#youre just hurting yourselves jesus

[angelgrian]

i wish people were more open to critically evaluating their identity

[unbidden-yidden]

And just to follow up on that previous reblog without derailing it: a lot of the really weird relationships and discourse that exist out there in the neo-pagan, Satanist, and atheist communities are in fact echoes of the weird relationship that Xtianity has with Judaism.

Xtianity has a weird, tumultuous relationship with Judaism because they must simultaneously validate the Tanakh and the Jews who created it or else their own religion is devoid of context and built on a house of cards. But! If they validate Judaism, then they have to grapple with the fact that the Jews did not accept their interpretation of the Tanakh, that we still, against all odds, exist, and that because we still exist, we are still around to point out the ways in which the New Testament does not fit with the Tanakh and that the Tanakh does not inherently or naturally point to Jesus. And that's to say nothing of the bloody history of Xtianity towards Judaism. Our continued existence is a sore point and a weakness in the Xtian narrative that has been a constant source of irritation, frustration, and violence since the dawn of Xtianity. And, at the same time, there is a certain fascination with Judaism related to things that have been appropriated by Xtians or understood as particularly useful in spreading supercessionist ideas. So what you wind up with is a toxic mix of antisemitism and philosemitism (effectively fetishization and orientalism) that drives too many Xtians to "love" us by attacking our beliefs and way of life, and stealing whatever they think will be most helpful in their mission (especially as it pertains to Jews) in order to try and convert us.**

Many people who have also been hurt from inside of Xtianity or by the broader Xtian culture they live in seek to deconstruct those ideas by creating an inverse of Xtianity in one way or another. Those who turn to Satanism typically do this by worshipping the opposite force of the Xtian god. Those who turn to neo-paganism typically do this by embracing an unambiguously polytheistic religion and/or by turning to the cultural historical enemies of Xtianity. Those who turn to atheism typically do this by rejecting "God," "faith," and "organized religion" (as these concepts are understood by Xtian norms.)

And honestly? That's fine. If it helps, if it brings you meaning and joy, knock yourselves out. I have no problem with people turning to these beliefs for reasons of healing as well as simply being drawn to it. And for what it's worth, I did a similar thing by turning to Judaism. Obviously I had many other reasons for becoming a Jew as well, and I assume that's true for the aforementioned folks, too. Judaism healed a lot of Xtianity-shaped wounds for me, and if your paganism, Satanism, and/or atheism helps you in the same way as well as bringing you meaning, I sincerely wish you the best.

However, the problem is that many times, unless you turn to Judaism and learn our side of the story, it's very difficult to deconstruct the antisemitism of your past entanglement with Xtianity. Xtian antisemitism has permeated western society so thoroughly for so long that it is real *work* to identify and unlearn it. Those converting to Judaism have the benefit of the Jewish community and extensive educational resources to help. Other folks do not.

Here's the problem: if you simply invert Xtian ideas, you are still treating Xtianity as the baseline reality from which your other assumptions and beliefs flow. If you just choose the opposite at every chance, you divorce yourself from Xtianity, but not its prejudices.

Now you might fairly ask, "hey Avital, if we are making the opposite choice at every turn, wouldn't that invert the antisemitism to being at least neutral if not positive towards Judaism?" And that would be perfectly logical! But unfortunately deeply and (for us) dangerously incorrect.

The reason is because (1) antisemitism has never been rational but reactionary instead, (2) philosemitism is also bad, and (3) it is structured in a way that it's pretty much always "heads I win, tails you lose." Have you ever noticed that according to antisemites, Jews are both ultra-white and also dirty foreign middle eastern invaders? That we are supposedly very powerful and run the world, but are also weak and degenerate? That both the Right and the Left have extensive antisemitism problems? Etc.? There's a reason - it's because antisemitism is designed to other us no matter what. So oftentimes I see folks inverting Xtian philosemitism to being "those awful fundamentalist Old Testamenters" or inverting Xtian antisemitism to valorizing Judaism, but only to the extent that they can meme-ify our religion down to fighting God and/or being un-pious godless liberals.

But like other groups, we are a diverse and complicated group with a very long history and a lot of trauma to boot.

If you're trying to unpack your Xtian conditioning, please also unpack your antisemitism and philosemitism. If not for our sake and for it being the right thing to do, at least do it for yourselves, because unless you deconstruct that as well, you will still be operating within a really ugly aspect of a Xtian mindset.

(**Please note that this isn't literally all Xtians everywhere, but it is a lot of Xtians in most places and throughout most of history. There are absolutely Xtians who are good allies to Jews, but they are much smaller in number and are swimming upstream in their relationship to both Jews and Xtianity.)

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Sex pollen!Bucky Barnes one shot

What a weird night.  Another mission blowing up an old Hydra base, ransacking it for information before the explosion.  You and Bucky had been scouring emptied shelves and desks.  All computers and hard drives had already been wiped clean.  As you explored you found a lone flower in a pot, sitting in the middle of an exam table in an abandoned lab.  

“What is this?” you wondered out loud, walking closer to the flower but not daring to touch it.  It looked otherworldly, a color that you could only describe as indigo with iridescent anthers that seemed to glow as you came closer.  You took a picture and sent it to headquarters.  A video call quickly came back within seconds of you sending the picture.

“Hey Shuri, what am I looking at?” you asked.

“DON’T TOUCH IT!  GET AWAY FROM IT!” she yelled, her eyes bulging through the screen.  You quickly stepped back, staring at it in fear.

“What the hell is going on?  What is it?” 

“We don’t have a name for it here on earth, the only way I can describe it is an alien aphrodisiac.  The anthers on it will shoot out a dust that will make the one who breathes it extremely aroused to the point that if they don’t…copulate quickly it could cause dangerously high heart palpitations, abdominal pain, even psychotic breaks.  It can severely hurt or even kill you.”

“An alien aphrodisiac?” you asked dumbly, staring at the flower again.  It was beautiful, and you could feel a strange pull to go up to it and desire to touch it.  Thankfully you had some sense of self-preservation.  “Okay, what do we do with it?”

“Just get out of there and blow the place.  The explosion should be enough to kill the plant.  I don’t know how Hydra was able to get one, but there’s a reason they left it behind.”

“Jesus, okay, we’re on it.  I’ll report back soon,” you ended the call then tried to get hold of Bucky.  “Buck, can you hear me?” you said, hitting the earbud in your ear.  Nothing.  You left the room, walking down the corridor to another side of the base to try to get a better signal.

“Bucky, do you read me?” you called more loudly.  You heard nothing but static.  “Dammit,” you grumbled.  You tried your phone since you’d been able to get hold of Shuri.  After two rings he answered the video call.

“Hey doll, where are you?” he asked, a strange glowing behind him.  Your eyes widened at the color of the glow. 

“Buck, where are you?”

He turned, showing the lab you were just in.  “This old lab, there’s this weird looking flower in here, we should probably bag it up and bring it in for testing,” he said, reaching a hand out to the flower.

“Bucky NO!” you screamed at your phone, already running back down the corridor.

It was too late.  A large puff of indigo dust poofed from the flower’s anthers, surrounding Bucky and making him cough violently.  By the time you reached the lab he was on his knees, dry heaving as the dust seemed to magically disappear into his skin.  

“Shit,” you swore, running in and pulling him away from the flower.  “We have to get out of here.  Did you set all the charges?”

Bucky was unresponsive, still coughing and holding his stomach as he tripped over his feet as you dragged him out of the room.  You grunted as you pulled him along back down the corridor, his arm hung over your shoulder.  

“Come on Buck, stay with me,” you reached a hand up and grabbed his chin to make him focus on you.  “Did you set the charges?!”

“Yeah,” cough, “yeah I got it,” his arm around your shoulder seemed to tighten as he doubled over in pain, his face getting dangerously close to yours, like he was nuzzling your cheek with his nose.  “What the fuck was that thing?”

“Ugh, I’ll explain once we’re out,” you ignored his close proximity, pulling him through the halls until you finally found the entrance, quickly loading yourselves into the quinjet.  As you placed him into a chair and buckled him in you noticed a sheen of sweat along his hairline.  You gingerly placed a hand on his forehead.  He was burning up.  “Shit,” you swore again.  When you turned away to start the jet Bucky groaned.

“Don’t, don’t leave me,” Bucky begged, his eyes screwed shut.  His metal hand was warping the arm of the chair.

“I’m right here, Buck, just gotta get us in the air,” you placate him, getting the jet moving then turning to him again.  “Where’s the remote for the charges?”

Bucky shifted in his seat, reaching towards his pants pocket but fumbling as his fingers trembled.  You quickly reached down and dipped your hand into his pocket.  Bucky moaned loudly as you touched him so close to his cock, which you just noticed was straining against his pants.  He still had the sense to look embarrassed as your eyes flashed to his face when he moaned, but you pretended like nothing happened as you took the remote and once you were a good distance away detonated the charges.  A loud boom reverberated as you flew away, taking out the base and the alien flower.

As you sank into the other chair and took a breath you called Shuri again.

“Shuri, it’s done, but we have a bit of a problem,” you started when her face showed up on the screen.

“Oh please don’t say what I think you’re going to say,” she pleaded, looking worried.

“Bucky wasn’t with me when I called you, so he didn’t know to stay away from the flower, and by the time I tried calling him there was no reception so I wasn’t able to tell him before he got too close to it.  It blew right in his face and now he’s–”

“Ungh!” Bucky moaned again, his flesh hand palming himself through his pants.  “What is this?  God, it burns everywhere!”

“Oh Bast,” Shuri swore.  “What are his symptoms?”

You stood back up, walking over to Bucky as he writhed in his chair.  “Sweating profusely, high temperature, abdominal pains…hey Buck, open your eyes, look at me,” you directed him.  He quickly responded to your voice, his eyes looking wild as he stared at you.  “Pupils are dilated, and uh, well, some major arousal from what I can see,” you finished quickly, looking away from his debauched gaze.  

“Damn, and it all started immediately upon breathing in the dust?” Shuri asked quickly, her body turned towards a screen that she was typing on.

“Yes, he was choking and dry heaving on it, and it seemed to, I don’t know, seep into his skin?  It was crazy,” you rushed out.  You felt a tug on your shirt, looking down and seeing Bucky’s metal fingers pulling on the hem of your shirt, trying to pull you closer to him.  “And now he’s trying to touch me,” you stated plainly.  

Shuri sighed, turning away from the screen she was looking at.  “There’s nothing else that can help him.  He needs to have sex as soon as possible or else he will get worse and worse until his heart or mind gives out.  And seeing how much his mind has gone through in the last 80 years, you don’t have much time,” she remarked gravely.  “I’m sorry I don’t have any better answers for you.  This is something that we’ve never had to deal with before.”

You sighed, feeling Bucky’s fingers grab onto your thigh and pull you closer to him.  “I get it, Shuri, thanks.  Just…turn off the cameras and speakers for the jet, please?”

Shuri nodded with a pitiful smile on her face.  “You got it, good luck.”

You hung up your phone and set it on the other pilot chair.  You glanced back at Bucky and saw him crying as his metal fingers dug into your thigh.  “Oh Buck, it’s okay,” you sank down onto your knees in front of him, your fingers wiping his tears.  

He sniffed hard.  “No, it’s not.  This isn’t okay.  I didn’t want it like this, this doesn’t give either of us a choice,” he cried, his metal fingers now rubbing the back of your neck.  He didn’t seem to have control over what his hands were doing as his flesh hand pushed harshly against his cock.  “It’s not fair.”

You nodded, “You’re right, it’s not fair, it’s not right.  But I’m not going to let you die.  It’s okay,” you reached your hand up and cupped his cheek again with your palm, which he happily hung his head into.  “You’re my best friend, my mission partner, and I’m not going to lose you to some alien fucking flower.  I want to help you, do you hear me?”

Bucky looked in your eyes deeply, looking for any hesitation.  He didn’t find it.  “Buck, I want to,” you reassured him resolutely.  “I want you.”

That was all he needed to hear.  He ripped the seat buckle off of him and stood quickly, pulling you up harshly from the floor and towards the back of the quinjet where there were a couple of rooms for resting.  He picked the one with the bigger bed and shoved you through the door.  As much as this situation was dire, you were also secretly excited.  The feelings you’d tamped down as a childish crush were now coming full front as you peeled your mission suit off, kicking your boots off to a corner and then helping him get out of all the buckles and straps on his outfit.  Once you were both naked he wasted no time in cupping your face in his hands and kissing you.  The kiss was desperate, his fingers digging into the softness of your cheeks, his lips moving against yours then biting your lower lip.  You gasped and he took his opportunity to stick his tongue in your open mouth, tasting your tongue and swirling it with his.  His hands quickly traveled down your body, feeling his way over each hill and valley of your curves, settling his flesh hand on your breast, tweaking the nipple making you moan, and his metal hand kneading your ass.  Your arms wrapped around his neck, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.  

Bucky picked you up and heaved the both of you onto the mattress, gently seating himself between your legs.  His hard cock was nestled against your stomach, the contact making him rut against you.  He grunted as you bit his lip in return, another thrust against your core making you arch your back.  He slipped his flesh hand between your bodies and felt around your lower lips, feeling the slick already building up.  He moaned at how wet you were for him, using some of that slick on his thumb to bring it to your clit and rub you.  You arched again, your hips thrashing as he flicked your clit and rubbed you harshly.

“Gotta get you ready for me,” he murmured, looking down at you and watching as he dipped two fingers into your pussy while his thumb kept busy on your clit.  The fill of his fingers made you moan loudly, your mouth dropping open and hands digging into the sheets below you.  He pumped his fingers lazily, his thumb doing all the work.  You could feel the orgasm coming embarrassingly quickly, your hips gyrating against his hand.

“Oh god, Buck, I’m gonna cum, ungh,” your breath hitched as he flicked harder.  The snap in your core was sudden, a yelp falling from your lips as you came on his fingers.  He let you ride out the orgasm and the aftershocks, pulling his fingers out gently then bringing them up to his mouth and sucking on your juices.  His eyes rolled back in his head as he licked his fingers clean.  The scene almost made you cum again.

“Fuck, you taste divine, doll,” he growled.  “Next time I’m gonna eat you out and pull as many orgasms from you as I can with my mouth.”

“Next time?” you breathed.

Bucky nodded as he shifted his hips and gripped his cock, lining himself up with your pussy.  “Yeah, next time.  Been wanting you for so long, doll.  Although this isn’t the way I wanted it,” he paused as he pushed in slowly, making you gasp, “I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give me.  Jesus, you’re tight!”

Your hands gripped his biceps, fingernails digging into his flesh arm.  You tried to relax as he pushed slowly, trying to let you adjust even though you could tell he was struggling to go slow.  The sweat was almost pouring off him now, his pupils dilated so much that his eyes looked almost completely black, his temperature even hotter than before.  You worried that if he didn’t cum soon he’d pass out.  He was trying to be careful, but he didn’t need careful, he needed relief.

“Buck,” you whined, swiveling your hips.  He buckled as you moved, falling to his elbows above you.  “Move, please.  Just use me, honey.  I can take it.”

“No,” Bucky grunted, “I don’t want to use you.  You deserve better.”

“I know, hun, I know, but that’s not what you need right now.  I need you to take me, please,” you ran your fingers through his hair then gripped it harshly, pulling his head up to look at you.  He whimpered at your rough treatment, his eyes widening.  “Fuck me, Bucky.  Fuck me hard.”

His eyes seemed to glaze over as they narrowed at your words.  His brow furrowed with determination as he moved himself to a different position, holding up your hips and lifting your legs over his hips.  “Yes, doll,” he answered through gritted teeth.  He then thrust into you violently, causing you to scream.  He set a punishing pace, savagely driving himself into you as he chased his high.  All you could do was hold on, your fingers grasping the sheets or his arms.  You could feel the building orgasm in the pit of your pelvis as he hit your g-spot over and over.  As your pussy fluttered around him he suddenly twisted you around, still inside you as he flipped you to your front and rutted into you from behind.  The sound of skin slapping skin and gasping breaths filled the cabin as you moaned, trying to keep your hips up as he drilled you into the mattress.

“Bucky, oh baby, yes!” you cried, tears starting to form in your eyes.  The new position made him reach even further inside you, making you see stars with each thrust.  Your peak kept getting higher and higher until you finally fell, screaming his name as you came around him.  Bucky shuddered as you came, your pussy convulsing around his cock, making him cum with a shout.  He kept thrusting into you as he pumped you full of his cum, mumbling your name repeatedly.  The flower dust had made him so incredibly horny that he kept cumming more than he normally would, making a mess as it overflowed from your pussy to the mattress below.

You both stilled as you calmed down from your highs, more dribbling out of you as you tried to regain your breathing.  Bucky slowly pulled out, a squelching noise coming from your pussy as you both groaned, more cum dripping from your aching hole.  You fell onto the mattress, your legs periodically shaking and arms splayed above your head.  Bucky laid on the mattress next to you, breathing heavily.  

After a few moments you shifted to your side facing Bucky.  His eyes were closed, his mouth open as he breathed, his hair matted to his forehead from all the sweating.  You reached out and moved some of his wet hair from his eyes.  His eyes fluttered open at the feeling of your fingers.  He looked at you with shining eyes, looking thoroughly fucked.  You giggled at him, and he gave you a lopsided smile back.

“You feel better?” you asked slyly.

“Yes,” he chuckled.  “Thank you, doll.  I’m sorry I put you in this position,” he started, moving to his side to face you as well.

“Buck, it’s okay–”

“Will you go out with me?” he asked hurriedly.  You blinked as your mind caught up to what he said.  He watched you carefully as you processed what was happening.

“Yeah,” you smiled softly, closing the distance between you and kissing his cheek.  It was very innocent considering you were both still naked.  He smiled and took your free hand in his, giving your fingers a squeeze then bringing them to his lips and gave them a kiss.  

“I know it’s too early, but um, I love you,” he confessed.  “I’ve loved you for a long time.”

Your smile widened, your hand squeezing his hand back.  “I love you, too, Buck.  Probably too much.”

Bucky recoiled, “What do you mean too much?  How could you love this,” he gestured to his body, “too much?”

You doubled over in laughter, slapping his chest as you straightened out after a minute.  “You’ve been hanging out with Sam too much,” you laughed, wiping your eyes.

He laughed along with you, grimacing at the sound of Sam’s name.  “Please don’t say Sam’s name while you’re naked in bed with me.  It just doesn’t feel right.”

You laughed again, this time trying to stifle it behind your hand.  “Okay, I’m sorry…Barnes,” you teased him.  His eyes narrowed at you.  “Or should I call you James?”  he minutely shook his head.  “Okay, how about…Sergeant?”  His eyes widened.  “Oooh, did I find a kink?” you giggled.  “How about, sir?”

Bucky pounced on you, encircling you in his arms and tickling your sides.  You squirmed against him as you screamed his name.

“That’s right, doll, that’s what I want to hear.  You screaming my name,” he growled in your ear as he let up on the tickling.  “Just Bucky is fine.”

“Haha, okay, okay…Bucky,” you said his name sensually.

Bucky moaned, rolling his eyes.  “Don’t start, or else we’re never leaving this cabin.”

“Who said I was ready to leave?” you teased him again, your fingers scratching down his chest.  His hips jutted forward as you flicked his nipples lightly.

“Okay, you asked for it,” he warned.  

[loaksky]

— 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘴

the deets — in which you, a quiet healer in the tribe, have the biggest crush on the upcoming leader. sometimes you think the feelings could be mutual. until one night in the glowing forest shatters that.

the who — neteyam x fem omatikaya!reader

the word count — like 7.6k (jesus h. christ)

the tags — idiots-to-lovers (it's teyam, he's the dummy), childhood friends-to-lovers, one-sided pining (reader is a softie).

the warnings — language, a lil kithy kithy, neteyam's emotionally constipated, but he redeems himself! reader's kind of a pushover, but it comes full circle!

the notes — first post for avatar & i'm really excited but a lil nervous bc like ??? i haven't written fanfic in SO long. i imagine neteyam & reader to be a few years older in this fic (eighteen or nineteen), but at the same time the circumstances could fit their current age as well. finally, this is written in a heinous blend of second / third. don't know how to explain, but i think it flows okay? if you like it please leave a request or let's have a chat! (also barely proofread oops).

