#{ ☆️: never figured out what to name em either. shame. }

[burnt-cookii]

realized that me putting up my mermaid oc for sale/trade will now make one drawing I did obsolete

and I was kinda proud of it too hhggg

[sonicfandomsecretsanta]

@suna1suna1 submitted:

Happy Holidays, @comicaldreamer !! 

This was my first time writing a Surgeamy fic, and I had a lot of fun with it. I hope you enjoy it! ^^

I will put a language warning, but aside from that, this is pretty PG, so nothing explicit! Surge just tends to swear a lot XD

The cookies were underdone. Surge cursed at the broken-down oven in the apartment she and Kit had just moved into. Well, they were still moving into it. There were boxes everywhere, items from back at the abandoned Eggman base that they figured they’d bring here. Looking back on it now, Surge was surprised Starline would have let them have personal items. 

Anger zapped between her ears. Well no wonder the damn hypnotism didn’t stick, she thought. We had all this shit lyin’ around that we tied our damn memories to. She growled in disgust, and–before she realized what she was doing–sent an electric shock through the sheet in her hands and fried the cookies on it. The smell of char almost seemed to laugh in her face. 

Shame mixed in with the anger, and she groaned as she threw the cookie sheet onto the counter and walked out of the kitchen. Even now, after his death, Starline seemed to continue to ruin everything. Even nice gestures for the cute girl who’d offered to stop by and help unpack. 

Not that Amy being cute had anything to do with it. Of course not. 

The cookies had actually been Kit’s idea. He’d thought that maybe trying new things would help them find themselves. Not that Surge thought it would work. She didn’t even want to know who she’d been before… before her memories just stopped. 

Okay, maybe she did want to know. Just a little. But that still wasn’t the reason she’d made the cookies. 

When Amy had offered to help Surge and Kit unpack their stuff, Surge had initially thought she wanted to take the opportunity to spy on them, snoop through their stuff. Anybody else would, and Surge would have bet that none of them would have had the decency to admit it either. The Restoration, whatever they thought of themselves, was full of scum just as much as any other place. 

But Amy… She was different. There was something about her that made Surge almost (almost) let down the mile-high walls she’d put up against everyone except Kit. She just seemed so… honest. It… just seemed a shame that she’d do something nice for them and get nothing in return. That and Surge hated the idea of owing anyone anything in that sorry excuse for a charity. Especially if they had any connection to him. 

In fact if she wasn’t so damn close to Sonic, Surge would have been tempted to ask her out. 

Ugh, just thinking of Sonic’s name sent another jolt of anger through her veins. Not just because of that baseline impulse to hate him–though that was certainly a large part of it–but because if it weren’t for him being such a big thorn in Eggman’s side, she wouldn’t be so fucking miserable right now. Starline wouldn’t have been such a desperate fanboy and never would have made her and Kit into what they had become. 

He was the source of everything wrong with her life. 

There was a knock at the door, and Surge took a breath, trying (and failing) to regain her cool. Then she walked over and opened it. 

There she was, sweet as candy, her smile bright as she held out a plate of cookies wrapped in plastic. “I thought we might get hungry after all that work,” Amy said, “so I thought I’d bring cookies too.” 

Well shit. 

Surge sighed and gestured for her to come in. “Just put ‘em on the counter.” 

“Okie dokie,” Amy said. She shivered as she stepped in, her cheeks rosy from the winter cold. “Phew, it’s chilly out there.” 

Surge looked out the window, surprised to find it had started snowing, a thin frost already coating the grass and the sidewalk. “Huh,” was all she said about it. In truth, her memories didn’t go far enough back to see snow. It wasn’t nearly as pretty as everyone seemed to make it out to be. 

Amy shrugged out of her coat, then held it as she looked near the door. “Is there anywhere I can hang this?” she asked Surge.

Surge shrugged, then gestured to the ratty old couch that had remained from the old tenants. “Just dump it on the couch I guess,” she said. “We don’t have a coat rack… Wait… Hey, Kit!” 

The blue fennec popped his head out from the loft, which he’d claimed as his space. He looked down at both of them, Amy with a little disdain, and Surge with no small amount of fear. “Y-yeah?” he asked tentatively. 

“Do we got any coats?”

Kit shook his head. “Starline didn’t give us any. W-why?”

Surge pointed at the window. “Looks like we need some.” 

“Oh…” Kit retreated back into the loft. “But we don’t have the money to buy them, and s-stealing them is probably gonna be more trouble than it’s worth if the Restoration gets involved.” 

“I can get you guys some coats,” Amy offered as she came back over, now coat-less and cookie-less. She beamed with excitement as she looked at Surge. “We could go shopping together! No theft necessary!” 

Surge ignored how her smile made her stomach flutter and crossed her arms. “We don’t want anything from you guys,” she said. 

Hurt flickered across Amy’s face, and Surge tried to ignore that too, despite the pin-prick of guilt that poked her chest from the inside. “But… Just because you guys don’t like the Restoration doesn’t mean you deserve to freeze your tails off either,” Amy said, and Surge wasn’t totally sure if her smile was genuine now or if she was forcing it. “Besides, they wouldn’t be from the Restoration. They’d just be from me.” 

Surge couldn’t stop the blush that spread across her muzzle. “Why do you care, huh?” she demanded, trying to shove the embarrassment down into the pit of her stomach. “Do you just feel sorry for us? Is that it? Well we don’t want your pity!” 

“It’s not pity!” Amy shouted, and Surge blinked in surprise as hurt finally gave way to angry fire in her eyes, her ears folding backwards in fury. “Is it so bad that I just want to see a genuine smile from you? That maybe I like you? I thought that maybe we were getting to be friends but I guess I was wrong!” 

After that, Amy turned around, grabbing a box and opening it, tearing into it a little too forcefully. She ripped off one of the sides entirely, spilling its contents onto the floor with a curse. 

Guilt squirmed in Surge’s belly, but she said nothing as she helped Amy pick up the items from the box. She stole a glance at her, and her eyes widened when she saw tears cascading down Amy’s cheeks. 

“I–I didn’t… I mean…” Surge started, but couldn’t finish. After a moment, Amy stepped back and took a deep breath, wiping her eyes. Surge tried again. “I didn’t mean to–”

Amy shook her head, stopping her. “I need a minute,” she said. She went over and grabbed her coat, then stepped outside the apartment, closing the door behind her. Surge watched as she walked down the sidewalk. 

Fuck… 

“I think she l-likes you,” said Kit, who was peering down from the loft again. 

Surge gave him a look like, yeah right. 

“No, r-really,” he continued. “I mean, w-why else would she have offered to come help us? And bring cookies?”

Surge shrugged. “Because she’s just that much of a goody-two-shoes?” she suggested. 

Kit shook his head. “No. I mean, y-yes, but no. Did you smell her p-perfume?”

“Perfume? She always smells like that.” 

Kit pointed to his nose. “This thing isn’t usually w-wrong,” he said. 

True, Surge thought, though aloud she only grunted. “I mean, why would she worry about that though?” 

Kit sighed. “Like I said, she likes you,” he said. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

That somehow made a bit more sense. But then why the hell would a girl like Amy like a girl like her? 

Before she could ponder it further, there was another knock at the door, and Surge opened it to find Amy once again. Her eyes were a little puffy, and she still looked angry, but not so much that she would rip more boxes. “If you didn’t want my help, then you should have said so,” she said, her voice a little steadier, though it still had a hard edge to it. 

Surge looked down at her shoes, embarrassment sparking around her ears. “I didn’t mean I didn’t want your help,” she said. “I just… Look… We don’t want anything to do with Sonic. We don’t want any help that comes from him. We don’t owe him nothin’, and it’s gonna stay that way.” 

Amy’s ears finally perked back up, her watery eyes widening. “Oh… You guys know Sonic isn’t in charge of the Restoration, right?” she said, her voice softening a little. 

Surge narrowed her eyes. “Of course we do. We ain’t stupid.”

Amy raised her hands in a calm down gesture. “Just checking,” she said. 

“The Restoration rallied around the jack-ass!” Surge said. “Why would I want anything to do with an entire ‘charity’–” she put air quotes around the word “–dedicated to the guy who made me like this?” 

Amy’s brows furrowed. “It’s not Sonic’s fault that Starline ruined your lives,” she said, her voice tight. “Put the blame where it really belongs.” 

Surge opened her mouth to argue, but Amy kept going. 

“You don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to. You don’t have to like him. You don’t have to have anything to do with him. But it’s not his fault Starline did any of that. It was Starline’s choice, and so he bears the burden of the blame.” 

Amy opened a box full of plates, wrapped in newspaper to cushion them, and carefully extracted a stack. With wide, challenging eyes, she looked back at Surge. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to. But I would like it if you would stop insulting my best friend.” 

Surge blushed and looked away, choosing to glare at the gathering snow outside, which was getting thicker. “Fair ‘nuff,” she grumbled. 

Amy sighed. “Okay,” she said. “Now, could you help me with this please?” 

Surge walked over and crouched down, taking out more plates. There were a few points when their fingers brushed together, sending a jolt up Surge’s spine that thankfully didn’t actually shock Amy. But slowly, the tension dissipated, and soon, Amy was talking again. It wasn’t about anything important, but it seemed as if she hated the silence enough that she was up to talk about just about anything. 

Not that Surge minded. It was… nice. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d just… chatted with someone like this. Maybe she never had. 

After a couple hours, the girls sat on the couch. There was still quite a bit of unpacking to do, but some of it was Kit’s, and they were letting him sort through and find the stuff he wanted to put away. 

“I saw the burnt cookies earlier,” Amy said, and there was that adorable smile again, though now there was an edge of mischief to it. 

Surge cleared her throat. “Uhh… Yeah? What about them?” 

“Did you try to do something nice for me?” Amy’s eyes were sparkling with… hope? 

Surge swallowed, then looked away. Her face felt as if it were on fire as she–slowly–nodded. 

“Awwwww,” Amy cooed. “That’s so sweet.” 

“Yeah, but I fucked it up,” Surge grumbled. 

“Hey, look at me.” 

Surge did, and her smile made her want to melt into a pile of green and black goo right then and there. She couldn’t help looking at her lips–because of her smile, she told herself. Not because she wanted to kiss her. Absolutely not. 

Well, okay. Maybe a little. 

“It’s the thought that counts,” Amy said. “And besides, I brought non-burnt cookies, so it’s fine. In fact…” She stood up. “How about we take a cookie break? I think we deserve it.” 

She reached out a hand to help Surge up off the couch, and after a moment, her smile melted, just a little. Surge panicked and took her hand suddenly, having been too shocked to register the gesture at first. 

When Amy’s hand let go, Surge had to resist the urge to grab it again, to keep holding it, as if that one action could put herself at ease, at least for a little while. 

They both walked into the kitchen and took a few cookies from the plate. They were quiet at first, both waiting for the other to say something. This was a different kind of silence from earlier. There was something stretched taut between the girls; something that might have been obvious to one and completely overwhelming and terrifying to the other. Both of them waited tensely for the other to address it. 

“So…” Amy finally began, and there were smears of chocolate chips around her mouth that Surge was resisting the urge to wipe away. “Was there any particular reason you decided to make cookies for me?” 

Surge tilted her head towards Kit, who sat in the middle of the living room floor. “It was the kid’s idea,” she said. “But I mean… You were doing somethin’ cool for us, so I thought… I’d do somethin’ cool for you. I uhh… kinda fried them though.” 

Amy looked at the charred cookie remains that were now at the top of the trash can. “I can tell,” she said with a giggle. “That’s really sweet though.” 

Surge nodded, unsure how to respond, and they slipped into silence again, just as if not more unbearable than the last. She became much more keenly aware of Amy’s scent, that rosy, flowery kinda smell, and wondered why she hadn’t realized it wasn’t just her normal smell before. It had that earthy perfume-y-ness to it that seemed rather obvious now. 

She was so distracted by the smell that she hadn’t noticed Amy had come over to her side of the counter. She was close, and Surge’s stomach fluttered at the shy smile she was giving her. 

“Can I kiss you?” Amy whispered. 

Surge’s eyes went wide, her heart pounding. “You want to?” she asked, stunned. 

“I mean, yeah. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.” 

Surge swallowed. “Are you sure?”

Amy nodded. 

“Okay…” Surge said, her voice shakier than she would have liked to admit. “I’ve uh… never kissed a gal before. Or… well, I don’t think.” 

Amy giggled. “No biggie,” she said. “Me either. First time for everything, right?” She sounded as nervous as Surge felt, which put her a little at ease.

Surge took a breath and nodded. Slowly, Amy leaned in, her eyes closed. After a moment, Surge leaned in to meet her. 

The moment their lips met, it felt like there was a whole lightning storm in Surge’s belly, sparking heat in her face and her ears. There was a little crackle, and she pulled away sharply. “Did I shock you?” she asked quickly. Amy looked startled as she shook her head, and Surge sighed with relief. “Okay,” she said. 

“I heard a little snap. What was that?” 

Surge shrugged. “Might have been my ears,” she muttered. 

Amy smiled at her. “Well…” she said. “I think your ears were rude for interrupting that. Should we… keep going?” 

Surge laughed. Then they resumed. 

Suffice to say, it took a little longer to get the unpacking done than they originally thought. 

[cursedvessels]

E sensed the surprise just in Bella's tone when she repeated eir species' name. A faint smile brushed eir lips. It was a much calmer reaction than some gave em, but e had figured it would be that way given what she was. No hostility toward another demon-like creature. E bit the tip of eir tongue when she said there wasn't anything wrong with the life e had chosen. A slight wince.

"Mmm.. Maybe not to you, but to my people it's a disgrace." He shrugged, looking away. "To me it's a disgrace..." The words were barely even a mumble, tucked away into his shoulder as he turned away from her in an effort to hide the pain in his twisted thoughts.

Still, he found himself happy to have been able to give her the feeling of sunlight with just a simple touch. Some comfort and reprieve to those in need. Yes, that's what he had hoped to achieve in this cruel and boring, twisted and wonderful world of humans and monsters.

"The others miss nothing," he spat, a little bit of edge to his tone all of a sudden. A hard frown. "They take and take and take what they want, never desiring, never longing, and certainly never feeling as much as the humans do. They don't experience life the same as I do. And that's their blessing." Swallowing hard, they shook their head. "I don't mean to be rude, but...If you'd ever met another jinn you wouldn't spare them a second thought either." They gave pause when she asked her next question, staring off to the side for a long moment as if contemplating how to explain their current lifestyle. They would be lying if they said they weren't a little scared of her judgment.

"I guess you can call me a wanderer. I've tied myself to a circus man--a Ringmaster, if you will. Our bond is what strengthens me and gives me purpose. His power-hungry attitude is something to fear, but he gives me work and a place of my own. In exchange, I serve him with my life." That was a bit of an exaggeration, though. That place was barely the size of a closet most of the time, the job one that he did out of obligation most days. There were ups and downs to his work, but nothing had come along to pull him in another direction yet. So here he stayed. He shrugged, shyly looking down at his lap as he picked at his fingernails. The explanation certainly seemed to carry a bit of shame--embarrassment.

"It's a living...I come and go as I please, of course. He can't stop me from doing that. I am my own spirit, after all, even if tied to a man."

"A jinn?" Well. that was a surprise. She'd heard of them, of course, but had never met one herself - let alone tasted one (and she probably wouldn't again, if she was honest). "Ah, darling, I don't think there's anything wrong with the life you've chosen." It sounded much better than most others she knew, who simply coasted through life without any curiosity at all.

She let out a small gasp - she could feel some warmth, after all, but nothing like this. This, in her hands right now, felt like sunlight. And that, she hadn't felt in over 350 years.

"I'm sorry things have been so hard for you. But I think you can still make some good out of it, hm? I think the other Jinn are missing out if they don't welcome you back home." He might have a dark side, but all she'd seen so far was the curious, kind side, and that's the side she wanted to keep believing in. "So - what do you do now, darling? Are you just wandering, or?"

[slasherscream]

hear me out crazy ass boy gang with a s/o that writes them songs but has never shown them. randomly the guys find them knowing them some are gonna be insufferable with the amount of arrogance they now possess and some of them have no clue what to do with the concept of someone loving them and verbalizing it 🥺

A/N: oooh my gosh i'm obsessed with this concept

billy loomis: Was waiting for you to get back from school/work, and couldn’t keep his hands to himself. He wasn’t necessarily trying to find anything, but the book was on your desk- you were asking him to read it, at this point. He’s only halfheartedly looking until he realizes the words are lyrics. It doesn’t take a genius to realize the love songs are written with him in mind. At first it makes him smirk. But he can see the evolution of your relationship through the lyrics. General feelings of infatuation melting into the deeper connection of being in love with him, as opposed to being in love with love itself. It’s an ego boost, for sure. Mostly it’s a relief. Here are your feelings, written out on page, clear as day. Your every unfiltered thought. He doesn’t tell you he read the book. He just walks around with a knowing smirk on his face that you’re very suspicious of. You’re easily distracted from this onset of smugness by his sudden romantic nature. He’s never been a bad boyfriend, but he’s certainly never been so downright doting. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, you decide to just enjoy this random streak of tenderness.

josh washington: You two were moving in together and he was just trying to unpack some of your boxes for you. He’s honestly just setting up your desk for you. All the boxes are marked so that either one of you can unpack anything inside with at least a vague idea of where the stuff should go. Something about the unmarked notebook that doesn’t look like its for school makes him take a look inside. When he realizes how personal it is he wants to put it down. Then he spots his name... and well, he isn’t a saint.

He melts as he goes through the pages. He knows the two of you love each other. You have to love each other, with all the bullshit you’ve been through. But he knows it’s not easy to be with him. Sometimes he worries that you’ll wake up one day and be done with him. Be done with all the problems that come with being with him. He wouldn’t blame you but the thought leaves him hollow. He doesn’t know what he’d do without you. He doesn’t know if he could handle you being gone. You love him though. It’s inked into the pages. Some songs written out slow and careful, and others written out sloppy and fast, like you had to get all the feeling out of your chest because it hurt to have it all trapped inside. You’ll walk in carrying takeout and find Josh crying. You nearly drop the food to run and comfort him. When he tells you what’s wrong - or really, what isn’t wrong, you won’t even have the heart to be angry. He looks somewhere between overwhelmed and awe. All he can think to do is pull you into his arms. He holds you so tightly you wonder if he’s afraid someone will come and take you away.

stu macher: He was just going through your stuff because he was bored, honestly. He wasn’t expecting to find anything juicy. The minute he realizes he’s holding onto a notebook full of songs he’s giddy. It’s practically a diary! You'll come into your bedroom and see him poring over your words without shame. He won’t even have the decency to stop. “Hey babe!”, will be his absentminded greeting as his eyes stay glued to a far-too-familiar book. You’ll have to literally snatch it from him. “Didn’t know you felt this way about me.” His teasing will be relentless. You’ll have to threaten to break up with him, and give him a bit of the silent treatment too. Eventually he’ll ease up on you, his grin going soft around the edges. “You should show me them on your own next time. Else I’ll have to go hunting for ‘em.” It’s not an idle threat. Now that he knows the book exists he’ll really tear up your entire house looking for it. Don’t bother trying to hide it. It won’t be worth the headache. 

jd: His first instinct is to become insufferable. As he reads more of your lyrics, he starts getting overwhelmed. Even as he holds the proof in his hands, he can barely wrap his head around you feeling so strongly about him. He traces over your handwriting and relishes every word. You'll catch him in the act but you won't have the chance to get angry. He kisses you like a man starved. Whispers every thought of love he's ever had against your lips, uncaring if he sounds obsessed. He was allowed a glimpse at your soul. It's only fair that he bares his in return.

kevin khatchadourian: Honestly was indifferent at first. He was going through your things because ‘why shouldn't he?‘ when he found all the songs. Page after page he reads. Slowly but surely it starts to get to him. The only person who's ever loved him is his father, and that love is built upon an endless tapestry of falsehoods and manipulation. His father loves someone who doesn't exist. His mother knows him, always has, but she despises him. Celia loves him, but it's pathetic. The hopeless and unthinking love of a dog. And now there's you. When he's with you he drops the act of normality he puts on for everyone else. You were around so constantly that he couldn't stomach wearing the mask 24/7. Beyond that though, there was something about you that made him want to show you everything. At first he thought he wanted to scare you. Now he doesn't know what he really wants from you.

