#...chloe's gone off the deep end

[corgiplays]

@minafeu I blame you lovingly.

Little synopsis: Chloe is bonkers and kills King Beast brutally to prepare Auradon as the perfect gift for Red.

⚠️Trigger Warning ⚠️ Blood, guts, gore, and the illusion to possible cannibalism (?)

King Adam, or really former king, his son is currently at the seat of the throne wherever he is, was a tyrant. No matter how much he tries to paint Bridget as some crazed tyrant of Wonderland he takes the cake.

To talk about what's her's like she's the scum of the earth, Chloe had half a mind to just kill him there in her parents meeting room. But Chloe Grace Charming was taught better, she knew how to dismantle a kingdom from the inside, fear.

"I still do not understand why you haven't killed the bastard yet." The spectral wolf person says as they float next to Chloe who's hanging on a windowsill, rain battering the dark leather jacket she has on.

"Patients, there is a reason why we're waiting and you know it." Chloe snaps. To anyone else it would look like she's talking to nothing, but herself. For the last eight years Chloe has seen this wolf, it guides her, tells her stuff she wouldn't have noticed, telling her when someone is moving in on what's her's. She shakes herself as the last servant leaves Adam's study, leaving the "king" alone. Chloe climbs up higher to where a window, just high enough for the beast to not spot her shadow in the moonlight.

The window creeks in time with thunder as Chloe slips in, clicking the window shut behind herself and slinking into the shadows. Chloe remembers learning about the beast's curse, how he still has heighten sense and the strength of a beast left enough though he was cured making close combat a problem.

Chloe slipped from shadow to shadow, staying downwind as she moved behind Adam. Chloe's hand reaches for the danger on her side, grasping the cool black metal with a red hilt in her hand as she takes a step closer.

Torture him.

Make him suffer.

The wolf's animalistic voice whispers into her ears, curling around her soul as she lunges stabbing Adam just right before where his cervical spine ends. His body goes ridged and falls onto his desk with a thump.

Chloe walks around to the front of the desk with a sinister smile as she watches Adam try to move any part of his body.

"It's pointless, I severed your cervical spine just so were you can still breath, but not move." Chloe practically snarled as she crouches down to Adam's head.

"You're insane!" Adam snarls back, his body immobile as Chloe drags him from the desk with surprising strength.

"No, I'm not. You're the false king who wants to wage war with Wonderland again. Isn't one lose enough for you?" Chloe snaps holding the king by his hair. Something about her was unnatural to him, the way she moved and spoke was like there was an echo that followed her voice. Chloe took her dagger back out, and stabbed the king above his sternum, the dagger slicing through the fat and muscle like butter as Adam gasps and tries to yell before Chloe covers his mouth with a bloody hand.

"Shh, you don't feel anything you're spine is severed remember." Her voice has a surprisingly amount of sincerity as the crack of thunder and the snapping of his rib echo at the same time.

By the time Chloe finishes breaking away Adam's ribs from his sternum the false king is barely conscious, his heart exposed and beating weakly as Chloe wonders around his office leaving bloody hand prints on various pieces of furniture.

"Oh Adam, I wonder if anyone will miss a beast like you." Chloe rasps out loud as the king tries glaring at her. "Your kingdom will be the perfect engagement gift for my girl." Chloe says with a smirk as she crouches back in front of Adam tiliting his chin to look at her.

Adam's last breath is taken staring into possibly glowing eyes before any life leaves him.

Take his heart.

The wolf's tone is convincing as Chloe pulls the heart out with ease, the light of the moon peaking in the night sky.

---

That morning the news is buzzing with fear and conspiracies.

King Adam Found Dead

His body found cut open, ribs pulled out, heart missing, and intestines hanging out while his body was nailed to a wall in his study.

The kingdom plunges into irrational fear while the Charming's sit in silence when hearing the news, they know exactly who killed the king...

[littlenahsstuff]

Catch me if I Fall

Chloe Charming x Red x Pan!Reader

Requested by @carcarrose2020

Synopsis: your dad Peter Pan visits you on family and friends day. It embarrasses you and leaves you at the mercy of cruel teenagers, but your girlfriends are here to help.

Warnings: not proofread, the tiniest mention of death, anxiety, fear of heights. Angst. Peter sucks as a dad.