YOU AND NETEYAM HAVE ALWAYS BEEN IN DISTANT ORBIT. Many would argue the two of you are cut from the same cloth; quiet, noble, mature, but you couldn't feel even more disconnected from the tribe's golden boy even if a chasm would crack the earth between you.

It's why you think it's silly that you'd develop such a yearning, your heart thudding like a war drum every time his amber eyes flit to yours. There's never any weight to his gaze, just fleeting glances among frequent observation, but you can't help but stare.

It doesn't help that his youngest siblings cling to you like a second and third skin, chattering excitedly about whatever piques their immediate interest. You just listen and hum your acknowledgements, a comfort to the two as you move through your studies.

Oftentimes he's sent to fetch his siblings, clearing his throat outside of the tent's flaps to announce himself, then wiggling a few fingers through the opening before peering in.

He's always in a hurry, never biting when you offer him opportunities to linger. You understand, how busy it can be when the whole clan begins to rely on you. So you bask in the short-lived moments in his space, skin scented with salt and the tang of the foliage.

But there are moments when you truly think he sees you. When you cross paths during clan meals, and the smallest of smiles twitches in his lips when you cut fruit and he's the first you offer to. When it's time to train to shoot your bows and he adjusts your form with a brief brush of his fingers on your elbow. When all of the older healers are unavailable and he shyly peeks his head into your tent for a quick patch up.

Nevermind the small tells stored in your short-term, but the little slivers of time when you were both growing into yourselves. When you were seven and he'd carried you to the elders when you hurt yourself. When some of the older kids in the clan would pick on you for keeping to yourself and he'd tell them that it was unbecoming and cowardly to pick on someone weaker than them. When he picked a flower during a group excursion into the deep depths of the forest and stuck the glowing stem in your satchel.

You had fallen so hard for Neteyam and your only hope is that he'd be at the end of the fall to catch you.

“You're not listening, ________!” Tuk whines and you look up from the scrolls you unfurled from the basket moments before she walked in.

“Sorry,” you murmur. “I have a lot on my mind.”

There's a small giggle from somewhere else in the tent and you peer from Tuk to Kiri who beads an anklet on her own.

“Yeah, like big brother,” Tuk teases, turning her attention back to her own beadwork.

Kiri's face splits into a grin.

“You've been lost in thought a lot more recently,” she observes. “Could Tuk be correct?”

You don't bother to deny it, the obvious flush in your cheeks a dead giveaway. Kiri's always been perceptive and the more you fight her on it, the longer she'll draw it out.

“I think it's worth a shot,” Kiri says. “Neteyam’s always had a soft spot for you.”

It's a million degrees hotter in the tent.

“You don't have to do that,” you say quietly, slouching in your seat.

“Do what?” Kiri challenges.

“Pretend I have a chance.”

Kiri makes a face.

“You do!” she argues. “Neteyam's just shy.”

You're silent for a moment, fingers twitching over a tear in the scroll. You want to believe her, tell her that you think it could be worth a shot, too. But you scent him before you hear him, and then you hear him before you see him.

Four blue fingers wiggle in the tent's opening before Neteyam is poking his head inside.

“Tuk? Kiri?” his voice rumbles. “Ready?”

Kiri glances at you as she stands to her feet and begins gathering her things. Her eyebrows do a little dance, eyes widening as she tilts her head discreetly to her brother.

“I'll see you,” you say quietly, patting Tuk on the back of her leg as she drops her finished anklet in your lap and giggles at you.

You follow their movements as they exit the tent through where Neteyam holds the flap open for them patiently.

He simply lifts a hand as a silent greeting and you wait until they're out of sight and earshot to expel the breath you'd been holding and slump down on your pillow.

In hindsight, you should have been more careful. Neteyam was a skillful hunter, the tribe's best warrior after his father. It's only normal that he'd be in the dense forest when you were plucking flowers and herbs for your salves, speaking quietly to Eywa about your concerns.

“Please, Great Mother,” you whisper, the woodsprites caressing the skin of your arms. "Please give me a sign, any form of motivation to be brave about my feelings."

The grass below your toes lights up and tickles the pads of your fingers as you pluck the glowing flowers.

There's a trail of them, purple and pink, and you pluck and pluck and pluck until you're led to the mouth of a clearing.

Something salty and tangy circles your figure and like usual, you scent him before you see him. When your gaze latches onto his lithe figure, you grin a little, lips parting to announce yourself. This must be your sign, of how vast and great the forests are surrounding your looming home tree, it must be fate that you stumble upon him at this hour.

But his name dies on your tongue when he shifts and you see the silhouette of another pressed to his side.

It's another Omaticaya girl, pretty and tall. You'd know her anywhere, the waves of her thick hair, the tinkle of her dainty laugh. But she is fierce all the same, far from perfect, but gritty enough that it doesn't matter.

Te'feyra draws a bow and one of Neteyam's hands come up to adjust her front grasp, fingers closing over hers and the arrow.

“Steady hands to make up for the recoil,” he says softly and your heart is in your throat.

He's engulfing her as she takes her aim and sends the arrow flying through the air.

Somewhere unknown to you, the arrow sticks its landing and Te'feyra jumps excitedly, pressing her lips to Neteyam's briefly.

You back away from the clearing, eyes burning as you fist the flowers so hard they wilt in your hands. A twig snaps underneath your weight and from your distance, you see the glow of Neteyam and Te'feyra's eyes through the brush.

You take off running without a single word, and despite your stomach tearing itself to ribbons, you thank Eywa for the clarity.

“Something's wrong,” Kiri says to you days later.

Instead of the tent, you two are sitting on opposing branches of a thick tree, observing the flora and fauna of your corner of the forest. You decide that you need some time away from the bustle of the clan's circle and venture off into the opposite side of the woods.

“Why do you say?” you wonder, scribbling onto one of your scrolls.

“You're naturally quiet, I get that, but the past few days, I feel like I've been in the presence of the dead,” she sighs, staring down at you from the branch above. “And Ewya's given me the feeling that all may not be well with you.”

You lick your teeth, then roll your lips nervously.

“I told you Neteyam didn't like me,” you admit.

Kiri's eyebrows furrow.

“What are you talking about?”

“I saw him,” you sigh, fiddling with your pen. “In the forest with Te'feyra. She kissed him.”

Kiri curses under her breath.

“This is stupid,” she huffs. “He's just being stupid. Neteyam likes you and I'm going to prove it.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Kiri's already jumping down from the branches of the tree and dragging you with her through the darkening forest.

“Kiri, this isn't necessary,” you finally pipe up. “It's okay if the feeling isn't mutual, I never expected it to be.”

Kiri stops in her tracks and her pinched face softens, braids swinging by the set of her jaw.

“________, we all grew up together,” she says softly. “I know my brother, and I know you. You two belong together, I feel it.”

You swallow around nothing, allowing her to drag you through the forest and back into the clan's main circle.

“Hey, Kiri! ________, where are you two headed off to in such a rush?” one of the elders calls from where they're working on tools.

Kiri smiles politely.

“Very important business,” she replies quickly, fingers tightening around your wrist to pull you across the grass.

You stop in front of their family's hometree and Kiri guides you through vines and steep inclines before pausing in front of their family's tent.

Lo'ak's voice sounds from within, whiny and irritated.

“Bro, are you being serious right now?” he squeaks and Neteyam grunts, obviously bored.

“Frankly, Lo'ak this has nothing to do with you,” he says.

“Dude, yes it does,” Lo'ak argues. “You've inadvertently involved everyone in this affair because you won't get your head out of your ass for three seconds and just admit that you like her.”

“I don't like, ________,” he says simply and Kiri freezes in front of you.

You chew the inside of your cheek, fingers twitching in Kiri's loosened hold.

“Who are you trying to convince?” Lo'ak moans. “You're really going to commit to Te'feyra even though you have no interest in her?”

“Te'feyra is a great huntress,” Neteyam says simply. “She's well-loved, a strong leader. What's there not to like?”

“________ is all of those things,” Lo'ak says. “She's a talented healer, always patches you up when you get yourself in trouble. The clan loves her, Tuk and Kiri love her, Mom and Dad love her.”

“The clan barely knows that ________ exists,” Neteyam says and you wince.

Kiri makes a move to infiltrate the heated conversation, but you put a hand on her shoulder and shake your head.

“Dude, that's low,” Lo'ak scoffs in disbelief.

“________ is a sweet girl, but she's weak. She's hollow and does what she's told. I wouldn't want to spend my life bonded to someone so passive,” Neteyam says plainly and Lo'ak lets out an exasperated hiss.

“You're kidding right? ________ is amazing,” Lo'ak challenges. “She's quiet, but she's caring. She's resilient and intelligent and anyone would be lucky to be bonded to someone like her, your stupid ass included.”

“Maybe you should focus more on training for your rite rather than trying to play matchmaker,” Neteyam says, showing the first signs of annoyance.

“You just won't admit that for the first time you're scared,” Lo'ak finally says.

Everything seems to still and Lo'ak presses on.

“Everyone loves you, you're the clan's golden child and you can do no wrong. You like ________ so much, but you're afraid that you'll let her down,” Lo'ak says fiercely. “But you don't realize that being a pussy about your feelings is the ultimate let down!”

“You'd know a lot about being a let down, wouldn't you,” Neteyam grumbles.

There's a split second of silence before Neteyam lets out a loud grunt of pain. The flap to their tent flies open and Lo'ak freezes before you and Kiri.

His eyes meet yours and his gaze softens before stalking past.

Neteyam stands stunned in the middle of the tent, lip bruised and bleeding. His gaze swings to the arch way, face falling when he finds you standing behind his younger sister.

“Wanna go swimming?” Tuk asks you the next evening, after dinner.

You smile down at her weakly, heart melting when she pets your hand. You can't deny her, nodding gently as you stand from where you're sitting on the outer circle of the scattered clan.

“Carry me?” she asks sweetly.

You heave her up with a grunt and she grins at you, playing with one of the braids in your hair. Her small fingers caress the skin of your cheek and you blink when she ghosts over your eyelid.

“Pretty,” she whispers, head nestling on your shoulder.

“I think you're prettier,” you tell her, readjusting her growing form as you walk through the brush, towards the rush of the waterfall.

You don't realize that there's a set of eyes on you, watching as you disappear through the trees with Tuk.

The cliff that houses the waterfall towers above you two in a semicircle, the water rippling gently as Tuk squirms from your grasp and splashes through the shallow pool.

“Stay close, Tuk,” you coo, toes wiggling through the pebbles washed up on the tiny shore.

“I've been practicing!” Tuk tells you. “Wanna see how long I can hold my breath under water?”

“Stay in shallow waters,” you advise her, wading into the pool until you're waist deep.

Tuk dramatically inhales and then sinks down under the surface. Something cracks in the distance and you glance around, met with the stillness of the forest and the chirp of bugs.

When you turn your attention back to Tuk, you smile fondly as you wait for her to emerge, counting the seconds diligently to report to her chubby cheeks.

Fifteen pass, then thirty. Your smile begins to fade as your arms feel around in the water around you.

“Tuk?” you call out, chest tightening when you're met with the subtle rush of the glittering cascade from the waterfall up above.

You push forward in the water until your chin touches the surface.

“Tuktirey!” you shout, thrashing around the pool, searching for her tiny frame through the illumination. “Tuk!”

Your toes lose purchase as the water deepens and you begin to panic without the youngest Sully in sight. You turn when you hear a splash, Tuk giggling on the shore.

Your stomach churns hard and Tuk's face falls when she sees your panicked expression.

“Tuk, I-I can't swim well!” you cry out, legs flailing as you splash through the water. You try to dig your toes in the earth below, but you're just shy of the mark.

Tuk looks scared on the shore, fidgeting as she looks around desperately.

“You're too deep, ________!” Tuk whines, voice laced with tears.

Your legs ache, head lolling under the water for a moment before you emerge with a splutter.

“Get– Go get help!” you instruct her, feeling your calves begin to burn as you try to keep yourself afloat. You don't know how long you'll be able to tread water. “I'll be okay, little one. Hurry!”

Tuk turns, picking up her satchel as she makes way for the path you took. When she's out of sight, you fall slack, chest heaving as you try to use your skinny arms to paddle at the water.

Meanwhile, Tuktirey runs through the forest, tears spilling down her rounded cheeks as she trips over sprawling roots and nudges low-hanging vines from the pathway.

She skids to a stop when Neteyam, who had finally worked up the nerve to excuse himself from dinner, comes into view.

He turns when he hears her wailing, face scrunching when he registers his youngest sibling's anguish.

“Tuk, wha—”

She grabs at his hands, tugging him towards the path to the waterfall.

“________ needs help!” she cries. “She can't swim!”

Neteyam's ears prick at the mention of your name, scooping up his youngest sibling in his arms before breaking into a sprint through the brush of the brightening forest. The woodsprites begin to emerge and he barrels into the clearing of the waterfall breathlessly.

It's still, like it's been untouched and his heart hammers nervously in his chest, eyes searching the pool for any sign of you.

He's setting Tuk down quickly before splash desperately into the water.

“_______!” he calls.

He ducks underneath the surface, eyes open wide as he searches for you. And there you are, body slack as you sink slowly to the bottom of the rocky pool.

He dives forward, lungs burning as he cuts through the waters with lean arms. His fingers circle one of your wrists, the other hand winding around your waist as he propels you two up above the water. He chokes on a breath, hand coming up to touch your face.

Your head lolls to the side, eyes shut as Neteyam holds you close.

“Neteyam!” Te'feyra calls from the shore, having followed him after being rebuffed during dinner.

Kiri and Lo'ak are close behind, eyes wide when they see their eldest brother wading quickly through the waters with your unconscious form in his arms.

“Neteyam,” Te'feyra repeats, hand coming to grasp his bicep.

“Not now,” he grunts, tugging his arm from her grasp to march through the brush of the forest.

Woodsprites surround you two as he takes you back to the village, a silent plea to the Great Mother not to take you away weighing heavy on his lips.

You awake to a shining sun and a wet towel on your head. You squint against the beaming light and sit up abruptly as the prior night dawns you like a swift strike to the gut.

“Whoa, wait, slow down,” a thick voice rumbles.

You scent him before you see him.

Neteyam's hands are on you, guiding you back to rest on the pile of pillows that had propped you up before.

You shoot up again anyways.

“Where's Tuk?” you ask anxiously.

“Tuk's fine,” Neteyam says. “She's eating breakfast with Kiri and Mom.”

You lean back in relief, eyes squeezing shut as you wheeze out a sigh.

His hands are on you again, gentle, warm as he takes the towel from your forehead and wipes your face to refresh you.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly, hesitantly.

You pause a moment, but then nod.

“Yeah,” you affirm hoarsely. “M'fine.”

Neteyam just stares at you, yellow eyes unblinking and you know this isn't like one of those fleeting moments. He sees you and it makes your gut churn hard.

“I'll be okay here,” you say quietly. “You may have...someone, you know, waiting for you.”

Te'feyra's name is a silent implication and Neteyam doesn't look amused.

“I told them I would look after you until you're fully well,” he counters, wringing the towel into a bowl that sits next to the mound of blankets your rest on.

You fiddle with your fingers, fully disheartened because even in times like these, he remains the diligent leader-in-training that he is.

The air in the tent is think and you can't breathe.

“I'd like some air,” you whisper, crawling from the soft mat to climb to your feet shakily.

“You need to rest,” Neteyam says crossly, seemingly annoyed at your persistence to put as much distance as you can between the two of you.

You don't respond and finally he seems to burst.

“You can't swim and yet you still went after Tuk,” he calls after you like an accusation. “Why?”

You pause.

“Tuk is like a sister to me,” you say quietly. “I would never let anything happen to her.”

You make a move to exit the tent, but Neteyam's voice stops you in your tracks.

“You could have died,” he says quietly, and you can't place the emotion in his voice.

“I'd do it again,” you admit, craning your neck to face him. “I'm not that weak.”

Neteyam's face falls and you duck from the tent.

Neteyam becomes restless after that moment. He loses his focus, agility taking a hit as he hunts one on one with his father.

He goes to shoot another arrow, but Jake stops him with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Neteyam, I know I can be hard on you,” he starts. “But I’m always here.”

“Yes sir,” Neteyam nods.

“Something’s bothering you,” Jake observes. “You’re not yourself. You’re losing focus.”

Neteyam swallows.

“Sorry, sir,” he says, head hanging.

His braids form a curtain around his face and Jake gives his shoulder a squeeze.

“Son?”

Neteyam swallows again, head tilting up to look is dad in the face.

“I don’t want to be with Te’feyra,” he admits quietly.

Jake's lips twitch.

“Well I could have told you that,” Jake scoffs, the corner of his lips twitching into a soft smile. “You look about as dead as a washed up fish when she’s around.”

Neteyam recalls the kiss she’d given him nights ago and how he'd internally recoiled, body stiff under her touch.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats.

“Why are you sorry?” Jake prods.

“Because I know Te’feyra is who the clan wants me to be with, who is my most suitable match,” he says. “I just— I don't want to let you down.”

Jake gives him an impish grin.

“Neteyam, let me give you a word of advice. There are things in this world that are suited well for each other; you and Te'feyra are one of those things. But your heart and your mind are the two most powerful things about you,” he says. “You will not be punished for giving into your heart.”

Neteyam thinks of you. He thinks of your face, the lines of your timid smile, the idents that dimple your cheeks. He thinks of your touch when he's wounded, gentle and expert, warm against his skin. He thinks of your voice, airy, soft, a low rasp.

He thinks of when he'd called you weak. Of your face, wounded and hurt. He's stricken in this moment as he realizes that strength doesn't have to be audacious. It can be quiet, small acts that become mighty.

Tuk had told him about the waterfall, how she'd wanted to pull your leg a little. You'd accepted your fate if Ewya deemed it time, you'd even sent the youngest away in the chance you wouldn't surface.

You were far from weak. Your strength ran nearly as deep as the roots of Ewya herself, yet you'd taken the criticism in stride. Let Neteyam paint you as a coward, a pushover with no spine.

“I think there’s someone you need to clear the air with,” Jake says after a few moments of silence. “She should be in her tent.”

Neteyam's hands are clammy. It's been nearly a week since he'd last seen you. You'd reserved to spending time inside of your tent to brush up on your studies and refine your work. He'd catch glimpses of you, but you were used to blending in the background and Neteyam's used to overlooking you.

Was he being presumptuous? Maybe you only admired him as a warrior. Or perhaps it was a duty to the clan to revere him. He feels sick to his stomach thinking of confronting you. But Lo'ak wouldn't try to convince him of his own feelings if it wasn't mutual, would he?

And when had the feelings become mutual? He's recently began to think that perhaps he'd always liked you because you were the only one who didn't actively vie for his affection. Who only saw him as Neteyam, an equal, not Neteyam, the Olo’eyktan's son.

Maybe it was whenever he'd see you wandering in the forest during his hunting trips, murmuring to yourself as you picked herbs and flowers for you studies. Or maybe when he'd spot you still high on the branches of the lofty trees with a tablet of paper and ink. Maybe it was when you'd smile at him shyly when he'd adjust your form during archery and it'd melt his insides. Or when you two were little and he'd plucked flowers for everyone and you were the only one who'd smiled at it sticking out of your satchel.

If he recalls correctly, it's pressed to a scroll hanging in your tent and that alone makes his heart race.

Maybe you two are inevitable and he'd only prolonged it because of his own fears.

“Neteyam!”

Te’feyra steps in his line of sight, standing before him and the hometree that houses your tent. He glances away when she stops in front of him.

“Te’feyra,” he greets cordially.

“I haven't seen you since the incident with ________,” she says. “Are you alright?”

Neteyam nods.

“Never better,” he says simply.

“After dinner we should–”

He spots you, satchel thrown over your shoulder. You glance his way momentarily, but scurry in the direction of your tent when you lock eyes with him.

“If you will excuse me, please,” he says politely, extricating himself from Te’feyra to follow after you.

He catches up to you right outside of your tent.

“________!” he calls.

You freeze almost imperceptibly, but continue on your way, climbing the flattened incline spiraling around the center of the hometree.

