#and also yet again ignores the fact that most of the movie (through the eyes of patrick) didnt actually happen to the extent that it did

[akascow]

lmao i guess my intuition about joker 2 going to be a terrible movie was correct lol i love being right about things i dont care about

[roanofarcc]

GETTING EVEN

pairing. tyler owens x harding!reader

summary. after tyler owens saved your ass, you return the favor. (part 2 to this fic) 

warnings. descriptions of injuries and tornados. reader is the daughter of jo & bill harding (from the og movie!). hurt/comfort (tending to each other wounds? hot). tyler’s the number one loverboy and I stand by that.

a/n. fun fact, my sister's mother-in-law also survived a tornado by hugging a light pole!

word count. 3.7k || masterlist

You stabbed a piece of pancake on your plate, determined to ignore your mom as she spoke from the stove. “Would it be the worst thing in the world?” 

“Yes,” you and your dad answered at the same time, meeting each other's eyes with a small smile. 

Your mom, Jo, sighed deeply and spun around to face the two of you, one hand on her hip. “He’s nice! He’s handsome and-” 

You groaned, feeling a teenager again, mortified that your parents are bringing up any aspect of your love life. Ever since Tyler Owens had helped you to the hospital after a tornado took you and your friend by surprise during a chase, your mom wouldn’t let you go five minutes without bringing him up. 

You were back in town, staying at their farm as another slew of storms were forecast for the surrounding area. Your team was due in later that night, all crashing with your parents, which was their idea. They wouldn’t admit it outright, but that was one thing they missed the most about their storm-chasing days, the friendships formed within their team. Your mom brought out her aunt’s recipes and cooked a big dinner, and your dad was harassed into telling stories of their storm-chasing adventures- which he secretly loved. 

Since the storms were predicted to be pretty wicked, you knew Tyler and the rest of the Wranglers would be around. And while you would rather die than tell your mom, you were excited to see him again. The competition between the two of you for an arbitrary ‘best storm chaser’ title was left behind after you woke up in the hospital to see him still there with you. Instead, your relationship inched more toward friends; though, your mom seemed convinced it was something more. 

“Look, if our daughter isn’t interested in running away with some tornado-wrangling cowboy, I don’t think we should encourage her to,” your dad, Bill, said. 

“I don’t have time for a relationship, anyway,” you added. You were too engrossed in your research to think about a relationship, serious or not. You were content with your team. And your mom’s little fantasy would require Tyler to be interested in you, which you found unlikely.

Yet, your mom persisted. “We did it,” she said, pointing between herself and Bill. “We balanced both work and a relationship. It’s not impossible.” 

You snorted. “Yeah, and you two almost got divorced.” 

Your dad laughed into his coffee mug, hiding it as your mom huffed. 

The thrill of storm chasing, running down backroads as a twister roared beautifully across the ground, wasn’t the only reason you did it. That was only one part of the job. Then there was the research. But the hardest part was trying to help people. Tornados were wondrous but dangerous. They ruined lives, tearing through towns. And while warning systems and radars had advanced significantly since your parents' days, nothing was perfect. That’s why you were the first people to rush into a crowded town directly in the path of a storm and do what you could to ensure people’s safety. 

When a member of your team noticed one of the storm cells you were watching was heading towards a little downtown area not too far from your parents’ farm, you all decided that was where you needed to be, instead of chasing after the storm further west. 

You were close, beating the storm to town, and when you arrived you realized the Wranglers had the same idea. The second you stepped out of your truck, the harsh winds knocked into you. The sirens just started, warning the people of the quickly approaching storm. People were running down the sidewalks, hurrying into buildings to shelter. 

You jumped into action, hurrying some slightly dazed people to safety, along with your team. The storm inched closer, and you knew you only had a few more moments before you needed to take cover yourself to ensure you didn’t get whisked away. You’d lived through enough tornados to know what to do with little fear, but ever since your close call with your team member Frankie, earning you a couple stitches on the back of your head and a newfound appreciation for Tyler, your nerves were a little heighten; you become a little more cautious. 

You turned on your heel to hurry towards one of the buildings, but you caught sight of the tornado wrangler on the other side of a parking lot, searching for something. 

Pressing your lips in a hard line, ignoring the drum inside your chest that started to beat a little faster with the closeness of the storm, you took off after him. 

“Tyler!” you yelled above the howling wind that threatened to knock you off your feet. Rain beat down against your skin, soaking you to the bone. You called his name once more as you neared, finally earning his attention. 

“Harding? What the hell are you doing?” 

“What am I doing? What are you doing? Taking a mid-day stroll?” 

He shook his head, forced his wet hair out of his eyes. “Some kid’s dog got spooked, ran this way, but I can’t find her.” 

You glanced up at the sky, the dark clouds giving the allusion of nighttime. There was a little tremble in your hand, but you steeled your nerves. “Dogs are smart. She’ll find her way, but we’re goners if we don’t get a move on.” He frowned, clearly torn between helping a lost dog and saving himself. “My team and I will help you look after; I promise.” 

With a sigh lost to the wind, he nodded and pointed toward the building others had filed into. “There’s a basement in the library.” 

Together, you two took off in the direction of the library, but the storm rolled in much quicker than you anticipated. It came in with a vengeance, peeling objects off the ground, big and small, with ease and tossing them all around. You ducked, nearly missing a chair that once belonged to one of the downtown restaurants' patios. Your heart started to race uncomfortably, inching toward fearfully. 

Tyler grasped your hand, tugging you to the side as more debris whizzed past you. The rain made your grasp slippery, but you squeezed his hand tightly. There was too much distance to cover, and the tornado was determined to put every possible obstacle in your path. 

It became harder to run but you felt so sure you and Tyler would make it; that was, until the tornado came around the block, tearing into a building and sending the debris in your direction. You didn’t even know what hit you until you felt Tyler’s hand slip from yours and your chin collided with the pavement. A cry of pain fell from your lips, but you rolled over quickly, in search of Tyler. He wasn’t far, just out of arms reach, on the ground. 

You half crawled over to him, tugging on his shoulder until you noticed the look of pain twisted on his face. Your gaze trailed down to his leg and found his foot stuck under a heavy beam plucked from the building the tornado tore through. 

“Shit,” you whispered, grasping the beam with your slippery hands and desperately trying to lift it off. It wouldn’t budge, crushing Tyler’s ankle. 

“You gotta go!” he yelled, trying to wave you off with his hand frantically. 

You stared at him in disbelief. Adrenaline pumped through your veins and the rain clouded your vision. There wasn’t a chance you were going to leave him. Your chest felt impossibly tight, pulling more and more with an indescribable fear you’d never experienced before. Using some kind of strength you didn’t know you had until that moment, you managed to lift the beam just enough for Tyler to pull his bloodied ankle out from under it. 

“Come on,” you cried, trying to help him to his feet. He grunted in pain, pale and breath labored. 

“We’re not gonna make it,” he wheezed out, talking about the library the tornado was already upon. You made a sharp turn, bee-lining toward the building you landed directly in front of. 

There wasn’t even time to get inside. Instead, you half helped half dragged Tyler to where there was a large light post cemented to the ground. It wasn’t much, but there were no other options. Tyler sat on the ground, pulling you down quickly beside him before he wrapped his arms around the pole. You hooked one arm too but kept your other pressed against Tyler’s head. You could take another hit, but you weren’t sure he could. 

You closed your eyes, sending a silent prayer that everyone would be okay. The storm roared, stinging your ears and tugging on you harshly. But, somehow, the both of you remained hugging the light post until the tornado dissipated after an excruciating amount of time. That was the thing about tornados, when you were chasing them, they never seemed to last long enough, but when you were in them, they never seemed to end. 

Shaking from a mix of adrenaline, fear, and cold you unwound your arm from the pole before you brushed your hands along Tyler’s shoulders, drawing his attention, and making sure he was still there. 

You two sat nearly nose to nose, droplets of rain decorating his face, falling his lashes as he tried to blink them away. “Are you okay?” you muttered, voice shaky. 

He let out a breath and tried to shift in his position, but his face twisted up in pain once more before he cursed under his breath. You glanced at his ankle, his jeans were stained with a smear of crimson, but the rest was hidden under the fabric. 

“I think it’s just a sprain,” he said, trying to shrug it off but you saw through him. You struggled to your feet and moved to help him, but he tried to stand on own. He leaned heavily on the light pole, trying to hide a wince. 

You heard his and your name being called in the distance. You hooked an arm around his torso, gazing at him for a moment. “Come on,” you said, gently guiding him back towards the road. As soon as you stepped out onto the sidewalk, you spotted your team and a couple members of Tylers. 

“Holy shit!” Frankie gasped, running towards you. “What happened to you two? We thought you were right behind us?” 

Tyler tried not to lean on you, but you felt his grip tighten on your shoulders with each step. “I think we need to take him to the hospital,” you said, worry seeping into your voice. 

Kate and Javi snapped their gaze at Tyler, who shook his head. “No, really, I’m fine. I think it’s just a little sprain,” he repeated. 

Kate looked at you, half ignoring Tyler. “What happened?” 

“His ankle was crushed under some debris.” 

“I’m right here,” Tyler said. “And I said I’m fine. I don’t need to go to the hospital. But we’ve gotta find that dog-” 

“You mean this lil’ guy?” Boone asked. He and Lily stood with who you assumed was the kid who lost the dog, but who was now cuddling it in his arms with a wide smile on his lips despite the destruction all around them. “He came runnin’ out just a minute ago. Smart dog.” 

You smiled softly, looking at Tyler who sighed in relief. “I told you.” 

“I think the nearest hospital is…” Javi trailed off, looking at his phone with furrowed brows. “Twenty minutes south, just off the interstate.” 

“I’m not goin’ to a hospital. I’m telling you guys, I’m fine-” 

You huffed loudly. “Are you always this stubborn?” 

At the same time, Kate, Javi, Boone, and Lily all replied, “Yes.” 

You realized you probably weren’t going to convince Tyler to get his ankle checked out at the hospital. “Fine,” you sighed. “But you’re not gonna patch yourself up in some grimy motel, got it? My parents don’t live too far from here. You all can crash there.” 

“Are you sure?” Kate asked. 

“Positive. My parents were thrilled to have my team staying. They won’t mind a couple more people.” 

“Wait,” Javi said. “Your parents. Like, your parents as in Jo and Bill Harding?” 

You chuckled. “Yes.” 

He and Kate exchanged a look that bordered on giddy. 

Tyler shifted at your side, pulling out his truck keys and you thought he was out of his mind if he thought he was going to try to drive with his clearly busted ankle. You reached over and snatched the keys quickly. “You’re riding with me, cowboy,” you said before tossing the keys at Kate. She caught with between her two hands, eyes slightly wide before a smile broke out across her lips. 

“I’m driving!” Kate said before she quickly turned on her heel before anyone could protest, Javi following close behind her. 

“You be careful with my truck Sapulpa!” Tyler shouted. 

You all arrived at your parents' place and helped a limping Tyler out of your truck. He tried once more to hide just how much pain he was in, but it didn’t work. As you walked up the driveway, he smirked, a little lopsidedly. “Already taking me home to meet the parents, huh?” You wanted to smack him but decided his sprained ankle was enough punishment already. 

Instead, you rolled your eyes. “Don’t you be talking like that in front of my mom. She’ll start planning the wedding.” You were only half joking. You knew the second she opened the front door and saw you standing side by side with Tyler’s arm slung around you, even though it was strictly to keep himself upright and pressure off his ankle, her imagination would run wild. 

He was quiet for a moment before he cleared his throat and said, “At least let me buy you dinner first.” 

You didn’t get a chance to respond before the front door was swung open and out stepped your mom. Her eyes flickered between the two storm-chasing teams all trailing behind you before they landed on you and Tyler. You saw the little twinkle in her eye, but it vanished when she noticed the state everyone was in, soaked clothes, a little in pain, and in a slight daze. 

She hurried down the step, grasping your face and gazing at the nasty cut on your chin from where you collided with the road. “Everyone okay?” she asked, eyes drifting over to Tyler. 

“Not exactly,” you replied. “Tyler’s got a busted ankle. I think everyone else is pretty okay. But cold and hungry.” 

Your mom clapped her hands together. “Well then, let’s get you all fed and cleaned up then. Come on,” she said, ushering everyone inside and exchanging greetings. 

You helped Tyler into the bathroom before you dug around for the first aid kit underneath the sink. 

“You know-” Tyler started but you glared at him. 

“If you tell me you’re fine one more time Owens…” He held up his hands in defense, pressing his lips together. Once you found the kit, you sat on the floor and carefully rolled up the leg of his jeans. Whatever damage his ankle took was hidden under his boot. “This is probably gonna hurt,” you said. 

You tried to be as careful as you could, tugging off his boot, and he tried to act like it didn’t hurt like a bitch, but the way his eyes screwed shut and hands clenched into fists in his lap told you otherwise. As soon as it was off, he let out a shaky breath and you assessed the damage. His ankle was swollen, bloodied, and overall in pretty bad shape but considering he could put a little bit of pressure on it told you it wasn’t broken. He was right about the sprain, but it was a fairly bad one. 

Working quickly but carefully, you cleaned up the dirt and blood before wrapping his ankle. “Feel any better?” you asked. He nodded as you stood to your feet. “Good. Are you hungry? I’m sure my mom’s made enough food to feed an army-” 

“Wait,” he said, grasping your hand, turning you back around to face him before you could reach the door. “You fixed me up, now it’s your turn.” 

You furrowed your brows. “What?” His eyes dropped down to your chin, where you’d smacked it against the road when you fell. “Oh. No, it’s just a little scratch-” he cut you off. 

“Are you always this stubborn?” he teased, using your own words against you. With a sigh, you slumped your shoulders in defeat. 

“All right, but at least sit down. Your ankle’s not gonna heal otherwise.” He listened, retaking his place on the toilet lid as you sat on the edge of the tub right beside it. He grabbed an alcohol swap from the kit and grasped your face with one hand. His fingers were cold from the rain but gentle as they tilted your head upwards just slightly so he could clean the cut on your chin. 

You couldn’t help but study him. The brightness of his eyes and how they narrowed when he concentrated, and how he pulled his bottom lip just barely between his teeth. Something twisted in your stomach, and you were suddenly very aware of just how close he was. You had been nearly nose to nose with him earlier, in the aftermath of the storm, but the calmness of your current setting made the closeness feel different. The way his hand softly held onto your face made your breath hitch, and it was impossible for him not to notice. His eyes flickered up from your chin, awkwardly covered with a band aid, and met yours. 

“Thanks for saving my ass out there,” he said, voice just above a whisper, like he too didn’t want to break the calmness that was steady in the room. 

You tried to ignore the patter of your heart that quickened as with his little smile. “I owed you for saving mine.” 

“Guess we’re even know, huh?” 

You nodded, words lost on your tongue. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but you dropped your gaze onto his lips for just a moment before you met his eyes, searching for something. But your wishful thinking died with a startling knock on the door that caused you both to flinch back and away from each other. 

“Everything all right in there?” your dad’s voice sounded from the other side of the door. 

You cleared your throat, quickly standing to your feet. “Y-Yeah. We’ll be out in a second!” A shaky laugh left your lips as your turned to Tyler, who stared back at you with cheeks slightly pink. “We should…” 

“Yeah, y-yeah.” 

After everyone showered and cleaned themselves up, your mom and dad handed out plates and everyone dug in. With full stomachs and dry clothes, the collection of storm chasers all crashed around the house. You lay in your childhood bed, squished alongside Frankie while two other members of your team were asleep on an air mattress on the floor. You tried to sleep, but all you could think about was Tyler, who was just downstairs in the living room. The rest of the evening consisted of you two tip toeing around each other, bordering on avoiding each other in the company of everyone else. 

With a quiet groan, you slipped out of bed and headed toward the kitchen, careful to be quiet. Your mom’s words followed you, gushing about Tyler. Would it be the worst thing in the world? You had said yes, but you didn’t really mean it, how could you? This was Tyler. Sure, he was a little reckless and you’d seen him get a little rowdy at a country bar, but he was also the kind of person that looked for lost dogs in the middle of a tornado and who stayed by your bedside at the hospital until you woke up. He was obnoxiously great. You didn’t know how to deal with it. 

In the bathroom, just hours ago, you wanted to kiss him. And a part of you thought he wanted to kiss you too, but the moment was broken too fast for you to know for certain. 

You poured yourself a glass of water before leaning against the counter, eyes focused out the window at the sliver of moon that poked out from behind the clouds. Somewhere behind you, the floorboards creaked, causing you to spin around with a start. 

Tyler paused, wincing at the noise he made before he whispered, “Sorry.” 

You didn’t do it on purpose, but it was like at the sight of him your lips automatically tugged upwards in a smile. You felt a little ridiculous about it but tried to play it off by clearing your throat. 

“I told you that couch was uncomfortable,” you said, voice low to not wake the snoring Wranglers in the next room. 

“It’s not,” he replied. 

“You should be elevating your ankle.” 

“I know, I know. Doctor’s orders, right?” He smiled too. “I was just grabbing some water.” 

You said nothing as you reached back into the cabinet and pulled out another glass before filling it at the sink. You handed it to him, your fingers brushing for just a second before he took the glass with a quiet ‘thanks’ and you pulled away. 

“I should…” You pointed behind you, ready to retreat back to your bedroom and let your Tyler-occupied mind slip away. But he caught your elbow and set down his glass of water. He didn’t say anything as his hand slid up your arm to your shoulder, then to your cheek in a similar way he held you earlier. You were back to being nearly nose-to-nose for the third time that day. Only this time, it was Tyler whose gaze flickered to your lips before he closed the short distance. 

Softly and quietly, you pressed your lips against his, pressing your hands against his chest. His hands were warm on the sides of your face as his lips moved against yours. You parted after a moment, breathing a little heavier, and your chest beat with something new. 

You leaned in once more, kissing him a little harder but pulling back quicker. “Good night, Tyler,” you breathed out. 

He beamed, cheeks rosy. “Good night, Harding.”

[flemingsfreckles]

Replacement Part 7

Read the rest of the series HERE!

Warnings: alcohol consumption, internalized homophobia, discussion of past emotional/physical abuse, description of a panic attack at the end

WC: 3.0k

A/N: okay I think I confused people, Part 6 has been out for a bit, I just failed to add it to my master list, it’s now on there, so if you missed it read that first.

Jessie had said you two didn’t need to spend the whole night together, but somehow that’s what ended up happening. You spent nearly every minute of that wedding side by side, with the exception of when Jessie was standing beside Janine at the altar. The closeness between the two of you had started even before the wedding day.

“Heard you’ve found yourself a date to the wedding this weekend.” Coffey had come up behind you after training one day, slinging her arm across your shoulders. You just squint in her direction. “Fleming?”

“Oh, that’s not a date, she just needed someone to go with, she wanted the company, she’s new here and still doesn’t know the team well, I think she also knew I didn’t know the Canadian side of Janine’s friends and family well, so I think it just made sense, Janine also teased her for not having someone to go with-”

You trail off your words when you hear Sam start to laugh. “Okay,” she pays your chest hard with her hand. “Whatever the excuse is, enjoy your evening, it’s good to see you two getting along, a lot of people would envy you getting to be her date.”

“It’s not a date.” You shove her off as you speak through your teeth at her, feeling your face start to heat up.

“Whatever you say. You two have gotten pretty close recently.” Sam rolls her eyes as she heads toward the showers while you split off going toward your cubby. She wasn’t wrong, you and Jessie had spent a lot more time together recently.