As he reads through the pages he's sifting through your words, finding the deeper meanings. Watches as you stop writing about his mask, and start writing about him. Jagged and malicious and apathetic as he might be. You're infatuated          maybe you even love him. You've written out the words in a hundred different ways. He can see it every time you look at him, reach for him, follow him, talk to him. Reading it is different, somehow. You probably never wanted him to see these words. To know the depth of how you feel. You were probably afraid he'd mock you. A few months ago he would have. Now? He puts the book back, exactly where he found it.

He won't tell you about reading it, but the words are always on his mind. You'll think you misplaced the book one day and be beside yourself over losing it. Eventually you’ll find it again, out of the blue. Something is off about it though... but you’re not sure what. You’ll never know that what you have is a replica of the original book. A good replica, granted, but a replica nonetheless. Kevin thought about the songs too much, and committing them all to memory hadn’t scratched the itch. The constant cycle of the words running through his head. The irritation he’d feel when he forgot a part of a song, or mixed lyrics together. Having the book itself? It quieted his mind. He’s uncomfortable with the fact that he keeps it under his bed, tucked away inside a lock box, just so no one would be able to look at it. He’s never felt so protective over an item before. He tries not to think about it too much.

nathan prescott: He actually looked at your song book on accident. He needed to borrow some notes for a class and you told him he could just go to your room and grab them. He would never go searching for something like that. Saying he values his privacy would be an understatement, so he'd never disrespect yours. As soon as he realizes these are songs he wants to stop reading... but he's desperate to know what you think of him. People lie so easily, but here's a chance to see the raw truth of how you feel. He's terrified as he starts to read. Then he's just shocked. He'd hoped you weren't like everyone else around him. Wanting him to fail, to lose it, waiting for some sort of pay-off or trickle down. Even if you were, he wanted you so badly he was willing to have you any way you came, as long as you stayed. But here you are, your deepest feelings written out in ink, and you love him. You don't even pity him, you ache for him, want him. The next time he sees you he tells you he loves you for the first time. You'll never know that he read your songs, you'll only notice how much your relationship seemed to change over night.

sebastian valmont: Has to deflect. The only reason he’s being such an asshole about your songs is because he’s trying to deflect. He’s the only one here who has also written about you. Maybe not in lyrics, or in poetry, but he’s written about you. His diary is full of you. He started writing about you the moment he met you. Not unusual for him, considering absolutely everything is in his journals. But from the start there’s been something different about the entries that mention you. All his words suddenly become electric, leaping off the page. His descriptions of you, of the time you spent together, nearing obsessive in their detail. As if you were a puzzle he was trying to solve.

If there’s anything Sebastian is good at its manipulation. He knows he has you. He can have anyone, if he puts his mind to it. He’s made people fall in love with him before. There’s a long line of people who wants his head on a platter for that very reason. You’re the only prize that’s ever mattered, though. He has you now, sure. But what about tomorrow? Or the day after that? It’s easy for eyes to wander, for the heart to turn fickle. Sometimes he watches you and tries to imagine what you might want from him. Tries to figure out what he could do to keep you interested from moment to moment. If he ever shared his worries with you, his worries that you could just get bored with him and leave, just like that - you’d tell him you don’t want him to be anyone but himself. And Sebastian doesn’t want to be anyone but himself, he doesn’t. But people contain multitudes, are more than a single face. He’d rather be a version of himself that captivates you then a “true” version of himself that you can grow tired of.

But here’s written proof that you love him. As he is. All the long nights you’ve spent talking to one another, side by side. The conversations where you traded barbs and philosophy, and everything in-between. The dinners, and picnics, and phone calls, and rooftops. He was so busy observing you, and trying to create a version of himself that you could love, that he forgot that there was something real for you to fall for. Didn’t even know how much of himself he was earnestly offering to you. Now he can see it in ink, and it’s scary, even with how much he loves you, to realize how much of the real him you know.

So he’s an asshole for a few days. When you confront him he falls apart like a wet sandcastle. You won’t have time to get angry before he’s pushing his own journals into your hands. Sebastian has never played fair, but something about you seeing through him despite all his masks made him want to show you more. As scary as it had been, it was also a moment of pure connection. The most electric, addicting thing he’s ever felt. He wants to feel it over and over again.

[kokoinupi]

fuck it. rating the swords in cql by fuckability.

thanks to a certain extra chapter i now cannot watch the untamed without thinking about the logistics of fucking the swords. so im gonna rank em based on overall sexiness of design of course, but more importantly, by practical insertability of the hilt. its 4am.

Lan Wangji's sword (Bichen)

the whore that started this all. good ol bichen. this is the only sword we have canon information on the genuine fuckability of. solid, attractive design, for sure, though personally it's a little blocky and boring for me. the main part of the hilt is well-shaped, with a subtle wavy topography in what looks like quartz or ivory, not bad at all. the sword exudes icy air as well which can certainly be a point for it if you're into that, or a point against if you're not keen on getting frostbite in the worst possible place. but there's one big problem here; the shape at the end of the hilt seems very problematic in terms of insertability, so much so that I wonder if the prop designers knew anything at all about the fate of this particular sword, or if they did, and they deliberately tried to make it as unfuckable as possible to hopefully put that thought out of everyone's minds. but we're all thinking it anyway. 6/10 godspeed wei wuxian.

Wei Wuxian's sword (Suibian)

oh honey, this is a stick. this is a branch. very aptly named "whatever", suibian is overall an "eh" in the looks department. in some shots it looks more shiny and finished, but in others it seriously looks like a piece of wood from the forest floor. it's like the swordsmith heard what wuxian wanted to name it and decided to stop trying. the metal detail lends a little to it, and i do have to admit that the blade itself is a lot sexier than the sheath, there's also something to say about its loyalty in sealing itself for only its master, but in its everyday look, it leaves a lot to be desired. the shape of the hilt is not bad, and it has no obstructions at the end, but i wonder exactly how finished the wood really is.... 3/10 ow ass splinters.

Jiang Cheng's sword (Sandu)

ok now this is a sexy sword. very good overall look. this sword is a hot goth that you spot from across the mall food court that you will never talk to, because you know it is too good for you. sandu has its aesthetic figured out. the deep purple, the quilted pattern, the entwined snakes? hell, sandu is too good for jc himself. the frog at the end may be a slight problem for cowards, but it's nowhere near as bad as bichen, and has the ridges down the hilt to make up for it. 8.5/10 the name is metal as fuck too.

Lan Xichen's sword (Shuoyue)

not terrible in design, though it's honestly just bichen's less hot brother. the bulky dull metal looks somewhat cheap and thin, but i do like the double chains on either side of the sheath. the hilt itself is a more exaggerated texture from bichen, and is that same pretty opaque white, but of course the glaring problem here again is the end. this looks like a nightmare to insert, to at least double the degree that bichen is. this is a plug, but not in the way you want it to be. shuoyue does, however, gain something for being the sword in the most homoerotic and tense scene, jgy's death scene, so that's redeeming, i think. 4.5/10 just fuck bichen instead.

Nie Mingjue's saber (Baxia)

ouch. ow. nothing is more hostile and outright unfuckable than baxia's little head of spikes. sexy design but at what cost. you'll have a better time fucking nmj himself tbh. 0/10 not even a sword.

Jin Zixuan/Jin Ling's sword (Suihua)

sexy in an insufferable rich asshole way. so pretty but so infurioratingly stuck up and arrogant it drives you insane and you can't stop thinking about it. the gold detailing is a little much, but like, in a good way. the blue on the sheath is a perfect touch. hilt is smooth and unproblematic, with the buttons for a little extra something, good shape, if not a little short and underwhelming. suihua overall is not a bad sword to fuck, but you better not fall in love with it. 7/10 is he gay or just european.

Xiao Xingchen's sword (Shuanghua)

if shuoyue is bichen's less hot brother, then shuanghua is bichen's sexy cousin, even down to the frost magic. the design is immediately one of the prettiest right away, with the silver design on the sheath and the pretty clean matte white. the structured hexagonal shape of the hilt is incredibly interesting, and the intricate engraving is a nice touch. the end does have a similar problem to bichen though, but while it is more rounded outwards, it's also not disconnected the way bichen is so it's up to you whether it's better or worse overall. 7/10 everyone's sword crush.

Xue Yang's sword (Jiangzai)

holy shit this is a hot sword. i know i previously haven't been commenting on the blades because they're usually sheathed in the pictures i find, but how can i not acknowledge the aesthetic of this blade. everything about this sword overall is exceptionally beautiful, and just the right amount of evil to suit xy. the hilt is very smooth and a bit tapered in shape, very nice. biggest problems is that it does have a tassle on the hilt, and the very end is a flat piece of metal, which might be sharp and would bring down insertability significantly. but i really can't find it in me to lower the score of this beautiful sword for that. 10/10 but the manhua version is even sexier.

Wen Chao's sword

i literally would not be making this post if not for this nameless beauty right here. this sword, in its bold, yet refined design, is the entire reason i thought to myself, hm, maybe you could fuck more than just bichen? it's honestly such a shame that i can't find a higher quality image of this sword, so you'll just have to trust me on this one. the exaggerated, swirled ridges spiraling down the hilt are... needless to say, very intriguing, and the head of it is not only rounded for ideal insertability, but is such a perfect cap shape too. there is absolutely nothing wrong with this sword, down to the design of the sheath, except for the man that carries it. take it out of his hands and put it somewhere more useful. 100/10 i think im genuinely sexually attracted to swords now.

[sunder-soul]

𝖜𝖍𝖎𝖙𝖊 𝖉𝖔𝖛𝖊

❶·❷·❸·❹·❺·❻

Chapter Two: He’s very, very beautiful. Black hair in tidy waves, dark, hooded eyes lined with sooty lashes, full lips, angled jaw, and all his fine features illuminated by the glow from the pub behind you. If you’d met him anywhere else you might have blushed, but here, now, you have to resist the urge to arch a brow. Wordcount: 2.3k Content warning: language, allusions to bigotry.

Story Tags: @crazytwentythrees

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McCollin slams the Records Room logbook down on your desk and you nearly jump out of your skin. “I told you to drop it,” he says coolly.

Your initials are scribbled on the page half a dozen times over the past two weeks. You look up at him wide-eyed. “I…”

“You were only supposed to watch that stupid trial once,” he interrupts, eyes hard.

“Look, I’ve found stuff, McCollin! Merope Gaunt? She ran away with Tom Riddle, for Christs’ sake, they got married and everything! That’s why Morfin was talking about her in his trial!”

He falters, brow furrowing. “How did you find out that –”

“I’ve been doing some work on the case – off hours,” you add hastily at his expression, “and look, I know you said it was pretty cut and dry, but in that whole trial no one actually asks him why he did it –”

McCollin laughs a little unkindly. “No one asked him why he did it? Do you hear yourself? Didn’t you just say his sister married a Muggle?”

“Yeah but she died ages ago,” you say desperately, leaning forward.

“Why does that matter?”

“Morfin was released from Azkaban in ’28 and came home to find his sister gone. He lived right around the corner from those Muggles, McCollin, so why did he wait fifteen years to kill them?”

McCollin gives you a deeply sceptical look. “Your problem is that he didn’t kill them sooner?”

“My problem is there’s no reason that he didn’t kill them sooner!” you correct. “If he’s really such a nutcase, why did it take him that long to get revenge on the Riddles?”

“Maybe he didn’t know who she’d run off with until then,” he shrugs.

“Then how did he suddenly find out in ‘43?”

McCollin sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Look, kiddo, I’m gonna do you a favour. I’ll let all this slide if you drop this thing now and stop letting it distract you.”

You gape at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

“But I’ve found –!”

“I don’t care what you’ve found, I need you to do your job,” McCollin snaps, waving at your desk. “So some pure-blood nutter murdered some Muggles because his sister ran off with one of ‘em, what in Merlin’s name is so hard to understand about that?”

“She had a kid with him!” you hiss.

He hesitates again. “You found a birth certificate?”

“No, but she died in a Muggle orphanage and was buried in the pauper’s yard, what do you think happened?”

McCollin, for the first time, looks somewhat doubtful. “Case never mentioned a kid…” he says slowly.

Hope sparks in your chest. “And where was Tom Riddle whilst his wife died in childbirth, huh? Where did the kid end up? Did Morfin know about them? Did Riddle even know?”

McCollin exhales a very fatigued sigh. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you.”

“No,” you say immediately.

“If you figure this out, will you get back to your actual job?”

“Yes.”

“You promise?”

You’re on the edge of your seat. “I promise.”

He grits his teeth. “Merlin… fine. What do you need?”

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

You hate Azkaban. The place is dark and cold and dripping wet, the dementors never stay quite far enough away, and the screams and sobs of the prisoners within the black stone stick in your heart for weeks afterwards.

“In and out,” McCollin mutters, pulling off his hat and casting the dementor beside you an aspersing look. “Five minutes, kiddo, and then we’re gone.”

You nod quickly and step down the long, dark corridor, peering at the parchment in your hand and checking it against the cell numbers scratched into the stone on either wall. You find him around the corner. Cell 75191.

You lift your lit wand, squinting into the darkness. “Morfin…?”

There’s the faint clinking of chains and then a skin-crawling hiss that makes your heart clench in fear, followed by a rasping, phlegmy cackle.

“Morfin Gaunt?” you try again, catching sight of movement in the corner of the cell, a figure hunched there.

He only hisses again.

“I don’t speak Parseltongue, Mr Gaunt,” you say with a forced calm, “I’m here to talk about the Riddles.”

Morfin spits at the ground. “Riddles,” he growls. “Fucking Riddles, fucking filthy Muggle Riddles in their filthy stinking house, got what was coming didn’t they? Got what they deserved in the end –”

“You knew about Merope and Tom Riddle, didn’t you, Mr Gaunt?” you interrupt, hands shaking in the aching cold. You bury your non-wand hand in your pocket in vain – the chill of the prison is all-permeating.

“Filthy Riddle… filthy scumsucker…”

“Why did you kill the Riddles in 1943?”

He barks a hideous laugh. “Muggle scum they were, had it coming, saw the light leave their eyes at the end of a wand like was intended, not my sister, not my family –”

“Why did you wait, Mr Gaunt?”

There’s silence. Your heart thrums nervously.

“You got home in 1928 but you didn’t kill the Riddles until 1943… Why didn’t you kill them sooner?” you press carefully.

Morfin doesn’t reply for a moment, and then – “Muggle scum,” he mutters a little dolefully.

“Yes but what changed?” you say, patience fraying a bit. “What changed in 1943? Did something happen?”

“Scourge of the earth… got to get rid of ‘em all, that Grindelwald fellow had the right idea, get rid of ‘em –”

There’s a sound like a heavy door closing in the distance and you’re suddenly very aware that you don’t have a lot of time left. “Did you know about Merope’s child?” you ask pressingly.

Morfin descends into a coughing fit and spits what sounds like a hefty wad of mucus onto the floor of his cell. “Knew it,” he says darkly, “I knew it, that slut…”

“You knew?”

“Looked just like him, didn’t he?” he snarls.

“Who?” you say at once.

“He looked just like that nasty, filthy, disgusting Muggle… Well, they’re all dead now.” He laughs nastily again. “Rotting in the ground where they belong, Muggle scum…”

You can hear McCollin calling for you but your head is spinning. He waited… he waited fifteen years…

If Merope’s son had been born at the end of ’26, he would have been sixteen in July of ’43.

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

“I know why he waited,” you breathe to McCollin the second you’re back in the safety of the Ministry.

“Why?”

“I know why he waited to kill the Riddles – Merope’s son came to find him – maybe he was looking for his family, he probably grew up in that orphanage – he really did only find out about her kid in ’43 and it made him snap and –”

“Slow down,” McCollin frowns, hand on your shoulder. “What are you saying?”

“You have to get me access to Morfin’s memory of that day,” you say intensely.

His face and his hand fall in unison. “You said that if I got you in to see Morfin, you’d let it go,” he says sharply.

“I know but Jesus McCollin! Shouldn’t we find her son?”

“This is getting out of hand,” he mutters, turning and walking off across the huge entrance hall.

“Please,” you say, following him. “Please! I –”

“No,” he says flatly.

“But –!”

“What, you want to watch murders now?”

“McCollin, just listen –”

“I’m serious, drop it,” he drawls, stepping into an elevator and turning to point at you. “I don’t wanna hear you say the name Riddle again.”

The elevator dings, the door slides shut on McCollin’s serious face, and you sigh in frustration.

“Riddle?”

Your head lifts in surprise. The voice had come from beside you, a very formally-dressed old man with curated grey hair, gold glasses, and a haughty expression. “Yes, sir…?” you ask slowly.

“Ah yes, a real shame, all that,” the man sighs, looking up at the elevators expectantly.

You blink. You recognise the man from around the Ministry, but you can’t think of a single conceivable reason why a senior member of the International Confederation of Wizards knows the name of a Muggle murdered eight years ago. “���Yes, it was.”

“Such a waste,” he shakes his head sagely. “He could have gone far.”

You don’t know what to say. “You’re… you’re talking about Tom Riddle, sir…?”

“Yes, of course,” the man titters, “Slughorn recommended him to me personally – assured me he’d go far. A real talent, he said.”

Something is definitely not right, but the man’s elevator dings and he steps inside at once, expensive robes swirling as he turns. “To end up in Knockturn Alley of all places,” he sighs, “and to think... the boy could have been Minister for Magic one day.”

The doors shut before your gobsmacked face.

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

“So let me get this straight,” Mori says lowly, setting down another drink for you. “You think the kid’s here? In Knockturn Alley?”

“I think so,” you murmur as Mori takes your empty glass away. “Either that or some poor schmuck with the exact same name as a murdered Muggle is walking around completely unrelated to all this shit.”

“Have you found anything on the kid?”

You nod blankly. “Looked up the name and found a ton of stuff straight away – star pupil at Hogwarts, won a ton of awards, Prefect, Head-boy –”

“Sounds like a square,” Mori snorts.

“He fell off the map a bit after school,” you frown, leaning forward on your forearms. “Found an address from a few years back but doesn’t seem up-to-date. The guy definitely mentioned Knockturn Alley though, so –”

“If you told me a name, I’ll probably know him.”

You shoot him a nervous look. “I dunno, Mori, I’m really pissing McCollin off with this already. If he finds out I’m leaking names –”

“Well I’ll tell you this for free, no one down this way’ll take kindly to someone in Ministry robes poking their nose around,” he says darkly.

You sigh and take a sip from your drink. “I know.”

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

You leave just past midnight, giving Mori a wave as you grab your cloak and head for the door, already reaching for your wand to Apparate as you push it open –

You walk straight into someone. “Oh,” you exclaim, stepping back. “I'm so sorry.”

“Not at all.”

You look up at the voice in surprise, smooth and pleasant and velvety. The face behind it is even better; he’s very, very beautiful. Black hair in tidy waves, dark, hooded eyes lined with sooty lashes, full lips, angled jaw, and all his fine features illuminated by the glow from the pub behind you as he pushes the door wide and holds it for you, stepping aside with a polite twist to his lips to let you out first.

If you’d met him anywhere else you might have blushed, but here, now, you have to resist the urge to arch a brow. He’s not exactly what you’d normally expect from customers of Moribund’s.

“Thank you,” you say evenly, stepping past him and rather theatrically hoping he’s not some sort of pretty-faced creature that would strike when your back’s turned –

“You’re from the Ministry?”

You hesitate. His question was perfectly curious and well-warranted – the purple robes you were still wearing were also not what one might normally expect from customers of Moribund’s. “I am,” you say quietly, pulling out your wand.