“________,” he murmurs, fist closing around your skinny bicep.

You jolt to a stop, golden eyes razor sharp as you glance down at him. Your fist is wrapped tight around the strap of the satchel, knuckles stretched taut.

“Neteyam,” you reply softly. “Yes?”

He opens his mouth to say something, but finds that his tongue weighs heavy behind his lips.

“If you seek help, there are elders available for healing,” you inform him, making a move to remove your arm from his grasp.

He instinctively tightens his grasp and you shift uncomfortably.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says quietly, pulling away. “I just want to speak with you.”

A few beats pass as you blink at him.

“Well?”

“Oh,” he swallows. “Can I come in?”

You turn to face the flap of your tent before craning your long neck over your shoulder to nod.

“Sure,” you agree, holding the hide open to let him in.

You step in after him, table scattered with mixtures of finely-pounded dust, scrolls of research and bundles of materials.

You set your satchel down and begin unloading your finds from you excursion.

Meanwhile, Neteyam paces nervously, trailing the circumference of your tent, eyes flitting every which way to take in every piece of you.

A thick silence envelops you and you clear your throat when the satchel is empty.

“You wanted to talk?” you ask, watching as he stops in front of a scrolled tacked to one of the beams.

It's the pressed flower he'd given to you all that time ago as children. It's central in the room, catching the sun so beautifully and Neteyam uses this as the last bit of courage he needs to continue.

“You kept it,” he says, voice shaky.

“Of course,” you say simply, picking through your different finds. “You gave it to me.”

Neteyam turns, looks you head on and he feels his resolve crumbling.

“You like me,” he says bluntly, afraid that if he beats around the bush, he'll cop out.

“Everyone does,” you deflect.

Neteyam's jaw locks.

“No, ________, you like me,” he repeats.

You feel small, sorting the petals by color, fingers nimble against the soft grain of the wooden tabletop.

“Presumptuous,” you hum, unable to meet his piercing gaze.

“________,” he presses.

You bite your lip, tears clouding your vision as your fingers begin to trembling through the sorting. He's being so unfair and he doesn't even know it.

“Why?” you ask shakily.

“What do you mean why?” Neteyam counters, voice taking on the same edge he did with his brother days prior and he'd interrogated him about you.

“Why are you doing this?” you croak, and he hears the tears in your voice.

He's across the floor before you can blink.

“Are you crying?” he asks, shocked.

“Why do you want me to say it so badly?” you choke, poor petals strangled in your vibrating fist. “Is it not enough? To know that I yearn for you silently? That everyone pities me because my heart belongs to someone who's already spoken for?”

Neteyam is stunned.

“I like you, Neteyam. I always have,” you say, voice raw with emotion. “It's my biggest defeat to say I always will. Is that what you want to hear?”

Your eyes are tinged red and his throat feels stuffed with cotton.

“I've always admired you,” you say quietly, between hiccuping breaths. “But I didn’t know you could be so cruel.”

Neteyam winces, every word he’d practiced earlier, completely obliterated from his short term. He knows he should just tell you, tell you that his heart yearns for yours, too. That he'd been too blinded by his impending duty to feel the full effects of what a first love could be like.

“You should go,” you say when he's silent.

You brush your tears away and pat your cheeks dry with the back of your hands as you carefully set the wilted flowers the the edge of the table.

“I–”

“Neteyam, spare me, please.”

“I don’t want to,” he finally says.

Your eyebrows furrow, eyes swollen as you gaze at him unjaded. Who he believed to be so stoic and passive now baring every possible inch to him.

“You're–”

“I don't want to be with Te'feyra,” he finally spits, fists clenched. “I won't be with her.”

Your gaze softens, lips parting to ask what's gotten into him, but he cuts you off.

“You,” he answers firmly, before the question clings in the air. “It’s you. I want to be with you.”

"Stop," you whisper, shaking your head furiously. You take a step away from where he's quickly closing in on you. “Don't–”

He pauses mid-stride and the expression on his handsome face is absolutely devastating. His chest rises and falls shakily and you take a moment to meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice it before,” he says desperately, “I was scared and didn't fully realize it, but I do now.”

“That’s unfair,” you hiccup. “This isn't just on your terms. You can’t— you can’t just tell me you like me and expect me to be with you.”

These passing moments are the most he’s ever heard you speak, and he’s afraid that he's severely underestimated you. It doesn’t taste so sweet now that he’s faced with the reality of things.

“You will be the future leader of this clan,” you continue. “That is a great responsibility that you've prepared for your entire life. Who you decide to be with is a permanent fixture that cannot be undone.”

“I know, I know,” he assures you.

“You find it in your heart pity me, Neteyam,” you breathe quietly. “But do you really want to be bonded to someone passive and weak?”

He opens his mouth to argue, but you've squared your shoulders, stomach caving and expanding with a deep breath. You turn to your prior task.

“You should go,” you repeat. “Duty calls.”

“What do you mean you need help?” Kiri asks incredulously, eyes widened at her older brother.

“________,” Neteyam says. “She's icing me out.”

Kiri's face melts in relief and she scoffs a laugh.

“Do you blame her?”

“Kiri!” he pleads.

Kiri stops her movements, falling back on her haunches to meet Neteyam's desperate gaze. It's so unlike him, being uncertain, nervous. He's picked up the habit of fiddling his fingers and Kiri snorts to herself.

“Actions,” she says simply.

“Huh?” he vocalizes.

“Words mean nothing to ________ if your actions don't support them,” she says. “This entire time you've acted so lukewarm towards her. Of course she won't believe you when you decide to acknowledge that you love her.”

Neteyam's throat bobs as he stares down at his sister.

“And how will I do that?” he presses.

Kiri shrugs.

“Not so mighty warrior now, are we?”

As the days progress, you begin to grasp at finally coming to terms with the tattered remains of what's left of you and Neteyam's frayed relationship. Your heart hasn't stonewalled him completely, but the yearning for him has dulled to a slight ache.

His eyes are piercing every moment you share the same vicinity. Kiri would even try to argue you that it's longing, but Neteyam's a slave to his honor and you aren't convinced.

“You should pity the poor boy,” an elder tells you as you cut up ingredients for the evening's dinner.

You pause, fingers tightening around the handle of the knife. You roll your lips together before briefly meeting her gaze, warm under firelight.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you deflect, clearing your throat.

She laughs, peeling a purple fruit.

“Neteyam,” she says forwardly. “Hasn’t taken his eyes off you in who knows how long. Will you continue to let him suffer?”

You want to argue that it's you who's suffering. That the heart that beats inside the hollow of your ribcage feels like it'll tear in two every time you recall the venom in Neteyam's voice when he'd called you weak.

“I doubt his suffering has anything to do with me,” you say instead. “We are only acquaintances.”

The elder laughs again.

“Is that why he's been pestering the elders for input on how to sway your heart?”

Your head shoots up from where you've focused on the fine cuts of vegetables.

“What?”

“He’s been slacking on his duties, instead poking around the elders and villagers trying to pry information about you,” she says. “Heard him muttering about what kind of flowers you like.”

“It will take more than flowers to sway my heart,” you mumble.

“So you admit that there's something there, hmm?”

Your cheeks heat, caught like a fish in warm waters.

“I–”

“I'd argue that Neteyam’s liked you longer than you've liked him,” the elder says simply.

You bite.

“Why do you say that?”

“He's always asked Eywa for courage, and it seems like she gave you as an answer.”

The elder climbs to her feet, leaving you near the open flame. You open your mouth to call out to her, but the scent of salt and leaves envelops you before you can say anything.

You crane your neck and find Neteyam a few paces from you.

“Do you have a few moments?” he asks politely.

You want to say no, tell him that you'd offered him an infinite amount of moments that he'd spent building bridges between the two of you, but if he's a slave to his honor, you're bound by heart.

“Okay,” you say hesitantly, abandoning your task.

He holds his hand out for you to take and your fingers slide across his warm palm as he pulls you to your feet. Once he secures your hold in his, he tugs you along.

You don't know where he's taking you, or what he could possibly want with your time, but you feel a thousand times more nervous than ever now that the tangled web of your feelings drapes the both of you.

After a few moments of rugged silence, climbing through bushes and brush, he punctures the quiet.

“Are you well?” he asks.

“Yes,” you answer after a moment. “You?”

“Truthfully?” he responds, pausing to face you. You realize his hand still engulfs yours. “No.”

“No?” you parrot shakily.

“No,” he affirms. “I've been hurting actually.”

Your eyebrows furrow.

“You should seek help if you have an ongoing–”

“Here,” he says, the hand still caught in his being guided to lay flat against his chest. You can feel his heart hammering behind his ribcage. “It hurts here.”

You swallow, pulling away from his grasp when you realize his insinuation.

“Don’t,” you warn.

He breathes a shaky sigh before taking a step towards you. He's corded muscle and warmth as his palm comes to cradle your jaw. Your bottom lip twitches as you stare up at him.

“It’s always been you,” he says quietly, thumb brushing your chin as his eyes map every curve of your face. “I think I’ve always known it deep down, but...”

Your hand comes up to meet his, gently prying his touch away.

“Neteyam,” you sigh. “Had the last few days unfolded differently, I don't think you'd been saying this now.”

“Maybe not now,” he agrees. “But one day, I would. I know I would. Because when I recall every fond moment, you’re there. No matter how close to the background you get, you’re always there.”

You look skeptical, and Neteyam knows he's losing you. So he digs in the small knapsack he has slung over his broad shoulders and pulls out something thin.

When he holds it up with shaky fingers, your breath catches in your throat. Strung through the taut brown of tree vine is a line of beads identical to the one that he wears on a braid tucked behind his ear. Upon closer inspection, you notice the blue and purple beads formed to create your favorite flowers.

“Wha—”

“Until you decide you want to be mine,” he says, voice trembling nervously as he takes your arm and gently slides the band up until it fits snuggly around your bicep. “So that you remember I'm always yours.”

Your voice is caught in your throat as he brings your fingers up to his lips.

“I won’t push you,” he says when he realizes your words have evaded you. “But I’ll wait for you.”

“Neteyam–”

He simply smiles at you, golden eyes shy as he takes a step back to admire his handiwork. He seems satisfied, triumphant, when you eye the band but make no moves to remove it.

“I’ll wait for you,” he repeats, giving your fingers a squeeze before running off.

“He did what?” Lo’ak shrills a week later.

The younger three Sully's had hunted you down and brought you to the clearing dedicated to archery training.

Slender fingers wrap around your wrist and elbow to turn your arm to examine the band with wide eyes.

You can’t help but smile gently to yourself, watching the way the sun catches the reflection of the pearlescent beads and reflects them brightly.

“I knew that dummy was planning something,” Kiri grumbles. You bite your lip when she meets your gaze. “Well?”

“Well what?” you ask, arm still in Lo’ak’s grasp.

He twists playfully and your laugh glitters in the air.

"Are you going to put my knucklehead brother out of his misery or what?" Kiri hisses, arm drawing to shoot a arrow that stabs the target about a centimeter too left.

Tuk giggles as she runs up to the target to examine the damage.

“Yeah, please do, he's in love and it's disgusting,” Lo'ak grumbles, still eyeing the cuff.

Your heart skips at the mention of love, cheeks going warm when both Kiri and Lo'ak notice how you've gone quiet. They begin laughing, dealing you playful punches.

“Stop that,” you scold, swatting their hands away. “I haven’t given him an answer yet.”

“Oh, get real!” Kiri huffs. “You are so in love, you know you'll say yes.”

“Please put me out of my misery,” Lo'ak moans. “I'm tired of being his therapist because he's a little bitch.”

“Lo'ak,” you warn, eyes narrowing.

He giggles and Kiri stifles a laugh as you flounder, cheeks blooming under the siblings' teasing.

“You are both so awful,” you say petulantly, arms crossing one over the other. “How are you so sure I’ll return his feelings?”

It's Kiri's turn to groan, eyes rolling.

“Sure enough that I know if I let you in on a little secret, it'll light a fire under your ass,” she says seriously.

Your spine goes rigid, arms loosening as you wait with bated breath.

“Neteyam may choose you, but if you don’t choose him back quickly enough, someone could swoop in and claw that chance from you,” she shrugs.

Te'feyra's name is an ugly insinuation and something green coils its way into the pit of your stomach as you recall the chaste kiss she'd pressed to Neteyam's lips all those nights ago in the forest.

“Gears turning?” Lo'ak lilts.

They definitely are and suddenly you feel small, digging your big toe into the dirt to drag lines through the forest floor. You nod hesitantly, band suddenly tight around your bicep.

In your ruminating, Lo'ak and Kiri pass a knowing glance.

“Well?” Lo'ak prods.

You fidget, rattling with nerves.

“I suppose...”

Lo'ak sighs and his hands come down on your shoulders to steer you through the clearing.

“Where are we going?” you squeak.

“To put everyone out of their misery,” Lo'ak huffs.

The forest seems way more alive than usual, glowing so bright it almost overpowers the sun. Woodsprites gather around as Lo'ak nudges you through the thick foliage and you can't help but think about the sweet smile that curled on Neteyam's lips as he assured you that he was yours. All yours.

The fire crackles in the distance and you know that the morning meal is in the works when voices roar quietly meters away.

Neteyam sits near the center, surrounded by elders and the dreaded girl.

Te'feyra's obliterated every single centimeter of space available, nearly melded to his side as the elders talk animatedly over the two.

You want to turn back, uncertainty vice-like, but Lo'ak squeezes your shoulders as a silent plea. Not even a moment passes before Neteyam peels himself away and begins putting distance between them.

When Te'feyra gives him a curious glance, he gives her an uneasy smile.

“Be courageous, ________,” Lo'ak encourages. “You're one of the strongest people I know.”

With a final pat on the back, he pushes you towards the circle and the sudden movement catches everyone's gaze.

“________,” one of the elders calls fondly.

You smile and bow your head, fingers twitching at your sides.

“Hello,” you greet quietly, eyes swooping hesitantly to Neteyam who rises to his feet, already watching you intently.

That's when you notice it, the choker fastened around his throat. The vine is identical to yours, but it's strung with a line of beads that mirror the ones woven into a singular braid at the nape of your neck.

You hadn't realized that he'd noticed it all this time, but it's the ultimate confirmation that Neteyam sees you. And when he notices that you notice, he smiles softly.

The elders notice as well, drawing the link between your arm band and the necklace that Neteyam wears, now that you two stand opposite each other.

“May I borrow Neteyam for a moment?” you ask politely.

The same elder you prepared with the evening prior gleams a wide smile when Neteyam takes a step towards you, fingers brushing delicately with yours.

Te'feyra remains seated, lips twitching as her gaze flits between the two of you.

“By all means,” one of them says. “Take your time.”

You bow your head again, heart thudding when Neteyam's fingers twine with yours and he lets you drag him out of the circle and deeper into the forest.

When you deem that no prying eyes or ears surround you, you stop, Neteyam bumping softly into your back. The hair on the back of your neck bristle when he makes no moves to extricate himself from you, simply moving your braids from your face to reveal the string of beads tucked near the nape of your neck.

“You needed me?” he whispers, fingers still ghosting the skin of shoulder.

You swallow, squeezing your eyes shut as you relish the moment. Your fingers are still locked and for a fleeting second, you pretend that it's always been like this, the two of you.

“I am nothing extraordinary,” you start, and Neteyam's fingertips pause at your elbow.

“I'd argue differently,” he responds.

“I value time alone and I get overwhelmed often,” you continue.

“We all have our moments,” is his rebuttal as the hand covering yours squeezes gently.

You sigh.

“I could—”

Neteyam turns you and you're met with the the choker, beads glinting under the light. Your eyes drag up the column of his strong neck, flit past his soft lips and finally lock with his searing gaze.

“You can try all you want to run me off,” Neteyam laughs quietly, cupping your jaw. “But I'm not scared anymore.”

Your expression is skeptical and Neteyam decides to bite the bullet. He's closing in on you and your heart pounds violently in your chest.

“Neteyam,” you whisper weakly, hand coming up to his chest.

He traps your fingers against his heart, lips slotting between yours before you can protest some more.

It's like the forest comes alive around you, grass tickling between your toes as you melt under his touch and lean up into his mouth.

His hands are everywhere at once, branding your cerulean skin as he kisses you like it's your last moments. There's no hesitation, no feeling it out, just his warm breath and his soft lips as he pulls you impossibly closer.

“I'll take you as you are at any moment,” he says breathlessly between kisses. “You just have to say you want me back, ________. Please.”

You nod, nose brushing against his as one of his palms splay at the small of your back and the other grabs your chin, pulling you back to plant another burning kiss on your lips.

“Say it,” he begs.

Your eyes begin to mist as you nod again eagerly, parting for a moment to whisper the words.

“I'm yours,” you hoarse, hands on either side of his neck. “I'm yours if you'll be with me.”

Neteyam simply kisses you again, a satisfied hum rumbling from his built chest.

“Fucking finally,” a whisper sounds from the brush.

A LIL' BONUS

“You think they would have figured it out on their own?” Lo'ak asks, wolfing down his food.

Kiri shrugs, feeding Tuk a piece of fruit from her wooden plate.

“Maybe,” she says, unable to suppress her proud grin. “Maybe not. They're both stupid."

“I think so,” Te'feyra laughs watching you and Neteyam fondly from across the fire. “They were a long time coming.”

an – thank you SO much if you've made it this far! again, leave a request or let's chat hehehe. up next is lo'ak so stay tuned! :)

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neng © 2023

[joelsgreys]

not a thing

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

part ii

summary: You and Joel had a private moment while Ellie was asleep. Or so you’d thought she was asleep.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. implied smut, but no actual smut. grumpy Joel, Ellie is a little shit.

Word Count: 1.5k

a/n: nervous to write for TLOU but still giving it a shot! poor Ellie for being subjected to what i am about to subject her to lol. Edit: holy shit, i did not expect this to get much attention. thank you all sm for reading, liking and reblogging!

It had been an incredibly stupid thing to do.

So, so, so fucking stupid.

You knew that.

And Joel knew that.

You two were supposed to have been standing watch.

Not to mention, there had been a teenaged girl sleeping close by, just mere fucking yards away from the two of you had been—

Jesus Christ.

Dammit, you and Joel fucking knew better than to be this goddamn stupid.

Careless.

But neither of you could help yourselves.

It had been several weeks—actually, it had been several months since you two had been able to steal a private moment for yourselves. That moment would have been missed had you not somehow woken up in the middle of the night, only to find Joel wide awake, his rifle in hand as he stood watch while you and Ellie had slept. You’d offered to take his place for a few hours so he could get some rest too, but instead, a few minutes and many, many desperate, feverish kisses later, the two of you found yourselves on the other side of Bill’s old white and blue Chevrolet pickup truck, Joel’s jeans unzipped and your own jeans pulled down around your knees along with your underwear. He’d had you bent over, but still standing at a point where you could peek over the bed of the truck so that you could somehow keep a watchful eye out in between the moments of mind-numbing pleasure—both for any signs of potential danger and also for Ellie, who was passed out, curled up into a little ball in her sleeping bag and completely unaware of what her two reluctant protectors were doing behind the vehicle right next to her.

Your bottom lip was busted, bruised from biting down on it so hard.

The deal had been no noise, not even a single whimper, although you couldn’t remember how well either of you had stuck to that rule in the heat of the moment. It had been a quick fuck, just enough to give you and Joel some much needed relief from all of those pent up stresses and frustrations you two were carrying on your shoulders since Ellie had entered your lives just the week before. And just like back in the Boston QZ, Joel said nothing to you once it was over and done with.

It never hurt your feelings. It was just how things were.

It was some sort of twisted, fucked up unspoken pact the two of you had. 

Joel Miller fucked you, and then he just pretended like nothing ever happened, not until the next time he found himself buried inside of you.

It’s not like you expected Joel to return your feelings.

Hell, you weren’t even sure the man knew how to feel anything but anger, bitterness, and violence. 

Afterwards, Joel took you up on your offer to keep watch and slept for a couple of hours until sunrise came and had you both moving, packing up the truck and getting ready to continue the long drive ahead to Wyoming.

