of Miles’ hold, wiggling around as he tightened his hold on her. She sharply inhaled and whined in pain, making him ease up instantly, “Spider.”

He remained planted on the ground, watching her stumble and almost fall over as she made her way to Spider. He was ready to jump up and catch her if need be, but in the meantime he would let her walk on her own two feet. Jiniraa checked over Spider once, twice, and then a third time as she didn’t trust her own eyes. Spider complied to her examination, if he refused she would just get more upset. She wasn’t able to find a single scratch on him, truly a miracle.

“Oh, thank you, Great Mother,” Jiniraa breathed out, brushing the hair off Spider's mask. He sadly smiled, already seeing the consequences of her actions beginning to weigh on her conscience. This would be a night that never left, haunting her until the day she died. 

“‘Niraa? Are you okay?” Spider tentatively asked, voice laced with sincerity as he wrapped small pale fingers around her much larger ones. His gaze drifted to her bloodied arm and stained pants. The lacerations were deep and almost pulsating, making Spider almost lose the contents of his stomach. 

“Sweet boy, I am okay as long as you are alright,” Jiniraa sniffled as a single tear fell. 

Miles watched the exchange from afar, feeling voyeuristic as he listened in on their intimate moment. Spider felt the Colonel’s intense gaze burning a hole into the side of his face. He turned to face the echo of his father; Spider didn’t need to vocalize his question as they conversed through eye contact. You alright?

Miles approached the pair, taking a knee as he checked over Spider with his own eyes. He felt awkwards under the two unrelenting and scrutinizing gazes. It was bad enough when Jiniraa fretted over him, and now there were two of them. Although it was a foreign feeling, it was nice - these two people cared so deeply about the boy they were ready to lay down their lives if need be. 

The Recoms moved around in silence, trying to give the trio a moment of solace as they secured the area. They all knew their jobs, so there was no need to talk and risk disturbing the private moment. 

“Sweetheart, we gotta take care of your wounds.” Miles brushed his fingers against Jiniraa’s forearm, trying to get her attention. He didn’t allow his fingers to trail any further upward, not knowing how much pain she was in. The blood was still actively pouring from the wound, but it had slowed significantly as her heart rate returned to its semi-normal pace. Blood ran down her arm, creating a morbid criss-cross pattern of red and blue as it clashed with her natural stripes. The gash on her hip was worse, blood collecting on her pants and spreading quickly. As Miles called her injury to attention, the agony seemed to settle all at once. Her eyes rolled back as her mouth dropped open, breath caught in her throat at the trauma she’d been ignorant to thus far. 

Miles rose and wrapped his arm around her waist as he guided them towards a cleared area, one that wasn’t stained with blood and death. Spider awkwardly followed behind, not really knowing how he fit into the current situation. 

“Ja!” Miles called out, motioning down to the woman in his arms. The medic nodded, getting his small field kit ready.

Miles sat down first, letting his legs extend out. He expected Jiniraa to settle down next to him, so it was a shock when she boldly took a seat between his legs and leant back against his chest. She was completely drained - emotionally and physically, so there was no thought behind her movements. She instinctively sought out his body for comfort. The warmth reminded her he was there. This was real. He was real.

“I’m going to have to clean this out first, ‘ight?” Ja asked as he cracked open a container of alcohol. The smell burned Jiniraa’s nose, the sterile smell was something she was intimately familiar with from the extensive hours she spent in the lab with Norm, Max, and the other scientists. Still, that familairy didn’t make it smell any better. She nodded, grounding herself by gripping the material of Miles' makeshift shorts. 

Ja and the Colonel made eye contact, already preparing for Jiniraa to lash out and fight back against the pain. Miles snaked an arm around her bare waist, anchoring her back against his front as he nodded at the medic. The pain from the disinfectant was almost worse than the initial wound itself. As expected, Jiniraa attempted to escape the sensation, but Miles’ hold was unrelenting. The wounds needed to be properly cleaned or else she risked infection. His ears turned down at the pained whimpers and gasps that worked their way from Jiniraa.

Her hip was worse. Not only was it in an awkward place to reach, but it was also more painful. The animal’s teeth must’ve sunk in far deeper than her arm. As Miles helped her shimmy her pants down a little bit, allowing Ja access to the wound, Miles eyes were drawn to that familiar star-shaped scar placed an inch or do away from her hip bone. The bite almost perfectly surrounded the decade old scar in a morbid border. She’d been hit in that area twice, almost like Eywa had planned it herself.

Ja’s touch remained perfectly clinical as he worked to clean out her wounds. Only touching on a need be basis, working quickly under the scrutinizing gaze of his superior. 

As Ja finished, Jiniraa fell completely limp against Miles, attempting to curl into him and escape everything. Her chest continued to rise and fall with deep, rapid breaths, but now she’d endured the worst of it. This time yesterday, they were curled up in the safety of Miles’ bed where nothing could ever hurt them. Now? Miles could have lost her in the blink of an eye. If that viperwolf aimed for her jugular rather than her bicep, it would’ve been over. There would have been no shot at saving her, no matter how much Miles would have fought.

Ja pulled away to thread his needle, holding a flashlight between his teeth. Miles, as  opportunistic as ever, took the moment of privacy to press his lips against Jiniraa’s temple as his arm tightened around her. This time, it was to convince himself that she was okay. This was real. She was real. 

Her shaky hand reached for his free hand, pulling the appendage into her lap as she played with his fingers as a means to distract herself from the pain. Soft fingers traced each digit with feather light touches, running the length of the finger before starting over with the next one. She was tiring quickly, so the movement eventually became too much to focus on. Jiniraa allowed Miles to wrap his hand around her much smaller one, giving her a squeeze every few seconds. The blood was still on her hand, but he would deal with that later. 