Word count: 2.8k

~~~~~

Your life was so great, you had the best girlfriends in the world, your grades were pretty good despite your head constantly being elsewhere and you were happy! That is until the other kids found out you were Peter Pans daughter. You loved your dad, but he was too goofy and blunt at times.

It all went to hell on Family and Friends day. Your dad was fashionably late to it, which put you in a sour mood. For the majority of the day you stood in the corner watching Red and Chloe catch up with their families. All you had was your shadow, who was just as sad as you were. Several people kept looking at you weird, making you debate whether or not you should just leave.

Before you could, a thin green blur came hurdling down from out of nowhere, landing directly on one of the snack tables. He landed on his feet but ended up kicking off everything in a big crash. He whips his head around in search of you. His hat slips a little in doing so.

Once he reaches you his eyes light up. “There’s my little lost girl!” He yells. You feel your palms grow sweaty from all of the attention that now fell on you. He hops off of the table and runs to you, giving you a noogie on your head.

“D-dad you’re messing up my hair!” You whisper shrilly. He just laughs. He steps away with an exaggerated frown.

“What? Not even a hello first? Oh well, I’m happy to finally see you” he says. You grit your teeth a little.

“Well you could have responded to my letters…” you sigh, he hates reading.

“Oh those were from you! I thought it was just a report card, you know I don’t care about any of that boring stuff.” Even though it wasn’t your fault, he manages to make you feel that way a little bit. Maybe if you put a smiley face he’d be more inclined to open it.

“Yeah, just- it’s not like you’d get a report card every week.” You cross your arms and slump a little. “And I know you don’t care about stuff that involves effort, but all A’s and B’s is pretty good.” He’d be more proud of you did a stupid magic trick. His shadow gives you a thumbs up, making you crack a little smile. “Thanks Shadow.”

He pretends to think for a moment, “Well, next time I get a letter, I’ll open it. After I’m done reading we can recycle it into drawing paper!” He starts bouncing. You feel a deep rage pool in your stomach.

“Dad you aren’t supposed to do that,” you object. He huffs and holds up his pointer finger.

“Come on, I’m not supposed to fly but I do that anyway. You should try it you know? It’s fun.”

“No dad, no flying.” You say, this is like the third time you’ve had to tell him, he knows you’re afraid of heights.

“Anyways I gotta go soon, but shadow here was so excited to see you I had to let him!” His shadow waves shyly. Sometimes you liked him better than your own dad.

You wave back but stop as your eyes widen.

“B-but you just got here!” You say. He smiles awkwardly in response.

“Y-yeah, sorry about that, I promised the boys that I would play hide and go seek, you know how it is on neverland…” he excuses weakly. You scoff.

“Dad, you cannot be serious-“

“Usually never,” he interrupts, “but this place is no fun so I better get going.” He scratches his chin. “But I’ll read your letters.” He agrees. You know he feels bad but he shouldn’t be choosing that over seeing you anyways.

Well thanks but-

Bye!” He gives you a quick hug and just like that, flies away. His shadow tries to stay but gets pulled up with him. Now that he’s gone you can see everyone looking at you still and just book it. The whole thing was humiliating. You know not growing up is his thing but every second is a painful reminder you will never be his priority because taking care of you is no fun.

You find your way to your shared dorm, just deciding to sleep away the rest of the day. When your girlfriends get back to the room they get worried. They had no idea your dad was so… young and foolish. They come in to see you asleep.

“Red, we should let her sleep,” Chloe says. Red reluctantly agrees.

“Fine, but tomorrow we should make sure she’s okay. Her dad acted like he wanted nothing to do with her. Which, doesn’t make sense!” Red’s fist clench. She wanted to go and talk to you but even now that her mom is nice, Bridget still had a very possessive nature.

“I agree but please keep it down, she probably wants to sleep anyways.” Chloe gives Red a pat on the back. Red frowns.

“Come to think of it he came like really late, it felt like we were with our families for hours before he showed up and then he said like two things and left.” Red crosses her arms.

“She never mentioned him being like that, like we knew he was her dad but I didn’t know he was still doing that boy wonder act. He should be well into his fifties by now and he acted like he was six,” Chloe adds, pacing.

“He looked like he was 20 though, so he’s older than he was in the stories about him but still. Y/n’a like 19, they’re already pretty much the same age physically.” Red scrunches her face.

“I guess that makes more sense why she’s always seemed to act older. If I had a dad like that I wouldn’t want to be so careless either, she probably had to parent herself” Chloe and Red start connecting the dots.

“Well, let’s keep an eye on that I guess,” Red sighs and starts making her way to her bed.

“Yeah, for sure.” Chloe nods and starts putting her hair up in a bonnet and takes her makeup off. Stopping Red she says, “Y/n might already be asleep but you’re not missy. Take off your makeup before you are.”

“Ugh fine.”

*****

The next morning, when both Chloe and Red wake up, you are nowhere to be found. You weren’t in the bathroom getting ready, you weren’t at breakfast… Chloe and Red were getting nervous. The only thing that calmed them down was when they noticed you took your homework that was originally on your desk, meaning you’d be in class later.

Until then, you roamed the halls trying to get your dad off of your mind. He was more like a brother if anything. Right now would have been a great rock kicking moment but you were inside. You know it wasn’t a good idea avoiding Red and Chloe… you’d see them in your castle-economics class later anyways. It’s not like you were royalty but you took it so you could be with them.

You pause when you hear a snicker and look up. There was a group of kids pointing and whispering at you.

“I can see you, you know that right?” You raise an eyebrow.

One of them replies, “Oh we know.” They weren’t anyone important, some snooty royal kids. They weren’t even the popular ones.

“Hey, what’s it like having a squirrel raise you? You must be pretty nutty!” They all burst out in laughter. While you love a good pun that was cruel.

“I’m just- I’m gonna go” you start walking and another yells,

“Here we go! Make sure you hold onto your pixie dust, lost girl!” You say loudly,

“I don’t even have any.” You start walking a little quicker.

Thankfully none of them are in your castle-economics class which is next. But… Chloe and Red are so you’ve got another thing to deal with.

You walk in and pick a seat in the farther back, not too many kids are there. As they trickle in one by one you get more nervous to see your girlfriends walk in.

“There you are!” Chloe gasps, yanking Reds hand to sit next to you. You swear you hear someone say-

“Ooh trouble in Neverland.”

“Hey guys,” you smile, “sorry I wasn’t there this morning. I was taking a little walk.” The pit already in your stomach starts to grow.

“Yeah…” Red gives you a suspicious look.

Chloe just looks worried, her head tilting a little. “Did you eat?” You shake your head.

“No, but I’m not that hungry either.”

“Alright class, pipe down! Today we’re going over budgeting for a ball. I trust you have your homework, please pass it up.” Your teacher, Mother Goose asks. You give the person in front of you your homework and they do so too. But right after they turn back to you.

“I’m surprised you even know what a ball is, where you live they play on stick banjos and logs.” They whisper, snicker, and turn around. You just look down, not wanting to see your girlfriends’ reactions to the dig.

“Hey asshole-“ you hear besides you, it’s obviously Red. You grab her hand underneath the desk and look her in the eyes in a silent plea for her to stop.

“Quiet all of you, now onto today’s lesson…”

Eventually class ends, despite you barely retaining anything it seemed to go on forever. You slowly get up and walk out with your girlfriends. Before you can walk too far away Red grabs your shoulder and turns you back around.

“Hi there-“ you squeak.

Chloe looks at you very worried, “are you alright? We saw what happened yesterday-“

“Yeah everyone did!” You snap, quickly after, you take a deep breath and apologize.

“It’s alright we can tell something is up. Have a lot of people been saying things like what Laury said in class?” She asks. You shake your head no nervously.

“That’s bull babe, come on, tell us” Red puts a hand on your shoulder. You look away.

“Just like a few things so far, it’s no big deal. Can we please talk about this later? I have to get to my next class, I don’t like being late.” You mumble the last part.

“It is a big deal but yes, you can go, we’re walking you there!” Chloe objects, you actually break a smile.

“Thanks.”

The walk there is a little silent but with a farewell you won’t have to face them till after school.

*****

It’s finally the end of the school day, you just have to put something in your locker before you can relax in your girlfriends’ lovely arms. You put the last book in when someone behind you says your name. You turn around.

“Yes?” You question, the person happens to be one of the meaner kids at the school. They are giving you a wicked grin that causes a twist in your stomach.

“I heard you’ve never flown like your dad before, figured I’d help out!” They yell and before you can register it, they blow a fistful of pixie dust on you. You think you’re okay for a second because if you don’t believe you don’t fly. The notion is immediately turned down by the bully and the fact you are starting to float.

“Oh and uh, this stuff has certain buffs to really make sure it helps.” You rise higher and higher till you’re about 8 feet off the ground. Your stomach goes into a fluttery sick kind of feeling and you get dizzy with fear. You let out a little shriek.

“S-somebody please, please get me down.” Your feet dangle back and forth- while you thank god you don’t go any higher, you feel like fainting more with every second. A bunch of thoughts of falling and twisting or breaking something and even the question could you die runs through your head.

“Please!” You gasp. A few people start laughing at you and you start shaking more. Why is no one helping me?

You’re so frozen with fear you don’t see your girlfriends’ come see what the commotion was about. Before you can see them, you feel yourself start to become heavy. The dust wears off completely right after and you plummet with a scream. As it feels like time slows down, you close your eyes and embrace as much as you can from impact. Instead, you feel strong arms catch you. You’re still in shock until your name is said by Red who stands next to you in Chloe’s arms.

You carefully peel an eye open, “I-I’m safe.” You say in disbelief. “You saved me.” You blush as you look around and see everyone go quiet, they clearly didn’t know you would just fall like that. Red turns at them angrily.

“Scram!” She yells and everyone awkwardly scatters, the culprit among them.

“Are you okay!” Chloe frets, setting you down gently and checking you over.

“I-I guess, I- I’m terrified of heights, can’t stand them,” you admit. So badly does Red want to say duh, but she holds it back.

“Yeah, that’s understandable, and even someone who wasn’t afraid of heights would be scared in that situation babe,” she says instead, speaking with her hands a little. You exhale and try and mentally regulate.

“Yeah, um, can we please go back to our dorm,” softly ask. Both of them nod vigorously and rap an arm each around you. You get there, just barely holding back a sob that unleashes once inside. You turn around and bury your head in their shoulders and hug them. Red is a little shocked but pats your head. Chloe rubbs your back and coos.

She sighs into your hair and softly says, “It’s okay baby, let it all out.” Red nods.

She tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear and continues petting your hair. “We’re here for you.” The two glance at one another, not actually saying anything till the sobs subsided.

“Do you wanna talk about it baby?” Chloe asks, pulling away to look into your eyes.

Your voice is sniffly; “no… but it would be good for me.” They don’t say anything to signal that you have the floor if you want it.

“I- I don’t really get along with my dad that well and he’s a lot, as you now know. I just feel like he’ll love me regardless but I’ll never come first. And I just wish he’d grow up instead of embarrass me acting like a child. And I can’t fly with him because of my fears, it makes it hard to bond. And I guess everyone just likes making fun of the fact I’m basically the same age as my dad or that I’m some kid from some random island.” You take a deep breath. A weight was taken off your chest, you’ve never really voiced any of your troubles to anyone. They hold your hands.

“Oh Princess, that must be so hard. I get being ashamed of your parents, my mom used to be awful. But I’m here for you, Chloe too. We just want you happy and we can make sure other people don’t mess with you.” Red replies, trying to connect with you. All she wants is to see a smile be put back in your face, a good one.

Chloe nods. “Yeah sweets, we’ll make sure they don’t. And you can talk to us about this anytime you need to get something off your chest. Wanna watch a movie and cuddle?” She puts a hand on your cheek and you melt into it. Your heart flutters.

“Thank you both, you do know how to make me feel better.” You manage a smile. “And I would love nothing more than to do that.”

Red smirks and leads you to the bed, making sure you’re all cozy before dragging Chloe in too.

“I think a comedy is a good theme for tonight!” Chloe suggests, to which you give a hum of approval.

“As long as it doesn’t have anything to do with flying or heights in general” you say, but you’re still happy.

“Can do!” Chloe selects a comedy all three of you had mentioned wanting to watch. It was a romantic comedy too.

Red puts her hand on Chloe’s arm quickly. “Before you click play Chloe there’s something we should do.”

She smiles at you before capturing you in a kiss and a bunch of pecks. Chloe clears her throat, causing Red to stop and look up. She takes the opportunity to kiss you deeply too. You smile into the kisses. Everything’s gonna be alright after all.

[1864reruns]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤthree–legged deerㅤ౨ৎㅤ4.3k

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ2024 ©1864RERUNS

educate yourself. 🍉

synopsis. trafalgar law is uselessly sympathetic to a vampire without a sire— he suffers as he learns that a monster without a mother is an animal without a leash. injured or not, it has its fill.

tag(s)&warning(s). afab! reader, nsfw 🤗, modern au, fledging vampire! reader, surgeon! law, reader nd law are both crazy switches, violence, blood drinking, biting, vampire/human relationship, don't ask ab the dynamic cause i have no answers for you, dub–con, non-linear narrative, law is a freak (for lack of better term) and likes being in control; he obviously is not in control...., blood, gore, cumming in pants (law you freak !!!!), cannibalism mention, pwp

from vyon. i've been listening to sir chloe's "i am the dog" album too much recently... i'm not sorry, i love law and i love freaks and i love the devotion that comes with devouring. UNHINGES MY JAW AND EATS TRAFALGAR LAW WHOLE. sorry, this was supposed to be quick and easy but i started ovulating sooo... might be cross–posted onto ao3 if i'm feeling up to it :3 honestly had to stop myself at 4k words cause realistically, i could have gone on and on and on and never ended up releasing this as it'd just end up as a neverending wip

don't repost / copy / translate.

“Even if you ask nicely, I have nothing for you.” There’s a mean lilt to Law's voice that makes you twitch, curling closer to your knees as you pressed down harder on the open wound to the side of your abdomen. It doesn’t take an idiot to know that he's enjoying the view— getting to see you crumpled over and laying at his feet, a hand on your side, the other clutching his pants, your head on his knee. Law’s eyes flicker from your hunched form, whimpering, to his fridge. His hand falls on the bicep closest to him and he pulls you up, “I’ll fix you up now and, in the morning, I’ll get you blood.” There's a dragged path of dirt from his door to where you're sat; handprints of grass and blood marked into his previously clean floor. He'll force you into the bathtub after this.

It’s bad practice, keeping an undomesticated vampire by you but Law can’t help the itch that crawls up his spine when he finds you laying by his feet; the satisfaction that unfurls inside him and brushes up against some depraved part of him that’s gone undetected for so long— it’s much too good to pass up on. Plus, you’ve always been the docile kind— the absolute horror that marked your features when Law had caught you on the floor of some old car, hunched over an open abdomen, hands deep into the heart comes to him at night sometimes. The widening of eyes, lips parting to threaten a scream like you’d caught him eating a man. The memory pushes him to amusement, his head rolling to the side as his hands fall onto your waist.

You let out a pained groan as Law forces you into your feet, he soothes you off your weight with his hand on the side of your waist that isn’t bloody and drags you to the island in his kitchen. Setting you down, he steps back to trace eyes over you— he clicks his tongue when he finds out, you don’t look as nice when you're at his eye–level.

There's a vile weight to your wound when Law moves away from you. You don’t feel him anymore as his footsteps round the island, then you hear some cabinets opening and then closing; when he rounds back to you, he’s fixing gloves onto his hands. Your eyes flicker through your lashes, a sharp snap resounds as he lets go of the rubber and it bounces back onto his wrist. Your breathing stutters, a burn behind unblinking eyes; you trace the curves of the veins that colour against tanned skin and everything else blurs. There’s suddenly a rhythmic beating in your head that drowns out Law’s voice and brings an itch to your gums, your side burns when your fingers tightened down around the wound— blood splitting through the cracks of your fingers and ruptured flesh, blood dripping down onto Law’s kitchen island, blood staining your hands, blood, blood, Law, blood. Your heart beats in twos. Blood. Law. Blood. Law. Fucking Law full of— you hiss in pain.

His features are impressively unmoved as he moves your hand away from your side and uses his other hand to push back at your shoulder, so you’re no longer curled into yourself. He peels away the shirt clinging to your skin and his expression scrunches around a mid–point of his face when he sees it. “Stay still, don’t be stupid and move.” He's awkwardly bent down to study the details of the wound and ponders on things like how it'd need to be treated; there’s no reason for him to be so close, his breath near heavy on your flesh. There’s a vague sickness haunting your gums, an itch deep-set in the holes beneath every tooth, a dryness to the saliva on your tongue as Law’s head tilts and you’re suddenly given a view of his neck.

There’s a quietness to you that’s stifling as Law pokes around your wound to assess nerve damage, he makes an attempt to nod his head up for a moment but is ultimately stopped by your face suddenly burrowing under his ear, your paced breathing suddenly brings his heart to life when it’s on his skin. “What are you doing?” His voice is oddly strained as a low hum sounds in your throat.

“Dizzy,” you mumbled lamely, and he sighs, almost relieved for a reason he doesn’t know. Right— of course this amount of blood loss has you weakened.

You push your head further in, close enough that he can feel your eyelashes dragging slow with each blink across his collarbone, your nose brushes away the collar of his shirt, and dried lips scratch his skin as your head moves up, so your mouth is sat at the base of his neck, your head under his jaw.

Law’s face scrunched up, a taste of annoyance at his mouth, “straighten up, I can’t see what I’m working with here.” And when you don’t move in accordance with his words, he's jerking back, anger flaunts his face, and he shoves at your shoulder to straighten up your back. An unperturbed gaze stares back at him, a pitfall trap awaits him when he meets the lens of your eyes, a deep cavity coloured in an eerie pink— near bleeding into red that almost makes Law dizzy, something sweet sits at the tip of his tongue as the face of a sheep cracks wide open. Its mouth rips open clean, skin splitting across the end of its mouth straight to its ears, as if it was made to unhinge that way, like there’s a threading you could pull out to allow its disconnected head to flop back onto its back like a puppet made for play. The forehead of the sheep knocks against the top of its shoulders; a wolf stares back at Law, and it mimics a mangled cry, sounding like a bleating of a sheep.

“Law, please.”

His bones lock into place and he feels a rupture of panic drown him, his senses dulled with a sweet nectar that'd urged him to you; you’re still sat where Law had placed you, too afraid to move in case you crossed too many boundaries, your eyes begging and pleading like you were still stood outside the threshold of his apartment, waiting for his permission to enter. There’s something in him that tells him to get away, run, anything to put some space in between you two and he finds the voice distastefully familiar—it brings about memories of pink feathers and his face scrunches up first in fear and then in amusement. Because it’s you, the weak-willed, spineless vampire that’s grown overly dependent on a human to supply bagged blood for it instead of hunting for its own lunch, and he was comparing that to an existence that knew nothing but cruelty and hatred. It takes one word, a twitch of his eyebrow, the pull of a frown to get you to retreat— he knows that well. But there’s a compulsion in him that wants to see where this takes him— an intrigue that’s always had its morbid way with him, stroked by your sudden insistence.

It's by choice that he allows you to push this further, duck your head neatly into your chin and gloat your pretty eyes up at him through flickering lashes, Law lets you intrude into his sense of personal space— there’s nothing stopping him from stepping back, forcing you away from him once more, telling you to wait, you’ve given him the power to do these things to you after all, but he doesn’t. His breath is a sharp exhale; Law’s body tenses and his face contorts— into an expression you’re sure you���ve seen before. You suddenly find it odd that you’re looking down at him; you expect a scream as your teeth drags deeper than the comical two holes you’ve seen in movies. Your incisors drag through flesh like bulldozers as you bite down, his skin rips and tears under the collar of his white button; you can still smell the lemon air freshener hung around the rear-view mirror, tangy as it hangs on the iron of his blood— it makes your nose itch and the blood taste weird on your tongue. You hear his mumblings about daughters and a wife, and you have to wonder which one of them you caught him at the hotel at; either way, it would be bad you think. If his wife was that young, if he was taking his daughters to hotels.