“She’s been oddly quiet,” Joel mumbled to you as he packed up the remnants of the small campsite into the bed of the pickup truck. “Go check on her.”

Obediently, you nodded and dropped the sleeping bag in your hands before turning away and walking over to where Ellie was sitting cross legged on the ground, her fingers mindlessly fiddling with a small, broken tree branch on the ground. “Hey,” you offered her a small smile. “It’s almost time to get going. You doing alright over here?”

She looked up at you and gave you a small nod. “Yeah. Just cold as fuck since we can’t have a fucking fire going,” she said, tossing a tiny glare over in Joel’s direction. “But other than that? I’m just fucking peachy.”

You chuckled and shrugged out of your worn out, brown windbreaker jacket. You draped it over Ellie’s shoulders before taking a seat beside her on the ground. She may have been a thorn in Joel’s side—then again, who wasn’t a thorn in Joel Miller’s side—but you’d warmed up to her fairly quickly. A lot quicker than your partner, anyway. He was still a work in progress.

“Did you sleep okay?”

Ellie nodded, clutching your jacket close. “Kinda,” she shrugged her small shoulders. “The ground was really hard and uncomfortable. I woke up a couple of times throughout the night and had trouble falling back asleep.”

Your smile faded ever so slightly. “Oh? You did?”

Noticing the sudden change in your demeanor, a small smirk crossed the girl’s face. “I knew you and McGrumps over there were a thing.”

You nearly choked on your own saliva as you nervously sputtered out, “W-What the hell are you talking about?”

Ellie raised an eyebrow at you, shooting you a knowing look as her smirk widened.

Oh for fuck’s sake. Ellie had caught you and Joel while you two were—fucking?

Mortified did not even come close to cutting it.

“Oh god,” You muttered, your face on fire. 

“I really hope you two are being smart and using protection,” she added teasingly. “What’s that saying? Wrap it before you tap it?”

“Ellie!” You hissed, glancing over your shoulder. Joel went about his business and it was times like these where you were actually thankful that his hearing wasn’t what it used to be. You turned back to her and quickly started trying to explain yourself. “Ellie, I don’t know what you think you saw but—”

“Oh, it was too dark to see anything. I heard you guys.” She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. “Back behind the truck.” She paused, thoroughly enjoying every single moment of complete and utter discomfort she was causing you. “You know, if that’s gonna keep happening, I’m really gonna need you guys to find me a Walkman with some headphones. Noise cancelling headphones, please and thank you.”

You dropped your head into your hands and anxiously rubbed your face with your palms. “Fuck. I’m really sorry, Ellie,” Was all that you could say.

What else could you say?

Sorry you had to hear me getting fucked by my partner while you were laying just feet away in your sleeping bag?

“Sorry for what? For not being able to keep it in your pants?” Ellie giggled, slapping your knee with her hand in an attempt to get you to lighten up. “I get it. Nature. Hormones. Biology and shit.”

You lifted your face from your hands. “Joel can’t know,” You warned her. “Or he won’t be able to look you or me in the eye ever again.”

Ellie groaned in exaggeration, throwing her head back. “Aw, come on! I really wanted to see him squirm.”

“Me squirming should be fucking enough you little shit,” You laughed, shoving her playfully with your elbow. Once both of your giggles had subsided, in a more serious tone, you told her, “And for the record, we are not a thing.”

Ellie stared at you in disbelief. “Get out of here, you lying sack of shit! You totally are!”

“I know it’s hard to understand. But just because two people—” You trailed off, trying to choose your words carefully. It was more often than not that you had to remind yourself that despite what Ellie had been through and all she had seen, she was still fourteen. A fucking child.

“Bump uglies?” she suggested, wiggling her eyebrows.

You sighed. “Jesus Christ, please don’t ever fucking say that out loud again.” You paused briefly, running a hand through your hair. “But yes. Just because two people do what he and I were doing, that doesn’t mean anything. For a lot of people, it can be quite meaningless actually. It does not mean they are a thing. Me and Joel? Not a thing. Understood?”

Ellie blinked. “That’s probably the biggest pile of bullshit I’ve ever heard. Even before last night, I knew you two were a thing. Whether either of you admit it or not. I can tell.”

You knew better than to play into what she was saying, but the sheer curiosity got the better of you.

What had Ellie noticed about you and Joel?

“What do you mean?”

She shrugged, bringing her knees up to her chest. “I dunno. The way you look at him. The way he looks at you. He’s a guy who doesn’t seem to give a shit about too many things or too many people. But I know he does give a shit about you. He cares about you. Even if he might have a shitty ass way of showing it.”

You glanced back over at Joel and then back at Ellie, confused.

“And you can deny it all you want. But if there’s one thing that stone cold asshole cares about, it’s definitely you,” Ellie stated firmly.

Your mouth fell open slightly, unsure what to say to her.

“What the hell are you two yappin’ about over there?” Joel called, looking over his shoulder.

“Nothing!” Ellie practically sang, causing him to roll his eyes and turn his attention back to his task.

“Well then, get off your asses and let’s get a fuckin’ move on. Ain’t got time to waste.”

[stevenose]

☾₊ ⊹ reaching for the moon (18+)

pairing: steve x fem!reader with afab anatomy

contains: smut and a dumb amount of world building that was not necessary for this. set in 30s nyc, no hawkins. old money!steve; husband!steve; art historian!steve; not rich whatsoever!reader; they’re married your honor; steve’s parents (they’re the worst <3); slut shaming; allusions to bisexual steve; brief homophobia; soft!steve!!! he’s so damn soft!!!!; period typical everything lol

you might want to know: steve smokes and reader takes a drag; heated arguments which lead to some implied homophobia; reader wears an evening gown with a corset; car sex (info on said car here, for clarity sake)

author’s note: this is very heavily inspired by titanic 1997 (obviously) because it’s been rotting my brain. it’s very self indulgent but i’m hoping others like it!!

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It’s always the same. A party, an invitation in the mail, embossed with gold foil. Steve fuming because they could have walked over instead of paying for postage, or called him on the telephone. Each time both of you thinking it’ll be different, each time leaving with Steve’s wounded ego or anger levels at an all time high. You don’t know why you torture yourselves other than the fact that his mother will make a tremendous deal out of it when you don’t show up. She’s not above telling guests gossip of your marriage when you’re not around, just so it can get back to you and hurt you again.

Your issue lies with both of them. Steve’s issue lies with his father. Old, rich, stupid. Too well-known for being a lawyer for companies that should be shuttered and closed for violations and accidents. A union buster. And Steve’s biggest critic.

He never wants to hear about Steve’s studies or projects. His mind appears to me hyper-focused on Steve’s shortfalls - no military experience, no investments, married to a poor girl he met at a bar in Manhattan. Steve is everything his father detests, and vice verse.

To his credit, Steve tries, even when he doesn’t want to. He talks to his mother first while she stares at you like you’re venomous. She’s good at reeling in her disappointment. Steve’s her only child and you figure she doesn’t want to lose that. His father, on the other hand, is closer to Steve’s cousins - successors of big oil, engineers, military men.

You smile at her while Steve tells her about his recent trip to Florence, about the chapels and art. You’re wearing her diamonds around her neck. You know she wants to strike them from you. You’d say you clean up well, wearing one of the tens of dresses Steve’s purchased for you, custom made and tailored. Satin and lace and silk, only the finest. His mother thinks she can still smell alcohol and cigarette smoke on you. She detests your miserable background, how unladylike and uneducated you are, that you’ve worked where women shouldn’t and have done things she’d consider unforgivable sin.

“They’d mix pigments with egg -“

“Egg?”

“Right, yes, they called it tempura. And the pigments - Jesus, should’ve been there to see Giotto’s blue, so rich and -“

“Are you talking about those paintings again?”

Steve tenses and turns to face his father. Your face falls slightly.

“I am.”

“How much was that trip, anyway?” his father presses. He gives you a wink as if you’re in on the joke. “Certainly more than your engagement ring?”

You clench your fist within its satin glove. The gold, Art Deco band digs into your ring finger. Steve’s jaw tenses.

“Not a penny more,” he says cooly. He adjusts his suit coat. His adams apple bobs under the stark white collar of his shirt. “Not that it’d matter, right?”

And Steve’s now doing your favorite thing, where he’ll pretend he actually agrees with his parent’s ridiculous world views until they pick up on the sarcasm. Your eyes meet and the corner of your mouth lifts slightly, but you’re back to being stone faced a moment later.

“Of course not!” his father bellows, hitting Steve on the shoulder like he’s a long time friend and not his son. He looks at you now. For reasons unexplained, his father likes you. Probably for some perverted reason, you figure. “And how’d you fare without him at home?”

“Probably enjoyed company downtown,” his mother says.

“I did.” You look at Steve again, speaking to him with a language only you two understand. It’s okay. “Don’t worry. I hardly had ten glasses of beer.”

His father laughs loudly again, making guests crane their necks to look. His mother narrows her eyes at you but smiles curtly.

“How wonderful.”

“And you’re all right with him going off overseas?” his father presses. “To go look at crumbling paintings and enjoy boat rides in that dirty canal?”

“Not any dirtier than the city, I’m sure,” you say, now taking Steve’s arm in yours. His jaw is set. “Besides, I like hearing about what he’s seen.”

“Pity he couldn’t take you with him,” his father continues. “Surely there’s a reason for that?”

You tighten your grip on Steve to remind him to not talk. “I’d be too distracting, don’t you think?”

“Certainly,” his mother says.

“Not as distracting as your friends’ headlines, though,” Steve says suddenly. “I heard about your latest union bust. How many fatalities did the factory have? Ten? How noble of you to save them from equity.”

You bite your cheek and squeeze his arm again. His father’s mouth twists like he’s tasted something sour.

“Steven,” his mother lulls, shaking her head almost imperceptibly. It’s the only thing you both have in common, trying to keep him cool and calm. It never works.

“And who’d you hear it from if not me?” His father’s tone has shifted. It feels suffocating in the small circle you stand in. “Oh, those dirty men you fraternize with.”

His father’s preoccupation with dirty things is ironic.

“Did they accompany you to Italy as well?” He looks at you now, eyes boring into yours. “Did you happen to see the Statue of David? I heard Michelangelo had an interest in the bodies of men.”

You can feel the heat radiating off of Steve, the implication making him see red.

“Ah, of course, yet another thing you’d rather refuse to understand than empathize with.”

“We should -“

“I’d love to talk to you about sexuality, actually, father. How many half-brothers do I have again?”

His mother looks like she might faint, but his father smirks. It’s as if he lives for arguments with his son. Loves seeing how far he can push him, for no other reason but to be a bastard. It might be the only time he’s ever fond of Steve.

“We’ll get going,” you say weakly, tugging Steve along, and he’s happy as long as he has the last word. “Always a pleasure.”

“You’d know much about pleasure and vices, wouldn’t you?”

It’s the first time John Harrington has ever made a verbal slight towards you. You pause, just barely, and continue moving, but Steve whips around, eyes wild. “I’m sorry?”

His voice is rigid and loud. Guests crane their necks again but this time, they keep staring. You and his mother both grit out “Steve,” but he strides towards his father. You fear he might actually strike him, so you lunge forward, putting your arm between them.

“Surely something we have in common, then, Mr. Harrington.” You glance up at Steve, his jaw clenching and unclenching, face red. “Good night.”

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It’s cool outside. There are people on leisurely walks despite it nearly being so late. Steve’s still fuming beside you, toned arms flexing underneath his suit coat. He’s mumbling under his breath, then quickly whips around, heading back towards the door.

“I’m gonna-“

“Please,” you beg, grabbing onto his forearm. “Let’s leave it.”

“How?” he huffs. “How can I leave it? He was - he was - awful to you!”

“And he’s awful to you, too. What else is new?” You tug him, beckoning him with pleading eyes. “Follow me.”

He rolls his shoulders and tilts his head as he looks at you. He’s still fuming, nostrils flaring slightly, but all it takes is another little please? and he’s sighing, pulling out his cigarettes and a lighter as he follows you.

"The garage?” he asks, the white building coming into view. A billowing cloud of smoke follows. “What on earth do you want in there?”

You rip your gloves off and flex your fingers. “Indulge me.” You bump his hip with yours, trying to get him to smile.

Steve chuckles, easing up slightly, flicking the ash of his cigarette. "I don't know if committing vandalism is going to make me feel better this time."

“We aren’t vandalizing anything,” you promise. You reach for his hand and take a deep inhale of his tobacco. A needed stress reliever.

Steve seems a bit more giddy as you approach his father’s security detail. Steve’s known him since he was a boy. All he has to do is give a salute and a smile and you’re inside of the garage, door locked behind you, alone now with at least a dozen collectible cars and carriages.

"What do you have in mind, then?” he asks, leaning against the door. “Maybe we can use your heels to carve out some paint."

You step forward, taking the cigarette and throwing it on the ground before stomping it out with your shoe. You lean against him, hands pressed against his chest as you straighten his shirt. You’re looking at his neck as you speak. “Your father seems to think I’m somewhat of a whore.”

You don’t mean for him to get mad again, though it’s delicious when he is. “My father doesn’t have a clue -“

You interrupt, “So I reckon we make me one.”

His eyes widen, cheeks blooming red. "Oh?"

"Mmhm," you hum, and press your lips to his. He grabs you around the waist, fingers digging into your flesh, hidden by the satin and lace of your dress. Your lipstick smears as you move to the corner of his lips, then the stubble on his jaw, then up to the shell of his ear. "Pick a car and take me in it.”

“You - hold on,” he forces out, grip tight on you. “You aren’t a - a whore.” He says it like it’s scandalous, the worst word that could be uttered from his lips. It’s been thrown at him before, too. “You know that, right?”

You look up at him through your lashes. You can feel him starting to harden against your thigh. “Would it be such a bad thing if I was your whore?”

He swallows hard. “Do- do you want to be?”

You smile. “Pick a car before someone finds us.”

"Um." Steve forces his eyes open to look around. You begin unbuttoning his shirt while sucking a bruise into the delicate skin by his throat. He swallows hard. "Uh, the - the Renault.”

Your lips leave his neck so you can follow his gaze. You don’t know much about his father’s insane car collection, but you’ve always liked this one. Powder blue, gold accents. It’s like an upgraded horse and buggy, a large, enclosed carriage in the back with a bench for a driver at the front. It’s not very old, maybe twenty years, but it’s valuable and big and shiny and something his father prizes more than anything, including his own son.

“Plenty of leg room,” he explains sheepishly, and you smile, pulling him towards it. “Now, wait - wait - what’s the plan here?”

He’s so dense sometimes, but it’s because he wakes up everyday in disbelief that you’re laying next to him. The idea of undressing you and touching you seems so far fetched that many times he’s had to stop and think about it before engaging.

“The plan,” you say, swinging the door open and shoving him inside playfully, “is for you to have your way with me. And quickly, darling, we don’t have much time.”

Steve half-sits, half-lays down on the large bench, watching you as you duck inside and shut the door. He watches you with wide, adoring eyes as you climb on top of him, taking his hand gently. You pull it to your lips, kissing the pads of his fingers while he watches you intensely. When you look up at him, your stomach flips.

“My way with you,” he says evenly, “is to treat you like the angel you are.”

You smile and lay his hand gently on your chest. “Show me.”

His lips connect with yours softly. Despite the rush you’re both in, he still wants - needs - to take his time with you. He hikes your dress up as he kisses you, big hands caressing your thighs and ass. He sighs happily, pushing you down enough that you catch on the front of his dress pants, his cock pressing against your core. You gasp and giggle. “Excited?”

“As ever,” he promises.

You hold yourself up with a hand while the other struggles with the belt and buttons of his pants. He kisses down your neck, hot, open-mouthed. He latches on to a certain spot and you moan, breathing heavily into his hair.

“Need some help?” he murmurs, noticing your pause.

“Yes,” you breathe, eyes closing as he continues kissing along your exposed collarbone. You should be careful with your dress, taking it off and hanging it up, but Steve will just buy you another one. And another one. And another one. Anything your heart desires. Rich silk from Egypt, lace from Italy, hand embroidered and luscious against your skin. His life’s purpose seems to spoil you, as intended right now.

Steve finally frees himself, but you don’t have any time to stare. He’s quick to change places with you, laying you down on your back, pushing your dress and underskirt up. The material and color on your skin make him blush and growl lowly. The sliver of your corset that’s showing has him growing hard, too. They’re not always so comfortable for you, so you tend to wear them only on special occasions. And he’s keen on devouring you in only it after.

Neither of you are really expecting him to dive head-first between your legs, but you would never complain. His wet, warm tongue laves up your folds a few times before finally plunging in between them. You gasp and grab onto the seat, knuckles growing white. “Steve!” you cry, a hand curling into his hair, tugging on it.

“Worship you,” he mumbles into your skin, before forcing himself to pull back, chin slick. “I worship you.”

Your heart pounds. You’re at a loss. So lucky that you cannot possibly verbalize it.

Steve leans right back in, taking his sweet, non-existent time. “I- I hate to re-remind you, sweetheart,” you moan, fingers curling again, “but a-anyone could h-have! Have seen us com-coming in here.”

He hums, your back arching. He’s reluctant to pull away, but he finally does, coming back up to perch a knee on the seat below you. He’s quick to roll his sleeves up, muscled and toned forearms on view. Then he rubs his cock along your folds, both of you moaning. You tug at his shirt, now not so pristine, pulling him down to face you.

“Isn’t the idea to ruin the car?” he asks, smiling a little smug.

“Yes?”

“Then I’ve got to make a proper mess of you, don’t I?”

You burn. “You already have me melting.”

“Hmm. Let’s see what else I can do.”

When he pushes into you, it’s like the world stops. The only thing that matters is him above you. His hair tickling your forehead, eyes hazy and hooded, lip caught between his teeth. “Honey,” he groans, pulling a leg up over his hips to open you up, give him more access. His fingers dig into the fat of your thigh and he shivers at it. He always makes love like it’s the first time you’ve been together. Even during this quick romp, he’s taking his time, hearts in his eyes. “You’re incredible.”

“I love you,” you whisper, pressing your forehead to his. He slides in a little further. You wince and he kisses you gently, fingers moving towards your clit to take your mind off of it.

“I love you,” he mumbles. “So. God. Damn. Much.”

He’s sheathed fully in you now, both of you panting, sweating. The car’s windows are fogged. You can’t keep your lips off of each other as he sets his pace, languid and long, filling you up so completely it numbs your mind. Each thrust makes you gasp. His whines are low, but slowly become more high-pitched as he thrusts into you.

“Give yourself to me,” you whisper. “All of you.”

He would never deny you that.

Hips picking up, his thrusts get harsher. He’s chasing your high and his. Chasing away the thoughts of his father and his mother, of work, of anything except you. You, his angel, his promise that not all things in the world are so bad. Not when you’re with him. And certainly not when you’re writhing under him, your dress pulled taught over your tits, your lipstick smudged, mascara running.

Over and over and over, the thinks, The Divine is real. The Divine is real.

Your eyes catch as he’s pulled away to look at you. He’s soft, despite his thrusts. “I love you,” he groans. “God, I love you.”

“I love you,” you whisper, reaching for his face, cradling it. “My world.”

“My muse,” he moans, twitching within you, handsome face twisted in pleasure. His fingers work steadily on your clit and you reach up for your breasts, wishing desperately that you were wearing a nightgown instead. One that Steve likes, all pastel pink and blue, a ribbon of purple silk on the waist. It’s much less restricting and much more revealing. We can always continue at home, you think, your stomach tightening.

“You are….” you pant, eyes rolling back, leg tightening around his hips. “You are more th-than enough.”

His trusts slow. “As are you.”

“Sweet boy,” you laugh breathlessly, rolling your hips towards him. “Please keep going.”

“Oh!” he says, genuinely shocked, like he was truly so lost in your words that he forgot what he was doing. “S-sorry.”

“Just wa-want to show you how much I - how much I love you.”

“You show me,” he promises. “E-every. Day. And - and at these stupid p… oh, Christ - these parties.” His hips angle up towards your sweet spot and you’re gone, unable to hold back, brows marrying and face tightening in a lewd show of pleasure.

