#and absolutely in her Top Three Trauma moments

[swan2swan]

She's fifteen or sixteen years old and she Did Not Need This.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 24: What The Past Held

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter twenty four of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 6.3K

Warnings:  Angst, Cursing, Sexual References, Family Problems, Past Trauma, Death Mentioned, Drinking. Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, completely a little OOC. Soldier Boy is really all you need as a warning.

Note: This is told from the Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Steam from the two coffee mugs sitting on the kitchen table between Rosemary and you tangle and twist in the air like two dragons locking claws in the morning sun.

Sitting there, staring at your daughter felt odd.

You trace her face with your eyes noting the cinnamon colored freckles, the greenish-hazel eyes, the soft curve of her jaw, the almost unnoticeable traces of wave in her dark hair, and stop on her nose. It's the same face that'd you'd looked into the past forty years and yet you don't recognize her.

A memory of holding her when you first gave birth flashes through your mind. You remember the promises you whispered to her when you held her in your arms for the first time, looking down into her little face, with her small hand clutching the tip of your finger while she slept. One was the same promise that Ben made to you the night you chose him, the words all too familiar as you spoke them to the small infant in your arms. Promising to protect her, be strong for her, but now you felt like you failed, because you hadn't been able to keep her safe from Vought.

After all these years, it was just a lie.

Ben was sitting to your right, his hand holding on to yours resting gently on top of your thigh. He wasn’t drinking coffee. Ice floated quietly in the glass of scotch on the table in front of him, the condensation dripping down the outside of the cup to form a ring beneath, but he hadn’t touched it since the three of you had sat down a few moments ago. The morning sun was seeping through, casting an amber glow upon the worn wooden grains of the kitchen table, but you feel no warmth from it's rays.

Rosemary had fought to talk to you alone, told Ben to leave, but you refused to speak to her without him there. You didn’t give a fuck anymore about that, didn’t care if she hated Ben or didn’t want to be around him anymore. You wanted him around and he was going to be here whether she liked it or not, she might as well get used to it.

Lou was in the living room playing Go Fish with Hughie. You could hear her giggles, the almost silent shuffle of cards in her small hands, and the slap of cards against the all glass coffee table two rooms away. When Ben and you had come up from the basement this morning she had practically tackled you she was so happy. You were thankful that Ben had kept her away when you began to spiral. You didn't want her to see you like that. It hadn't been that bad since Ben died, when the pit opened beneath your feet and you all too willingly fell into the darkness.

Funny how the person who sent you into the darkness all those years ago would be the one to light the beacon that brought you back home. It made you more thankful that Ben was here for you.

You knew that it probably hadn’t been easy for him to see you like that and probably went against his internal struggle to push people away for him to care for you like he did. But for you it solidified that Ben loved you and cared for you as much as he said he did when he came back to you.

It meant more to you that he would ever know, just knowing that he would take care of you, would be strong for you the way he promised all those years ago. You had seen bits and pieces of that side of him over the years, but the other day was different. It snagged hard on something deep in your ribcage and refused to budge, understanding that Ben was here to stay, and you'd never be without him again was more wonderful than you could have imagined.

It made you feel once again like the little girl who clung to him when Ben crawled into her bedroom window and begged her not to marry Howard, reminded you once again that you were still important to Ben, and that all the time you spent over the years together was not a waste.

You didn't regret a single second, even if it had ended up the same way that it had, even if everything with Countess still happened, you didn't regret your life.

Butcher and Legend were in his office talking in hushed whispers as if they could hide it from you. You didn’t like it, didn't like the idea that they were scheming something and trying to hide it behind locked doors. The truth was, you weren't focused on them. The only thing you were focused on was the looming conversation between you and Rosemary that seemed to grow more and more until it was the size of the empire state building. The same conversation that you were about to have.

Her legs are crossed beneath the table, frown pulling at her bow-like lips, as she looks from Ben to you trying to think of a way to start the conversation. You'd already told Ben what Stan Edgar told you, but you still wanted him here for this. He had been curious as to why you wouldn't speak to her when you started your descent into the darkness, and you weren't going to lie to him about that.

"Why did you do it?" The words come out calm, you're anything but. You can't fight the war of disappointment and silent rage swirling beneath your skin. You hated that she did this, that she gave a piece of herself to Vought and didn't think to tell you.

You had found out that your daughter had been lying to you for ten years on the same day you found out that Dr. Vogelbaum had stolen your genetic material. You knew that you weren't going to be the same ever again.

Rosemary sits for another moment, eyes flicking to Ben. It's another silent jab at the fact that she doesn't want him here, but you squeeze his hand tighter to tell him you do.

"He approached me." She says finally.

"Who?"

"Stan Edgar."

"When?"

"Five years ago." Her arms tighten where they are crossed over her chest.

"Five years?" You hesitate confused.

Stan told me that he knew that Rosemary was Ben's daughter the moment he saw her ten years ago, but why five years?

"Yes." She nods once as if she's confirming it to herself.

"And you didn't think to tell me?"

"You were so happy, you were doing better than you ever had and I-" Rosemary sighs heavily. "I didn't want to ruin that."

"I don't give a fuck if I was happy! Stan Edgar coming to you and asking you for-" You begin to snap, losing your temper, but Ben squeezes your hand to remind you to calm down.

"He wasn't asking." Rosemary's eyes darken, and you see a sliver of the mask slip for just a moment and you see her rage.

"What do you mean?"

"It was Charlie." She all but spits out the name.

At the mention of Rosemary's husband's name you pause. It was the first time you'd ever heard her say his name like that. You'd believed that she and Charlie had a perfect marriage, and to learn that it was his fault that everything with Vought starting was jarring. You didn't understand why he would matter in any of this. He wasn't a supe and he had died weeks after Lou was born.

Ben looks from Rosemary to you in confusion, eyebrows furrowed. He knew the story of Rosemary's husband, but didn't know his name.

"What does your husband have to do with any of this?" You say it mostly to clarify for Ben.

Rosemary reaches across the table and takes Ben's glass of scotch, knocking it back in one gulp, but the darkness does not fade from her eyes. "Do you remember the day I met him?"

You did. It was autumn, a few weeks after Rosemary and you moved back to the city for the first time, ten years ago. The leaves were changing into marvelous flashes of red, orange, and yellow, and there was just a hint of winter in the wind. Rosemary and you had moved into the apartment you were still living in, and Rosemary had just gotten her job at the hospital.

She loved it. All the long hours, the helping people, and the dealing with crazy patients.  But the day she met Charlie was different. It was her day off and she was sunning herself on a park bench while drinking an iced coffee and reading one of those paperbacks she loved so much when a handsome stranger had stopped and started talking about the book with her, telling her how much he loved it and suggesting another few books she should read.

Rosemary had floated into the apartment. It was the first time in years that you had seen her so genuinely happy that it made you happy. She'd had a few relationships in the past, but none that made her sparkle like those ten minutes she spent with a stranger on a park bench.

She didn't see him again until a week later, reading one of the books he had suggested while sitting on the same bench and this time he sat with her. Rosemary asked him if he wanted to go get coffee. Their coffee date had turned into a mid-day movie, that turned into dinner and then she finally stumbled into the apartment at 2 am after she and Charlie had closed the restaurant, disrupting a late night painting session that you were doing because sleep never seemed to come. You could see how smitten she was. It brought you comfort to know that she had found someone that made her feel the same way that Ben made you feel the night he made love to you.

Apart of you had been afraid, because Rosemary was a supe and Charlie wasn't. She wouldn't die, wouldn't grow old, but he would. You didn't want to see your daughter go through something like that, to live in a world where she lost someone that meant everything to her.

It was a feeling that you knew all too well.

"I was so stupid." She mutters, before she waves her hand and the whiskey bottle hidden under the sink comes shooting out like a bat out of hell. She pours herself another glass of whiskey in the cup she'd emptied moments ago.

"What are you talking about?" You ask her, still mildly confused.

"Charlie." Rosemary all but spits his name. "I was so stupid. I should have asked more questions, should have waited, but I-" Her voice sticks.

"What about Charlie?"

"He was working for Vought." She takes a long drag from the glass she just poured while your entire world goes upside down all over again.

"What? How? Why?" If you'd been drinking anything, you would have done a spit take.

"I should have questioned it. The moment we move back into the city I meet the perfect man?" She snarls, lips pulling back to bear perfectly straight teeth. "In the five years we were married, Charlie was obsessed with having a child. Said that he wanted to start a family early, said that he wanted to be a father. I kept telling him that I wasn’t ready, but finally I gave in.”

No. That can't be true, Charlie was-

Rosemary hadn't told him who you really were until after they got married, didn't tell her the truth about who she was. You remember how much she agonized over it, how afraid she was to tell him that she was a supe and that she was the daughter of a famous hero. She hadn't told him the true nature of your powers, just told her who you really were. But then it hits you like a bolt of lightning and you remember, Charlie had taken it calmly, only been thrown for a few days, but snapped back as if nothing happened. If anything he acted like he loved her even more that she trusted him with something so important. You remembered being surprised about him being okay with it after so little time.

That son of a bitch.

"When Stan first approached me five years later I was pregnant with Lou." Rosemary continues. "It was too late. Charlie had gotten what he wanted. They knew I would be easier to manipulate if I was pregnant, that I wouldn’t be willing to harm the baby by hurting them. Stan said that they just wanted my blood and he’d leave us alone, all of us. I didn't know about Charlie then. He'd convinced me to do it, said that it would only upset you, said that it was the only way to keep you happy.” She drinks from the glass, frowning as the ice clink against the glass. "He knew how much that I cared about you. How much I wanted to give you a rest after everything that you'd been through. So I did it."

Rosemary's eyes flick to Ben for a moment as she says that last part, a silent jab at him that you catch.

"I told Charlie everything about the two of you, about me-" She says it quietly, pouring the amber liquid into the empty glass. It splashes against the sides as she brings it back up to her mouth. "I thought he loved me, but it was all just a big fucking lie.”

Ben reaches across the table, taking the bottle from where it sits, and takes a sip from it. You could tell that he was getting as mad as Rosemary was. He might not have known Charlie or been in Rosemary’s life, but you knew deep down Ben still felt the need to take care of her. Before he puts it down you gesture with your free hand and he hands it to you, because you needed it to process this and coffee wasn't going to do it. When you drink you don't taste it at all, all you can think about is Charlie.

He had always seemed nice, accepting, laughed easily, and you liked how Rosemary was around him, lighter somehow. If this was true, it meant that he had gotten past you, gotten past the background checks that you ran, gotten past you following him trying to figure out what kind of man he was, and it meant that you had failed to protect Rosemary.

“I found out a few weeks after Lou was born about Charlie. At first I thought he was having an affair, the long hours at the office, the weird phone calls in the middle of the night- but no. It was Stan. Charlie was watching me, updating Stan on the baby. One night I woke up and he wasn't in bed, and I found him standing over Lou's crib holding a vial of her blood." Her teeth clench together. "And that's when he told me."

"Told you what?"

"Lou is a supe."

The words ring around in your head, bringing a wave of anxiety, horror, and fear. It started deep down, bubbling up from below like a witches cauldron until it rises and splashes over the brim.

"What?" You sputter.

"Charlie was a supe and it was his power. He could sense the powers of other supes, knew how powerful they would be before their gifts developed. And he said that Lou would be more powerful than any of us."

"Did he say what it would be?" Ben asks.

"No." Rosemary shakes her head. "Just that when it manifested she would be extraordinary. More powerful than any supe that had ever walked the earth. Even Homelander. And that’s why Vogelbaum and Stan Edgar wanted her.”

You take another sip from the bottle trying to digest her words. Your greatest fear was coming true, any aspect of Lou ever having a normal life was evaporating before your very eyes. That meant you couldn't send her to school, couldn't trust anyone to watch her, not without believing that they were working for Vought and had ulterior motives for watching her. Now it was terrifying to think that the babysitters you had for Lou in the past had done things to her without you knowing.

The thought that someone had done something to Lou without you knowing made you livid.

"He said that Vogelbaum was willing to pay, to give us enough money to start over, to have another child, all we had to do was give Lou to him and we could really be happy. Charlie said that you were too controlling, that this was the only way we could break free from you." Rosemary seethes. "Charlie didn't care about Lou, all he wanted was the money. I’m sure that if I hadn’t woken up he would have taken her and run. Sold his own child. But when I caught him, he thought that if he turned me against you that he could manipulate me into doing whatever he said. Just like he had manipulated me all those years by telling me he loved me."

You watch her haunted expression flip into something darker, something triumphant. You'd seen it before on Soldier Boy's face when he put someone in their place, when Ben was riding high from a good interview or a sparring session when he beat someone into submission. A small tickle of fear began to creep down your spine, cold, like a droplet of rain that raced down your back from under your collar in a thunderstorm.

"I smiled at him, told him everything he wanted to hear as I brought him close, and then I ripped his head off." She leans back in her chair with a shrug, the ice cubes clinking against the glass sides of the cup in her hand. "For such a little bitch he sure did make a mess, but the real mess was trying to cover it up."

You remember the night she showed up on your doorstep toting a sobbing Lou in her arms, the night that Charlie died, when she told you the police called and said that he drowned in his car when it went over a bridge. You remember the look in her eyes days later, hollow, like she was haunted by something otherworldly. And you realize that the haunted look wasn't that Charlie had died, that it was she had killed him after she found out that Charlie was prepared to hand over his own child for a small fortune.

In hindsight that also would have made you kill Charlie. Finding out that he used your daughter to make a child for Vought was about as bad as learning that they stole your genetic material to make Homelander. It was the same idea as the perversion of your body, except this time Vought had hired someone to purposely pretend to love her all because they wanted another supe from your bloodline.

It made you feel sick to your stomach, knowing that Rosemary had to endure that and she never said anything to you.

"But the car-" You say to steady the torrent of anger and nausea beginning to build up in your chest.

"Necessary casualty. Put the body in his car, drove it over a bridge, put him in the front seat, did some artful contortions with the hood of the car to make it look like his head was cut off then and there." She sighs.

"You drove it over a bridge, how did you survive that?" Ben asks her, his hand still clasped in your own. You could feel some heat beginning to build under his skin and you hoped that he wasn't about to go nuclear.

"I didn't, but y/n had come over earlier that day to see how I was doing and I touched her so I didn't have to worry about dying."

The silence that follows her confession is deafening. You don't know what to say, don't know what to do, so you just sit there staring at the woman you thought you knew, trying to find some familiarity, but you can't.

“And you didn’t think to tell me any of this?" You say, a little bit heartbroken that she kept something like this from you for all these years.

“It was my business.” She downs the rest of the amber liquid in her glass.

“What the fuck do you mean it was your business?! It’s our family-“

“It was my daughter!” She snaps. “My husband!”

You stare at her, eyes wide, mouth open in shock. You’d never seen this side of Rosemary before, and it scared you.

She exhales a breath. “It was my mess. And I needed to clean it up. Charlie was my mistake.” Her expression shifts to something else, something small and broken.

“He tricked both of us.” You whisper. “It’s not your fault. What Vought did- what Charlie did to you it-"

“It was.” You could hear the emotion building in her voice. “I was the one who was stupid. I was the one who let him in, told him everything about us. I needed to fix it.”

You sit there for a moment because you’re not sure what to say. Learning that Charlie was practically a sleeper cell in your lives was more than just surprising. It was heartbreaking. Because it meant that Vought had won, that they had infiltrated your lives after all these years, that they were still watching, still controlling things behind the scenes.

"Mom." She says tentatively. "I didn't enjoy killing him. I'm not a monster. I-" You can see your daughter again. "I did it because he was going to take Lou, that he had been lying to both of us all those years. And I didn't want Vought to take her away. I didn’t want to lose her.”

"I know. I just-" You take in a deep breath to cleanse whatever sins you think are still hanging in the air. “It’s a lot to take in.” You understood why she did it, understood that you would have done the same thing.

Hell, I have done the same thing. You think to yourself remembering what happened with Stan a few days ago.

"I wish you had told me sooner. I wish you hadn't kept this from me all these years." You sigh.

"I know. I know I should have, but I couldn't. You were really painting again, selling your art, and you were so happy and carefree not worrying about anything and I didn't want to change that. I'm sorry-"

"I know you're sorry, but I don't care if I was happy or you thought I was happy. I would rather know the truth and know what was going on than live completely in the dark. What Charlie did to you-"

"I know." She looks down at her lap in shame and you see the Rosemary you know come back into focus. "I wanted to protect you." Rosemary raises her head to meet your gaze again. "You always do that for me and I-" Tears begin to form. "I just wanted to do that for you."

"Oh honey." You reach across the kitchen table and squeeze her hand, fighting tears of your own. "I'm sorry you felt that way. You're my daughter, I'm supposed to protect you-"

And you hadn't. You'd allowed Vought to do something to her, to mess with her life, to take something so precious and pervert it, and attempt to take a piece of her the way they stole a piece of you.

"But what about you?" The tears began to roll down her cheeks. "All you do is care about me and Lou, it's always been about us, but who's going to take care of you?"

"I am." Ben says it before you can answer, coupling it with a squeeze to your hand that still rests on top of your thigh. Your heart feels like it's going to melt, seep through flesh and bone until you're nothing more than just a puddle of what you used to be.

It was so honest, so completely unlike the man who used to be Soldier Boy that you finally felt the memories of who that man was beginning to fade and leaving you behind with the boy you fell in love with all those years ago. The boy who you'd seen every day since Ben came back.

Rosemary glances at Ben, her expression hardening.

"Look, I know you think that I'm going to leave, that I'm going to fuck up and hurt her again." Ben says, his voice strong. "But I'm not. I don't know how long it's going to take you to trust me, but I love your mother, and I regret the things I did to her every day." For a moment you think you hear something on the edge of his voice, it thickens with emotion for just a second, and you're sure that Rosemary didn't notice because she didn't know Ben as well as you did and she didn't know how hard it was for him to admit something like that. "I promise that I'm going to protect her and take care of her for the rest of my life, because nothing else matters to me the way she does."

The urge to cry lodges itself in the back of your throat as you release Ben's hand and raise it to his face, gently tracing his bearded cheeks with your fingertips. You didn't think that it was possible to love someone this much, to care about someone and wish to have someone this much. You remember all the years before this when you were children, when you wished for it to be this way, but you never imagined that it would be anything like this. To be wholly entangled with someone who completely understood, saw your flaws, saw you at your worst, and still wished to love you.

But you were and you never wanted it to stop.

"I love you too Ben." You whisper, and Ben raises his hand to hold your wrist, keeping your hand pressed against his face. Your other hand was still holding on to Rosemary's, and you knew she was watching the two of you, but you didn't care. You refused to ever let Ben feel like you didn't or feel like no one did. It had been your job for so many years, protecting him, taking care of him the way he always took care of you and it was the job you'd never quit.

Rosemary sighs and wipes her face with the back of her free hand. "Well, if you're going to be around more you might as well know, he was right about Lou."

"You've seen her powers?" Your eyes widen as you turn to look at her, dropping your hand from Ben's face to take his again so it's resting on your thigh once more.

"No, but when I killed Charlie I understood." She presses her lips into a thin line releasing your hand. "Before when I touched him I didn't know how to unlock it, how to use the power so I never noticed how it worked, but when I killed him I realized something about me."

"What do you mean you realized something about you?" Ben asks.

"When I touch someone I get their powers for 24 hours, but when I kill them-" She inhales. "I keep their powers." 

"You WHAT?" Your hand tightens so much in Ben's that you hear an audible crack.

Ben clears his throat. "Softer Sweetheart." He murmurs and you loosen your grip enough for Ben to flex his hand.

If you weren't so shocked at the news you would have teased Ben about it, but now definitely wasn't the time. 

"Why didn't you know that?" You stutter.

"I'd never killed anyone before so I couldn't exactly test the theory out!" She shouts back. "But it's true. My powers are almost the complete opposite of yours."

"Holy fucking shit-" You mutter to yourself closing your eyes for a minute. You'd known that Rosemary was powerful, but this was almost overwhelming.

She could have any power, relatively limitless power and all she has to do is kill another supe.

But so could you. A little voice whispers in the back of your head. The memory of the day that Rosemary stabbed you with a knife by accident and killed you comes rising from the darkness in the back of your mind. She killed me… which means if I kill a supe I get their powers too. This day keeps getting better and better.

"So when you look at Lou what exactly do you see?" Ben asks her with a frown.

"If I concentrate, it's almost like she glows."

"She glows?" Ben clears his throat not quite understanding.

"Yes. For other supes it's not obvious, it's more of a shimmer. For Ben or you or me it's a lot stronger, but when I look at her and concentrate, it's like looking at the sun. Like there's liquid fire that rolls through her veins."

"But she hasn't shown any powers at all?" You say looking at Rosemary, trying to see if she would lie to you about this.

"No. None. It's not through touch, because she's touched me, you, and Ben and she hasn't shown any powers. And if she inherited anything else from either of us I don't know how to test it out. You have to die to get powers and I have to kill someone and I don't want either of those things to happen to my child so-"

"That's probably for the best."

"Yeah."

"This is bad." You murmur sitting back in your chair. "And I thought that it really couldn't get any worse, but here we go."

"What do you mean?" Rosemary squints in confusion.

"They used your blood to make Temp V. That shit that Hughie and Butcher have been shooting up for the past few days, but now I'm worried that they did more with it than Stan told me."

"It's blood. What else would they do?"

"I don't know." You bite the inside of your cheek. "I mean I don't think it's enough genetic material to make a child or anything like that but-"

"A what?!" Rosemary chokes on a sip of her coffee. "Why would they do that?"

You open your mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. You wanted to tell her about Homelander, tell her everything that Stan said. You could feel it on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn't say it.

"Homelander." Ben says slowly, understanding exactly what was happening to you. His thumb strokes against the smooth skin on the back of your hand.

"What about him?" Rosemary looks from Ben to you still confused.

"They took genetic material from me and y/n. And they made Homelander."

"WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?" Rosemary shouts, and this time her coffee cup busts in her hand sending coffee raining down over the table. "You mean they-" Her eyes flick to you with rage, horror, and shock swirling behind her eyes.

"Ben donated his." You clear your throat. "But Vogelbaum didn't wait for me to accept the offer."

Rosemary rises from the table so fast in your head you think she developed the ability to fly. And before you can ask her what she's doing she grabs you and holds you so tight that you'd be worried she'd snap your spine if she could. "Mom I'm so sorry. That's inhuman." She pulls back to look at you. "They shouldn't have done that to you. Treated you like that."

The urge to cry was back, this time coupled with the fleeting memory of what Vogelbaum did flashing through your mind like strobe lights. It had haunted you last night in your dreams, but when you woke up in Ben's arms it had vanished away.

"No they shouldn't have." Ben growls.

"You didn't stop them?" She looks at him, still hugging you, but you can feel her anger. "You let them do that to her?"

"I didn't fucking know they did that shit!" Ben snarls the words, the room heating slightly as he begins to get angry at Rosemary's accusation.

"They did it when Ben wasn't there. He was shooting a film overseas. Stan said that I wasn't supposed to remember and that they were too afraid of what Ben would do to them if they tried to do it with him in town."

Rosemary relaxes. "The nightmares?"

"Yeah."

"I should have killed them all when they started coming for Lou. Shouldn’t have stopped with just Charlie.” She spits.

"I would have gone with you to do it if I knew." You half-smile even though it doesn't really seem to be the type of thing to smile about.

"I would have too, if I was here." You hear Ben mutter under his breath.

"But it’s the same way they treated you with Charlie. Vought used you-" You begin to say to Rosemary.

"I agreed to it-" She interrupts.

"No." Your arms tighten around your daughter. "No you didn't. You didn't agree to marry a psychopath who forced you to have a child with him."

"But-"

"No." You can hear your voice hardening with emotion. You were trying to contain the anger and fury that was almost radiating out from your body. "What Vought did to you was just as bad as what they did to me. They used you, Charlie used you. That is not your fault."

"I should have known better. I should have asked more questions, shouldn't have let him in so easily, but I-" Her shoulders slump a little.

"Sweetie." You stroke her cheek lovingly, looking into her green eyes. They were dim, rimmed with red, and wet. It broke your heart to see her this way, to see her look so small, when the Rosemary you knew inhabited such a large persona. It made you want to resurrect Charlie from the great beyond and then send him there all over again. "This is not your fault. Sometimes you can't help who you fall in love with and you fell in love with the lie of who Charlie was, the man that he pretended to be. It's easy to fall, but when love becomes a burden it's hard to carry." You could feel a lump of emotion forming in the back of your throat.