“Are you here on business or for pleasure?” he smiles a little. It makes him even more beautiful. It makes you more suspicious.

“A bit of both,” you say truthfully, thinking of your conversation with Mori.

“Rather strange for someone of your profession to patron a place like this,” says the young man, head tilting a fraction.

You hesitate for a moment, but if he intends on giving you trouble, it feels like a good idea to establish that you have people looking out for you around here. “I’m friends with the barman.”

“In which case it's odd I’ve not seen you more, then,” he says very smoothly, the little twist to his lips returning, “since I’m something of a regular.”

But you’ve had quite enough. “You’re letting the warmth out,” you say politely, inclining your head at the door he’s still holding open as you lift your wand. “Enjoy your drinks.”

“Would you care to join me?”

You hesitate, eyes flicking back to the young man. His head is still tilted slightly as he watches you, and suddenly you can’t tell if the curl to his lips is more attractive or unnerving.

“I’d very much like the company,” he smiles, white, straight teeth, too handsome, too gorgeous.

Alarm bells are going off in your head. Too smarmy. He knows he’s beautiful, that much was certain, and something about him is giving you the creeps in a way that feels strangely familiar. Like you’ve met him before. “No,” you say clearly, “but thanks for the invitation.”

“Ah, I should have known that someone like you would already be spoken for,” he says with a knowing nod, charming and good-natured.

“No,” you frown. You can’t tell what’s rubbing you the wrong way about him, but there’s something.

His brow lifts slightly, like your response surprised him. “Not a fan of the drink, then?”

You snort a light laugh. “No, I am.”

There’s a beat of silence. “An early morning, perhaps?” the young man says just as lightly – though there’s a very faint edge to his expression that you clock at once. He can’t figure out why you’ve rejected him. What an arrogant asshole…

You sigh a bit shortly, liking him less by the second. “Goodnight,” you say pointedly, trying to lift your wand again but –

“Have I offended you somehow, madam?” he asks, sounding slightly amused. “If I have it wasn’t my intention to do so.”

You shoot him a look that is unapologetically annoyed. “You haven’t offended me, you’ve disrespected me,” you say curtly.

His eyes sparkle, his lips curl even more. “By asking you to join me for a drink?”

“By refusing to take my answer graciously,” you retort smoothly, “I said no. I don’t appreciate being cajoled.”

Some of the humour dissipates from his face, and you seize the opportunity to escape.

“Goodnight.”

And you lift your wand in a swift motion and vanish before he can interrupt again.

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

❶·❷·❸·❹·❺·❻

Reply/message me to get added to the tag list! 💖

[wizisbored]

@bunnys-beetlejuice-blog part 3

The bar is loud, and bustling, but Ballister is paying no heed to what’s going on around him. He’s got a puzzle to solve. leaning a little further across the table, he peers at each of the identical teenagers opposite him in turn.

“...The original Lydia has a gun,” he recalls. “My pony couldn’t do a saddle, she won’t have a gun.”

The left Lydia nonchalantly sets the weapon on the table, not looking particularly fussed. “We passed it back and forth a few times behind your backs.”

Damnit. He squints harder. Usually the eyes are the giveaway, but the kid’s gone so far as to darken them to the exact right shade this time. “Teeth?” he asks half-heartedly, knowing it won’t help him. If she’s got the eyes, she’ll have the teeth. And sure enough, they both pull back their lips to show perfectly normal, human-sized teeth. Ballister sits back. There are physical differences, he knows there has to be. Things the shapeshifter hasn’t seen. If, say, he asked both of them to roll up their sleeves, the patterns of veins and skin impurities and body hair would be different. Unfortunately he isn’t all that familiar with the specificities of Lydia’s forearm, and even if Beetlejuice were at the table right now - which he isn’t - Ballister doubts he would be either. He tries to observe how they're sitting. Lydia doesn't seem to be sticking too close to her polite society manners, from what he's seen, but his pony is still far rougher. Is one slouching more than the other? Hard to say.

Beetlejuice announces his return by slamming a bottle of whiskey onto the table before sitting down. “Howsit going back here, then? Figured out which one I'm tryn'a outdrink?”

“No. She's got the eyes and teeth, she's committed.”

“We'll find out a few drinks in,” Beetlejuice says, already pouring shots. “Lyds is a goddamn lightweight, she'll out herself then.”

“Or she'll drink herself to death trying to keep up. Did you get the rooms?”

“Mm. Thing about that, they’d only got two left.” He rests his arm on the back of Ballister’s chair, leaning closer. “So I guess we'll just have to stick the kids together in one of ‘em and share the other.”

“Well in that case, we’ll toss a coin for who puts their bedroll on the floor,” Ballister says pointedly.

“Aw, c’mon, the bed’ll be plenty big enough for two.”

“No.” Ignoring the idiotic things Beetlejuice is doing with his eyebrows, he deliberately turns his attention back to the two girls. “Are there any small details you know about Lydia that we might not have noticed?”

Beetlejuice, thankfully, allows his focus to be diverted, scratching at his beard as he considers the girls. And then he stands, and rounds the table to stand behind them.

“Alright, back of the neck, let’s see it.”

They both lift up their choppy hair. Beetlejuice squats slightly, squinting at them both.

“...God fuckin’ damnit, how’d you know about that little nick? Lyds, you gave her pointers, didn’t you?”

He returns to his seat, staring intensely at the kids. “There’s no way she’s told you everything. What dumbass name did Lydia want to go by?”

“How should I know?” one of them asks. “I’m Nimona.”

“Yeah, me too,” the other one says. “I don’t have a clue.”

“So in that case, you should both know how I found out she can change shape?” Ballister says.

“No? I’m Lydia.”

“Yeah, how the hell would I know?”

“And you’ll both be th’ other kid again if I asked the name of my horse, right?” Beetlejuice grumbles.

“Oh, of course.”

“Naturally.”

He scowls in annoyance - “Can't even get ‘em with a trick question” - but his face lightens as he leans back in his chair. “Welp, guess we’ll never know. Just gonna have to stick together then, make sure neither of us leaves with th’ wrong kid. Shame.”

He flashes a grin at Ballister. He remains unimpressed.

“We’d find out fast enough if I sick her on you. She won’t be able to resist.”

“Oh no, I’m so scared of your gremlin.”

One of the Lydias snorts, grabs a shot, and downs it with a slight wince. The second follows.

“Oh c’mon, I wanted to make you do that at the same time!” Beetlejuice complains, grabbing his own glass. Ballister smooths his moustache, considering a new idea.

“...I want to see them light a cigarette,” he states. Beetlejuice cocks an eyebrow, reaching into an inside pocket of his jacket. He tosses a couple cigarettes and a matchbook onto the table. The Lydias eye each other.

“Go on,” Beetlejuice nudges. “Or have you both quit?”

One of them reaches out, grabs a cigarette and match, and within a handful of attempts has it lit on her thumb. The other stares bug-eyed at the remaining match for a moment, before picking it up and glancing over at her double. Ballister smacks his hand down on the table.

“You don’t know how to light a match, do you?!” he says, pointing at the girl with a grin. “You never have to!”

She throws her head back, groaning dramatically. “Fine. You got me.” She flicks the match at him, sticks the cigarette in her mouth and snorts a lick of flame onto it. Beetlejuice cocks an eyebrow.

“Alright, neat trick.”

“Could you do that?” the real Lydia asks him, to which he only shrugs.

“Alright, that was a pretty good con,” Ballister admits, “but will you please turn into something else now, I don’t trust you two not to swap chairs when we’re not looking.”

“People will have already noticed the ‘twins’,” Lydia points out.

“Well, give us some sort of marker.”

In a flash, the other Lydia’s red bandana turns pink. She grins with large, sharp teeth, her nose wrinkling under a fresh smattering of freckles. Beetlejuice grabs the whiskey again.

“Alright, then. Down to business.”

🎁

🎁 i hear cowboy au is yours now lets see some progress bro

fuck you im making your cowboys have a playdate with my cowboys

It's already been a long, hard ride through the desert without sight of another soul - live or dead - by the time Beetlejuice spots a figure on horseback. Of course, the immediate suggestion is to rob him blind.

"Suppose he's got just as much concern for others as you do, and he shoots back?" Lydia asks, petting Emily's neck as they watch the man. They've managed to find themselves a vantage point where they can look down on him, but so long as they're not too loud and he doesn't randomly decide to look up they're out of sight.

"He's an idiot," Beetlejuice says. "He's on a draft horse, dressed in black, in a desert."

Lydia looks down at her own black vest. "That felt targeted."

"Dunno what you're talking about." He pauses to tug his bandanna up over his nose. "Anyway, you take the back and I'll go in front."

With that, he goes charging down towards the stranger, Lydia covering her own face and following a second behind. That huge red draft horse stops short as Beetlejuice cuts it off, and both it and the rider turn their heads as Lydia and Emily come in behind them. The horse's ears flick back and it paws at the ground, and the man sets a hand on its shoulder to steady it - the only hand he's got, Lydia realises with a slight pang of guilt.

"Do we have a problem here?" the man asks, his voice tight.

"We won't, if you don't cause any," Lydia says - she figures it should be her turn by now. The horse turns slightly towards her, looking almost like it's listening too. "It's just that my friend and I are a little low on cash, so if you could give us some help there we'll all be on our way."

The man responds calmly, hand still on his horse. "I don't think you want to do this."

"Don't get cocky with us," Beetlejuice growls. "It's a simple puzzle."

But there's something else growling as well. It takes Lydia a moment to realise that it's the horse. It's got its ears pinned back, forelegs splayed slightly, teeth bared and snarling like a dog.

"...The fuck's wrong with that horse?" Beetlejuice apparently can't help but ask.

"Your guess is as good as mine," the man says, and Lydia notices him slowly pulling one foot from the stirup. "But if you make her any angrier than you already have, I won't be able to stop her."

Emily shifts nervously, trying to back away. Lydia rubs his neck. The red horse turns further, almost sideways between her and Beetlejuice now, glaring from one to the other of them as the man shifts his weight, ready to jump off. Lydia wouldn't be too opposed to cutting their losses and getting the hell out of here at this point, but Beetlejuice is showing no sign of backing down. She's not going to be the one to chicken out first. After all, whatever that horse might be, she's got whatever Beetlejuice is on her side.

"We'll take those odds."

She reaches for the gun at her side. It's supposed to just be a threat. Mostly empty. But that threat is what makes everything explode.

There's a white flash, forcing Lydia to throw an arm up over her eyes as Emily stumbles backwards, shrieking in alarm. She uncovers her face just long enough to see the man on the ground beside his saddle, going for his gun, and then Emily's front legs lift of the ground and something takes advantage of that moment of unbalance to barrel into Lydia's side.

Her stomach flips, there's a brief pain in her leg from a boot caught in a stirup, and then for one awful moment she's falling. It's a short shot of fear, just enough time for an alarmed yelp before she's caught. The immediate assumption is that it's Beetlejuice, somehow, but this thing isn't cold.

A split-second later she's on her back in the dirt, a huge, snarling red dog on her chest.

"Hey, no, get off her!" someone yells. Not Beetlejuice, the stranger. And he sounds desperate. "That's just a kid, get off!"

The dog looks up. And it replies.

"Kid with a fancy accent. That loses her points."

Flooded as she already is with adrenaline, Lydia doesn't have the time to be shocked by the talking dog. She rides with a dead man, talking dogs that might have been horses a minute ago are not the priority here. Instead she focuses on finding an awkward angle she can twist her neck into so she can see the two men. And she finds it, just in time to witness Beetlejuice pointing his gun at the stranger, who responds with a hand in the air.

"Get that fucking dog," he spits, "off her."

"I'm trying! Kid, leave her alone!"

"And then what, he shoots you?!"

For a long moment, the dog and the demon glare at each other. Lydia tries to focus on breathing with two huge paws on her chest. And then the dog cocks her head. She looks from Beetlejuice to Lydia and back again, and in a wink of light it's not a dog crushing Lydia's ribcage, it's a redheaded girl about her age. She's got a knife in one hand, keeping the threat alive, but with the other she reaches down to tug Lydia's bandana down. A grubby mit grabs her by the chin, turning her head with suprising strength to meet the pinkish-brown eyes of the girl sat on her chest.

"Don't I know your face, fancy kid?"

"I get that a lot," Lydia wheezes back, seeing an oppurtunity to keep her distracted.

"You've been in the paper, haven't you?"

"Doubt I'm interesting enough for that."

"You-"

The distraction's served its purpose. The girl is grabbed roughly by the bandana, Beetlejuice lifting her clear off his partner and holding her off the ground at arm's length. Lydia scrambles to her feet, gasping for breath. Beetlejuice looks her up and down briefly, quickly taking stock of her condition, before turning his attention back to the squirming girl he's holding.

"Okay, what the fuck is this little gremlin?" he asks. "Some sorta-"

It's not a girl anymore. It's a coyote, and it's flying teeth-first into Beetlejuice's throat. Lydia goes for her gun. And knowing what she does about demons, she only feels a little bad about putting a bullet through the animal's shoulder and into Beetlejuice's. Both of them pause their fight to look at her.

"Fancy kid's got a gun?"

"Yeah, what the fuck, Lyds?"

He grabs the again distracted creature by the scruff and tosses her off him. The stranger immediately gathers her up, fussing over her until he looks up at Beetlejuice, and freezes. The demon flicks curiously at his newly-shredded neck meat.

"Huh. That's a new one."

Lydia looks from her demon to the stranger cradling a bloodied shapeshifter, and grips her gun a little tighter.

"You explain first."

[i-lovethatforme]

Halloween prompt even though it's just a prompt. Peter is meant to meet mjs parents but stands her up for spiderman but she doesnt know he's spiderman and she sees him the same night

day two: stop crying your heart out

Peter hates being Spider-Man sometimes. Tonight is one of them. People always say he has a choice. If he doesn’t want to join a mission that they need his super hearing for, so they can take down an organisation set to wipe out a whole village of people, he can say no. If he wants to spend the evening with his girlfriend trick or treating so he can meet her family like he promised he would, then that would be his choice.

But it’s not a choice. It never is. Because he would choose her. He’d choose Michelle every time but that would make him selfish and it would get people killed and he knows that if it was truly a choice, he’d be clad in a pumpkin suit walking along the street holding hands with MJ and maybe he’d give her little sister a piggyback. 

Because Michelle is always his first choice. He just never gets to pick. 

So he’s sitting holding hands with some girl he’s met a handful of times but never spoken to, in the middle of a crowded restaurant so they can pretend to be madly in love even though she has four knives hidden under her dress and he’s straining his hearing to listen to the conversation in the far corner. 

He wants to talk to the girl opposite him, whose name he’s forgotten already, but he doesn’t know-how. She won’t care that he wishes he told MJ he was Spider-Man so he didn’t have to tell her he was sick and couldn’t make it tonight. Because the last time he told her he was sick because he was held up in a bank heist and couldn’t make it to their study session, she brought him soup to school the next day and his chest almost crushed with shame.

But he hasn’t figured out a good way to tell her yet. He knows she doesn’t like the avengers so maybe she doesn’t like Spider-Man either and he really doesn’t want her to not like him because he can’t stop even if sometimes he wants to because she sends him a sleepy selfie asking him if he’s free to chat. 

He’ll tell her though. He should tell her. He wants to tell her. So he grabs his phone from his pocket, sending an apologetic smile to the girl opposite him and she rolls her eyes at him for yanking her arm around. 

Hey Em, I need to talk to you. Gimme a text when you’re home.

Once he’s pocketed his phone and made boring small talk so people in the restaurant don’t wonder why on earth these two teens look like they want to die, he thinks maybe his message sounds a little too ominous. But MJ won’t be worried - she knows how much he likes her. She’d know how much he loved her if he could gather the courage to tell her.

God, Peter can’t wait to see her. She can show him the candy she got with her sister and maybe she took some cute photos and she can tell him how to make it up to her parents that he’s bailed on for the second time. 

The girl opposite is taking her turn making small talk when Peter's heart comes to a thundering stop when he hears the doorbell chime and he’d recognise her anywhere. Her smell, the laugh, the sound of her heartbeat.

MJ.

He tries to shake his hand free, but the girl opposite is having none of it.

“What are you doing?” she seethes, though there’s a smile on her face. 

“Please let go, my girl - my girlfriend just came in.”

He watches her look over at the door, then, “cute. But don’t blow this, Parker.”

Maybe she won’t see him, maybe he can show her it isn’t what it looks like without moving from his chair. She’s really fucking smart, so maybe she’ll figure out he’s Spider-Man and on a mission, he doesn’t want to be on and he’s desperate to be with her. Fuck, why didn’t he tell her? 

As his messed up luck would have it, her family sits close to them, MJ’s chair in his direct eyeline, though she hasn’t seen him yet. She’s smiling with her sister, pushing her chair in for her.

“I wanted to meet Peter,” her sister grumbles, though he thinks she’s just trying to tease MJ. He smiles sadly against his palm as he tries not to look over at them.

“I know, pumpkin,” MJ says as she sits down. He loves her so much and he really wants to see if she’d be this soft when he’s around. “He’s super sick though. I’ll tell you what, I’ll send him the photo we took, yeah?” 

MJ takes her phone out, frowning at her screen for a second, typing quickly and he feels his phone vibrate as she shakes her frown out. 

“Which one?” she asks, leaning over to her sister. 

“Stop staring at another girl when we’re meant to be on a date,” the girl across from him growls. 

“I can’t help it,” he whispers, feeling his phone vibrate again and he’s so excited to see what photo she chose. “I love her.”

“Probably should have told her the truth, huh?” she says, eyes glancing over to where MJ’s family is. 

He looks over at her and he wishes he didn’t because she’s looking right at him. And usually, that’s his favourite thing but now her mouth is slightly open and her eyes are so fucking wide and hurt and he doesn’t know how to fix it. He hears her shaky intake of breath as she looks between him and the girl he’s holding hands with. She’s confused because he hasn’t given her all the information and so it’s his fault she looks like her heart is breaking as she looks back at him. 

“I - I don’t feel well,” MJ stutters out, blinking as the tears start to fall down her cheeks. “I have to go,” she gasps, her chair almost falling over with how fast she moves to get out. 

He needs to fix it. But the people he’s actually here for are starting to talk about the drop, and who their supplier is and he never had a choice anyway. He swallows but nothing comes out, he can’t shout across the restaurant that he loves her and it’s not what it looks like. 

He wants to choose her and he can’t. 

[childrenofthenightt]

That’s The Way (Chapter 3)

Pairing: Jimmy Page x Reader

Word count: 3.7k

Warning(s): smut/nsfw, cheating, cursing, angst, Y/N being a badass :)

Author’s notes: We’ll be honest...this chapter is a lot to handle 😂 which is amazing since it’s only Chapter 3 of many! We suggest taking a break throughout, because you’re gonna need it 😂 So much happens that your mind may actually explode from the drama. By the way, Jimmy is introduced in the next chapter so yay! As usual, please enjoy, happy reading, and send us messages if you have theories, comments, music recommendations for the playlist, or if you want to be added to the tag list :)

Chapters: 1 | 2

————

Paul took Y/N out to dinner that week, and they had a wonderful time together. It seemed that every conversation they had together brought them closer and closer, and Y/N was in pure bliss. From that point forward, the two became inseparable.

Y/N’s parents, however, were not super pleased that Y/N was seeing Paul, especially because they had warned her about the romantically-unattached musician’s mannerisms and habits not that long ago. They just decided to act like they liked Paul, so he wouldn’t get suspicious or feel bad.

Two members of The Yardbirds in particular (and I’m sure, dear reader, that you know who they are by now) were hit with pangs of jealousy whenever they saw Y/N constantly attached to Paul’s arm. And, to make matters worse, it was under any circumstance imaginable: parties, interviews, photoshoots, meetings, airports, train stations, hotels...the list goes on. Yes, they did spend plenty of time apart, but attraction can make a man think irrationally. Even though they were specifically and strictly told to keep their mouths shut, it was very tempting to just say the truth and end their misery. A part of Chris and Jim felt happy to see her happy, but another, traitorous side of them felt exponentially bad for her. They knew that she was being used by Paul as arm-candy, and they knew that she, of all people, did not deserve that.

