#and it’s worse cause he just got back from a six month trip to said place and I could barely handle that

[oswinthegeek]

‘What is she looking at?’

I haven’t had time to post anything lately, I’m hoping to be more active here in a couple weeks after the play I’m in is over, just a very busy time for me rn.

[steddieas-shegoes]

shit talkin' up all night

for @steddiesongfics song 'for the first time' by the script

rated m | 1,469 words | cw: alcohol, arguing | tags: angst with a happy ending, established relationship, robin buckley deserves an award for saving their relationship everyone say thank you robin, they're in love, eddie is just dumb for a bit

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The arguing started when Steve suggested they move back in with Wayne.

They were struggling; Eddie wasn't an idiot, he could see the told his unemployment was taking on their financial situation. They were able to cover rent from Steve's paycheck, but they had to cut back on literally everything else. No more date nights, no more trips to visit Dustin, no more buying the good bacon for breakfast.

It wasn't for lack of trying, it's just that Eddie only had a GED and no marketable skills outside of playing music. Any job he could get would make miserable.

"I just think if we take some time to save up, maybe you'll be able to find something you like and then it'll be better," Steve shrugged.

"I'm not moving back in with Wayne. He did enough for me already."

"Then I'll get another job."

"No, you're not working two jobs. I'll just...go work at the McDonald's."

"Eds, you would hate it there."

"Well, it's a paycheck."

Steve sighed and walked away.

And then it got worse.

Eddie did find a job. He worked part time at the music lesson school. It didn't pay nearly enough, but it was something.

Until one of the parents found out he was working there and threw a fit and he got fired. The owner apologized, but said if it came down to his business and Eddie, he had to let Eddie go.

Back to square one.

Steve was too understanding. It was frustrating.

Eddie started arguments just to make him mad.

Whatever would push him: leaving all the dirty dishes in the sink, staying out late without letting him know, buying the good bacon for breakfast when it wasn't in the budget.

It did start to work eventually.

"Why are you doing this?" Steve asked eventually, after two nights of Eddie coming home late for no other reason than to make Steve upset. He hadn't even done anything, just walked around downtown for a couple hours and thought about how much of a failure he'd been.

"I'm not doing anything," he'd say back.

Steve would push.

Eddie would push back.

Little things turned into big things.

And then Eddie came home drunk.

He hadn't even been to a bar, he hadn't been with anyone else. He'd gotten one six pack of beer and realized halfway through it that he hadn't eaten all day and kept drinking anyway.

The buzz was great until he was stumbling through the front door, waking Steve up from his half-slumber on the couch of the apartment.

Steve didn't even argue. He just shook his head and went to their bedroom, closing the door and making it clear he didn't want to be around Eddie.

The next morning, Steve was already gone when Eddie managed to roll off the couch.

"Steve's not gonna say it, so I will," Robin's voice made him trip over his boots on the floor. She was sitting in the armchair, glaring at him. "You're pushing him away because you don't think you deserve someone who is patient and loving. He used to try that shit with me, with the kids, with Hopper. Started shit just to see if we'd leave. Pretended he was the only one who could deal with his problems."

Eddie blinked back at her, vision blurry from sleep and unshed tears. He wasn't gonna cry in front of Robin.

"I could understand why he did it. He had shitty parents and shitty friends before all of us. Took him some time to get used to being cared for." Robin leaned forward. "But you've had Wayne for a long time. Us. Steve. So what is it that's causing this? Why are you hurting Steve? Why are you hurting yourself?"

Eddie had been to therapy for a month or so after everything. The government insisted on it. He'd even done what they asked of him. Talked about everything that happened, talked about his childhood, talked about being gay in a town that thought being gay was bad enough to send you to hell, but somehow still the least of Eddie's crimes.

The therapist told him it seemed like he was always preparing himself to get hurt, even with the people that he did trust. That was the last time he went to the therapist.

"Because this is all I'll ever be, Robin! Steve should get out while he can, find someone who isn't fuckin' useless. Someone who can get a real job or go to school or something."

"Is this because you can't be on your feet for more than a couple hours?"

Eddie was silent.

"Do you think that means you can't do things? Do you think Steve wants to watch you suffer more than you already have?"

Eddie shook his head once.

"Then here's what you're gonna do. You're gonna shower and clean up the house a little. You're gonna cook that chicken dish Steve loves so much because I went to the deli to get fresh ingredients for you. You're gonna open that bottle of wine I did not steal from Chrissy's restaurant. You're gonna talk to him."

"Okay."

"And then tomorrow, you're gonna come interview for a job at the museum. They're opening a new exhibit called Rock Through The Ages and they're looking for someone to do tours. It's four hours a day, five days a week. Pay is more than you made anywhere else plus tips. Interview is a formality, they already know you're qualified."

"Robin, I-"

"And you're gonna shut up. I love you, too, Eddie. And I love that dingus who loves you. So get your shit together so you can both be as happy as I know you can be."

Eddie hugged her for a long time, probably much longer than Robin would have ever allowed him to if it weren't for the circumstances.

He cleaned himself up, he cleaned up the apartment, he cooked dinner, and he opened the bottle of wine.

Neither of them were big fans of wine, but this was a $100 bottle. Eddie would drink every last drop.

When Steve came through the door at 4:39 on the dot, just like he did every week day, Eddie was holding a glass of wine out to him with a small smile.

"Eds? What's this?"

"Been a while since we've had a date night. Thought maybe we deserved it."

Steve stared back at him blankly, then let out a sob and walked over to him, burying his face in his neck.

"Sh, it's okay, sweetheart. I'm right here," Eddie wrapped him up in his arms, kissing his head. "I'm here."

"You promise?" Steve's broken voice nearly tore Eddie in two. How had he let it get this bad?

"I promise, Stevie. I'm sorry I've been somewhere else in my head."

Steve pulled away, sniffling and looking around the room as he realized that dinner was already set out on the bar and the dishes were done.

"You did all this for me?"

"For us."

"Is that chicken cacciatore?" Steve walked to the plate in his usual spot and smiled. "You made this?"

"I did. Hopefully it's edible. If not, I already have the menu for the Italian place down the road by the phone," Eddie pulled Steve's chair out for him and then sat down next to him.

They talked through dinner, mostly about Steve's day, and then about Eddie's. He brought up the interview and Steve beamed like the sun.

"That sounds perfect for you, Eds."

"I know. I think it'll be great."

The bottle of wine went down easy. Maybe a little too easy.

By the time they realized it was gone, they were giggling and leaning on each other, cheeks red and eyes glazed over with a buzz that was more than just the high alcohol content.

Steve leaned in to kiss him.

Eddie leaned in to kiss him back.

And for the first time in a long time, they stayed up all night, talking, kissing, touching in ways they'd nearly forgotten how to do.

When Eddie got the job, he sent Robin flowers. Nothing fancy, the pay wasn't that good. But he had to thank her for getting his head out of his ass and his ass in shape.

Steve didn't ask when he saw the bill for it, just smiled and kissed the top of Eddie's head while he got ready for his first day of work.

"I love you. Good luck today," Steve said as he fixed his glasses before grabbing his keys to head to his job at the youth center downtown.

"Love you too. Pizza tonight?"

"Sounds good, love. Wine?"

Eddie nodded towards the bottle of $3 wine from the liquor store.

Steve laughed. "I'll grab some Tylenol on my way home."

[dickfics69]

Emotional Motion Sickness (A Rickyl fic) | Part 4

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8 | PART 9

AO3

rick grimes x daryl dixon

Summary: Daryl gets sick before a supply run, and denies it vehemently. He is a big tantrum baby. Rick is constantly worried and drama ensures.

Chapter summary: Tensions rise and fall in the car. Daryl struggles to maintain his weak homeostasis. And yeah, the ghost of Merle Dixon appears.

BIG PHAT TRIGGER WARNING: Emetophobia, if you do not want to read this kind of sickness pleas skip the paragraph that starts with "on the brink of collapse" and ends with "breathing rapidly through his mouth"

Warning for homophobia and homophobic slurs. There are only a couple but they are real and exist and could be triggering.

my Daryl Dixon playlist

Chapter 4: All the world is still, hands on the wheel

“It’s just too damn risky, Daryl!” Rick sat in the passenger seat, a faded map sprawled out across his lap, which was covered in tiny red circles.

“Why? It’s onde of the only places we aind’t hit yet! It’s probably a damnd goldmine.” Daryl argued back, keeping his exhausted eyes fixed on the road, wary of falling asleep if he so much as blinked. 

The journey had barely begun, and already, the two men were bickering again.The other occupants of the Jeep would have been more than satisfied to listen to the unsteady hum of the ancient motor, but granted, watching nearly middle aged men arguing was significantly more entertaining. Rick huffed loudly, growing increasingly irritated with the snuffling man to his left.

But, the hunter had a point. In the past month, Sasha and Michonne had gone and scouted anywhere within a 60 mile radius worth of looting. They’d covered a lot of the spots in the last couple of weeks but there were a few bounty-laden abodes that still alluded their footprint. This house was one of them. A turn of the century red-brick mansion awaited them like an unsuspecting sitting duck, cloaked in numerous years of abandon and overgrowth. She sat there, neglected and begging for attention, precious supplies within going to waste.

“You know what Michonne said about it.” Rick warned. “There’s too many on the outside alone, we’d need five or six of us at least to clear ‘em.” He felt Daryl rising to argue back and held steadfast to his cause. “Look, let's just go to the place off-of route ninety one, see what’s there and if we got time tomorrow, we can circle back and check the house.”

“Rick I jus-”

“What’s off route ninety one?” Peri interrupted, piping up from behind the driver, ignoring the optic daggers that Daryl was angrily directing at her.

“An army surplus and a baby supply store.” The Deputy supplied.

“Wow, only in America eh?” She donned an abysmal American accent, inviting three very strange looks from the males in the vehicle.

“-Com’ond, that’ll add at least two extra hours onto the trip!” Daryl returned to the argument as though he’d never been rudely interrupted.

“What’s the rush, babe?” Rick asked smugly, knowing full well why his sick, stubborn boyfriend wanted to condense the run time. The ‘rush’ was that Daryl’s body was a ticking time bomb, threatening to explode with snot and phlegm and febrile sweat at any moment. The shaky man wanted to get the goods and go home, avoiding his own, very likely, disgusting spectacle. 

“Hmpf.” He grunted back, chewing on his thumb with rumination for a moment, patronising cerulean eyes boring into the side of his head. “We’ve dealt with worse Rick. We can take it, you ‘n’ me.”

They had and they could. Since the beginning of knowing, the pair had possessed an intimate chemistry, being able to communicate silently through gesture and purposed glances. Whether they were hunting or being hunted, Daryl and Rick moved effortlessly together, like a pair of keen eyed foxes in their natural habitat. The rugged pas de deux was lethal and unstoppable. So yes, on a normal day, the duo could take the house blindfolded. But ‘normal’ doesn’t continually drip with chartreuse-coloured snot. 

“Daryl, if you could see yourself right now…” He rubbed a frustrated hand through his beard. “You look like you’re gonna pass out any second!”

“Bullshit. I’mb finde.” Said with a poorly timed congested sniffle. But the stubborn man wasn’t taking no for an answer. “Look, you ‘n’ mbe are good. We got Carl and…she’s…well three outta four is more thand enough.” Daryl pleaded his case, forcefully ignoring the hard thump on the back of his seat. 

Rick let out a considered sigh, filled with contemplation and worry. Taking this house would be a great win for them, taking the pressure off the group for a few weeks. A few weeks to settle again. A few weeks for him and Daryl to finally exist as a couple. But it was full of risk. Peri was smart, agile and quick to kill, possessing precious medicinal knowledge that the group desperately needed. However, she was quick to anger and had only just started shooting her targets. Daryl was a man that Rick unwaveringly trusted with his life, but he was disgustingly ill and belligerent, and the Deputy lacked faith in his love to rise above the affliction. Then there was Carl. In a blink of an eye, the boy had become a man. He was able to defend himself and his family with swiftness and purpose. Rick had no doubts of his abilities, but it was Carl. His blood, his life, his purpose. He needed him and he needed to protect him. A rock and a hard place. Before he could decide, a familial voice came from behind him.

“Dad, we need this. It’s okay, we can take it.” The smaller Grimes man had joined the panel, providing his father with reassurance. 

“Huh..okay, fine!” He finally conceded. “But y’all do exactly as I tell you, are we clear?” The authoritative ex-policeman voice dominated the vehicle, receiving vocal responses from the back seat and a weak nod from the driver. It was settled.

Daryl made a mental note to thank Carl later. He had won this argument, not that it was a competition. The minute victory didn’t last long of course, as a soft burning started evolving in the hunter’s left nostril. For what felt like the millionth time that day, Daryl rubbed his nose hard, wincing at the skin to skin contact of the chapped, flushed skin. Another pitiful attempt to postpone the inevitable. He was well aware of how ridiculous he looked, violently scrubbing the side of his face, a loud squelching omitting from the up and down movement of his knuckles. Withdrawing his hand, he sniffled back as much as his congestion would allow, testing the waters. Unfortunately, Daryl’s vigorous efforts did not work. They never did. 

“Heh…heh…Hh’ExTChUu…Ngxxtsh…h’ngxt, ngxt, NGXXTch…heh…heh..Hh’EsTCHUU'!' He sneezed tiredly into his hand that was firmly clasped around his mouth and nose. Daryl was thankful that the fit was finally over, hoping that he didn’t swerve the vehicle too much in the process. A round of wary ‘bless you’s’ chorused from the other passengers, inciting a trademark grunt from the afflicted. An explosion of warm liquid was threatening to trickle through his fingers, bringing the man out of his tired, itchy haze, panicking slightly. Hand feverishly pressed to his face, he nervously glanced around for the handkerchief he had misplaced, while desperately trying not to run them off the road. Daryl was juggling much more than he had intended to today. 

“Here.” Rick offered, throwing the wet square of fabric over to the driver, face full of disgust and unease.

“Thankgs,” whispered the sick man, feeling the emotional sting as his partner scoffed, rolled his eyes and turned his attention out the window. ‘Whatever.’ He cleaned himself up to the best of the futile handkerchief’s ability, still feeling residual pain throbbing in his head from the sneezes ripping out of him a moment ago. Dabbing at his watery eyes, he remembered the slip of paper he had pocketed from Carl earlier. He handed it over to Rick.

“What’s this?”

“List of requests.” Daryl strategically used the shift in focus to blow his nose without added  scrutiny. A quick shiver ran through his body, as he lamented how little relief he got from the forced gurgle out of his sinuses.

“Alright let's see…kid’s books, towels, sweaters, orange soda? Man these are gettin’ specific! Toothpaste, Karma…who the hell needs the Karma Sutra?” A blush creeped through the Deputy’s cheeks.

“My guess is Maggie and Glenn,” Carl provided from behind a very flummoxed Rick. 

“Carl how…how..how d’ya…” He stumbled over his words, flustered. A snort amusement came from the left of him, as Daryl stifled a rare laugh.

“I think what your dad is so eloquently trying to ask you is, how do you know about that Carl?” Peri didn’t shy from the amusement she felt in this moment either. 

“I’m thirteen, but I’m not an idiot. I know what people get up to in the watchtower.” Rick choked on his own saliva, providing more hilarity for the rest of the convoy. He looked over to Daryl who wore a devious grin.

“Combe on Rick, it aind’t hard to figure out!” The driver spat out between giggles, sending the two younger passengers into fits of laughter. 

“Why choose that book? It certainly is a mouthful.” The curly haired brunette noted the assignment set from the man in front of her and relished it with vigour, receiving a chortle of approval from Daryl and Carl.

“Ah I dunno Peri, it definitely has some good tips!” Carl joined in too, accepting an immature high-five from the hunter. Rick sank further down in his seat, his discomfort an audible beacon for the jokes to keep rolling. 

They went on like this for longer than was probably necessary, but with the state of the world, moments like this were few and far between. So they laughed, savouring the reprieve from their day to day stressors. As the euphemisms dried up, Carl and Peri returned to a previous conversation, giving the pair in the front a chance to recollect themselves. In a much needed shift of mood, the merriment had cleared some of the congestion that plagued Daryl’s sinuses, allowing him to breathe a tiny bit. Of course this led to tremendous amounts of dripping which forced the man to disgrace the only dry section of the hanky he had left. He glanced up briefly to his love who was looking back at him, simultaneously bamboozled and amused.

“Y’all are fuckin’ filthy you know that?” Rick finally uttered, quiet enough for just the two of them.

“You loved it.” Daryl retorted and glanced at the backseat in the rearview mirror. “Alrigh’ maybe not from them.” He boldly reached out his right hand and stroked his partner's inner thigh when he knew the other two weren't watching, and inched upwards until the other man shifted hard in the seat. Rick placed his own hand over the other, breathing in the arousing contact. 

“I’ll keep my eye out.” Daryl squeezed down tightly with his right hand, eliciting a shuddering gasp from the other man. “Could be a very handy little read.” He held his hand against the growth in the front of his partner’s jeans. He lingered there for a moment longer before returning his hands and eyes to the road. Daryl noted his own arousal and he could sense the similar burning to his right as Rick tugged awkwardly at his pants, crossing his legs to absolve the evidence.

“Just drive, you idiot.” Said with a whisper and a smirk. A shiver ran through Daryl’s spine and for once it was not from his growing fever. He smirked and did what he was told. 

—

“Daryl Joe Dixon?”

“Ndo.”

“Daryl uhh…Julian?”

“Definitely ndo.”

“David?”

“Ndope. Three guesses are up kndife girl.”

The next hour of driving returned to the new normal of concentrated silence. Any reprieve that Daryl felt before was cleared out with a wave of fresh congestion and a deep set shiver beneath an ailing, sweaty body. Every ten or so minutes, a wave of sneezes would sneak out like clockwork. The fits had shifted from harsh and sudden, to drawn out with an exhausted edge to them. Every now and again a tickle would come on suddenly, only to dissipate in an instance, leaving the hunter frustrated and bleary eyed. He pulled his coat sleeves up and down every few minutes as he flipped between scorching and freezing. The fluid filling his lungs occupied a panicky space in his mind that he was forced to push down. You weak piece of shit. Shuddering away the thoughts of his father, or maybe Merle, he focused his wavering energy back on the road, willing himself to just. Keep. Going. Apart from the ancient motor, the only sounds to penetrate the space were the scribblings of a pen to paper in the back seat, Daryl’s persistent sniffling and Rick’s powerful jaw clenching with frustration. The latter wracked the driver with guilt. An unwelcome friend. As anxiety coursed through him, he instinctively started biting the skin off his thumb, flinching slightly as teeth made forceful contact with raw flesh. Glancing down, he watched crimson blood flooding his nail bed, the rest of his fingers appearing much the same. He sucked the metallic liquid from his thumb, vowing to find a better coping strategy. 

A complex glance from Rick in the passenger seat caused Daryl to inhale sharply, launching him into a coughing fit that greatly threatened his composure. Between wheezy gasps for air, a palm of support landed on his leg which upset him in ways he couldn’t comprehend, so he slapped it away. He flip flopped between irate tears and a distressed lack of control. He loathed being out of control. Searching for something, anything to take away his torment, he habitually reached for a pack of cigarettes that had residence in his vest pocket. Placing one between his lips he fumbled for the lighter that was somewhere in his jeans. 

“You fuckin’ serious right now, Daryl?” Rick's voice crossed the threshold of silence first, casting an icy, seething glare towards his pathetic boyfriend.

“What!?” Daryl responded, finally putting his hands on a lighter. Just about to bring the fire to his lips, a thumb and a finger grabbed the cigarette and yanked it from the hunter’s mouth. What transpired next happened in a feverish slow motion scene. Rick held up the dart between his fingers and gave Daryl a look of rampant rage, before winding down his window and casting it aside to be carried away by wind and rain. 

The intense rush of emotion that surged through Daryl was too intense to identify. He was primal. With a swift turn of the wheel, he pulled off the road and parked the vehicle, turning to face the Deputy. He could’ve sworn he started growling at the other man, but Rick didn't let go of his resolve either. The rugged duo were locked in a tumultuous tête a tête. Finally, unable to articulate words without physical aid, Daryl opened the car door and sprinted towards the dense forest, slamming the door to the jeep behind him. He didn’t bother to grab his crossbow, or to look back or even think. He just needed to get away, to be alone. He was always better alone.

‘

“Well that was stupid.” Carl finally said after what felt like a year of unvoiced thoughts and tension.

“Yeah. I can’t believe he just-”

“No. It was stupid of you dad.”

—

Daryl sprinted through the overgrowth as fast as his ailing body would allow, much like a wounded animal escaping from a predator. The frigid wind and rain whipped across his face like tiny daggers, further dampening his clothing and his spirits. As his legs started slowing down, the hunter's mind was inundated with immense shame, tears threatening to pour out at any moment. He had felt like a watched pot of water all morning, finally boiling over when the scrutiny grew to an all-enveloping climax. He was desperately exhausted and couldn’t fathom trying to keep up his rapidly declining facade, he was literally a walking misery. Regret swelled through him. They could’ve postponed the trip. He could’ve stayed behind. Glenn could’ve taken his place. But Daryl wasn’t stupid, he knew who he was and he knew that he needed to do this. Still. He was acting like a pure jerk, facing a pinnacle of penance for his worse-than-normal stubbornness. 

On the brink of collapse, he jogged into a small clearing and steadied himself with an arm against a sturdy tree. He coughed violently and brazenly, rivers of stubborn mucus making their way out of his chest cavity with every diaphragmatic convulsion. This is what drowning felt like. When the fit was over, Daryl made the mistake of swallowing the viscous slime that filled his mouth and was hit with a sudden surge of intense nausea. With one hand bracing against the tree, and the other clutching his middle, Daryl grimaced at the sickly saliva filling  his oral space. He lurched forward and began to retch. With nothing in his system but a few bites of toast, there was nothing to come up but hot bile that bubbled like a volcano, fresh out of dormancy. When he was finished, he spat the remaining saliva to the ground and wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist, feeling thoroughly putrid. 

Collapsing to the damp ground with a thud, he leant up against the tree, shutting his eyes tight to escape the forest around him that had begun to spin like a bottle of whiskey. Now that he was finally alone and feeling exhaustively sorry for himself, Daryl yielded to his pent up emotions and started crying. The events of the last few hours played over and over in his febrile brain, the shame and guilt forcing choked sobs out of the hunters throat. He couldn’t remember the last time he had wept so openly. ‘Probably Merle.’ Not much time had passed since the Governor murdered his confounding brother, forcing the younger Dixon to put down the walker version of him. The event had traumatised him, but in classic Daryl fashion, he pushed it down, not having time or the knowledge of how to process the complex grief. Shoulders heaved and teeth chattered in the cold. He knew he should get up, go back and apologise or something. But the sick man just sat there frozen, eyelids clamped together, breathing rapidly through his mouth.

And then something changed. A subtle shift of environment. There were no sounds, nothing threatening enough to regain vision for, but a tangible presence flittered past Daryl, and he held his breath.

““Well, look-ee here little brother! Got yourself another case of the sniffles?”” The tinny voice of Daryl’s older brother permeated through his ears, causing him to choke on inhale. 

‘This isn’t real. He’s. Not. Here.’

“”What’s wrong buddy? Cat got yer tongue?”” Merle cackled humorlessly. “”Y’always were a pathetic, snotty little shit!””

“This…this ain’t real Mberle. You’re dead.” 

“”And you know aaaallllll about that, dontcha?”” The uncanny presence became very close to the younger Dixon boy, casting a shadow across blind eyes as it looked down on the afflicted one. Daryl forced one eyelid open, to avoid another round of vertigo. Before him was indeed the eerie face of his older brother. Panic set in and Daryl began to doubt his fragile sanity.

“It were the Governor! He turned you indto…indto one of themb!” The sick hunter tripped on his words and tried to shake the otherworldly mirage away. It, he stayed put.

“”Yeh, and ya cried like a dumb baby then too.”” Merle hit a soft spot and Daryl started shaking. “”What’s wrong princess? Officer Friendly finally come to ‘is senses and kicked you out? Surprised it took this long. They don’t care about ya, Daryl! Nobody does now…””

“Shut the fuck up Mberle! They’re good people. The best thang Rick ever did was leaving ya’ up on that roof to rot!” Daryl spat in the older man’s face, drawing a patronising laugh in return. 

“”Fine, you keep tellin’ yerself that little brother.”” The gruff man started to walk away, before finding another reason to tear the hunter down. “”Oh yeah, when were ya’ gunna tell me you and Deputy Rick Grimes had gone all Brokeback Mountain? Never picked that one as a fudge-packer!”” He chortled at his own offensive joke, only stopping when an enraged growl escaped from the shivering man at the base of the tree. “”You though? I always pegged ya as a pussy lil’ faggot!”

“You fucgkin’ sond of a bitch!” Daryl's voice broke and made to lunge at his older brother, only to be pushed back down by a heavy boot on his chest. Tears escaped down his ruddy cheeks. ‘This cannot be happening.’

“”Hee hee! There’ya go again with the blubbering ya fuckin’ sissy! I thought dad would’ve beat that crap out of ya.”” The shadow of Merle took his foot from the middle of his brother's chest and stared violently down at him, ready to spew out another onslaught of vicious words. “”You even love Officer Friendly? Or is he just another distraction from yer miserable little life?””

“Fucgk! ‘Course I do!” He spat back, too upset to wipe the tears and snot that were pooling at the bottom of his chin.

“”Why aint ya said it yet ya measly shit-stain?”” 

It was a reasonable question from Daryl’s psyche. Why? Why couldn’t he just say the words that were unwavering true to the deepest recesses of his soul? He loved Rick Grimes more than he ever thought possible. He did. He did. He fucking did. Why couldn’t he just grow a pair and fucking say it? He tried to convince himself that Rick hadn’t either. But he had. One night several weeks ago, Daryl lay upon his partner’s bare chest on the verge of sleep, when a small voice whispered ‘I love you.” He could’ve said it back. He could’ve kissed the man in a show of reciprocated feeling. But he feigned slumber, visceral shame penetrating his heart. If he finally spoke the words out loud they would be real, and leave the hunter open to the inevitable: ‘everyone fucking leaves anyway.’ Daryl Dixon wanted to shower his partner with affirmations of devotion and affection, but it was impossible when he deeply believed he was not worthy of such euphoria.

Salty tears dripped to the ground as the sick man held a leaden head in his hands. Sniffling hard and trying to compose himself, he looked up to give Merle Dixon one last taste of his rage. But he was gone. A hallucination of fever that left as silently as it arrived. He felt like an idiot, sobbing loudly in the forest, arguing with a ghost of a brother long gone from the world. Almost about to succumb to another emotional tidal wave, a loud rustling from Daryl’s left brought him out of the emotional stupor. 

Sharp blue eyes narrowed as reality set in. The hunter reached for his gun and waited with cat-like readiness, ready to prove himself at any cost. 

[steamystories]

The Librarian: Part 1

Brandon has been harboring a secret librarian fantasy

 by horn pixy. Listen to the ► Podcast at Connected.

Brandon has been harboring a secret librarian fantasy for many years, but Emily was hardly his idea of a hot librarian. She was the type of women who came a side-serving of Complication. So why couldn't he stay away from her?

