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roosterforme · 2 hours ago

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Aim for the Sky Part 27 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley is required to travel for a week, and both you and he are exhausted. He's hoping this will mean fewer deployments in the future, but in the present, he's going to need to remember where his responsibilities lie.

Warnings: Angst, adult language, lactation kink, body image, fluff, smut, DILF Roo

Length: 3900 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

Once again, your parents extended their stay to spend more time with Rose, but when they finally flew back to Maryland, it felt strange to be on your own with your daughter. You and Bradley fell into a regular routine once more, but it took him days before he came clean about being stressed out. When he got home late from work to find you on the couch feeding Rose, you could tell by the set of his shoulders that he'd had a long day.

"Can we talk about some things?" he asked, bending to untie his boots. You'd been wanting him to confide in you for days, but you were already exhausted again from the late night feedings and had pushed the comments Bradley made to Jake to the back burner.

"What's on your mind?" you asked, secretly pleased that he leaned down to give you a long, needy kiss, complete with his big hand on your neck, before kissing Rose as she ate. It had been a few days since you and he were intimate, and your body was already responding to him as he dropped down on the couch next to you.

"Can we just move to La Jolla? Nothing stresses me out when we have copious amounts of champagne and oral sex."

You laughed at his unexpected response as he ran his rough fingers along Rose's fuzzy hair. "Don't forget about the seafood platters."

"Sweetheart, I'll never forget about the seafood platters," he promised, turning to look at you as his head sank back against the couch. "Your mom and dad are serious about moving out here."

Your smile started to fade away. "Yeah, Roo. They are. And I thought you were pleased by that fact."

"I am." His brown eyes remained fixed on yours. "I am. I told you I was. I want them close, but not too close. Like, I don't want them next door where they can hear me call you my filthy little slut or something."

"Bradley," you said, laughing again as he took Rose in his hands to burp her.

"They don't need to know the ins and outs of how you call me Daddy while you're gagging on my cock either." He kissed the baby on her forehead. "Sorry, Nugget. I'll teach you one day how babies are made, and you'll probably cringe the whole time."

You sighed and reached for Bradley, cupping his jaw in your hand and stroking his mustache with your thumb. "My parents are seriously getting their house ready to sell. So just give it to me straight."

He nodded. "I don't want them over here all the time, okay? I love them, I really do, but they take over our house when they come. And even though we finished the attic so they could have a place to stay when they're here, Rosie can move her bedroom up there when she's older. So it wasn't a waste of time since the contractor saw your tits."

"It was a photo of my tits! I didn't just whip them out for him to see!" Now Bradley was laughing as you said, "It sounds like you're worried about having some boundaries if my parents become our new neighbors."

"Yes," he replied, nodding as you ran your fingers along his jaw. "That."

"I'm sure we can have a conversation with them and address all of your concerns." Rose seemed to be done burping, and you were treated to the view of Bradley cuddling your four month old against his chest. "Now, can you tell me what else made you have a bad day at work?"

"What makes you think I had a bad day?" he asked, placing soft kisses on Rose's cheek. "I could never have a bad day when I get to come home to my girls." You sighed as he ran his nose along her hair and inhaled deeply before he met your gaze. "Okay. It's not the end of the world, but Mav informed me that I need to take a trip to the Naval Airstation in Fort Worth. I don't really have any details yet."

"Okay," you replied softly, finally voicing what had been on your mind. "Well, maybe Rose and I can come with you for a few days? I can't remember exactly how much vacation time I have left, but it could be fun. And you did say the next trip should be for the three of us to enjoy together."

Bradley shrugged and immediately said, "Fort Worth in August? Baby Girl, it's going to be miserably hot. I know you, for some reason, miss the east coast humidity, but this is going to be gross. Ask Jake about it, he's from that ridiculous state."

You couldn't believe how quickly he shut it down. "It was just an idea," you mumbled, watching him snuggle the baby. "So you wouldn't have to miss Rose the whole time while you're away."

His head tipped back as he sighed. "I'm taking this new position so I can hopefully deploy less often and be here more later on. Even if I have to start working longer days, a week or two away from home is nothing compared to five months."

You bristled. "I understand that, Roo. We've talked about this so much. But maybe try to be a little bit more patient with the idea of my parents moving here so I can have a support system when you're busy?"

When you stood and rushed toward the bedroom, Bradley was right behind you, hand reaching out to grab your shoulder while he still held Rose tight. "Are you mad at me?"

Your stomach roiled with irritation, annoyance and disdain. You hated when you got like this, because he was the one who could bring out the best and also the worst in you. "I don't know."

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

You were kind of quiet at home. Bradley hated it. You were a bit more vocal during sex, but that certainly didn't make him feel any better about the rest of it.

"I have my dates for Fort Worth," he informed you when he strolled in from work with some yellow flowers and a new book for Rose. Today was important to him. He wasn't sure you'd remember why, but he still wanted to acknowledge it.

"When?" you asked, continuing to make dinner while he looked around for the baby. "She's napping in her crib," you added, seemingly knowing he always wanted his daughter nearby.

"Second week of August," he replied. "So, pretty soon. But just for a week." You nodded as Bradley walked closer, and he realized what you were cooking. "Marry Me Rooster?"

"Yeah." Your voice was soft as you looked at him over your shoulder. You were also still wearing your khaki uniform, and he could tell you were tired. He was tired, too, but he wanted things to feel more natural around here again. He didn't want to accept that this was just how things would be now when the two of you were taking turns getting up with Rose all the time.

He wished he hadn't made such a fuss about your parents, because he really did love them, and it would be nice to have some help occasionally. And now he felt like you were continually annoyed with him, and he had to figure out a way to fix this.

Your voice broke into his thoughts. "It's kind of a special day?"

You sounded unsure. Like you thought maybe he didn't remember. But a smile immediately found his lips, and he gestured to the flowers. He should have known you'd remember. You remembered everything. You just made him a seafood platter to celebrate Carole's birthday the other day.

"I proposed two years ago." You visibly relaxed at his words as you took the flowers in your hands. He stroked the diamond ring on your finger as he said, "I couldn't wait another minute after I found this in the storage unit. I needed you to wear it. I needed you to say yes." You melted into his arms, and he kissed your forehead. "Can I go ahead and propose something else right now?"

You nodded and hummed, lips brushing the scars on his neck. "I'm just happy you remembered."

"Sweetheart, I remember everything," he promised. "And I propose that we plan a trip for the three of us before the year is over. We can go anywhere you and the Nugget want."

Your eyes lit up as he cupped your perfect cheek in his hand. "I have so many ideas, Roo."

"I knew you would. Can I make another proposal?" When you raised one eyebrow, he whispered, "How about we mess around before Rose wakes up?"

He was already wrapping his arms around you, turning you toward the hallway when you said, "But what about dinner?"

"We'll be fast," he replied confidently, turning off the stove burner.

"You're never fast! You like to linger!"

"It's a new era, Baby Girl. The mom and dad era. I'll learn how to be quick so we can finish before she wakes up."

This was the closest thing to a true quickie Bradley had experienced in a long time. Maybe ever. You were pushed up against the wall just inside the bedroom, belt jingling with your pants down around your thighs. He was going hard at a nice, steady pace with his hand inside your bra. Your warm milk dripped between his fingers and along his palm as he whimpered.

"Oh, I love this so much," he whined as his other fingers found your clit. "I'm not happy about making this quick. I might need more later."

He could already hear Rose getting restless in the nursery down the hallway, her soft cries ramping up as Bradley slammed his cock into his wife. He wanted to make sure he got you off before he was done, but then you went and said something so hot, he knew he wasn't going to be able to hold on much longer.

"I could always nurse you later if you want."

When he came, his vision flooded with dizzying color. Bradley lapped your milk from his hand, moaning your name as his hips eventually slowed. Rose was wailing now as you bent down to pull your pants up, cum dripping down your inner thighs as you looked at him with a little grin.

"I take it you're interested in my offer."

"Absolutely," he rasped, pulling his pants up so he could go say hi to his daughter. "If I ever say no to your tits, something is definitely wrong, Baby Girl. That would be your cue to take me out back and finish me off." You laughed when he said, "Happy engagement anniversary. I'll go take care of the Nugget."

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

"When's the wedding?" you asked Jake as you dropped your tray next to his at lunch. He was eating the most delicious looking burger and a slice of pizza, and your soup and salad looked pitiful next to them. Seemingly no matter what you did, you'd stopped losing weight since the baby was born, and right now you were so exhausted, you couldn't even think about starting an exercise regimen.

"We've been engaged less than a month," Jake drawled, shoving some of the accompanying fries into his mouth. "Maybe some of us can wait a little longer to get hitched than your husband could, Angel." You rolled your eyes dramatically at him, but you were fighting a smile. "I'm trying my best to make sure that everything is in order for Jeremiah, if I'm being honest."

"Like what?" you asked, blowing on a spoonful of your soup.

Jake heaved a deep sigh, dragging a fry through ketchup. "He already calls me 'dad'. His speech was delayed, but it was still one of his first words, probably because I was around so much. I want to make sure Cat's ex doesn't get any rights, and if that means I need to hire another legal team before we get married, then so be it."

Tears stung your eyes as you patted his cheek gently. You knew you were lucky that you and Bradley were together and that he would do anything to take care of his child, but right now you were just so happy for Jeremiah. "He's such a sweet kid, Jake. And you love him so much."

"I do," he replied before taking an enormous bite out of his burger. You let him chew in silence while you picked at your lunch. Right now, you really wished Bradley was here, but the chances of him showing up were slim when he was out shadowing Maverick again. He was leaving in a few days for Texas, and you were feeling pretty emotional. It would just be you and Rose at home for a whole week by yourselves.

"Well, if you're looking for a nice venue, I know a good parking lot."

Jake barked out a laugh. "There's too much sentimental Bradshaw bullshit in that parking lot. No way I'd be allowed to get married there."

Then Cat showed up, and Jake's attention immediately shifted to her. You poked your salad around on your plate, wondering why you were so damn tired. You still had four more hours of work to get through before you had to pick Rose up and make dinner. Maybe you could just get pizza. But you shouldn't. But it sounded so good as you watched Jake eat his. But your hips and belly were already so big, you couldn't let yourself.

Your afternoon was filled with checking code that someone in Annapolis had entered, and they'd done a really shitty job. When you left your office, your eyes were tired, and you could feel yourself caving. You ordered a pizza and picked it up on your way home with Rose. Then you ate half of it on the couch while you fed her. And when you were done, you really wanted to cry, because you didn't know why you couldn't control yourself right now.

"I'm starving," Bradley groaned when he walked in. "You got pizza?" he asked, shoving two slices stacked up on top of each other into his mouth and moaning. Then he dropped down onto the couch and polished them off while you switched Rose to your other side. "I need to remember to pack my dress blues for Fort Worth."

"Why?"

Bradley shrugged and reached for the next slice. "Apparently, there's some sort of reception for the aviators that are selected for Top Gun in the fall. I don't know how much sway I'll have, but I'm really hoping I can pick some good ones for the next generation of the program since I'm aging out."

"You're not aging out, Roo!" you gasped. "You chose a different career trajectory!"

"I mean..."

"Stop. You're not old. Don't even try to tell me you're old."

"I'll be forty soon."

"You're thirty-eight."

"That's almost forty."

"You look like a DILF."

He reached for the last slice of pizza, folded it up and ate it while he reached for Rose. Like usual, she curled up on her father. Her features looked so much like his, but he was always the first one to argue with you about that, so you said nothing while he chewed up his food.

"I need you to help me pack for hot as hell Texas. I'm thinking just shorts besides my flight suits and uniforms?"

"I'll help you as soon as Rose goes to sleep for the night."

Bradley took the reins for the rest of the evening while you tried not to fall asleep before the baby. That was much easier said than done, but at least Bradley supervised tummy time while Tramp licked Rose, and then he gave her a bath. He read bedtime stories and changed her into pajamas so you didn't have to, gently setting her in her crib before joining you where you sat in bed yawning.

"You okay?" he asked, brushing his lips along your cheek before heading to the closet to start pulling out clothes to pack.

"Yeah. I just wish I didn't order the pizza, because it's empty calories, and it probably made me feel worse and more exhausted in the long run."

"But it was delicious," he muttered, piling up some of his favorite tropical print shirts. "Be honest, how many of these do you think I'll need?"

You snorted. "Unless every night is happy hour at the Copacabana, probably none. But knowing you, I'd pack at least two."

"See, you understand," he muttered with a smile as you chose two of your favorites and handed them to him. It was strange watching him load things into a duffle bag for something other than a deployment or special mission. You knew exactly how long he'd be gone. You knew it was just for a week and that he could FaceTime you and Rose whenever he wanted to, but it still felt like you were sending him away.

"We're going to miss you."

He immediately tossed the bag onto the floor and joined you in bed. "Don't cry, Baby Girl," he whispered, swiping at tears you hadn't realized were already filling your eyes. "I'll barely be gone at all. And I don't even have to finish packing tonight. I can do it later."

You nodded and let him envelope you in his warmth. That's how you eventually fell asleep.

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

"This sucks," Bradley said for probably the hundredth time in the past hour. Standing at the curb at San Diego International Airport with a beautiful wife and a beautiful daughter, being forced to leave them for a week, was actually awful. He didn't want to go. He wanted to continue to cradle Rose against his chest with his arm wrapped around you until he missed his flight.

"You have to go now so hopefully you can do this less frequently in the future," you whispered, voice shaky with emotion. You looked really tired, and Bradley knew you wouldn't get much of a break this week. That's why he'd arranged for Nat to check on you at home a few times whether you wanted her to or not.

"Count on it, Sweetheart," he murmured, placing kisses to Rosie's soft hair as her little fingers poked at the insignia pins on his uniform. "And I need you to be a perfect Nugget for Mommy. I'll call later tonight after I get settled in the barracks."

"Okay." Your voice was muffled as you buried your face against his neck. "I love you."

"I love you both," he promised, collecting his final kisses from Rose before buckling her into her car seat in the back of the red Bronco. Then he got a particularly filthy kiss from you that left both of you grinning before you started to shove him toward the airport entrance.

"You need to go or you'll miss your flight. And then Mav will be on my case about it."

Before he ducked inside, he cupped his free hand to his mouth and shouted, "I love you!" He watched you blow him a kiss and then pull away from the curb before he headed to the counter to drop off his bag.

He hated traveling like this, in his uniform. It felt like everyone milling around, trying to check their bags, was looking at him. He was only wearing it today, because he wasn't sure what to expect when he arrived at a base he'd only visited one time years ago. The last thing he wanted was to seem unprepared in front of an admiral, so he wore his khakis as a precaution.

"Lieutenant Commander. Where are you headed?" asked the airline agent when she looked at his pins.

Impressed, he replied, "Dallas-Fort Worth."

She took his duffle, wished him a good flight, and then Bradley slept for the entire time he was in the air. Maybe you weren't the only one who was exhausted, because the nap seemed to do wonders for him. He woke up feeling rested, and just as soon as he sent a text letting you know he landed, he was off in search of a rental car.

To his absolute delight, all he had to do was ask nicely and flash his most charming smile, and he was handed the keys to a brand new, black Bronco. It was a model year newer than your red one back at home, and he was excited to scrutinize all of the little differences as he drove it around for the week.

"Don't like the lack of a car seat," he muttered, tossing his bag onto the backseat where he was so used to seeing Rose's infant carrier.

Was he really that guy? Did he already miss his kid enough that he had to open up the photo gallery in his phone and scroll through a few pictures before he could drive away? Apparently he was, and it made him ache to be away from her. This was so much worse than going to La Jolla without his daughter, because right now, he had neither of you.

When his stomach started rumbling for dinner, he drove to the barracks and showed his identification, only to be told his room wasn't ready yet. So he went right back out to the Bronco in search of dinner. He knew the name of a tavern popular with officers in the area, so he typed it into his GPS and headed in the direction it told him. He had to laugh, figuring he was about to walk into the Lone Star version of the Hard Deck, but that's kind of what he wanted right now. Dinner somewhere that felt comfortable if not familiar.

"Oof." It looked like a dump compared to his bar at home, but it seemed popular, and he was hungry enough that it didn't matter. When he walked in, he took a quick survey of the space before grabbing an empty stool at the bar. He ordered your favorite beer and a sandwich and took his phone out, careful not to set it on the bar in case the owner was part of some sort of association along with Penny.

He tried reading an article, but he felt as though he was being watched. Bradley tried to ignore it, fairly certain he didn't know anyone on base here, but the feeling nagged at him while he ate. The twang of music playing on the jukebox was distracting, but not distracting enough. When he finished his food and wiped his mouth with a napkin, he picked up his bottle and drained the rest of his beer while he glanced around.

Then he saw a young woman in a flight suit playing pool not too far from his spot at the bar. Her bright blue eyes were focused on his face, and her lips curled into a grin before she bent to sink her shot. Her patches told him she originated from Virginia Beach like he did, and that her call sign was Indigo. As Bradley turned, ready to sign his bill and leave, he saw her approach out of the corner of his eye.

"Can I help you?" he asked, turning her way again with one eyebrow raised. She was attractive, even up close, and he remained silent while her gaze traveled from his face down to his chest where his name tag was displayed. Then she gasped in delight.

"Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw," she said, eyes snapping back up to meet his. "All the way from Top Gun. I've been waiting to meet you for weeks, Sir."

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Well, I hope BG is having a nice time at home without her husband. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

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lialuvsaven · 2 days ago

Text

Happy Birthday, Aventurine!!

“Aventurine always tries not to remember. He's never synced the Sigonian calendar system to check the date in trailblaze calendar, never makes the mistake of dwelling on the memories surrounding this day— even when he's too drunk to remember his own name. Done everything possible to not acknowledge it; because this day feels like nothing but a curse to him.

Unfortunately, Jade has now ensured that he never gets to forget his birthday, again.”

Pairing: Aventurine x reader

Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Comfort in the end to compensate for everything else ❤️ Reader is not physically present in the fic (they're not dead it's ok)

wc: 3.3k

Aventurine was abruptly interrupted by a knock on the door just as the sun began to slant westward.

With a sigh, he puts down the pen and glances at the wall clock. The hands on the parchment-shaped monstrosity read 1 pm, but his eyes are drawn back to the purple tongue protruding from its massively extended mouth. Seriously, where does Stelle find these items? "An ugly, purple parchment shaped wall clock that looks like it's ready to eat people"— isn't something most people would think to give him, to say the least. But that's the thing—it was Stelle.

She claimed to have found it during one of her "excavations." And even though Miss March 7th did her best to keep her friend from going into further details, stepping on Stelle's toes right in front of him and giving her a sidelong glance, as if he wouldn't notice, he could tell what kind of "excavations" would turn up something like this. Not like he minds the origins of this gift, however. Gifts from friends are few and far to come by, especially ones who actually tolerate him. Not to mention, Stelle likely sincerely believes that it's a cool gift, which is why it has replaced the diamond-embedded wall clock on his wall.

His musings are interrupted by a second knock, which, like the first one, reverberates once around the room before fading away in embarrassment. "Come in." He announces, reclining back in his seat and looking at the door with expectation in his eyes. It was not uncommon for his secretary to appear randomly in his office, constantly fussing over yet another minor issue. He believed it was her; at least, his itinerary showed he didn't have any guest visits today. Maybe it was time to replace assistants—the new hire is clearly not on the same wavelength as him. But he'd only recently had Topaz yell at him for changing staff so frequently; he'd prefer not to tell her that her choice was horribly disappointing just yet.

With a tiny bag bearing a brand he is all too acquainted with, the secretary enters the office. She keeps her gaze fixed on the floor the entire time, hence doesn't notice when her supervisor raises an eyebrow at the sight of his favorite jewelry brand. "Sir," she says in a low, somewhat flat voice, akin to that of a news reporter. "Earlier, a staff of Madam Jade stopped by. You have a present."

A grin appears on Aventurine's face, followed by a joyful chuckle. With how busy work has been lately, he'd almost forgotten when he asked Jade for a pink diamond, as has Jade apparently, seeing how long it's taken for her to send this. His request was a joke, of course, only meant to irritate Topaz. But he wasn't surprised either; Jade always takes good care of her weaponry. "Ahhh, no wonder!" He chirps and presses his palms together. "She must've finally found some generosity in her heart, hm?" He muses, and his assistant can only stand there stoically. He waves her off as she places the bag on his table and departs with an unnecessary low bow, never looking at his eyes once. As always.

When the secretary has left the room, he opens the bag, humming as he removes the box and gift card. Jade's handwriting is distinctive: prim and precise cursive that resembles a font.

"Happy birthday, Aventurine. This jewel would suit you far better than the pink diamond you asked for, don't you think?" — Jade

Kakavasha freezes. His birthday, she says, but she'd need to align the standard calendar system to the Sigonian one to find that out. She sent him a…..….a gift? For his birthday?

Is this a fucking joke?

The box reveals a chunk of corundum. Raw, uncut, pink and blue hues all over. Shades way too close to his eyes, and it doesn't take a gemologist to tell that Jade had done her searching thoroughly to obtain this. A jewel the color of his eyes, the color of Avgin eyes, neatly wrapped in a box for….to send ..what sort of message, exactly? Oh Avgin, never forget who you were before I found you—unpolished and undeserving. forget your name, but never your roots.

The note is crumpled and thrown in the trashcan, while the corundum and its box are hastily and carelessly pushed back into the bag. Really, so typical of Jade, he scoffs as he tosses the godforsaken bag into a random drawer, never to be seen again.

Kakavasha— no, Aventurine always tries not to remember. He's never synced the Sigonian calendar system to check the date in trailblaze calendar, never makes the mistake of dwelling on the memories surrounding this day— even when he's too drunk to remember his own name. Done everything possible to not acknowledge it; because this day feels like nothing but a curse to him.

Unfortunately, Jade has now ensured that he never gets to forget, again.

In any case, Aventurine concludes that it is not good for him to worry about this too much. Yes, he can just forget about the corundum. Yes, he is able to forget how it resembled Avgin eyes. Yes, he can also forget that Jade most likely sent this to "keep him in check" following the stunt he did in Penacony. But it was a mistake on his part to not see something coming. She had done this before, and it would not be the last time. He smiles at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror, composed, shrewd, and calculated. Since a mirror has the freedom of choice, it does not return his smile.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

By the time the car comes to a stop in front of his house, Aventurine is exhausted. His chauffeur unlocks the door for him, and he makes his way to the elevator. Yet he's interrupted again— of course, because it's a cursed day, and Aventurine has to restrain himself from scowling at the gateman, who stands in front of him wearing an anxious expression. "Sir, your friend had visited earlier to drop off something."

He raises an eyebrow and is about to inquire when he notices the bag the man is carrying. Without saying anything further, he simply takes the bag. You are the only one who'd own a dumb clockie bag and the only one who'd ever drop things off at his place.

When he steps in, his three catcakes meow loudly to greet him, and feels somewhat grateful for it. Today was just too exhausting, after all. He understands what this is about, based on the fact that you always give him gifts in person. Why, of all days, would you consider dropping it off today? And with no advanced notice- completely unlike you. How annoying, did Jade really have to do this too? He's never disclosed his birthday to you, so you probably coerced her into telling you, and she was glad to oblige, given you are of value to her.

Aventurine doesn't realize he's been standing in the kitchen for a long time until Spade begins massaging its fluffy body on his legs. He is surrounded by his three catcakes, who are all staring up at him expectantly. The message is crystal clear: We Want Food. He moves swiftly to get their food bowls, chuckling to himself before setting your lunchbox on the counter, sort of as an afterthought. At least they'll be able to go to bed well fed tonight.

After serving them dinner, he leaves the kitchen carrying a bottle of wine, hoping to spend the remainder of the evening crashing on the couch. He can just leave everything else for tomorrow. The benefit of drinking is that it can temporarily impair your ability to sense emotions. He only needs a short term fix, after all. Come tomorrow, he'll take hangover pills, and walk out of this house as Aventurine of the stratagems again— undoubtedly.

He turns on a random B-grade movie, prepared to drink the night away. And he does precisely that—he pushes down thoughts of how his childhood friends, whose features now misty in his memories, would react if they were to see him. With another shot, he pushes down recollections of his mother's cooking—the special meals for the Kakava—and his birthday. Another to accept the now-blurry face of his sister in his memory as the only proof of her existence. Another to forget the clay dolls she'd made for him, on the last birthday kakavasha got to celebrate, that were broken when he had to run for his life. And one more shot, and another, till he's forgotten everything; till he's numb and emotionless.

Feeling empty and hollow is far worse than anything else, and being unable to cry isn't as pleasant as he thought it'd be. But in his lavish home, where gold abounds in every nook and cranny, he has little reason for tears. Money may not be able to buy him happiness, as he is well aware, but it certainly does spare him from ugly tears unfit for his visage. Maybe that's why he hasn't cried in a while, or perhaps he has simply lost his soul somewhere along the way. He stays on the couch till 3 am, accompanied by his pets. He pretends not to see the troubled looks they shoot at him, whispered words passed between them that are clearly about him. By the time he decides to rest for the night, he is fatigued, sluggish, and barely keeping it together.

When he gets up to grab a glass of water from the kitchen, Ace makes a protesting noise before promptly shutting up. Catcakes are smart creatures, and they understand him better than most individuals in his life (or maybe the difference lies in care) His throat is dry, and ice cold water from the freezer provides enormous relief. However, the respite is taken away from him by the crackling lightning, loud as a whip, pulling out memories up to the forefront of his mind again. Of the lightning without the rain, of Sigonia-IV. The drumming of the thunder is largely hidden by the concrete walls, so it isn't as hard on the ear—but it aches a lot more than it did before. Aventurine sneers to himself, dismissing the idea as ludicrous. As if.

The second time the thunder sizzles, Aventurine has to take a sharp breath and grip the countertop to steady himself. It sounds like playing dead in the bleeding streams of Sigonia-IV, like the booming cackle of the mocking thunder. Had he been an insolent child, just a little more doubtful than he already was, he'd believe it was Mama Fenge herself laughing at her so called "blessed child". The thunder sounds similar, but it's not the same. No, because this is still Aventurine and he's still here and those are someone else's memories, forgotten and buried in sand.

Aventurine sighs.

Drinking too much has never done any good to him.

Just as he is ready to leave the kitchen, he notices the lunchbox sitting the counter out of the corner of his eye. Oh, right. He hadn't even touched it. A distraction doesn't seem bad now, though. If he wants to fabricate a plausible lie about eating the food, he would at least need to know what kind of food you sent. If the mental image of your frown after discovering he never even looked at what you sent is what gives him the final push , he would never admit it.

The lunchbox has a plains bear cub logo: you've always been a sucker for cute things. He sets aside the little note attached for later this time, preferring to taste the dinner first. It looks like you chose to make him some kind of soup. Insulated lunchboxes are a blessing— because it's surely been well over half a day since you made it, yet it's still warm. While the presentation is relatively simple, it smells strangely comforting— effect of some potion? He's heard of those, but they're usually used for sick patients, no? Other than that, this is the first homemade meal he's having in a….while. Not that it matters. Aventurine isn't picky, and while the leafy greens are unfamiliar to him, he believes he can handle at least a tablespoon.

Even the largest avalanche can be triggered by the smallest of things. Just one spoonful, and yet it's enough to make his world stop.

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The dry, broken soil scraped against his bare feet, producing little clouds of dust in its wake. His strides were light and rapid, nearly tripping over himself with excitement and giddiness. Just a little more, and he'll reach the finish line. Even the Sun's typical glare felt kind today; warm and tender against his tanned skin. Jumping over the homemade hurdles, he reaches the finish line far ahead of his friends. They protest and pout, and he taunts them with the biggest smile on his face. The soles of his feet feel slightly sore from running barefoot, but Kakavasha wouldn't risk destroying his only pair of shoes for a game.

When he hears his sister's voice calling for him, he rushes to embrace her and buries his face in her apron. His mother once told him that the Avgins all possess lovely voices, but Kakavasha believes his sister's is the best, especially when she laughs.

"And when will you listen to me and stop running around in the middle of the day, hm?" She pinches his nose and uses her apron to wipe the dirt off his face. Kakavasha beams at her with no regrets, proudly displaying the gap between his teeth. Once kakavasha had said his goodbyes to his friends, they walk hand in hand towards their tent.

There, his mother welcomes them with a warm embrace that smells like creosote bush and desert rain. “My darling," she coos, putting his small hands in her larger ones, rough from labour. "I remember you promised to be on time for lunch last time?" He grins cheekily, vowing not to do it again. (He's a repeat offender, but he knows that his mother and sister can't stay upset at him for long.)

His mother laughs, and tells him to tidy up before eating. Kakavasha's tummy is grumbling by the time he returns, and he finds the mats his sister laid down to sit on. The two siblings sit next to each other, chatting and giggling as they wait for their mother. She serves them a pot of hot soup with nettle leaves and lentils, just the way Kakavasha prefers it. He's overjoyed; quickly finishing his prayers before digging in. Kakavasha is a growing boy, and that's proved again when he finishes his bowl before his family.