Jessie coming over had become more and more common in the past few weeks. On your off days, the two of you would grab a coffee, walk around, and usually end up back at your place. Jessie continued to claim she didn’t have her apartment unpacked yet so it was always your couch you ended up on.

You had developed a full on friendship with Jessie. And while you loved the time the two of you spent together, the closer you grew, the more panic alarms went off in your brain.

Just last week the two of you were both on the couch, just a couple inches from each other, the popcorn bowl being the only thing keeping your thighs from resting against each other. Jessie had been on a mission to force you to watch all the classic movies after she learned you hadn’t seen most of them when you were younger.

And while the television was playing the movie, you weren’t focusing on anything besides the woman sitting beside you. You held your breath at every movement she made, adjusting the blanket or the way she sat, each movement she made had you on edge. Each noise she made, a satisfied hum, a small snicker at something funny, little comments or fun facts she knew about the movie, all of the noises were slowly becoming engraved into your mind.

You nearly sent yourself into a coughing fit when you reached into the popcorn bowl to be met with the warmth of Jessie’s hand instead of the feeling of the popcorn. Jerking your hand away you muttered an apology to her before waiting to reach your own hand back into the bowl. You ignored the feeling for the rest of the night, and again and again when those feelings of warmth keeps arising when you’d see Jessie, hang out with Jessie, even think about Jessie.

Today when Jessie knocked at your door her knock was frantic. You quickly scrambled to the door, opening it to see an equally panicked looking midfielder, coffees in one hand, a notebook in the other.

“Hi?” You say, taking in the unusually frantic appearance of Jessie.

“I need help.” She says breathlessly before pushing her way inside. “I have to write a speech.”

“For?”

“Janine’s wedding.” She says, dropping the coffees on the table and opening the notebook she had brought.

You can’t help but stand there in shock, “That’s tomorrow Jessie!” Jessie who was normally so put together, so organized, had failed to write a speech she’s known about for months until the night before.

“You don’t think I know that!” Your eyes widen at Jessie as she raises her voice at you, loud in volume and higher pitched, her emotions coming though. She wasn’t one to yell often, on the pitch she’d get hot headed but hardly would she lose her temper off of it. “Sorry, clearly I’m stressed, but sorry.”

You spent the next hour trying to calm Jessie down. She vented about her nerves and her inability to put her feelings onto paper, you sat and listened, watching as she paced the length of your kitchen. You didn’t say much but you tried to help her get her thoughts and feelings into an organized speech. It took nearly 3 hours but before you knew it Jessie was reading through her speech to you for one final time, as you nodded along approving of every word she had written.

“I promise it’s perfect.” You gave her one final confirmation after listening to the speech again and again. Jessie was finally satisfied with it, she had packed up her notebook, thanking you tirelessly as she made her way to the door.

“Thank you again.” She said, her hand coming to rest on your shoulder. You give her a smile and a nod, as you do you swear you catch Jessie’s eyes drop to your lips for a moment before darting back to your eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She said with a smile before turning and heading down the hallway.

You now sat in the rows of chairs, among many of your Portland teammates. You watched as the ceremony started. You’d been to weddings before, they were cute and all but they never got your heart racing, they never gave you the desire to be up at the altar yourself. The issue was, this time it wasn’t the actual ceremony and vows of endless love that got your heart racing. It was the brown haired freckled girl standing just feet away from Janine who was causing the swell of emotions to build up in your chest.

When she had walked down the aisle, her arm linked with one of Janine’s husband’s groomsmen, you felt your heart beat harder. As she walked down, closer and closer, your heart rate picked up and when she glanced over to you with a smile your stomach flipped and you felt your knees grow weak. It was different seeing Jessie dressed up, her hair done, nearly curled and framing her face, her make up was natural and subtle, but it was the dress that was captivating you. You tore your eyes away to watch the rest of the bridal party walk down the aisle, followed by Janine, but that only kept your eyes off Jessie for a couple minutes.

You couldn’t seem to keep your eyes from wandering to her throughout the ceremony. No matter how much you would remind yourself to look at Janine and her to be husband, you’d catch yourself staring. She stood with a smile across her face as she watched her best friend get married. Your eyes spent way too long admiring the dress Jessie was standing wearing, suddenly feeling like your own dress shirt and pants were nothing in comparison to hers. She looked gorgeous and you knew it, her toned arms on display as they held flowers at her waist where the dress perfectly hugged her shape. It’s as if nothing and no one else exists at the ceremony, it’s only you, sitting staring at the beautiful woman in front of you. On a few occasions Jessie’s eyes would catch yours, making you instantly drop your eyes to the program, your lap, or directing them back to the sky, feeling embarrassed being caught.

The ceremony ends and you find yourself and the rest of the guests being ushered off into a cocktail hour before the reception. You stand around a small table and watch as the rest of the room interacts, making small talk with the other guests of how you knew Janine. You listen to stories of her childhood friends, her friends from school, neighbors, people from every walk of life who were here to celebrate her. You were never one for small talk but you manage for about an hour before your saving grace arrives at your side.

Feeling a poke in the back and a familiar voice fills your ears. “Hi.” You turn and Jessie is standing in front of you, her arms open. It had become common for her to greet you with a hug, so you moved into her giving her a hug before pulling back.

“You look good, that shirt was a good choice.” Jessie says as you watch her eyes scan you up and down. She had asked what you were wearing the other day and when you admitted you weren’t sure, she FaceTimed you and made you show her all the options. She hadn’t told you what to wear, but you had noticed the way she stared at you for an extra few seconds when you had put on the white top with the blue accent. You had kept her reaction in mind this morning when you had tossed it on. You can feel the heat from her gaze, you’re sure your cheeks are flushed.

“Oh thanks.” You clear your throat. “You look really great Jessie.” You compliment her back and you notice the way she bites back a smile as she gives you a quiet “thank you.”

“I need a drink, this is a lot of people and a lot of small talk, do you want one?” Jessie points over her shoulder toward the bar.

“Yeah, sure, that would actually be great.” You follow Jessie through the crowd of people and hop in the queue for drinks.

One drink quickly became two, and two became an unknown amount. You both had a few at the cocktail hour, followed by a few during dinner and before you knew it, the real party had started and you were watching your teammates dance around from the comfort of your chair. You smiled as you watched Jessie get dragged around the dance floor by Janine before she finally broke away and made a dash in your direction.

“Save me.” She whispered as she sat down in the chair next to you.

“Oh come on, it’s not that bad.” You rolls your eyes at her.

“Says you, you’ve hardly gotten up to dance yet.” Jessie reaches in front of you on the table, taking the drink in front of you and finishing it off in a single sip, causing you to raise an eyebrow in her direction.

“Hey!” You take the glass back from her quickly. “And that’s not true! I danced with Sam a bit ago, but then she ditched me so I came to sit back down.”

“Would you rather be dancing?”

You shrug, you liked dancing, it was fun, freeing, but the crowd of strangers deterred you ever so slightly. “I mean, I’ll maybe go once Sam or someone is free again.”

“I’m free.” Jessie directs a hand at her own chest.

“No, don’t be silly.” You shrug her off and direct your eyes back to the dance floor. “You don’t want to dance.”

“I’ll dance with you.” Jessie stands up, holding out her hand to you. You look between her face and her outstretched arm. Her expression is hard to read, she’s smiling at you but part of you can tell she probably had no interest in dancing herself.

“Only if you’re sure?” You look at Jessie, not wanting to force her to be uncomfortable. She nods quickly and smiles at you, confirming she wants to dance with you. “But let’s get drinks first.” You shake your empty glass in her direction before standing up.

You both grab drinks and make your way to the dance floor. It starts out silly, the two of you standing an uncomfortable distance apart while both half dancing, half standing there. But the longer the night goes on, and the more alcohol that gets put in your system, you both let loose slowly. Your bodies get closer as the night continues on and before you know it, Jessie’s front is nearly flush with your own as the two of you continue to dance in the crowd.

A slow song begins to play and it breaks both of you from your trance and you take a step back from Jessie, only now realizing how close your bodies had been and only now realizing how much you longed to be back with your body up against hers.

“Com’ here.” Jessie grabs your hand, she makes her way off the dance floor as the couples begin to slow dance.

“What, where are we going?” you giggle as Jessie pulls you through the reception. “Jessie.” you whine her name while still stumbling behind her.

She pulls you around a corner, putting herself against the wall and pulling you into her. “Hi.” her grin is huge across her face, shadows on both of your faces as the light from the moon outside crept through the window.

Your head was spinning, from the drinks and from Jessie's stupid beautiful face in front of you. The stupid beautiful face you couldn’t fall for. And while the thought of your mother screaming at you that you could never date a woman, never kiss a woman had started in your head, that sound faded as you watched Jessie lean in as she brought her lips to meet yours. On instinct your eyes closed, and you kissed Jessie back like your life depended on it. Melting into her warm lips, your hands coming up to rest on her hips, gently pulling her closer into you.

You can’t tell if the kiss lasts a minute or an hour. The intoxication of the alcohol you’d consumed and the intoxication of Jessie’s lips caused you to lose all track of time. You were floating for the few moments your bodies were connected.

When you pulled back it took only a few seconds for those voices, those lectures, that hatred of yourself, to come flooding back into your mind. Where Jessie’s hand gently held your cheek you now felt the too familiar sting of your mothers hand. It was as if someone had sucked all the alcohol from your system in an instant, incredibly aware and sober to the fact that you had just kissed Jessie, a girl, your teammate. The fact that you had kissed her and you liked it.

You just stared at her. Your mouth hung open, unsure of what to say or what to do. She still had a silly smile on her face as she looked back at you. Her smile fell quickly as she must’ve realized the terrified look across your own face.

“I have to go.” You try to step away from Jessie but she grabs your wrist.

“Wait.”

“No Jessie, we can’t, I can’t, I have to go.” You repeat again having to fight back the waver in your voice, blinking hard to avoid tears. You pull your wrist from her hand and walk in the direction of the exit.

You walk and walk and suddenly the walk turns into a jog before a sprint, fighting tears all the way. Thankfully, the venue wasn’t far from your apartment. You manage to keep your composure until you unlock your door.

When you get inside your apartment it feels like the world is closing in on you. You can hear your heart, pumping blood loud in your ears, it drowned and muffled any other sounds. You bent over, resting your head on the cool countertop, suddenly feeling a wave of sharp heat across your body.

You were sweating. In an attempt to cool yourself off you started to peel off the shirt and pants you were wearing. The very same shirt you had put on because of Jessie. Your panic increased as your hands shook making it harder and harder to undo the buttons on your chest.

You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, you could only picture being 16 again, your parents in front of you, shaming you, screaming at you, you remembered the feeling of being told you no longer had a home there, all of it, you couldn’t think of anything else. Your hands continue to tremble as you pull your belt off and let your pants fall, nearly tripping out of them, your head starting to spin. You tried to fight off the lightheaded feeling, blinking hard as you made your way to the couch despite the tunnel vision you were experiencing.

The couch is a temporary sanctuary, you lay in your underwear and tank top on the fabric and try to focus on breathing. You’re not sure how long you sit, the room spinning around you.

You couldn’t call Janine, it was her wedding you had just ran from. You couldn’t call Sam, she was still at the wedding. You certainly couldn’t call Jessie. There was no one you could turn to, no one to confide in at the moment, so instead, you sat loathing in self hatred.

You sat staring at the ground in front of you, not able to break your stare, as the memories of your parents telling you everything that was wrong with you rang through your mind. The sound of your phone ringing from across the room breaks your mind from the fog it was in. You push yourself up from the couch and walk over to it to see Jessie’s face and name on.

Her face brings up mixed emotions, on one hand, it brings you happiness, deep down you know hearing her voice would be relaxing, she’d know how to calm you down. On the other, she’d make you spiral all over again, her voice would remind you of how she had called after you to wait as you had bolted from the reception. Instead of torturing yourself more, you walk away from the phone, letting it ring and ring, and move to your bedroom.

It wouldn’t fix anything long term but sleeping would at least help you get away for a couple hours.

[kolyubov]

Rises the moon.

✧ pairing. Doa3 x gn!reader

✧ word count. 2k.

✧ contents. fluff, ooc doa3, relationships are not specified (this is not necessarily romantic, take it as you please <3), mostly self-indulgent. if I missed anything, please tell me.

✧ author's note. it's been so long since i posted anything,,, i hope this is good enoughwaaaaeuxjwunxsk

It was past midnight and the apartment was enveloped in silence. You couldn't hear anyone talking in the living room, meaning everyone was asleep.

To be able to enjoy a quiet rest in this place was rare. Midnights are the most bustling hours, when everyone gathers to discuss “important” business until early in the morning, before leaving for whatever they have to do.

Considering this, you could have had a nice sleep for once… if it wasn’t for the rain storming outside.

A sudden thunder crash caused you to abruptly wake up in the middle of your dream— Your heart thumping quickly against your chest and your breath coming out in heavy gasps. You felt disoriented for a few seconds until you eventually calmed down.

Usually, storms don’t scare you, in fact, they’re quite enjoyable along with a lecture or a movie, but not now when you're alone in your room and in the middle of the night, surrounded by the darkness and with your vision barely helping you to perceive your surroundings.

Among the dark, shadows shape into tall monsters lurking from the corner of your room, seemingly waiting for the right moment to lay their ghostly hands on you before disappearing after each lightning. The brief second of luminance makes you realize that those shadows are just that, no one was going to actually hurt you.

Yet, going back into the land of dreams was difficult under these circumstances.

You tried by closing your eyes, ignoring the “monsters” and the loud rumbling of the thunderstorm, and taking deep breaths to calm your unsteady heart but you just couldn't fall asleep. The unsafe sensation wouldn't go away, perhaps until the sun rises again.

However, you had some kind of idea that could help you sleep.

You sat on your bed for a while, contemplating the storm through the window that doesn't seem to end anytime soon and trying to gain the courage to leave your room.

Maybe this idea wasn't the best one you could have, but it was the first thing that came to your sleepy brain, and it's not like you were in the mood to think of any consequences due to what you were going to do.

With a light groan, you leave the comfort of your bed and grab your fluffy pillow in between your arms. The wooden floor cracks under your feet as you make your way to the door of your room then carefully opening it, peeking through the small gap, making sure no dangers are around before stepping outside.

Luckily, the hallway was slightly illuminated with one lamp that hung from the ceiling— The old wooden floor cracks under your deliberated steps as you make your way to his room. Once you stand in front of it, and just as you place a hand on the knob, another sudden thunder makes you jerk in surprise.

Was that a sign from God to not do this?

Without properly rethinking —also too tired to think of any potential risks— you twist the knob, and immediately your eyes land on his sleeping peaceful form; almost completely wrapped with a blanket but letting you see his face. His lips barely parted and his eyelashes rested over his cheeks.

It's not every day when you see Fyodor sleeping on a comfy mattress…

Until now, you had always seen him working day and night underground, sitting in front of his bright purple monitor screen and typing away weird codes or messages that seemed impossible for you to deceive. And if he was not working underground, instead, he was taking a stroll through the city or drinking tea in some restaurant that picked his curiosity.

But sleeping didn't seem to be like a normal activity for him to do.

“To what do I owe this pleasure, hm?”

Fyodor's groggy voice makes you snap out of your thoughts. Now he’s looking at you with a gentle smile as you stand on his doorframe, gripping your pillow awkwardly as you wait for some type of permission— And almost as if he’s reading your mind, he motions for you to come closer with his hand.

The mattress sinks under your weight as you get into the bed and place your pillow just beside his. Wasting no time, Fyodor wraps his blanket around your frame. And it takes some time for you to realize that he's gladly sharing his personal space, which adds to another unusual thing he's doing tonight.

“I couldn't sleep.” You mutter, as he pulls you closer.

“Why's that, dearest?”

“The storm…”

A small chuckle escaped his lips, finding adorable the fact that you needed company just because of a mere storm. Though, he knew the answer even before you said it.

One of his hands —usually cold— is now warming up your cheek, cupping it and rubbing small circles with his thumb as if to soothe you, to tell that he’s there for you without any words needed, simply light touches and whispers shared in between the two.

And for a small second you return the gesture, gently tracing the dark circles underneath his eyes as you scan his features; his thin eyebrows, his purple eyes, and his nose before finally stopping at his lips— His lower lip a little bitten and red.

Unconsciously, your own lips twitch upwards as your mind clouds with the idea of kissing every inch of his pale skin, having him softly laughing underneath you.

To hide your smile, you rest your head against his chest, pressing your ear to where his heart is. The soft thud makes a gentle symphony, a calming sound, that allows any tension left in your body to slip away. Fyodor’s presence fills your senses, making you forget about the rain violently storming outside. Something pulls you closer as your arms wrap around him.

Fyodor doesn’t complain of the proximity, instead, his slender fingers play with your hair, twirling it around his digits or untying knots that were made while you were sleeping before the thunder strike woke you up.

It’s not a surprise that your eyelids eventually start feeling heavy, with all the sweet caresses and the warmth provided, your body is ready to resume your sleep, enveloped in the most comfortable shelter you could ever ask for—

“Oh…”

One of Fyodor's hands cups the back of your head tenderly, pulling you flush against him as if to avoid someone from snatching his most precious thing.

“…What’s wrong, Fedya?” You want to pull away, but a high-pitched giggle comes from behind you, accompanied by the sound of rustling the sheets.

Seems like we have company.

“What are you two doing sleeping without me? That's mean… Leaving a friend out is not nice, dovey.” Nikolai grumbles as he climbs to the bed, lying on his side and hugging you from behind, “Why not come to me when the storm startles your peaceful sleep, hm?

The jester seems not afraid in the slightest to have physical contact with Fyodor, or anyone really…

You can feel his hand removing Fyodor's from your head before he nuzzles against the crook of your neck; the tip of his nose brushes up and down your skin purposely to tickle you. Oh, how much Nikolai loved hearing your giggles as you squirmed around his bear hug, it made his heart almost beat out of his chest.

“I do not recall asking you to show up in my room, Nikolai.” By the tone of his voice, Fyodor doesn't seem pleased with the additional company taking space on his bed and ruining your peaceful encounter.

Nikolai’s hands trail up your ribs, and without any warning, he begins tickling you— not stopping even as you try to pry them away among laughs.

“Dove, you’re not gonna make me leave, are you?” He whispers against your ear, voice whiny and you are almost completely sure that he's pouting right now, hoping you at least feel pity for leaving him out, “Tell Dos that you want me to stay…”

But just by eyeing Fyodor, the answer is more than clear on his face. Refuting his words to let Nikolai sleep with the two of you is most likely ending with you and the jester being kicked out.

“C'mon, C'mon! You're scared of the storm, aren't you, birdie?” Nikolai pecks your cheek and pets your hair dramatically. “Poor baby! Shouldn't we help this frail dove together, Dos?”

“There's no need for that.” Fyodor's patience is going thin.

Nikolai clicks his tongue in annoyance, sitting up on the bed with his arms crossed like a child and glaring at Fyodor for a while, trying to convince him just by holding eye contact until he gives up, knowing there’s no room for negotiating.

“Fine, I'll leave… Gosh, you're such a killjoy.”

As he slips out the bed, muttering curses under his breath, Fyodor sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. It's not the first —and definitely not the last— time he has to put up with Nikolai’s behavior.

God blessed him this time, it seems. He didn't need to make too much of a fuss to make Nikolai leave.

When the door opens and the jester intruder is ready to leave in order to resume the calming moment that Fyodor was truly appreciating, instead of leaving, Nikolai throws his arms up in the air excitedly.