It was almost time for last call. Brandon wiped the sodden rag over the counter and put the empty glass the girl had just put down into the crate under the bar with the other dirty glasses.

“One more?” he asked. She nodded and took her wallet from her purse. He handed her the scotch on the rocks; her sixth or seventh one for the evening; and wondered how she managed to keep her balance on the high barstool.

Her eyes had that glazed look of somebody who had definitely had a few too many, but if he had not been the one to pour her drinks; all six or seven of them; he would not have guessed she was drunk. There was no characteristic slumping or wobbling or even raucous laughter. In fact, her ramrod straight posture and uncanny balance reminded him of a ballet teacher, especially with her hair scraped back into a bun like that. She was pretty enough, in a neat, mousy little way. It was impossible to hazard a guess at the figure under the bulky, shapeless coat she was wearing over goodness knew what. She was wearing glasses with a nice frame that actually suited her face in a non-descript kind of way. Brandon had never seen such a dignified drunk in his life. She had better manners drunk than most people had when they were stone cold sober and sitting their grandmother’s sitting rooms.

“Thank you,” she said politely when she accepted her change and slipped half of it into the tip-jar, as she had been doing all evening. He kept an eye on her as he started straightening bottles on the shelf behind him, wondering about her story.

Brandon loved his job. He owned several bars and still spent an evening now and then behind the counter. After serving drinks for three years across the globe when he was fresh out of high school, he enjoyed the occasional trip down memory lane. It fascinated him to see how alike people were, no matter where they lived. Broken hearts healed just as slowly in Hawaii as they did in Australia, and flirting was a universal art that did not differ too much from one place to another. He loved watching the games, the intrigues, the emotions, as people relaxed around him. He’d seen it all; the break-ups and the make-ups, the hopeful souls scouring the bar for the love of their lives; or at least the lay of the night. He’d seen people drink to forget, or to try to keep memories alive. He’d seen them drink because there was nothing else to do, or because they couldn’t do anything else. He’d seen the lonely girls go home with the wrong men and knew they’d wake up the next morning with alcohol on their breath and regret in their hearts. He’d seen women play fast and loose, and the men who managed to escape their clutches. He’d seen the best and the worst of people, but he thought he’d never quite seen anything like the girl sitting there in a dull brown coat, finishing one drink after another without toppling over or falling into somebody’s lap on her way to the bathroom. She was fresh and new, and it intrigued him.

The bar was rather empty in comparison to most Friday nights. But to be fair, it was the middle of the month and there was a blizzard raging on outside. He was closing up earlier than usual to give the staff and the customers the chance to get home before it got worse. The neat lady; there was other way to describe her; was one of the diehards, but since she was hardly causing a scene, he didn’t ask her to leave just yet while they were cleaning up.

Finally they were done, and he had to ask her to leave. She blinked owlishly at him from behind her glasses. “Excuse me?” she asked, as if she had not heard him the first time. He leaned closer and thought he caught a whiff of something clean and fresh under the ripe smell of alcohol and closed-up people that hung over the room. “It’s closing time,” he repeated. “We’re going to lock up.” “Oh,” she said, frowning slightly as her impaired brain tried to sort out his words. “Right,” she said finally. “Well, I’ll just go then, won’t I?” “Can I call you a cab?” he asked, because she still had not moved from her seat. He waved a hand at the two waiters and the other barman, indicating that he would lock up and they could go home. She looked at him, her eyes still slightly unfocused. “To take you home,” he explained. “You shouldn’t drive.” “Did I come with a car?” she asked, bewildered. “I hope not. I don’t own a car. Did I steal one?” He grinned. This was fun. Normally drunk people just annoyed him a bit, but this girl struck a chord somewhere in his chest he’d never known to exist. “Not that I know of,” he said. “How did you get here?” “I must have walked,” she said, puzzled. “From work. Fancy that.” “What work do you do?” he asked as Rod, one of the waiters, closed the door behind the other staff members. “I’m a libal; librali; a li bra rian,” she said, looking quite pleased with herself for managing the word. Fancy that indeed, he thought, his mind going into immediate overdrive at the mention of her career. Like many, many men, he harbored a secret Librarian Fantasy. Even the way she broke it up into syllables didn’t diminish the thoughts running though his head.

The job suited her perfectly, he thought. She was cut out for the silence and air of wisdom and propriety that hung around the books like dusty clouds. He imagined being scolded by her for being too loud and grinned.

“Where do you live?” he wanted to know. He would help her home, call her a cab, and forget about her. She was not the type of librarian he fantasized about; she had glasses, but they were the wrong kind, and even though her hair was scraped back out of her face, there was nothing sexy about it. She wasn't wearing nearly enough make-up and not at all the right kind of clothes, either. She was just a girl, hiding behind stacks of books. Her fingers were unadorned, and he guessed her to be single. She probably had four or five cats and a vibrator named Bob hidden in her nightstand that she rarely used because it made her feel guilty.

“Up the street, I think,” she said, pointing vaguely with her fingers. “That way. You have pretty eyes.” He lifted an amused brow. ‘That way’ would take him to the kitchen and eventually, an alleyway behind the building. “How about an address?” he asked. “To give to the cab-driver.” He grabbed a paper napkin and a pen. She wrote slowly, carefully, her handwriting still managing to be neater than his illegible scrawl. “You don’t live far from me,” he said, lying smoothly. “Just one block south, to be precise. Would you like a lift home?” “Never get in the car with strangers,” she said firmly. “A cab driver is also a stranger,” he pointed out. “Not the same thing.” “Nope. But on second thought, I’m not sure you’ll find a cab in this weather.” “That’s right,” she said, smiling broadly for the first time. The expression transformed her face from plain to pretty. Her innocence amused and tickled him. “It’s snowing. Like a White Christmas.” He couldn’t help it. He grinned; it was January. She wasn't just drunk, she was completely sloshed. But still amazingly stable and logical.

“Let’s get you home,” he said, coming around the bar to help her from the stool. This was not something he ever did. He owned the bars; how the patrons got home was their problem, not his. But he couldn’t just leave this girl to her own devices, not unless he wanted the next time he heard about her to be her name in an obituary. She’d probably fall asleep in the cold right outside his bar and die. It would cause all sorts of unwanted paperwork and police questions.

She didn’t even need his help standing up. The liquor, it seemed, had not affected her balance one bit. Still, he kept a hand on her back to steer her. He locked up behind them while she stood looking at him through her wide, trusting eyes. “You’re really tall,” she said. “I wish I was taller.” “You’re the perfect height,” he said. “See? My arm fits right round your shoulders. You’re like a portable armrest.” She didn’t giggle at that, and he wondered of she’d heard him. It was a pretty lame joke, but in his experience, drunk people will laugh at anything. “I wish I was hot,” she said. “Like you. But not like you. Like a girl. Then maybe I could have sex.” He coughed, choking on his breath, the way some people trip over their own feet. “What?” he asked when he finally had the air back in the right pipes. “I wish I was prettier,” she said matter-of-factly. “I’m not being pessimistic, really. I just; well, no use crying for the moon, is there?” “You are pretty,” he said automatically. She sighed. “I’m not. But thank you for pretending, anyway. Oh, my goodness, it’s cold.” He had just opened the back door and yes, it was cold indeed. The wind was blowing sheets of snow into their faces and heaping it against the side of the building. He steered her with one hand in the direction of his car, which was parked under the staff-members-only roof.

He cranked up the heater and took the drive slowly and carefully. The cold was making her drowsy, and he could see her head drooping slightly. No doubt the drinks were finally taking effect. “I take it you don’t drink often?” he said. “Nope,” she said, pulling the edges of her rather ugly coat closer around her. “I’ve never been drunk before.” Until tonight, he thought, but he waited for her to continue on her own. After a few seconds, she did. “I’m sort of a virgin,” she said.” By choice. But it’s not my choice.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Technically I’m no longer one. But I’ve never been with a man, you know?” Well, he certainly knew now. But his years as a barman had taught him when to listen and when to talk. So he kept quiet.

“Well, anyway, I always thought it was because I’m too shy. Men don’t like that, right?” “Some do,” he said, because what else could he say? “Liar,” she said fondly. “Nobody wants to be with somebody who’s ashamed of themselves. I know I wouldn’t like that in a man, so I can hardly expect any man to show interest in me. That’s why I went out tonight,” she added after a few seconds. “Too see if drinking helps me get loose. Turns out I’m even boring when I’m drunk.”

“You’re not boring,” he said firmly. “You just need to learn how to fake it. Everybody is secretly self-conscious. Some just hide it better that others. You need to find a way to pretend. If you can convince yourself, you know other people will believe it.” “I don’t think I’d know how,” she said. “I’m no good at acting or pretending or lying. I can’t even lie to telephone sales people. “ “I’ll help you,” he said impulsively. “I’ll show you how to fake it.” “Really?” “Sure. When you’re sober. Anything I teach you now will be wasted.” “Like me,” she sighed. “I’m wasted, and all I want to do is go to bed. That’s my building up there.’ “That’s a gas station,” he said with a grin. “Oh.” She frowned. “Then it’s not my building, is it?” “I sincerely hope not.”

They found her building eventually, tucked away between a tall, scary-looking block of flats and a three-story bridal boutique. He helped her out of the car and up the steps. It took her three times to key the right series of numbers into the keypad so the door would open. Finally, she recited them to him to read it in.

“Thank you,” she said awkwardly. “For the lift, and the ear.” He grinned. “No problem,” he said. “Hey, what’s your name?” “Emily,” she said. Emily. It suited her perfectly, as if her parents had had a glimpse of her in the future when they named her. She looked like an Emily more than anybody else he’d ever met. “I’m Brandon,” he said. “Can I pick you up tomorrow around noon for your first lesson?” “Lesson?” “In faking it.” It occurred to him then that ‘faking it’ might refer to something else as well, but he always made damn sure a girl does not need to fake it when she’s with him. Not that he planned to have sex with her. This girl’s second name was Complication. It would be cruel to pluck her cherry and then be off on his merry way. She was not the type to come; and then go. “Okay. Wanna come up?”

He considered saying no, but realized she might need help to get into her apartment. It seemed her brain had simply been behind on its reaction, and she was finally in the clumsy imbalance phase of drunkenness. She might get hurt, or lost, or wind up asleep on a hallway chair somewhere. “Sure,”’ he said.

It was three interesting flights of stairs. She only almost-fell seven times, even with his arm around her waist. She was still incessantly polite, apologizing profusely and telling him how pretty he was. Yeah, because that’s what every guy secretly wants to be. Pretty.

He had to take her keys and unlock the door himself. She was toppling over and had to hold onto the wall with both hands to keep from introducing her ass to the ground. It was a good thing she was wearing sensible flats rather than sexy heels, and he had to be the first guy ever to have that particular thought. “There we go,” he said when he finally got the door open. She would need to get a locksmith to take a look at the thing; the key had stuck a bit, as if the mechanism inside was rusty.

Her house surprised him. He had unconsciously expected it to be decorated like something from the Victorian Era; Chintz and flowers, frilly and stuffy. Chokingly girly. It wasn’t. Oh, it was undeniable a female place, but it was feminine rather than girlish. The door opened into the sitting room, which had a sage green couch with big white pillows and lampshades. The lavender curtains had been drawn against the cold air and what was probably a dreary scene outside. The art against the walls was lovely; no modern skyscrapers with red splashes to indicate blood and lust, or wriggling shapes than reminded him of female sex organs during ovulation.

A small little galley kitchen on the right showed no dirty dishes in the sink, and a gleaming espresso machine on the countertop next to an equally gleaming microwave. He half-carried, half-dragged her to the only other door, guessing it to be the bedroom.

It was, and here was more proof of neat, uncluttered taste. The room was tiny, with built-in cupboards and barely enough space to walk around the bed to the bathroom on the other side. “You gonna kiss me now?” she asked when he helped her onto the bed and slid a pillow under her head. “Sure, thing, honey,” he said as he switched on the bedside lamp so he could turn off the harsh overhead fixture. “In a minute, okay? You just wait right there.” He made sure she wasn’t too close to the edge to roll off and brought her a glass of water from the kitchen. He found Advils in her bathroom cabinet, along with some make-up and an unopened packet of condoms. Pity stirred his heart. She was well and truly lonely, wasn't she? All cosseted in her small little apartment, hiding behind books and pretty paintings. So far he hadn’t seen any sign of a cat, but maybe the building didn’t allow pets.

He found a heater and turned it up. She was lying suspiciously still on her side, one arm flung out to the side. He tucked it into a more comfortable position. It was the desire to get her comfortable as much as curiosity that made him wait until she was deeply asleep, or, more likely, passed out, before he pulled her coat off to reveal her body.

She was small, and firm, and the only word he could think of to describe her was neat. She was utterly non-descript. She had tits, but they were just there, situated on her chest much in the way a nose is situated more or less in the middle of a face. He doubted he’d notice them if he saw her in the line at the grocery store other than for the obvious reason; they were female tits, and therefore bound to be noticed, even if they did not get a second look. They were completely average tits. He couldn’t see much, as she was wearing a creamy beige sweater that had clearly been bought with an eye on heat rather than hotness, and brown slacks that sat loose around her legs and revealed nothing about what her body looked like. He shook his head as he slipped her shoes from her feet and considered doing her another favor and tossing them in the trash. They were butt-fuck-ugly. He hated sensible shoes on a woman.

He pulled the quilt over her body and since he had some experience with drunk people, found a plastic bucket in her kitchen to put next to her bed. She seemed to have missed the psychedelic-yawn, porcelain-god-worshipping part of the evening, but judging by the fact that her body seemed to have its own ideas of how to react to alcohol, he wasn't taking anything for granted. She would hate herself if she woke up in the morning, only to find she’d puked all over her pretty, plush white carpet. Who bought white carpets anyway? Wasn't that like a direct invite to Karma and Murphy and all those other sadistic creatures who makes people spill coffee just after they get dressed in a new shirt, or back their car into a lamp pole the first time they take it out for a drive?

He left a piece of paper with the instructions to drink the tablets and the water next to the glass and went back downstairs, only to tread back up when he couldn’t find his keys in his pocket. It wasn’t in the living room either, nor anywhere else in her house that he could find. He went as far as opening her underwear drawer (he really was desperate, after all,) and was not too surprised that they weren’t there. He was pleasantly surprised, however, that the librarian lady had quite good taste in underwear. He didn’t touch any of the pretty lace and satin snips of fabric, but he could imagine them on her easily enough, and it made for a pretty image.

He finally located his keys; sitting in the ignition of his car, the doors firmly locked against him. “Son of a bitch!” he said, slamming a frustrated hand onto the snow-covered roof. “Dammit!” He took his phone from his pocket and tried to call a cab company to come get him and take him home to get his spare key, but just as he got an operator his phone made a cheerful beep just before the battery died. He considered throwing the piece of shit into the nearest heap of snow, but figured that would be counterproductive. He was stuck, and he’d be dammed if he was going to wait for the sun to rise outside on the streets, looking at a locked car.

He trudged back upstairs, grateful that he hadn’t been able to lock the door behind him and made himself at least semi-comfortable on Emily’s couch, and closed his eyes. By any luck he would be awake and gone long before Miss Emily found the courage to leave her bed. And when he left, he would stay gone. She probably won’t remember the impulsive promise he had made to help her get confidence, so she won’t be upset when he doesn’t show up. He already regretted the invitation; Emily the librarian was not the type of girl he needed to spend time with. She was too shy; she said so herself; and she dressed atrociously. Except for her underwear, of course. She was plain, bordering on dowdy, a self-proclaimed virgin, (whatever she had meant by technically) and she had you’re-going-to-break-my-heart written all over her.

She was a librarian, for goodness sake. That was a species of women best suited to the porn industry, where they wore impractical high-heeled pumps and button down shirts with sexy glasses and tight skirts. If you put Emily in an outfit like that she would; well, she would look hot, to be honest. Almost any woman would look awesome, dressed like that. He imagined it easily, right down to the stern look she was giving him for putting a book in the wrong shelf. “It belongs in the back,” she would say and motion for him to follow her so she could show him where to put it. He would wait for the right moment to pin her against the shelves and kiss the living daylights out of her while his hands explored her hot and eager curves. She would slide one leg around his waist and grind against him seductively;

Brandon came to his senses with a jolt, his hand around his cock. He groaned. This was ridiculous. He was sporting a hard-on for the most wood-uninspiring girl he’s ever met. She was shy and plain and, frankly, her life was a little pathetic. She had to be at least twenty-six and she’d never had sex? What was he even doing in her house, other than trying to beat one out? He swore and closed his eyes, trying to get comfortable and wishing he had a blanket. This was what he got for playing the Good Samaritan.

Emily could feel the light all the way down to her queasy stomach, and it burned the whole way down. “Oh,” she moaned and wondered, briefly, if a freight train or a passenger one had hit her. The question seemed important, somehow. Her head felt like the maze of a Pac-Man game. Something was running around inside there and eating bits of grey-matter. She tried to squint through the smallest of slits she could make with eyelids; straight into the light of her bedside lamp. She could hear her corneas go up in flames. She whimpered and turned her face into her pillow to hide from it. She regretted waking up with every fiber of her being. The longer she was awake, the more issues were brought under her attention by her irate body. Her mouth tasted like something she would gag at if she were to smell it on her way to wok. Her body was sore, and she was nauseous. The most pressing problem, however, was her bladder, which was screaming for attention. She eased her legs over the side of her bed carefully, surprised to find herself in her wrinkled angora sweater and slacks of the previous day. At least she’d had the sense to kick off her shoes the previous evening before she got in bed.

Her eyes fell on the bright red bucket sitting next to her bed. It was the one she used when she washed floors or windows, and it belonged in her kitchen on top of the cupboard that holds other cleaning supplies. What was it doing next to her bed? The next second she grabbed for it as her stomach revolted against the switch from horizontal to vertical. She was sick; violently and tear-inducingly sick. When it was over she sat there, sweating and just trying to get her breath. Another wave hit her and she was infinitely grateful for the bucket, though she still had no idea how it got there.

Finally it seemed to be over for real. She made her way cautiously to her bathroom and emptied the bucket in the toilet with a grimace. She would clean it later. No, she would throw it out. Nobody needed a reminder like that sitting in their kitchen.

She flushed the toilet before she unbuckled her slacks and sat down, relief spreading over her body like a flush. Eventually she realized she couldn’t hide on her toilet forever and she got up. She just looked at herself in the mirror. Was that her? That rumpled, bleary-eyed stranger who’s make-up had smeared and whose hair; well, to be honest, the ruthless bun she’d tied her hair in had held pretty well. It still looked reasonably neat, in comparison to the rest of her. But her skin was white, her eyes red. There were pillow-creases on her check and she smelled like; No. There was no words to describe the odors wafting around her. But it was foul and she might need to burn her clothes.

She pulled it off, stepped into the shower and closed the curtain. The next second she screamed when the icy water hit her skin and she realized too late that she should have waited a minute for the hot water to reach the pipes. It cleared her head instantly, however, and she forced herself to stand there while it warmed. That’s when she heard her bathroom door swing open, and an unfamiliar voice say, “What the hell?” Oh, dear heavens! There was a man in her apartment.

Brandon could see vague movements behind the translucent curtain; he truly hated those things; but nothing else. He’d woken up to the cheerful sounds of somebody throwing up and considered leaving before she emerged. But he would still be stranded until he could get home for his spare key, and he knew the lady would probably have a few questions regarding the previous evening. It seemed cruel now to leave her to her own speculations. And then she’d screamed and although he knew there was probably no crazy axe-murderer in her bathroom, he did feel some concern. Or, at the very least, the desire to be spectator to her humiliation. The uncharacteristic bout of pettiness was undoubtedly brought upon by the crick in his neck after spending the night on a couch that was too short for his frame. Why didn’t women invest in man-sized leather couches or lazy-boys with cup-holders?

“Who‘s there?” she asked, and he could hear the shiver in her voice. Was it fear or cold? “Me,” he said, wanting to punish her; just a little; for the worst night of his life. Not that it was entirely her fault. He had decided to help her home all on his own, after all. But the punishment her couch had meted out had neutralized his part in this little clusterfuck. That, and the raging case of blue balls he was suffering from even now. Though, to be fair, there was no way in which he could hold her responsible for that. “I,” she said. “What?” Brandon asked, confused. “You mean I. Not me. Grammatically speaking…” “You’re giving me a grammar lesson?” he asked, astounded. “You’re naked in the shower and there’s a stranger outside who could, for all intent and purposes, have a chainsaw or an electric appliance, and you’re pointing out grammatical errors?” There was a moment of silence, during which he could only hear the sound of running water. “Do you have a chainsaw or an electric appliance?” she asked after a few seconds. Steam was rising and she sighed in pleasure. The sound shot straight downstairs. He winced. “No,” he admitted. “Well, then,” she said as if that explained everything. “I assume we met last night?” “Sort of.” “Did we…” There was trepidation in her voice now. “Did we have sex?” He grinned. There was no way he was passing up this opportunity. “Baby, you rocked my world,” he said. “Twice. Where’d you learn to do that thing with your tongue?” “What thing?” “That thing where you; Oh never mind, I’ll show you later. Mind if I join you?” He jiggled his belt, making it sound as if he was pulling off his pants. “No!” she said quickly. “I’m naked!” “That’s the idea,’ he said. “Naked and wet. Just the way I like you best. Just like last night. Man! You were wet.”

He thought he heard her whimper something about deities unknown. “Want me to go make coffee instead?” he asked, taking pity on her. “Yes,” she seized the opportunity. “Please. Coffee. Why don’t you take yours to go?” She was kicking him out? After everything he’d done for her the previous evening? “Now that’s no way to talk to your new husband,” he said reprovingly. He could hear her shock in the very silence. “My what?” “Don’t you remember?” Oh, he was enjoying this. “My what?” “After we met up at the bar, we went to a judge I know and got a special license. He married us. He’s a good guy, Judge Henderson. Owed me a favor after I got rid of a little problem for him a year ago.” “Please leave,” she begged, close to tears, if her voice was anything to go by. “Now, honeybun, I told you last night the garbage disposal company I work for doesn’t work over weekends. Where would I go?” She moaned, a pitiful sound that made him feel slightly guilty. There was a movement behind the curtain and then her head poked out. She was holding the curtain prudishly high to hide the rest of her. “Please tell me you’re joking,” she pleaded.

He let his silence speak for itself, while he took her in. Her eyes were bloodshot, but that didn’t do much to distract from their beauty. Had he ever seen such big blue eyes outside the porcelain-doll industry? Why hadn’t he noticed that before? He was standing close enough that he could see the water clinging against her long lashes. Her nose was fine with the cutest tilt, and her skin, though still slightly sallow from the previous evening, was perfect and unblemished. He was stunned. She was beautiful. How the hell had he missed that? “This can’t be happening,” she said.

His thoughts exactly. He could not be noticing her beauty now. It was just his libido talking. He’d spent a restless evening tossing around coldly on her couch, getting images of her all mixed up with his librarian fantasies. That’s what this was. His cock was desperate to convince him he was attracted to her so he would make his move. And she would fall for it, no doubt about that. She was inexperienced and, by her own admission, desperate. If he turned on the charm, he would have her under him before the end of the day. But he wasn't that kind of a guy. The guy who sleep with girls and leave them when they bore him. And bore him she inevitably would. She was too quiet, too shy, too damn librarian-ish to hold his attention for longer than it took him to come. He preferred women with fiery personalities and lots of experience in pleasuring her lover in bed. Emily would probably faint dead the first time she saw him naked. And try to be prim and proper, and not want him to go down on her. Sex with her would have to be after dark, a quick, awkward coupling under the covers. She wouldn’t want to do any of the things he liked; no blowjobs, no cunnilingus. Definitely no role-play. It would be utterly unfulfilling.

So why wouldn’t his cock stop trying to make happy-happy with her? “Don’t worry,’ he said, finally annoyed by himself and his thoughts and feelings. “It’s not. I’ll go make coffee. I’ll even leave if you want me to.” She looked at him, blinking those big eyes of hers. “No,” she said. “Stay. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

She brushed her teeth and even her tongue for what felt like hours to no avail. The taste of her humiliation sat as if the enamel on her teeth had absorbed it. She felt as if she was chewing on moss as far as she went. She twisted the towel around her head and drank the Advils next to her bed. Bits and pieces of the previous evening was filtering down to her. She had been at the library and Mrs. Gunnings; bless her heart; had been talking about how Emily needed to find a nice young man to take care of her. Of how nice it was to go home and not spend the evening alone. Of how nice it was to go out and hold somebody’s hand in public. Of the lovely man who’d swept her daughter right of her feet and now they were married with a little baby and how happy they were; she’d talked and talked until Emily was so depressed with her own lonely little life that she decided to stop for a drink, rather than face her empty apartment. As she sat there, she kept thinking of ways to meet somebody; clearly, her job was no help; and the thought had somehow taken root that people met other people in bars. When they were drunk. So she’d ordered one drink after another, hoping she would magically become sexy and; and pretty and desirable. And somebody would magically notice her and fall magically in love with her and they would magically live happily ever after.

To be continued, by horn pixy.

[1-deadgirlwalking-1]

11/3/2024

MY SCHOOL KEEPS HAVING EVENTS TO GO TO THE AQUARIUM BUT IT’S ALWAYS EVERY SINGLE TIME AT THE EXACT SAME AQUARIUM THAT IS 3 HOURS AWAY, I WANNA GOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!1!!1! PICK A DIFFERENT ONE THAT IS CLOSER TO ME FOR ONCE, THERE ARE A DOZEN AQUARIUMS IN OUR STATE. GOSH. I CANNOT DRIVE SIX HOURS FOR A SINGLE DAY ONE EVENT TRIP!!!!!! let me see the FISHIES !!!!!!

but anyway, as a recap:

The friend I said blocked me because I scared him away had actually done so because he got with an abusive girl who forced him to block literally everyone, including MY MOM. MY MOTHER. After he broke up with her he unblocked me and explained the situation and now we’re back to being #besties forever again. I got in a QPR with the friend who’s play I went to and then we “broke up” (I said I wasn’t comfortable with dating anymore and expressed that I didn’t want it to change our relationship, which they said it wouldn’t. Real SHOCKER that didn’t happen. Though I don’t believe they are “in the wrong” for this, they can’t control their feelings.) and now we aren’t talking much anymore. BUT I’ve been texting this SUPER cool person I met a year ago and got to speak to again at their joint birthday party. They’re so awesome and I wanna be bestest friends but it’s difficult cause they live so far awayyyy. ):

And now currently:

I’m tired. I’ve gotten better, I’ve improved in the past few months. I’ve improved significantly even from the days when I was talking about how I’ve gotten so much better. I am constantly consistently improving whether or not I’m able to notice it at the time. I know this logically. But right now I’m in a depression. I had a manic episode a minute ago and now I am quite depressed. My sleep is whack, my eating is just as bad, my hygiene is getting worse. There was a point a little bit ago where I was consistently sleeping well and brushing my teeth daily, which was insane bcus I didn’t even think that was possible. But because I always let my bipolar get the best of me and refuse to medicate I’m back to the habits I’ve always had.