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The soup she'd served him back then wasn't anything lavish; just a simple soup with local herbs and nettle leaves in a broth that smelt so uniquely of hers. His mama may have had a knack for cooking, but due to a lack of opportunities and resources, she never got to demonstrate her abilities. Compared to that, your food is much finer, and while excellent, it lacks the warmth of his mother's hands.

Nevertheless, he can't resist taking another spoonful and quickly putting it in his mouth because the familiarity is so, so palpable. He recalls that his sister wanted him to eat better, so she gave him half of her portion after he finished his. His mother then gave his sister half of her portion, as they are Both growing children. All of a sudden, the bickering, the laughs, and their voices are as plain as day in his mind. He can't fully recall the glitter in his sister's eyes or the dimple on his mother's cheek, but it's clearer than any other memory he had of them, that's for sure.

Aventurine can't stop crying, even if he wants to. Trying to halt the choking sobbing is fruitless, as is trying to figure out what's going on. He picks up the little message with shaking hands, hoping—praying—that it will help. You'll make it make sense. Somehow.

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“Dear Aventurine, I hope you have a wonderful birthday!!!!”

Written in thin, flowing, rounded letters that are noticeably cleaner than your actual handwriting. You undoubtedly put a lot of effort into each letter you wrote. Aventurine was correct in assuming you found out his birthday through Jade, as you have written it here. "Buying a gift for you seems…a little perfunctory," you said, "so I've settled with cooking you something myself."

"And if the dish tastes familiar (which I hope it does) then yes, you've guessed it right— it's a traditional Avgin dish."

The perfumed ink is thicker here, a few ink blots from where you've likely paused to think, go over each sentence in your head before writing them down.

You mention finding the Avgin dishes by reading some kind of research paper on Sigonian culture and food, but Aventurine isn't sure he can believe that. You wrote, "I was fortunate enough," yet chance alone wouldn't get you something like that. Sure, maybe some doctoral candidate was crazy enough to choose a dead planet and its deader tribes to write about, but finding that paper would be too difficult. The biggest issue, however, is that Aventurine believes this dish should not and cannot exist. The stinging nettle leaves his mother used are no longer available, and while he didn't know much about cooking at the time, he was aware that all of the spices he knew were almost extinct. He's looked enough to know.

"I'll be honest, I had some trouble locating the ingredients for it and had to swap the majority of them because I couldn't find them. I really wanted to bring back a familiar feeling, even if it tastes very different from how you remember it. Plus, it's the thought that counts, right?"

In contrast to the light-hearted language, your writing is slightly wobbly and darker here, and Aventurine wonders if you realise your emotions seep through every single one of your actions, laid bare for the world to see.

Noting the disappearance of their owner, curious, the catcakes peep into the kitchen are immediately alarmed to see their owner sitting on the counter stool, sobbing and clutching a box. Spade, unsure of what to do, nuzzles it's head on Aventurine's leg, while the others meow in an attempt to calm him down. Aventurine hasn't sobbed in a long time—he can't remember how to anymore. His body shakes with each ragged and broken sob, sounding shattered and damaged, but he can't stop.

"I hope it brings you fond memories" is what you wrote down, but are you aware of the full impact of what you did for him? Most likely not. Aventurine cherishes all of his memories, including the unpleasant ones: as long as it involves his family. His misery knows no bounds, but he's only had a few years with his sister, and even fewer with his mother. So even the saddest memories are never forgotten, so he can preserve as much of them as possible. They live through his memories, after all.

Even when plain, his mother's meals provided him with more warmth than anything else back then. To feel that warmth decades later is a blessing he can't repay— but a blessing nonetheless. He doesn't have many memories like this one either, gentle and happy, contrary to the endless memories of struggling. He remembers their love so vividly right now, feels it so strongly, alongside yours— that he has no choice but to revel in it.

(Come tomorrow , when he's sober, puffy-eyed from crying and not as vulnerable, he'll have trouble figuring your reasoning. But for now, he'll be fine. Tonight, he'll go to sleep feeling loved. Tonight, his pets will cuddle him to sleep. Tonight, he'll dream of a Sigonia Only he knows.)

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A/N: I'm honestly still so embarrassed about this bc I have an idea but can't execute it like I want to and 🫠🫠 As always, comments and reblogs are really appreciated!! Thank you for reading <3

#aventurine x reader #aventurine #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader

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runnning-outof-time · 23 hours ago

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If It’s Meant to Be | John Shelby x Reader

Request: yes by anonymous

Pairing: John Shelby x fem!Reader

Summary: John and (Y/N) were friends when they were younger. Life, as life does, pulls them apart for some time before they find each other again while (Y/N) is helping someone who happened to be lost.

Warnings: season 4 spoilers…maybe?? (I’m re-writing canon to make things better), language

Word Count: 4450

A/N: if I’m being honest I quite enjoyed following your prompt/request, anon! I hope I was able to add everything you were hoping into it and that it turned out along the lines of what you were imagining! I’m sorry that it’s taken ages for me to share. Enjoy! :)

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

comment/message me if you want to be tagged!

If it’s meant to be, it’ll be. That phrase gets thrown around so much. John Shelby always thought that he and (Y/N) (Y/L/N) were meant to be. But things didn’t quite work out that way…at first.

They were practically inseparable as teens. All it took was one meeting near the cut for the two to know that they wanted to be in each others lives for as long as possible.

Wherever (Y/N) was, John was to be found close by. If John was out doing something, nine times out of ten (Y/N) was helping out in some way.

Family members often joked that the two were attached at the hip. Ada even went as far as to conspire with (Y/N)’s younger sister, the two saying that they were excited to become future sister-in-laws.

But things don’t always work out to plan.

The dream of the families uniting as one through John and (Y/N)’s union crumbled slowly rather than it just being one, major blow.

(Y/N) started delving more into her studies; having big dreams of graduating and going further in schooling so that she could make something of herself. She’d always wanted to have more than just the lower-level jobs that Small Heath had to offer. She still tried to see John as much as she could, but the nights that were once spent gallivanting around the streets together had now been swapped for study sessions.

John couldn’t be completely mad at his friend. He wanted her to succeed and have the life that she was dreaming of. Sure he missed her company, and truly relished in the time that they were still able to spend together, but to say that he was now left completely in his lonesome would be a lie.

John met Martha Davies when she and her family moved to Small Heath.

Unlike how he was with (Y/N), who he tried so hard to hide his deeper feelings for behind the mask of friendship, John immediately went forward with expressing his desire to get to know Martha better.

While (Y/N) was busy with studying, John was busy with Martha. It was easy to tell how quickly the two had fallen for each other.

The news - though it really shouldn’t have given how quickly the two became…acquainted with each other - came as a shock just only six months into John knowing Martha. Hell, (Y/N) had only met her a handful of times before John was excitedly telling her the news that Martha was pregnant and he was going to be a father.

(Y/N) should have been happy for him. And on the outside she tried her best to present her emotions that way. But deep down, her real feelings that she’d been harboring towards her friend for years now were being crushed. She always pushed them aside for fear that he only purely saw her as a friend; for the fear that her revealing them would cause him to run from her life forever. Now there was no way that he’d ever know of them.

John, who was just a few months shy from his final teenage year, was now going to be a husband and father — he felt it was only right that he marry Martha given the fact that they’d now share a child.

If John was going to grow up this suddenly, (Y/N) felt that she should to. Her prelininary studies were finished and she was ready to go and make something of herself.

And so she moved to London, one step closer to her dream but many miles away from the person who grew up alongside her.

— 1924 —

Ada was the first to learn that (Y/N) was back in town. She didn’t waste any time in inviting her to what the Shelby woman promised would be ‘an amazing evening’.

Many things had changed since (Y/N) had last seen the Shelbys. One of the more major ones was the fact that they had quickly rose into wealth and power.

On this particular evening, Tommy and his new wife, Grace, were holding one of their regular events; where people of power and prospective business partners gathered to shake hands and attempt to make deals. It was a circle that (Y/N) felt she was so far removed from.

Ada’s persistence was hard to ignore though. She kept focusing on the fact that it was a different sort of event for the family invovled, and that everyone would be thrilled to see her again. (Y/N) couldn’t deny the fact that she, too, would be overjoyed to see the Shelbys again…even if it meant that her heart might break.

She made sure to wear one of her more sophisticated outfits and that her appearance was as perfect as it could get. When the time to leave arrived, she checked over herself in the mirror one last time before grabbing her clutch and heading down to the car that was waiting for her.

The manor she pulled up to left her in awe. Never did she expect to be welcomed into a place as grand as this. But if there was anyone in her life, past or present, who could be capable of obtaining this sort of grandeur, it would no doubt be Tommy Shelby.

“(Y/N)!” Of course Ada was the first person to find her. “I’m so happy you came!” the brunette exclaimed as she hasitly pulled her into a hug.

“You doubted I would?” (Y/N) asked, trying to focus on her friend rather than the crowd of people present in the grand foyer area of the manor. If there’s this many people in the entry room, how many would be in the banquet hall? she thought to herself.

“Never,” the other woman shook her head, “come with me. The others will be so excited that you’re here!” she then said, taking hold of (Y/N)’s forearm so that she could lead her into the banquet hall. (Y/N) hesitantly followed, not quite wanting to see the man she used to call ‘best friend’ just yet.

Thankfully Ada pulled her to Polly first. (Y/N) was happy to see her. Polly was just as much an aunt to her as she was the Shelby siblings. And, much like Ada had promised, the older woman was thrilled to see her again.

Time quickly slipped away and (Y/N) truly felt like the tiny group that had been assembled were the only ones in the room. She quickly slipped into a comfortable state, the crowds of people truly disappearing as the women caught up on everything they’d missed out on in the others’ lives.

Ada was the first to be pulled away. She was found by one of the house’s staff — which blew (Y/N)’s mind…Tommy had staff now?! — who needed her because Karl was becoming restless and ready for bed. She promised that she’d only be gone briefly and that she’d find Polly and (Y/N) again as soon as she was finished.

Polly got pulled away too. Tommy needed her to meet a prospective business partner. He greeted (Y/N) warmly — after he realized it was her — and expressed his gladness to see her before asking his aunt to join him for a moment.

Now (Y/N) was alone in this crowded hall of people. She stood and did some crowd-watching for some time (people just being people truly fascinated her) before deciding to go and find some refreshments to indulge in.

But she didn’t make it to said refreshments table…and it seemed that she wasn’t the only person who was alone at the party.

Although there were people moving all around, it seemed as though she was the only person who noticed the small boy who was cowering into himself with fear present in his eyes.

Cautiously, and with a friendly smile, she approached the child, whose bottom lip was quivering. It was evident that he’d been crying. “Do you need help, sweetheart?” she asked him, keeping her voice calm and level in hopes to not spook him any more than he already had been.

The boy only nodded his head, his wide eyes matching hers. The desperation present in them nearly broke (Y/N)’s heart.

“Are you hurt?” she asked a question.

The boy shook his head, ringing his small hands together.

(Y/N) inwardly sighed in relief. At least he’s not hurt, she thought to herself, now what could be the matter? After racking her brain, she asked another question, “are you looking for someone?”

The boy nodded this time. More relief filled (Y/N)’s body. He said nothing in addition to his nod, though, so she still had some more questions to ask.

“A friend?” she asked, remembering that she’d seen several children running around the room earlier.

The boy shook his head.

“A grown up?”

The boy nodded.

Ok, on the right track, (Y/N) thought, nodding along with him. “Your parents?” she asked.

“M-my dad,” the boy finally spoke, his mouse-like voice breaking (Y/N)’s heart. What he said next shattered it even further into pieces, “my mummy’s not here anymore. She…my aunt said she went to heaven.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, sweetie,” (Y/N) gave her condolences with a frown. “How about we go find your dad, hmm?” she then asked, offering another friendly smile.

“Ok,” the boy nodded, reaching his hand out for (Y/N) to take. The woman smiled as she accepted it, and the two began walking, searching through the crowd for his father.

“Let me know if you see him, ok?” (Y/N) said to the boy. She’d just realized that she had no idea who his father was.

“Johnny there you are!” a young girl exclaimed, her eyes set on the boy (Y/N) had been helping.

“We were looking everywhere for you!” a second girl chimed in.

(Y/N) looked down at the boy, whose expression hadn’t changed. She crouched down slightly to be more on his level. “Do you know them?” she asked him.

The boy nodded. “They’re my sisters,” he answered, his eyes still focused on the girls, who were now approached them.

“Who are you, miss?” the older of the two girls asked once they stopped in front of (Y/N) and the boy.

“My name’s (Y/N),” the woman introduced herself with a smile, “your brother was lost and needed some help finding your dad.”

“Well we don’t know where dad is either,” the younger of the two girls stated in a matter-of-fact tone, “but Johnny can come with us. We’re dancing.”

(Y/N) looked to the boy, who had calmed down significantly now. “Is it ok if you stay with your sisters?” she asked, her eyebrows raised slightly.

The boy nodded his head, the slightest of smiles now present on his face. (Y/N) smiled back, happy that he was no longer upset. But he caught her hand before she was able to stand up straight again. “Will you stay with us, Miss (Y/N)?” he asked in a sweet voice.

The question really wasn’t up for decision in (Y/N)’s mind. She knew her answer right away. Hell, she had nothing else better to do, or no one else she needed to see…so why not pass the time with these kids? “Of course,” she answered with a smile, laughing softly as the three children all cheered in joy. The little group wasted no time falling into beat with the music and dancing with smiles on their faces.

Unbeknownst to (Y/N), Polly and Ada had regrouped and were now watching her and the children as they danced.

“I wonder if she knows,” Ada queried out loud, watching her friend dance with her neices and nephew with a small smile.

“I don’t think she does,” Polly answered, shaking her head. A tight-lipped smile was also present on her face.

“You two seen any of the kids anywhere?” the voice of John Shelby came from behind the ladies, “ran off a while ago…haven’t fucking seen them since.”

Ada and Polly shared a look, both biting back smiles. John was able to catch said look.

“Well go on…share it,” he pressed them, his brow furrowing in annoyance. He didn’t have time for this…there were drinks to drink and ladies to charm. If they thought he’d be spending the entire evening chasing after his children, they’d be dead wrong.

“Your youngest was up with Karl. He was asleep when I went to attend to him,” Ada shared some information about Maxwell Shelby, John’s four year old.

“And the others?” John’s brows were now raised.

“They’re right over there,” Polly answered, pointing a finger in the direction of the dancing group.

John wasted no time following her finger and when he did, his world stopped. No. That…that couldn’t be her…could it? Questions raced through his mind as memories flooded back. God, she looks more beautiful than the day she left me, he was so entranced that he just about forgot how to breathe.

“John?”

The voice of his aunt brought him back to reality, and he shook his head as he snapped out of the trance she put him in. A hand went up to scratch the back of his neck instinctively, and he hoped that he could play off his staring. The grins on both of the women’s faces told another story.

“He didn’t hear a word you said, Pol,” Ada snickered, loving the fact that she was able to poke fun at her brother.

“Oh fuck off,” John grumbled, trying so hard to keep his focus on his family and not the beautiful woman that was still playing with his children. A silence fell between the trio and John took it to do just what he was stopping himself from moments ago. “I…I, uh, I should…” he stopped his babbling, clearing his throat and trying to regain his wits. Christ, just the sight of her had him babbling like a fucking child. “I should probably uh, probably go over and see how they’re getting on,” his statement sounded more like a suggestion…which was weird because he was essentially suggesting for himself to go and do it.

“Go on then,” Polly wasted no time in agreeing with her nephew, motioning over to where (Y/N) and the children still were.

“Yeah,” John agreed, like it wasn’t even his idea in the first place. He didn’t move though.

“Grow a pair and get on with it, John,” Ada snapped him out of the trance he once again fell into, still grinning at the fact that John was very much acting like a lovesick fool at the moment. In fact she hadn’t seem him like this since…well since he was around (Y/N).

With one last glare, John finally heeded to their nudges and started off in (Y/N)’s direction. Her back was to him as he approached, and she was dancing with his eldest son, Johnny. His daughters, Jane and Katie, did see him coming though, their eyes lighting up when they realized he was there.

“Daddy!” they exclaimed in unison.

The yelling of the girls made (Y/N) stop what she was doing and turn. Seeing the person who they’d addressed made the breath get caught in her throat. No. It can’t be, she thought to herself, her heartrate quickening by the second.

John was - also - back to staring again. He still couldn’t believe that she was standing right in front of him.

“Dad…dad, did you hear me?” the sound of Katie’s impatient voice brought him back to reality. He focused in on his daughter as he heard the sweet sounds of (Y/N)’s giggles. They made it feel like there was heat being placed on the back of his neck.

“I…I didn’t, sweetheart, I’m sorry,” he sheepishly answered his child.

“I was telling you that this is (Y/N). She found Johnny and then agreed to stay and dance with us. She’s really nice,” Katie explained again.

Her being referred to gave John the go ahead to look at (Y/N) again. This time he willed himself to stay focused and not get lost in the memories they shared together, or how beautiful she looked.

“She helped me because I was crying and didn’t know where anyone was,” Johnny shared, “she’s really friendly. I think we could all be friends.”

John couldn’t help but chuckle a little as he watched (Y/N) stiffle her laugh. “Yeah, Johnny, I, uh…I—” God you look like a babbling fool right now, get ahold on yourself, John-boy, was ringing out in John’s mind.

(Y/N) watched him intently, waiting to hear how he would address the past between them. Would he address the past between them?

“I used to know (Y/N)…we used to be best friends when we was younger,” he finally shared with the children, feeling silly for holding his breath as he waited for their response.

There was a moment’s pause as the three little Shelbys looked at each other. It felt like eternity to the two adults, who looked as if they wanted to say so much to each other. Soon smiles formed on the children’s faces.

“That’s great that you’re already friends with her, daddy!” Katie exclaimed, beaming up at John.

“When can she come over?” Jane eagerly asked, her question making (Y/N) laugh as her heart bursted with love.

“That’ll be up to her,” John answered, laughing at his childrens innocent questions, the heat still creeping up his neck.

“Your father and I will have to talk about it,” (Y/N) added her own response, a sweet smile present on her features. She then looked at John, her expression telling him that they’d have to find each other later to catch up.

“Please talk about it later, daddy!” Johnny exclaimed, a pleading look present on his face.

“I will, Johnny, I will,” he assured the boy, nodding both to him and to (Y/N), silently accepting her invitation.

(Y/N) was resting against one of the balconies on the side terrace of the manor later that evening when she heard footsteps approaching her. She didn’t bother to turn and look; having a good idea of who could be coming.

“You followed through with the invitation,” she commented as John came to a rest beside her.

“Always do, angel,” John responded, his usage of her old nickname making her heart flutter.

It was one that he frequently used when they were younger…she was always doing the right thing; always acting like an angel. John loved to call her it in a teasing manner and though she’d wrinkle her nose up when he used it, she secretly loved it. Tonight, however, he used it in a sincere manner, and it just about made (Y/N) weak at the knees.

“You don’t know how surprised I was when I saw you with me kids,” John admitted then, looking out at the grounds his brother owned.

“The surprise was pretty clear on your face, John,” (Y/N) responded, giggling as his eyes shot to match hers; wide in surprise.

“Never was good at hiding stuff from you,” he said in a sheepish tone, shaking his head. “How’d you find out about this?” he asked then.

“Ada found out I was back in town. She invited me,” she answered. John made a mental note to thank his sister later. “It was nice meeting your kids,” she said with a smile.

“They’ll probably talk about you for days,” he said with a laugh, looking away from her for a moment. “Only good things I’ve left,” he mused, his tone sounded solemn.

Silence fell between them as (Y/N) chewed on her bottom lip, wondering if she should offer her condolences or not. She didn’t know if the wounds were still fresh, or when it had even happened. “I’m sorry about Martha, John,” she finally said.

“I am, too,” he responded, looking down at his feet as he took a deep breath, “feel bad for those kids most of all. They didn’t really even get to know her.”

“That must’ve been tough,” (Y/N) mused.

“It was…” John agreed, “it has been,” he then corrected.

“I’m home now, so I’m…”

“You’re home?” John cut into her statement, his eyes widening as they found hers again.

“I am,” she affirmed, smiling softly before continuing, “I’d be happy to help you with your kids if you need at all.”

John smiled as he heard what she said. He couldn’t lie, he was suprised by how gracious she was being. There were a thousand words he wanted to say, but all he was able to get out was: “thank you, (Y/N).”

For her, it was enough.

Silence fell between them once again as (Y/N) wrestled with yet another thought; one that she’d been wanting to say since he joined her outside. After a few moments, she finally took the leap and said it.

“You know, I always thought we’d end up together…I always thought that it’d be us,” she made sure to train her eyes on the darkened landscape as she spoke. She couldn’t handle seeing John’s expression as it changed.

“I…” John hesitated.

“That wasn’t me trying to insert myself into anything. I’m sorry if it sounded that way,” she scrambled to cover up, not even thinking of how he could have taken her admission. “I just…I wanted that to be known. I spent too long dancing around it without saying what I felt,” she took a deep breath, debating on whether to add anything more. There was one more thing she was burning to say, “I had-have a lot of love for you, John.”

It took a few moments for him to digest what she had said. Never did he think that she’d be admitting these feelings to him. He always thought that he’d have to keep his boxed away for the rest of his life. But now she’d put hers out in the open, it would be silly of him to withhold his.

“Hey,” he started, wanting to get her to look at him before he shared his confession. His one word statement succeeded in getting her eyes to match his. “I’ve always loved you, (Y/N),” he admitted, his voice holding a sincereness he hadn’t used in a while.

“You’re being serious?” she asked, the corners of her lips twitching as she wanted to smile so big right now.

“So serious,” he whispered, smiling as he spoke.

“I…” she paused to let out a laugh, feeling so silly for what she was about to admit to him, “I really wanna kiss you right now, John Shelby.”

“Then kiss me, (Y/N),” he wasted no time in agreeing to what she was suggesting, slowly moving to rest his hands on her waist. He was gentle in his touch, silently letting her know that she could break away if she wanted. She didn’t.

(Y/N) reached to take hold of his jacket’s lapels before leaning in slightly. John got the message, meeting her halfway so that their lips could—finally— meet. The — what felt like — lifetime’s wait for this moment was most certainly worth it.

— Three Years Later —

“Katie!” (Y/N) called out, knowing that the eldest child was in the next room over. Her joyful scream was a distinctive one, and the woman was able to hear it amongst at least two others. It didn’t take long before the girl appeared in the archway of the room John and (Y/N) were sitting in.

“Yes?” she asked, trying to catch her breath. It was obvious that she’d been playing.

“I need you and your siblings to try and keep your voices down, ok?” (Y/N) kindly asked.

“Why’s that, mum?” the young girl inquired.

(Y/N) froze before she could give her answer, her mouth agape. Katie had just called her ‘mum’.

Thankfully John was able to step in and continue the conversation—because it had became obvious to him that (Y/N) couldn’t. “Because mum’s just gotten Ella to sleep. We don’t want her to wake again,” he explained, motioning to the baby that was sleeping on (Y/N)’s chest.

“Ok, dad,” Katie conceded without a fight. Both John and (Y/N) gave a soft thanks and watched as she went to leave. She’d only moved from the arch for a second before returning to say one last thing, “you should know that it’s really Max who was making all of the noise.”

Her statement made both adults laugh. “Go on,” John waved her off. The girl gave one more toothy smile before running off to her siblings.

“Did she…?” (Y/N) finally got out, surprise laced into her words.

“She did,” John grinned as he looked at his wife, “mum.”

It may have seemed like nothing special to someone looking on, but to (Y/N), what just happened was monumental. This was the first time Katie Shelby had called her mum.

(Y/N) and John hardly spent a moment separated since the night they rekindled their friendship…which quickly turned into a relationship…which quickly turned into them getting married and having a child together.

With their dear little Eloise being born just five months ago, both felt that their family was now perfect. But even though (Y/N) took on the role of mother to John’s four children in every sense of the term, she never forced the kids to address her by the name. Martha was their mum, and not even her being gone could change that.

One by one, though, the kids began calling her mum. Katie was the last to hold out. The eldest girl would always address her as ‘(Y/N)’, and (Y/N) was perfectly fine with that. Which is why when the girl used the ‘m-word’ just now, she froze in her tracks. She couldn’t help but blush as she looked at John, who was grinning like a fool.

“She called me mum,” she whispered again, more to herself than anything.

“She did,” John repeated, his voice soft as he smiled at his wife.

If it’s meant to be, it’ll be is the phrase that always gets thrown around. Luckily — thankfully — for John and (Y/N), it was meant to be.

MASTERLIST

Tagged: @the-anxious-youth @mystcldydrms @look-at-the-soul @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing

@evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @theshelbyslimited @peakyswritings @watercolorskyy

@strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @stevie75 @dark-academia-slut

@zablife @cillmequick @letal-y-poetica @depxiety @shelundeadxxxx

@red-riding-wood @padfootdaredmetoo @crabat-the-queen @sebastianstangirl01 @everythingelseisextra

@kmc1989 @papichulo120627 @brummiereader @adaydreamaway08 @justrainandcoffee

@peakyltd @johannelis2302nely @ce1iat @wildheartsalwaysburn @dragons-are-my-favorite

@jessimay89 @slaymybreathaway @mysticalfuncollectorus @sleepyycatt @novashelby

#john shelby #john shelby x reader #john shelby x you #john shelby x y/n #john shelby imagine #john shelby fanfiction #john shelby fanfic #john shelby fic #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders x you #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fic #fanfic #fanfiction

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shecriestotheclickingoftime · 2 days ago

Text

it'll be ok

patrick x reader, 11.2k words

(basically, this fic is what happens when you let a songwriter have an unlimited word count with no narrative skills but a lot of feelings...)

this is a long one, and an intense one, and the plot is kind of convoluted and a mess and a lot of and im ngl reader is very specific and also very mentally ill and struggling the whole time (and is also def a flawed character but pls go easy on her)

an insanely angsty, moody, sad, but hopeful ending Patrick Zweig x reader fic (with a lot lot lot of Art Donaldson mentions though, like he is a main character just not a romantic interest)

set during Stanford era, reader goes to Stanford with Art

TWs: quite a bit of drinking, vomiting at one point from drinking, a lot of mental illness is present here ngl, reader has a really bad relationship with family (but there are not too many specifics), and some moments where reader cannot eat or sleep because of anxiety!

Freshman year of college was hard. You’d been so excited to finally get away from your family, and attend Stanford, but the adjustment was hard. You’d already been there a couple months, and you’d made friends, your closest one being Art Donaldson, a tennis player who just kind of… popped up in your Psychology 101 class, and then just stayed in your life.

The second you walked into the massive lecture hall, you knew you had messed up signing up for an introductory science class. You were an English major, this class wasn’t even required for you, but for some reason, you were here. You scanned the room, trying to not look as nervous as you were, and sat down in an empty seat. The class still didn’t start for a few minutes, and students were still filing in, getting set up for class. As the lecture hall started to get more full, you looked back down at your notes, trying to get everything ready for today. There were still a fair amount of empty seats left, so it took you by surprise when a blonde, athletic-looking boy came and sat down a seat away from you. He smiled at you, and you smiled back, and he introduced himself as Art Donaldson. You nodded and looked away, trying to look disinterested, but for some reason, this kid was hell bent on getting to know you.

Eventually, you reluctantly decided to give him a chance. As much as the alarm bells in your mind went off, reminding you that it was definitely a bad idea to let yourself get socially involved, something about Art completely disarmed you. Though you tried your hardest to resist getting attached, especially to a guy, Art did everything he could to be a stable figure in your life, and for some reason, he cared about you. He didn’t mind your quiet, sharp exterior that you guarded yourself with; it seemed like he cared about you more because of it- from the first time you two met, it felt like he saw straight through you in a way that no one else ever had, like somehow he already knew you the first time you two met.

You did everything you could to protect yourself, keeping your struggles and emotions to yourself, like you had been taught to. The hardest part about Stanford was being away from your family. All you had ever wanted was to be away from them, away from their mistreatment, but even after everything they had put you through, you couldn’t help but miss them. You missed your parents, as much as you didn’t want to, and you felt so alone without your family. You didn’t want to be alone, but you knew you couldn’t go home either. You just felt so alone.

The only thing that felt worse to you than being completely alone, was actually trusting someone and then being left. But despite your resistance, you slowly found yourself starting to trust Art. At first, you tried everything you could to push Art away more. But every time he saw right through you, so you tried to be icier and more distant, so you could get him away before he even got the chance to hurt you. But Art had this careful kind of persistence, somehow not really minding that you pushed him away- He wasn’t trying to sneak closer to you, or get you to let him in, he just wanted to be there, wherever you were comfortable with. And as independent as you tried to be, you had to admit that maybe sometimes it was good to have a friend.

You revolved your life around school. But nothing you did could help the loneliness that had been tearing you apart from the inside since you were a young teen. You were haunted by the thoughts that no one could understand, or care, and even if they did you knew that no one ever stayed. You were too much for anyone to handle. So you had no choice but to let the loneliness fester, and to just hide the pain from everyone else. But the emotions hurt more than words could describe- so you looked for distractions. So you studied. Obsessively. And your first midterm season was no exception- you put so much pressure on yourself that on the nights before your tests you couldn’t sleep or eat, your anxiety making you feel so restless and sick that you physically couldn’t do anything besides just studying and spiraling.