Law’s hand tightened on your shoulder, the memories of the night in the car park escape you again but they linger on your tongue; Law’s face, when you look at him, is all pinched together, a burdening mess and his hold turns harsh, for a second you think there’s a violence that’ll meet you tightened in his fist but he merely shoves you back onto the counter. It’s cold but it’s not uncomfortable. Hovering over you, Law is close enough for you to hear his fascinating heartbeat— this too is familiar, but you recognise it a little earlier into that night, when your eyes caught that man’s and you saw him stumbling into the hotel with the girl under his arm. A constant, steady hum. So, you push. Eyes stubbornly on Law’s face, his pinched eyebrows and his bottom lip hooked under his teeth, you watch as, fraction by fraction, his face relaxes when you finally lay your lips on him. It’s salt and it’s sweat and it’s warm; it burns the hunger in you alive when you stop kissing his neck, parting your lips over his skin to nip at his flesh.

It's all you do until he’s purposefully pressing his hip down on your thigh, pushing your lips against his neck in wet kisses until he’s delirious enough to chase after his own pleasure. You feel his hand drag up your thigh, pulling along the flesh until it stretches no longer and has to give up to tighten his palm against a new expanse of skin. Law, when you turn your head to look at him, has a hunger so vivid in his eyes that you think you’re looking into a mirror. You didn’t know you were laughing until Law has a hand around your cheeks, pulling your face away from his neck, “what’re you laughing at?”

The glare in his eyes doesn’t do much to stop you from laughing, only spurns on a more unforgiving pitch of laughter as you bend your knee, “this.” Law winces, his body doubling over yours on his kitchen island when you push against the obvious bulge behind his tight jeans. His head falls onto your shoulder and your lips are back to his neck, teasing with your canines; there’s no rush to your actions, like you know that it’s in the flesh to want to be torn, like it’s in man to be devoured.

You hear him curse, pretty, under his breath and his skin burns hot— it reminds you of the blood swimming around under his flesh as he goes back to kneading the plush of your thighs. He drags higher and higher until his hand disappears under the stained ruffles of your skirt and you feel the warmth of his palm over your underwear; for a second, as his thumb presses experimentally around in a certain perimeter until he gets that little gasp from you, you think that this is fine. You think you’d be okay with being underneath Law for a little while longer, just until he works you through that specific high you know he’d be mean about but when you shift your hips upwards to meet his touch, you feel a burn shoot through your side. Wincing, you remember that you’re still bleeding out and your tongue feels obtrusive in your mouth. With the reminder of your injury, you falter momentarily.

You might regret this, but your hand reaches out for Law’s wrist, tightening around his skin and urging for a stop; he looks to you in obvious question. “W–wait,” you huffed, a layer of sweat shining on your forehead. In hindsight, it was a horrible idea to grab Law’s wrist. You feel his unsteady pulse right in your palm, his neck is right there, and there’s some kind of buzzing that leaves your head heavy and awkward.

Law notices something wrong when your hand tightens impossibly hard around his wrist, when your breathing turns heavy and staggered. In his line of work, he’s never been a stranger to vampire victims. Unlike in the movies, there’s nothing romantic nor clean about being bitten by a vampire in reality; real vampires don’t just drink, they eat. Panic rapidly blossoms in his chest, branching out to his nerves and urging all his muscles with a simple task: move. If it were that simple, he’d never had been faced with so many corpses, all mangled and maimed. Law swears he sees your jaw unhinge around his neck, a whimpering ‘sorry’ break through your mouth before your jaw clamps down on his neck. He’s dead, Law thinks, you’ll bite right through all the meat and tear off the flesh from his body and then eat the rest of him as he’s bleeding out and his heart beats louder than its ever done before as he’s imagining his death.

That doesn’t happen.

He feels your cheeks bulge against his jaw twice as you draw the blood away from his body, gulping down hungrily; his body weakens against your ravenous embrace but, as the dots blur into his vision and his eyelids weigh down, you pulled yourself away from his neck. Your tongue presses flat against the comical wound (two clean dots, just like in the movies), and he feels the muscle trail a line of saliva from his neck, across his jaw, and then around the shell of his ear. He doesn’t know what he expects but you press a kiss against his ear awkwardly and then, “you’re still hard, pervert.” When you work up your knee once more, he finds that you’re right. You trail your hands over his arms and hook your finger over the end of his gloves, snapping them off his fingers.

Shame burns through him as embarrassment forces his cold cheeks to warm, but Law’s body is in no position to listen to him right now. Though he has to wonder, if he wasn’t so terribly weakened right now, would he even have it in him to pull himself away from this? You keep pressing your lips against his neck as if you’re trying to wear away the skin, alternating between simple pecks and sucks; lips part and he feels your tongue warm and he braces himself for a prick that never comes. With how reckless you are now, with your arms tightened around his back, the constant movement of your knee against his only growing erection, it's not a reach to assume that Law's blood has healed you up enough.

His hands tightened on your shoulders; aggrieved groans mixed with whimpers spill out of his throat at an alarming rate as you begin to get more precise with your knee. Your hands slowly trail down his back until they reach the waistband of his pants, then they tuck upwards under his shirt and you're pressing down on near the bottom of his back to keep him pressed against your grinding. Law doesn’t think it can get any worse, and it doesn't. But you do press your lips against his, wide and devouring, and your damned tongue is pushing and pushing. It doesn’t get worse. Only Law ends up opening his mouth to let you curl your tongue upwards, flicking up against the roof of his mouth, he can taste his own blood on his tongue, iron heavy between his teeth, and then he’s chasing after the taste.

His hands fist onto the collar of your shirt and pulls you up closer to him. Despite himself, he flinches at the taste of his own blood— smooth — on his traitorous tongue; a taste branded against the depths of his mind like the heavy cloud that clings to the horizon, it's bitter and metallic. A ringing in his head accompanies the soft ‘mmf' that betrays him and gets swallowed up greedily by you some more as you worm your tongue into his mouth, Law shakes and trembles in your grasp; it’s strange, you're raw and starved and governed by an altogether different hunger. He chases after you when you pull back, that makes you stifle a laugh too; his face is furious, his eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed like a stroke of thunder, his jaw clenched and tense, hands still tight on your collar. You think he's about to burst, all the creepy, weird things he's wanted that were stuffed down, bottled in his throat; he's going to shatter and take you with him. Your thigh burns from the constant movement under him, hands still weighing him down but then you stop and he's left hanging. He's desperate enough to press himself down without needing prompting, his hands fall onto your hips and he straightens up a little, enough to get a better grasp and to stabilise himself as he tugs your body down the island.

You watched Law, almost in amazement. He fixes his position against your thigh and seriously starts rutting himself against your thigh; you can only watch, a breath stuttering in your throat at how sloppy his movement is and at the fact that he needed no prompting. Men are the dupes of their desires; you’ve seen that quote somewhere before— you didn’t know that you'd one day find Law to be a part of those men. His hair hangs awkwardly over his face as his lips part, and his eyes flutter shut, a shudder works up his spine as his hands tightened on your hips. It's not embarrassment that makes his skin crawl. No, what's eating away at him is the realisation that he's little care for what he looks like and if you end up thinking less of him after this. Vaguely, he feels his fingers press under the hem of your shirt and tightened down on cold flesh as he comes to the dreadful realisation that he's enjoying this. He's harder than he's ever been in his life and all he's done is fucking hump your thigh and kiss you a bit— he, without thinking about it too much more, dials it down to the fact that there must be some kind of aphrodisiac side effect to being bitten.

Thoughts are decisively turned away from him. He's nothing, empty, a marionette on its strings, a vessel to be filled, and for every moment you spend watching and observing and pulling back from his lips, instead of doing anything to help, his frustration builds. It's frustration that builds in Law, a kind that digs deeps into his bones, it’s fury and rage, a desire that eats away at rationale in his mind. “Fuck,” he curses, his head drops onto your collarbone and his pace becomes more purposeful, pressed even closer to your skin for leverage. There’s no room to breathe with how close he is, his head turns up and you can feel his lips against yours, a certain wobble in his upper lip as his tongue parts your lips. His hands drag up the side of your body and his hand bumps against the side of your chest. He grappled with the bra, his shaky hands doing nothing for him you can imagine, you arch your back upwards, your hands joining him to mess with the bra until the hooks and clasps separated.

The grip he has on your tit is unforgiving, grabbing the fat with his hand and squeezing without a care, Law arches off your thigh with a groan.

“I think we're past the point of you grinding on my thigh,” you mused, voice tinted in amusement. You move to straighten up but Law presses you back down within the second.

His eyebrows furrow, jaw clenched. “Don't move, I'm so—,” he trails off into a sigh. The realisation that he's worked himself close enough to an orgasm on your thigh brings an ache that almost as similar to hunger; your teeth itch and you wish you could take them out for a moment.

“Kiss me,” you murmured before you know what you’re saying, your voice throaty and thick. Law doesn’t let you dwell on it much; his lips are fucking searing against yours; your hands fall onto his cheeks and you feel his heart beat so loud just from kissing him, you're surprised that the room isn’t shaking yet. You're aware to the point of discomfort that your underwear is sopping, stained in obvious desires when Law's hand comes back up your thighs.

The flip of your skirt is fumbling, hasty; his hand pushes up your skirt, dragging his palm over the skirt as it covers your stomach and then it turns its attention back to your underwear. His knuckles brush against the hems of underwear, barely catching it as he pushes away the other thigh he'd been neglecting. “Shit,” he breaths when his thumb presses against the cotton material, “you’ve been this wet the entire time?” He presses his bulge back down onto your thigh, “gonna take care of you, promise.”

You nod as his finger drags against you, slow and teasing. His pace staggers, both his hips and his fingers momentarily as his hand moves to stabilise over your thigh; a shudder works through his spine and he's folding over, head falling onto your shoulder as he works through ‘fucks', each one louder than the last. True to his words, after Law has his own numbing taste of pleasure, he turns his attention onto you. One hand fumbled with his belt, undoing it as best he could with his other hand occupied with your pleasure.

Law is no stranger to sex, he's had his own share of lovers, but this, the way he grabs at you and the way he discards any acts to play nice, how he usually proceeds in these moments a mystery to himself— no warm–up, no teasing, no building you up until you're wired and squirming, vibrating. Just a man you've turned lost to his arousal. His hand digs into your flesh, the roughness of the touch chafing against the soft skin of your inner thigh; his eyes blurry and unfocused as he grabs at your underwear and pulls it to the side.

Guttural— the sound that leaves Law is breathed deep out of his nose, gasping against your skin and he, without second thought, sinks a finger right into you. His eyes are stubborn on the hand that’s enviably close to your warmth, watching the change of his skin from tan to pale as your hand goes to grasp his wrist again. Your legs fold upwards, feet finding purchase on the island as Law curls a single finger against the walls of your cunt. Pulling back gives you temporary reprieve— the next thrust comes with Law working a second finger into you. He's methodical with it. He watches. The tightening grip you had on his forearm, the way your head tilts back, lips part open with breathless gasps, everything; there’s little sympathy in how Law watches you— no hesitant strokes, no gentle caresses. This is the Law you'd been egging on, focused on the now, the here, the immediate, the tangible. It's not what he wants, rather what he needs. So, he forces a third finger into you and watches as you yelped, head turning from side to side as your thighs tighten, knees hitting each other.

He finishes tugging down his zipper and the hand moves to atop your knee, Law’s thumb and pinky finger press deep on the side of your knee. “C’mon,” he taunts almost, “how can I take care of you if you’re hiding from me?” His eyebrows raised, urging you sweetly when you turn your gaze to him, lips hooked under your teeth and eyebrows furrowed— you oblige. The reward you get from listening to him is ruining; all three fingers curled up inside you, pulling a shriek from you when you feel his blunt nails drag slow against you. His attention is offered to you in ways that turn your head numb, his finger still fucking into you at that gruelling pace, his body bent down between your legs to gaze down at you. Corners of his lips tug up into a smile, “still hungry?”

You’re not sure, your teeth had been grinding ever since Law’s fingers found their home in you, since you’d found a doghouse at the threshold of his entrance, but you’re not foolish enough yet to deny whatever Law was willing to offer to you so you nod. “Yes, yes, so hungry, yes.” All you see is starbursts, kaleidoscopic flickers that splinter at every angle as Law turns his head, offering you his neck once more. His hand grasps the back of your head, pulling you up gently to his neck; you feel as though you’re drinking from his cupped hands, licking up water before it falls through the gaps of his fingers. You press your dull teeth against his burning flesh first, then you urge your fangs to grow, prodding through his muscle.

You’re hungrier than you’ve ever remembered, even before you became a vampire, it’s reminiscent of a hunger from when you were first born; there’s hunger that isn’t quelled as your mouth attaches to Law’s neck, as you suckle on his blood, as you chafe yourself against his stubborn, moving fingers. There’s an ache in you that reminds you of the day you were born, once covered in blood and twice covered in dirt, Law becomes, to you, a necessary evil in the face of your single, insatiable hunger.

[kpop---scenarios]

Monster (9) - FINAL

Pairing: Chan x Reader

Warning: Mentions of blood, Murder, Swearing etc

Word Count: 2.8k

Taglist: @bluebeard67 @stephanieeeyang @mouseyboo @stayatinykatsy @thicccurls @thecutiepieme @kayleefriedchicken @msauthor @purple-bell @bluesiebirdie @jisunglyricist @skzdust @hash2013 @skzooluvr @minh0scat @kkamismom12 @xxeiraxx

@jiminssluttyminx @chloe-elise-2000

@maisyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

@gloriajovicc

Previous Chapters

“You're… you're in love with me?” You breathe, your heart pounding, almost out of your chest. You can feel the blush spreading across your cheeks as Chan stares at you, slowly walking over to you as you sit up in his bed. He crawls onto the bed, towards you. You lay down, trying to cover your face but Chan rips the blankets from your body, smiling down at you. . You want to respond. You want to tell him you feel the same about him, but you can't. In seconds his lips are latched to yours, swiftly deepening the kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth. You grab his head, pulling him in closer, wrapping your legs around his waist. You want it to go further, but you're interrupted.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

“I'm sorry, this might be the info we're waiting for.” You whisper, reaching for your phone. Chan sits up, laughing.

“Go ahead, princess.” He chuckles.

You place your phone to your ear, Chan gets off the bed, walking to the bathroom.

“Hello?” You answer.

“Y/N.” A voice breathes. A voice you absolutely recognized and wished you didn't.

“What do you want, Seojoon?” You snap.

“If you want this to end, I need you to do something for me.” He snaps. “Meet me in the tunnels of your dad's house. Come alone.” He says.

“What makes you think I'd ever meet you or do anything for you?” You snap back. “Get your girlfriend to do your bidding for you.”

“If you care about Chan…or Felix at all, you'll fucking meet me.” He snaps. “Unless you don't care… In that case I'll just take care of Felix now. Or maybe I'll have him take care of Chan.”

You still cared about Felix, even if he was on Mia's side. You knew either yourself or Chan would be able to get through to him. You couldn't let anything happen to him.

“Fine. I'll be there soon.” You whisper, hanging up the phone.

You knew going alone was probably a very bad idea, you knew this. But you didn't want to risk Chan getting hurt because of you, and you'd take something to protect yourself. You get out of the bed, hearing the shower starting. You open Chan's bedside drawer, grabbing his gun, placing it securely in the waist of your pants before grabbing your jacket to sneak out. You knew Chan was going to be mad at you, but sometimes it's better to ask for forgiveness than permission.

You take a deep breath outside your father's house, you had parked in the back so none of his guards would be able to see you. You go in the back basement door, being as quiet as you can, heading for the tunnels, ones you knew all too well.

“I'm surprised you came so quickly.” Seojoon chuckles. “Shall we go for round two with the chains?” He laughs.

“What do you want from me? Where's Felix? Is he okay?” You ask.

Seojoon completely ignored your last two questions.

“Your father. He has a lot of fucking information about me on his computer, and I need it wiped. That's where you come in.” He says. “You need to get rid of it.”

“And why should I do that for you?” You ask. “What are you going to do for me?”

“I'll make sure nothing happens to those two you care for so much. Everything has gone fucking sideways and I need to save my own ass. Once you have that info I can disappear.” He says.

“What about Mia? What are you doing with her? Is she disappearing with you?” You ask.

“I'm surprised you care about what happens to her.” He chuckles.

“I don't. She's gonna get what's coming to her, but it'll be more fun to watch you fuck her over before I take care of her.” You murmur.

“If you're asking if I'm gonna throw her under the bus, then yeah I fucking am. Now. Are you in or are you out?”

“Why the fuck would I help you? There's no way you can do anything to Chan, he'll kill you the second he sees you.” You scoff, turning to walk away.

“Is that right?.” Seojoon chuckles. “See for yourself.” You turn around, looking at the phone screen he was holding up. You see Chan laying in his bed, sleeping, his back to the door. You watch as Felix creeps inside the room, holding a gun, pointing it to the back of Chan's head.

“Chan!” You scream, in hopes that he'll hear you through the screen but you knew better than that.

“You help me or I'll fucking tell him to pull the trigger. Don't fucking test me, Y/N. I'll do it.”

“Why? Why are you doing this?” You cry.

“Your father's turning on everyone. Any day now the goddamn FBI are gonna be tearing this house apart, and I can't have my shit on there. So take this flash drive, pull the information and delete it and I'll disappear from your life. Or he dies.” Seojoon yells, shoving a flash drive towards you.

“Fuck. Fine.” You cry, grabbing it out of his hands. You turn around, heading towards the space in the basement only weeks ago he had been torturing you in. You take a deep breath, walking through the space as fast as you can towards the stairs. You creep up the stairs as quietly as you can, you truly don't want to be seen by anyone, or have anyone see what you're doing. You open the door, peaking out into the living room, making sure no one is around. The house is eerily quiet, you can hear the ticking of the clock that hangs above the fireplace. The low hum of the radio left on fills the room, as you sneak through the living room, trying to avoid the known creeks of the floor. You finally make it to your father's office, quietly opening the door, making sure he wasn't in there. Thankfully he wasn't.

You close the door, locking it as you put the flash drive into your father's computer, finding the file named Seojoon. You opened it, beginning to transfer the files but not before reading some of the things he had about Seojoon, And you apparently. He had notes about your relationship with Seojoon, the things you did, things he told you and things he did not. Listed were all the things he did for your father, unfortunately for you, it was written in detail, so much so, it made you nauseous. You didn't know how someone could do these things to another person. It was no wonder he wanted this information off your father's computer, it would put him away for life.

As the files finish downloading, you start to delete them all off the computer, until you hear footsteps and your stomach drops. You try to move as fast as you can, taking the flash drive out of the computer, slipping it in your pocket before the door is kicked in, guns pointed directly at your face.

“FBI! Put your fucking hands up!” He yells, rushing towards you. Your hands go up before he pulls you out of the chair, slamming you down onto the floor, his knee digging into your back. He grabs your arms, cuffing your wrists behind your back before he helps you up, shoving you to another agent. No one says anything to you, but you see others in handcuffs, being taken out of the house. You're put into a black SUV, sitting there, watching the agents seizing your father's property. They're taking his computers, written files, and safes. Anything and everything they can take out of the house as evidence, they are.

Your anxiety takes over your body as you watch, waiting for someone to get into the car to take you away. You had nothing to do with any of this, you knew you didn't, but you didn't know what else was on those files, and if your father had your name anywhere in there you could be in so much trouble and you'd have a hell of a time trying to clear your name.

You sat for, you didn't even know how long. Watching agents go in and out of the house, carrying objects, sometimes files. Some of the things they were bringing out, you didn't even know your father was in possession of until you saw them being carried out. You knew this wasn't going to end well for anyone involved, and you knew that somehow your name was going to be in some of those things.

Finally, a while someone gets into the car. You barely notice the person, only seeing the blue FBI jacket. He begins driving away, and you were too busy looking out the window, slightly panicking about the fact that you were arrested and you were sure if they were caught, Mia or Seojoon would be throwing you under the bus for their crimes, somehow. It wasn't until the driver stopped the car and looked at you, did you realize.

“Chan?” You gasp.

“Really princess? Getting arrested by the fucking FBI? What the fuck were you doing here?” He asks.

“Seojoon…” You begin.

“Oh fuck. You were arrested helping that motherfucker? Everyone thinks he's dead.” Chan snaps.