Ja cursed under his breath as he continued to struggle with threading his needle - he was great at many things, but he certainly was not known for his ability to thread a needle. Miles rolled his eyes at the medic before feeling Jiniraa slump against him as she dozed off. He wanted nothing more than for her to sleep in his arms, but her health was more important. 

“Baby, gotta stay awake,” Miles murmured against the tip of her ear, slightly shaking her. The term of endearment had slipped from his lips the second time that night. The first time was out of pure fear, petrified at the thought of losing her. This time it was intentional, feeling appropriate for their situation. He almost lost her. There was no better time than the present to act on this.

She whined, fighting to stay as she waited for Ja to start working. She only flinched the first couple stitches before becoming accustomed to the sensation. Ja made quick work before carefully wrapping her upper arm with white gauze and placing a patch on her hip. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best they could offer in the field. Dr. Renia Cox would be her first stop upon return to Bridgehead. 

As Ja treated Jiniraa’s injuries, the rest of the Recoms cleared camp. Lopez, Prager, and Lyle made three separate trips to dispose of the viperwolf bodies, dumping them far enough that any scavengers wouldn’t be tempted to approach the temporary settlement. Zdinarsk and Mansk remained on tour, surveying their surroundings for threats. None of them had any major injuries; Prager had a scrape on his right forearm and Zdinarsk had a killer headache from getting her head slammed into the ground, but they didn’t require immediate medical care. 

“I’m tired,” Jiniraa slurred against Miles as Ja moved away to regroup with the rest of the team. 

“I would be concerned if you weren’t,” Miles chuckled, the force of his laugh jostling Jiniraa. His thumb ran over the back of her knuckles, caked and sticky with a thin layer of blood. Miles called out, “hey, Spider, grab my canteen, would you? And her bag too.”

Spider made quick work of grabbing the half-full canteen and delivering it to Miles’ outstretched hand. The Recom pointed to a nearby scrap of fabric - a cut-off from someone’s pants - and Spider grabbed that as well. Miles doused the fabric in the cool water and began to wipe the blood off her hands. She remained complacent within his grip, allowing him to manipulate her hand however he needed to work best. Her eyes remained closed, trusting him to wash any evidence of sin from her skin. Even when it got to her face, Miles’ touches were light. He never dared to pull her skin taught, even if it meant it took longer to get rid of the blood.

When Miles was pleased with his work, he took a swig of water before offering the canteen to Jiniraa. He held it up as she took a small sip before resuming her resting place against his chest. Absent-minded circles were rubbed into her soft waist, “ready to sleep now?”

She nodded at Miles’ question, but made no move to stand. Her hammock was set up only a few feet away, so Miles easily could just carry her over. He made no effort to move either, enjoying their shared moment too much.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” Jiniraa quietly pleaded, the second night in a row she asked that question. She was scared of another attack, just realizing how close she was to dying less than an hour ago. Miles’ chest tightened at the slight crack in her voice, but warmed at the idea she felt safest in his grasp. 

“Of course you can,” Miles confirmed, pressing another soft kiss to her temple.

Jiniraa slid out of Miles’ grasp, leaving him momentarily confused before she laid herself down on the forest floor, back against the log he used as a backrest. His thigh became her pillow, arms wrapping around to lock his limb into place. He wouldn’t be able to escape her hold if he tried - not that he wanted to. He would stay still as stone if it meant she got a good night’s rest. 

Jiniraa didn’t fall asleep right away. She tried to maintain a little conversation, but Miles engaged as little as possible, hoping she would just fall asleep on her own. The words of Dr. Cox echoed in his mind - she needed rest or else she would seriously hurt herself. Well, the injured box had now been checked, therefore she needed rest more than ever. 

He reached over to Jiniraa’s bag, unzipping it with one hand. He struggled to rummage through, searching for the metal tin Cox gave her earlier that day. His fingers brushed along an interior pocket, feeling a piece of paper inside. Out of curiosity, he pulled it up quietly. There were two pictures: one of a much younger Jiniraa and two older individuals and a second of her with Sully’s kids. It felt wrong to look at them without her permission, so he pushed them back into the hiding place. Miles found the tin, pulling it out and applying a thin layer to her back. Maybe the numbing balm would help her sleep. 

“Go to sleep,” Miles softly commanded as he brushed hair from Jiniraa’s face, the scent of the salve lingering on his fingers. Her primarily one-sided conversation wasn’t slowing down anytime soon. The rest of the Recoms had already settled into the hammocks for the night - Miles offered to take the first two hours of watch. He wouldn’t have been able to sleep. He didn’t know it, but neither could any of his subordinates. They all remained awake in their hammocks, listening to every sound of the forest. 

“I can’t,” Jiniraa confessed, rolling onto her back to get a better look at Miles. He tilted his head, hoping she’d offer an explanation. She didn’t. It wasn’t difficult to gauge that she was still on edge from the attack, something everyone was struggling with. He grazed a hand against the curve of her waist to lull her to sleep. 

“I’ll make sure nothing happens, okay?” Miles promised, reaching down and intertwining their pinkies for a brief moment before pulling back. Another pinkie promise, this time initiated by big bad Quaritch. He didn’t know what that was - the action felt unbelievably foreign, but it seemed to work as Jiniraa rolled back onto her side. To help her sleep, Miles slid his arm down to the deepest curve of her waist, rubbing soft circles in possessive affection. 

At the darkest point of the night, sometime during Prager’s watch, a glowing jellyfish-like object floated down towards Jiniraa’s sleeping form. Miles’ hand stilled against her skin, the opposite hand tightening on his gun. He held his breath as the glowing orb floated above his fingers pressed against her skin for a few seconds before it bobbed down and ever so slightly brushed against his skin. A second one came down, finding purchase lower on Jiniraa’s waist and rested upon her bandaged hip. The pair remained still for ten seconds or so before floating off in unison, disappearing as quickly as they came. Eywa had forgiven her for the lives she ended prematurely. 