–

It was not an exaggeration to say that by Friday night, you felt like death. After finishing your last midterm, you felt beyond empty. Your test adrenaline that had kept you going the past few days had suddenly worn off, and the consequences of your own actions had finally started to catch up to you. And without studying and anxiety to obsess over, you could no longer avoid your chronic loneliness. You were tired, and hungry, and completely alone.

So when Art Donaldson showed up at your door to invite you to the frat party tonight, and added that his best friend was in town and he wanted us to meet, you knew it was a terrible idea, and you should definitely not drink in this condition.

So naturally, you agreed.

You’d heard about his best friend Patrick Zweig before, and to be honest, he seemed like a cocky, self-centered idiot. But Art was insistent on introducing you two. You didn’t have much interest in meeting him, (but to be fair, you didn’t have much interest in meeting anyone right now). But, when Art asked you to just give him a chance, you couldn’t say no.

So, in your zombie state and all, you went to a fucking fraternity party. Completely out of any energy, you poured yourself a strong drink, downed it, and repeated. And repeated. And repeated until losing count.

And there you were, severely sleep deprived, practically hallucinating, and already wasted.

And that’s when you met Patrick fucking Zweig for the first time.

Even drunk, you could tell at first glance that Patrick was a player, just based on his cocky demeanor (and the fact that he was tall and hot. like, what girl wouldn’t want him?) So, you gave him a tight-lipped smile, closing your walls again before you’d let some womanizer guy take advantage of you.

Why had Art wanted you to meet him anyways? This guy seemed completely incompatible with you, and to be honest, you were surprised that he would be such close friends with sweet, gentle Art. So, you introduced yourself quickly, slipped out of the corner you’d been hiding in for the past half hour of this party, downed your way-too-strong drink, and went to go make another one. Now that midterms were over, you couldn’t use your obsessive studying to distract you from your family and loneliness, so getting fucking wasted seemed distracting enough.

But of course, Art had to notice. And he had to get worried about you, making sure to stay close and keep you in his eyeline. He’d noticed your sadness, and having seen Patrick go through the same complicated family feelings throughout his years at Mark Rebellato’s, he could tell enough of what was going on.

He was initially drawn to you because he saw Patrick in you. However, instead of shutting people out by acting overly confident and social like Patrick, Art watched you shut yourself away. And even though he had only known you for a couple months, he couldn��t help but care about you, recognizing Patrick’s sadness in you.

So, when he saw you drinking so much at the party, he knew you were just coping with loneliness. He’d seen Patrick numb himself with drinks enough time in high school, trying to fill the emptiness with liquor and meaningless flings with the girls around him, trying to escape the desperate need to feel cared about and loved. Art knew Patrick like the back of his hand, and he knew that you two were scarily similar.

As you got drunker, you migrated back to standing near Art, who was practically attached at the hip to Patrick, and you somehow end up rambling about the English paper you just finished. As douchey as Patrick seemed, something about his demeanor seemed gentle towards you, nodding and smiling softly, actually listening to you as you sipped drink after drink and had pointless conversations with Art. You tried to avoid his eye contact and ignore him- you hated to admit it, but he was good at being charming, and even after drinking this much, you still knew that you couldn’t let yourself fall for that. You’d already been dumb letting Art in so much, and you were still scared by how much you trusted him, and so there was no way you were going to let yourself develop some delusional crush on his douchey best friend. So you tried to ignore how tall he was, and how he towered over you, and how he somehow seemed actually interested in your idiotic drunken ramblings. You wouldn’t fall for his tricks.

You were incoherently drunk. And meeting Patrick fucking Zweig at the same time. You weren’t one to lose control, you wanted to tell him and Art, but at this point it didn’t even matter anymore. Because now, here you were, stumbling over your words and pouring all of your thoughts out before you could even stop to think about how embarrassing this was. It couldn’t get any worse than this.

Actually, you soon learned that it could get worse. Finally, the countless drinks that had been churning around your stomach finally started to catch up with you, and you could tell that you were absolutely going to be sick. You tried to excuse yourself quickly from the boys, stumbling through the crowd outside as quickly as you could, just trying to reach the fresh air outside and hoping that it could refresh your senses. But of course, your escape plan was useless, because Art and Patrick trailed worriedly behind you. And as they followed you out, you prayed to forget all of this tomorrow.

You breathed in the cool, smoky air, wishing to vanish or something, anything to get out of what you knew was bound to happen.“I think I need to go back to my dorm,” you blurted out, turning around to face the boys, and slowly backing away, trying to conceal your wobbly steps, praying that they leave you alone before you got sick.

But of course, you wouldn’t escape that easily.

“Hey, let us walk you back,” Patrick said gently, stepping carefully towards you.

“Yeah, it’s really late, and my building is near yours anyways,” Art followed up, offering a comforting smile.

Even in your drunkenness, you could already tell that the two were worried and definitely wouldn’t be letting you walk home alone this late. And as much as you didn’t want them to see you like this, you didn’t trust your ability to get back home right now. So, you gave up on getting them to leave, and you finally nodded, letting them catch up to you as you accepted your fate of possibly having the worst first impression in the history of ever.

You’d barely walked for 2 minutes when the inevitable feeling hit you… you were gonna throw up.

So, this was how you introduced yourself to Patrick Zweig. Instead of hiding behind your cold, quiet demeanor that you tried to maintain, you ended up getting embarrassingly drunk, and now fucking throwing up. You scolded yourself in your head, trying to breathe slowly and calm the sickness, but the ground felt like it was spinning and you lost control. You quickly made yourself stumble towards some bushes as you vomited. (sorry guys i know this is gross but it's part of the plot </3)

You tried to conceal your face from Art and Patrick as much as you possibly could, not wanting them to get grossed out by your display (if you could call it that)- although there wasn’t really a way to hide when they’re standing next to you. Nonetheless, you tried, wishing to yourself that they would somehow forget about this, and just leave you alone to die in the bushes out of pure embarrassment.

You continued to be sick, and everything just hurt at this point. But you suddenly felt a large, calloused hand gently lowering onto your back and rubbing soothing circles along your spine, as another hand gently brushed your hair away from your face, holding it back with a soft hold. Even in your dizzy state, you could tell that it wasn’t Art doing that- Art’s hands were always smooth and, like, way too well kept and soft for a college athlete. So, this must’ve been… Patrick?

God, this is your first impression? Throwing up at a fucking frat party? With him holding back my hair?

You can’t even tell how long you were standing there, throwing up into the damn Stanford bushes. But you do remember Patrick’s gentle touch never leaving your back or your face, as he whispered little “you’re ok”s into the night air as he comforted you.

After you got back up, the rest of the night passed by in a dizzying blur, your vision making everything around you look like a stop-motion movie. You could feel your drunken memories as they evaded your mind and disappeared from consciousness just as quickly as they happened. You generally remember the idea of walking back to your dorm, trying to accept what just happened. You briefly remember Art and Patrick still walking with you after that, Patrick arm floating around your waist, as he tried to keep you steady. Both Art and Patrick seemed completely unfazed, and even understanding of you, like they had experienced this a million times before.

The boys walked you all the way back up to right outside of your dorm door, making sure that you got all the way back home safe and intact. You whispered a feeble sorry and good night to them as you slipped back into your room, shutting the door and not even bothering to turn on the lights, letting yourself fall into your dorm’s shitty little twin bed. To be honest, you kind of knocked out after that, escaping from the chaos of the night and letting everything go black

The next morning, you woke up with the golden San Francisco sun peeking through the half-open blinds on the windows. Despite not remembering falling asleep the night before, you could tell that you had knocked out cold soon after you got back to your room, seeing that you had fallen asleep outside of the covers and still in your party clothes and makeup… and even your shoes were on, damn.

And, of course, you woke up with a headache. And a stomachache. And so tired, and so thirsty. But the pain in your body felt almost nonexistent compared to the horror that completely washed over you as the memories of the night before flooded back… at least enough of them to remember meeting Patrick, who was way too tall and cute to be embarrassing yourself in front of, as you recalled talking, and talking, and talking, and drinking, and talking, and then… throwing up. And then walking home.

God, not only did you embarrass yourself in front of Art’s best friend, but you also did that in front of Art… your closest friend at Stanford… and god, he probably was disgusted by you and never wanted to see you again.

At least, that’s what your mind told you, as you could help but feel nauseous again as the last night played back in your head. That’s what you get for going out right after skipping so many nights of sleep and proper meals because of midterms stress… God, you were dumb. Why did you listen to Art, and why did you agree to meet his best friend?

You still didn’t fully understand why Art had been so insistent on you meeting this Patrick guy, anyways. Did he want to set you up with a douchebag player? Like, what was the point?

Your mind flashed back to the feeling of his hand on your back, gently holding you while you were sick, and his careful, almost nervous hand floating around your waist, stabilizing you as you walked back to the dorm. That was Patrick, not even Art. And something about his featherlight touch and sweet silence made you feel like he understood you, and somehow he knew how you were feeling, even though you had never met before.

You shook the thought off, figuring that it was just your drunken mind making up this feeling between you. He was probably just giving you that smug smile that he flashed at you when you first met, and you perceived it as something gentle and kind in your pathetic loneliness. Ugh, you felt dumb. Your shame of the past night felt like a weight tied to your ankles, keeping you imprisoned in your dorm room. You didn’t want to see Art anytime soon, your mind crowded with thoughts about how he probably thinks you’re so dumb at this point, and he wouldn’t want to care about you anymore after seeing how you acted. (And to be fair, your thoughts were definitely irrational and untrue, but the Sunday (or technically Saturday) scaries can seriously be haunting sometimes).

Oh, and you could definitely never face that Patrick guy again. He doesn’t even go to Stanford, so if you can avoid Art enough, then you’d probably never have to see him again anyways. Hopefully.

But… you could almost still feel his hand on your back, rubbing circles, taking care of you while you were sick, and it just felt so… affectionate. No one had comforted you like that in a long time… Even at home, when you got sick, you’d lock the bathroom door and turn the faucet up to drown out any noise you’d make, so you didn’t “burden” your family with your illness. You took care of yourself. Like you always did, and you always would. But in that moment, even just recalling the hazy, embarrassing memory, you could still feel that safety and care from him…

You snapped yourself out of this mental spiral- God, you were delusional. And probably also eternally pathetically lonely.

And you were most definitely not leaving your dorm room for the rest of the weekend.

–

You spent the rest of the weekend hiding in your dorm, feeling like fucking Dracula not being able to bear the outside light. You tried to push down your shame, blaming the hangover for your anxiety, but you still decided that distancing yourself from Art would be the right thing to do. There is no way you could let yourself be that vulnerable with a guy, especially since you couldn’t stop thinking about Patrick, and how he took care of you. And maybe this was a strange thing to ruminate on so much, but something about it felt so personal. It’s like something is pushing you towards him, that you have no control over, making you want to just be near him again.

God, you were pining. For Patrick Zweig? You were getting attached to a guy you had met for one damn drunken night. Fuck you, Art, for introducing you to Patrick. You were fucked. And spiraling.

–

After a successful weekend of avoiding the world, you finally had to leave your room again. You had classes to go to. You took a long shower, composed youself, and got ready to get back out in the world- there was no way you were gonna let a dumb embarrassing moment in front of fucking Art Donaldson and Patrick Zweig interfere with your academics. And besides, you needed to distract yourself, and filling the void of loneliness with countless tasks and books to read sounded perfectly fine.

You saw that Art had texted you that Sunday morning asking how you were. And you ignored it. And of course, he had to text again on Tuesday, asking if you wanted to grab coffee before Psychology lecture like the two of you usually did. Like everything was normal or something.

And again, you didn’t respond. And then you skipped your Psych class. You emailed an apology to the professor, and watched over the class recording he sent you, taking notes on it. But there was no way you could face Art Donaldson yet.

Your avoidance of him almost got irrational- you knew you were blowing things out of proportion, but you were so scared that if you got close to Art again, you’d see Patrick again, and… you couldn’t do that. You made a commitment to yourself- from now on, you definitely fucking hated Patrick Zweig. You didn't need to justify yourself with a reason why. You just needed to hate him.

–

Avoiding Art got more and more difficult as the weeks went by- you skipped another Psych class and practically snuck around campus to go to your classes, paranoid that he would see you around. So you broke, and decided to talk to him. Well, not really talk to him about your 2-week avoidance. He didn’t have to know what was going on with you. So, you came up with the most bullshit excuse you could. You claimed you’d been sick, and coincidentally also your phone had been broken, and that’s why he didn’t see you and you also didn’t text him at all. Pneumonia was really going around this year, right?

Somehow, you actually showed up to your next Psych class. You sat on the opposite side of the row as Art, burying your face in a novel and pretending to not even notice anyone around you, not even him. You stared at your notebook for the entirety of the lecture, obsessing over your notes that were definitely way too detailed, and made sure not to look over at Art. He couldn’t be mad at you if you simply just didn’t see him, right? And as soon as class ended, you dove back into your novel, not even looking up on your walk out.

You knew you were acting irrationally. But you’d been acting like this for so long that you knew you’d dug yourself into a hole with Art, and there was no use trying to crawl out and explain yourself. So you just let it continue.

–

However, your seemingly flawless avoidance plan (predictably) didn’t last very long. It only really ended up lasting until that same weekend, when of course, you had to cross paths with Art Donaldson on your walk back from your favorite, cute little bookstore. You had almost made it back to your dorm without bumping into anyone, and you almost forgot about all of your anxieties-

Until you looked up and found yourself looking straight into Art Donaldson’s eyes, as he walked the opposite way as you, your eyes widening at the sight of him in his tennis uniform, with his giant racket bag slung over his shoulder. You instantly remembered: he always leaves for his Saturday tennis practices at this time. Fuck, you shoud’ve known not to be here at this time, but you just wanted to go to the bookstore so much that you had to forget literally everything else.

So, here you were, face to face with Art Donaldson, after ghosting him completely for over two weeks, because… you threw up in front of him at a party. You stopped walking as you approached him, guilt flooding your mind as you realized that you had completely shut him out for… god, almost three weeks today.

“Hey”, he said as he approached you, his voice soft, almost like he was testing the waters, as you froze in place, unable to look away from his eyes. “Where have you been? I haven’t heard from you since… like the day after midterms. You said you got pneumonia? And your phone broke?”

Your face flushed in embarrassment as you tried not to visibly cringe at how illogical your actions and excuses sounded in his words.

“God, Art, I fucked up,” you blurted out, unable to filter yourself… and now that you’ve started talking, you knew you couldn’t stop… “I’m so sorry, Art” you said, trying to breathe and compose yourself, the shame for your actions threatening to swallow you whole. “I… Ok, I’ll just be honest. I felt so embarrassed after getting so drunk at that stupid frat party, that I started avoiding you, and then I guess I… Once I started, I couldn’t then go up to you and talk to you, so I let myself dig further and further into this hole and it just felt too bad to climb out and… Well, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I should have texted, and you did nothing wrong, I just was embarrassed-” You stopped yourself from rambling further, forcing yourself to take a breath and let Art respond. You looked down, as if you were trying to gaze straight though your shows and into the ground, as you braced yourself for the worst- you had been told a million times by people around you that you were too much to handle, so you pushed away and broke every relationship, and you knew that you had just done that again. And now you talked way too much, and he

“Listen… I get it” Art almost whispered- and when you looked up, you were met by a sympathetic smile and a worried stare that looked like it could read your mind. “I know how stressed you were because of midterms, and it definitely wasn’t a good idea for me to drag you out to a party right after we took them- and I’m sorry if I overwhelmed you by also introducing you to Patrick too, I know that he can be… a lot. And I’m not mad at you. But next time, just let me know if you’re not doing well. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, just… be in contact.”

You were almost taken aback by his words- you were expecting Art to give you icy stares and bring out words so sharp that they pierced straight through your skin, and you felt like you would have deserved it. But he actually thought about you, and apologized? You stood there for a moment, your mind still processing his response and unable to form words, when he spoke again, this time softer and more nervous:

“Just… try meeting Patrick one more time? You don’t have to anytime soon, but at some point, just get to know him a little. And then you can never talk to him again, but… this is important” he insisted, his tone anxious and almost a little awkward. He offered a comforting smile, still noticing some fear lingering in your eyes after the entire conversation.

–

Looking into your expression, Art’s mind went straight back to the one night in 10th grade at the academy, when he and Patrick had stolen a joint from their young guest tennis instructor’s bag, and decided it would be a great idea to try getting high together for the first time. It started fun, as Art and Patrick settled into a half-conscious recalling of embarrassing childhood memories, laughing at themselves and at old classmates, until they had somehow gone into talking about family memories, when Patrick broke down crying while confessing about how much he didn’t want to go home for the holidays. In the 5 years that Art had known Patrick before that, he never heard him talk like that. The two of them talked for a couple hours, eventually joking around and laughing too hard at everything, like high teenage boys would do, but something in Patrick had melted away- like some barrier that he had held up for so long that neither Patrick not Art even fully realized it was there the whole time- and Art suddenly saw a glimpse past Patrick’s self-centered persona, and say what was behind his loud words and bold actions.

But, by the time Art woke up the next day, Patrick had realized how much he exposed himself the night before, and completely shut down. Of course, with this being Patrick, it didn’t last more than a week before he and Art started joking around again- but from then on, Art could see through Patrick’s actions a lot more. And even though Patrick never explicitly mentioned that night again, and he still probably wouldn’t, even years later, he did open up a little more after that: he started calling his parents when Art was in the room, and starting skipping his own family’s events to stay at Art’s grandma’s house during the winter holiday breaks- and although Patrick never showed this side to anyone else, he let Art see it; he had almost memorized the hurt in Patrick’s eyes after rough phone conversations with his parents, the loneliness that Patrick tried to cover up so desperately, and finally could see straight through Patrick’s words, when he pushed people away because he was afraid. And when he met you, despite the fact that you seemed cold and almost kind of mean, Art instantly recognized the distinct kind of sharpness in your voice, and the fear hiding behind your judgey stares. And since then, he couldn’t help but want to take care of you and protect you, the way that he wanted to protect Patrick- but even more than that, he could tell that Patrick would see straight through you too, and soften him up a little. Neither you nor Patrick seemed like the type to admit that you cared, but something about the two of you seemed intertwined, like there was some sort of invisible string between the two of you that was obvious to Art the moment he met you.

–

Stupidly enough, you had actually agreed with Art that you’d meet Patrick again. But maybe not yet. Art understood more than you thought he would, and didn't bother you about it as you warmed back up to a friendship with him. You stopped feeling like you had to sneak around campus and you went back to sitting with Art during Psychology class. And even though things still hurt, the weight that your family had left on your shoulders seemed to slowly get lighter, and you stopped missing home so much. Between Art, your other English major friends, and some kind professors, you have started to feel a bit more independent. However, even as you let yourself let go of home a little more, you could still feel the loneliness gnawing at you- you liked being independent, and you had gotten used to being independent- you had been independent your whole life, figuring out how to cope with things yourself and not letting yourself need anyone. However, even as you became more content with your college life, you still felt a desperate part of you wanting to feel a little cared for and wanted- maybe just someone to understand, to share the hurt sometimes. But you just blame that on your family issues, praying that the empty feeling would eventually fade away- it was better than trying to find someone to fill it, you couldn't let yourself trust anyone to stay.

But in the meantime, you focused on yourself. At least you tried to. You tried to take care of yourself, you worked hard in classes, and you didn’t force yourself to call back home. You tried to be more social, actually attending some frat parties with your girl friends (and the nights didn’t end terribly for you anymore), but you still strictly maintained a lot of your coldness and quietness- you liked having friends, and you felt like you fit in, but you made sure to lock away any sign of neediness or pure vulnerability- you didn’t want to let your past drag you down, so you shut it out, and shut everyone away from that part of you. And you did a pretty good job- but of course, Art saw right through it. But he didn’t say anything, he just tried to help from the outside as much as he could without overwhelming you. He started bringing over coffee or dinner when he noticed that you were shutting yourself in your room, and quietly helping you out on the simpler things, like helping you out with laundry or helping you out with your desk clutter on the days that it was hard to get things done without some motivation.

The next few months of the semester floated by, as you learned to balance your schoolwork with the rest of your life, and you buried your sadness deeper inside until it was almost invisible- although you could feel it tearing into you a little more. You felt it when you were alone, and even worse when you were in a group or a crowd, still feeling lost and like despite even being friends with all of the people around you, none of them actually could touch the pain inside of you- and you felt too guilty to tell them, not wanting to place your burdens onto them as well.

You ended up staying at Stanford for thanksgiving, telling your family the excuse that it was just too far to fly all the way home for less than a week of vacation, and had dinner alone on the floor of your dorm, drinking through a bottle of wine and watching trashy reality tv. You didn’t tell anyone that you did this- you didn’t lie, but you also dodged any conversation about it. Although you told yourself that you loved the cozy nights alone, you couldn’t fully ignore the loneliness ripping you apart further. As much as you tried to cover it up with a quiet and guarded personality, you still found yourself in bed at night replaying the distant, fuzzy memories of Patrick Zweig on that one drunken night- and even though you tried to hate him during the day, you still found yourself curled up on late, anxious nights, letting yourself remember and cling onto a feeling that you felt for less than a second that night, finally allowing yourself just a brief moment to be weak, no longer holding onto your defenses, and for a silent moment letting your mind be cradled by that untouchable, unexplainable feeling that somehow, for some reason, someone had understood you. He understood you, and he saw straight through you, and he still held onto you.

(But, by the morning, you had already pushed that idea so far back down, that you would have forgotten how real it felt, when you let yourself feel it. But, by the daytime, you were sure again that you were imagining these things about Patrick Zweig, and you allowed the familiar pull of loneliness tearing you apart just a little more, crying for something that didn’t exist. And inside, you kept a secret from yourself- that all of you was hoping for just one more night that you would let yourself be held by the memory again.)

–

You saw Patrick again in passing on the few times he came to visit Art. He always seemed to try and talk with you, despite you brushing him off every time. Once, much to your dismay, he came with you and Art to grab your usual coffees before your lecture together, and Art basically struggled to hold back his laughter at Patrick, whom he had always seen as the charmer who moved on from girls almost instantly, seemingly try his hardest to try and get you to break a little. And while Patrick respected your space, and left you alone when you brushed him off, he seemed like he was longing for some sort of conversation with you.

And the truth is, Art would’ve advised Patrick to fuck off a long time ago after you ignored him for the first time, if you had wanted him to leave… but Art knew you, and based on the way that you always blushed whenever Patrick’s name was brought up, and you always fidgeted with your jewelry and hair anxiously even as you openly ignored Patrick, Art knew you were just pushing him away. Art had seen you do it before, and while he allowed you to push Patrick away over and over again, part of him just loved to see how much Patrick actually let his guard down around you. For the first time in Art’s life, Patrick was really nervous about a girl. So nervous that his cocky, charming alter-ego completely fell when you were there. Because Patrick understood what Art had noticed in you- you were also hurt, and really really persistent in protecting yourself, hiding any vulnerability. And Patrick was the same- but something about you made him ok with showing that he cared. With you there, he couldn’t help it.

Patrick visited Art a total of 3 times that semester (not that you were counting, definitely not), and for each visit, Patrick tried to approach you at least one time, wanting to really talk to you, but always giving you space whenever you signaled for it. He felt bad being so persistent, constantly trying to understand and follow any rules or boundaries you were setting, but it felt like you were being purposefully vague with him. So, he followed your lead as best he could.

And to be honest, you didn’t even know what you wanted either. Your mind told you that you needed to push him away. But you just couldn’t let him go completely either. But it just couldn’t work out. Everything was confusing, and nothing you could do felt right. You didn’t like him, you couldn’t. You didn’t.

Unfortunately for the both of you, Art could easily tell that you and Patrick were both way too into each other- but there was just no way to get you to let your guard down in front of Patrick. You seemed terrified to let him care about you, even though Art could tell you had a soft spot for him, and how much you forced yourself to block him out. But every time you told Patrick to leave, he made sure to leave you alone and give you the space you wanted… but you always just ended up looking depressed whenever he left, no longer talking and shutting down even more than when he was there. And by the end of Patrick’s third visit, after you spent the whole time trying to push him away, but you then always stayed around Art’s dorms and tennis practices when Patrick was there. Always near him. Art couldn’t help but notice how you locked yourself in your room for a few days, and looked unusually and consistently sad every time he saw you for at least the next week.

God, you two were absolutely, undeniably lovesick, and it was getting more obvious in every interaction.

—

As you neared the last month of your first semester of college, you almost forgot about the yearly Stanford tradition that was inching closer and closer- family weekend.

Well, actually you didn’t forget at all. How could you, when you got like at least twenty reminder emails in the past week, and saw the flyers for the activities that were planned for all of the students to do with their parents. You were fully aware that family weekend was nearing…

And you just didn’t tell your parents about it. You didn’t have to. And honestly, they were so focused on taking care of your older sister at her school, that they didn’t even keep up with any Stanford news. (and, even if they had seen one of the many emails that were sent, they didn’t mention it, because they ended up making plans to visit your sister over the weekend). And so, you were going to be alone on family weekend.

You crafted a plan for this weekend nearly identical to the one you had for thanksgiving- ask for a couple bottles of wine from your sorority friends, order a shit ton of food to your dorm, and hide inside and pretend that nothing else exists from Friday to Monday.

And that was the plan. Sure.

Until Art had a different idea.

“You know, since my grandma’s house is only like an hour away from here, and she’s gone for the weekend, I was just gonna stay there for the weekend. And I have spare bedrooms, and air mattresses in the basement, so like last minute now I’m hosting boys and girls tennis teams, and we’re partying all weekend. I guess a lot of tennis kids don’t care to see their folks this weekend either,” Art grinned at you excitedly, looking a little too excited to explain his plan. “And you know… you haven’t told me about what you’re doing, but on the off chance that you were free this weekend I saved a room for you in my house if you’d want to come. No pressure,” he says, and you definitely don’t miss the glimmer of excitement that flashes in his eyes when you nod your head, deciding to just let Art win and not try to put up a fight. To be honest, it’s not like you were doing anything good locked up in your dorm room, so you might as well go to Art’s house. Worst comes to worst, you’ll just hide and read your novels in the guest room there anyways.

“By the way,” Art says, looking slightly nervous but also clearly holding back a smile, “Patrick’s gonna be there this weekend too, if that’s ok. You don’t have to talk to him at all, it's no pressure at all.”

–

The rest of the week passed by you like a breeze, and by Friday morning you were packed for the weekend and ready to go. You had packed a combination of casual cute clothes and some sweats as well, since Art had claimed that this was all gonna be chill and casual.

All of Art’s guests had to organize rides for themselves, but since you weren’t part of the tennis teams, Art had immediately offered you to go with him. Art was always weirdly good at identifying what was making you anxious, and trying to find a solution if he could. So, after an hour car ride of you blasting your favorite songs with the windows while Art drove you both down to his house, and you realized how much you missed obnoxiously loud music**** and speeding down highways while you were living at Stanford.

****(Irrelevant author’s note: in my mind, I’m imagining listening to the Jeff Buckley songs Gunshot Glitter, Nightmares by the Sea, and What Will You Say, specifically the live version from the Theatre de Fourviére, Lyon, France. Yes, it being this specific exact live performance is very important to me! And for bonus points, the Radiohead songs Airbag, Just, and How To Disappear Completely (depressing but heavenly at full volume), and also for something fun and loud, the song Closet by Fleshwater. Trust me that song is so good omg. Ok thats it from me byee <3).

It seemed like no time at all until you and Art arrived at his (insanely oversized) house, and as you pulled into the smoothly paved driveway, you felt a breath of relief escape from your lips. You didn’t fully let yourself process just how much you were dreading the Stanford family weekend until you realized that you actually, officially escaped it, and the relief washes over you like a cold rainstorm finally breaking through a heat wave so long, you had forgotten that the burning feeling wasn’t normal.

While the thought of your family not even noticing, or more likely not really caring about, the family visiting weekend burned in your chest, it at least felt good to get some physical distance from the festivities going on back at school. And even though you loved Stanford, and it started to feel like your true home, you knew it would do you good to be physically forced out and away from your beloved dorm room, after trapping yourself in it so much (which you had also been planning to do again this weekend). And besides, you knew that Art was going to set you up with a cool guest room, which, although you didn’t want to admit it, would definitely be way nicer than your cramped little single dorm and rock-hard twin bed that you had grown used to. (No hate to the dorm room from this story we still love u queen <333)

Walking through the front door of Art’s house felt like another sigh of relief, a pestering weight being lifted off of your shoulders, even if just for this weekend. Since you traveled with Art you two arrived a little before everyone else, so you two share a bottle over overly-expensive sparkling rosé (that is definitely too fancy to be consumed casually like this, but Art clearly doesn’t care), while the two of you hang around as people start to arrive and leave their stuff in their rooms.