With Ben it had felt that way sometimes, well, at least when you were younger it felt that way. When you watched him with so many women over the years and it felt like you were dragging your heart behind you as you witnessed it. When it ached each night Ben would crawl into bed with you and act like the boy you used to know, when you weren't sure he still existed. Now it didn't feel that way, because you knew and understood that Ben loved you wholly and completely, just the way that you had loved him for so long.

"And it shouldn't ever be a burden or something you should be ashamed of."  You continue, pulling her in tight for a hug, one of your hands fitting on the back of her head while she leans into your shoulder. You could feel the wet trail of her tears through your shirt. "Falling in love is never a shameful thing, the only shameful thing is those who try to take it selfishly from you without giving anything in return. Love isn't prideful or selfish. And the pieces of yourself you give to someone else when you love them should be shared and should be molded with their own to become something wonderful and beautiful. This isn't your fault and I don't want you to carry this with you. Okay?"

"Thank you mom." She whispers and you hold her all the more tighter against you, trying not to cry yourself. You hated what Vought had done to her, that they had taken something that should be sweet and turned it sour, something warm and turned it frigid, and something caring into something selfish.

Ben made eye contact with you over Rosemary's shoulder and you could see an emotion reflected there that you'd seen the night he came to your apartment with Butcher and Hughie.

Guilt was bubbling up all over again, the guilt that you hadn't seen this coming or tried harder to ensure that Charlie didn't insert himself into Rosemary's life and the guilt that you had allowed him to break her. It was the first time that you had ever seen her look so broken and it reminded you of the way Ben looked when he finally confessed his love for you days ago.

"So what do we do now?" Rosemary asks. She pulls back from you, wiping her eyes with her shirt sleeve.

"I have no idea." You sigh, brushing away the last of her tears with your thumb. "Homelander's a monster. Butcher wants him dead and maybe… Maybe that's on us to carry it out."

“Or maybe-“ Rosemary stops for a moment. “Maybe we should run.”

“Run?” Ben scoffs.

“Yeah. Just get out of here before it’s too late. Change our names. Go somewhere Vought can’t find us.” She continues. “I can work anywhere mom, so can you. And I guess Ben can figure out what he’ll do for a job.” Rosemary shrugs glancing at him where he still sits at the table with the almost empty bottle in front of him. “We could keep an eye on Lou, not worry about someone coming to take her away.”

You consider what she says for a moment and then you remember what Stan told you, remember the rage, remember the horror, and remember what it was like to make him pay.  The truth was you knew that there wasn’t any running or any way to hide. You knew that as long as Vought was still Vought, they would come for Lou or Rosemary or even Ben. You didn’t want to live that way, with one eye over your shoulder always prepared to hide.

You’d hidden long enough.

“If that’s what you want to do sweetheart we can.” Ben touches your arm and you know he’s addressing you.

“No.” You set your jaw and make eye contact with Ben. He’s looking at you expectantly, waiting to hear what you’re going to say. “I’m tired of running. And it’s time that Vought pays for what they’ve done."

A/N: A lot of secrets revealed in this chapter, but I promise I think I have finally figured out exactly where I want this to go. Which is great... but now the hard part is finding the motivation to write. 😭

Taglist: @roseblue373 @anundyingfidelity @cheynovak @cassiecasluciluce @muhahaha303

@deans-spinster-witch @kayleighmeister @demodemo909 @fruitfacess @bobbobbobinogs

@bughill126 @simplyfixated  @tiredstrangerr @freefallthoughts @onlyangel-444

@lov3vivian @mxltifxnd0m @mayafatimakhan @marvel-mistress @my-obsession-spn

@lifeonawhim  @liuope @brynanna @carpenterswife

@xxannyxx

 @babyinatrench-coat1 @the-gentle-spirit @valryomen @cassieriddle713 @shaggzthatsnottheworm

 @lil-soup @ej13928 @topstory21 @boywivlove

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@vivre-dans-la-nuit @megara0224 @daisy-the-quake @thesilmarillionblog @samanddeaninatrenchcoat

@libby99hb @peachhiz @tinydancer40 @tinystarfishgalaxy

@jvanilly

@libby99hb @lunaticgurly @i-am-typing @52ndstreeet

@anna6307

@pixviee @soldiergrimes @ladysparkles78 @ahoytothestorm

@octoazzy @modiddys-blog @marmie-noir @practicallylivesonline @impala67stellawinchester

@everlove @dangerousgardenchild

[lornaka]

My five cents on Tech’s fate in TBB

It’s been over three weeks since the show ended and I’ve been writing this in my head ever since, mostly to have it summed up in one post for posterity lol. I considered letting it go at this point but I know it’ll drive me crazy if I don’t get it out of my system so might as well.

So here we go, some of my rambly post-finale thoughts on Tech’s death (and a few other issues) under the cut!

Disclaimer: while this post is in critical spirit (because that’s how my brain works), I want to make clear that I have nothing but respect and gratitude towards everyone who’s worked on the show. My criticisms are of the final story as a whole as I interpret it (art is art, everything is subjective, you know the drill), but one never knows what goes into the process of making it behind the scenes, so I’m not holding anything against the creative team. I love this show dearly and am in awe of how good it is at its best, despite certain things I wish they did differently.

To begin, if I had to sum up the biggest problem that TBB writing suffers from, it would be lack of closure, and too many red herrings. Not just for Tech, but many things. Major plot threads as well as little character moments are cultivated or thrown in just to never culminate in anything or to be immediately discarded after serving the plot, some of them incredibly misleading. Some of the top examples:

- Crosshair’s chip. We never get an exploration of how the trauma of his chip activating and being left behind not only affected his motivation and choice to stay with the Empire, but his relationship with his brothers. While it was made fairly obvious, if subtly, that Crosshair became free of the chip’s influence after getting hit by the ion engine on Bracca, the narrative treated this change as if it didn’t matter at that point, while it obviously mattered a lot within the context of Crosshair’s character. Add to that all these little details with him clutching his head in s1 finale, Omega expressing her disappointment in him, and Tech’s comment on how “it is just his nature” (as if it matters!!! See what I mean about the narrative treating Cross’s chip as if it didn’t play the key part in his trajectory? They throw in this line, like we are supposed to take away that it’s simply Crosshair being Crosshair and not like, the results of brainwashing and abandonment), Wrecker blaming Crosshair for not going back to them, all while we as the audience have been shown and told repeatedly how these chips work (and so were the Batch), we ended up with an incredibly confusing situation with lots of mixed signals from the writers. And once Crosshair makes his choice to stay with the Empire in s1 finale, his chip and the confusion it brought to his relationship with his brothers is never brought up again, because the plot simply moves on.

- Cid’s betrayal. After her being a major character for two seasons with a continuous relationship build-up with Omega in particular, she is discarded as soon as her betrayal serves the plot, with all that character development getting thrown out of the window. You can be mad at Cid all you want, but to me it’s incredibly weird and wasteful to end two seasons worth of build up on that note without it having any closure for the characters, especially Omega whose whole theme is trusting people and bringing out the best in them. It’s fine if they decided to make Cid exactly what she appeared on the surface (untrustworthy and self-serving) after playing around with her potentially growing through her fondness of Omega, but then at the very least the betrayal should’ve had an impact on the characters, Omega most of all. Even just one casual line from Omega in s3 about how Cid’s betrayal impacted her emotionally, however minimally, would have solved that problem. And no, CX-2 mentioning how he extracted info on Phee from her off screen absolutely doesn’t count as closure, because I’m talking about emotional closure for the main pov characters as well as the audience. Cid had a presence for two seasons, then as soon as she executed her role as a traitor to further the plot, she was discarded like she was a random extra.

- Emerie’s relationship with Hemlock. We are led to believe that he basically raised her, instilling in her the idea that she had no chance without him and owed her purpose and “safety” to him. You can’t tell me that this didn’t deeply affect her struggle and eventual decision to break away from all that and choose to help the kids, basically betraying Hemlock. I get that the show only had so much screen time and Emerie is a supporting character in season 3 at best, but common, she has more tension with Dr. Scalder than Hemlock while the potential for this rich deep conflict between them is right there.

I can probably list more smaller examples but this is getting long and I don’t want to go on any more tangents, so, finally, the biggest example of lack of closure and tendency of TBB writing to display foreshadowing that leads nowhere:

Tech’s death.

First of all, I’ll die on the hill that it wasn’t denial or delusion that led to such a big portion of the audience to believe that Tech didn’t really die in s2. If we look at the facts:

- there was no body

- it’s the finale of season 2 out of 3, pretty early for one of the main titular characters to get killed off

- the only/last character to allegedly see Tech after his fall is a villainous scientist who is known to experiment on clones specifically

- not a fact but: the whole scene with Hemlock presenting Tech’s goggles to Hunter was incredibly suspicious. In hindsight, I think the whole purpose of it was so that the Batch got Tech’s goggles back in their possession as a memento (and to show how evil Hemlock is to rub it into Hunter’s face like that) but it was executed in a way that read as something much more. It read as if Hemlock was going out of his way to convince us/Hunter of Tech’s death, but with us knowing who Hemlock is, his background in experimenting on clones, everything screams at us to not trust a word he says. Is it really so surprising that so many of the viewers immediately jumped at the conclusion that something more was going on there?

- Hunter’s (lack of) reaction/immediate narrative fall-out. More on that later as I address lack of emotional impact of Tech’s death in s3.

- it’s Star Wars. And there was no body.

So yeah, to me, it is completely justified that so many people read that whole thing as open to speculation at the very least, foreshadowing Tech’s survival at most.

Personally, I was 70% sure Tech was truly dead prior to s3, but not because the text told me so, but because at that point I was used to the show’s writing regularly sending out mixed signals, and a part of me was resigned to Tech’s death becoming another example of the writer’s intent clashing with their accidental empty foreshadowing.

As season 3 aired and the whole CX-2 plot was unfolding alongside continued lack of closure for Tech’s fate, my hope for Tech Lives reveal grew and grew, but in the end my initial doubt was proven right, unfortunately.

Oh, CX-2.. what a mess. You can’t tell me the creators went over all of these scenes, all of these lines, looked at the whole picture and *didn’t* see how it was incredibly easy to interpret CX-2 as potentially being Tech with all these little potential parallels. “Domicile” alone.

If they didn’t want us to entertain the idea that it could be Tech, they could’ve done it differently, but for some reason, they chose to leave that space for speculation. My question is, why?

If they truly wanted us to believe Plan 99 was it, Tech’s Noble End that we were supposed to take as this dramatic super emotional ultimate sacrifice and all that, then why would they not make it clear that CX-2 couldn’t be Tech? Why breed confusion? And breed confusion they did. It’s hard for me to believe they didn’t foresee the “ohh is it Tech?” speculation.

When so many members of the audience immediately and individually jump at a theory or have the same take away from the story they are being told, yet the authors say it wasn’t meant to be taken that way, something went seriously wrong with the writing.

I don’t like to speculate on such things because we will probably never know for certain, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they had at some point considered CX-2 being Tech or at least something more for the whole CX plot thread, but changed and reshuffled things at the last minute for whatever reasons.

Which is fine and understandable. But it brings me to the heart of my biggest issue with how Tech’s fate was handled:

lack of impact and closure.

Let’s disregard all the Tech Lives theories for a moment and focus on what we did get: Tech, one of the main characters, getting killed off at the end of s2 out of 3, for stakes and consequences and NOTHING else. When I say nothing, I mean nothing.

Imagine, for a moment, he survived and stayed with the Batch. Nothing would have changed, in the grand scheme of things. Nothing. We wouldn’t have had a few obligatory “Tech mention, everyone feel sad now” throwaway lines/goggle shots and whatnot, sure, but that’s it.

Tech dying didn’t change the trajectory of the plot in any way, nor did it affect any of the other characters in a way that changed their trajectory. And anything less is simply not enough to justify killing one of your main characters. Stakes and consequences ain’t it.

Consider Mayday, for example: a supporting character, but his death in s2 affected Crosshair in such a way it completely redirected his journey, AND in s3 we got an episode that cemented the impact Mayday had on Crosshair and provided emotional closure for them. That’s a narratively meaningful death.

Tech’s death was not meaningful to the narrative beyond removing him from it. That’s why so many Tech fans insist he deserved better treatment: not only was he not present in one third of the show physically, but he lacked any sort of presence even in death. His absence was never processed or grieved by any of the main characters and so by extension by the audience.

And before anyone starts with the whole ‘they are soldiers/they had no time to grieve/etc’ arguments, it is the responsibility of the writers to provide the space for all of that emotional impact. It they don’t, there is no impact.

A few reactions here and there, moments of missing Tech as a person and a brother, not an asset, anything would have made this whole thing easier to accept.

The lines that we did get, from Omega mentioning the stuff Tech taught her to Echo commenting on how decryption would be easier if Tech was with them to “Clone Force 99 died with Tech” from Crosshair - each and every single one of those lines linked to Tech’s functions as part of the squad, his usefulness, but we didn’t get a single line in remembrance of him as a person of his own, no one missed or remembered him for himself or his personal impact on them.

Just one line from Omega about how he taught her about change being a constant part of life or whatever, or Wrecker making a comment on how Tech used to info dump about stuff, anything would have instantly provided that much needed sense of “he was here, he was a person and is still a part of us”. Instead, Tech was killed off to show that messing with the Empire is dangerous and risks are real, I guess, and immediately lost any and all presence within the story.

We never even got to see Crosshair’s or Phee’s reactions to losing him.

Speaking of Crosshair, that’s a whole other example of complete lack of closure: they never closed the loop on the family being reunited again after initially leaving Crosshair behind, and with Tech dead, it’ll forever stay broken.

They could’ve given this a bittersweet yet meaningful spin if they developed the angle of Tech dying on a mission to bring Crosshair home, making a sacrifice so Crosshair had a chance.

Instead, the moment Tech dies, we get Hunter (and through him, the narrative) immediately abandon the idea/plot thread of going to rescue Cross all while saying “let’s not waste Tech’s sacrifice”. Sacrifice for what? Clearly Hunter doesn’t see it as a sacrifice for Crosshair’s sake, so, what, to make sure the rest of them makes it from the mission? The mission to save Crosshair. That mission. Right.

I see people talking about Tech’s noble sacrifice that ensured his family got to live and eventually have their happy ending, but all I can think about is how the creators chose to have him die on a mission that was immediately abandoned and the only take away from that whole sub plot was Tech’s own demise.

And after Crosshair is back with the Batch, his reaction to Tech’s death is never explored at all.

So yes, to me Tech deserved so much better. If you are going to kill off a major character, it must be necessary to be compelling. The way I see it, Tech’s death was not necessary at all because it didn’t change anything. And if it was meant to, the creators failed to communicate that by choosing not to explore the emotional impact of it and not structuring certain story beats in a more precise manner.

To wrap this up, if the way Tech’s death was handled was satisfying for you, that’s valid and I’m glad for you. For me, unfortunately, it’s completely the opposite and will forever remain the biggest and most unfortunate low point in the story.

And while I welcome anyone to share their own perspective if they wish, please don’t take this post as an invitation for debate, since there is no one right or wrong way to interpret or be affected by art.

[oceanspray5]

THIS SCENE IS SO MULTI-FACETED AND I LOVE IT SO MUCH AND I HAVE TO TALK ABOUT IT!

Anthony being touch starved and Lucy touching him so tenderly like that affects him so much from the get-go obviously cuz it fulfills that need. It also highlights their quickly burgeoning feelings/connection with each other but in the CRUELEST way cuz the reason she's touching him is not because she wants to but because she's possessed.

But, its not only just that she is acting in love with him (making the connection between them so hard to ignore) when its not really her that hurts but she's acting as if she loves him while he (his role) is HURTING her. With Anthony's past being so traumatic, you just KNOW he internalizes that shit even though its not really even Lucy talking and its not even him she's talking about. It hurts him to have Lucy act in love with him but also she's acting as if she has to FIGHT to believe he's not hurting her. She's acting as if loving him is causing her physical pain and that's horrifying for him cuz the one thing Anthony absolutely believes is that he hurts the people he loves. So to be slapped in the face with his growing feelings for Lucy but in a way that pulls at all of his trauma strings in the harshest soul twisting way?

Right after that you have Lucy reliving how Annabel choked to death to seal the traumatic incident with a cherry on top, finalizing Lockwood's internal fear that he kills the people he loves and is left alone.

Not to mention as the series goes on we see that Anything absolutely cannot STAND the idea of having hurt Lucy or her being unhappy with him even though he makes stupid decisions. Almost as if this incident triggered in him a crippling desire to never hurt her... So she'd never look at him like that again. Like he's everything... But also as if he destroyed everything in her to the point she fears him.

So in quick summation we have:

Lucy acting in love with Anthony under possession of a ghost while he very much does have growing feelings for her; and the love the ghost in her playing out being an abusive kind, the kind you have to convince yourself isn't harmful, forcing Anthony to relive his trauma and self-depreciate even more about the fact that it's hard to love him because all he can leave behind for his loved ones is hurt. Combine that with the traumatic way she relives Annabel's death and Anthony's genuine worry of Lucy's possession being... well... dangerous as is.

This scene is so beautifully acted. Ruby and Cameron's chemistry is insane. The way they portrayed that much range of emotion in such a short but impactful scene early on.

EDITED TO ADD: I also forgot to talk about the costuming cuz its the softest we've seen Lockwood in the whole series. All three characters are in their pajamas but Lockwood specifically is in a simple gray hoodie. Something that invokes comfort and relaxation. He's tense during the scene because of the situation but he's completely vulnerable as well. There's absolutely nothing for him to hide behind. No witty quips will work when Lucy can't hear him and he's fearing for her life, no physical force can be used to fight her either... And his emotional barriers are all down too. Not only because of the unexpectedness from the multi-targeted assault on his emotions but because he didn't exactly have time to prepare for such a thing occurring either. @locklyleiscanon pointed this out i think but Lockwood uses his suit as an armor. And he's not wearing it. There's no weapons near him. He's completely defenseless when it comes to Lucy in this moment as well as all the warring emotions that are overtaking him.

The first time I watched the scene my first thought was literally how soft and vulnerable Anthony looks. I didn't even have reference for the rest of the show (that he wears suits almost always) but it was a striking detail. Not just the vulnerability on Lockwood's face but in his body language and clothing as well.

Here's an edit I saw that made it all easiest to visualize and word for me:

Props to the person who made the edit cuz the close up scene and the slow motion at Just the right moment makes this so plainly visible to see.

This incident is simultaneously the best and worst thing to happen to Lockwood regarding his feelings for Lucy. It shows him early on just how much he needs her, but reminds him of all the reasons why he can't have her.

[stanfanfiction]

Taste of You - Ken x fem!reader - PART THREE

Edit: multiple parts have been uploaded and can be found on my pinned Masterlist on my profile :)

For anyone who might want to skip the panic attacks/trauma response bit of the story and just enjoy all the smut (which I absolutely understand and would absolutely lose my mind if someone unintentionally got triggered by my story), I have put 🫶s all along the top and the bottom of the section of the story. So it’s super easy to just skip that entire section and enjoy what you had originally come for :)

Warnings: 18+ / V1rgin Ken / slow burn / smut smut smut/ losing virginity / P! In v! / oral (m! Receiving) / fluff / angst / mental health/ panic attack / purse-snatching incident / hard day for the reader / caretaking Ken / shower play / trauma response / ball touching & sucking / size k!nkk / praise K!nk

You hopped in your classmate’s car, slamming the door shut, attempting you not look like you just ravaged by a living doll inside your house.

You classmate saw through your bullshit immediately. Zoey leaned her head back and laughed out loud, and you looked at her, knowing your ruse was up, and laughed, too.

“Is it that obvious?” You asked.

Zoey pulled down the passenger seat visor mirror and opened it for you. That’s when you saw how flushed you were AND the giant hickey forming where your neck and shoulder met. “OH FUCK.”

Zoey laughed again, putting her purse in your lap. “Glad you know you’re having a good time again,” she winked. “My concealer should be in one of my purse pockets.”

You found it and started dabbing it onto the bruise.

“So who’s the blonde?” Zoey asked, nodding towards your condo. You turned to look and saw Ken staring out the window, smiling, waving at you. Oh god.

You smiled and waved back. “Go, please, go now. He’ll come out and want to talk if you don’t.”

Zoey stepped on the gas and you watched Ken disappear in the side view mirror.

“Tell me about your new man,” Zoey coaxed.

“Later,” you giggled. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Mmm, fiinnee,” Zoey exaggerated.

🫶 🫶 🫶 🫶 🫶 🫶 🫶 🫶 (Beginning of trauma response section)

Class was easy but also torturous. You aced your exam and were out of the classroom within half an hour, and stopped for another coffee at the campus cafe on your way to your next class. You wanted to be back with Ken. You hated how fast he had turned your world upside down, especially dealing with the aftermath of a really scary relationship that you were still slowly working to heal from. You had been in the midst of a mental collapse when Ken showed up in your life. You now wondered how much of an unconscious decision inviting him into your home had been about possibly just not living alone so you felt a bit more safe.

You got through your next class decently easily, considering how boring the lectures were in this one, but kept spacing out for some reason today. Your memories with your ex kept ravaging your mind despite how hard you fought them, and it was difficult to focus on taking class notes. The professor called on you to answer a question and, despite feeling like you knew it, answered incorrectly, and that got into your head, making you feel even worse about, well, everything at the moment. You were so grateful when the professor announced everyone could leave and reminded when next week’s homework assignments were due.

Zoey texted that she had a family emergency and wasn’t able to drive you home as you left the classroom. You sent her your best and told her to let you know how you could help when she needed it. You decided to take the bus, which didn’t drop you off super close to your condo, but it was closer than walking from campus. The bus took ages, as there was a huge traffic jam on the road leading up to the bus stop. When you finally managed to get to the station near your house and got off, a masked man jumped out from around the corner of the building you were walking around with a knife and started ordering you to throw him your bag, approaching you swiftly. You screamed, whipping the heavy book bag into the criminal’s face as hard as you could before turning on your heel and sprinting away. The criminal was knocked down by how hard you had managed to hit him, and thankfully your scream alerted an couple other passerby’s and they started yelling at the guy, who stood as fast as he could and ran in the opposite direction. Once you knew he was definitely out of sight, you slowed your pace a little, finally at the last crosswalk that separated you from your home.

It had rained while you were in class, and as you were able to cross the street, a car zoomed by way over the speed limit and you got doused with a muddy puddle. You stared ahead in disbelief, but grit you teeth and began to walk home a little faster. You hadn’t had a panic attack in awhile, and didn’t want to involve Ken in any of the shit you were suddenly battling again in your head, AND after having just a kinda stupid day. You calmed your breathing as you approached your home, wanting to just shower in peace and hopefully calm down and not worry about anything the rest of the day.

You entered your condo dirty and exhausted. Ken was in the doorway, grinning, like he had been standing there all day. You looked up through wet eyelashes at him to see his demeanor change instantly, walking towards you.

“What happened?” He was so concerned. His hands danced around, trying to figure out what to do, reaching for your book bag then retreating his hand.

“I just….hmmm,” you worked hard to keep your composure. You didn’t want to break down in front of him. “I just need to shower, and, uh, then we can….whatever…”

He heard the defeat in your voice, and he looked so concerned. “How do I help?”

You smiled a little. “There’s nothing you can do, Ken. Just one of those days.” You patted his arm. “I’ll be fine, just need a bit.”

“Oh, okay,” Ken paused, glancing towards the bedroom. “Uh, so, I need you to close your eyes when walking to the bathroom.”

You eyed him. “Why, Ken?”

He seemed distressed. “You’ll see, but later. Can I cover your eyes?”

You were too tired to play games, even though he was being sincere. “I’ll just close my eyes, you can guide me to the bathroom.”

Ken nodded, looking determined. You closed your eyes, offering him your wet hand, and he slowly helped you get into the bathroom, closing the door behind the two of you.

“I can open my eyes now?”

“Yes.”

He stared at you, sad, looking helpless.

“Can I help you get these off?” He reached for your wet clothes.

You gently stopped his hand. “I’m good, Ken. Thank you. I just need a moment alone.”

He looked a little crushed, but nodded, still learning how to navigate this new emotion coming from you.

“Okay, y/n. I’m, uh, I’ll be just outside the door if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Ken.”