“Steve!” you moan, so loud you’re sure anyone walking by could hear. His hips move furiously and you have to reach up with your hand to steady yourself, making a handprint on the window. “Oh, my God!”

“Now it’s time to show you,” he groans, and his lips are back on yours. Half to consume you, overwhelmed with love and lust, and half to keep you quiet. You all but scream into his mouth, hand sliding off the window to clutch his shoulders while he works you into oblivion. “Close,” he chokes, a hand once again cradling your cheek. “With me now.”

You pant into each other as you cum, the car filled with sex and sweat and your crass noises. So unladylike, so perverse. You giggle mid-orgasm at the thought of his mother walking in on such a thing. A son raised as a level below royalty fucking his street-rat wife into a stupor, all in a thousand dollar car, would make her heart stop.

“What’s - so - funny?” Steve pants eventually, resting his head on your chest, his cock softening inside of you.

“Nothin’,” you promise, combing his hair with your fingers. “I love you.”

“Don’t leave me out,” he smiles.

You shake your head. “Tell you later. We should -“

“Uh-huh,” Steve says, pushing off of you and tucking himself back into his pants.

“You’re trembling,” you frown, reaching for him.

“I’m alright,” he promises, taking your hand and kissing it. “I’m happy.”

“So am I.”

He helps you fix yourself and slips your feet into your shoes for you, a kiss pressed into your knee. It turns into another, then another, and then his lips are creeping up your thigh.

“Stevie,” you whisper, the pet name making him blush. “Let’s finish at home.”

“Home,” he sighs dreamily. “Sounds wonderful.”

You’re proud of the stain left on the leather as you get up, your dress falling back down to your ankles. His father won’t check this car for weeks, if not months. You hope it’s fully ruined by then. But, for good measure, you let your heel scrape the paint on the way out.

[wildgirllz]

Hiding out

Daryl Dixon x Fem!reader

Warnings: p in v sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, praise.

Daryl Dixon always enjoyed y/n’s presence.

After running from a hoard, they settled into an abandoned school. They make there way to a more secluded area, and set up camp.

Daryl let’s out shaky groan,

“Daryl are you hurt?”

“No, leave it alone”

You gently lift up his shirt, to reveal a bloody mess, slashed through his lower abdomen.

“Jesus, Daryl. We need to patch this up”

“I’ll be fine. Go to sleep”

You lift up your shirt to tie around his waist. Your breasts still lay in the confines of your bra, but it still makes Daryl stir.

He hisses in pain, but let’s her continue.

“It’s cold as fuck Y/N, take my shirt.”

“Shut up” you tease him.

You lay him down onto the tile floor.

“Lay down Daryl”

“Baby, it’s not that bad”

The petname makes you warm to the core. It takes Daryl a minute to realize what he said, but when he does, a crimson blush spreads throughout his face.

“S-sorry bout that. Should we get ready to go to sleep?”

“Yeah. Yeah let’s do that.”

You both settle into a warm sleep.

Daryl starts moving, little groans escaping his mouth.

“Daryl?”

Your voice makes him shoot out of bed.

“Shit. Yeah?”

“You were just moving around a lot, sorry. Go back to sleep.”

Both both settle back down, but this time.. it’s different. You feel a hard warmth prodding at your ass, which is only covered by flimsy shorts.

Your whole body turns hot, and he notices.

“Im really sorry, I-I can’t control it. Let me turn around.”

You grab his shoulder and say, “No, stay there.”

You let him rub his bulge against you, he lets out whines and groans while doing so.

“Fuck, y/n”

His pants are already long gone before you know it, and he’s pawing at your shorts.

You scurry to get them off, and he pulls you to his chest.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

He slowly enters your warmth, hissing at your tightness. He holds your hips close as possible to his.

As he repeatedly slams into your cervix, you try to stay quiet to not draw any attention to yourselves. You moan into his bicep, which is wrapped around your neck to hold you close.

“Such a good fucking girl”

Praises flow from his mouth, making you near the edge.

You made sure not to press into his wound, but he was acting like it was no longer there.

“Fuck, be careful Daryl what if it opens again”

“God baby, if I get to do this who fucking cares if I get hurt”

He keeps pounding into you, praise becoming overwhelming as you finally finish.

Your orgasm blooms throughout your body, and once you finish riding out your high, you feel him fill you with his seed, groaning loud as can be.

He pumps into you a couple more times, till he’s worn out. He tries to pull out but-

“Dont. Just- Please stay.”

He sighs and lays his chin down on your shoulder, letting himself soften inside of you. It was a restful night.

I take requests!! <3 thank you for reading

Tysm to my roommates for helping me write this 😎

[gaymurdersalad]

Hey Jack! I think Dave is.. looking for you. You should probably check on him-

>Looking for me?

>The bastard practically wanted me dead on Monday when I refused his little kid-killing scheme. Straight up left the restaurant and didn’t show his face again, he was so mad.

>Why in the hell would he suddenly be looking for me?

>Even if he was, I wouldn’t know the first place to fucking—

>Mmmmyyy body lies overrr the ocean, my boooody lies over the seaaaaa—

>I’mmm no gooood at astraaaaal projectionnnn, so brrriiiing back my bodddyyyyy to meeeee!

>Oh, holy fuck, I’vvvve nevvvver felt ssssooooooo… Un-Coporeal. Wuwuuuuugghh, what issss… Within it me is outside o’ me… And whaasss inside of mmmmeeeee is SOOOOOOOO much LSD.

>Hooooow’d I even ennnndup here? What the hell did you get yourself int’, you big clown? I’m not surrrre, I just woke up out hereeee, again… What would Henry think? Who cares! He hates mmmmeeee!! He pushed me aside he did, he did! How’d he do that, then? He says “Get ouuuuutta here, you purple menace you, and leave me the hell alone for as long as your pitiful life stays clinging to this wretched Earth!” Why’d he say such a thing? I duunnoooooo! Was it something you did? You’re always getting yourself into trouble, you. Please leaaaave me alone, leave me to rot here, you… Yew… Schtewpid bastard, you caaaan’t stop bothering me, both you AND him…

>I’ve never done nothing to warrant this! I’m yer friend, Davey! Yer nothin’ but some bassard keepin’ me angry, you rotten fuck you, I wish you’d both fuck off hand ‘n hand and go… Go stuff yourselves in a waterlogged springlock suit, fuck you!

>A VISSSSITOR. Who— Who arrives?!

>… Dave?

>Sportsy! Old Jack! Whateerrr yoooouuu doin’ here?! You smell different. Yer wearin’ that coat!

>… Jesus Christ, dude. I’ve never seen you this bad.

>Aannnnnd I’ve never seen yew so good lookin’, handsome.

>Alright… Let’s… Let’s get you up, it’s freezing out here, man.

>Ohhhh, yer sooooo warm, Sportsy… I juuuusssss wanna crawl inside yer skinnn and wear ya as a jacket… Heh! Jack-et!

>… Thank… You…? I’m going to ignore you for a bit, is that alright dude?

>Yew can do whateeeeeever yew want, cowboy, I juss love ya soooo much…

>We’re gonna go back to my place, okay buddy? Get you under some covers and make sure you don’t accidentally… Hurt yourself. Let you sit the rest of this out someplace comfortable.

>Yer… Yer takin’ care of me, baby?

>Only ‘cause I know you won’t remember it.

>Yer… Yer sucha nice boy, sucha sweet sweet tangerine, you…

>Y’know, I wus… I’ve been… feeling preeeety rancid lately, Sportsy. Henry… Kicked me to the curb again, said I don’t wantcha here, and I wus… wanted… spend time with ya, Sportsy, like old times, I wanted t’… I missed… yew. ‘Nd yer dumb stupid clementine face, that schtewpid beard— If… If Henry don’t want me, then I know… I wus always thinking, I thought— Sportsy’s there! There’ll alllllways be Sportsy! B— Because there ain’t Sportsy, it’s just me, and just me makes me wanna die. I don’t wanna die. I don’t wanna die when yer holdin’ me.

>I’m… It’s pretty fuckin’ radical… that yew still care. Still the… same rotten orange I knew and loved.

>…

>… I…

>I still care. It’s okay.

>It is?

>It’s okay.

>… Let’s… Get you home. Try and relax, we’re only a block away from my car. You can sleep when we’re on the road.

>Gnnaaaaarly… Road trip with Old Sport!

>Yeah, man, sure. Gnarly.

[stargirlwrites]

Not just s-ex

Jungkook x f.reader

-> slight amut, angst, fluff

-> warnings: TW! - mentions of r4pe. , unprotected sex, slut shaming, angry Jungkook, high sex drive reader, crying, they get into nasty argument :(

☆ ------ ︻╦╤─ ҉ -¨ * ‧₊˚*♡ * *” ♡. ♡ ------ ☆

Jungkook didn't know what to do about you. When you first told him about having a high sex drive he didn't think much of it. He lost his virginity to you, he didn't know anything else but you so he understood everything about your body, but recently you've been asking for sex way more than you usually do.

You two spend more time having sex than actually hanging out together. So he's going to confront you in the nicest way possible.

-

"F-faster please koo!" You whine out as Jungkooks cock hits every right spot inside of you, you swear he's all inside your tummy. Making you feel euphoric.

His hips snap against yours as he feels you clenching around him, knowing you're about to cum. You feel his thrust get sloppier as you let out high pitched screams, not caring about the neighbors. It wasn't short after until Jungkook gave you your third cream pie of the night. Yay unprotected sex your favorite. (Don't do it you'll die.)

After you two were finished, Jungkook was exhausted. You two went at it for 3 rounds and he is completely out of it. You two cleaned yourselves up and changed the cum stained sheets. Jungkook layed down on his spot, holding you close as he kisses you goodnight and tries to close his eyes to drift away in his own little dream land. Until he felt you shift and move onto his body.

He opens his eyes and let's out a little sigh. Of course you're still horny. Of course you still want to have sex.

"Baby.. look we'll do it tomorrow night I promise I'm just very tired so-" You cut him off with your bratty little voice

"Mmm but I want you s-so so.. so bad. Want it again" you started to rub yourself against Jungkooks soft crotch. You and Jungkook usually do this. You thought he was just doing the silly little foreplay like usually.. but he wasn't.

His hands gently hold your hips still, preventing you from making any movement. You pout your lips and remove his hands, putting them on your breast instead

"You can have me all the time. Always want you.." you started to grind on his crotch again, letting out small moans when your clit rubs against his clothed cock.

His once soft hands turn aggressive, you yelp when you feel jungkook slightly above you off of him. It actually kind of hurt he wasn't being very gentle.

"Ohhh I know what you want" you giggle and try to remove Jungkooks boxers, still thinking it'd apart of your little foreplay you two usually do, forgetting about his harsh grip.

Jungkook sighs angrily and grips your wrist and shoves you harder away from him. His grip was hard and left redness on your wrist. You yelp a small "Jungkook.." before he responds

"God damn it ___ can you stop being a horny freak for once and leave my cock alone Jesus christ." You didn't know you were going something wrong. You thought he wanted to..

"I- ... I thought-.. this was never a problem before I mean-"

"No, maybe if you weren't such a fucking slut begging for dick every hour this wouldn't be a problem. You're a whore. No self respect for yourself what so ever."

You couldn't believe Jungkook was this mad with you. If he would have actually talked to you before hand you wouldn't do anything he's uncomfortable with, never.

Tears escape your eyes as you make tiny sobs but Jungkooks mouth keeps running. His mouth keeps going as he gets up and starts dressing, like he's going somewhere. This only makes your breathing get harder.

"Do you even know all the stories I heard about you? All the men that's confessed of being inside of you without protection? They even had evidence, everyone at my fucking Job knows. That's why I fear fucking you raw, don't know what kind of disease I'll catch."

And that's where he crossed the line.

You wrap your body in your fluffy pink robe, quickly getting up to face him. His irritated face faces your pink puffy one with tears streaming down.

You slap him.

"How fucking dare you. How could you s-say that to me. I know I have a problem I'm sorry. Maybe if you just talk to me this wouldn't be a problem. I... I w-was fucking räpĕd by .. by 4 boys in high-school and they never got punishment for it. Sorry that it'll fuck me up in ways."

Jungkooks eyes widen when he hears his words. Well he's a fucking asshole. Before he could say anything you beat him to his problem pity words

"Don't care what you say. Don't want to see you please leave, we can talk later. Not tonight."

-

That night you went to bed alone. For the first time in 2 years you slept in bed without him by your side. It was a long night. Thoughts rambling in both of your minds, Regret and pain. You regretted taking your past sexual frustration on him and not telling him your dark past. It was painful. Jungkook regretted saying all those nasty things to you and not listening to the screams of help you silently screamed. It was painful because he hurt the one he truly loved. He hurt you and it hurt him to know that you were hurt. It hurts him to see you crumble apart because of him.

It wasn't that long after Jungkook stopped crashing at his cousins soyeons place. You and him talked it out. You opened up to him completely and he listened. He reminded you how much he loved you. He reminded not just you but himself how much of a fucking idiot he is.

You're getting help with your high sex drive problem. Of course you and Jungkook still have sex, just instead of every day its twice a week. It feels good. It feels good knowing that you can feel good without sexual acts. That you can feel good with the one you love, and his name is Jeon Jungkook.

-

( hope you guys enjoyed this. It's short but it's something. Love all of y'all and thank you so much for reading my fics. I have longer ones coming soon!! You can always leave requests too <3!!) - stargirl ☆

*Jungkook is so babygirl I need to write more sub!jk.*

[evanpeterswhoresblog]

Old Friends (pt. 2)

Max Cooperman x f!reader

warnings: smut, unprotected p in v, oral female receiving, dom max, underage drinking, underage smoking, rough sex, drunkish sex, pretty smutty guys you are warned

summary: after what happened between you and max, you can’t stop thinking about it… but he hasn’t called you since. whats gonna happen when you go back for a much smaller gathering?

word count: 3.3k

a/n: i’m finally back after like 4 months… hope this was worth the wait ;)

~~~

Your heart is racing. You’re in the back of Baja’s car. You, her, and Jake just pulled into Max’s driveway. It’s been two weeks since the Fourth of July party, two weeks since you’ve seen or heard from Max. You’ve been waiting for him to reach out, for him to tell you he doesn’t regret it and that he wants to see you again. But he hasn’t. You know he’s changed; you should’ve seen it coming, but it still hurts you that he was so willing to throw away your entire friendship for a one-time thing.

“Y/N? Come on, we’ve been sitting here for like five minutes get moving,” Baja says, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You nod and get out of her car. Did Max know they brought you to this hangout? Baja told you it was just going to be like the old days again. However, you doubt it’ll be like old times given what happened. The four of you were going to get crossed and watch movies. Max’s parents weren’t home again, so you guys are going to have the place to yourselves. You’d be excited if you weren’t already so nervous.

You follow Jake and Baja to Max’s door; you can hear your heartbeat in your ears, your stomach is full of nervous butterflies. You wish you didn’t agree to come. The only reason you did was because if you didn’t, Baja would’ve suspected something happened between you and Max. She already knew you hooked up with a guy at the party, but you refused to tell her who. You felt bad lying to your best friend, but it’s better this way. You didn’t want anyone to know about what Max considers to be that one mistake, it would make things awkward. So, you kept it secret.

After a few seconds of standing at the front door, Max opens it wide. He greets you all with a warm smile, but you can see the way his eyes shift when they meet yours. All you can think about is the way those same dark eyes looked into yours in his car, it’s all you’ve thought about for the past two weeks. But now, seeing him in front of you, makes it ten times worse. You regret coming.

“Finally, you guys are late,” Max says.

Jake pats Max’s shoulders and laughs. “Sorry, Baja took forever as usual to get ready. Then we had to get y/n too. But we made it.”

“Yeah, yeah, get in,” Max replied, pushing Jake inside.

“Nice to see you again Max.” Baja smiles and follows Jake in.

Max’s eyes meet yours again as you slowly enter. You don’t know if you’re glad or upset at the fact that he doesn’t say anything to you. It doesn’t matter. You brush it off and follow Jake and Baja into the living room. Max already set a few bottles of alcohol on the coffee table along with some cups. The sight makes you happier than ever. You jump onto the couch and start to look more specifically at each of the bottles.

“Jesus, you already want to get drunk?” Baja asks with a small chuckle.

You look back at her and nod. “Hell yeah, the last time I drank was here and that was too weeks ago.”

You set on the bottle of pink lemonade Smirnoff; it has the highest percentage of alcohol on the table. You unscrew the top and pour yourself a shot. Baja and Jake sit on the couch and start to look at the bottles as well. Without another thought, you take the shot. You love the way it burns your throat, but you hate the sweet aftertaste it leaves. However, it’s a perfect distraction from the boy who’s now sitting on the opposite end of the couch.

“What are we watching?” Jake questions the group.

“I was thinking horror,” Baja answers.

“That’s fine,” Max agrees.

Their eyes turn to you. You simply nod.

“Great, let’s get this going,” Jake says as he grabs the remote.

You glance at Max again and see he’s already looking at you, a strange look in his eyes. You quickly avert your eyes. It’s going to be a long night.

~~~

After the first movie, all of you are drunk. You lost count of how many shots you took, and you have no idea how many times you hit Max’s bong. This was the first time in two weeks you weren’t worrying about what your status with him was, so in simple terms, you felt amazing.

Baja is passed out on Jake’s shoulder, Jake is trying his best to find another movie to play, and Max is lying back on the couch with his eyes closed. You know he’s not asleep because every couple of minutes he speaks. You don’t want to think about how many times already this night you’ve looked at him. You feel ashamed, it’s as though you can’t keep your eyes off him. It’s awful.

“Guys I think I’m gonna pass out,” Jake says. He stands up, stumbling a bit. “Can we crash in one of your guest rooms?”

“Of course, just don’t fuck too loud. The walls are very thin,” Max replies, his eyes still closed.

“Noted.”

Jake picks up Baja carefully in bridal style and starts to walk out of the living room and down one of the halls. You giggle as you see him stumble into a wall slightly. When you turn back to the TV. the realization hits you. Now that they’re gone it’s just you and Max... alone. If it weren’t for all the alcohol and weed, you’d be freaking out right now. You’re able to keep your composure though, deep down you’re nervous something awkward will happen.

You grab the remote, trying your best to be quiet and not make Max open his eyes. You almost succeed, but just as you settle back into your spot away from him, he sits up. He turns his head toward you, meeting your eyes for the millionth time that night.

“Are you putting something on?” He asks, his voice alone making your stomach fill with butterflies.

“Yeah, if that’s okay,” you reply.

He slightly nods. “Go ahead.”

You pick the first movie you see and settle into your spot more, pulling a blanket over your body. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Max is watching you and every so often he shifts just a little bit, making the space between the two of you smaller and smaller. You try your hardest to keep your attention on the screen, but once Max is only a foot away from you, you can’t take it any longer.

You look at him, annoyed. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing, just enjoying the movie like you are,” he answers casually.

“No- I mean...” You struggle to find the words, the alcohol still affecting you. You shake your head and stand up. “Never mind, I’m going to bed.”

You begin to turn but Max grabs your wrist. You swear it’s as though his hand is an electric fence. Tingles travel throughout your body at his touch. You instantly turn your head and look down at him, the memories of the last time he did this replay through your head. His eyes are dark, they look the same as they did in his car moments before everything went down. You don’t know what to think of it.

“Stay,” he mumbles.

“Why? You clearly aren’t interested in me,” you snap. “I shouldn’t have even come tonight I’m so stupid.”

“What makes you think that? Do you not remember what I said to you the last time we saw each other? You’re the one who hasn’t called me since the party,” he says.

You shake your head again. “You never called me. I waited and waited and didn’t get a single word. If you wanted it to just be a one-night stand you could’ve told me that before I left because then you would’ve spared me all those hours waiting for a simple fucking call.”

“Woah hold on. I was waiting for you to call me,” he replies.

The two of you stare at each other for a few seconds. You’re confused. Was all of this just a misunderstanding? Had he really been waiting for you to make the first move? From the way he’s staring up at you, you believe what he said. Part of you feels guilty, you shouldn’t have simply expected him to contact you first.

“I’m sorry I just thought that you were going to call me,” you apologize.

Max moves his thumb across your wrist, you almost shiver. “I’m sorry too. I really wanted to see you again all those days.”