To show how I’ve felt, because I’m too tired to articulate it all over again, here’s a copy-paste of some messages I sent to my best friend on 10/22, 13 days ago:

“this morning mama made me come into her room to work on my schoolwork while i was tired and annoyed, cause i have two late assignments, and it made me wanna get worse to like “punish” her or something. (edgy.) like oh im not doing good enough? im not doing as well as i was earlier in the year? im doing everything wrong and you need to supervise me to make sure im actually working when i want to sleep because im tired and dont want to be alive? well what if i starved and starting hurting myself again fucking god just let me sleep i dont want to exist but i have to get up and get on my stupid eye bleeding computer because mama isnt “doing this with me anymore” and says i cant sleep all day and stay up all night and i need to get all of my schoolwork done every day. which i logically understand is because she cares about me and wants me to listen to her and doesnt want me to spiral and get in a terrible place but i feel like what is even the point.”

“why do i do anything whats the point of being alive i hate doing anything and everything except being with my friends and thats barely something i get to do. i just want to sleep forever nothing makes me really actually happy or content anymore. why am i even alive. im really depressed right now if you csnt tell i think im habing an episode”

“manic goes straight to depression sigh”

“i hate being bipolar im gonna fucking kill myself” (/nsrs)

I was improving about this mentally, feeling better again. But me and my mom had another chat about my parents possibly getting divorced, which is something we’ve had discussions about for a while. Just me and her. And I have known in my heart, that despite what she says; My father will most likely not get better or improve and she will divorce him one day, I just don’t know when that day is. And I’ve been content with that because I know if it did happen a lot would change but it would be for the best, and all I want is for my parents to be the happiest they can be, living the best lives they can. If my mother were to make that decision it’d be because it was the only choice to protect her safety health and wellbeing, she would never do something like that lightly. But when we were talking she said if they got divorced they’d have to sell the house and we’d most likely move into an apartment, which made me start crying because I wasn’t aware of that. I’d never thought of that. That they wouldn’t be able to afford it anymore.

And now because of that, I’m currently feeling like. What’s the point of anything. Why do I even exist. Why do I do the things that make me happy if I’m just going to lose it all tomorrow. What will I even have by then. I’m going to lose everything, I’m going to lose my parents marriage and my house and my entire livelihood. There’ll be no chance for me at that point, the only reason I’ve been improving is because I’ve been here in a safe comfortable place. The whole ordeal is going to ruin me. And it’s going to be all my fault because everything is always my fault.

I’m so tired. I just want. To sleep. It’s 1:03 AM. So I will.

[umbra-by-jacqui-natla]

Chapter Sixteen

"Who's starting first?" Carrie asked. "You talk first? I talk first?"

"I don't mind," Eddie replied. "You can go first if you like."

She sighed quietly, looking down.

"I mean, I heard you saying that your mom thought you were cancer," he said, recalling what she had said. "What do you mean?"

"My mom wanted to live a chaste life," Carrie replied sternly. "She and my dad desired to be like Mary and Joseph, as in they will neither know nor pollute each other's flesh."

"That sounds like two religious nut cases."

Carrie smirked sadly, rubbing her neck. "I guess you could say that. But then, one night, my dad was at a bar and came home drunk. My mom tried to get him to pray and then he... Well, that's when he..."

A wave of sadness crashed over Carrie. A sickly feeling crept up from the pit of her stomach. She hated telling someone how she was conceived let alone hearing it. Slowly, a horrid thought crept into Eddie's brain.

"He forced himself on her," he said with a bitter absolute.

Carrie glanced back at him. She had worked hard to get herself strong again.

(must not cry. must not cry. must not cry)

Yeah, don't know that. It's childish to cry.

"And she liked it," she managed to resume. "I don't understand why. I'll never know why. My dad died two months after that. Some construction accidents. That's what Estelle told me. I was born six months after his death."

"That sounds horrible, but how does this explain your mother thinking she had cancer?" Eddie asked.

"I honestly don't know," she replied. "All I just know was that she convinced herself that she was afflicted with 'cancer of the womanly parts'." Carrie used her two fingers on her hands to air-quote the last part. "She did try to kill me when I was born, but she couldn't. Then she tried again when I was three and failed."

It woke Eddie's anger. He couldn't believe that he heard. A mother hurting her child, even trying to kill her. Thankfully, he didn't have a mother like Carrie's. He didn't have a mother at all.

"It got worse when I came to school in the sixth grade," Carrie continued. "The state stopped my mom from homeschooling me. That was when the bullying happened. It was non-stop and a few teachers did join in. However, there was this group of girls that were the worse. They were Ultras."

"Ultras?"

"Ultra pretty, ultra-popular, ultra whatever." Carrie sighed, shaking her head.

Ultra bitches more like.

"And you weren't."

Yes, Captain Obvious.

Carrie remained silent, rubbing her brows. "Yeah, 'cause I'm exactly like them," she answered with a sharp tone sarcastically.

Eddie shrugged, rubbing his hands together.

"They were the worst. They constantly harassed me, pushing me, tripping me over, pushing stuff out of my hands. But there was this one incident that left me traumatized."

"What's that?" he inquired.

Carrie breathed slowly as if her chest began to feel heavy. Her blonde hair dropped down at her side, her face covered. Her head tilted up with her hand brushing her hair away from her face.

"It was in the girls' bathroom in school," she resumed, her voice quiet and toneless. "It was after gym class and I was taking a shower. And then, I... I was..."

Carrie's heart pumped as fast as galloping horses when the nightmare she had when she was bleeding flooded her mind. She remembered the way she felt alone in the dark while begging for help. She remembered feeling naked and vulnerable at that moment. She remembered Sue calling her a freak and pigface and pushing her away. She remembered the chanting from the girls.

(plug it up! plug it up! plug it up)

I'm glad they're all dead.

She did not know the meaning behind it. She didn't understand what was happening to her body. The laughing. She remembered the laughing. The throwing. They threw these things as if they were casting stones at her.

Carrie felt as if someone had stuffed a sock in her throat.

"What happened that day?" he questioned.

"I started... bleeding," she replied, feeling like she was choking; Eddie gaped at her, his muscles tensed. Was she hurt? Did she got stabbed? Did she got shot? Who did it? "I know it's a thing now but I didn't know at the time. I was screaming, screaming for help. And the Ultras threw sanitary stuff at me."

Eddie felt this odd mixed feeling of relief and awkwardness. Relief because she didn't get physically hurt. Awkward because of the circumstances. Carrie looked away from Eddie and slumped on the couch, crossing her arms across her chest. The more she talked about it, the smaller she made herself. Even though it had been nearly six years, her face still burned when she thought of the shower incident.

Then, a look of puzzlement crossed Eddie's face. "How old were you at... that moment?"

"Seventeen," she replied.

"That was your first one?"

Carrie nodded. "I didn't know what was happening to me. I thought I was dying. Of course, the school did contact my mom about it, and... she punished me for what happened."

"Woah, wait a minute," Eddie responded, shaking his head and rubbing his forehead. He leaned forward from the couch. "You were in a traumatic situation...well, you may consider it as one... and you were punished for it?"

"She kept telling me how I sinned as Eve did. How it was the Curse of Blood that came upon me."

"Curse of Blood?"

"That's what she called the menstrual cycle," she explained and then shook her head. "Don't ask me why she called it that. She would tell me that it was my fault it happened. And every time I did something she considered sinful, she would lock me in the closet."

Eddie's jaws tightened as he stared at Carrie. He couldn't believe she'd gone through something awful like that. And yet he understood her.

"I'm sorry that happened to you," he enunciated clearly and sympathetically.

Carrie had an expression of sad confusion on her face. She felt her heart twisted and her face contorted as though she was struggling not to cry.

(don't cry. don't cry. don't cry. don't cry)

Stop it. Stop it.

"So what led up to that night?" Eddie asked.

"I got invited to the Prom by Tommy Ross," she nearly choked out his name: the only boy in school who didn't treat her like shit, who invited her out to the prom for just one night. One night of being like everyone else.

She just wanted to stop talking. Why did she think it was a good idea? She wanted to end this and get Eddie out of there at that very moment, but not before four words ushered out of his mouth.

"Did you love him?"

Carrie felt that the whole world just froze when Eddie ushered his words. She never thought about this "relationship" with Tommy Ross until now; her face softened.

"There's no simple way to explain," she sighed. "Did it look like that?"

"Care to elaborate?"

Silence filled the room. Carrie thought about her response. Then, she finally got her answer, and it may not be a surprise. "I wasn't supposed to be the one. I wasn't supposed to go with him that night."

"Why do you say that?"

As ashamed as Carrie was to admit it, it was still the truth regardless and it needed to be said. "Because he was already in love with someone else. Still, it was like... I-I don't know how to explain it but... I could hear what he was thinking."

"Hear? Like how you hear my thoughts? Can you read everyone's mind?"

"Look, I've said enough! Listen, Eddie, I appreciate you actually listening to me but I don't see how this is supposed to help. Maybe I shouldn't have bothered letting you in."

Carrie stared at Eddie disapprovingly and got up from the couch. She headed for the door. She didn't have to say anything. She could see that this wasn't going to go through as well as she thought. She wanted to end this conversation once and for all.

"It happened in Seattle," Eddie said bluntly. "A year before the Black Prom."

That made Carrie stop dead in her tracks. She slowly turned her head around, looking at him in curiosity. She knew — from her high school days — that there were others like her, thanks to her research. Despite researching it, she couldn't find anyone with the same abilities as her. Given how inherited and potentially dangerous this ability felt to her, it was a fact she couldn't argue with whatsoever. Jumping to conclusions didn't feel all that wrong with Carrie but given the 'confirmation' she received seconds ago, it was unsure as to what she was to feel.

"It was worldwide, like with your story," he continued. "Two figures were flying across the sky at night. Vehicles were flying left and right. Buildings were collapsing one by one. People were running and screaming, trying to get out of there. The figures fought with each other, using the same gift as you as weapons, until one of them died."

Carrie listened more carefully as he kept on, curious about who this other telekinetic before her was. But there was one thing she knew for sure. "His gift became his curse."

"I'm saying that I didn't believe it at first. Like most people would. But it was Chamberlain that took the studies of telekinesis to a whole new level."

Carrie looked over at him. "How are you not tired of listening to me?"

"I was a journalist," he answered, adding a chuckle. "I got used to listening to people's stories for hours at a time."

"Speaking of which, what was your life like? As in your past?"

A gloom overcame Eddie. He felt a great sense of weariness sweep over him sucking my energy with it. "Where do I start?" His voice grew quiet.

"Whatever you feel comfortable with," Carrie replied softly. "And I'll listen as you did for me."

An air of melancholy surrounded him.

(there's nothing much to know about me)

(there is)

Did I just hear his voice?

Eddie glanced at her as if he just heard her voice. Carrie fidgeted her sleeves and looked at her hands, avoiding his eyes.

"My mother died after my birth," Eddie said, making Carrie look at him. "But when she died, that part of my father, that allowed him to care for another person, died too."

The words came out soft, but the tone was grim.

"I kinda was raised in a Christian household, not to your extent. Catholic."

Carrie's eyes stretched open, shocked. "I didn't think you would be raised in a religious house."

"You would be surprised how many people were raised like that," he sighed, releasing as much air as he could out. "Anyway, he became cruel and abusive towards me. And despite that, I had gotten the best education and the finest health care. But what I really needed was the one thing my father couldn't give: affection."

"Was there anything you did that made you feel guilty? Like when you were young?"

"I was just a dumb kid," he admitted sadly. "I didn't know any better, just out having fun. I should have been paying attention. I should have reacted."

"Eddie, no!"

"But by the time I saw what was happening, it was too late. I still hear my father in the distance, screaming. I still see it play out every time I close my eyes."

"EDDIE!"

"It's mostly clips. Like a slideshow. Blood. Metal. Screaming. I can still feel the weight of it wrapped around me."

"No... no... Eddie..."

"Can still taste the booze on my breath. The night I became a monster."

"Eddie, what have you done?"

"What happened?" Carrie asked.

"I stole that car from my dad," Eddie replied, his voice hoarse and his eyes watered. "Me and a few of my dirtbag buddies had gotten loaded and I was trying to get home before he noticed it was gone, but..." He placed his hands on his face, leaning forward, with elbows on his knees. "Miss Lewis, my next-door neighbor, wasn't home that night. Her little boy was out playing, out past his bedtime. And I..."

A great tremor overtook him. His throat tightened and he took a short breath in. A great sob escaped him, and he covered his face with shaking hands. "I didn't see him," a broken sob escaped from Eddie.

Carrie felt her heart broken for the crying man. She wrapped her arms around him. It was weird to hug him. She never hugged anyone before. The hug was too tight. Arms closed around him, squeezing him, pressing together, inch by inch. A prison he couldn't escape from. And yet, he felt that warmth from her. Something he rarely felt. He felt something he never received from his father.

"Eddie..." she whispered as he sobbed. "Did you... I mean...?"

"It... It took a long time... to declare me as innocent," Eddie said through his sobbing. "I got off eventually. Didn't even dent my permanent record. My dad paid off the family. And the lawyers. And the judge. And the hospital. Nearly went bankrupt in the process. He hated me since."

"Did Anne know?"

Eddie shook his head. "I never told her about this. She'll never know."

Pity.

She felt pity for the sad man. She still had her arms around Eddie. She didn't know how long and she didn't care. Eddie rubbed her arm with his right hand while mumbling something under his breath.

"What was that?" she asked.

"That's where I got the whole 'protecting the innocents' thing," he answered. "That'd be it. Innocents... Real innocents. Someone has to protect them from people like me."

"Do you think I'm innocent?" Carrie asked quietly.

"Do you believe that you are innocent?" Eddie whispered his question.

It became so quiet that the apartment was almost empty. A pure crystalline nothingness in the large room. The deafening sound that only they could hear. They stared into their eyes for what felt like hours to them. Until Eddie cleared his throat and rubbed his knees.

"I should get going." Eddie got up from the couch and headed for the door. "I'll see you around, Carrie."

"I could say the same," she replied with a nervous stare.

Eddie opened the door and left her apartment. Carrie stared blankly at the ceiling, taking in the conversation they had. And she realized one thing: this was the first full-length conversation she had with anyone.

(am I innocent?)

Maybe you are. Maybe you're not. Either way, we're monsters in their eyes.

Teenager Eddie Brock sat in the integration room with his father and the two lawyers. One had a round stomach while the other was lean. Eddie's head bowed down, his eyes closed and his arms folded on the steel table.

"Okay, Carl," the round-stomached lawyer said, his right hand on the table. "This is not great, I'll admit, but I know the judge and he obviously everyone knows you, so I'm fairly confident we can get this to go away."

The lawyer leaned forward to the boy. "Before we go any further, Eddie, how do you intend to plead tomorrow?"

"Guilty," Eddie replied meekly, guilt-ridden.

The lawyer glanced back at his father. "Carl, that's going to be tough to work with."

"Eddie," Carl said, his voice low, and walked to him. He crouched over him and he whispered. "Rethink that."

"Dad, I killed someone. I killed an innocent child." Eddie tried so hard to hold back his tears. "I deserve to be in—."

Carl rose his hand, aiming at his son's face. Eddie stopped speaking as he did so. Carl looked back at his lawyers.

"Gentlemen," he said darkly. "Give me the room with my son for a moment, please."

The two lawyers gave in to his offer and left the room. One of them closed the door behind them as they left. Carl placed his hand on Eddie's shoulder.

"You are going to walk into that courtroom tomorrow and you are going to plead not guilty," he told his son. "Is that clear, Edward?"

"Dad, I killed someone. An innocent child," Eddie choked out, tears streaming down his face. "I deserve to be punished."

Carl's hand shot up, poised to strike his son. Eddie flinched, but the blow never came. The lawyers quickly exited the room, leaving father and son alone.

"You will walk into that courtroom tomorrow and plead not guilty," Carl growled. "Is that clear, Edward?"

Eddie's tears continued to flow. "But, Dad, I am guilty."

Carl's fist connected with Eddie's face, causing his nose to bleed. "You are innocent," he barked. "Say it!"

Eddie's face was a mess of blood and tears. "I'm... innocent."

Carl sneered, patting his son's shoulder. "Attaboy, Eddie. You just keep practicing that."

Eddie sat there, broken and defeated, muttering the words over and over like a mantra. "I'm innocent. I'm innocent. I'm innocent."

Link to Chapter Seventeen

[queenshelby]

Oppenheimer (Part 24)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Age Gap

Words: 5,120

Please interact and comment to keep it going. I always love to know what you think.

Six Months Later - September 2022

Four months had passed since you moved to London and, three months ago, production on Oppenheimer finished, allowing Cillian to return to Ireland.

Unlike in LA and New York, where you had spent time with Cillian every day, you now only saw each other every fortnight.

It was difficult at times and you made time pass more quickly between visits using video calls to communicate.

Video calls also became your outlet for intimacy when you spent time apart and, frequently, you would engage in obvious acts for each other in front of the camera. It was how you got off until you got to spend time together again.

With you working through your doctorate and spending long hours at the laboratory in London, Cillian was the one who did most of the travel.

He only had small projects scheduled for the remainder of the year before starting filming the Peaky Blinders movie in January 2023. It was therefore easier for him to visit you than you to visit him.

But, occasionally, you would also make the trip to Ireland and, since you got together, you had met both of his parents as well as his wife.

Initially, Cillian’s parents were apprehensive about the relationship between you and their son, given the large age gap between you. After a while, however, they had both warmed up to the idea and, when they got to know you, they really liked you.

Cillian’s ex-wife, on the other hand, hated you and wished that you didn’t exist. In her mind, you were nothing but a midlife crisis for him and she disliked the fact that you were around her boys quite frequently when you were visiting.

Her reaction had caused a lot of feud just four months ago when the press finally caught up with the fact that you and Cillian were together.

Back then, someone on set revealed secrets about your relationship with each other and this someone was no other than Anna after she was re-employed by the studio.

Anna was the one who went to the press and who snapped some photos of you and Cillian which, no doubt, made her some money. But, with the studio’s representatives having had prepared a statement for the two of you as a precaution, the media shit storm never went any further than that.

You both acknowledged your relationship, telling the people out there that, indeed, you were a couple. You told them how you had met and you even decided to pose for a picture together under the advice of the studio’s publicist.

Of course, you received negative comments about the age gap from some of Cillian’s fans but, overall, the perception of your relationship wasn’t as bad as you had expected. The gossip and negativity was manageable and your relationship grew strong despite of it.

In fact, it grew so strong that Cillian accepted you with all your baggage which included a somewhat old and mean cat named Felix.

Felix was a stray cat which you had found a week after you moved to your unit in London. You shared this unit with another girl named Mandy. Mandy was in her mid-twenties as well and, just like you, she worked as a scientist.

Both you and Mandy had decided to take in Felix when he was scavenging for food in the building and your rather old and grumpy neighbour was kicking him down the stairs in anger, calling him vermin.  

“He isn’t vermin. He’s just a hungry little boy” you said to her before taking him in but this wasn’t the only time you had a dispute with her.

You lost your temper with the old lady next door a few times now and she had since reported you and Mandy to the building corporation because of the cat.

Luckily for you, you were feisty and presented them with the by-laws of the building, noting that animals were allowed and there was nothing the old lady could do to you or the cat.

It sure was a neighbourly dispute and, as if things didn’t get any worse, she decided to pick a fight with Cillian one day when he arrived to visit you from Dublin again after you hadn’t seen him for 15 days straight.

“You need to tell your daughters to be quieter, sir. This is a respectable building and, at least every second weekend, one of them seems to be having some male company. It gets very noisy and it’s so inappropriate. I am embarrassed every time I have visitors and I do like to entertain my guests, but not with this disgusting behaviour” the old woman spat as she walked into Cillian in the hallway and Cillian couldn’t help but cock an eyebrow.

“Well, ma’am, although she calls me daddy on occasion, I am actually not really her father and I am not sure whether I should be amused by your complaint or whether I should be offended. If you have a problem with the tenants then I suggest that you take it up with the owner of the unit” Cillian chuckled and the elderly lady was clearly outraged by his suggestion.

“The owner?” she then asked and Cillian nodded before ringing the doorbell again.

“Yes. He is actually one of the tenants’ fathers. His name is Christopher Nolan. Maybe you can contact his agent. Good luck” Cillian chuckled as, finally, you opened the door with a satisfying smirk.

“Evening Mrs Welsh” you said to your neighbour politely before pulling Cillian into your unit and pushing the door shut behind you. No words were exchanged and you simply cupped his face and gave him a deep, long lasting passionate kiss.

"I missed you babe” Cillian said after the passionate kiss ended. With Mandy working a night shift at the laboratory, he knew that you were on your own for the night, so he didn’t hold back

“I missed you too” you said as you both walked further into your apartment and, when Cillian saw all of the candles you had lid, he smiled.

"So, what’s for dinner?” he mumbled before you pushed him through the door to your bedroom in a haste.

“I am” you smirked as Cillian plopped down onto your soft, comfy bed. He quietly watched you for a while as you released your hair bun and straightened out your long hair.

“And, I have a surprise for you” you winked before releasing the dark satin robe which you were wearing, letting it fall to the floor and revealing your lingerie covered body beneath.

“Jesus Y/N. You are so fucking sexy in this” Cillian gasped as he could see your nipples, already hard, pressing through the tight fitted bra. He could already feel his cock starting to harden, curiously waiting for what else you had in store for him.

"I am glad you think so Cills. It’s emerald green, just like the Irish like it. So, why don’t you get undressed for me and show me just what I like” you teased while watching him with hungry eyes.

“As you wish” Cillian said before he started to undress himself, his cock now straining hard against the fabric of his pants.

Then, he laid back onto the soft bed, his head on top of the mountain of pillows at the headboard, patiently waiting for you to do the same as he used one hand to slowly stroke his rock-hard cock.

Luckily for him, within less than a minute, you began to strip for him, nice and slow, just the way he liked it.

"Is this all for me to ravish?” Cillian asked, watching you as you seductively undressed yourself, giving Cillian a little show while Portishead was playing in the background.

“It sure is” you said in response as you took a stance in front of the bed and took on various poses to show yourself off.

“Fuck baby. You are perfect” Cillian groaned in approval as your smallish pink nipples were pointing at him.

"So are you” you smirked before licking your lips and setting your sights on your man.

Cillian’s cock was now hard as a steel bar, pointing straight towards the ceiling. You had done it again, arousing him so greatly that he couldn't wait to fuck you.

Without words, you pulled out the camera from the draw in your nightstand and smiled.

“Should we?” you asked before taking a quick photo of your naked boyfriend, adding it to your already extensive collection.

“We should. I am running out of material to jerk off to while I am at home” Cillian chuckled and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“Classy” you laughed before fumbling around with the retro style camera you had inherited from your father a few years ago.

Over the past few months, you and Cillian had featured in several pornographic productions of your own, available only to you and him. Of course, you trusted each other and, ever since the ordeal with your godmother Cara, this had, ironically, become a little hobby of you.

You loved to film yourself with each other and then watch the videos to get off while you were apart. The first video you watched was, indeed, the mysterious tape which had caused you so much grief. But now, you had a total of ten tapes, all of which were secure and safe.

With the camera in your hand, you climbed onto the bed and seductively crawled closer and closer towards Cillian.

Cillian watched as you came closer and closer, his eyes switching between yours and your beautifully firm breasts.

“This is tape number eleven” you winked into the camera after having turned on “record” and placing it onto the camera stand which was positioned right next to your bed.

“Now, my focus is on you Cillian” you then said and he immediately let out a gasp of air when you bent forward and wrapped his hard cock up in between your breasts, immediately engulfing it with your warm and soft fun bags.

“Fuck, my cock looks so good between your tits” Cillian moaned as his precum stained your skin, colliding with your sweat as you slid his cock between your firm breasts a couple of times before releasing it again.

You then crawled up further until your heads came together. You both smiled for a split second before your lips crashed together.

Hungrily you pushed Cillian's head against yours, Cillian doing the same by gently pushing you harder against himself. Your lips battled a ferocious battle, tongues that swapped their saliva through your mouths. The whole lust filled kissing lasted for a couple of minutes before you decided to take it to the next level.

Your mouths separated, only a thin line of saliva hanging between them. You watched each other's lust and loved filled eyes for a second before Cillian voiced his demand.

“Turn around and bring your pussy up here babe. I have been craving to taste you for over two fucking weeks now” Cillian groaned as he got himself more comfortable.

“You want me to sit on your face?” you asked cheekily.

“I do. You know how much I love it. Now bring your sweet little pussy up here babe. I am fucking starving” Cillian teased and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Fine, but only if I get to suck on your cock at the same time” you smirked before you turned your own body one-hundred-and-eighty degrees around, making sure that your now soaked pussy was right up Cillian's face and your own face was in a perfect position to feast on Cillian's throbbing cock.

"Hmm, so hard for me already. I’ve missed your beautiful cock” you moaned seductively again, wiggling your juicy ass and dripping pussy invitingly towards Cillian.

"And you are so deliciously wet for me” Cillian said before taking a hungry look at your cute little asshole and your pink nectar dripping pussy.

Cillian could immediately feel drops of your juices dripping down the cleft of his neck as he watched the most sacred part of your body contracting to the situation. He knew how good your pussy tasted so he went straight for it.

“Oh god Cillian” you moaned and gasped for air when you felt Cillian's eager tongue splitting your lips apart and ravaging itself up, down and into your entrance.

Cillian then grabbed your ass-cheeks and started kneading the soft flesh as he enjoyed the taste of your juice, lapping it up like a hungry animal.

You couldn't wait any longer either. You licked your lips as you watched Cillian's hard cock twitch from excitement while his precum poured from his slit. You lowered your head down and wrapped your soft lips around the head of his cock, sucking, kissing and nibbling on it as the tasty pre-seed spread through your eager mouth.

You gave it a few more sucks and licks before lowering yourself further down, now taking half of his cock into your mouth. You started bobbing up and down, switching between slow and fast to make sure that you covered every inch of sensitive skin. Your tongue flicked around the stiff pole as if you were licking a lollypop.

Cillian didn't stop pleasuring you either, especially when he felt your soft lips claiming his cock once more. He made sure to give your erected clit attention as well, giving you surprise attacks by suddenly licking and softly biting the erected nub after a few deep and hard licks through your soaked labia.

Every time he did so you took more of his cock into your mouth until your lips were coming into contact with his pubes. You had learned how to deep-throat him which was something you both absolutely loved. You kept it still for a few seconds before slowly going up, coating his shaft with saliva and his precum.

Just as you deepthroated Cillian’s cock, causing him to moan against your pussy, he decided to move up a little further himself and, with that, he gathered some spit and juice from your leaking cunt before switching to that cute, little and clean puckered hole just above your equally cute and tight pussy.

He spread his collected liquid around your asshole before pushing forward to prod his tongue against your rear entrance.

Your eyes shot open in surprise when you felt Cillian's tongue trying to invade your ass. He had done this before and every time he did it would drive your wild.

You started to suck harder on Cillian's cock, bobbing up and down, taking in about three quarters before repeating the whole process.