It’s only like 7pm on Friday night when the party has already seemingly started, all of the guests having arrived and just too excited to wait to have fun until later that night. You find yourself more relaxed at this party than at the usual frats, sipping on some other expensive champagne that Art opened for you, actually savoring your countless glasses you’re drinking, instead of your usual chug of overly strong liquor-filled complete mind-escaping drinks. You queue up songs and walk around the ground floor, the kitchen, the living room, and the game room all filled with different groups of tennis kids playing games and hanging out. It feels a lot more low stakes than the usual frat rager, and you enjoy the slight warm and fuzzy feeling you're getting from the alcohol, instead of drinking until you stumble around and your head feels empty.

You almost get surprised when a song that you’re sure you didn’t mean to queue up, Lover, You Should’ve Come Over by Jeff Buckley, the live from the Cabaret Metro in Chicago version (yes it being this live version is important to me) starts flooding the room. The song is definitely too gut-wrenching to be playing at a college party, you think to yourself, but you also don’t make any effort to skip the song or turn it off anytime soon. Hearing this song blasted over the speakers, surrounding you in its emotion and vulnerability, feels almost like a complete catharsis. And of course, as if in a queue, you spot him across the room…

Patrick. fucking. Zweig.

He looks up at the same time as you, the bridge of the Jeff Buckley song blaring and the timing feels too in point, like some sort of dumb set-up. And you almost want to roll your eyes, but you can’t move your stare away from his eyes, and without even trying you feel like you can read straight through his intense gaze, like you’ve both been hypnotized by each other’s expressions. And as you hold eye contact for far too long to be normal, you see a break in his expression. For a single moment he looks completely fragile, and his walls have broken straight through. And in his eyes, you see a glimmer of sweetness, and even though he’d tried approaching you several times before, he had never looked this lovesick and cute before. And though you’d only met a few times, and you tried to convince yourself you didn’t care, something in you broke down from the way he was looking at you… and for a passing moment, you could read the loneliness behind his expression, and you could feel it tearing him apart too, the same way it did to you. And for the first time you let yourself notice a concealed sadness in his eyes that felt so familiar, a thought crossed your mind that said that somehow, you must have known each other all your lives.

The moment only lasts until you blink, and you realize that you had fully stopped breathing for the past 39 seconds, looking at him. Your mind swells with a hailstorm of countell words, your thoughts connecting and swirling into tornados, and you couldn’t help but just sit there and feel them breaking down your strength and burning doubts through your memories. You felt as old memories started echoing through your body, and your mind was filled with alarms blaring, begging you to not let the past happen again, screaming at you to run or hide.

You tried to pay back attention to the music, which had moved from Jeff Buckley songs and was now playing some old SZA that Art must’ve cued up, and you tried to focus on the music, wishing that it would drown out the noise of the alarms that still tortured you, and your thoughts were so loud you thought they might overflow. Needing to get out, especially before Patrick saw you like this, you rushed over to Art, desperately needing to reach the nearest escape route.

“Hey Art, which guest room is mine?” you ask, trying to press a fake smile on your face, willing your face to look happy, but your voice chokes as you desperately hold into the tears threatening to stream down your cheeks. Everything is too overwhelming for a second, and while you try to focus just on the music, the random groups of friends hanging out around you start to feel like they’re closing in on you, and their drunken giggles and chatter start to sound like they must be talking about you. All of a sudden you feel suffocatingly claustrophobic, and you can’t help but choke on your breathing. Just praying to the tears and sobs you’re clinging onto can stay back for just one more minute, at least until you get to the stairs.

Art looks over your face, almost worried but trying hard not to press into you and make you feel worse. “The stairs are through there”, he says, gesturing to a hallway on the right, “and your room is the third door on the left. There’s a little sticky note with your name on it up on the door, I put one on yours and Patrick’s rooms to reserve the best rooms for you guys,” he explains, trying to give you a comforting smile, trying to show his understanding without making you feel delicate, even though you look like you could break at any moment. He’s never seen you like this, so opened, and it’s like someone completely tore down the walls and guards you always keep around you. The coldness that usually sits in your eyes is gone, and while you may just look kind of upset to most people, Art can tell how unprotected you feel right now. He nods and guides you over to the hall that leads to the stairs, but he lets you walk up alone so that you don’t have to cry in front of him. Despite his instinct to comfort you, he knows that you want to be alone right now, so he lets you go.

Your conversation with Art goes mainly unwatched and you sneak out of the party pretty successfully, as you’re finally out of sight from the crowded living room, stepping slowly up the soft beige carpet that drapes over the tall spiral staircase. Once you’re completely hidden from the party, you finally let yourself lose control over your spilling tears and silent sobs, rushing up the stairs and into the room that Art had labeled with your name. The guest room looked regal, an ornate white cabinet standing against the wall and a huge, soft bed sitting in the room, the towering white bed frame adorned with a transparent, light blue canopy that draped over the bed, turning the bed into a fantasy-like cove that looked like it belonged on a cloud, not in a spare bedroom of the Donaldson’s mansion. You somehow don’t even have the energy to change out of your jeans before you flip off the lightswitch and crawl straight into bed, letting yourself get swallowed up into the blankets as your tears and mascara silently stain one of several white pillows stacked around the bed. If you weren’t in the middle of crying you probably would’ve laughed at how extravagant and detailed the Donaldson’s guest rooms are, the whole mansion feeling like it should have been more out of Downton Abbey than the house of Art Donaldson. There were also somehow like 5 other bedrooms scattered around the house, and you didn’t even want to imagine what the rest of them looked like.

Sniffling, you close your eyes and do your best to breathe, pushing away the thoughts that you feel eating at you, echoing around your mind, waiting for answers- what the fuck happened there with Patrick? You took one good look at him and wanted to cry, like what the fuck.

The familiarity in his expression is haunting- you’ve spent so much time feeling alone and misunderstood, and you’d just figured that no one would really get how you feel, and that was ok… But he understood it. He understood the loneliness tearing you apart, and maybe somehow he felt it too. But why would some random, rich, popular tennis player kid understand you out of everyone? How could he understand feeling unwanted, when he looked like that? And the memory of his brash, cocky smile makes you want to cry even more, you can’t believe you’re getting attached to someone who clearly wouldn’t care about you. You had tried too hard to push him away, and not let yourself get close to him whenever he came to visit… but something about tonight made you feel completely powerless. What scared you the most was that during all of it, you could feel that all you’d really wanted in that moment was to be wrapped in his arms, and told that everything was ok. You just wanted to feel cared for- you didn’t want to feel the pain by yourself. And feeling like that was genuinely terrifying.

And as much as you hated the truth, you also felt so relieved to admit it. To maybe be ok with it, even though it seemed terrifying to trust someone like that again. But despite how much you hated the truth, it felt freeing to stop forcing yourself to deny it, even if it was just for a moment.

You let yourself sink into sleep, and despite the night being hard, it somehow felt necessary- and while you know that your guard won’t stay down forever, it at least felt good to let yourself past the walls for the first time in a while.

–

The next day you woke up to an intense beam of sunlight pouring straight through the windows and onto your bed, and the tension that you’d been holding in your body doesn’t feel so tight anymore.

As you climb out of the sunlit bed and step onto the cold wooden floor, you can’t help but cringe when you realize you slept in yesterday's clothes. And jeans. You really were completely drained, and you must have also been crazy tired yesterday- maybe that’s why everything felt so intense, and your little moment with Patrick was not as terrible as you thought, right?

You changed into a new outfit for the day, fixing your hair and redoing some makeup, and you went down to find an already populated kitchen. You ate breakfast and made small talk with some friendly tennis girls, checked in with Art, and curled up on a couch and read for a couple hours- you tried to not hide in your room, but you definitely were also not going to waste all of your energy before the night even began.

By the time you had gotten up that morning it was already past 10am, and the rest of the day seemed to just breeze past you, as you alternated between reading, hanging out in the backyard with Art and some of his teammates, and you even passed by Patrick a couple of times without psyching yourself out too much.

You were curled up on the couch the first time he walked through the living room, and he smiled at you when you looked up. But the proudness and obnoxious confidence that he usually bared in his smile was absent, his expression just kind of cute and soft, a stark difference from the usual intimidating mask he has on. He ends up just passing through the living room and going to the kitchen, but his smile sticks in your mind for a little longer, your slight surprise as the pure softness of his look still present in the back of your mind even as your mind wanders away from him and back into your reading.

You two pass by each other a couple more times that day, and you notice how even when he greets you in public, his guard falls for just a minute when he looks at you, his loud facade falling just for you. Art clearly notices too, and you can see the amusement on his face whenever Patrick looks over at you, stealing small glances at you when you don’t notice. He’s told both you and Patrick enough about each other that you two don’t seem like strangers despite this being your second time meeting. He can’t help but let out a laugh when he sees the way you look back at Patrick though- your stare back at him is cold, and even though Art knows that you’re not doing it on purpose, you never really smile back- you seem more focused on reading Patrick’s smile than focusing on your own face. And no matter what, you consistently look away from him first, and your cheeks burn a little red every time you look away.

You two continue your silent game for the rest of the day, and you let it happen. Patrick Zweig was pining.

Even after your constant pushing and pulling, and avoidance, and dismissing of Patrick, he was still there. After fucking months. And for some reason, he understood you. And he fucking waited, he waited for you to open up, and he didn’t even know if you every would. And he cared for who you were. Even when you were really fucking embarrassing. And maybe, possibly, he isn’t just trying to hurt you, and, like, someone could actually care. And you wanted to let him. You did.

But you stayed quiet.

By the time the sun had set, you had decided to accept your fate as completely hopeless. And you were completely exhausted. And you decided that you should just talk to Patrick and tell him it’s over, and you don’t want him. And you knew it would be a blatant lie, and he would know it was a lie, and even fucking Art would know it was a lie, and you didn’t know why you were doing it.

And you could again feel yourself being ripped to shreds on the inside. And you knew it was your fault, and you were making it happen. And to be honest, all you could think about was how you wished he was holding you. And you wished for things to slow down, and for the constant alarms in your mind to quiet down, and you just wished that everything could just cease to exist for one moment, so maybe for once you could have a break.

You and Art were the only ones left outside, surrounded in a total silence that was more vulnerable than anything you had ever said to him. And you tried to tell Art about how you really, truly, didn’t want Patrick. But the words just didn’t make sense. How could you end things with someone you had never even started with? How could you even explain to Patrick that, even though you had always rejected him, that you actually wanted him the whole time, and now you don't? And how could you even admit to Patrick that you wanted him in the first place? And how can you explain a feeling this complicated?

“It’s fucking torture. Even just thinking about him is fucking torture,” you say, your words piercing the silence that had laid so comfortably over you before.

You watched as Art turned his face, looking at you, but not saying anything.

You let out a shaky breath before continuing, “It’s just… I don’t even know anymore. I don’t understand why I can’t let myself be happy for once. For the first time, I feel like I’m just completely breaking. Like, I can’t protect myself anymore. It’s like I’m fucking killing myself keeping people away, and I feel like it’s what I need to do to protect myself, but I’m fucking dying maintaining this. And I don’t want to be like this. I want to be different.”

And you just… cry.

And for the first time, you don’t hide, and you don’t try to run away. You sit there, and cry. And you just let it happen.

You look over at Art and break a small smile- “Can we watch a movie?” You ask, your voice still a little shaky.

And, of course, Art grins and nods- “Yeah. of course. We can go to the little lounge upstairs,” he says, getting up alongside you as you both walk indoors.

Just like last night, the entire ground floor of Art’s house is filled with the tennis kids partying. But you don’t spot Patrick anywhere as you and Art cross through the living room and reach the stairs, and as you climb up, Art breaks the silence.

“Patrick’s probably in his room,” Art says, looking straight at you, practically having read your mind.

You roll your eyes and let yourself smile, softly responding, “could you maybe invite him?”

Art nods, pointing to the TV lounge room, saying “there’s the lounge room. I’ll ask Patrick. Meet you there,”

The wooden floor planks make a slight creaking noise as you walk down the hallway, entering the little room that Art had pointed to. It’s just a little lounge room, with a sofa and an armchair facing a tv. You pick up the remote and start fiddling with it, sitting down on the big couch, sinking into the cushions. Your heart rate goes up a little as you hear footsteps coming near the door, and Patrick walks into the room, followed by a grinning Art. Patrick sits on the other side of the small couch, while Art snatches the remote from you and claims the armchair.

“Any requests?” Art asks, flipping through the different streaming options. Neither you nor Patrick answer, so Art ends up flipping through the options before picking some random, terrible looking horror movie off Netflix. He turns off the room lights as the movie plays, and you curl into the couch. You can’t help but look over at Patrick, watching him stare at the screen, clearly deep in thought.

You watch Patrick for a long moment, and although you can feels the alarms in your head waiting to go off, you just stay still. And you feel scared for a second, realizing just how unguarded you feel, and how easily you could just fall into Patrick’s hold.

And for the second time that night, you cry. The tears stream silently down your face, and Patrick looks over as you wipe them off. And you just cry. You cry because you’re lonely, and you cry because it hurts that you just want to feel cared for so bad. And you cry because you wish you could’ve told Patrick or Art about your family, and you hate that you feel so damaged. You cry because you hate how Patrick and Art understand you so well, and you cry because you know that Patrick understands you because he feels it too. And you cry because you hate how much you’ve resisted Patrick, and that you didn’t let yourself even talk to him. And you cry because you regret pushing Patrick away so much, and you cry because you watched him open up for you, and you couldn’t do it for him. And you cry because you miss the way he touched you on that first night you met, and you cry because you feel dumb for crying.

And Patrick can’t help but just look over at you, your knees curled into your chest as you cry. And he doesn’t know what you’d want him to do. He’s never seen you cry like this, and he can tell how much it hurts to cry in front of him. “Hey,” he whispers, looking over at you, your face tucked into your knees, and for the first time, you seem so small. His gaze softens when you look up at him, letting him see your tear-stained face. And in that moment, the couch seems so big yet so small, and he just wants to hold you.

And Patrick can see Art out of the corner of his eye, observing the scene. And Art almost looks frozen in awe, looking at how his best friend looks at you, and how you look back at him.

You and Patrick look at each other for a beat, when Patrick almost inaudibly whispers, “can I come closer?”

You nod, letting go of your knees pressed against your chest, and move closer to Patrick. And you can't help but meet his gaze again, as he leans in and scoops you up into his lap. And you’re curled up against him, your head his chest, as he wraps his arms around you and just holds you there. Patrick looks over to Art, who is now watching the movie intently, as he glances down at you, trying to make sure that you’re ok.

Art looks over at you two and can’t help but smile at the scene, seeing both Patrick’s tough act and your cold defenses just completely let down. But it’s really late, and he quietly gets up, whispering to both of you that he’s going to sleep and good night.

And wrapped up in Patrick’s arms, you let your eyes close and you nuzzle your face into the crook of his shoulder. And he holds you tighter. Patrick leaves a kiss on the top of your head, as you whisper, “Can we lie down? I’m tired”

Still refusing to let go of you, Patrick adjusts to lay across the couch, and you lay over him, as he holds you flush against his chest. As his arms wrap around you, he rubs circles across your back with one of his hands, and holds you tightly against the other.

And you feel safe in his arms. And as you drift off to sleep, you feel that maybe, from now on, you won’t have to go through everything by yourself.

#challengers #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #art donaldson #i need josh o’conner so bad please #josh oconnor #tashi duncan #challengers 2024 #challengers movie #challengers x reader #challengers fic

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lagunapoint · 1 day ago

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I've been thinking about something. Lavellan is the only woman in Solas's life who knows his contemplative, serene, and solitary-melancholic side. That part of him that outwardly yearns for peace and love, isn’t it? A woman who never manipulated him but simply listened (or didn’t) to his advice and sought his help. She didn’t know about his past, and he could present himself to her as he wished. It was a big opportunity for Solas to remember something forgotten about himself. Of course, he loves Lavellan, and the phrase about a "rare spirit" takes on a deeper meaning. Lavellan believes in the best in him, while everyone else around him sees only a brilliant strategist for achieving their ends. And this plays so well in contrast to his relationship with Mythal, who saw him as a means to an end, no doubt. She led him down the path of war. She nudged him, approved, and let him make choices leading, at the very least, to genocide.

Solas’s phrase, one of his regrets, when he asks Mythal to leave the Evanuris. Could it be that Solas admits he has doubts about what he’s doing and is ready to turn back? But then Mythal hooks him with the word love and he melts again. If she approves, then everything’s okay.

And here he is, left without his power, without his people, in a world where no one knows him, and where he knows nothing. And he meets a woman who is, for many, a symbol of faith, a deity. She begins to build her own order, faith around her strengthens, the power of the Inquisition grows, and I think Solas might have felt a sense of déjà vu in many ways here. However, this woman doesn’t choose the path of "achieving her goals through death." Perhaps it wasn’t only Lavellan herself who served as an example for Solas that there are other ways to overthrow a false god obsessed with the blight (hello corypheus, hello evanuris), but also the entire Inquisition, with all its advisors, companions, and the final victory, showed him that goals can be achieved differently. Maybe in moments of silence, he wondered how things might have turned out if Mythal had been like Lavellan. Maybe they wouldn’t have touched the Titans at all, and nothing would’ve happened. Or if instead of Mythal, it had always been Lavellan? I like this version better. Solas would have had an entirely different path. I don’t know, just an idea my head is such a mess.

And I can't shake the thought that Mythal wanted to remain the supreme deity, and that the true god of betrayal and deceit is her. This fits the logic of the updated lore good gods = bad gods. And if that were true, how cunning one would have to be to deceive wisdom itself.

Thoughts?

#im in a brainstorming phase #and I need to let my emotions out #and I still haven't finished the game aaa #solavellan #dragon age inquisition #solas #lavellan #da:tv spoilers #dragon age the veilguard spoilers #♥

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killerpancakeburger · 1 day ago

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Halloween w/ Soap

Tags: established relationship, gn!reader, fluff, reader is a cat person. 0.6k words.

“BONNIE!”

Your boyfriend's enthusiastic scream barely makes you move from your cosy spot on the couch, where you're laying on your side and scrolling on your phone.

“Hmm?” you reply, distracted.

He noisily rushes to your side, kneeling on the rug.

“C'mon! Time to get ready!”

You look up to stare at him with perplexity.

“Ready for what?”

“Halloween, f'course!”

You raise a skeptical eyebrow, expression hesitating between a smile and a grimace.

“I don't wanna ruin your fun, honey, but you don't think we're a bit old for that…?”

“I promised I'd take my nieces! You're coming with, right? Right?”

Here comes the puppy eyes. You sigh in defeat.

“Do you have a costume?”

He rewards your capitulation with a sloppy kiss on your cheek.

“Got us matching ones.”

In a normal instance, you would have felt self-conscious about wearing that kind of attire in public, even on the last night of october. But, as if he read your mind, Johnny's attention in getting you matching outfits helped a lot with the matter. Not to mention that he couldn’t go wrong with a black cat attire.

The costumes were very casual— all black, comfortable clothes for you, with cat ears you could clip on in your hair and a cat tail you could stick on the back of your pants; a headband with wolf ears and the bushy tail that came with for your Scottish companion. You were bracing yourself in advance for all the pussy jokes he wouldn’t miss to make.

You didn’t expect to find yourself caught up in the game, but here you were, staring in the mirror and lost in thought. When was the last time you got ready for Halloween…?

“Ye like it?” prompted Soap as he sneaked behind you and wrapped his arms around your middle, a mischievous smile floating on his lips.

“Are you supposed to be a wolf or a werewolf?” you quipped.

“Whatever you think is sexiest,” he purred as he nuzzled into your neck.

You chuckled softly at his willingness to please. Your gaze lingers on his reflection, in particular on the way his torn jeans hugged his muscular thighs. You already knew that if the occasion presented itself, you'd lag behind on your halloween stroll just to enjoy the view of that bubble butt of his.

“You know I like it. But it's missing… something… last time I did this, my mom did my make-up. Smoky eyes and black lipstick. It would fit nicely.”

You turn around to look at him.

“Eyeliner would look insane with your eyes,” you sigh wistfully as you contemplate them, tenderly cradling his cheek.

He snorts, amused.

“Have yer way with me.”

Moments later, you’re putting the final touch to his make-up after doing yours, standing between his spread legs as he sits impressively still, silently following your commands and keeping his blue eyes fixed on you like you were a particularly fascinating chemistry experiment. Once you're done, you take a step back to admire your work, tilting his head backward with one finger under his chin.

“Damn it, you’re so beautiful. That's not fair.”

He excessively bats his eyelashes at you to make you laugh, and it works.

You proceed to examine your loot after you two dumped the content of your bags into the biggest bowl you own.

“Do you want the…? I like them, but nowhere near as much as you.”

He grabs you by the waist and playfully pretends to bite your neck.

“Got my favorite treat right there.”

A cheeky smile spread on your lips.

“Oh? So you won't mind if I take this all for myself?” you taunt him as you turn away while possessively cradling the bowl against yourself.

“Oï, that's not what I meant and ye know it—” he exclaims, acting more outraged than he really is.

You laugh frankly as he tries to seize the candies, but fail when you move the bowl out of his reach. Changing tactics, he tickles your sides and you squirm out of his hold while yelling your surrender.

#soap x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #cod x reader #x reader #cod fanfic #cod fic #cod fluff #soap fluff #soap squad #mine #soap mactavish #cod mw2 #blurb #cod blurb

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with-a-capital-d · 2 days ago

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Hey babe, @janefdoe. I think I finally found the assistant we've been looking for. Her oral skills are quite excellent and so far we have already broken in her new desk which can handle her full weight with me drilling her. I think we should hire her, and I'd like you to start training her in her expectations and duties right away and make sure she understands that she is on call 24/7. I want you to give her a very friendly welcome and give her daily inspections when she starts her shift. I expect you to make sure she is her best for me and ready to go at any time. I expect you to have her presenting herself on my desk by 9:00am for her orientation where you will help me break her in for long term use.

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leth-writes · 12 hours ago

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Crest (yandere batfam)

SUMMARY: Elaboration on one of my previous posts.

WARNINGS: 18+ as always on my blog, though the work is safe for work. Typical yandere shenanigans. Heavy discussion of drugging.

MASTERLIST

Requests are open!

Waking up is a difficult battle. You feel as though you’re swimming through syrup, fighting to stay conscious even as you slowly peel your eyes open. You groan and roll over as the sun pierces your exhausted eyes, floating swirls of dust passing through the beam.

The pillow is soft, the softest thing you’ve ever felt. You bury your face deeper into the soft fabric, inhaling gently; the smell of the fabric softener, sweet and fresh, is still present. You feel comfy, almost like you’re melting into the bed, and the idea of getting up into the fresh, cool air is saddening.

Your thoughts pass slowly and unhurriedly, sticky sweet. It’s hard to concentrate when you’re so relaxed.

Finally, through the ringing in your ears, you hear Tim’s voice gently calling out your name. He reaches a thin, pale hand out to shake your shoulder, and you groan, throwing an arm over your eyes. You aren’t ready to get up yet, to push aside the cobwebs and try to go about your day.

“It’s time to wake up,” he croons, pulling your arm from your face. Your arm is limp, and the effort to keep it in the air exhausts you.

You huff. “Please, 5 more minutes?” You plead, trying to look up at him through the haze. Your eyes won’t focus, and his face is blurry. Only his complexion, pale as a ghost, is identifiable to you. Otherwise, you’d surely confuse him with any of his family.

You think you can see a smile, though it’s difficult to tell. He leans down and kisses your forehead. He chuckles softly, like you’re an adorable child he’s babysitting and not older than him.

“Do you think you’ll be able to get up, this morning?” He asks, voice soft and low. He’s trying not to give you a headache. You appreciate the sentiment.

You sigh and shift slowly, trying to sit up. Your sore muscles, weak from disuse, protest at the movement. When did you become so weak? Sure, you were never super physically active, preferring more sedimentary hobbies and work, but you were always able to move by yourself. Thinking back, it’s hard to remember a time before you resided in the manor. You couldn’t remember where you lived, where you worked… Maybe you’d always been like this, half a person, all your thoughts and feelings scooped out until only the shallowest remained.

Tim catches you right as you slip, almost hitting your head against the bed. He curses lowly, propping you up with a pillow.

“I guess not, huh?” You can hear him chuckle again, though you don’t think you know why he’s laughing.

He pulls away, leaving you sitting at the head of your bed, blankets pooled around you and slung over your bare legs.

You think he leaves, though it’s hard to tell as he blends in with the blurry shadows of the room. You can hear the door swing open.

You stare forlornly down at your legs, barely able to make them out among the giant pile of blankets they’re buried in. You try to wiggle your foot; you think you can barely make out the movement among the pile.

Your arms are too weak to hold you up and your abs protest their current position. It’s humiliating, not being able to function, having your friend and his family take care of you. You miss your old life, you think, or at least what hazy memories you still have.

Time passes, both slow and quick, and Tim re-enters the room. You look up, only to see another blurry figure moving toward you. The figure is massive, hulking, clad in what looks like a dark crew neck tee and low slung sweatpants. His hair is shorn short, and as he moves closer, you can make out a blur of white from among the messy strands.

“Hey, baby bird,” he says, voice low and rough. He must’ve just woken up. He moves to stand beside you, and you can just make out the thick, corded muscle on display. You think you catch a patch of darkened skin along the side of his face, maybe a scar, but the longer you try to focus, the more your eyes protest. It stings, not being able to even see someone standing right next to you, to not be able to focus in any way.

It’s Jason. It’s Jason! You feel momentarily proud of yourself for being able to recognize him, before the humiliation bleeds through. It took you until he was right next to you to be able to identify him. God, you wish you were normal.

You mumble out a greeting, looking away. It’s still hard to speak, your brain moving too slow and your mouth working even slower, unable to speak clearly or remember what you were saying. You usually forgot the start of the sentence by the end, so you were forced to keep them short.

“Alright, up we go.” He says, then lifts you up, carrying you princess-style. You can feel his muscles underneath your legs. You lean into his chest, seeking that sense of warmth; Jason always runs hot. You catch a flash of green in your peripheral, but by the time you’ve managed to turn your head, it’s gone.

You can see Tim walking next to Jason, and you think he’s smiling. You can definitely hear him humming, happy to see you up for the day.

Finally, Jason sets you down gently in your wheelchair, and Tim drops a blanket on your lap, tucking it in around you.

“All ready for the day?” He asks, though he doesn’t wait for an answer before he starts pushing you through the opened door.

He moves you slowly, ever so slowly, through the hallway, chatting quietly with Jason. They’re speaking too quickly for you to follow, though you hear your name a couple of times. The hallway, like everything else, is incredibly blurry, preventing you from being able to see where exactly you are, though you can see the beams of light streaming in from the periodically placed windows. You know, deep in your bones, that these windows don’t open. You don’t know how you know that.

Finally, you reach the stairs, your little entourage coming to a stop.

“Would you like to take the lift, or would you like Jason to carry you?” Tim asks, crouching in front of you. You try to look him in the eye, though you just can’t bring yourself to focus.

The lift is tedious, and sometimes makes you nauseous, but it allows you a sense of autonomy and independence you don’t usually get. It also makes you nervous; what if you fall? You know they’d never let that happen, the machine is constantly tended to and is top of the line. Still, it makes you anxious, visions of you injured and maimed flashing through your mind. The thick cotton lining your brain means the thoughts stick, tormenting you.

However, being carried means the embarrassment of admitting you can’t make it down the stairs yourself. You know you used to prefer crawling, back when your vision wasn’t so bad and you could actually lift yourself off the ground, but that hasn’t been an option for months, if not years. You don’t actually know how long it’s been, each day melting into the last.

Sighing, you gesture to Jason. They get the point, and you are once again lifted up, this time swaddled in the blanket to keep away the chill. You stare down at the fluffy blue blanket, patterned with a symbol you know you used to be able to identify, though now you can’t name.

Finally, you make it to the bottom of the stairs, Tim stepping down seconds later, your chair in hand. He sets it down and you are gently placed back in it and re-swaddled. The blanket is wrapped tight enough that you have a hard time moving your legs; it doesn’t matter, because you can’t move them very well. You wiggle your toes, just to feel something.

Tim pushes you through the manor, passing blurry painting after blurry painting, before finally moving you into what you think is the living room.

The living room is bright and ornate, from what you remember, though now most of the details are lost to your foggy memory and wandering eyes. Still, you can spot the dull green couches and the low, gold-accented coffee table.

“Baby bird!” A tall shape cries, moving closer. Just by voice, and by the irritating enthusiasm, you know it’s Dick.

You mumble a greeting as he kisses your forehead and grips your hands.

“How did you sleep?”

“Well,” you answer, voice thick with sleep. It’s the truth, you always sleep like the dead. Or at least you think you do, you can’t really remember the days before too well. Still, your bed is warm and welcoming, and that must count for something.

Dick hums happily and bounces away to sit on the couch, next to who can only be Damian, the smallest of the family members.

Damian is petting a black and white blurry shape, who lays sprawled across his lap. Alfred the cat. You think you spot Titus and Ace curled around the base of the couch.

Another shape, who you know is Bruce, moves closer to pull you into a hug, though your back screams at the motion. You wince and he lets go. It seems everyone, even Cass, is present for your feeding today.

“Well, now that everyone’s here, I think someone is ready for their breakfast!” Tim calls, moving to pick up a tray that balances on the coffee table.