“You did?”

Your heart begins to race as it did mere hours ago, but this time for a completely different reason. He continues to move his thumb on your skin, the simple contact making the pit of your stomach fill with that familiar warmth and your panties begin to dampen.

“Of course, I did. You’re all I can think about. I know I said I wouldn’t care if it was only that one time, but I lied. I need it again, I need you again,” he says.

He pulls your wrist gently, guiding you back onto the couch next to him. You don’t object. When he leans closer to you, you don’t dare move. His lips are only inches from yours now, his other hand gripping yours tightly. You’ve never wanted another person more than you want Max right now.

“Can I have you again?” He asks under his breath.

You nod, you’re too lost in the way he’s looking at you to speak.

“I need to hear it y/n, use your words,” he whispers.

“I’ve been yours to have Max, and I think it’s going to stay that way for a while,” you reply, so quietly a person a foot away from you wouldn’t even be able to hear.

“Good, because I’m going to want you again, and again, and again...”

Your lips meet, and you feel that same spark flow throughout your body. You kiss him hard, your hands instantly finding their way to his soft curls. He reciprocates in all the right ways. His hands move to your breasts, your waist, your neck... caressing, fondling, and pleasing every inch of you that they touch. You can’t get enough of it.

He slowly lays you down on the couch after a few minutes, his body filling the space between your legs instantly. You fight back moans as his lips begin to travel down your neck, sucking the spots he quickly learns drive you insane. One of his hands finds the bottom of your shirt and he starts to pull it up.

“No, what if Jake or Baja come out?” You question. His lips are still on your neck, it takes everything inside you to not make a noise. “Max?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep watch, just wait a minute,” he answers, his breath tickling your neck.

You trust him, so you simply close your eyes and let the feeling of his rough hands on your bare stomach take over. He lifts your shirt up enough to expose your breasts, you aren’t wearing a bra. You sigh as he kneads one of your breasts in his hand. His hands are so big, so rough, so warm. He pinches your nipple, making you squirm. You were surprised the first time by his dominance, Max always used to be a follower. But now he seems even more dominant, it only makes the wetness in your panties grow.

You let him pull your shirt over your head, you let him throw it on the floor, you even let him suck your nipples out in this open area. The thought of Baja or Jake walking out and seeing the two of you like this excites you, though you know it shouldn’t. It’s wrong, and if you were caught, you’d face major consequences. You don’t think about that though, in fact, you don’t think at all at this moment.

Max pulls back and takes off his shirt. Your eyes travel up and down his torso, his body still receiving that same surprised reaction from you. You press one of your hands onto his chest, your fingers move down his body slowly. He’s so warm, so inviting. He leans back over you and captures your lips in another kiss.

You continue to move your hand down his body till you reach the waistband of his shorts. You can feel how hard he is through his clothes; it almost makes you squirm. You move your other hand down and pull at his remaining clothing. He doesn’t object, and in a matter of seconds, his shorts and boxers are on the floor. A soft moan leaves his lips as you gently wrap a hand around his hard cock and stroke.

“God, I need you,” he mumbles against your lips. The tone of his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

He leans back so he’s kneeling on the couch and begins to unbutton your shorts. You lift your hips as he drags them down your body, kicking them off once they reach your ankles. A woman in the movie screams just as Max begins to play with your soaking cunt. You’re glad, because the second his fingers find your clit, your silence is over. You practically whimper at the sensation. He toys with you for a few moments, making your toes curl when he finds that perfect spot inside you with his fingertips.

“Max,” you moan, one of your hands gripping his wrist. “I’m close.”

He removes his hand instantly and your eyes shoot open, what is he doing? You’re about to say something but that’s when he starts moving down the couch. You watch his head fall between your legs. His eyes meet yours as he sticks out his tongue and tastes you for the first time tonight. A soft sigh escapes your lips, your head falls back on the couch.

Barely five have passed by the time you feel your orgasm approaching again. Something about the way Max is so willing to go down on you makes you so much more turned on. You don’t say anything, you don’t have the time because before you can speak, you’re already falling apart on his tongue. You cover your mouth with your hand, your body shakes as you cum.

He stops a few seconds before you’re overstimulated and returns to his kneeling position between your legs. Before you even catch your breath, he grabs your hips and flips you over onto your stomach. He pulls your hips, so your ass is in the air. You arch your back, half on your own, half from his hand that moves up to your lower back and pushes down so you bend more. It hurts, but you can’t get enough of it.

“Are you good with no condom again?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

You feel the tip of his cock line up with your entrance, it makes goosebumps appear on your skin. This is the moment you’ve been craving for two weeks. As he slowly begins sliding inside of you, you gasp. He stretches you almost to the point of it being painful. You bite down on your arm to keep yourself from screaming from the pleasure. You hear Max softly moan, the sound of his raspy voice making you clench around him.

“Be quiet baby, like I said the walls are very thin,” he says. You can practically hear the smirk in his voice. It only turns you on more.

He begins his slow thrusts, the pace both agonizing and glorifying at the same time. You want more, you need more. But you know he’s doing it to taunt you, to hear you beg him for more, so you bite your tongue. Max must realize you’re on to him because he slows down even more, not even going all the way in. It hurts, and not in the way you want it to. You give in.

“Faster Max, harder Max, stop fucking me like I’m some untouched virgin,” you whisper.

He laughs. “You’re the first girl to insult me while my dick is inside you.”

You look over your shoulder and can’t help the smile that takes over your face. It was almost like you forgot it was Max you were having sex with. The same Max that you used to make fun of for being a virgin, the same Max you used to have to convince your parents wasn’t gay. He’s not a stranger, no matter how much his appearance changes he’s always going to be your best friend Max.

“Just fuck me please, before they come out here for water,” you reply after a few seconds.

“Your wish is my command.”

Max rams his hips into yours so hard it hurts. You moan, too loud for your liking. Neither of you say anything about it though, you’re too caught up in the moment. He fucks you rough, his skin slapping yours at an incredibly fast pace. You bury your face in the couch, your hands gripping the couch hard. He hits that spot inside you with every thrust, each time he hits it making you closer and closer to finishing.

He places one of his hands on your shoulder and pulls you back, so his dick moves even deeper inside you. You can’t help the loud whine that leaves your lips. The pain is almost unbearable. Almost. He lets go of your shoulder after a few thrusts and instead slaps your ass. All these sensations drive you crazy, blurring your mind and your body.

“Max I-I'm close,” you whimper after a few more minutes.

“Me too baby, me too,” he replies, his breath ragged.

When you finish, your entire body shakes, and you struggle to keep yourself up. Max finishes only a few seconds after you, his dick pulsing hard inside of you. Once you’re both finished, he pulls out and you fall from your position. Your heart is beating rapidly, your face is flushed, you can barely breathe. You’ve never experienced sex so rough in your life. And you can’t believe how much you enjoy it.

Max lays down next to you, covering your naked bodies with a blanket. You just stare at the TV. as the credits for the movie start to play, your breath finally catching up with you.

“If Jake and Baja ask about the noise, do you just wanna tell them it was a movie we had on really loud?” Max eventually asks.

You chuckle and turn your body to face him. “No, let’s just tell them we were having incredibly rough and loud sex.”

“Are you serious?”

You chuckle again. “Obviously not. We can’t tell them anything about this unless we start dating, but I doubt that will happen.”

“Why do you doubt that?”

“Well, I mean, I’m gonna be leaving the state again and you’ll be back at your school. I wouldn’t want to hold you back from all the girls who’ve been missing what I just experienced,” you explain.

“Well, I don’t want any other guy to touch you like that,” he says, his words causing you to blush.

“Is long distance really something you’d want to do? We wouldn’t be able to do this until the holidays you know.”

“I know, but that’s what’ll keep it special. Imagine how good it’ll be after months of not doing it. But it’s not even just about the sex, I’ve wanted to be your boyfriend since like junior year,” he reveals.

You smile. “If you want to try then so do I, but I want it to actually work out. I don’t want to break up and then have the friend group split. I want it to last.”

He wraps his arm around you and pulls your body against his. “I think it’ll last.”

You couldn’t agree more.

[mystra-midnight]

Two Tickets to Paradise

summary: you'd fought and given up, then started fighting again. the lighthouse, which had started as a paradise, was turning into hell, and it was breaking you—slowly tearing away your sanity.

warnings: 18+ only. on the darker side. mentions of alcohol consumption. rough sex. dacryphilia. hints of emotional distress. hints of angst and/or mental anguish.

words: here.

notes: honestly wrote this so surprisingly quickly. murphy's always been one of my favs from the show - the arrogance, the vulnerability, the character development? jesus it just does thinks for me. (i don't think i'd ever say no if you send in thots and imagines for him)

The moment the lighthouse door slammed shut, you should have panicked, but you hadn't been able to find it in yourself to be afraid or even upset. After surviving a trek through a seemingly endless desert, then a boat ride across a seemingly endless ocean, a serpent attack, and a night out in the cold with an injured and angry delinquent, the lighthouse was a welcomed surprise—a perfect paradise.

Not even John—fucking—Murphy, with his toxic tongue and perfect eyes, could ruin your good mood. The two of you had never been particularly close, but you got along well enough that the shared space wasn't uncomfortable. For the first few days, you gave each other space, choosing to sit on opposite sides of the room and occupy yourselves.

Occasionally, the two of you would watch and rewatch the videotape that explained what caused the apocalypse on Earth. On the tenth day, you both drank yourselves stupid and spent hours sharing secrets, thoughts, and theories. You discovered you both had a mutual distrust of the adults who'd arrived on Earth and taken over as though they hadn't sent one hundred kids to their deaths until eventually passing out.

That became your routine for the next forty-five days. Or maybe it was fifty-four. You didn't know.

You tried to keep count, but the days had started to run together, turning into a blur of drunken moments that hurt to think about. You had screamed and cried. You had clawed at the doors until your nails bled. You'd fought and given up, then started fighting again. The lighthouse, which had started as a paradise, was turning into hell, and it was breaking you—slowly tearing away your sanity.

Murphy was in a similar predicament. Some days he screamed and raged around the room, breaking what he could. Other days, he sat completely still and stared ahead as though he no longer inhabited his own body. Eventually, you turned to each other for comfort and escape. That was how you'd found yourself bent over the arm of the sofa, his cock buried deep in your slick walls.

Murphy was wild and untamed, lost in a frenzy of emotions. His hand was fisted in your hair, pulling hard as he pounded you. The sound of his pelvis hitting your ass was obscene and loud, as were the moans and gasps forced from your lips. He was rough—rougher than you liked, but you still couldn't find it in yourself to care.

The pain and pleasure blended so beautifully together that it left you speechless and dazzled, only able to moan each time he pushed into the satin clutch of your cunt. Before this moment, you'd felt hopeless, utterly so, and at the end of your rope, your sanity had been stretched so thin and buried so deep in your being that you never thought you'd find it again.

Murphy found it.

And now the pain was starting to feel so good. It made you forget about the emptiness that had been eating away at you—the hopelessness, the desperation. You needed him. You needed him to stop your thoughts from racing and to fuck everything from your mind until all that remained was him, his cock, and the pleasure searing in your veins.

He happily obliged as he needed the distraction as much as you did.

Both of you needed to feel something—anything—instead of that all-consuming disparity. Luckily, the familiar warmth of orgasm was starting to course through your veins, leaving your skin sweat-slicked and your voice ragged as Murphy adjusted his angle, somehow driving his cock deeper into your sweet cunt, the tip of his cock hitting that spot that sent you suddenly careening.

“Murphy!” You sounded panicked, like you were breaking, and perhaps you were. He did it again, feeling your walls tighten around him. He was dripping with your slick; the wiry hair at the base of his shaft matted; your own equally as messy from where he pulled and yanked it. He was in a frenzy, chasing the climax snaking through his veins, relishing in the feeling of it coiling tighter and tighter in the pit of his stomach until he could hardly breathe, until all he felt was flames licking at his skin.

He was going to break you—maybe kill you—but you didn’t care because the same feelings were consuming you. It was glorious and all-consuming. You started to shake. Your thighs trembled so violently that only the arm of the couch kept you from collapsing.

He didn't notice—or maybe he did and he didn't care; either way, it didn't matter; you didn't mind.

He could use you; you'd let him. He could break you; you'd thank him.

But the moment his cock slipped from your slick walls, you couldn't forgive him. Tears stung in your eyes as you sobbed, the sound welling up from your chest only to be drowned under the sounds of his grunts and groans. Murphy snapped his hips forward, seemingly spurred onward by the tears that rolled down your cheeks in rivers, his pelvis meeting the reddened skin of your ass with a sinful slap, slap, slap.

The moment you needed and wanted with every beat of your heart faded away, your orgasm sleeping through your fingers like waters as you felt thick, ivory rops of come hit your lower back. Murphy tugged hard at your hair, sending pain blossoming through your scalp as he shadowed over you, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

You wanted to be angry. You wanted to fight and rage, as you'd done many times already. But the feel of his other hand moving between your legs, his fingers gathering your slick and bringing it to your own lips to taste, melted such thoughts from your brain.

"Not yet," he hissed, pushing two fingers into your mouth, the taste of your own arousal spreading over your tongue. "Not until you're begging."

[bloodypeachblog]

Wolfwood X F!Reader NSFW headcanons/drabble

~~~♡♡♡~~~

~~~♡♡♡~~~

Ok, I'm not drooling over Nick here, but I get why others do, I can see it. If I weren't simping for Vash 24/7, sure, I'd settle with him. I could fix that attitude of his. But whatever, let's go. Don't know what this is exactly, but don't care, just enjoy. Those who wanted Nick's version, bon appetit!

• Now, this guy acts like a drunk asshole a majority of the time. He's also a shit priest. I wouldn't have him running your grandma's funeral, is all I'm saying.

• He can act cocky, sarcastic, cold, all that shit. But you can see right through that mask.

• you can tell that he was just a guy that was hurt many times as a kid and he only closed himself off and acted like an asshole because he didn't want to be hurt again. Can't blame him, honestly.

• when you joined him, he was curmudgeonly about it, but over time, you started to grow on him. But don't expect him to show it or say it.

• time goes on, he ends up catching feelings for you and in his head, he's like 'bro wtf is this sappy shit?'

• of course, he never fully showed it, but slowly, he started to be nicer to you, and only you. Little gestures, looks, and words that showed that there was more to him than the cold sarcastic prick persona.

• it wasn't until you both stayed at an inn and they only had one room with one bed available that things changed.

• it was the only place for miles and it wasn't safe to be out late at night, so you both agreed to stay.

• once it was time for bed, you suggested he sleep in the bed with you, since there was enough room for both of you.

• it takes him some convincing, but he soon agrees and climbs in with you.

• when you both ended up facing each other, he starts to blush a bit and you can see something different in his eyes.

• you ask him about it and he denies it.

• you keep pushing him and pushing him and pushing him until...

• "IT'S BECAUSE I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU, OKAY?! NOW SHUT UP AND GO TO SLEEP! GODDAMMIT!!" He turns his back to you in a huff.

• You're left shell-shocked by the fast confession for a few seconds. Wait...did he just...? Oh fuck, he did.

• you then smile and think 'ok I know what to do now.'

• luckily you felt the same way for him, so you felt that the time was now.

• you lift yourself up a bit and turn his head towards you and you kiss him on the lips, nothing deep, but just a soft and gentle press.

• Now, usually, he'd push you off and go 'what the ever loving FUCK is wrong with you?!' But...something was different tonight.

• he felt...okay with it. In fact...this wasn't all that bad.

• was it because it was you kissing him? Most definitely.

• he turns his body around and pulls you close to him, returning your kiss with a deeper one.

• you wrap your arms around him as your tongue danced with his.

• Jesus, take the wheeeeeeel~

• you both lose yourselves in the kiss and forget about the rest of the shitty world.

• it's not long until he shifts so he's on top of you and starts kissing your neck.

• you softly moan and he can't. Get. ENOUGH.

• he starts to unbutton your shirt and opens it to reveal your breasts, out in the open.

• his mouth and hands immediately going towards them, sucking and licking on one of your nipples while massaging your other breast.

• you can feel your lower heat start to grow warmer the more he did all of this to you.

• not long after that, he pulls your soaked underwear down and starts to eat you out.

• Oh yeah. This man eats pussy. I mean, look at him. Of course he does.

• you try to hold in your moans as you grasp at his hair, your fingers gripping it tightly, trying to ride the pleasure he was giving you.

• you feel his tongue all on your lips, your clit, even sliding inside a bit.

• man was on a mission to make you cum on his face.

• fortunately, that mission was a success.

• he wipes his face and licks his juice-covered hand clean.

• he sits up on his knees and takes his shirt off and undoes his pants to take his huge cock out, throbbing and dripping precum already. (Ok ngl, that's hot as hell).

• he grabs your hips and pulls you in, rubbing his cock on your pussy, teasing it.

• he loves to watch you squirm and beg, so he takes his time teasing you.

• "you want it, eh? You cute little slut. Say that and maybe I'll give it."

• you say what he wants you to say, that you're his cute little slut and no one else's. That you were made to only be fucked by him. That kind of shit.

• once he's satisfied with the responses, he smirks, says "that's my girl", and just rams himself inside you.

• guy is completely stretching you out, holy shit he's so big.

• no wonder he's a man of god, you would be too if you were blessed with such a gift like that.

• he slams your hips onto his, going balls deep.

• he's either licking, kissing, or biting your neck and shoulders as he fucks into you.

• now it's getting REALLY hard to hold in your moans, so when he gets the message, he kisses you deeply and lets you moan in his mouth as much as you want.

• he pulls you up so that you're both sitting up, but you're facing him and while you're riding him, he's licking and sucking and kneading your breasts.

• you didn't believe in God before, this man will make you see the light.

• he whispers the dirtiest shit in your ear. Just, pure filth. To the point that it's questionable whether he is a man of god or not.

• but you didn't care. Oh no, you were too busy drowning in pure ecstasy while you bounce on his throbbing cock.

• you were positive you came about, like, 3 times already, but he was still going.

• and you loved every second of it.

• now, the question is, does he 'use the back door'? Oh hell yeah, no doubt. If you're cool with it, of course. He preps you real well, too.

• and I hope you don't mind occasional hair-pulling, because he does it. Short or long hair, he'll grab it and use it as leverage so he could fuck you harder.

• soon enough, he's reached his limit, but no way in hell is he pulling out.

• if God made it so a man's seed can be accepted in a woman's womb, well, Nick isn't one to neglect that, now is he?

• So Much Cum™

• Dude's been backed up for years, being a man of the cloth would do that to ya.

• but you're happily accepting it, your pussy and womb drinking it up to full capacity.

• once the deed is done, he'll throw you a towel to let you clean yourself. While you're doing that, he lights a cigarette.

• Once you're done and he's finished off the cigarette, you and him are lying in bed, holding each other close, fast asleep.