You peeled off your wet clothes we he closed the door, shivering from feeling so cold. You turned the shower on to hot, leaning your hands onto the sink counter as you breathed intentionally, still trying not to cry. You needed to cry but felt scared too, but for whatever reason you weren’t sure why. You walked into the hot shower, focusing on enjoying its warmth and began to lather the dirty off of yourself, shampooing your hair, staring towards the floor the whole time.

When you were finally clean, you leaned your head into the wall, slowly allowing yourself to finally leak some tears. Your head spun, and then the sobs came quick and hard. You sank down onto the tile floor, your body heaving, and your wrapped your arms around your legs, hugging yourself as you experienced your release.

You heard the shower door open. Ken stood there, naked, and walked into the shower with you, closing the door. You stared up at him with bloodshot eyes, trembling lips, the shower water falling over your figure. You could see him racking his brain on what to do.

He sat down beside you, the side of frame gently touching your own, as the shower wasn’t big enough to allow you enough space to not be in bodily contact. He copied your stance of hugging your legs, and looked down at the floor.

“I’m not sure what is wrong, but I didn’t want you to be alone.” His voice echoed softly in the tiled room.

You felt safe. It was sudden, it was amazing, and it made your heart ache even more somehow. Shame racked your entire being and you began to sob again, Ken sitting quietly next to you, and his silent company somehow made it easier to experience your pain.

He allowed you as much time as you needed, and when you began to calm down a little, exhausted more than ever, you covered your face with your hands, mortified. You felt Ken’s hand gently touch your forearm.

“What’s wrong?” He asked so tenderly it made you want to cry again.

You shook your head. “I…can’t…”

He waited patiently for you to finish.

“I’m sorry, I can’t talk about it right now,” you said between shaky breaths.

Ken nodded. “That’s okay.” He paused, before asking, “I just want to make sure it’s not something I did to you.”

You looked up at him now, his beautiful face gazing down at yours. You shook your head. “No, Ken. You have only been wonderful to me.”

His anxiety relaxed, and he nodded again. “Whatever it is, I will keep you safe.”

You had no idea why he said that, but maybe somehow his intuition was way more evolved than you realized. A few more tears ran down your face. “Thank you, Ken.”

“I want to help.”

“You are helping.” You sniffed and leaned your head on his shoulder, allowing his calming presence to relax you a little.

🫶 🫶 🫶 🫶 🫶 🫶 🫶 (End of trauma response section)

Ken looked over and saw the bruise he had left on your shoulder area earlier that day. He looked alarmed. “Who did this to you?”

You laughed now, and he startled at that. “You did. When you suck too hard sometimes, you can bruise my skin. We call them hickeys.”

Ken stared. “I…didn’t mean -“

“I know,” you wrapped your arms around his. “It doesn’t hurt, I just have to cover it up when I’m out. Well, I guess I choose to cover it up.”

“Why?”

“It’s kind of an indication that I’m having sex with someone.”

Ken looked confused. “Is that a bad? That people would know?”

You paused, thinking. “I suppose not? It’s just not something a lot of people want others to randomly know, I guess. Hickeys can also be seen as marks of ownership.”

“Ownership?”

“Yeah, like a kink thing. Kind of a, I’ll leave a hickey on you because I want others to know you’re mine.”

Ken’s wheels were spinning. “Kink thing…”

“I’ll explain kinks later, if that’s alright.” You put your chin on his shoulder now, looking up at him.

“Uhh, so, people will see your hickey and assume you are,” he lowered his voice, “mine?”

“Well, not specifically ‘yours,’ as they don’t know who you are, but it could be seen as an indication that someone marks me as a means of calling me their own.”

“Ah.” Ken was working hard to appear nonchalant, but you definitely noticed him processing that information.

Your exhausted state of mind was causing your body to slowly come down from the day, and being this close to Ken, feeling he sensitive he was to wanting to understand you and the world around him was such an easy turn-on. You reached a hand over and placed it on his chest. His pecs swelled when he in-took a sharp breath at your touch.

“You’re so kind to me. Can I return the favor?” You traced your finger down his sternum. A small moan grew from the back of his throat

“You’re sure?” He asked, although suddenly struggling to keep his composure. You LOVED how easily he was turned on by you.

“Mmmhmm. Want to make you feel good.”

“What would you like me to do?”

“What would you like *me* to do?” You repeated back to him, your hand now reaching for his cock, which was already hardening.

“I…don’t…if you are tired -“

“I’m not too tired for you.” You kneeled, turning his face in your hands. “Let me take care of you, my sweet boy.”

That did it. In one swift movement, Ken stood up, bringing you up with him into a standing position. He pressed you into the shower wall, the slight sting of the cold tile awakening all of your senses.

“Gonna make you wet for me,” he said, hooking one of your legs around his waist and holding it there as his now fully hardened cock began rubbing in-between your folds. You moaned loudly at the sparks that exploded in your abdomen.

He reached around with his other hand to grab your butt and you giggled a little when you realized this was his first time really touching you there. He discovered that he could maneuver your hips to move in rhythm with his own this way, and he moaned in awe as he watching your two bodies move together.

His breathing was becoming louder now.

“What do you want, Ken?”

“Just want you,” he shuddered, rubbing into you harder now. You moaned loudly at the way his cock was beautifully massaging your clit. “Just so desperate for you.”

You put your hands on his chest. “Why don’t we take this to bed?” You asked, wanting to be able to pleasure him while he relaxed.

Ken shook his head at first. “Need you now,” he said, hips beginning to buck a little faster, then he slowed his pace, remembering something. “Ohhh, oh yeah. Yes.” He stopped his movement. “Okay, yeah we should go to the bed.”

You cocked your head trying to figure out his change of mind when you recalled he had asked you to close your eyes on the way to the bathroom.

Ken turned off the shower water and stepped out, wrapping you in a towel first so you would stay warm. He hurriedly dried himself off and then tried to help you, which made you laugh, as he only got in the way, but your laugh made him smile, and that felt good to see.

“Okay,” he said, reaching for your hand but then pulling back.

“What’s with the sudden shyness?” You asked.

“Just want you to be happy.”

“I’ll be happy. Can I see now?”

He nodded, then reached back for your hand, which you accepted. He opened the bathroom door and you stepped into the bedroom, and your heart melted.

Ken had put candles on the bedside tables, different colors, all lit, and the bed was covered in fresh rose petals. You looked at him.

“You did this?”

He grinned, pleased to see you liked it. “Yeah. I found this app thing called Pin Interest and uh, looked up things girls like, and I found a picture of something like this. I didn’t know what color you liked best so I got all the colors I could find,” he said, indicating the candles.

You giggled, wanting to correct him that the app was called “Pintrest,” but decided it didn’t really matter. “You went and got all this?”

“Yeah, I took the cash you left for me and went shopping. Although,” he looked confused again, “three different people gave me their phone numbers on the way there and back. I’m not sure what to do with them? Am I supposed to call them about something?”

“Forget the numbers, Ken.” You laughed, and pulled him towards the bed. “Okay, lay down.”

Ken shook his head, and picked you up bridal style. He got onto the bed and placed you in front of him so your back was pressed against his chest and torso, and he reached for a cup on the bedside table.

“You always make this when you seem stressed after class, so I made you some when you got into the shower.” He handed you a cup of your favorite hot tea with a sliver of lemon, just the way you always made it. Had he paid this close attention to you?

You felt like crying again. No one had ever thought about caring for you this way. He wrapped his arms around your waist contentedly as you took a sip.

“It’s perfect, Ken.” You smiled up at him, eyes teary. “*You’re* perfect.”

He looked so happy at you, and reached forward towards your cup. “I just want you to feel loved.” He felt like a wall behind you, secure as you leaned fully back into him, and he rested his chin softly onto your hickey.

“I do,” you wanted to say, but something in you chocked the words down. Instead, you turned to kiss him, and he kissed you back. His kisses were so wonderfully warm and soft. When you two pulled apart, he reached a hand near your cup.

“May I?” He asked.

You didn’t know what he was asking to do but you nodded anyway, and he dipped two fingers into the tea, stirring them around in it for a moment before bringing them up to your lips. Ahhhh, he discovered he really liked his fingers in your mouth. You took them between your lips and sucked on them while Ken watched as his pupils dilated. You licked them for a moment before letting them free, and he looked like he was in a daze.

“Remember how my mouth felt on your cock?’

He nodded, silent.

“Would you like me to do that again?”

“I do. Been thinking about it all day.”

“You’re so patient, you deserve to be rewarded.”

Ken made a soft sound at that, and you decided you’d have to keep praising him the rest of the night, he was so hot when he reacted to it.

You reached over to set your tea down, Ken loosening his grip on you just enough to do so, then tightening it again. You pushed at his arms.

“I need to get up so I can pleasure you,” you purred.

“MMhmm. In a little while.”

You gasped when he hooked his legs underneath yours, ankles wrapping around yours, and opening your legs for him.

“Ken, it’s your turn, remember?”

“Gotta make you wet first,” Ken his fingers back into your mouth, and you knew this was already becoming addictive to him.

“Ken, I promise you, I’m plenty wet,” you said when he pulled his fingers out a moment later.

Ken shook his head. “Don’t want to hurt you,” and with your saliva on his fingers, he began running his fingers up and down your vulva, from opening to clit.

Your head fell back onto his shoulder, and if your eyes had been open you would have seen him gazing adoringly at you. His fingers teased your entrance, dipping in only the tiniest bit before circling it and then going back up to rub on your clit.

“Ken, please,” you begged, your legs shaking a little. “Please let me just pleasure you. I need to. I need to right now.”

“Later.” He pushed two fingers inside of you, curling them right as he entered, and immediately hit your g-spot, causing you to cry out.

“Ken, Ken, Ken…” his name on your lips like a prayer. He was hypnotized by you. You squeezed hard around his fingers as he sped up the pace, holding you in place with his legs. Fucking hell if he wasn’t a virgin you would force him down, ride his face until you collapsed, and then make him fuck you until you lost control over all rhyme and reason.

“Fuck you until you lose what?”

His voice startled you but you couldn’t be bothered to full re-enter reality with the way he was touching you. “What?”

“You were mumbling.”

Oh fuck you couldn’t even trust your thoughts to yourself. You needed to gain back control which would take great difficulty as he swirled his fingers inside you, deeper, feeling every crevice he could find.

“Need you to stop,” you gasped. “Please.”

“Why?” He asked, slowing his pace the tiniest bit.

“Because I want to orgasm on your cock.”

He stopped then and you opened your eyes, watching him contemplate how that would feel.

“The way you squeeze and spasm around my fingers…”

“Yes,” you reached behind you and gripped his throbbing member in your hand, “but around here instead.”

He finally decided to listen and slowly removed his fingers from you. You decided to make him happy and sucked your juices from his fingers, and he shuddered again watching his digits disappear into your mouth. You released them, then looked up at him firmly.

“Now lay back like a good Ken.”

His eyes glazed over a little and he immediately complied, laying down, the rose petals on the bed moving around the two of you as you straddled his hips.

“What would you like first, sweet Ken?”

“Anything you’ll do to me,” he choked out as you rubbed your wet vulva over his cock and ran your fingers down his lower abs, those fucking perfect muscles flexing in time with his spasms.

“Good Ken.” You leaned down and, continuing your slow rubbing on his cock, kissed from his lips, down his neck, to his chest which was heaving with heavy breaths. You smirked at him as the tip of your tongue traced one of his nipples. He grabbed your hips and bucked into you, and you smiled now as you began licking and gently biting him there.

“Ohh! I can’t..fuck, y/n, what….this feels so…” he groaned when you left his nipple for a moment to suck hard on the area of his peck above it, using teeth and staring up at him as he watched you mark him. When you pulled back, the small bruise was already beginning to form, and his eyes shone at you. You realized then maybe marking him for fun might not have been the *best* idea, since he had reacted the strongest to the idea that a hickey represented someone claiming someone else….but you decided you’d figure that out later.

You continued down his abs, licking up and down and he gripped your hair tightly when you reached down to hold his balls.

“Y/N!” He cried, his entire body shaking a little.

“You’re doing so good, Ken. Taking everything I’m giving you so well. You’re handling it all so, so well.”

He regained a little confidence at that but lost everything again when you took his member into your mouth, sucking hard at the tip before lowering your mouth as far to his base as you could. He trembled and made the most wonderful noises you had ever heard, your free hand firmly gripping his base and moving in time with your mouth.

“It’s…..ahhhh! It’s too much,” he gasped shakily, and you paused softly, removing your mouth from him, and climbing back up onto his hips.

“Are you okay, sweet boy? Is it hurting you?”

He stared up at you, and he looked so innocent, so overwhelmed. “I’m trying,” he promised.

“You don’t have to try. This is supposed to feel good.”

“It *does* feel good.” It seemed he wasn’t gaining back any control of his body despite the break from you pleasuring him, and he began to tremble. You took his lips in yours, intentionally moaning into his mouth, and he kissed you back so hard, with so much love, you swear you felt it full your entire being.

“I don’t want to disappoint you,” he whispered, face flushed.

“Why on earth would you disappoint me?” You asked, brushing back a hair from his forehead. He looked so emotional, and then you understood. You had been intimidated and felt oddly shameful and sad your first time, too. You just hadn’t thought that a man could feel the same way, at least it hadn’t crossed your mind until now.

“Everything you are feeling,” you said softly, Ken hanging on your every word, “is normal. But there’s no reason to feel bad about any of this. You’re safe. All of you, all of this, it’s beautiful. It’s special.”

He stared at you, so much trust in his eyes.

“Would you like me to keep going? Or should we stop for awhile?”

He shook his head, running his fingers up and down your back, giving you such a lovely shiver.

“I want everything. I want you.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded, small, but certain. “Please.”

You smiled at him. You promised yourself you’d be gentle, and you would. You wanted to make this beyond amazing for him. You held his cock, huge in your hand, and thought for a second about how maybe you should have let him finger you a bit longer to stretch you open, but you would definitely make do. You lined him up underneath you, and placed his hands on your hips.

“I know it’s your first time, but I’m going to ruin you for anyone else,” you stated. Ken had no idea what you were talking about but assumed since you were the one saying it that he would love it.

His eyes grew wide as you achingly slowly lowered yourself onto his tip, and his hands gripped your hips so tightly you knew you’d have fresh bruises when this was over. That made you feel so turned on that you lowered yourself further, keeping your eyes on Ken, making sure he was alright with everything as it was happening. He cried out when you fully bottomed out onto his cock, and you moaned loudly as how long and thick he was. You definitely *were* in pain, but FUCK if it wasn’t so incredible and you were soaking up every moment of it.

“You okay, my sweet boy? Are you taking all of this like a good Ken?” You lifted yourself back up, almost letting him fully out of you before lowering yourself back down, having you balance yourself with your hands on his chest because he was causing you so much pleasure but still adjusting to his size. Ken’s head rolled back into the pillows, shuddering, hips twitching underneath you.

You were going to fuck him out of his mind. You began moving a little faster and he spit out the most incredible noises and half-coherent words.

“You are so….ah…bea - I ohhh….tight…you’re so TIGHT…I’m…so good…y/n…it’s, ahh, please, please…”

Your hips moved faster once you were physically able to stand his size, and you panted, focusing on keeping a steady pace as his whole body writhed underneath you.

“Mmmm, you fuck me so well,” you gasped, and he opened his eyes - those gorgeous, blue, being fucked-out-of-his-mind eyes - and looked so proud and happy that he was able to make you feel this good. The fact that he was still so focused on your pleasure when he was literally experiencing intercourse for the first time made you even hotter, and you began bouncing up and down on his cock.

He yelled out in surprise, hands shaking, and you removed them from your hips to your breasts, which he took between his strong fingers and squeezed, your head falling back and you letting out breathy moans.

Ken started getting close to his climax and you could tell, he was becoming even less coherent, and his hands moved around on you, trying to find somewhere to grip but not knowing where to land. You realized he looked a little scared. You leaned forward but didn’t stop your pace while you fucked him.

“Are you okay, my Ken?”

He didn’t answer, just took both of your wrists in his hands. You slowed your pace now, and placed both of your hands on his face. As always, he relaxed a little, his face brightening, and he leaned his cheek into one of your palms.

“Can you help me finish you like this?” He closed his eyes, taking in your scent as your hair fell a little into his face, but he nodded. “Can you put your feet on the bed, bend your knees?”

He complied, and now his cock was buried *deeep* inside of you, both of you moaning loudly in unison.

You kept your hands on his face. “Are you ready, sweet Ken? My good Ken?”

He opened his eyes, completely lost in you.

“Yes, please,” he whispered. You began riding him again and shuddered so hard he had to grip your hips to balance you. He was so fucking deep from this angle you swore he might hit your cervix.

“I’ve got you,” you soothed as you regained some composure and got back into a steady pace. Ken was panting now, every muscle tensed and fucking fuck he was so goddamn strong and chiseled and flawless. He almost yelped when you took a hand back to reach down and press into a spot directly above his cock. You had learned this from a sex magazine ages ago, about how men had a special little “g spot” too to a degree in their groin area there, but had never tried it. Apparently the magazine was telling the truth because Ken seemed to lose all control after that.

He bucked up into you, hard, and you screamed in a mix of pleasure and pain, chanting his name over and over again as you swore your voice would become hoarse from how loud you were having to be to release some of this internal pressure. You felt surrounded by him - his body, his energy, the smell of the rose petals around the two of you mixing with his scent. You were in heaven.

You squeezed your eyes shut as your orgasm hit hard, washing over and over and over again, and if you had been looking you would have seen Ken smiling up at you right before he lost all control himself - feeling you squeeze and spasm around him, hearing you yelling his name over and over again, watching you experience intense pleasure because of him, while on top of him, with him inside you. You were beautiful, so beautiful. He fucked into you fast and hard, chasing his orgasm that exploded his entire being into fireworks, his vision seeing stars as he lost any idea of how he was moving or what was happening around him, only that he felt SO so amazing, and that you were there with him. He sobbed your name as he rode out his pleasure, his body going limp the moment he was through.

You both worked to catch your breath, eyes focusing on each other, and you smiled, exhausted, down at him. He smiled back, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. You were so thankful he didn’t seem scared or embarrassed by it, because you knew that it meant he felt safe.

He whines, visibly unhappy, when you pulled yourself off of him. You laid down next to him on your side, facing him, your body spent. He turned on his side, too, and hooked your leg around his waist, then wrapped his arm around your torso, holding you close. He thrust back up into you completely . You yelped, grasping his strong arm in shock.

“Wanna stay here,” he mumbles, trying to look dominant but his expression being obvious that he was hoping you wouldn’t make him leave. To prove his point, he pushed himself impossibly deeper into you ever so softly, but now it was your turn to see stars, and you felt like you would cry now.

“Please, Ken,” you begged. “I’m really tender right now.”

“I know,” he said, barely moving his hips but still stroking his still rock-hard cock in and out. Goosebumps covered your flesh.

“How are you still able to do this??” Tears actually begun forming now. Your body was telling you it couldn’t take any more but somehow it was, and you couldn’t seem to manage to make yourself push him away no matter how loud you yelled at your body to do so.

“Am I not supposed to be able to do this?” He asked genuinely.

“Most men can’t…ahhhhh…” you faltered, your head falling into his chest as his cock rubbed every inch of the top of your opening, your g-spot getting perfectly stimulated with the rest of your muscle tightening around him.

“Most men can’t what?”

“Do this again so soon,” you choked.

“Mmmmm.” He acknowledged his understanding, then placed a kiss on your forehead. “But I’m not most men.”

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Read More ➡️ Masterlist

[steddio]

Eddie can’t listen to music anymore. God knows he wants to, would give anything to lose himself in a particularly intense guitar riff, or bang on the steering wheel of his van like it’s a drum kit, or just generally annoy those in his vicinity by refusing to turn down “that noise” (as his neighbors call it). Music was his life, his sanctuary, his whole reason for being on this stupid, fucked up planet.

But now, music makes him jumpy, panicky. Hands clenched into fists, the back of his neck prickling. He can’t help but look for the threat, for the reason music is being played. Eddie finds himself sitting in silence now, when before he couldn’t stand it. His bedroom eerily quiet, cassettes shoved in a shoebox, stereo covered with an old t-shirt. He drives with the windows down, radio off, listening only to the mundane sounds of small town Indiana.

He can’t even play guitar. Three days after he woke up covered in bandages, head aching, Wayne had brought Eddie his sweetheart, mumbling something about not wanting Eddie to be bored in the hospital. Eddie had tried to play, he really had. But just touching the strings sent him back into that life-or-death mindset, and suddenly his mouth felt like it was filled with blood and he couldn’t breathe, and the nurse had to rush in and help him release his death grip on the guitar, take deep breaths, count to ten.

After, he threw the provided pamphlets about Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder in the trash and tried to convince himself he didn’t really need to play guitar anymore. As Dustin is so fond of reminding him, he already lived the most metal moment of all time, embodied it, played for the lives of everyone he loves, for Chrissy’s death, for Hawkins’s survival. His sweetheart helped save the world, and now it’s enough that she’s only decoration in their new government payout trailer. It has to be enough, because he can barely look at her, can’t touch her without shaking, without almost throwing up.

His friends must notice. They must, because he’s been avoiding band practice, hasn’t scheduled any D&D sessions, staying far away from everything that used to bring him joy because it doesn’t. Not anymore. And sometimes he wishes they would say something, that anyone would acknowledge this 180 degree shift in Eddie’s entire being. But Jeff and Gareth are giving him space, letting him heal. And the kids are kids, dealing with their own trauma and shit. So it’s just Eddie and the silence.

—

Eddie is listlessly staring at his bedroom wall, actively trying to think about nothing, when he hears a car horn honking. He ignores it, sure that it’s irrelevant to him. The horn honks again. Then a third, fourth, fifth time, followed by, “Munson, dude, I know you’re in there!”

And what the fuck. Because Eddie knows that voice, and there’s absolutely no reason for Steve Harrington of all people to be outside his trailer. They’re not even friends! They’re just… trauma bonded. Or whatever. Maybe Eddie should have read those pamphlets.

He peeks his head out the window to see Steve shading his eyes with one hand, the other on his hip. Eddie waggles his fingers in a hesitant wave, even more surprised when Steve’s face breaks out into a grin.

“There you are, buddy! Come on, let’s go!”

Eddie begrudgingly grabs his jacket, swinging it on as he slams the door of the trailer behind him.

“Um, dude, what’s up?”

Steve only waggles his eyebrows in response. “You’ll see, but c’mon, we’re running late.”

Eddie slides into the front seat of Steve’s BMW, eyes glancing to the radio, which is blasting some Top 40 station that not only sounds like nails on a chalkboard but is already making Eddie uneasy. Steve hops in the drivers seat and, as if he can read Eddie’s mind, turns the radio off before pulling out of the trailer park.

The ride is quiet, but comfortable. Steve has the windows down, it’s a breezy summer day, and Eddie feels something underneath the listlessness that has infiltrated his brain like cobwebs. Anticipation, maybe even excitement.

Steve pulls into the Wheelers’ driveway, and Eddie follows him inside the house, down to the basement, where Dustin, Mike, Lucas, and Will have set up their D&D table, Will at the head wearing… is that a wizard hat?

“Welcome back from banishment, Eddie!” Dustin shouts as soon as he sees him, smiling widely. And Eddie can’t help but smile back. Because these are his kids, and he missed them, and he really did feel banished even if it was somewhat self-imposed.

Four hours later, after part one of a thrilling campaign led by Will (who really is a promising DM, Eddie has to admit), he no longer feels like that. He’s glowing, breathless, warm. The feeling buoys him through the car ride home, Steve having left and then returned to drive Eddie back. And if that good feeling allows Eddie to glance a little too long at Steve’s hair blowing in the wind, his left hand loosely resting on the steering wheel and his right on his thigh, then that’s Eddie’s business and no one else’s.

They fall into a routine. Steve picks Eddie up, drives him to the Wheelers’ house for an afternoon of D&D, and drives him home. Eddie tries not to be too obvious in his appreciation of Steve in the summer sun but he’s just a man, okay, and Steve didn’t earn his reputation for nothing.

Every time, Eddie offers to drive himself, but Steve just laughs, shakes his head. “Get in the car, Munson.”

And every time Eddie does, Steve turns the radio off. Doesn’t say anything, doesn’t acknowledge it, but their car rides are blissfully quiet. Light and easy in a way that silences aren’t when he’s alone.