He moves to sit down on the loveseat, a battered old blue chair you used to love lounging in, back when you could move easily and stretch any way you wanted.

You already know what’s coming. Tim slowly raises the warm pouch to your mouth, and you begin gulping it down eagerly. The liquid is warm and spiced, heady on your tongue. Before, you’d found it disgusting. Before, you’d refused to eat it. However, after two months on a liquid IV, bound to the bed and completely out of it, you took what you could get. You lean out of your seat, practically sprawled on Tim’s lap. You can hear the soft murmur of conversation, though it moves through you like water.

Tim runs a hand down your back, soothing you as you gulp down the liquid happily.

Today, you finish quickly, though you protest when it is finished. You miss real food, though you can’t remember eating any.

Chuckles reverberate around the room at your eagerness.

The conversation lulls, and Tim pulls you to lounge fully in his lap. Your legs sling across the arm of the chair, your head safely cushioned on his shoulder, and Jason throws him the blanket, which is quickly placed around your shoulders. Tim shushes you as you groan, irritated at not being able to sit by yourself.

The family picks their conversation back up, and you catch your name being thrown around, though you aren’t truly paying attention. You drift in place, content with just existing.

You feel fuzzy, warm, content in your place in the world. Normally at this time of day, you’d be fighting, at least you have vague memories of doing so, but the meal has made you tired, belly full and lulling you to sleep. So, you doze.

You are startled awake by Dick gently shaking your shoulders, and you rouse slowly, moving through the fog of your after-breakfast nap.

“Baby bird, it’s time for your stretches!” He practically sings, picking you up and then laying you down on the soft, plush blanket placed on the floor of the living room just for this purpose.

The conversation, once again, goes quiet, as everyone watches. It’s humiliating, having everyone watch you as you struggle to lift your legs for your daily stretches, though Dick’s soft cooing is perhaps even more embarrassing.

You stare blankly at the ceiling, waiting for the torture to end.

“They’re doing well today,” Jason mumbles to Dick, who hums in agreement.

Oh, they’re talking about you. Like you aren’t there.

You sigh.

“Hmm, it’s because we upped the dose. I think we should keep it at this level, they’re so pliant and cute like this!” Dick replies back, turning to look at Tim. Out of your peripheral, you see Tim nod.

Dose? The word floats through your foggy mind, though it eventually sinks to the bottom before you can try to focus on it. No matter. It’s not like you could do anything about it.

Finally, Dick stops with the stretches, cooing and kissing your now sweaty forehead.

“It’s time for their bath,” you hear Jason say.

Suddenly, the room is in an uproar. It seems they’re fighting over who gets the honors. You curl up, embarrassed and humiliated, agony ripping through your chest. Tears break through, and suddenly they’re pouring down your face, drenching you in salt and sticky tracks.

“Awe,” Dick sighs, leaning over to pick you up. He walks over to the couch where Damian is currently sitting, plopping you down and bringing you in for a hug. He rocks you back and forth, soothing you as you sob. For some reason, it just pours out of you.

“P-please,” you beg, hands coming up to clutch at Dick’s shirt. Your hands can’t fully grasp the material, refusing to close, and you sob harder.

Dick coos, then gently repositions you. Suddenly, your head is pressed to his stomach, your legs stretched over Damian’s lap. You don’t know where the cat went.

The room is oddly quiet, amplifying your sobs and pleads.

You can feel Dick running his hand down your back. Oddly, it helps.

Your sobs peter off as you’re hit with another wave of exhaustion. You fall asleep, face buried in his stomach, as the conversation around you picks up.

#yandere batfam #yandere bruce wayne #yandere dick grayson #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere cassandre cain #yandere damian wayne #lethwrites

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intimidating-fettuccine · 2 days ago

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I’m so excited because I got out of class early and I had time to make sure this ask was ready to go

Let me know if this doesn’t quite make sense, and I’ll try to clarify, but:

—

Jeff seeing/knowing his s/o died in a fight, but seeing them alive and well two years later, obvious they had been alive those two years, but they have no memory of him or any of the time they spent with Jeff. Bonus sad points if they were married or had some sort of matching thing so s/o KNOWS something was up with the two of them, but they don’t remember.

—

Feel free to use this prompt for anyone else you wanna write for :D

I hope you enjoy! This got super extremely long because I was feeling inspired ^^' I hope you're fine with the direction I took this in :)

It destroyed him. Watching you die that day was the most difficult thing he's ever had to cope with in his entire life, and he still struggles to cope with it some days even two years later. He's spent so long mourning your loss, that when he sees you walking around one day he thinks it must be a hallucination or someone that just looks far too similar to you, and he continues on his way. At least, until he hears that incredibly familiar laugh he first fell in love with all those years ago, and he's whipping back around, eyes locked on you as you converse with the unfamiliar person at your side. His feet move immediately, pushing him forward, but at the same time, you happen to drop something. He picks it up for you and hands it to you, and his eyes land on the ring decorating your finger, the one that matches the one on his hand, the custom-made promise rings the two of you had. You accept the item you dropped without complaint, your eyes also noticing the ring on his finger, but before he can say anything you just thank him and walk away.

He's so shocked by it that he just stands there for what feels like hours, before making a beeline back to the mansion. With Slender and BEN's investigative assistance, Jeff learns you didn't die that day, and he also learns that you have no memories of your time before then. You're still in the Underworld, still wandering around and joyful as ever, but you have no memory of him at all, and that thought alone is destroying Jeff all over again. The years you'd spent together, your promises of being together forever, all of your plans for the future, vanished. He finds himself entering an existential state of limbo in the coming weeks, not sure if he should try to find you and reconnect, or if he should just let you carry on your new life as you presently are. In the end, he decides to let you go. With all of his trauma and issues, with all of the struggles you both experienced gone from your memory, he feels as though it would be unfair to force you to learn how to love him and care for him again. You, however, have a completely different plan than Jeff.

It was eating you alive, the ring he was wearing on his finger, the familiarity in his eyes, the disappointment at your swift exit. You had to learn who he was, and how he was connected to you, you finally had a clue to your life before your amnesia and you weren't going to let it pass. It wasn't hard for you to track him down, with how well known he is in the Underworld and the fact that everyone knows he works for Slender, but you also spent time waiting and wondering what you should do. Eventually, you decided on it; you were just going to have to force him to talk to you. So, there you stood, anxiously on the front porch of a mansion that seemed far too familiar for you having no memory of it, and upon the door opening, a group of faces greeting you that were also far too familiar. Slender calls Jeff down and tells him he has a guest waiting outside, and when he comes out to see you, he feels his world halting once again. You both sit on the front porch in silence for quite a while, but you break the ice first, asking him who he is, and why he has your ring. You have a feeling you already know the answer, and when he looks at you in misery, tears flooding his eyes, you know you were right, without him even having to confirm it verbally.

Jeff explains it all to you, everything. How you met, when you started dating, what your relationship was like, all of your plans for the future together, the significance of the rings he had made for you, and most importantly, the day he thought you died. It's a shock to you, of course it is, but bits and pieces of things he says, you can catch small glimpses of them in your lost memories. A night under the stars, mornings spent waking up together, an exchanging of rings. You can catch small glimpses of him, but it feels so far away. It is, however, enough for you to believe him. It feels right, sitting beside him on the steps. It feels warm, and comforting, like you belong there beside him, and when you shyly move your leg to press against his it feels so oddly familiar and correct that you find yourself being moved to tears. He tells you he didn't want to trouble you, didn't want to make you have to deal with his fucked up life and issues all over again, he thought it would be cruel, and you can only smile at him through the tears.

You tell him you have a feeling the you that he knew would be upset at him for even insisting that, and he laughs, saying that you're probably right. Neither of you makes a move to leave, to end your reminiscing as he continues telling you stories, and both of you are okay with that. It's you who finally asks the question weighing on both of you. If you can try again. If you can try from the beginning, try to love him again and become a part of his life again. He smiles a smile that has your heart racing and cheeks growing warm, and lifts your hand, saying he gave you this ring along with a promise to stay by your side for the rest of your life, no matter what. He kisses the ring on your finger, and the brush of his lips makes you long for more. He agrees easily to start over, saying he'll never give up on you, but he can't help the chuckle that follows as he simply requests that you not disappear again, and there on that front porch you make your second eternal promise to each other, that this time you'll protect each other, and stay together no matter what. A promise you both successfully keep, to the end of your lives.

#creepypasta #creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta x reader #jeff the killer headcanons #jeff the killer #jeff the killer headcanon #jeff the killer x reader

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cloudyskydreams · 2 days ago

Note

Hellow there

Can i request a headcannons on what wuld the skeleboys (ut, uf, us, ht) when Y/N ask them to get married?

And what wuld happen in the wedding nigth?

Feel free to use sfw or nsfw stuff

Thank you, i hope it is not too much

Hiii sorry this took awhile but I got it done! Mostly kept it sfw just some innuendos. I might do more wedding hcs in the future these were fun and I really like how they turned out ::3 anyways enjoy!!

Okay I'm assuming reader and skelebois have been in a established relationship for a bit here ::]

Undertale: Sans: His eyelights widen upon seeing the jewelry and hearing what you have to say. He looks from your hand to your eyes and back and forth over and over again. His grin grows so wide and he scoops you up into a hug as he shouts yes. He's crying and he burrows his face in your shoulder the happiest he's ever been.

Night of the wedding: He'd prefer a smaller wedding of close friends and family. He has a few puns slid into his wedding vows they're mostly to help calm his nerves. He's so proud to be called your husband, the wedding itself kinda had his nerves frazzled so he's happy to finally relax with you when you guys get home.

Papyrus: He's flabbergasted. Orange tears escape his eyes and he's scooping you up in a hug and making you drop the jewelry making you have to find it later. You've just made him the happiest skeleton alive and he's desperate to make you the happiest person alive. He sets up an elaborate date he knows you would love and presents you with your own piece of jewelry at the end.

Night of the wedding: Doesn't matter small or big as long as your happy Paps is happy. The wedding was wonderful and Papyrus snapped so many photos and kept so many keepsakes from it. Sans speech as best man is basically a comedy routine and Papyrus is slightly miffed about his brothers awful humor tainting the best night of his life. He's so excited to spend his first night as your husband with you when home.

Underfell:

Red: He shuts down. Sockets go dark, he's sweating, and he might even teleport away. When you hunt him down he's crying in a closet freaking out struggling to intake the air he doesn't even need. After he's calmed down he asks if you're sure and when you say yes he's crying again. He's never been happier I promise you.

The night of the wedding: Would prefer a smaller wedding but can put up with a medium or slightly large one for you. The wedding also stresses Red out. He's not used to fancy ordeals and such and he's just excited to get you into bed and have you all to himself ;;).

Edge: His hand clenched around something in his pocket and he pulls out his own piece of handmade jewelry he had for you. Both impressed and a tad annoyed you beat him to it but he gratefully accepts no he's not crying that's sweat… Yes you can sweat from your eyesockets it's just extremely hot.

Night of the wedding: He prefers a big fancy ordeal. He handles the wedding pretty well he's used to fancy events. Looks absolutely drop dead stunning in his tux as well and he's defined strutting around showing you and himself off. He's got quite the night planned for you as your first night together married. Safe words are a thing for a reason.

Underswap: Blue: Does that jump reaction image (I'll find it hold on) Also was ready to propose himself, he's so happy you two were on the same page. He whips his jewlery as well ,he carried it around waiting for the perfect moment, so you guys can laugh over the situation. He of course says yes and happily attaches the new jewelry to you and himself before smooching you.

Night of the wedding: I feel like Blue would be fine with a big or small wedding its whatever you prefer.He's so excited to be called your husband he definitely posts about it on his blogs and updates his viewers quickly before dedicating the whole night to worshipping you. He even got some special lingerie for him to wear to show off just for you.

Stretch: He's so desperately fangirling inside right now like jumping up and down, squealing, flapping hands, and nose bleeding mentally. He says yes and puts on the jewelry before smooching you as deep as he can. Immediately plans a cute date where he can present you with your own piece of jewelry to wear and a special song he wrote.

Night of the wedding: He'd prefer a medium or small affair but can deal with a larger wedding as well. Definitely gets drunk and trys to serenade you with shitty love songs and tries to get you to do a duet with him at one point. When you get home expect a bunch of drunken sweet nothings and him pulling you into bed for some love and affection.

HorrorTale: Axe:His eyelight shrinks and then expands to fill his whole socket and he simply watches you for a few minutes. You patiently wait until he places his hands on your shoulders and pulls you into him as he starts to purr. He slips the jewelry on and his purrs grow louder as he pulls you closer practically inside his ribcage.

Night of the wedding: Smaller wedding preferably for obvious reasons. He's stressed and really really quite. Way more than usual only really talking to you and his brother and only when he has to. When it's over he pulls you into his chest and burries his face in your hair to calm himself. He forgets about most of the traditions but he's been looking forward to this one all night ;;).

Willow: He's shocked and in shock for a good while before asking if you're sure. He doesn't see himself as boyfriend material much less hubby material. When you enthusiastically affirm your intentions he tears up and scoops you up for a kiss. He's so in love with you.

The night of the wedding: It was a smaller wedding for the sake of Willows peace of mind. He's so happy to be your husband he crys throughout the night and keeps kissing you gently whenever he gets the chance. He's constantly by your side the entire night.

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mint-and-authoress · 1 day ago

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Slime HRT - Progress Report II

<<| ⏯️ |>>

[The video opens with a familiar bedroom setup from previous recordings. In the top right corner a timestamp of ‘10 Weeks’ is shown.]

“Okay, ten weeks. We’re ten freaking weeks into this. I’m honestly really excited for this update actually because…”

[Elise stands back a few feet and rolls up her sleeves to reveal her arms. The skin has shifted from translucent to transparent, and the musculature is present underneath, a mix of bluish-gray and red.]

“Skin’s gone! …Well, not gone gone, but it’s totally cleared up! It’s all see-through now, and that means the muscle’s gonna go next. Which I’m a little nervous about.

“Yeah… that last bit at the end of the first video was my dad kinda outing me on his own because I didn’t have a chance to cover up. And that’s kinda led to this Transspecies Cold War that I’ve been forced to take part in for like… 3 weeks now? Luckily my mother is oblivious to all this so I’ve managed to skirt around that volcanic eruption. Dad hasn’t said a word to me, though, which is a bit weird, but I’m honestly fine with not talking to him. Freeing, in a sense.

“Anyway, important things first! In terms of my transition timeline, I’m actually a little ahead of schedule! Which, don’t get me wrong, it’s really exciting to experience this stuff and confirm it’s all really happening, but also kinda puts a bit of a wrench into my plans. Some gunk in the cogs, I don’t know. I’ve been trying to use more slime puns, but I’m not sure if it’s for me.”

[Elise stares off for a second before snapping back to reality.]

“...Right, the wrench. Problem. Whatever it was. Right, my job! I’m a bit worried about how long I’ll be able to keep working, seeing as though I’m gonna basically have muscular dystrophy advancing throughout my body at a rapid rate. I don’t do a ton of heavy lifting, at most I’d struggle with lifting mannequins but we barely do that. Mostly just hanging clothes and gettin stuff hung up.

“My skin, or my surface now, I guess, is a bit stickier now? From what I can tell, the surface is just a slime’s version of skin; all the goop you’d imagine just comes from underneath to gather sensory input. I guess that hasn’t happened yet because 1) I don’t have that goop yet–the goop that’ll come from all my muscles, I mean–and 2) I still have a human’s nervous system so I can still touch and understand that feeling.

“So far so good, though. No more skin, no more breakouts. Hopefully the muscles are just as cooperative.”

[The segment ends. The next segment fades in and Elise looks notably different. Her hair is gone and has been replaced with a shorter ‘haircut’ made entirely from slime. She wears a t-shirt and long pants. Elise’s surface is still clear but most of the muscle underneath is also gone, the little remaining still in small patches dotted across her body. Her face is also completely eroded away, all that remains is the skull, eyes, and the inner workings of her ears. The slime that makes up Elise’s body is now tinted green. The timestamp reads ‘5 Months.’]

“This is my entry at 5 months during transition. Holy Hell it has been a rough one. As you can see…”

[Elise slowly stands and orients the camera to face multiple parts of the bedroom, most of which has been compartmentalised and/or boxed up. She finally turns the camera to face her once more in the usual shot.]

“I am ready to get out. In fact, I’m actually headed out tomorrow morning to go live with my partner out west. Out in the wilderness, surrounded by nature. First things first, though. I gotta unpack these last months for y’all.”

[Elise starts to roll up her sleeves before seemingly forgetting that she is wearing a t-shirt, which she begins to fidget with.]

“Transition stuff first. Also sorry if I’m a bit spaced out, I’ve been a bit…well I guess I’ll just call myself out on it, I’ve been a bit airheaded recently. Doctors say it’s a side effect of the drugs, which of course it is. All in the name of science or something.

“I don’t want it to come across like I’m not happy; I’m fucking ecstatic and euphoric all the time. Life’s just been a lot lately.

“In terms of the muscular decomposition it actually kinda freaking hurts. Like when it started I just felt sore but over the course of a week somewhere around 14 weeks in I got barely any sleep. Turns out, acid dissolving you hurts pretty bad, actually. It got better when a majority of the muscle was gone but every now and again the body decides to get rid of more and unfortunately I can’t use any ibuprofen or painkillers because they inhibit some yeast growth and I just so happen to be made of the stuff nowadays.

“Also, on that note, no more caffeine, ever, apparently. Yeasts actually really don’t react well to caffeine so I’m really really glad I don’t drink coffee. No more Dr. Pepper hurts the soul, though. F in the chat for no more dr pepper.

“Also, hair. As in, no more hair, anywhere. I think they try to skirt around the fact that you will drop your hair as soon as the scalp becomes goop when they tell the trans girls about their transition. I think I would have screamed if I had the house to myself when I took that shower and my whole head felt very light. Luckily your body becomes very malleable when you take these drugs and after like four days of trying I figured out how to style my goop-hair. I’m usually covered from top to bottom in clothes to stay hidden, though, so I barely ever get the chance. And of course, since the hair is gone, my nails went around the same time. Been having to wear touchscreen gloves just to use my phone, and rubber gloves under those so I don’t seep through.

“Other changes… well, showering is pretty euphoric, honestly. Putting more water in the body kinda expands it in a way. Makes all the mass a bit sloshy but still workable if I don’t overdo it. Makes me all euphoric to have big ol tiddies whenever I want.

“I’m still able to eat normally, but I’ve started to actually digest with my slime. Lately my goal has been to taste without my tongue – which is also gone, mind you, just got lucky that I kept my tastebuds at least a little bit.”

[Elise stares off into the distance once again, seemingly lost in thought. After a moment she recollects herself and sits a bit taller.]

“Most of you have guessed by now that I’d get fired because of my transition, and yeah, that was last week. I warned my boss way in advance that I may slowly lose some physical function during transition but either she didn’t care to research my procedures or hated my guts anyway, either way I got canned for being unable to lift and perform my duties. It’s not so bad, lets me decompress and get ready to move.

“Yeah, I know, the move. Funny, you think I should have mentioned that first, or maybe a few months ago. Thing is, I had no idea I’d be moving out this early either. My transition is happening at an advanced rate for some reason and the doctors won’t be able to say before 6 months anyway so we’re all a bit in the dark about it.

“So last night I was invited to dinner with my parents. Not like an actual ‘going out to a restaurant’ dinner, no this was more like ‘Elise gets to cook and make her parents a nice meal and be forced to sit and talk about uncomfortable shit with them for at least an hour’ dinner. Lucky for them, I’m a bit of a pushover and I actually do like to cook so I made something nice.

“So, an hour and one stir fried chicken dish later, I’m sitting in the living room with my parents watching TV and absolutely trying to not shrink in on myself. That’s been an experience, let me tell you. I can just kinda ball up now if I want. Which I did not want to do considering I was still stealth from my mom.

“Of course, she has to ask how work is going and of course I had to unmask for just one insignificant second and reply that I was let go. There was a bit of a screaming match, and a ride to the hospital for my mother who legitimately had a heart attack from seeing her daughter’s skull and eyes suspended in a slightly green goop. Food colouring, by the way. Way cheaper than hair dye.

“Mom’s alright, she’s an addict so that’s what the doctors are focussed on now. Which unfortunately means that they have to deal with a whole bunch of bills and other lovely little things. Dad took me aside and made it abundantly clear that I was no longer welcome in their home. Hence, the boxes and suitcase that all hold the entirety of what I own.

“In better news, I’m gonna get an apartment with my love and we’ll be all okay by the end of the week. At some point I’m gonna also have to head into Hyper City again, check in with my doctors who all seem to have no idea why my transition is going so fucking fast all of a sudden. I mean, I was on schedule up until like that 7 weeks update and then everything went into like, I dunno, super puberty, and just shot way ahead.

“So, yeah…transition’s going great, just have to bear with all the other stuff that comes with it. I transitioned once, I can do it again. Stay strong, we’ll make it through together.”

[The scene fades to black as Elise reaches for the camera.]

}~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~{

We are so back. With the Biggest. Update. Ever.

Well, not Elise. She's actually going through it af

More slime time! This post's inspiration (imma keep doing this btw, I like giving shout outs to my humble base of 40 followers) comes from both @draconic-lesbian for constant and continuous love and species affirmation, and @reliablegal who somehow derived her own slime biology and affirmed most of what I found to be true :D

catch y'all later when Elise moves into a new place and totally nothing crazy happens~

#hopefully we actually write a bit more frequently but hey we gotta keep y'all on your toes somehow :P #slime #slime girl #slime oc #my genfer #slime hrt #animal hrt #therian hrt

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uzumaki-rebellion · 2 days ago

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"Pot Liquor" Afropunk!Erik Killmonger

youtube

Pairing: Erik Killmonger x Black Plus-Sized OC

Warning(s): 18+, Smut, Angst, Romance, Drug Use, Bisexual Characters, Threesomes, Foursomes, Queer Characters, Cursing.

Summary:

Three women. One man.

Erik “Killmonger” Stevens is the guitar player for a female dominated Black alternative rock band fronted by the powerful larger-than-life lead singer, Oya Mason. About to perform in front of their largest audience ever on one of the most influential stages in the music world, Erik and Oya have to face band in-fighting, jealousy, drugs, sex, and the love of rock-and-roll.

Can they keep it together before their big night?

Word count: 14, 890

A..N.: Bringing this back for @blvcksundays !

"I said if I'm in luck I just might get picked up I said I'm fishin' trick and you can call it what you want then I said I'm wigglin' my fanny I want you dancing I'm a doin' it doin' it This is my night out

So all you lady haters don't be cruel to me Don't you crush my velvet don't you ruffle my feathers neither I said I'm crazy I'm Wild I said I'm nasty Say you will for a little while Say you will Say you will"

Betty Davis –"If I'm In Luck I Might Get Picked Up"

Begin at the beginning...

Eighteen-year-old Oya Mason stood in the middle of the stage of the National Poetry Slam Finals in Oakland, California ready to recite a three-minute free verse that took her two weeks to dream of and three days to write. It wasn't her best poem, but it was the most potent that she had ever written and would be reciting for the first time in public. She hated America and everything it stood for and the words swimming in her brain and marinating in cerebral spinal fluid were ready to erupt on stage.

Thick black leggings covered her dimply thick thighs that rubbed tightly together and the black Buckethead baseball t-shirt she had on accentuated her heavy breasts and generous stomach. Her toes were jammed into brand new black chucks and her nose septum piercing was a shiny silver like the frosted silver tips of her frohawk locs. She was a big beautiful Black woman with an even bigger first name to live up to. Her parents plucked the name from a book they had in their home. "Oya: In Praise of An African Goddess."

"We knew that if we had a little girl, we were going to name you that," her father, Teigen Mason, had told her.

Her Mama, Gia, squeezed out a big fat dark brown loud crying baby that grew up into a big beautiful teenager that could no longer be simply called full-figured or extra thick. No, those words were too small for her. She was a Goddess and a Goddess took up all the space she wanted. On that stage, Oya, the Goddess of the Hurricane winds, the warrior, and the protector of the dead looked out upon an eager audience of poetry spectators waiting for her to do linguistic tricks and over-enunciated theatrical emoting with her culled words.

Well...that didn't happen.

Oya Mason stood there with her Goddess frame and shrieked out every single word she had written in the depths of her gray matter and birthed her first metal song live onstage. The poem-turned-rage-clarion call was titled "To Sleep With Anger", an ode to the movie that was filmed in her grandparent's house in South Los Angeles way before she was born. She found the old Danny Glover movie online and watched it over and over until she fell asleep and dreamed of the actors walking in her family's kitchen, living room, bedrooms, and backyard, and the words to the poem came to her in the underworld of slumber and there was a burning there. A heated twisting of past and present that had her worried about her future as a big boisterous girl with a runaway mouth making it in society where Black women were expected to be quiet mules for the world.

Not her.

Oya dreamed about that old house for two weeks waking up enraged every morning and thought about what the movie meant and pondered why she was already hating a world that she was barely stepping into. It had to be ancestral rage. A fiery anger handed down like generational trauma and the unyielding hair texture on her head.

A three-day heat of writing on yellow legal pads and listening to Bad Brains and Mother's Finest while trippin' on shrooms in her bedroom while her parents were away, produced a piece of work that she could get down with.

Other poems in her extensive repertoire allowed her to advance in poetry slam rounds in local competitions and by the time she was on the National level, she was tired of the scene. The performative aspect of it seemed disingenuous. Many of the older poets she watched seemed to be interested in shocking people instead of sharing real evocative language that opened the heart and mind.

That was probably why Oya screamed her words and left the stage switching her meaty hips and not caring about her scores or if she won.

She did win that year.

The individual poet category. At her young age.

The previous winner, another full-figured Black woman with thick braids, full lips, and a body of work so blistering that she was named the Poet Laureate of her city approached her backstage.

"You don't belong here," the woman said.

Oya blinked. The fuck?

A sly smile creased the woman's glossy lips as she pointed at Oya with a commanding right index finger.

"You belong out there doing what you just did. This is too small for you," the former champion said.

Oya Mason bid adieu to poetry slams.

She returned to Los Angeles from Oakland and started a part-time job at Amoeba Records on Hollywood Boulevard. While selling records and sorting vinyl and CD bins, she met her best friend, Deidre who rocked short hair and a smooth undercut, Oya fell in love with Deidre's whole vibe instantly and they fell into creating their first band together.

To Sleep With Anger.

Oya named them that. Deidre played electric guitar just like Oya did and after work and university classes at USC, they shredded in Deidre's parent's garage in a sizeable house at the bottom of Baldwin Hills. The Black Beverly Hills. The house sat on forty-eighth and Crenshaw, so the upwardly mobile Black folks couldn't get too far away from the bustle of working class and working-poor negroes down the street. Oya's parents couldn't handle two loud Black metal chicks screaming about capitalism, death, and societal destruction right next door to the neighborhood church at their small home near Leimert Park. Deidre's house was ground zero for their start as a unit.

School. Work. Shredding.

That was life for three years until Oya had written a ton of songs that were good enough to put together a fuller and more serious band. They had both become better axe players. She and Deidre posted up an ad for a drummer and bass player at the Amoeba Community board and online, and that was how they met Shameika, a mean pocket queen originally from Long Beach who went to UCLA.

Deidre and Oya had to set aside their USC rivalry because Shameika was nasty on the skins. Their bass player, Jody, was discovered by accident when she came into Amoeba asking for Me'Shell N'degeocello vinyl. Anyone into Me'Shell had to be hip, and Oya asked the lithe light-brown beauty if she were a musician. The stars lined up. She was their missing link.

They were complete and of one accord by the time they began playing publicly at gigs around L.A. and making road trips to San Diego and also local music festivals. Shameika handled their webpage, Deidre handled booking, and Oya fell in love with Jody. Then broke up with her. Then got back together. Then broke up in one final blow-out that thankfully didn't tank the band. It did become a little awkward when Jody and Shameika became a couple, but Oya grew past it. They were picking up traction as a band. Getting better paid gigs. She was writing better songs. Blending genres. Learning to control her vocals better with a private coach. It took them awhile to be taken seriously as a band. People expected them to be an R & B singing quartet and did double takes when they walked into venues with their gear. They were tested a lot by the mainly white male audiences. Lots of booing at shows and sometimes beer bottles were thrown at them onstage. Oya was often brutally called names because of her size. She didn't know how many times she had climbed onstage to bring the noise with her girls, and there was laughter tossed her way.

"Look at this big bitch!" was a common jab along with a few expletives.

But the music shut them up. They could play fucking circles around many of the bands, even the headliners.

"It's here!" Deidre shrieked as they opened boxes for new stock.

Oya stared at the twelve-inch vinyl of a song she was hearing about on every streaming platform and alternative music chatroom. She knew the group.

Slippage.

An alternative band that she used to fuck with heavily until they started going a little too commercial and polished for her tastes. Oya did feel excitement about new music from them. She hoped they were returning to their roots of hard driving sounds and not the softened new-branding that recent major-label signed groups were morphing toward. Deidre was practically salivating, her copper brown skin glowing and matching the copper brown of her short fade.