• before he dozed off, he planned on what he would do for round 2 in the morning.

~~~♡♡♡~~~

(A/N: does this apply to 1998 Nick? Fuck yeah, it does.)

[asteroidzzzn]

stargirl | part 6

pairing: leadsinger!ellie x bassist!reader

warnings: cursing, blood, mentions of a fight, angst if u squint

word count: 1.2k

a/n: so sorry for the wait, heres the last chapter!! hope this lives up to ur expectations also HA I BET ITS NOT WHO U EXPECTED

summary: now that you're officially a the fireflies bassist, you're going on tour, where trouble has found you.

"jesus... abby? what the fuck are you doing here?" ellie's hands dropped from your waist as she moved to approach the blonde woman.

abby ignored ellie's question, shifting her gaze to you.

"this the new girl that fucked you to get in the band?" she said in a mocking way, eyebrows furrowed in disbelief.

ellie inched closer. although she was shorter than abby, she held herself with such confidence that she didn't seem intimidated at all.

"i told you i wanted nothing to do with you after you left. what do you want?" ellie spat.

"wanted to tell you something important. let me talk to you in private," abby reached for ellie's arm, but she slapped the other woman's hand away aggressively, prompting a few curious heads to turn.

"anything you want to tell me she can hear too."

abby shrugged, "have it your way. at least go over there so we can sit down," she began to walk towards a table. ellie glanced at you before turning to follow her.

the three of you settled yourselves in the seats, ellie leaning her forearms against her legs and folding her hands.

"so?" she prompted, "what was so important you had to tell me in person?"

abby sighed, looking down at the floor, "it wasn't what you thought, els—"

"to you it's ellie."

"you became a bitter bitch fast," abby scoffed.

you watched the interaction, anxiety creeping up on you. you wondered if ellie didn't want you to be there. it seemed so private, and you didn't want to intrude.

"yeah, for good reason," ellie responded, "get on with it."

you noticed that abby wouldn't meet ellie's eyes. she suddenly became very self conscious.

"they had shit on my dad," abby eventually revealed, "i had no other choice. i was being blackmailed."

ellie's expression remained cold.

"i went up to you to talk to maybe ask to be back in the band, or at least friends with you all again—"

ellie's harsh laugh cut her off, "that's ridiculous. do you hear what you're saying?"

abby opened her mouth to respond, yet nothing came from her mouth. her eyes glanced frantically around the room as ellie pushed against the chair to stand, towering over the other woman.

"you should be grateful i left it at just kicking you out of the band, because trust me, i could've done so much worse."

you had never seen ellie this furious at someone, not even you back when she acted like she hated you.

"oh yeah? you're all bark, no bite. you couldn't hurt me if you tried," abby taunted.

for you, the rest was a drunken blur after ellie swung at her.

༊*·˚

you sat in ellie's apartment, cradling her hands in yours. neither of you had spoken a word since you arrived. you busied yourself with tending to ellie's wounds, while she watched you shamelessly.

she hissed when you gently poured medicine on the open cuts on her fingers, caused by her sharp rings getting caught during the fight.

"sorry..." you whispered, keeping your gaze fixed on her hand.

silence fell onto you once more. a few minutes later you had to shift up to work on her face. you studied her bruises, cut lip, and gash on her chin.

you sighed, eyes furrowed with worry.

"was it worth it, ellie?"

she remained quiet. her face occasionally twitched when your fingers grazed on a painful spot.

"...i'd been wanting to do that for ages," she spoke in a hushed voice.

"i know. but did it make you feel better?" you held her face in your right hand, while your left applied ointment to her cheek. her eyes fluttered shut, and you felt the weight of her head fall into your hand.

"no, not really. i wish it did but... i don't know. i just feel like a dick. i know she deserved it, though."

your thumb rubbed on her cheek, and you shifted to sit closer to her, needing to focus in on her forehead.

you hesitated for a moment, before sharing your thoughts.

"you seemed a bit...hard on her. if you think she deserved it, i believe you. but it just seemed a bit harsh, is all."

ellie began to chew on her lip, but winced and stopped when she was reminded of the cut by the taste of blood and sharp pain.

"she...she's done other things, too."

you nodded, not speaking, hoping she would continue.

"my ex cheated on me with her."

your gaze dropped from her forehead to meet her eyes. sad and vulnerable.

"i lost one of my closest friends and my girlfriend in one day. then i found out she also was selling my songs to a record label. she stole everything i cared about, and it just wrecked me."

your finger wiped away a tear that fell.

"hey... you don't have to get into it if it's too much for you."

she reached up and held your wrist. "i want you to know."

after a long and honest conversation, the topic deviated back to ellie's fight with abby.

you finished wrapping ellie's final wound on her arm as you spoke. "you know, people are talking about you on twitter."

ellie's eyes rolled. "what do they have to say?"

"there's a video of it all, apparently. it's about 50/50, some people think you're right, and there are people on her side. and some..."

your words fell short. you cut off the bandage and folded it. you cleared your throat.

"all done."

"hey, wait, what were they saying? was it about you?"

"...yeah."

"bad?"

your hands found their way into your own lap, and you began picking at your nails.

"i read a comment that said i wasn't even that good, and i just got in the band because we're...together."

"oh."

you nodded. you and ellie hadn't talked about being together. you assumed neither of you wanted something official. you were friends. that kissed once. and liked each other. but you were worried a label might make things more complicated than they already were.

what would dina think? what would jesse? any of the fans of the band? and if you broke up...what would happen?

all the thoughts rushed through your mind at once. there was a chaotic tornado in you, speeding up with every second.

the storm fell still when ellie's hand found yours.

"well, fuck them. we love having you with us. we...i need you here."

a smile grew on your face. "yeah, fuck them," you breathed as you leaned forward to kiss ellie.

regardless of what happened in the future on tour, you would overcome it. you would prove to everyone that you deserved your spot in the band. and you had ellie with you every step of the way.

that was all that mattered.

a/n: ahhh!! i know this is so short, but i'm so so so happy with this ending, and i hope u all are too! thank you to everyone to stuck with this story to the end and shared your love for my writing!! im so grateful and happy !!! 💘💘💘

taglist: @ximtiredx @gold-dustwomxn @elliesinterlude @fireflyelllie @trulygnomed @deluluwh-0-re @toesorhoes @pjrplee @elliewilliamsmissingfingerss @emluvselandabs @ariianelle @jokerpokimoon @lonelyfooryouonly @lil-elliesgf @yuaaa05 @ourautumn86

[wynnyfryd]

@griefabyss69 @pennyplainknits @paperbackribs @spectrum-spectre @cranberrymoons @steddie-island i think the people want to know about Indubitably to Suck a Dick 😂😂

—

ITSAD is an unbelievably stupid crack fic idea i had after remembering an old poetry lesson from a high school summer writing workshop and then thinking about how eddie munson would terrorize his english teachers. it’s terrible i love it you can read the first part here. and a fresh snippet where that part left off below:

“You’re both showing off,” Frank cuts in as he steps up to his locker. “And why are you pissing off Ms. Harbert on purpose, man? I thought you were trying to graduate this time.”

Wow. Eddie blinks at him. “Well, hello to you, too, man, Jesus Christ. Who pissed in your Cheerios?”

“Probably Candace,” Jeff says.

“Probably fuck off,” Frank suggests.

“Yep. Definitely Candace.”

Frank groans and shuts his locker, knocks his forehead against the door. Eddie leans a shoulder against the cool metal and levels him with an earnest look, dropping his voice. “She turn you down for Valentine’s day?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Ouch. That’s a yes. And a bad one, too, judging by how miserable Frank’s voice sounds when he says it. Eddie sucks his teeth in sympathy.

Jeff offers no such thing. “Are you two losers done feeling sorry for yourselves now? I want to get to rehearsal.”

Little asshole. Dude always knows just what to say to get them out of a funk, works like a charm every time — not because it’s the correct response, but because Frank and Eddie both start going in on him so hard that they forget to mope entirely, hollering “Wooooow!” and “Seriously, man??” and “Go fuck yourself, Jeff!”

“Yeah, Jeff!”

“You know,” Eddie says conversationally to Frank, “I’m told getting popped in the mouth hurts especially bad with braces.”

“Damn right, it does,” Frank nods, and then they’re laughing, snickering like a bunch of dorks in a nearly empty hallway, which, like. They should probably clear out of. The roaming packs of after-school jocks will be prowling around here soon enough, and threats of violence are only funny when you know nobody means that shit.

[harrywavycurly]

I NEED to see how the conversation about what Steve did went with Wayne / Jim

Hiii babes!! I will gladly give this to you, I hope you enjoy it😂💖

-find all things Trouble Next Door here✨

TW: mentions of cheating and divorce

*as always I don’t condone violence keep your little hands and feet to yourself*

“You want sugar in your coffee darlin?” “Uh yes…please…Jim is that a new shirt? I like the Magnum P.I look on you.” “See Wayne I knew people would get the vibe I was going for you asshole.” “Vibe you’re going for? You’ve been hanging around those kids too long…now what’s wrong? You look all nervous…” “she’s not nervous…why would she be nervous?” “Edward if I wanted you to answer the question I would’ve asked you…now come on sweetheart out with it what’s going on?” “Okay…just sit down please…and all guns or other weapons out on the table where I can see them…please.” “What the fu-” “she just means you can’t go all crazy and wild..that’s all.” “Steve cheated on me.” “I’ll kill him.” “No let me do it…I’m a cop.” “That don’t have shit to do with killin anyone.” “It means I know how to cover my steps you cranky asshole.” “No one is killing anyone…he uhm cheated on me with…Chrissy.” “Jesus…you okay son?” “I never liked her.” “Jim!” “What?” “Thanks Jim…but yeah I’m…fine? We are just probably gonna get uhm…divorced.” “I’m really sorry Eddie…so back to Harrington…if we can’t kill him can we just hit him one good time?” “Jim…be considerate for a moment…we can’t hit him that won’t hurt nearly enough he needs a good ole fashioned ass whoopin.” “Now that’s enough you two…no one is kicking anyone’s ass…unless it’s me.” “Eddie!” “Oh so he can hit him but we can’t?” “He slept with my wife Jim I deserve the first hit…now I gotta go run to work really quick…thanks for the coffee Wayne.” “I’m gonna stay here and make sure no one goes looking for a certain someone to beat up…I love you!” “Love you too see you later…Jim..Wayne behave yourselves.” “I will be but I make no promises about Jim…”

[thecreelhouse]

part time soulmate, full time problem

Paring: Gator Tillman x Alt Fem!Reader (she/her pronouns) || MDNI!

Summary: While you and Gator brace yourselves for your inevitable departure in two days, feelings threaten to break the surface for both of you. Amidst that, your families come home unexpectedly, and the past comes back to throw one last punch your way.

Word count: 6.3k

CW/Tags: PTSD, domestic/familial abuse (physical and emotional), violence and descriptions of violence, brief weight mention/fatphobia, gun mention, misogyny, alcoholism, death mention, dissociation, no smut this chapter (sry y’all!!), hurt/comfort, fluff

Series Masterlist // Read on AO3

A/N: I realized when I finished writing this chapter I can’t remember if it was mentioned in the show if Gator lived on his own or not, so if it’s not canon, whoops lol. Please take all of the tags into consideration before reading. If any of this is upsetting to you and you need to skip this one, I completely understand. Take care of yourselves first babes!! Next chapter will be back to the filth lol promise, and it only goes up from here. Thank you again for all the support on this series on here and AO3 🫶🏻

Day 8

It takes five whole days for the snowstorm to end. With your face pressed up against the window, you can’t believe your eyes, fogging up the glass with your breath.

“Am I dreaming? Do you see this?” Your fingers are splayed on the frigid cold glass, tingling over the temperature contrast.

Gator tiredly shuffles up behind you, “No, ‘cause your big head’s in the way, freak.” His arms slide around your hips while he rests his chin on the top of your head.

“Why is your chin so boney? Quit stabbin’ my head with it, jerk.” You reach back to his face, shoving your now freezing hands on his cheeks; Gator yelps at the sharp cold touch.

“Get your corpse hands offa’ me,” He grumbles, large hands grabbing yours and pinning them to your sides. “Can ya’ at least let me wake up fully before you start misbehavin’?”

“The sun’s out!” You’re ignoring his grumpiness, thrilled the snow is finally done burying the two of you alive in this house. There’s also a weird, subtle pang in your heart that being snowed in together is coming to an end. You kind of liked being in your own little corner of the world with Gator, even if you almost killed each other at first, while visiting home, also your least favorite place in the world.

“I gotta call someone to clear the driveway.” He draws off his vape, blowing it over your head. A fluffy, thick cloud hits the window, blocking your view. “No way in hell either of us are shoveling any of that by hand.” You want to tease him for having his vape on hand shortly after getting up, but you realize it’s not a good time for teasing. Gator’s mind is elsewhere as he lets go of you; you catch on to his moodiness, realizing it’s more than just trying to wake up.

Spinning around to face him, you let your backside rest against the window sill.

“Hey, you doin’ alright?” You glance up to see him fixated on something, or maybe nothing, outside, brows drawing together while he’s lost in thought. “Gator?”

He can’t bring his eyes to meet yours, void of any expression. Leaning forward, your hand slips into his, softly lacing your fingers between his, while your thumb strokes along his hand.

“You have to go back soon, don’t you?”

You’ve been desperately trying to avoid this conversation, but you can’t push it off any longer. It’s not fair to Gator. It’s not fair to you.

“T- two days… I was kinda wishin’ the flight would be canceled because of the storm… but that’s— that’s just my luck, I guess,” You stutter, quickly following with forced optimism. “But we have two whole days together! It’s better than nothing.”

“Was kinda wishin’ for that too, darlin’.” Gator murmurs, finally peering down at you. There’s a rare, vulnerable sadness in his eyes, and that sadness is infectious as hell; you don’t even fight the tears welling up in your eyes.

“Jesus, this was easier to think about when we hated each other a week ago.” You’re cracking a joke to lighten the mood, but neither of you crack a smile or even force a laugh at the comment.

Gator steps closer, releasing your hand to cradle your face in his hands; the motion forces you to really look him in the eye, but he’s blurry through your tears. He lightly kisses your forehead and doesn’t pull back. Your arms enclose around him with little grace, hoping if you hold on tight enough, neither of you have to leave this week, or even this moment, behind.

“If I’m bein’ honest…” His voice crumbles, throat drying up as he holds back his own tears. “…we never hated each other, did we?”

You shake your head before hiding your face in his shoulder, “Never did. Not really. I was just angry.”

“Yeah, but you had every right to be. You still do.” Gator’s well aware that the wound hasn’t fully healed, and this past week was only a heavy duty bandaid slapped on top. He’d understand if you never fully forgave him, or never fully trusted him again.

“You’re not as awful as you think you are, Gator. You… you were pretty rotten… but you’re not that person anymore.”

“I’m tryin’ not to be. Still got a long way to go.”

“That’s all you can and should do. Just shows you want to be a better version of yourself. You deserve another chance, you deserve to be l—“

You bite your tongue before the big, scary ‘L’ word can sneak out, and redirect.

“I think trying is brave. Admitting your past self wasn’t who you should’ve been, making efforts to change that, even small changes, it’s big. It’s really fucking big. It’s scary, but I believe in you. You never completely lost your true self, it was buried by all the shit you’ve been through.”

While appreciative of your encouragement, he shakes his head, “That’s not an excuse, though.”

“You’re right. But it explains it. I think it’s still important to acknowledge it. Nothing changes until you acknowledge the truth of things.”

“Fuckin-a…” Gator’s at a loss for words. He knows you’ve been through a lot of shit too. The both of you have, with a lot of parallels in the suffering you had both endured. Yet you turned your pain into something more for yourself, and Gator just… pushed his pain aside. Ignored it, as if it’d disappear on its own someday.

You knew he never had a choice, though. Not under this roof. Not with that fuckin’ terrible excuse of a father. Even when he became old enough to know better, it couldn’t have been easy to watch everyone and everything change for the better while stuck in this godforsaken, hollow place. He gets why you moved. There was no hope here. Not really for anyone.

It wasn’t that you thought every person had to have a big, adventurous move halfway across the country to grow as a human being, but there’s truths everyone has to face at some point, or you drag them behind you like a ball and chain until your leg snaps.

None of the abuse Gator survived was an excuse for who he was shaped into, but nothing can change without addressing the root cause head-on.

“I hate this place. I hate what it’s done to us both. I hate the bitterness we were both raised under, the fucked up values and beliefs… and speaking of, how the hell did our parents allow us to have sleepovers as kids?” You can’t help getting sidetracked, and it pulls a soft chuckle from Gator.

“You really are still a pro at distracting yourself.”

“Listen, my brain likes to try to jump ten steps ahead of my mouth, but then it just kinda trips and tumbles and—“

Like a familiar routine at this point, Gator cuts you off with a kiss, sickeningly sweet with whatever artificial fruity flavor he just inhaled, just as clumsy and heartfelt as all the others before. Usually, by now, you’d smile with his lips on yours, but all you can think of is how much you’re gonna miss the familiarity of his quirks that you’ve grown to love so quickly.

Fuck. There’s that word again.

Gator pulls back to answer your question, “There’s a reason we stopped havin’ sleepovers as kids, y’know.”

“What? Why?” You tilt your head in confusion. Gator laughs and looks away.

“Pretty sure your ma’ called my mom when ya’ started your period.” He snorts, face turning red. Your jaw drops.

“No way?! That was the reason?”

His eyes squint shut as he laughs harder, nodding as his head leans forward to rest against yours. “They thought we’d try to fuck around I guess, worried we’d be ‘tempted by the devil’ or whatever.” He’s laughing in between his words as he reminisces about the ridiculous logic, if it could even be called that. “I overheard the conversation and kinda connected the dots.”

“Oh my god, I was thirteen! I was still playing with dolls! I didn’t even know why periods were a thing. I still thought babies came from the stork!” You’re almost bothered finding this out so much later in life, but Gator’s laughter is always contagious to you; you let the annoyance go, noting how it’s only further proof the two of you had parents that believed in the most outlandish nonsense.

“Wait, you still believed the stork was a thing at thirteen?”

“….. Maybe.”

“Now look at ya’, you’re the one corrupting me.”

“Hey, it takes two to tango, freak.” You taunt back, grabbing the vape from his hands. “Haven’t seen this in a lil’ while, I’m surprised.”

“My mouth’s been busy with… other things lately.” He smirks as you roll your eyes, shoving the vape in his hands. He also pays no mind to the way you use his insult- now a weirdly endearing term- back at him. Again he inhales the nauseating sugary flavor, blowing it in your face like a dick. “Well, they didn’t do a very good job at keepin’ us pure, huh?”

You go to grab the vape back, but he simply holds it high above your head. “I’m gonna take that damn thing and throw it into the fuckin’ snow.”

“Yeah, alright, if you can even reach it from down there.” He’s twirling it between his fingers, waggling his brows at you. “You need a step stool?”

“I ain’t even that short, asshole.” You grumble, relaxing back against the window sill, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m just shorter than you, and it’s only a few inches.

“Says every short person ever.” His playful comment is met with you flipping him off before moving on.

“Y’know, I can’t even be surprised about this whole thing about the sleepovers. Ma’ wouldn’t buy me tampons, only pads. She thought even that was too sinful.” You’re sputtering out the words with giggles, realizing how bonkers this all sounds out loud.

“We really had fucked up families.” He jokes, grimacing. “But I’m glad they made us hang out all the fuckin’ time.”

“We still have fucked up families.” You quip, but you watch Gator’s smile fade quickly. The laughter dissolves with it. You know exactly what’s on his mind, so you’re concerned, but cautious to ask, “You still miss her?”

You knew only that his mother, Linda, “disappeared”, leaving him behind as a kid. You were only aware of the small details of hell Roy put Nadine through, and how badly that fucked up Gator even more. And you’d have to be blind as a bat to not notice the way he’s numb to Karen’s existence in the family.

He forces a sigh out, shrugging it off. “It’s— it’s still hard to talk ‘bout.” He’s contemplating if he should talk about any of it, and if he did, where the hell he would even begin.

“Hey, it’s okay. No pressure. If you ever do wanna talk about any of that… or anything… you know I’m here for you.” Your arms envelope around him, giving a reassuring hug. “If, and when, you’re ready, I’m here. Always.”

Gator hugs back, tighter than your grip; it’s his response to your kind words, and you don’t push for anything further, and he’s grateful for that. Hand in hand, his calloused, slightly wind-bitten skin is another comforting familiarity to you as he pulls you towards the door.

“C’mon, freak, let’s find someone with a stupid fuckin’ snow plow and make breakfast before ya’ corrupt me further.” He looks back at you, with that signature, smug smirk you’ve grown to love.

There’s no denying it anymore. It’s love.

And you’re terrified.

———

The sunshine reflects off the snow, creating that whimsical, sparkly look over its smoothed over surface. But god damn, is it blinding.

Insisting you needed to learn about gun safety before ever even touching a gun, Gator drags you out into the frigid outdoors to try some target practice out in a field.