The moans, sucks and slurping sounds roamed through the dimly lit unit you pleasured each other in every way possible. Both of you zoned out in your own little world as you made love in front of the camera, an act that would forever go on without stopping if it could.

Suddenly, Cillian could hear you scream out of pleasure as your first orgasm of the night took you by surprise. “Oh my god Cillian, fuck” you gasped, soaking him and the sheets under him with your juices and, just after you calmed down, he stopped his assault. Your body was shaking and trembling, but Cillian wasn’t surprised.

"So fucking good” Cillian groaned in approval as you gasped for air while Cillian's saliva and precum soaked cock was resting against your cheek.

***

“Get on your hands and knees and face the camera” Cillian then ordered after having allowed you to rest for no more than a minute.

“But I didn’t make you cum yet babe?” you said somewhat confused, knowing that he would easily be able to cum twice in row.

“I know, but I didn’t cum for a whole fucking week so I want to shoot it all into your tight little pussy and then watch it leak out before feeding it to you with my fingers” Cillian said with great determination and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“You are such a filth mouth” you said, but he knew that you liked it and, thus, you complied with request.

You turned around and pushed your ass up in the air before seductively wiggling it side by side.

“Common then, get in there” you teased as you turned your head to look at Cillian, your eyes sparkling and a small stream of drool dripping down your lips.

Cillian chuckled and crawled up to you from behind, smacking your ass first for a couple of times with the palm of his hand before assuming his position.

You moaned and bit your lip as Cillian spanked your ass to assert his dominance. This had become something over the past few months which turned you on incredibly. You loved it when he was ready to give you a rough fuck.

Cillian then took a hold of your hips and pushed his pelvis forward to thrust his cock deep into your tight pussy, at least, that was what you expected him to do.

“Not so fast babe” Cillian teased as you did, indeed, feel him entering you but he stopped when only the tip of his cock was inside. Frustrated you tried to push back to take more of it but Cillian prevented you to do so by holding tightly onto you.

"Please daddy, don't tease me! Fuck my wet pussy! It's ready for you and all yours" you moaned back towards Cillian, still trying to push your body further onto the stiff pole.

You let out a loud yelp when Cillian spanked your ass again, this time harder and more aggressively.

"I know it is babe, but I get to call the shots tonight. So, be a good girl and patiently wait for me to give you what you want" he said to you.

You let out a cute little whimper, simply out of excitement, your heart beating faster and faster as Cillian once again claimed you all to himself. You loved when he dominated you like this. The way his strong hands grasped onto you, how his thick cock pulsated in your pussy and the way he spoke to you It drove your crazy with lust and love.

Cillian waited for a few more seconds to see what you would do. This time you had decided to be a good girl, and good girls get rewards for their behaviour.

He suddenly pushed forward, spearing your pussy in one go until your ass slapped against his skin. His cock buried itself deep into you, his cockhead slamming into you.

“Oh my fucking god” you moaned loudly as you felt him ramming inside of you in one hard push.

But Cillian knew you wanted it hard so he didn't hesitate. Immediately he almost pulled out again before slamming and returning deep into your depths once more.

“Yes daddy! Fuck me hard! Pound my pussy with all your desire! Claim me once more!" you screamed again, feeling a rush shocking through your very core.

Cillian did what you asked him, what you wanted from him. He started to plunge in and out of you, holding your hips tight as your bodies slapped together. You love the pain and friction he caused with his cock and droplets of sweat and your combined juices scattered across your lower bodies as you mated.

You let out scream after scream as Cillian fucked you doggy style, your hands grasping onto the sheets as your body was violently rammed back and forth.

The bed started to creak and shake from the hard fucking and you knew that you would likely get yet another complaint from your neighbour.

“Your pussy feels so fucking tight babe and I will make sure that, tomorrow morning, you’ll be so fucking sore” Cillian's breathing was rigid as he fucked into you. His whole world was being rocked as he felt your pussy grasping onto his mating organ. Your walls swallowed him whole and every ripple and bump from it sent shocks to his brain.

"Oh god yes, daddy! Fuck me hard! Right there” you moaned as you pushed back as hard as possible when Cillian fucked into you. You loved it when his cock hit your cervix, almost bruising it, enjoying the stinging on the day thereafter.

You were fucking in perfect sync, coming together at the right time for maximum pleasure.

"Grab my hair! Don't hesitate, grab my hair and fuck me like the nasty, horny girl I am!" you suddenly shouted, knowing that Cillian wouldn't be able to resist.

“God, you are a sucker for pain, aren’t you?” Cillian gasped as he freed one hand from your ass before wrapping it around your hair, taking a fistful and pulling back gently. He didn't want to hurt you but he knew that you would be okay in this state of mind.

You felt your head being pulled backwards. Instinctively you pushed yourself up a bit to get a better grip. Your perky breasts were now free to bounce back and forth with each hard slamming impact you received from Cillian.

"You are taking my cock so well babe. So nice and deep” Cillian shouted through his moans as he fucked you hard, one hand pulling your hair while the other smacked your ass once more.

"This is how it's meant to be for us daddy! I'm yours for you to take and fuck whenever you please” you screamed in return as Cillian manhandled you, his thick cock knocking against cervix.

You fucked hard and fast for a couple of minutes, no change of tempo and no signs of stopping at all. The sheets under you were soaked with their combined juices and your skin had turned red from the hard impacts.

Cillian knew that going at this rate any longer would result into him exploding deep inside of you. But he still wanted to do something else with you first. Something where he could see you. Where he could make eye contact with you and gaze into your beautiful eyes.

He gave you a few harder thrusts before switching up his game. He released your hair with the last thrust, pushing your body forward onto the bed as his cock released itself with a loud plopping sound.

He watched as some of your juices emitted from your pussy before you fell forward onto the bed, surprising you as you were still somewhere else with your thoughts.

But Cillian didn't wait for a second. His hard and soaked cock bobbed as he lunged himself forward, turning your body around so you were facing him.

Your hungry eyes met for a split second before Cillian opened your legs as wide as possible and pulled you towards him.

You laid eagle spread under Cillian, him towering over you as you wondered what he was up to.

Again you watched each other for a few seconds, your chests going up and down to take in as much air as possible.

Cillian still couldn't believe how beautiful and incredibly sexy you were beneath him.

"Are you okay daddy?” you asked after watching Cillian stare at you.

“I just realised how lucky I am, having you. You are so God damn beautiful and sexy” Cillian snapped out of his thoughts and responded to you

“Indeed, you are lucky” you giggled and smiled at Cillian.

“I'm going to fuck you so hard and deep; you won’t be able to walk tomorrow babe” Cillian then told you and you bit your lip when you heard Cillian's words.

"Well, I’ve been counting on that daddy” you whispered to him.

Unable to control himself any longer, Cillian lined up his cock with your drooling slit and wrapped his arms around your spread legs, opening you up wide for him.

"Oh daddy, all those yoga classes I went to last week really paid off” you gasped, surprised by how far back Cillian was bending your legs, before plunging balls deep into you.

The first thrust buried Cillian's cock deeper inside of you than ever before and you felt as though he was pushing through the opening of your cervix. You tried to scream out of pleasure, but the feeling was so overwhelming that only your mouth opened and no words came out. You could feel his rock-hard cock slamming harder than ever against the door to your womb. Your whole body rippled with one continues explosive orgasm as Cillian started to pound into you again.

He buried his face against your neck, your breasts crashing against his chest as his hips slammed into you. The bed once again creaked and shook from the hard impact. Your sweat soaked bodies once more slapped together like a couple of freight trains colliding, it was hard and fast, just like you wanted it tonight.

“Cillian, oh god you are inside of me so deep” you said as you finally managed to regain some strength.

“I know babe. I can feel it” Cillian said as you wrapped your arms around his head and back to keep him close as possible as he fucked you crazy.

“Fuck me hard and fill me with your cum. I want you to cum deep inside me” was the only thing you managed to scream out of your air gasping mouth.

“Don’t worry babe, I will. I will fill you with a weeks’ worth of cum” Cillian groaned as yoi fucked like a couple of wild animals.

Cillian's rigid breathing collided with your neck as his hips worked like a well-oiled machine. Your vagina walls were strangling his cock with all the strength they had and his lower body was constantly being wetted by your juices which you produced with every in-and-out motion he made.

“Fuck, I am close” Cillian eventually moaned as he could feel you pulling onto his hair with one hand while the other scratched your nails into his back to keep your tight grip on each other.

“So am I daddy, just let go for me” you moaned as Cillian kept on slamming into you and you could feel Cillian tasting you, nibbling on your neck. Having regained more of your lost strength you managed to wrap your legs around Cillian's waist, pushing even harder against him as he kept on thrusting.

You were once more on the verge of having an explosive orgasm. For Cillian, it was the same, his cock started to throb heavily, enlarging itself even a bit further as your walls got tighter and tighter.

And then you both climaxed together at the same time with very loud groans escaping each of you.

“Fuck yes, daddy. I can feel it. I can feel all of it” you moaned as the first spurt of Cillian’s seed blasted deep into you. As he came, Cillian stilled after had buried himself in your body to the hilt. As the head of his cock bruised your cervix one more time, you let out an ear-piercing yell that surely could be heard throughout the whole apartment building. Your whole body returned into a jelly like state as you came and came.

Cillian himself let out an animalistic like roar as well as he unloaded his pent-up seed inside of you before he managed to wrestle himself free from your tight grasp. He quickly pulled out of your now cum filled pussy before shooting another few ropes of thick seed over your pussy.

“Fuck babe, I love seeing my cum covering your sweet little pussy” he cooed before doing what he had promised.

With two of his fingers, he scooped up some of the thick white substance covering your mound and brought them to your mouth.

“Hmm, feed me daddy” you teased and Cillian did exactly that. He pushed his cum covered fingers into your mouth and ordered you to lick them clean before doing it again and again until you made yet another demand.

“You are going to fuck me again daddy, aren’t you?” you teased and, when Cillian was instantly growing harder again, you took this for a yes.

This time you were going to be in charge and, with that, you pushed him beneath you before climbing on top and sinking down on his hard cock with one loud moan.

Your cum filled pussy engulfed him and then you rode him for almost thirty minutes before changing it up and seeking a more sensual kind of love making from him.

“I want you to cum inside of me again but then, I don’t want you to pull out. I want you to stay inside of me, all night” you said after you eventually found yourself in a spooning position.

“You want me to stay inside of you all night?” Cillian asked and, when you confirmed what you had said, a loud groan escaped him.

“Fuck babe, you will have so much cum locked inside your pussy and it will have nowhere to go” Cillian observed and you nodded eagerly.

“That’s right daddy. I will be all plugged up with your cock and I will keep it warm and comfortable all night” you told him and, with that, you proceeded to do exactly that.

Within minutes of your cock warming discussion, you both came again and Cillian filled you with more of his seed. You could feel the warmth spread through your body but knew that, this time, there was nowhere for it to go. His cum was going to stay inside of you and the thought of this alone aroused you.

Cillian didn’t pull out but, instead, spooned up against your ass and back more tightly. You eventually felt his cock softening inside your warm confines and then he remained there, motionless, with his cum trapped inside your tight little hole.

“Feels good?” he asked and you confirmed that, indeed, it did.

“So good and so warm and wet” you moaned, wiggling slightly.

“If you move I will grow hard again, you do realise that, right?” Cillian asked and, of course, you did.

“I know and I wont mind if you do” you chuckled.

“Well, we do have to get up early tomorrow morning, so you need to stay still. After all, we will need to get some sleep” Cillian said with his cock still lodged inside you.

“Why can’t we sleep in?” you queried as he gently kissed your neck.

“Because I have a surprise for you babe” he then told you and you couldn’t find out what it was.

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[dragonmuse]

If inspiration strikes, I'd enjoy reading something with Jim, Frenchie, & Lucius (the possible S2 trio!) or something with Frenchie, Roach, & Pete (the RoP trio!). (I don't recall whether I already submitted this, as this would have been one of my initial ideas from months ago. So if I have, please dismiss this.)

(hahahahah *nervously stuffs unanswered asks behind them in pile* never worry about re-sending. I uh... look I'm trying my best, but things have gotten a little out of hand back here, so if you want to re-float something that's been sitting for more than six weeks or so, by all means. I do go digging in the back catalog sometimes, but you know. Things fall behind metaphorical filing cabinets etc)

“I’m going to end her entire life,” Lucius tried the door again, fruitlessly. 

“It was an accident,” Frenchie reminded him. “...probably.” 

“It was,” Jim was eying up the door with a determined look. “She was distracted.” 

“Why does the lock even work this way?” Luicus groused, taking out his phone. “Who’s closest and has keys? She’s got to be halfway across town already. Asshole.” 

The three of them had gone down to the basement that morning to start pulling out summer festival decorations. A good-natured squabble between Frenchie and Lucius over who was carrying what meant that they missed the sound of Eddy’s boots until they were right on top of them and then there had been the very distinctive sound of a propped door closing and a ‘snick’ of a lock. Then tread away and the backdoor closing. They hadn’t thought much about it because obviously no one would put a lock on the basement door that one couldn’t open from the other side. 

The door (the basement as a whole) was a relatively new concept, so it wasn’t until a half-hour later that they had discovered that apparently that was a decision that had been made at some point. 

So Eddy had locked them in together. There were worse places to be stuck. There was a bathroom and there were snacks in the kitchenette, but Lucius had had plans for the evening that involved being very far from the bar seeing as it was, for once, closed on Sunday. Because Eddy and Stede were taking a little trip and decided to gift everyone with a few days off. So cute. So sweet. 

So fucking inconvenient right now because they were the closest key holders and were definitely on their way to gone. 

“Does Pete have a set?” Frenchie asked doubtfully. 

“No. love the man, but no one trusts him with security. What about Read?” 

“She and Anne already left for upstate,” Jim frowned. 

“Oh! Fang!” Lucius said hopefully and dialed his number. It ran a few times before giving over to voicemail. “Dear heart, if you get this in the next hour or so, please call back. Minor emergency, kisses!” 

“That does not convey distress,” Jim rolled their eyes. 

“I don’t want to worry him.” 

“I’m worried,” Frenchie groaned. “At least a little.” 

“Someone would come looking for us,” Lucius said staunchly. 

“Yeah, but no one with keys,” Jim pointed out.  

“Did you call Oluwande?” 

“Doesn’t have keys. Turns his phone off when he’s volunteering.” 

“Why?” Frenchie wrinkled his nose.

“Sets a good example for the kids not to be on the phone,” Jim repeated dutifully. 

“Damn his good heart,” Frenchie laughed. “Well fuck. Roach doesn’t have keys either. Why does no one have keys?” 

“I told you all I’d make copies years ago and none of you wanted them,” Lucius sat down on the stairs. “Fuck. Okay. I’ll text Pete so at least someone knows where we are.” 

“Ask him to tell John if he’s up?” Frenchie sighed. “He’s still tanked from that bad shrimp last night, I bet.” 

“Oh yeah,” Lucius’ nose wrinkled. “Yikes.” 

Pete didn’t respond immediately and that left them just staring at each other.  

“You know, I saw some board games in the back of the cupboard when we were pulling stuff out,” Frenchie mused. “Want to play?” 

“We should be working on getting out of here,” Jim frowned. 

“Okay, cool. Any ideas?” Frenchie lifted his eyebrows. “Cause I’d love to hear it.” 

Lucius dropped his face into his hands. Jim sighed. 

“Yeah, fine.” 

The games must’ve been purchased by Stede for the kids then never made it to his place. They were brand new in the plastic. After some debate, they settled on Monopoly. Lucius took the top hat, Jim took the car and Frenchie was pleased with the thimble.  

“So look,” Frenchie paid $200 to get out of jail. “I’m just saying Jim could probably fit through the window.” 

“Maybe,” Jim frowned. “It’s locked too though.” 

“What if we break it?” Lucius casually purchased another purple property. He kept his cards in  a stack so it was hard to tell how many he had. 

“The alarm will go off,” Frenchie pointed out.

“So?” Jim snorted. “Who cares?” 

“I’d care more about you trying to skim through jagged glass.” 

“No big deal.” 

“Very big deal,” Lucius contended. “You’ll get bloody, I’ll faint and you still won’t have a key to get us out. We’re better off waiting for Pete to figure out a lockpick, if he ever gets back to me. What the hell is he even doing today anyway?” 

Jim scooted the car down a few spaces. “I’ll buy the railroad.” 

“Already own it,” Lucius held his hand out for cash. “Did we hit up the group text?” 

“First thing. No one’s responded,” Frenchie sighed. “It’s not like that’s going to get any more attention than reaching out individually anyway. Maybe I could figure out a distress flat and hang it in the window.” 

“So the alley rats can see?” Jim frowned and forked over cash. 

“I’m going to have a snack,” Frenchie decided, landing on his own property. “Anyone else?” 

They all ate hot cheetos in varying degrees of despondency, their silver pieces moving around the board. Lucius’ cash pile grew. 

“You can’t own that,” Frenchie challenged, then deflated when Luicus showed him the card. “How?!” 

“I kept buying stuff while the two of you were debating the window idea for the third time.” 

“I think you’re cheating,” Jim decided. 

“I mean, I’m not, but go off, I guess.” 

“Any one want some music?” Frenchie asked. 

“No,” Lucius and Jim said simultaneously. 

“I’m going to kick your ass,” Jim informed Lucius. 

“Good luck.” 

Things got tenser after that. For a while, Jim rallied, but then Lucius reached a tipping point and houses started cascading down on properties. Frenchie was down to his last ten dollars and Jim was starting to try bargains with him about his mortgaged properties. 

That’s when they heard voices and then some scraping noise. 

“We’re down here!” Frenchie yelled getting to his feet. “For the love of all things holy, save me!” 

“Save us,” Lucius amended. 

“Fuck you two, I want out of this situation yesterday,” Frenchie undermined his vitriol by handing Jim his ten dollars and then vaulting up the stairs. “Hello!” 

“Hey!” That was Pete, Lucius groaned with relief and got to his feet. 

“Hey, your man came through,” Jim said approvingly. 

“Yeah, would’ve been nice if he let me know that,” Lucius checked his still quiet phone. “....my battery died.” 

“How are you so smart and so dumb at the same time?” Jim asked exasperated. 

“It got knocked into the sink last week. Eddy again, actually. Battery hasn’t been right since,” he frowned. “Did I piss her off more than usual recently?” 

“Nah, just distracted about the trip, I bet. She was excited to get away,”Jim reassured him, already packing up the bits of paper. After a pause, Lucius helped them, between of the two of them getting all tucked away just as the door finally yawned open.

“Luc?” 

“Izzy?” Lucius head flew up, then just to Jim. “...hide me.” 

“No. Why?” 

“He’s gonna be annoyed that I didn’t call him.”

“...why didn’t you call him? He’s a great lockpick.” 

“Why didn’t you?” 

“Because you’re both as dumb as each other,” Izzy concluded for them, already at the bottom of the stairs. “You enjoying it down here or can we go? I set off the alarm.” 

“I have the code, it’s okay,” Lucius sighed. “Thanks for coming.”

“Pete was worried you’d all resort to cannibalism before an actual locksmith showed up,” Izzy glanced at Jim. “I wasn’t sure he was most worried about, but I figured it was 50/50.” 

“Could’ve been me!” Frenchie called from the top of the stairs. 

Lucius and Jim exchanged a look, then headed silently back up after him. 

“It could!” Frenchie protested. “I’m the most stringy anyway. Lucius has the most meat.” 

“See, that’s the kind of statement that gets you eaten first,” Lucius said dryly, then beamed at Pete. “Thanks for calling the calvary, babe!” 

“Yeah, of course,” Pete hugged him. “You okay?” 

“He’s a cheating cheater,” Jim informed him. 

“Monopoly,” Lucius explained. 

“Oh yeah, no,” Pete pulled a face. “That’s on our banned games list.” 

“You have a list?” Izzy did something to the lock (it would never really work right again, but Lucius wasn’t going to rat him out when Stede demanded to know who had broken it).  

“Oh yeah,” Frenchie nodded. 

“Wait, you knew he cheated at it?” Jim demanded. 

“He doesn’t cheat! He’s just really good at it and a sore winner.” 

“I can’t help if you suck,” Lucius mimed tossing his hair, before going to disarm the alarm and call the security company. 

“I’m going to lock him back down there,” Jim decided. 

“Not today,” Izzy gave them a look. “I have tickets.” 

“I’ll wait until he least expects it,” they said darkly. Pete and Izzy exchanged a look, then shrugged. Sometimes you had to let people try their luck with Lucius. They even won sometimes. 

“What other games are the list?” Izzy asked. 

“Risk,” Frenchie and Pete said at the same time. 

“Who plays fucking Risk anyway?” 

“How can he good at that when he can’t even learn poker?” 

“Mystery for the ages,” Pete agreed. “I took John’s car over, you want a ride home Frenchie? Jim?” 

“Please,” Frenchie beamed. 

“Yeah, okay.” Jim sighed. “Why am I tired?”

“Stressful stuff,” Pete shrugged. 

“All set!” Lucius chirped from the backdoor. “Iz, are we going?” 

“Yes, pup.” 

Lucius locked up behind them.  Just as he was closing it, his phone jumped back to life with a ring. 

“Possessed battery,” he grumbled and answered. 

“Lucius! The alarm is going off!” Stede cried over the phone. “Can you go down and take a look at it?” 

“Already handled,” he rolled his eyes. “Maybe ask your asshole spouse why they didn’t check no one was home before they locked the door.” 

“You’re on speaker,” Eddy drawled. 

“Good,” Lucius bit back. “What is wrong with you? I told Stede we’d be there.” 

“Oh. I may have forgotten to mention?” Stede was probably grimacing. 

“And what happened to ‘I hear all’?” Lucius pushed on. “I thought you never missed a trick, Eddy?” 

“Dunno,” they said untroubled. “Ooops?” 

The phone disappeared from Lucius’ hand. Jim hit speaker. “Eddy.” 

“Oh no,” Eddy said, suddenly very subdue. 

“Oh yes,” they hissed. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“You will be.”  Jim’s grin was very disconcerting and you could definitely hear it in their voice. “Enjoy your vacation.” 

“My love, what do you think about extending our trip indefinitely?” 

“Sorry, honey, I do actually want to continue living in the city.” 

“....fine.” 

“Bye.” Jim hung up and handed the phone back to Lucius before stalking off down the alley. 

“That was hot!” He yelled after them, then giggled when they flipped him off. 

He felt better already. 

[huntingforsatisfaction]

Pink Promise

Pairing: Dean Winchester X younger sibling reader(not in an incest way)

Summary: Dean is there to help his younger sibling after they have a nightmare 

Words: 2211

Warnings: fairly angsty, but still very very fluffy, a detailed nightmare, mentions of John Winchester’s parenting style, bad writing?, like one cuss word, a tiny tiny bit of gore

Note about characters: in the present scenes the reader is 16 and in the flashbacks they’re 6 and the reader and Dean have like a 13/14 year age gap so he’s like 19/20 in the flashbacks, there isn’t any gendered terms for the reader so it’s neutral(unless you count hair being braided as a gendered term, but boys can have braided hair cause gender isn’t real), and finally this takes place in season 5

Dean woke up, not for any purpose, just one of those weird moments where you randomly wake up in the middle of the night. He shook his head and began fluffing his pillow, stopping when he heard soft crying.

“(Y/N)?” He softly called out.

You were laying with your back facing out and your face squished into the musty cushions of the small motel room couch, a failed attempt at muffling your cries.

“Y-Yeah Dean? Something wrong?” You tried to play it off.

“I was gonna ask you the same thing. Were you crying?”

When you guys first got your room Dean cursed the streetlight right outside the window, but now he watched how it illuminated you as you dropped your head down.

“Nightmare?”

You looked up and made eye contact before slowly nodding a yes.

“Think you’re gonna be able to go back to sleep?”

You dropped your gaze again as your face screwed up and you could feel new tears form on your lash line.

“No.” You softly croaked out, barely audible over Sam’s snores.

                                                   ~Flashback~

You couldn’t breathe, too focused on staying quiet to risk opening your mouth. Once the sting in your eyes and the back of your throat calmed down you went back to sleep.

“Sammy?”

You screamed out running through an old grey house.

“No no no please no!” You heard him scream somewhere you couldn’t find.

“Sammy!” You huffed before taking off running down the hall you came from.

As you ran around the house you felt small and helpless, like when you got separated from your brothers in the corn maze at the pumpkin patch in Iowa, the one Dean took you to without your dad knowing.

“Dean?” You desperately called for your brother as your feet pounded against the floor. 

Completely unaware of your surroundings you ran, the only thing on your mind was finding your brother. Not paying attention to your surroundings you tripped, your heart raced knowing how your dad always got on you for that. You got up and looked down to see what sent you flying to the cracked floorboards.

“Dean!” You screamed

You woke up again, heart pounding in your head and toes. You stopped gasping for air when you felt your dad roll over next to you, holding it in again to stay quiet. Collecting your moose and your blanket, the one you got in Oregon when you were 3 and have refused to sleep without ever since, you slipped off of the bed as silently as possible. Your dad and Dean were fumigating a house in a fancy neighborhood so the only hotel available was a little nicer than your usual moldy motels. The vinyl floorboards stayed quiet as you snuck over to the door that joined your brothers’ room to you and your dad’s. You glanced at your brothers sleeping in their beds before moving their jackets off of the chair that sat in the corner. Dropping your blanket on the floor you traded it for the two flannels that were under their jackets and curled up into the chair. Once you were comfortable you finally let the tears flow, crying softly at first and burying your face into Mort the moose as your chest heaved more and more with the weight of your cries. 

 “(Y/N)?” You heard Dean call out in confusion as he shut the drawer of his nightstand. 

 “S-sorry for waking you up.” You tossed off the flannels and picked up your blanket, heading back to your proper room.

 “No, no, hey, hey, come here.” Dean moved over in his bed and opened his arms, lightly flicking his wrist to call you over to him. 

You gingerly padded over to his bed and with a little effort jumped up.

 “I’m gonna guess it wasn’t growing pains that woke you up.” Dean chuckled. 

 “Ok, I’m sorry, bad timing. Now come on peanut, stop giving me that face and come in closer.” He said shifting so he could comfortably open up his arms for you. 

You still continued to pout, but scooted into his embrace until your body felt lighter. 

“Sorry.” You quietly mumbled, it came out kind of funny because of how your cheek was squished against your brother’s chest. 

Dean pulled back and nudged your chin up, signaling you to make eye contact  with him before resting his hand on your shoulder. His comforting softness melted away as he turned dead serious. 

“Listen to me, do not ever and I mean ever apologize to someone because you’re upset. Ok?” He searched your eyes waiting for an answer, which you gave him with a nod. 

“Now tell me why someone broke into my room and stole my favorite flannel.” And just like that Dean pulled you back into him and your softy of a brother was back.

“Dad yells at me when I don’t sleep and when I cry and when I ask him questions, so I came in here to cry” Even your big brother’s arms couldn’t shield you from the sadness that entered your body.

“Well I’m not dad, neither is Mort the moose, and neither is Sammy.” Dean started.

“Sammy snores now, he’s old.” You shot Sam a dirty look even though he was dead asleep.

“Yeah Sammy is old now, he drools too.” Dean joined you in giving his younger brother the stink eye. “Now tell me, what has my peanut so upset?”