“He was going to kill you if I didn't!” You yell. Chan pulls the car over, climbing into the backseat, uncuffing you. “Felix was in your room with a gun pointed to the back of your head.” You whisper.

“Oh baby, you don't think I knew about that?” He chuckles, caressing your cheek. “We had a plan, but now things are gonna have to change with the FBI involved.”

“Wait. What do you mean everyone thinks that Seojoon is dead?” You ask.

“They found a body this morning. Somehow he made it seem like it was himself. He faked his death, that fucker.” Chan sighs. “Why do you think he asked you to meet in the tunnel? He can't be seen.”

“So that's why he said he'd disappear from my life once I gave him this.” You gasp, pulling the flash drive from your pocket.

“What is that?” Chan asks.

“Everything on Seojoon from my father's computer.” You say.

“That'll come in handy.” Chan says, taking it from your hand. “I do have bad news though. From what I've heard from a few sources, they found your fingerprints on the gun that he used. He's trying to pin his death on you.”

“Well fuck, this day just gets better and better.” You sigh. “What do we do now?” You ask.

“You need to go into hiding. And I'm going to take care of that son of a bitch.” Chan says.

Chan gets back into the driver's seat, taking you and the car to a warehouse, where he has another car parked for the two of you. You get out of the SUV, moving to the other car.

“How did you know? Where I was? What was happening?” You ask.

“I hear and know a lot of things, Y/N. I have eyes everywhere.” He says.

“So are you mad at me?” You ask. “For going to Seojoon without telling you?”

“I mean yeah, but also I know why you did it.” He sighs. “You're trying to protect me, but princess, I don't need to be protected.”

“I know you don't. But I love you and I need you to be okay.” You murmur.

Chan smiles widely. “You love me?” He asks.

“Now's not the time for this.” You laugh. Chan pulls into the driveway of his house, and you see Felix standing out front, waiting for the two of you.

“Before you get mad at him. He knows that Mia was lying. He's only pretending to be on their side. He knows you never did anything Mia said.” Chan explains.

You get out of the car, and Felix rushes towards you. He wraps his arms around you, holding you tightly. “I'm so sorry, Y/N.” He whispers in your ear. “For everything. For not believing you about Mia, for believing all the shit she was saying about you.”

“It's okay.” You laugh, hugging him back. “I'm just glad you're back.”

“And we're gonna take all those fucker's down.” He says, releasing you, taking you and Chan back inside.

You sit on the couch in the living room, pulling your legs into your chest. Your head spinning with everything going on in your life. Chan and Felix stand, talking about whatever. You couldn't hear them properly, not that you were trying, until you heard Felix calling your name. You look up, seeing him hanging up his phone.

“You should rest.” Felix says, sitting next to you. “If we hear anything about anyone we'll let you know. Okay?” He smiles. You nod your head, shooting Felix a half smile as you stand up, making your way to Chan's room. You crawl into his bed, snuggling under the blankets, and sleep quickly takes you. It had been a long day and you were exhausted. You really hoped at some point you'd feel the bed dip, having Chan come and join you but it never did.

You woke up in a panic, what felt like only mere seconds later. You looked at the clock, 3:00am. You felt beside you, Chan's side of the bed still cold. He had never come to join you and that was unusual for him. You grab your phone from the night stand, quickly dialing his number. The phone rings. And rings. And rings, until the call ends. You were about to call him again, when your phone began to ring, Chan's name popping up on the screen.

“Hey, where are you?” You ask.

“I had some business to take care of.” Chan chuckles.

“Where are you?” You ask, even more concerned now.

“It's time we take care of Seojoon. Y/N I can't go on knowing he's still fucking out there. I'll never feel like you're safe.” Chan says.

“Chan.” You whisper into the phone, as the bedroom door slowly creaked open.

“What's happening?” Chan asks. You watch the door frame, seeing a foot step in front first before the shadow of a body standing in the doorway. You recognized it immediately.

“He's here.” You say, just as the phone call cuts out.

“I want my flashdrive, Y/N.” Seojoon laughs, gun in his hand. He comes out of the shadows, blood covering his hands, a sinister smile on his face.

“You think I'm gonna give you fucking anything after you tried to frame me for murder!?” You yell. He laughs. “Ah, you heard about that?” He asks. “Pretty smart huh?”

“Something's wrong in your head.” You say. He quickly stomps towards you, pointing the gun at your head.

“I'm so tired of you and your fucking family.” He yells.

“And I'm so fucking tired of you.” Chan snaps, rushing into the room, gun in hand. Seojoon turns around, a shocked look on his face. “Surprised to see me?” Chan laughs, pointing his gun at Seojoon's chest, pulling the trigger swiftly. Seojoon drops to his knees, gasping as he clutches his chest, while Chan points the gun at Seojoon’s head, pulling the trigger one more time, hitting him directly between the eyes.

You sit in the bed, still clutching the bed sheets while you watch the blood pool around Seojoon’s body.

“You okay, baby?” Chan asks, rushing towards you. You take a deep breath, gulping as you try to catch your breath.

“Your father and Mia have been arrested.” Felix pipes up, showing you the message he just received.

“So…it's over?” You whisper, looking at Chan.

“Yeah, princess. It's over.” Chan says, pulling you into him, holding you tightly.

**

10 months later, you and Chan were thriving. You were happy, healthy and the business had been left in the hands of Felix and Chan as the heads. The two of them were taking the organization to a new level and you were so happy to be a part of it and helping in any way that you could. Felix had met someone a few months after Mia and your father had been arrested, and he was happier than you had ever seen him before. Luckily you and her got along great. You were all like one big happy family.

“No, babe, you can't do that.” You laugh, placing your left hand, with a large engagement ring showing on Chan's shoulder.

“Come on, princess. It would be a good idea.” He smiles.

Before you can respond, you hear a knock at the front door. You get up, heading towards the door, opening it and you see a package. You pick it up, opening the note, turning around to face Chan, who was coming up behind you.

“What is it? Who's it from?” He asks.

“It's nice to see you so happy. Too bad it won't last.” you read out. “I'm coming for you.” You finish, your face white as a ghost. There was only one person you could think of to do this. You and Chan stare at each other, whispering the same name at the same time.

“Mia.”

[amber-jinx]

A bit of a controversial question

Who do you think Chloe was in love with more, Max or Rachel? And what do you like/dislike about Amberprice and Pricefield?

Boy, been so busy I left this sitting in my inbox, oops!

This is indeed controversial cuz at the end of the day we won't be completely sure of either of the ships' dynamics unless we are Chloe herself, so it's all up for people's interpretations. (*whispers* therefore I hope we can all be sensible here)

Personally I don't think love could be measured in a way, like you could be head over heels for someone you've met for only over a month, and we can't exactly say that is more or less than a long-term friendship. I think even Chloe might not be able to choose one. I view Pricefield as a deep friendship, as with Ashly Birch's take; And AmberPrice as more of a romantic dynamic, even though they weren't official girlfriends.

If we refer to the intensity and passion of Chloe's love, due to the state of her life she was in when she got closer to Rachel and the AmberPrice dynamic, I'd say it's definitely more than Pricefield. With regards to how long-lasting it is however, we see that Chloe never forgot about Max even after not getting a response from her for 5 years; this is the kind of enduring love that friendships (which I personally appreciate a lot for) usually have -- is more prominent in Pricefield. These are not mutually exclusive and so all the infighting is really unnecessary haha, why not AmberPriceField! They're both what Chloe needs in her life ^^

I got into Amberprice because of the amount of chemistry they have, the mutual attraction they have towards each other and how they always have each others' back despite being in darkness themselves -- they're each other's angel and it's definitely touching. Sharing clothes and stuff freely and crashing each others' places? Cute. Mentioning the other around other friends often? Hella cute! There are also multiple elements of surprise, like you'd think a rebel like Chloe wouldn't care for a perfect student like Rachel, who instead turned out to have a wild side, and Chloe turned out to be a softie on the inside. Stuff like these makes their chemistry much better than generic straight relationships I've seen in the media growing up. And the fact that Chloe still held the belief that Rachel wouldn't leave without her after all that she's gone through, definitely says something. Rachel was very genuine with leaving town together. Also true love on this end.

On the other side of the coin though, I really wished they had communicated better, the both of them. (It's a pity they were too young and without guidance to navigate all these) Yes Rachel I know you care about Chloe's feelings and wanna protect her, but being honest and open can go a long way. Chloe could've better regulated her emotions and how she comes across, such that she'd not come off as pushy or react as negatively e.g. give Rachel "the stinkeye"; if they worked on themselves and are actually allowed to improve, a healthier relationship would've blossomed. I also felt like there wasn't anything holding them back from them doing overboard with doing wild things together, like drugs and weed. They kinda spur each other on without the voice of reason or given the chance to mature after getting out of arcadia.

These AP shots come from Life is Strange: Rachel's story "the diner" ep, which gave me new insights on some of the nuances that could've been present in their dynamics. Pretty well-made given its constraints!

As always I can't say too much about Pricefield cuz I've not seen all their interactions, so I can only make individual comments. Take them with a pinch of salt!

On the good side Chloe's enduring love is always impressive, like remembering Max's birthday after all those years and immediately gifting her William's camera and taking her back. Moments where she emoted and expressed her appreciation with Max felt really genuine and I like how she's really supportive of Max, lifting the latter's confidence when Max was insecure, not to mention standing up for her in front of Nathan, David, Joyce etc. Very wholesome. On the other hand Chloe could've better nuance the manners of her speech, especially when she's angry -- Max is helping her so much after just reconnecting her for 5 years, it's not really an obligation and so I think she could've held back on some of her words at Max, which still comes down to emotional regulation, but I also understand that she was going through really tough times. I also didn't particularly like how she'd only change her wallpaper to Max after Max followed her wishes, even though that's not super abnormal for an 18 yo.

Max the sweetheart is honestly endearing when she doesn't hold back on positive words for Chloe, and when Chloe's off-balance she'd also be able to provide the voice of reason to put them on the right path. It's giving secure attachment style-- except the bad texter part. I just wish she'd stand up to Chloe a little more to avoid getting them into even more trouble, but that's just a personal take. My main issue with Max is her not writing to Chloe as much in those 5 years, but friends grow apart and it's only natural. As with DE, we'd have to take into the account of survivor's guilt and that nothing last forever, so if they ever separate, it is also understandable and inevitable in life.

The OG did a good job on developing Max and Chloe's bond, and it makes sense why so many ship Pricefield, which I'm not against :) hope my slightly rushed response has answered your question pal! And as always, thank you for asking <3

[doctorvictoria10]

A stressful admission: Part 3

Tags - ED admission, nervous patient, slight cardio, slight ageplay, medical trauma, comfort.

Chloe watched with wide eyes as Jack picked up the IV set the previous ED doctor had prepared and brought it over to her side. He kept his eyes on hers as he picked up a blue tourniquet and wrapped it around her forearm tightly.

“It’s alright Chloe, I’m just checking your veins, no needles yet.” He soothed. He palpated the vein on the back of her hand, the thought of a thick cannula sliding under her skin made her feel sick.

Quickly he pulled on a pair of tight navy blue medical gloves and Chloe couldn’t help the whimper that escaped her lips as he quickly cleaned the site.

“Shhh shhh shh, I’m going to numb it first, little bird. See? Cold numbing spray, you know that’s the good stuff right? I’m going to put lots on. Your hand will freeze right off before you feel this IV, I promise.” He smiled warmly, a little chuckle escaping his lips at the end.

She settled a little at that, she knew the cold numbing spray was good, she used it on her own patients, even if they weren’t scared of IV’s because it was just the kind thing to do. Jack locked eyes with her once more. “Okay little one. I want you to look over there out the window for me, and count to 20. You’re not going to feel it okay? Nice big breaths and count to 20.” He instructed firmly but calmly. She knew it was time and her stomach flipped. Taking one last look at her hand she turned her head to focus on the view out the window, it was of the car parking lot, cars circled round looking for a space in the drizzly rain. “Remember to breathe.” He reminded.

The cold spray came and made her jump. It felt so so cold until all of a sudden it didn’t feel like anything. Then she felt the pressure as she knew the needle was being slid into her vein. Even though it didn’t hurt, it wasn’t comfortable and felt like a deep pinching. “Jack, Jack, Jack.” She babbled a little panicked, and not knowing what she expected him to reply or what she even needed from him.

“I know I know. Nearly done. Not painful but still not comfy, hm? But it’s bearable though, yes?”

“Mm, it feels yuck. I feel yuck.” She whimpered, her voice sounding a little different to how it usually sounded.

“You’ve gone a little pale there Chloe. Are you still taking deep breaths for me?” She could feel his eyes on her, while he secured the IV.

“Mm, I feel really dizzy, I think I need to lie down.” It was all but a whisper.

“I think that’s a good idea. I’m almost done here, let’s lay you back and I’ll finish once you’re flat.” He eased her down onto the bed on her back, and quickly arranged some pillows under her legs. “It’s okay little one. Just feeling a little faint, that’s pretty normal. I probably should’ve had you laying down from the get go but I thought looking outside would be a nice distraction.” He spoke as he wrapped the secured IV with an additional bandage so she couldn’t see any of it.

“Are you feeling any better now, Chloe?” He asked as he brushed a stray strand of blonde hair out of her face.

“A little, still not good though. I hate needles so much!”

“I know, but you did so well and now it’s in and we don’t need to worry about that anymore! Let me put the TV on for you as a little distraction, and I’ll get you some water.” He flicked the TV on and a children’s cartoon started playing, he didn’t bother to change the channel. She started to watch it, feeling entranced, barely noticing when he brought a plastic cup to her lips and encouraged her to take a sip of the cool water.

“There we go, much better, hm? I’m just going to start some fluid and give you that medicine we talked about, okay?” He said quietly, not waiting for a response as he started the fluid line and connected it to Chloe’s bandaged IV. Next he drew up a small dose of relaxant, just to take the edge off and connected it again. He held her wrist still in one hand as he began to press the plunger down slowly, administering the medicine. Chloe’s eyes briefly found his before she watched the syringe empty itself into her veins. “Shhh shhh” Jack coaxed as he covered the IV again.

“I’m just going to get some other supplies Chloe. You lay there and relax. Watch the TV and let the medicine start to work. I’ll be back soon, little bird.” He spoke calmly, and then slipped out of the room.

She didn’t know how much time had passed when he came back, she didn’t really care either. A deep relaxation had taken over her body and the warm blanket he had draped over her felt like the most comforting hug. She could stay here forever, her body felt strangely weightless but not in an alarming way, more like she was being supported by a cloud.

“How are you feeling now, Chloe?” Jack watched her carefully. He could see she had relaxed, her nervous demeanor had vanished and her body language was so much calmer. He smiled to himself, his little patient was finally feeling a little lighter, and the rest of the assessment should be a lot easier for both of them.

“Mm, I feel good. Kinda sleepy but I don’t think I could sleep. I don’t know, I feel nice.” She replied in a daze.

Jack laughed quietly. “Nice is good, Chloe! I’m pleased you’re feeling ‘nice’.” He continued to smile as he walked towards her with a lancet and blood sugar monitor. She registered the lancet but it didn’t seem to bother her as much as it did before. She still wasn’t thrilled about the prospect of having her finger pricked, but it didn’t make her want to run away and cry for a long time.

“Do we have to?” She whined. “I’m not hypoglycaemic Jack.” She protested, and the medical terminology sounded funny in her ‘littler’ voice.

“Yes, unfortunately we do have to. And I know you’re probably not hypoglycaemic, but it’s good to check, hm? And it is policy for admissions.” He gave her a firm look, and she knew there was no way around it.

“Can we use the numbing spray at least?”

“We can’t. The cold will make your tiny little capillaries shrivel away, and then I won’t be able to get any blood unless I squeeze your finger super super hard, which would just hurt more than the little prick itself.” He paused and waited for her to give him her finger, but she didn’t. “Come on brave girl. I know you can do it! You let me put an IV in, you can definitely handle a little pinch on your finger.” He pulled the blanket back slightly, searching for her hand that didn’t have the cannula in. “Can I have this hand, Chloe? Can I borrow it for 10 seconds? Then you can have it back, promise.” He tried to coax her.

“Mm, hurry hurry, I’m scared.” She closed her eyes tightly and allowed him to take her hand.

“Okay, little bird. Thank you for being so brave, I’m really proud of you.” He spoke comfortingly, whilst quickly lining up the lancet with the side of her middle finger and clicking the release button.

“Ouch! Ouch ouch ouch, it hurts!” She whined, opening her eyes to see Jack squeeze the blood from the tiny poke onto the blood glucose monitoring strip.

“It’s all done! It was so quick wasn’t it, and now it’s just a little sore? And there we go, all normal. Thank you for letting me do that, Chloe.” He applied a cotton ball to the end of her finger and secured it with a little bit of tape.

She pouted slightly at her cotton tipped finger and then turned her head back to the cartoon playing on the tv. She was aware of Jack moving around in the corner of the room but she wasn’t worried about what came next, whatever that was. He wheeled over an ECG machine complete with the wires and sticky pads. She knew an ECG wouldn’t hurt her, but she just didn’t feel like having one, she wanted to lay snuggled in her blanket, she didn’t want to be exposed to the cool air while she got poked around and manourvered for the pads.

“Just an ECG now, sweetheart. You know these don’t hurt.” He gave her a soft look, searching her eyes for consent to proceed. Even though it was undeniable she wasn’t in the same headspace as when they started, and he’d gotten her verbal consent just 30 minutes ago, he still liked to have her at least give some implied consent before he did anything, he knew his little patient was fragile and currently being vulnerable with him right now, and that wasn’t something he took likely. He felt he owed her the utmost respect and dignity considering the amount of trust she had poured out for him.

“I know it won’t hurt, I just don’t really want it you know? I want to watch this!” She pointed to the cartoon, engrossed with the little animal characters.

Jack smiled lightly, pleased that she had shifted her attention to something comforting that wasn’t hospital related. “Okay, I understand! Why don’t you keep watching and I’ll do this. You just lay there and watch?” Truthfully he didn’t particularly need her to do anything anyway.

“Mm’kay” Chloe responded as she let Jack pull down her gown. The chill in the air was still there and she felt very exposed all of a sudden, Jack saw her hesitation and quickly began placing the pads on her chest and wrists.

“Won’t take long, little one, give me a few minutes.” He began to run the ECG and clicked around on the machine. Chloe pouted but endured the coolness of the air and the exposure. She had no doubt he would cover her back up and get her snuggled again once he was done.

“Okay that’s looking really good Chloe! I’m going to take the pads off now, a little sticky!” He spoke calmly as he gently removed the pads from the ECG. He pulled her gown down over her breasts but then stopped. “I’m going to have a little feel of your tummy too, then you can have a nice relax with your cartoon okay?” He asked as he began firmly palpating her tummy.

Chloe scrunched up her face at the deep pressure in her stomach. “Is that tender?” He asked, concern swimming in his eyes.

“No, it just feels uncomfy, no one’s ever palpated my tummy deep enough to feel my organs before.” She groaned before giving him a little eye roll. They both shared a little laugh before he pulled her gown all the way down and the blanket back over her.

“You’ve been a very good little patient for me today Chloe. Probably the best little patient actually. I know that was challenging for you but you did so well and I really am proud of you! I haven’t seen anything during this assessment that’s made me nervous, we’re just waiting on your bloods now and then if they’re all okay, I think we’ll keep you in for 24 hours observation, and then you can go, hmm?”

“I really don’t want to stay for 24 hours Jack.” She whined quietly.

“I know you don’t, sweetheart, but I think it would be a wise thing to do. But like I said before, it’s all your choice. I’ll check on the bloods and I think you deserve a good rest hm?” He spoke warmly as he picked up the remote and turned the volume up a little on her cartoon. She nodded and let her body rest, snuggled up in the blanket she’d never felt safer. 🖤

[cuddlyfunk]

Oh, Summer Child

What if Eddie Munson had a half sister? What if he never knew about her until she was forced to come to Hawkins?

Chloe Munson gave up searching for home after her mom abandoned her. Maybe all it takes is a town she never wanted to move to and a brother she never knew existed to find what she's looking for.

-Word Count: ~2.8K

There was something behind that thing people say about the only constant in life being change. Chloe Munson knew this deep in the fiber of her being. Her life was that constant. A whirlwind she could rarely comprehend herself.