You’re bundled in multiple layers; leggings under your jeans, three pairs of socks in your boots, a cozy and worn hat you crocheted years ago with a matching scarf and mittens, and a combo of your leather jacket, Gator’s sweatshirt, and multiple shirts underneath. You’re still freezing, though, so you keep your hands pulled through the sleeves, holding them close to your body to keep them warm.

Gator’s in his bomber jacket, and usual, minimal layers— maybe just minimal to you, but you’re cold just looking at him— smirking at your get up. He’s wearing the neck warmer that you made him, though, blooming a certain kind of warmth and joy in your heart that he actually likes it.

Unfortunately, it’s not the kind of warmth that’ll actually keep you from freezing out here.

You glare behind your heart shaped sunglasses, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, shove it up your ass, Tillman.”

“You look like the kid from ‘A Christmas Story’, y’know, the one that can’t put his arms down—“

“Yeah, yeah, look who’s talkin’, Mr. ‘I wear 90s sport sunglasses only dads wear’.”

He whips them off his face, pointing to you with them. “Hey, watch it.”

“What? Ya’ gonna spank me for teasing you? Good luck through these layers.” You laugh, and Gator rolls his eyes in return, ignoring your comment before trudging on through the snow.

The snow barely melted, but the harsh winds smoothed it out to subtle, fluffy hills, only to feel crunchy when you step on them, boots falling through to the colder layers underneath. Somehow it makes the ranch look even more barren than usual. It’s like riding a bicycle, though, you never forget—

Except, you did. You forgot how to maneuver through any amount of snow larger than a foot, and you’re grumbling under your breath with annoyance that Gator dragged you out here, trying to lift your legs through the snow to walk properly.

You also forgot how to ride a bicycle, but that’s not important right now.

“Gator, I don’t wanna keep goin’, it’s cold.”

“It’s winter.”

“Really? I thought it was summer. I was actually hopin’ to go swimmin’.”

Gator sighs over your lazy sarcasm, continuing on with a few more crunchy steps, until he hears a faint, fluffy ‘thud’ behind him. Sucking in a breath to try and stop an inevitable snicker, he spins around to find you feet away, flopped over in a mound of snow, and— just your luck— face down. You roll over, pouting as snow speckled all over your face as it slowly melts against the heat of your body.

With frustration, you groan loudly, laying in the snow like a rag doll that’s given up. Backtracking, Gator looks down at you, smug as he mocks your pout with an over exaggerated one.

“You know what this is, right?” He’s referring to the air mattress incident.

Eyes narrowing at him, you grumble, “You and your karma can kiss my ass.” You flip him off with a bright red, painfully cold middle finger.

“Yeah? That a promise?”

“Gator.”

“Fine, c’mere,” He relents, standing over you and offers his hands out to you, waiting to pull you up. You reach back, but as his hands lock around yours, you use all your strength to pull him down into the snow with you. The loose, dusty snow puffs up and around him like confetti on impact. Landing face first, just as you did, he rolls over with a grunt, glaring at you. “You’re a pain in my ass, y’know that?”

Grinning, you quip back, “Like you aren’t one in mine?” Gator opens his mouth to respond, probably with some snarky comment, but it dies on his lips when he gets a better glimpse of you.

Gator can’t resist admiring how pretty you look, even if you’re bundled up like a comical marshmallow, face wet and cold from the snow. The way the early setting sun reflects off the snow, into your eyes, illuminating the color of them. How the tip of your nose is flushed from the cold, cheeks in the same shade to match; it still looks cute on you. You’re panting, trying to catch your breath in the thin, winter air, but you’re still grinning like a dork at him, and he catches his own like a bad cold, hitting hard and all at once.

Your eyes are glued to his face, admiring the way his cheeks are tinted in the most subtle shade of red, thanks to the winter wind. How soft his smile is when he’s not being a smug little bastard, with lips chapped— I’m getting him some goddamn chapstick— and the bonus of the wound on his bottom lip from yesterday. All the little freckles and moles scattered across his skin, almost like little constellations you’re tempted to trace out. How the sun reflecting off the snow illuminates his eyes, too, adding an extra glow to his already warm eyes, brown and soft with flecks of hazel in them.

There’s no questioning it. No denial. You’re in love with Gator, the once gangly, awkward little kid you grew up with, now handsome and strong; a bit rugged around the edges while still secretly carrying a soft, heavy heart, filled with more kindness than he likes to believe. It terrifies you, to be in love with anyone, let alone your childhood best friend who ended up your enemy for years; when you came home, this was never even a thought that crossed your mind.

You didn’t even realize you still felt deeply for him, not even when you were crocheting a gift for him, not even when you were plucking glass and ceramic shards from his knees, and certainly not even when he took care of you after fucking around for the first time.

Maybe there was nothing to realize when it was there all along.

He’s a little winded from being pulled down by surprised, breathy as he begins to speak. “Hey, can I tell ya’ somethin’?”

Golden hour is taking over, blanketing the expanse of the property and beyond the horizon with hues of oranges and gold, purples and pinks; the two of you are painted in the stunning natural light, and you hope to God this is a good question, or the timing of whatever he’s about to ask could be absolute shit.

You nod, curious and a little nervous. “Yeah, f’course.”

Gator chuckles nervously before taking a deep breath, “I… I think I—“

An engine roars across the field near the house, interrupting Gator; wheels crunching along the snow packed down on the driveway from the plow that came through earlier. The two of you sit up quickly to see your father’s truck pulling up to the house, and your heart sinks. You immediately become nauseated and anxious at the sight; Gator can tell you’re frightened, slipping his cold hand into your soft, mitten-bundled one.

“I- I didn’t know they were gon’ be back tonight.” He can feel you trembling as you say that, voice shaking along too; you feel small, so wrapped up in the comfort and security you and Gator had created over the past week, only for that to be erased by the unexpected arrival of your families. Your mind races, scrambling to put together any vigilance and defense for whatever bullshit is about to come, for either of you.

It was tolerable to handle your parents when you first arrived in North Dakota, because you could prepare and brace yourself for their abuse. Right now though, where you should find peace in your vulnerability with Gator, you feel like you’re drowning in it, trying to claw your way through choppy waters that only slip between your fingers.

“M’not leavin’ your side, darlin’.” Gator reassures you, voice quiet, as if they can hear the two of you from this far away. Meanwhile, not a single one of them looks over in your direction, entering the house without a look back. “We can go back to my place tonight, if you’re alright with that.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely. We can pack quick and get the fuck outta here. And I’ll take you to the airport when you gotta go in a few days.”

“Gator, that’s so outta the way for you—“

“M’not leaving you with your dad, I don’t trust that fu—“ He cuts himself off, clearing his throat. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be so rude, he’s still your family.”

“Nah. He’s not. He’s never been, never will be. Bound by blood don’t mean shit.” You can feel your fear shifting into rage; taking deep breaths, you try to calm yourself, knowing you can’t waltz back in there hostile or bitter.

Gator stands and pulls you up, hand still secure in yours. He waits for you to take the first steps, not wanting to rush you into what could be a toxic situation.

When the pair of you reach the front porch, Gator asks, “Would ya’ feel better in the car? I can grab your stuff before we leave. I don’t mind.”

You shake your head, steeling yourself for whatever could, and would, happen beyond that door, before heading inside.

The warmth of the house isn’t enough to shake the cold from your bones. Your fathers are both at the kitchen table, glasses with dark liquor in both of their hands, while your mother’s already stuck at the stove; you can hear the faint sounds of Karen talking to the twins upstairs.

Your father looks up as he sees you walk in, Gator trailing behind. A sneering look upon his alcohol worn face.

“Whoa! Looks like someone gained some holiday weight since we left,” Your father slurs, laughing when his comment twists your face into offense.

Fucking moron, I’m under like, 60 layers of clothes.

“We were outside, I had layers on, y’know, ‘cause it’s winter.”

“Watch your tone, girl.” The last word radiates with disgust towards you.

Roy’s watching all of this, silently, letting your father spit hatred right off the bat. He sips his drink, shooting a glare at Gator, who has a hand pressed against the small of your back, reassures you he’s here. You can barely feel it through the inches of fabric, but the sentiment is all the same.

“Yer’ makin’ your poor mother slave over a hot stove ‘cause you couldn’t be bothered to have dinner ready for us.” He spits. You tense up, trying to hold your anger in.

“How was I supposed to know when you’d be home, you never said shit. You don’t have to force Ma to do anything. I ain’t obligated to do anything I don’t wanna, either.” Your voice threatens to break, but you hold yourself together. Your mother still won’t look at you. Won’t even address you’re in the room. “You could learn how to do somethin’ y’self for once.”

Your father shoves himself out of his chair, striding over to you; Gator can feel you try to make yourself small and hide. “Where the fuck are your manners, woman?”

Without missing a beat, you snap, “Six feet under with your dead daughter, asshole.”

“Don’t you dare talk ‘bout Willow like that—“

“Like what, Pa?” It’s taking a toll on you mentally and physically already, to balance between standing your ground, calming yourself, and hiding your fear. Your fingers clench into fists at your sides. “Don’t try actin’ like you care now.”

“It’s yer fault she died, makin’ her drive in the snow like that—“

Gator attempts to step in, still feigning respect to keep whatever little peace was left. “Sir, you can’t be twistin’ the truth like that. A drunk driver took her life—“

“Gator, stay out of it.” Roy warns, and immediately Gator shuts himself up out of fear of retaliation.

“It’s true, y’know. She was the safest driver I knew in this town, even in the snow.” You back Gator up. “It wasn’t her fault. How dare you blame her when she can’t even defend herself.”

Because she’s gone. Forever.

“She shouldn’t have been drivin’ so young, but you talked her into that one.” Your father sneers; he’s not speaking out of anger that she’s gone, he’s fueled by the insistent need to always be right, to always keep control.

“Willow had to learn ‘cause home wasn’t safe for her! She needed a way out. You made her life a livin’ hell in every way possible! I had to learn how to mend my own wounds while I was under your roof, and I took care of hers, ‘cause we couldn’t go to the hospital. I kept Lo’ alive a lot longer than either of you would ever! You and Ma both were supposed to protect her, supposed t’love her!”

Cruelly, he barks out a laugh, “Not like you did much—“

“You fuckin’ listen to me right fuckin’ now, you sick fuck,” You’re much shorter than your father, but the rage makes you feel bigger than he ever could be. You’re pointing a firm finger into his chest, only making him stumble back a bit because he’s already drunk. “I did everythin’ I could for that sweet girl, I taught her how to drive, I helped her with homework nearly every night, I gave her a safe place to rest her head once I moved out of your fucked up house. She had hope with me by her side. She had a future set that you woulda’ never cared to give her. She worked so. Fucking. Hard. Some drunk fuck took that away, not me. Not the snow. A drunk driver that didn’t give a flyin’ fuck about anyone but himself—

“Which, by the way,” You turn to Roy, eyes glassy as you try holding back tears; Gator reaches out protectively to hold you back, but you still glare at Roy. “The driver only got a slap on the wrist ‘cause it was one of your buddies, huh? Did ya’ tell my parents that one? You useless piece of—“

A sharp sting tingles across your face, with numbness and a deafening ringing in your ears to follow; your father uses his wedding ring as a weapon of discipline as he backhands you across the face. Pain sets in, and you can feel yourself dissociate as your vision doubles; reaching up to your face, you pull your hand back and find blood dripping down your fingers. You can’t hear the way your mother gasps, or the way your father tells her to know her place.

You also don’t realize Gator let go of you to lunge at your father, slamming him against the wall with force that knocks the wind out of his lungs. The arm pinning him across his neck doesn’t help much with his shallow breathing, either.

“Gator—“

“Roy, shut the fuck up, for once in your fuckin’ life.” Gator spits before turning back to your father, pressure increasing on his throat as he lays his arm into him with almost all he’s got, without killing him, of course.

Everything is blurry to you, everything sounds like it’s underwater and miles away as you stumble back into a wall, leaning into it for support. The edges of your vision begin closing in, turning black. Your heart beats wildly, and your body is begging to hyperventilate.

Don’t pass out, don’t pass out, don’t pass out.

“Touch her again, and I’ll make sure ya’ rot in a lonely, filthy cell ‘till the end of your days, you sick fuck.” Gator spits into your father’s face, which is slowly turning blue as his windpipe is being nearly crushed. Roy reaches for Gator roughly, but Gator throws an elbow back, perfectly aimed at his throat. His father coughs wildly, collapsing to the ground while he holds his throat, glaring at his son in disbelief.

You’ve never seen Gator so livid before; it’s the first thing you can see clearly as the blurriness dissolves from your vision, taking the ear-piercing ringing along with it. His jaw looks like it’ll break any second with how hard he’s gritting his teeth together, with nostrils flared and a threatening glare towards your father.

You don’t hear Karen come downstairs, but you can slightly hear her yell, “What is goin’ on in here?!”

Gator turns to her, still holding nearly all of his body weight to keep your father from moving; this is when his eyes soften, oddly enough. “Karen, you needa’ take your girls and leave, unless ya’ wanna die here stayin’ with this fuckin’ pig.” He glares at Roy, still gasping for air on the kitchen floor.

She’s speechless, eyes darting all around, from Gator, to Roy, to your father, then your mother, and you, holding your face to stop the bleeding. She can’t tear her eyes away from you, knowing by experience how badly hurt you are. Unexpectedly, she’s reaching out to guide you out of the room, murmuring, “C’mon, gotta clean that up ‘fore it gets infected.”

It’s incredibly surreal that Karen steps up with motherly care in an instant, where your own mother couldn’t, and wouldn’t dare. She doesn’t say much to you, letting you zone out in the bathroom while you’re on the toilet seat, trying not to lose consciousness as she tends to the gash on your face.

“It ain’t worth it, y’know. Gator’s right. Y’all gotta go somewhere safe.” You mumble, startling her a bit after going so long keeping silent. She’s trying to focus on cleaning the blood off, but you can tell her mind is elsewhere, too. “One time’s too many, y’know. Bein’ hit and stuff.” She doesn’t say it, but you know she knows already. “You and your kids deserve better than this.”

Before she can respond, Gator’s in the doorway, pushing a wad of cash at Karen, from god knows where. You’re secretly hoping he stole it from his dad, an extra blow to his ego. “Even if it’s just a motel or somethin’, y’all gotta get out and find somewhere safe.”

She looks at it hesitantly, then back at Gator, “Why are you doin’ this?”

Gator hesitates, swallowing a lump in his throat, shoving it in her hands, “‘Cause you don’t gotta end up like my mom, too.” He looks over at you, “Darlin’, we gotta go. I got no clue how long they’re down for, but it bought us some time.” He comes in after Karen quickly bandages the now clean laceration, helping you up to head out of the room. Before leaving, he turns back to Karen, “I suggest y’all leave soon as y’can, too.”

Guiding you to the stairs, Karen catches his attention one more time. “Gator?” He throws a glance over his shoulder at her. “You better keep her safe.”

He nods, shifting your arm around his shoulder, and winding his arm around you, under your arms to hold you up, using him as support. You’re in a daze, hearing everything, but feeling so distant.

“Yes, ma’am.” He’s not just politely answering, he’s firmly promising.

As the two of you head for the door, you pass your mother, weeping on the couch, unable to look at you. You know it’s useless, but you have to try. You’d regret it if you didn’t. You stop in your tracks, stopping Gator alongside you. He notices you can’t look away from your mother and the state she’s in, and helps you over to her. Gator stands close, making sure nothing else happens to you, while you sit next to her.

“Ma?” You reach out to grab her hand, with a crumpled up wad of tissues in her grip. She can’t look at you. She won’t. “You don’t gotta live like this anymore.”

Her sniffling and weeping continues. You can feel the shards of your heart that you’ve taped and glued back together, time and time again, splinter apart once more.

“Mama, you don’t have to stay with him. I can help you find somewhere to go— you can even come with me. You can be safe.” You’re pleading with her; there’s a lot you resent her for, but she still never deserved the abuse and turmoil your father dragged her through. “You deserve better. Always have, Mama. Please.”

When she finally speaks, she still can’t look you in the eye. “It’ll get better when you leave.” It’s said so simply, but it just crushes whatever splinters are left of your broken heart. “He never wanted daughters from the start.”

You hold in your tears; you never saw crying as a sign of being weak, but your mother doesn’t deserve your vulnerability at this point. She didn’t deserve you, or Willow. Neither of them did. You both should’ve been raised in a family with unconditional love.

Looking at Gator, you hold your arm out, and he helps you back on your feet. You glance at your mother one last time, who still won’t look at you. “Yeah, well… we never wanted the parents we got… So I guess we’re even.”

Goodbye, Ma.

As you and Gator head for the door, you hear her try to muffle her sobs with more tissues. You take one last glance into the kitchen, Roy and your father both unconscious on the floor. Roy’s throat is already bruising, and your father’s face is unrecognizable, pummeled to a bloody pulp. Gator tries shielding you away, but you already see the damage. He’s alive, and the bleeding slowed, but he’s out cold, probably for a while, too.

“M’sorry you saw that.”

Your mind wanders as Gator wraps you in a big blanket, the one you used the night the power went out, before cautiously heading to his cruiser to help you into the passenger seat. When you’re settled in, he kisses your forehead before tugging the blanket around you tighter, making sure you’re warm and as comfortable as you can be, despite the pain.

“You’re safe in here, gimme a few minutes, I gotta grab your stuff, okay?” You nod at his words, dozing off seconds after he shuts the car door, locking it, just in case. The exhaustion of everything that just happened takes over, forcing you to rest.

The ride to Gator’s place is quiet enough that you’re able to stay asleep for the few minutes it takes to arrive.

“Darlin’, c’mon, let’s get ya’ inside.” You’re woken up by Gator softly speaking, pulling you out of the cruiser, confused as to what’s going on or where you are until awareness slowly sets in. “I grabbed our stuff already, and we can do whatever you want to, or if you need some space, I can give ya’ that.”

You can’t find your words or collect your thoughts, still lost in a daze, so you nod distractedly in response while he helps you inside.

Gator’s apartment is cluttered here and there; you knew he was rarely here to keep things tidy, though, with how often he was made to do Roy’s dirty work for him.

He throws the covers back on his bed to get you settled and comfy, helping you out of the several layers of clothes and your boots before laying you down, while you wrap yourself back up in the blanket he gave you earlier. “You should probably eat somethin’—“ You shake your head ‘no’. “Well, at least you need some water. Maybe painkillers— wait, you shouldn’t take any on an empty stomach. Maybe ice? Yeah, ice.” You tug on his hand before he turns away to leave, so he crouches down next to you at the edge of his bed. “What’s up, darlin’?”

Your voice cracks, forcing your words through a dry, choked up throat, “Are you okay?”

Normally, Gator would tease you for asking, for putting him first before yourself. He was never dishonest when he answered before, but he’s being upfront this time. “No… I don’t think I am.”

You sit up quickly, groaning as the room spins; Gator has to guide you back down to the bed, but you prop yourself up on your arm, leaning onto it as your tired eyes search his expression. “Did he hurt you? Did your dad hurt you? I’ll kill ‘em both—“

Barely above a whisper, Gator pushes the hair falling in your face behind your ear, “Easy there, tiger.” He can’t bring himself to laugh as he gently teases you, but does his best to smile, though it’s somber. “Not physically. Watchin’ him attack you like that… I shoulda’ kept you away from your dad, or let y’stay in the car from the start. I’m so sorry I didn’t protect you.”

Your face falls while sorrow floods through you. “Gator, you did protect me. You probably saved my life tonight, or at least saved me an ambulance trip. You know he would’ve kept going if you didn’t stop him.” You hold his face in your hand, “You’ve always let me fight my own battles, and you’ve always stepped in if I needed backup. It’s something I’ve always been grateful for. You are someone I’m always grateful for.”

His thumb grazes your jawline on the same side your fresh wound is, careful not to get too close to it. “Not sure why you’d say that after what I did to you before you moved… But m’glad you weren’t alone with this shit tonight.”

“If anyone’s ever deserved a second chance, it’s you. It’s always been you, Gator.” You mumble the last part out as your eyelids grow heavy, head sinking back into the pillow, but it’s just coherent enough for Gator to hear it. He pulls the blankets over you, assuring you’re cozy and warm, while waiting for you to settle into a deep sleep; he hopes your dreams are even just the tiniest bit sweeter than this day was for you.

Silently, Gator promises to himself and you, that he’ll do whatever’s necessary to keep you safe, and make sure you know you’re really, truly loved.

He just hopes to God he has the balls to work himself up to the confession again tomorrow.