“Nightmare.” 

“Nightmare? Do you wanna talk about it?” Dean began playing with your hair as he awaited your response.

Staring up at your older brother’s face you thought about it. 

“No.” You wanted to say what happened, to get it out of your mind, but you didn’t want to tell him about how you saw his still body covered in blood with his stomach in shreds. 

“No? That’s okay.” 

You guys sat quietly listening to the traffic outside and Sam’s snores. After a while Dean assumed you had fallen asleep, but just as he shut his own eyes your little voice stirred him.

“D?”

“Mm, yeah (Y/N)?’

“Are monsters real?”

                                                       ~Present~

Dean watched you hang your head again before scooting to the side and opening up his covers.

“Wanna talk about it kid?”

Even in your sad and scared state a genuine smile broke out across your face, it was small, but still genuine. Without responding to your brother you kicked off the soft blanket that you had fought Sam for and walked over to Dean’s bed. Since motel beds are always oddly tall you had to do a little jump to get onto it, shooting a quick glare at Dean for being clearly amused at your struggle. Tentatively Dean opened up his arms to you and you awkwardly shuffled in until your head hit his shoulder and you instantly melted. The both of you sat there without a word, wondering what the other was thinking, unaware that you were both thinking the same thing. You thought about how long it had been since you two laid like this, both of you becoming aware of how long it had really been since you showed each other affection and comfort, and how after all of these years you two felt so natural. Neither of you took into account how the other’s muscles softened, how the past few years of Azazel, the door to Hell, your dad’s death, Sam’s death, Dean’s death, demons, vampires, and vengeful spirits all released from your guys’ bodies. For the first time in months neither of you cared about Lucifer or Michael or any other dick with wings. 

“Hey Dean.” You finally broke the near silence.

“Yeah?” Your ear being pressed to Dean’s chest made his voice sound deeper and you could feel his jaw move against the top of your head. 

“Do you remember when I was super young and we were staying at that nice hotel in Seattle and I had that really bad nightmare?” You slipped the comforter under your brother’s arm so you could fidget with it.

“Yeah I do actually, but how the hell do you remember it? You were like what, six? So that means it was ten whole years ago.” 

“I don’t think I would remember it if it wasn’t the start of the recurring nightmare I always have.” The first part was a lie. That night had been the first time you ever truly felt like you had a family, the first time you had felt comfort in your life. You could never forget that. 

“Oh.” Dean began to play with your hair, taking three small pieces and trying to see if he could still remember how to braid, something he learned because you hated how John would always cut your hair. 

“This dream,” you started, “it’s bad. It’s always the same house, this weird grey one with cracked floors and for some reason the walls are cement. It’s weird. But in the dream I can never find my way, it’s like a labyrinth and every time I get more and more lost the hallways get darker and darker. It always starts with me screaming for Sammy and he doesn’t respond, but I can hear him. I can hear him.”, Your voice begins to break, “I can hear him screaming no over and over again, like he’s getting attacked and then when I call out for him again he’s silent. So I’ll start running to find him, I guess I’ve always had a hunter's instinct. Then when I’m running around I trip and every time I trip I always get this feeling of fear about dad yelling at me for always being clumsy. But then when I. '' You stop, dropping your head and gaze so far down that all you can see is your own chest. Dean drops the chunk of hair he was twisting in his fingers and looks down at you.

“It’s okay.” He whispers, lightly squeezing your arm to ground you, something he always does when you’re upset. 

His encouragement only made things worse as tears began to fall again. Closing your eyes you take a quick deep breath.

“When I look down to see what I tripped over it’s you. You’re dead. Bloody with your stomach all ripped up, I never see the monster, but it must be something with claws. Then it just ends there. Tonight was kind of different though. Our ages are always different in the dream. Sammy’s voice always sounds like it did when he was 16 so I don’t think he changes, but sometimes I’m a kid and you’re a teenager like when I first had it or we’re both teenagers or we’re the ages we are now or sometimes I’m a kid and you’re an adult. But tonight, tonight I was 16 like I am now and you were a little kid.”

                                                      ~Flashback~

Dean didn’t know what to do, he felt like the deer that stopped in the headlights and actually got hit. He’d been through this before with Sam, but he had been older and wasn’t already upset when they had the conversation. He had felt guilty every time he lied to Sam about monsters and didn’t want to give you that same false hope, but he resented his dad for teaching him about monsters when he was this young. 

“I’m not sure of anything, (Y/N).” It technically wasn’t a lie, while Dean was sure that monsters existed he wasn’t sure of what to tell you.

“Well actually no, I am sure of one thing. Nothing and I mean nothing, no man, no woman, no animal, and sure as hell no monsters will ever hurt you because you are strong and I will kick their butt if they even try.” Dean meant that fully, he’s meant that since the day his dad sat him and Sam down to tell them they have a little sibling.

“Pink promise?” You said looking up at Dean.

“Pink promise?” He pulled back and questioned you.

“A pink promise.” You huffed, freeing your arm out from under Dean’s and extending your pinky finger.

“Oohh, a pinky promise.” Dean held up his arm and extended his own pinky.

“No, it’s pink promise.” You pulled your hand back.

“Ok, I pink promise that nothing will ever hurt you.” And to that you guys joined pinkies.

                                                     ~Present~

You begin to quietly sob into your brother’s chest. Dean put his hand at the nape of your neck and put his cheek on the top of your head and let you cry it out, as you calmed down he pulled back and kissed your forehead.

“Hey look, peanut. Sammy and I are not going anywhere, we will always be with you, ok. A lot is going on right now and it will all be okay, we’ve gotten out of so many situations that we shouldn’t have and this one will be no different. I pink promise.” Dean raised up his arm and extended his pinky.

“Oh fuck off.” You lightly hit his hand. 

Unfazed Dean kept his hand up and smugly smiled down at you. You sigh and extend your own pinky. As your fingers wrapped around each other your annoyed façade broke, your smile was joined by a few tears.

“Pink promise.”

A/N: So hey, your local forest wench here. This is definitely different from other stuff I post. I’ve never written a fanfiction before(so basically sorry if it’s not too good and please be patient with me), but I do read a lot of of it and maladaptive daydream a lot so I always have plenty of ideas. I came up with this idea this morning and really liked it, thought that maybe other people would like it and that it would be kind of greedy to keep it to myself. I’m actually really insanely proud of this ngl. If people like this and I feel comfortable, I might even write some more in the future.

[thrndlngs]

three times shinsou misses the opportunity to kiss you + the one time he seized the moment.

── pairing, shinsou x fem!prohero!reader ── request: x times shinsou wants to kiss fem reader??? pLZ I NEED IT ── author’s note: this was super dope & cute to write. tysm for sending this in. i hope i did this justice and it wasn’t to out of character.  also reader has a water quirk & the two of you are in your early twenties.  ♡ 

i.

     "'toshi,” you whispered, chest against his as the two of you currently hid from the group of villains. your two agencies had partnered up in attempt to take down a new gang of villains who were transporting drugs from the city to the waters, the two of you were partnered because of how the two of you excelled in your respective agencies, shinsou was sent to aid in your patrols of the waters  ──  which is why the two of you are currently hiding in a storage closet on a ship. 

  “shut up.” you don’t take it to heart, you’re sure he means it as nicely as possible - he just lacks a few pages in the ‘vocabulary’ department. 

  “we need to do something.” you tell him, trying your best to meet his gaze in the tight space (which was nearly impossible because he’s towering over you at the moment). he doesn’t reply, not at first at least, if you looked hard enough you would probably see the gears in his head turning. 

  “──stop talking, it’s distracting me.” 

  your mouth quickly shuts, fidgety hands are now at your side, you were starting to get antsy and there was practically little to no room to move around without being heard - or seen for that matter. 

  “they switch the guards every ten minutes, in the middle of the switch, we run.” the purple haired male explained, taking a peak at the time on his cellphone. the two of you had to endure this for three more minutes. just three more minutes and you would be free.

  “three minutes,” you repeated, more to confirm this for yourself. you’re sure you wouldn’t last that long, after all, this was shinsou, the male you’ve had a crush on for quite some time now. how were you expected to last that long?

  “──think of it like seven minutes of heaven.”

  “we haven’t played that since── “

  “yeah, yeah i know, but just think of it like that. don’t think about the closet, just the game.” 

  you nodded quickly, meeting his gaze as the two of you stood there in silence. you’d be lying if you said you weren’t thinking about kissing him. it seemed like the perfect moment - it was just the two of you. if it were the last day on earth, you at least wanted to go out with a bang. you know?

  “let me get comfortable, you can do the same after.” you watched as he places either hands besides your head, slouching a bit against the wall so his back could have some sort of support. he nods to you, signaling for you to do the same. 

  it takes you a moment, the position shinsou is currently in causes your heart to skip just a few beats. were you disappointed in yourself for letting your mind drift.. elsewhere during a mission? for sure. did you care right now? absolutely not.

  you cleared your throat, widening your stance and trying to balance the weight in between your legs to help ease some of the weight  ──  but there wasn’t really much you could do.

  “two minutes.” 

   this had to be the longest three minutes of your life.

   “i think i just tasted my own sweat.” he complained. it feels like he’s sweating in places he shouldn’t produce sweat in.

  “i feel like a fish out of water,” you added.

  “──gonna start passing out if i don’t throw you in the water soon?”

  “says the one whose sweating to death.” 

  “and you’re dehydrated. guess we’re both shit out of luck aren’t we?”

  “yeah, but, i think this isn’t the worst way to die.” 

  he takes another peak at his cellphone, noting that there’s a minute left before the two of you could finally get out of this damn storage closet. “you’ve got a minute to tell me anything worse than dying like this.” 

  in hindsight ── there’s a lot that could happen in a minute, that’s the only reason you said something to begin with. “alone, i could die in this closet, alone and then you know, it would be lonely.” 

 “are you serious?” 

  “oh come on! that’s pretty serious!”

  “it ── it really isn’t,” he’s trying to laugh as quietly as possible and you playfully slapped him in his shoulder. 

 “okay, well, i wouldn’t want to die alone.”

  “mhm, scaredy cat.” his smile is infectious and for a moment, he forgets that the two of you are stuck in a storage closet. maybe now would be the perfect time to kiss you, when it’s just the two of you, waiting to make your grand escape, when the two of your are just centimeters apart. 

  “now’s our chance,” he whispered, straightening himself to get out first just in case. he doesn’t want to act off of impulses. if he kisses you, he wants to make sure it’s because you want him too.

ii.

     “good to see you when you’re not acting like a goldfish who just hopped out of it’s bowl.” the familiar voice teased from behind you, hands folded behind his head. if it were anyone else, you might have tripped them.

  “──don’t you have to go buy hair dye now or something?”

  “no that was after i made sure a fisherman didn’t take you on the way home.”

  “is this what do you do on your spare time? think of jokes that revolve around my quirk?”  

  he rolls his shoulder lazily, leaning against the apartment railing across from your front door. “they come naturally, no extra thinking required.”

  “and here i thought all the hair dye went to your brain.”

   this wasn’t out of the norm for the two of you, he would make the first jab and then you would follow suit. sometimes, the bickering could go on for hours  ──  regardless of task at hand (like the time the two of you were trying to detain a villain and shinsou had told the woman you were a water sprite), it’s an old nickname of yours, he had given it to you back at the sports festival when you were kids. you had earned it when you had almost drown mineta because he wouldn’t stop making inappropriate jokes and you had brought the entire water fountain down on him. 

  as the two of you stood there in silence, you, had your back against your door, hands folded behind you while he stood parallel, arms against his chest he wonders: is this the time he kisses you goodnight? 

  “d’ya want to come inside? i have leftovers? we could pull an all nighter like we used to do back in the dorms?” there’s a hint of hopefulness in your eyes and he would feel like absolute shit if he declined the offer.

  “only because you have food.” 

  he doesn’t kiss you goodnight then. and he doesn’t kiss you goodnight when you fall asleep on his shoulder after the second horror movie either. if you were anyone else, he would’ve left without a care in the world, but it’s you and you are different. 

  so he stays and tells himself that tomorrow will be a new day and tomorrow, he can try again.

iii.

     “i don’t dance,” shinsou tells you as you so desperately tried to bring him onto the dance floor. it’s a hero’s gala, everyone from your respective classes at U.A. were here, pro heroes from all around the world and some of your old instructors as well  ──  these aren’t his thing, you know that. you remember his attitude during the first two hours of the third year’s ‘goodbye party’ - not much had changed. he’s taller, a bit more handsomer and smiles more often. 

  “you do tonight, come on.” while you had dragged him by one hand, the other desperately tried to loosen his tie because it feels like he’s suffocating. 

  “──you’ll be the death of me woman.” he’s mumbling under his breath, one hand resting in yours as the other found its place at your waist.

  “because i asked you to dance? might i say this is on your list of horrible ways to die?” you teased, offering him that infectious smile that makes him go weak in his knees. he hates to admit the pull you have on him  ──  he might even go as far as saying you might have him wrapped around that finger of yours and you don’t even know it yet.

  “if it’s by your hands i would say it’s a merciful death.”

  “a merciful death? i’ll keep that in mind.” 

  “don’t test your luck,” you know he’s only messing with you  ──  

  you’re to busy enjoying the moment to think of some witty comeback. it’s something about the way your hand seems to fit perfectly in his. or how the two of you are able to move in sync without any words spoken in between the two of you that’s driving you insane.

  if you would’ve told your past self that you would be slow dancing with the hitoshi shinsou at a hero’s gala while the world around you disappeared you would’ve laughed at the idea. it would’ve seem silly to you  ──  stupid even. shinsou and you weren’t rivals like you and bakugou were, but, you had always found yourself trying to one up him. 

  yet here you were, swaying to the slow tune as you managed to snake your arms around his midsection and rest a head against his chest. maybe this was his chance: with the little distance in between the two of you, dim lighting and dressed to the nines. surely, this would be a good memory to relive later down the road wouldn’t it? 

  but he wanted to savor the moment. so he decides it against it  ── despite the ache in his chest.

  iv.

     "we did it.” shinsou muses, an awkward hand offered in your direction for you to shake. it’s been six months but your agencies had finally shut down the smuggling operation and you could finally take the break you had so desperately needed. you weren’t sure what to do with the outstretched hand, but, you give in anyways, resting your hand in his as he gave it a firm shake.

  “pleasure doing business with you.” you tell him, lips curving into a bittersweet smile. teasing, bickering and ‘playful’ sparring aside, you were going to miss him. you were used to patrolling and doing missions on your own but this was different. 

  “try not to end up on the other side of fishing hook, yeah?” it’s his way of telling you to be careful in shinsou’s teasing nature.

  “make sure i’m the one to grant you the merciful death.” please be careful, is what you want to say. though you couldn’t bring yourself to say it aloud - if you did, it would only confirm that you care about the purple haired pro hero more than you should. 

  he shakes his head with a laugh, “you’re the only one who gets the satisfaction.” 

  “it better stay that way ‘toshi.” 

  he doesn’t know for certain if your agencies would cross paths again. your agency was closer to the waters and he was closer in the city, the chance that you would run into one another again would be slim to none. 

 he clears his throat for a moment, retreating his hand from yours and placing them at your waist instead. he’s pictured this a thousand times but now that he’s in the moment he couldn’t manage to find the right words. it’s frustrating, really.

  “──hi.” you’re holding your breath in anticipation, was this another one of his games? was he going to kiss you? tell you a secret? use his capture weapon and tell you that he’s not letting you go until you admit something embarrassing?

  he doesn’t care anymore. doesn’t care if it makes him look like a love sick idiot when he kisses you like it’s the last thing he’s about to do before he dies, he doesn’t care if anyone’s watching or for the wrinkles you’ll cause since you’ve got a fistful of his shirt in a desperate attempt to close whatever little distance the two of you had between you. 

  you pull away first causing him to pout (which was actually cute but you’d never give him the satisfaction of knowing that) but you do laugh.

  “you know,” he muses, a hand reaching up to rub at the back of his neck sheepishly, a habit you hadn’t seen in years. “──i didn’t want to let you walk away without something to remember, my little water sprite.” 

  you rolled your eyes at the choice of nickname but were flattered nonetheless, your own arms finding their way around his neck, “who said i was walking away?”

[thetravelerwrites]

Bashir (Troll) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationships: Female Human/Male Troll (World of Warcraft Design) Additional Tags: Exophilia, Monster Boyfriend, Troll, Fake Dating, Hired Boyfriend, Fake Boyfriend Content Warnings: Stalker Ex-Boyfriend, Stalking, Mention of Guns, Brief Violence Series: OkCryptid Words: 6365

A commission for @floral-and-fine​​! A woman getting out of a bad relationship has moved across her home state to get away from her controlling ex-boyfriend, only for him to show up at her job. Scared, she goes on OkCryptid to recruit a "boyfriend" in hopes of frightening him off. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

>Hi. I know we don’t know each other and this is pretty sudden, but I have a proposition for you, and it isn’t what you think.

Vague, yes, but it would catch his attention quickly enough, you thought. You were desperate and didn’t know what else to do.

>Oh, He messaged not long after. >What would that be?

>I want to pay you to go out with me for a while.

>I’m not a prostitute. Lol

>That’s not what I mean, You replied, rolling your eyes. >I know this sounds weird, and if I had more money I’d probably just hire a bodyguard, but I don’t.

>Why would you need a bodyguard?

You sighed. >I have a stalker ex-boyfriend. I dated him for about five months, but he was really possessive and crazy so I broke it off, and now he won’t leave me alone. I moved here last month from across the state and he followed me. He showed up at my work today.

>Ah, I see. So you want me to rip his arms off?

>No, I just want him to see me with someone who is big enough to rip his arms off. Maybe it’ll scare him away. You’re the biggest guy I could find on here. Well, I did find a cyclops that was pretty big, but she wasn’t interested.

>Have you gone to the police about this?

>Yeah, but they said unless I get proof he has intent to do harm, there’s nothing I can do. I can’t even get a restraining order unless he hurts me or causes property damage. It’s like he has to beat me up before they’ll do anything, and I’d rather not let it get that far.

>Gotcha. Why don’t we don’t meet for coffee tomorrow and talk it over?

>That sounds great. I’m free at lunch.

>Me too. I’ll meet you at Leo’s Diner, you know that one?

>No, but I can Google it. See you tomorrow at 11.

Bashir arrived right on time at eleven the next morning. He was a large troll, dark blue in color, with large, off-white tusks jutting out from the sides of his mouth and his long red hair braided in several placed and pulled back at the nape of his neck. He was muscular, thick in the waist, and around nine feet tall. He wore a suit, which was finely tailored to his body. You raised your eyebrows: his profile was sparse, so you didn’t know what kind of job he did; you’d only chosen him because of his picture. But dressed like that, you were surprised he even agreed to take this “job.”

“Hi, you’re the one I’m supposed to meet today, right?” He said, extending his hand.

“Yes,” You replied, standing and shaking his hand. Your hand was dwarfed in his. “Thanks for agreeing.”

“It’s no trouble,” He said, gesturing for you to sit back down as he took a seat opposite you. “So tell me about this boyfriend of yours.”

“Ex-boyfriend,” You said. “His name is Jake. I met him at work; we worked in the same department. He seemed nice, so when he asked me out, I didn’t think anything of saying yes. The first two months was fine, and were got along really well. As soon as we decided to be exclusive, he got really clingy really quickly. Every time I’d try to pull away, he’d clutch at me tighter. He started pressuring me to put distance between me and my friends, he wanted to know where I was all the time, he was constantly texting and calling and got mad when I didn’t respond right away. I got sick of it and broke up with him.”

“When did the stalking start?”

“Almost immediately. It didn’t help that we still worked in the same department, so I had to see him every day. He’d show up at my house after work and on the weekend. He’d either be super angry and demand that I let him in, or he’d be there with flowers and candy and cry and tell me that I was the best thing that ever happened to him, that he was sorry and he’d do better. He kicked my door in a couple of times and I had to call the police. I finally managed to get a restraining order against him, but it didn’t really help. He couldn’t come within five hundred feet, so he would stand on the curb exactly five hundred feet from my house and just watch the house. I was scared for my life. So I quit my job and moved across the state with just my savings. I found a job and I started last week. And yesterday, they said I had a new client, and it was him.”

“What did you do?”

“I freaked out and called security, telling them I had a restraining order against him. He mistakenly thinks the restraining order is void because I moved, but I called and that’s not the case at all.” You sighed in aggravation. “I really hope this asshole doesn’t get me fired.”

“Hmm,” He said. “So what’s your offer?”

“Hmm?” You asked.

“You said you’d pay. What’s your offer?”

“Oh,” You said, surprised. “Uh, fifty bucks per date, plus the date expenses. I can’t really afford more than that.”

“That sounds fair. Okay,” He said. “I’ll do it. You just tell me when and where and I’ll be there.”

“Really?” You replied. “You’ll take the job?”

“Sure,” He said. “I’ve got some free time, and the extra money will be nice. I could buy a new suit in a month.” He grinned and plucked at his own, no doubt worth several months of dates.

“That’s great, thank you,” You said, sighing in relief. “So, Friday night? Around six o’clock? Would that work?”

“Absolutely,” He said, pulling out his phone. “Give me your phone number. I’ll add it to my contacts. That way, if you see him, you can call or text and I can head over and do the arm ripping thing.”

You laughed and took out your phone.

After exchanging information, the two of you had lunch and discussed the finer points of the job. PDAs were acceptable, but you’d prefer if he didn’t kiss you. He had a nine-to-five job, just like you, but his position was flexible and let him leave the office for errands, as long as he didn’t abuse the privilege. You left the lunch feeling a little safer.

Friday night, you met him at a nice Greek restaurant, and he wore another nice bespoke suit. He offered to pick you up at your home, but you didn’t really want him to know where you lived. You were still pretty paranoid about Jake finding out.

“I’m surprised you chose this place, considering you’re footing the bill and everything,” Bashir said, looking around. “It’s pretty fancy.”

“It has to look believable,” You reasoned. “And I do like Greek food. If you like, you can pick the place next time.”

He chuckled. “Have you ever had Mediterranean troll food?”

“No, I haven’t,” You said, interested. “What’s it like?”

“It’s very similar, except there’s no bread of any kind.”

“So what do you eat the hummus on?”

“You drink it like sauce.”

“You’re not supposed to drink sauce!” You protested.

He snickered.

“I feel like you’re making this up.”

“Maybe, but you’ve never met any Mediterranean trolls, so you don’t know.”

“Are you a Mediterranean troll?”

“I am, actually,” He said. “My parents came over from Morocco when I was a tot. I don’t remember much about Morocco, but I’ve always dreamed of going on a trip there, I’ve just never had the chance.” He gave a cursory look over the menu. “Maybe that’s what I’ll use this money for.”

“Sounds nice to me,” You said. “If we both get something good out of this, then that’s a plus.”

“What do you get out of this, other than getting rid of a bothersome ex?”

“Security and peace of mind,” You said, picking up your own menu. “That’s worth the price.”

He looked at you seriously. “This guy really shook you up, didn’t he?”

You set the menu back down and sighed. “He’s never hit me or threatened me verbally. The most he’s ever done is break my door, but…” You looked out of the window. “I feel like… it wouldn’t be hard, you know? It wouldn’t be that much of a leap from breaking my door in to doing something worse. If he gets mad enough, if he gets obsessed enough, who knows what he could do. All I know is that I don’t want to find out.”

“I understand,” He said. “I’ve never had to deal with something like that, because… well, look at me…” He gestured at his massive body. “But I do know people who have, and it sounds terrifying. I’m glad I can help, even if I am getting paid to do it.”

You smiled. “Well, it helps that you’re good company.”

“You don’t have to flirt with me, you know,” He teased. “That’s not part of the deal.”

“I will throat-punch you,” You said with a grin, and he laughed.

The next date was the following Saturday, and he chose to go to a concert. He wore a black v-neck shirt and a pair of black slacks, which was as dressed down as you’d seen him, but still very business-casual. It was a showcase of up-and-coming local bands, and they were all pretty good. You didn’t know that he liked Djent and progressive metal, too, but you were happy to have a common interest.

In truth, Bashir was pleasant to be around, and you were relieved that this entire thing wasn’t as awkward as it could have been. It definitely helped make this “dating” business look real from an outsider perspective. He held up his end of the bargain really well over the next dozen dates, holding your hand and putting an arm around you as if it was perfectly normal to do so. Thankfully, it didn’t make you feel uncomfortable when he did it, as he was very warm and the height difference meant he couldn’t be too cuddly naturally. You hoped that if Jake was watching, he believed you’d moved on and had no thoughts for him.

Unfortunately, if he was watching, he didn’t take the hint.

One night, as you were turning off lights and getting ready for bed, you looked out of your bedroom window and there he was, standing on the curb across the street, Jake stood in the shadow of a tree, vaping, and looking toward your house.

Panicked, you didn’t your best to stay calm while you were at the window, not wanting him to know you had seen him, but as soon as you walked away, you turned off the bedroom lights, snatched up your phone, dashed downstairs, and frantically checked the windows and doors, making sure they were all locked.

You meant to call the police, but instead, you dialed Bashir’s number. He answered immediately.

“What’s up?” He asked, sounding caught off guard. You weren’t surprised, you never called or texted him unless it was about the next “date.”

“Jake’s outside,” You whispered. “He’s across the street, I’m looking at him right now from my living room window.”

“Are you sure it’s him?”

“I’d recognize that stupid snakeskin vape box anywhere,” You said.

“Okay,” He said. “I’m heading over. Stay on the phone with me until I get there. Do you have a landline?”

“Yeah,” You replied.

“Get it and call the police. Don’t tell them he’s stalking you because, well frankly, they won’t care. Say you’re a concerned member of the neighborhood and there’s a suspicious man hanging around outside and you’re worried about a break in.”

It wouldn’t have been a lie. “Okay,” You said, picking up your cordless phone.

After calling the police, you waited with your heart in your throat, listening to Bashir get into his car and drive. He’d heard you tell the operator your address. He arrived before the police did, his vehicle a nondescript SUV, and he got out wearing sweat pants and a tank top and pulled a duffel bag from his passenger seat. He didn’t acknowledge Jake at all, simply walked up to your door and knocked. You went to open the door for him.

“Hug me and kiss my cheek,” He said in a low undertone. Gulping, you did as he said with him turning so that your display of affection was clearly visible to anyone watching from the street. You let him in and closed the door behind him, locking it.

“What now?”

“Let’s turn on the lights and make some coffee while we wait for the police,” He said.

“Okay,” You said, your voice shaking. You went to go into the kitchen but he stopped you by taking your hand.

“Hey,” He said gently. “You’re going to be okay. I’m here, and the police are coming. You’re safe.”

Tears came to your eyes and you nodded, wiping them. He released you and you went to the kitchen, putting a pot of coffee on.

The police arrived. You and Bashir watched covertly from the breakfast nook. Eventually, Jake walked to a car and got in it, driving away. The police followed him.

“They let him go?” You asked, worried.

“Well, they may not have know he has a restraining order, and even if they did, he looked plenty far away enough to not have violated it. He wasn’t breaking any laws other than loitering, so they couldn’t arrest him. At least they made sure he left.”