—

It’s pouring rain one afternoon, rattling the roof of the trailer. Eddie is contemplating whether he can get away with smoking out his bedroom window when he hears a familiar car horn. As he approaches the car, Eddie hears what can’t be, but what is unmistakably the sound of Steve… singing? Softly, almost under his breath, Steve is singing along to the radio. He cuts off when he sees Eddie, offering a half wave and a lopsided grin. As Eddie slides into the front seat, Steve turns the radio off.

“Hey why do you do that, man?” The question slips out before Eddie can stop himself.

“Do what?” Steve looks confused.

“Turn the radio off. When I get in the car.” Now that he’s asked, Eddie finds that he needs to know. Why of all possible people, it’s Steve who’s been the most accommodating.

Steve shrugs, puts the car into drive, turns onto the main road before answering. “It bothers you,” he says simply.

Eddie must look confused when Steve glances over because he continues. “I never see you listen to music anymore. I figured it must bother you. And hey man, if anyone understands fucked up reactions it’s me. I can’t hear fireworks or see Christmas lights anymore.”

Eddie barely manages to nod his thanks, to present a facade of normalcy while his mind is racing a million miles an hour. He knows that Steve has been through some shit, clearly he had even before Eddie walked headfirst into whatever the fuck is going on in Hawkins. But he never expected Steve to be so… observant. Not of him at least.

The D&D session takes his mind off the mortifying knowledge that Steve is paying attention to him. They’re approaching Will’s grand finale, and Eddie is caught off guard by how normal it feels. To be excited about a campaign, to mess around with the kids. To laugh, unironically.

The ride home is tenser than usual but as they pull into the trailer park, Eddie musters the courage to reach out. To touch Steve’s arm and mumble a quiet but sincere “thank you.” He doesn’t stay to see if Steve responds, but the pads of his fingers burn where they met Steve’s bare forearm, and he falls asleep that night with the ghost of a pop song in his head.

—

A week later, Eddie finds himself in the backseat of Steve’s car, his usual shotgun seat occupied by Robin. In situations like these, it’s hard not to feel left out, like a third wheel. Steve and Robin orbit around each other in a way that Eddie never has with anyone. But their jubilance is addictive and Eddie can’t help but be drawn in. A lone planet in their binary star system.

They’re telling some inside joke, something about Muppets, and Steve is glowing in the way he only ever does with Robin or Dustin, beaming like a carefree teenager instead of gazing sadly out of eyes that look too old for his face. Eddie is breathless, finds himself laughing along, eyes glued to Steve’s mouth (his smile, not his lips, Eddie lies to himself). Robin launches into song and there’s a moment when Steve joins in, and it’s ridiculous but possibly the most glorious thing Eddie has ever heard because it’s music. It’s music and it makes him feel safe.

After a blissful few seconds, Steve cuts off, as if catching himself, turns to meet Eddie’s eyes, face halfway between joy and panic. Robin doesn’t seem to notice, and Steve has one hand up as if to stop her before Eddie shakes his head slowly, starts to smile. Steve’s face begins to relax again, one eyebrow raising in question.

“Don’t stop,” Eddie mouths.

Steve turns back to Robin, picking up the thread of their foolish imitation. And maybe Eddie is still lying to himself because is this really music? But he thinks it might be the most beautiful sound regardless.

They drop Robin off at home and Eddie climbs up to the front seat, winking at Steve’s feigned outrage about “the leather, dude!” Steve backs out of Robin’s driveway, gets halfway down the block before he pulls over.

“Hey I’m sorry about earlier,” he starts softly. “I got carried away. I hope—. Well. I hope you’re okay, man. I know music bothers you.”

Eddie feels a blush rising at this ridiculous, lovely man and his concern. Steve is looking at Eddie, brow furrowed, assessing every minute detail of his face as if searching for evidence of injury. Eddie wants to reach out and smooth it with a touch, to make Steve laugh again in that carefree way. He settles for reaching out in a different way, laying a piece of himself bare.

“It doesn’t. Bother me, that is. Not when it’s you.”

The silence that follows is expectant, Steve’s expression hard to read. They’ve been on the precipice of something for weeks now, and Eddie has stepped off the ledge. But as always, Steve is there to catch him. His grin is lopsided, eyes warm, as he sings softly,

“But I know, uh-huh, that you're sad. And I know I'll make you happy with the one thing that you never had, baby I'm your man.”

And Eddie has half a second to think Wham!? Really? before they’re kissing. They’re kissing in the front seat of Steve’s car and Eddie has the sudden, embarrassing, wondrous urge to turn the radio on. So he does.

[cobaltperun]

Lost (12) - You had me from hello

Tara Carpenter x female Reader

Summary: To anyone on the outside, and to Tara’s friends, you were Tara’s fierce protector, the MMA fighter who’d take anyone on for Tara. The Guard Dog, as Amber called you. You had no idea you’d have to protect her from people who claimed they loved her. It didn’t matter. As long as you and Tara had one another there was nothing you wouldn’t be able to survive.

Story warnings: Scream violence, family issues, trauma, angst, certain sensitive topics

Word count: 4k

Story masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

-If I never told you I just want you to know you had me from hello-

Proving that yesterday was a fluke, Tara woke up to the sight of you already up and rolling the dough, which, knowing you, probably meant you were making crescent rolls. Tara stretched a bit, grabbed your pillow and got comfortable. She smiled and just watched you work for a couple of minutes. The years working as a cook really paid off, as you moved in the kitchen with practiced ease and Tara found herself swooning at the thoughts of eating your cooking for the rest of her life. She didn’t even feel like she was rushing with that thought. The two of you went through enough to know for sure that nothing, absolutely nothing, could separate you. And that thought made her smile. She let out a content sigh, humming as she got up and approached you. She hugged you from behind, the same way she did yesterday, only without putting her arms underneath your shirt this time.

"Good morning, Y/N," she said a bit sleepily, she lazily leaned down a bit and kissed you just beneath your shoulder blade, loving the way you went still just for a moment. You heard her even when she stretched, it was the kiss that made you stop for a moment.

"Good morning, birthday girl," she didn't even need to look at you to know there was a grin on your face. She heard you moving a bit, and wiping something before she felt your hands on top of hers. "Great timing actually. What filling would you like?"

Tara hummed at that, it was tempting to go for something sweet, but she'd have her cake later. "How about pizza?" just some tomato sauce, cheese, and ham would be perfect.

You nodded, fake coughing and tapping her hand lightly. Right, she'd need to let you go. "Thank you," you teased, turning around to kiss her cheek before heading to the fridge.

Tara leaned against the counter, careful to avoid dough and flour. "You're making a lot. Are Sam, Chad and Mindy coming?"

"Yeah, apparently we owe them for leaving us alone yesterday. Although, should the three of you be this relaxed about school?" you asked while looking inside the fridge, causing Tara to freeze for a moment and look away. You got everything you needed and came back, a bowl, ham, cheese and a bottle of tomato sauce in your hands, and you were carefully observing her. When you stood in front of Tara you set aside the bowl and ingredients down, took your apron off, and then tucked a few strands of hair behind Tara's ear. "What's wrong?"

You noticed. Not that she was surprised about that. No one knew her as well as you did. "It's been difficult lately," Tara sighed, if she wanted you to always be open with her, she'd have to be the same way with you.

You frowned and she swore she could see gears turning in your head. "Because of what happened?" you figured it out quickly, though it wasn’t that difficult to figure it out.

"Yeah," she leaned into you, seeking the comfort of having your arms around her gave her. And you gave her just that, pulling her in. She rested her head against your chest, listening to the sound of your heart beating. "Promise me you won't go crazy when I tell you," if anyone knew you, she knew you. Even if she failed to recognize you weren't fine for years. She knew how you were when it came to her. She knew you'd get pissed off the moment you heard how things were at school.

Tara heard a reluctant sigh and smiled when she felt you picking her up and taking her to the sofa. You sat down, with her safely sitting on your lap. "I don't like it, but I promise."

"It's either pity or blame. You know, some say they are sorry for me because of what Amber did to me, some say I should have noticed Amber was... the way she was," some went on to say Tara wasn't any different, that she killed Amber, so she was just as dangerous and sick in the head as her now deceased ex. She couldn't tell you that. You'd want the names of those people regardless of what you promised.

She felt you clenching your fists, she felt the tension in your muscles as you held her, she heard the deep breaths you took.

"Y/N," she nuzzled into your neck, hoping she could calm you down with touch, with assurance that she was right there and fine, and that you didn’t need to get into trouble over this. And you would get into trouble if you got involved with this.

"I know, I know. I trust you to tell me if you need me to do anything," that was what she wanted to hear as she caressed your cheek, slowly kissing from your neck all the way to your lips. It was a soft, brief kiss, but it was enough to calm your down.

Tara pulled back first, smiling. "I love how protective you are. I love knowing you are always there when I need you. I still need to handle things myself, you know? I need you to get back to the way you were before I was attacked," back then you were protective, but not to the point of handling any problem she had yourself. You didn't get to that point now, either, but Tara worried you might if she didn't point it out to you right away.

Before you left two months ago Tara absolutely needed you. She needed help moving, she couldn't take care of herself properly and at first needed help with even some of the more basic tasks. That was embarrassing, but you were patient and made sure she never felt like she was an inconvenience. She couldn't do anything too difficult and with the damage to her hand, she'd still need help with certain tasks in the future. That was the physical side of things. Carrying her, carrying things she couldn't, all the things like that, all of that was fine. She knew her limits and she was fine with your help with what she couldn't do. That's how things were before she got attacked as well, only back then they were less intimate.

As for handling issues like the one she currently had at school, well, that was where she drew the line. She couldn't have you solving everything, or getting involved with everything. She needed you to go back to the way you were before. Where you'd only get involved if she asked you to and would otherwise just offer her the support.

"I can still get angry, right?" you asked, relaxing a bit at her words.

"There's not much I can do about that," Tara laughed and leaned down once again to kiss your cheek. “Other than kiss you and hope that’ll calm you down,” she joked kissing the corner of your lips as you smiled. "I have you," she kissed your cheek again. "And Sam, and Mindy, and Chad," with every name she kissed another part of your face, your other cheek, your forehead, the tip of your nose, purposefully avoiding your lips. "I can handle anything this stupid town throws at me."

How she wished she could erase what happened, go to a place where no one knew who she was and what she went through so that she could live a normal life. Hopefully, she could do exactly that once she leaves Woodsboro with you, Chad, and Mindy, and, she hoped, Sam as well.

You got tired of her insistent avoidance of your lips and gently cupped her cheek to properly kiss her. "I know you can. You will. And then we'll leave this damn place and never come back," Tara liked that idea. She liked the slow and gentle way you were kissing even more, the soft caress of your thumb across the side of her face. You separated too quickly for her liking. "Breakfast, Tara" you reminded her.

"Breakfast, Tara" she repeated, dejectedly getting off your lap and sitting next to you with folded arms, and you just laughed. "What?" she asked, surprised by your reaction.

"Pancakes, Y/N," you reminded her, and Tara blinked a few times, realizing she did exactly what you did yesterday.

And so, she laughed as well, jokingly pushing you to get up quicker. You got together yesterday, no one could blame her for being a bit more eager for everything than it was necessary. Besides, you weren't any different. Give it a bit of time and you'll both get used to the relationship, which should, in turn, make you a bit less excited about being in a relationship than you currently were. Twice a day was definitely not a pace either of you needed or could keep up with.

You didn't head right back to the dough, instead, you dug for something in your bag and walked back to her with a small bag. "I saw them and figured your hand might be sensitive to cold," you handed her the package. "Happy birthday, Love," you said, quickly bending down to peck her lips one more time.

Tara, pulled you into a hug, the package still in her hand. "Thank you," she whispered in your ear. The gift turned out to be a pair of rechargeable hand warmers. "I love it," could she tell you? Was it too early? She kinda figured you weren't the most usual couple, between near-death experience and being in love for years. Still shouldn't there be more build-up to those words? A relationship that was longer than thirty hours? "Y/N."

"Yeah?" you looked taken aback when you looked her in the eyes.

"It's just, I-" she was sure of what she felt, she just feared you might think it was too soon.

You smiled. "I love you too, Tara," her jaw dropped.

"Wha- How?" she jumped to her feet as you laughed and went back to making crescent rolls. "Y/N!" she scolded you with a pout on her face.

"Eyes are the window to the soul, right? Well, no one has eyes quite as expressive as yours, Tara. Besides, we've been through so much together. Saying 'I love you' feels more like stating the obvious, rather than a huge declaration," you shrugged while you began grating the cheese

Tara wanted to be annoyed, but, frankly, she couldn't be. You just had to be right, didn’t you? Tara did have to admit most people didn’t go through what the two of you did. There certainly wasn’t a book about when to say ‘I love you’ if you and your partner survived a couple of crazy killers trying to kill you. "You're right. Let's redo it. I love you, Y/N," she said and your smile morphed into a wide grin.

"I love you too, Tara."

~X~

About an hour later Tara got a text from Sam that her, Chad, and Mindy were almost there, and just in time as you were just done setting the table. The crescent rolls smelled absolutely divine and if they weren’t fresh out of the oven Tara would have tried them already.

The two of you heard a knocking on the doors and Tara jumped to unlock them.

“Sam learnt her lesson,” you teased as Tara walked past you and she just grinned at you, blushing slightly at the reminder of what nearly happened yesterday.

The moment she opened the doors Sam burst in, hugging her tightly. “Easy Sam, I was with Y/N,” Tara laughed, hugging her sister back.

“In more ways than one,” Mindy quipped shamelessly.

“Mindy!” Chad, luckily, chastised her before Tara could.

But Mindy just smirked, patting Tara on the back. “Early birthday present? Seeing stars without getting punched?”

Tara knew her face was as red as a tomato, she felt the heat in her cheeks as she looked away, of course Mindy would keep teasing her even now that she got together with you. “That’s… It’s not,” damn it, why was she so embarrassed? The two of you were in a relationship, of course you would…

“Damn it, Mindy, we’re supposed to have breakfast,” Sam complained as she let go of Tara.

“Exactly, and leave Tara be,” Chad jumped in to defend her as well.

Mindy just smirked, and while she stopped talking she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively causing Tara to groan. “Well, I had my fun, happy birthday, T,” Mindy finally went and hugged her. “Also, seriously, about time you two!” she exclaimed loud enough for you to hear her as well, but considering the way you were looking at them, with your jaw dropped, you definitely heard everything that came before as well.

“What the dingus said, I mean the about time thing,” Chad grinned and pulled Tara in for a hug. “Happy birthday!”

“Thanks, all of you,” Tara smiled, and just for a moment, for a fleeting second, she expected to see three more faces there. As if what happened was a horrible nightmare, as if Wes and Liv were still alive and Amber was alive and not a crazy murderer. But they weren’t there, they were all dead.

She tried to keep the smile on her face as she the three of them inside. All five of you sat down and Tara snuggled as close to you as she could, seeking your warmth and trying to push those thoughts away.

You always had a sixth sense for her distress, and you wrapped your arm around her and kissed the top of her head.

“So, world champion?” Chad awkwardly patted you on the shoulder.

Ever since Tara told the three of them of your retirement, they weren’t sure how to approach the subject, and that was with Tara. Now you were right there, and that awkwardness came back like a boomerang, and it was only slightly eased by the fact that you won. Well, depending on how you looked at it. Chad, personally, thought that you winning made it even worse, since you wouldn’t get the chance to defend your title and dominate the women MMA. He looked it up, you were the youngest women’s MMA world champion in history, and by a lot, especially in your category.

“Until the next title match, yeah. Anya will probably take it right back by beating up whoever her unlucky opponent ends up being,” you weren’t bothered though, not even a bit and Tara trusted you were honest.

“I bet, that woman hits hard,” Sam agreed, wincing slightly when she remembered how much Tara was panicking while they were all watching your fight.

You chuckled. “Tell me about it,” and just like that the tension was gone. Tara eased her worried mind by leaning into your touch, and you eased the worries of all your friends by being fairly chill about the retirement. For a brief moment Tara even chastised herself for ever doubting you in the first place.

~X~

Later that day you were washing the dishes while Tara and the twins choose how to pass the time. That was when Sam approached you.

She leaned back against the fridge, not quite looking at you, instead she crossed her arms and looked at Tara. "So, you and Tara," Sam began a bit awkwardly.

"Yes?" you couldn't help bit smirk a bit, but when you noticed Sam’s nervousness and the fact that she chose to keep her tone low, your smirk dropped, and you dried your hands. You were done anyway.

"You're official?" there was the question, honestly, you expected it a bit sooner, but you guessed there just wasn’t a chance for Sam to ask. And you guessed she was a bit conflicted.

You should have been annoyed by her demeanor. And maybe you were a bit annoyed. She was gone for five years, came back only when she had to, and while you were thankful she came back, you didn’t exactly appreciate the fact that she was tethering on the edge of protecting Tara from you of all people. But you did understand. Tara went through a traumatic experience, and she jumped into a relationship with you the moment you came back. Not to mention the circumstances surrounding you leaving weren’t the best either. Sam couldn’t know that you and Tara completely talked it out, before you got together, and then during the rest of the day, you just talked it all over. Or at least the most important topics.

So, between understanding where Sam was coming from and the excitement you felt over being with Tara you couldn't wipe that stupid grin off your face as you glanced at Tara debating with Mindy on which movie to watch was enough of an answer on its own. "Yeah, it kinda just happened," you then quickly raised your hand. "Before you give me protective older sister speech, I know. I get it. If I ever hurt her, you're free to do whatever you want," of course, after you chose your own fitting punishment.

Sam nodded, smiling at your reassurance. "Honestly, if it had to be anyone, I'm glad it's you," she looked at Tara, at the grin on her face that mirrored your own when she glanced toward you. "She's happy with you."

You smiled, that was all you wanted. To make Tara happy and be happy with her.

"Sam, Y/N, come on!" Tara said, interrupting the conversation you had with Sam, still, you doubted there was anything else left to say. Sam approved, even if she was justifiably concerned for her sister.

~X~

As the celebration began coming to a close the five of you were left sitting, just chilling in your and Tara’s apartment. Mindy and Chad were on the couch and Chad was eating his second slice of cake. Sam and Mindy refused the seconds, but you and Tara were sharing a piece, since Tara was already full, but craved something sweet and you weren't about to turn down extra cake. Sam was sitting at the bottom of your and Tara’s bed, while you sat cross-legged on your bed with Tara sitting on your lap. You had one arm around her waist while holding the plate in the other. Tara was the one with the duty to feed either of you.

"Hey, what should we do when we leave Woodsboro?" Chad suddenly asked as he took another bite of his cake.

"Go to university, get our degrees, you know how it goes," Mindy didn't seem too interested in the topic. She never was the one to complicate things, she knew what she wanted to do, and she would do it, thus talking about it in detail felt unnecessary to Mindy.

"Well yeah, but I'd like us to stick together. You know, after what we went through," he said and you couldn't help but feel relief at his words.

You glanced at Tara, seeing the hopeful look in her eyes. This clearly wasn't something they talked about before.

"I don't think I can trust other people easily, after what Amber did," Mindy admitted. "And I really care about you two," she said to Chad and Tara. "No offense, Y/N, Sam."

"None taken, I get it," Sam immediately assured her and you just grinned.

You and Mindy were friends, you were on good terms, you could see she was happy for you and Tara. You also fully understood it was a friendship that relied on your mutual connection to Tara.

"Well, I care about all of you," Chad was, for the lack of a better description, much more open to caring about people than Mindy. Granted, you had more in common with Chad than Mindy, so that may have had something to do with the closer friendship the two of you had.

"How about we pick the same university and rent an apartment together?" Tara went for the best-case scenario in her head.

Mindy immediately crossed her arms in an X shape. "No way, university yes, but living with you two? No, I can't handle how stuck together you two are," she immediately shut it down.

Tara laughed, jokingly smacking her shoulder. "We're not that bad!"

Mindy just looked at Tara blankly and shook her head. "T. We know what you did yesterday, a day, actually scratch that, hours into your relationship, by the way," Tara and you got embarrassed at that. It wasn’t even hours, it was more like minutes. "Also, kind of hard to believe you when you haven't left Y/N's lap for longer than a minute the whole night."

"She got you there Snuggle Bear," you snickered, pulling the embarrassed girl closer to you, despite not doing much better than her.

Tara pouted and untangled herself from you, so she could go to Sam who happily accepted the role of hugging her sister.

"There, there, don't worry about it," Sam smoothed Tara's hair and pulled Tara to her right side. Tara eagerly leaned into Sam's embrace.

"See! This is what I'm talking about! As if being sweet with Y/N wasn't enough, there's Sam as well!" Mindy laughed and honestly, given the situation, you and Chad couldn't help but join in. "It never ends, and I worry it might be contagious."

Tara just turned around and stuck her tongue out.

'We're all just touch-starved, aren't we?' you couldn't help but think as you shook your head slightly.

"No, look at it from the brighter side, at least she's going from one to the other," and Chad had to say it.

Tara immediately perked up and looked at you. "Y/N," she said sweetly and made a 'come here' motion with her hand.

"No!" Mindy and Chad jumped to grabbed onto you.

"Duty calls," you smirked, getting up to shake the two off and get closer to Tara and Sam despite the two trying to pull you back.

"Stay with us Y/N! She has you wrapped around her little finger!" Mindy laughed.

"How does Tara hold you back and pull you around all the time?" Chad complained as he relented and gave up on trying to hold you back.

Looking over your shoulder you saw Mindy looking at Chad with an 'Are-you-serious' look on her face.

"I let her," you shrugged and dropped down next to Tara. "Yes, Tara?"

Tara glanced down at her left hand, resting on her thigh. Then she glanced at your own hand. Okay, you could figure that one out. You leaned back and slid your arm around Tara's lower back so you could reach her left hand from behind. "Like this?"

"Just like that," going by the smile on Tara's face she really enjoyed the moment. Sam having her arm around Tara's shoulders and you hugging her at the same time.

"See, it's like she has two guard dogs now," Mindy's laughter suddenly stopped. The reminder of Amber's nickname for you hanging in the air like an uncomfortable weight on everyone's shoulders. "Shit, sorry, Tara," she apologized.

"No, don't worry about it," Tara got up, but before you or Sam could go after her Mindy got up and pulled her into a hug.

"I'm really sorry. For teasing as well, hug them all you want," Mindy dropped the tough act just for a few moments.

Tara returned the hug and you saw her shoulders relaxing before the two girls separated.

"Uh, I'd like a hug too," Chad grinned sheepishly, prompting Tara to hug him as well.

If there really was a group of life-long friends forming between the five of you there was no doubt in your mind the heart and soul of that group was Tara.

A/N: The gift is an idea from Anon's headcanon, I didn't even know those were a thing until Anon mentioned them. Thank you, Anon!

Story masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

[soggyriceee]

Hey girlie!! So I saw the “I’m fine” one you did with Captain price and I absolute loved! (u’re so creative, it’s impressive) anyway I wanted to ask if you could do something similar for König maybe?