“Dear Sigma! What a great surprise!”

The casino manager stands in the doorframe, rubbing one of his eyes. It appears like his sleep was interrupted as well.

“Uhm… Could you guys keep it down, please? I woke up because you're so noisy and I'm trying to—”

Sigma didn't have time to finish speaking before he was dragged by Nikolai, tugging on his sleeve and pulling him to the bed. Fyodor’s bed. Then pushing him down to the mattress as if he was nothing but another plushie added to the collection.

“Gogol! I didn’t come here to have a sleepover!” Sigma complains, rolling his eyes before meeting your gaze, and giving you an awkward smile.

Then meeting Fyodor's.

Something didn’t seem to add up.

“Am I… missing something?”

“This little dove needs our help, my dear friend! You see, the storm ruffled their lovely feathers so they needed to shelter in our embrace.”

Sigma raises an eyebrow at the jester’s words, and even if he's stuck in this —unwanted— situation it's not difficult to understand the message. He sighs, lying back on the bed and holding your hand, “It’s going to be okay, angel.”

He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze before bringing it to his lips and placing a soft peck on the back of it. He cares about you more than he hates having to deal with Nikolai.

The four of you managed to fit in Fyodor's bed with little space in between. Nikolai's head is now resting on your chest, him in between your legs, his arms around your waist. On the other hand, Fyodor and Sigma were lying on each side of you, either playing with your hair or stroking your hand. Any soft touch brings you closer to dozing off.

Fyodor mutters a small apology because of his "friends" behavior. His fingers graze your palm before he locks his fingers with yours as well. Silence slowly begins flooding the room; you feel perfectly safe with them around, so you close your eyes, letting your body relax.

“Oh! I have the greatest idea, how about we have a sleepover and do our nails and—”

“Nikolai.” The three of you called his name almost as if grounding a child; making the jester frown and pout.

You couldn't suppress your giggles, thinking that this might be the first —and the last— time you'll have the three men from the same dangerous organization sleeping together in the same bed only because they care about you, in their own way.

The storm slowly fades away, forgotten in the warmth of their embrace.

When waking up the next morning, you'll have to face the pain in your limbs from being entangled around them… And wondering how you and Fyodor ended up in between Sigma and Nikolai's hug.

© 2024 pinklacydovey — Do not copy, repost, or recommend my works on other platforms. reblogs are welcomed and appreciated!

[m00nsbaby]

Moon system as Venom hosts.

. . . x Spider-reader. (Disclaimer. Venom ooc, inspired in the movies so it's kind of a angry puppy, lol.)

Steven.

"What the fuck?" You had punched hard things before, but apparently, the huge black slime with eyes was getting the better of you.

With a thud on the ground, you assumed it might be time to seek an alternative because you were sure you heard your bones crack.

You closed your eyes, just for two seconds.

"Oh Gods, are you oka…" You didn't let him finish; you threw one last punch with all your might.

Something cracked beneath your hand, in fact.

"Bloody fucking hell!"

When you snapped back to reality, the giant mass was no longer in front of you, only a guy taller than you, lying on the ground, holding his nose.

"Did I hurt you? Where did he…" "He's inside me."

"Dude… that's weird." What else could you say?

"You broke my nose." "Your pet broke my spine."

Before you could even react, you received another blow. It turns out the slime, and yes, you refused to call it anything else because you refused to accept that this thing adhered to the laws of physics or logic.

"Sorry, sorry!" You had just broken his nose, and he was still apologizing to you. "He doesn't like being called a pet."

At least, both of you were even, or something like that.

His hand was stained with blood after trying to clean his nose, but he still extended it to you, and you took it to get back on your feet.

All your bones cracked when you stood up. At least, your spider sense was calm, or maybe it was because he had broken that too.

You still distrusted when he explained the situation as if you were lifelong friends.

Maybe you were just getting dazzled by a pretty English accent and big brown eyes.

'I'm not arguing with him, whatever you say gorgeous,' you thought.

He kept talking. About headaches, stomach pains, hunger, Venom.

When you sat on the cold and slightly damp concrete to catch your breath, he did the same.

You didn't tell him that this usually wasn't done between "villains" and "heroes." In fact, you doubted he even had a concept of how those things worked.

While he babbled, you wondered if he had no friends, and that's why he was vomiting his most personal secrets to a stranger he had just fought with minutes ago, or if it was just easy to vent to you because the mask concealed all your facial reactions.

He was cute.

Even with the broken nose.

Cute enough for you to ignore the symbiote staring at you over his shoulder.

I mean, the slime.

"So, can I trust that you won't eat anyone?" And he seemed sad to hear you say that.

'Don't say it, don't say it, don't say it…'

"Do you want to exchange numbers?" His eyes lit up.

You took off the mask for him. You could almost hear, or perhaps feel, the strong beats of his heart when you did it. Was it nervousness or something else you weren't recognizing?

"I won't say anything, you know, uh… about this." "Of course, you won't, because I also saw your face." You winked.

Steven Grant, as he had introduced himself, had the oldest phone you had ever seen, yet you pressed each number on the keyboard several times until you managed to type your name, and he struggled with your broken touchscreen to do the same.

Venom called him an idiot when his gaze stayed fixed on where you left, with the mask on, swinging through the cold city.

Venom also called you an idiot, multiple times.

He was apprehensive with Steven, but who wouldn't be? With time, you discovered the innocent nature he had, almost seemed like a joke that an evil black slime resided within him.

Ah, the same one that almost ripped your arm off for calling him slime.

"He likes you, he just doesn't express emotions well…" "He hates me." "I like you." Your handgot stuck on Steven's shirt when you flustered.

And it happened again when he kissed your cheek a week later.

And when he finally mustered the courage to invite you on a date.

Was it responsible on your part? No, clearly not, but you were good with instincts, or at least, that was supposed to be included in the package, so as long as you didn't get bad vibes from Steven, you could enjoy your silly crush.

Venom was pure bad vibes, but you couldn't say much about him.

He never stopped hating you, not even when you tried to bribe him with chocolates.

Well, maybe he could handle his hatred when he forced Steven to take steps closer to you and finally kiss you when he didn't find the courage to do it himself.

Even so, when you called him slime again, he hit you again. "

Marc.

You enjoyed testing his patience.

Marc and you found yourselves together almost every night, against his will. You would use the excuse of keeping an eye on him, doing your 'superhero job' by making sure he didn't eat anyone.

And to his misfortune, Venom adored you, if such things could love.

Over time, you got used to even the strangest things, like when his huge tongue touched you because apparently, your body lotion was seemingly sweet.

It reminded you of a puppy. Giant, somewhat liquid, and with eyes that were scary.

You teamed up to annoy Marc, so he couldn't use it against you.

"Marc Spector!" "Don't you have any concept of privacy?" "Don't you have any concept of time? It's 4 am."

You were hanging from one hand as if it was nothing in front of him.

"I don't even want to ask what you're holding onto."

"It's magic, Marc."

A third voice interrupted. The symbiote. "Yes, Marc, magic." "I doubt you know what that is, parasite." "Maaaarc, don't be mean to him."

The symbiote wasn't even paying attention to him, as usual, it was more interested in forming an extra limb long enough to give you a little push, and you swung back and forth now, just a few inches thanks to these playful shoves.

Marc saw you a little closer and a little farther away.

He found it amusing that hanging from something taller was the only way you were at his height.

Or did he find it endearing? Perhaps a bit of both.

"Marc likes you." It blurted out as if it was nothing, and you, still blushing, smiled in a way that made the guy roll his eyes.

"I don't like you, he got the word wrong; it was 'hate.'" Who was he trying to fool? He wouldn't get away with it with you.

"Do you know what my spider-sense is saying?" "Some nonsense, I'm sure." "Nope." "Is it warning you about this?"

Yes, obviously, Marc tried to punch you, it wasn't the first time he annoyed you with that, but this time, he felt chills when you stopped his hand with yours.

It always happened. He never managed to land the blow.

You looked at him directly, he was used to only seeing the expressionless eyes of your mask.

True, you never revealed who you were. Were you going to tell him? Maybe later, perhaps next week, or the following, or next month.

Someday.

"Don't you have a city to protect?" "I protect it from guys like you." Thankfully, the mask followed the blinks and focus of your eyes so he could see your feeble attempt at a wink.

He always felt uneasy when you had to leave, and Marc always thought it was because of Venom and how apprehensive he was with you.

Or maybe it was the constant fear that one day, he would be one of the guys you stopped every night, like the time you two met.

You knew him well enough to know that he wasn't a bad person, and Venom's instincts didn't make him a… very big threat.

But would you see it the same way if he ever lost control?

"You want me to go, I get it." You tried to dramatize while your body turned with the agility of a gymnast, hanging upside down on the web, it would make it easier for you to climb the wall afterward. "Yes, that's what I want."

No, he didn't want that. His smile told you so.

"You prefer me to leave rather than admit that you like me." "You're unbearable."

They were face to face, and Marc could feel the 'other' watching from the outside. A monster with the curiosity of a child.

"I'll see you later, Marc."

He could hear your smile behind the mask.

"Spidey?" Your heart skipped a beat; he had never called you by such a 'affectionate' nickname before. "Uh-huh?"

Marc didn't say anything else; he just let Venom handle lowering your mask a few centimeters.

It tickled, you had never felt an area as sensitive as your neck.

You didn't mind.

"You finally shut up." The truth was, you were left speechless, with your mask up to the bridge of your nose, and your lips uncovered for him.

Just for him.

He kissed you, slow, soft, and savoring every second of the contact between your lips.

Internally, Marc prayed never to be one of your "guys." Never to lose control.

"Good luck." It was the last thing he said before giving you an extra short kiss and allowing the symbiote to adjust your mask once again.

Your lips and brain felt fuzzy for a few extra minutes after that.

You were no longer there to hear the way Venom tried to whisper, "That was good." To him; he definitely had to stop letting it watch those dramatic telenovelas.

The best part of this was that he had finally found a way to make you be quiet.

Jake.

Venom and Jake were the dream team.

It turned out that Mr. 'car expert' had fit perfectly with the symbiote, except for the slightly disgusting part of… ingesting things.

But other than that, Lockley knew how to use it perfectly to his advantage.

And on the other hand, it turned out that Jake also worked perfectly with you.

You had a deal.

Was it morally right? Ehh… Meh.

Sometimes, as a city vigilante, you had to simply accept that there were worse things, and if this part helped you protect more people, then so be it.

He helped you, well, Venom did. His strength was something you definitely needed on your side, along with the extra limbs since the spider bite gave you everything but a few more legs.

You turned away on the opposite side some nights, losing sight of the criminals who fell into his hands to feed 'the other.'

Also, in Jake's questionable business dealings. Nothing too serious.

"To your left." You obeyed, stepping to the left without even looking around. When one of the guys you were fighting fell forward, you were able to see what could have hit you.

This was getting ridiculous for both of you. Fighting ordinary people felt like staying in the minor leagues.

Hey, at least they finished 15 minutes earlier than usual, looking on the bright side.

"Good thing I was around."

His ego, always his ego, which made you roll your eyes. Both of you were in an alley, the one where you hid your things at the start of the patrol.

He suggested watching if anyone came while you put on the clothes that hid your suit in case there was someone awake in your house.

He had no intentions of doing it; it was just an excuse to spend time with you.

"When are you going to tell me?" The question every damn night.

"I add a month to the count every time you ask, Jake."

"That's not fair." The serious tone in his voice made you look at him. You tilted your head slightly.

"Eh?"

A step closer.

"That's not fair." He repeated. "It's not fair that you hide it from me when you know everything about me. Not when we are…"

Jake was always so calm that it was probably the most terrifying part, perhaps that's how he balanced Venom.

"We are nothing, Jake." Low blow.

Obedient to Jake's movements, two black, viscous limbs came out of him, lightly pushing you against the wall behind you.

Ugh, you hated the disgusting walls of the alleys.

A third limb sprouted while the others kept you against the wall. Jake was always rough with you, only physically, and it was only because he knew you could take it, that it never bothered you.

It was attractive. Dominant.

"We are nothing." You repeated and this time, he heard you smile under the mask.

Mistake.

The third limb went for the mask.

You didn't move from your spot; you didn't fight. You just lifted your chin to make it easier for him to remove the mask.

Jake was amazed when he could see your face. He dreamed about this so many times that he began to feel like his silly crush was turning into an obsession.

Now, it was justified.

The limb caressed your cheek; it almost seemed like an extension of him by the way it flowed with Venom.

"Surprise."

He didn't say anything, but the way he looked at you was enough.

Venom took care of bringing you closer until your body collided with Jake's, who looked down at you.

The chill that ran through you was almost similar to your spider-sense when it warned you that something was wrong.

Although with Jake, everything always seemed fine.

He rested his forehead against yours for a while, something he always did with your mask on. It was as if he was confirming that it really was you.

You waited for the kiss for longer than you'd like to admit.

And that idiot laughed.

You felt his breath on yours and chose to keep your eyes closed.

"We are nothing, huh?" His lips brushed against yours as he spoke. "I'll see you tomorrow then, cariño." It was the last thing he said before taking a step back.

All the Venom extensions that held you were gone, and suddenly he was gone too.

He left you in the alley with flushed cheeks, wishing more than ever to kiss him passionately.

Later, you would get revenge.

And yes, you couldn't stop smiling.

I'm revoking everyone's monster fucker permits according to how y'all react to jake using venom like that

[roosterbruiser]

𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐙-𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐒 — 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎

𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐘 "𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑" 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐖—𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐆𝐍𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑 𝐈𝐍 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐀. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 𝟗.𝟑𝐊 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒, 𝐂𝐀 𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟔𝐓𝐇, 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟖

Dennis is drawing up some sort of contract in the other room, making some phone calls, leaving you and Rooster alone for the first time. It’s the most excited Rooster has seen Dennis in a long time--he sees a lot of potential in you, just like he saw a lot of potential in Rooster. For every ten duds Dennis brings in, there’s one star in the making. Dennis is a professional bullshitter, Rooster knows this--but sometimes, he’s fucking right.

Rooster doesn’t know if he’s Dennis this elated since he scouted Rooster all those years ago, and Rooster gets it--he thinks there definitely must be something special about you, something that he can’t quite put his finger on yet other than the fact that you’re willing and foxy. But there’s a quality about you, lying between the spaces of your ribs or in the supple skin of your thighs, that is simply and completely enticing.

“Can I drop you off somewhere?” Rooster asks, fastening his belt. He’s already put his turtleneck back on and he’s straightening his gold chain, careful to let it lay on his cashmere sweater. “And don’t say the roller rink.” 

You’re standing beside him, buttoning your shorts, ignoring the cum spilling out of you and onto the denim. Your hair is fluffed again and your thighs are still quaking from the sheer intensity of the past two hours.

Glancing at you from the corner of his eye, Rooster watches you rake your hands through your hair and bite your lip with your brows knit slightly.

“Ha-ha. Not sure you’ll have anywhere to drop me off,” you tell him, biting your lip. 

You’re already on thin ice with your family, being sent away and all. No doubt Jenny made it home and tattled on you already. Aunt Lydia has probably already called your mom and dad and narced on you--no way she’s gonna let you stay on at her house. But Dennis has been gushing about you for the past hour, telling you about all the movies he wants you to be in and all the people he wants you to meet; you’re sure he’ll give you some money for a motel or something. 

“Meaning?”

 He seems, suddenly, so much older than you. But you won’t let him see how little you feel. You look at Rooster, squaring your shoulders and smiling softly. He’s slipping into his shoes, brows furrowed as he looks at you.

“I ditched my kid cousin to come here with Dennis,” you tell Rooster, not entirely sure why you’re being honest other than he just has a face you want to be honest to. “Not sure my aunt’s gonna jive with that.” 

Rooster tuts. 

“What, you mean you live with your aunt or something?” 

You shrug. 

“Kinda. Recently.” 

Rooster doesn’t pry. He knows a thing or two about not having parents.  

“So, she’s gonna kick you out?” Rooster asks, furrowing his brows. 

You nod, toeing the carpet as you sling your aunt’s roller skates over your shoulder again. 

“Probably,” you tell him, shrugging again. 

Plopping down on the leather sofa again, avoiding the wet spot, you recline and let your bare feet dig into the carpet. Rooster sits beside you, also avoiding the wet spot, and sighs loudly. 

“What kinda family kicks a kid out?”

Rooster doesn’t respect people that don’t take care of their own--he thinks it’s the highest form of cowardice to abandon your flock. His back teeth are grinding just thinking about it.  

You chortle. 

“I’m not a kid,” you insist. “I’m twenty-one.” 

Now Rooster releases a belly laugh, sinking further into the sofa. 

“Oh, fuck,” he mutters, laughter tapering off as you narrow your eyes at him. He remembers it--feeling like an adult when he was twenty-one. It’s just that now that he’s a decade past that, he knows what bullshit it is. “Where were you during Woodstock? If you’re such an adult.”

Pink dusts your cheeks and you cross your arms. 

“I was only eleven, I couldn’t go-!” 

“Exactly, kid. My point stands. I was trippin’ on acid while you were practicing arithmetic.”

You bite your lip, still staring at Rooster. 

“You’re just begging me to call you an old man, aren’t you?” You ask. “Is that what does it for you?” 

He laughs again. 

There’s a moment of silence as you stew in the precarious situation you’ve found yourself in right now. You’re not scared, you’re not worried, you’re not freaked. You’re utterly chill, content with the belief that this is where you’re supposed to be. You love fucking--and people love fucking you. Why not monetize your talent? People do it all the time with their art. This is your art. And you’re not the only one who thinks that--Dennis fucking Goldman thinks it, too.  

“Tell you what,” Rooster starts turning towards you. You glance at him, eyebrows raised. “I’ll take you to your aunt’s place so you can grab your stuff. Then you can crash at my pad until Dennis hooks you up. I’ve got an extra bedroom. And a pool.” 

Something penetrates your heart--it’s between giddiness and excitement, something that makes you just want to absolutely burst. You’re afraid that you’ll sound even more like a kid if you eagerly accept, so you just look at him. 

“You wanna shack up with me already?” You bite. 

Rooster grins. 

“I’m a romantic, remember?” 

You lean in closer to him, your hand falling over the wet spot. 

“Are you like a Bundy kind of guy or something?” 

Rooster laughs, shaking his head. He likes the way your eyebrows come together, likes the way you’re asking questions. Everyone in California--especially in the crowds he runs around with--is a hippie. No questions asked, no questions answered, just good vibes. But you’re different--more guarded, more cautious, less trusting. And he likes that; it’s smart. You’re smart. 

He thinks he can tell that you’re from a farm somewhere far away from California. Even if Dennis hadn’t already told him that, he thinks he can read it all over you now with the way you speak to him, the way you carry yourself. Or maybe Rooster’s just got a big head still from fucking you. He isn’t sure. 

“Want me to be straight with you?” Rooster asks, leaning forward. Your noses are almost brushing when you nod at him. “I’m worse than Bundy. I don’t like the disco.” 

A smile bites at your lips and you pretend to be shocked, shaking your head at him with a slack jaw. 

“That’s a cardinal sin in California, isn’t it?” You ask. He nods. “When’s your execution? Am I invited?” 

Rooster grins at you--your wit is hard to keep up with. It makes his tongue warm with excitement.  

“Saved you a seat in the front row,” Rooster teases. “They call it the splash zone.” 

You laugh--it’s kind of a rude laugh, something that resembles a bark. But he keens at the sound of it filling up the room so nicely. 