Miles kept his promise, staying up the entire night. He watched the watch change from Mansk to Zdinarsk to Prager and finally to Lyle. The night came and went without the slightest hiccup, but he was exhausted as the sun began to poke through the upper canopy of the forest. 

The Recoms woke slowly, moving around in silence as they prepared for the trek ahead of them. It was oddly domestic. Seeing everyone was awake, Miles allowed himself to get a few minutes of sleep - it would be better than nothing. Jiniraa woke up right as Miles fell asleep, working to carefully remove the heavy arm slung across her shoulders to move towards everyone else. 

Spider was perched on a low branch, leaning against a wall of vines as he worked on the tension of his bow. It took a few shots to get back in the groove, but once he was readjusted to the weapon he hit dead on time and time again. Jiniraa tossed a fruit to Spider, watching as he ripped it into smaller pieces. He slipped off the mask and popped a small piece into his mouth before sealing it once more. Jiniraa settled next to Spider as they shared breakfast in silence. 

A few yards away, Miles’ hand flexed, something he’d been doing throughout the night. Feeling nothing under his hand, Miles shot up out of his feet, knife ready and eyes wide as he searched for her form. Within seconds, he located her next to Spider. He slid his knife back into its sheath as he walked towards the group, trying to cover up the little panic he just experienced. Everyone turned back to their tasks, letting the Colonel believe no one saw. They all had, but no one dared to ask.

“Let’s get a move on,” Miles called out with his hands on his hips, “banshees are waitin’ for us!”

A series of whoops and hollers came from the group. They’d all been excited for this moment, especially after hearing stories Jiniraa shared about flying on her ikran Situ. Nothing compared to the freedom one feels as they soared high in the clouds. They would never ask outright, but they all secretly wished they would be permitted to tame their own banshees sooner rather than later. They also never asked why she would become so distant for a few hours after telling stories about her and Situ, but everyone had their theories.

Before leaving camp, Ja checked on Jiniraa’s stitches to make sure she didn’t tear them overnight. Miles hovered behind, watching out of the corner of his eye as he checked his rifle. There was a little blood on her hip, but other than that nothing too alarming.

Jiniraa and Spider led the Recoms through the forest, swinging from overhead vines and jumping on larger branches. They moved with ease, almost like they swam in water. The Recoms were a little less graceful, but it was a drastic improvement from their first days in the forest. Jiniraa came to a screeching halt, making everyone pile up behind her. Mansk took one look over the edge of the branch before shuffling towards Ja; the branch they were stopped on was suspended over a hundred yards in the air. A straight drop down.

“Somethin’ wrong?” Lyle called ahead, clearly out of breath.

“Take the boots off. They’re weighing you all down. Look at Prager - he left his off and hasn’t slipped once.” The Recoms exchanged warry glances as Jiniraa continued, “you wouldn’t want to fall, right?”

Mansk was the first one to drop down and hastily untie his laces, practically ripping the heavy combat boots off. Everyone else followed suit. Boots were abandoned in the forest, even though Jiniraa attempted to stress the leave no trace policy. Once everyone was barefoot, Jiniraa turned around and resumed her quick pace.

As they left the treeline, Jiniraa turned to watch the Recoms as they took in the Hallelujah Mountains. It wasn’t the first time they’d seen them - flight patterns had taken them through there countless times, but that didn’t make them any less amazing to witness. Marvelous. 

“Wow,” Zdinarsk whispered under her breath, slinging her rifle against her back as she took in the sights. The floating mountains were imposing, breathtaking, and terrifying all at the same time.

“Ready to climb?” Jiniraa boasted, almost bouncing in excitement. Spider slipped his bow across his chest as he moved to stand next to Jiniraa, a wicked smile etched on his face. He was so ready to see the Recoms get a taste of their own medicine. He wanted them to struggle.

Mansk seemed uneasy at the task ahead of them. He was fine with heights - fine as long as he didn’t look down. In the Hallelujah Mountains, it was impossible not to look down. Jiniraa sensed his anxieties as she moved towards the fidgety Recom, “you okay, Mansk?”

He nodded slowly, not looking down as he continued to take in the floating mountains in awe and fright. Jiniraa rubbed at his arm reassuringly.

“Everyone needs to listen to Spider and I as we approach where the ikran nest,” Jiniraa declared, raising her voice so everyone would take her seriously, “got it?”

She tried to be threatening. On another day, they would have laughed her off a little. Today? After seeing what she was capable of the night before? She had been more ruthless than any of them. They all nodded quickly. 

“You alright to do this?” Miles asked, pointing towards her twin bandages. There also was the bruise on her back, but he was less concerned about that.

“Of course I am, Miles,” she smiled up at him, voice dripping with sweetness.

“Just makin’ sure,” he raised his eyebrows with a small smirk. 

She turned around and took a step back before running forward and launching herself into the air. She landed on a small floating boulder, calling out as she stood up, “you’re going to want to get a move on!”

Her laugh was infectious as she moved, euphoric as she moved from boulder to boulder, using vines to pull her body up. Her body was much stronger than the last time she’d been up here, making her movements more fluid and easy to push through. The first few minutes, Miles was afraid for her safety, but he had faith in her once he witnessed the confidence in her body as she moved. She allowed her instincts to take over, her body able to move without thinking.

Spider followed close behind Jiniraa, trailing anywhere between ten and twenty feet behind the woman. He was smiling and laughing too, throwing jokes up to Jiniraa as they moved in tandem. The Recoms struggled at first, their fears dictated their actions rather than trusting their bodies. Once they got over that initial fear, they began to move with relative ease. Mansk trailed the furthest back, still not comfortable with the sheer drop below him. He blamed his lagging on the weight of his gun, arguing it was the heaviest and most awkward to move with. 

The first time an ikran flew in front of them, the entire Recom team halted in their tracks, instinctively pulling their rifles to the ready. Jiniraa clicked her tongue in protest, a sound they had all gotten used to when they did something she didn’t appreciate. One by one, they slung their rifles back over their sounders and resumed the journey upward.