Like how it went after “strawberry” please 🫶🏻

im fine | Konig

summary: request

lowkey sub Konig but like.. he’s topping??? oral(f!recieving), fingering, unprotected p in v, both of you guys are some horny desperate fucks

Konig hadn't touched you for a while. it was becoming more he was scared of you than just not interested in having sex. he wouldn't cuddle you, not unless you explicitly asked. even then he was always tense and sort of standoffish about it. he rarely kissed you, scared he'd grab you for a kiss a way that scared you or made you uncomfortable. he was genuinely scared of you and scared of hurting you.

but you hated that. it made you feel like had you not passed out and said that word, you guys would be good now. but it was too late. the trauma from that night sticking with both of you. and Konig wasn't trying to make it that way. he did often kiss you but very quickly, he would hold your hand but very loosely. hugs were spread thin. he was so upset with himself still, he hadn't realized his distance was disturbing you.

so tonight you had decided to have a sit down conversation with him about it. because you needed more than what you were getting. it was affecting the relationship and your own anxiety tremendously. you needed his touch, romantically ad sexually. it had literally been three months.

you had been on the phone with your friend about this for a while, shopping for dinner tonight. " I think its good to open up about that to him. in my opinion sex plays a major role in a healthy long lasting relationship." she said as you stepped up to the self checkout POS. "I know.. im making a really nice dinner tonight hopefully it will get him to listen more. do you think that'd work?" you asked, tapping your, well his, card.

your friend was extremely supportive of your communication with him about your sex life. she didnt understand the concept of being with one lover. often times she blamed it on her parental issues. but despite her lack of understanding for that, she always tried to give you the best, most logical advice she could. "I think whatever you do, this man will listen to you. I dont think you need to cook a whole meal, but it could help. but hold on, one of my hookups are calling." and quickly the call ended.

the drive home was silent for you. your usual music now paused. you were too caught up in thinking the night over, you were manually driving at this point. you hadn't even fully processed that you were pulling into your driveway until you saw your neighbor wave at you. you smiled, giving a small wave back as you put the car in break.

as you stepped into the house, bags in hand, the house was pretty quiet. Konig was awake when you left, cleaning the kitchen since you had done the shopping. you placed the bags on the kitchen floor, looking around the spacious house for your tall boyfriend. but he wasn't in sight.

instead of putting the groceries away, risking the ice cream melting in the bag, you made your way upstairs, looking at the photos of you an Konig on different vacations you took together. as you reached the bedroom, you heard what would usually turn you on, but this time made you panic. you heard Konigs moans. and another woman.

now, of course, this is a heart stopping moment for anyone. whether it was just porn and physically another woman, he was getting off to another woman. and maybe thats just the thoughts forming from how distant Konig's been recently. but you felt like throwing up in that instant.

but when you softly pushed the door open, your anxiety somewhat smoothed out. the more you opened the door, the more it sounded like you. as the door opened enough for you to see Konig, you were meet with one of the most unholy sights.

on the bed, Konig had his head thrown back, whimpers leaving his slightly parted lips. as you moved down his body, you took into mind the sweat on his neck, his slightly shaking legs and curled toes. and while all of the was hot to you, what was most appealing about this scene was what was in his hands. in his left held his phone, an old video of him pounding into you missionary, focusing on your boobs bouncing up and down as he thrusted into you. in his right h however, was a pair of your red laced panties, his hand moving them up and down his cock.

you let out a quiet whimper at the scene, watching as his hand picked up speed as your voice in the phone cried out "im cumming". it was a bit embarrassing to hear yourself play back, but you didnt care about that. you were too focused on Konig. "m-me too like.. cum with me" he groaned out in response to you in the video, his hips bucking up. as soon as you came in the video, he came too. his hand dropped his phone, gripping onto the sheets instead as his cum covered your panties, some of it seeping through the thin cloth and onto his chest or thighs.

his breath was shaky, eyes slowly opening from the high. he hadn’t realized you in the door yet, so this was your time to escape. but of course, with your luck and horrible timing, your alarm for your birth control went off. you both jumped, your body shifting backwards to leave the room but tripping over your self in the hurry, falling to the floor. “i-i’m so sorry i j-just heard something and wanted to see what it was i -“

Konig quickly stood from the bed, pulling his pajama pants up and walking over to you. “no i’m sorry i shouldn’t have- i should have heard the car.” he lifted you up, walking you to the bed. “is your foot okay? did you land on it weird?” he asked softly, kneeling down to take your shoes off and examine your ankle. “no.. i’m okay.” you replied.

it was silent for a moment, his hand wrapped around your ankle even though he was done checking on you. but after a bit it got uncomfortable and you decided to talk first.

“do i not satisfy you anymore?” you blurted out, swallowing the tears and lump in your throat. his head shot up, shaking it quickly. “no no i just.. i don’t know. everytime i imagine me making a move i get scared you’ll push me away or remember what happened last time and.. i don’t know.” he said, looking down.

again silence filled the room. “i wouldn’t push you away, Konig. it was an accident. and we talked it out the same night. but don’t you see the effect it’s had on us? we barely even kiss now.” you said, looking at his lowered head. “i know.. im sorry libe. i just don’t want to hurt you again.”

he finally looked up at you, head resting on your thigh. his fingers danced up your opposite inner thigh, maintaining eye contact. a blush spread across your face, looking away from him. “what?” he asked softly, stopping right before your clothes pussy. you looked back at him, swallowing. “j-just been a while since you touched me like that. a bit nervous.” you chuckled.

he hummed softly before shifting, his head raising from your thigh. “lay back for me.” he said, raising the dress up your body to your hips. before you could respond, you were gently pushed down, Konigs other hand on your hip. “this is me apologizing.” he said before disappearing between your thighs.

his fingers curled around your panties, pulling them down to your ankles. grabbing either one, he rested them on his shoulder before leaning down, connecting his lips to your pussy. gasping, you closed your eyes.

his tongue ran up and down your slit slowly, circling gently at the clit every time. he moaned into your pussy, hands finding your hips and gripping them firmly. he pulled your clit between his lips, sucking gently as he mixed his saliva and your wetness together. “f-fuck Koni~” you whined, fingers finding his hair.

he groaned at that, using it as motivation to keep fucking your pussy onto his face. “missed this pussy so much mien libe.. tastes so fucking good.” he groaned, moving your hips against his face. his tongue moved around to spell his own name over and over, claiming your pussy as his. but that was a given.

while his tongue abused your swollen clit, his hand snuck under your thigh, allowing two of his long, slim fingers to slide into your cunt. gasping, your back arched slightly off the bed. “y-yes Koni just like that.” you cried out, pulling him deeper into your pussy.

his fingers moved in a “come here” motion in your warm pussy, his tongue still spelling his own name on your clit. your legs slightly raised from off his shoulders, toes curled as he fucked his fingers in you faster.

Konig was so painfully hard at this point, his tip leaking pre cum all over. he was breathing heavy in your pussy, motivated to keep going more and more. “keep going baby.. i’m so close.” you cried, opening your eyes finally to look down at him. he heard you, just was too lost in your pussy to even respond.

your slick covered his fingers, making a light sloppy sound as he pushed them in and out. “hear that libe? pussy is so wet for me. my poor baby needed this so bad didn’t she?” he cooed, opening his eyes to look up at your face, your mouth slightly opened and eyes rolled back. you couldn’t even respond to him, you were too focused on the orgasm coming quick and fast.

your stomach twisted and your pussy clenched around his fingers and he knew you were close. your legs shook a bit more, hands moving to the sheets. “coming Koni i-i’m coming.” you cried, feeling your orgasm shake your whole body.

now since you and Konig hadn’t had much of a sexual life, this orgasm shook your whole body anew. your eyes rolled back, his name rolling off your tongue loudly as your orgasm sprayed on his face. he chuckled, dragging his tongue flat against your pussy. “yea libe that’s it. keep coming for me such a good fucking girl.” he groaned, slowing his fingers down inside your pussy.

your body rested flat on the mattress, legs still shaking gently as you came down from your orgasm. Konig stayed between your legs, licking up the last bit of cum around your pussy. “you taste so good maus.. wanna sample?” he smirked, raising his body to press his lips against yours.

as you both made out, his hands gripped the back of your thighs, pushing them up. his hips humped against yours, feeling his cock press against your pussy. the kiss was deep, passionate. his hand snuck around the side of your neck, gripping it firmly as his tongue danced with yours.

“please Koni.. need you.” you whimpered, thrusting your hips up to meet his. he smirked, pulling away from your lips as a line of saliva connected you both. “i know libe.. need you too.”

he stood, pulling his sweats down to reveal his fully hard cock, tip bright red as pre cum leaked from the tip. his hand gripped it, pumping it while he looked at your shiny pussy. “think it’s ready for me libe? think this tight cunt can take it?” he asked, rubbing his leaking tip against your already wet pussy. you whined, moving up to try and get him to slide even the tip in.

he looked down at you, slapping his cock against your pussy. “want it that bad libe? take it. go on.” he said, repositioning the way he was standing, resting his hands on your knees as your legs were already on either side of his waist.

your hand reached down, pulling him gently into your pussy. he huffed out, gripping your knees as a small gasp left your lips. “oh fuck.” he groaned, closing his eyes as he bottomed out in you. your hips connected, his tip hitting your womb entrance. “come on then.. fuck me.” you said confidently, looking up at him.

he chuckled, looking down to you as his hands slid down your legs to your hips. he slid all the way out your pussy before pushing back in, both of you letting out a whimper. “are you okay?” he asked, sliding back out. you gave him a quick nod, looking up at him. “don’t be a pussy.. come on. fuck me.” you demanded.

he grinned , pushing back in before finding a steady deep pace. your hands found his forearms, gripping them tightly as he plundered into your pussy, sliding in and out with ease. his head threw back, mouth falling open. “missed this pussy so much libe.. takes my cock so well doesn’t it.” he moaned, nails digging into your skin.

“yea? y-you love this pussy h-huh?” yoh moaned, clenching around him. he whimpered a yes, looking down at you. “so much libe.” he whined, picking up the pace slightly. his tip brushed against your womb, making your eyes roll back. konig raised one of his legs, resting his knee on the mattress as he lifted your hips up slightly. of course, this new angle only made the both of you louder.

“fuck it’s so good Koni” you whined, your fingers moving down your body to your swollen clit again. he was so lost in your pussy once again, he couldn’t even form a coherent sentence.

in fact, his mind was so full of your pussy, he hadn’t even realized how close he actually was to filling you up. “s-so close.. gonna fill this tight pussy up.” he moaned, looking down at you. you both made eye contact, only adding to the sexiness of the moment.

from impulse, your hand reached up to his throat. and this surprisingly got a positive reaction from Konig. “fuck libe.. your so fucking hot. g-gonna make me cum.” he moaned, pounding into you faster. as his hips moved faster against yours, you both felt your orgasms taking over.

“come in me Koni.. please.” you whined, gripping his throat harder. as you did so, his legs shook slightly, feeling all his come shoot out into you. “fuck come on me libe.. c-cum on me please.” he whined, body collapsing over your. his hips kept the pace just enough for you to cum over him as well, body shaking beneath him as your grip on his throat loosened.

both of you laid their peacefully, panting as your orgasms came and went. your eyes shut closed and the last thing you were able to hear from Konig was

“i love you more than i can express.”

aghhhh i hope you all liked this one xoxoxoxoxo

[viviswtings]

He's a dick.

(Part 2 of Alcohol Wet)

Words: 1975.

Warnings: I think none? Like, bad words? (It's literally the Sullys like my girl Kiri was screaming "Penis Face" at like four years old). Angst but not major. Like "heartbreak" angst but not bad ending. Not good either. Not proofread and English isn't my first language.

Notes: Uhm... So, yeah. This is gonna take longer than expected. But I'm pretty sure it won't take more than three parts. I just wanted to put this out there already because I'm such a slow writer and my life's worth of trauma is like taking over again after literally seven years... So idk how long part three will take. (There'll be some spice, for those patient enough). I'm so sorry if it's not up to what you expected.

Tuk was holding the arrow with her two fingers, bow pulled almost tight enough. 

He tapped her elbow, so she’d raise it a bit more. Now the bow was perfectly tense. He put his hand under her stretched arm, for her aim was perfect. 

“Shoot”. The arrow made a hissing sound as it flew, thudding against the bark of the target. His sister sighed in content and he smiled up at her. “Attagirl” 

He got up, patting her head while sporting the proudest smile. Being a teacher wasn’t the first thing that came to his mind when he thought about learning how to lead the clan. But his father had proved, once again, that he knew what he was doing when he instructed him to teach the young hunters. They had his hand full at all times. 

Tuk smiled and pointed at the target, laughing. She wasn’t looking his way anymore. Instead, her focus seemed to be way behind him. 

“Sänume!” The young girl smiled so brightly it was almost blinding. 

But not as blinding as the woman approaching them. She carried a basket against her hip, while her long loincloth rested just on the dip of her waist, showing off the curves of her upper thighs as her neckpiece made a clinking noise when she moved. Towards them. She was moving towards them. 

“I see, Tukie” She answered his sister with a smile that could be even heard in her voice “That’s why you didn’t show up today. I was worried”.

“I was with my brother” The little one confessed, almost immediately. At twelve years of age, Tuktirey kept being the sweetest girl in High Camp. At least to her brother’s eyes. 

“Sorry for keeping her from class”. He chimed in. “My mother said I could take her for an excursion and I took the chance”. 

“It’s quite alright. I was actually going to take these to your mother” She pointed to the basket against her hip, full of fruit, her smile never faltering. But, for a moment, Neteyam thought it was weird her eyes weren’t on him while they talked. “I hope she’s doing alright”

“It’s getting harder to move, but she’s healthy” He answered, getting closer to her so he may take the basket. It looked heavy. 

She took a step back and her eyes wandered. The woman was absolutely avoiding him. And the stinging feeling the realisation left behind almost had him wincing. Like a needle had stung his skin and now he felt the need to rub his hand against the spot to soothe it. 

“I’ll get to her, then” The young woman looked down at her feet, toes curling and weight shifting from one foot to the other “I’m sure she’ll need some help”. 

Neteyam nodded, not knowing what else to say. He wanted to ask her what he had done. What had make her so angry that she couldn’t even look at his face. He hadn’t seen her in days, and now that he was finally back she was keeping those sweet eyes of hers from him. 

“She’ll appreciate it” He almost whispered, afraid his voice would break if he was any louder. 

A nod. That’s all she gave before stepping away from him and next to Tuk, kissing the top of her head bending just slightly, while his sister held onto her waist for a hug. What wouldn’t he do for her to forgive whatever he had done, let alone hold her waist in his hands?

Her whole chest felt like it was crushing down. Her ribs hurt when she tried to breathe and her throat had closed on her once she stepped away from him, ears low and tail almost touching the floor. 

The young man had been out on a mission for his father alongside the whole party of warriors he had been leading for months. The olo’eyktan had to stay behind, too preoccupied with his pregnant mate to even think about parting from her. 

She saw him before he left. Had expected for him to say something, anything. But he didn’t. He was his usual self, lovely as always, and with that assured smile and sly looks of his, she lacked the courage to even ask if he remembered anything at all about the previous night. 

After he came back, triumphant and proud, all pumped up and as handsome as she had ever seen him, he had approached her with the brightest smile, his four canines showing in the aloofest way. Her heart betrayed her as she laughed with him, letting him grab her by the forearms as his touch left goosebumps in their wake. Maybe he’d tell her that night, during the feast. Or so she hoped.

He didn’t show up. And the next morning he didn’t show his face either. 

Was he avoiding her? She’d much rather believe he simply couldn’t recall what happened between them. 

If he did, five days had passed since then and he hadn’t uttered a word. It had costed her restless nights, crying her heart out in her little hut in the back of High Camp, wails so desperate the woman who lived closest had brought her herbs to make infusions so her heart would heal. 

Why would he care about her? She was a teacher for a lack of something more useful she could do. She couldn’t hunt, couldn’t dance, couldn’t weave nor carve and having her attending to the fire with the elderly was almost an insult to them. 

She broke down, crouching as she left the basket of fruit beside her on the floor. Her insides hurt, she felt ill. Why had she believed him? He had been so sweet, his kiss so warm and the words he spoke disarming her. Now she felt like she had given all she was to him and he had tossed her aside, not even acknowledging her. 

Soon a pair of hands cradled her, long, slim arms wrapping around her, smell so familiar she couldn’t help but cry harder into her shoulder. 

Kiri was so kind, she didn’t even ask what bothered her so deeply, so desperately she was weeping just a few feet away from her family home. But she didn’t mind, helping her stand and taking the basket, dismissing her refusal to step inside with her, face congested and skin burning. 

When she finally convinced her, she left her resting next to the fire, grabbing everything she needed to make something that would calm her down and make her feel better. Her mother had heard too, so she was making some for her aching back as well. 

Neytiri had asked for the girl to sit by her side, taken a look at the fruit she brought and given her most sincere thanks. She would lie if she said she wasn’t worried about her. Her hormones were raging, and all she wanted to do was cry with her.

“Sweet girl” She spoke softly, taking her hand in hers. “What makes you so upset?” 

The look in her eyes almost broke her. The mother felt tears burn her eyes as she held her hand against her mouth, trying as best she could to keep her composure. The kid didn’t need for her to break down as well. 

“I don’t want to bother you” The girl answered, and the sorrow was laced within her voice. Neytiri knew sorrow like no other, and she couldn’t help but wonder what could make a perfectly happy young girl cry like that. 

Deep down she knew. Not many things make a woman sorrowful as love. Love for her parents, her siblings, her children, her home… her mate. Thankfully, Jake had never caused her such sorrow, and looking at the kid in front of her she was once more thankful for the gift The Great Mother had bestowed upon her all those years ago. 

“You can speak” She assured her. “It’s just us in here, Jake and my sons left early today and they won’t be back for a while” 

But she wouldn’t speak. Whatever plagued her mind being too embarrassing for her to say out loud. As Tsahik, most women confided in her, and she was grateful for their trust. “I will never tell, sweet child. Whatever burdens you, you may share it with me and maybe seek comfort in The Mother”. 

“She means it’s just us girls” Kiri hadn’t made a noise, startling her when she put the bowls of tea down on the floor in front of them. “So we won’t tell on you”. 

The thought was tempting. Telling them what made her cry at night and mindlessly go through her days. But they’d probably think she was being dramatic. Maybe she needed to hear exactly that. How dramatic she was being and how unimportant her feelings were compared to everything else going on. 

She needed a good reality check. 

So she told them. About the night, the liquor and the touches. She got carried away talking about how kissed her. “He said then I’d be his”. She admitted, looking down at the cold tea in her hands. “Claimed he was mine already. I thought he meant it. I believed he’d ask me for us to, maybe, perhaps… mate”. Her voice was barely above a whisper as she finished, sniffling as her fingers turned white against the bowl. 

“He’s a dick”. Kiri concluded, brow furrowed and an angry look in her face. “You don’t just get someone’s hopes up like that and then leave them hanging. Fucking asshole”. 

Neytiri looked at her daughter, her lips in a thin line and overall expression stern. She didn’t know what to tell the poor girl. Had it been her, she’d be in her same situation. “He probably doesn’t remember” She tried her best to sound reassuring. “It’ll fix itself, the whole thing. Sooner than you think, believe me”. 

She didn’t. By the look on her glassy eyes she didn’t believe a single word that left her mouth. But Neytiri did not lie. She hadn’t said it out of pity and not meant it. She wouldn’t do such a thing to an aching soul. 

“Now…” She tried to get comfortable, her swollen belly making her whole body ache. When she found the right position, she felt the angry kicks inside her, so she had to reposition herself on the pillows. 

Soon, big, hardened hands helped her up gently, moving her so she’d lay over the cushions comfortably. She couldn’t help the smile as she thanked the handsome man beside her, who squeezed her shoulders affectionately. 

“Kiri, why don’t you take her home” Jake spoke softly, making sure he didn’t disturb the calm that had settled on them. “It’s getting late, resting will do you good, kid. You look like you’ve had it rough” 

He settled behind her, letting Neytiri rest her back against him as Kiri nodded and helped the girl get up. They both said their goodbyes sweetly and left. What a good kid. Her Jake’s decision to make her the children’s caretaker had been a good one. Someone with such a tender heart must’ve made the children feel very well loved. 

“She meant your son” She finally said when the girls were far enough. 

“So he’s my son when he fucks up”. The rumbling in his chest made her laugh, slapping his thigh softly. “Should I talk to him?”

“No” She rested her hand right where it was, caressing the skin absentmindedly now. “No, he’s a man. Let him fix his own mistakes”

“Poor kid if she has to wait ‘til then” She felt Jake shake his head. “Boy’s a knucklehead”

They remained silent after that, at least for a while. Neytiri was already dozing off when her mate spoke. 

“But he does care. So he better hurry his blue ass and make things right”

She chuckled softly before closing her eyes. 

Taglist: @littlexscarletxwitchh @parrotpeggyy @gabrijelasworld @iwanttohitmyself @syulangg @lovekeeho @sharkybabe9 @hislaevv @who-is-ej @randxmthxughts

[iridiss]

(this mostly takes place in my au’s timeline, but) To compliment my earlier post about Garroth:

Laurance’s demeanor completely shifts after he becomes a Shadow Knight. Before he was bright, jovial, and very playful, you could always count on him to make you laugh. But after his death, getting him to laugh the way he used to would be considered a miracle.

He’s full-on depressed. He struggles from a form of C-PTSD due to what his time in the Nether put him through. He’s still just as gentle and kind and loving as he was before, but his old light is gone. His best days are still weighed down by an afternoon spent low, tired, and empty, and his worst days are rife with panic attacks and paranoia.

So Garroth becomes pretty perfect company for Laurance during this time.

Laurance often flinches at unexpected touch, it shocks him pretty badly, due to the extensive physical torture he went through. A lot of physical touch with him has now been associated with a fear-based adrenaline response—a trauma response. Garroth finds out about this pretty quickly.

Garroth is a very gentle man. He’s the kind of guy you could find cradling an injured bird in his big, meaty hands, and he’d never hurt it, he’d be as delicate and careful as a surgeon. So little by little, he rewrites Laurance’s brain by changing his association with physical touch, from pain, to gentle, pleasant, warm affection. He takes care of him. It’s like he becomes the emotional support golden retriever to his cheetah of nerves lol

He notices the small, new scars on Laurance’s face, so later that night he’d try to rest a hand on his cheek. Laurance would be tense and wary at first, but he wouldn’t push him away. So Garroth would start to softly rub his skin with his thumb, speaking to him all quiet and soothing, until Laurance leans into the touch and closes his eyes. He would remember the man he knew and loved before, who he knew he could trust. Sometimes you just…forget all of that, when you’ve been through a lot.

Garroth cups his face with his other hand. He’d keep his hand still for another moment, testing his reaction and checking in with him to make sure the touch is okay, and once Laurance gives him the a-okay, he’d caress his face and give him a soft kiss on the top of his head. He’d tell him that he loves him, very much. Laurance whispers it back, voice wavering and weak. They would linger there for a while.

In the beginning, Laurance would spend his nights keeping distance from Garroth and Aphmau, when before, the three of them used to regularly sleep in the same bed. He says that since he’s an undead Shadow Knight now, his body doesn’t need to sleep, so he’ll make himself useful and stand guard, keeping watch for the whole night. Plus, it’s probably too dangerous for something like him to be trusted around them at night. They protest, saying they know their Laurance would never hurt them, but he puts his foot down and insists that Shad would, if he got control of his mind while they were asleep. It could put them in serious trouble. He fights them on it hard enough that the two relent and let him stand guard outside.

They know he’s doing it to isolate himself, to keep them at arms length. They worry about him.

After a while though, he’d start to come back to them. He’d go to Garroth first.

(Garroth and Laurance, being Aphmau’s 24/7 bodyguards, would absolutely get their own rooms and living space added on to the Aphmau family house-now-a-mansion. There’s no way they can feasibly live in the Guard Tower on the other side of town and sleep there every night while Aphmau is left alone to be perfectly assassinated by the hundreds of night-dwelling Shadow Knights and creatures after her head. The woman has a massive blinking red target on her back, there’s no way she sleeps alone with no one but Zoe and the kids living in the house with her)

It’s likely the isolation pushing him to the brink that would make him crack. Without Garroth’s frequent gestures of affection and reassurance that “he can always come to him if he needs anything, even if he feels ashamed about it, Garroth’s doors are always open no matter what, NO MATTER WHAT,” he would probably just run away into the woods and cry under a tree somewhere when his thoughts and flashbacks get too loud to bear. But because of the support he’d been showing him the past few weeks, he does the unthinkable and caves in.

Garroth would be sleeping in his own separate bedroom when he’d wake up from the sound of someone else entering his quarters. He’d jump to sit up and confront the intruder, but then he’d stop at the sight of Laurance already climbing into bed. “Do you mind?” He would whisper, and any Defense Reflex at the shadowy stranger appearing in his bedroom would melt away at the tone of his quiet, quiet voice and the broken look in Laurance’s eyes. “No, no, of course I don’t mind, is everything alright?” He’d catch his breath and ask. “Yeah, it-…it’s fine, I just-…don’t like being alone with my thoughts tonight, that’s all.” Garroth would make room for Laurance to sleep next to him. He wonders if this would be the first time Laurance had slept since his return. “Well, you won’t be alone anymore,” he’d smile. Laurance would give a low, quiet whisper, “Thanks, big guy.” Garroth would get settled after him, wrapping his arms around him and bringing him in for a long-missed cuddle. Laurance would let out a sigh and finally, finally relax, just letting everything wash away and be replaced with the warmth of an embrace and a kiss on his head. “…thank you.”

Laurance would fall asleep for the first time in a long time.

He would sleep for over 12 hours, totally sleeping in for hours. Garroth would let him sleep in peace—heaven only knows how rare it is for him now—and he’d eventually wake up to Garroth making him a very nice breakfast. He’s surprised and nervous over it, insisting that he doesn’t need to eat, he really didn’t have to waste their food and spice supply on him, but Garroth insists with the same gentle, warm smile he always has, and Laurance relents. It tastes great. It’s a very nice relief to have another physical sensation that’s actually pleasant, and as a sweet, personal gift for him no less. It’s a strong reminder of his humanity, and a helpful way to reshape how he thinks about his body and physical sensations.