“You’re gnarly,” you tell him. You size him up: he is undeniably handsome. And it wouldn’t be so bad to live in a big house with a pool alongside apparently one of the best porn stars in the business. “Why should I shack up with you?” 

Rooster could say well, you have nowhere else to go. He could also say what’s it matter to me where you stay? But he doesn’t. He just smiles at you--you don’t miss his eyes drifting to your mouth and back up. 

“Well, I’ve got a bottle of Blue Nun chilling in the fridge,” Rooster starts, smiling gently at you. “And I haven’t gotten to eat my Christmas caviar yet. I could always…share it.” 

You’ve never had caviar--or Blue Nun. But you don’t want him to know that. So, you just shrug and look down at your painted fingernails, picking at them. You’re oozing a sort of casualness that makes Rooster’s chest feel tight. 

You’re a little fucking minx.  

“What I’m hearing is that you don’t want to drink alone and you don’t like caviar enough to finish it by yourself,” you say, eyebrows raised. “Lucky for you, I’m all about charity. Especially for the elderly.”

Rooster’s heart pulses in his chest. 

He likes you. Fuck, he really likes you. 

“I could tell you were a giver the moment I saw you,” Rooster says, mocking Dennis. “It’s a gift,” he finishes, mocking you.

You grin at him. 

Dennis comes into the room absolutely buzzing, humming and grinning at the two of you: his stars. He has a stack of papers in his hands for you to sign and he’s already got a job for you, one that he fired another girl for a few minutes ago. 

“Alright, babydoll,” Dennis says, motioning for you to follow him to his desk. He lays down the paperwork and waits for you to take the seat across from him before he points to the contract. “This contract, among all its other boring legal mumbo-jumbo, just says that you’ll make me twelve films this year. That’s about one a month, no big deal, right? Easy cash, baby. And, as per this contract, you’ll be salaried at twenty big ones. Plus you’ll make a certain percentage of whatever your film makes--we can talk about that later, huh?” 

You almost can’t hear Dennis--your brain is totally paralyzed, the phrase twenty big ones pinging around your skull. Your throat is suddenly dry, very dry, and your toes are curling. 

Twenty fucking thousand dollars.  

You’re gonna be fucking rich. 

You’re gonna be a fucking star. 

Lips parted, you blink at the contract a few times. Maybe you should read it--it’s what your daddy would tell you to do. But you probably wouldn’t understand anything it says, anyway, so why try? 

When Dennis presses a pen into your hand, you loosely grasp it. Even his fucking pen feels expensive. 

“Just gotta get that John Hancock and we’re golden, babydoll.” 

So you sign it--sing all the dotted lines, your script looping and big. Dennis reads your real name finally, smiling to himself, but doesn’t say anything about it outloud. He’s silently trying to think of a name for you, something that will capture all of your wit and sex-appeal without sacrificing your femininity. He’s considered Venus and Aphrodite--but neither of them seem right for you; they’re too on the nose. 

You’re a hard one to pin down.

“Sign, sealed, delivered,” Rooster says from behind you, still sitting on the couch. 

He remembers signing the contracts--his fingers numb with excitement, a lump in his throat. He got started at twenty thousand, too. Now it seems small to him--but back then, between the mortgage and the chemo and the groceries, it seemed like the most money in the world.   

“There’s some other stuff, just little details and fine print shit, that we can get to later this week. Already got your first gig set up, babydoll. I’ll get in contact with you tomorrow and talk more about it.” Dennis is grinning at you, itching for another cigar. He’s gonna do some celebrating of his own tonight. “But now--you better boogie down, babydoll. It’s time to celebrate.”

And when it’s all said and done, when you’re officially a salaried worker for Goldman Homevideos within three hours of meeting Dennis Goldman on the Venice Boardwalk and an hour of fucking Rooster, you feel light as a feather.  

Wine and caviar sound pretty fucking good right now. 

So, you turn around, grinning at Rooster who’s watching you with his chin held in his hand. His breathing feels funny when you grin at him--he’s excited at the prospect of you staying in that big house with him. He’s always struck by how good it feels to have someone else there with him--he never realizes how echoey and hollow it is until someone’s filling up all that space with him  

“Things are just things, right?” You ask, narrowing your eyes at him. Your grin is spreading, eating your entire face. “Let’s fucking celebrate!”

Rooster’s house is the biggest house you’ve ever seen in your life. 

Forget the fact that he drives a cherry-red ‘64 Thunderbird too--a car your brother used to practically have wet dreams about--but he lives high up in the hills. His house, that expansive wooden-paneled thing with tall windows and sharp edges, is adorned with plenty of tall palm trees and an attached garage. 

“You’re sure you don’t wanna swing by your aunt’s house?” Rooster asks, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel as Fly Like An Eagle by the Steve Miller Band floats through his impressive speakers. “No skin off my back. Swear it.” 

You’re ogling at his house, your tongue thick with excitement and your bare feet settled on the soft carpet of his car. But you just shrug, flipping your hair over your shoulder with a sigh. 

“Don’t want her to harsh my vibe,” you tell him honestly. 

You’re far too excited to have your vibe harshed--you just genuinely don’t care about any of the prairie skirts your mom packed and can very easily live without the needlepoint your aunt gave you as a Christmas present. You’ll get new things, better things. 

“What are you gonna wear?” He asks. 

He rolls into the driveway seamlessly, peering at you from the corner of his eye. 

“Wasn’t planning on wearing anything,” you tell him. “That gonna make your heart give out, old man?” 

He tuts at you, a smile tugging at his lips. 

The sun kisses your bare shoulders and Rooster watches, sunglasses low on his nose, as your tilt your face towards the sky.      

“Already calling me your old man and I’m the romantic supposedly,” he sighs, grinning. You grin right back at him, laughing as he cuts the engine. “You’re really out to lunch, aren’t you, kid?” 

Wordlessly, you hand him your skates and climb across the seat to straddle him. He’s surprised, surprised enough to laugh. He can feel your skin, hot from the sun, pressing into his gently as you blow a raspberry in his face and then deftly climb out of the car barefoot. 

He’s ogling at you now as you stand beside his car, all the weight of your body on your left hit as you hold it and tilt your head at him. He’s so pretty--his face definitely looks his age, little fine lines pressed into the skin beside his mouth and eyes. But you like it; he looks cool. He looks real cool. 

“C’mon, old man,” you tell him, nodding towards the door leading into the house. “Show me around. Now that we’re shacking up and all. Gonna need to know where the bar is so I can fix you a nightly martini.”

Rooster just gets out of the car in silence, slugging your roller skates over his shoulder and walking past you with a smirk. This is gonna be fun. 

He gives you a tour and you try to keep your mouth closed for the most part. It’s all dark wooden walls, stone fireplaces, expensive art, soft rugs, water beds, two conversation pits, heavy furniture, vaulted ceilings. He even shows you his impressive backyard--the tiki bar, the outdoor shower, his famous cherry-red pool, the view he has of the Hollywood sign. 

Standing barefoot on the concrete, you look out over the hills that are lush with tall palm trees and sprawling homes and feel something akin to pride flood your chest. It’s so warm standing here beside this big, red pool at this big fucking house. Rooster’s cum is staining the crotch of your shorts and you don’t have a pair of shoes other than roller skates and you don’t know if your aunt cares where you are--but none of it matters. You’re here in Los Angeles, newly employed for an art that got you exiled from your family home. 

“This is fab,” you tell Rooster, not breaking your gaze from the gargantuan letters in the distance. “This is totally, totally fab.” 

Rooster’s watching you, his arms crossed over his broad chest. Maybe some people would consider today a whirlwind, but Rooster feels that this is all playing out the way it was supposed to. You look like you belong here, dressed in the only threads you own now, looking out over Los Angeles in his big backyard. The wind is billowing your hair and you plucked his sunglasses off to wear them yourself, the big things dwarfing your face. 

“I brought Al Hadley in a few years ago when the place was built,” Rooster explains coolly. “He’s this designer--!” 

Your laugh cuts him off. You face him, arms crossed as you let the glasses fall low on your nose to behold him. 

“I know who Al Hadley is,” you tell him indignantly. “I was raised on a farm, not a commune.” 

He’s tickled--usually when he tries to subtly brag about Al Hadley designing and decorating Rooster’s home, people have no idea who he’s talking about. It’s why he keeps a drawer of home interior magazines that feature Al at the bar. 

But you know him. You don’t need the magazine. 

As if to prove your point, you wrinkle your nose and sigh before saying, “He’s got that whole never less, never more thing, right?”

Dumbly, Rooster nods. 

“So, was his favorite color red or was it a special request?” You ask, sauntering over to the pool. You dip your toe in cautiously, biting your lip. The water is still warm from the sun.  

The pool stretches out across a vast majority of the backyard, a giant oval. The tiles are bright red--something between a fire engine and an apple--and it makes the water look like a vat of thin blood. 

Rooster follows behind you, still reeling from you knowing the designer that worked on his house. 

“Mine,” Rooster answers, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He looks down at your nails and smiles softly. “I dig red. Think it’s real groovy.” 

“It shows,” you tease.

There are red accents everywhere in Rooster’s house--not a feminine, girly lipstick-red. It’s moody and dark. His house feels almost like a cave--an expensive, dimly-lit cave. Maybe an alcove.

“You don’t dig it?” 

You hold your hands up in mock defense, shaking your head. 

“I dig red,” you answer. You hold up your middle fingers, showing off the color of your nails with a mischievous grin. “See? Red.” 

Rooster laughs. 

“You’re trouble,” he says decidedly. 

Letting your hands drop to your side, you smile coyly. 

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” you tell him. You come closer to him, gingerly taking the gold chain between your fingers and toying with it as Rooster smiles down at you. Through the orange shades of his sunglasses, your eyes look lit by fire. “That’s why they kicked me out of Nebraska.” 

“Well, aren’t you a regular Bonnie Parker,” Rooster breathes. 

His breath is warm as it fans out over your face.

“Bet you like that movie cause of all the red, huh?” You ask, biting your lip. “You know--with the blood and all.”  

Slyly, you stand up on your tip toes and then bring the gold chain between your teeth, biting softly. Rooster, with his brows furrowed but his throat open with laughter, steadies you by letting his hands cup your elbows. 

“Say, that’s real gold,” you deduce, grinning up at him. “You must be a regular Daddy Warbucks then, huh?” 

“Does that make you Orphan Annie?” 

If you were someone else, maybe that would sting. You are kind of an orphan now--at least it feels that way. Whatever, though--you know in your marrow that you weren’t brought onto this earth to live and die on a chicken farm with your stupid, complacent family. You’re meant to do bigger and better things--like Rooster. Literally and figuratively.    

“I think it does,” you tell him. Then you step back, disconnecting your bodies. You clap your hands and point to the house. “I remember something about wine and caviar.”     

As he lets you settle in on the modular, tufted sofa--taking just a moment to admire how entirely the thing swallows you--he stands behind the bar and retrieves the bottle of Blue Nun that’s been chilling in the wine fridge. 

You’ve got your legs tucked under you as you glance around at all the art on the walls. They’re fantastic--all their colors rich and their brushstrokes invisible. It’s, like, real art. And it’s fucking everywhere.   

“You wanna pick a record?” Rooster asks as he uncorks the bottle of wine. He gestures to the corner of the wide living room where a big turntable sits. “I’ve probably got everything you like,” he says, smiling. 

You stand up and start for the turntable, calling over your shoulder in a sing-song cadence, “Not disco!” 

 By the time you pick out a record, almost overwhelmed by the amount of sleeves you finger and sort through on the tall shelves, Rooster’s set out your glass of wine and the humble tin of caviar. Usually, the day after Christmas, Rooster would be doing this by himself. He would be putting on a David Bowie record and lighting up a cigar and letting the caviar melt on his tongue. It’s been a tradition for all his lonely Christmases the past ten years. But he isn’t mad that you’re here, isn’t mad that you probably won’t like the caviar, isn’t mad that he has to share a bottle of his Blue Nun. He’s elated, really--you’re proving to be good company and a good fuck. 

“Figured I’d pick something a little bit more your speed,” you tell Rooster, skipping back to the sofa as the record crackles.

 Just as you settle yourself back on the most comfortable fucking sofa you’ve ever sat on, Cherry, Cherry by Neil Diamond floods the soundsystem. 

Rooster smirks at you. 

Baby loves me, yes, yes she does / Ah, the girl's outta sight, yeah 

“I love Neil Diamond,” he defends, laughing. 

You smirk, picking up your wine glass and bringing it to your lips. Just before you take a swig of the fragrant liquid, you nod at him. 

“Exactly,” you laugh. “Neil Diamond is so old. I think my mom likes Neil Diamond,” you tease. 

Rooster takes it in stride, laughing as you take another drink of wine. 

Cherry, baby / (She got the way to groove me)

“So, I’m supposed to be listening to Santana and Hendrix like everyone else? Would that make me hip?” 

Tucking your feet under you, you nod. Rooster is beaming at you, his gold chain gleaming in the light. 

“Yes,” you answer. 

There’s a moment of quiet as the song floods the speakers. The wine is sweet on your tongue and you can’t fight the ache in your cheeks as you continue to grin. Rooster is opening the tin of caviar now, his hands deft and purposeful. God, his fingers alone dwarf the fucking can. Something twinges between your legs--wine always exacerbates all those feelings inside you, anyway.

Won't need bright lights, no, no we won't / Gonna make our own lightning 

“So, here’s what I’ve gathered about you. You’re from around which is in Nebraska, apparently. You can’t have kids--kudos, by the way.” You laugh and Rooster grins. “You like disco--and rollerskating. You’re an outlaw type. You only have the threads on your back. You know who Albert Hadley is and you like fast cars. What else is there to know?” 

He smothers a crunchy baguette oval in the caviar and then offers it to you. You, of course, have never had caviar. Hell, you’ve never even had salmon. All the fish you’ve consumed has been caught and gutted by your daddy and brother. 

But, with all the confidence of a food critic, you take the baguette from him and nod in gratitude. Rooster starts building his own slice, glancing at you as you take a careful bite. He knows that a farm girl from Nebraska has probably never had caviar before--but he would never know just by looking at your pretty face: the flex of your jaw as you chew, the stutter in your breathing when the rich egg and buttery baguette settle onto your tongue, the way your lashes flutter slightly. He knows, somehow, that it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted. 

No, we won't tell a soul where we gone to / Girl, we do whatever we want to / Ah, I love the way that you do me / Cherry, babe, you really get to me

“Well,” you start, trying to recover from the heavenly bite, “I like Harvey Wallbangers. This is my first time in California and I dig it. I’ve never seen a porno. I like Santana and Hendrix, but I like Joni Mitchell the best. I like to fuck. I like to be fucked. And that’s about all there is to know about me.”

Rooster chews slowly, letting each morsel of goodness burst on his tongue as you continue nibbling on your own cracker. He can tell that you’re savoring it and trying not to show him that you’re savoring it. 

“You like Joni?” 

You nod vehemently.

“I’ve heard Blue changes once you’ve seen California,” you tell him. “So, I guess I’ve just enjoyed it a novice amount, huh?” 

You’re being very earnest, your eyes soft and your legs tucked beneath you. It’s the smallest he’s seen you look all day. 

“They’re not bullshitting,” Rooster says. “Listening to Carey, driving through Laurel Canyon, it’s like--!” Rooster pauses, at a loss for words. Just talking about it, imagining the song sweetly flooding his radio, the wind rushing through his hair, the sky painted periwinkle, the sun warm on his nose. It nearly chokes him up. “Can’t really describe it. Gonna have to experience it.” 

You see it--the way he gets lost for a moment, the way his throat becomes clogged with emotion. But then he’s grinning at you again, his eyes gleaming.    

He sets down his cracker, rubbing his hands together over the table to rid his palms of crumbs. Curiously, you watch him as he stands and then reaches for your hand. 

“C’mere,” he says, “I wanna show you something. It’s outta sight, I swear. You’re gonna love it.”

You debate stuffing the entire cracker in your mouth, but to quickly chew and swallow it would feel like wasting it. So, very politely, you delicately place it on the coffee table and take Rooster’s hand. 

“Is it your cock?” 

He laughs, shaking his head. 

“No--unless you want it to be.” 

He pulls you to your feet, his grip warm and strong. You’re close now--your scantily-clad chest grazing his as you beam up at him. 

“I think I’d like to finish my caviar first,” you tell him, breath fanning across his face. “God, that sounded so rich.”

He leads you through his sprawling halls and into the bedroom at the end of the hall--it’s his bedroom, you think. He showed it to you before but you lost count of how many bedrooms there are after the fourth one; and each of them have waterbeds. His room is nice--it smells like pine and clean linens and the cologne he wears on his pulse points. 

The carpet is soft beneath your toes and the lights are low in here--everything is neat, the bed sheets made and no clothes sticking out of his dresser drawers. He has watches and sunglasses in abundance, all of them displayed handsomely on the surface of his bureau. 

Rooster doesn’t let go of your hand and you don’t stop gripping his, following along behind him like the two of you aren’t really strangers at all. You don’t feel like strangers--not after you’ve fucked. You don’t feel that way about every guy you fuck--so there must be something special to Rooster. 

“Here,” Rooster says, suddenly halting at the end of his bed. There’s an excitement climbing his throat, one that’s gonna choke him up again. Everyone likes Joni Mitchell--but he knows that you like her how he does--which he fashions is a little bit more than others. He nods to the painting mounted above the bed and squeezes your hand, but doesn’t drop it. “That painting.” 

You regard it quietly. It’s a colorful thing, lots of green, a stained-glass window. It’s funky and beautiful--playful, even. But you’re not sure what this has to do with Joni Mitchell. 

“Psychedelic,” you tell Rooster. “You…painted it yourself?” 

Rooster fixes his gaze on your face as you continue letting your eyes fall down the painting.

“That’s Dining Room, Laurel Canyon I,” Rooster recites, a smile tugging at his lips. You nod, lips pursed slightly. “Joni painted it in ‘69 when she was living there.” 

He watches it happen, the realization: pale pink covers your cheeks and throat, your eyes widen just enough for him to notice, his sunglasses slip off your hair when you abruptly lean in for a closer look. And then you break out in laughter--real loud laughter like you had in the office earlier, your eyes glossy and your mouth open wide. 

“You are Daddy Warbucks,” you gleefully tell him, climbing onto the bed and hastily climbing up his silk sheets to get closer to the frame. You’re moving unceremoniously, yet you still have all the grace of a doe. “I mean, this is really--this is fucking solid, man!” 

Rooster watches, pleased as a plum. His cheeks are pink, too, as you come closer to the painting. You’re not trying to touch it, not trying to take it off the wall. You’re just admiring a beautiful thing and so is Rooster. 

“So, this made me man and not old man?” Rooster teases, taking a few steps forward.

You scoff. 

“This makes you the man!”

Rooster bites his lip, nodding. He can’t remember the last time he had anyone in his room, on his bed, for any reason other than sex. But he doesn’t have the urge to jump your bones right now, no--he’s content just admiring you. 

“What I gotta show you to be Rooster?” He asks. 

You bite your lip hard, your heart still sitting in your throat. You feel like you’re on another planet right now, one where everything is going your way. You’re in Rooster’s big house on his waterbed, looking at an original Joni Mitchell. You’ve got caviar and wine waiting for you and twenty thousand dollars coming your way. 

Turning your cheek, you glance at him over your shoulder. 

“More than you’re prepared for,” you tell him, grinning. 

He sits on the edge of the bed, the water pulsing underneath him and making you unsteady on your knees. 

“Tell it to me straight.” 

You bite your lip. You like it when men let you be a little mean to them. 