“C’mon, keep up, losers!” Spider yelled down, taunting the Recoms for their slow place. They may have moved quicker than him on land, but this was his terrain. Spider Socorro, King of the Mountains.

Jiniraa clicked her tongue once more, scolding him for his taunts. She paused, hanging off the side of a boulder, “Spider, play nice.”

“They said the same thing to me in the forest!” Spider argued back. Jiniraa rolled her eyes, knowing he made a valid point. She couldn’t help but think how this resembled the childish arguments between Spider and the Sully children, she’s heard him say those words a hundred times before. He was just a child, trying to get people to recognize his skill. 

Jiniraa entered the cave first and Spider followed close behind. She walked towards the ledge, pushing her hands into the cool water that flowed from above. One handful to splash her face to cool down and the second to drink the pure, clean water. 

Jiniraa turned away from Spider, trying to hide her actions as she peeled back the material of her pants. In times like this, it was useful to wear pants that had such large vertical slits in them. She grimaced seeing the deep crimson pushing through and staining the bandage. Once again, she was grateful for the pants as it hid her torn stitches from everyone. 

Lyle was the first Recom to make his way into the cave system, obnoxiously letting out an ‘oorah’ while flexing. In quick succession, Zdinarsk then Miles then Prager, Ja, and Lopez together joined them. Mansk was the last Recom, leaning against the wall to catch his breath as he finally felt safe with solid footing under his bare feet. 

“Banshee time!” Lyle yelled out, flexing his arms for a second time.

Jiniraa’s signature tongue click pulled everyone’s attention to her. She stood at the opposite end of the passageway, but everyone looked past her. They watched as a dozen ikran flew down, screeching to each other as they soared through the air. The entire color spectrum was displayed on their mighty wings. Dagger-like teeth glimmered as the light caught them, each as long as their fingers. 

“Everyone needs to listen to me if you want to live. You must choose your own ikran and they must choose you. Take your braid out in front of you. See this at the end? You are going to use this to make tsaheylu, the bond. Once the bond is made it is for life. An ikran will only fly with one hunter in their entire life.” Jiniraa walked them through the basics. The joking tone Jiniraa had a few minutes ago was gone, replaced with unrelenting seriousness. The Recoms nodded, trying to internalize her directions. She looked over them, hovering over Miles for a second too long before turning around. “Come.”

One by one, the Recoms pushed through the narrow passageway, all having to bend over as they walked up the makeshift stairs. It was incredibly humid inside the cave structure, the walls were damp with condensation as it almost collected enough to run down the walls. The transition from darkness to light was painful, making everyone shield their eyes. 

Miles attempted to push Jiniraa behind him as they entered the ikran nesting grounds, but she pushed right back against him and moved around his arm. He wasn’t going to steal this moment from her. Spider joined her at the front of the group, crouching down as they stalked towards an overgrown root which he perched himself up on. 

The Recoms circled around, rifles at the ready for an attack. Lyle, Miles, Prager, and Zdinarsk took position near Spider and Jiniraa while Mansk, Lopez, and Ja moved in an opposite direction. Lyle quickly assembled a long-barrelled sniper rifle, pulling a small pouch from his waist to grab a tranquilizer bullet.

“I got this,” Miles grabbed the weapon out of the Corporal’s hands, not giving him a second to refuse. 

His back was to Jiniraa, so he was unaware of the deep scowl that settled on her face. She and Spider shared a look; Spider looked much more amused than Jiniraa did. She was upset with him - maybe more like upset at him while her true anger began with General Ardmore. It was the General whose threat caused Miles to accelerate her cultural lesson plans, jumping straight to taming an ikran when there were a dozen steps in between. 

Spider laughed, mocking Miles as he pointed the barrel at the closest ikran and gazed through the scope.

“What?” Miles asked, not knowing how idiotic he looked with a gun pointed towards an ikran.

“Na’vi kids younger than me do this with their bare hands,” Spider continued to laugh.

Miles paused and bit the inside of his cheek, contemplating his actions, “Jake Sully do it the hard way?”

“What do you think?” Spider challenged back. 

Miles focused on Jiniraa, who had placed between himself and his semi-son. She wasn’t paying attention to the banter, but watched the ikran with a wide smile on her face. Memories from her hunter initiation flashed in her eyes: the way she made eye contact with Situ and immediately knew he was the one for her. The way Tsu’tey stood back and coached her through the experience, shouting in pride when she finally made the bond. And most importantly, the freedom she felt as she flew off the cliff for the first time as an independent rider.

“You did too?” Miles asked, truly curious. 

“When I was fourteen,” she smiled, a distant smile with a twinge of sadness. “So that means big ol’ Quaritch can do it the Na’vi way, right?”

Miles pushed the rifle back into Lyle’s hands, mumbling, “don’t call me that.”

He didn’t know if he was referring to her insinuation that he was old - which of course, mentally he was older, but physically he was half a decade younger than her - or that she called him Quaritch. When the surname fell from her lips, he couldn’t help but cringe. He much preferred when she used his first name, much more intimate and reserved.

“What we doin’, Colonel?” Lyle asked.

Jiniraa’s stomach was in knots as Miles slowly pushed himself over the log. He reached back and grabbed the elongated braid, slowly bringing it over his shoulder as he approached the closest ikran

Spider laughed once more, moving to follow Miles, “this is gonna be good.”

“Alright, move up,” Lyle commanded the rest of the group. The rest of the Recoms continued to have their rifles drawn as they ushered towards the Colonel in a quick procession. Lyle tucked himself behind a smaller rock, giving him an open line of fire towards the banshees if needed. Zdinarsk and Prager followed the Corporal while Ja, Mansk, and Lopez hung back. 

Jiniraa kept Spider behind her, ready to push the human towards Lyle if a situation were to occur. 