He asks how Garroth managed to make something this good. Garroth sheepishly admits he asked Zoe (the best cook in the house, when it comes to anything but Laurance’s family specialty: seafood) for help and advice. He chuckles.

Garroth sees how much this helps his day be worlds better, so he and Aphmau conspire to create as many more moments like that as possible. They convince Laurance to make the amazing cooked fish dinner he used to make for them all the time, and they rev him up about it enough to convince him to show them and walk them through it while they watch in awe from the dining table behind him. He shows off for the first time since his disappearance, getting an inch of his confidence back. They convince him to dish up, and the happy, nostalgic memories of Meteli and his dads’ cooking nearly makes him cry.

Aphmau and Garroth share a triumphant high-five once his back is turned.

The first time Laurance feels comfortable and safe enough to be fully vulnerable and bare with Garroth, also known as the first time he takes his shirt off in front of him lol, Garroth would definitely be shocked and worried about just how many scars he has, all over his upper body. His armor covers a lot of his body from view, and whenever he’s just walking around the house in casual clothes or pajamas, Garroth couldn’t help but take notice of the fact that he’d always wear long sleeves. Old Laurance would walk around ass-naked all the time if it was legal, but ever since his death, he’s been hiding as much skin as possible, so it’s a big ass deal when he first opens up to Garroth physically. (how do they NOT have a physical relationship in canon it iS SO IMPLICIT—)

It is a MASSIVE silent sign of trust. Garroth would try his hardest to not to freak out over all the new scars, but there’s no way he’s not worrying. He’d gently trace his thumb over some of the scars on his sides. Laurance would mumble under his breath how he got them, avoiding eye contact. Garroth would want to cry for him, with how terribly empathetic and sorrowful and worried he’d be for Laurance. He asks if he can hug him, Laurance hesitates, then nods, and the two embrace. Garroth would tell him he’s so, so sorry that this happened to him, how terribly it must have hurt. Laurance starts to say, “It’s fine,” but he gets about halfway through “it’s” before he starts to cry. He’d hold on to Garroth very tightly. He’s like his rock, that he never ever ever wants to let go of again, so maybe if he holds on tight enough, it’ll burn into his brain that he’s here now, safe in the Overworld, safe in his arms, and his light, his knight in shining armor, his Garroth, will never leave. They’d spend a good few hours cradled like that, probably in bed, they’d probably lay down and just cuddle until they get called to work (Laurance tries to apologize for killing the mood, Garroth stops him mid-sentence, demanding he NEVER apologize AGAIN for having natural reactions like this. Laurance laughs and makes a tired comment about how Garroth’s not the same doormat he met years ago, and Garroth says that’s entirely thanks to him. ,,Laurance hides his face).

Hell, even the first kiss on the lips they share since his return would be a huge deal too, because of how strongly Laurance feels ashamed and scared of himself and his body. He is terrified that someone loving him will get them hurt—or worse, murdered at his own hands, and guilt over getting his loved ones killed was a big sticking point with Laurance already. He’d struggle a lot with opening up to Garroth and Aphmau at first. And of course, Garroth would end up warming him out of his shell, which, to him, would be a very strange thing to have to do for the world’s most passionate, romantic knight, but it happens between them regardless. It happens with them in all fields of their relationship.

Until soon enough, Laurance is sleeping between them again.

He really starts to feel human again, laying beside the two of them.

Garroth would keep doing everything in his power to get him back, little by little. He’d keep giving him hugs, until Laurance ends up relaxing into every single one, until he reaches the point where he wraps his arms around him and hugs him back, until eventually he’s the one reaching for it and tackling Garroth like he used to. Cuddles turn from something he’s hesitant to trust, to something incredibly healing. He holds him very, very gently in his hands, and it’s that gentleness, that unconditional kindness that never goes away, that warmth, that soft smile, that would push him back on his feet. He needs the specific way that Garroth loves and gives affection more than anything during this time in his life, and Garroth is there to give it every step of the way. After all, that’s what Laurance did for him, back when they first met. When he lost Zenix, when he lost Zane, when he was recovering from his family’s damage. Laurance teaches Garroth to finally fight back, stand up for himself, and love himself for all that he is. Then Laurance falls next, and Garroth is there to pick him back up again. He teaches him how to relax, how to trust and be vulnerable and know that he’s safe, how to be himself again. He undoes everything The Shadow Lord and Gene do to break down his individuality, he gives him back his fire and his strength. That way, when things do get bad and Shad starts to control him again, he has enough strength in him built up to say fuck no, to punch back, and make a new name for himself under The Shadow Knight Rebellion. He can stand and fight again, against the very forces that broke him, he can face them head-on and bite back, for himself, for everyone he’s ever loved, because he had someone there to pick him up in the first place.

Laurance needs Garroth. He would be a very, very different man without him. He likely would’ve given up on his humanity entirely if Garroth was never someone to come back to, considering that he’d be far too dangerous to return to Irene of all people. But it’s not just Aphmau he came back for, she’s there to support and help him too, obviously, but if it were JUST her?

He would’ve given up on everything the second he found out what he’d become. Garroth is just that kind of..beacon of a person to make even a man stuck in the darkest pits of hell believe in a second chance for himself. It becomes about more than just “Protect Irene” and more about “do it for the loves of your life that you can’t let go of no matter how hard you try. Do it for your family, even if you’ve grievously let them down, because you still love them too much to abandon them. Do it for your sons, that have suffered through enough and deserve a brighter future. Do it for your home. Everyone in the village is counting on you. Do it for what it means to you. Because there’s far more than just your knightly honor at stake here.”

They all need each other. Garroth and Laurance need each other, desperately. They can’t stay standing by themselves for too long, they need the other man to fall back on when life takes a baseball bat to their ankles. They can’t do it alone. They crumble and (literally) die when they do it alone.

Garroth and Laurance make an inseparable team.

[possum-quesadilla]

Chapter 3 of Lonely Remnants, “I'll save you from that fate, If I have to kill every angel in Heaven, I will snatch you back from the grave, And you will live to see my bed another day”, is here!

Here are the extras. Make sure to read the warnings before proceeding!

- The lyrics for this chapter’s title are from “Over the Moon” by Penelope Scott! (Thanks Cosmo <3) It’s meant to reflect the mindset Lydia has from the start, and the pivot to being all in Barbara and Adam experience.

- “They corralled it into a bathroom to change on it’s own, but it struggled to even get the trench coat off.” - It’s hard to do things with one arm!

- “She heard both of her adopted parents shriek after a minute or so, and the Shoggoth let out a startled yelp. Before she could go to assist them, Barbara and Adam were both scrambling out of the bathroom, looking rather green in the gills. Adam dry heaved in the kitchen sink while Barbara returned to the bathroom, having retrieved a first aid kit from under said kitchen sink. Lydia gently patted the man’s back, brows furrowed in concern. “… what happened?” Adam managed to say “his arm” between gags.” - His arm is suuuper gross. Lydia was shielded from it by her oh so brave guardians. (Also, the yelp was because Barbara and Adam freaking out startled the Shoggoth hehe)

- “.. the Shoggoth was finally dressed in an old band hoodie (Lawrence still had an MCR hoodie?) and basketball shorts.” - Of course. Once an MCR fan, always an MCR fan.

- “It was then that the three living humans realized his feet were now replaced with… some sort of paws. The Shoggoth seemed to catch them staring, as it titled his head and looked down to follow their gaze. “Oh!” It chuckled, once it had caught on. “Don’t worry about that. Ate one too many raccoons.” ” - Hmm. Weird! Perhaps this will come up later. Also it’s feet are a weird mashup of raccoon paw hand things and human feet

- Nails - Lawrence used to use sharpies to “paint” his nails instead of actually painting them.

- Dog - his childhood dog’s name was Kevin, a reference to Alex Brightman’s dog, but unfortunately I don’t think he’ll be brought up again.

- “Lydia saw her hesitate before she reached out to wrap her arms around the Shoggoth, using one hand to gently pet the top of his head. It melted into her arms, eyes slipping shut.” - This is something Barbara used to do to comfort Lawrence. The Shoggoth sort of remembers and is comforted by it.

- “Barbara lightly patted his back. “… we’ll figure it out.” ” - This is the moment Barbara and Adam decided they were all in with this strange zombie demon stuff.

- “The Shoggoth called a ‘see ya later!’ from the kitchen, mouth obviously full. Lydia heard Adam shouting for it to spit something out as the door shut behind her.” - The Shoggoth took a bite of the plate.

- “Lydia absolutely flunked the math test, despite how hard Adam had helped her study for it.” … “ “I think I failed the math test.” “Oh, honey, I’m sorry! After you two studied so hard for it and everything.” ” - this is a reference to the end scene in the original movie!

- “Lydia called out a loud “I’m home!” once she came into the townhouse, as per usual. Barbara called a quick little “in here!” in response from the living room.” … “It was then that the front door unlocked again, and Adam called out an “I’m home!” as he stepped inside. … Adam stepped into the living room shortly after Barbara called “in here!”.” - This tradition was started by Lawrence, because he was always paranoid his loved ones wouldn’t be there when he got home. Yay trauma!

- “Barbara and the Shoggoth were sat on the couch, both staring aptly at the TV screen. Her eyes were tinged with red. Lydia recognized the chaotic sounds of ‘Zombieland’ in an instant.” - Barbara cried and hugged the Shoggoth for a while before she showed it the movie. Adam did something similar.

- “The Shoggoth perked up, head whipping around in that direction. It flexed and unflexed his fingers over and over, eyes wide and a weird little smile tugging at his lips.” - It’s like a happy little puppy… it’s already so attached to the three of them!

- “ “There’s a chemical in brains that helps keep the body from decomposing,” the Shoggoth explained, and Lydia could swear it looked a little.. proud.” - It wanted to show off it’s knowledge to Adam.

- “ “And, um… just.. Lydia, dear, could you grab the Reese’s in the freezer?” Adam removed his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Those are probably expired by now.” ” … “The Shoggoth really, really liked chocolate, apparently. (So did he.)” - Lawrence LOVED chocolate, especially Reese’s. Barbara and Adam didn’t have the heart to throw away the bag of them he left in the freezer after the accident, so it’s been there for about a year.

- “ “Like I said, we have an old cage from when I had Daniel-” “Your hamster,” the Shoggoth murmured, eyes still fixed on the container.” - ‘Daniel’ is a reference to the main character’s name in “Mrs. Doubtfire”, one of my favorite films ever but also the musical Adam’s original broadway actor is in now!

- “(They named the four of them, although Barbara told them not to get attached. Tallahassee, Columbus, Little Rock, Wichita.)” - After the main four characters in “Zombieland”.

- “The Shoggoth paused in it’s struggle with it’s fork to give her a perplexed look.” - It’s hard doing things with one hand!!! Help it please

- “Barbara and Adam exchanged a Look. The Shoggoth glanced between the two of them with furrowed brows.” … “Another Look. The Shoggoth seemed a little irritated.” - Lawrence used to be included in the Looks. Some part of the Shoggoth recognizes that, and it frustrates it that it can’t understand them now.

Tag list: @raineisinkless @c0zmo-writes @musical-fiend

(Want to be tagged in future CorpseJuice and/or LoopJuice updates? Let me know!)

[randomfoggytiger]

I hope it’s not annoying to ask but what are your thoughts on post abduction Mulder in S8 and MSR in S8. I’m rewatching it for the first time in a long while.

Never too annoyed to chat~ :DDDD

My thoughts:

It could have worked really, really well. The brain disease fumbled the bag, took away some of the tragedy, made it gimmicky and cheap. Erasing that-- which I posit was dubious to begin with, probably planted by the Consortium for... reasons-- then it would be about Mulder being given THE TRUTH... and it being too much for him to handle.

Scully forgot her experience, mostly. Scully laid her ghosts to rest and won her battles. Scully forged a new path for herself in Mulder's absence, gaining the respect of Doggett and unwavering loyalty of Skinner. Became even greater by taking up Mulder's mantle, shedding the last shreds of shame from outsiders' judgment.

Mulder returned beaten, battered, and traumatized. Three Words set up that concept beautifully, let it simmer just below the surface for the rest of the episode. Great execution.

Then his temporary distance from Scully wasn't addressed on screen; and his character jumped wildly from the old Mulder to irrational-without-reason Mulder while Scully became really passive or really sneaky. Mulder's trauma was shoved aside, and his irrational, illogical actions then became a matter of his old stubborn self than anything else (why?) Worse, because the most logical excuse for his irrationality wasn't allowed to be explored, the plot devolved into mytharc melodrama. Or Lizard man in a sewer well under the Lizard man's house drama.

The only saving grace of the rest of the season were the character moments separate from the plot: Mulder working out his issues with Reyes and Doggett, Mulder and Skinner, Scully and TLG and Skinner (and Doggett), Mulder and Scully and their baby most of all.

Existence doesn't exist: he and Scully got into his? car, shook Billy Miles off their tail, and went into hiding until their son was born. Mulder already wanted her to quit the files and cases in Alone; and he already had a history of letting Scully off the hook (if she wanted) when the going got tough (Irresistible and Requiem, to name two.) On top of that, Mulder wanted revenge in Three Words but gave it up for safety's sake; Mulder wanted Scully to focus on their coming baby in Alone ("you've"-- meaning we-- "paid your dues" to the files); and Mulder only stormed Galpus in Vienen and the clinics in Essence to save lives or prevent more death with answers. He already got what he believed were his answers from Lizzy Gill-- further, Scully had been taking TAMPERED/REPLACED VITAMINS that could have caused permanent damage to or killed her (their) baby... it would be time to hit the road. Scully and his baby were now the lives he needed to save; and they would have been his paramount priority. On top of that, he already showed signs of withdrawal and more than usual protectiveness, meaning he'd bundle her up, drive off, and not bother to tell Skinner or Doggett or anyone else (except, perhaps, TLG) where they went. LET ALONE allow a man he recently learned to trust (Doggett) to know Scully's location instead of himself. Bonkers.

ANYWAY. Great character moments, honestly-- even prior to Mulder's return-- that were absolutely wasted with the senseless plot.

My blessing and my curse.

Love it and love to hate it. :DDD

[peanutbutterwrites]

My Good Looking Boy - Part Four

warnings for series: angst, struggles with self worth and self esteem, issues with appearance, childhood trauma, and mentions of death and murder.

summary: taking place after the southern raiders, zuko and katara finally learn to understand each other a bit more and long held on to feelings come to the surface. the gaang go and watch the ember island play and chaos ensues with katara's feelings.

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

author's note: and here comes part four! this is where the story really starts to take a turn, so thank you to all your patience, here is zutara and where she finally starts to (maybe?) understand her feelings. part five might take me a bit longer, i lowkey ran out of motivation so I haven't started it yet, but hopefully not too long. as always, please let me know what you think and enjoy!

also thank you so much for all the notes and reblogs on this story, I really appreciate all of it! <3

word count: 2.1k

Katara made her way downstairs fully dressed and hair tied neatly into a half top-knot. Her red two piece consisted of a tight, cropped tank top with flowy and breathable pants she had managed to snag from the old clothes left here. It was clearly designed for the frame of a teenage boy, so Katara chose to ignore what or rather who they were made for in favor of just enjoying the freedom they allowed.

She knew it would be her job today to gather what was necessary to feed the group, along with multiple other things, so she wanted to get that particular job done as soon as possible. Over the last few days, the comments made about her in the play affected her less and less. Yes, she did talk a lot about hope, isn’t it important to have hope during such a difficult time? And yes of course she did the housework, who else would? Pushing aside what had been on her mind, the conversation with Aang, she grabbed the basket next to the entrance and dug through the makeshift wallet to see if she could afford to go into town today and continue to save. Zuko and Toph were only able to save so much money, and Katara absolutely refused to let the kids continue with scamming people; it had turned out rather horribly for them in the past. With her nose to the wallet, her visibility was severely impaired and she slammed into a rock hard surface. 

“Ow!” She yelped as she fell backwards, but she felt a hand grab her wrist and yank her back upright. 

“Oh, sorry.” Zuko murmured, still holding her wrist.

“S’ok.” She whispered right back, frozen in place. He noticed that he was still holding on to her and flushed as he slipped his hand behind himself. In doing so, he examined her full outfit and his flush turned into his full face overheating. He recognized those pants quite easily after all. 

“So, uh, where are you off to?” he choked out.

“Oh, well, the market. I think we have enough money to get some actual food.” 

“That’s good.” It was painfully awkward. They stood there, each shuffling in place debating on their next words. 

“You know-”

“I could-” They both began at the same time. 

“Uh, sorry, you go first.” Katara mumbled, looking anywhere but the boy in front of her while a light dusting of pink covered her cheeks.

“I was just thinking, I’m done training Aang for today. I could come with you.” Opening her mouth, rejection her go-to response, she closed it, opting to think for a moment instead. 

“You know what, why not.” She half-smiled up to him and he let his own hesitant smile crawl its way up. Walking side-by side they made their way down the dirt path towards the day market that was no doubt in full swing by now.  “About the other night,” she began, “I never got to thank you. I’m sorry you had to see that but, uh, thank you.” 

“You don’t have to thank me, Katara. I told you before, I’ll always be there for you. No matter how big or small the issue is.”  She smiled softly at him.

“And I’m sorry for assuming your childhood was, well, privileged.”

“I mean you’re partially right. I never had to worry about food or clothing, nothing money could buy anyway.” 

“So then what was it? What put the idea in your head that you’re worthless Zuko.” Silence fell over them and the only sound noticeable was the crunch of the dirt and gravel beneath them as they continued to the village. “Oh, I’m sorry. I overstepped, didn't I?”

“No, you didn’t. It’s just hard to talk about. I don’t like to talk about it either.” Katara nodded in understanding and gently grasped his right hand in her left. Zuko dropped his eyes to look into hers, shocked she was finally accepting him and willing to listen. It was the first time he didn’t feel pity or condensation in someone’s gaze when this topic came around.

“Well, I’m here for you too, you know.” Silence. After a few minutes walking, he began.

“I spoke out of turn.” She turned to him and squeezed his hand as they kept walking to give him support. Tilting her head to the side, she made it clear she was listening. “A statesman, one with many years of service and honor, wanted to use a young squadron as a decoy. He wanted to sentence them all to death just so we would get the advantage in a battle with a surprise attack. I argued against it. I was only thirteen at the time, but it seemed like a perfectly logical thing to do, to speak for those boys who were unable to speak for themselves. But in speaking out of turn, I disrespected him, threatened him. He challenged me to an Agni Kai to learn respect.” 

“An Agni Kai? You’ve mentioned that before.” 

“Yes, it’s a battle between two firebenders. It’s meant to be life or death.” Katara tensed as anger began to rise in her.

“But you were so young.” 

“It didn’t matter to him. I insulted his place of authority, so foolishly I agreed. I knew I could beat an old statesman so it didn't bother me.” He gripped Katara's hand harder as he continued. “But it wasn't him I had to fight in the Agni Kai. When I turned it was my father.” Katara’s breath hitched in horror. “He claimed by arguing in his war meeting I disrespected him more than the statesman.” He softly shook his head as he continued, “I refused to fight him, he thought that I was weak, a coward. So he gave me this.” He looked at her in the eyes and her own widened in horror. Her teeth ground as Katara felt rage like she’s never felt before. White, hot, outrage. The fact that Zuko had been burned was something she could make her peace with, everyone had their scars, visible or otherwise. But for a parent to do that to their child? She wanted to scream out in anger, to march into the palace at this moment and kill that man. But she knew Zuko didn’t need that right now, she knew he would only end up comforting her instead. 

“I, I’m so sorry, Zuko. I never imagined.”

“I know, it's okay.” They began walking again in silence, but Katara’s hand never left his.

“I’m sorry I didn’t heal it, I don’t have the spirit water anymore otherwise I wouldn’t hesitate.” He hummed softly and rubbed his thumb over the top of hand. 

“It's fine Katara, it wouldn’t fix anything. Just make me a little more easy on the eyes.” Katara stopped in the dirt road and Zuko only paused when he felt her hand leave his. “What’s wrong?” He frowned, turning to look back at her.

“You, don’t think you’re attractive?” He flushed in embarrassment and crossed his arms defensively over his chest.

“Well I mean, isn’t it obvious?” He left out a humorless laugh. 

“I think you’re beautiful, Zuko.” It was just a whisper, but to him it felt like so much more. She was looking him dead in the eye, no hint of embarrassment or lie. He felt himself stop breathing. Not bearable, decent, hot, but beautiful. She thought he was beautiful. And for some reason this word shook him. His gut flipped nervously and he had to swallow down his tears that threatened to unleash at any moment. 

“Well, thank you. Katara.” He said, his eyes still piercing into hers that kept their intensity. She simply nodded and gathered his hand back into hers as they continued their walk into town. 

They were able to haul a decent amount of food back, as surprisingly Zuko was pretty good at haggling with the older merchants who ran the stalls of the day market. Even after such a heavy topic, Katara found herself watching him with pride. His ability to live and forgive, to be kind after suffering such horrific actions against him made her eyes twinkle with emotion. He carried the heavy basket all the way back and offered to help her with the cooking as well. 

“I think you are officially the most helpful member of the group, Zuko. Thank you!” Katara spoke cheerfully as they boundered into the entrance of the summer home. Zuko smiled after her and gave a small chuckle. 

“I think that’s my favorite title I’ve earned yet.” He put the woven basket down in the kitchen, he began unloading their haul into their proper places as Katara let out a breathy laugh and went to gather the new laundry. Thankfully, the rather large fountain on the property made it easy to wash all the clothes. The next thing she knew she was bending water into the dirty clothing and Zuko was bringing out the tea set the house had been equipped with. He placed the pot out on the edge of the fountain and began brewing her tea as Sokka and Suki came down from their bedroom. 

“Good morning! I guess you guys went to the market huh? Couldn’t find you anywhere.” Suki mentioned and Katara nodded in agreement. 

“Yeah, and Aang’s lesson with Toph should be over soon so I thought some tea would be nice.”

“I’m sure your hot leaf water will be greatly appreciated, Zuko.” Sokka teased and Katara frowned.

“You do realize he has helped more today than you’ve in the past two weeks, Sokka.” Sokka froze and Suki let out a loud and exuberant laugh.

“Since when are you defending him?!” He said with a high-pitched voice crack and Katara had to fight with herself to stop from laughing outright.

“I’m not defending him, it's just the truth Sokka! And even if I was, it doesn’t matter.” Sokka’s mouth dropped in shock. 

“I think she’s right, you guys really need to help out more. She’s always doing all the housework.” Suki mentioned as she took a small cup of piping hot tea from Zuko. Sokka let out multiple gargled and disgruntled sounds with a small “you don’t help either Suki!” while she yanked him down to sit and hushed him. 

“Oh hey sugar queen, sparky.” Toph joked as she and Aang returned from their earthbending practice. 

“Oh tea! Thanks Zuko!” Aang cheered, after a long morning of practice he must be exhausted and grateful for the break.

“Here, Aang.” Katara reached over to grab some bread she had been able to get at the market. “Relax and keep your strength up, we still have our lesson.” she smiled down at him and his apprehensive smile brightened quickly. Katara knew she couldn’t let personal issues get in the way of her teaching Aang, the world being at stake was of far greater importance than her confusing feelings. Zuko took a seat next to her and handed her a cup of tea, to which she smiled warmly at him and thanked him for.

“No seriously Katara, did something happen? Cause I swear, even after your guys’ trip you weren’t this buddy-buddy.” Sokka finished with Suki elbowing him in the side and him huffing out an exasperated “what?” to her. Zuko tensed up, his grip on his tea strained and contemplated grabbing Katara right then and there to stop her from saying anything. But she made her decision before he could.

“Oh be quiet, Sokka. We aren’t ‘buddy-buddy’, and nothing happened. Gosh, would you give it a rest?” She huffed and crossed her arms in an irritated fashion. Zuko visibly relaxed and took a long sip of his tea, shooting Katara a grateful smile. She knew he would tell the others in his own time and resolved to let it happen naturally versus forcing him to have that conversation right now. 

“Karara!” Aaang, called out after gulping down most of his tea. She perked up at his voice, “Let’s start training now.” He smiled and she nodded in response, promising she’ll be back in time to cook dinner.