"This dude right here...I swear, I would buss it wide open if he walked in here right now. You think the scars are real? I heard they weren't," Deidre said.

Oya picked up the album and stared at the four guys on the cover. One Mexican with long glossy raven hair. Two white guys with stringy pony tails and tats on their faces and arms. And the Black guy.

Erik Killmonger.

Gold grills. Perfect locs. Scars.

His upper body was covered in small shiny lumps of skin.

"That looks real," Oya said.

"That's hardcore. I get the tats and piercings...I mean I have that shit, but...cutting your skin like that. All over. You think he has scars on his dick?"

Oya burst out laughing.

"Only you would ask that!"

"That would be kinda sexy," Deidra whispered admiring the man's shirtless body as he held his guitar.

Deidra stroked the cover.

"He's so rude for biting his lips like that. Letting us see all that gold in his mouth," she quipped.

They stocked the store with all the new vinyl before heading to the registers to help customers purchase music. When they had a break, the assistant manager let them listen to the new Slippage single. Deidre loved it, but Oya turned her nose up at it. Killmonger sounded dope as always, but the song itself was weak. Defanged.

"We should make something like this," Deidre said bobbing her head and air playing guitar with her nimble fingers pretending to be Killmonger.

"I think the fuck not."

"This is good!"

"No it's not. It's just loud and...vanilla."

"You're buggin'. This is the best thing they've put out."

Oya stood behind the counter and watched Deidra, the assistant manager, and several customers nod their heads and give kudos to Slippage.

"Tasteless," Oya muttered as she grabbed a stack of country CDs from a young woman and began ringing up her purchases.

The music blared from their store speakers and Oya couldn't help but think about Killmonger's grill and the scars that went up and down his muscled arms, wide chest, and down his chiseled stomach...

Begin at the beginning one 'mo' 'gin...

They knew they had something special when Amoeba allowed them to play in their in-store mini-concerts when another group failed to show up because of a delayed flight from Phoenix. The four of them wore tattered jean skirts with leggings and old vintage bullet bras they found at a thrift store in Venice Beach. Oya had to add a bra extender for hers. Thick extra-large safety pins prevented the weak hooks from bending across her back and gave the right touch to the stylized look. She kept a t-shirt handy in case a titty or two broke free and slapped a customer unexpectedly, which would've been the most punk thing ever, but luckily that old 1950's find held on as she sweated her way through raw, screeching vocals that caught her boss by surprise. Hamp was forced into a bind with a store full of patrons waiting to see Desert Troll City, so he gave in when Oya said they had equipment in their cars ready to plug in and rock out. Instead of ambient new vanguard trip music, the customers were treated to ear-splitting altie sounds that tip-toed between experimental and...what? Oya and her bandmates hadn't quite found a true name for their sound, but the crowd there loved it. The music attracted spectators from off the street and it became their first viral performance online.

Hamp started acting like their musical godfather, allowing them to sell their CDs at the counter on consignment as part of their local indie musician sales program. It was a boost to their confidence watching people buy their homemade EP. Gigs followed. The new visibility started their small music festival appearances. Their biggest live performance before their second full album came out was the Joshua Tree Music Festival. The drive to the desert had been joyous. They performed before the closing night's headliner and killed it. They were so good that the headliners gave them a shoutout during their set making Oya feel like a Queen.

And like any great rock-and-roll story, it was where the first rift in the band appeared. All because Deidre felt the need to insert an unnecessary guitar adlib that threw Oya off their closing number. The audience, blitzed out on 'shrooms, weed, liquor, pills, and whatever choice narcotics they brought for fun, became mesmerized by Deidre doing Jimi Hendrix tricks on her axe. Oya could concede that Sis was in her bag at that moment, but they had always stayed in tune with one another by using eye contact and onstage whispers to let each other know if they were going to go off. Sometimes it was just a well-placed guttural sound from Oya's throat to clue the others in, or Deidre would swing her guitar a certain way with a slight chord change. J Tree organizers had the performers on a strict time allotment, and Oya knew they had to finish with a new song in just the right intro...but Deidre fucked it up by trying to upstage Oya with the ole razzle dazzle. The normal thunder growl that would erupt from Oya's diaphragm kicking in "Acid Babe Blues" was usurped by some random guitar wah wah licks from Deidre's foot pedal muting her guitar.

Oya felt the "Acid Babe Blues" lyrics dry up in her throat as her eyes cut to Deidre's. Sister girl was oozing with charismatic energy and the people ate it up. Rightfully so. Oya stood down for twenty seconds before she turned to Jody on bass with aPlease gather this bitch uplook.

Jody slapped her bass and snapped Deidre from her moment. Time ran short, so Oya had to improvise and just gave an improper snippet of the new song before their time ran out. That meant Deidre had to sing the bridge to start the song, and Oya had to fake her way into the second verse. The fierce tone she gave thrilled the music lovers, but Oya was full of piss and vinegar. "Acid Babe Blues" was their lead single from the new joint, and the audience didn't even hear the true beginning.

As the crowd switched their positions to watch the main stage for the closing act, Oya and the others packed up their gear. Her hackles were up.

"What the fuck were you doing?!" Oya snapped.

"Vibin'," Deidre said.

"You stole valuable time for 'Acid'."

"They heard you scream when you first started twenty-five minutes ago. It still sounded great without a closing field holler—"

"That's not the point, Deidre," Shameika interjected as she shoved her drumsticks into a case, "it threw us all off."

"Ohmigod, we murdered this gig. It's good to shake it up sometimes.Ididn't hear a mess up—"

"It would've been nice to know what you were going to do. I'm the lead singer. I wrote that song. We all agreed that 'Acid Babe Blues' was to bring it all home and we practiced the hell out of it and you fucked it up!" Oya said,

"They loved us. That's all that matters."

Deidre did her usual lip pout when she was done discussing anything.

"I know you're feeling yourself right now, but this is becoming a habit with you," Oya barked helping Shameika break down the rest of her drum kit.

"So I can't get no shine too?"

"We all get shine—"

"Only when you let us. Don't forget, I write a lot of the songs too. I'm on the cover of the EP too. So is Jody and Shameika—"

"Are you failing to understand what the problem is? Am I trippin'? I'm not talking about getting shine, I'm talking about you disrupting and switching up how we do things mid-performance without a cue or an okay from the rest of us."

Deidre pressed her lips tight. An irritated exhale followed with a roll of her eyes.

"I'm sorry. I was carried away by the energy of the crowd. I wanted to jam for a minute..."

Deidre clutched her guitar pedal to her chest.

"I wanted to be that bitch...okay? I mean, look at us. We look amazing in these little black latex dresses! We're serving hot and sexy and being all sweaty and nasty up here. Tell me you didn't feel that rush?"

"We felt it, but...teamwork," Shameika said with her soft-spoken voice.

"I'm tired," Jody said holding her bass case.

They were assisted by some J Tree staff as they loaded up their gear into Deidre's S.U.V, and Oya's Jeep Cherokee.

"Are we staying to watch the closer or what?" Shameika asked.

Jody stayed in Deidre's S.U.V. to sleep, and the rest of them sauntered back in their laced-up pit-stomping boots to watch Boredroom, a band on the brink, sing out To Sleep With Anger's praises. Deidre turned her head and smirked at Oya as the lead singer of Boredroom pointed to all their latex-wearing greatness and shouted them out on the mic.

"See?" Deidre said, "We are the shit."

"It's about the music, Deidre, not just showing off," Oya grumbled.

Oya new instinctively that Deidre wanted to be the main shit. She wrenched her eyes away from her friend and tried to engage with the rest of the festival, but there was a sour taste in her mouth. That taste would grow and root deep. Then it would spread, choking them all.

Begin at his beginning...

Oya knew how to hustle a job.

When Amoeba became less flexible for gigs, she took a job at KCRW assisting the COO. On Saturday nights she worked the cashier booth for a trashy West Hollywood dance club to supplement her income.

Those were rough days for To Sleep With Anger ever since Deidre left for a high-profile band's line-up switch the year before. It was right after a showcase with an East Coast label. They were all broke, still hungry to make their own music, and lucked out when an A & R rep from Sony Music Group caught their live show at the Austin Music Festival.

Hair cut into a short bob that she slicked up to look like a match flame, dramatic make-up, and low-cut tight dresses with oversized coats that doubled as capes became a signature look for Oya. Her shoe game grew sick, with custom thigh-high boots, and walking canes to match her seductive stroll onstage. Their band logo was a black flame with red highlights. Her signature do always matched the logo onstage, and it became an instant hook with their audience. Sophisticated Punk. Seductive Alternative. Oya leaned into the sensual side and the other women found their looks too. Deidre became pure femme fatale, Jody, the edgy stud, and Shameika was their darling Goth ingénue.

Oya's lush body became the center of think pieces in the music scene and she welcomed the coverage and even took the hits with some women musicians who questioned the overt sexuality of the band. Were they sex kittens, or hard rockers? Cock teases for a gimmicky come up? A flash in the pan for some future music history footnote? She ignored them and the other women did too. Her favorite moments were to stroll onstage after Jody plucked the bass like a beast sporting her flamboyant capes and big hats and do a twirl wielding her cane before dropping the cape to the floor revealing couture that accentuated breasts, flared hips, thick thighs, and a rump to die for. The more popular they became the more she found herself amazed at how people projected onto her. She rarely showed any explicit skin other than the tops of her breasts with dep cleavage, but the audacity of her being her bold self with tight clothing was a problem for so many people. But a revelation to others.

Especially men.

Often teased for not having a body that conformed to whatever was in fashion at the moment, that quickly changed when she sang. Her voice shifted the critiques. People had to listen to the music because it was fucking divine. Oya's talent made people notice she had a face. A gorgeous one. And that face was attached to a stunning big body. Online chatter brought out the lovers of her plus-size physique, especially when she catwalked up and down a stage and pointed her cane at the audience, then stuck it in front of her as she wiggled down and back up from the floor with it. There was a shift in the air. The thirst for her was just as great as her other bandmates.

They were on the cusp of reaching greatness and Oya was going damn near bankrupt funding her on stage style to create her visual greatness. They all were.

The Sony Rep schmoozed them and set up the showcase for the "Yes Men". Oya could taste victory, money, fame, freedom...

The showcase was a disaster.

Not because Oya didn't incinerate the Sony office with her talent or the girls didn't bring it with their playing. The Yes Men wanted Deidre to front the band and insisted on smoothing out their rough sound. Less edge. More mainstream puff rock. Less 90s Trent Reznor-esque proto Black Girl Rock/Metal and more old school Gwen Stefani cutesy kitsch.

Oya put her foot down. Get set aside because they found Deidre the more marketable? She didn't have the voice. She didn't have the vocal chops to strike people down from the stage like Oya did every time they performed. To Sleep With Anger laid out the roots of Betty Davis, Bad Brains, A Band Called Death, tastefully gave homage to Tina Bell, Mother's Finest, plus a smidgeon of early Prince with the heavy guitar opening of "Bambi" that Oya played herself, and all they could mention was Nine Inch Nails and No Doubt?

They weren't signed.

Deidre left them.

Six months later Deidre was on tour and became a media sensation by joining Ark Ten. They were top tier. Grammy winners. Global fanbase. English darlings credited with reviving the UK rock scene. Deidre joined them right when they went in to record a second studio album. An all-male band that fired their lead guitarist, Ark Ten recruited Deidre to become the new focal point of hyped publicity for the group's sophomore outing. She looked like a High Rock Glam Priestess on their magazine photo spreads. Their album went triple platinum within months as Oya took credit cards and damp dollar bills at a cashier's booth while listening to her ex-bandmate's overdone guitar flourishes in songs at her crappy club job.

Shameika and Jody moved in with her in an upstairs apartment near Slauson. They turned the small dining room into a second bedroom and pooled their resources to perform where they could. Oya wrote new songs and just as Deidre predicted, Shameika and Jody followed her lead without pushback.

After a long day in Santa Monica, Oya walked into their kitchen and made an announcement.

"We're going to audition a new guitar player. We need a fourth member. I'm better at singing and not playing at the same time."

Jody fried up some sliced potatoes and onions at the stove. Shameika washed dishes.

"Another woman?" Shameika asked.

"Black?" Jody added.

"Let's just put the call out and see who shows up. I have a hook up for a try-out space next week. There's a music studio moving to another location in Santa Monica. KCRW used it for live shows and one of my co-workers has access to it for a Saturday before they leave. We can sneak in and use it for four hours. Six to ten at night."

"But you're great on guitar," Shameika lamented.

"I can't do all my theatrics if I'm playing the whole time too. It's too difficult. Plus, it's part of our brand. Jody?"

Jody set down the spatula in her hand and turned down the fire under the food.

"I want another Black woman," Jody said.

"But if we can't find one?"

"Hold another audition?" Shameika suggested.

"In time for Afropunk?"

"We can do a stripped-down show. Jeans, tees, and chucks."

Oya put hands on her hips and closed her eyes.

"No, we go full out. We need this moment more than ever. We have to look ready-made."

Shameika stopped stacking plates in the drainer.

"You don't think we'll ever make it big, huh?" "It's not just making it big...it's our music... we could change the game. I'm tired of us struggling and trying to be creative. I'm tired of us eating potatoes and spaghetti all the time."

"We'll make it," Shameika said.

"I'm tired,"

Oya let her arms drop to her sides. Jody pulled her in for a hug and Oya buried her face in the woman's neck and wept.

"I'm tired of seeing her out there...winning," Oya huffed.

"We'll do the audition. We'll make it work," Jody said.

Her fingers trailed up Oya's face and wiped away her smeared eye make-up. Shameika joined them and threw her arms around Oya's waist.

"Look at me blubbering like some loser. We're not losers."

"No, we're not," Jody said.

Her lips touched Oya's cheek and the loving pats from Shameika made her feel tons better. She broke away from the two of them.

"Just a tiny woe-is-me moment and now we'll get this new axe. Right?"

Jody and Shameika nodded sharing gentle smiles with her.

"We're too talented," Oya said taking up the spatula and turning over the potatoes for Jody.

She kept that mantra up as they sat inside the borrowed music studio a week later watching woman after woman jam with them. Oya watched Jody's weary face as she cradled her bass and studied a new guitar player plug in and prepare to audition. Shameika twirled one of her drumsticks in her left hand and gave Oya an encouraging wink, but the sentiment didn't help. After two hours, they hadn't found one musician who felt right. Benji, Oya's co-worker, sat next to her on plush red couch. There was a small line of women taking up the sidewalk outside waiting to come in and it gave Oya a headache.

"Give me a minute," Oya said, "I have to pee."

In the restroom, she splashed water on her face to hide the tears that threatened to drop.

"Please..." she whispered as she rinsed her hands and dried them.

Oya stared at her face in the mirror.

"Go back out there with your game face. Our new guitarist is coming. She is going to walk in and wow everybody. The band will be whole once more. We'll go to Atlanta and the record deal will come. We'll bring the heat. We'll bring the bodacious Blackness. Deidre won't be the only success story."

Oya walked back into the studio and nearly shit in her cargo pants.

Benji stood chopping it up with Erik Killmonger.

Killmonger wore dark shades, but Oya recognized the braided locs, the scars on his skin shown by his sleeveless white t-shirt, and the gold slugs in his mouth. He was bigger in person than what she imagined. Her eyes glanced over to Jody and Shameika and they were equally starstruck along with the white woman with tattered dreads waiting to audition.

"Oya, this is my old buddy, Killmonger. Killmonger, Oya. Lead singer—"

Oya did a one-eighty and hot-footed back to the restroom. She pressed her back against the door. Her breath sped up and she couldn't stop hyperventilating. Leaning forward to lower her head to her knees, she squinted her eyes and blew out long streams of air.

"Fuck."

Clenching her fists, Oya patted her hands up her thighs until she stood upright.

"Fuck."

She went back out to the studio area and threw her shoulders back.

"I thought I left the water running in the sink," she lied.

Killmonger sat on the couch next to Benji. Oya avoided contact to help keep her voice steady and non-chalant.

"Oh. Well, I'm sure you know who Killmonger plays for—"

"Played for," Killmonger corrected.

Oya felt a tickle in her stomach. His scratchy voice had a rasp to it like he'd been smoking before he came in. He probably toked a good expensive strain that rich people smoked. They always had memes of him up every Four Twenty with kush sitting on his guitar. The shades were off and his bright brown eyes planted themselves on her face.

Played for?

"You're not with Slippage anymore?" the white woman asked.

Nosey.

Killmonger's eyes cut to her and the woman shrank into her guitar.

"How 'bout you play and mind ya business," he said.

Oya took her seat and stared at Jody. She mouthed the words "Play" to her homie, and Jody slid her index and middle finger down the neck of the bass to begin "Palo Alto", a song they liked using to test the guitarists. It had several difficult chord progressions and they wouldn't have to waste time seeing if a person could really play or not. The woman, Heather, got halfway through the song before they knew she wouldn't cut it. Deidre and Oya could slide through the song like butter. Even Jody could fake her way through it when she played around with Oya's guitar.

They allowed Heather to play another tune and jam for a minute before Oya took to the mic and sang a bit with the entire ensemble. They sent her away after asking a few personal questions about her background. When she left, Oya ran her hand over her hair. Jody adjusted the volume knob on her bass and Shameika tapped her sticks lightly on her ride cymbal. No words were needed to veto Heather. A statuesque Black woman came in next with a bright smile and high energy, and they all perked up, but she wasn't able to improvise all that well as they jammed together. Another no. They had an hour left and only two candidates had viable potential from the fifteen women they saw from the first three rounds. Oya was happy she pre-screened so many musicians online ahead of time. They were efficient and knew what they were looking for. The only problem was, no one fit.

They had a fifteen-minute break slotted before the last three candidates scheduled would come in. Benji gave Oya a supportive grin.

"Don't throw in the towel yet, Oya," he said shaking his ginger curls.

Killmonger stood up and walked over to their set up. He moved like king. She tamped down on the squeal in her throat fighting to come out.

"I can't believe Killmonger is in the same room with us!" Shameika blurted.

Thank God. Someone finally said it out loud. Jody and Oya laughed with relief.

"He ain't nobody," Benji said punching Killmonger in the arm.

"How do you know each other?" Oya asked keeping her eyes off of Killmonger.

"Before he was a big head star, Killmonger used to nag me to play his shit on KCRW years ago. We used to sweep up this place together as interns."

Killmonger glanced around.

"The place is a little different from when I worked here. Didn't last long though."

"Slippage?" Oya asked.

Dark orbs captured her gaze.

"Yeah."

"But you said something about not being with them earlier."

Benji stepped in.

"News is just now getting out," Benji said hitching his shoulders.

"Can I?" Killmonger asked pointing to Oya's guitar.

She stepped away from it and he lifted it off of the stand near her and draped the strap around his body hooking it to the instrument after adjusting the leather. It only took him two seconds to launch into "Acid Babe Blues" and Shameika brought in the drums automatically. Jody slapped her bass and they played for two minutes before Oya felt brave enough to jump in and sing.

Killmonger knew their song. By heart.

He stood in the middle of the recording studio slaying Oya's electric guitar and ripped into a blistering riff that made her jump and lose her shit in front of her desperate band.

"Give it to me from the top!" he yelled.

His fingers thrummed out the beginning again, and Oya gave a Black rebel yell,

"Show me someone not full of herself, and I'll show you a hungry person!"*

They tore through the song with Killmonger's lips peeled back to show glints of gold as he howled encouragement with whoops and loud shouts to them.

"C'mon Jody, dig into that bottom!" he called out.

Jody let her thumb do the most as Oya felt the vibration of Shameika sitting in her pocket on the drums from behind as she followed Jody's dip into a groove that Killmonger supported with tasteful licks from his fingers. They jammed for twenty minutes until Oya noticed their next band candidate standing wide-eyed and mouth agape staring at Killmonger.

"Sorry," Killmonger said unhooking himself from Oya's guitar.

They finished seeing the last three women and sat down on the floor together in a circle to discuss what they liked and didn't like. There were three women they agreed to call back for another try out just to be sure.

"We have to lock one in fast. Get them set with our music and stage cues," Oya said picking at her nails.

"When's your next performance?" Killmonger asked.

The three women glanced over at him on the couch. Benji had his arms folded watching them too.

"End of the month. Atlanta," Oya said.

"Afropunk?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Let me play for you."

Oya thought her lungs would implode in her chest right behind her heart.

"I'm not doing anything. I quit Slippage. I like your sound. Benji says you want more festival exposure. If I play with you, you'll get that."

"That would be a boss move...but..." Oya's brain grew dizzy.

"But what?"

"People would want you. Not us," Jody said.

"Then hire me. Let me join the band."

Benji chuckled but then he shut up when he realized Killmonger wasn't joking.

"Why?" Oya asked.

"I like your sound. Your style. I quit Slippage because it's tired. I outgrew it. Y'all got something fresh...different. Sticks to my ribs."

"People would just think it's your band," Oya said.

"How's that?"

"Your famous. You'd overshadow us."

"Did I overshadow Slippage?"

"You were Slippage," Jody mumbled under her breath.

Oya reached over and tugged on one of Jody's long straight backs. Jody slapped Oya's hand away from her hair. Killmonger chuckled.

"You have a strong personality," Oya said.

"Benji told me to come here to give you some tips. The best thing for you is to let me become part of To Sleep With Anger. You don't even have to pay me cuz you know I'm set. I just want to play pure music that's slowly becoming its own thing. I miss that."

"Will you dump us when you get bored?" Shameika asked.

Shameika tilted her head and the purple tips of her hair on the left side of her head touched her stomach. The right side was shaved with one long tuft left on the temple that was beaded with cowrie shells. When Killmonger's eyes landed on her, Shameika's top teeth tugged on her bottom lip making her lip ring more visible.

"Who would get bored with you, Princess?" he said.

Oya caught the territorial glare from Jody, but Killmonger's smoldering drag across Jody's lean athletic form made her flustered and forget the man was flirting with her woman. He flirted with Jody openly too. Dropping his body on the floor next to them all, he held out his hands.

"Let me come to Atlanta and play. Just as a featured guest. We can talk about permanent stuff after."

"You do sound good with us," Shameika said.

Killmonger pointed to her.

"See? Taste."

Oya's heart pounded in her chest from being next to him. She could smell his light cologne and the hair oil he used for his air. The scent of roses and pumpkin spice lingered near him. Moisture left her mouth and everything tasted like cotton. A miracle walked into their audition and served himself up for their use. Oya glanced over at Jody and Shameika. They were just as gone as she was by what was being offered. She swallowed dust and thought of Deidre. Ark Ten was a smart move for her career, but what she would never have was the baddest guitarist around who left an exceptionally better band, and wanted to play for them. But knowing Deidre, she would be flattered to be replaced by someone like Killmonger. Oya ground her molars and pushed her fingers into her thighs. Her cargo pants pocket vibrated. The cell alarm went off. Their time in the studio was up. It was now or never.

"What do you think?" she asked the others.

Shameika held a thumb up and they all saw her sultry eyes turn gooey staring at Killmonger.

"He makes us hustle and I like that," Jody said. Her forehead creased.

Oya gave her a curious look when she took forever giving her answer.

"Me and Shameika are together," Jody finally said.

"That's not a yes or a no," Killmonger said.

"I see how you are and I want you to know the dynamics," Jody said pursing her lips.

"That's your lady, aight beautiful, cool...so am I in?"

Shameika lowered her eyes and Oya felt second-hand embarrassment watching the jockeying for the drummer's attention.

"What's your vote Oya?" Jody asked.

Those magnetic eyes of Killmonger's became daggers on her skin and Oya couldn't shake the arousal affecting her decision-making. He pushed them into excellence with just one jam session. Imagine what they could glean from him with full rehearsals?

She raised a thumb, and Shameika squealed. He wrenched his eyes away from Oya.

"Jody?" he asked. His voice was a raspy assertion. Answer him.

Oya saw the attraction Jody had for the man too. They all were drenched in it. Carnal danger oozed from his pores.

"Okay...yes," she said.

Killmonger clapped his hands and jumped up from their circle on the floor.

"We rehearse at our place in the mornings when our neighbors are at work," Oya said shifting her body to stand up. Her foot fell asleep and she shook out her leg to get the circulation moving.

He took out his phone and they all exchanged numbers.

"I'll bring my stuff at nine if that's cool," he said.

"Yeah," Oya said.

She was almost his height. There was a gleam in his eye as he flashed them all big white perfect teeth and four gold slugs. Two at the top and two at the bottom. His scars were real and if she didn't know him a little better from hanging with him that night, the man could come off menacing. He took up so much space.

Oya threw back her shoulders again.

So did she.

Begin at their beginning...

Afropunk brought two things to fruition.

To Sleep With Anger became that bitch and Deidre felt the heat.

They didn't announce that Killmonger was with them. Flying into Atlanta with hours of tight rehearsals behind them brought them to a different level of being. He was a task master, but he made sure they were in control. Over four weeks Oya saw how he could influence them without it being obvious manipulation. Helping them improve their songwriting, playing, and bolstering their confidence to challenge themselves was something she came to love about him. Oya fell for him quietly and in secret, and unlike his first time meeting them, all flirtations vanished. He was about the music twenty-four seven. She wrote several songs with him at his home studio in Silverlake, and he even helped Shameika compose her first solo creation. It was a cold ass song and Oya wanted them to open with it. Shameika burst into tears when Oya said that and Killmonger gave their sweet Goth girl a hug and encouraged her to write more and take chances with her lyrics.

They left the stage itself in shambles after their quick set. It was like they took a grenade, pulled the pin, tossed it, and made sure the destruction was complete before their exit. No one wanted to follow them after that performance. The shock of Killmonger leaving Slippage hadn't fully been processed before the world saw him on a smaller stage obliterating all competition around them in Atlanta.

Shameika beat out a master class of percussion before Jody sank her teeth into the bass ushering in the deadly claws of Killmonger's fingers making his guitar roar as Oya stalked out from behind him. The moment the audience saw him, shocked gasps rippled out and then she pounced on them all, lacing her voice around Shameika's lyrics throughout the soundscape they weaved for the audience. Her signature flame upswept do became the rage after their first performance as a re-grouped band. The biggest surprise was that Killmonger didn't steal their thunder. He harnessed it and threw it out for the world to accept as a class act worthy of recognition. They trended on social media. Deidre and Ark Ten had been number one for two hours because of their new Coachella line-up announcement. To Sleep With Anger knocked them out of the top ten trending topics soon after. Pictures of their Afropunk performance were shared all over. Oya couldn't help but float and feel hopeful.

The man made her feel reckless and powerful onstage. Their styles meshed and the thrill of prancing around and growling at him with throaty moans while he jerked that guitar around her shirtless like he was working his manhood made her invincible. He underplayed his position as mega star to allow them all the shine. He got off on it. Flirted heavily with all of them while he worked the stage. Oya threw him solos but he would bring in Jody, opening her up to the point where she was dancing around the stage which was something she rarely did that fiercely.

The fans loved Shameika's song and they played it again at the end for their encore. Their short set grew longer because of Killmonger and he pushed it. Shameika broke one of her sticks by the end and it was the omen of more good things to come.

Standing there with applause washing over them, Oya looked over at Killmonger. His eyes were slightly hooded. He was faded in a good way and she was too. They shared a joint before hitting the stage and she watched him make smoke offerings to someone named Bast. Oya gave a final bow and Killmonger leaned over covering her mouth with his lips. The crowd roared and she reached over with fresh acrylic black nails to scratch the scars on his nude shoulder. He bowed down to her like she was a queen and the audience lost it again.

"Let 'em see you, O," he crooned in her ear.

Oya swung her wide hips to the left and right of the stage with her black wolf's head cane in her hand. Her black laced combat boots matched the black mesh drawstring skirt and tank she wore with a short-waisted red bolero jacket. Their black flame logo was emblazoned on the back in satin emboidery. She sauntered over to Jody and Shameika who were shy about prancing around, but they basked in the sea of applause. Oya pulled them next to her so they could get their due.

Taking the mic from her hand, Killmonger stepped to the center edge of the stage.

"You're looking at three of the baddest musicians to come out of L.A. It's a privilege to play for them. Don't fuck around and miss out on this moment. Follow them. Support them. Snatch their EP at the merch table before it become a collector's item and you can't afford it. Take plenty of pictures so you can say you were there before they blow up. Give more love to Oya, Jody, and Shameika...To Sleep With Anger!"

Offstage they were mobbed by people trying to talk to them and get pictures. Killmonger was adamant that he took no solo pictures with fans. It was the group or nothing. That didn't stop people sneaking shots of him sipping on juice or talking to people. Security had to help them when the reality of his status went into warp drive. They had to have more security with them for the rest of the event.

Gracious, accommodating, protective, and a total fanboy, Killmonger acted as their professional handler. His personal bodyguard, Tyson, was a bruising giant that suffered no fools when it came to his boss. If Killmonger felt a fan was being rude to them, he sent Tyson after them. By the end of the festival night, Oya was exhausted by the lack of respect fans had for the personal space of huge stars. Oya wanted the same accolades, but the rudeness was astounding. So used to being ignored, or looked over, she adjusted to it quickly until a male onlooker reached out and squeezed her ass cheek near a speaker as she watched a headliner from Canada. She shoved the man and his weed-laced eyes narrowed. His lips became a snarl when he realized she wasn't interested in his tasteless unwanted sexual advances.