You held your head in your hands. “God, I don’t want to have to do all this over again.”

“It’s okay,” He said. “I’ll stay the night to make sure he doesn’t come back tonight.”

“What about tomorrow? Or the next day? You can’t be here all the time,” You said, your voice shaking.

He sighed heavily. “Do you know how to use a gun?”

You scoffed in disgust. “I don’t want a fucking gun.”

“Okay,” He said. “Then, I’ll put up a security system. I brought one with me; it’s in my bag. I’ll set it up tonight while he’s not here.”

“It’s late,” You said weakly.

“Do you want to sleep or do you want peace of mind?” He asked you levelly.

You scrubbed your face, took a deep breath, drained your coffee cup, and stood up. “Okay. Let’s do it, then.”

It took a few hours, but he managed to get several security cameras fixed to the building, focused on entryways and the front and back yards. You helped him by holding the equipment and tools for him as he worked, handing up what he needed as he needed it. By the time the two of you were done, it was three a.m. and you both had to be at work in mere hours.

The two of you fell into an exhausted sleep on your bed. You didn’t even have the energy to be affronted by the fact that you were sharing a bed with him. The next morning, before he left to go home and get ready for work, he downloaded the security camera app onto your phone and showed you how to use it.

You went to work, checking your phone surreptitiously to see if Jake was outside of your house. So far, he hadn’t reappeared.

>Today’s Friday, You texted him. >I know you’re probably tired after last night, but do you want to have a date today?

>What about a home date at my house? He replied. >I’ll cook dinner and everything. I don’t want you to be at your house at the moment.

>I can’t argue with that, You said in return. >Sounds good to me. What are you cooking?

>I was thinking a kefta meatball tagine with couscous on the side, and a snake pastry for dessert.

>That sounds amazing. Thanks for putting me up. I know this all is a huge inconvenience, and I really appreciate it.

>It’s no problem,” He said. >It’s what I’m getting paid for, right?

You sighed. Well, this wasn’t exactly what he was getting paid for. How much would an overnight stay cost you?

He sent you a message with his address and you went home after work to shower and pack a small overnight bag. You snickered, pulling out your pretty underwear and a sexy negligee, wondering if you should pack this, too, before putting it away and just throwing some pajamas in your bag.

Checking the cameras before stepping outside, you left the house and hurried to your car, heading to Bashir’s house. His place was a two-story, bungalow style house with a dark brown cliffstone brick pattern and a detached garage. It was charming, and a lot cuter than your tiny yellow ranch-style house. The yard was well kept and three were full flowerbeds next to the wide porch. You wouldn’t have imagined he lived in a place like this.

You knocked on the door and he answered it quickly, wearing a comfortable t-shirt and pair of tight jeans. You tried not to stare, but it was difficult. His clothes left very little to the imagination. His hair was also down and cascaded down his back and shoulders.

“Come in, come in,” He said, taking your bag for you.

“Thanks,” You said. “Your house is really pretty.”

“Oh, thanks!” He said. “It was actually condemned when I bought it. I basically had to rebuild it from the ground up. I’m not quite finished with it yet, but I’m happy with the progress.”

“You should be, it’s amazing,” You said. “I’d never have guessed it was a fixer-upper.”

He grinned at you, showing off his sharp teeth. “Come on, dinner will be ready soon.”

“It smells great,” You said, inhaling the savory smell of lamb and vegetables.

“All my mom’s recipes,” He replied, heading into the kitchen. “She owns a restaurant three towns over.”

“I’ll have to go and visit it sometime,” You said.

“Maybe I’ll take you myself one day,” He said, smiling as he stirred the couscous. Your heart fluttered a little.

How long were you going to have to keep this up? “Dating” Bashir was fun, but it wasn’t going to last forever. Either Jake would give up or get arrested, so either way, it would be over. Maybe you could stay friends. He was nice enough, and you enjoyed hanging out with him. But still… why was he talking about things that might happen in the future if there was no future for the two of you?

Dinner was delicious, and so was dessert, and afterward the two of you went to the living room to watch a movie. He even put his arm around you, since the window was uncovered and anyone could look in, he said, and you felt comfortable enough to relax into his side. It almost did feel like a real home date.

After the movie, though, you both decided to sleep, since you were still tired from the night before. You decided that you were both adults and could share a bed without it being awkward, and besides, his bed was huge and could fit five of you easily. You both fell asleep almost immediately.

Sometime during the night, you got a ping from the motion detector on your phone, but when you checked the security system, it was just a raccoon in your trashcan. You sighed and put your phone down, rolling over.

Bashir was on his back, asleep, with his face turned toward you. He was breathing deeply and relaxed with one hand on his chest and the other on his stomach.

You couldn’t help but stare. He really was an attractive guy, and if circumstances had been different, you might have dated him for real. But… until Jake left you alone, you didn’t want to drag anyone else into it. Bashir didn’t have any emotional connection to you, so Jake couldn’t affect whatever “relationship” you had.

But maybe things could be different after? You weren’t sure. He hadn’t expressed any interest in you other than what he had to to make the job believable. He hadn’t been flirty or more affectionate than he needed to be. You couldn’t afford to develop feelings for Bashir, not right now.

Even still, you brushed your fingers gently against the skin of his arm, feeling the hairs that covered it, and followed the curve up to his hand, allowing yours to rest on top of his for a moment or two before retracting it and trying to fall asleep again, sighing heavily.

The next morning, Bashir recommended that the two of you spend the day together, to keep up the weekend stay appearance.

“How much is this ‘weekend getaway’ going to cost me?” You asked dubiously.

He laughed. “Don’t worry, today’s a freebie, since I suggested it. You still have to pay for last night, though. The normal fifty bucks is fine.”

“Mm-hmm,” You hummed flatly, fishing the money out of your wallet and handing it to him. “Well, what do you want to do?”

“Ah, it’s a freebie day, right? You get to choose this time.”

You smiled. “Well, let’s start with breakfast. I’ll cook it. I can cook breakfast blindfolded.”

“If you like,” He said, sitting at the bar in the kitchen and watching you putter around, looking for cooking tools.

After breakfast, you decided you wanted to go to the local botanical garden, which you hadn’t been to in some time.

“Your flowerbeds outside reminded me of this place,” You told him, walking slowly through the rows of Japanese maples. There was a beautiful and an extremely rare Chinese Red Maple behind a gate at the end of the row, the centerpiece of the garden. “Did you plant them yourself?”

“Yep,” He said with a smile. “I helped my dad do a lot of gardening when he was still alive. He had a landscaping business, but he was really passionate about it. I actually inherited the business. Gardening helps me keep his memory alive.”

“That’s really sweet,” You said, smiling softly. “Is that what you do for a living, the landscaping job? I’ve never actually asked what you do for work.”

“No, actually. I mean, I own the company, but I don’t work for it. My actual job is something else entirely.”

“What is it?”

He laughed. “Honestly, I don’t think you’d believe me.” Before you could ask, he took you by the hand and said, “Let’s take a break and get a coffee. I have to use the bathroom.”

“Okay,” You said, letting the subject drop. For now.

You got to the food court outside of the botanical gardens and sat down at the outdoor cafe.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” He said, putting some money down on the table. “Can you order me a large black coffee?”

“Yeah, sure,” You said. He smiled and headed off. You got up and put in your order, then sat back down at the table and opened the security app, looking through the cameras and checked to see if anything was out of place.

The chair opposite to you was pulled out and he sat back down while you were still looking at your phone.

“The coffee should be out soon,” You said.

“I didn’t order coffee,” A voice said. It wasn’t Bashir.

You jerked your head up and saw Jake sitting across from you. You stood up so fast that you knocked the chair over.

“Get away from me, Jake,” You said.

“Look, just talk to me,” He said, standing up and advancing on you. “Why won’t you just talk to me?”

“Get away from me!” You shouted. “Bashir!”

“Are you calling for that monster?” He sneered. “You could do so much better than him. Besides, you’re not even really dating him, you’re just paying him to keep you company, you slut. You think I wouldn’t figure that out?”

“Fuck you!” You back up. “Bashir!”

Jake was snatched back and slammed down onto the cafe table. Bashir had him pinned down with a single hand. It wasn’t hard to do: Bashir was almost twice the size of Jake in height and weight.

“Let me go!” Jake said, struggling against Bashir’s iron grip. “I’ll have you arrested! My brother’s a cop!”

“Ah, that explains how you got her address so quick,” Bashir said. “I don’t really care if your brother’s a cop. Actually, I think I do, I think an internal affairs investigation is warranted. Regardless, you’ve just violated a restraining order.”

“What does it matter to you?”

Bashir snorted. “I’m FBI, dickless.”

You gaped at him.

“Bullshit!” Jake said. “I’ll fucking sue you! I’ll ruin your fucking life!”

“Whatever you want, you’re still under arrest,” Bashir said, pulling out a set of handcuffs from an inside pocket of his jacket.

“You’re kidding,” You said slowly, staring at Bashir.

“I told you you probably wouldn’t believe me,” He said, grinning at you sheepishly. He jerked his head at his jacket. “My ID is in my pocket.”

You reached in and fished it out, opening the leather fold to reveal a… rather official looking ID and badge.

You laughed in disbelief. “You’re right, I wouldn’t have.”

The police arrived to detain Jake and took him to the station. Bashir drove you to the station, as well, so that you could make a statement.

Later, Bashir drove you back to your house.

“I’ll bring your bag over later,” He said. “He’ll probably get ninety days in jail for violating the restraining order, and hopefully you won’t have to deal with him anymore. Although, if you hear from him again once he gets out, let me know, and I’ll be here.”

“Thanks,” You said. “Really, thank you for everything.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. “Here,” He said, handing it to you. Inside was all the money you had given him for the dates, plus some. There had to have been almost two thousand dollars in there.

“But this is…”

He laughed. “I’m a federal official, you know. I can’t take bribes. I’d get fired.”

“This wasn’t…” You started, but stopped yourself. This could absolutely be seen as a bribe. “What do I do with all this?”

He shrugged. “Whatever you like. Go on a trip. Buy something nice. It’s your money, after all.”

You sighed a little sadly. “I guess this is it, then.”

He sighed, too. “Yeah, I guess so.” He leaned forward, bent down, and kissed you on the cheek. “Take care of yourself.”

Jake did end up getting three months in jail, which made you feel a lot better. You were worried that he would come after you, but the three months passed and when he was released, he moved clear across the country and you never heard from him again.

Finally free of him, you thought you might try actually dating again, but you could only think of Bashir. You and he had only spoken a few times, mostly him checking on you, but you hadn’t seen each other since Jake’s arrest. You missed him, but you couldn’t tell him that. He didn’t have any feelings for you, anyway. If he did, wouldn’t he have asked you out after Jake was out of the picture?

Even still, you wanted to see him again. So once Jake was gone, you texted Bashir.

>I have something for you, You told him.

>Oh? What’s that?

>I want to give it to you in person. Would it be okay to come over this weekend?

>I’m free now. Why don’t you stop by?

>Okay. I’ll be there soon.

Before leaving, you hesitated and decided to throw on your best, sexiest underwear. Just in case.

You arrived at his house to find him out in the front yard. He was digging a hole in the yard with a sapling sitting in a bucket, ready for planting. There were also stones and gravel he was going to use for a decorative barrier. He stood up and waved as you drove up into the driveway.

“Hey!” He said, pulling you into a hug. Well, as well as he could, being so tall. “It’s good to see you!”

“You too!” You said. “What kind of tree is that?”

“A Chinese Maple,” He said. “I got inspired when we went to the botanical gardens that time. It cost a pretty penny and I had to wait for the cutting to grow, but it’s finally ready to plant.”

“That’s so cool,” You said. “Can I help?”

“Really?” He said, grinning. “Yeah, sure! There’s a pair of gloves over there on the porch. They might be a little big, but it’s better than blisters.”

You ran to retrieve them, and picked up a trowel. “Why did you decide on the maple?”

“Cause it reminds me of you,” He said, digging. “When I look out my window every day and see it, I’ll think of you.”

Your heart beat faster, but you couldn’t look at him.

It only took about an hour to dig out the hole, plant the sapling, fill the hole with soil, lay the stones, and spread the gravel. Thankfully it was a cool day and you didn’t sweat too much. The two of you caught up on what had happened in the three months since you’d seen each other. You wanted to ask if he had started dating, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

“It looks great,” He said, standing back and grinning. “Thanks for your help! We got it done in record time. Let’s get cleaned up and have a drink.”

“Okay,” You said. “Let me grab my purse from the car.”

“Oh, right, you had something to give me, right?”

“Yep,” You told him, grabbing your bag.

He laughed. “Sorry I side-tracked you.”

“It’s fine, I had a good time,” You said. He opened the door for you and let you go into the house before him.

You went to the bathroom to freshen up and when you looked down, you realized your toothbrush was in the holder, the one you had forgotten when you’d stayed over. You had bought a new one and figured he’d just throw it away when he found it. Why had he kept it? Why was it in the holder with his?

You went back out into the kitchen and found him shirtless, water beading down the muscles of his back, and you stopped in the doorway, staring.

“Oh, sorry,” He said, laughing and throwing on a clean shirt. “Needed a quick wash. I felt a little grimy after the yardwork.”

“It’s okay,” You said, your heart still hammering in your chest.

“Iced tea?”

“Yeah, sure,” You replied, sitting at the bar. He poured you a drink and sat at the bar opposite you.

“So, what was the thing you had for me.”

You swallowed your tea a bit too hard and reached into your purse, handing him an envelope.

“This isn’t the money, is it?” He asked, smiling.

“No, it’s not money,” You said. “Open it.”

He grinned playfully at you, but it slipped from his face when he looked inside the envelope, pulling out two plane tickets.

“Morocco?” He asked, looking up at you in surprise.

You nodded. “Those are good for a year, so make sure you get some vacation time soon,” You said, anxious.

He stared at them. “There are two.”

“Yes,” You replied. “In case you wanted to take your mom. Or maybe a girlfriend or boyfriend or something.”

You kept your face as neutral as possible, but he was staring at you.

“The extra ticket is for you, isn’t it?” He asked softly.

You looked down and away. “If you don’t want me to go, that’s okay. You can take whoever you like. I just wanted you to have the trip you always dreamed of.”

He got up out of his chair, came around, and got down on his knees, so that he was face to face with you. He leaned forward and kissed you. It was firm and testing, and you responded, throwing your arms around his neck. He wrapped his arms around you as well.

“I missed you,” He murmured against your lips.

“Why didn’t you ask me out?” You asked him, pulling back to look at his face.

“I thought you weren’t interested in a real relationship,” He said, pulling you against him. “If I had any inclination you did, I would have asked you out on the spot.”

“I thought the same thing,” You said. “I never expected you’d actually like me.”

“I do,” He said, kissing you again and standing up. “I like you very, very much.”

He walked you into his room and lay you down on his bed, stripping your clothes off your body.

“Pretty,” He said with a grin as he came across your lacy black underwear. “Did you wear this for me?”

You bit your lip and nodded.

“Well, it would be a shame to take it off so soon, then, wouldn’t it?” He said, palming your breasts over the fabric of your bra. He touched your slit over your underwear, and you gasped. You lifted your leg and rubbed him through his pants, and he grunted. You felt him harden under your touch. He was… uh… large.

You pulled off his shirt and ran your nails down his chest. He moved his hand away and pressed himself against you, still clothed, grinding himself into your clit, and you moaned. You reached for his belt and unbuckled it, unbuttoning it, and pushed his pants down with your toes. Because of his long tusks, he couldn’t bend down to kiss you in this position, so he picked you up as if you were a doll, kissing your body. You were always a little self conscious about your weight, being a big girl, but he seemed not to notice.

He lifted you all the way up to his face, kneeling down so that you weren’t so high up, and licked the cloth covering your slit, putting your legs over his shoulders and his tusks under your body. Using just his tongue, he moved your underwear out of the way and teased your clit. His tongue was long and thick. You whimpered and rocked your hips against his tongue. He pushed it in side of you and thrust it back and forth, and you writhed in his grip.

Carefully, he pulled you down and eased you into his lap, pressing himself against your entrance. You pressed your hands against his stomach and watched him disappear slowly inside you. He couldn’t go all the way in, but once he reached the back and knew where the limit was, he pulled back out slowly and thrust in again slowly, easing you into it. He must have had a similar size problem in the past and had learned how to overcome it in these situations. You were glad for it.

He lay you on the edge of the bed and pressed your knees back, thrusting a little faster, and you reached down and touched yourself, rubbing quickly as he sped up. He pulled the cups of your bra down so that he could grasp your breasts, squeezing gently, and grunted. You held his hand there with your own, pulling up your head and sucking on his pointer finger, looking up at him through your lashes. His breathing was erratic and he watched you hungrily, his sharp teeth biting into his lower lip and pricking the skin.

“I’m so close,” You moaned. “I’m going to cum.”

He nodded as if in agreement, squeezing his eyes shut. He grimaced as if in pain, but then shouted, roaring, and released inside of you. It was a torrent, spraying out of you. Another few hip thrusts and circles around your clit, you came too, your head thrown back against the bed, crying out.

He pulled out and turned his head, resting it against your stomach as his arms gripped your sides, breathing hard. After a moment, you both sat up, and you realized that his legs were covered with his own release.

“Wanna get cleaned up?” You asked him.

“Yeah,” He said dreamily, standing up and leading you into the bathroom. You took a shower together, helping him clean himself. He did the same for you, kneeling down and washing your body. The way he knelt in front of you combine with the way he looked at you, it almost felt like he was worshiping you. Honestly, you didn’t mind that at all.

Your underwear would have to be washed, but he said you could borrow one of his shirts, if you wanted to. Honestly, you were happy to lounge in his bed naked. He seemed happy with that, too.

“When would you like to go?” You asked him, laying on his chest and playing with his chest hair. “To Morocco, I mean?”

“Soon,” He said, entwining his fingers in your hair. “I’ll put in for vacation time as soon as I get back to the office. I don’t really take vacations, so I’m sure my colleagues will be surprised.”

You smiled and kissed his skin. “I’ll have to put in for time off, too,” You said. “Although, I only just started working there six months ago, so they may not approve it.”

“Let me know when they do and I’ll schedule for the same time,” He said.

“Sounds good to me,” He said, sitting up and crossing his legs, looking down at you. You posed a little for him and he grinned, running his hands up and down the soft skin of your torso and belly. “You know what I’d like to do right now, though?”

“What’s that?” You asked.

“I want to take you on a date,” He said, smiling softly. “A real one. I'll pay and everything. And I want to be able to kiss you.”

You smiled back at him. “Deal.”

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My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[thebigbadbatswife]

I Don’t Wanna Live Forever

Summary - Y/N starts wondering if she dodged a bullet or just lost the love of her life.

Warnings - Please only read if you’re 18+, angst, smut, make up sex. 

[A/N] - Inspired by the song ‘I Don’t Wanna Live Forever’ by Taylor Swift

Word Count - 2.9k

The sky was covered in pitch black clouds, completely blocking out the stars. Lightning danced through the clouds and thunder shook the heavens, as rain poured onto the world below. A bright white flash briefly illuminated the old gothic manor that had weathered storms far worse than this one. Inside, the manor’s owner sat alone in front of a fireplace, a glass of bourbon in one hand, his phone in the other. He was so lost in his own thoughts, he barely heard the storm raging outside.

Bruce scrolled through his contacts and only stopped once he had reached her name. He clicked on her contact and his thumb hovered over the call button. After about a minute, he switched the phone off, set it on the nearby table and downed his drink in one. For the past six months, either when he wasn’t going out on patrol (which was rarely), or he had just gotten back from one, this was his ritual. Ever since she walked out of that door, cursing his name and the day they’d met, he found himself back here.

He wanted to call her. God above did he want to call her and make everything alright again, but she had made it extremely clear she never wanted to hear from him ever again. So Bruce didn’t call. He respected that she didn’t want to talk to him.

He set the empty glass onto the table and ran a hand through his hair. His eyes closed and he imagined that, by some miracle, she walked back in through that front door. That she’d see him standing there and would run into his arms. Bruce would wrap his arms around her, bringing her close to his body. His lips would gently brush against hers before he kissed her passionately. He’d lift her up and carry her to his bedroom. Then he’d lay her on his bed before quickly removing both of their clothes and they would stay there for hours on end.  

An involuntary sigh left him as he imagined her skin against his and his eyes snapped open because, no, that wasn’t going to happen. The logical part of his brain knew that. It reminded him constantly, but the part of his brain that dared to dream the impossible? The part of his brain that only existed because of her? That part was still convinced that somehow, someway, that would happen. Because it had to. It just had to… right?

He leaned back in the armchair he was sitting in and a heavy sigh left him. Bruce felt like he was going crazy. Every other relationship he’d had, he had never gone through this before. Even when he wasn’t the one to end it. What was it about her that made her so different?

A voice in the back of his head, and in his chest, told him exactly what made her so different, but he was quick to silence it. He didn’t want to think about that. Especially when she was no longer his. Bruce was brought out of his thoughts from a knock at the doorway. He looked over to his shoulder to see Alfred standing there.

“Master Bruce, may I suggest you get some rest so that you’re ready for that meeting tomorrow morning?” Alfred asked, though he was sure he already knew the answer.

Bruce chuckled and shook his head and turned his attention away from the older man. “Sleep? That’s the last thing I need, or want, right now, Alfred.”

His dreams had been all the same since she left. They were always about her. Good or bad, it didn’t matter. She was the main feature in all of them and he always woke up calling her name. It wasn’t bad enough she infected his thoughts during the day, non, she had to infect his subconscious as well. There was a small part of Bruce that wondered if perhaps she had similar dreams, but since she was the one that had left, she couldn’t be. Could she?

You were sitting up late on your windowsill seat, looking out over the city. For reasons you couldn’t fathom, Bruce was on your mind tonight and he refused to leave. You were slowly running through everything that had happened between the two of you and there was a part of you that was wondering if leaving had been the right decision.

When the two of you had finally gone public with your relationship, the paparazzi had constantly invaded your privacy. It had gotten on your nerves, as well as made you a little scared. Not to mention that your life had been threatened by Bruce’s enemies and those threats had increased after you had learnt his secret. It certainly hadn’t helped that every now and then a particularly crazy ex of his would show up out of the blue, nor the fact that you knew that one of them was literally an assassin.

However, even with all of that, yours and Bruce’s relationship had been one of the best things to have ever happened to you. All of your past exes, at some point, had ended up either getting aggressive with you or lost interest and left. Never Bruce though.

When you’d been together he had always made it a point to ask you about your day or how you had slept. If you’d had a bad day or dream or whatever, really, then he would do what he could to try and cheer you up. When he was away on business trips and couldn’t take you along with him, he always made sure to either text or facetime you before you went to bed, no matter what the time it was for him. And if he was ever forced to cancel a date or accidentally missed an anniversary he would always make it up to you in the best possible way.

It was memories like these that had you wondering if you truly had dodged a bullet by leaving Bruce or if you had just caused yourself to lose the love of your life.

You wanted to scream! Why were you thinking about all of this now?! You could understand thinking all this before you had made the decision, but afterwards? After it had all been said and done? It made no sense!

You ran your hands through your hair and let out a frustrated sigh. You eyed your phone sitting on the other side of your windowsill seat. Should you call him? Let him know you had made a mistake? You knew he would probably still be awake at this hour… That’s when you remembered the article you’d seen a couple of days ago where Bruce had been pictured at a gala with a rather beautiful woman on his arm. It could just be for show…

‘Or he’s already moved on,’ you thought sadly. It didn’t matter if you had made a mistake or not, it was far too late to correct it now. With that thought, you got up from where you were sitting and made your way to bed.

A couple of nights later you found yourself in the exclusive nightclub, The Sirens. Your best friend, Tracey, had dragged you here saying it was about time you found someone else. And this club was the perfect place to do exactly that!

You really hadn’t wanted to go, but since she was your best friend, and you didn’t want to disappoint her, you agreed to go.

You were wearing a short low cut black dress, that perfectly highlighted your assets, with matching black heels. As for your makeup, you had gone for a dark smokey eye and a red lipstick. The lipstick had, of course, been Tracey’s idea. As she had applied it, she had enthusiastically claimed that men would not be able to keep their eyes off of you. And she had been right.

All night men had been coming up to you, trying to flirt, bought you a couple of drinks and you had turned them all down. There was only one man that you wanted to be paying attention to you and you were now the last thing on his mind. You inwardly laughed at yourself. Here you were in one of the nicest places in Gotham City (and that was saying something since this was Gotham after all), and you were standing around, turning down perfectly good hotties and looking sad because you couldn’t stop thinking about Bruce fucking Wayne! It was pathetic.

As you turned down yet another perfectly suitable one night stand candidate, Tracey came over to you, annoyance sparkling in her emerald eyes.

“Seriously? What was wrong with that one!” she exclaimed as she gestured in the direction the man had gone. You leant an elbow on the bar's surface and ran your hand through your hair.

“Nothing,” you replied quietly. Nothing had been wrong with the five before him. Well, nothing except for the fact that none of them were him.

“Fuck, you’re really not over him,” Tracey stated when she saw your expression.

“No, Tracey, I’m not. I thought I was, but...” you trailed off as you turned your head to meet her gaze. She shook her head which caused her blonde ringlet curls to bouncy slightly. Tracey then grabbed your hand.

“Come on,” she said as she started to pull you away from the bar and outside the club.

As soon as you were outside, she let go and quickly hailed down a cab. As one pulled up, she tugged you over to it.

“What are you doing?” you asked as she did so. She stopped and turned around and faced you, placing her hands on both of your shoulders.

“You are getting into that cab, you are going to Wayne Manor and you are going to tell that billionaire playboy you ain’t over him. Then you’re going to have a fan-fucking-tastic night, which you’re going to tell every single detail of to me, tomorrow. Understood?”

“But Tracey, what about that picture?” You didn’t need to elaborate as Tracey had been there when you’d come across the article.

“Right, I can’t tell you how I know this, but from what I heard, Brucie boy didn’t say a word to her after that picture was taken. Hell, apparently he just left her there at the end of the night! Which means, he’s probably moping over you like you’re moping over him,” she replied as she continued to drag you over to the cab and basically pushed you inside. “Now go and make sure you have fun!”

Before you were able to protest further, Tracey was already walking away.

“Where to, miss?” the cab driver asked. You couldn’t believe you were doing this.

“Wayne Manor, please.”

The drive to Wayne Manor was far longer than you remembered it being, which meant that you had far too much time to think about what you were doing. Was this really such a good idea?

As the cab started up the driveway and eventually came to a stop right outside the Manor, you knew there was absolutely no turning back. There hadn’t been the second you had told the driver to bring you here. So you paid the cab driver his fair and got out.

As the car drove away you looked up at the Manor before beginning to slowly make your way up the front steps. Nervously, you rung the doorbell. A few minutes past and the door opened, revealing a very confused Alfred.

“Miss Y/N? What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I came to talk to Bruce. Is he home?”

“Of course,” Alfred stood to the side to allow you into the Manor. Once you’d entered and he had shut the door, he began to lead you through the halls to the room Bruce was currently in. “Right this way.”