[scarlettromanov]

Business as Unusual - Chapter 4: The Tension Before The Storm

Chapter One  Chapter Two Chapter Three

pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanov x Reader

word count: 4.1K

warnings(18+only): brief mentioning of Steve Rogers; eventual kate bishop; CEO! Wanda Maximoff; Brief mentioning of Stephen strange; Jealousy; Dom/sub; Domestic Fluff; Eventual Smut; Hurt/Comfort; Childhood Trauma; Mob Boss Natasha Romanov; Smoking; Food; Caffeine Addiction; mention of drugs; Alcohol; Mentions of Violence; mob wife Wanda Maximoff; Angst; NO CHEATING!; all parties communicate; brief Stephen strange slander

CHAPTER FOUR: THE TENSION BEFORE THE STORM

The dressing room door is closed. The panic settling into your chest is nearly unbearable. You are living your worst nightmare. A fashion show. For Wanda. Wanda had down right nearly begged you over the past two weeks to let her take you shopping. You whined that you wanted Yelena to go with you. But, clearly Wanda didn’t trust you around Yelena. (Not without hers or Natasha’s supervision). You have no other choice than to be in the middle of a Banana Republic with Wanda.

With wobbly knees, you Stand in front of a full length mirror; scrutinizing all the little details of your body. Wanda was flabbergasted when you had mentioned going to Banana Republic to buy clothes. This was the fanciest store that you had ever been in, and it was still affordable for the average person. A small part of you is adamant about Wanda not spending more money than absolutely necessary on you.

“Sweetheart, are you alright in there?” Wanda asks, giving a small knock on the door. Your heart jumps a mile, grabbing at your chest you manage to squeak out,

“Y-yeah! Just a sec!” your voice higher than normal, and you grimace, hoping that Wanda’s concern doesn’t grow after hearing the panic in your tone. Within five minutes you are changed into the forest green suit. The silk button down shirt feels amazing against your skin. You wish that every piece of clothing you owned could feel this good. The outfit looks complete until you look down at your feet. Your five year old black high top converse makes the outfit somewhat of an eyesore.

Note to self, buy new shoes.

“Y/N, you’ve been in there for twenty minutes. I’m giving you two more minutes before I come in.” Wanda’s voice is full of authority. You know it’s just because she worries about you. Wanda has seen the way you avoid looking at yourself in most mirrors. On multiple occasions Wanda has complimented your hair or the way your makeup looks that day. You always blush and mumble ‘thank you’ before changing the subject immediately.  

Standing in the mirror now you feel an upswing of confidence. A rare boost in your self image permeates through you.  

“Alright, alright, here I am!” You say with a smile in your voice. Unlocking the door, you grin at Wanda. She’s sitting with her legs casually crossed on the small couch across from the fitting room door. Her cell phone in one hand. Her eyes pierce into you, and you feel like you might drop dead right there with the hungry look she’s giving you. And Yet you don’t budge an inch. You let Wanda drink in your appearance.  Head held high, as she bites her bottom lip ever so slightly with her top teeth. With a small smile, she uncrosses her legs. Eyes traveling from your face, down your body. You know she’s ignoring your converse.  

“How do you feel?” Wanda’s voice is lower than normal, huskiness radiating through it. You pause, then lift a hand to run it through your hair. Faking an air of confidence.

How did you feel? That was a great question. Confident? Sure. Sexy? Of course. However you surprise even yourself when you say,

“Powerful.”

The word hangs in the air between you both. Wanda, now less than a foot away from you, reaches down, and brushes a thumb over your cheekbone.

“As you should, honey.”

You both stay like that for another moment. The skin of your cheek red as cherries, with Wanda’s  thumb stoking back and forth. You stare at her lips, and she smirks at you.

“Do you prefer wearing suits?” Wanda asks, hands moving to fuss with your lapels. As she finishes with the lapels her hands wander to examine the length of the jacket’s arms. They’re a little long, but nothing that you couldn’t manage. You would simply cuff the sleeves.

“I’ll wear anything if it feels right.” Your voice is breathy. Realizing that you haven’t been breathing normally for over a minute. You inhale small jaggad breaths. Wanda touching you was not getting easier. Without a doubt, every time Wanda’s skin touched yours, it felt like a thousand bolts of lightning coursing through you.

“Let me take you somewhere else. We can get you this one to start, but please, humor me, Y/N.” Wanda fingers lightly running over the lapels, and you stand there frozen under her gaze. Looking down at your feet you answer her,

“Wanda, you and Nat already do so much for me. And all I do is run errands and crunch a few numbers.” Wanda’s fingers wrap around the fabric of the suit, grip tightening the tiniest bit.

“Honey, you look exquisite right now. Besides, Natasha and I have a few events coming up. You need to get a few outfits for those.” Your face perks up at the news of these so-called ‘events’. Did Wanda mean as her and Natasha’s guest? She probably means as their assistant of course. Why would a perfectly happy married couple bring someone like you to such a high profile event as their date? You’d be carrying Natasha’s wallet, and Wanda’s clutch. Standing to the side of the red carpet while they pose for pictures. But you can’t help yourself as you fill with excitement.

“I’m going to events with you and Natasha?” Your voice is full of hope. The thought of dance floors and fancy drinks with michelin star grade food has you fawning. Despite your better judgment you picture stepping out onto a red carpet with them both. Wanda’s arm wrapped securely around your waist, and Natasha's arm extended over your shoulders. You knew it was ridiculous to fantasize like this, but you ache for it to be a reality. Wanda is smiling down at you. Her expression mixes between adoration and patience. For a moment you wonder if Wanda knows your daydreaming.

“Of course, but only if you let me dress you up, doll.” She boops your nose with her pointer finger which sends a shiver through your body. Wanda's nose scrunches, and you nod your head. Agreeing to let her buy you whatever she wants. You hope that nodding for Wanda will be enough of an answer.

“What’s that?” Wanda’s head tilts, baiting for you to ask her. Her voice is condescending. Wanda, the ever generous, loved to hear you ask her for things. She always gave you what you wanted, unless it was unhealthy or tacky. Her and Natasha were constantly asking you to use your words.

“Can you please buy me more pretty outfits, Wanda?” The question comes out sort of whiney, and you are Scarlet red. Mortified from how needy you sound. Wanda is beaming as she stares down at you, biting her bottom lip slightly.

“Why didn’t you ask me sooner? Get dressed. I’ll give Bucky a call, and we will go to Meredith’s downtown,” Wanda tells you as she smooths your shoulder pads.

“We’ll get everything tailored too.” Wanda adds as you spin around, marching back into the dressing room. You feel like you spun in circles.  The entire interaction with Wanda had you feeling dizzy. Probably from the lack of breathing. You look at yourself in the mirror again, and see the color in your rosy cheeks. The person who looks back at you is nearly unrecognizable. She’s standing tall, and her hair is swept out of her face. A far cry from the girl who, just two weeks ago, stood in her tiny 1 bedroom apartment bathroom mirror with a lifeless expression. Features that were once so minuscule now stand out in ways you had never realized. A dimple here, a laugh line there, color filling your skin. With a smile you put your clothes back on.

Wanda pays in cash at Banana Republic. She hands you the receipt, and telling you to keep it for your bookkeeping for her and Natasha. You wonder if these purchases for you are just for tax write offs. A second later you feel horrible for assuming that Wanda was just buying you nice things for the tax benefits. Pushing the thought from your mind you put the receipt away.

James, formally known as “Bucky”, drives the two of you to the city. Wanda babbles a list of errands that she will have you and Bucky run tomorrow, and you type the list into your phone. It’s not until you are both silent that the small talk on the radio playing softly in the background catches your attention,

“Reports are saying that another young woman has been returned to safety after mysteriously disappearing a number of years ago. The pattern of  these returns are reported to be nearly identical, coming to the conclusion that there is some kind of vigilante Robin Hood saving young women and getting them back to safety after abduction.”

“Someone outside of the law, you think?” Another radio host asks, a laugh in their voice.

“Well, the police have reported that these cases have been cold for years. The abductees are from all around the globe.” You listen closely to the conversation on the radio. Your brow furrows as you strain to listen to the soft voices playing through the car speakers. It’s clear that you are Interested in their conversation. You lean forward in your seat to ask Bucky to turn up the radio. But Wanda’s hand reaches over. She points out the window. Your gaze follows, and you realize that the car is passing a miraculously large building. Stairs leading up to the entrance of the museum, hidden behind white pillars.

“We’ll be attending the governors gala here in two weeks, you, Natasha, and I.”

Your face practically presses into the glass as you stare in absolute awe. You have walked past the art museum a million times, even toured with your school as a child. But the governors ball? With Wanda and Natasha? Your brain scatters in forty directions. You need a haircut, new shoes, and obviously a few pieces of jewelry.

“Y/N?” Wanda’s voice snaps you out of your internal makeover list.

“Hmm?” You hum in response, and Wanda chuckles, and offers her hand to you. Bucky is holding the door open for the two of you. You’ve arrived at Meredith’s, a large designer boutique that sits in center city.

“Shall we?”  She asks, and you take her hand greedily.

Wanda holds your hand through the front door of Meredith’s. Where she is greeted by a few posh faces.

“Ms. Maximoff, what do we owe the pleasure? It’s been far too long since you’ve graced our presence.” A tall slender woman asks with a clipboard in hand. She’s wearing an earpiece, exposed since her hair is pulled back into a tight high ponytail.

“We are doing some shopping today. Specifically for my Y/N here.” Wanda gives your hand a small squeeze, and you give the woman a small smile, “Think we can set her up with a few gowns to try on? She’s a fan of a suit as well. Shoes to match.”

The woman’s eyes fall on you, and there’s a sort of confusion in her features as she tries to process why Wanda Maximoff is being seen with a scrub like you. You shift uncomfortably under her gaze. You chew on the inside of your cheek. Wanda, realizing that this woman was setting her judgments on you, wraps a protective arm around your shoulders pulling you against her smugly.

“Amelia, did you not hear me?” Wanda’s Sokovian accident bleeds through. Amelia’s eyes drag away from you, and find Wanda’s murderous gaze. Amelia blinks once before getting her act together,

“Right away, Ms. Maximoff, shall we?”  The words stumbling out of Amelia’s mouth.

Amelia offers you and Wanda coffee, tea, water, and alcohol while you stand on a platform in the 6th floor private suite. A row of mirrors surround you. Your reflection stares back at you, and you realize that you haven’t uttered two words since entering this building. Someone comes in and takes your measurements. Another person comes in with about 10 different photo cards. Wanda sitting behind you discussing color choices with Amelia.

“I am partial to Y/N  in burgundy,” her eyes flicker up, and meet yours instantly. You chew on your bottom lip, anxiously waiting to know why Wanda’s chosen for you.

“Sweetheart, of these, please pick three you’d like.” You’re dumbfounded for a moment. Still staring at her in the mirror. You reply by pointing at yourself. As if to say “ who me?”

Wanda chuckles, and gets to her feet.

“Yes, you.” She hands you the color swatches. A smile spreads across your face as you pluck the swatches from Wanda’s fingers.

You end up going with sage green, navy blue, and burgundy (totally not because Wanda said she likes you in burgundy)  

Okay- totally because she said that. But you would never admit that out loud.

Amelia returns with dress after dress at first. Then followed by the suits. Amelia’s assistants help you dress, bring you shoes that would pair well with each outfit. It’s dizzying. You felt like an off brand Barbie doll, not quite girly enough to be wearing deep V ball gowns, or cocktail dresses.

It wasn’t until you put on the third suit that you felt anything. The burgundy fabric is filled with a black pattern of roses. Amelia chose a black satin bow neck blouse for you to wear underneath. You were in the middle of changing when Wanda’s phone begins to ring in her pocket. She gives you an apologetic smile, mouthing “ I’ll be right back” before she steps out into the hallway.

You pull the pants on, and Amelia ties the bow to the blouse. Her assistant helps you get the suit jacket on. It fits like a glove. Amelia pairs the suit with black platform oxfords, and you mentally thank her. You’re already short. So platform shoes are a godsend.

You turn to look at yourself. The confidence is radiating off of you, and you admit to yourself that you look handsome. Amelia, for the first time, looks at you with a grin.

“Maximoff was right. Burgundy is your color. The Oxfords give you that extra bit of height.” Amelia, and her assistant buzz around you, putting small pins into spots where the suit will be adjusted. They chat together about potential dresses that might work better for you. You chime in that you are absolutely not a fan of a sleeveless dress, which Amelia answers with, “What about Halter?” You take a moment to think about it. The fabric around your neck sounds kind of sexy. Nodding, you give your approval for the dress style. In return Amelia and her crew of fashionistas set off to find more dresses.

Wanda is taking a while, and you check your phone to see if maybe she’s texted you.

You have a few texts from Natasha. She tends to check in every few hours to see how you are, but every now and again she’ll send an errand for you to run. Or ask you to have Bucky take you to the store. Her personal receipts are given to you at the end of the day. You two typically spend an hour every evening going over finances, budgeting, and stock reports with Natasha in her study. Since you were a kid you had always been a wiz with computers and numbers. Grade school, however,  had been a nightmare for you. Despite being the top of your class, the other kids poked fun at you. Calling you weird for enjoying learning. Once on the playground a group of boys tore the pages of your favorite novel from its binding. Creating confetti, paper-planes, spitballs, you name it they made it with the pages of your book.

Your fingers tapped gently against the keyboard as you responded to Natasha. You hit send, and place your phone back into Wanda’s handbag. It was funny to see just how little Wanda carried around. A check book, her wallet, sticks of gum, and M&M’s for you if you got hungry. You blink a few times, eyes feeling dry. The effects of not having your afternoon coffee setting in. Stepping down from the platform, you make your way over to the door. One of Amelia’s minions had to be around here somewhere. Sure, they might be judging you for wearing a sweatshirt with tiny dinosaurs on it to Meredith’s, but they were also kissing Wanda’s feet. Therefore they were obligated by the force of Wanda Maximoff to bring you a black coffee. Hopefully you might find Wanda too. Feeling kind of pathetic for just how much you missed her when she was gone.

The private 6th floor suite is secluded from the general public.  Most inventory was kept on the fifth floor. You pass a few windows, glancing out to enjoy the view. Feeling more alone in this moment than you had in hours of dress up, and somehow you were missing Wanda. The very faintest sound of hushed talking peaks your interest. With each door you pass you press your ear to listen. Finally at the end of the hallway you lean in to listen.

“Lena, I do not care if she is your future mother in law. Eleanor Bishop will behave herself, or I will be having words with Frisk about her formal resignation.” Wanda pauses listening to whatever Yelena has to say on the other end. Sighing loudly, Wanda’s voice is cold as she replies, “We trade the goods, and we receive our reward. That’s how this works. I won’t repeat myself to you, Yelena. If Eleanor Bishop dares to stand in our way…” Wanda pauses, and you picture her pinching the bridge of her nose, “I will have her disposed of. Am I making myself clear?” Wanda’s voice is chilling, as her accent bleeds through again. Your breath catches in your throat. What does Wanda mean when she says that she’ll have Kate’s mother ‘disposed of’? Your heart drops into your ass as the realization sets in. Was Wanda going to have Kate’s mother killed if she didn’t do what Wanda asked?

A million different scenarios play in your mind. Frozen in confusion, and trapped in your thoughts. You barely notice as footsteps approach the door. The door swings open, and Wanda nearly crashes into you. Your gaze is frenzied as your eyes meet hers. Wanda’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. She places her steady hands on your shoulders. She’s clearly noticing how distraught you are because she squeezes your shoulders lightly.

“Detka, what are you doing?” Her tone is stern, and you subtly feel like a child caught with your hand in the cookie jar before dinner.

“I-I-I” You stammer, fear filling your eyes as your brain short circuits. Wanda’s stern expression drops instantly.

“Do you remember what Nat showed you, honey? Breathe,” With slight hesitancy you take a deep breath, hold it, and exhale slowly. You repeat the breathing exercise a few more times. Standing there you are sweating bullets in your new suit. Despite your state of panic Wanda takes in your attire. Her eyes drag away from yours, and travel down to the black tied bow, pausing there for a moment at your chest. A small smile dances across her lips when she sees the platform Oxfords. Her gaze intently fixed back on yours.

“I know you heard me on the phone, Y/N.” She pauses to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, “And that’s okay. I trust you won’t be telling anyone what you heard?” You swallow loudly. Gaze never breaking from Wanda’s. That’s the thing about Wanda. With a simple phrase, or reassuring touch she has you buckling at the knees. When she looks at you, you are acutely aware that you are standing taller, and yet somehow simultaneously sweating from how nervous she is making you. You clench your fists, grappling to gain a hold of yourself.  

“No, I won’t tell anyone.”  Your voice is small, but firm.

“It’s not safe for me to explain the situation to you here. Is that understood?”

“Yes ma’am,”

“Nat and I will tell you anything you want to know tonight. But, for now, I need you to be our good girl, and try on a few more outfits.” Wanda waits for you to reply. You manage another “Yes Ma’am,” and she smiles, and grabs your hand. Leading you back to the room, Wanda chatters on about the other suits. She would like to see you in at least 1 dress. She understands that you are uncomfortable with your body, but indulge her in this one request. You agree to try a few dresses on to appease her. Still, the conversation Wanda had with Yelena is playing on repeat in your mind. You go through the motions. Smiling like a good girl when Amelia brings the Halter neck dress back for you to try on.

Around 3:30 Natasha strolls into the private suite. Her hair pulled into a braid down her back. She greets you by whistling at you from the doorway. The halter neck lined black gown is a lot sexier than you anticipated. A slit along your leg shows off the skin hiding beneath the fabric. Amelia’s staff have placed clips along your back to keep it from falling.

“Look at you, Y/N. You look stunning,” Nat winks and you blush softly. Nat has taken a liking to greeting you with small bits of affection. She gives your hand a soft squeeze, and goes over to give Wanda a kiss hello. Immediately Natasha is brought a triple shot espresso without having to ask. It seemed completely normal that whenever Natasha entered an establishment there was always someone to greet her with a beverage.  Natasha sips her drink, and asks for your coffee to be freshened. Earning her a hard look from Wanda, who was attempting to cut down your daily caffeine intake. Natasha however noticed the dark circles forming under your eyes. She’s become acutely aware of how grumpy you become around 4pm every day. When one of the staff members greets you with the cup, you smile, and thank them.

“Last one today,” Wanda  warns you with a stern tone. You grin, and take a small sip before handing the cup over to Natasha. Better to savor the precious liquid than gulp it down like you typically do. Amelia is buzzing behind you with her assistant. Placing more small pins down the back of the dress. You watch as Natasha smirks at her wife in the reflection of the mirror. Natasha stays parked right next to you. Her eyes now meet yours in the reflection.

“I don’t think that’s fair, do you Y/N?” Natasha asks you playfully, placing her hand in yours again. Shock fills your features. You have never heard Natasha disagree with Wanda. Did she have a death wish? Your eyes flickering up to look at Wanda in the mirror’s reflection. Wanda’s jaw is clenched, and you know she’s pissed. She hates being overruled. The Sokovian says nothing, but her green eyes hardening with each passing moment. You feel a the hairs on the back of your neck stick up when Natasha speaks again,

“Kotehok, I asked you a question.” Her voice is harder, and you know she wants you to agree with her. She gives your hand a squeeze. A subtle gesture to let you know that you’ll be alright if you disagree with Wanda. You’re stuck at a crossroads trying to figure out who to agree with. Your eyebrows scrunch together, and you turn your head to look Natasha in the eye.    

“I want to be awake tonight. Like W-wide awake. So,” You pause, to give yourself a half beat to emphasize your answer, not wanting to stutter, “No, I don’t think it’s fair.” You feel Wanda’s gaze piercing into the back of your head. Natasha’s returning smile almost mischievous, the feeling of pride radiating off of her. Her thumb runs along the back of your hand. You return Natasha’s smile, and you fight the guilt of defying Wanda. If you hadn’t been anxious for tonight already then you most definitely were now.

Thank you so much for everyones patience for the next few chapters. I will be trying to post on here at the same time as AO3 so everything is posted at the same time. I love this story so much so it makes me really happy to see everyone else enjoying it <3 Also feel free to send me messages or leave comments, it makes my day :)

TAGLIST: Whitewidowsbite tbpandtswiftfan Marvelcnt Cherlenovix Blackwidow-3Santana1437 Madelineleong Inluvwithfictionalwomen @hidden-treasures21

[shima-draws]

IF YOU DON'T MIND I am going to talk... about my Kieran-momotaro theory for the Indigo Disk... so IDK how much you've seen of it but there's some pretty compelling evidence of a Momotaro pokemon to round out the Lousy Three in the Teal Mask DLC, and I believe this pokemon is likely the source of the poison chains the three have. But that begs the question, why introduce it in Indigo Disk instead of Teal Mask, where it would fit the setting most? I think that it's because it'll play into Kieran's character arc.

My theory is that Kieran will partner with this Momotaro pokemon during Indigo Disk in his pursuit of strength. Kieran already has a kind of connection to the lousy three, namely that it was HIS rage that brought them back from the dead. We're never really told HOW that happened, whether or not anybody getting mad near the monument would've revived them or whether there was already something about Kieran that made his anger special, but the fact remains that it was specifically Kieran who unintentionally brought them back. Another thing is that, what this Momotaro pokemon does is make others stronger. In Scarlet's dex entries, it goes over how the Lousy Three's chains all enhanced them in different ways- Okidogi got big and buff, Munkidori got really smart, and Fezandipity got... a fabulous new look. But boiled down, these poison chains all made the Lousy Three stronger, which matches Kieran's current pursuit of strength.

So I think Kieran is going to have a literal toxic relationship with this Momotaro pokemon, which makes it really on the nose that this thing's apparent symbol is poisonous chains, and the player is gonna have to beat some sense back into him/get him to snap out of it.

And honestly? The idea that Ogerpon's rejection would drive him to join forces with the ringleader of the pokemon that hurt her the most would make for a DELICIOUSLY ironic character arc

OOOH YEAH I've been seeing theories like this floating around! Also somebody pointed out that for a VERY brief second when Kieran punches the monument his fist glows purple. Whether that was bc the monument was just reacting to his negative emotions OR bc the Momotaro Pokemon was interfering and using Kieran to revive the Lousy Three remains to be seen but there's very compelling evidence that something happened in that moment 👀

I can definitely see the Momotaro Pokemon seeing Kieran's conflict and deciding to use it to its advantage. Idk if Kieran is acting out willingly or if the Momotaro Pokemon is twisting his emotions and really making him have a toxic obsession with strength but I can't WAIT to find out what's going on there.

God I'm SUCH a slut for puppet master situations like this. Is the character in question lashing out of their own free will? Or are they being manipulated to do so? Are they genuinely spiraling due to trauma or abuse or whatever else or are they being drawn into a trap? AGHHH.

Love this theory and your take on it and you are SO right Kieran teaming up with the Momotaro Pokemon would be the cherry on top of the absolute mess of a cake that we've gotten. I need the Indigo Disc YESTERDAY I'm going to lose my mind when it releases

[molly-ghuleh]

Camellia: Copia x f!reader - Chapter 2

Camellia: n. - A flower which symbolizes a deep desire or longing.

Summary: You start work on Elizabeth's diary, and finally get a good look at Papa.

Word count: 5.5k

A/N: Hey hello, I hope you enjoy this chapter! It's a bit of a monster, but worth it, I promise!