But that’s the name of the game, unfortunately.

~~~~~~~~

18 February 1966

The Yardbirds were scheduled to perform on an episode of Ready, Steady, Go! that night, and Y/N decided to go and be a part of the live audience. She felt an obligation to support Paul and the band, since they were all friends (and a boyfriend, of course) now.

Before the show, Jim, Jeff, and Keith were all sitting on the stage, discussing the logistics of the rehearsals that would start soon. Y/N stood in front of the already-prepared stage and chatted with them.

“So what are you guys going to do on our days off next week?” Jeff asked.

“Spend time with my family,” Keith replied, adjusting his sunglasses.

“Not sure yet, haven’t figured it out,” Jim added.

“How ‘bout you, Miss Y/N?” Jeff nodded towards her with a smile. She answered with a soft giggle.

“I’m probably going golfing with my brother and a couple mates.”

“You golf?” Jim asked. She seemed to be getting more and more perfect by the day.

“Mmhmm,” Y/N nodded enthusiastically, “I’m bloody awful at it, but it’s fun, and I can hang out with my brother, so it’s a win-win.”

“You never told us you had siblings,” Keith smirked, tilting to the side and crossing his arms.

“Oh yeah, I have three. There’s Tommy, my older brother; Charlie, my younger brother; and Lillian, my little sister,” Y/N said.

“Wow, full house,” Jeff remarked, “I have a sister, Annetta, who I think you’d get along with quite well. I’ll have to introduce you to her soon.”

“Oh, that’d be great! I’d love to meet another Beck,” Y/N replied playfully. Jeff just laughed and shook his head.

“It’s a shame that I can’t spend time with Paul this week. He said he was busy, but he didn’t explain why,” Y/N sighed, “whatever. It’s probably legitimate, so I don’t mind. We’ve been hanging out too much anyway.” She laughed at the last part.

“He’s probably just going home to his wife,” Jim replied, thoughtlessly.

At that instant, everyone’s eyes widened, eyebrows raised, and lips downturned into a shocked, panicked frown.

“He’s...what?” Y/N asked quietly, sounding like she was about to shatter into a thousand tiny pieces.

Y/N noticed that Keith and Jeff were glaring at Jim, who was clearly embarrassed at what he had revealed. He hid his eyes with his hand.

When Jeff finally found it in him to turn away from Jim, he deeply exhaled. He then reached out his hands to touch Y/N’s shoulders in an attempt to comfort her.

“Look, Y/N, you weren’t supposed to find out this way, and I’m so sorry we didn’t tell you sooner,” Jeff began, “but he is indeed married. I honestly don’t know why he wanted to pursue you, and I warned him against it because of how much we care about you, but he did it anyway.”

Tears streamed down Y/N’s face and her bottom lip started to quiver. “I can’t believe this,” she whispered, “he made it seem like I was the only one…that he was really in love with me...”

Jeff hated seeing his friend cry because of something he could have prevented. But, Y/N was somehow still beautiful when she cried.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Jeff consoled gently, getting off the stage to hug her, “here, let’s take you backstage to calm you down a little.”

Y/N refused Jeff’s kind offer with a shake of the head. Through her blurry, teary-eyed vision, she just plastered on a smile, and wiped the wetness from her eyes.

“Ew,” her voice cracked, “why am I crying? That’s so gross of me, I’m so sorry. I’m definitely making you guys uncomfortable.”

The three musicians’ eyes widened at Y/N’s sudden burst of emotional strength.

“Y/N, you just found out you were Sam’s side chick, and you don’t care?” Jeff inquired, genuinely confused as to what was going on with Y/N’s emotions.

“It’s okay to be sad, love. And utterly fuming with anger. I must admit, this situation wouldn’t be as dire if it were someone else, but it’s you,” Keith added. Jim just sat in silence. He didn’t know what to say. His message destroyed Y/N’s heart and her innocence.

“I am sad, but if this ‘thing’ went on any longer, I’d probably be even more devastated. You saved me from a lot more unnecessary heartbreak, so thank you, Jim,” Y/N said. Her tone sounded completely numb.

“How are you gonna tell Sam?” Keith asked Y/N.

She exhaled deeply. “I don’t know. It wouldn’t be fair of me to lash out on him before being on national television.”

“How can you care about fairness? Don’t you realize what this man has done to you?” Jeff asked, anger interlaced in his voice.

“Yes, Jeff. I do,” Y/N replied stoically, “And I’ll be fine, really. Let’s just forget about it, okay? I’m just lucky to be here, watching you perform. What song are you playing again?” Y/N tried to change the subject, but on the inside she was in deep agony and pain. She poured all of this time and emotion and her body into this cute musician boy, just to realize she didn’t matter.

“‘Shapes of Thi—’” Keith began quietly.

Jeff cut him off. “Y/N, I seriously refuse to believe you’re okay. Please, just let me help y—” he started.

“Jeff! I’m fine! Seriously,” Y/N raised her voice a little, annoyed at the nagging.

“But you seem—” Jim began, barely perceptible.

“Oh my God, Jim, I’m fine!” Y/N shouted. “I don’t care. It’s done, it’s over.”

The three men sat in silence after Y/N’s sudden outburst of anger, which was very out of character for her. She quickly realized what she had done.

“I’m so sorry for lashing out on you guys. That was uncalled for, it’s not your fault. I’m gonna go to the loo, excuse me,” she said quickly, walking out of the scene before anyone could call after her.

~~~~~~~~

Y/N stayed in the bathroom for all of rehearsals, and she finally reemerged right before the broadcast was about to start, looking as fresh as she did when she got there. It was as if the news was never even brought to her attention.

She refused to make eye contact with Paul through the entire performance, even though it was apparent that he tried to get her attention with his eyes. Chris was just confused that she wouldn’t even dare to glance at Paul. Just a little trouble in paradise that he didn’t know about maybe?

After the show and when the band went offstage, Jeff went back into the crowd to check on Y/N and brought her backstage.

“You have to confront him,” Jeff pleaded.

“I don’t want to,” Y/N whined.

“You have to, or else he’ll bloody win! You don’t want that, and I sure as hell don’t want that for you either! He is the one at fault. You have every right to fuck him up for it.”

Jeff’s little speech gave her an impulsive boost of confidence.

“Fine. I’ll do it. Get everyone out of the room, though,” Y/N stated firmly, beginning to march down the hallway behind Jeff.

Momentarily, Jeff went into the room and rounded up Keith, Jim, and Chris, and filed them down the hallway into another room orderly.

As Y/N was about to enter the room, Jeff whispered in her ear, “Good luck, kid. Knock ‘em dead.” Y/N smiled at Jeff before entering the room and closing the door behind her.

~~~~~~~~

Paul warmly smiled at Y/N as she entered the room.

“Hello, love,” he said gently, “how did you enjoy the show?”

Y/N painted on the most genuine smile she could force. “It was...almost perfect.”

Paul’s eyebrow quirked as he smiled in a confused way. “Why almost?”

“I don’t think rehearsals went as well as I had planned,” Y/N replied smoothly.

“Why? Did something bad happen to you? You’re speaking in riddles, dear.”

“Oh, I apologize,” Y/N snickered, “it’s actually so funny that you bring up riddles, because that seemed to be the exact problem at hand.”

“What does that mean? Did someone tell you something you couldn’t figure out?” Paul chuckled, “You’re confusing me.”

“I figured out that you would be going home to your wife next week.”

All the colour from Paul’s face was drained in a millisecond, and his originally jovial expression was gone. It was as if someone punched him in the gut.

“Who...who told you?” he asked, panicked.

Y/N was taken aback. “I find out I’m your side-chick and you have the audacity to ask who told me? Not an ‘I’m so sorry that I lied to you and broke your heart, Y/N’?”

Paul huffed. “And you expect me to just keep my composure when someone of your gravity walks into the room for the first time? I really am sorry, Y/N, I truly, truly am, but—”

Y/N’s calm and quiet demeanor had left the building at that point. She was mad. Really mad.

“But what? You tell me how in love you are with me, and how I’m your one and only forever, just to realize that I didn’t matter? I’m going to be eighteen years old in March. Eighteen. What do I know about love? Nothing, absolutely nothing. And you chose to take full advantage of my emotional vulnerability.”

“But you did matter. You’re so special to me, Y/N. Don’t you understand that?”

“Don’t you understand that you have a wife? You never loved me. I was never special to you. I was just another fling. But you won’t admit it to yourself.”

“The life of a travelling musician is extremely difficult, Y/N, and you don’t get that,” Paul said severely.

“And that shouldn’t be used as an excuse. You know what? We’re done. Whatever this ‘thing’ is, is over. I wish you the best,” Y/N concluded as she walked out the door and sternly shut it.

The nightmare was over and Y/N was a free agent.

Before she could debrief about her experience with any of the other Yardbirds, Y/N left the venue, caught the first taxi home, ran up into her room, and cried herself to sleep.

~~~~~~~~

22 April 1966

Y/N found recovery time and solace in those two months without Paul. She didn’t go to any Yardbirds gigs, but she sporadically met up with Jeff, Keith, Jim, and Chris at a pub or restaurant to catch up over a meal and drinks. Chris had recently mentioned to her that they were playing in London on the 22nd, and if she felt comfortable, she could attend for free and get backstage to hang out.

Y/N said she’d have to think about it, but she’d definitely consider it.

She had realized over the course of two months that she was not truly in love with Paul. Yes, she fancied him, but she must’ve mistaken the feeling of being genuinely in love with the person for being in love with the situation. Y/N concluded that this relationship was the equivalent of living out one’s childhood dreams of a romance with their schoolgirl crush.

She decided that she was retired from dating for a long time, especially because of how this shitshow ended, but a miniscule piece of her wondered when and how she’d meet her other half.

In the afternoon on the day of the show, which was to be played at the Wimbledon Palais, Y/N made the reckless decision to take a trip down to the Yardbirds’ hotel, but not for the reason you might expect.

Y/N never got the chance to thank Jim McCarty for coming clean about Paul’s infidelity to his wife by “dating” her, and to formally apologize for ripping him at the Ready, Steady, Go! rehearsals. She felt bad for being so dismissive of him, because he was always so nice to her and apparently seemed to care more about her wellbeing than Paul ever did.

Y/N stood on the platform of the train station anxiously, meticulously scheming in her mind about what she would say to Jim to truly and genuinely express her gratitude. She thought about how the encounter would go all the way to London, and all the way on her walk to the hotel.

When she arrived at the hotel, she greeted the concierge, and took the elevator to what she believed to be the Yardbirds’ floor. She took an educated guess as to which room Jim’s would be, just by what she had seen in past times. Y/N took a deep breath before knocking on the door.

When the door opened, she realized that in her best interest, her guess was correct.

“Hi,” she greeted breathily, her fingers interlaced together in front of her timidly.

“Hi,” Jim smiled. After a short moment of awkward silence, he continued, “Um, what are you doing here? Not that it’s a bad thing, which it’s not, but…” he trailed off.

“I just wanted to tell you something that I think needed to be said in-person,” Y/N said quickly.

Jim raised his eyebrows in surprised delight. “Oh, okay.” He moved out of the way of the doorframe so Y/N could enter the room, then shut the door gently behind her. “Welcome to my humble abode,” he chuckled, “make yourself at home.”

Y/N smiled and thanked him graciously, but shyly, as she sat down at a small couch at the edge of the bed. Jim was quick to follow her actions.

Y/N took a deep breath before beginning, “I just wanted to thank you for informing me about Paul in February. I know, it’s been a really long time since then… but I’ve needed some time to myself to think and refocus and recuperate, y’know?”

Jim just laughed. “You came all the way here to thank me? That’s so nice of you. You didn’t need to do that.”

Y/N grinned. “I don’t know, I felt this obligation for some reason. And in addition, I wanted to apologize for lashing out at you as well. I was just shell-shocked, I guess, and I unfairly took it out on you and Jeff.”

“If I forgave you then, I’ll still forgive you now,” Jim smiled, “don’t sweat it. In all honesty, I was surprised at how well you took the news.”

“I just wanted to be as calm and composed as possible,” Y/N blushed, “but obviously I didn’t get very far, did I?” Jim laughed at Y/N’s little jab at herself.

“Well, you’re so quiet, at least you showed a piece of your inner self that night,” Jim teased. Y/N just beamed at him.

“You know, since I owe you, now… I guess I just need to live a little, y’know? I have this introverted shell I need to break out of someday, and I might as well start now,” Y/N offered with a chuckle. “So, with that being said, let me do something for you. Anything you want.”

“Oh no, that’s too much. You didn’t even cause me any grief,” Jim retaliated playfully, “thank you, Y/N, but I think you’re overthinking this whole situation.”

“Please,” she continued with a pleading voice, “I feel awful, and plus, if it makes you feel better, you’ll be helping me clear my conscience. Jim, I’ll do anything you want, no matter how crazy… I’ll take you jet-skiing, I’ll ride on a bike in a bikini when the temperature is below freezing, I’ll clean your kitchen… anything you want me to do, I will do.”

Jim grinned at the bizarre options Y/N gave him before contemplating her invocation for a moment. Anything, huh?

“Kiss me.”

“You said you'd do anything, no matter how crazy, yes?” Y/N didn't get a chance to finish, as Jim interrupted her with a hand at her wrist, and a flinty look in his eyes, that gazed right into hers.

“I did.”

“Well,” Jim continued, stepping ever-closer to the young woman in front of him. She looked just as beautiful as she always had, if not more. Jim was convinced she was perfect, and wanted to protect her. To treat her right, the way she deserved. “You could get on your knees, in front of me.”

Kneeling down on the carpeted floor, Y/N looked up at him through her eyelashes, and the glint in her eyes made his knees weak. She looked almost shy, and he couldn't help but send a comforting smile her way.

“Have you done this before, Y/N?”

She shook her head at this, and looked down, almost embarrassed. Jim, heart pounding in his chest in anticipation, reached out a hand to lift her head. Her eyes held trust, and a hint of nervousness, but her lips quirk up in a smile, her cheeks flushing.

“I’ll walk you through it, love.” The sound of a belt clinking to the floor reached Y/N’s ears, zipper following suit, and she couldn’t help the way she almost thrummed with anticipation. Her parents had warned her against exactly this type of thing. Musicians were, according to her parents, a fickle breed, who only wanted her for her looks and body. It hurt to think of it now, when Jim was being nothing but a gentleman to her. She wanted to break out of her shell, and maybe this was the way to do it.

Y/N looks to Jim and sees him exposed, fully hard now, and her cheeks erupt into shades of rosy pink. He was big, much bigger than she would have expected, and she smiled up at him.

“Okay, love. Open your mouth.” Y/N opened her mouth, sinking it over his tip, which elicits a strained moan, full of pleasure. His hand landed in Y/N’s hair, fingers clenching gently around the tresses. The light tug Y/N felt only spurred her on.

“That’s incredible, princess. Now, try and circle your tongue. You’re doing so well.”

Y/N did as she’s told, and it’s like a spell was put over the man. He craned his head back, neck bared, as soft whimpers fell past his lips. Growing more confident, knowing now what he liked, she let her teeth rake over him lightly, which worked more moans from him, almost breathless in his euphoria.

With a murmured “fuck,” he comes, Y/N’s name the only thing on his lips. She slowly released him from her mouth, wiping her lips with the back of her hand as she stood. Jim, leaning up against the wall, was in bliss, heaving breaths and ruffling Y/N’s hair as she approached.

“That was… you're perfect, princess. Absolutely perfect.”

Y/N laughs, smile nearly splitting her cheeks, and she pressed even closer, pressing her lips to his in a soft, content embrace. She could taste the sweat on his lips, and she couldn't help but think that she could definitely get used to this feeling.

Jim revelled in the feel of her soft lips against his, and he was struck by the thought that this is exactly where he’s supposed to be. He’s where he wants to be, beside Y/N.

————

Taglist: @blood-on-blood @reincarnated70sbaby

[horizonzerodawnaesthetic]

do you write for all characters? and what are your boundries for requests

I'd say I write for most characters that you could think of. I won't write for people like Helis or Ted Faro, because I personally dislike them and I'd struggle to have anything nice to say about them. But for anyone else really they just have to have some substance to them. I can't write for them if all they have is a name, because there's simply no personality to work off of. I'd say if they have at least one quest tied to them you're probably good. Though remember, the more info there is on a character, the easier it is to write, and you'll probably get more writing. If I really don't know them I'll look them up in the wiki and watch a walkthrough of a quest they're in/dialogue (hell I do that for characters I know well). This is more likely for HFW characters just cause there's so dang many of 'em. (No shame in the side character game, trust me I know lol)

And as far as boundaries go, please nothing to do with self harm/suicide, but tbh I have to figure out my nsfw boundaries. I've never published any nsfw that I've written, I find it a bit embarrassing, but if the people request I just might.

For that tbh I'd say send it in, and if I don't vibe with it I simply won't write it, no hard feelings I prommy <3

Additionally I'd like to say it's super helpful to be more specific with your requests. The difference between "hey can you write something for Drakka" and "Would you write headcanons for Drakka with an Utaru reader? Maybe they want to be a warrior and have been watching him practice?" makes a world of difference. It gives me a prompt and tells me the format you want, which makes us both happy. Ofc being too specific isn't great either, but as long as you're not listing things out like the beginning of My Immortal, you're good. 👍(Also as of writing this no one's asked for Drakka so dw I'm not calling anybody out.)

But like I said, if I don't like the request I either won't write it, or I'll only write part of it, so go ahead and let the fic prompts flow, the worse I can say is no.

[immortalonus]

Where You Belong: Chapter 3

A/N: I hate this chapter so, so much. Unfortunately, I also couldn't find any way around it. If I got anything wrong, chances are I just missed it, so feel free to let me know.

Read on AO3 here.

“...Humans with ghost powers!? Crazy, right?” Valerie snorted, then paused.

“Or humans that turn into ghosts, or ghosts that—stay human when they die or whatever. The important thing is that there was a part of Ellie that was real. And if it hadn't been for Phantom, I'd have just left her there with Plasmius, to do whatever—to hurt—to—”

Valerie took a moment, struggling to admit out loud what she had already begun suspect for herself.

“—kill her. he was gonna murder a little girl, mama, and if Phantom hadn't convinced me she still had some human in her, if I hadn't listened to a ghost, I woulda let him.”

Phantom, if she hadn't listened to Phantom, specifically. It was a detail that still irritated her every time it came up.

The ghost boy had been so persistent, for so long in his charade of being a “good guy,” that most days, she simply tuned him out.

And truly, was that so wrong?

Up to that point, Everything Phantom had said in his own defense had been nothing more than talk. Oh, he said sorry, he said he felt bad about it, but at the end of the day, what had he done?

Ruined her fathers job and her life, then fled the scene like the criminal he was.

Stole for the hell of it and couldn't even be bothered to take the blame when he got caught.

(Valerie still had no idea why the ghost thought an “evil mind controlling clown guy,” was a reasonable excuse, at all, for anything.)

Who was always ready to fight, but never to help.

Never, not once, in all the wretched aftermath of the Grey's financial dissolutionment, had Phantom come to their aid. Not in the immediate events that came after, nor during the process of her father's dismissal, when he could well have stayed his expulsion simply by appearing, proving Damian Grey's assertions of spectral interference months before he would have been otherwise believed.

Not during the move from her childhood home to her current residence down in Elmerton. Too strapped to hire assistance, it had been down to Valerie, her father, and Fenton, who had taken his weekend off to help her move instead.

No haunting the creditors who dogged their every step, even now.

Hell, he couldn't even be bothered to tell the public that it was his fault her life was ruined! In private, yes, where he knew no one could hear. But never where it mattered, to whom it mattered, since that would require Phantom to actually give something up for once and admit what he did was wrong. Which he would never do, because Phantom, like all ghosts, was a fundamentally egotistical creature, right down to his very core.