When you got there, Alfred bid you good luck and then left off to get back to whatever it was he had been doing before your arrival. Taking a deep breath, you entered the room.

Bruce was pouring himself a drink when you walked in. The sound of your heels on the polished wood floor made him stop and he looked over his shoulder at you. His eyes were wide like he had just seen a ghost.

“Y/N…” your name was barely a whisper as it left him.

“Hi,” you replied timidly. You realised that you had no idea what you wanted to say to him.  

He abandoned his drink and approached you slowly, like if he moved too quickly you would sudden evaporate before his eyes. He came to a stop before you and his hands came up and cupped your face. One of your own hands came up and rested over the top of his. His blue eyes swirled with too many emotions for you to make out clearly what they were. One of them, however, you saw just long enough for a warm feeling to start flooding through your chest.

“You came back.” The disbelief was more than evident in his voice as he spoke.

“I did. Bruce I’m so sorry, I…”

“That doesn’t matter anymore,” he replied, cutting off your apology. “Just kiss me.”

You leaned up and kissed him, putting all of the passion you could behind it. It wasn’t long before the kiss turned heated, your tongues quickly slipping into each other's mouths and you found yourself pushed up against the wall. To make it easier on the both of you, Bruce hooked his hands under your thighs and lifted you up. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his hips and your arms around his neck.

Bruce was soon kissing and biting at your neck as one of his large hands slipped into your dress and began to fondle one of your breasts. A moan left you as he gently tweaked your nipple. He trailed kisses up your neck, along your jawline and back to your lips. As you kissed and he continued to fondle your chest, you decided you’d had enough of the foreplay and that you wanted, no you needed, him inside you.

You pulled away, breathing hard and trying to return some oxygen to your brain. “Bruce, I need you. Now,” you said in between pants. He answered by pulling you away from the wall and carrying you through the Manor, toward his bedroom. As he climbed the stairs and walked through the hallways you resumed kissing and began to unbutton his shirt.

Once you reached his bedroom, you were both quick to remove your clothes and settle on the bed. Bruce hovered over you as he aligned himself with your entrance. Then his blue eyes were meeting yours and he silently asked for your permission. You answered with a small nod and then he was slowly pushing his cock into you.

You let out a pleasure filled cry as your walls stretched around his cock. A low guttural groan left him as well. Fuck, you had forgotten how good he felt. When he was fully in, he stilled and ducked down and captured your lips with his. Once you had adjusted to him, you let him know with a small roll of your hips and he began to move. He started off slow, drawing out each of his movements, before picking up speed.

“Fuck… Bruce!” were the only words you could coherent form as he slammed into you and stole the breath from your lungs. The grip he had on your hips was sure to leave bruises there, not that you cared. The sound of skin slapping against skin was loud and obscene in the room and nearly drowned out the moaning mess Bruce had turned you into. As always, other than the occasional grunt or groan, Bruce was mostly silent.

“Y/N, I’m close,” he managed to say as his thrusts were starting to become more erratic.

“Me too…” you managed to reply in between your moans. No sooner had the words left your mouth you suddenly felt his thumb against your clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts. Suddenly the pleasure was all too much and you came crying his name. Then Bruce was pulling out of you and spilled his seed across your stomach.

After you two had cleaned up, Bruce gathered you up in his arms and maneuvered you under the covers with him, before pulling you in close. You were both silent as you laid there, you both felt as if you had gotten out everything you needed to say through your lovemaking. Well, almost everything. There was the big question of whenever or not this meant you were back together.

“Bruce?” you called out softly as you pulled away just far enough so you could see his face. He brushed an errant strand of hair away from your face.

“Yes?” he answered.

“Does this mean… I mean, are we…?”

“Back together?” Bruce asked as he finished your sentence. You nodded and he smiled. “I fucking hope so.” You chuckled a little at that.

“So, this means you still want me?”

“Darling, of course I still want you. I will always want you,” he replied before kissing you gently. When the kiss ended, you snuggled in close to him. “And I’m sorry about what happened. I’ll never be that reckless again. I promise.”

“I should hope not and, for the record, I’m always going to want you as well.”  

[liberty-barnes]

Just Breathe

Tom Holland x Female!Osterfield!Bisexual!Reader

Summary: Childbirth waits for no one, not even the Oscars.

Warnings: fluuuuuff, pregnant reader, mentions of childbirth, good press articles, BISEXUAL READER WOOOHOOO

Word Count: 1.5k words

Estimated Reading Time: 6 minutes

A/N: heeeeey look @peterspideyy​ @parkersbliss​ that crazy idea i ranted to you about like six months ago finally got done! i can’t believe i did it... this feels too good to be true, is the world gonna end or something?

Masterlist 

"I don't think this is a good idea."

"Me neither."

"Please, just stay here."

You looked up to your brother and husband, frowning as you smoothed your hand over the soft black fabric of your gown.

"I am not missing the Oscars, Tom. I've still got two weeks until I'm due, it'll be fine."

You sat down on the bed and looked dejectedly at your shoes, then proceeded to throw puppy dog eyes your brother's way until Harrison had no choice but to kneel and help you put on your comfortable trainers. There's no way you're putting on your heels at 37 weeks of pregnancy.

"But what if Baby decides to come sooner? You could go into labour at any moment!"

You rolled your eyes and only raised your arms so they could help you out of bed.

"You guys are being over-dramatic. Nothing's gonna happen. We're just going to the Oscars, we'll have a good time, and hopefully, I'll leave with a little statue under my arm."

With that, you waddled out of your hotel room, ready to get into the limo.

---

"(Y/n)! It's so good to see you! You look radiant as always!"

You smiled at Kaitlyn, an interviewer you knew and trusted and rubbed your belly comfortingly. 

"Thank you, I feel like a whale, but Baby'll be here soon so it's worth it."

She smiled and asked you a bunch of questions about your movie and how you were feeling about being nominated for Best Actress.

"But anyway, how far along are you now?"

"I'm a little over 37 weeks, they should be coming soon. Tom and Haz were actually really apprehensive about me coming here since I'm so close to my due date."

She smiled and looked over at the two men, obviously on edge.

"Well, I wish you all the best and I sincerely hope you win."

You hugged her goodbye and posed for a few more pictures before being led inside by your husband.

---

"And now, for the moment you've all been waiting for..."

Everyone watched with bated breath as Brie Larson, last year's winner, got ready to announce who would take home the trophy.

"This year's winner, and taking home the Oscar for best actress in a leading role..."

Tom took your hand and you squeezed it tight, ready to applaud one of the other amazing actresses on their win.

"(Y/n) Holland, for her brilliant performance in Two Sides of the Same Coin!"

You felt like your heart was gonna beat out of your chest, run to that stage, kiss Brie, then promptly burst to flames out of sheer, unadulterated enthusiasm. Tom was hugging you and whispering how much you deserved it while your brother gently guided you to the podium. None of them would ever allow you to go up there on your own. Always one in front of you in case you trip forward and one behind you to catch you if you fall back.

Overprotective much?

As soon as you reached Brie, you hugged her tight (or as tight as you could with a human baby house separating you), taking the award while the two boys hugged her too.

"Holy Louis Tomlinson in a crop top."

The audience laughed, most of them already familiar with your strange One Direction inspired expressions.

"Wow, I didn't actually think I was gonna win this, everyone had such amazing performances. I-It's an honour, really. Two Sides of the Same Coin was a project very near and dear to my heart, so I'd like to thank the amazing Drew Barrymore, who wrote and directed the movie."

The room erupted in cheers and the woman smiled at you from her place on the front row.

"Bisexual representation is something we don't get very often, and when we do, it's always misjudged. So thank you for showing the world what bisexuality really is, and for giving me a chance to live out my dreams of kissing lots of people. This idiot tied me down too soon."

You pointed behind you at Tom, hearing his appalled squeak along with Harrison's guffaw of a laugh. 

In other news, the baby was starting to inconvenience you slightly. Baby had been going crazy since last night (not that you'd tell the boys) and the Braxton-Hicks were killing you, but it only got worse now.

"I'd also like to thank my amazing costars, Zendaya, Bella Thorne, and Owen Patrick Joyner, it was awesome to make out with you all..."

The crowd laughed while you felt something trickle down your legs.

Oh.

OH.

You'll never live this down, that's for sure.

"Uh, before I finish can one of you idiots call the car and get them to come to the exit please and thank you? Now as I was saying-"

"Wait, why?"

You turned to your brother and smiled innocently.

"Oh, my water just broke."

The crowd cheered.

Tom screamed.

Harrison fell to the floor, unconscious.

You sighed.

"New plan, can anyone try to wake my brother while my hus-" 

You looked at Tom, frantically doing small back and forths between you and his best friend, unsure of what to do. 

"-While someone else calls the car because both of them are apparently useless."

"We need to get you to the hospital!"

His terrified scream could be heard all through the room, even with no mic.

"What? No! I need to finish my acceptance speech, then go back to the hotel to shower and maybe take a little nap and then go to the hospital. My water just broke, Thomas, we have time, calm your tits."

You turned back fully to the mic, facing the hysteric faces of the crowd, very entertained by the exchange.

"Now as I was saying, I want to thank the amazing team that worked on this movie, you're all amazing and it was such a good experience. I'd also like to thank my family for always being there for me and supporting me and Haz in our acting careers. Thank you to my brother, even if he's unconscious right now, he'll just watch it on Youtube later, for literally forcing me to go to the audition. And lastly, I'd like to thank my wonderful husband, who hopefully hasn't passed out yet, for always supporting me and being my biggest rock through everything. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to deliver a baby, you know, just normal Saturday night stuff."

---

An Oscar in hand and another... down her legs?

(Y/n) Holland sure gave the Oscars something to be entertained by on this last Saturday. The wife of fellow actor Tom Holland looked radiant in her custom-made Valentino dress, looking ready for a night of fun.

(Y/n) was nominated for this year's Best Actress in a Leading Role award, alongside Meryl Streep, Margot Robbie, Cate Blanchett, and Tessa Thompson, but the Oscar went to her from her brilliant performance in Two Sides of the Same Coin. But it was during her acceptance speech that things got... slippery.

At 37 weeks of pregnancy, the Holland baby was ready to come at any minute, but apparently, theatrics run in the family. The actress was in the middle of her speech when she felt her water break, pausing in her talking to request a car be called.

You'd think her husband, Tom, and brother Harrison Osterfield, overprotective as they are, would be fully prepared! Unfortunately for them, and fortunately for our entertainment, they were not. Harrison went unconscious after hearing the news, dropping to the floor and earning himself a minor concussion, much to his sister's amusement

[image1-harrison-ice-pack.png]

@ynholland: "Don't worry, when you go into labour, I'll be with you every step of the way." Said Harrison Osterfield, then proceeded to pass out, get a minor concussion, and miss the whole delivery.😂 Good job, little bro👍

And just when you thought she couldn't get any better, she finishes her acceptance speech with: "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to deliver a baby, you know, just normal Saturday night stuff." We have no choice but to stan this iconic queen!

But for the news you've all been waiting for, Oscar Robert Holland (yes, the middle name is a homage to Robert Downey Jr. himself, we're not crying, you are!) was born just twelve hours later. Tom let know through a beautiful Instagram picture that he is in fact "perfectly healthy and loved by everyone already".

[image2-tom-and-oscar.png]

@tomholland2013: I present to you, my best creation to this date: Oscar Robert Holland. Thank you all for your prayers and kind messages, our boy is perfectly healthy and loved by everyone already❤️

But of course, Uncle Haz wouldn't stay behind.

[image3-haz-and-oscar.png]

@hazosterfield: Since I know you've all been worried sick and desperate to know how the baby is... I'm doing just fine, it's just a minor concussion :) Oh and my godson's great too.

And just to prove that the Osterfields are indeed the royal family of comedy, we leave with this wonderful picture posted to the happy mum's very own Instagram.

[image4-yn-and-oscars.png]

@ynholland: Guess I was so good they gave two Oscars instead of one ;)

-Written by Kaitlyn Storm

so anyway, Two Sides of the Same Coin is a movie idea i got a while ago and should maybe try to write one of these days but oh well or something. anyway, i’m not gonna rant about it here cause it’d be too long but i hope you enjoyed this and don’t forget to like/comment/reblog if you feel like it!

-Love, Miah

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» 

Taglists: (if your name is striked through it means for some reason tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you) 

PERMA TAG 

@adriannajackson123​ @theamazingtomholland​ @inlovewithmobtom​ @andycanbeemotional​ @officiallyunofficialperson​ @lost-in-the-stars03​ @jeezkiddo​ @a-singleboat​ @wunder-13 @highlydisfunctional1​ @ellyseveronica​ @inthecornerchair​ @harishaanne​ @anjalika03​ @lozzypoz321​ @mendes-marvel​ @sovereignparker​ @bubbles-the-powerpuffgurl 

 MARVEL ACTORS 

@sarcasticallywitty15​ @agentnataliahofferson​ @onelovesr​ @agentnataliahofferson​ @parkerpetertingle​ @juliebean247​ @frustratingpaperclip​ @tacobacoyeet​ 

HOLLAND & CO. 

@sarcasticallywitty15​ @agentnataliahofferson​ @onelovesr​ @agentnataliahofferson​ @zeusmyster​ @parkerpetertingle​ @juliebean247​ @joyleenl​ @quaksonhehe​ @clara-licht​ @frustratingpaperclip​  @tutuabby28​ @tacobacoyeet​ 

LGBTQ+ 

@quaksonhehe​ 

[wonunuu]

iris beauty ❀

27: little toy car

✎ synopsis: falling for a guy is never easy, especially when your best friend of many years basically claimed him; you and mina have been friends for as long as you can remember, but your loyalty and trust are tested when she asks you to pretend to be her in meeting a guy she had been talking to online and you unintentionally start to develop feelings for him.

✎ genre: romance, angst

✎ pairing: reader x yoon jeonghan

✎ word count: 1k+

✎ warnings: mentions of bullying, health conditions, death (lmk if there's more)

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❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Mina takes a deep breath before taking a few steps towards the boy facing away from her. Taking another breath, she builds up the courage to tap him on the shoulder. 

“Jeonghan,” Mina says, barely audible, as she stares at her feet. He turns around to face her. “It’s me, the real Mina.” 

“Hey.” is all he says before wrapping his arms around her. Mina stood there frozen, taken aback from his unexpected greeting. 

Jeonghan pulls back, reaching out his hands to put her hair behind her ear, her face now on full view. He pulls her to the bench, not too far from where they stood.

Freckles is covering her square-shaped face. She had heavy lower lips, round nose and her irises had two different colours. Her eyes were her biggest insecurity. 

When Mina was born, she was diagnosed with heterochromia iridium, a condition that causes two different eye colours in an individual. As a young child, she was never bothered by her features because her parents gave her all the love. They treated her as if she was the prettiest little girl on the planet, just as she deserves. But everything started changing when she attended school. Her classmates made fun of her everyday, and she made no friends. Until two new students transferred in sixth grade; you and Joshua. The three of you became friends rather quickly. At first, Mina was scared that the two of you would be like the others, but that fear faded away when you got involved in a fight with her bully in eighth grade, Joshua backing you up  from the side by running his mouth. He called it, “hyping YN up as she beats that rat shitless” —quite the vulgar language for a thirteen year old. 

The three of you entered high school hand in hand, and with the two of you by her side, Mina thought things would get better. But she was wrong. As the weeks went by, the bullying got worse. Everyday she would get notes in her locker stating “freak”, “get surgery” and “leave the world”. She kept it from you and Josh because she didn’t want the two of you to get dragged in her situation. The bullying went on until the last year of high school, and scared to take the next step in college, she dropped out. She didn't want you and Joshua to find out so she used an excuse by saying that the program she wanted to take was only available online. 

You and Josh only found out about the notes months later when you were going to surprise her with a room makeover. They were stashed in a box under her bed. The two of you confronted her when she got home. She explained that those notes were the reason why she dropped out, and apologized for not telling you. 

Mina went to on explaining to Jeonghan all of that—from her childhood to her high school years. She also explained to Jeonghan the reasons why she pulled that little white lie, as she called it.

“I was scared that you were going to leave me or make fun of me when you saw me,” she admitted, tears pooling in her eyes. Jeonghan sighs, “So you wanted to put my shallowness to the test?”. Mina shakes her head. “No, it’s not like that at all—I was just scared and insecure, a-and I just didn’t want you to leave. I’m so, so sorry. I know it’s very shameless of me, but I hope you can forgive me and not leave.

During those times that you met with my friend who was pretending to be me, I was always hiding behind some tree and wishing that I was in her place instead—”

“So did you actually go on the trip or not?” Jeonghan interrupts Mina. 

“What do you mean?” Mina asks, confused. 

“You said that you were always there when I met with YN. I’ve been meeting with her the past month while you were on your trip.’” Jeonghan explains, quoting on the word trip. Suddenly, Mina stands up, shock on her face.

“H-how do you know her name? I didn’t tell you her name yet, Jeonghan. A-and you’ve been meeting with her while I was gone?” At this point, Mina is yelling. 

Jeonghan tries to calm her down. “Sit, and I’ll explain what happened, or at least what I think happened.”

He tells Mina how he saw you working in the café, and that he thinks that you needed to keep pretending to rid suspicions that he had, which is true. He also explains that the reason why you couldn’t tell her right away was probably for the same reason he couldn’t talk to her himself—because Mina’s phone was locked away, which again is true.

Mina understands that part, but not the part of how Jeonghan knew your name. Hesitantly, she asked, “While the two of you were meeting, did she tell you her name? Is that why you know?”

Jeonghan shakes his head. “I actually knew her before you.” Mina is as confused as she can be. Why didn’t you tell her that you knew Jeonghan?

“But I doubt she remembers who I am though, given the fact that we’ve been meeting all this time and she hasn’t brought up anything from the past.” Jeonghan chuckles.

“When I was young, my father was very sick. We couldn’t afford to buy him medications, let alone admit him to the hospital. As time went by, my father’s condition worsened, and given our situation, I was sure that there would be no more hope. Until two medical professionals moved into town and built a clinic. The couple saw my dad during his daily walks, and they offered him a check up. My father refused because we didn’t have the money to pay, but they insisted and told him it would be done for free. 

He had free weekly check-ups after that, and he would bring me too, sometimes. It turns out the couple had a daughter, around the age of five and six. We would play together, you know? Every time my father went to his check up, I would ask him to bring me so that I could play with her. Every week we played with each other.

She would also lend me her little toy cars, and I would give them back the week later when I went back. I was so happy because I never had toys before other than wood painted to look like a car. 

The last one she lent to me was a red to car. She told me that it was her favourite and that I should take care of it. I did, and I still am. I never got the chance to give it back because… my dad didn’t need to go for his check-ups anymore. He passed away shortly after that last check-up.” 

A drop of tear fell on the back of Jeonghan’s hand, but he composed himself quickly, wiping away the tears that were about to fall.

"The mother—YN's mother—always wore this beautiful flower necklace. It was also the clinic's logo. She told me what the flower meant and how it's her favourite.

That's how I figured out YN is... YN. She wears the same necklace that her mother wore. I asked her to confirmed my suspicions, and she did. She told me how it was her mothers and how the iris was her favourite flower."

He smiles as he looks at Mina who was completely frozen, and the expression on her face, unreadable.

Mina has mixed feelings. Relief because you kept your promise on not telling Jeonghan the truth while she was gone. Anger because you didn’t tell her right away that you had been meeting without her. Lastly, jealousy; she is jealous that you and Jeonghan have some sort of connection longer than she has with him, and deeper.  

tags:

@yyxyzti @acciofirewhiskey @doiewonu @shuajeong @wooziverse @boogyuu @rjsmochii @haniehae @twentysixofmays @suhfluffy @dancingddays @lovingyu04 @sydneyy-jade @itsdnguyenxoxo @fluffyhyeju @haoraecane @dy-mglzz @1800zuho @t-secretpot @floweryjeons @yaebbinnie @t-secretpot @not-sojoyuus @xcalicoups @ryuyalana @bubblywonu @youbloominsideofme @lavenonie @winternight-wonwoo @yoonzinow @mariecoura @juji-han @strawbinnie-shortcake @isa499 @pseudoyop @serenadesvt @glouraeswei @glowingjaehyun @sunflowergyeomie @kunmaid @apricottulips @hao-ling @cheolright @pancakeandfrogs @yanniezx @jeonjungkaka @sunflower-euphro @monstathedisco

unable to tag: @tyongs @jeongjungkaka @jammyjamjamss @hauntedprincessarbiter @scoffingscully

[cat-induced-fever-dream]

I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.

Pairing: Wanda x Reader

Genre: Angst if you squint really hard. Fluff to make up for Marvel reminding me that Nat is dead.

Description: The falling in love of Wanda Maximoff and you. (If anyone has a better description please hit me up.)

Notes: Was going to be a one-shot and then it didn’t happen so there’s going to be a second part. It’ll probably happen in like a month though since I have a trip. Comments always appreciated. :)

- - -

You’re not sure when it happened. To be fair, neither is Wanda.

You had just started with SHIELD, and were there for the battle with Ultron, and then when Wanda became an Avenger. You remember the admiration you held for her, for her powers, for her determination to do what was right, her grit. Now, it was more of a well-deserved respect. Her strength when everything else in her life seemed to be gone, her brutal honesty regarding matters important to her, and her loyalty to those she cared about.

Maybe that’s when it started. As an exemplary agent, you could handle most things Fury assigned you, but being an Avenger? That was a whole new battleground. One that Wanda had your six on. From simple things, like showing you around the compound, and looking for you when you inevitably got lost (again). Wanda with her no frills attitude and sharp tongue, lashing out at Fury himself when he assigned you your 6th mission in 4 days. Wanda with her soft smiles that made your stomach flip and whispered jokes when she noticed your anxiousness on a mission. It wasn’t easy, keeping up with super soldiers, spies with years of experience on you, actual gods, but Wanda made it simple.

- - -

Wanda sometimes wondered if she could really be a hero. She wasn’t a good person. She had done terrible things. Then you stumbled in, a fresh agent and an even fresher Avenger, but you looked at her with no distrust. A little lost perhaps, but no malice. That confused SHIELD agent? It reminded her of, well, her. It may have been under different circumstances, but in essence, they were the same. Thrust into a world of avenging, knowing no one, knowing nothing. So she threw you a line, offered her support when you looked like you needed it. Wanda expected a bite, but she didn’t expect a tug back. The way you offered to help her practice her powers (a little naively), and then when you realised your mistake, your offer to teach her the hand to hand combat you had learned from SHIELD. The way you always looked back for her on a mission, even when you knew she could protect herself with said powers. You were on her team, a comfort she didn’t have since Pietro died. Okay well the Avengers were also her team, but you were her person, always in her corner.

- - -

It shouldn’t be this easy. Sometimes it felt like you could read each other’s minds. To be fair, Wanda could read your mind, but you knew she wouldn’t do it without your permission. Still, there was something about your unspoken agreements that came so naturally. Where everyone else was on comms, it was like the pair of you were tuned to the same wavelength, communicating in a code not even Natasha could decrypt.

“You just get me, you know?” Wanda says, as the two of you are sprawled on her bed after a mission. “It’s like our brains are, I dunno, smooshed together or something. Not even Vision feels like this, and we’re literally connected by an Infinity Stone in his head.”

“Smooshed together?” you laugh. “What an insightful description. And I can’t believe you just compared me to that toaster. I’m obviously way better than him.”

“You realise he can shoot lasers right?”

“And I can turn on a laser on the sights of my guns. Sit down, you’re not special.”

This earns you a giggle. “But it’s like you’re in my brain.”

“Oh so I’m always on your mind?”

“Shut up Y/N/N.”

“Maybe your powers are rubbing off on me,” you joke, wiggling your fingers in her face.

“I do not look like that,” cries Wanda indignantly. “And if you have my powers, what am I thinking about right now?”

“Stealing Sam’s cupcakes,” you reply with no hesitation.

“I was actually thinking about how I hope Steve never reassigns mission partners,” she says pointedly. “But now that you mention it, I could really do with a cupcake.”

“I was right then?” you tease, tugging her towards the kitchen with a cheeky grin.

Wanda rolls her eyes at you, but she mirrors your grin and your stomach is swooping again.

“For the record, you’re my favourite mission partner too.”

- - -

Wanda didn’t expect to call the compound home. She stayed because she had nowhere else to go. And with her differences with Stark and the friendly but still guarded manner of the other Avengers initially (though she didn’t blame them), she kept to herself. But you were different. She noticed the way you prioritised her, looked out for her, to the best of your ability.

She’s shaken from nightmare and automatically, her feet lead her towards you. It’s late, she knows, but when she knocks on your door, you open with an easy smile and open arms that envelop her gently. When her sobbing subsides, you break away, wiping the tear tracks with your thumb.

“Dick van Dyke?” you ask.

Nodding wordlessly, Wanda lets you lead her your bed and settles in beside you.

That’s when she notices the stacks of files illuminated by your desk light.

“Sorry,” she sniffles, throat raw from crying, “did I interrupt you?”

“Oh those?” you say, waving dismissively at your desk. “Maria’s just been on my back lately to get those done, but it’ll be fine.”

With a stab of guilt, she makes to move of the bed, but you grab her wrist before she can. “Don’t worry about it, those can wait.”

As the TV murmurs softly in the background, you wrap a comforting hand around her, and she begins to drift off, nightmares warded away by your presence.

And she wakes up the next morning with the duvet pulled over her, and you slumped at your desk.

- - -

It was an easy mission. Most missions are when you and Wanda are paired together. Get in, get the data, get out. But then HYDRA agents were swarming the building, and intel definitely didn’t mention this level of security, and the exits were blocked off.

“I’m definitely gonna punch Tony later for this,” you groan, and Wanda shoots you a smile before returning to the approaching soldiers. Silently you whip around, firing rounds at the agents on the other end of the corridor. This was one of the many “plans” you had with Wanda, the endless missions allowing you to familiarise yourself with how your two fighting styles complimented each other. Being the enhanced out of you two, Wanda would push forward, handling the bulk of attacks with a flick of her wrist. You had her back, shooting at the stragglers who came from behind. Spotting something that resembled a server room, you gave a tug on her sleeve and she nodded, reassuring you that she had it handled.

Not wanting to leave Wanda for longer than necessary, you plug in the drive to do its Stark-tech thing and bolted back outside. To find the bodies slumped en masse on both end of the hallway.

“Guess you did have it handled,” you say, waving at the uniformed soldiers.

“Oh my god that isn’t even a good pun,” the witch replies, before continuing with a smirk. “But yes, I am way more powerful than you.”

“Don’t think that was ever in question,” you say, but then alarms were blaring, and the building plunges into a red glow and then oh my god there’s a gun behind Wanda and before you knew what was happening, a shot had fired from your gun and there was a burning pain in your shoulder.

The brunette whirls around just as you collapse into the wall. ��Guess you’re not as an amazing shot as I am though,” you mutter, before blacking out.

- - -

To say Wanda was in a state of panic was an understatement. It was more like a whole damn continent. As much as she reassured you before missions, your easygoing, playful attitude was her anchor  in these intense situations. Everywhere felt like home, like you two bickering on the couches. Your constant presence was like bringing a piece of the compound with her. And regardless of her experience as an Avenger, as an ex-agent, you were undoubtedly better with running missions. Not everything was a save the world type threat after all.