“Well, first you’ve gotta show me Cockwalk.” You face him fully now, on your hands and knees. Your tits are practically spilling out of your skimpy top, but Rooster keeps his eyes on yours, a smile tugging at his lips. “You know, just so I can get a history on Y-O-U.” 

At the mention of Cockwalk, Rooster wants to groan. But he pretends to think as you look at him, eyes wide and wild. 

“I can get a copy of it,” he tells you. 

Your brows furrow. 

“You don’t keep copies of it here?” 

He shakes his head, frowning softly. 

“I never watch my own stuff,” he answers. “What are your other conditions, kid?” 

“I want the lion’s share of the caviar,” you list. He laughs, but nods. He would’ve given it to you anyway--he’s a good host like that. “And you have to help me pick a name. You know--like a name. But I think I have half of it nailed down.” 

You start crawling towards him, your lips glossy and your hair a touch wilder than it was earlier on the sofa. His chest is growing tight as you near him, the movement jiggling the waterbed beneath you. 

“What’ve you got ironed out so far, kid?” He asks, leaning back to recline on his palm. 

You settle yourself just before him, sitting on your haunches with your arms pressed into the sloshing waterbed. 

“Well, I read this book--real far out concepts, very of the times, you know? And it’s called Emmanuelle.” Rooster is smiling softly at you as you explain this to him, your brows pulled together as you decipher your thoughts. “And it’s all about a French woman separating love from lust and how sex doesn’t necessarily equal love. And like, right on, you know? Just cause I fuck someone doesn’t mean I’m in love with them, right? You get it.” You put a palm in the middle of his chest, nodding at him. “You get it.”               

He hums and nods for you to continue. 

“And the book is by this fab French woman named Emmanuelle Arsan, right? And I feel like Emmanuelle isn’t the sexiest name in the world. Like, that doesn’t invite pornographic images, right?” You ask. You’re very excited, speaking quickly and gesturing wildly with your hands. This is just what you look like when you’re talking about something that you care about--Rooster can tell. And he’s just drinking it in. “So, I guess whatever name we figure out, I think I want the last name to be Arsan. A-R-S-A-N. So, not, like, arson.” 

Rooster nods, narrowing his eyes in concentration as you finally settle back on your haunches and smile at him, cheeks dusted pink. 

“You into French stuff?” He asks. 

You nod. 

“Oui.”  

“I like it,” Rooster says. He glances down at your nails, freshly painted and glossy. They’re almost the exact same shade as the silk sheets beneath the two of you. Neil Diamond is still crooning in the living room with your wine and caviar. He thinks of his favorite color. “What about Cherry?” 

A tingle races up your spine and prickles your scalp. 

Cherry. Cherry Arsan.

“You son of a bitch,” you giggle, shoving him playfully. He falls onto his back, the water sloshing wildly beneath his back, and laughs when you climb on top of him. Straddling him, you hold yourself upright by putting your hands flat on his chest. “Okay. Okay. Close your eyes, Rooster.” 

Rooster keens at the sound of his name falling off your lips. He holds onto your thighs to keep you steady on the bed and then lets his eyes drift shut. 

His face is so pretty when its slack--and he listens to you so well. He rubs little circles on your skin with his thumbs in an absent way, like he’s always been doing that and you frequently straddle him. 

“Now, just pretend like we’re having sex again,” you tell him, slyly grinding your crotch over his. His lips tweak into a soft smile and he starts to open his eyes but you put your hand over them again. “Gotta keep your eyes closed. Immerse yourself in the image. So, we’re having sex, right?” You start to bounce softly on him, laughing. And he groans softly, sinking his teeth into his lower lip. 

“Christ,” Rooster mutters. 

It really doesn’t take much to get Rooster hard--he’s a fucking porn star. But there’s something about the way you’re laughing carelessly and bouncing on him that makes his throat feel very, very warm. He’s getting hard already; he’s sure you can feel it. 

You feel it when his hands flex and his fingers dig into your hips. 

“And pretend like we’re, like, lost in the heat of the moment--as much as you can be when you’re filming,” you tell him, slowing down your movements. You drag your hips, make your crotch press against him more purposefully. He grips you harder, his cheeks turning pink. “Maybe your hands are even here,” you mutter, bringing his hands to your chest. 

He swallows hard, cupping you carefully. What the fuck is happening?

Rolling one of your nipples between his fingers, he elicits a sweet moan from your throat. God, it sounds good. Are you two about to fuck again? Right now? Right here? He’s getting harder, your crotch coming down on him perfectly with every grind. 

“Fuck, Cherry,” he groans softly. 

And then you’re a giggling mess, collapsing on top of him, wrapping your arms around him and hugging him close. He blinks at the ceiling, your hair moving across his face as you pepper his face with kisses. 

“God, it sounds good! It sounds so real,” you tell him, grinning. You hover his face, beaming and pink-cheeked. He’s staring at you with his wet lips ajar. “You’re a great actor!” 

He swallows thickly. Fuck. 

“So are you, Cherry,” he says. 

You’re giddy hearing it come off his tongue again. 

“Feed me fish eggs, Rooster,” you whisper to him, nuzzling your nose against his. You kiss his lips quickly, just a chaste and friendly thing, then hop off and start for the living room again. 

Rooster stares at the ceiling for a long moment, trying to catch his breath. He’s still hard right now. And he definitely, definitely wasn’t acting. 

When he walks back into the living room carrying a wicker basket, you’re already on your third cracker and second glass of wine. You’re beaming still, looking at all the art around you and trying to figure out if there are any more Mitchell originals in here. 

“Get lost back there?” You ask, mouth full of cracker. You nearly choke when he appears in front of you, all tan and muscle and soft smiles.  

He grins at you, dressed down in cotton pajama bottoms and no shirt. 

“No,” he tells you, sinking down beside you. “Slipped into something more comfortable. Figured you would want to, too. Forgot that I have the old lost and found here--you’re welcome to dig around and see if anything fits you. I get it all dry cleaned, anyway.” 

You perch your brow when he sets the sizable wicker basket on the floor before you. 

“You have a fucking lost and found for your house?” 

He chuckles, nodding.

“This is the party house. All my pals come here and sometimes it gets a little crazy--people leave all sorts of shit behind,” he shrugs as you start to poke around the basket. “I’m sure something will fit you.” 

“How often do you have parties here?” 

Rooster hums, thinking for a moment. 

“At least once a month, I’d say. Having one on New Years Eve. Say, you’ll get to meet everyone then,” Rooster beams. “That’ll be tubular.” 

“Everyone?” You ask. “Like…more porn stars?” 

Rooster nods. 

Saliva pools on your tongue. This is so fucking cool.  

He prepares himself another cracker and tops off your wine glass before sitting back on the sofa. You sort through the clothes, a spare high heel there and a go-go boot there. There’s slinky dresses and a lot of underwear, some ties, too. But there isn’t anything that resembles pajamas.  

“I’ll just sleep in my birthday suit,” you tell him, leaning back against the couch. “I always pack that with me.” 

He shakes his head at once, frowning. 

“No, you can borrow one of my shirts. No biggie, Cherry.” 

Smiling softly, you nod. Then you stuff a cracker on your mouth, sighing contentedly. 

“Is this what my life is gonna be like all the time?” You ask him. 

Rooster lets his cheek rest against his fist, watching you sprawl out across his sofa with the wine glass balanced on your bare belly and your jaw flex as you chew far too much cracker and caviar. 

“Pretty much,” he tells you. You glance at him, eyes a bit bleary. You’re a lightweight. “You’ve got real talent. Dennis sees it, too.” 

You bite your lip. 

“And he saw it in you, too, right?” You ask. Rooster nods, taking another sip of wine. “How old were you, anyway? Like, how long have you been in the biz?” 

“I was eighteen,” he tells you. Your brows knit just slightly--it seems so young. You can’t imagine him as an eighteen-year-old. “Got scouted by Dennis at Casa Vega. Just turned eighteen. I was his waiter. Brought me in, had me fuck some broad, then hired me right on the spot. Same as you.” 

You’re lying on your side now to give Rooster your full attention, lazily tracing the rim of your wine glass as you watch him speak. 

“So, he does that a lot then?” 

Rooster shakes his head, meeting your eyes. 

“Haven’t seen him do that for anyone since he did it for me.” 

That makes your throat dry. Jesus Christ, you can’t believe what your life is. 

“Why’d you say yes?” You ask. 

Rooster’s a bit taken back by the question, blinking a few times as you take another drink of wine and blink at him expectantly. 

“Why did you say yes?” He asks. 

“You first,” you return.  

He hasn’t been asked that in a very long time--God, he forgot how uncomfortable he was in his own skin all those years ago. He forgot how fast things moved and how easy it was to get swept up in all of the life going on around him. 

“Well, my mom was sick and my dad was gone,” Rooster explains softly, eyes downcast. “It was a Hell of a lot more money than being a waiter. Plus, who doesn’t want to get paid to fuck?” 

At that, you raise your glass in a mock gesture of here, here!

“That’s why I said yes,” you tell him, nodding. “I thoroughly enjoy fucking.” 

That isn’t the only reason you said yes. It’s also because you don’t know if you’re ever allowed to go home again to the chicken farm, not that you care that much. But you don’t tell him this. You don’t tell him yet about the night before you were sent away. You don’t tell him about your brother’s rage and the hole in the wall beside your head. You don’t tell him about your mother’s spit on the toe of your shoe. You don’t tell him about that--not yet. It’s all so fresh still.  

“I get it. Sex is groovy. It’s the new frontier,” Rooster grins, taking another drink. “What do you like about it?” 

You laugh again. You’re starting to feel warm and loose--you like this wine. And your belly is so full of caviar that you feel like you could explode. But you’re too happy to care; this has been one of the best days of your life and it’s hardly the evening yet. 

“About sex, you mean?” You ask. Rooster nods very earnestly. You sigh, rolling onto your back again and staring up at the skylights on the ceiling. The sky is a searing orange, like an ember. “Well, I like everything about it.” 

“Tell me,” Rooster encourages. “I’m sure if anyone understands--it’s me, Cherry.”

You think for a moment, finishing your wine. Rooster pours you another glass silently, letting his feet rest on the coffee table as you stare up at the ceiling lazily. 

“I like all the before. Like, when it’s just something I’m thinking about. And it’s exciting, like, deciding if I’m gonna go for it or not, you know? Even the moment that I decided, like, yeah, I’m gonna do this is…it’s out of this world, you know?” You’re gesturing wildly with your hands again. Rooster understands what that means now. “I like how touching other people makes our hearts race and our cheeks red. I like how our bodies just, like--you know, move. And they react and keen and arch and curl. It’s just fucking cool, you know?”

He hums in agreement. It is cool. 

“And there’s just something liberating about the whole thing. Like, I know you probably haven’t been to Nebraska,” you start, shooting Rooster an incredulous glance. He chuckles and nods--he hasn’t. “But every major revolution has skipped it. Like--every single one. My daddy doesn’t trust banks and my mama won’t let the me move out until I’m married. My brother--God, don’t get me started on that fucking creep. There’s just something, I don’t know…special about sex? Like being that close to someone else and owning that thing between my legs and using it, too. It’s…I guess it’s just, like, power?” 

Rooster has not thought even one time today that you’re dumb or ditzy--but now as you’re talking, your throat warm and open and your eyes glossy and focused on the ceiling above you, he genuinely thinks you’re smart. How a farm girl like you managed to get ahold of such forward-thinking ideals is genuinely beyond him. 

“Isn’t everything about power, though?” 

You hum, eyebrows furrowed. 

“I guess when you boil it down, sure, everything is about power. But--fine! I want some power. I think I deserve some. Fuck, I even think I’m due some. I’ve been shoveling chicken shit and swinging axes my entire adolescence.” You rant. The scent of metallic chicken’s blood suddenly fills your nostrils, coats your mouth. You can feel the spatter on your face, can feel the little talons in your hands before you bring down the blade. “You trust me, right? Don’t you think I should have some power?” 

Rooster grins at you--you’re tipsy. But you’re asking him this with slight earnesty, cheek pressed into the sofa. You’re very endearing right now, very open. 

“You can take some of mine,” he tells you. “Hasn’t my kind been in charge long enough?” 

You chew your lip, biting a grin. He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in this room. He’s looking at you like everything else in the house has melted away. 

“That’s a radical stance,” you tell him. 

“Radical and true.” 

“Not that those things are mutually exclusive,” you say. “Radicalism and honesty. But then, I guess, isn’t honesty radical? Especially now. Post-Watergate, post-Vietnam, post-Cuban Missile Crisis.” 

He grins at you. 

“Where’d you get so smart, Cherry?” 

“B-O-O-K-S.” 

He laughs and you laugh, too. You feel tipsier when you laugh, your tongue very warm with delight. 

“You forgot the best part about sex, though,” he tells you. You blink at him, perching an eyebrow. “Cumming.” 

A big laugh falls from your lips--one that is sturdy and true and aided by the Blue Nun that’s already half-finished now. 

“In my experience, I’ve found that cumming is a rare occurrence during intercourse,” you tell him, rolling onto your belly and kicking your feet up behind you casually. He furrows his brows deeply, confusion written plainly over all his features. “Which translates to: only one guy has ever made me cum.” 

“What?” Rooster acts. “You shitting me, Cherry?” 

You shake your head, giving him a thumbs down. 

“What a nightmare,” Rooster says. He genuinely can’t imagine how frustrating it would be to have sex all the time and not finish. But then the tips of his ears grow red when he remembers that he has fucked you--and you did not cum. “Tell me about it.” 

You hold your wine glass out and Rooster fills it again happily, content in just listening to you speak. 

“It was actually not that long ago. Like, I think it was five or six days ago--my last time in Nebraska. John Duke picked me up for a date, which translates to us fooling around at the drive-in,” you tell Rooster. Rooster listens closely, sipping his wine. “And nothing was different, really. We fucked in the back of his truck at the drive-in and--!” 

“--What picture was playing?” 

You grin at Rooster--he’s biting his lip. 

“A Question of Love,” you answer, wrinkling your nose. Rooster winces and you nudge him with your foot. “It’s beside the point! You’re being a dork! The point is that he took me home and he put his hand under my skirt and then it just happened--like it hasn’t ever happened before and then it just did.” 

You can remember the feeling so clearly, not that it happened very long ago. How warm his truck was, how soft the leather felt. You remember the way his rough fingers felt against your clit, hammering against it like he was trying to force some sort of confession out of it. You were breathing so harshly, your mouth dry and open. The night was dark all around you and you were suddenly tipped over an edge no one but yourself had ever tipped you over, free-falling over rocky planes under a star-speckled night. And it was only a moment after that when your brother suddenly ripped the passenger door open, pulling you out of the truck with your skirt still hiked up and your eyes still closed. 

It was an immediate punishment--the kind that made you question the reality of God.  

“What was it like?” Rooster asks.

You shrug. 

“Fine,” you tell him. “A lot.” 

Rooster bites his lip hard. 

“Did you like it?” 

You did--until you didn’t.

“Fleetingly,” you answer. You’re still kicking your legs behind you, sipping on your wine. “He was rough.” 

“You don’t like it rough?” Rooster asks. He’s smirking. 

“Sometimes I don’t,” you answer. You’re smirking, too. “Does it really matter what I want, though?” 

Rooster’s eyebrows knit. 

“Of course it does,” he answers, his tone dripping in decisiveness. “Sex is an act between multiple people and everyone’s wants matter--!” 

“Yeah, sure,” you interrupt, sitting up on your elbows. Your breasts are dangerously close to spilling out. Rooster swallows hard. “You can say that. You can say that sexual revolution stuff that they preached. But how often do you really make women cum? And I’m not trying to be a square here or anything. But just, like, give me the lowdown.” 

Rooster answers with not a moment of hesitation. 

“Every time I have sex with them,” he answers. 

You laugh softly, shaking your head.

“You had sex with me and I didn’t cum,” you argue. You gesture to him with your wine glass, grinning. “So up your nose with a rubber hose.” 

He watches you finish your glass. And then he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. You watch him carefully, smiling a wet sort of smile. Your feet still when you meet his eyes--his pupils are blown.

But then he stands up, briskly walking over to the turntable. He picks a record quickly and settles the needle on it, adjusting the volume, before he comes back over and sits on the couch. He’s closer to you now--close enough to touch you. 

The two of you stare at each other, lips parted, as Young Americans by David Bowie starts. 

“Let me right my wrong,” Rooster says. “You’ll eat your words.”

In response, you just nod. No words required--not with Rooster. When you start to move, to adjust, he lays his flat palm at the base of your spine and press you into the couch. 

“No,” he tells you. “You don’t have to move. You don’t have to do anything. Just chill, Cherry. Stay put.” 

So, you relax back into the couch, letting your cheek sink into the soft cushion. And Rooster moves to hook his fingers in your shorts, slowly pulling them down your legs as you raise your hips. 

Your heart is starting to race, heat is starting to gather between your legs. You want this--when do you not want it? And he told you to chill--so you do. You just lay on his nice couch and let him take your pants off, let David Bowie croon. The wine is sitting heavy in your belly and you still feel like today is the best day of your life--but you also have the distinct feeling that a lot of days will end like this. 

You’re expecting Rooster to just plunge his fingers into you--you’re expecting something fast and to the point. But then you feel it: Rooster’s lips against the back of your neck, his fingers carefully parting your hair and setting it aside. It provokes goose flesh all over your body. 

“Oh,” you whisper. Your lashes are fluttering and your belly is tight with want. “Forgot you’re a romantic.” 

When he laughs, it vibrates your skin deliciously. He presses warm, wet kisses all along your neck and across your shoulders. The sensation is overwhelming, really--overwhelmingly lovely. It’s tender and soft, something you’ve never shared with a man. You hardly feel it when he unties your bikini and slips it out from under you. 

Now you’re bare before him, already a blushing and panting mess. 

Rooster’s breath is caught in his throat. He’s already hard--like fully, ready-to-go hard. The kind of hard that hurts, really. But God, how could he not be hard looking at you? You’re fucking beautiful--all that supple, pale skin and those delicate and private freckles. He feels drunk just looking at you and he can only see your naked back. 

“Isn’t it my birthright? As a Cancer?”

He kisses a long, languid line down your spine, reaching under you and cupping your breasts. You bring your arms above your head, sighing into the crook of your elbow and submitting to the pleasure that shivers through your nervous system when he starts to carefully tweak your nipples. 

“Yeah,” you whimper softly. “Something stupid like that.” 

Very softly, he lets his right hand drift away from your chest and between your parted legs. You lean into his touch, gasping when he first grazes your cunt. You’re already wet--so wet. And he touches you gingerly at first, gathering your arousal and spreading it for your comfort. Then he starts to work on your clit--that familiar bundle of nerves he’s so friendly with--and just like all the other women do, you moan at the pace he sets. 

Rooster’s been in this business a long time--he understands how to make a woman cum. He’s almost certain he would be able to make any woman cum, but he knows that’s a bit presumptuous. But even the way he’s watching the heat gather in your cheeks, watching the way your spine is curving. You’re trying to move into and away from his touch at the same time; it’s a good sign. 

“God,” you mutter, your breaths quivering and pathetic. “Fucking Christ.”

He moves his other hand to your lower back again, pressing you down until your belly is flush with the sofa. Your knees are spreading just by nature and you’re moving your hips along with his movement, crying out when he dips his finger into you softly. 

“Taking it so good, Cherry,” Rooster coos, heart sitting in his throat. “That’s what’s gonna make you a star, baby.” 