Miles grit his teeth as the closest banshee rose up on his hind legs, extending his wings in a territorial and threatening display. He was stunning - primarily indigo and tan with bright orange splashed in intricate patterns. His chest was pale, almost bone gray and lacking much color, but everyone was able to see just how colorful he was as he returned to the ground. His topside was coated in shades of red, orange, and lighter shades of blue. 

Miles was light on his feet, bouncing around as he approached the ikran - almost like a boxer in the fighting ring, ready to see who would dare to make the first move. “It’s you and me, cupcake,” Miles grit out. It’s no surprise he would choose a nickname like that right away.

The ikran hissed and bared its teeth and Miles returned the favor. His hiss was more throaty and unnatural compared to other Na’vi. She’d never heard him try to make that noise, which was probably why it came out so awkward. Thus, their deadly dance had begun. The ikran had chosen Miles. 

He was quick to snap his jaw towards the Recom, to which Miles swiftly delivered a punch to the side of the creature’s face. Of course he would. Miles quickly dogged as the ikran swung its large head, trying to take a chunk out of Miles. He dropped to the ground, swifty moving under its muscular neck before launching himself onto its back. 

His legs locked together on the underside of the creature's neck, trying to secure him to its body, but it was a futile attempt as the ikran beat its powerful wings twice before dropping back down. The momentum suspended Miles in the air for a second before he came crashing down onto his previous position, momentarily knocking the air out of his chest. 

Jiniraa flinches from the impact, but Spider laughed out as the ikran continued to snap its jaw, “did I mention you’re supposed to tie the mouth shut first?”

“Thanks a lot, kid,” Miles yelled right back. He wanted to curse at the teenager, but he didn’t have much time to react before the creature threw its head back, smacking Miles in the face.

“Miles, make the bond!” Jiniraa yelled out, growing increasingly anxious as the fighting went on.

“I’m tryin’!” 

The ikran trashed under Miles, slowly inching them closer to the cliff edge. Everyone was helpless as the ikran took a dive off the side of the cliff, taking Miles with him as he clung to its neck. 

“Miles!” Jiniraa screamed out, throat raw in terror.

“Move up! Move up!” Lyle commanded, quickly pushing forward.

Jiniraa was the first to make it to the side of the cliff, searching for Miles. She watched him hanging onto the ikran by its dual queues as he disappeared into the mist. She could hear his screaming fading away, but it was impossible to see him through the thick clouds. She dropped to her knees, practically hanging off the side of the cliff. Maybe if she strained her eyes or ears just a little bit more he’d be able to find any proof he was still alive.

Spider came up behind her, grabbing onto her shoulder to pull her back from the edge. A rock shifted under her hand and fell down, demonstrating just how dangerous her current position was

“Can you see him?” Lyle asked, peering over Jiniraa’s shoulder as he looked over the edge as well. 

Zdinarsk joined Spider and pulled Jiniraa away from the cliff, watching as she fell onto her haunches. She was going completely numb - the longer she went without hearing Miles, the less hope she had that he would survive. 

The Recoms all held their breaths as well. They should’ve been upset with their pair of guides - afterall, they were the ones who brought them to this place. The thought that Jiniraa and Spider were responsible for the Colonel’s death didn’t sit right with anyone. 

After a minute, Jiniraa knew the Colonel wouldn’t be coming back. He was probably a puddle of blood, bones, and organs on the forest floor right now. No one could ever survive a drop from this high. Jiniraa sat on the floor, her hand over her mouth in an attempt to suppress the sobs that were building up in her throat. She didn’t try to stop the tears from flowing, but she wouldn’t allow her body to produce any sounds.

Spider remained at the cliff's edge, continuously scanning for any sign of the Colonel. Everyone else had moved inward, automatically looking to Lyle for their next course of action. He was the second-in-command after all and if Miles was MIA, Lyle was now the highest ranking person in the group. Lyle’s stomach was weighed down like a stack of stones - he knew he was capable of leading, but it didn’t feel right to do so at the expense of the Colonel. 

The same man who lived for decades as a human on the deadly moon. The same man who he followed around, hanging onto his every word. The same man who he’s looked up to since the day his boots hit Pandoran soil. The same man who had a woman crying out for him just a few feet away. It didn’t feel right. It was cruel. Pandora was cruel. 

“Alright, let’s go. We’re Oscar Mike. C’mon,” Lyle commanded. Slowly, everyone began moving past the Corporal with heads hanging low. Lyle laid a comforting hand on Ja as he walked by, seeing a hint of tears gathering in the Recoms eyes. They slowly moved to leave, heads hung as they accepted the second death of Colonel Miles Quaritch. 

Spider gave the sky below one final look before turning around and reaching down to Jiniraa. She didn’t hear a word Lyle had just said, unable to process anything as she blankly stared ahead. She felt Spider’s small hand wrap around her bicep, but couldn’t hear the words he was producing.

“Let’s go. We’re out of here.” Lyle’s first phrase was harsh enough to grab the pair’s attention. He watched Jiniraa jump as she snapped back into reality. She slowly turned around, still firmly planted on the ground. Her lip quivered ever so slightly as Lyle finished his statement, a little softer than how he began.

No one expected to hear the whooshing of ikran wings come up behind them. Prager and Mansk snapped into action, training their weapons towards the origin of the sound. Everyone else remained frozen as the Colonel called out.

His triumphant holler graced everyone’s ears, confirming they were not hallucinating and he actually was here - alive and well. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion and Jiniraa’s eyes fought to take it all in to internalize the memory so she would never forget it.

“Yeah! That’s right!” He called out, raising a first in the air to show how he tamed the mighty beast beneath his legs. The somber atmosphere was gone instantly as the Recoms began to celebrate the Colonel. The younger ones jumped around, hooting and hollering - Lopez jumped excitedly with his arms extended in the air and Ja pumped his rifle in the air. 