No, Valerie had good reason to believe that she had Phantom all figured out: A showboating prig, full of hot air and false excuses, distinct from other ghosts only in his capacity to fool the masses into believing he was ever anything more.

Then Elle happened.

The ghost girl's mere existence had managed to throw Valerie's world into a whole new tailspin, leaving her reeling even as events conspired to yank more and more of her footing out from under her, teetering on the edge of her own understanding as all her convictions suffered blow after blow.

Living ghosts.

Ghostly humans.

Friends acting as enemies.

While enemies acted as friends.

“I woulda let him kill her.” She repeated, “Just like I let him kill—end—All those other ghosts I gave him, just handed 'em over for whatever freak experiments he had cooked up.”

Just like she had snuffed out who knew how many other specters during her own patrols.

How many of them were still alive in there, she wondered, underneath the ghost?

Her mother's brows seemed to furrow in response, worried, no doubt, over what exactly her daughter had done.

“I didn't mean it mama, it wasn't my fault! It was all Plasmius, you know Plasmius? That knockoff Nosferatu all the time picking fights with Phantom. He used me and he lied, and—“ Valerie licked her lips futilely seeking moisture from a mouth gone dry.

“He played human to do it.”

Valerie felt a flush of rage and shame wash over her at the words. She had been used all over again, played for a fool and manipulated just like her so-called “friends” had used her before, dangling control and importance in exchange for the very essence of her soul.

To learn that she had struck the same deal with a different kind of devil, that all her power was a tool in someone else's hands had curdled into an ache that rivaled the raw burn of a whole new betrayal.

Because unlike the A-listers she'd run with not too long ago, or even Phantom, who she'd always hated, Vlad Masters had been a man she'd seen fit to trust.

“Plasmius was Masters, and—God, they even share the same first name—My sponsor, the guy who gave me my first suit, trained me up, even kept me and daddy off the streets when things were at their worst. And me stupid enough to think it was 'cause he cared.”

A hard exclamation escaped her throat at the thought, to forceful for a scoff, too sharp for laughter.

No such thing indeed.

“Everyone's out for something. Masters—Plasmius, he was out for Phantom, and I was just the pawn that was supposed to get take him out.”

That's part of what scares me too. Why was Plasmius so dead set on Phantom? Why'd he sink so much money into taking him out? Why does Phantom hate him back?”

And it was peculiar, how much Phantom seemed to hate Plasmius. Valerie had thought for a long time that it was some kind of territory dispute, a conflict over a rare and valuable thin spot between realities. After years of chasing after Phantom, however, it became more and more clear that the ghost boy's resentment of Plasmius went beyond that of simple competition.

The mere mention of the vampiric specter was enough to turn Phantom tense and snippy, as though the mere thought of the other ghost irritated him, somehow. After witnessing the two up close, Valerie's suspicions had cemented into certainty: Phantom hated Plasmius, and he hated him personally.

“There's so much I don't know, and no one to tell me. Plasmius doesn't know that I know, and until I get out from under him, that's how it's gotta stay.”

How Valerie was supposed to get out from under Plasmius was another question entirely. Plasmius, in Vlad Master's guise, was the sole reason the Grey family had managed to keep on top of its debts for as long as they had. To make matters worse, he also provided most of the materials Valerie's suit consumed for its more elaborate systems and weaponry.

Even so, the temptation to throw it all away and smash Plasmius' smug face against her boot was a strong one, stayed only by the fear of what would happen to her father if she tried.

“Phantom went squirrelly on me too,” she said. “I thought maybe I could get something from him, since we never ended that truce. But in the end, he was still just a ghost.”

She hadn't wanted to go to Phantom, in those days between Elle's escape and her decision to plunge into the Zone, had felt too much like would be admitting something, somehow, to do so. Had it not been for the fact that Phantom was her sole and only choice, she was sure she would never have asked at all.

Once she'd made the decision to do it, he'd been easy enough to track down. She found him—where else?—but In the middle of a fight, duking it out at altitude with one of the countless animal ghosts that regularly made their way across the paltry excuse for a veil stretched across Amity Park.

The fight had been easy, the conversation that came after it, much less so.

How could someone be alive and dead at the same time? Were they alive and dead at once? all the time? Did they alternate at will? Were they born? Were they made? How many were there? A lot? How did she spot a human-ghost if she saw it? Was there a way to tell? Or did you have to guess?

Phantom had been the one to tell her that these human-ghost, ghost-human things could exist in the first place, which had lead her to expect, rather despite herself, that perhaps he could explain them, too.

So it was only natural, really, that in that moment precisely, he had chosen to clam up. He knew nothing of these miraculous hybrids, could find out nothing concerning them, and as to finding them, he had no clue at all. Nevermind that it had been he who had first told her such beings were possible in the first place, the ghost was a veritable well of ignorance, utterly unable to aid in her pursuits.

“Ghosts are narrow minded and selfish, they go round everywhere like they've got blinkers on both sides of their head. You stick an idea in front of their nose, and they grab it if they like it, and shove it away if they don't. They don't consider where you got the idea from, they don't think about why its there, they don't even goddamn care why you picked it up in the first place. All that matters is somethings blocking their little slice of the world, theirs, specifically, 'cause they wouldn't never consider any other kind.

That was Phantom's problem, he wanted a truce yeah, but his way, not mine. A truce for beating things up, not a truce for trusting and talking or or anything that might give trouble to him. That wasn't how he wanted it to work.

He was even worse with Elle. She's the only other one I could talk to—not counting you, ma—who could tell me anything about anything about what was going on!

And Elle, I couldn't track her down. When she said she had places to be, I thought she meant like Phantom when there wasn't anything fun for him to hit, not just gone! I tried tracking her, I did, but it didn't work. Either staying human hides her, or she's run too far to track.

Stupid Phantom wouldn't help me with that, neither. It was just 'oh she's fine,' this and 'why do you care' that, like I can't worry about a human girl wondering on her own without nobody to make sure she's even fed!”

Not only had he been absurdly reluctant to answer her questions, but even had the audacity to wonder if they were at all related to her continued association with Plasmius. It was an insult, beyond all doubt, as though he didn't know how little choice she had.

As though he wasn't the one who forced her into making it.

“I guess so far as he figured, if Elle wasn't being kidnapped, then she was fine. It didn't matter that she's a kid, or alone, or was stealing apples just to eat. She was strong enough to survive on her own and not melt, and that was good enough for him. He just sat there when she left, too, watching her scat like any other ghost."

Did he know how far she intended to run, or simply fail to understand why he should care?

"No matter how well he thinks he means, Phantom can't help the human parts of her. Just because she could beat any man that tried to take doesn't mean that she doesn't get—scared, or lonely, or—“ Valerie wriggled uncomfortably in her pallet of dust. “—Or that she doesn't need people. Phantom can't give that, and Plasmius is a sick piece of shit, so that left me. Just me. If I let that go, then Elle'd be alone for real.”

The worry in her mother's gaze didn't lighten, exactly, but it did shift, consternation giving way to curiosity mixed with a hearty topping of concern. It was easy to imagine the question she would have asked, if she could but speak.

“Then what is it do you think you're doing all the way out here, hm?”

Valerie sighed. This, at least, she had a clear answer for.

“I'm on a mission. There's this thing called the infini-map. Don't have all the details, but with a name like that?” She scoffed, “don't need 'em. Whatever it is, its good enough to send Plasmius into a fit just at the idea of laying claws on it.

If I could get something like that, imagine, I could find Elle in a heartbeat. No more lookin', no more running blind and hoping for luck. And when I find her, I could use it get out from under Masters thumb for good. Use it, sell it, whatever, with that thing, it would be easy. Me and daddy could be set for life.”

At the time, the idea had seemed brilliant. With her search for Elle stymied, and rental payments approaching their inevitable due, she had latched onto the idea of a Ghost Zone mission the instant her so-called benefactor had brought it up. It was a chance to bleed “Mister Masters” of a little more of his money, without actually having to tolerate his presence for any length of time. Even better, it presented an opportunity to do right by her father while staying far away from the quiet anger, the soft, dispirited sense of regret that had seemed to overtake him as jobs remained scarce, and Valerie continued to hunt.

Perhaps most selfishly, it was the opportunity for the Red Huntress to become what Valerie had had always wanted her to be: A free agent, no puppet masters, no expectations, just the world, and herself within in it.

It was one thing she truly did not regret, even now, lying in the dirt looking up at the memory of a memory ripped to tatters in her hands. Whatever else happened in this strange, wild place, it was her decision, her choice. She was finally in control.

Thinking of control, there was another reason why she wanted to speed up her search for the ghost girl.

“Elle's a good kid, but she <i>is</i> a kid, with a ghost in her she don't even know to fear. I'm not sure how long she can fight it like that without anyone to tell her what's going on. She needs someone who knows about ghosts,who can show her how to fight back, 'cause if she doesn't, I'm not sure how long she'll last until she ends up Plasmius."

“Or Phantom.”

It was an ugly theory, but explained a great deal. The identical looks, the raw antipathy towards Vlad, in particular, or how a full ghost could see himself as related, somehow, to a being that was something so much more.

All ghosts came from somewhere, and Valerie rather doubted Elle was truly Plasmius' only attempt at capturing a hybrid of his own.

“'Cause I think they're the same kinda thing. It explains why Plasmius wanted her so bad, and they change the same way, too. They go from being a ghost, ectosignitures and all, to being alive. Not some fake, but breathing, heartbeats, everything. There's something in them that's really, truly alive.

Plasmius and Elle, they're both alive," she whispered, "but only Elle's human, and I don't know how long that's gonna last.

I can't stay stupid about all this ghost shit, neither. There's so much they won't tell me, and Elle's my ticket to figuring it out. If I can find her in time, I could fix it. Bring her to the Fentons, maybe, take out the ghost before it gets too big, make cash, move out me and daddy and Elle all together. Either way, this is how I do it, right here, right now. This is my chance.”

No more being lead around like a particularly witless donkey for his carrot wielding master, no more suppressing every violent impulse that threatened to take her over any time she chanced to look “Mister Masters” in his insufferable face, no more long, interminable periods of her nose against a grindstone day after day, scraping her fingers bloody against poverty's wall in the way her father seemed convinced was better, somehow, for all the pain it so obviously caused him.

“I know it's risky, but it's worth it, it's gotta be. If I can get the infinimap, then I can fix everything, all at once. I won't owe nobody nothing, and I can start fixing things again, for everyone.”

And perhaps her mother agreed, as the shadow that had gathered against her brow seemed to ease, relaxing back into something more serene.

Valerie smiled, running her thumb over the place where her face once was, pointedly ignoring the sensation of absence in favor of the smiling visage still shining across her display.

“See, I knew you'd see it my way.” Valerie was pretty sure she'd had to have gotten her sense of adventure from somewhere, after all. “It's hard, but I'm fine. And when this is all done, it'll be more than fine, it'll be better.

Just you wait.”

Overlay image: Session end.

The memory of Theresa Grey vanished slowly, victim of her daughter's own reluctance to see her go. But vanish she did, sunshine grew pale and laughter faded, memory crushed into data and erased of meaning, and Valerie was once again alone.

She sighed, finally allowing herself to lower the photograph as she reached over for her other parcels, which she began collecting into a small bundle atop her chest.

Technically, she could reach over to put her mother with her boots and rations instead of the other way around, but found herself suddenly disinclined to do so. Without the stress of the day to keep her going, she found exhaustion pushing down at her very bones, keeping her pressed against the meager comfort of her body warmed hollow of dirt.

No, lifting herself up as little as possible seemed a very enticing proposition indeed.

She grabbed both her boots, then her gloves, peeled off to reveal the same skintight leather which coated the rest of her, the remains of her wallet, and a single, battered bag, too smooth for leather, too thick for silk: All supplies from her earlier run in with the thieving insect from before, pared down to those goods and supplies she could actually use.

She chose not to dwell on how few of them there were.

Her mother came last, placed gently at the head of the pile, where she could look it over one last time.

She should have done this sooner, she knew, perhaps even the moment she entered the Zone. Keeping the photograph on her physical person was too much of a risk, one born of foolish sentiment and thoughtless desire. She had just wanted so badly to keep one good thing with her, somewhere tangible and real, she'd disregarded the threat she put it in.

Because if there was one thing death was guaranteed to do, it was steal everything and everyone it thought was yours.

Valerie placed her hands over the small collection, reaching once again into the inorganic hum prickling ever at the edges of her mind.

Unit_1 selected (Gen_Storage:)

Report

Status: Stable (20% full)

Contents (See details)

Intake request:

Intake selected? (Y/N)

>Yes

Processing…

A flick of her mental fingers, and it was done. Boots, bag, and all turned into their own kind of mist, dissolving into the small pocket dimension that followed her always, shadows diffusing into the surrounding light, the weight of them dissipating until nothing but the memory of their pressure remained.

Valerie brushed her fingers over the space they left behind, a half smile tugged at the corners of her trembling lips.

“Goodnight, Ma,” She whispered. A grief like seaglass hung heavy on her heart, smoothed over edges cut no longer, though the heft of its sorrow lay leaden even yet.

“Sleep good now, you hear?”

No voice answered in response.

Valerie no longer expected it to.

Deep in the realm of the dead, a figure turned on its side, curled against itself on its small outcropping of stone. Legs up to its chest, arms clenched tight around its shoulders as it heaved, breath by mortal breath, seeking some moment of repose.

[moonstruckbucky]

The Recruit (5/?)

Summary: Becoming a SHIELD agent had been your dream and finally, you’ve achieved it. You’re at the top of your class in every field except one—hand to hand combat, and it doesn’t impress Captain Rogers in the slightest. Instead, it seems to convince him you’re useless, setting off a tense relationship between the two of you. In an effort to bridge the gap, Bucky offers to help you train to earn your way back into Steve’s good graces. What could possibly go wrong?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!Reader x Bucky Barnes (not Stucky)

Warnings: Probably some incorrect fight-speak.

Notes: Yikes, I’m sorry for the wait on this. The holidays thoroughly kicked by ass, but now that they’re over, I should be back to regularly updating! Enjoy. x

Series Masterlist //  Main Masterlist

Training begins the day the cast comes off your wrist. An exact two weeks later, and Bucky’s pounding on your door at four AM, hair tied back and biceps - both flesh and gleaming black metal - on full display in his compression tank. Coupled with your sleepiness and just how unfairly attractive he is, your brain short-circuits for a minute when you first open the door.

“Up and at ‘em,” he orders, every bit the Sergeant you’d read about.

“Huh?” you reply dumbly, wiping the sleep from your eyes.

“Time for training, rookie.” The gleam in his eye lets you know he’s teasing, but still his face remains stoic. You glance over your shoulder.

“Bucky, it’s four AM.” Your voice is a little rough, still riddled by sleep, but Bucky pays it no mind.

“You wanted me to train you, so I am.” He pushes into your room, tamps down a flush at being in your personal space, and waits with his hands behind his back.

You stare for a few moments, realize he isn’t going anywhere, so you sigh, scuttle slowly to your dresser to pull out a sports bra, some leggings and a tank top. You step into the en suite bathroom and change quickly. A glance at Julie’s closed door confirms she hasn’t been woken by Bucky’s early visit, and you breathe a quick sigh of relief.

The gym is empty, lighting kept low. It smells clean, despite its purpose, and Bucky begins your training with warm-ups: a few laps, some crunches, a few rounds on the punching bag to get your blood flowing.

Then, the real work begins.

Bucky doesn’t go easy - he comes at you like an enemy would, throwing his weight into each kick and punch. Each move calculated and thought out before the previous one is even finished. You can’t keep up, block his attacks as best as you can, but he barely lets you get an attack of your own in. He never tires - damn super serum.

He downs you embarrassingly fast, knee pressed into your chest. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to get his point across. He holds out his left hand, metal warm against your palm, and hoists you to your feet, but in the next second, he’s at you again.

You’re a little more ready this time - only just - and manage to parry more of his attacks. Even get in a kick that he blocks, but it’s the first time he’s given you an opening. He throws his metal fist and the whirring is loud next to your ear as you just barely dodge it. You’re a little surprised Bucky would even go for your face with the metal appendage, and it’s that shock that is your downfall.

Your split-second falter results in you face-down on the mat, feet swept out from under you with your arms pinned behind your back. Wind knocked out of you, nose throbbing where it’s hit the mat. You groan a little, grunting when his weight disappears from you, and you roll onto your back.

“Sheesh, you don’t fuck around, do you?” you ask, coughing as you catch your breath. He’s barely sweating above you, feet planted on either side of your hips. The only sign he’s exerted himself - a few strands of dark hair have fallen out of the bun at the back of his head.

“Not fair,” you mumble low under your breath, reminded only after a moment of his super soldier hearing. Face warming, you avert your eyes up and back as a smirk curls his mouth.

“Just needed to get a feel for you, sweetheart.” The pet name rolls over you like a warm bath, makes your skin prickle with goosebumps as he extends a hand and hauls you to your feet with all the effort it takes to lift a feather. Damn that super serum.

“Okay, first of all,” he starts once you’re back on your feet, steps forward and presses down on your shoulders, “you are way too tense. You’re going to hurt yourself, and you’re going to tire yourself out. So relax.”

You take a deep breath in and let it out slowly, try to push the tension coiled tight in your body away. It works, kind of, until a different kind of tension arises when Bucky circles you, brings his hands to your shoulders and digs his thumbs in.

“Relax,” he orders softly. “More.”

As his thumbs rub hard circles into the muscles of your shoulders, you feel your body melting against his touch, lower regions clenching. Jesus, what he does to you.

“Better.” His voice slides over you like a warm bath, soothing and comforting, until he lowers his hands and steps away. You almost lean back, chasing his touch. A low chuckle, and then he stands before you again. “Let’s try this again. Remember, keep yourself loose.”

It’s difficult to do what he says, to keep your body pliant and flexible when every time he swings for you, you yearn to tense up. You have to train your body, he says, train it to fight for you, not against you.

“You hesitate too much,” he says next. “You give your opponent too much time to suss out a weak spot. Don’t hesitate. Think. Stay a step ahead. When you make one move you should immediately be thinking of the next.”

You grit your teeth, quicken your movements and try to use the size difference against him. He grins, a little proudly, when he catches on, seems to struggle in keeping track of your hits.

“Good,” he encourages, following it up with a grunt as your elbow meets his lower belly.

You barely give him a second to recover, and then you move again, turning your moves into a game - a deception. Make him watch your right side as you attack from the left. It takes him minutes to recover, to figure out your game, and he’s grinning again. It both makes you preen and makes you push harder until you finally, finally pin him to the mat.

Sweat pours down your face, soaking your hair and your tank top, drips off your chin onto his chest where you sit, knees on his shoulders. He could easily toss you off, yet he remains where he is - again, barely panting though his skin glimmers with sweat.

He’s solid beneath you, hot like a furnace, wide barrel chest lightly heaving, mouth parted. You swallow thickly, all too warm now and not from the exertion. His eyes have gone dark, crystalline blue almost completely swallowed by black. Abdominal muscles clenching under you, he sits up, slow, almost hesitant. Hands, one metal and the other flesh, both molten as they glide up your spandex-clad legs, raising shivers as he goes.

Heat pools in your lower belly, breath laboring as his hands anchor on your hips, thumbs brushing circles. They’re distracting - his hands, his eyes as they peer up at yours under dark curtain lashes. You’ve never seen them so close, glittering silver under the fluorescent lighting. Breath hot against your cheeks. Everything so warm.

“Good,” he murmurs, low and smooth like honey, hands drifting higher. Yours settle on his biceps, flexing and twitching under your touch. Both unyielding.

Unsure who moves first, you’re surrounded by his scent as his lips touch yours, a tentative caress that steals your breath. You gasp, and Bucky presses forward, kisses you harder and slides his hands up to your face, holding you to him.

A whimper in the back of your throat, fingertips buzzing, mind cloudy as he kisses the breath out of your lungs. Your fingers curl into his hair, loosen it from the bun he’s tied it into. It’s silky soft as you rake your fingers through it, shudder as Bucky sighs into your mouth.