The first seven years of her life were spent with her mother. Amelia Crowder wasn’t a terrible woman. But she wasn't prepared to be a mom in any sense. Chloe's memory of that time mostly consisted of the smell of alcohol, being left alone in shabby motel rooms and wondering a million things. Why was her mom gone so much? Why couldn’t they live in a house? Why were their last names different? Why didn’t she have a dad? Some of these questions were answered in a rather unfortunate way when Amelia Crowder bought an apartment near Vegas and decided she didn’t want to tote a kid around anymore. So the year Chloe Munson turned eight, she was dropped off in an unfamiliar place with a man she didn’t know while her mom traveled across the country. Without her. The transition was foggy in her memory. Al Munson was different from Amelia Crowder and Chloe's memories of time with him mostly consisted of learning. Though the lessons from him were different from ones she might’ve learned if she was in school.

She learned not to cry, she made that mistake in front of this man that was supposed to be her dad once.

She learned to appreciate her mom. At least she didn’t get angry when she drank.

She learned she was a mistake. Al had a habit of reminding her.

She learned to take care of herself, to stay out of trouble and avoid attention whenever possible.

Everything she learned added another brick to a wall she slowly built around herself. The number one thing she learned. She learned how to protect herself. Even if that meant going along with whatever her dad said.

Maybe it was another cruel irony of the world that her dad got arrested on her tenth birthday. He had been gone all day, but that wasn’t unusual. She sat in the yard, fiddling with an old radio she scored from the dump. She was curious if she could get it working again, an old woman had given her ten dollars for fixing her TV once.

When the police car pulled up, she suspected something was wrong. It was when the policeman asked, “are you Chloe Munson?” that she knew something was wrong.

It was personal.

After that, everything was a blur. She remembered phone calls, going to a weird smelling building with other kids and adults, social workers. That was the day she learned about her Uncle and her half-brother, who a social worker, overly chirpy, said she would be going to live with.

Worst Birthday present ever.

And that's how she ended up on a car ride to a town she had never heard of to live with people who shared the same descriptor as the town.

That’s how she ended up in a trailer, holding a trash bag with nearly all her worldly possessions and looking at this old man they called her Uncle. Uncle Wayne.

It wasn’t the first time she wished her mom cared enough to raise her own daughter, but now it was like a wave crashing into her, pushing her to the floor and dragging her into cold, dark water.

“So, you’re Chloe.”

She didn’t respond. Her fingernails still had dirt under them from her time outside and it was starting to bother her.

The man sighed, “right… Well, Eddie should be home real soon. You two got the same eyes, you know.”

Chloe hated her eyes. They reminded her of her dad.

“Actually, you remind me a lot of him when he was your age.”

When she was little, sometimes people would stop her and her mom when they went somewhere together.

“She’s your mini-me,” they’d say or, “she looks just like you.”

It was their hair, maybe. The same puffy dirty blonde hair. Or the freckles, constellations dotting near everywhere on her and her moms skin.

When she lived with her dad, well, she couldn’t escape her similarities to him.

Now it was just the same with this Eddie. Her brother. Half-brother.

Another relative to be measured against.

There was a pause, long and uncomfortable. But Chloe refused to break it, almost like a challenge.

She counted it a little victory when her supposed Uncle broke it instead, “you’re free to look around and all. Make yourself at home.”

Home. Right. Like this was her home. She had never had a home, not really. 

Looking around the place, she decided this wouldn’t last a week. This would never be her ‘home’.

That’s when the door opened.

She turned as soon as she heard the footsteps coming up to it. She didn’t need the introduction her Uncle was giving, she already knew who this was. Some guy with dark curly and dark brown eyes looking right at her. He was right, she and Eddie did have the same eyes.

It must’ve been a shock to come home to a new sister. Half-sister. Chloe could recognize that. It was a shock to be moved to a home with a new brother. Half-brother. She wished he’d stop staring at her, anyways. It made her feel like the bugs she used to collect when she was little, being held in a jar to be observed.

She didn’t really pay attention to the conversation. She didn’t really care what the explanation was for her being there. She busied herself looking around the trailer. Better than being caught examining the people. It was… homey. Small and cluttered, but more in a lived in way than a really messy way. She kind of liked it, if she was being honest. She wouldn’t tell them that.

Chloe only started paying attention when she heard her name, she looked at Eddie, the one who said it, “huh?”

He smiled at her. It was weird, “I asked what you like to do. You know, your passion.”

She blinked. It felt like a trick question. She didn’t want to answer wrong, but she didn’t know what the wrong answer was. She looked at the ground and hoped for the best, speaking quietly, “I fix stuff.”

She figured this was true, no one could accuse her of lying, and it was a useful skill. A reason to keep her around. So there was that.

He cocked an eyebrow at her, “fix stuff?”

She shrugged and glanced between the two men from under her brow, “TVs, radios, cars…”

Uncle Wayne spoke up in surprise, “cars, huh?”

She nodded, “actually, I like cars most. Their insides are so interesting…” She trailed off, forcing herself to resist the urge to ramble on about engines and batteries. She had learned when to shut up.

“You know, that’s pretty cool, you must be smart.” Eddie smiled at her again. She felt the compliment in her stomach, making it flip around. But she quickly had to deny it, shaking her head harshly. Because she wasn’t. Anyone who had ever commented on her intelligence had only used words like ‘dumb’, ‘slow’, ‘stupid. She appreciated Eddie trying to be nice, but she wished  he wouldn’t lie to her. Or at least know to lower his expectations. She didn’t want to disappoint him so early in their meeting.

“I’m not,” Chloe insisted, “I just like cars.”

Eddie made a face, he looked like he wanted to say something about it, but he didn’t. She was grateful for that at least. 

Chloe tugged on the cuff of her flannel shirt. It was too hot for any kind of long sleeved shirt, but it made her feel less exposed. So there was that. Not that anyone really cared to notice what she was wearing unless it was to make fun of her.

“There’s a bedroom.” Eddie said, Chloe caught him glancing at Wayne when she looked up.

“Huh?” she tilted her head, unsure why he was bringing this up.

“There’s only one bedroom, I mean. Mine.”

“We’ll make it work,” Wayne said gruffly.

“I don’t need nothin’. I can sleep anywhere.” Chloe insisted hurriedly.

“You can have the bed. I’m not kicking you to the couch.” Eddie argued.

The two glared at each other. Chloe stood her ground. She didn’t want to owe these people. She didn’t even know them. She wasn’t taking favors. 

But the strange thing was, Eddie stood his ground too. He didn’t jump at the opportunity to not have to give up his own space for her. Someone he just met.

Eventually, Wayne stepped in. “Sleep’s still a ways off. We’ll get it worked out. Don’t you wanna put that bag down, Chloe?”

The weight in her arms hadn’t bothered her until he suggested it. Not that it had that much in it. She supposed the few tools she stuffed in there were a bit heavy. Not that she had much of those. Or anything.

So she shrugged.

Eddie nodded towards the hallway, “you can put it in the room.”

Chloe thought about this for a moment. She figured it wouldn’t do any harm. Her stuff would be here anyways. It didn’t really matter what room she put it in. So she nodded. And Eddie showed her the room while their uncle said he’d start dinner.

The first thing she thought entering the room was that she liked it. Not that she’d tell him that. But it felt distinctly lived in, similar to the rest of the trailer. Posters of people, names and images she didn’t recognize lined the walls, including a large banner with ‘Corroded Coffin’ written in large spiky letters. It was cool, even if she didn’t know what it meant. But the best thing was the guitar. She snuck glances at it as she carefully tucked the trash bag in a corner where it wouldn’t bother anyone. 

“You like music?” Eddie asked. Maybe she hadn’t been as discrete with the looks as she had intended.

She shrugged.

“Is that an ‘I don’t know’ or a ‘I don’t want to talk to you’ shrug?”

“I don’t listen to a lotta music,” she muttered.

He grinned at her. She was starting to wonder why he kept smiling at her like that, “don’t worry, little sister, I’ve got the best music in all of Hawkins. I’ll introduce you to the gods of metal.”

It felt nice to have someone promising to help her. In any way, really. Even if it was a bit silly. And it felt nice for him to call her his little sister. Not that she’d tell him that. So she stayed silent.

“Not much of a talker, I’ve gathered,” Eddie said after a moment.

Chloe shrugged. She realized about two seconds later when he laughed that it wasn’t helping her case. She opted to glare at him to stop him from laughing. It only half worked.

“Well, anyways, you’re probably hungry. Let's go see what’s for dinner, yeah?”

She nodded, she didn’t really care either way. But she was hungry.

Pasta was for dinner, apparently. Spaghetti and meatballs. She passed on the sauce, never having liked tomatoes much.

It was a quiet dinner, but she liked it that way. No shouting, no fighting. Just a few simple questions she answered as quickly as possible. It was nice, really. She liked having dinner with these people, she liked the food well enough, too. Not that she’d tell them that.

“Suppose you’ll be wonderin’ ‘bout sleeping arrangements,” Wayne remarked, looking at Chloe.

“I guess,” she said before shoving a forkful of food in her mouth.

“Well, we don’t got an extra bed for you yet…” Chloe cut in, “I can sleep on the couch or somethin’,” she offered again quickly.

“I told you, you can take the bed, really,” Eddie rolled his eyes.

Before she could argue, Wayne interrupted, “well, I’ve gotta work tonight. You know, there’s a fold out bed in the livin’ room. You’re welcome to take it while I’m away, until we can get you somethin’ more permanent,” he nodded to Chloe, “if you’d like.”

She  thought for a moment, “you don’t need it?”

“Not tonight,” he sighed.

“Okay, maybe,” she nodded. It felt odd, but she was almost disappointed. She kind of liked her Uncle. It was hard to imagine him leaving so soon when they had just met. He seemed to be able to look into her head like she could look at a car engine. She wondered dully as she ate if he might be able to fix her brain while he was in there.

From there, things seemed to pass far too quickly to Chloe. She didn’t really know how to react when she was left alone with a brother she barely knew. She didn’t really feel like talking to him or answering questions. She wished she still had the radio she was fixing this morning. Something for her hands to do, for her mind to slip into. But she didn’t have it, so she let Eddie talk when he wanted to. Otherwise she just sat in silence, imagining the parts in her mind, rearranging them until she could pretend it was fixed, even if just in her head.

At one point, Eddie looked up at the clock and asked something that confused her, “do you have any pajamas?”

She blinked, “huh?”

He turned to look at her, “just getting kinda late. I don’t think Uncle Wayne would appreciate me keeping you up too much. You got pajamas for bed?”

“I just kinda wear my clothes to sleep,” she admitted.

“That won’t do,” he exclaimed, “wait here, I’ll grab you something.”

Chloe was hesitant about this idea, but obediently stayed put anyway. She was curious to see what he’d bring back, in any case.

Although she had to admit, what he did bring back slightly confused her. A simple pair of clothes, a shirt and what looked like running shorts. The shirt said ‘Iron Maiden’ on it, which she had gathered was a band.

“Here, they might be a little big… but they’re comfortable anyways. Shouldn’t fall off,” he shrugged and held the items out to her.

She didn’t take them. Not yet. “For me?”

“Duh, who else? Come on, you’re not even sleeping on a real bed. Might as well have some good pajamas. Well, more comfortable than those jeans, I’m sure,” he gestured with one hand to her pants.

They weren’t the best to sleep in, that much was true. When she hesitated longer to take the clothes, they were unceremoniously shoved in her arms, to her surprise.

“Take them,” Eddie insisted.

Maybe, if they weren’t already in her arms, she wouldn’t have wanted to put them on. But, as it was, she found herself on the little fold out bed in the living room, wearing the shirt and shorts she was given. They were soft. Much more cool than her previous flannel and jeans. And though in the back of her mind it was weird to be wearing these clothes that didn’t belong to her, they felt too nice for her to care. She was starting to think, maybe, Eddie didn’t think she was just an annoying bug taking up space. Maybe he really was just nice.

He poked his head into the living room just then, “you ready for lights out, kid?”

Chloe looked up at him, for the first time she wondered if maybe he liked having a sister. She nodded, “yeah, I’m ready.”

“Need me to tuck you in?”

She glared at him, “I’m ten, not two.”

He held his hands up in defeat, “fine, I get it. Lights are going off now, then.” He flicked a switch and she sat in darkness.

“Goodnight, Chlo.” He called.

“Goodnight,” her reply was just loud enough to hear in the quiet night.

She heard footsteps and the creak of a door. She flopped back onto the bed, letting her leg dangle over the side, staring at the ceiling. Feeling her breath going in and out. Imagining she was in sync with Eddie. And maybe Wayne too. Just the three of them breathing at the same time without even realizing it.

As she lay on the little fold out bed in this unfamiliar trailer with the faint sound of crickets outside, she thought. And in her head she told herself that, maybe, she’d try and stay here more than a week. Maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad. She kind of liked it here. It was stable.

She rolled over and closed her eyes, feeling more at peace than she had in a long time.

Chloe Munson was home.

Thanks for reading!

If you enjoyed this, you can find more of my writing (specifically with Chloe) on the masterlist (all titles are now linked to this blog!)

...

This is an official repost from my main blog @harmonica-demon

[sturniolo14]

enemies part 1:

a/n: guys this is 1 of those yt shorts type shi fanfic sooooo don’t mind

summary: you got stuck with matt in a school trip. what do you do? 

pairings: matt sturniolo(e/n) x y/n (both of them are 18)

contains: enemies to lovers, angst, fluff

i’ve always hated matthew sturniolo. but for SOME reason all the teachers in my college knew that. that’s why i was put next to him for ALL of my lessons. it was a pain to sit with him. he’s always hated me back too. i’ve gotten along with his brothers well but he was a different story. like today.

“alright class, as you know we are going overseas to paris and you all are very privileged to be in this class and school as not many students can go overseas during school days,” my teacher, miss rachel said. she was my least favourite teacher. “privileged, my ass”, i muttered under my breath. i heard matt chuckle loudly. “ your funny” he said. i glared at him and said, “and your funny looking”. that got him to shut up, thankfully.

“alright class, i’m going to announce your partners for the trip, as in who you are going to be sharing a room with. okay number 1, stacy and lucas your together, lily and chloe, deven and alana, emily and dan and lastly matt and y/n !” she said. i blinked in shock. i worked so hard for this trip and… this is what i get ? a trip with my enemy. this means that i’m going to be stuck with him the whole time. tears filled my eyes. so much hard work, all gone to waste. i saw matt looking at me and i quickly blinked away my tears. the bell rang loudly and i picked up my bag and sprinted out of the classroom. 

saturday came quickly and so did my flight. i was dreading it more than anything. i was dressed in a white tank top, black cargos and a black jacket with air forces. after a while, i showed up to the airport. begrudgingly. it would be absolute pain sitting with matt in the plane. i sighed as i entered the airport and i managed to find my group. i put on my headphones, ready to block out my annoying teachers yapping. 

i walked up to the group and all their heads twisted towards me. i rolled my eyes as matt looked at me with a weird expression on his face. i ignored him and greeted them all. after what seemed like HOURS, our fatass teacher finally managed to drag her ass to the gate. we boarded the plane and matt and i sat next to each other. there was a row with three seats and matt and i sat there. EXCEPT that no one was sitting on the last seat. this is how our conversation went like:

y/n: can u like you know sit on the other seat ?

matt: no.

y/n: WHY ?

matt: because my bag needs a seat.

y/n: are you kidding me?

matt: nope.

y/n: *rolls her eyes*

so in the end, i was stuck sitting next to matt for a 7 hour plane ride. i sat down in exasperation, getting ready to have the best sleep of my life. i put on my headphones, cueing on some white noise. my eyes slowly shut and i fell drifted off into a deep slumber…

[harmonica-demon]

Oh, Summer Child

Wowww, have I got a treat! I wrote a fic that has more than ~500 words. It's my au where Eddie has a 10 year old half-sister, I figured I've written enough of them that Chloe deserves an introduction. Can be read as a standalone fic, takes place in the same universe Enjoy! ...

There was something behind that thing people say about the only constant in life being change. Chloe Munson knew this deep in the fiber of her being. Her life was that constant. A whirlwind she could rarely comprehend herself.

The first seven years of her life were spent with her mother. Amelia Crowder wasn’t a terrible woman. But she wasn't prepared to be a mom in any sense. Chloe's memory of that time mostly consisted of the smell of alcohol, being left alone in shabby motel rooms and wondering a million things. Why was her mom gone so much? Why couldn’t they live in a house? Why were their last names different? Why didn’t she have a dad? Some of these questions were answered in a rather unfortunate way when Amelia Crowder bought an apartment near Vegas and decided she didn’t want to tote a kid around anymore. So the year Chloe Munson turned eight, she was dropped off in an unfamiliar place with a man she didn’t know while her mom traveled across the country. Without her. The transition was foggy in her memory. Al Munson was different from Amelia Crowder and Chloe's memories of time with him mostly consisted of learning. Though the lessons from him were different from ones she might’ve learned if she was in school.

She learned not to cry, she made that mistake in front of this man that was supposed to be her dad once.

She learned to appreciate her mom. She didn’t get angry when she drank.

She learned she was a mistake. Al had a habit of reminding her.

She learned to take care of herself, to stay out of trouble and avoid attention whenever possible.

Everything she learned added another brick to a wall she slowly built around herself. The number one thing she learned. She learned how to protect herself. Even if that meant going along with whatever her dad said.

Maybe it was another cruel irony of the world when her dad got arrested on her tenth birthday. He had been gone all day, but that wasn’t unusual. She sat in the yard, fiddling with an old radio she scored from the dump. She was curious if she could get it working again, an old woman had given her ten dollars once for fixing her TV.

When the police car pulled up, she suspected something was wrong. It was when the policeman asked, “are you Chloe Munson?” that she knew something was wrong.

It was personal.

After that, everything was a blur. She remembered phone calls, going to a weird smelling building with other kids and adults, social workers. That was the day she learned about her Uncle and her half-brother, who a social worker, overly chirpy, said she would be going to live with.

Worst Birthday present ever.

And that's how she ended up on a car ride to a town she had never heard of to live with people who shared the same descriptor as the town.

That’s how she ended up in a trailer, holding a trash bag with nearly all her worldly possessions and looking at this old man they called her Uncle. Uncle Wayne.

It wasn’t the first time she wished her mom cared enough to raise her own daughter, but now it was like a wave crashing into her, pushing her to the floor and dragging her into cold, dark water.

“So, you’re Chloe.”

She didn’t respond. Her fingernails still had dirt under them from her time outside and it was starting to bother her.

The man sighed, “right… Well, Eddie should be home real soon. You two got the same eyes, you know.”

Chloe hated her eyes. They reminded her of her dad.

“Actually, you remind me a lot of him when he was your age.”

When she was little, sometimes people would stop her and her mom when they went somewhere together.

“She’s your mini-me,” they’d say or, “she looks just like you.”

It was their hair, maybe. The same puffy dirty blonde hair. Or the freckles, constellations dotting near everywhere on her and her moms skin.

When she lived with her dad, well, she couldn’t escape her similarities to him.

Now it was just the same with this Eddie. Her brother. Half-brother.

Another relative to be measured against.

There was a pause, long and uncomfortable. But Chloe refused to break it, almost like a challenge.

She counted it a little victory when her supposed Uncle broke it instead, “you’re free to look around and all. Make yourself at home.”

Home. Right. Like this was her home. She had never had a home, not really. 

Looking around the place, she decided this wouldn’t last a week. This would never be her ‘home’.

That’s when the door opened.

She turned as soon as she heard the footsteps coming up to it. She didn’t need the introduction her Uncle was giving, she already knew who this was. Some guy with dark curly and dark brown eyes looking right at her. He was right, she and Eddie did have the same eyes.

It must’ve been a shock to come home to a new sister. Half-sister. Chloe could recognize that. It was a shock to be moved to a home with a new brother. Half-brother. She wished he’d stop staring at her, anyways. It made her feel like the bugs she used to collect when she was little, being held in a jar to be observed.

She didn’t really pay attention to the conversation. She didn’t really care what the explanation was for her being there. She busied herself looking around the trailer. Better than being caught examining the people. It was… homey. Small and cluttered, but more in a lived in way than a really messy way. She kind of liked it, if she was being honest. She wouldn’t tell them that.

Chloe only started paying attention when she heard her name, she looked at Eddie, the one who said it, “huh?”

He smiled at her. It was weird, “I asked what you like to do. You know, your passion.”

She blinked. It felt like a trick question. She didn’t want to answer wrong, but she didn’t know what the wrong answer was. She looked at the ground and hoped for the best, speaking quietly, “I fix stuff.”

She figured this was true, no one could accuse her of lying, and it was a useful skill. A reason to keep her around. So there was that.

He cocked an eyebrow at her, “fix stuff?”

She shrugged and glanced between the two men from under her brow, “TVs, radios, cars…”