Eyes darting around, Wanda noted that you had indeed shot the last agent, before skimming across your bleeding out form.

The training doors opened with a bang and Wanda turned to the noise. Then she found herself pinned to the floor.

“Stay focused on the mission,” you scolded, before helping her back up.

The drive. You’d be pissed if she didn’t get it. Sprinting into the server room, she rips it from the port.

“Okay don’t laugh at me, but this is my hierarchy of the 3 Is.”

“Eyes?” Wanda asks.

“No, like the letter I. At the top is innocents, and they’re my priority. Steve says you can’t save everyone, but I can damn sure try. Next is the idiots. That’s the mission. ‘Cause I’d say you’re pretty damn stupid to go up against the Avengers. And finally we have Iron Man, or the heroes. As much as it’s going to hurt, we can’t let the sentiment get in the way. We all knew what we were signing up for, and I’m pretty sure all of us would rather it be us than someone else.”

“Thank you o wise one,” she mocks.

Wanda smiles a little at the memory, but tears pool at her eyes. Then she hears it, the faint footsteps pulling her back from her daze.

“Damn you and your stupid heart of gold,” she whispers, before flying the two of you back to the ship.

- - -

The steady beeping tugs you from slumber.

“Oh you’re up.”

You strain your neck to see Tony walking up with a bowl in his hands.

“You don’t sound very excited to see me Stark.”

“Not when I have to bring meals up here every day for Maximoff,” he says, pointing at the sleeping girl on the chair. “Hasn’t moved for days. Figured I’d hand deliver as an apology.”

“Aw did she punch you for me?”

“Worse,” he chuckled. “Gave me an earful.”

“I’d say you deserve it after that.”

He rubs his neck sheepishly. “Really, I’m sorry though. That was on me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you smile. “I’ll be fine. And thanks for looking after her.”

Tony nods politely before leaving the meal and you two alone.

“It’s good to have you back kiddo,” he calls, before shutting the door.

Reaching an arm through the railing, you poke Wanda’s elbow.

“Meal delivery for Miss Maximoff?”

The curled up form stirs a little, rubbing her eyes, before freezing in shock.

“You’re back!”

“Apparently so,” you reply with a wry grin.

Wanda leans over the hospital bed, green eyes searching for any injuries.

“I missed you,” she murmurs.

“And you missed one-“

A slap hits you on your injured arm, and you hiss in pain.

“I’m not apologising for that one,” she glares.

Raising your good arm up in surrender, you pout. “Don’t I get a pity pass?”

“Not for worrying me like that.”

“But it wasn’t even my fault!”

She rolls her eyes (she seems to do that a lot at you some reason).

“Wait,” you frown, “we broke our perfect mission streak.”

“Are you kidding me right now?”

Then she’s hugging you, her nose pressed into your neck. Her soft brown hair cascades over your face like a waterfall, tickling your chin. Through your gown, you’re hyper-aware of the cool metal of the rings which adorn her fingers, how nice she smells, how right it feels to be held by her.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she mumbles, her breath warming your neck, and your stomach is doing acrobatics. Even with the meds, you’re aware that this feels familiar, like something.

Pulling away, she studies your face. “Never. Do. That. Again.”

You laugh. “Glad we’re in agreement.”

It must be the meds, it must be.

[anjuschiffer]

Undefined

Happy Valentine’s Day @m3owww​! Hope you enjoy it Phi!

Thanks to @eat0crow​ for organizing this exchange and Panda for helping me with the title!

Yes, I know I went overboard...

--

AO3

Marinette remembered the first time she got something from her soulmate.

It was a battery, or so she found out when she showed it to her parents.

“Maman, what’s this?” She asked her mother as she showed her the black box-like battery.

“Where did you get this?” Sabine asked, taking it and examining, wondering where her 10 year old daughter got it. After all, she didn’t recall them buying it.

“I didn’t get it from anywhere. It just...appeared on my desk.” Marinette explained, watching as Sabine showed the box to her father.

“This looks like a camera battery.” Tom gave the battery back to Marinette, then looked at Sabine, watching as she connected the dots. “Seems like your soulmate might be into photography.”

“Soulmate?” Marinette asked, staring at the battery.

Soulmates. Only five percent of the world’s population had one or rather, the ability to find theirs. They came in various forms and at different ages, so it was always hard to know if you had a soulmate link, bond or mark.

As for the Dupain-Chengs, it seems like Tom and Sabine belonged to that five percent. Sabine and Tom found out they had soulmates when they met at a flea market in Paris. The two had noticed that the timer ticking on their wrist was edging closer to 0, causing them to panic. For the two believed that it was a timer that marked the death of their soulmate. 

As the two dashed to find a place to possibly cry at, the two crashed into each other, Tom catching Sabine by her wrist to prevent her from falling. As the two apologized, it was then that they found out that they were soulmates and that the timer was counting down to when they were going to meet. Upon realizing this, they both began to laugh.

Marinette asked them why her soulmate link wasn’t like theirs, Sabine explaining that each soulmate pair had a different bond. As for Marinette, it seemed to be a lost and found link.

If either of them lost anything, say a pencil, then the other will find it.

Sabine noticed that Marinette seemed skeptical of it.

“Try throwing out the battery out the window.”

“What? No!”

“Trust me.” And so Marinette did, after preparing herself for 10 minutes. When she went outside to look for it, it was gone.

Seeing as it was true, Marinette began to purposely lose items frequently, hoping that her soulmate would get the message that she knew about him. That she was eager to meet him. But despite her hard efforts, her items never went over to her soulmate, the items landing or staying in the spot Marinette had thrown at.

Because of this, whenever Marinette would try and show her friends her bond, they half-believed her. Only one straight up thought she made up the story to get attention: Chloe.

But then again, Chloe didn’t like anyone, so Marinette kept telling her friends of her various attempts, eagerly telling them how she couldn’t wait to meet them.

--

Soulmates…as much as Tim wanted to ask his parents about it, he chose not to.

Tim looked at the tiny medallion in his hand, his fingers running over the three letters engraved on it, quickly putting it away when he heard his mother’s footsteps, quickly burying himself into his homework, pretending to flip between pages when he heard the doorknob of his room turn.

Janet walked in, Tim pretending to figure out a calculation out, quickly scribbling some nonsense onto his paper.

“I see that you’re working hard.”

“Mr.Sommers said that the next exam will cover factorization, so I thought I would do a few for practice.” Tim easily lied, adding a final number before looking up to acknowledge his mother.

She had that look again. “How long would you be out for this trip?” Janet jumped a bit. “You talked about it with Mrs.Romanov just yesterday, when you found her at the bookstore to buy some books for the flight. When we were at the storefront, remember?”

Another lie. Yes, his mother had gone to the bookstore with Tim, but the thing was that Janet had sent Tim off while she told Mrs.Romanov about her next exertion. How she told Mrs.Romanov if she knew of any nannies to take care of Tim while she was going to be out for the next two months.

Despite knowing Tim was capable of maintaining himself, she didn’t want the school to bother her again for not leaving him behind with adult supervision. It was starting to get on her nerves.

“Oh that’s right. How did I forget?” His mother recalled, not once doubting his retelling. “We’re excavating in Riqqeh, Egypt for a month.” Tim watched as his mother let out a sigh. “Probably more cemeteries, but then again, you never know until you dig.”

“I see.” Tim said, burying himself back into his homework. “Hope you find something more interesting than skeletons then.”

“I promise to bring back a souvenir, okay?” His mother walked to him, placing a cold kiss on his forehead, Tim noticing his father’s name etched on her collar bone. “Make sure to go straight to sleep after you finish that page, understood?” A nod. “Good night, Timothy.”

“Good night.” He simply said back, watching as she closed the door.

Taking out the medallion, Tim stared at it. 

He had a soulmate somewhere out there...a soulmate he dreaded to meet...and yet hoped that perhaps they wouldn’t end up like his parents…

Tim opened a secret compartment in his pencil case and placed the medallion there, thinking about it until he went to sleep.

—

Soulmates. Everyone is always eager to meet them, but no one ever tells you how to keep that same enthusiasm after you meet them…

Tim’s parents met when Janet had tagged along with one of her friend’s excavation trips, meeting Jack in Berlin.  

The minute the two saw each other, their world turned more colorful, the two becoming infatuated with one other when they found out they were soulmates. After showing each other’s names etched onto their collarbones, the two quickly planned their marriage.

Marrying in Gotham was a dream come true for Janet...but that dream lasted a mere months before the world went back to being its bland self. With each having their own dreams, careers and goals, Janet and Jack started to stray from each other. Meetings and trips took time away from one another. And the time they would see each other, they would simply talk about work, work and nothing else. Not even a single ‘want to take a break?’ or ‘how about we go out for dinner tonight?’

It was like being at another board meeting, being professional with each other.

They only drew close to one another when Janet found out she was pregnant with Timothy, Jack taking some time off work to make sure Janet had various maids checking on her before returning back to work.

On the day Timothy was to be born, Jack was there, holding Janet’s handing during the delivery. He held his son once before handing him over to Janet and leaving, mentioning about having to go back to work.

Jack would then go on to see Timothy at home, being lulled to sleep by the handmaid, telling Jack of Janet’s meeting with the board about an upcoming visit to Mexico. 

There were few times Tim actually remembered going out as a family and while from the outside it looked like any other family outing, Tim knew why they were out in the first place: rumors.

“Have you heard? Drake’s little boy was seen walking home by himself! What parent lets their child go home by themselves? ”

“Timothy? But he’s only six!”

“Heard they plan on sending him to a boarding school. Poor thing.”

While the family outings were influenced by rumors, Tim found joy in them because it was the few times he was able to go to places he had desired to go before. Like the circus....even if that one ended in a tragedy.

But even good things had to come to an end. Years went by and Timothy grew to be very independent. That was when all the maids and servants were shooed off, leaving Tim all alone. 

It didn’t help that they did indeed end up sending him to boarding school.

But Tim managed to get used to being alone, and has been for the past two years.

--

Years passed and Marinette no longer kept trying to lose her items. Despite her various attempts, she couldn’t manage to send them over to her soulmate, finding it disheartening it.

But as of these days, Marinette didn’t have the time to try it again. Or rather, she could no longer afford to lose her belongings or let them out of her sight.

While she had gotten used to getting her things taken away from her thanks to her friends borrowing them or Chloe playing a “prank” on her, getting bullied by two people at the same time was starting to take a toll on her and the brand she was trying to set for herself at the age of 15.

If she dared to let her eyes wander, then they would either fall into the hands of Chloe or of Lila’s. When Lila transferred to Dupont, Marinette didn’t honestly care about her lying, after all, they were nothing but white lies. So she never bothered to actually make friends with the girl. But even with the lack of communication, Marinette apparently did something to Lila because one day she was cornered in the bathroom and was threatened.

Marinette was kind but she knew when enough was enough.

“I would like to see you try.” She practically spat into Lila’s face before leaving the bathroom those weeks ago.

So here she was, being bullied by both her bully since l'école primaire and her new found one in lycee.

But between the two, Marinette preferred her personal things end up in Chloe’s hands than Lila’s. Chloe at least gave them back, but Lila? They never returned in one piece or even worse, they didn’t come back at all.

“Marinette? Where is your-”

“Mme Bustier...I promise you I did do it. I had it.” Marinette stabilized her voice from erupting into panic as she failed to find her assignment that she swore she had in her bag. “You can even ask Alya. She saw it.”

“That’s true Mme Bustier!” Alya quickly defended, although she wondered what happened to the paper as she saw Marinette safely tuck it away. Yes, Marinette could be clumsy, but unorganized and scattered brain? That she was not. She was meticulous, precise and always punctual. So how did that paper leave its place?

“Regardless, it’s not in my hands.” Mme Bustier sighed. “You’ll have to stay after class.” That caused Marinette to panic. She couldn’t afford to stay after school. She had a meeting with a client as soon as school ended.

“But Mme Bustier!”

“I’m sorry Marinette, but-”

“I can’t afford to stay after class! I have a very important-”

“Marinette.” Mme Bustier sternly stated. “Rules are rules. You’ll have to come after school, whether you have a very important appointment or not.”

Marinette managed to not scream as the bell rang, watching as everyone filed out, Alya lingering behind.

“Marinette, I could-” she shook her head. 

“Alya, I’ll be alright.” She gave her friend a sheepish smile. “And go on without me. Perhaps my client will understand when I explain it to them via text.” Despite Marinette’s reassurance, Alya nodded and left the classroom hesitantly.

Bracing herself for her punishment, Mme Bustier got a phone call from the main office, looking at Marinette and turning her attention back to the phone. With a few ‘oui’ and ‘be right there,’ Bustier turned to Marinette. 

“They need me for a few minutes downstairs, but that doesn’t mean you are free to go. Stay here while I check what they need from me.” Mme Bustier ordered, Marinette burying her face into her hands as she slammed herself into her desk.

She lifted her head once again, sending a quick text to her client about running late. Once that was over, Marinette took out her sketchbook to look over her designs, taking out a red pen to add some additional revisions.

She didn’t know how long she had been like that, but the moment she heard the door open, her head snapped upwards, a frown on her face when she saw Lila and not Mme Bustier.

“What do you want?”

“Nothing much.” Lila said, dragging her fingers on the desk Marinette sat at. “Just this!” She exclaimed, snatching the sketchbook from under Marinette’s hand.

“Give it back!” Marinette screamed, quickly chasing after Lila around the class.

“Oh come one Marinette! I just want to-” 

“They’re very important commision designs for a client-” Marinette attempted to reason, almost grabbing it back from Lila.

“Is that so?” Lila hummed, quickly opening the sketchbook and looking at the designs. “Wow. You weren’t kidding!” A grin made its way to her face. “It’d be too bad if something bad happened to it.”

Marinette’s eyes widened and the next thing she knew, she had managed to grab the sketchbook from Lila.

“There’s no way in hell I would let you.” Marinette said in a low voice.

“Oh? Then let’s see you try!” Lila yelled, attempting to grab the sketchbook from Marinette. 

The two waltzed away from one another as Marinette kept her sketchbook away from Lila’s grasp. The two were on each other’s toes  until Marinette had to run around the classroom, having to knock over Mme Bustier’s chair to keep Lila away from her when she got too close to comfort.

“Come on Marinette! I just want to see-”

“No way in hell Lila!” Marinette screamed, feeling as Lila dug her nails into her shoulder when she ended up cornering her by the windows, Marinette trying her best to not wince at the pain.

The two girls kept clawing at one another until Marinette couldn’t keep Lila at bay anymore, trying to find a way to keep her sketchbook safe from Lila. As Lila kept pushing her, Marinette’s hand hit the window, almost knocking down the metal rod that was used to pull down the shades. That’s when it hit her. 

Taking in a deep breath, Marinette kicked Lila away from her, ingraining Lila’s expression of surprise into her memory. As Lila goy up and charged to grab the designer’s sketchbook, Marinette flung it behind her head, silently praying for its safety. 

After all, everytime she had tried to lose an item, it never worked. But this time, just this one time, she hoped it would work.

Meanwhile, Lila watched as the sketchbook flew out the window, watching as it fell down to the ground, only to disappear before it hit the grass outside. 

Lila stepped back, her eyes darting from the missing book to the panting Marinette who glared at her with daggers for eyes.

“Not this time Lila. Not this time.” The classroom door opened, causing both girls to look at the doorway.

“What is going on here?” Mme Mendeleiev practically shouted, causing Lila to lose all color in her face. 

Crap. 

—

Tim watched as his English teacher started to walk down the desk aisle, watching as he started to collect their writing assignment assigned yesterday.  Seeing as he was drawing near, Tim reached into his bag, when he felt an unfamiliar texture brush against his knuckles. Peering into his bag, he noticed a leather book with a red strap securing it.

Deciding to check it out later, Tim took out his assignment and handed it in, watching as Mr.Hughes simply nodded as he took it, walking down the other row of desks to take the assignment.

As class progressed, his mind drifted to one thing: the book. Tim pondered at how the leather book had gotten into his bag and who it belonged to.

Was it from someone in his class? Was it part of a prank?

He was snapped from his thoughts once the bell rang, signaling everyone that it was lunch.

Tim scurried to the school’s library, heading up to the second floor and turning a right to where his favorite spot welcomed him. A lone desk at the corner, next to a radiator that warmed him in the winter and a wonderful view of the campus as well. 

Ever since the death of his mother around a year ago, Tim was able to convince his father to pull him out of boarding school and to transfer him to Gotham Academy. He told him how it was less costly and better yet, closer to home. He agreed.

Making sure that he was comfortable, Tim took out the leather book, his fingers analyzing the bumpy leather texture. Perhaps he would find the owner’s name inside. If not, he will take it to the lost-n-found in the main office. Carefully, Tim took the red strap off the edge of the book, taken aback at the sketches on the paper.

Light feather markings under layers of darker, bolder strokes of graphite looked back at him in the shape of a dress. Side notes in French in a vibrant shade of black ink were meticulously jotted down, red ink being additional notes to the already long list of critiques. 

As he turned the pages, Tim saw one dress design after another, designs for hats, caps, shirts and even leather jackets were in there too. Names of fabrics he had never heard of before racked in his mind as Tim kept admiring each sketch. He also couldn’t help but notice the signature on each page. MDC. 

MDC.

As he reveled in the initials, trying to make sense of them, he let out a hiss as he retracted his hand from the book, noticing a small bead of blood emerged from his finger...blood?

Tim looked back at the book, noticing that there was a single needle poking out from the sketchbook’s satin bookmark, a silver medallion-

Medallion? 

There was no way.

Tim closed in on the medallion and there it was, the initials, MDC. Just like the one he found written on the rose-gold medallion he found years ago.

But why now? Why now after five years of not losing a single thing?

Time had gone by so quickly that Tim literally jumped when the bell rang for the next class, Tim quickly scrambling to gently put back his soulmate’s things into his bag and head for geometry class.

--

Thanks to the fiasco with Lila, Marientte was held back even more, leading to Marinette having to reschedule her appointment with her client.

Thankfully, the client understood the situation Marinette was just in, even going as far as waiting for Marinette to set the new meeting date. Something about having been there before.

Wrapped in a lavender scented blanket, Marinette stared at her phone screen in front of her that blinked several times before turning black. Then it would turn on again.

On. On. On. On. Off. On…. Off. On... Off...On. On...

Marinette didn’t bother to flip it over either, knowing that the vibration of the incoming calls and unread text messages were going to remind her of the incident with Lila...and how she didn’t have access to her sketchbook anymore.

Her stomach grumbled in annoyance, Marinette only then remembering not having eaten in hours and its been a long time judging form the darken sky outside.

Deciding to actually eat something before she started to feel nauseous from not eating, Marinette was surprised to see a crumpled piece of paper next to the tray of food her mom had brought her. Where did the paper come from?

Opening it up, Marinette felt her heart stop.

I don’t know why, but I have your book…

Thank god she studied a bit of English! Marinette read the next lines.

The designs...are very nice. But guessing from the notes on the last page, you need it back. How exactly do I do that?

That stumped Marinette because to be honest, she didn’t know how. Every time she had tried to before, it never worked. Only this one time where she really needed for the link to work, it worked. But...they managed to easily lose their things…

Grabbing a piece of paper, Marinette wrote back, crumbling it and headed towards her skylight. Opening the hatch a bit, she threw it, going back to her food, hoping it got through.

--

Tim was minding his own business, listening to NIghtwing give the squad a run down of their latest problem when he eyed a crumpled up paper by his foot. Hoping no one would notice it, he quickly placed it under his foot and waited for the debriefing to finish. 

Crouching to get it, it seems like he wasn’t as subtle as he had wished to be as Jaime got to it first.

“What you hiding from us, compa’?” Jaime asked Tim as he uncrumpled the paper. “¿Qué diablos es esto? What is this? Can you even read this?” Jaime pointed at the French written on the paper. 

“Yes, I can.” Tim said, huffing when Bart leaned onto his shoulder, peering into the note in Tim’s hands.

“Why am I not surprised?” Jaime said. “Not only are you super smart, but now you’re bilingual too? Let me guess, you're actually multilingual?”

“Actually, he is.” Bart chimed in. 

“No manches güey. Seriously?”

“If I remember correctly: Spanish, Cantonese, Russian-”

“And German.” Tim finished, quickly picking up his pace. “Now if you excuse me, I have a few things to do.”

“Hey! At least tell us what it says! Andale, no seas malo.” Jaime pleaded but simply got a wave goodbye for an answer. “Fine! But don’t forget about tomorrow’s mission, eh?”

As Tim left Jaime and Bart behind, he headed to the zeta tubes to head back home, thanking Alfred for the lift home, acknowledging his father as he made his way to his room.

He made a beeline for his bag, taking out the sketchbook, scared to even hold it now that he knew who it belonged to and how much it could potentially be worth.

He laid down the wrinkled paper on his desk, rereading the note.

Just lose it. Try to toss it out the window or something. That’s what I did. It’s how our link works after all. 

Tim took a deep breath, both relieved that there was a possible way to return the book and nervous it wouldn’t work.

Taking the sketchbook, he opened up his bedroom window, looked down below and took a deep breath. He took a step back and with one swift move, he tossed the sketchbook out the window, wondering if it made its way safely back to its owner.

After what seemed like an hour, Tim found a crumpled piece of paper on his desk, quickly jogging towards it and opening, feeling a wash of relief flow out of him, Tim let himself smile as he looked at the paper.

It worked! Thank you so much! My name is Marinette...what’s yours?

--

Months flew by, Marinette now being in her senior year and grinning from ear to ear as she read Tim’s latest text to her, ignoring Alya’s nagging on packing for their trip.

Ever since the sketchbook incident, Marinette found out the reason as to why she was never able to “lose” anything to give to Tim. Or rather the two reasons why the link wasn’t working.

First off, Marinette had been intentionally losing items and always had her eyes on where it would land, which actually cancelled the link. Second, Tim’s fussing over the soulmate link caused it to weaken over time, which further didn't allow Marinette to send him anything over.

Through various days of aggressively sending each other notes, Tim decided to embrace the link while Marinette assured him that she would try to keep her enthusiasm to a low. Keyword: try.

Getting tired from the constant note throwing, Marinette suggested exchanging contact info. It’s how Marinette learned that Tim was very meticulous, and that was coming from his share of contact info. He had an email, phone number, fax number all carefully labeled with even hours in which Marinette was allowed to contact him.

At first Marinette thought he was a stick in the mud, but then Tim had to explain to her about time zones and how he was still in school and afterschool programs most of the week...oops. How did she forget about time zones and school of all things?

Using Marinette’s phone number and email, Tim was easily able to know where exactly Marinette lived, but that’s all he was able to figure out. It wasn’t exactly easy to figure out more about your soulmate when an enthusiastic Dick hovered around you upon knowing about Tim’s soulmate. It got worse when Tim officially moved into Wayne Manor after his father’s death.

But even with Dick hovering like a hummingbird, Tim found texting with Marinette soothing. To have a friend outside of school, out of the Justice League, to have a friend where he could just be Tim...it was...relaxing. Especially when he heard of Lila’s moving due to her mother’s job. 

After all, it’s not like he had something to do with it. Absolutely not.

Of course, there were a few times he almost spilled the details, but he was easily able to catch himself, oftentimes redirecting it towards Marinette’s day or her latest commission.

Sometimes they would even video chat, although rarely thanks to time zones. But the few times they did, they would each ingrain each second they spent with each other, as they never knew when they were actually going to meet one day… even if it came closer than what either of them thought.

--

Tim reread his text for the umpteenth time, his mind still trying to process the message before realizing he hadn’t answered back.

Metropolis? As in, the city where the Man of Steel resides?

She...she was heading to Metropolis? In two days? 

Thank Kon for dragging him here!

Marinette: Yup! To think we were able to win Luthor’s scholarship trip! Can you believe it? I can’t wait to see what his program could offer! When I found out that Luthor was holding a scholarship trip for those who would win his Foundation for the Arts’ essay competition, there was no way I was going to let that chance go! Especially when I heard that the trip was extended to the winner’s entire class, regardless of nationality. It would basically be our second senior trip before the first one ^^

Must be very excited then.

You bet I am! 

To think...to think he would be able to see her in person… He watched as his happiness wrote for him.

--

Tim: Wanna hear something that would make the trip more exciting?

What would make this trip even more exciting?

Marinette hummed into the palm of her hand as she watched Tim type.

Tim: I’ll get to see you. Face to face. I’ll be in Metropolis for the next week...what are the odds?

Alya never saw Marinette turn red so quickly, watching as Marinette almost fell off her bed.

“Marinette! Oh my god, Nino! Help! She’s on cloud nine!”

--

Marinette fanned herself as she bit her lip, fiddling with the green ribbon she had wrapped around her wrist in case she wanted to tie her hair up.

Today was her second day in Metropolis, Marinette now nervous compared to when she first arrived the day before.

After having a tour of Metropolis University, Bustier’s class was able to have the day to themselves and as if on cue, Tim texted her if she was free even though she had already shared her itinerary with him the moment she recovered from her shock those days ago.

So now here she was, standing in Heroes’ Park, wondering if she looked foolish standing in front of Superman’s statue.

Or perhaps because she looked so out of place. Who wears a sunhat nowadays? Oh wait, she did...why exactly? Because freckles.

Marinette looked at her phone, wondering if she got the time wrong. No. She was literally a whole ten minutes early.

So why-

“You scream tourist you know.” A voice said, snapping Marinette from her thoughts. As she turned to see who it was, she felt her heart skip a beat.

He always seemed short, but...now being faced to face…

“Well, sorry for having freckles. The sun-” Marinette pouted, caught by surprised when Tim cupped her face.

“Freckles? I never knew you had them. Then again, you can’t really see them when they’re so small and through a screen at that.”

Marinette listened as her heart threatened to jump from her chest, more so when Tim realized what he was doing. Pink dusted his face. “Sorry, I-”

“I-It’s alright.” Marinette managed to find herself saying, pulling her hat closer to her face. “I...I also wasn’t expecting you to be taller than me.”

That caused Tim to sputter.

“You thought I was-”

“Hey! In my defense, I only had furniture to get some type of knowledge of how tall you were. Seems like I was wrong.” Marinette confessed.

The two stared at each other before laughing, Marinette attempting to reel in her heart with each laugh Tim let out. She didn’t think they would sound so different to what she was used to listening to through the phone. 

When the two managed to compose themselves, Tim and Marinette looked at each other again. Marinette dusted off nonexistent dust off her yellow-canary shorts, readjusting her black purse that crossed her red blouse. Tim cleared his throat.

“Well, let’s start this again.” Marinette nodded, a smile on her face. 

“Hey. My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” She comfortably answered back, clasping her hand with the hand Tim offered. “I’m happy to finally meet you, Timothy.” Tim squeezed her hands, noticing how her hand fit perfectly in his.

Perhaps this was where his parents went wrong. Perhaps this is why their relationship didn’t work...lack of communication...lack of appreciation and affection…

But he won’t let them end but like them, not when he knows how much she means to him.

Giving her hand a squeeze, Tim smiled at him.

“As am I, Marinette.”