"You should feel lucky, bitch!" he spat.

A fist sliced across her peripheral and the next thing she knew, the man's face was punched in one direction while two of his teeth flew in the opposite. A crowd of male fans snatched him up and carried him off while Killmonger stalked after them cursing him out. Tyson pulled Killmonger back but he jerked away from his grasp. A random girl with long pink braids picked up the teeth with a napkin and ran after the owner of them.

"Shit!" Oya finally exclaimed. Killmonger only needed a bodyguard to protect fans from his fists.

Jody and Shameika were stunned and the crowd stood back from them when Killmonger returned.

"You alright, O?"

"Yeah."

He shook his head as Tyson made a wide berth for them to continue their evening.

"I've had my ass slapped, my dick grabbed, kisses placed on me without my consent..."

Killmonger's eyes looked them over before giving them a dimpled grin.

"See what you have to look forward to?" he told them with flashing gold teeth and drying blood on his fist.

On the way to Coachella and uneasy alliances...

Oya carried bags of Chinese food and soda to the apartment. She had to carry four bags carefully by herself because no one answered their cell to come help her. Climbing up the stairs and fumbling with keys, she entered the apartment hearing music, and smelling frankincense incense, weed, and burning vanilla-scented candles. The room divider from the living room to the dining room was up and Oya saw shapes moving behind the shadows of flickering light. Jody and Shameika were at it on their bed. They probably thought Oya was going to take a long time picking up food, however, she called ahead for once.

She ducked into the other doorway that led to the kitchen and placed the bags on the counter. Clearly there was no rush to eat. Oya needed time to shower. Turning her head, the flimsy curtain they used to separate the kitchen from the dining room was parted and Oya could see Shameika on her back with Killmonger on top of her.

The hell?

She froze.

This was the fucked up shit that killed bands throughout history. Illicit sexual liasons...

Wayment.

Jody's fingers slid down from behind Killmonger's back and pinched his nipples. He turned his head to the side and they shared tongue kisses. Oya watched the man pull out his dick from Shameika, and dear God, he threw Jody down onto her hands and knees and plunged his sheathed thickness into her from behind. She watched him turn Jody into a quivering mess on her bed while he pulled on her hair. Shameika bent down and licked her tongue from the middle of his chest up to the side of his neck.

"Bounce on it," he whispered to Jody and she threw her ass back on him while Killlmonger

slipped fingers inside of Shameika's pussy. Oya could hear the squelching wetness and the woman's whimpers twisted around Killmonger's groans.

"Oooh, fuck!" he roared as Jody gave it her all.

Jody pulled off of his length and flipped over allowing Shameika to fall against her with her legs up in the air. Killmonger sank into her as Jody played with her peach-sized breasts and anchored her girlfriend's body for him. Their eyes stayed on that man's dick as it plowed deep and hard.

"Fuck me...Killmonger...!" Shameika was losing it.

"Shit," he yelped biting his lip as he hunched over her.

He was deep in her guts now and the thrashing she did under him made Killmonger double down on the snaking of his hips. Her arms flew back and Jody cradled them, sucking on Shameika's fingers before Killmonger pulled out again. Both women scrambled to get at his mouth for kisses and he held them both close to him as he fondled both their asses with greedy hands.

Oya slipped out of the kitchen and heard more movement. She wondered what position they were in now before jealousy seeped into her heart. She closed her bedroom door and sat on her cold bed in the dark. It was sad to think of how long it had been since she had sex with anyone. She didn't count the clumsy attempts of a man trying to fingerfuck her the previous year at a party, or even the coat check girl at her job. They were unconsummated misadventures.

She had no clue the three of them were fuck bodies. Killmonger kept sexual energy on stage and in their real life he was a gentleman guitarist coaxing the best out of them for work only. It was obvious Shameika had a big crush on him, but they all just settled into a mentor Rock-God relationship with him. He was playful during downtime, bossy during rehearsals, and flirty for shows.

"Cum in my mouth!" he shouted

His voice roared through the door and Oya pulled a pillow over her face and screamed. They were getting all that sculpted body. All that dick. All that mouth. Kicking her feet, Oya threw her pillow across the bed. Fuck 'em.

She turned on the lights and prepared to take a shower, not even bothering to keep quiet. They kept being loud even as she went into the bathroom and took a long shower.

Twenty minutes later she could hear their bed still rocking and rolling. Bitches!

Hunger trumped all and she made a ton of noise going back into the kitchen to fix a plate for herself. Dumping fried shrimp rice and walnut chicken on a paper plate, she yanked open the fridge to get a can of Pepsi.

Jody tumbled into the kitchen and washed her hands at the sink. She was fully dressed in a t-shirt and shorts and Oya could tell she was pretending that nothing had went on in the next room. She also wouldn't look Oya in the eye. Whatever.

Oya padded into the living room with her plate and drink and found Killmonger on their couch watching TV.

"Sup?" he said ogling her plate.

The shower went on again and Oya assumed it was Shameika in the bathroom. Jody walked out of the kitchen with two plates. She handed one to Killmonger who took it with gratitude as he tucked in with a fork.

"I would've gotten some egg rolls had I known you were coming over," Oya said with a little bite in voice.

"No worries. I just popped over."

"Yeah. I heard."

Jody's eyes almost fell out of her head. Pressure began to build behind her neck and Oya tried to eat her food next to Killmonger on the couch, but she barely tasted it. When Shameika came into the room with a small plate, Oya couldn't hold back.

"Is this going to be a regular thing?"

"What?" Killmonger said.

"Nigga, don't play dumb. You're fucking two of my bandmates. I'm really not trying to have no bullshit when it blows up in your faces."

Shameika's lip trembled. Jody studied the paint on the wall.

"It's none of your business what we do," he said poking out his full lips.

Oya knocked his food out of his hand.

"Oya...fuck..." he grumbled picking up the mess all over the floor.

Shameika jumped up to clean it and Oya shoved her back.

"Let him pick it up since he's trying to create a mess."

Oya's jaws clenched and she stood up to tower over him while he cleaned. He jumped up to face her.

"If you want some dick too, just say so. We don't need all the dramatics to get my attention."

"You think I wanna fuck you?"

"Every time you see me you want to."

"You said you wanted to see us win. This threesome will interfere with the work."

"Yeah...you wanna fuck."

"Killmonger, stop," Shameika said.

"Kill-monger, stahpppp," Oya said mimicking Shameika's mousy voice.

"Don't do that," Jody said stepping to Oya.

"Whatchu do? Let her fuck him so you wouldn't lose her?"

"Fuck you, Oya!" Jody shouted pushing her in the chest.

Oya pushed back and Killmonger stood between them.

"You are such a weak little pussy!" Oya shouted as the rage surged through her body.

Shameika ran to her bedroom and Jody followed after her.

"Weak bitches," Oya shouted to them.

A shock of pain blasted up her arm as Killmonger grabbed it and pulled her toward her bedroom. He opened the door and shoved her inside flicking on the lights and slamming the door behind him.

"What the fuck is your problem?"

"Why are you fucking them?"

"Why is it your business?"

"The band is my business. You fucking up my business."

"What I do with them is between me and them—" "How long has it been going on?"

Killmonger rolled his eyes and she couldn't help but stare at his teeth and the locs flopping in his eyes. His blood was up and the look on his face was mean and it turned her on. She wanted to punch him and kiss him, but if she did that, it would only prove that she did want to fuck him and was angry that her friends got to him first. Wasn't she good enough? He was always gassing her up as the Queen Bee but he settled for drones...

Oya closed her eyes.

That was cruel. Jody and Shameika were her girls. Her sisters. She was acting like Deidre. Thinking she was better than all the rest. Fuck. Maybe Deidre was.

Oya flopped down on her bed.

"I'm sorry," she said.

His eyes were still tight, but he uncrossed his arms.

"What's going on?"

"I don't like being left out."

"Left out of what?"

"Inner circles. I thought we were a team...I feel left out."

"Because of sex?"

"No...yeah...I dunno. I'm stressed...Coachella is coming..."

Killmonger sat next to her and threaded his fingers in hers.

"Coachella is big for you guys, but it's just a music festival. Like all the others you've played before."

"Easy for you to say. We only got there because of you."

"So."

"People are saying that's the only reason we were invited to play."

"So."

Oya shook her head and he squeezed her hand.

"If you're scared because Ark Ten is playing just say that."

"I'm not scared of Ark Ten."

"Deidre then."

"She's a star."

"You're a star. You, Shameika and Jody."

"This has to be the best performance of our life, and I want to show her up. I want her to regret leaving us—"

"She's living rent free in your head and not even thinking about you. We had three dudes jump ship on Slippage before we even signed with Warner. Shit, I wasn't even in the original line-up. People leave when opportunities open up for them. Deidre is where she's supposed to be. I'm where I'm supposed to be. So are you. This is your come up, O. Enjoy it. Stop worrying about Deidre and stop worrying about my dick."

She punched his arm and he kissed her cheek.

"You stink," she said wiping his kiss off of her skin.

"I smell like good pussy."

"Please don't play with them."

"We're having fun."

"You're having fun. They are in a serious relationship."

"I hear you, okay?"

Killmonger released her hand and left the room to shower and clean up. Oya meandered into the kitchen then knocked on the wall near the curtain divider.

"What?" Jody called out.

"It's me. I want to apologize. Can I come in?"

There was no answer.

"Jody? Shameika?"

Jody pulled the curtain aside. Her face was contorted with anger. Oya saw Shameika on the bed bundled up under the sheet, her eyes wet and puffy from crying.

"I'm sorry. It wasn't my place to talk to you both like that. I don't want this thing you have with him to blow up in our faces. Shameika, sorry for teasing you...I was...jealous."

Shameika cut her eyes and Jody crawled onto the bed and put her arms around her. They both ignored her.

"Sorry," she said again and left them alone.

Oya went to her room and broke out her weed pipe and smoked alone on her bed. With her bedroom door open she saw Killmonger walk out wrapped in a towel brushing his teeth.

"I stole a toothbrush from the pack under the sink," he said.

Oya shrugged and he ducked back into the bathroom to rinse his mouth. He returned fully dressed and barefoot. He grabbed the pipe and lighter from her and took a few puffs and cooled out on her bed.

"They are pissed at me," she grumbled.

"You were foul."

"I know. I apologized."

They smoked and the high was easy. Languid. She fell back on her back and stared at the ceiling. Killmonger curled around her and threw an arm across her stomach.

"I wrote a new song," she said.

"Lemme hear it."

She giggled.

"I'm high and my lips are rubbery right now."

Killmonger licked her face and it felt like warm velour caressing her skin.

"Sing it to me."

He nuzzled his face in her neck and kissed her there.

"You ain't slick," she said moving her neck from him.

"What?"

"Tryna get in my panties too right now because I'm floatin'."

"I would never do that. My dick is tired anyway. They had my shit spittin',"

"Oh God, TMI."

"I couldn't get it up if I wanted too. Give me the song."

"Hmmm..."

"It sucks."

"Shut up!"

She slapped his cheek and he cradled her hand and kissed her palm. She raised his hand to her lips and kissed his fingers.

"Sing," he said.

Oya closed her eyes and thought of the yellow legal pad she wrote the newest song on. The words floated above the paper as the melody danced around her ears.

"There is no place for a soft Black woman... there is no smile green enough or summertime words warm enough to allow my growth...and in my head...I see my history standing like a shy child...and I chant lullabies...as I ride my past on horseback...tasting the thirst of yesterday tribes..."*

The words flowed from her lips and Killmonger caressed her hip as he listened to her. He gave her suggestions for word changes when she was finished, and they moved from the bedroom to the living room to work out the song with her electric guitar. He played her instrument while she sang to him. Shameika and Jody emerged from their bedroom to listen and after a few more word changes they joined in on bass and drums that sat ready in the room all the time. They jammed, worked out a decent intro with the drums and Killmonger shoehorned a bass-heavy bridge that added a full body sound to the lyrics. Oya felt the sexual tension between the four of them. It was thick and undeniable. They were all drenched in sweat by the time they had a complete arrangement that worked well.

"We should close with this," Killmonger suggested.

Oya glanced over at Jody and Shameika.

"What do you think?" she asked them.

Jody shrugged and Shameika stared at Killmonger.

"You like it Shameika. I can hear it in your drums," Killmonger said.

Shameika's foot tapped on the floor. Killmonger stood Oya's guitar on a stand and he walked over to Shameika and pulled her up to her feet. He blocked their view of her as he talked softly with her. Oya left the room to grab a bottled water and when she returned, Killmonger had his lips on Shameika and she had her arms around his neck. Jody stood with her arms resting on her bass watching them.

"You good," Killmonger asked.

Shameika nodded her head and Killmonger went to Jody and gave her a hug.

"Team, right?" he asked Jody.

Jody twisted her lips and Killmonger grabbed her chin and tilted it up toward him.

"Jody?"

"Yeah. We're a team."

Killmonger pressed his mouth on Jody and she gave in. His hand squeezed her left butt cheek and she swatted his chest with a laugh in her throat. Fiery eyes raked over Oya's form as Killmonger strode over to her.

"I'm not leaving you out," he said.

His mouth devoured hers overwhelming her with the pressure of his large tongue sweeping around her teeth and making her own tongue submit to his will. A trembling in her thighs commenced, and she grew bolder as she pressed her body into his. Whatever he said about his dick not being able to rise to the occasion again was a blatant lie because the hardness she felt pressing against her mound had her panties damp. His arm slipped around her waist and he walked her backward a few inches before he let go of her lips. He reached for his shirt and took it off allowing the hard slick scars all over his chest excite her even more.

No words were spoken as he forced her back into her bedroom and undressed her. He groaned when her breasts were freed from her bra, and she moaned as his thick fingers pulled off her underwear revealing a glistening prize for his mouth. He ate her out on the edge of her bed, pushing her thighs back so that he could smear her juices all over his face. He licked her folds until she was clawing her bed. Sucking on her clit made her cry out and she knew Jody and Shameika heard her.

Killmonger stood up before she could release again and she watched him fetch a condom from his wallet and roll it down his turgid erection.

"You gon' play nice?"

"Huh?"

Breath was cut from her throat as he sank into her. He threaded his fingers in her hair and locked her body down good and tight. Hard thrusts made her pussy clench around his pipe. He brought his face close to hers and the gold in his teeth looked sharp and threatening.

"I'm giving you this dick, but you better place nice with the other girls from now on!" he growled in her ear.

Oya lifted up so she could see his dick beating up her walls. The aggression of his fucking made it hard to breathe. His hips swiveled and hit another part of her pussy that she wasn't expecting and she clawed his back. The scars on his body rubbed extra sensations into her needy skin and she whimpered into his shoulder to keep her bandmates from hearing, but the dick was so good that she was panting his name every time he sank back into her.

"Be a good girl, alright? Don't be jealous..."

"Killmonger!"

He palmed as much of her breasts as he could and forced her back to arch just to catch all the length he was throwing into her fast. She took the pounding gratefully.

"I'll be good! I'll be good...ooh shit! I'll be good...fuck!"

She went cockeyed trying to match his pace and gave up when he was balls deep and making her toes bunch up. His teeth tugged on her nipples and she took that moment to breathe deep and catch her bearings.

"Turn around!"

Killmonger stepped back from her and his heavy dick bobbed with her shiny slickness all over the condom. She dropped her legs down to the floor and shifted her body so that she faced the bed. Before she had a chance to position herself, he had his hand on the back of her neck pushing her down. Her ass jiggled as he thrust into her again, and she gripped the blanket on her bed to brace herself. Oya's ass clapped loud and she was unable to make a sound from her mouth. The shouting she had done made her voice hoarse, and she snapped her eyes shut and sucked on the blanket.

"Hold these ass cheeks open!"

Reaching behind her, she stroked her backside with her long nails and pulled her fleshy cheeks apart.

"Look at that pussy!" he choked out.

His groans rained down on her and once he started grunting and slapping her ass, she knew she would fall apart all over his dick soon.

"...being my good girl...pussy stretched all around me...fuck...Oya..."

She couldn't take it anymore. He was rooted in her way down deep until he bottomed out and gripped her hips.

"Right there! Right there!" he groaned.

"Fuckkk..."

Her orgasm exploded when he slipped demanding fingers across her clit and stroked her to completion. Bucking his hips, Killmonger's body went rigid and he cursed a stream of expletives until he collapsed over her.

Panting together, she felt kisses planted down her spine from his lush lips. He pulled out of her and bent down to kiss her pussy, licking the essence that flowed out of her. When she sat up, he left the room to go into the bathroom. Killmonger returned with a smile on his face.

"Let's record your song tomorrow at my place around nine—"

"I can't, I have to work at eight."

"Jody...Shameika..."

He padded out of her bedroom nude and went to the living room. Oya grabbed her t-shirt and pulled it on. She rummaged for a pair of sweatpants and sought out Killmonger. He stood in Jody and Shameika's bedroom talking quietly. She watched his shadow on the living room divider and felt a bit miffed that he didn't bother to dress before going to them. Her scent was all over him. The divider shook and she watched Killmonger pull it aside. Jody and Shameika stared at her. The smirk on Jody's face made Oya feel uncomfortable. Nothing like fucking a dude her ex had just rode hours before. Messy.

"We'll record before you go to work then. We need to lay it down fast. Skip rehearsal in the morning and just record. Cool?"

She nodded. The others seemed pleased with the idea.

"It's a great song, Oya," Shameika said.

Her eyes were still shiny and the lilt in her voice was relaxed. That man was working them all over. It worried her. Worried her for the next two weeks that they recorded tracks at his house and took promotional pictures for Coachella with a photographer he hired. The PR machine for Coachella was going into overdrive. Killmonger made them cancel all appearances until the festival. He paid them all out of his own pocket to make up for gigs they passed up.

"It's to build anticipation," he assured them.

Their streaming numbers jumped, especially when they posted the new pictures of Killmonger with them on their official website. He was part of the group now. The man drove them to play until their fingers swelled up and bled and their voices felt like they chewed chalk all day. Their bodies ached from working so hard. Killmonger's work ethic was stringent but worth all the effort. Oya's stamina improved. Musically and sexually.

They all shared him.

He was more discreet with their liaisons. The new polyamory created a push and pull that made their music racy. Electric.

The only foursome they indulged in was a weekend before Coachella. They tripped on 'shrooms with Killmonger in his house after swimming in his pool, and danced in their swim suits his den listening to all the new music they had created together.

"If you bring this fire to Coachella, it's a done deal," he said lying on his floor gazing up at his skylight that covered half of the ceiling.

"Done deal?" Oya said watching her fingers grow watery-looking as she allowed her body to trip with the high she felt.

"Yeah, Warner will sign us," he said like it was no big deal.

She screamed with Jody and Shameika as they peppered kisses all over his face. He stayed on his back as they sat around him like a harem.

"All this work you put in, it's all simmering on the stove. I gave y'all some extra seasoning and now we're all cooked down to the pot liquor now," he said.

His eyes were seductive, and his mouth was lax showing them his bottom slugs. Shameika stroked his cheek and he smiled. Oya bent down and kissed him and he accepted her ripe lips with a moan and wandering fingers. Stripping for him, they all took turns riding his face and going through condoms as they rode his dick too. Reconnecting with Jody intimately was a sweet reminder of how they used to be years before. Shameika and Jody sucked on his balls as she ran her tongue around the bulbous tip of his glans and she felt extra special when he came in her mouth. Jody and Shameika cleaned him with lusty licks and were rewarded with slow drips of extra semen that spilled all over their lips. They slept together in a warm heap of arms and legs on the floor and she woke up with his Killmonger's tongue sucking on her tits. She climbed on top of him and bounced on his dick with her heavy breasts teasing his face, letting him cum hot and raw inside of her. Jody and Shameika watched her make Killmonger holler her name like he had the holy ghost and they giggled when his eyes rolled back from his orgasm.

All was well.

Until it wasn't.

Carrying coffee containers from Starbuck's, Oya and Jody returned to a final mixing session in the home studio catching Killmonger fucking the shit out of Shameika on the sound board. Jody dropped the coffee she had for herself and Shameika and cursed a blue streak. Killmonger yanked off the condom and fastened his pants looking confused by the reaction. Oya was just as confused when Jody snapped and she pulled her back before it turned physical.

"Why you trippin'?" Killmonger yelled.

Tears welled in Jody's eyes.

"You promised!" Jody screamed.

Oya glanced between them. Shameika hung her head in shame.

Shit.

It became clear to Oya.

"I thought we were all good," Killmonger said still searching for understanding.

"This is why..." Oya mumbled.

"It just happened!" Shameika shrieked.

Jody stomped out of the studio and left the house.

"Jody!"

Oya grabbed Shameika's arm to stop her.

"Give her a minute, Shameika. Just go to the bathroom for now and –"

"What is going on?!" Killmonger said still out of the loop.

Shameika cradled her waist. Killmonger stepped to her and stroked her arm.

"Shameika?"

"We had a rule. I wasn't supposed to be with you by myself."

"Well damn, why didn't you tell me that?"

"Cuz I wanted to be alone with you like Oya is!"

"Shameika, bathroom, now!" Oya pushed.

Shameika left them alone.

"I told you," Oya hissed.

"I didn't know about their rule. I would've respected it."

"That was their fault for not cluing you in from the beginning."

"Shit. Jody won't quit will she?"

Oya pounded her fists on top of her head. The doorbell rang. Killmonger glanced at his security video screens near the sound board.

"It's Doug and Anderson from my management. I invited them to hear the final mix. Fuck."

Oya left Killmonger and hustled Shameika out of the bathroom.

"Get it together. Deal with your problem at home, you hear me?" Oya clucked like a mother hen.

Jody wandered back in with her lips set in a scowl and she sat away from Shameika as they heard the playback in the studio. Doug and Anderson loved it. It was a full album worthy of representation. Doug, balding, in his late forties, and deadly serious with his facial expressions kept squinting his eyes as he listened.

"What do we call this? Seriously? What is this sound?"

"Pot Liquor," Oya said.

Killmonger chuckled.

"What?" Doug asked.

"Inside thing," Killmonger said winking at Oya.

They played the album back again and the three men chatted with big plans for the band. But Oya could only watch the tension escalating with Jody and Shameika.

It was hell in a hand basket and Killmonger kicked it on its way by seducing them all into thinking they could handle open sex, drugs, and rock and roll.

Fuck.

The end of the beginning making way for new beginnings...

Oya stood behind the stage of the Mojave Stage tent with a nervous heart hammering in her chest.

The press, Killmonger's fans, and online pundits billed it the battle of the bands when Slippage was to perform after them, and Ark Ten before them. It bummed Oya when she watched smaller more talented bands get pushed aside for big name acts that didn't need the exposure that Coachella gave. A-Listers ruined the vibe for her. Everywhere she looked people were there to be seen. It had ceased to be about the music for many there. Influencers had some pull, and she was able to speak with a few before she dressed for their set. Shiny black dress. Blood red overcoat. Hair slicked down, titties propped up, she twisted all the silver rings that covered every finger on her hands. Two chunky silver chokers rested around her neck. They all agreed to dress their personality, and for Killmonger, that meant topless, black basketball shorts and black trainers.

Jody and Shameika were barely on speaking terms. Oya stayed at Killmonger's place because hanging around the apartment was brutal. Icy stares. Early morning cuss outs. Crying. She stayed out of the way as much as possible, but left after two days. All her time spent before Coachella was used to play her guitar, get her voice pampered and ready, and pray that the audience was receptive. They were part of the two Saturday weekend line-ups, and she prayed Jody and Shameika could keep it together for the following Saturday.

It felt like she and Killmonger had a lot to prove. Oya facing Deidre with Ark Ten, and Killmonger peeping Slippage without him.

"Is it mean to want the other band to suck?" Oya whispered to him.

"Nah. Slippage is a different animal without me now. They have new music. It's a new era for them."

"You miss them?"

"No."

"If people don't like this, you don't have to stay with us. We can say you were just—"

"Shut up," he said slapping her butt.

The thumping of music from a small monitor screen drew her eyes toward it where she watched Deidre shred. They hadn't spoken since she left them high and dry. Deidre had on a revealing black dress that showed a lot of breasts without nipples, and a thigh high split that Oya hoped had a g-string at the top. Killmonger bobbed his head as he listened to Deidre do a solo. She was a star. It showed.

Oya inhaled deep.

"You got this," Killmonger whispered in her ear. He kissed her and she felt her nerves move to her neck.

So many people. So many high expectations.

Oya shook her hands and glanced over at Jody who paced with her earbuds on listening to meditative sounds. Shameika stood still tapping her drumsticks against the top of her thigh, her eyes glassy and focused on some netherworld.

Tyson stood nearby keeping his eyes on the crowd and people backstage.

Martina, the stage manager walked over turning down her headset.

"Ready?" she said.

Oya nodded and the band circled up. She stood between Jody and Shameika.

"Go out there and be yourselves," Killmonger said.

The glint from his slugs made her tamper down her nerves.

"You don't look nervous at all," Jody said.

"I still get butterflies. I want to do my best for all of you."

They bowed their heads and Oya did a simple prayer and they all squeezed hands.

"Do it Shameika," Oya said.

Shameika shook her hair, tugged on her tiny black halter and shorts and pranced out to her drums. Colorful lights made her look glamourous and there was a smattering of applause as their logo lit up above her head. One twirl and she slammed on the skins and got right into her lane as their pocket queen. Oya saw a sly smile spread across Jody's face and she stomped out to where her bass waited for her and hooked in. When the lights struck her face, her head whipped toward Oya.

"What?" Oya mouthed.

Jody put stank on the bass as her thumb slapped hard. Killmonger hooked into his guitar backstage and when he heard his cue, he began to play and a roar shook the open tent. Strolling out like he had always been with them made Oya grip the mic in her hand tight. She was bigger than life. Bigger than the stage. Bigger than the biggest galaxy in the universe. Switching on the mic she called out,

"Buckle up Coachella, you ain't ready for this shit. I promise you. Hold onto to your edges..."

She stepped out and her eyes bugged. Holy fuck. The Mojave Stage tent they were under was packed. More than packed, the crowd extended far out of the tent and many people had to watch them on monitors outside.

Killmonger sidled up to her to help her regain her focus as she felt disoriented for a second. She looked down at his fingers working his chords and he bit his bottom lip giving her a flash of his face when he orgasmed and her clit thumped thinking about the way he handled her body. Oya shook her hips and he moved against her body.

"This bad boy right here is ready...are you ready Coachella?"

The roar of the crowd rattled the stage and instead of feeling like an indie band, they performed like they were on the main stage as the sun disappeared. Killmonger took over and scorched the guitar intro that Deidre ruined so long ago at Joshua Tree. When his eyes sought hers out and he suggestively wiggled his tongue at her the way he liked to work her clit, she growled deep in her throat then let pure rage flow out as she threw back her head.

"Show me someone not full of herself, and I'll show you a hungry person! Ahhhh, yeahhhhh!"

Everything poured out of her and Killmonger drove the rhythm hard, pushing her to dig deep and leave it all on the stage. Sweat made his scars shine like perfect little jewels just for her fingers to touch, which she did like always making people scream with delight.

She dropped to her knees and he placed his guitar close to her face to simulate fellatio. She spun herself toward Jody who did the same as she screeched out

"Give it to me!"

The first song raised the crowd into a tizzy, and it was easy to slip into the next song. She adjusted to the more than expected size of the audience under the tent and outside of it. Fifteen minutes in she took off her coat and slipped on her own guitar and joined Killmonger for a battle and by the time she caught her second wind mid show, her eyes caught a familiar face in the wings.

Deidre.

There was a smile on her face.

Feeling a way, Oya strummed her guitar and stepped to her mic stand.

"I want to introduce you all to the newest member of To Sleep With Anger...you may recognize him from some other band...who did you use to be with?" she asked Killmonger.

The crowd laughed.

"Everyone put your hands together once more for Erik Killmonger on lead guitar!"

Killmonger showed off a bit, and they went off script and jammed.

It felt like magic. Oya's heart swelled and she felt generous when Jody finally noticed Deidre on the side.

"Would you all mind if I bring out an unexpected guest?"

The audience clapped.

"All the way from the Outdoor Theater across the way, Deidre Peterson of Ark Ten!"

Deidre held her hands up, but Oya put a hand on her hip.

"Don't make me come over there and drag you out!"

Deidre walked out humbly, her face showing doubt about what was happening. Her eyes lit up when she saw Killmonger looking at her, giving her dimples and a wink.

"Use my guitar, Deidre," Oya whispered in her ear when she leaned in for a polite hug.

She glanced around at Jody and Shameika before she took in the crowd.

"Go ahead," Jody shouted.

Deidre picked up the guitar and Killmonger gave her space as she strummed it then broke into the very first song she and Oya ever wrote as teenagers.

"Bitch!" Oya teased before Jody stepped to her mic.

"I won't let you suffer all the way through it. We were just learning!" Deidre joked.

Oya faced the audience.