Then, like a cold bucket of ice, your eyes fly open and you jerk away from him, scramble out of his lap onto the mat. Hand over your mouth, you watch wide-eyed as his gently flutter open, lips red and kiss-swollen.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” you gasp, and before you can rethink it, or ponder the confusion-hurt on his face, you flee the gym.

Face burning, you rub your cheeks, try to quell the heat - both from shame and from the effect of Bucky’s kiss. How could you let that happen? Exuded such a loss of control? What would Hill say if she found out? Your comrades? Taking advantage of an Avenger - that, or using him to boost yourself to the top. The rumors would fly, twist, convolute into things so far from the actual truth.

Which was that you’d taken advantage of a goddamn Avenger. Your reputation would be ruined, all the hard work you’ve put in - gone, hidden, erased by horrible rumors that you were nothing but a promiscuous ladder-climber.

Grumbling under your breath at your stupidity, you lean back against the elevator wall, give FRIDAY your floor number. The metal wall is cool against your flushed skin, helps to ground you and bring your mind back. Heaving a deep breath, you straighten as the elevator slides gracefully to a stop.

The doors slide open and you make to step out until you catch sight of an all-too-familiar figure leaning against the wall across from your door.

“Captain?”

Chapter Six

[jaycewrites-192000]

Growl: Ch. 11

Warnings: None

Tag List: @theravencawsatmidnight @etroman @kaariqueen

(What I write about Kyotani's dad is completely made up)

It was Saturday afternoon, meaning it was time for Kyotani's punishment. But to him, it wouldn't be as nearly as bad of a punishment since Y/n was with him. She really didn't have to be here, but she was anyway. The two got to work at cleaning, Kyotani would mop the floors while Y/n would clean the windows. "You know Ken, this is a really weird first date." Y/n chuckled as she sprayed more window cleaner on the dirty window of the gym door. Kyotani's heart fluttered at the new nick name. "Yeah? Well, guess I'll have to really make up for it huh?" He said.

"Yes you will. I'm a lady, a lady shouldn't have to clean smudged windows." Y/n said, placing her hand over her chest in a classy way. "Shame on you." Kyotani rolled his eyes. "Pardon me madam. But you could have stayed home." He countered. "And miss out on time with my boyfriend? As if. And I never said this was a bad date." She moves onto another set of windows after finishing the first. "How sweet." Kyotani smirks.

"Oh hey, I bet your mom will be thrilled to know that we're together now. She was really laying it on thick how much she wanted us to date." Kyotani paused. That was right, his mom was desperately trying to get him and Y/n together. Well, mission accomplished then. "Yeah, it's going to be so annoying to hear from here how she was right. And my sister is just gonna be a bi-a jerk about it." Kyotani caught himsef.

Y/n giggled and made her way over to him. "How about after we finish this, you take me over to your place? We can all celebrate together." Before Kyotani could give her an ok, he stopped and thought about something. "Ken?" Y/n tilts her head. "Oh, uh, not today." He muttered. Y/n raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

Kyotani hesitated before answering. "My dad is visiting tonight..." Y/n blinked a few times. 'Does...he not have a good relationship with his father?' She thinks. The last time his father was brought up in conversation, he acted this was too. "Ken, do you and him...is there something going on?" She didn't exactly know how to word it other than that. "We don't hate each other, if that's what you think." He tells her.

"Then what? If you don't mind saying." She asked. Kyotani sighs and sets aside the mop he held. Y/n walked behind him and sat on the stage part of the gym. She pats the spot next to her, Kyotani walked over and sat next to her. "He left when I turned 15. My mom and him just kinda...fell apart. And they got a divorce."

"Oh. Kentaro, I'm so sorry." Y/n placed her hand on top of his. "It's fine...I mean, I don't hate either of them for it. And they don't hate each other either it's just...weird you know? He only ever comes by ever few weeks during the weekends. Other than that, I get phone calls and letters from him. He moved to another city so, we don't see each other often. So you can imagine how awkward it gets." Y/n nods as she listens. She looks down at her lap and lets out a soft sigh.

"I wish my situation was even slightly like yours." Kyotani looks at her confused. "Divorced parents too?" Y/n nods. "Yeah but...me and my father...we don't talk at all. It's rare I even get a phone call from the deadbeat." Her eyebrows furrow, and a light scowl formed on her lips. "I'm sorry." She shakes her head. "This isn't about me."

"No it's fine. I've already explained my story. Go ahead." Kyotani insists. "Ok well...He left me and my mother when I was only 10. Mom caught him cheating with some woman he worked with. And apparently, he had been a bit of a drinker before I was born. After that, he would only drink now and then but whenever he did, me and mom didn't see much of him. After my mom found about the affair, she divorced him. And I hadn't seen him since."

Y/n continued. "My father was the one with the well paying job so, after the scandal he was fired. That's when my mom started working a lot more, so we don't talk as much as we use to." By the end of the story, Y/n was crying. "I'm sorry...I haven't really talked about this so..." Kyotani wiped her tears and held her close. "It's fine, you don't have to be sorry." He said in a hushed tone. Y/n laughs weakly, trying to lighten the mood. "Wow, when did cleaning the gym turn into a therapy session?"

Kyotani chuckles lightly and stroked the back of her head. "Since now I guess." Suddenly Kyotani's phone started to buzz. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the screen. "Speak of the fucking devil." It was his father. "He can wait." He was about to send him to voicemail before Y/n stopped him. "No it's ok. Go ahead. I'll get back to cleaning while I wait." Y/n hopped up and grabbed her cleaning supplies again. "You sure?" Kyotani asked.

"Yep!" Y/n beamed before getting back to cleaning. Kyotani looked at the screen again, sighed and then answered. "Hey dad..."

Y/n could catch small bits of the conversation. "Yeah....yep....Wait, really? Oh uh, I can't just yet....I'm at the school I uh, got into a fight so they're making me clean....I know...I know. Yeah ok, I'll be there ok? Alright bye." Kyotani sighed heavily before putting his phone away. "Looks like my dad decided to come early. Damn it said he wouldn't be here until later tonight." Y/n turns to him. "Was he upset? That you had gotten in trouble?" She asks.

"Yeah, but it's whatever. I'll just have to hear more about it later. Fuck." Kyotani leans against a wall. Y/n set aside the cleaning stuff and strides over to him. "Sorry." Kyotani looks at her. "You need to stop apologizing for things that aren't you're fault." He pets her head. "Besides, I did it for you. It's well worth the lecture." He then leans down and kisses her head softly. "Mhm." Y/n blushes brightly. Then a thought suddenly made it's self present in her head. She fiddles with her hands for a moment, trying to figure out the best way to ask this.

"Ken?" Kyotani hums. "Um...would you be opposed to me...meeting your father?" She mumbles the last part of her sentence. Kyotani eyes winded, he wasn't sure how to take that. You already met his mother and sister, so meeting his father shouldn't be such a bad idea. But, he wanted to spare her the awkwardness the night was sure to bring. "Y/n..." He says with a sigh.

Y/n shook her head. "N-nevermind. It's ok. That sounded a bit pushy, sorry." Kyotani scowled slightly. "What did I say about apologizing for things you shouldn't be sorry for?" He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes looking everywhere but her as he thinks. "Ok. You can come meet him."

"Really?" Y/n asks. "Yeah, just, don't say I didn't warn you." Y/n smiles and hugs him tightly. "Thank you Ken!" Kyotani couldn't help but smile and hug her back. "Don't mention it."

That night, Y/n were heading home with Kyotani. Unlike before, an overwhelming wave of nervousness came over her. She was actually going to be meeting his entire family this time. Before Kyotani could bring her to his home, she made a quick stop at her place to change into something more suitable. Kyotani told her it wouldn't be necessary, but she was not about to show up at his place and look a hot mess in front of his family. On the way there, she kept fiddling with heer outfit, making sure it wasn't wrinkled.

"You're nervous." Kyotani spoke up. Y/n paused her actions momentarily. "Yeah, no duh. I want to make a good impression. I know I've met your mother and sister already, but now I'm meeting your father too. And, we're dating so that makes this twice as important." She bring her hands down at her sides. "I want them to like me." Kyotani reached down and held Y/n's hand. "Come on, you're worrying over nothing. You know how much my mom likes you. And my sister does too, she just doesn't want to say."

"And as for my father, who cares if he likes you or not? I like you, that's all that matters. I wouldn't have fell in love with you, if I thought you were a shitty person. There is so much about you that I love. The way you smile, the way you laugh, you always know how to cheer me up, you make me feel loved Y/n. Not to mention you're really cute." Y/n's face turned bright red at his words, he was also a little red. "That should be enough for them. And if it's not, then screw 'em."

Y/n laugh. "That's a little mean, don't you think?" Kyotani smirked and let go of her hand, so he could snaked his arm around her waist. "Not when it comes to you." Before the two teens knew it, they had arrived at Kyotani's home. Kyotani glanced at Y/n, who was holding his hand tightly. "You ready?" He asks. Y/n nods, a determined smile on her face. "I'm ready." Kyotani knocked on the door, and waited. Shortly after, the door opened, revealing a tall man with the same buzz cut as Kyotani, only his was black and not blonde. His golden eyes, that matched Kyotani's too, fell from him to Y/n.

Assuming that was Kyotani's father, Y/n bowed her head in respect. "Nice to meet you sir." She greets him politely. "I apologize for suddenly showing up, but I thought it was time I formally met Kentaro's father." She looks back up, half expecting the same glare Kyotani had when she first met him. But instead, there was a warm and kind smile. "Ah, so this is the famous Y/n Kaori was talking about! Nice to meet you too young lady, the name's Botan." He held out his hand, Y/n smiled softly before taking it. "And just as pretty as I thought she was. Nice work son." Kyotani's dad gave his son a thumbs up.

Kyotani rolled his eyes, cheeks red. "Yeah yeah." He muttered. "Let's just go inside." Kyotani's dad lead the two in where they were greeted by Kaori and Natsuki. "Y/n! What a surprise! Come on in!" Kaori waved her hand, motioning her to come closer. "Hey." Natsuki nods at her before turning her attention back to her phone. Y/n couldn't help but wonder just what kept her glued to that thing. A boyfriend? Girlfriend? A stupidly overrated meme?

"See, didn't I tell you she was beautiful?" Kaori says to Botan. "Yep! Our son sure knows how to bag a good one!" He laughs. "You two...cut it out!" Kyotani hides his red face. 'Wow...they're so alike...' Y/n thought with an awkward smile. "Thank you for having me."

"Like I said, you're welcomed here anytime Y/n." Kaori smiles. "Now, have a seat. Dinner is almost ready. I hope you like (favorite food)!" Y/n's smile brightens. "I do, thank you so much!" It was a nice gesture, but she couldn't help but wonder just how Kaori knew that was her favorite meal. Maybe it was just insane luck? Whichever, she was excited!

"So you're really serious about my bro, huh?" Natsuki glances up at her. Y/n nods, placing her hand on Kyotani's. "I am. I intend on staying with him as long as possible." Natsuki sighs and turns her attention back to her phone. "Eh, hope you like dumbasses then, cause you're stuck with one."

"Natsuki..." Kyotani grits his teeth together. "What, it's true." Natsuki smirks. "Alright you two, no more fighting. We have a guest, we should make her feel welcomed." Botan says trying to calm the tension between the two siblings. "Oh I do feel welcomed, you guys are really the nicest family I've ever met. I'm a little jealous..." Y/n admits shyly.

"Well Y/n, you should start considering yourself part of the family now. Anyone who is willing to date our hot headed son, is family. Especially when they're so polite!" Kaori adds. "Now, who's ready for dinner?"

Y/n felt her chest fill with warmth, she hadn't felt this way in a long time. She had found herself a loving boyfriend, who loves her just as much as she loves him, and to top it all off, his family was so welcoming. It really felt like she was accepted into their lives as one of them. Who knows, maybe one day she really will become part of the family, if Kyotani decides to pop that oh so pretty question, and gives her his last name.

Until then, she was happy with what was right in front of her. And she didn't plan on letting go anytime soon.

Previous | Next

[the-cult-of-russo]

Push and Pull (Part 15)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x OC

Warnings: cursing, smut

---------

It was bright and early when Daphne woke up the next morning. She had things to do and no time to waste. The sun was shining through her window, the weather finally starting to get warmer. She put on some leggings with a tank top and then her zip up hoodie over it. She groaned at her hair in the mirror as she dragged her brush through the unruly locks. So many times she considered cutting it so it wasn't so much work, but she knew she'd regret it. Instead, she settled on tossing it up into a high pony and ignoring it. Her trusty backpack was slung around her shoulder and she hopped around as she put her vans on before leaving the apartment. 

She squinted slightly at the light once she got out of the building but it didn't deter her. First stop. Coffee. One large latte to go later, she was on her way to see Brett to find out what news he might have. She tossed her now empty cup in the trash can beside the station before she jogged up the steps and inside. She never checked in with the desk, she was a ghost when she was here. That's how it worked. It wasn't such a secret anymore than she was on Brett's payroll which left her to come and go as she pleased, but officially, she was never there. When she walked into the office area, Brett was sitting at his desk just like the day before. He looked like he hadn't even gone home.

"You look like shit," she mused teasingly, putting down the other coffee she'd gotten for him. His eyes lit up at the sight of it and he gave her a tired smile. 

"You're an angel," he muttered with a long pull from his drink as she sat down. The coffee at the precinct was the worst and never really did its job. 

"Any news yet?" She tried to hide the impatience in her voice but she wasn't sure she succeeded.

"Actually, we do have something. Not quite sure the full details yet though," he murmured. She looked at him expectantly.

"The people we rescued, their fingertips were burnt right off just like the last time. We can't identify most of 'em until they're fully coherent. But they're doing alright. I just can't believe the Chinese were at it again right under our goddamn noses," he fumed, taking another slurp of his coffee.

"I'm not surprised. They probably picked it back up when the heat turned off them again," she sighed. She hoped that once the victims were in a better state they'd be able to get names from them. Some of them might have family that were looking for them.

"Anything from the device?" She asked hopefully

"Yeah, actually. The Chinese requested the meet. They were pretty vague about a lot of shit but they kept saying something about the Italians having a weapon and they wanted to use it. Seemed to be brokering a deal about it. I got no idea what the hell this weapon is, but the Chinese really fucking want it and the Italians already have it. And that makes me nervous as shit," he frowned. 

It made her nervous too. What did the Italians have that the Chinese couldn't get for themselves? And why did they want it? 

"Well that's unsettling," she huffed with a shake of her head.

"Tell me about it. Good news though, that device you planted must be well hidden. It’s still live and active," he flashed her a grin and she smiled herself as she gave herself a mental pat on the back.

"Do you think it'll be useful?" She inquired.

"No telling yet. I mean mostly it'll be the kitchen staff but it might pick up something. Any other meets we might not be aware of or anyone saying something. Even something small can lead to something big, right?" He smirked, practically quoting her. It made her chuckle. 

"At least that's something. If we can figure out what weapon the Italians have we can figure out how bad this all is," she said softly. It made her nervous and she had a feeling things would get messy soon in Hell's Kitchen. 

"Here's hoping. There ain't much for you to do with the case right now but I'll let you know when we get any more information. It's just a waiting game now," he replied.

"Ah, my favourite," she smirked sarcastically, causing him to snort. She wasn't known for having patience. She liked answers and she liked them immediately. But in this case, playing the long game would be the only option to getting to the bottom of it all.

She bid her goodbyes to him not long after that before making her way back out into the sunshine. Now it was her next pit stop. A short cab ride later and she was at a very fancy luxurious home. It was more like a mansion and was three stories high. It looked like it was right out of a movie with one of those grand entrances and a water feature out front. She was well out of place as dressed down as she was but she knocked on the door anyway. She wasn't even surprised when a butler answered the door.

"Can I help you, miss?" The older man asked softly. His black and white uniform was crisp and clean and it put her own rumpled clothes to shame.

"I'm here to see Mrs Grimes. I'm Daphne Weaver," she replied awkwardly. 

"One moment please," he shut the door and she quirked her brow at how formal all this was. This better pay well. Suddenly the door opened again and he smiled at her.

"This way please. She's been hoping you'd come," he seemed a little friendlier now. Maybe it was because his boss wanted her here so he wasn't all suspicious of what she wanted. Either way, she followed him inside. He led her up the huge ass staircase, the kind that split off at the middle. Everything looked like it cost a million dollars, from the art to all the rare looking things in cabinets. She didn't even feel worthy enough to touch the banister so she kept her hands in her hoodie pocket. 

The carpet was lush and a deep purple colour and she found her eyes wandering the hallway they walked down. How many rooms does someone need? No wonder she had staff, upkeep on this place would be a ball ache. They reached a room far down the left and he knocked on the heavy looking mahogany door.

"Enter," a female voice rang out. It was slightly accented but she couldn't place it. Jeeves opened the door and gestured for her to go inside. She glanced around the room curiously as she walked in. It was a living area with a grand fire. Heavy bookcases lined the walls of the room and were filled with what looked to be antique books that Daphne found herself wanting to look at. There was a giant fur rug in front of the fireplace with velvet looking sofas set in front of it. 

That's where Mrs Grimes was sitting, looking perfectly in place for where she was. She was wearing a long black dress, heels bigger than anything Daphne could ever walk in. Her greying blonde hair was neatly coiffed and pinned up and she was dripping in diamonds. Jesus. 

"Pleasure to meet you Ms Weaver, please sit," she smiled warmly at her, gesturing to the other sofa. Daphne was half worried her vans would dirty the goddamn carpet as she padded over and plonked down. Despite it being completely over the top and not really her taste, she did appreciate however how clean and neat everything was kept. A place like this could easily fall into being cluttered and dusty but it was pristine. She supposed the staff were to thank for that. Mrs Grimes' nails were so long she doubted she could do much cleaning herself. Daphne wasn't sure how she didn't accidentally gauge her own eyes out.

"Would you like something to drink?" She asked politely. Jeeves was still hovering near the door no doubt waiting for his command. She was tempted to say yes to see what kind of beverages the other side drank, but she didn't want to stay long.

"Uh… no thank you. I'm fine," she replied with an awkward smile.

"Very well. Hammond, leave us," she dismissed the man at the door. He gave a dramatic nod before he left and shut the door behind him. She idly wondered if he ever wanted to punch his bosses when they commanded him to do things like that. She'd never be able to hold a job like that down.

"I'm glad you came, I was worried you wouldn't," the older woman started, elegantly crossing one leg over the other.

"A job's a job," Daphne snorted lightly, her hands still stuffed in her pockets lest she touch something and ruin it. Mrs Grimes gave her a tense smile, looking like it was difficult to be polite. Maybe she wasn't used to the lower class being in her home. 

"Indeed it is. Will you take the case?" She asked hopefully. 

"Yeah, I'll be able to do it. As I tell all my clients, I don't give out time frames. I never know how long it'll take me to find what I need or what roadblocks might come up. I don't appreciate impatience and it doesn't make me work any faster," she said firmly. Establishing boundaries was the first thing she liked to do. It was important. Especially with the wealthy ones as in her experience they tended to be the impatient ones with their self importance.

"Very well. I accept your terms. And please, whatever you find, do tell me," she implored. Daphne nodded, she always did no matter how shitty the information she'd gained was. Mrs Grimes stood, walking somehow with grace and ease in those monster heels as she walked over to a cupboard near the wall. She opened a drawer and came back with some paper.

"Me and my husband used to be very much in love. And I'm afraid now that I'm older he's decided to find other companions. Call me paranoid but I'm sure you understand when to look into a gut feeling," she mused as she walked back over and sat down. Daphne nodded again. Her gut was rarely wrong and it was telling her that Mrs Grimes was right.

"I want confirmation. I want to know who with and how deep it runs. If it's just physical or something more. I want to prepare myself should he try to divorce me and take what I have. I need proof," she stated seriously. Daphne's eyes subconsciously swept across the room and all the fancy things in it.