A moan tumbles out of your mouth before you can even stop it. Fuck, you love it when he says that. 

He hastens his pace, rubbing tight and fast circles over your clit. Every muscle in your leg is tense and your breaths are growing rapid. Fuck, this happened a lot quicker and ended a lot quicker last time you did this--but it didn’t feel this good. 

“Like that, huh?” Rooster asks, watching the heat in your cheek spread down your throat. “Like it when I call you a star?” 

“Yes,” you mutter. “Sagittarius's can be egotistical.”

He laughs, but doesn’t relent in his pace. He leans down and peppers kisses across your lower back and nibbles very softly on your hips while still holding you down. 

“So, it’s your birthright, then?” 

“Fuck, yes!” 

He feels the exact moment he pushes you over the edge. You clench around him, thighs clamping together pathetically. Your body almost fights him, but he moves in tandem with it. He doesn’t keep his harsh pace up when you writhe, he moves to let his body lay over yours when you can’t keep your body against the couch. And then you come down, heaving, stars dancing in your eyes--he just presses a kiss to your hip. 

“Well,” he whispers, patting your ass softly and brushing some of your messy hair from your eyes. “Did you eat your words?” 

You glance at him, still panting. He’s grinning at you and his pupils are still blown.

And all I want is the young American / Young American, young American, I want the young American 

“Maybe,” you whisper. You blow hair out of your eye and then grin at him. “Maybe we should do it again. Just for good measure.” 

He laughs softly, shaking his head. 

“Best two out of three?”

“You’re on, Rooster.”

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: I FUCKING LOVE ROOSTER (THIS WILL PROBABLY BE THE NOTE ON EVERY SINGLE CHAPTER BECAUSE HE JUST GETS BETTER AND BETTER!!!

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

[junebluues]

When is your birthday?

What is your favorite book?

What is something you're insecure about?

What is your dream job?

What is a fact about you that nobody would believe?

What were your highs and lows for this last month?

Where is somewhere you'd like to visit?

How do you de-stress?

What are your favorite apps besides tumblr?

Describe yourself in one sentence.

What is something you're really good at?

What's a totally random and useless fact that you know?

What is your longest friendship?

How are you feeling right now?

Are you an early bird or a night owl?

Favorite song lyrics right now?

What does self care look like for you?

Describe yourself with 3 singers.

What makes you nervous?

What’s a pet peeve you have?

What will always make you cry?

What kind of first impression do you think you make on people?

Favorite color?

:3

WOW thats a lot thanks starry!!!!

june 14th!

i don’t have one single favorite, but one of my favorites is the perks of being a wallflower!

i think it’s mostly my face/body hair. i’m naturally very hairy and i sort of had kind of a unibrow and a slight mustache as a kid even though i’m afab. it was very noticeable because i also have black hair. my teeth were also crooked before i got braces, and i used to wear glasses before i got corrective contacts. i’ve been insecure about my looks since i was a kid. i was a really weird kid and it didn’t help that i was “ugly” and all my friends weren’t. it kind of put me into a pattern of self-depreciation and loathing. my teeth are now fixed and i got laser hair removal done in most places, plus i no longer wear glasses. i was basically a weird kid who got a glow up.

well if we’re talking about pay not being a problem i’d say author or actor (either on stage or film, doesn’t matter) but if it’s being realistic… pharmacologist.

i used to be a gymnast.

i think one of my highs was the troupe hangout before school! one of my lows was when i got really really tired of socializing and separated myself from everyone and ghosted a lot of people.

i want to visit the philippines again! it’s my home country and i want to see my relatives.

um. i sing about it. that’s so theater kid of me but like… me belting is better to hear than me screaming.

i love pinterest and instagram! insta is me interacting with friends and silly videos. pinterest is fun pictures.

i’m the type of person who got way funnier after the fourth grade because of my issues…

i’m a good actor, i’d say? if my awards are anything to show for it…

the most stolen book is the bible.

um… i had this friend for six years but we’re kinda drifting apart. so other than that, two years.

i’m kinda nervous for auditions…

night owl. i like the night time because nobody can bother me, and nobody bothers to find me in the dark.

“you wouldn’t leave till we loved in the morning, you learned from movies how love ought to be. and you’d say you love me and look in my eyes, but i know through mine you were looking in yours.”

sitting alone in my room watching a video essay on one of my favorite movies, wrapped in a blanket hugging a stuffed toy while ignoring my messages.

in terms of lyrics maybe… laufey mitski and bo en?

auditions. not shows, not competitions, not recitals, auditions. they make me terrified because what if i accidentally suck and they don’t accept me? things where i only have one chance to show my skills.

when people bring up insecurities/things people can’t change when we’re like talking about things that happen to people at school… just. no. i’m all for getting the drama just. don’t bring up their tangled hair or the fact they live in a poor neighborhood. that’s not cool.

people bringing up the fact i can’t love people romantically, yet i almost always love other people more than i love myself (and more than they love me.) someone made a joke about that before and i nearly cried in front of them in the halls. i really want to love romantically. i can’t help it that i always give myself to people who don’t want me. thankfully i’m in a good qpr with someone who cares about me now and i’m grateful for them every day. <3

for some reason, some people think i’m scary to talk to!!! i don’t bite i’m very nice and laid back!!! people tell me i look really cool which is why they were scared, and i kind of appreciate that people think i look cool… like… screaming omg thank you… but other than that i think people usually think i’m pretty chill, funny, or caring!

yellow or purple!!!

thanks for this ask :333 hopefully i didn’t miss anything!

[caesarflickermans]

I’m the anon, I didn’t know you shipped Kabby too that’s cool. I’ve read your analysis which I find it interesting. I’ll only correct you on effie’s arc in the movies cause i think you had missed something and it can happen to not have grasp it, so I’ll just add this. Book and movie effie have a different fate (that ends in the same way) that fits her character in both the adaptations: book effie is less present in cf and she has a subtle development due to the fact that whenever she was showing sign of emotions something else happened or it was just a line so it was not that noticed yet she was still sad, cried and proposed the golden tokens. Not knowing her fate during most of the mj book was to make readers think that she had either been executed or that she was fine but then surprise we meet her at the end when in just few lines we discovered that she had been captured, tortured and that she had a vacant look in her eyes. That trauma is what make her sympathetic.

Movie effie on the contrary had a more on-screen development due to the fact that the movies were in third person, she also talks about the four of them as a team and she apologize to them saying that she is sorry for what happened and is happening and that is what makes us sympathize with her. So it happens before. Her being brought in D13 makes sense in the movie verse cause Katniss and her are let’s say closer. And bc she had already a significant development. She stands with the mockingjay and we see it through her wardrobe. She first have a customize uniform cause she feels insecure, untrusty and unwelcomed in d13 (that’s how SHE feels) but she wears something gold that ties her with Katniss then slowly she starts to wear the same jumpsuit of the others in 13 meaning that she starts to feel welcomed and fully believes in the revolution (from 75% to 100%), but she still wears gold. She does think the revolution is necessary as she says “let’s bring back democracy” but she is a morally grey character with flaws and those are still showed in part 1&2. That doesnt un-do her development of cf, on the contrary it highlighted it making her more complex :)

I really liked Effie's more subtle and slower development in the books, hence why I've outlined and focused on it more. I know fans of hers (and that was me as well!) were delighted to have more, but the quantity did not feel like quality to me.

I'll agree to disagree with you on some interpretations of movie Effie. Every example you mention is focused on her feelings toward Haymitch, Katniss, and Peeta. She was inactive in 13 (again, why did the regime allow her to consume their resources without punishment) until Plutarch approached her about Katniss. Her journey you outline is that of caring for three people, but that does not make her a revolutionary or a believer in the revolution. Had she had scenes in the movie or the book where she reflected on the systematic oppression, I'd have bought into that arc, but she does not.

And I'll say that I like that about her !! She's a perfect example of a neoliberal white woman who learns that slurs are bad but who still believes in the fact that poor people are poor because they don't try hard enough. Her failure to grasp the injustices she represented each year are making her a realistic and interesting character as her indoctrination defines her to the end of the trilogy. And I LOVE flawed characters !! It's why I've attached blind spots to all the major characters I'm writing creatively who are part of the rebellion. None of them "fully" grasp it.

Unfortunately, and that's why I've turned away from the character & ship, I've felt that the movies I watched and the versions I've seen were ignorant to these flaws. I assume some part of it was discomfort in sitting with morally grey characters, especially when they were, in essence, part of the oppressing group. Effie has seemingly been viewed with rose-tinted glasses by many, including Francis Lawrence.

The scene you mention to allude to her finally having understood the rebellion ("let’s bring back democracy") happens at the beginning of MJ, so hardly a conclusion to her character journey if several other aspects mentioned occur later. This scene was originally supposed to be Plutarch's scene and Plutarch's words. Due to the actor's death, the only option was Effie, as Haymitch had his reveal scene later. I don't buy her saying or believing these words. Effie was raised in a fascist society and is the representation of the average Capitol citizen. I don't think she knows or grasps democracy, nor understands why it is necessary because her character flaw is not grasping systematic injustice. The scene also felt contrived in Cinna having given the book to Effie, but this isn't the focus here. If the sole hint for her to have developed a grasp of the overall rebellion's necessity hinges on the on-set death of an actor and the scrambling to keep that scene alive, that's a pretty weak character arc whose scene is out of character because it was never meant to be hers to begin with.

[sweaterkittensahoy]

I'm having a lot of thoughts of family and family values with the death of Sean's grandmother. Sean's family is conservative. At his grandma's funeral, I went to the bathroom in the church his grandmother had been a member of for 52 years, and in the stalls, there were brochures about how you can be forgiven for an abortion.

And here's the thing: Fuck that. Fuck that entirely. I find that gross and awful.

But here's the other thing: Sean's family has never presented me any version of themselves that would be part of a church that wouldn't do that.

Do I think they're wrong? Yes. Am I going to bring it up? No. Because the only family member I need to understand my position on something like abortion is the guy I married. We were the only two who had to make that decision should we need to make it, and we've been in agreement since we started fucking.

Meanwhile, my mother claims she signed up for the Republican party in the county because it was the only way to get elected. Which. Yes. I agree.

But also. She is now a lame duck candidate. She has no plans to run for another term. But she still fully participates in the Republican party activities in the county, but most notably, the Republican WOMEN events.

Sean's mom and I had an early head butt when she said she was anti-abortion, and I said I was pro-choice. It was awkward, but we agreed to disagree and have never discussed it again. She has literally never brought it up again, and so I have never brought it up again. She is showing me, through not talking about it, that she is respecting that we wildly disagree and will never agree, and she is not trying to light a match under my feet.

Meanwhile, my mother painted her participation in the Republican party like a means to an end, yet continues to support with her time and effort, which tells a very different story.

When Sean was a teenager, his parents taught him that abortion was wrong, and that if he got someone pregnant, they expected him to take responsibility and care for the child.

When I was a teenager, my mother looked me in the eye and said, "I am pro-choice, but if you're old enough to get pregnant, you're old enough to take care of it."

And when I tell you that was a fucked up view of the world, I can't emphasize it enough. Sean got a very clear rule (don't fuck). I got a very mixed message (abortion is fine unless it's you).

I don't agree with his family on a lot of things, and none of them have ever gotten my pronouns right, but my own parents have claimed they never had expectations for me (hah!), and the pile of bullshit is so high I'm surprised they can see over it.

Do I wish my in-laws matched me more politically? Do I wish they didn't mutter shit about queer people and undocumented workers? Yes. But it's a passing conversation amongst many hours of positive experience vs. my own parents' bringing up drag queens and intentionally saying "HE" when I literally did not say anything about drag queens because I didn't want shit to start, and they swear they're not starting shit, and yet. They know I'm queer as fuck. Same as Sean's mom, in fact. She flatly ignores it, and I don't like that, but I prefer it over my parents claiming they love me as I am and clearly ignoring every chance to prove it through a slight change to their vocabulary.

"Gayle, why do you put up with any of it??"

Because someone can love you and want you happy while not having their shit together about the whole of you. Sean's mom has no idea of his queerness, and he's comfortable with that. He gives zero shits. And so do I, frankly. His mother loves us and wants us to be happy and successful, and I would LOVE if it meant accepting us being queer, but that's not going to happen. Fine. Fuck it. We can all watch movies together and make each other laugh.

My parents, on the other side, think they are beyond that. They don't have expectations, they think. They only want us to be happy. But they have never gotten my pronouns or vocabulary (child vs. daughter for example) correct even though I wrote them a detailed email explaining it all. They're full of shit. They have expectations, one of them being that I am female.

Someone asked me recently, "Why do you still talk to your parents if they so obviously hate you?" And I answered it, and I think my answer now stays the same: I am careful about how much I give them and how much I expect of them. I am aware of how they fail me, but being aware makes it easier to decide how much I tell them.

Do my parents hate me? They don't think so. That's the best answer I have.

Does my MIL hate me? No. She knows what my pronouns are and has never used them, but also, I didn't expect her to. I told her to give her a chance to try something new, and she refused. But frankly, my enby shit does not affect her in any way that matters. I would LOVE to hear her call me 'they'. But I have plenty of people who WILL use my pronouns without pause, and I'd rather focus on the ways my MIL does do her best for Sean and I.

The way I handle it isn't for everyone, but I also think it's important to think about because family shit is fucky, and people assume "just cut them off!" is an easy answer when it really isn't.

I have found a level of acceptance with my parents shittery, and I have found a comfortable acceptance in what my MIL and Sean's other family just won't accept, and I'm comfortable. I'm happy. I am glad when Sean's family went through the death of the matriarch, I was there to support and show true affection because they've shown the same to me.

It's not simple or perfect, but it's family, and I'm grateful to have them imperfect as they are.

[keibea]

15 Questions for 15 Mutuals

Is everyone sick of learning random facts about me yet? Yes? Well, here we go again, cause I LOVE THEM. Thank you @vmsims23 , @nectar-cellar and @johziii for tagging me, you all know me too well.

Are you named after anyone? LOL nope, I honestly wish I was. Jessica was the only name my parents could agree on BAHHAHA.

When was the last time you cried? Monday 🙃I had a painful exam experience.

Do you have kids? Nope and thank goodness for that because I can barely take care of myself BAHAHHA.

Do you use sarcasm a lot? Oh yeah, I'm terrible. Not as much as I used to I don't think though, but often WHOOPS.

What sports do you play/have you played? I was forced to play a lot for school, as I think most people were. The ones I can remember the most clearly are netball (I was let on the team out of necessity I think), bocce (because we could all get away with sitting around most of the time and occasionaly rolling the balls), zumba (it was mostly just dance which was SICK), and ballet (if that counts??) is the one I stuck with the longest and the only one I chose to wilingly do myself.

What’s the first thing you notice about other people? Hair or smile. I'm not quite sure. One of those I think.

Scary movies or happy endings? No scary movies for me, nope. I'm horribly paranoid, I will start checking my wardorbe. Happy endings ALL THE WAY. Genuinely I will only watch a movie and read a book if I know it has a happy ending idc YES IM ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE.

Any special talents? Depends on what you define as a special talent. So I don't know if this counts, but I am weirdly a natural at baking??? Definitely not freestyle but if I follow a recipe (which I always do because I like doing things in order) it always turns out really well. So I guess that's just following a recipe, but I like to think I'm special and naturally talented at baking. My mum always finishes my baking off though because I get bored halfway through whoops and she genrally always helps me because I'm terrible with the oven so tbh maybe it's just mum that's talented.

Where were you born? AUSSIE AUSSIE AUSSIE, OI, OI, OI 🦘

What are your hobbies? Sims, sims, also sims, reading about early Victorian fashion, reading about the Victorian era, reading and that's probably it.

Do you have any pets? I have a beautiful little cat named Mikey. He is my best cat friend (and tbh, best friend in general) and I love him very much.

How tall are you? My father says I'm very short, and calls me a worm (both said affectionately I should add), so I assume pretty short. In terms of numbers though, not a clue. I believe I'm average-ish height for a woman, maybe a bit shorter.

Fave subject in school? HISTORY ALL THE WAY. Mostly modern history, purely because I love the Victorian era, but I do enjoy ancient history as well.

Dream job? Fashion historian! That or an author of historical fiction OR a book on early Victorian women's fashion.

Eye colour? I like to call them swamp green, but my mum would disagree, so I'll say green.

I shall annoy @lazysunjade , @amuhav , @thesimperiuscurse (oh yes you bet I am @ ing people who are inactive and who also never do these things, I am 100% that sort of person), @akioakashiya , @itssimplythesims , @lifewithmysims , @elderwisp , @happy-lemon , @servospawn , @tau1tvec , @bunmou , @stinkrascal , @cozygirlsimmer , @moonsonnet , @doka-chan

Please forgive/ignore me if you hate doing this sort of thing, or if you've been tagged and done it already, and wow thank you all for being my mutuals I didn't know I had so many amazing people following me back LETS GOOOO

[kariachi]

Some fic I started last night! Kevin, Ben hanging out shortly into Kevin’s retirement.

~~

The last thing Kevin remembered was forcing his way through a book, then the next thing he knew he was waking up to Ben sat on his legs and one of the fucking Sumo Slammers tv shows on his television.

“The fuck, man?”

“Oh, so you are alive.”

“Unfortunately, get that shit off my screen.”

“And you call yourself a Sumo Slammers fan.”

“The games are good, the movies are good, the shows suck ass.”

“And you’ve eaten enough of it to recognize the signs?”

“Damn right, shut it off.” Blowing a raspberry his way, Ben did as asked, tossing the remote onto the coffeetable.

“Enjoy your nap?”

“It was sleep,” Kevin said, sitting up with a stretch and beginning the search for his book. It was quickly located, sat on the coffeetable with a bookmark in place. “Thanks, Benji.” If he’d been tired enough to conk out he sure as fuck hadn’t done that himself.

“No problem, man.” Stretching as well, with a yawn, Ben flopped back against the couch. “Figured I’d stop by, see if the quiet had driven you completely batshit yet.”

“Not yet.” Snorting a laugh, Kevin draped an arm over the back of the couch and relaxed against it. “Pretty nice, actually. Don’t have the looming worry I’ll have to drop whatever I’m doing at a critical moment for an emergency, have only reopened a wound once, and there’ve been no ‘falling asleep behind the wheel’ incidents.”

“It was only the two times,” Ben teased, and got his arm swatted for the trouble.

“Having to pull over so you fuckers could drive once would’ve been more than enough, thanks.”

“I am glad to hear you aren’t driving that tired anymore though,” Ben continued. “We were all a lot more worried about that than having to drive ourselves.” Huffing, Kevin rolled his eyes.

“There’s easier ways to die,” he said, ignoring the look Ben gave him. “Besides, I only did it in the first place because we kept having shit that needed doing. Somebody calls and says a town’s gonna get wiped off the map if you can’t handle shit within two hours, the fact you haven’t slept in two days doesn’t really enter into things.” With a small cringe, Ben nodded.

“Yeah, sorry about that. If we’d known just how bad your shit can be-”

“Nothing woulda changed. I’d have gotten the same million solutions I’d already tried before shoved at me, and the same nagging about ‘did you sleep last night’ after being called out to give you fuckers a ride.” Kevin knew that for a fact, after dealing with them so long. It’d taken them ages to work past the idea that they had all the answers, even after being repeatedly proven wrong, and they still tended to forget to consider other people’s ends of things in their plans. “Coming to terms with it, like you bastards anyway.”