“Yeah, Colonel! Get some!” Lyle yelled as the rest of the unit continued to celebrate. Jiniraa hadn’t moved from her previous position quite yet, not entirely convinced he was real. 

“Who’s up next?” He challenged, swooping over the Recom’s heads, making all of them hit the deck. The close call didn’t make their celebration falter in the slightest. Miles continued in his victory lap before landing a few yards away from the group. He slid off, patting at the neck of his ikran and disconnecting their queues. Miles was ecstatic as he turned around, beaming towards the group.

Jiniraa rose from her seated position and darted towards the Colonel, launching herself at him as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He staggered back, slightly overtaken by the impact, but wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her pressed against him.

“Is this my congratulations?” He smirked down at her, exuding cockiness as his body buzzed with excitement. He fully expected her to slap his chest at the comment, but she didn’t. Instead, he could hear her sniffles as she pressed into his neck. “What happened?”

Jiniraa removed her head from his neck, bringing him face to face with her tear-stained features. Lashes clumped together and damp. A residual redness making her eyes darker than usual. Flushed cheeks and shaking lips. 

“Baby?”

Jiniraa then slapped him on the chest. It wasn’t powerful by any means, she clearly wasn’t trying to hurt him, “what happened? What happened!? Don’t ever do that again.”

“Do what?” Miles was almost offended by her pathetic little slap. Afterall, he taught her better than that. He knew what she was going to say. He didn’t need her to utter the words to confirm his guess, but for his sanity he needed to hear her say it. Needed her to vocalize how she cared about him.

“Scare me like that,” her words were muffled as she buried her face back into his vest.

“I promise.” Miles declared. Jiniraa loosened her grip around Miles neck, sliding against his body as her feet made contact with the ground once more. He didn’t ease up at all, keeping his one arm trained around the small of her waist.

“You’ve been promising a lot recently.” 

Miles rolled his eyes, nudging her to walk back towards the group. He followed close behind as his hand ghosted her back to remind her of his presence. Once they stopped, she lent back, allowing his palm to make direct rather than indirect contact. His eyes flicked down for a moment, confirming that she moved on purpose, she wanted to feel his comforting hand against her skin. 

Lyle was the first to come up, already laughing with one hand extended. Miles joined in the mini celebration, locking his arm around the Corporal’s forearm as they clapped each other on the back. “He lives!”

“Not too bad, old man,” Spider called out, trying to hide the smile on his face. 

Miles’ ears flattened as his eyes narrowed and tail swished, “don’t call me old.”

Jiniraa clicked her tongue and lightly smacked a hand against Miles’ arm, “be nice.”

She lent into Miles' side, feeling his hand boldly wrap around her waist and settle on her hip, not caring about the group watching them. They all knew what was up, so there was no point in trying to hide it. If he could trust them with his life, they could be trusted with this.

Miles would never admit to it, but he was scared shitless as he fell through the sky and grabbed onto the ikran like his life depended on it. Well, his life did depend on it. If he died trying to take that fucking ikran, he would be abandoning the entire team. He would abandon Spider, the boy he was just starting to make headway with. Most of all, he would abandon Jiniraa, the woman who he just started to accept his feelings for. His grip tightened on her waist - if he got any rougher, he would be leaving imprints in her flesh.

“Well,” Miles boomed as Cupcake roared in the background, “who’s up next?!”

Next: Fourteen - Your Fault

●●● 

its 3am est and i have my history of medcine class at 8am. victorian surgery on three and a half hours of sleep here i come <3

i know i keep saying this, but i have a lot planned for the next three chapters. i keep wanting to rush into it and get to the exciting stuff, but it's important to lay the scene and build everyone up before delving into the nasty enjoyable things

taglist - let me know if you'd like to be added

@drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed

@oceandeepthirst2

@bolggerist

@mxddymay

@ttreader

@luciddasher

@sofiebstar

@azilove

@fairycaitlin

@graysonmalik2550

@quaritchxx

[noodyl-blasstal]

JustIn from the Beyond!

Do I have plans for this? Yes! Do I have time to make them happen any time soon? Debatable! So you can have what'll hopefully be the first chapter, as a treat. -

Kravitz frowned down at his phone, double checking the address from the email was the same spot the map app had led him to. The office block in front of him didn’t seem like the kind of place that would contain Justin From the Beyond: your direct line to the spirit world, he was expecting some kind of difficult to find Victorian building, not a grey box with wildly unhelpful company names like Loccarion, Applewell, and Plaxistics on the sign. People in suits kept striding past him doing what he could only assume were important business things. Actually, scratch that, they all had a whiff of stock market about them, so maybe not that important. In fact, with that in mind, the location made a lot more sense - ghosts were a lie and so were stocks, of course they were in the same building. Maybe he could try and get an interview with some of them for his next block of episodes… no, one job at the time. He was a nightmare for dropping projects for the next fancy idea, but this week he was fighting ghosts, next week he could take down the stock market.

He glanced down once more, just to be sure, and the map pin stayed resolutely in front of him, definitely no GPS wizardry, this was the right place. It had taken him 10 months to get this appointment so obviously he’d shown up two and a half hours early. By the time Kravitz accounted for traffic, his own disorganisation, and the possibility of unreported strikes, break downs, and walking at half pace from the very furthest possible station in the city (‘just in case’ he missed four other stops) he might have slightly overestimated his actual travel time. He couldn’t leave though, if he went to grab a drink or something time would disappear and he’d end up late. Better to just stay put. In fact, if he could sit in the waiting room he might even be able to get an idea of the other clientele, all good background for his report. Flawless planning, every inch of it on purpose.