"I know what you're thinking. And I was the one with money, not him. He makes a decent amount with his job but I was born with money. This house was passed through my family for generations. Everything in it I bought. But over the years I've had my eyes opened to how greedy my husband can be. I cannot trust if we separate that he won't try to take everything from me," she sounded bitter and Daphne wasn't surprised. They definitely sounded like they had issues and once trust was gone in a relationship, everything else had no foundation to stand on. It wouldn't last. She commended the woman for thinking ahead to make sure she was protected if it came down to it. This kind of bullshit was why relationships were too much work.

"I'll find out what I can. I'll be honest, some of my methods aren't quite… legal. But it gets the job done," Daphne muttered. Things like breaking and entering were definitely illegal and then there was hacking if she ever needed to do it, which in this case might prove useful.

"Good," Mrs Grimes smirked at her. She found herself smirking back at her. The rich typically didn't care too much about how she got the information, just that she got it. Mrs Grimes reached down to her Gucci purse, setting it on her lap and she grabbed something out of it. It was her wallet and Daphne was curious what her offer would be. She hadn't spoken to her about price points yet and when it came to her wealthier clients she made a point of waiting to see what their offer would be first. Usually she’d haggle a little just because she could. They'd have the money and they wanted the information. 

She watched with a keen eye as Mrs Grimes took a chunk of money out and handed it to her. A quick count told her it was $1000 and it took effort for her eyes to not bulge out as she kept a cool calm facade.

"That's the deposit. You'll get the rest when the work is complete. Another $1000. I may give you more depending on just how much you find out," she drawled. So she wouldn't need to haggle then, this price was insane and way more than what the job would entail, but like fuck she would tell her that. She also appreciated the incentive. She liked a challenge, something to work towards. The more she found out then the more she'd get paid. 

"Sounds good to me. I'll get started in the next few days," she replied, keeping her calm demeanour and not acting like she was thinking of what she would spend her money on once she got it all. She carefully stuffed it in her backpack before zipping it back up. She almost jumped when the older woman dinged a bell beside the table and it took all of her willpower not to roll her eyes as the butler walked in.

"Yes, Mrs Grimes?" He enquired politely. 

"Please see Ms Weaver out. Have one of our drivers drop her off to wherever she needs to go," she commanded softly. Part of her wanted to protest but the other wanted to pretend she lived the fancy life, even if just for a moment. 

They both stood and Mrs Grimes took her hand in one of those fancy people hand shakes that were flimsy and light. 

"It was a pleasure, Ms Weaver. I hope to hear from you soon," she smiled. 

"Likewise," she replied, not really knowing what to say. No matter how many well off clients she saw she always felt weird and out of place interacting with them.  She followed Jeeves out the hall and down the large stairs case. He stopped when he got by the front door and picked up a phone that was attached to the wall. She stood there looking around as the man spoke in hushed tones down the receiver before hanging up and then opening the grand front door. 

"Have a lovely day, Ms Weaver," he bowed politely.

"Uh… you too," she murmured as she stepped outside. 

The door shut with a clang behind her and she was suddenly on her own outside. It didn't last long though as a large black car pulled up right at the entryway.

"Ms Weaver?" A man called out after rolling the window down. She nodded and walked over. She was getting sick of being called that name. The man hopped out, jogging over to the back of the car and opening the door for her. This really was fancy service. She gave him an uncomfortable smile, not used to this level of service from anyone. It felt wrong almost. But she slipped inside and settled in the ridiculously comfy car seats. 

"Where to, Miss?" The man asked once he was situated behind the wheel again. 

"Um… Fogwell's gym please," she murmured in response. He punched in something on the phone he was using with the GPS and then he took off. There was a reason she was dressed the way she was after all. She didn't want to think of Matt being a weird asshole the day before. As much as part of her considered not going, she really needed to train and she knew he would be there. She was too stubborn to let Matt's weird PMSing get in the way of her learning to defend herself properly. 

The drive was uncomfortably silent and she clutched her backpack on her knees. She wondered what it was like to live this life full time. She was a bitch but she didn't feel right with commanding people to do shit, even if she was paying them. It just felt off to her. Before long, the car pulled up in front of the gym. She almost felt like she should pay him or something, totally not used to this kind of exchange. As she unbuckled her seat belt, the man got out and ran around to her door. He opened it and she slipped out, swinging her bag over her shoulder. She noticed the apprehensive look on his face as he looked at the rundown gym.

"Are you sure, Miss?" He asked quietly, like he was asking her to blink twice if she needed help. She almost snorted but gave him a polite smile. She guessed his boss wasn't used to being around places like this. She appreciated his sentiments all the same though.

"I'm sure," she said softly. He nodded, still looking unhappy about it but there was nothing he could do. With a nod, he was back in the car and taking off by the time she walked through the door.

She was quiet and heard loud grunting and the hits of a punching bag. As she came into view, she saw Matt beating the holy hell out of the bag. His fists were flying, grunts and pants leaving his lips with the flurry of punches. The graceful savagery was what always intrigued her about him. But then typically he'd open his mouth and ruin it. He hadn't seemed to notice her yet once again which honestly was perturbing since anyone could come in here and sneak up on him like that. She walked over to the bench, setting her backpack down with a thud. The grunts and punches stopped instantly and the only sound that echoed in the gym was Matts heavy breathing.

"Didn't think you'd show," he said carelessly. 

"I wasn't sure either honestly. But I need to train, even if I do have to put up with your bitch ass," she muttered as she started wrapping her hands. He scoffed as he came over, grabbing his water bottle and drinking a large pull from it. He tossed the bottle down again as he made his way to the ring.

"Alright, come on then," he demanded. 

"What? I don't get to warm up first?" She asked skeptically with a raised brow. He snorted coldly and shook his head.

"You wanna know how to defend yourself for real, there is no warming up. When you're out there in a situation like this, you don't get that luxury," he retorted. She rolled her eyes but honestly couldn't argue with sound logic.

Instead, she bit her tongue as she put on the gloves and climbed inside of the ring. Matt cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders as they squared off with one another. 

"Let's go," he smirked devilishly. He lunged at her but she moved just in time, twirling around as they practically traded places. They started trading blows, although his were very clearly intended not to hurt her, and she was pleased she got some good jabs in. She didn't slow down or stop this time when he deflected or managed a light shot to her side. She just came back twice as hard. She was proud of herself. Her heart was thumping away from the adrenaline and the exertion of the sparring after a while and she leaned against the ropes as they both caught their breath.

"You did good. You're getting better," he sounded reluctant to give her the praise and she rolled her eyes a little at him.

"I want you to teach me how to get out of the hold from last time," she said firmly. His head turned to her then, his hazel eyes not quite landing directly at her as he narrowed them.

"Daphne, I don't think-" he started, only to be promptly cut off.

"It's fine. I need to learn and I'll get over it. I think I'll be fine this time," she urged. She meant it too. She still had lingering effects of her attack but she was feeling a little better recently. And after her and Matt's partially regrettable night together, she hadn't had a nightmare for the first night since it happened. She knew the sex had helped. Whenever she needed to feel better and clear her head, she would have sex. It's why her sister was so worried it would become a crux for her. Her sex with Matt had done wonders for her stress and anxiety over the whole thing so she felt like now was the perfect time to try to learn it. 

He was quiet for a moment before heaving a heavy sigh. He yanked his gloves off and tossed them out of the ring and she followed suit before he changed his mind. Climbing to the floor, she lay on her back and bent her knees just like the last time. As he knelt down between her legs, it was hard not to think of the night they shared together and how similar it was. 

"Ready?" He asked reluctantly. She gave him a firm nod he couldn't see but could sense and he brought his hands to her throat. Once again, he applied very little pressure but she lay perfectly still. Her heart wasn't hammering like crazy, she wasn't seeing Keiran hovering over her. She was fine. Matt stayed still as he did his head tilt thing and it took her a moment to realise he was listening to her heartbeat to check if she was okay or not. It was kind of creepy but she let it go. 

He talked her through the steps of how to get out of that kind of hold. One at a time he'd tell her what to do and correct her if she got it wrong as they did a slow mo version one part at a time to ensure she knew each step. It was more complicated than the last one but after a few step by step tries she thought she had a good idea on what to do. Now it was time to get out of it for real. 

"3, 2 ,1," he counted, preparing her somewhat so she didn't lose her shit like last time. This time he applied some pressure around her throat but it was still practically nothing. She felt his weight bearing down on her and she grabbed his right forearm with her left and then used her right hand to grip his left shoulder in a cross grip. Using her left foot, she pushed off his hip, pivoting her pelvis to the right so he was no longer directly above her. She hooked her right leg high up on his back, right under his armpit and she kept a firm grip on him as her left leg moved to wrap around his shoulder too, locking it onto her other. She grabbed his wrist, the one that was in her grip that was now at her mercy on her chest. She knew if she thrust her pelvis upwards sharply she would break his arm at his elbow. 

It had happened so fast but she caught herself before completing the maneuver and felt pleased with herself. She let go of his arm and rolled them over so he was now under her. They were both panting and she laughed lightly, feeling good she actually did it. She was a little sweaty and she looked down at where he lay under her. His brow had a slight sheen to his and his hair was doing that thing where it went every which way. His eyes were wandering as he caught his breath with a grin. She wasn't the only one enjoying their session it seemed. 

She felt his hands glide up her thighs that were around him and she'd be a liar if she said it didn't make her tingle. His unseeing eyes were burning into her, pupils blown wide. She went to move off him but he held her in place, only now she was hovering right in front of his face. One of his hands rested on the base of her neck and he pulled her down a little. She stayed still though and resisted as her lips were a breath away from his.

"We're not on the same page, remember?" She teased him, enjoying seeing him this worked up. She squeaked when her back hit the mat when he rolled them over quickly. She hadn't expected it. 

"I'm over it," he smirked devilishly at her before his lips collided with hers. 

She should have really stopped to think about it. To assess the validity of his words. But sex with Matt was something else and it made her feel amazing. All her stress and worries melted away last time. And although she knew going down that rabbit hole wasn't good with her past of sometimes becoming dependant on sex for her own mental well being, she couldn't really help herself. She blamed Matt for being insufferable and ridiculously attractive. The kiss was rough and demanding and she gave into him, moaning as he pushed himself against her through the thin fabric of their pants. He knelt up, tugging at his vest and lifting it over his head. Something dawned on her then.

"We're gonna do this here? What if someone walks in?" She snorted amused. She wasn’t one to shy away from sex in weird places but she didn't want some old dude walking in and getting a free show. He tossed his vest on the floor as he chuckled, jumping to his feet and climbing out the ring. She sat up, watching him curiously as he went and locked the door from the inside. She couldn't take her eyes off him as he prowled back to her though. The predatory grace he held, the way his sculpted body moved. In her needy and horny haze she found herself impatient for him to return and she felt like he was taking his time to tease her if his smirk was anything to go by. She pulled her shirt off and then her bra, tossing them in a heap beside them as Matt toed off his shoes. 

He knelt back down then, his hands curling her ankles and yanking them lightly. Her back hit the mat with a light thud and she looked up at him shocked before laughing. With a wicked grin, he pulled her leggings and panties off together but painfully slow and her desire was increasing with every second he made her wait for it. She wouldn't beg though. She sat back up, tugging at his shorts and he bent down, kissing her roughly as she yanked them down with his boxers. She fisted him tightly and he moaned into her mouth, causing her to smirk into the kiss. Letting go, she pulled the shorts and boxers all the way off him before pushing him onto his back. 

It was his turn to look mildly shocked and she climbed on top of him, her slick heat trapping his cock against his belly. His eyes were darting around her face and she leant forward, catching his lower lip with her teeth. He let out a long groan, arching up at her as she tugged it before letting it go with a pop. She sat up, pushing up on her knees before she gripped him and lined herself up. Without a word she sank down onto him and the pair moaned in relief. It was instant for her, that feeling of him filling her up like that. Knowing her release would come soon. She rested her hands on his firm chest for leverage as she started moving her hips. His hands felt like they were all over her body at once. Not soft or sweet, but firm and demanding and he took in every detail of her body. 

The gym was filled with moans and gasps as she rode him hard, her anger at his behaviour and the thrill of fighting with him fuelling her pleasure. She almost found it ironic that they were fucking in a boxing ring with how often they fought. He pulled her down roughly, lips smashing against hers as he ravaged her mouth. She felt that euphoric feeling getting closer, her whole body tingling in anticipation. She got faster and harder, chasing the release she was after like her life depended on it. 

"Don't stop," Matt groaned against her lips, one hand gripping the back of her neck while the other was on her ass, fingers digging into her flesh. She had no plan on stopping though. Not when she was this close. She kept up the pace and then she moaned loudly, her body tensing lightly as she clamped down around him. 

He let out the hottest fucking noise she’d ever heard a human make and it only heightened her own pleasure as she rode the waves of her orgasm. He was clinging onto her tightly, rutting up into her as he panted and then groaned, spilling himself inside of her. He relaxed instantly. Hands falling to his sides. She sat there on top of him as she tried to catch her breath. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair had started falling out of her ponytail. She was thoroughly fucked and in the best way. That beautiful feeling was coursing through her veins as she let the hormones and endorphins flow though her. 

She climbed off him carefully before standing up and stretching.

"I'm gonna hit the shower," she hummed sounding blissful as she scooped up her clothes. She walked completely naked to the showers and got herself cleaned up and presentable. She didn't regret it, it was amazing and she felt good now. And from the sounds he made, he enjoyed himself too. She just hoped he meant it when he said they were on the same page. 

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

Matt stood in his own shower in the men’s changing rooms as he let the cold water pelt him. His brain was a fried mess and he leaned against the cool tiles as he tried to just think clearly. He wasn't sure why he'd done it again, not after last time. He couldn’t really say what had bothered him about the fact she left last time. He'd gotten out of the shower and went to his room and she was just gone. No words, no note, nothing. He knew it had been purely physical, they could barely tolerate each other. He wasn't stupid enough to think too deeply into it. Yet it left him feeling strangely hollow when she’d just left him like that.

And then when he had turned up to work, Foggy had been acting weird. After some pressure he'd told Matt about his conversation with Daphne. Matt was pretty sure he hadn't gotten the whole story from him but the gist of her saying it was just sex was clear. And he'd told Foggy she was right. It was a one time thing because of all their pent up anger and the adrenaline from the night they'd had. He told his best friend to stop thinking about it. Yet he hadn't been able to do the same. He'd ended up texting her using Foggy's phone to see if she would be home and then he went to see her. No rhyme or reason or idea why he was going there. All he knew was that it bothered him.

It wasn't like he’d never had casual sex before, although he couldn't say it happened much the last few years. And his inability to understand why he was feeling the way he was led to them fighting again. Because she was right. But he hadn't been able to let it go. So when he left, he told himself it wouldn't happen again. She was trouble and being around her wore him out. It wasn't worth it. So how did he end up here again? Oh that's right, apparently he'd turned into a horny teenager again. A bit of sparring, feeling her body against his and sensing how happy she was in the ring really fucked his hormones over. And now here he was again. Only this time it was his own fault. She’d actually turned him down and he'd been the one to push. He couldn't say he regretted it either. It was the best damn sex he’d ever had and it left him feeling more chilled out than he felt in a long time. He'd keep his mouth shut this time and not act like a teenage girl about it. He dug himself into this hole and now he had to climb his own way out. 

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

Daphne towel dried her hair as much as she could and it left it wavy. She scooped it up in a messy bun on top of her head, a few stands framing her face. The euphoric feeling she got after sex was easing but she still felt calm and settled. It was nice, she didn't get to experience it that much anymore. She really didn't want to have to face Matt, not knowing if he'd throw a tantrum like last time. She didn't want him to read into it again or act all weird about it. It really killed the vibe and ruined her good mood. She'd tried to stop it from happening, not wanting to deal with that again, but she hadn't been able to help herself when he'd wanted her so clearly. There was something addictive about it. But now she felt dread settle into her bones as she thought about how he would react. 

She took her sweet time getting dried and dressed simply to buy herself some time. But eventually she was done and she had to leave the changing room. As she walked out into the main part of the gym, Matt was sitting on the bench tying his laces. 

"Ready?" He asked softly. No awkward questions, no anger in his voice. Maybe he was on the same page now after all. She felt relief sweep through her, allowing her to enjoy the calmness that she'd been left with after their time together. 

"Yeah," she replied, grabbing her backpack and putting it over her shoulder. 

Matt grabbed his cane where it was leaning against the wall. He was now wearing a hoodie too and he grabbed his glasses out of the pocket as he slid them onto his face. She wondered if he ever got sick of having to act blind. He was blind but not like the average blind person. He didn't really need the stick and she'd seen him 'bumping' into things like he hadn't known they were there before. When they stepped out into the sunshine, she winced and squeezed her eyes shut.

"Jesus christ! I think I've joined the blind club," she grumbled, rubbing her poor eyes. The sun just burnt the shit out of her retinas. He let out a surprised laugh, the door shutting behind them.

"Here," he grinned. She cracked a wary eye open, seeing him holding out his glasses to her, but she didn't take them.

"It's not like I need them,” he teased. It helped. She felt a little better. She slid them onto her face and her eyeballs thanked her immediately. They started walking down the street together and she glanced into a window as they walked by, looking at her reflection. She snorted at herself. Her hair, despite being recently washed and put up, was a wavy mess. Her cheeks were still rosy pink and the glasses looked weird on her face.

"They suit you," he mused playfully. She shoved him lightly, causing him to laugh when an older woman gasped at her actions.

"Assaulting a blind man in public? It's like you want to get arrested," he smirked.

"Yeah well, Foggy will be my lawyer so I'll be good," she quipped back with a grin. Now they were on the same page they seemed to be amicable after venting their frustration on each other. 

"You really think my best friend would take your side over mine?" He asked, faking being hurt as he held his hand over his heart. She stopped walking and he did the same as she looked at him.

"I hate to say it but I think he prefers me now. Not that I can blame him. You are a bit of an asshole," she grinned mischievously. He gaped at her before his hand darted out and went to grab the glasses. She squeaked, holding them in place as he tried to steal them from her face.

"You don't deserve my glasses," he snorted.

"Come on! I need my eyes, I'm not like you!" She whined pitifully. 

"And what's this?! My two favourite people, getting along nicely? Is the world ending?" A dramatic voice sounded from next to them. Both she and Matt stilled completely in a comical way before they took a step away from each other. Both of them looked caught out as they looked at a very smug Foggy.

"This is great! Better than great! I love this," he beamed like a kid on Christmas. Daphne groaned and glared at him from the glasses still perched on her face.

"Foggy, I swear! You want us to not kill each other when we're in the same room? Don't make a big deal about it when it happens," she huffed. 

"It is a big deal. You're both laughing and smiling together. This is huge. It's like a rare solar event or something," he defended. 

She resisted the urge to throttle him as Matt rubbed his temples. 

"Foggy," Matt warned lightly.

"Okay! I get it, I'm making it weird. This whole thing is new to you both and I'm just making it awkward," he soothed, holding his hands up in surrender.

"There is no 'thing'. We can't just actually have a moment where we get on with each other before you start trying to marry us off again?" She whined. 

"Marry us off? What?" Matt asked quickly, his head whipping to his friend. She snorted as Foggy's cheeks went a little pink and he shot her a glare 

"Oh, he didn't tell you he's the captain of ship Maphne?" She laughed loudly. She didn't care if Matt knew. It was ridiculous to her and she was getting payback on Foggy for being a little shit. 

"Maphne? Do I even wanna know?" Matt asked exasperated. Foggy shot her another look before standing up straighter.

"You know what, Daph, mock me all you want but this is the hill I'm choosing to die on," he pointed at her. Matt still stood there unsure of what they were even talking about. She opened her mouth for another retort that would no doubt embarrass Foggy further and also maybe make Matt uncomfortable which was a bonus, but Foggy beat her to it. 

"Anyway! I'm glad I caught you two, I have great news!" He beamed excitedly. She quirked her brows perplexed as he led them to a table outside of the cafe nearby. The three of them sat around it, Matt and Daphne watching their friend expectantly. 