Properly coming to terms with it too, not just forgiving them out of hand because he was a busted mess whose brain had been fucked with one too many times. His relationships with the Tennysons were a whole subsection of his therapy, and included a whole mini-file titled ‘Good People Can Still Be Assholes’. It referenced back to a larger file titled ‘People Mistreating Me is Not My Fault’, and both referenced to a book on setting boundaries his shrink had gotten him. Both also included papers he’d repeatedly written these and surrounding concepts on, in an attempt to lodge them into his broken brain.

“Thank fuck, I’d hate to see if you decided you didn’t like us anymore.” He flashed Ben a grin that was easily returned.

“Yeah, you guys’d never see my ass again.”

“Not even at Argit’s?”

“Most of that bastard’s murders were for me, you think he won’t abandon a business and political career if I ask?” He wouldn’t even have to ask, he’d just have to say he was skipping out and Argit’d immediately be whining about having to pack on no notice. Ben chuckled, shaking his head with a soft fondness to his expression.

“Glad to hear you’re doing good,” he said. “We’ve been half expecting you to go stir crazy and have no idea what it would do to you.”

“Benji,” Kevin snorted, “I’m not used to getting to just chill enough to go stir crazy yet. Even if I was, trust me I’ve got enough projects that have been building in my head to keep myself plenty busy.”

“If you say so.”

“Worst comes to worst, I’ll think of something to keep myself out of trouble.” Chuckling, Ben nodded.

“Hey,” he said, “did you have any plans for this afternoon? Because I’ve got nothing.”

“Not really-” Kevin had wanted to get through that book, but well. And he didn’t have shit to read that Ben would be into. “-make it a gaming day?” Generally a good option, and true to form Ben lit up at the idea.

“Sounds good to me,” he said, lifting himself up enough Kevin could pull his legs free without sending him toppling. “Host’s choice first.” The smile Kevin flashed him as he stood was full of teeth.

“Gran Turismo it is then.” Ben’s responding groan was half-hearted at best.

“Okay, but it’s Sumo World League after or I’m going the fuck home-”

[poppy-metal]

Here is just a broad concept of the my babysitters a vampire!au. The setup and dynamic im thinking of. May turn this into a series, who knows. Let me know how you feel about it!

"I'm telling you," Dustin says, completely serious. "My babysitters a vampire."

Steve shares a look with eddie, eddie just looks amused, like he might actually entertain the notion just for shits and gigs. Steve doesn't like to play pretend. "Uh huh, and I'm secretly madonna." He says, flipping through a magazine distractedly.

"Hey, now." Eddie says, holding up his hand in a 'far be it from me' gesture. "We don't presume what little stevie gets up to in his free time."

Steve rolls his eyes so hard he feels they might rock back into his skull and ping pong around. "What im saying, is the gates closed. For good, this time. That means no monsters. And it also means you, my friend-" he points to dustin "Are delusional. Didn't that new movie just come out with the beach town and kids thinking their neighbors are vampires or something?"

Eddie and Dustin look at eachother and then look at steve like he just said something absolutely horrendous. Eddie is shaking his head, wild hair moving as he does. He hops of the counter, which he'd been rudely sitting on, steve had nitpicked and nagged at him for it but Eddie had just waved him away with a ringed hand and called him 'mom' sarcastically and steve had snapped his mouth shut with another eye roll. His heavy boots slam onto the floor of the video store, and he walks over to a poster add that Robin had put up the other day.

He flicks it sharply with a finger. "This movie you mean. The one that's literally right here, glaring at you, right in your feild of vision. Big and obvious."

Steve looks at the poster. "Huh." He snaps his fingers. "The Lost Boys, that's right. See? I knew i knew it."

"Your lack of movie knowledge genuinely makes me sick, harrington."

"Anyway!" Dustin cuts in, glaring between the two men. "The movie is good, but that's not the point. My babysitter. Is. A vampire. I'm talking full blood sucker. Fangs and all. All the signs are there!"

"Wait, wait, wait." Eddie drawls, slicing his hand through the air in a X motion, coming back to hop on the counter, ignoring steves 'c'mon man.' He steeples his fingers and leans his elbows on his knees, keeping eye contact with Dustin. "What are these signs you speak of?"

Steve throws his hands up, "I can't believe you're encouraging this."

Eddie waves him off, again. "Quiet, mother, dear. I'm listening to our kids troubles. Go on, child, speak."

Dustin heaves a sigh and starts pointing out facts with his fingers, one by one. "First, she had to be invited in. Was totally weird about it, i even moved to the side and she just stood there. I was creeped out! Finally she said something like 'you gonna invite me in or what, kid?' And i did. I wasn't suspicious at that point, you see. Which brings me to instance number two."

Eddie is leaning forward, interest piqued, and Steve studiously goes back to his magazine, although he's loathe to admit his ears are perked and listening. What can he say? He's nosy. Maybe a little concerned, but that would mean he's starting to believe the kid and, no, he's not entertaining this wild idea that defiantly spurred from watching the found boys, or whatever, late one night.

"She can't eat garlic. I was willing to write this one off as an allergy, don't look at me like that steve, but it was the way she acted. I asked her to make garlic bread and she looked physically ill! Sick to her stomach in fact. This is when my little radar went off."

"Your little radar," Steve repeats dryly. Dustin and Eddie ignore him.

"Instance number three is probably the most telling one yet." Dustin pauses for dramatic affect. "She doesn't have a reflection."

Steve looks up from his magazine at this, frowning. "What do you mean, she doesn't have a reflection?"

"I mean she doesn't have a reflection!" Dustin whisper shouts back. "I walked in on her at my mothers vanity staring all creepy like into the mirror. And there was nothing reflecting back! Zilch. Nada."

The boy shudders, "She also can only babysit me at nights. Need i say more?"

"Yes" Steve says at the same time Eddie goes, "No, i think that about covers it."

They look at eachother. "Dude." Steve says, "We totally need more information before jumping to conclusions. I'll admit the mirror thing is weird, but really? A vampire in hawkins? A vampire at all?"

"You're right." Eddie allows and steve sighs in relief. Eddie taps his chin in thought, "She could also be a ghoul, of sorts, based on the information. The two are often mixed up."

The relief was short lived, it seemed. Steve blinks. "Often."

"You'd be suprised."

"I'm really not."

"Guys." Dustin interjects again, his tone chiding. "Back to the issues at hand please?"

Steve closes his magazine, "I don't see an issue."

"The issue where my mortal soul is in peril! Hello!"

Eddie pats his shoulder, "Alright, Alright. Steve and I will look into it, buddy. Your soul is completely safe."

Dustin sags in relief but steve is glaring at eddie. He'd planned on spending his weekend at home. Relaxing, for once. You know the thing he hadn't done in 4 years since this shit show started. Maybe have a drink, put on his comfy loafers and take a nap. "We're doing what now?"

He feels his relaxing weekend slip away from between his fingers and wants to weep.

Eddie just smiles, all dimples. It's jarring really, how easily a guy like eddie smiles. You take one look at him, and you think he'd be all tough as nails and steam blowing through his nose. But he's actually the sweetest guy steve's met. It's hard to stay foul mooded around him, and trust him, steve's tried.

Eddie knocks his knuckles against the counter, "We're gonna stake it out." He points at dustin, "Youuuu, carry on as usual. Invite her in, do whatever babysitties do. Steve and I will come over and say we just wanted to check on our dear old friend. We'll see for ourselves if this chick is fanged out."

Jesus christ.

Steve is rubbing at his temples when eddie sticks his hand out. Steve eyes it like its gonna bite him, frowning as much as he can frown.

"C'mon stevie," Eddie presses, "Lets go monsterhunting."

"Jesus, don't call it that." Steve gripes, but he puts his hand in eddies, lets the man shake it dramatically. "Fine. Whatever. Not like i had plans, anyway."

"We know." Eddie and dustin echo at the same time.

Meanwhile, you frown at the compact mirror in your hand, irritated by this whole no reflection business. Being a fledgling vampire is so annoying. How are you supposed to know if your makeup is okay? If your lipgloss is smudged? Your eyeliner? Its heinous. You'd think vampires, after being around for thousands of years, would have updated their terms and policies.

You guess there's relief in the fact its just dustin you're babysitting. No cute guys. Or girls. You'd given that up a month ago when you'd been bitten by your shitty ex.

No more dates, because the probability of them ending in bloodshed was high. Lust made your newfound hunger for blood that much worse. That's why you'd taken this gig. Nothing cooled the loins like annoying teenagers.

The bloodlust was still there though, steadily growing and creeping up on you as the nights passed. You could feel the empty pit in your stomach growing like a void.

You refused to go back to your maker, your ex, for help. You'd sworn him off after the whole turning you into a undead monster thing. Even though you knew, as a fledgling, you needed his help more than ever to guide you through this.

But he was a bad vampire. The kind in horror movies. The kind that would teach you how to hunt and kill innocents. You didn't want to be that. You wouldn't let Yourself.

You was just. So hungry. So very, very hungry.

[nancys4gf]

shaking from the rain | steve harrington

summary: — stand there like a ghost shaking from the rain, she'll open up the door and say are you insane. Taylor Swift, How You Get The Girl. + cause i'd rather go blind than let you down. Catfish and the Bottlemen, Cocoon.

pairing: steve harrington x gender neutral reader

warnings: a lil angst

note: i'm definitely projecting on this one. this exact scenario happened to me not long ago except the person i was waiting for never showed up lmao. enjoy!!! (also, does it make sense that the reader forgave him so fast? honestly if steve harrington cared enough to show up that would be enough for me lol)

̟ ̇.˚︵‿୨♡୧‿︵˚.✩

“where’s steve?” robin asked, looking around the bar. you shrugged, gaze fixed on the drink on your hands.

“he’s not coming.”

“what?” nancy blurted out. “why?”

“he’s busy. he had to work.”

“at nine pm on a friday?” 

“he took an extra shift.”

“on your birthday?”

you didn’t respond, ignoring the way your friends shared a worried look. robin placed a hand on your shoulder, gripping it softly.

“is that why you were so upset today?”

“i guess.” you sighed, looking up at the girls sitting next to you. “i just wanted him here, you know.”

“i’m going to kill him.” robin stated, and nancy nodded fervently. you forced a smile, playing with the lemon slice in your drink.

“we’ll have a great time, okay?” nancy reassured. “this is your special day. everything’s going to be alright.”

your friends started talking again, doing their best to cheer you up, but you weren’t paying attention. your gaze was fixed on the bar’s open door, watching as people hurried through the streets, seeking shelter from the pouring rain. 

it wasn’t fair. your closest friends were there, taking you out for a nice night, celebrating you, showing you how much they loved you. and yet it was not enough.

you felt terrible, wanting more, asking for more. but you couldn’t help it. he wasn’t there. the person you wanted the most in the world was the same person who hadn’t shown up.

robin called out your name, waving a hand in front of you, but you saw right through her. everything around you seemed to suddenly blur. the crowd froze, the music turned into a faint echo, and you could see nothing as clear as you could see the figure standing outside the bar.

steve, shaking from the rain, his hair and clothes completely soaked, desperately looking inside the room. looking for something. looking for you. 

before you realized, you were standing up and running towards him. his face lightened up as soon as he caught your gaze, a grin making its way towards his face.

“steve?”

now, you both stood under the rain. only when you got close enough did you notice that he was holding a bouquet of rumpled flowers. shyly, he handed it to you.

“they weren’t supposed to look like that.”

you recognized all your favorite flowers, and hid your smile behind the pretense of smelling the bouquet.

“what are you doing here?”

the raindrops streamed down his face as he took a deep breath. “i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.”

“steve…” you whispered, all the grievance fading away as soon as his apologetic brown eyes looked into yours. “it’s okay. you need the extra money.”

he shook his head. “no, no. i don’t.”

he cupped your face with his wet, cold hands, and pressed a kiss on your forehead. the sudden change of temperature made you shiver, causing him to hold you even closer.

“everything i need is right here. i don’t need anything else. i’m so sorry. i should’ve been here.”

you nuzzled up closer against his hand, giving in to his touch and everything he had to offer. 

he had shown up. he had ran through the streets while it poured, bringing you a bouquet of your favorite flowers, as if he was straight out of a movie. and he had done it all for you. he cared. that fact alone made you feel even more special than the fact it was your birthday.

you gazed up at him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“well, you’re here now.”

“am i still welcome?” he smirked, leaning in.

“mhm.” you giggled, getting flustered by the feeling of his breath against your face. “robin and nancy aren’t too happy with you, though.”

“will you help me win them over?”

“that depends.”

“on?” he leaned in even more.

“on what you do next.”

steve’s eyes dazzled under the streetlights as he moved closer to you. your heartbeat pounded loudly against your chest, beating as the same rhythm of the rain.

brushing his lips over yours, but still not completely breaking the distance, steve whispered,

“happy birthday.”

[heliads]

omg u do teen beach movie reqs?!🤧. could we have a seacat x f reader where he really likes us, and his friends are always trying to help him to make moves on us and that often makes our friends tease us, and everything is just sorta bubbly and cute? (r is a surfer, and she’s sweet and often rlly quiet, kinda the opposite of seacat). thanks, be prepared for more from me i just finished watching this movie☠️☠️.

yes yes yes. honestly figuring out jordan fisher was in teen beach movie was just as thrilling for me as finding out he was in teen wolf

masterlist

There is a scene currently unfolding on the beach before you, one that you are trying your utmost not to notice. This task is growing more herculean by the second, because although you’ve all but buried yourself alive in your book, the sound of shouting is impossible to ignore.

From the few scant glances you’ve been stealing, you can get a rough guess of just what is going down. The surfers are out again, this time causing trouble of their own volition without even having to blame the bikers for it. The cause of all the commotion also seems to be centered around one boy in particular, the one with the dark brown curls and coral hat.

A voice from beside you interrupts your best attempts at staying oblivious to the proceedings. “You know, you are allowed to actually watch what’s happening. The rest of us have chosen to accept this as free entertainment.”

You glance over at your friend with a grin. You two are sitting side by side in a long row of beach chairs pulled out under the shade of a nearby house, one with an excellent view of the beach and the aforementioned scene. To your left, Giggles is sipping a fruity drink, and to your right, Kiki is calling you out for no good reason.

You grimace. “Yes, but if I look up from my book for a second, I might make eye contact with one of them due to all the stares they keep throwing my way. And if that’s the case, I might also realize that all of this has to do with me, and I don’t think I’m supposed to know that quite yet.”

Kiki laughs. “Y/N, how could you ever think that they’re talking about you?”

Just as she poses the question, one of the surfers flings his arm dramatically towards you, all the while shouting your name so loudly that a few nearby seagulls startle and take flight.

You arch a brow. “Yeah, I have no idea why I’d think such a thing.”

Besides, everyone on this side of the beach knows what’s going on. From the surfers to the bikers, this sort of strife has been the hottest news of the summer. Basically, Seacat is facing trouble from his friends because they keep teasing him about something:  namely, the fact that he likes you and can’t seem to muster up the courage to admit it.

That’s what they’re doing now, after all, trying to say anything they can to convince him to ask you out. The surfers are a good bunch with good hearts, but man, they can be loud. You can hear practically every other word from their conversation despite being fairly far away from them.

It’s not like you mind it, though. In truth, you would be more than alright with Seacat asking you out. Your worst fear is that he won’t be able to do it at all, and his crush will fade as surely as the tide. 

Thing is, you’ve been harboring a crush of your own for quite some time. You never thought your feelings would actually be returned, though– Seacat is unlike you in almost every way. He’s loud where you’re shy, exuberant where you’re quiet. You’re both still surfers, but that’s the most you have in common.

Still, you like him. Seacat has a character that makes him more fun than anyone else here, a way of making you laugh even when you swear up and down that you’ll never smile again. He sticks true to his friends and never lets a single detail go unnoticed– except, that is, when it comes to the fact that one of them may like him back.

This lands you back to square one, which involves the surfers all working together to get it through Seacat’s head that you actually do have feelings for him and he really needs to ask you out before it’s too late. You wouldn’t mind if they could be a little less obvious about it, though, because your friends are teasing you about it just as badly as Seacat’s are teasing him.

Next to you, Giggles rolls her eyes. “You might as well pay attention, it could actually goad Seacat into doing something. They’ve been having meetings like this all week.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “You think I don’t know that? Tanner has been following me around the beach to see if he can pick up on my favorite kind of flower to report back to Seacat. Eventually, they stepped on my towel so many times that I gave up and had to say it to you so he could overhear it and leave me alone.”

Giggles frowns contemplatively. “That does explain why you suddenly started talking about flowers yesterday. It didn’t make a lot of sense at the moment.”

You sigh. “None of this makes sense. I mean, when has Seacat ever needed encouragement for anything? He’s as confident as they come. Honestly, I think that’s just a sign that he doesn’t like me after all.”

Kiki and Giggles erupt in twin howls of outrage, both of them talking over each other to convince you how totally wrong you are to even suggest that.

“Honestly,” Kiki pleads, “the fact that he’s having trouble with asking you out shows that he clearly likes you a lot. I mean, why would he be overthinking things unless he really wanted to get this right?”

“Yeah,” Giggles adds, “plus, you and Seacat will be the cutest couple ever. I can practically sense it.”

“You say that about every couple here,” you point out, “even the ones that break up.”

“Well,” she sniffs, “this is different. You two are special.”

You laugh. “Well, I’m glad you’re certain about it. That would make one of us.”

Kiki’s face softens, and she reaches over to place a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I think the other surfers are making progress. Maybe Seacat will ask you out tonight, how about that?”

You smile at the thought. “We can only hope.”

Tonight is important, after all, it marks the twenty-fifth anniversary of Big Momma’s opening its doors for the very first time. The restaurant has been home to surfers and bikers alike for as long as anyone can remember, so of course everyone will be coming down to celebrate.

You’ve heard that the dancing should be spectacular, so you and your friends will be taking the trip down to see it for yourselves, dressed your best and ready to have fun. If Seacat’s smart, he’ll choose this as the perfect time to ask you out. He won’t even have to pay for decorations.

The hour of the celebration draws nearer, and you feel yourself growing nervous. You have no proof that Seacat will ask you out, after all, only the speculations of your friends. If you’ve learned one important lesson, though, it’s that your friends are usually right when it comes to these sorts of things. They know what boys like, and that’s girls like all of you.

You straighten the collar of your outfit nervously. Your friends have assured you a thousand times that you look stunning, but that doesn’t stop a storm of butterflies from taking up roost in your stomach. 

At last, it’s time to go, and you head out with your friends in a rush of pastel colors and swishing skirts, flower crowns and tulle ruffles. There’s a crowd around the doors to Big Momma’s, and the throngs of people only grow once you step inside.

Despite all of this, you still manage to find Seacat immediately. He’s across the room from you, but the two of you lock eyes through all of the people. A soft smile appears on his face, and he starts to weave around the throngs of dancers to make his way to you.

By your sides, Kiki and Giggles exchange triumphant smiles, then discreetly slip away so that you’re alone when Seacat reaches you at last.

“You look really nice,” he says.

“So do you,” you respond.

He holds out a hand to you. “Want to dance?”

“Sure,” you breathe, and take his hand without a second’s hesitation.

He flashes a relieved smile at you and leads you out onto the dancer. You’re certain that you see at least half a dozen other surfers give him a thumbs up when they see that the two of you are together, likely the result of many hours’ careful planning.

When you’re in the middle of the floor, Seacat turns to face you again. The song is familiar, one of your favorites, and the moves come easily. Seacat’s a good dancer, the two of you live and breathe and do well together. 