"We wanted to be heavy metal queens because metal, like all good American music started with Black people... you know it's true!" she catcalled the audience.

Deidre played one of their last songs they performed together and Jody joined her with Shameika rounding out the sound. Killmonger followed the rhythm adding his gentle flourishes.

"Can we give 'em a tiny taste?" Oya asked.

Jody held it down as Deidre shared the mic with Oya and they harmonized two verses before Deidre stopped playing. There was too much emotion on her face and she unhooked herself from the guitar and placed it back on the stand behind them. She blew kisses to the audience and hugged Oya before leaving the stage in a near run. Killmonger brought the music back up and forced Oya to let go of the past and look toward the future. There was pain still there, but they were both where they were supposed to be. They couldn't hate on the universe for being correct in the outcome.

They jumped back into kicking ass and taking names with Oya showing off her octave range and playing off of her bandmates. Killmonger tried to spit bars to one song and she covered his mouth with her hands making the audience cackle as she took over and showed him how it was done. Their songs ran the gamut of sexual politics, race, class, love, and the rage of Black women who were overlooked and forgotten. She sweated out her hair and rivulets of her exertion ran down her neck and breasts. Wrapping up with a strong closing, they all knew that the world was their oyster now. They carried sharp knives on the stage to cut the oysters open from now on. She waved for Shameika to come away from the drums and the four of them stood side by side. Jody threw an arm around Shameika and Killmonger held Oya's hand as they took in the applause and whistles, and shouts for more.

Deidre was absent from backstage but it was just as well. It was To Sleep With Anger's moment. Not hers.

Bigger acts sought them out to chat and they took some time to watch Slippage perform. They weren't as good anymore without Killmonger. She saw the smirk on his arrogant face when their reception without him was less than stellar.

Killmonger had hired a crew to break down and pack up their instruments and they were driven home in a large black S.U.V. to Killmonger's house at the end of their Coachella stay that first weekend. Jody and Shameika went off to one of his guest rooms to work out some things leaving Oya alone with Killmonger. They had talked all night after their performance. There was hope.

"Think they'll make up all the way now?" Killmonger asked.

They sat inside his jacuzzi easing their weary bodies. It was early in the morning.

"They're in love. But we'll see what happens before next weekend."

Oya sat up on the edge when the water got too hot for her.

"What about you?" he asked.

"What about me?" she said flicking hair from her eyes.

Killmonger swam up to her and pressed his body in between her thighs and gripped her backside.

"You were letting the world know some things with how you were acting on stage with me."

"Know what?"

"We're feeling each other. More than just an occasional hook-up."

"We do have mad chemistry."

His eyes became dreamy looking up at her.

"You are amazing, Oya. Tonight...shit all three of you were just fucking raw. Coachella hasn't seen that in a long time. Fuck, music hasn't seen that in a long time. Period."

She stroked the top of his head fingering his locs and he closed his eyes and rested his head against her stomach. Rubbing gentle circles along his back, she touched his scars that had become so precious to her. He had become precious to her.

"Killmonger?"

He raised his head up and she lowered hers and kissed him. Their lips fought for leverage together and when their tongues sought heat and wet mouths, he stepped out of the water and held her hand. Her eyes felt heavy. Sleepy. She was still high from being onstage the night before.

"Where are we going?" she said.

"To make some music together."

"Oh, yeah?"

"All day, And the next day, and the next..."

He pulled her along and they took off their wet swimsuits and shared a shower together before he took her to bed. The man played hymns on her breasts with his calloused guitar fingers and hummed a sultry blues on her slick folds. Musical notes danced across her clit with the tip of his tongue and when he sucked sweet orgasms from her one after the other, she finally understood what Betty Davis meant by the lyrics in "Anti-Love Song" about a nigga making a woman "scrawl", because she was screaming and trying to crawl up the walls once he penetrated her, parting her folds like soft fleshy curtains. His short teasing thrusts had her begging him to fill her up with his entire length, stretch her wide open, and take her to the place where love rested easy.

They held hands as he went deeper and deeper and Killmonger made her lose all hope of ever letting him go.

The world made her a little less angry with him in it, and she was so grateful.

A.N. Song lyrics were from poems.

Nikki Giovanni poem ""Poem for a Lady Whose Voice I Like"

Sonya Sanchez poem "Present"

A.N.: This was originally published June 6, 2021. Brought it back for fun! I thought I would expand it as an indie book, but I'll wait on that!

#Afropunk!Erik Killmonger #killmonger fanfiction #killmonger smut #Erik Killmonger #Black Panther AU #Uzumaki Rebellion #Afropunk #Erik Killmonger Fanfiction

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achromaticbibliophile · 8 hours ago

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More lost sibling au content~ and of the event boys! Love all of this!

In all honesty, I love the whole idea of Yuu and Gidel being non-identical twins and Fellow immediately taking them under his wing after things are revealed. And Yuu as a tuxedo cat Beastman is such an adorable image, would their ear and tail come out due to the Overblots like previous ideas or did Playful Land magic make the reveal occur?

Perhaps Yuu’s Playful Land attire resembles Jiminy Cricket, since they often serve as a conscious not only to Grim, but the older NRC boys as they now have a little pseudo sibling who looks up to them and forces them to behave better. And also how, like Jiminy, Yuu initially didn’t have the most stable position upon their arrival and is told by Crowley to be responsible for Grim and make up for his lack of knowledge in the human world. With Grim eventually giving them a “Everybody Wants to Be a Cat” kind of lessons in the future!

Gidel maybe felt a kinship with Yuu from the start, whether or not their Beastman features were present, due to their ages and fact both lack magic. Although he may have been a bit jealous that they’re still apparently a student at NRC, although that evaporates learning the truth of their circumstances and their newfound discovery.

Fellow, upon realizing one of the students he’s been tormenting for the past couple hours is Gidel’s sibling: Is anyone going to argue if I adopt-

NRC boys except Kalim as they surround Yuu protectively: YES WE WILL ARGUE!!!

Just imagine the shenanigans of Yuu deciding to let them stay at Ramshackle rather than run off at the end of the arc and bullying Crowley into letting them attend so they can get proper educations! And by bully, Yuu does the kitty eyes a la Puss in Boots and also threatening to reveal the fact he allowed a pre-teen to handle multiple Overblots (uncertain of Gidel’s exact age, but he’s definitely younger than most of the NRC boys).

Also Fellow’s already poor opinion of Crowley worsens hearing that, and he’s trying to act as a positive role model/elder brother as possible to Yuu now. Gidel is readying to swing his hammer, before Fellow grabs it and whispers “Not Yet.”

It might feel odd to Fellow initially, having to get remedial lessons from his newly found younger sibling, but Yuu has been helping Grim catch up too and it’s all a great way for the newfound family to bond. And since Fellow is mentioned to be good at math, he probably takes over managing the Ramshackle budget and is horrified at how little Yuu was given as an allowance.

And poor Skully, all of the sorrows for him not only loosing his supportive twin ages ago, but not having the strength in order to reconnect with their reincarnation. But after the event with his portrait restored in Ramshackle, he can finally talk with them and help guide them in the future!

im still thinking of the lost sibling AU. Let's make it for the halloween event guys. Spoilers below the cut for the most recent JP event with Skully.

Rollo has already been talked about for Glomas.

Now for playful land I was thinking Fellow/Ernesto at first.... But I actually think I like the idea of Yuu in that AU being Gidel/Gino's twin. Just cute little kid who becomes psudo adopted by the older NRC boys. Yuu who's actually pretty bright and loves to learn. I even like the idea that if Gidel is twisted from Gideon, then Yuu is twisted from Figaro. The two look different enough that people don't peg them as siblings right away(Yuu has black hair and yellow eyes like Figaro. Also a nod to the fact a litter of kittens can have multiple fathers and coat patterns)

once it's figured out. Of course Fellow and Gidel have to come to NRC and Ramshackle! What kind of big brother would Fellow be if he didn't keep an eye out on his new sibling? Why so shocked? If he's Gidel's big bro he must be Yuu's big bro right? The NRC boys call bull on that. If anybody is Yuu's big bro it's them.

And Gidel and Yuu are just happy to have somebody their own age and they're siblings too! Yuu happily speaks up for Gidel and is absolutely "He asked for no pickles" with Gidel nodding his head along. Yuu actually even tries to help Fellow and Gidel with learning to read, write, math... Etc....

Nightmare before Christmas event. Skully's twin. Now Skully's human and he died centuries ago before the start. Well, what if Yuu died and reincarnated? Separated all those centuries ago. What if the two actually got to grow up together. Yuu being one of the few people who genuinely understood Skully. Even if he didn't have friends at NRC, his twin Yuu was his biggest support.

and then Yuu passed away while they were teens when both were attending NRC. Maybe Yuu died before Skully did and his soul lingered around ramshackle because he wants one chance to see his twin again. A reincarnated Yuu arriving and Skully not having enough energy to show himself but he follows Yuu around because he just feels a connection with them so he always worries about them. Oh how he wished he could have given those other ghosts a thrashing when they kicked Yuu out of Ramshackle during the ghost marriage event!

Then they all get sucked into the book, including ghost Skully. Skully, who hasn't been solid for centuries can finally touch people again. Skully who can't help but cradle Yuu gently while they're asleep. He's always wanted to be able to talk to them. When Yuu awakens they're not really bothered by Skully. In fact, he feels kind of familiar but they can't place from where.

Afterwards once everybody is free from the book, the truth of Skully is revealed and Yuu asks for the portrait. Saying how they think it should be in Ramshackle. Wasn't that Skully's dorm after all?(I say yes in this AU)

Skully's spirit who lingers, back to watching over Yuu but slowly growing stronger and hopefully can even become corporeal enough to interact directly. If not, He'll just have to talk to them again once Halloween comes around again. They have centuries of catching to do.

#twisted wonderland #twst #lost sibling au #twst yuu #lost in the book: nightmare before christmas #stage in playful land #fellow honest #ernesto foulworth #twst gidel #twst gino #skully j graves

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midnight-shadow-cafe · 3 days ago

Text

Home Again

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader

Warnings: fluff, just tooth rotting fluff with Steve stressing a bit about his lover

Authors Note: I hope you enjoy, I just realized I haven’t written for Cap yet so… here we go :)

Word Count: 1k

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The long, winding journey home had taken its toll on you. After weeks apart, you were exhausted but determined. The thought of finally seeing Steve was the only thing that kept you going as you made your way through the city and up to your apartment, heart pounding in anticipation.

When you reached the door, you barely had a chance to knock before it flew open, and there he was. Steve stood in the doorway, looking as relieved as you felt. His blue eyes softened the moment they met yours, and a warm smile spread across his face. Without hesitation, he reached out, pulling you into a hug that instantly made you feel safe.

"Welcome home," he murmured, his voice gentle and low as he held you tight. You could feel the steady strength of his heartbeat through his chest, his arms wrapped protectively around you like a shield from all the exhaustion and stress you’d been carrying.

You let out a long breath, sinking into him. “I missed you so much,” you whispered, voice thick with emotion.

Steve pulled back just enough to look at you, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "I missed you too, sweetheart. More than I can put into words."

As you looked into his eyes, memories of your last night together before you left on the mission came flooding back…

Flashback

The room was quiet, and Steve was watching you pack with a worried expression. He tried to keep his face calm, but you could see right through him. He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, his gaze following each item as you placed it into your bag.

“You sure you have everything?” he asked softly, his voice calm but his jaw tight.

You paused, looking up at him. “Steve, I’ll be okay. It’s just a quick mission.”

He took a deep breath, walking over to you. “I know. I just… I can’t help but worry. I hate it when you’re out there without backup.” His hand found yours, squeezing it tightly as if anchoring himself in the moment.

“I’ll be fine,” you promised, wrapping your arms around him. “I know you’ve got my back. You always do, even from a distance.”

He held you close, burying his face in your shoulder. “I just don’t like the idea of you being alone,” he murmured. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

You reached up, brushing your fingers through his hair. “I promise, Steve. I’ll come back to you. I always will.”

For a long moment, you stood there in silence, just holding each other. Then Steve pulled back, cupping your face in his hands as he looked at you with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

“I love you,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “More than anything.”

You smiled, resting your forehead against his. “I love you too, Steve.”

He kissed you then, slow and gentle, as if trying to memorize every detail. It was a goodbye, but also a promise. And as he pulled you back into his arms, he whispered, “Come home to me, okay?”

Present Day

The memory faded as Steve led you inside, closing the door quietly behind you. As he took your bags and set them aside, you glanced around the apartment, heart swelling at the small gestures Steve had left to make your return special. A vase of your favorite flowers sat on the table, and the scent of warm, home-cooked food drifted from the kitchen.

“You didn’t have to go all out,” you said, touched by his thoughtfulness.

“I wanted to. You deserve a little pampering,” he replied with a gentle smile, taking your hand and guiding you to the living room. Soft, ambient light bathed the room in a comforting glow, and a cozy setup awaited you on the couch. A thick blanket was draped over the cushions, with your favorite snacks and a stack of DVDs ready for a night in.

Steve settled in beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you snuggled into his side. You felt his fingers tracing gentle circles on your arm, and the soothing rhythm began to melt away the tension you didn’t realize you were still carrying.

As the first movie started, you rested your head on Steve's chest, listening to his steady breathing. Every so often, you felt him press a soft kiss to the top of your head, each one like a silent reminder that you were safe and cherished.

Halfway through the movie, you realized Steve had fallen quiet, watching you more than the screen. You looked up at him, catching that familiar, tender gaze.

"Everything okay?" you asked, smiling softly.

He nodded, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. "More than okay. I just… I still can’t believe you’re here with me."

You shifted, bringing your hand up to rest against his cheek. "I’m here, Steve. I’m not going anywhere."

He held your hand against his face, his eyes closing for a moment as he leaned into your touch. "I know, but every time we’re apart, I realize just how much I need you. Having you here feels like everything falls back into place."

His words made your heart ache in the best way. “You’re my home, Steve. No matter how far I go, I’ll always come back to you.”

You both sat in a comfortable silence, holding each other close as the night wore on. By the time the second movie started, you were curled up in his arms, wrapped in the warmth and comfort of his presence.

Steve shifted, pulling the blanket up to cover both of you as you started to drift off, his hand gently tracing patterns along your back. Just before sleep claimed you, you heard his voice, soft and full of emotion.

“I’ll always be here for you. No matter what, I’m here.”

And as you fell asleep in the safety of his embrace, you knew without a doubt that you were right where you belonged.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

#x reader #steve rogers #steve rodgers x reader #steve rodgers imagine #steve x reader #marvel fluff #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n

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romana-after-dark · 5 hours ago

Text

Our Gentle Sins: Part 9

Thank you so so so much to @plasticbabies for making this beautiful header!!!! we finally have a good one!

Dark!Logan Howlett x fem!reader

Series Masterlist : Main Masterlist : Logan Masterlist

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Chapter summary: Past. You aren't good enough for Logan. Present. Logan makes you feel good.

Warnings: This fic features non con, pregnancy, and themes of religous trauma. I will not be saying everything that happens to warm you, by clicking read more you are prepared for extremely dark themes and that you at 18+. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

Before

“Please stop worrying about me.”

“You’re hurt.”

Logan reached up and took your wrist gently. “Everything is literally already healed, Dolly.”

You look down at him, eyes wet with worry and anxiety as you dabbed at his forehead with a wet washcloth. Since getting back inside, you hadn’t stopped fretting over him. “I know… but you got hurt because of me, please let me just do… something?”

Logan acquiesced, letting go of you so you could clean him. “You didn’t get hurt because of me, doll face.”

“But you did.” Logan took a few tumbles fighting Scott, leaning him fine, but bloody. You’re thankful Logan did hurt Scott for touching you, Scott doesn’t have healing, and you know Logan would feel horrible hurting or even killing Scott over a misunderstanding.

There was silence as he let you care for him even though he was healed. It was for your own sanity, to know you weren’t completely useless. You clean off his handsome face, taking the blood off his skin, even cleaning his hairline and beard with tender touches despite his rough skin. He closed his eyes, leaning into the touch, and you even heard him humming.

You couldn’t meld the two Logan’s in your head, couldn’t make sense of what you saw this evening with the kitty purring in your arms right now. He had been vicious, ready to kill Scott for sliding your dress a mere inch to the side. Yes, it was embarrassing and you didn’t like it but it wasn’t worth disemboweling him for. Logan, the Logan you knew was a gentle giant, soft enough to cradle the duckling on the side of the road you saw while driving home from church with him and taking it to the pond with its family. Your Logan offered to take you to a nondenominational church in the first place so you could pray. Your Logan only hurt you in the throes of a nightmare.

“It wasn’t your fault, Logan. You didn’t mean to hurt me.”

But he shook his head as you sat by his side. ”Not meaning to doesn’t erase the fact you have scars on your back now.”

He was right, it didn’t, but you didn’t really care. “Lo… that doesn’t matter to me. Honestly, it doesn’t. You were having a nightmare, sometimes-”

“I almost killed Rogue. During a nightmare. She came to check on me, just like you did, got stabbed right through the chest.”

Your heart clenched at yes, the thought of sweet Rogue in such pain, but also how much guilt Logan carried around.

“She touched me and was able to absorb my powers, make heal herself… but if that had been anyone else, if that had been you?” He shook his head. “I’d skin myself alive before I hurt you, you know that, don’t you?”

And you nod, because you do. Logan wasn’t like Mark. “I know… that’s why you fought Scott, to protect me.”

Logan chuckles lowly. “I wasn’t just foughting him, Dolly. I was gonna kill him for laying a hand on you.”

This makes you frown. “It wasn’t that serious.”

But he catches your wrist, eyes snapping up to you with a burning intensity you rarely see in the calm brown eyes of his. “You are that serious to me. Scott should know to keep his weasley hands off you.”

You make no attempt to pull away. “But it was a misunderstanding!” You protest. “He thought you hurt me, he wanted to-”

“Scott doesn’t want anything other than to prove he was right about me all along. If it was about the claw marks I wouldn’t even care, because baby doll if I had seen that someone hurt you, they’d be dead.” He stands, imposing height and broad frame should be fearful, but you didn’t fear Logan. Instead, you simply stare up at him. “You hear me, Dolly? Fucking dead. But that’s not why Scott cares. He doesn’t care about you, not like I do. He just hates me.”

You try to make sense of this information. You knew Scott wasn’t fond of Logan; they never interacted outside of necessity, didn’t get sent on missions alone together. Remy was sent on one once because the skillset fit Logan and Scott best, but Remy was there just to function as a peacekeeper, a buffer he said. Still, you didn’t think it was that bad. Scott was kind, friendly, and caring. Logan was the sweetest heart you knew.

Taking his other hand, you prompt him to continue. “Why, Logan? When you’re so…”

“So what?” Logan chuckles. “Insane?”

“Good.”

The words hang in the air, soaking into his skin as if he hoped you could speak it into existence. He didn’t believe it, but you truly, truly did. You’d spend forever making him see what you saw in him.

He simply shakes his head, looking down but not at you. “He’s got a right to hate me, baby dolly. ‘Fraid I’m not the good guy in this story.”

“Logan.” You emphasize his name, pleading with him for clarity. “What happened between you?”

“It ain’t gonna make me look very good in your sweet little eyes. ”A deep breath and a long talk later he told you what happened, how he came to Xavier institute with Rogue, how he fell in love with Jean Grey. That part shocked and carved a pit in your stomach, because she was always someone you compare yourself to, with her beautiful red hair and soft eyes, her thin but strong body curving in a beautiful wave. And she was a mutant. You always fretted about not being a mutant, if that was a turn off for Logan that you were weak, useless, needed to be protected.

Logan laid it out for you, how he knowingly and willingly began an affair with Jean, that she cheated on Scott. This also surprised you. Scott was someone you liked a lot, seemed like a loving husband. He clearly adored Jean. Why would she cheat? Still, you were disappointed in Logan. He knew what he was did.

“Well… you’re right. You are the bad guy here…”

“I know.”

“But Lo… she made her own choice. I mean, it wasn’t good of you, especially to Scott-”

“What do you mean, ‘Especially Scott?” Logan’s voice held scrutiny, and you couldn’t help smirk a little at him.

“I mean he’s kind, Logan. I know you can’t really see it, you don’t like him, but he is.”

He relaxes. "Sorry... old habits die hard, I guess..." Logan's hand reaches up to cup your face, thumbing gently over your cheek. His eyes held worry as he searched yours for answers. "Does that ruin things, dolly?"

Heat creeps up your body, warming your neck. You and him... you never addressed what this was between you, and you wanted to keep it that way. You loved him, of course you loved Logan, you loved him in a way you'd never felt for your husband. What you felt for Mark was teenage infatuation of a child who didn't know she was being taken advantage of. This was real. Logan was sweet, he was kind, and most importantly to you he was gentle.

Your parent's followed the teaching of the Pearls, their book, "To Train Up a Child" was second only to the bible in your household, and you remember watching in horror as they smacked your younger siblings to prevent them from leaving a laid put blanket. When you protested, your mother asked "so, you want Grace to go to hell?" You didn't know what to think of that, so you couldn't protest anymore, because of course, of course you don't want your sister to go to hell! So it was hell or aggression? Was gentleness a sin? You were conditioned to accept abuse as love, that domestic discipline was your husband teaching you because he loved you, he wanted better for you.

His hand leaves your face when he notices you shrink back.

"Lo, I'm... I'm not right for you."

His hands drop to his sides, bewilderment clouding his face. "Is this about not being able to have kids? Dolly, I want that with you, of course i do but... a baby that doesn't even exist yet isn't more important to me than you are... dolly I lo-"

But you backed away. Shaking your head in your now-dirty dress, hair falling out of it's pins, you looked so sad, like you were falling apart. It broke his heart.

"I don't just mean that."

He blinks. "It is the pants thing?" You mentioned it early, that he deserved someone who doesn't cry when they try on pants. "baby, I don't care if you can't wear pants or drive or, or whatever it is you think is wrong with you. I love you as you are! I want to help you, me and Remy, we can help you get better but if i have to drive you around for the rest of our lives..." He chuckles wryly, hands stretched out in pleading, begging for you to fall into him the way you wanted to. "Well, you won't hear me complaining. Whatever it takes to have you in my life."

But he didn't know you. He thought the only worries you had were the leftover weird little habits you had from your upbringing and nothing could be further from the truth. "I'm not who you think i am, Logan. there's- there's something wrong with me. Something very, very wrong and I'm a bad person who-"

"Dolly..."

"I DESERVE EVERYTHING BAD THAT HAPPENED TO ME!"

You're cry echoes off the walls of the school hall, and you can't even bare to face him. He will just try to tell you that you didn't deserve it, that you are good.

But that is only because he doesn't know you.

If Logan knew the truth, he could never look at you again.

You turn around and ran away.

After

The sound of prom flowed in through the window, your students laughing and having fun to the music. You were glad, even if you couldn't see. Everything those kids have worked through, the trauma they experienced gets to go away for a night. They don't have to be mutants. They don't have to be the freaks they were called by the ones who were supposed to love them. They were just teenagers.

Logan held you in his arms, his body radiating heat and strength and protection you couldn't help be drawn to. Maybe it was the pregnancy, a biological urge to have someone who is going to protect you. Maybe it was your body being drawn to it's father. Maybe you were just weak.

"Let me take care of you, Dolly..." He whispered against the corner of your mouth, lips ghosting over yours like they were asking for permission. "Won't let no one hurt you again, you and our baby... we could be so happy."

Flashes of his abuse flicked, the way you held your arms over your eyes because you couldn't make sense of Logan being the one doing this to you. because it was easier to pretend it was someone else. How you sobbed. How he slapped you... How he held you so sweetly after, 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...' but as soon as they were came, they left when your hand on his shoulder grazes his collarbone.

So warm.

You couldn't do this alone. You were terrified, terrified of having a baby, of having a baby out of wedlock, of the shame and embarrassment and the questions. There would be so many questions. Scott knows, so who else does? Has Remy figured it out? Remy wouldn't hate you for having a baby with a man you weren't with, would he? Of course not, but your old beliefs creep in.

"I'll marry you, Dolly." Logan whispers. "My little wife... my perfect girl... You'll never have to worry again..."

It sounded nice. it sounded safe. It sounded like your Logan, the Logan you trusted...

"We're both a little fucked up, aren't we?"

You remember. you remember the things you'd done. The story you trusted to Logan before he did what he did to you...

"you can't ever do that again, Logan..." You say, hesitantly, and you can feel him smile against your lips.

"Never. I'd never hurt my baby doll."

He wouldn't hurt his baby doll. His girl. his wife. The mother of his child... Logan had given you what you wanted, your baby... you could have it all again. A happy family. A husband. A good life here at the school... all you had to do was forgive and forget.

It was what the bible taught, wasn't it? He confessed his sins. He was forgiven by god, so who were you to hold out?

"Okay." You whisper and nod. "I forgive you. Just..." Your eyes meet his, and there's a hope in there you haven't seen for months. "Just don't fail me this time."

"Never." The lips that had been so clos you could feel the lines finally collided with yours again, and it was like the damn had broke. Hands pawed at skin and you kissed Logan like you were trying to swallow him whole, a communion of two bodies pulled together. Logan picked you up, pressing your back against the wall as he ground his hips against your pubic bone, your legs and arms wrapped tightly around him like you'd wanted to do for nearly a year.

Don't fail me, Logan Howlett

"Taste so pretty" Logan murmurs, shuttering as his erection pressed against you. He wasn't exactly making sense, so lost in your that words came out messy and jumbled and god, did it make your head spin. He was drunk of you.

He carried you to your bed, laying you down so gently he cradled your head until it hit the pillow, soft as his lips on your neck. Your dress rucked up around your thighs, falling down when he spread them to loop at your core. You wore tights, of course, but Logan was not hindered. One claw came out just enough for him to cut through the black material, revealing the wet spot of your cotton panties. You should feel embarrassed, honestly, that you weren't wearing the sexiest of clothes, but the way Logan looked at you all of that dissapeared.

Guilt crawled under your skin, a creeping feeling in the back of your head that this was wrong, that this was something god frowned on, that you were bad for doing this...

You wish you knew him before it felt like like a sin.

Logan's mouth was warm over your still-clothed cunt; he mouthed over it, his licking adding to the wetness pooling until sharp teeth tore at the material, masking you gasp once and then again when he dove into you.

Mark never touched you like this.

He never loved you like this.

Logan's tongue on your pussy was unlike anything you'd experienced before, his fingers so much thicker than your own and god, nothing had ever felt so good before.

"Want you to cum, baby doll." he whispers to your cunt. "give it to me, cum on my face." His arm wrapped around your leg, holding you down as you squirm and pleasure and all the overwhelming sensations. "You can do it baby. Let me taste you."

Your hands card though his hair, gripping him; when you cum, you pull so hard on the dark waves for a moment you think you've hurt him... but when he finishes lapping up your juices, his head pops out from under your skirt... he's grinning.

That ear to ear, shit eating, boyish grin you loved so much about him before, before it all got so complicated.

When Logan slid inside you, it didn't hurt. you felt a stretch, sure, but not pain... still, there was an aching inside you, a pain that screamed out SOMETHING IS WRONG! ITS WRONG! ITS WRONG! but you shoved it away. It was just the guilt, that's all. It was guilt from a religion that tore you to shreds, that stripped down every essence of your being until you were a shell, a community of people dependent on thought crimes and martyrdom that somehow never applied to men the way it did to you, and made you feel dirty for wanting to feel pretty. That's what it was.

This with Logan, it wa right. That's why God gave you a baby, right? You were being rewarded. Mark wasn't the one, Logan was. it was fine. it was good.

And he made you feel so, so good.

Logan fucked your body with a passion you didn't know what possible, his hands wandering and groping and feeling, just needing to know every single inch of you, learning what made you gasp and moan and what made you tense and uncomfortable. He drove his cock so deep inside you that you saw stars, an intense sensation of being full, so fucking full. All the while, he was gentle with your stomach, always touching it in some way, needing to be close you know, knowing he was the reason you had stretch marks and he was the reason you swelled with a child.

"Mine." Logan growled, claiming your mouth with fervor and passion as he hips slammed inside you. "You're mine, dolly, and no one is ever going to take you away f-from me, FUCK!"

You didn't care who heard you, if anyone left the party early and came to the rooms. Remy's was the closest, and he certainly wouldn't care.

You let your pleasure me known, moaning his name as your fingernails clawed up his back faster than he could heal. Logan like the pain, smiling when you drew blood. It made you feel good to make it smile. It made you feel good to make him hurt.

You thought he'd cum inside; you were already pregnant so there was no other risk. Logan remained unpredictable.

After he makes you cum so hard you bite through his skin, Logan pulls out with a 'pop!' and flips up your dress. You watch in aw as he jerks himself off, strong body, soft muscles, and the absolute look of lust on his face as he stared directly down on your cunt, painting it with rope after rope of white cum. He was filing it away for his memory, the way his seed covered you, sticking to the public hair and contrasting against your skin.

Once he was sure he'd never forget, and every last drop was pulled from his softening cock, Logan's tongue cleaned you.

THEY FUCKED!!!!!!

we're not at the end though, tee hee! still more!

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