"I finally asked Karen on a date!" He practically squealed. A splitting grin graced Daphne's face, unable not to be happy for him. During their many talks, he'd spoken about his feelings for the blonde and Daphne had always told him to go for it. 

"Aw, Foggy! You're growing up, I'm so proud!" She cooed, reaching over and pinching his cheek. He was so happy he just let her.

"That's awesome, man. I'm happy for you," Matt smiled sincerely.

"I know, it's great right? I just finally bit the bullet. I just decided I need to stop being such a baby about it," he explained. He had a weird look on his face though, the same one that usually told her something going on.

"What is it?" Both she and Matt asked at the same time, him clearly picking up on Foggy's weirdness in his own way.

Foggy raised a brow at them both being in sync and she made a point to not even look at Matt so Foggy wouldn't go off on his Maphne tirade again.

"Well… I just… I panicked, okay? I set it all up and she knew I wanted to ask her something. But then I'm like, what if she says no? I mean it's just gonna be me and Karen. Alone. On a date," he uttered looking like a deer in the headlights.

"That's kinda the point, Foggy," Matt teased.

"I know it is. And I couldn't back out because she was just watching me, waiting for what I wanted to ask. I honestly felt like I was about to have a heart attack and I may have asked her on a date but told her it was a double date with you guys," he blurted, barely taking a breath as he did. 

Daphne blinked at him for a moment as her brain tried to digest his words.

"You did what?" Matt asked incredulously. Foggy made a pitiful noise and she took Matt’s glasses off and set them in the middle of the table, giving Foggy a look.

"A double date? Implying that me and Matt are actually also going to be on a date. Do you see the flaw in that plan?" She asked slowly, like she was talking to a child about why playing with matches was bad. 

"I know! Like I said, I panicked and that's just the first thing that came out of my mouth!" Foggy defended with a sigh.

"And Karen actually bought that?" Matt scoffed, gesturing with his hand to him and then Daphne.

"You're kidding right? She's all aboard this ship, she was actually excited about it," Foggy smirked. She kicked him under the table and he groaned. Matt's jaw ticked as he glared in his best friend's direction. 

"This isn't a joke, Fogg. All the shit you give me for keeping my secret from her and you're just lying right to her face about this?" Matt frowned. 

"That's completely different. Your secret is dangerous. This one isn't. For all she knows it's your first date too and after that it just didn't work out. Besides, it's not like you're not getting it on with each other, would it really be that hard to just pretend to be on one date?" He pleaded, looking from her to Matt.

"Yes," they both answered again.

"Please? I really need this. If I tell her you're not going she might cancel too. You two are like a buffer, help set the scene and put her at ease. I really like her, guys. I don't want to mess things up," he begged. 

"Foggy-" Matt started sternly, only to be cut off by Daphne. 

"Fine. But you're paying for dinner," she relented. 

Foggy smiled the widest grin she'd ever seen on a human and Matt turned to glare at her.

"You've got to be kidding me," he scoffed incredulously.

"What? Didn't you hear him? He's our friend, Matt. Let's just do this for him. Besides, free dinner," she shrugged. Matt looked pissed and honestly it was a reward she hadn't expected. She'd almost forgotten how nice it felt to push his buttons. 

"This is ridiculous. You really think she's not gonna notice we can't stand each other once she's sat at a table with us for a while?" Matt glowered. He had a point but they could just try to be civil for Foggy's sake.

"You know what, Matt, I really hate to play this card but you left me no choice. You lied to me for the longest time and now I have to keep your secret. I already have to start a potential relationship with lies for you. Can't you just do this one thing for me? I never ask you for anything," Foggy muttered with a frown. 

A sly grin spread on her face at how underhand it was of Foggy. She almost felt like a proud parent as she watched a million emotions pass over Matt's face before defeat was all that was left.

"Fine. But don't say I didn't want you when this all blows up in your face. And you're paying for my dinner too," he huffed. Foggy looked more than pleased with himself. 

"Thank you! You guys are awesome. I'll even pay for your drinks if you actually try and act like you like each other and not make it awkward," he shot them both a toothy grin. 

"Hey, let me drink as much as I want and I'll make it really look like we're on a date," she smirked devilishly, a wiggle of her eyebrows and Foggy burst out laughing.

"Jesus christ," Matt muttered quietly with a shake of his head. 

"Deal," Foggy nodded firmly, "tonight at 8. It's the Mexican place near the firm," he instructed before he stood.

"Alright. I'm heading out, you coming with, Matt?" He asked, shooting his annoyed friend a look.

"Yeah. You go on, I'll catch up in a sec," he bit out. Foggy gave her a look and a smirk before he started walking away. 

"Really?" Matt glared at her, swiping his glasses from the table and shoving them onto his face. 

"What? Free food and as much booze as we want? Plus doing your best friend a solid? I know you're an asshole, Matt, but I thought you weren't that much of an asshole," she quipped dryly. He clamped his mouth shut, jaw tense as he pursed his lips.

"Fine," he stood up abruptly, gripping his cane before holding it in front of him. 

"You're doing this for Foggy. Don't fuck it up for him just because you've got a stick up your ass," she huffed as she stood up too. 

He shot her what she presumed was a dirty look behind his glasses before he started walking away, his cane swinging in front of him. His irritation about the situation only made her want to do it more. It was his own fault really for acting like such a bitch about the whole thing. He was asking for her to make it worse for him. She started walking home as a plan formed in her mind. She'd get nice food and decent booze and she'd get to piss Matt off in a setting he had to behave in. She was actually looking forward to it. 

As soon as she got home, she called their firm, knowing Karen would be the one to answer.

"Nelson and Murdock, Karen speaking," came the voice down the phone. Daphne trapped the phone to her ear with her shoulder as she tugged off her hoodie and tossed it in the laundry basket.

"Hey Karen, it's Daphne," she said casually. 

"Oh! Hi!" She sounded genuinely happy to speak to her and she wondered why she'd never bothered to speak to Karen more since she was so close to Foggy and Matt.

"I know this is weird, we haven't really spoken much. But I wanted to ask a favour since we're going on a double date," she said carefully, flopping onto her sofa.

"Sure, what is it?"

"Don't tell the guys, it's kind of weird for me. It's just… this is mine and Matt's first date too and it's been so long. I was wondering if you'd help me get ready for the date? I wanna look really good. I mean I know he can't really see, but he just somehow knows these things, right?" She grinned, cringing at how hard she was going at this. She felt a tiny bit bad at lying to her but she ignored it. 

"Of course! I'd… I'd really love that. I'm nervous too and it'd be good to just have some girl time," Karen said softly. 

"Thank you, I really appreciate this. We could go to the restaurant together when we're done," Daphne smiled pleased with herself. After exchanging cell numbers and goodbyes, Daphne sat back on the couch with a smirk. She wanted to turn heads. Not only just to irritate Matt, using her knowledge of him finding her physically attractive against him, but it had been a while since she went out. Usually she did so with a goal in mind, to have sex. And she would turn heads, a lot of them. Tonight was different but it didn't mean her ego wouldn't enjoy being looked at. It certainly would be interesting. 

[sarah-sandwich]

Silly me thought I could continue yesterday's writing streak if I got up early. Cali had other plans in mind...

Anyway, here's some of yesterday's good work on michelle.mp3 💪🙌

Her phone rings while she’s elbow deep in murky tub water scrubbing the rug that formerly resided inside the front door. Turns out it’s blue, not gray.

She glances at the caller ID then quickly dries her hands on her thighs and accepts the call, putting it on speaker. “‘Sup, nerd.” She picks up her scrub brush and goes back to attacking the rug.

“Oh thank God, you’re alive!”

She rolls her eyes. “Of course I’m alive, Ned. I’ve been texting you on the hour since I got here.”

“Not earlier you didn’t! There was a period between 3:35 and 4:57 where I didn’t know if you were dead or alive, MJ. Do you understand what kind of stress I’m under? I can’t spend hours every day worrying for your safety. You said you’d text.”

“It was one hour. I’m in the rural countryside, not the jungle. I haven’t even left the state. Get a hold of yourself.”

Ned sighs, crackling the speaker. “Maybe you have a point but I just… You know I worry and I’m sorry, but I still don’t really get why you left.”

Her hands still on the rug as Ned continues.

“It’s like… it’s like you don’t want to be friends anymore,” he says in a small voice, like it’s a shameful worry to admit aloud. That’s Ned though. He always says what needs to be said, whether you want to hear it or not.

“We’re friends, Ned,” she assures him. “You and me are friends, and me and Peter,” her throat threatens to close on the name but she presses on, “we’re friends too. We just need some time. I’m not gone forever, I told you this.”

“Then why does it feel like it is? Why is Peter— Never mind.”

She gets to her feet and puts the phone to her ear, taking it off speaker. “Why is Peter what, Ned?” she asks in her most serious do-not-bullshit-me-right-now tone. “Is he okay? Is he hurt?”

“No and yes!” Ned bursts like a dam succumbing to a single tap from a hammer. “He’s crying on the couch watching Toy Story 3 as we speak. That’s some messed up self-destructive behavior if you ask me, MJ. No one is making him watch it! He just put it on and he has his comforter off his bed and he’s sobbing. I don’t know what to do!”

She takes a deep breath through constricted lungs and perches on the toilet. “I don’t know either,” she admits. “I’m sorry. I just… I can’t… We can’t be around each other right now. We’re still friends,” she interjects before Ned can interrupt. “We… We need time to figure how to be just friends, you know?”

“No, I really don’t. Friends spend time together. Why can’t you just come home and we’ll—,”

“I am home, Ned,” she interrupts. She rocks to her feet and yanks the drain out of the tub. “This is what I need. Are you telling me I should put that aside and—,”

“No, no that’s not— I want you to do what’s best for you but, Em, I’m really out of my depth here. You’re supposed to be the one that deals with him when he gets moody but he’s like this because of you this time so I don’t know what to do!”

He’s like this because of you.

Her heart is raw as she says calmly, “Be there for him. Call May if you need backup and call me if things get really bad, okay?”

Ned sighs. “Okay, fine. I’m worried about you too, you know. You can’t keep brushing that off. I know you’re hurting and you’re alone out there in the wild and I can’t do anything for you and that freaks me out.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m not alone,” she says before she thinks better of it. She winces. Ned’s imagination running wild is nearly audible. She hastens to explain, “I met my neighbor this afternoon. A pushy musician who drums in the middle of the night and forcibly lends me power tools. Lucky me, right?” She tucks the phone between her shoulder and cheek and wrings out the rug. The water splashing down into the tub is the only sound. “Ned?”

“Ohmigod, he’s not some creepy douchebag, is he?” Ned bursts, nearly hysterical. “MJ, I’m seriously worried now.”

She rolls her eyes and steps into the hallway. “Ned, relax. She is very nice, okay? She brought over her tools so I can use them whenever I want.”

She passes through the kitchen and opens the front door. A chorus of crickets and a myriad of other insects that she can’t identify greets her as she drapes the rug over the porch railing to dry.

“Oh,” Ned says.

She leans a hip against the rail and cranes her neck to see the stars littering the sky beyond the awning. In the city if you’re lucky you can see a handful on a clear night. It’s nothing like this.

“She’s nice?” he asks.

She pulls a face. “She…has her moments.” Probably. “I’m in good hands, alright? Just focus on Peter and remember to take care of yourself too, okay? Go out and get a slushie or something before you deal with Peter. If it gets to be too much call me and I’ll figure something out.”

“Good hands?” Ned echoes, a teasing note creeping into his voice.

She hangs her head and pinches the bridge of her nose. Sometimes he’s impossible to have a conversation with.

“Drummer, power tools…” Ned continues. “I bet she’s very good with her hands. How close are you two again?”

“I’m hanging up.”

“Ah-ha! So you admit—,”

“I admit nothing. Goodbye, Nedward.”

She hangs up, cutting off his kissing noises, and the stillness of the night envelopes her. A light breeze rifles through her curls, warm and humid but refreshing in a way the city could never be in June when everything seems to carry the stink of hot garbage. She closes her eyes and focuses on the feel of it against her skin, the tickle of it in her hair.

He’s like this because of you.

Her heart breaks all over again. It’s true. She hurt him, she knows she did, but… Isn’t this the way it’s supposed to be? Who actually marries their high school sweetheart? You’re not supposed to have your entire life figured out at sixteen or twenty-four. She still needs time to learn herself, to grow, to change, and explore everything the world has to offer. New York has given her all it can but she wants more and Peter… Peter is married to New York in a way she could never be to him. That’s not a criticism, that’s simply a truth. A truth neither of them wanted to face until that stupid song opened her eyes and made her realize that she’s not ready to be Michelle Parker and she never will be.

[samanthadalton]

Bottled up

I tried to write a Ava x mc fic since MTFL is going on another hiatus 

taglist: @cloud9in (my number 1 fan ❤️)  if i ever do more ava x mc fics and you wanna be tagged just let me know :) 

pairings: ava x emma 

word count: 1.6k 

“You’re not good for Ava” 

“You're not good for Ava” 

“You’re not good for Ava” 

I keep replaying Bayla’s words in my head over and over again, as I lay in my room wrapped in my blankets seeking its warmth. Was there some truth to her words? Was I really not good for Ava? That night at the exhibition, I remember how Bayla wrapped her arms around Ava to protect her from the cold. How easily Ava found solace in Bayla’s arms and how comfortable she was with her kisses and her touch. I remember feeling a pang of envy towards Bayla as she whispered sweet nothings into Ava’s ear, was it because I want what they have with Noah or Mason, or was it because I want what she has… Ava. 

I never knew where I stood with Ava, I mean how could I when I took every opportunity to change the subject or to avoid Ava herself? Having ‘the talk’ with Ava would mean having to reevaluate everything I thought I knew about myself and for some reason, I wasn’t ready for that. Not that there was any shame in me being bisexual, I’m sure my father, however traditional and strict he is would still understand and accept me as I am but something inside me felt uneasy about it all. I wasn’t sure about how I felt about girls in general but I did know I felt something towards one girl in particular, and that girl just happened to be my best friend. 

I stare up at the ceiling, so sheltered in my thoughts that I’m oblivious to everything happening around me until I’m suddenly pulled out of my reverie when I hear a sharp knock at the door. I sigh internally, I’m pretty sure I told Mack not to bother me, but after a moment there’s another knock at the door, more resounding than the last. I roll my eyes and become slightly infuriated, “dammit Mack, I thought I told you to leave me alone.” The door slowly opens and my eyes bulge out of my head when I see Ava standing at the door frame, a small smile gracing her lips. 

“So do you want me to go?” she says with a comical tone, her eyes glistening with humour. I quickly sit up in my bed, my mind gone blank as the girl who I’ve practically been avoiding but can’t stop thinking about is right in front of me. Ava, inattentive to my earlier dilemma steps into the room and sits at the edge of the bed, and familiarity begins to wash all over me as I stare at my best friend. She playfully pokes at my body, her touch blocked by the blanket and she lets out an airy laugh, “you look like a giant burrito.” I laugh in response, my mind beginning to feel more at ease as past memories evade my mind and I feel a sense of content as I unravel myself from the duvet and sit next to Ava, our legs barely brushing together. 

“Not that I’m not happy to see you but how come you’re here?” I debate with myself as to whether or not I should look at her, but against my better instincts I lift my head and stare boldly into her eyes. She stiffens slightly at my question, her eyebrows furrow slightly as she begins to contemplate, but for a split second I see hurt? flash across her face but she quickly masks it, her face stoic as she speaks, “I felt like my best friend was ignoring me so” she trails off not finishing the sentence and guilt hits me like a truck as memories flash back to Bayla’s words and the undertone of her threatening words and suddenly I jolt, putting some space between myself and Ava. 

“Woah, Emma what the hell, why are you so jumpy?” She reaches out to touch my hand but before I can pull it back, she wraps it around mine, and warmth begins sweeping into me. I feel my cheeks flush and her hand grips mine a little tighter, most likely a gesture to show reassurance that she’s not going to go anywhere. 

“Ava, I-” I can barely form a cohesive sentence since my mind is going into overdrive about her hand holding mine, how soft it feels, and how her slender fingers fit perfectly into mine. I glance down at our intertwined hands, transfixed by how natural holding her hand feels to me and with the way she’s looking at me, it’s almost as if she’s thinking the same thing. “I just thought you would prefer to hang out with Bayla than me,” I try to make my voice as nonchalant as possible but I can’t help it sounding resentful especially when saying Bayla’s name, I basically spit out her name like it’s venom. Ava loosens her grip on my hand, confusion washed all over her face as she takes in my tone, “Bayla? What does she have to do with anything?” 

I don’t want to tell Ava about Bayla’s warning, so I swallow heavily, and barely squeak out, “nothing. Nevermind. Forget I said anything.” 

Ava looks at me with concern, once again her perfectly shaped brows furrowed together as she opens her mouth to speak but her mouth hangs open for a few moments contemplating her next choice of words, “did… did Bayla say something to you?” 

I internally debate with myself as to what I should say next, I mean Ava practically figured it out on her own, and Bayla is her girlfriend so I owe her the truth at the very least. I fiddle with my fingers unsure of how to phrase my next set of words, “I guess?” I try keeping my voice as apathetic as I can, an attempt to come across as impartial to the situation but Ava’s unblinded fury demonstrates that she’s pissed at Bayla, her eyes staring daggers as she clenches her jaw. 

“What did she say to you?” she hisses out.

“Just that I’m not good for you” I try to be as candor as I can since Ava is still my best friend and I don’t like hiding things from her, even if those things are about her girlfriend. But a small part of me celebrates that there’s trouble in paradise and it eggs me on to want to push the knife in a little deeper.  

“What does that even mean? Em, you’re my best friend She can’t say that to you” she balls her fist, anger spewing and I place my hand over her curled fist, my thumb subconsciously begins to rub circles on her knuckles as I try to talk her down. 

“She isn’t wrong Ava. I mean I haven’t exactly earned any best friend of the year awards lately. I’ve been a shitty friend to you, especially during a time where I should’ve been by your side while you… figured things out about yourself.” I swallow heavily when saying the last part, maybe because selfishly I haven’t allowed Ava to support me either while I reevaluated everything in my life. Ava’s silence indicates that there’s some truth to my words but all the guilt, the confusion, the constant debunking, it makes the next part come out like word vomit. “I know I pulled away from you when you needed me the most. The truth is, I was scared. When.. when you admitted your feelings towards me,” Ava visibly tenses, grimacing but I’m unable to stop myself from pouring my thoughts out, “I didn’t know what to say. I should’ve still been your best friend, no matter how I felt towards you and still been there for you, but I was being selfish. I pushed you away because I was terrified of how I felt, and wha-” 

“How you felt?” Ava’s voice comes out as a whisper as looks over at me, her big brown eyes penetrating mine, and something flashes in her eyes but I can’t quite put my finger on it. Her gaze is hypnotising, and I’m pulled into a trance and my eyes deftly shifts to her lips for her split second, but she catches me staring and her tongue darts out of her mouth, slightly licking her lips in a way I can only describe as the most sexy thing I have ever seen in my life. And without missing a beat, I lean my head towards hers, my lips capturing hers. Our lips brush together tentatively at first but the softness of her lips, the sweetness of her cherry lip gloss only prompts me to want to get a better taste. I kiss her harder and she reciprocates the kiss, her arms already wrapping around my neck and pulling me even closer. We kiss for a few more moments, enjoying the sensation of our tongues tangled together but when I let out an involuntary moan, reality hits us both square in the face and she abruptly pushes me away, guilt imprinted all over her face. 

She jumps straight to her feet, “I should go” her voice low and she avoids looking at me as she almost runs out of the room. I try to call out to her but moments later I hear the front door close and the engine of her sedan starting and soon enough the rumbles of the engine disappear. My fingers move up to my lips, tracing its outline as I reminisce about the kiss, never has a kiss felt so… right. But concerns immediately begin to infiltrate my mind as I think about what I’m going to do now.