Kravitz gave himself a critical once over in the window, smoothed his long woollen coat, put on his very best business face, and headed inside. The email had instructed him to head to the 13th floor. Kravitz rolled his eyes when he read it - although on reflection, it was impressive dedication, it must have taken an age to find a building which actually had one. Oh, maybe the rent was cheaper because of the luck thing? He made a quick note in his phone to look into it - spooky aesthetic, money saver, or both? Probably both, Justin was smart, he marketed well, was consistently in demand, and somehow every public review was positive - regardless of where it was posted.

Sure, Kravitz could have investigated any old grifter and done it much faster, but the cons with a veneer of legitimacy were his actual targets. Most people knew that the bloke on the street corner offering you a direct line to death for a few dollars wasn’t likely to be the real deal - at least he wasn’t exploiting people as much. Justin though? This guy had a massive waiting list and prices to match. Most people could only dream of getting an appointment, let alone three. Thankfully Kravitz could afford it and the revenue from the episodes should more than cover the cost. Kravitz, of course, tried to keep his ethics intact but it was hard to turn down ads when they let him break stories that helped. If keeping people safe meant he occasionally had to extol the benefits of certain underwear brands or enthusiastically tell his listeners about his pubic grooming regime then sobeit.

The display ticked from twelve to thirteen, the lift binged pleasantly, and the doors slid smoothly open. Kravtiz stepped straight into a waiting area, “News JustIn!” was scrawled across a banner facing the lift, a ghostly phone cord underlined the writing. He’d clearly escaped faceless, corporate McBusinessland.

“Welcome to Justin from the Great Beyond, handsome. How can I help you out today?” The receptionist asked from behind an ornate wooden desk which appeared to rest on chicken legs, the work on the feathers was exquisite and Kravitz only tore himself away from admiring the craftsmanship to admire the man behind the desk instead. The receptionist was perched on a dusky pink cocktail chair which clashed marvellously with the fluffy mustard carpet (the kind Kravitz would love to bury his toes in). The receptionist was long and lean, clean shaven and his eyeliner was smudged just enough that Kravitz couldn’t tell if it was on purpose or not. His roots were showing, there was a gap in his front teeth, and Kravitz thought he might possibly be the most beautiful man he’d ever met. Before he could talk himself out of following that line of thought, the receptionist noticed Kravitz’s roaming eyes and winked lasciviously. Was Kravitz allowed to flirt on the job. Probably not? He’d better check with HR… He was HR and it was very important that he made the man call him handsome again.

“I have an appointment with Justin, my name’s Dante Bellefleur.” 

“Ah yes, Mr…” The receptionist paused and side eyed him. “...Bellefleur. You aren’t booked in for a while, are you happy to wait?”

“Of course, I was so worried about being late that I made it a little bit early instead.”

The receptionist snorted loudly and Kravitz glared before he could stop himself. Fuck, he couldn’t be sulky at work, that was how he lost opportunities. This guy could get him booted and it had taken enough effort to get this appointment, falling at the final hurdle because he couldn’t take a bit of light mocking would be mortifying. At least if the guy was going to mock him Kravitz could write off the flirting. He tried to settle his expression to something more neutral and looked anywhere but at the man behind the desk… which was a shame because even if the guy was a prick he was nice to look at. Maybe he could sneak a few glances as he waited? It was perfectly reasonable to occasionally look at the other person in the room.

Kravitz spent a few more moments staring placidly at the wall before subtly shifting in his chair and looking quickly towards the desk. Taako looked right back at him, Kravitz hurriedly looked away again and focused on retrieving his book from his bag. He could just chill out here, see if anyone else came in, see what Taako actually did. 

It turned out that the answer to that question was ‘Not Much.’ Every time Kravitz glanced over Taako had moved slightly, knee tucked up under his chin, one leg splayed out and the other curled under him, legs crossed under him. Every time Kravitz glanced over Taako noticed and smiled his handsome smile right back. Kravitz knew he should say something, but he didn’t know where to start. All he wanted to do was get a good long look at the other man. Instead he had to focus on his book, which of course was one he was reading for show and not enjoyment. After a painful hour in which he made it through three pages, retained none of it, and pointedly avoided looking at the man directly, Kravitz tried again.

The receptionist was now sideways, legs slung up on one arm of the chair, and, worse than improper use of furniture, he grinned wide and wiggled his fingers at Kravitz as if he’d been waiting for this. “So, come here often, kemosabe?”

“You’re the receptionist.” Kravitz replied flatly. “Wouldn’t you recognise me if I did?” Was this some kind of trap?

“Great point… So what’s a guy like you doin’ in a nice place like this?”

“The same thing as everyone else I imagine.” Kravitz’s tone remained placid and polite but if this guy wanted to get under his skin he was certainly doing a good job of it. He could smile his stupid lovely smile all he wanted, but that was outright rude. Sure, Kravitz was accustomed to this - personal insults weren’t uncommon when your job was uncovering dirty secrets, but that usually came after he’d been busted not before. Usually at that point he could give back as good as he got, but this guy might not even know what he was part of. There was no way he could retaliate though, he had to be on his best behaviour until he’d got what he needed, and that included not snarking or sulking. He took a moment to stamp out the sparks of irritation that ignited in his gut and decided to attempt redirection, may as well get some information out of this exchange. “Although, having said that, what’s the main reason people come?”

“Conversation with yours truly, mostly.” The receptionist replied. He slid a drawer open, slapped a magnetic badge on (Kravitz didn’t have any thoughts about the swathe of brown skin this motion revealed), then tapped it. “Taako Taco, here to blow your mind before Justin gets the chance to.” He wriggled until he was sat cross legged again, uncapped what looked to be a sparkly gel pen, and started doodling on the desk planner. Kravitz wasn’t sure if he hated or envied him - how much did this gig pay? It wasn’t like the phone was ringing off the hook. In fact, he couldn’t actually see one on the desk. “Is that why you’re here, Dante, to be blown away?” They made eye contact about that comment, they made eye contact about it really hard. Maybe he should look at a sexual harassment angle for the episode, but honestly, he had stared at the guy so much that he didn’t have a leg to stand on. He was going to choose to believe this treatment was specifically for him and not the usual experience clients had, certainly none of the extensive reviews had mentioned it.