Uncle Wayne spoke up in surprise, “cars, huh?”

She nodded, “actually, I like cars most. Their insides are so interesting…” She trailed off, forcing herself to resist the urge to ramble on about engines and batteries. She had learned when to shut up.

“You know, that’s pretty cool, you must be smart.” Eddie smiled at her again. She felt the compliment in her stomach, making it flip around. But she quickly had to deny it, shaking her head harshly. Because she wasn’t. Anyone who had ever commented on her intelligence had only used words like ‘dumb’, ‘slow’, ‘stupid. She appreciated Eddie trying to be nice, but she wished  he wouldn’t lie to her. Or at least know to lower his expectations. She didn’t want to disappoint him so early in their meeting.

“I’m not,” Chloe insisted, “I just like cars.”

Eddie made a face, he looked like he wanted to say something about it, but he didn’t. She was grateful for that at least. 

Chloe tugged on the cuff of her flannel shirt. It was too hot for any kind of long sleeved shirt, but it made her feel less exposed. So there was that. Not that anyone really cared to notice what she was wearing unless it was to make fun of her.

“There’s a bedroom.” Eddie said, Chloe caught him glancing at Wayne when she looked up.

“Huh?” she tilted her head, unsure why he was bringing this up.

“There’s only one bedroom, I mean. Mine.”

“We’ll make it work,” Wayne said gruffly.

“I don’t need nothin’. I can sleep anywhere.” Chloe insisted hurriedly.

“You can have the bed. I’m not kicking you to the couch.” Eddie argued.

The two glared at each other. Chloe stood her ground. She didn’t want to owe these people. She didn’t even know them. She wasn’t taking favors. 

But the strange thing was, Eddie stood his ground too. He didn’t jump at the opportunity to not have to give up his own space for her. Someone he just met.

Eventually, Wayne stepped in. “Sleep’s still a ways off. We’ll get it worked out. Don’t you wanna put that bag down, Chloe?”

The weight in her arms hadn’t bothered her until he suggested it. Not that it had that much in it. She supposed the few tools she stuffed in there were a bit heavy. Not that she had much of those. Or anything.

So she shrugged.

Eddie nodded towards the hallway, “you can put it in the room.”

Chloe thought about this for a moment. She figured it wouldn’t do any harm. Her stuff would be here anyways. It didn’t really matter what room she put it in. So she nodded. And Eddie showed her the room while their uncle said he’d start dinner.

The first thing she thought entering the room was that she liked it. Not that she’d tell him that. But it felt distinctly lived in, similar to the rest of the trailer. Posters of people, names and images she didn’t recognize lined the walls, including a large banner with ‘Corroded Coffin’ written in large spiky letters. It was cool, even if she didn’t know what it meant. But the best thing was the guitar. She snuck glances at it as she carefully tucked the trash bag in a corner where it wouldn’t bother anyone. 

“You like music?” Eddie asked. Maybe she hadn’t been as discrete with the looks as she had intended.

She shrugged.

“Is that an ‘I don’t know’ or a ‘I don’t want to talk to you’ shrug?”

“I don’t listen to a lotta music,” she muttered.

He grinned at her. She was starting to wonder why he kept smiling at her like that, “don’t worry, little sister, I’ve got the best music in all of Hawkins. I’ll introduce you to the gods of metal.”

It felt nice to have someone promising to help her. In any way, really. Even if it was a bit silly. And it felt nice for him to call her his little sister. Not that she’d tell him that. So she stayed silent.

“Not much of a talker, I’ve gathered,” Eddie said after a moment.

Chloe shrugged. She realized about two seconds later when he laughed that it wasn’t helping her case. She opted to glare at him to stop him from laughing. It only half worked.

“Well, anyways, you’re probably hungry. Let's go see what’s for dinner, yeah?”

She nodded, she didn’t really care either way. But she was hungry.

Pasta was for dinner, apparently. Spaghetti and meatballs. She passed on the sauce, never having liked tomatoes much.

It was a quiet dinner, but she liked it that way. No shouting, no fighting. Just a few simple questions she answered as quickly as possible. It was nice, really. She liked having dinner with these people, she liked the food well enough, too. Not that she’d tell them that.

“Suppose you’ll be wonderin’ ‘bout sleeping arrangements,” Wayne remarked, looking at Chloe.

“I guess,” she said before shoving a forkful of food in her mouth.

“Well, we don’t got an extra bed for you yet…” Chloe cut in, “I can sleep on the couch or somethin’,” she offered again quickly.

“I told you, you can take the bed, really,” Eddie rolled his eyes.

Before she could argue, Wayne interrupted, “well, I’ve gotta work tonight. You know, there’s a fold out bed in the livin’ room. You’re welcome to take it while I’m away, until we can get you somethin’ more permanent,” he nodded to Chloe, “if you’d like.”

She  thought for a moment, “you don’t need it?”

“Not tonight,” he sighed.

“Okay, maybe,” she nodded. It felt odd, but she was almost disappointed. She kind of liked her Uncle. It was hard to imagine him leaving so soon when they had just met. He seemed to be able to look into her head like she could look at a car engine. She wondered dully as she ate if he might be able to fix her brain while he was in there.

From there, things seemed to pass far too quickly to Chloe. She didn’t really know how to react when she was left alone with a brother she barely knew. She didn’t really feel like talking to him or answering questions. She wished she still had the radio she was fixing this morning. Something for her hands to do, for her mind to slip into. But she didn’t have it, so she let Eddie talk when he wanted to. Otherwise she just sat in silence, imagining the parts in her mind, rearranging them until she could pretend it was fixed, even if just in her head.

At one point, Eddie looked up at the clock and asked something that confused her, “do you have any pajamas?”

She blinked, “huh?”

He turned to look at her, “just getting kinda late. I don’t think Uncle Wayne would appreciate me keeping you up too much. You got pajamas for bed?”

“I just kinda wear my clothes to sleep,” she admitted.

“That won’t do,” he exclaimed, “wait here, I’ll grab you something.”

Chloe was hesitant about this idea, but obediently stayed put anyway. She was curious to see what he’d bring back, in any case.

Although she had to admit, what he did bring back slightly confused her. A simple pair of clothes, a shirt and what looked like running shorts. The shirt said ‘Iron Maiden’ on it, which she had gathered was a band.

“Here, they might be a little big… but they’re comfortable anyways. Shouldn’t fall off,” he shrugged and held the items out to her.

She didn’t take them. Not yet. “For me?”

“Duh, who else? Come on, you’re not even sleeping on a real bed. Might as well have some good pajamas. Well, more comfortable than those jeans, I’m sure,” he gestured with one hand to her pants.

They weren’t the best to sleep in, that much was true. When she hesitated longer to take the clothes, they were unceremoniously shoved in her arms, to her surprise.

“Take them,” Eddie insisted.

Maybe, if they weren’t already in her arms, she wouldn’t have wanted to put them on. But, as it was, she found herself on the little fold out bed in the living room, wearing the shirt and shorts she was given. They were soft. Much more cool than her previous flannel and jeans. And though in the back of her mind it was weird to be wearing these clothes that didn’t belong to her, they felt too nice for her to care. She was starting to think, maybe, Eddie didn’t think she was just an annoying bug taking up space. Maybe he really was just nice.

He poked his head into the living room just then, “you ready for lights out, kid?”

Chloe looked up at him, for the first time she wondered if maybe he liked having a sister. She nodded, “yeah, I’m ready.”

“Need me to tuck you in?”

She glared at him, “I’m ten, not two.”

He held his hands up in defeat, “fine, I get it. Lights are going off now, then.” He flicked a switch and she sat in darkness.

“Goodnight, Chlo.” He called.

“Goodnight,” her reply was just loud enough to hear in the quiet night.

She heard footsteps and the creak of a door. She flopped back onto the bed, letting her leg dangle over the side, staring at the ceiling. Feeling her breath going in and out. Imagining she was in sync with Eddie. And maybe Wayne too. Just the three of them breathing at the same time without even realizing it.

As she lay on the little fold out bed in this unfamiliar trailer with the faint sound of crickets outside, she thought. And in her head she told herself that, maybe, she’d try and stay here more than a week. Maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad. She kind of liked it here. It was stable.

She rolled over and closed her eyes, feeling more at peace than she had in a long time.

Chloe Munson was home. ...

Thanks for reading!

More with Chloe:

Dead of Night 

Haircuts

School Struggles and Safe Havens (Uncle) Wayne

[tiny-maus-boots]

Darkest of Nights pt 18

A/N: for all those patient waiters. Thank you. sorry it took forever this time.

Chloe

“Is…is that a minotaur's head hanging on the wall??”

Both vampires turned to follow Beca's pointed finger. Aubrey slid herself between them and the stuffed head with a menacing growl that promised an eternity of pain. 

Chloe quickly slid her arms around the blonde vampire and rested her chin on Aubrey’s shoulder. It had been a long time since she had fit herself along Bree's back like this and the simple action stoked the ember of five centuries of longing that softened her voice.

"Hey Growly Pants. You know the big guy has been dead for over a millenia now. He can't actually hurt anyone."

"I don't like the way he is looking at us."

Aubrey gave a low growling hiss and snapped her teeth at Sal. Beca giggled from the bed and clapped her hand over her mouth too late to keep Aubrey from hearing it. Chloe bit her lip and guided the blonde back to the smaller woman's side. She had the feeling she would be smiling and laughing a lot more as they learned to navigate this unnamed thing between them.

"Okay lets just leave Sal alone."

The necromancer was still a bit too pale for Chloe’s liking but the blood loss had in no way dampened Beca's amusement and wonder at Aubrey’s state.

"Is she drunk right now?"

Aubrey had left off her scowling and was now gently sniffing along Beca’s temple and ear. Chloe nudged Aubrey back into the bed further from Beca, just in case she was still a little hungry. When they had been in the VW she hadn’t even blinked at another vampire feeding from the brunette. It had been right and natural because it was Aubrey. Chloe’s gaze drifted down to the smear of red on Beca's arm.

"Well. You are intoxicating, speaking from experience."

"You barely had a sip."

There was something suggestive in the comment and her fangs lengthened in response. She had bitten Beca before against her will but to be invited…

"Chloe…"

Aubrey’s solid, weighty tone brought her back to herself. Chloe gave a slight shake of her head and smiled to chase away the lure of Beca's  blood. Yes. It had been right for Aubrey to feed before but it was too soon for Beca to donate a second time.

"Just rest, I'll be right back." 

Chloe eased out of her heeled boots for what felt like the first time in weeks and stretched her toes in the plush pale carpet. Home. Home was safe. She had done it, she had found Beca and brought Aubrey back. Chloe stretched with a self satisfied groan and padded into the kitchen to peek into the fridge. Not much fit for a human save for the bottles of water. 

Truthfully, she should have prepared better for their return. Aubrey would have. Chloe leaned against the counter before picking up the handset of the wired phone system. It picked up instantly and although he didn't speak or even breathe she could feel her father's presence on the other end.

"Dad…"

"How could you bring her here?"

Just when she was feeling so pleased at a job well done. Chloe lowered her voice and moved further into the kitchen.

"Should I have left her for the Guard to find? You know what they do to her kind."

"Do you even know what she did to us? Were you even aware? Or were you so enthralled that you do not yet realize…"

Chloe knew. She could feel each and every vampire that Beca had touched and drained. Honestly she had been surprised at how many there were. She had been gone so long searching for the last of the Michile, had grown so out of touch that she hadn’t realized things were changing quickly at home.

"I know! I know what she did and I helped her!"

"Chloe!"

Years of obedience silenced her immediately. There was nothing quite like a father's deep disapproval to take the wind from her sails. It had been the right thing to do and she didn’t feel the least bit bad about it. Chloe met his angry silence with a tired sigh before the phone was taken by another. Her mother's cool, even tone replaced her father's deep rumble of frustration.

"You found her."

"I found them both."

"I smelled blood."

That was unsurprising. She hadn’t seen her mother in the crowd but she didn't need to be close to catch that scent. Cahira was known for her ability to track prey for miles on the scent of a single drop of blood. Chloe nodded her head even though her mother couldn't see.

"We had trouble. They caught up to us before Aubrey was at full strength…it was bad. She was dying Mama." 

"So you fed the necromancer to her." 

It wasn’t a question. It was a flat practical statement. Sacrifice the necromancer to save the Queen. It would be expected and maybe even would earn her some forgiveness for bringing a threat into their midst. But it wasn't the truth.

"She offered herself. Actually…she didn't give either of us a choice." Pride warmed her tone and she looked over her shoulder to peek into the bedroom. Aubrey was curled protectively around a dozing Beca and still glaring at the minotaur's head on the wall with a curled lip. "She commanded Aubrey to drink until she healed. And yes I am aware that she took from all of us to fix the damage in Bree's body. I encouraged it and I will do it again if I have to."

Cahira's soft gasp of surprise was expected. Her musical, lilting laugh was not. Chloe frowned and looked at the receiver before putting it back to her ear.

"Mom?"

"She will need care to recover. No doubt they both will." Chloe could tell her mother was taking charge even before she heard the snapped out command through the line. "Husband make yourself useful and collect their belongings from the garage. Have someone dispose of that vehicle far enough away that the Guard gains nothing from finding it."

Despite the heavy feet and grumbling she could hear in the background she knew her father was doing as told. It made her smile a little. In three thousand years not a single thing had changed between them. Einar may be the head of their bloodline but it was ruled by Cahira’s fiery spirit.

"Your travel things and some food will be brought to your rooms."

The line cut off abruptly in her ear and she grunted softly.  Chloe loved her mom but her phone etiquette could use some work. She hung up the receiver, grabbed a couple of bottles of water from the fridge and wandered back to the bedroom. Beca's dark blue eyes opened and tracked her movement.

"Here you should drink this."

"Oh water, yes, please. My brain feels dry."

Chloe chuckled and handed Beca a bottle. The redhead settled on the edge of the bed awkwardly. Now that they were alone together in safety she hardly knew how to be anymore. Beca seemed to feel the awkwardness between them all and leaned in for a gentle shoulder bump.

"So. Sal Mineo-taur, huh? That would totally be clever if anyone still knew who Sal Mineo was, Grandma."

Her mouth dropped open as she sputtered for a response. Grandma? How dare! Beca took one look at her outraged expression and dissolved into laughter. It was the kind of laughter that couldn’t be stopped once it started. Too many days on the run, too many threats to their lives, too many near misses. The laughter was contagious and Chloe found herself chuckling with Beca.

They collapsed into each other and back into the bed still laughing. Chloe reached up to tuck a strand of dark hair behind Beca's ear. There was a comfortable stillness between them, then. Nothing but the reassuring sound of Beca's heartbeat and the warmth of her body tucked between her and Aubrey. 

"So this is a thing, huh? All of us. What with the kissing and the cuddling and feeding and all. I guess…you want to keep me?"

Chloe's heart broke with how timidly hopeful the other woman sounded. She brought their faces together for another soft kiss. 

"It's the real deal. You, me and Bree against the world."

"And…and we are all okay with that? Because…you two…"

Chloe understood what Beca was asking. There was a very long, complicated history between her and Aubrey. Beca was walking into a battlefield full of emotional landmines and blindly trusting that it would all work out.

Aubrey sat up and snarled a soft warning and Beca’s eyes widened.

“So that’s a no? Or..? Is that like a sexy growl? No? What’s happening right now?”

“Someone is coming.

”Chloe knew they were safe in her father's home but she still reached for the heavy iron staff resting against the wall next to the headboard. A moment later a soft knock sounded from the door.

"Wait here."

"I thought we were safe here."

“Totes but it doesn’t hurt to remind people that I am in fact a certifiable badass.”

“I believe the certifiable part.”

Chloe stood and offered Beca a reassuring smile. But she didn't put her staff down when she went to the door. Aubrey slid an arm around Beca and dragged her further back on the bed protectively as the redhead answered the door. 

She opened it a crack to peek out and sighed. This was going to be interesting, she was sure. Chloe stepped back and gestured inside allowing them entrance. Her parents walked in, her mother pushing a wheeled cart overly laden with food and bags of blood. Her father looked surly and annoyed with his arms full of whatever was of value in the van.

"Mom…Dad. You didn’t have to bring this yourselves.”

"Everyone else was too afraid."

"Husband, kindly close your mouth."

Aubrey eased off the bed with liquid grace, her sure steps bringing her before Einar. He was a good foot and a half taller than she was but he trembled as he sank to his knees before her. Her dad might be grumpy pants about having a necromancer in his home but wasn't grumpy enough to say it in front of Aubrey’s face. 

Chloe bit her lip trying to fight the smile when Bree brushed past him dismissively and picked through the food on the cart.

"There are no pig snacks on this cart."

Beca cautiously made her way into the room. She paused and gave a hesitant nod to Chloe’s parents before sidling up to Aubrey.

"Burgers, Bree. Remember?"

"Right. Burgers. There are no pig burgers on this cart."

Beca's face split into a wide grin at the other woman's earnest expression of concentration. Einar and Cahira shared a stunned blink when the necromancer gave them a smirk and a wink.

"She's still working on catching up on the lingo, kids."

"Cheeky little thing, aren't you?"

Beca eyed Chloe's still kneeling father for a moment, trying to decide how respectful she needed to be. It only took her a tick to decide ‘not that respectful’.

"Only on days that end with the letter y. Uh Mr. The…no longer…lonely? Do you guys just have a normal last name or should I just call you dad?"

"Wha..da…I…"

Nothing in this world, in all her lifetimes on earth, could have prepared her for the shock, outrage and bewilderment on her dad's face as he struggled to find a response. Chloe and Cahira made the mistake of glancing at each other. It was too much to bear and they both broke into  fits of unrestrained laughter. 

Gods help her…she loved that tiny woman.

[chronic-ghost]

Chapter 5 of Recovery Road

chapter rating: E (18+)

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 7483

chapter summary: Chloe comes home to him, just in time to face you again at the movie’s wrap party. But it seems nothing can stop the inevitable.  

chapter warnings/tags: SMUT (finally), officially infidelity, cheating, accusations of drug use, insecurity

a/n: this is what I imagined Dieter and reader wearing to the party.

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For the first time in a very, very, very long time, one of Dieter’s projects ends on time and within budget. No psychopathic directors, no nitpicking changes to the script, no reshoots because the studio had a stick up its ass.

And – he can proudly say – no trouble-filled, cocaine-fueled hysterical breakdowns from the talent. He’s on the other side, uncomfortable with the silence– the peace – and waits for the other shoe to drop. It never comes. Scott even gives him a specific call out on the last day of shooting for being (and this is a direct quote) “a upstanding leader and insightful character actor, whose commitment to the craft ensured the success of this film.” 

Scott also gave you a glowing review as well, but whatever. 

On top of all that, Chloe comes home two days later. 

She smells like sharp, warm spices, he remembers when he buries his nose in her hair. She walks through the door and she’s in his arms, close to his chest, against that burning knot he can’t seem to shake. He carries her – her suitcases still by the front door – all the way up to their bedroom and, delicately at first, proceeds to ravage her. This body is familiar, he thinks, as he doesn’t even take off her underwear before thrusting his fingers inside of her. He watches her eyes roll back with deep, deep satisfaction and he closes his eyes, committing the sound of her cries to memory, if they weren’t already there. He needed them to paper the inside walls of his brain so he could pluck them down whenever he wanted. His brain needed a renovation. 

“Dieter, slow down, baby,” she mewls, pushing on his shoulder only to tighten her grip on him, twisting his shirt. He wants to beg her to do that to his hair. “I still smell like airport. Lemme take a shower first.”

To prove her wrong, he yanks off her underwear – a little lace thing that he wants to put in his pocket – and dives, tongue-first, in between her legs. He moans as her talons latch onto the crown of his head and he laps at her clit. 

“I don’t give a shit, baby. You taste so fucking good. I need you.” 

And he did. Despite where his fingers and his tongue and eventually his cock went, she made him whole. She smoothed out his rough edges, stroking down this frantic energy he had been carrying for days like wired hair on the back of his neck. He poured so much of him into her that when he came inside of her, this immeasurable weight was gone. 

“What the fuck was that, Dieter?” Chloe pants when they were done. They are both dripping in sweat, skin blisteringly hot, and gasping for painful breaths. “I’m not complaining exactly, but my God, where did that come from?”

He looks up at her, his head on her chest. She’s absently playing with his sweat-streaked hair so he thinks she might not be really mad. He shrugs, his heart still pounding as if it were inside of a drum, and presses a kiss on her shoulder.

“I just fucking missed you.” 

“Yeah, I got that . . .” 

He feels like he loves too strong sometimes. Too much. He squeezes his eyes shut in shame. 

“Did I hurt you? I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

“Honestly, Dee, just a little. I just got a seven hour flight and you come in like a horny tornado–,”

“I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to – I just –,”

“Dieter, stop. It’s fine.” She kisses him and his anxiety falters.

“Let me make you dinner, while you take a shower. I’ll rub your feet later, if you want.”

She laughs and he feels things shift, return to normal. “Okay, baby, okay. And, you know, I missed you too.”

He shifts onto his elbows, trapping her below him before she can shimmy off the bed. Her eyes are bright and she’s smiling at him. 