You’d like to think that it’s a sign of something, and maybe he does too, that both you and him have been supposed to be together for all of this time. Someone or something out there cut you two from the same cloth, and now you’re figuring out what it means to never have to be alone again.

The song ends soon enough. The silence seems pressingly loud in the absence of the music, and it rings around the dance floor, weaving in between partners and groups and solitary figures. 

Seacat leans close to you, speaking now that it’s quiet enough for you to hear him. “I was wondering something.”

He freezes slightly, and you nod encouragingly. “Yeah?”

He takes a steadying breath, then keeps talking. “Would you want to go out with me? It wouldn’t have to be a big deal, of course. Maybe ice cream or a movie? Or both?”

He looks at you hopefully, eyes full of all the daydreams he’s been too afraid to believe in all of this time. Luckily for him, you don’t intend to crush those aspirations quite yet.

“I’d love to go out with you,” you say, and Seacat’s face breaks into a dazzling grin.

“Really?” He asks, then tries to seem more sure of himself. “I mean, yeah, that would be a lot of fun. Maybe this Friday at six? I can pick you up.”

You nod, smiling. “I’ll see you then.”

Just like that, you’ve got a date. Life couldn’t be better.

disney tag list: @rogueanschel, @lovesanimals0000, @thatfangirl42, @amortensie

[realcube]

OVERHEARING SOMEONE TALK ABOUT THEIR S/O

characters ♡ baji, mikey & mitsuya

tw ♡ insults (in reference to the reader), violence & robbery 

KEISUKE BAJI 

♡ baji never mentioned that he was dating you to anyone in toman

♡ in fact, he hoped that none of them even knew about your existence, because that would only lead to trouble; and he was correct

♡ he was simply taking a puff on his stationary motorcycle, when members of the division started to filter into the parking lot that he was currently trying to relax in

♡ usually he’d try to ward off strangers so he could enjoy his time alone but he knew these guys from toman, so he allowed them to stay as long as they’d keep their voices down and not bother him

♡ most of his attention was on his own thoughts, but it was immediately redirected when he heard your name brought up in their conversation

♡ only your last name, so he wasn’t even certain whether they were talking about you, but still his interest was piqued 

♡ “they are on shift friday night, the only one left at eleven,” one of the guys explained, gesturing to his bat with a wicked smirk, “we’ll break in then. i’ll drive getaway.”

♡ “what if they call someone? shouldn’t we wait until they’ve left?” another suggested but was quickly corrected.

♡ “once they lock up the security system activates and it’ll be impossible to get in without alerting the cops. so we may as well bust in, handle them, and then steal the bikes.” 

♡ baji cringed, since he was certain that they were talking about you —since you happen to work at a motorcycle shop on friday nights — he hated to think about what they meant by ‘handle’.

♡ “now stop askin’ stupid questions.” the same guy scoffed, twirling around his bat, “i used to work there, idiot, obviously i know what i’m doing.”

♡ the group of six all laughed at the one poor guy who asked the question, and baji did too

♡ he laughed at the irony behind how they were calling each other idiots, when they were all the ones talking about auto theft in broad daylight, and discussing doing unspeakable things to a person, when their boyfriend was standing in ear-shot with a bat and a motorcycle ready 

♡ he did give them the benefit of the doubt in the latter aspect though; how were they supposed to know that y’all were dating when you are never seen spending time with each other?

♡ baji suddenly felt bad; it dawned on him that perhaps he had been neglecting your relationship as of recently. of course, it wasn’t with poor intention, in fact he thought he was taking the moral course of action by avoiding a situation where you are harmed because of his ties with toman

♡ however, being in a gang was no excuse to be a bad boyfriend, he figured 

♡ for now, the least he could do was take care of these guys to save you the trouble 

♡ but perhaps that wasn’t his brightest idea, he realised as he stood amongst the dejected bodies scattered across the ground, “i know you are all alive, so consider this a warning.” baji chuckled at the grunt one produced as he kicked him aside to head back over to his motorcycle

♡ before he left the area, obviously he stole all the cash he could from those guys, which gave him enough to buy the thing he had been eyeing for you

♡ though it took him a while to get his hands on it, it left him with the perfect opportunity to give it to you 

♡ “oi, open up!” baji hollered as he pounded on your door; if baji wasn’t such a bruiser, you would’ve thought he was dying 

♡ “what!?” you hissed, throwing the door open to reveal your frantic state.

♡ you were half angry at how loud he was being, and the other half at how he has been ignoring you for the past two weeks and finally decides to show up just as you were about to leave for work, in fact, you were running late for your night shift

♡ “no need to rush.” baji said, an odd sense of sincerity in his voice as he motioned for you to stop putting your shoes on, “you’re not going to work today.”

♡ you simply laughed, ignoring him and gathering your stuff to leave, “and why is that?”

♡ “well,” baji started, rubbing his chin for effect, “these guys from toman plan on robbing the place tonight. i did give them a warning, but they might still do it. and you know i just want you to be safe.” he said with a mischievous grin, as you both knew there was no way your shop was getting robbed tonight, unless the dudes wanted to try it with both arms broken 

♡ “so did you just come here to tell me that, or is there something else?” although you tried to hide it, baji could tell by your subtle flustered expression that you were thankful

♡ “i found this.” he lied, cupping your hand to lift it and drop in a gold bracelet, “one of the guys had it on him.”

♡ you gasped, taking the bracelet to examine the fine details, and noticed how it had a small crystal heart attached, “yeah, i’m sure a member of toman just so happened to be wearing a charm bracelet.”

♡ “i never said he was wearing it!” baji spat, swiftly snatching it from your hand and holding it above his head, “i can pawn it if you don’t want it.” 

♡ “i like it, though!” you said, reaching up for it, only for him to grab your wrist and put it on you 

♡ “then forgive me for not hanging with you.” he muttered, angrily clipping the bracelet through furrowed brows, while you leaned in to plant a kiss on his forehead 

♡ “it’s fine. i forgive you.” you couldn’t help but snicker at his word choice of ‘hanging out’, which resulted in you getting a swift flick to the forehead

♡ but before you could whine, he quickly followed it up with a kiss <33

MIKEY 

♡ one day he was visiting mizo to find takemichi and he happened to walk passed a group of guys talking about how one of them planned on asking out a person from a different school 

♡ at first he didn’t pay much attention since it was none of his business after all, until he heard that the person’s name and description just so happened to match yours 

♡ so like any good boyfriend would, he halted and told draken to grab takemichi while he listened in 

♡ as he gained more insight into the situation, he learned that the person happened to go to the same academy as you and had the same bus schedule too 

♡ it didn’t take a genius to figure out that the person they were talking about was you 

♡ as it turns out, the guy who planned on asking you out had your bus times memorised so if he was able to run fast enough, he would be able to reach your stop before you got on the bus, which is when he will ask you out

♡ or at least, that is what he hoped would happen if everything went smoothly and there was no unexpected interference from a group of delinquents

♡ mikey had many options on how to deal with this situation

♡ he could ask you to take a different bus, he could do nothing (because he trusted that you’d reject the guy either way) or he could beat them up right now to save himself the hassle later

♡ however, he decided to go with a more peaceful approach 

♡ he continued eaves-dropping until everyone besides the lover boy had left, so he could have an amicable one-on-one conversation with him — definitely no threats involved — and advise the guy to stay in his fucking lane and never go near you ever again, kindly. 

♡ when the day of the proposal arrived, mikey paid you a surprise visit after school and offered to walk you to the bus-stop; not because he was afraid that the dude might confess, but rather since he had booked you both tickets to the movies!

♡ but once you both arrive at the stop, you were greeted by the guy standing there holding a measly bouquet of flowers, looking quite taken back by the fact you were with someone else; even though mikey had done him the courtesy of explicitly telling him to back off 

♡ though he must’ve not got message despite the hand-holding, and he obviously didn’t recognise mikey, otherwise he probably wouldn’t have continued to confess, albeit with quivering limbs and a black eye

♡ but before he could even stutter out a greeting, mikey hissed at him, “what the are you doing?” yet the guy only replied with a shrug

♡ upon observing the interaction, your eyes widen as you turned to look at mikey, “do you know him?”

♡ “never seen him before in my life, dear.” he smiled sweetly, but it was ineffective; you already knew he was lying as soon as he called you ‘dear’. 

♡ “(y/n)!” the guy yelled, trying to catch your attention, but only shaking even more as your gaze fell on him, “i was going to ask you, if—”

♡ mikey let out an exaggerated yawn, widely outstretching his arms to distract both of you, “this has been fun, but we’re running late for the movie.” 

♡ “but i’m not fin—” the poor boy was once again interrupted by mikey waving him goodbye, grabbing your hand and swiftly guiding you around him, back on the route to the cinema

♡ before he even got the chance to cry another plea, you had both already disappeared around the corner 

♡ once mikey had dragged you both far enough away from the bus-stop, you began your interrogation, “seriously, who was that? and what was he trying to say? did you give him the black eye?” you had to stop to take a deep breath, “also, you said the movie would start in the evening!”

♡ mikey brought your hand up —which he had a tight grip on — and kissed the back of it gently, “my bad,” he chuckled slightly, a mischievous grin playing on his lips, “i forgot to mention him. i met him a few days ago and he was planning to ask you out so i politely informed him that you were taken.”

♡ “for some reason, i don’t believe that last part.”

♡ he snickered, “and yeah, the movie starts in the evening so we’re not running late. but he wasn’t taking the hint!” he whined while clinging to your arm, as if you were going to run away from him at any second, “forgive me?”

♡ “sure, whatever.” you sighed, rolling your eyes as you watched his expression light up, “but next time, mind your own business! i could’ve just said no, instead of you beating him up, or whatever you did.”

♡ “noted.”

MITSUYA TAKASHI

♡ during his time as the second division leader of toman, he’s overheard all kinds of stuff that he probably wasn’t supposed to; awkward small talk, plans to commit felonies, deep conversations, weed brownie recipes, discussions about health issues — the list goes on forever!

 ♡ however, one topic he has never heard any one ever have the audacity to speak about (within a ten mile radius of him), is you. even though, your relationship was public to toman. 

♡ your name was often kept out of people’s mouth since you rarely interacted with any of the gang members when you visited, hence they didn’t really have anything bad (or good) to say about you. none of them knew you besides the title ‘boss’ partner’. 

♡ so, that’s why mitsuya had to do a double take when he heard someone in his division mutter to the guy beside him, “why does his friend keep visitin’? it’s annoying. plus, they just sit and don’t talk to anyone besides ‘im. they must think they’re better than us or something.” right after mitsuya mentioned that you were visiting toman.

♡ he couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow; did that guy really think that he was being sly and quiet? by the look on his face, he seemed pretty self-assured. 

♡ “um, i heard you, idiot.” he hissed, pinching his nose and shaking his head as he watched the knucklehead stare at him dumbfounded, as if the whole room hadn’t heard him too.

♡ “don’t say shit like that. they don’t think they’re better than anyone.” he scorned, balling his fist and almost twitching with anger, fighting the urge to pummel that guy for the sake of his own reputation in toman

♡ and that impulse almost immediately dissipated as soon as you entered the room; his hand loosened and opened to cup your cheek

♡ he was as sweet as can be for the rest of the night, of course, and he still managed to send that dude daggers whenever he got the chance. 

[turtleybeachin]

Burnout in the Devildom: Satan's Chapter

(re-post to share entire fic on tumblr)

Pairing: Satan x GN MC Rating: G Word Count: 1.7k Tags: Fluff, Comfort, Satan too in his head, implied romantic interest but platonic actions

You’ve been working hard in the Devildom. Classes are intense, especially when it feels like you’re having to play catch-up just to have basic understandings of things everyone else knows innately. Add to that living with seven avatars of sin who can’t go more than six hours without some sort of catastrophe, and somehow you’re always dragged into the middle of their chaos to sort things out and be their big sibling despite being the actual baby of the entire world?

You’re exhausted. The sort of exhaustion that does not just go away after a good night’s rest and an eye mask and a glass of human-world wine. The sort of exhaustion that starts sapping the life out of everything you do, everything you touch, until you feel like you’re just going through the motions and always one inconvenience away from a complete meltdown.

SATAN:

He knows that sometimes, everyone sucks. You can love someone and still absolutely be unable to stand them. 

It's new to see that on you, though. You're usually the one who is too chipper, too willing to deal with everyone's drama.

Since when were you the one with the short fuse and the If-Looks-Could-Kill glare? 

Not to say it isn't refreshingly honest of you. The fact it took you this long to admit Mammon's an idiot or to make an adorable little human-growl and slam your glass down at the dinner table when his brothers devolved into yet another argument is impressive. 

But it's also wrong. Because it isn't you. Your wrath is as suspicious and unnatural as Lucifer's humility; sure, it exists, but if he's showing it then something monumental has occurred.

So after dinner when you retreat to your room instead of joining the family movie night, he excuses himself to 'do some studying'. But it isn't the library or his room he ends up in; no, he stands outside your bedroom door and knocks twice.

And you nearly ignore it, because it's movie night, they should all be busy, and why can they never take a hint? But it's just two knocks and silence, no shouting or shuffling or cooing or growling, no jiggling of your doorknob or shouldering into the door. Which means it's one of two demons, and neither Satan nor Lucifer tend to take being ignored for an answer. 

But at least they are also the least likely to harass you, the most willing to listen and accept your request to be left alone.

Opening the door, you find Satan waiting with one of his practiced patient smiles. It shifts at the sight of you though, a little furrow digging between his brows, his narrowing eyes, the slant of his mouth tipping to the left.

"Who was it this time?" he asks in lieu of a greeting, because of course one of his brothers has done something again. He can feel your simmering frustration like a little bead in the back of his throat, tiny and hot and tightly contained.

But you shake your head at the same time as you shrug, a jumble of nobody and everybody your unspoken reply. It's not anyone else, it's just you, you try to explain. This happens sometimes, it's fine, you just don't have the energy to deal with them right now. You'd prefer to be alone. It's nothing personal, you just need some space.

He understands that, too. He insists you text him should you change your mind, and wishes you a pleasant evening, and retires to do what he'd initially lied about doing. 

He studies. He has plenty of tomes about human behavior penned by demons, humans, and even a very few penned by angels. 

It's a matter of narrowing things down based on circumstances and other behaviors:  you've been irritable, you've been shutting people out socially, your appetite has changed, your focus has diminished, you've been separated from other humans for a bit now, you haven't been getting any sunlight...

There are a few things it could be, then, but there is one unfortunate universal truth:  there is no single absolute cure for these feelings. There is no one thing to do or eat or change that will fix it, there is no magical phrase that will turn the situation around. All that can be done are little balms for the ache along the way.

It's frustrating, and yet, it's somehow inspiring. Perhaps reassuring. Is it selfish of him to think he sees a bit of himself in your struggle? Is it cruel to find you even more fascinating as he realizes that you have been warring with your own mind all this time that you've been fighting your way through the Devildom? 

Life truly isn't like books, is it? At least, not like the uplifting fantastical ones. Some battles must be fought alone, even if that derails the romantic subplot.

But you, MC, are not alone. And he has favors aplenty to call in, both here and in the human world.

By the time the weekend rolls in, you're happily taking advantage of a day with no meetings, parties, plans or meal prep scheduled by curling yourself into bed and refusing to get up at a 'decent hour'. You know it won't actually help much, but the idea of staying in bed for half a day and just dozing off and on sounds sublime.

So of course your plans are derailed by two sharp knocks at your door.

You ignore them, hoping Satan will take the hint, but the next two knocks are harder and spaced farther apart. Your door might not survive a third round. Hoping that it will get you some peace, you call out that you're still in bed.

"Perfect." Your door swings open to reveal one impeccably-dressed Avatar of Wrath with a box propped on his hip. He swivels and enters, your door shutting behind him again. 

He sets the box on a chair, toes off his shoes, and carefully drapes his jacket along the back of the seat. He looks to you on your bed, and for a moment you're not entirely sure you know what he's planning. Especially when he grabs some sort of rectangular box from his big box and approaches you.

And climbs onto your bed.

And steps over you to brush some of the vines and leaves from your wall, standing there on your mattress as he mumbles to himself. You realize it's some sort of spell, his aura flickering gently around him briefly, and then he's attaching his wood-framed rectangle to your wall above you and stepping off the bottom of your bed to take a power cord you hadn't previously noticed to a nearby outlet.

"Satan?" you finally prompt, bewildered and bemused. And then blinded as the box lights up, bright but warm.

He's smirking at you, pleased with himself and clearly quite proud of his work. "A sunlamp," he says, and then shows off his research by explaining to you (a human, who is very aware of human needs) that humans can actually be negatively impacted by lack of exposure to the sun's rays, that apparently humans are not so different from plants, that you require that specific type of light to regulate all manner of things from vitamin levels to hormones to blood flow.

And that brings him to his second thoroughly-researched gift:  a delicate little oval that has little cat ears and a little tail. Which is cute, you have to admit, but a bizarre choice of décor. 

"Ocean breeze, cedar forest, or vanilla and peppermint?" he prompts as he fusses to find a good spot on top of your shelves for his little surprise. Whichever you choose, a moment later that scent gently fills your room. The human olfactory sense is apparently very closely tied to emotions, and therefore familiar scents can invoke feelings of comfort and safety, he explains. He was not entirely sure what home might smell like for you, but he did research common human-world scent profiles and preferences and created this sampling. 

If there's a different scent you would like to make this home feel more like your home, however, please let him know. The risk of surprise is a poor choice, but don't let that discourage you from making a request.

He pauses then, standing before his box and staring into it. He also read the importance of connection, of not withdrawing as you've been doing.

What he wants to do is approach you and tell you how much he admires you, how you are the first person to make him feel seen for himself instead of as Lucifer's brother, Lucifer's other half, Lucifer's wrath, Lucifer's. He wants to tell you how being in your presence numbs his ire and warms his heart, and how the way you look at him and smile is more precious than a newborn kitten's first meow. He wants to insist you spend your day with him, let him read to you or take you out looking for cats, until you forget all your problems.

But saying those words is so hard. Lucifer's punishments might be legendary in their brutality, but nothing is as terrifying as putting his heart into your hands with the risk you may find it lacking, might give it back, might set it aside.

So he retrieves a small stack of books instead, turning to you with his practiced smile to present his offerings directly this time. One of the books is quite familiar to you-- a favorite you had told him about when he asked months ago for recommendations. Another is a classic, one of those 'everyone should read it' books that you'd never quite managed to get to reading. And one is an author you recognize only thanks to Satan, a demon author of some small fame.

"I find when reality gets tedious, it can be a comfort to slip away to another world for a time." He taps a finger on your favorite book and tips his head with a pleasant smile. An unspoken cue to start there.

The lamp will turn itself off after fifteen minutes. Should you wish to change the fragrance, tap the cat between its ears once." He picks up his empty box, slips on his shoes, and slides one arm through his jacket before he makes his way out, his work here done.

Mostly. He pauses outside your door to murmur a quick curse so as to keep his meddlesome brothers from pestering you. And as he walks away, he pulls out his D.D.D. to text you:  Let me know your thoughts as you read.

Which seems a silly thing to say, when he gave you your favorite book that you've already read. Curious, you open the cover and adjust yourself in bed, only to be stopped by an elegant note written on the blank page.

A reminder that you are never alone, even when you lock yourself away. And as you flip through the pages, you find underlined passages and notes in margins, commentary from Satan on the scene or little notes meant for you as he identifies with characters or sees you in them. 

And even as you lose yourself in a happily ever after within your imagination, you are constantly reminded that you are loved exactly as you are in this messy reality.