“I’m here to get the answer to some questions I have.” That was true, he wasn’t going to lie if he could help it… well, any more than he had already, but there was only so much you could do when you were the first google result for ‘Kravitz’. “Have you ever…” Kravitz trailed off.

“There isn’t much Taako hasn’t done.” He uncapped another few pens and switched between them as he doodled. 

Kravitz wanted to see what he was drawing, Taako was concentrating so intently that his brow furrowed and Kravitz needed to know what was important enough to make that happen. More importantly, he needed to stop staring, he needed to remember that Taako was ridiculous and rude and bold and terrible at customer service. This wasn’t someone he should be interested in, Taako was hot as fuck and he knew it, he was conceited and unkind. That wasn’t what Kravitz wanted. 

“Spotted something interesting, Dante?” Taako had stopped drawing. He’d stopped drawing because Kravitz was staring right at Taako and Taako had noticed and fuck this was going badly. It was fine, he could fix it.

“I was admiring your name badge.” Kravitz said, gesturing at the incredibly ordinary badge with zero distinguishing features to offer any follow up on.

“Uh huh. Which aspect?” Taako didn’t resume drawing, of course he didn’t. Instead he smirked and waited patiently for an answer, the bastard. He knew why Kravitz was staring at him and sure it took a lot of bravery to investigate crime and put yourself in compromising positions with dodgy people; but telling a guy he was hot and you’d quite like to get into some compromising positions with him? Absolutely not. Especially not when that guy was doing his job - no matter how loose that concept seemed to be for Taako.

“The typeface.” The fucking typeface? “It’s satisfying to look at.” Just like the guy wearing it. This was fine. “I wasn’t bold enough to say it before, but I think I’m justified.”

Taako looked horrified. “Did you just…? Bad, terrible, illegal.” He paused for a moment and Kravitz felt anxiety bubbling in his gut. He was trying to make things better, but maybe puns would be what got him kicked out, not his snarky attitude. Then Taako continued drawing. “I’m going to have to do a citizen’s arrest because right now we’re Sans Sheriff.” Oh, oh okay, Kravitz could work with this.

“Oh no, did the last one experience some hard Times?” That earned Kravitz a long glare.

“Don’t make me curse…ive” Taako grimaced even as he said it.

Kravitz snorted. “Well now who’s going to pun jail?” Taako was hot, Taako was interesting, Taako was willing to play in this stupid space with him. Kravitz wanted to take him out then take him home. Could he just ask Taako out? It didn’t have to be weird. “Hey, can we go on a date, also I’m using a fake name and I’m probably going to be the reason you lose your job because I’m here to expose your employer as a con artist…” Maybe it had to be a bit weird. Kravitz should at least wait until this was over. If he did that Taako might appreciate his integrity? Surely he’d understand why the fake name was necessary. He’d think Kravitz’s dedication to doing the right thing was sexy. Obviously. Just like all his other boyfriends who were definitely still with him and didn’t break up with him because he was too busy doing the right thing and being boring.

“The view’s gonna be good at least, Taako could do some rotting in a cell if you we…” He stopped mid sentence and noticeably clammed up. As if this was the point where Taako decided he had professional boundaries, Kravitz wanted to know where that was going. Did he mean Kravitz would be a good view to see? Good company to be stuck in pun jail with? If Taako thought that then Kravitz could definitely ask him to dinner. Taako stood abruptly, knocking one of his pens off the desk and abandoning it to the floor. “What are you waiting for, kemosabe? I thought you were desperate for your appointment with Justin.” Taako didn’t look at him, just walked towards the door in the corner of the room. Kravitz had no idea what just happened, he didn’t even say anything, was he doing something weird with his face? Looking too eager? It was bang on his appointment time, so maybe Taako just had to be really prompt? Maybe this Justin guy was a horrible boss? If that was the case Taako would surely give him an interview for the podcast. He’d definitely understand why Kravitz had to lie if Justin was treating him poorly. He might even be a little bit grateful for Kravitz’s intervention!

Taako cracked open the door and slipped inside without looking back. Kravitz reached to push the door wider and follow, but paused. He didn’t know what was going on, but it felt wrong. He didn’t want Taako to be in trouble, but he also didn’t want to leave him upset. Kravitz quickly doubled back to the desk and picked up the gel pen from the floor - it was gold and glittery and boy if that wasn’t Taako all over. Kravitz quickly scribbled out a note on the jotter. “Sorry if I overstepped, it was lovely to meet you Taako.” He placed the pen neatly on the desk and, feeling mildly absolved, walked into Justin’s office.

Sat with his legs kicked up on the desk was a man wearing the most ridiculously elaborate wizard hat he’d ever seen. The brim was strung with rows of tiny stars and pom poms, there was an iridescent sheen to the fabric, and a spindly moon charm hung from the crooked peak. The hat was new, but the face it did very little to obscure was familiar.

“Taako? What’s going on? Is there a problem?” 

“Nope, you’re here to have a natter with the world beyond, I’m your guy.”

“But you’re Taako.”

“Nope. I’m definitely Justin.”

“You just said your name was Taako?”

“And you said your name was Dante. Apparently that’s what we’re doing here.” Kravitz didn’t flinch, but he didn’t say anything either. He waited an incredibly normal amount of time while the gears in his brain turned. This was a puzzle, he loved puzzles, he could solve puzzles. Sure, no one had ever questioned him so directly before, and okay, he didn’t really have a plan for this. Why didn’t he have a plan for this? Stupid, stupid overconfident prick. There was something about fake names, pride, and infernos in this, but he wasn’t calm enough to make the joke right now. Thank the goddess that Taako didn’t know who he actually was.

“So, Krav, are you going to call me Taako, or will Justin call you Dante?” 

Fuck.