Why would I risk this? Why would I risk her for you?

She strokes a damp curl behind his ear. “What? What are you so smile-y about?”

“You mean the world to me, you know that, right?” He kisses her gently, quickly because there’s more he has to say. “I don’t know who I am without you. I want to be the person you want me to be.”

“Dieter–,”

“I’m serious.” He swallows, shaking his head, suddenly fearful of what he almost lost. “I can’t do any of this without you.” 

It’s late evening and the shadows are long and he thinks he sees one pass over her face for a moment, but then she’s smiling again. 

“Of course, baby. I love you too.”

   The following morning, an invitation for a cast-and-crew screening of the film at Scott Manley’s home comes through the mail. It’s on nice cardstock and everything. With the press circuit coming soon that would take them on the road for weeks, Dieter is inclined to throw the damn thing in the garbage. But Chloe insists. 

“Oh, c’mon, Dieter, don’t be like that,” she says as she rifles through the mail while they wait for coffee to finish brewing. “I wanna meet your co-stars. And from what you’ve said about the director, I think it’ll be lots of fun.”

He crowds behind her with one hand on the island, the other wrapping around her waist, his pinkie digging beneath the fantastic green leggings she’s got on. 

“I can think of something that would be even more fun.” He noses the back of her ear. 

“Dieter, stop. You know I don’t like sex before yoga.”

The coffee pot beeps and she slides out of his arms. 

“Wait, yoga? Now? It’s eight in the morning.”

“I go every Tuesday with Marlene. This isn’t anything new.” She pours in MUD and the smell reminds him of fertilizer. 

He swallows. “But you just got back. I thought we could spend the day together. There’s a new art exhibit that I thought you’d like to –,”

“Dieter, I’ve just spent three months deeply entrenched in the art world.” She glances at him as she pours the sludge-y mix into a travel mug. “I think I’d rather do literally anything else.”

“Okay, then you pick. We can do whatever you want, but I’d–,”

She puts a hand on his chest and kisses his cheek. “We’ll talk when I get back. And we’re going to that party, okay? It’ll be good for us.”

He nods vaguely as she picks up her keys, yoga mat, and coffee and heads out the door without another word. 

Us. Okay. That’s good news. 

Thirty minutes later, he’s out running Griffith park until his knees buckled, sweat soaking the front and back of his shirt, and he’s overworked himself so much he thinks he might puke. 

God, he fucking hates running. 

She does come back, as promised, and they go see a movie. It’s dark and he holds her hand. 

He gets her door for her before the valet can, but his eyes are scanning the grounds, unsure what he’s looking for, but highly aware of an encroaching something. Maybe it was the storm above. If there was any luck, Scott planned for the viewing to be outside and with bad weather, he’ll have to cancel the whole thing. Frowning darkly, he takes Chloe by the hand, tossing the keys to the Jaguar to the boy in a red vest, and starts up the steps of the Tudor-style home two at a time. 

Fuck, he forgot he hates this shirt. The orange color is all wrong and the collar always itches the skin on his neck and–

“Dieter, honey, slow down!” Chloe demands. He freezes and she’s still two steps down, trying to balance up the stairs in heels and a chiffon, plated dress. “You’re running like something’s on fire.”

Immediately, he relents. He helps her up the stairs and rubs her elbow. 

“Sorry, sorry, I think I’m just nervous.”

“Oh, sweetie, why?” She tucks up a fly-away curl across his forehead and he kisses her knuckles, still frowning. “You used to love these.”

Above the slate-gray sky grumbles and the wind rushes the trees surrounding the property. 

“I dunno. I just feel like there’s going to be too much . . .”

He trails off and swallows. There’s not enough words to manifest exactly what he’s so afraid of.

“There’ll be too much temptation, right?” 

His eyes snap to hers. 

She’s frowning sympathetically. “There’s all kinds of alcohol at things like this. And God knows what other shit people are bringing. It brings back bad memories, right?”

It feels like he’s choking. He can only nod. 

“I know, baby. But you’ll get through this. You got through that party at that hotel, right? We’ll just do it again.”

He suddenly wishes she isn’t touching him, isn’t so close with her hand on his cheek. She kisses him on the lips but he doesn’t react. 

“C’mon. We won’t even go near the drinks.” 

He lets her pull him up the stairs. He catches one more glance at the rolling sky. He doesn’t like the tense smell of ozone that’s building. There is too much electricity in the air.

There is a brief moment of reprieve when he sees the inside of Scott’s home for the first time. The tall, cream walls hover in fixed arches over the doorways. The wainscotting is crisp, fine, matching the black edgings and black and white tiled floors in all but color. The furniture and tables are held up by beautiful copper pipes, made soft by wood accents in the knick-knacks and artwork. Splashes of green plants highlight the corners and shadows. The windows are wide and striking, coaxing in every thread of light. The house opens to a long foyer that disappears into the bowels of the house, with a thick stack of white stairs on the right that shrink up to another level. To the immediate left is an immaculate black-and-cream dining set of tables and chairs, and further down the hall, faint music and laughter creeps over the dark hardwood floor.

This is the house of a real, big-time, actual adult. Not exactly his first impression of Scott Manley. 

“Dieter, you were so mean when you talked about this man,” Chloe hisses as she shuts the door behind them. “This place is gorgeous. There’s no Star Wars anywhere. Does his wife work?”

Dieter shrugs, awestruck. He cranes his neck up to try and see where the second floor disappeared to. 

“I have no idea. I never even heard him mention his wife.” 

“He must be a pretty successful director to have a place like this in LA.”

“We’re on the outskirts, sweetheart, don’t sound so impressed.” 

Chloe opens her mouth to respond, when someone down the hall calls his name. “Dieter!”

It’s Scott. Dressed exactly like he did during the entirety of production, with the exception of a black blazer. That is new. He’s a bit pink-faced and there’s a glass of something amber in his hand. He’s smiling and it makes Dieter weirdly uncomfortable. 

“So glad you could make it! These things always go over better when you’ve got your stars!”

He turns to Chloe, but Dieter jumps first. “Natalie’s here?”

Scott’s wet mouth opens and closes. “Erm, well, yes. Why wouldn’t she be?”

He forcefully unclenches his face. “Why does she do anything?” 

Chloe and Scott watch him with uncertainty for a moment, then Scott beams at her. 

“And you must be Mrs. Bravo!”

“Chloe works just fine,” she laughs sweetly and lets him take her hand. 

“I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but Dieter here talked about you so much I feel like I know you like a close friend.” 

He relaxes when her hand slides over his forearm. She stares up at him with her big eyes, her pink mouth grinning. She feels solid next to him, more solid than he is. 

“Did he now?”

So what if you are here? Chloe is here instead and she’s here to stay. He smirks at her and presses a kiss to the arc of her cheek.

“Of course, baby, all good things.” He glances at Scott again, who shifts back and forth on his feet, unflappably uncomfortable with displays of human affection. “Is Heidi here yet?”

“Oh, they didn’t tell you? She can’t come. Production on her other shoot got extended by three weeks.”

“Oh.”

It stings more than he thought it would. Her last email, because that has been the only way to get in touch with her lately, said she’d probably be able to make the wrap party.

“Well, if you’d like to see it,” Scott says, swaying on his feet, “the party is back here.”

And that’s how he enters the wrap party of his most successful project to date. With a beautiful woman at his side and a confidence that oozes. Scott leads them out to a square courtyard, with a single lemon tree in the center. There’s a relaxed beat playing from somewhere in the bushes. The night is cool and there’s a breeze. Everything’s glowing warm. People laugh and drink, peacefully. The waiters slide around offering canapes and champagne. In the garden beyond, there’s a screen and chairs. 

This is it. This is the moment he’s back. Back on top. Everything is right in the world. Everything is exactly as it’s supposed to be. He is where he is supposed to be. 

And then he sees you. 

And you’re still not wearing any fucking pants.

 “Dieter, honey, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

He blinks, his brain not connected to any part of his body. He feels hollow. Smooth on the inside. 

“Dieter. Dieter!”

Her nails dig into his chin as Chloe yanks his focus down to her. There’s something cloudy about the way she looks at him.

“Dieter, what are you looking at?” She doesn’t quite laugh but she tries.

“Nothing, baby, nothing.” He rubs his thumb over her shoulder. He can feel the tension in her neck. “It’s nothing. Just surprised to see this many people. It’s no big deal.”

She frowns, no longer committing to the charade. 

“I’ve never seen you make that face before. It was . . . I don’t know. It . . . scared me. I’ve never seen you look like that.” She repeats. 

He makes sure he’s not trembling when he runs his fingers from her shoulder down to her elbow. “Like I said, I’m nervous about being here, baby. It’s nothing.”

“That’s not–,”

“Dieter Bravo, as I fuckin’ live and breathe!” 

Mark Bronson in a crisp white shirt and black slacks climbs the stairs to the pavilion, his beard tinged with gray and braided down the center. He’s grinning when he yanks Dieter into a hug. He smells faintly like cheap vodka and cigars, but it’s not unpleasant.

A woman follows up behind him, with hair redder than the sunset and a matching red flush. The waitress, who’s name is . . .

“Molly, hey, how are you?” He leans forward and kisses her on the cheek. “It’s been too long.” 

“Hey, you said, you were gonna bring your wife to this,” Mark said, frowning with his hands on his hips. And then he takes Chloe’s hand and spins her. “Now, I know this beautiful creature cannot be your wife. She’s way outta your league...”

“Don’t I know it?” Dieter chuckles as Chloe laughs. Molly hands them both a drink as Mark bows in front of her. His is ice water. 

“Chloe Bravo, you are magnificent.”

“Chloe, this is Mark and his wife, Molly. Mark and I met a few years ago. I’ve only had the pleasure of meeting Molly once.”

Mark snorts as his wife winds her short arms around his long slender waist. “A few years ago? Dieter, it’s been a bit longer than that.” 

“Okay, well, who have you known longer? Me or Molly?” 

Chloe tucks her arms up into his chest and lays her head on his collarbone. He wraps his arms over her back. His grin teases Mark.

“Hey, man, what are you trying to do to me? Get me in trouble?”

“How long have you two been married?” Chloe asks sweetly. She smells like peach tea and, in his pants, his cock twitches. 

“Oh, ‘bout fifteen years.” Mark glances down to Molly. “Is that right, darling?”

“Fifteen this April.”

“Wow! So you must have been through it all. All the crazy celebrity gigs, right?”

Molly smiles and Mark kisses the top of her forehead. 

“Oh, yeah. All the press circuits, red carpets, premieres. I thought the worst was over and then Instagram came along.”

“The studio makes me have an account, darling, I’m helpless to stop them,” Mark laments pitifully and the rest laugh.

“Well, you might have to give this one here some pointers,” Dieter nods to Chloe in his arms, “she’s coming with us on the circuit for Recovery.” 

“What? No, I’m not.” Chloe lifts her head from his collarbone, her arms suddenly like weights against his chest. 

“What’d you mean? Of course you are. That was the plan.” 

“No, it wasn’t.” She pulls out of his grip and crosses her arms. “I told you months ago that my father has a gallery opening this month.”

“A gallery opening? The thing your dad always has going on?”

Chloe swallows as several on-lookers turn as his voice raises. “Dieter, let’s not do this right now.”

“We never talked about this. When did this happen? Were you going to say anything or just leave?” 

The crowd around them goes silent. She glances around, shame thinning her mouth. 

He doesn’t care. He’s not so much angry as he is . . . petrified. He was telling the truth earlier; he can’t do this without her. 

“Dieter, calm down, you’re making a scene.” 

“No! When were you going to tell me?” 

He’s not going to grab her – he’s not his father – but his stomach squeezes like a fist. His heartbeat is somewhere in his wrist and his head and his knees. The wind is suddenly too loud, the chatter is too loud. What is that smell? There are pennies in his mouth, rattling against his teeth. 

“Chloe, can’t you just do this one thing for me?”

“Jesus Christ,” she hisses suddenly with real malice, “everything I do is for you.” 

Her mouth snaps shut when she realizes just how many people were staring. 

The lightning is thick in the air, a spark running in circles against a tinder. 

“Oh, yeah? Then where the fuck have you been the last three months?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous. And lower your voice.”

“Is this what it takes for you to have a conversation with me? For you to actually look at me for five fucking seconds? I can barely get you on the phone for more than a minute, if at all!”

“Dieter, you’re being irrational.” Chloe’s eyes are scorching, fierce. She’s threatening him. She’s going to use her most powerful weapon against him. He knows exactly what she’s going to say a second before it comes out of her mouth. “Are you using again?”

Inside of him something breaks. 

He can feel the bend, the crack, the bleed. It wavers in agony.

Whether or not she actually means it is beyond the point. Beyond the pale. He’s trying – he’s been trying – so hard – so fucking hard – and it doesn’t fucking matter to her. His weakest point is her party trick. 

It comes in a rushing wave, overtakes him, drowns him. This is how the spiral hurts. 

He shoves Mark aside, going back towards the house. Back into the heart of this living thing that’s trying to eat him alive. Behind him, he thinks he hears your laugh. High and loud. 

He comes to the first door he finds on the second floor and nearly kicks it open. 

It’s up to his eyes. He can’t see straight. There’s pain over his eyebrow, in his shoulder, his fingers. It concentrates in his chest – he unbuttons his collar all the way down – he’s shaking – he’s shaking so badly — 

Count down from ten, the nice lady at the rehab center told him. 

You’re having a panic attack, darling. Don’t worry. It’ll pass. Count down and focus on what you can see, hear, touch, taste, and smell. Ground yourself in the space.

10. 9. 8 – 

He gulps down air, hand on his chest to keep his heart from bursting out through his ribs.

7. 6. 5 –

It’s an office, he realizes, when the room stops spinning. The walls are dark, much darker than the rest of the house. This is where the moss has grown, away from the ivory. 

Here, there is no noise from the party. He can still taste copper in his mouth. It smells like tobacco and mint here.

4. 3. 2 — 

The settee is a dark teal and the short, squat lamps on the oak desk hum orange. Walnut brown bookcases line the walls. 

And there in the corner, behind the desk and leather-backed chair, is a cabinet. Low to the ground. With gold tumblers and a mirror on top. 

On shaky legs, he goes and opens the square doors. 

His mouth goes wet with wanting. 

Whisky.

Rum.

Vodka.

All of it. 

Just one. He needs only one. 

The bottle is cool, smooth. He takes out the corked lid and the aroma fogs up his brain like condensation on glass.

Are you using again?

No. But he could be. The door opens behind him.

“Dieter, what the hell are you doing in here?” 

Of course.

Of course, it was you. 

Maybe it always was. 

“What? Did your wife put you in time out?” You smirk when he doesn’t answer and you shut the door behind you. “Or was it Scott? The night’s still young, Dee, so many other things to fuck up and –,”

“Natalie.” His voice is rough. It rumbles out of his chest on his last breath. “Don’t. Please . . . just, don’t. Not tonight.” 

His hand shaking, he puts back the bottle of whisky. You narrow your eyes at him.

“Shit, what the hell happened to you? You look terrible.” You say, frowning as though confused, as if this is some convoluted plot to fuck with you. “I saw you run off and I thought, this would be a great time to remind him what a piece of shit he is . . . but you look like someone beat me to it.”

You stay firmly planted in front of the door, arms crossed, as he comes to the front of the desk and leans back against it. He feels cold sweat stick to his lower back.

“Seriously, Dieter, are you sick?” 

He shakes his head. His stomach always feels hollow after one of those episodes. “No, just a bad night.”

“Like bad crabs or found out your aunt died bad?”

“Natalie—,”

“Just tell me. What happened?”

He lifts his gaze to you. It’s hard to believe that less than a month ago, he felt like he could tell you anything. In that golden house on the hill. When you were different people. You look genuinely concerned.

“Dieter, I’m going to go get a doctor unless you—,”

“Look, I have these . . . episodes, alright? My head gets all foggy and I can’t stop shaking and I can’t breathe right. I just need some space.” He adds pointedly because the expression on your face has changed. 

“You get panic attacks?” You take a step forward, hand reaching forward before you let it drop, as if remembering you can’t touch. “I, uh, I know what that’s like. I . . . I have them too.”

“C’mon, don’t do that. Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not — I’m serious!” Your brow furrows as your eyes flash hotly with anger. “They started after I moved away from my mom. And now, I just . . . manage the symptoms.”

“Yeah, how?”

You give him a look and he frowns.

“You know what’s not good for panic attacks?” He playfully glances to the ceiling as he lists them off on his fingers. “Bennys. Cocaine. LSD. I could keep going.” 

You put your hands on your hips, scowling. “Fine but waiting to get fucked raw by life isn’t the way to handle it either.”  

He bites his cheek, crossing his arms across his chest. “So, then we’ll just wait it out and see who survives the longest. Then we’ll know who’s right.”

Another dare in your eyes. He meets the challenge. But this time, you swerve first.

You drop his gaze.

“It’s a coin flip, right? Only a matter of time . . . before we both fucking lose it.” 

He doesn’t like how that truth sits in the back of his mouth. As usual, you’ve rattled in him something he didn’t know was loose.

“So, then go for it.” He opens his arms wide. “Say whatever has been stewing away in your head for weeks now. I’m an easy target.”

Your mouth rolls, pouting like an eight year old. You narrow your eyes at him. “Nah, you’re too pathetic right now. When I tell you what’s been on my mind, I want you to burst into tears. It’s no fun if you’re already like this . . . what happened?”

It didn’t feel like pity coming from you, even if he knew you had been picturing his balls in a vice grip since filming wrapped. 

He sighs, and picks at the skin on his left thumb. 

“You’ll be thrilled to know I just made an ass of myself in front of half our colleagues and coworkers. And then my wife asked, very publicly, if I was using again . . . I feel like I can’t fucking win.”

“Well, you’re not, right? Using?” In those knee-high black suede heels, you stretch across the room and take the place next to him. Just like you had at the pool. You crossed your arms too. A concession— another white flag amongst the bitterness.

He shakes his head. 

“So then fuck that. And fuck her for doubting you. Why did she ask that?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “I thought — hoped — she was coming on the press tour for Recovery.” He rolls his jaw from side to side. “I’m getting sick and tired of spending my nights in a hotel room by myself.”

He catches the corner of your eye and his neck warms. 

“Not like that . . . I mean, fuck, maybe a bit like that. I don’t know. I’m trying everything I can to keep this marriage alive and she just feels . . . ambivalent.” He swallows. “Last time, I gave her an out. After the arrest and before rehab. I told her I’d sign the divorce papers, whatever she wanted. She could have my money, my house, my car. I just didn’t want her to have to live with the embarrassment of being married to me. And, instead, she told me, ‘the money isn’t important to me’. I was so grateful at the time, I didn’t question it. But now . . . I sometimes wonder if this is how she punishes me. She didn’t want a divorce until she broke my heart first.”

You’re uncharacteristically silent. The white ruffles around your wrists flutter as you put your hands on the other side of your hips, fingertips drumming the desk. 

“Did you ever think maybe the problem isn’t you? Or her for that matter?”

“What do you mean?”

You sigh, an exasperated smile on your face. “Take a look at where we are, Dee. Normal people don’t live like this. Normal people don’t do what we do. No one else will take us so we congregate amongst ourselves to establish a new baseline of crazy.”

“And, what? Anyone who enters our orbit is doomed to be fucked in the head?”

“We’re all fucked in the head, Dieter. You. Me. Scott. Hell, even your pretty little wife out there.” You glance at him. “This whole place is a fucking breeding ground. A breeding ground for the worst parts of ourselves. It’s nasty and terrible but we don’t have to be nasty and terrible and alone. So, if she made you think that you’re the fucked one, that you’re the unlovable one, then . . . she’s wrong. She’s so fucking wrong.” 

Outside, thunder rumbles and the orange lamps flicker, casting shadows like heartbeats, but neither of you care. 

Your lips are a dark purple tonight, matched by mauve smears over your eyelids. You look . . . ethereal. 

He doesn’t know he’s falling, tipping forward into the plush cup of your mouth until he feels your breath rush against his lips. 

Purple, like bruises, he thinks as he watches your eyelids flutter shut. He wants to keep his open, to watch the moment your mouths finally connect, but you overwhelm him. He’s not strong enough to fight back anymore, to pretend like he doesn’t feel anything for you.And, oh, he does feel something. He feels it so strong— wants it so badly— it feels like a physical weight in his chest. 

He wants you. God, he wants this and he’s wanted it for so long. 

Just this one thing. This one thing. 

The throbbing of the broken thing inside of him is quiet. 

His hand winds up into your hair as he finally takes you by the neck and open-mouth kisses you. You shudder as if surprised, as if this wasn’t an inevitable conclusion. His other hand presses against your jaw to steady you, steady him. 

The kisses aren’t light. They don’t hesitate. They are wet, and they bite, and it’s a little bit of teeth and tongue and spit. He licks the corner of your mouth and your tongue batters into his. His tongue rides the valleys of your mouth tasting like sweet champagne. That talented, fucking legendary Dieter tongue —

Both of his hands grip you by your jaw as yours burrow into the fabric of his shirt just below his ribs. He pulls back slightly to nip your bottom lip and he tastes that familiar caustic burn of whiskey. The first sip of alcohol he’s had in years and he smears it off your wet mouth.

“Fuck, baby—,” Mouth still sealed to yours again, he slips his hands down your sides as he glides to his feet. The rings on his fingers make indentations in that maddening bare patch of thigh. He goes further and swipes his pinkies under the backs of your knees as he grips your thigh from underneath. “C’mere—,”