Warnings: Mentions of reader having religious trauma

AO3 Link / Chapter 1

~~~

You’ve been hunched over this damned diary all day. 

Sister Imperator was right. None of the Abbey’s translators or archivists would have been able to read Elizabeth’s writing because she had written in a cipher. With no spaces between words and with no obvious keyword to decipher her entries, the first page of her diary looks like nonsense. Just absolute gibberish. 

But to you, it isn’t. 

With each passing hour you spend at a small table in the restricted room, you admire Elizabeth more and more. She was smart as a whip and even more clever. You figure that, if she wanted her diary to be kept secret, she could have simply destroyed it. Burnt it, ripped it, buried it, dipped the whole thing in black ink—anything surely would have been easier than creating a cipher which has no discernable pattern. 

She didn’t destroy it, though. She wrote on each page, front and back until the entire book was filled, and then she hid it. If something is truly never meant to be found, it won’t be. Which leads you to believe Elizabeth’s diary isn’t a diary at all. It’s a record. 

A record of what, you have yet to be sure. It is secret enough for Elizabeth to want it to be discovered someday, but only after she is long gone. That intrigues you enough to sit hour after hour over this book, trying every word you can think of that might be the key to the cipher. So far you have crossed off ‘Satan’, ‘Lucifer’, ‘Beelzebub’, and other aliases of the Dark One. You hadn’t expected those to work, because Elizabeth seems smarter than that, but you had to try just to rule them out. You also tried words like ‘chapel’, ‘altar’, and other imagery of the Satanic Ministry, with no luck. You thought perhaps the first five letters of the entry were the key to the second five, or vice versa. You tried again with the first six letters, the first two, three, four. Nothing. 

The only words you have been able to read are the dates of each entry, the month and the day, which she wrote in the top-left corner in plain English. Those were not much of an accomplishment to decipher.

You sigh and sit up straight for a moment. Your back is sore after hours of slouching and writing. The once-crisp notebook under your pen is nearly half full of incorrect keywords and mistranslations. The small window on the far wall of the restricted room has grown dark and no sounds echo to you from the hollow of the atrium. 

You’d gotten up to find something to eat (and to uncross your eyes) during the dinner hour. Tonight you opted for a hot meal but decided not to stay in the refectory. You don’t know if food is even allowed in the library but all the Siblings who work there were at dinner, so you snuck it in anyways. You aren’t careless, though, so you ate your dinner at a different table, far away from the one where Elizabeth’s diary and your notebook sit open. That had been a few hours ago. 

As far as you can tell from the small window in the door, the lights in the library have been dimmed for the night. No one came and fetched you to tell you that it was closing, so you assume it stays open at all hours. Your own desk lamp is the only source of light in the restricted room. 

You rise from your workstation and move towards the closed door. Such an enclosed room tends to get stuffy and humid, and it’s still too chilly outside to open a window. You gently prop open the door to let in the relatively fresh air of the library. No one said you couldn’t keep the door open when you’re inside the room, only that the door must be locked when you aren’t. 

Returning to your desk, you can already feel the cooler air drifting through the bookshelves. You’re content to work for a few more hours like this. It feels wrong to give up for the night when you have nothing to show yet. It feels wrong to stop working when you have something to prove, and somewhere to return. 

The night here is eerily silent. At home in Marseille, if you open your dormitory window and sit on the end of your bed to look out over the water, you can hear the soft lapping of water against the marina docks. If the wind carries just right, you can also hear the creaking of masts and cables as the sailboats list back and forth in the water. Sometimes the gulls stay out at night during the summer months, calling for one another from their perches on a bow pulpit. The breeze carries the saltiness of the water and the sweetness of the hillside wildflowers into your dormitory, illuminated only by a small desk lamp and the moon—

A sound from outside the room breaks you from your reverie. Your consciousness whips back to the present, to the Abbey. The ghostly scent of salt and flowers fades, replaced by old leather and dust and ink from your pen. 

You raise your eyes to look through the open door when you hear another sound. There’s no one visible to you—whoever they are must be between shelves, looking for a late-night romance novel to put them to sleep. 

You haven’t figured out why the romance section is so tucked away yet. Though, perhaps if erotica is shelved nearby, the librarians would want any wandering hands to stay hidden. Not that lust is shameful here—it’s the Satanic Ministry, it’s actually encouraged—but the library is not the place to get hot and heavy. 

Knowing that someone is nearby distracts you terribly, and you decide to stop for the night. The little analog clock hanging next to the door reads past midnight. At this hour, you likely won’t get much done anyway. You need sleep and a proper breakfast to let your mind work. 

You take the time to gently wrap Elizabeth’s diary in the white linen and return it to its lockbox. The rest of your things don’t take long to gather, having only brought the one notebook and a few pens, plus your empty dinner box. You close the door behind you as you exit, fishing through your habit pocket to find the key. It and the key to your dormitory are affixed to a single keyring which jingles as you fumble with it one-handed, but you lock the door successfully and turn to make your way to the staircase. 

Rather, you try to make your way. 

As soon as you turn around, a figure emerges from the bookshelves. You promptly run into him, which sends your materials to the floor and your mind reeling with apologies. “Oh, je suis vraiment désolé—Er, I’m so sorry!” you bluster, holding your now-empty hands out to plead for forgiveness. You kneel to gather your things into a messy pile, then stand and finally meet the eyes of the poor soul you’d accosted with your body. “I should have been more careful, but it’s late so I thought…” 

They’re the same eyes you’d met yesterday, in the refectory. Still striking, still surrounded by black, but up-close and more relaxed. And no white paint. Just the black upper lip and the black eyes of Papa Emeritus the Fourth. 

“It’s, eh, it’s quite alright, Sister,” Papa says with an awkward little laugh. You notice he’s not wearing his robes or his mitre. In fact he’s not wearing anything that might remotely indicate that he’s the Antipope. He wears a simple black t-shirt and red sweatpants, and gray fuzzy slippers that have the eyes and whiskers and pink nose of a rat which you thought looked cute when you’d knelt down. 

But he’s still Papa, and you still barreled into him like a brute. 

You try to smile but it feels more like a grimace. “Still, I shouldn’t have just…” you gesture with your free arm. “I’m sorry. Are you alright?” 

Papa pats his chest like he’s searching for injuries. You hit him hard, but not that hard, and it makes you laugh softly. “I’m fine. Quite good. Still in one piece,” he says. “Are you? And why are you here so late?”

You blush. “Oh, does the library close at night? I’m sorry, no one came and told me, I just assumed…” 

“No, no,” Papa reassures you, waving a hand in front of himself. “No, it doesn’t close. But it’s usually empty at this time of night, you see.” 

You nod in understanding. “It is pretty late.” 

“It is,” Papa echoes. “So… pardon my asking, Sorella, but why are you still awake?”

“I was, um,” you try to explain, looking down at the messy pile of translation work cradled in the crook of your elbow. “I was working on Elizabeth’s diary, but it may take longer than I expected.”

Papa’s face seems to light up at your mention of your work. “Oh! Forgive me, yes, I should have known,” he rushes out. “You are the, eh, visitor? From Marseille?”

You nod and give him your name. He repeats it softly to himself, as if to remember it. You doubt he will, but you won’t hold it against him—there are many, many Siblings at the Abbey and many names to remember. So if he manages to distinguish you from the rest of the crowd, you will be pleasantly surprised. Not to say you don’t have faith that he could, but… well. You’re running yourself in circles. 

He narrows his eyes slightly, but pauses for a moment. “I saw you yesterday, at dinner,” he tells you. 

So much for not remembering a face in the crowd. You mentally kick yourself. 

“Ah, yes,” you chuckle nervously. “I’m not the biggest crowd person.” Papa chuckles. “Yes, I noticed. To be honest, neither am I.” 

That’s hard to believe, coming from him. To be Papa is to be a figurehead, a symbol of unwavering faith and devotion to the Olde One which the entire Satanic Ministry worships. One must be a bit of a crowd pleaser in order to be successful in his position. “It doesn’t seem that way, Papa,” you tell him. “You command a room very well, from what I’ve heard.” 

A smug little grin grows on Papa’s lips, and it suits him. Smiling suits him. “So word of my immense charisma has traveled all the way to Marseille, yes?” he asks, mostly teasing. But a small lilt in his voice betrays that he really does wonder. What does this foreign Sister think of him based on word of mouth alone? And does his person size up to his reputation? 

You laugh. “It has,” you say. “Forgive me if I have a hard time believing you are uncomfortable in a crowd.” 

Papa tuts his tongue, his grin growing into a fond smile. “You should have seen my brother.” There’s a small sparkle of reminiscence in his eye as he says this, and you wonder which of the three other Papas he speaks of. You’ve heard different stories about all of them. 

His eyes drop to the papers and notebook in your arm, then back up to your face. “But, eh, you are settling in well, Sorella?” he asks. 

You can tell he wants to change the subject, so you let him. “Yes, Papa, thank you,” you smile. 

“That’s not very convincing.” 

You release an airy laugh and drop your head. He can see right through you. “It’s very different here,” you say. “Marseille is… small. Cozy. Secluded. Not to say that I don’t like it here, because it really is very nice—”

“It’s crowded,” Papa cuts you off. It’s soft, and not intended to be rude, but to agree with you. “And big. I understand.”

Your shoulders drop, but you hadn’t realized they were raised in the first place. “It’s not home,” you find yourself admitting. 

He nods. “And so you work late into the night because you do not want to sleep in an unfamiliar bed.” 

You stare at him for another beat. He seems to know what you’re feeling even before you do, because yes, your bed here isn’t the same as the one back home, and suddenly you’re very close to crying. Don’t cry, don't cry, don't cry…

“May I tell you something, in confidence?” Papa asks. His voice is low and gentle. It soothes you. His eyes search your own, flicking back and forth between them, and you begin to understand how this slightly awkward man in rat slippers is able to enrapture an entire chapel of people. 

You nod. 

“I miss being a Cardinal,” he tells you. “Truly, I do. Becoming Papa has been the only goal I can ever remember having, ever since I was old enough to care. But as soon as I ascended I…” He pauses. His mouth opens and closes, like he’s trying to decide whether or not he should finish his thought. 

He sighs. “What I mean to say is, There is no shame in missing where you used to be.”

You hold his gaze for another long moment, wondering what it is he was going to say. His words linger in the silence between you and you let them. As soon as he became Papa he… what? 

“Thank you, Papa,” you say quietly. The moment feels almost intimate, like he’d confided his biggest secret to you. But for all you know, he tells every Sibling he comes across the same thing. It’s his duty to counsel everyone under his roof, visitors included. 

No, you chastise yourself. Papa doesn’t seem like the kind of man to have practiced lines for serendipitous meetings… but you are still learning not to assume the worst of people. You had been far too young when you learned not to trust anyone, even those deserving of it. But Papa… he seems genuine, and it’s all you can do (for yourself and for him) to believe that he is. 

You realize that this is the natural end of your conversation. That now is when you should say goodnight, nice to meet you, see you around, but you don’t want to. You can’t tell if it’s because you’ve been on your own all day, or because it’s late and you’re tired, or because the air around him seems to grow warmer and more… comfortable. Papa radiates an aura of peace that you haven’t felt since you received Sister Imperator’s letter nearly a week ago.

“If I may ask, Papa,” you start, just as the silence begins to grow awkward, “what are you doing awake at this hour?”

Papa’s eyes turn down, and a small smile graces his lips. “Ah, I was just looking for something to read,” he says, and you nearly laugh at yourself for asking such an obvious question. Of course he’s looking for something to read. The two of you are standing deep in the bowels of the library. 

Oh, who are you kidding? Papa likely came here to find a book in peace, not speak to some foreign Sister. Who are you to keep his attention? 

“I see,” you say, in your practiced voice. “Well. Good luck, and I hope you find something, Papa.” 

Before you can blurt out any more feelings to him, you turn and walk briskly towards the winding staircase that leads you to the first floor. 

~~~

Copia watches you retreat, slightly confused and halfway ready to call your name to make you stay. Something had changed in your demeanor just before you left, and he wants to ask if you’re alright, or if he said something wrong and caused you to close yourself off like that. Was it his little comment about missing the past? No, no, it couldn’t be—your eyes had been wide and searching, but you weren’t offended. Your brow had furrowed but not out of disgust. 

He’s not as clueless as most people think he is. Just because he has a hard time finding the right words to say what he’s thinking doesn’t mean he’s stupid. In fact, Copia prides himself on his ability to read people. His ability to speak as eloquently as he does in his head… that’s another story. 

When he’d first seen you in the refectory yesterday, you had already been looking right at him. He was curious about the straggler who’d wandered in so timidly. Your face isn’t one he’d seen around the Abbey. If he had, he would’ve remembered you because frankly, you’re striking. 

Copia doesn’t know why he hadn’t connected the dots sooner. It seems obvious that a brand new Sister should appear only weeks after Sister Imperator mentions bringing someone in to translate the document that had been found. Your presence had been a single talking point during some meeting or another, and if he’s perfectly honest, most Clergy meetings seem to blend together into nonsensical mush when he thinks back on them. Your mention of Elizabeth’s diary had reminded him of a few vague details. But the rest of that discussion, unsurprisingly, slips his mind. 

He finds himself feeling guilty. He’d been at that meeting, he knows for certain. The paperwork to confirm your temporary transfer had landed on his desk and he’d signed it. He must have. Your file must have been sent over from Marseille ahead of your arrival, why hadn’t he seen it?

Copia runs his fingers through his hair and sighs. He should have welcomed you to the Abbey himself. He should have sought you out and personally offered his hospitality, because he knows what it’s like to be across the world from home. He knows how lost and alone you feel. He’d felt it himself, after he transferred to the Abbey as a newly-appointed Cardinal. 

I miss being a Cardinal, he’d told you. And it’s true, he does, but he misses being an Archbishop more. He held less sway within the Satanic Ministry as an Archbishop, but he was allowed to stay in Italy. His home. 

As soon as he’d ascended to the rank of Cardinal, Sister Imperator had called him to the Abbey as a permanent transfer. Sure, his brothers had all been transferred from Italy one by one as they were called up to the Papacy, so he had family at the Abbey. But they had all been busy, constantly, and so had he. 

You’d told him you miss home, and a very strange, very tender part of him wants to comfort you. 

~~~

You replay your conversation with Papa all the way back to your dormitory. Stupide, stupide, stupide… 

He told you that he’s not much of a crowd person, and then you go and tell him that his Abbey doesn’t feel cozy enough for you? And you nearly knocked him over in your haste to return to a bed that you told him isn’t as good as the one in Marseille. What a way to thank him for opening his home to you! Thanks, Papa, but here are all the reasons why your Abbey sucks.

“Fille stupide,” you mutter to yourself. The sound echoes off the walls of the dark, empty corridor. The wall sconces are dark for the night, so the only illumination comes in the form of pale blue stripes of moonlight along the tiled floor. 

When you finally reach your dormitory and softly shut the door behind you, you take a moment to breathe. You’d been walking rather briskly in order to get back. Your fingers clench so tightly on the edge of your notebook that your fingernails are white, and your joints creak as you release your hold. The slap of the spiral-bound book seems loud when you drop it onto the small desk below the window, reverberating around the room. There are no posters, no tapestries, no curtains to absorb the sound like there are at home. 

You loathe the sound. You loathe the echoes. You loathe the tip-tapping of heels on the pristine floors of the Abbey. You loathe the muffled sounds of laughter coming from a dormitory a few doors down. You loathe how desperately you want to find something to hold onto here, something that feels personal. And you loathe how you crave familiarity despite the fact that you’ll return to Marseille as soon as that little book is translated. 

You practically rip your habit off—a habit that is uniform in France, but sets you apart here—in favor of your sleep clothes. Climbing into the small bed, you begin to recite your prayer in every language you know. It’s a habit you’d developed as soon as you began learning a second language at the ripe age of nine. Only then, the prayers had been directed at the cruel, unforgiving Catholic God. 

Salut Satan, notre Ténébreux juste et indulgent…. Ave Satana, il nostro Tenebroso giusto e indulgente…. Salve Satanás, nuestro justo y perdonador Oscuro…. 

You continue until you’ve exhausted all the languages you know, and then you start over again with a different prayer. And again. And again, until somewhere in the middle of your Portuguese Hail Lilith you drift to sleep. 

~~~

You wake the next morning in a much better mood. Perhaps last night you’d just been frustrated and overtired from working from dawn til far past dusk, but the bright birdsong from outside sounds happier today. It follows you from your dormitory, down the corridor and to the main hall, where the sounds of the breakfast hour echo out into the large space. 

You could walk into the refectory if you wanted, without feeling intimidated (at least not as much as the day you arrived), but you don’t have much of an appetite this morning. Instead you take your time walking the length of the main hall. There are sculptures in spaces between the wood benches that you hadn’t noticed before. You find one you recognize, and it doesn’t surprise you that the Abbey houses a replica. 

La génie du mal is a welcome sight. The Marseille Abbey also keeps a replica, although it is slightly smaller than this one. It’s a depiction of a fallen angel chained to a rock, with a crown held loosely in one hand while the other runs through his hair. His stone face is solemn but the bat-like wings splaying from his back seem to welcome you, as if saying, Hello child, do you remember me? 

Yes, you do remember. You remember being eleven years old and traveling to Liège at the whim of your parents. You remember touring Saint Paul’s Cathedral and pretending to marvel at the Catholic imagery that you didn’t understand (or care for) at the time. Every depiction of Jesus on the cross looked the same. Every statue of a veiled Mother Mary reminded you to be chaste and pure and subservient to a God who thinks you a lesser being. 

And then you’d seen him in the chapel of the Cathedral, placed at the back of a pulpit which wrapped around a stone pillar. The four sculptures of saints (whose names you don’t bother to remember) stood at the front of the pulpit, facing in towards the pews, as if standing guard over the sculpture. La génie du mal was tucked into the back, hidden from view, but you knew something must have been there. Why else would not one, but four saints be guarding a single pillar, when there were dozens lining the interior of the chapel? 

So you’d slipped from the watchful eye of your parents while they were distracted by the tour guide, and rounded the pulpit to see the backside. He was there, carved in white marble and stationed in the niche between two curved staircases. The elaborate stained-glass windows cast speckles of yellow, blue, and violet over his body, and he glowed in the sunlight like he was a real angel fallen to Earth right in front of you. 

You visited him a lot, afterwards.

You learned later that the pulpit was commissioned to represent “The Triumph of Religion over the Genius of Evil,” but you thought—and still think—that it was executed rather poorly. The four statues facing inward protect only the Cathedral from La génie du mal, but he, facing outward towards the windows, can see the rest of the world. Anyone looking into the chapel for refuge or guidance would only see him, colorful and bright, through the holy scenes of the stained glass. 

You jump nearly ten feet in the air when a voice beside you snaps you from your thoughts. “Beautiful, isn’t he?” 

You look to your left and catch the mismatched eyes of Papa. You hadn’t even heard him come up beside you. “Oui—ah, yes,” you say, swiftly correcting your French to English. 

“You know,” Papa says, looking back to the marble replica, “the original was commissioned because the first version of it was too, eh, sexy.” 

You do know, but the fact makes you laugh anyway. “The first version is nothing compared to this. It makes me think that the artist made this version even sexier, just to spite the Catholics. And to avenge his brother.” 

Papa turns to you fully now, with his hands clasped behind his back. He wears a smart black suit adorned with an elaborate grucifix on the lapel. It’s a far cry from the sweatpants and t-shirt from last night, but no less comfortable. You can’t help but notice that the suit is tailored to perfection. 

“His brother?” he asks. 

You nod. “The original sculptor was the younger brother of this artist,” you explain, gesturing to La génie. “It’s a bit of a slap in the face for them to ask his own brother to redo his work. I can imagine they both felt a little slighted.”  

Papa chuckles. “Perhaps just a little.” 

A brief pause falls between the two of you, and you begin to wonder just how long it will take for the silence to grow awkward. So far you haven’t reached that point. Not with Papa, at least. 

“It would have been nice to have the original piece,” Papa says unhurriedly. “I can’t imagine the Catholic Church would have agreed to let us buy it.” 

You turn to look at him briefly, letting out a small laugh. “If the price was high enough, I’m sure they would have,” you say with an almost imperceptible edge of bitterness. “But I do think its place at Liège is where it belongs.” 

“Have you been?” Papa asks you, his eyebrows slightly raised as he turns to meet your gaze. 

“I have,” you answer. You don’t elaborate further on the nature of your visit. “That’s not to say I don’t believe it would have a good home here, Papa. I just think that the irony of its placement is lost on the Catholics.” 

He asks about it, and you explain. His eyes never leave your face as you talk. You don’t feel scrutinized like you had under Sister Imperator’s gaze, though. Papa’s eyes are warm and interested and you could swear they almost glow in the morning light. He nods and hums with each point you make, seeming genuinely intrigued by your argument that La génie holds more influence facing outward rather than inwards. 

It’s a subject you’re passionate about. La génie had set you on a path towards the Satanic Ministry that day. By age eleven you already knew you didn’t want to be Catholic despite your parents’ efforts to instill their beliefs on you, but you didn’t know exactly what you believed in. Until you saw him, solemn and still, his magnificence hidden behind a stone pillar at Liège. 

Despite Papa’s careful listening, you realize you must be rambling and cut yourself off. “Sorry, Papa. I don’t mean to talk your ear off.” 

“Oh, no!” Papa says, shaking his head. “No need to apologize, Sister. I enjoy listening to you speak.” 

Heat blossoms over your cheeks. You almost miss how his own face flushes a slight shade of pink. Almost. 

“Eh, I mean—” Papa begins to fiddle with his own fingers. “What I mean to say is that you make a lot of good points. Yes.” 

It’s obvious that he’s nervous over the comment he made. It was straightforward and a little flirty, and you know that in the bright hall he can most likely see the pink beneath your skin. Maybe he hadn’t meant for it to come out quite so… well, flirty. Or maybe he thinks he overstepped a boundary, that he said something he shouldn’t have? It was just a comment about listening to you talk, it shouldn’t be that big of a deal. Satan, why are you so flustered all the sudden? 

You give him a small smile. “Either way… thank you, Papa. I should, uh—”

“Yes, me too—”

“Right, have a good day,” you say, a bit quicker than is necessary, and turn on your heel to start towards the library. 

~~~

Once again, Copia finds himself watching you go. 

Rationally, he knows that you’re not upset with him. You didn’t leave because of something he’d said or done that made you uncomfortable. If that was the case, he hopes that you’d tell him. He would hate for you to feel unwelcome or upset, especially because of him. 

But oh, how your eyes shone while you spoke about La génie. 

Hearing footsteps approaching from his right, Copia turns and finds Terzo looking rather smug as he strolls towards him. He wears a big, stupid grin on his face and looks at Copia like he’d just discovered the stash of sweets on the bottom drawer of his bedside table. 

“And who was that?” Terzo asks with feigned innocence. He comes to a stop next to Copia and clasps his hands behind his back. They both stare at La génie. 

Copia chews the inside of his cheek. “Who was who?” 

Terso tuts his tongue. “Oh, don’t be coy with me, fratellino. We both know I’m talking about the Sister you were just ogling.” “I wasn’t ogling,” Copia protests. Terzo is always teasing, always nudging, always subtly poking fun at him for no reason other than he finds it fun. That’s what little brothers are for, Terzo says. To poke fun at, and to teach the ways of the world. “And we both know that you know who she is.” 

“Ah, yes, I do know,” Terzo says with a shrug. “But I wanted to hear what you had to say.”

Copia looks at his brother. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Terzo says, “you seemed quite invested in that conversation just now. And then you turned a very obvious shade of red, and she walked away. Forgive me, I’m a gossip.” 

Copia laughs. “There’s nothing to gossip about, Terzo. She told me about this sculpture and where the original is housed. That’s it.” 

Terzo tilts his head, leaning in slightly. “That does not explain why you both were so red in the face, fratellino.” 

Copia sighs and runs a hand through his hair. So it was obvious, even from down the hall. “I… may have said that I like listening to her speak.” 

“Oh,” Terzo says flatly. He sounds almost disappointed. “I thought you might have told her something else.” 

“What? Why?” Copia asks. “Was that a weird thing to say?” 

Terzo chuckles, shaking his head. “No. It’s a perfectly good compliment. But you both turned so red that I thought you invited her to your chambers.” 

Copia nearly chokes on his own saliva. “Wh–what?” he sputters. “Terzo, I barely know her.”

“Well, I wouldn’t think so with the way you were looking at her!” Terzo says, his voice pitched higher to his own defense. “‘My darling, you speak so beautifully, it is like birdsong in the early morning. I simply cannot resist the way you look—’” 

“Stop—”

“‘—in the sunlight. Your eyes shine so brightly and your mouth moves so gracefully—’” 

“Terzo, I—”

“‘—that I can’t help but wonder what it might feel like on my—’” 

“Okay,” Copia throws his hands up. He storms off towards the refectory for breakfast. 

Terzo’s laugh echoes through the main hall as he jogs to catch up with Copia. “What? I’m only saying what I thought you said.” 

Copia hadn’t said any of those things to you, but that doesn’t mean he hadn’t thought them. It’s true; your eyes did shine in the sunlight streaming through the windows, and your mouth did move gracefully. Although those parts of you are attractive to him and he’d readily admit that you’re beautiful, it was the way you spoke that caught him. You seemed to forget your timidness, your reservations. You spoke freely and enthusiastically, like you’d forgotten you were speaking to Papa and instead spoke to a friend. Copia wonders if La génie holds some significance to you outside of just being an interesting sculpture. 

Copia resolves to ask you the next time he sees you, and he finds himself hoping that it’s soon.