You bite his lip in retaliation when he swings you both into a clear spot of wall. The nearby paintings shudder in the resounding thud but, short of God stopping by, there’s nothing that would pry him off you now.

Now that he has those hips under his palms. He balances you on his thigh, the wall at your back, giving his hands and mouth the freedom to explore. He wants to kiss you so hard you vibrate through the wall. 

He can feel his lips swell from the force of your kissing. They sting and ache but fuck if it wasn’t a brand new vice he could torture himself over. He is so lost in the relief of it — this is what you taste like, what you smell like so close, this is what you sound like — this is what awaited him for days in New Mexico, if he had just taken it — that he leaves his waistband very open. 

His fingers around the sides of your neck, he nearly barks out when you slide your hand down to his crotch and stroke. The angle isn’t right to give you full access, but your half-lidded, blurry desert eyes are begging him for more. 

“Fuck me,” you gasp into his teeth. “Fuck me, Dieter, please. That’s all I want. Please, fuck me.”

He’s too taken by the wet patch, dragged up and down his thigh, to argue. You roll your hips, eyes never leaving his, and he groans, deep and anguished. 

Your cunt is already warm. 

He pulls away from you against the wall and nearly stumbles back to the desk. He doesn’t know exactly what he shoves to the floor but there is sound, perhaps glass breaking, before he lunges forward, snags you by the hand, and pulls you into his chest. The force of his tug draws you up into his arms, knees digging into his sides, his mouth again inches from yours. 

Broken open, he finally opens his mouth to the stream of filth that has been rotting his brain for months. 

“I want you on that desk. I’m gonna fuck you on it every way I want to and then when you’re so cock-drunk you can’t see straight, I’ll ask you how you want it. You want it on top?” He grabs the hinges of your thighs, and grinds his hips against the front seam of your shorts, right into your clit. You sway against him, eyes fluttering, mouth open. “Or will you let me fuck you from behind? So I can watch this perfect fucking ass bounce.” 

“Whatever — whichever way— you want,” you say breathlessly, your tongue thick, as you lean your weight forward and he stumbles back onto the desk. 

The desk groans when his back smacks against the wood, your tongue and teeth fighting back against his. You’re straddling him, knees on both sides of his slim hips, and you’re chasing that crackle, that spark in your crotch. You rub yourself against him and air is expelled from his nose.

“Ngh— Shit—,” he pulls back to look at you. Your hair is a knot spawned from pulling and jerking. The purple eyeshadow still glows in the dark but the lipstick — oh fuck — is smeared across your mouth as though you had tried to take it off with your forearm. Because he’s fucked up, his already hard cock twitches. 

Panting to let oxygen return to your brains, he takes his time trailing his hand down from the dip where your shoulder meets your neck, down to the first button of that ridiculous, flowy blouse. The vest seemed like an accessory and he was grateful he didn’t have to pick that apart too. You watch his deft fingers open the first button, and then the second, and the third, all the way down to the end. 

He groans when he waves back the curtain of fabric around your torso and exposes the soft curves of your tits. You are surprisingly still and annoyingly quiet as he drags a finger, featherlight over the rise of your lilac lace bra. He dips his finger across your other breast and sighs.

“Wanna take my time with you,” he slurs. His thighs flex and you bite your lip. “Wanna open you up, bit by bit, so I can just slide right into your pussy. Want it to soak my pants.”

“I want that too. I want that so much.” You lean forward, letting your warm cunt settle over where he’s rock solid. He moans against your lips and you grin. When you open your eyes, he’s glancing at the door. It’s unlocked. 

“Anybody could walk in at any second.” You don’t want to give him ideas as to who specifically could, lest he be overcome with stupid guilt. If you didn’t rail Dieter Bravo tonight, houses were going to be burnt down. “We’d better make this quick.” 

Quicker is better, he agrees as he slides you off him and begins unbuckling his belt. You undo your own shorts and somehow manage to wriggle them off your legs while still in those heels. He can see the dampness on your inner thigh and he works faster. 

He shucks his pants down just off his hips. Quicker is better, he agrees as he positions you back on the desk, those audacious black boots hugging his waist. 

Quicker is better, he thinks when he looks into your eyes, your hand cups the back of his neck and your back arches to give him better access. Your other hand is around his cock, as he balances one hand on your hip and the other flat on the desk. 

Quicker is better. 

Because those feelings you both share, those soft gentle feelings that want to make love and not just fuck — are wiped clean from existence when he slides into you. Your face crumples from the first stretch of pain, roasted with pleasure.

“Oh, goddamn it, Dieter. You’re so big.” 

“I know, baby, just— breathe.” He kneads your hip in his hand, huffing and struggling to fight firing back with his hips, and lets you adjust. He’s only got a bit more than the tip in and sweat cracks your brow line. 

You swallow and shift your hips forward. Your pussy swallows up more of him and you both groan.

“You’re doing so well, t-taking me like this. When I haven’t gotten you ready.” He kisses your jaw. Your skin is fire hot. You inch your hips closer to the edge of the desk. 

“C‘mon, baby, just a bit more.”

He pushes the last bit of the way, his pelvic bone pressed up against your clit, and you wail, your head dropping back. The front of his lap is soaking.

He smirks at you, a wildfire cooking every sensation, every thought, every autonomous function that wasn’t required for fucking clean out of his body. He puts a wide hand up to your cheek and kisses your skin between his knuckles. 

Your voice is breathless in his ears, and it gives him pause for a minute. Your cheeks are flushed, mouth puffy and kissed-out. You need a hickey on your neck, or several, he muses to himself. This thing he’s been holding onto since he walked onto the studio lot months ago is rusting, creaking, and for once, he doesn’t want to push it onto someone else. He doesn’t want you to have it because he knows you already do. His affection is corrosive sometimes, but you’re just alkaline; salty, burning, acrid. He wants to melt into you. His eyes half-lidded to watch your face, his hand cradling your head, he pulls out an inch only to thrust right back in. 

“You’re ruining my life, you know that?” 

Flint flashes in your eyes as you nearly snarl, your hair fisting into his hair and tightening. It makes his neck arch back and the moan gets caught in the back of his throat. 

“You wanted your life ruined. You’re just using me as an excuse.”

Hissing, his hold around the back of your neck roughens and he pulls you into his mouth. You’re met with teeth and tongue and a press of his hips that stretches you out completely. With your teeth around his bottom lip, you whimper just like you did on the couch and he can’t hold back any more. 

He starts fucking you in earnest. 

Every brutal stroke is rewarded with a high, sharp cry — he makes himself go deeper, the nails at his shoulder dig deeper into his skin, and it sparks pleasure down his back. 

His hand at your face slides down to your waist to hold you as his hips thrust and pump and scorch the inside of your pussy with his cock. He brushes something devastating inside of you and you naturally arch, naturally bend to take even more of him. 

“Oh, fuck, Dieter— Jesus Christ, Dieter—,”

“Keep talking, baby,” he huffs, “you’re grabbing me so tight I think I’m seeing spots.” He reaches between the open materials of your shirt to mold and shape and squeeze your breasts. His thumb brushes over your clothed nipple, and you hum. The thought of his mouth on them drags his eyes shut. 

He pounds you, he chases that pressure behind his eyes, in his gut, he wants you to always remember who you make these sounds for. You wail again and his cock pulsates. 

He ducks his head and catches your mouth as he lifts up. It’s sloppy and messy and neither of you can stay locked like that with the way your bodies wobble. He aims and drops a kiss on the corner of your mouth. The hand on his bicep trails up to the back of his neck and digs into his hair. You hold him close, and your foreheads naturally fall together. 

He jerks you closer, grinding into you instead of thrusting, just to watch you shake.

“Dieter, please—,”

“Hush, baby, I’m gonna take care of you. Such good care of you and this pussy. Squeezing me so tight. This pretty pussy needed someone to take care of her.” 

“You’re filthy.” 

“Yeah, and you like to listen to it.” He’ll keep running his mouth as long as it takes to clear out the mess in his heart, in his head. He’ll probably never apologize for what happened in New Mexico and neither will you. 

He mouths your ear before rocking back, building back up to his earlier pace, the sound of the wet slap of his hips into your thighs implanting itself into his memory. The desk where he dragged you shines and he half-wants to stop and lick the wood grain. He shudders at the idea your cunt would taste like your mouth – whiskey-soaked and salty. 

You’re drowning in the taste of his hot breath. Sweat grows on his spine and under your breasts. A look passed between you and him that can only be given when fucking wants to give way to something more — when there’s a crescendo of feeling building just by looking into someone’s eyes as they enter you again and again. It’s intoxicating. You feel drunk.

He kisses your mouth again briefly before arching up, moaning. His hips stutter — less focused, but harsh in their need. Your cunt flutters around him and he drives in that much faster, rougher. He can feel your skin break out in goose bumps under the palm of his hand.  

“G’ –n’ think I’m gonna come,” he grunts, his breathing uneven and ragged. His eyes are squeezed shut and he knows if he looks at you again, if you give him that look of naked vulnerability, he’s going to cream for at least ten minutes. 

You nod frantically, pleasure bobbing up from the pit of your stomach to your aching clit. Words are near impossible now.

“Put your thumb — there! Ah!”

He watches you almost recoil in the electric jolt you experience as he brushes your bundle of nerves with this thumb — anything harder would be too much —  the pace only slightly faster than the pounding of his hips.

“That’s it, Dieter, you’re so good– you feel so good.” His knees buckle at the praise, at the strain in your voice. 

“Tell me, baby, I need to hear it–,”

You lean closer to him, breath mixing with his, and you press up against where his fingers press into your clit. “You fill me up so well— I’m—I’m so full— of you. You’re so thick.”

He pinches you and in seconds, your cunt is smothering him.

“Ah — oh God — Dieter!”

You’re milking him and he clenches your thigh as you finally tumble over the edge with a shout. The instant his restraint to make sure you came first is lifted, he comes, coating your pussy and emptying his balls completely of his spend.

His shoulders slump, the aftershocks of his orgasm making his spine tingle.

He’s got his head buried in the curve of your neck, a pleasant hum everywhere in his body. Your cheek rests against his damp temple. 

He’s not going to think about his cum leaking out of you and staining what is presumably his director’s desk. 

You laugh, almost deliriously, fighting to catch your breath. His chest heaves as his lungs gasp for air. 

“Fuck. I mean– wow– fuck– I– wow.”

He grins at that. He kisses your collarbone.

“Now, what to do about the crowd outside the door . . .”

He glances at you, questioning. You huff, trying weakly to unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth, still struggling for a normal breath. 

“There’s no way every person in this house didn’t hear that. Fuck, I bet the audio is on YouTube already.”

He chuckles and finally has enough feeling in his legs to stand up straight. He noses your cheek.

“Look out the window.”

You do and are met with a torrential downpour. White lighting clashing, thunder roaring, rain slapping the glass. You hadn’t even noticed it started raining.

“No one heard a thing. And no one’s going to notice two people gone from a party of dozens of people.” He cups the back of your head and kisses you soundly. “They don’t know a fucking thing. We’re safe.”

You take his word for it and wrap your arms over his shoulders. You kiss him back.

You kiss him and kiss him and kiss him.

[taldigi]

Ladybug fucked up like way too hard when they started out. They aimed their show at an aged 6 to 10 year old audience and then made a firm statement that they wanted it to be a monster of the week slice of life superhero show.

And now that the serialized drama show is now popular they're trying to get in on it too. But the show was never built for it. They are running the wrong game on the wrong system. Miraculous ladybug and it's current iteration is not built to be a story with drama and long-term consequences. It is a comedy monster of the week show with slice of life elements.

Them attempting to have anything deeper is a carryover from a previous version of the show and a desire to do what other shows have done. But they had created and sold Spider-Man for little girls (in the most bitter sense)

Miraculous is attempting to do both. It wants to be a super serialized show with deep themes and meanings but they cannot shake the fact that it is just a dumb kids show. It was sold to be a dumb kid show. It is literally written in the Bibles that it should be nothing more than a dumb kid show. It's not a teen Titans, it's not Steven universe, it's not amphibia or owl House. It's not even My Little pony, which was able to pull off a slice of life that book ended with heavy story.

It's the "girl in the tight outfit fights the monster and does a funny because teen girls are dumb and stupid" Show. People getting mad that it's fucking up It's attempt to have a bigger deeper story, and fucking up the big deep things that they wanted to have is like getting upset that your Xbox can't run PlayStation discs. It looks like they should be compatible, but the system just can't read the game. And when it tries, it just can't seem to understand what it means.

The show has been in mistake mode about its direction for a long time. It would genuinely be better off if it had just stuck to the monster of the week formula, and implied a deeper story instead of actually trying to act one out.

Adding more characters was a mistake. Luka was a mistake, kagami was a mistake. Zoe was a mistake. GDV was a mistake. Introducing the guardians was a mistake. The extended miracle box was a mistake.

The furthest they ever should have gone was giving miraculous's to Alya, nino, and Chloe. They should have wrapped up their story by season 4 and had a giant two-part finale where they finally confront hawk moth and save nooroo once and for all.. And it should have ended right there and then on the love square kiss and a scene of them holding hands and everyone would have remembered miraculous as a pretty decent and fun show that never shot itself in the foot because it knew what it wanted to be and it stuck to it. But here we are.

[definitelyimportantpost]

HERE WE ARE, FINALLY ON THE SECOND FLOOR

This floor is, unlike the first floor, pretty uneventful! That means that, also unlike the first floor, we'll be moving through it rather quickly! Yay!

One of the first things we encounter is a character whose story definitely has a deep connection to the game's wider plot, and isn't one of the ONLY, like, four bits of worldbuilding in the entire game!

Next we fine Conrad—er, sorry. Force of habit. I mean Spirie of some random guild whose name I forgot! It's not likely at all that the person that made this character is reading this right now, but if by some slim chance they are, then... hey! Hi! Hello!

I ought to make mention of just how much wreckage Aurora is putting out. This enemy has 187 HP (almost twice that of a Rabid Acorn's 104), and Aurora's Chain Flame just deleted 136 of it. That's 72% of its HP straight-up gone in one hit.

Add onto that the initial poke that set off that Chain, additional pokes from others, which can set off additional Chains, attacks from Beck, Hero, and even Berry if the party's safe enough, and... most enemies at this point are dropping dead like nobody's business.

This is a big part of why EO5's Fencer is my favourite class in Etrian Odyssey as a whole; as with any follow-up-style class in the series, it's a bit of a chore to build around (as the guy who took around a YEAR to come up with this team comp, believe me, I would know), but unlike a Chaser Landsknecht, it has the skills it wants from the very start—no hefty prerequisites required—and unlike a Link Landsknecht, from the word "go," it's pouring on the pain like gravy at a Thanksgiving dinner. Boy is it sarisfying to see, and if you'll believe it, the true feast is still yet to come...

(Chain Killer Chain Killer Chain Killer Chain Killer Chain K—)

Anyways, as I said before, not much of particular note note happens on 2F, so after getting through about the first half, I go back to town.

There was one quest that I could take on at the moment. This quest wants you to reel in one forest fish...

...in exchange for five (and a level up for the party). It's a pretty good deal, I say. I personally don't make much use of the HP recovery that this game's food items provide since Chloe has more TP than she knows what to do with and a healing skill that costs practically none of it.

Before I end this post off, there's one small quirk with Chain skills that I want to mention.

A Fencer's Rapier mastery makes their equipped sword deal stab damage instead of a sword's default cut damage. One might assume that this change would be reflected in their Chain skills as well; for example, that Chain Flame would deal Stab+Fire damage instead of Cut+Fire damage.

In actuality, Chain Skills will always deal stab damage, regardless of the user's investment in Rapier Mastery, meaning it only affects normal attacks, and can thus be largely ignored by most Fencers.

This means that I was able to obtain Disloged Fangs (a material dropped by Ice Bats when killed with stab damage) even though Aurora has no points in Rapier Mastery at all, and as a result technically no rapier with which to stab.

[simplyadragon]

It's a dark night out when Chat stumbles on Chloe.

—

The cloth is itchy, is the only thought in Chloe’s head as she pulled herself over a railing. A hiss comes from her lips, her arms shaking as an ache settled deep under her skin.

She feels like grime, like the dirt on a pig. Her hair is sticking to her head and the air she exhales is slicking on her face like slime.

Chloe feels weird as she manages to finally pull herself over. It was only due to ingrained habits that she didn’t pull the mask down to gulp in that fresh air. Her legs felt like jelly and something prickles at the bottom of her feet, even trying to kick her leg to remove that didn’t work.

Practice, this is practice, she tells herself. Simply jogging around isn’t enough, she needs to get used to running through the roofs too. But, leaping off the tops of houses isn't as easy as it looks.

There were numerous factors that just irritated Chloe. Sometimes there's gaps she couldn’t reach, so a running start would be needed. Or she had to go and yeet herself just barely from the edge to grasp at the other end with strained fingers. 

She hasn’t even been running for that long!

Chloe lets out a sigh, deciding to unceremoniously drop onto the floor. The concrete is cool against her back and she sinks in with a humm.

 How did Ladybug and Chat Noir make it so easy? 

The necklace underneath her clothes almost burns and she sighs, shaking her head.

Fuck, that is so unfair.

She wasn’t strong enough to even wear the suit, just how could she ever catch up to their roof hopping skills?

Something stings in her eyes.

A frustrated sound escapes her lips and Chloe pushes herself up. Quitters talk! So what if it's hard, if she manages to get this over with then she’s sure that she’d be even better in the suit.

Bubble of laughter comes and she nods, already stumbling towards the edge. Chloe doesn’t need a miraculous to be better so she pushes up her sleeves, jumps on the back of her heels and goes to jump-

Until Chloe falls back on the ground at the smack of a weapon.

Her body aches as she rolls. Something warm slips from her fingers and she squints at the ground, wincing at the lil drops of blood that is slowly staining the concrete.

“I’m so sorry!” someone starts and Chloe cautiously raises her eyes to meet the shining green ones of Chat Noir.  His hands are raised, baton gone. “You were already jumping and i panicked so-”

Chloe just stands up, making sure to scuff her shoe against the ground as she wipes her hand on her suit. Her back is aching and her past optimism is drained to a steady irritation instead.

Her voice is gruff when she speaks, trying her best to breathe through her nose. “Shut up.”

It's harsh, but can you blame her? She just got smacked by metal and every attempt to breath has her chest aching. It doesn’t stop her heart from beating, but she’ll definitely be sore by tomorrow.

Chat immediately freezes, his hands dropping.

It hurts to be looked at like that.

“Head up,” Chloe hisses as she tries to straighten up.  “Don’t go sulking about something you did when you can go and make it better instead,” she spits.

Chat just nods and he just looks so different right now. Gone were the confident cat, instead it's just someone who looked bothered. Not surprising, its not everyday a hero goes to smack a citizen.

“You looked like you were going to do something you were going to regret,” is all he says before he shakes his head, his shoulders tightening as he stares at Chloe. “I won't apologise for doing what I had to do but I'm sorry for hitting you.” His look turns apologetic and Chloe squints in wonder.

What?

Something she was going to regret?

It takes a second before it clicks.

Chloe bristles and her stomach drops with a feeling she doesn’t understand.

Chat just smiles, tilting his head. “I’m not the best when it comes to this consoling.” his hands wave. “That’s more of ladybug’s job y'know?” he shrugs, laughing a little. “I'm mostly the brawn. Power of destruction! And cataclysm!”

His voice is strained the longer he speaks and Chloe can see how his smile slips the longer she doesn’t say anything. He’s rambling and it scratches at her ear.

“Akuma attacks are so much easier to handle” he mumbles and just the way he slumps, like he gave up midway makes her laugh.

Chat perks at that and Chloe, in all her emotional state, smacks his arm in retaliation. 

He laughs at that and she sees how his eyes blow open at the interaction. 

It cramps her stomach and she's happy that she has a mask to hide the upturn of her lips. 

Chloe shakes her head, noticing how late it has gotten. The sky seems to be darker now and all this standing around made her all too aware of the ache of her bones and the burn in her thighs. 

She doesn't leave until he does however. 

[princess-of-the-corner]

team!chloe: yeah i almost killed Audrey, she survived unfortunately....managed to absolutely wreck her face though

hornet!chloe: i managed tro kill her but congrats o wrecking her face, she would've hated that

team!chloe: yeah she wears a mask now, i legit think she has some sort of vendetta against me now, shes gone off the deep end after her reputation was ruined

oops

[blamemma]

wait i’m curious about the chloe side piece theory now…

lol ur welcome to message me or ask off anon and I can answer privately but I ain’t gunna publish it rn in fear of people thinking I’ve really gone off the deep end